by Daniel James Cabrillo
(2/23/00)

Doc's Tale

Pique and Melissa met at the Mommy & Me playgroup; for a time they were inseparable. They were about the same height, just over five feet tall, and under a hundred pounds, and they both looked like teen-agers, but everything else about them was different. Pique was dark, Melissa fair. Pique was quiet, tending to shy, and Melissa was the classic coquette, more than a bit of a tease. Pique was a mystery: you never knew what she was thinking until she told you, if she told you; Melissa never kept a secret thought in her life. Each was sexy on her own, but together they were sexier than the sum of their parts. You almost couldn't look at them without thinking of the delights they promised together.

They were hands-on friends. They walked with their arms around each other's waists, like young Italian women. They fussed with each other's hair. They applied suntan lotion to each other, a treat to behold. But physical though they were, they were never overtly sexual: their touching always had to have an innocent-seeming basis.

We were better off financially than Melissa and her husband, and Pique had a larger wardrobe, which Melissa would hit whenever she had someplace dressup to go. Then, or sometimes just for the fun of it, she would come over and she and Pique would try on Pique's dresses. During those sessions Melissa would take every opportunity to handle Pique, holding Pique's breasts as she admired them, running a hand down her own belly and then down Pique's for a comparison test of flatness; touching, stroking anywhere, everywhere, as they discussed muscle tone and clarity of skin and roundness of tush. Though Melissa was the more aggressive, Pique was not totally passive, and they were not at all furtive about all this touching, which came across as quite natural.

I was attracted to Melissa and made no secret of it; the vision of a threesome with her, Pique, and me was so exquisite it gave me headaches. And, I was sure, it was eminently achievable. Melissa's husband was a musician and their marriage off as often as on, with the off-periods providing opportunities. Pique never denied that it could happen. "If it can happen," I'd say, "let's make it happen." And Pique would say, "maybe," or "we'll see," or other nice things to string me along. Melissa knew I wanted it, too. So together they teased me; maybe "tortured" is a better word. For my birthday they gave me a videotape of the two of them modeling trashy lingerie. I loved that tape.

One night we took Melissa and her husband to a benefit dinner-dance.

While Melissa and I were dancing a slow dance, she could feel me getting a hardon. This is a good way to characterize the difference between Pique and Melissa. If Pique were dancing with her friend's husband and he got a hardon, she probably would step back and pretend not to notice. It's not that she wouldn't like it; she was just more discreet than Melissa. But when Melissa felt my hardon, she looked me straight in the eye, smiled, and pressed herself against it. "Oh, how wicked," she said. "Your wife's best friend, tsk tsk." But as she said it she slipped her hand between our bodies and touched the bulge in my pants.

"Why shouldn't I want to fuck my wife's best friend," I asked, "when my wife's best friend wants to fuck my wife?" Melissa gave my cock a little squeeze and withdrew her hand.

"Do it," I said.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Fuck her," I said. "If you want to fuck her, fuck her. You do want to. And I want you to."

Melissa didn't say anything then, but a few days later -- either coincidentally or because my encouragement emboldened her -- she did take her relationship with Pique into a new realm.

We were renting a beach house at Malibu that summer, and it had a sauna. Melissa had come over late in the afternoon, and that night I asked Pique what they'd been up to. I should mention at this point that whenever I knew that Pique and Melissa had been together, I always asked Pique what they had done, and Pique would make up a sexy story just to get me hard and horny. This time was no exception.

Pique told me that they had taken a bottle of wine and some nice camomile oil into the sauna, that they had shared the wine and oiled themselves and each other, that Melissa had stretched out on the top step and Pique on the next step down to enjoy the heat, and that, when she was half-dozing, Pique had felt a pressure gently pushing her legs apart and opened her eyes to find Melissa kneeling between her upraised knees, a hand on each knee, pushing them outward. Melissa smiled guiltily but said nothing -- neither did Pique -- and ran her hands down the oily insides of Pique's thighs. Her fingers met at Pique's mound and combed through the hair there; her thumbs stroked softly. Pique laid back and closed her eyes; Melissa bent down and kissed Pique's pussy. When Pique did not protest, Melissa licked the soft bud, sipping and supping until Pique began to tremble; then Melissa slid up Pique's body and pressed herself against Pique, breasts mashing against breasts, pussies meshed together, Melissa's tongue probing deep into Pique's mouth as Pique's orgasms coursed through her.

