The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes

Our Friend in Alaska

Olivia London

Funny, the things you remember.

Years ago, when my husband Trevor was still my boyfriend and we were living in San Francisco (a far wilder cry from the hinterland hamlet we reside in now), my man talked me into fucking his best friend. The things we do for love!

I was giving my boyfriend a hand job one lusty night when he stopped me and said, “Erica, honey. I saw the way you looked at Henry when he helped us move into this overpriced apartment. You were practically salivating watching the tectonic shifts of his muscles as he loaded our boxes into the truck. When you handed him a glass of lemonade, you touched his forearm and stroked his fingers. And I sure noticed the way Henry eyeballed your curves. Would you ever consider a threesome?”

I sat up in bed and said, “For the record, I certainly did not stroke his fingers. I just wanted to make sure the glass was secure in his hand. Every time we go out partying with him, he spills a drink … or two. You know what a klutz he is.”

Trev smiled his wicked smile and pointed his cock at me like a microphone. “You still didn’t answer my question, love. Would you or wouldn’t you?”

Just glancing at my lover’s countenance was enough to arouse interest in anything. He had the kind of face that could get a girl peeling off her panties faster than she could change lanes on a highway at dawn. His grey-blue eyes were always alert with a passion for learning new things, which gave women the impression he was sensitive. I was drawn to his sensitive nature, too, but fortunately Trev had enough push in him to take control in the bedroom and his erotic techniques could please even the most demanding connoisseur of love. Just as in any relationship, we’d had our ups and downs, but even though we had been together since college days, I never wanted anyone else. I already had just who I wanted to turn to for a night of arrant bliss. Sure, a woman has fantasies that can put her mind through the darkest labyrinths of desire, but those are reserved for down times at work and blocking out surly faces on commuter trains. Fantasies are the elixir that keeps our fragile psyches from spilling into aisles and tripping people up with our messy wants.

I never thought I’d be tempted to blur the line between fantasy and reality.

When Trev and I watched porn together, we’d always pick a two-guys-and-a-girl scenario and when I was home alone, masturbating, I’d often imagine a third shadowy figure invading our bed. In the latter event, the interloper was typically a stranger who would give me a sound spanking while my boyfriend fondled his erection. One recurring vision I had was of being forced to kneel in front of two men, alternately sucking their cocks until one man came on my chest and the other jacked off on my belly. Just closing my eyes and thinking of more than one hard-on at my disposal was enough to make me wet.

“Hey, where are you?” Trev asked, bringing me back to the present. God, he was gorgeous. He still had the rugged good looks of a hiker though he knew better than to drag me down a trail. Our only fight occurred when he convinced me how fun mountain climbing would be. I forget at what point I stopped breathing properly and started enumerating all the truly fun things we could be doing, like sipping cocktails at Vino’s or watching movies naked, but things were said that would take a while to be unsaid. It didn’t help that a pack of silver-haired seniors briskly passed us by, high-fiving one another in their use-it-or-lose-it momentum.

“I was just thinking about how into you I am. We’ve been through so much together. Do you really want to invite Henry into our bed?”

Trevor pulled me in for a hug and said, “We can go to his place. He lives alone, you know.”

“You’ve discussed this with him?”

“Sure. If you’re game, this Friday would work. Speaking of games, you get to make all the rules. I could just be a voyeur or an active participant. But, reason I’m even asking you to consider this is that Hen says he’s had it with city life. The poor sod’s moving to Alaska of all places. Moving next week. So it would be a nice farewell gift …”

“Yeah, I get it. We screw each other’s brains to heaven and back then forget it ever happened. Henry in Alaska, though — I can’t picture it.”

Trev guided my hand back to his erection and I instantly wondered what Henry’s cock looked like. There was the penis before me and the phantom penis, the doppelganger dick. No point in choosing if I was being offered both.

The night of the assignation arrived and I was afraid my boyfriend would notice the extra care I took with my appearance. I couldn’t help myself; I was stepping into an erotic wonderland and I wanted to look my best. I brushed my long hair until it shined like chrome and painted my nails oxblood red. My dress wrapped around my body like a winding road of tulle, the material taking to each curve with the smoothest glides and motions. My silk-stockinged feet gladly conformed to the arches of a pair of very expensive stilettos. The delicate lace panties I wore were begging to be yanked off, and, with one muscular pull, they could be. I was ready. More than ready for a phallic overload.

