Thirty - Jill Emerson [29]
And they began to make love to me.
The foreplay must have gone on for an hour. Both of them busy at once, and me the apex of the triangle, all their attentions focused entirely upon me. Kisses here and there, hands ever busy, two mouths and four hands and the special perception of grass and hash making me feel everything separately and yet everything together.
Interesting, this. I had thought that group sex would be, well, confusing. Hard to follow.
Strange.
How to put it?
Well, I had thought that it would be complicated by the difficulty of relating to more than one person at a time. And on a more physical level, by the difficulty of paying physical attention to more than one set of caresses. If you were really enjoying having your breast sucked, how to contend with the simultaneous assault of another tongue upon your clitoris?
Hah!
Take my word for it, Mirror Girl. If you tried it, you would find a way to enjoy it.
Oh, wow!
I think the grass makes a tremendous difference. Although since that first time I’ve seen them again and we haven’t always smoked although we usually do, and you can get almost the same effect without the grass. Not as strong but you can do it. David says that the grass is abeacon, it shows you the way, and then you can make the same trip later or in the darkness once you know the route. I think it’s a particularly good metaphor, it says it all.
I wonder if there isn’t a major connection, though, between grass and group sex. The big use of the one and the big new thing for the other. They all come out of the same new openness, I know that, but maybe there’s more. Group sex is psychedelic, I guess.
The first time, on David’s bed, everything was for me, everything. They did not touch each other at all. It was not really three-way sex but a woman being loved by two men. And it was, oh—
After those subjective hours of foreplay, after an endless coming, hours of coming, after taking them in turn into my mouth and hands, after feeling all of them everywhere, they put me on my side. Arnold’s long slender penis skewered me from behind, shishkebabed my bottom (The pain that had been there when Eric did this was not present now. I had learned—from Eric’s teaching—to relax the sphincter and enjoy it. And Arnold was somewhat slimmer, and I think used a lubricant in the bargain.) And then, while my bottom held Arnold nicely in place, David came at me from the front and touched my breasts and kissed my mouth and slid his own nicely curved penis into my cunt.
Sheer heaven. They remained relatively still at first and I rocked back on Arnold, then forward at David, and on each stroke there was the double sensation, the sensation of the one ever-so-gently withdrawing and the other ever-so-gently attacking, and then as we were more comfortable and secure in the position they began to take up the movements, double-fucking me and at the same time using my body to fuck each other. I could never describe this effectively, I could write about it forever and not get it all down. There was so much going on! Perception so acute, all that grass and hash going for us, all that sweet control, that ability to slide one’s concentration into any part of one’s body, and God, God, it was wonderful.
Afterward I lay with utter rivers of sperm dripping out of me fore and aft and feeling like a goddess, a goddess.
Since then we’ve done everything, everyone doing everything to everyone, and it’s been great, but the first time was somehow special. First times are supposed to be special, aren’t they?
Everything is so nice and free and easy these days.
April 3
Eric still hasn’t called.
I am of two minds about this, she said deliberately. No, I really am. On the one hand I would just as soon he never called. He had his fun with me, she said grimly. And I with him, as far as that goes, and it did open me up, no question about it.
But.
But he scares the shit out of me, to be both crude and accurate about it. So on the one hand I would as soon stay with