The Radio Show

Author's Note: This comes from a series of flash fiction that I wrote back in the early 2000s. I cleaned it up and expanded on it a bit for publication now in 2021. I won't go so far as to say that it's "based on a true story", but at least the first sentence is true! Guessing how much of the rest of it actually happened is left as an exercise to the reader.

This one is heavy on the romance and light on the explicit sex. If you're looking for a stroke story, this probably won't satisfy you.

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I was a guest on a college radio show about polyamory once.

I'd met Mark, one of the hosts, at a social gathering a few weeks before, through a friend of a friend. Ethical non-monogamy wasn't new among my circle of friends, but at the time, it hadn't really gotten out into the public consciousness. These were my just-post-college years, so the vocabulary was still new and different and awkward, at least to us. But there I was at this party, uninhibited after a couple of beers, talking about how an ex-girlfriend had introduced me to the concept early on and I'd taken to it quickly. And then the invitation showed up in my inbox. Pretty soon we'd picked a night and he promised to send me some questions in advance.

It was a cold, snowy evening. After eating a light dinner at home, I met up with Mark at a local bar where he unabashedly plied me with alcohol to try to loosen my lips for better listening material. Several drinks and a short walk to the recording studio later, I was comfortably seated on an old couch, the foam padding doing its best to escape from the cracked leather.

The show went well enough, I thought. After some introductions and more factual exposition that these days you'd pick up from Wikipedia, we got into the, ahem, "good stuff". Mark tried his best to extract lurid details of my sexual encounters, while his co-host Alison tried to keep him on track and asked more in-depth questions. When we came back from the first break, the subject turned to jealousy and how to handle it in an open relationship. Mark concocted this elaborate scenario out loud in which Alison was a hypothetical new lover of mine that was somehow "better" than my imaginary primary. Alison tried to brush it off, but I could tell from across the room that she was blushing behind her microphone.

At the next break, Mark ran to the bathroom.

"Does he always try to embarrass you like that?"

"Oh, yeah, at least once a show. But it's, uh, not usually that effective."

Before I could ask what was so "effective" about Mark's teasing, he walked back into the studio. But the thought stuck with me and I stewed on it for the rest of the show. Afterwards, Alison shook my hand, thanked me for coming on the show, and dashed out of the studio. Mark said his thanks as well and told me they'd send me a recording of the broadcast the following week. I left, reasonably happy with what I'd said and wondering if I'd managed to make an impression on anyone.

I stepped out of the student center into gently falling snow, a college campus full of unshoveled sidewalks, and the path of the show's co-host. Bundled up in a heavy winter coat with a hood, Alison almost literally bumped into me. Her bangs fell over her eyes as she looked up at me, but it was her shy smile that cut straight through to my heart.

"Hey. Heading anywhere in particular?" she asked.

This couldn't have been an accidental meeting; the set-up was too good. Still, I fumbled with my words for a moment. "No, uh, just back to my apartment."

"Cool. Do you want to come back to mine instead, then? I'd love to pick your brain some more about the show." Maybe that smile wasn't exactly "shy", but it was incredibly inviting. She looped her arm through mine and suddenly the night air wasn't so cold.

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Alison's third-floor, one-bedroom apartment was typical for the neighborhood around the university: compact, functional, but not cramped. We sat together in her eat-in kitchen, drinking coffee and eating leftover cheesecake from her fridge. The conversation flowed without any effort at all, the two of us chatting late into the evening about nothing and everything: her PhD program (hard), my full-time job (awful), open relationships and their rules (variable), whether I'd ever been jealous of a partner (yes), whether I was seeing anyone at the moment (no), the fact that she was fresh out of a relationship... "a real-- uh, a monogamous one, I mean. Shit, sorry, I'm an asshole--"

I snickered. She'd said the same thing in the studio. "It's okay, I knew what you meant."

"Anyway, he was a jerk, so I dumped his ass." Her shoulders tensed up.

"I'm sorry to hear he wasn't good to you. Let's change the--"

Alison looked down into her coffee. "No, it's fine, I brought it up."

"You totally didn't! I was prying a bit," I said, rising from my chair. "Hey, where's your bathroom?"

"Oh! You passed it on the way in. Back by the front door, on your left."

"Be right back."

She was still staring into her cup when I came back, shoulders practically hunched up around her ears. I took a breath, and instead of returning to my chair, I stepped behind her and gently placed my hands on the back of her shoulders.

"Hey." She looked up at me and smiled, but it was half-hearted, and her eyes dropped back down to her empty cup.

"Hey. You're still pretty upset about that guy, huh?"

"Trying to forget."

"Can I help?" I said, pressing down with the tips of my fingers and immediately finding the tension in her rock-hard shoulder muscles.

She dropped her arms and sighed, trying to relax. "You can definitely do that. Oof, yeah. A little harder," wincing as I dug into her trapezius. I rubbed her shoulders for a few minutes, switching between pointed pressure with my fingers and broader strokes with my palms. I even dug my elbow in at one point to try to loosen up a particularly nasty knot. I wasn't going to fix her shoulders without a lot more work, and definitely not while sitting at her kitchen table, but some of the tension did disperse and eventually she started breathing more deeply and evenly.