“Wow, you look great,” Trev said, backing me against the wall in our hallway and roaming his hands over my breasts and hips. “This is going to be some night.”

“So do you. Look great, that is. I love that madras shirt you’re wearing. Your casually elegant attire always works for me.”

A half-foot taller than me, Trev dipped his head down for a kiss and rattled his keys in an excited fashion. “Well, let’s not keep the good man waiting.”

Soon we were knocking on Henry’s door in Pacific Heights, banging on the door, really. It was always a mystery how our friend could afford an apartment in such a tony neighbourhood, but Trev and I figured that was Henry’s business. Our friend had been a house painter for many years, putting himself through college working odd jobs. He was the most interesting, well-read person we had ever met but, for some reason, Henry just never found his niche. The poor guy deserved a break. He certainly deserved to get laid.

When the city’s most vaguely employed citizen opened his door, I did a double take. Who was this man?

“Come on in, folks. Let me introduce you to the new Henry.” Gone were the painter’s long black locks and earrings festooned to his left lobe. No more jewellery. No more hair.

“You shaved your head!” I exclaimed, stating the obvious. It was a good change for him, only it made him look employed, which I knew he wasn’t.

Trev and Henry shook hands then, possibly remembering what the night was about, gave each other a hug. Soft jazz was playing in the background, Sade’s sex in a voice it sounded like, and I unconsciously started to sway on my stilts. Henry led me by the hand to his wine rack and let me pick out something suitable for our soiree. I picked a grand Merlot.

The first bottle of wine was strictly for conversation and mood setting. Henry spoke of his plans to work on a fishing boat even though he was a resolute meat and potatoes type. In fact, Trev and I could never get Hen to join us for dinner at a seafood restaurant. Our friend was truly a mystery wrapped in an enigma folded into a hand towel.

Halfway into our second bottle of Merlot, I kicked off my heels and let my feet do a little dance. Henry caught one of my peds and began massaging it in expert circular motions. He had graduated from massage school but never got licensed or put up a shingle. Another topic best avoided. As if on cue, Trev started massaging my other foot and I let my head drop on to the sofa as body and soul melted into undulating waves of relaxation.

“Don’t get too relaxed,” Trev said, then covered my mouth with a deep kiss. When he pulled away, I noticed his trousers were unzipped and his cock was standing sentinel for duty. Without even thinking about it, I went down on him, taking in the length of his penis with long pulls and pausing now and then to canoodle with the bulb on top. A driblet of pre-come glistened at the slit like a dollop of dressing. Perfect complement to every meal.

Suddenly, Henry was taking my face in his hands and moving my mouth to his fully erect penis and I heard him say, “Sure this is OK? With both of you, I mean?” It sounded as if his voice travelled from the end of a tunnel.

It must have been fine with Trev who was now slowly stroking his hard-on and smiling in a blissed-out sort of way. I had to put Henry at ease and what better way than with a blow job?

Taking Henry’s cock for conspicuous consumption, while listening to the slapping sounds my boyfriend’s hand made as he jerked off and watched, was almost more than I could handle. I kissed Henry’s balls, licked the slope of his shaft then pursed my lips around the tip before sucking him all in, all the way down, until it seemed that his cock was exuding out of my very pores. Satisfying as it was to hear Henry moan and curse with pleasure, I ached to have that cock pounding me between my damp thighs.

As if reading my thoughts, Henry guided me to a supine position and pushed his throbbing cock into my wet cunt. Damn, it felt good. Each thrust took my breath away until he had my pussy pinned right where he wanted it and we settled into a rocking rhythm.

I wasn’t one to complain, but missionary-style sex sure gets tired fast, so I was secretly grateful when Trev let slip, “Hey, Hen. Erica prefers to be taken from behind.”

“Is that right?” our buddy asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, slightly abashed.

Henry pulled out so I could reposition myself on my hands and knees. For ballast, I sunk my hands in a space between the sofa cushions. I looked over at Trev, who was still smiling and stroking himself, and blew him a kiss. Henry’s first thrust in the new position absorbed all the moisture I had left and I may have mentioned how much tighter this posture makes me as I heard Henry bark with mounting excitement. He sped up his delivery while Trev exploded, jacking off on his friend’s shoulder and biceps, spackling my hip with a bit of splooge.

