My First Threesome

I enjoy writing from a variety of perspectives. Here is one from the man’s POV. 🥂

I noticed Jezebel because she was dancing beside her table.

A band played at the far end of the bar. Most people talked over it, but she kept moving whenever the music got good, wine in one hand, auburn hair sliding over the shoulders of a short red dress.

Her friend stayed in the booth with a camera bag beside her, dressed all in black and dark colors already watching me watch Jezebel.

I looked down at my whiskey.

“Subtle.”

Jezebel had crossed the room without me noticing. She stood beside my stool with her wine, smiling through thin gold glasses.

“I was watching the band.”

“The band isn’t even over there.”

I turned around.

She was right. The damn band was behind us.

She laughed and took the stool next to mine.

“Okay,” I said. “I was staring.”

“I know.”

“My name is Graham.”

“Jezebel.”

She took a drink, looked me over, then asked, “How old are you?”

I nearly swallowed the wrong way.

“Sixty-three.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Oh good!!”

“Good?”

“Yes. Very… good.”

She left it there.

I had been divorced four years, and the few dates since had all gone about the same. Dinner, careful questions, somebody checking the time and pretending they weren’t.

Jezebel asked my age first. That has never happened.

She nodded toward the booth.

“That’s Lacey.”

Lacey lifted her glass.

“Does she always look that happy?”

Jezebel glanced back at her friend.

“She is happy!!”

“That is happy?”

“You should see her annoyed.”

Lacey slowly raised one finger in our direction.

Jezebel laughed, nearly spilling her wine.

“So, why are you here alone?”

“Antique car auction.”

“Did you buy one?”

“Nah. Sometimes just seeing is enough.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing really felt right.”

She leaned one elbow on the bar.

“You drove all this way, looked at things you wanted… and left without one?”

“I haven’t necessarily left yet.”

“No. You’re sitting here staring at me.” She giggled.

My face warmed.

Jezebel smiled.

“I like older men, Graham. You really can stop looking terrified.”

“I’m not terrified.”

“You were looking at that whiskey like you wanted to climb inside it!”

She was right, so I drank some. Maybe it’ll take the edge off.

The band started another song.

Jezebel slipped from her stool and held out her hand.

“Come dance with me.”

“I don’t dance.”

“You were staring at my butt five minutes ago. You can manage one song.”

I looked toward Lacey. She was still watching us. I could have sworn she smiled for a split second.

“That does not make this any easier.”

Jezebel followed my eyes. She seemed to be very focused.

“She won’t bite you.”

“I might,” Lacey called with a hint of laughter.

Jezebel turned back to me, her auburn hair moving in the spin.

“See?! She likes you!!”

I took her hand.

The dance floor was a patch of carpet between the tables and the band. Jezebel put my hand on her waist and stepped close enough that I could feel her through the dress.

My arm went stiff.

“You are very tense,” she said, biting her lip.

“I’m dancing with a beautiful woman while her friend decides whether she wants to eat me.”

“That is a lot for one evening.”

Her hair kept brushing my chin, and whatever perfume she wore smelled of vanilla and honey fig. Amazing.

I looked down the front of her dress.

Jezebel caught me.

“You can look,” she said with a wink.

“I’m trying not to be rude.”

“I wore this dress on purpose.”

She moved my hand lower on her waist.

“Stop acting like I accidentally have boobs!”

I chuckled.

She smiled up at me. I forgot about Lacey for a few seconds. This woman. Wow.

When the song ended she stayed close.

“Ask Lacey.”

“To dance?” I was caught off guard.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think she wants to.”

“Neither do I. It’ll be funny!!”

“For you.”

“Obviously!!”

She walked back to the booth.

Lacey watched me approach.

“Jezebel told me to ask you to dance.”

“I heard.”

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Well, okay then.” I started to sit.

Lacey sighed, finished her drink, and stood.

“One song.”

She left some room between us, one hand on my shoulder and the other in mine.

“Sorry about this,” I said.

“I could have stayed seated.”

“You looked like you wanted to.”

“I usually look like that.” She giggled.

I glanced toward the booth. Jezebel sat with her chin in one hand, smiling at us.

“She is enjoying this too much.” Even though I hardly knew her, I felt as if I knew her my whole life. There is just something about this woman.