"Fuck, that hurts. In a good way though. I'll give you exactly seventeen months to cut that out or I might have to do something drastic."

"Seventeen months exactly, huh? That's awfully specific."

"Yeah, that's when I'm hoping to defend my dissertation."

She crossed her arms, and placing her hands over mine, slid them down off her shoulders to her elbows, drawing me into a slightly awkward hug. I leaned over to follow, and as my head neared hers, she turned and kissed me once, gently, on the cheek. I returned the favor, and she hugged me a little tighter. I found the hem of her shirt and snaked my hands under it, touching her stomach and running my hands around to tickle her sides. She shrieked and jumped off the chair, grabbing my hands and flashing that incredible smile at me again.

Time froze for an instant while she held my hands and we stared into each other's eyes. I'd just met this intelligent, gorgeous woman this evening, but there was something about her that drew me in like a moth to a flame. Her eyes were brilliant and green and just slightly moist, though I hoped that was because I'd just tickled her. I'd felt instant chemistry like this before, several times, but this was fierce. It hit me like a lit match being tossed into a pile of dry kindling. I had no intention of smothering the flames, and it certainly seemed like Alison was into it as well.

She blinked before I did. Still smiling and still holding onto my hands, she walked us backwards into the living room / bedroom at the back of the apartment, stopping only when the backs of her legs bumped against her futon. I stumbled another half-step forward and found myself wrapped in her arms, our lips meeting instinctively.

I've had a number of first kisses in my time. Some are awkward and fumbling. Some are playful, some are too aggressive, some are promises for later, some you'd rather forget, and some are just nice without being exceptional in any way.

This one was perfect.

Alison's lips were soft against mine, an invitation as much as a request, the tip of her tongue darting out to just barely touch me. I pulled back briefly only to quickly peck at her lips a few times, before diving back in to mash my lips against hers. She opened our mouths and our tongues danced, tasting the coffee on each other's breath and reveling in the sensations of someone who liked to kiss exactly the same way. Breaking off to take a deeper breath, I nipped at her lower lip with my teeth and pulled gently, causing her to open her eyes and smile into my mouth.

She dropped her hands from my shoulders and grabbed the hem of my hoodie, causing my hands to wind up on her hips. She dragged my sweatshirt upwards, and I reached for her sweater to do the same. We got caught up on our arms, both trying to take the other's outer layer off, and when our eyes finally met again, she laughed at me and fell backwards onto the futon. By the time I'd untangled myself, dropped the clothes in my hands, and looked back, her shirt was already gone and she'd gotten up on her knees, reaching for my belt.

The next several minutes were a blur as we undressed. Each time a garment was removed, it got tossed randomly about the room, followed by more giggling and more makeouts. When at last we were both naked on the futon, I rolled her onto her back and pounced, eliciting another shriek and more laughter. I tasted her lips, her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. She bit my neck and grabbed at my short hair, holding my head in her hands and kissing my forehead as I moved down, kissing her nipples, then her stomach, and then inhaling deeply as I moved further south.

"Nuh uh, come here if you're gonna do that," she said, reaching for my hips and rotating me around to return the favor. We lay there, soaking up each other's attention, taking turns seizing the lead only to give it up moments later. Slow foreplay became more frantic and less directed, light kisses and gentle fingers turning to strong tongues and insistent hands.

Her orgasm was short and sweet, and echoed through my body as her mouth closed around me. She released me, took a deep breath, and said:

"Condom. Please. Now."

Moments later she slid onto me from above, looking deep into my eyes, kissing me just as deeply with a soft moan. The light from the kitchen spilled into the living room and across our bodies, slashing across my chest and drawing our eyes down to where we were joined. Alison leaned back, a light sweat glistening on her skin, her weight shifting back, grinding her clit against my pelvis as she hilted herself on me.

Slowly, she started to move back and forth, building a bit of speed. Her hair swayed back in forth in rhythm, playing across her shoulders. A single drop of sweat rolled off of her, falling onto my chest and joining with my own. My hands went instinctively to her head, cradling her chin and pulling her down to me, covering her mouth with mine and kissing her deeply. We rolled to the side, ending up with her legs crossed behind my back, urging me into her again and again.

My release built up like a pot of boiling water bubbles under a lid. I thrust into her, desperate to get as much of me as close to as much of her as possible. I felt her nipples poking into my chest as I lowered my head and nipped at her shoulder, a groan escaping my throat. My heart began to race, and our breathing matched in time as I slipped past my peak and cried out, spending myself into the condom, buried deep inside her, feeling her clench around me, gasping with her own climax.

Later, as we drifted off to sleep, I watched the moonlight shine softly through the window, reflecting off the snow outside and covering the two of us in a pale gray light. A small, contented sigh escaped her mouth as she laid her head on my shoulder, eyes closed and that shy, impossibly cute smile still playing across her lips.