Henry’s orgasm was quite intense, as was my own. The three of us fell into a heap on the floor and started laughing then crying then laughing some more. We all agreed another dose of wine was in order, but that first a shower would be nice.

Our friend had an old-fashioned tub with a rust stain forming an orange moustache around the drain, but it was a sizeable porcelain beauty and it was in that shower where a long-time fantasy of mine came true. The three of us were clowning around and soaping each other up, when, on a whim, I sat on the edge of the tub and waited for the guys to rinse off. Before anyone could step on a bath mat, I had Henry’s cock in my mouth again, only this time just for a moment. I turned my head a notch to suck down Trev’s cock then alternated back and forth, going down on two magnificent cocks, listening to the appreciative murmurs of friend and lover as their penile fluids escalated towards fruition. Trevor shot his load all over my breasts. Hen took longer to come but come he did all over my lap and knees. I looked down and was glad I had trimmed my coffee-brown pubic hair that morning. The hair on my head is coffee-coloured too, and Trev liked to call me his ever lovin’ cup of cappuccino.

We were all spent after that … and starving. Henry suggested going downtown for burgers then remembered my little black cocktail dress. He frowned a little. He disliked going to fancy places … unless Trevor was paying.

“Let’s grab something in North Beach,” Trev suggested, adding, “My treat.”

Still scowling, Henry said, “I’d rather we just stay in and order a pizza.” So that’s what we did.

Despite all the sexual festivities of the evening, I couldn’t imagine eating a slice of pepperoni and cheese wearing just my panties and bra. And my dress seemed content where it was scooped into a black puddle near a sofa cushion. Henry went to his room and returned with a long T-shirt for me to wear. Now it was Trevor’s turn to scowl because screwing like mad is one thing, but letting your girl wear another man’s comfortable article of apparel is another matter. It’s the mundane intimacies that always pose a threat.

Finally, I wrapped myself in a sheet and we sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor with its tasteful brocade carpet and discussed Henry’s plans.

“Yeah, well. That Alaska business is all up in the air. San Francisco is where it is … where it’s always been for me.” Henry’s face filtered an expression of such unrequited longing that I had to look away.

“Not if you’re broke, man. Look, you need to go where the money is. You said someone in Juneau offered you a job and-”

“Anchorage,” Henry spat, breaking his friend off. “And all I’m saying is: nothing in this world is ever for certain. Yesterday, I wanted to move to Alaska. Today, I think I might be in love with your girlfriend. Hell, Erica and I might even take off for the wilderness together. Live off the land like that kid in … what’s that book called? Into the Wild. Yeah, like that. How ’bout it, Erica?”

“Oh, Henry. I thought you understood this was a one-time thing. We go way back, but you don’t even know me well enough to know I’m not the outdoorsy type.”

“She gets winded when we’re out grocery shopping.”

“Stop it, Trev. And I’m in love with Trevor, your best friend. Hello!”

“Because he’s successful.”

“How dare you say something like that to me, Hen. Trev has helped you financially through all kinds of creative transitions. I never begrudged that because I think you’re a special person. I’ve never once had a negative thought about you. I thought we were all friends. Good friends. Close enough to fulfil each other’s wildest fantasies.”

Henry dropped his tonsured head into his hands and sat there thinking for a spell. When he looked up, he said, “You’re right. You and Trevor have been the best buddies I ever had, seeing me through messes when no one else would give me the time of day, and here I am trying to spoil it. Sorry.”

Trev slapped his friend on the shoulder. “No need to apologise, man.”

Trevor always has been quick to forgive, one of the many reasons I fell in love with him. We finished our pizza in amiable silence and went home.

Months later, Trevor and I received a postcard from Anchorage with nothing written on it. Of course it had to be from Henry, but we thought it strange he didn’t even sign his name. A year later we received a card from Portland, Oregon. It too was blank. A year after that, Trevor and I left San Francisco, never to return, not that we didn’t want to. Real life has a way of kicking in and taking over. We got married and moved to the Midwest to be near Trev’s family. Now, the only thing we fantasize about is having a day off from our manifold obligations. Every once in a while though, Trev will look at me with a hint of mischief in his eye and say, “I wonder what ever happened to our friend in Alaska?”