Friday, 1 March 2013

Threesome by Robin Sweet

Read by Michael Charles Rogers

Leila was a complete bitch, and Mick was a total bastard, and that pretty much sums up why Jemima was attracted to the pair of them.

At the time it seemed much simpler than that (to wit, they all wanted to fuck each other) and also much more complicated (it was a beautiful conjunction of damaged souls searching for something-or-other in all the tragically wrong places). But then, threesomes are always tricksy that way: so easy to under- and over-estimate. 

Jemima, our heroine, met Leila and Mick in a seedy club under Vauxhall Bridge. Jemima wasn’t into Mick at all, but she rather liked Leila. Leila had consumed large quantities of MDMA and therefore didn’t fancy anyone in the room except herself (but her self thought she was looking particularly ravishing that night, so that was OK). And Mick fell in love with Jemima as soon as he realised she wasn’t interested in him




Mick, who had a boyish charm based entirely on persistence, repeatedly begged Jemima to spank his behind, in the manner of a child in a supermarket demanding an ice lolly. Jemima was coked-up enough to forget she wasn’t into that kind of thing, and so the spanking was purveyed and gratitude was expressed in the smarmiest of terms (‘Oh Mistress, may I kiss your feet?’), and all the while Leila stood swaying in a corner, staring wide-eyed at her own reflection in the mirrors behind the bar.

Mick soon spotted Jemima’s repeated glances at Leila’s narcissistic tableau. He realised that Leila, who was in fact his swinging buddy, represented a great opportunity. And, like the child who knows he’ll get the lolly if he tells Mummy that Daddy already promised him one, he formulated a plan.

‘Come back to mine, Jemima,’ he whined. ‘Pleeeease.’

Jemima gazed doubtfully at Mick’s petulant face. It wasn’t that she objected to sex with someone she barely knew and liked even less, but her powder-enhanced brain was still caressing the idea of Leila.

‘Leila’s going to come too,’ announced Mick.

‘OK,’ said Jemima instantly, ‘but ONLY if Leila comes. If she doesn’t come I’m going home. I mean it. And she can’t just watch. She has to join in.’

Bargain struck, Mick went off to persuade the lovely Leila to accompany him to a taxi. This wasn’t difficult, for Leila actually cherished a secret, proprietorial love for Mick, and wished to oversee proceedings. She was also too off her face to care where she went, as long as she could see a reflection of herself doing it.

As the three thundered along in a black cab, Mick revealed that he was a trained counsellor who worked with disabled children. He watched as a familiar response bloomed on Jemima’s face: an expression of new respect and secret hope he had seen on many female faces on similar nights in similar taxi rides. So neat was the manoeuvre that Leila even woke from her self-regarding swoon long enough to twitch an amused lip as Jemima snuggled closer to Mick and let him slip sausagey fingers into her knickers.

They spilled out of the taxi and into Mick’s front room – which had a musty wank smell with an overtone of pot pourri, Jemima remembered ever after – and sat in mild awkwardness and expectation as Mick chopped out lines on the coffee table and Jemima talked about her career ambitions. The problem, she explained, was that her boss was both horridly controlling and threatened by the fact that she, Jemima, had gone to a better university, and so…

‘Can we get naked now?’ asked Mick, lifting his greedy face from the final line. ‘Oh, go on. Pleeeeaaaase. I want to see her pussy.’

‘I think it’s probably time,’ said Leila languidly, gesturing vaguely in Jemima’s direction.

Jemima glanced from one to the other, and stripped.

Now, you can watch any porno for the basics of what happened next. The only feature of note was the employment of a large black strap-on, which, Jemima later realised, probably shouldn’t have been used on all of three of them in quick succession. Mick took Viagra, but no one but him knew that. Jemima didn’t come, but no one cared about that – not even her. And Leila wept herself to sleep in the front room afterwards, on a lovelorn comedown she richly deserved. Meanwhile, Mick and Jemima heart-to-hearted in a hot bath, called a dealer for more MDMA, agreed that neither of them could trust the other and should therefore not fall in love, and fell asleep entwined, with Mick still erect and his hand cupped for wanking.

Jemima woke at lunchtime the next day to find an unconscious Mick still in the wank position (and still erect) and herself sore, newly-shaved, and hooked. Hooked on what, she would’ve found it hard to say, but the cum-and-pot-pourri smell of Mick’s flat seemed to’ve seeped into her very soul, never to be cleansed.

Leila was having a personal drama in the front room and refused to speak to Jemima, which was confusing. Wasn’t Leila the reason this had all happened in the first place? So, with comedowns from several different substances kicking in, Jemima felt it would be politic to head home. And this was the last she ever saw of either Mick or Leila, except in her memories, imaginings and suppositions, where they featured heavily for the next five or so years. She even sighed as she was treated for Chlamydia six months later, feeling that might be the last precious trace of the pair leaving her system.

Online, both Mick and Leila kept detailed blogs about their sex lives, which Jemima now felt compelled to check several times a day. Shortly after the threesome, Mick and Leila’s blogs were combined as one, and the pair announced that, after much misunderstanding, they had found their soulmates in each other. Much public planning for a romantic holiday on a Greek island ensued. On their return, strangely enough, all entries from the previous month were deleted, the blogs unlinked, and neither ever made mention of the other again.

All that remains is to say that, despite this seemingly tragic ending, all three parties found themselves deeply satisfied by their encounter. That’s because the real buzz of a threesome – whatever French philosophers may write about delicate love triangles, and whatever men’s magazines may proclaim about two for the price of one – is DRAMA, and only those who are turned on by drama make a habit of them. And that is the moral of the story.

Also, always use condoms, even on inanimate objects.
[words: 11

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