“Yes, no doubt about that.” Lacey looked down at our hands, then wrapped her fingers around mine.

I looked at her.

She said nothing.

When the song ended, Jezebel had another round waiting.

We stayed until last call at 2am.

Jezebel told me she wrote romance stories. Lacey corrected her every time she exaggerated something about their travels over the past few months. Jezebel stole ice from Lacey’s glass and acted confused when Lacey looked at her. Both of them had me laughing in tears the entire time. What memories.

They had been living in an RV together.

“Well, we both live there,” Jezebel said. “Lacey keeps it organized. I bring…. personality?”

“You bring shoes,” Lacey said, giggling. “And phone cases.”

“I need options!”

“You brought fourteen pairs of shoes.”

“Fifteen,” I said.

They both looked at me.

I pointed beneath the table. “The red ones.”

Jezebel smiled. “See?! He pays attention!!”

The bartender began stacking chairs.

Jezebel turned toward me. “Do you want to see the RV?”

“The shoe collection?” I couldn’t help myself. These two women made it too easy.

“The whole thing.”

I looked over at Lacey.

She picked up the camera bag and stood.

We walked a few blocks to an old roadside motel. The RV was parked behind it under a flickering light.

Jezebel regretted her heels before we reached the end of the street. She made it quite obvious.

“These are trying to kill me!!”

“You chose them,” Lacey said.

“They looked so cute.”

“They still look very cute.”

“Thank you!!” Jezebel hooked her arm through mine as we crossed the parking lot.

“See, this is why we brought a man!!”

“To keep you upright?”

“That… too.”

Inside the RV, Lacey set her camera bag on the dinette and locked the door.

The click made me look back.

“Nervous?” she asked.

“Maybe a bit.”

“Good,” Lacey said before running her tongue over her top lip seductively.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Jezebel kicked off her heels.

“Because assholes usually don’t worry this much. So you’re more than likely okay.”

I moved a book before sitting down. A blanket had been shoved into one corner, and two cups were still in the sink.

“I should probably go,” I said.

Jezebel opened a cabinet.

“You can.”

She took out three glasses.

So I stayed.

We sat at the dinette. Jezebel beside me, Lacey across. Jezebel’s bare knee rested against mine under the table.

She poured the wine.

“How long have you been divorced?” she asked.

“Four years.”

“Do you miss her?”

Lacey looked at her.

“What??” Jezebel said. “I wanted to know.”

“You usually do.”

Jezebel turned back to me.

“You don’t have to answer.”

“Sometimes,” I said. Usually in the morning, when I’m alone.

She nodded and traced the edge of her glass with one finger.

“What about you?” I asked.

“What about me?”

“Do you ever miss somebody you know you shouldn’t?”

Her smile disappeared.

“Yeah.”

Lacey’s hand stopped halfway to her glass.

Jezebel looked down at the table.

“More than I like admitting.”

Nobody said anything for a second.

“People act like I should know better by now,” she said.

“About missing him?”

“About… everything.”

Lacey reached across the table and touched two fingers to Jezebel’s wrist. Jezebel turned her hand over and squeezed once before Lacey pulled away.

Then Jezebel looked at me.

“How long since you brought anyone home?”

“A while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Jezebel,” Lacey said.

“What??”

“Four years,” I said.

Jezebel watched me for a second.

“I wanted you at the bar.”

My hand tightened around the glass.

“You can’t just say things like that.”

“I just did.”

She put down her wine and moved onto my lap.

My knee hit the underside of the table.

“Fuck.”

Jezebel laughed.

“Are you okay?!”

“I think so.”

Lacey moved the wineglasses out of reach.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

Jezebel put both hands against my face and kissed me.

Her fingers moved into my hair. My hands found her waist, then slid over the red dress.

She kissed me harder.

I opened my eyes and saw Lacey watching from across the table.

I pulled back.

“She’s watching.”

“I know.”

Jezebel glanced at her.

Lacey’s hand tightened against her thigh when I looked over.

“Does you girls always do this?” I asked.

“No,” Jezebel said. She kissed me again, then looked at Lacey.

“Are you joining us or grading us?”

Lacey stood.

The space between the dinette and the kitchen barely held all three of us.

Jezebel climbed off my lap.

Lacey stopped in front of her.

Nobody moved.

Then Lacey kissed her.

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