Pique let it all happen. She didn't reciprocate, but she did nothing to stop Melissa, either.

When it was over, Melissa sat up and said sheepishly, "I couldn't resist, you looked so beautiful, all oily and sexy..." And Pique just giggled about it, took it matter-of-factly as an extension of their play --although in truth it was a little one-sided.

As I said, Pique had told me similar stories before. But this one was the best, the most realistic. It aroused me so much that we started fucking while she was still telling it to me.

And as we fucked and I listened I realized the story was true. Don't ask me how I knew; I just did; I could tell it had really happened -- and that got me hotter still. We must have fucked for two straight hours.

There were a couple of other incidents, in which Melissa was the aggressor and Pique the willing recipient. I was sure that with the right kind of encouragement Melissa would be glad to join me and Pique in bed. Pique agreed. "Then why haven’t we done it?" I asked. "Do you think she'll try to take me away from you, is that it?"

"No," said Pique. "I think she'll try to take me away from you."

One night after midnight Melissa called to say she was at the end of her rope with her husband and could she come over?

She could and she did. I heard the soft din of their voices as they sat in the living room, drinking wine and commiserating quietly long into the night.

Presently I slipped into my robe to get a bottle of water from the kitchen. En route I stopped at the living room entrance and looked in. Melissa, all cried out, was lying on the sofa, her head propped against an arm cushion, her legs extended across the seat and crossed at the ankles. She was wearing a fuzzy, low-cut sweater -- Pique's, I think --and a pair of slacks, and she looked cuddly, sad, and sexy, all at once. Pique was wearing a silk robe and nothing underneath; she kneeled on the floor beside Melissa, absently stroking Melissa's hair. It was an intimate scene, one friend comforting another, but there was a palpable sexually to it; either way I felt like an intruder and turned to go.

But just then Melissa noticed me, and so did Pique, and they smiled and said hi.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Sure, come on in," said Pique. I hesitated. "Really, it's all right, isn't it, Mel?" And Melissa said, "We need you, just to prove that there are good men left," and she pulled her stockinged feet back to make room for me on the sofa. I sat beside her, and she extended her legs straight out again, and put her foot in my lap. As the two women sketched in Melissa's unfortunate marital crisis, my cock stirred and stiffened under Melissa's feet. There was no way she could not feel it.

I took Melissa’s feet in my hands and gently massaged them. I don't remember much of what was said. I do remember realizing that while I may have intruded upon their intimacy, I had not shattered it, and with that realization I felt more at ease. At one point Melissa shifted a little, turning more toward Pique. I released her foot, and she immediately pressed her heel against the hardening lump that was my cock, and at the same time slipped her hand inside Pique's robe and took hold of her breast.

Both Pique and I were surprised: we simultaneously stiffened at the gestures and sucked in air. Melissa smiled; so did we; then we relaxed. I moved my hands up Melissa's legs under the full-cut pants she was wearing, but my eyes were fixed on where Melissa's hand disappeared into Pique's robe. How I longed to see what it was doing.

Melissa read my mind, which probably wasn't difficult, and pushed the fabric aside, exposing Pique's beautiful white breast in Melissa's softly caressing hand, Pique's hard dark nipple pinched between the tips of Melissa's index finger and thumb. Pique and I both responded, I moving my hands further up Melissa's legs, Pique leaning forward to undo the catch of Melissa's slacks and slipping her hand inside.

When I took hold of the cuffs of her slacks, Melissa raised her ass so I could pull them down her legs and off. Pique's hand was under the pink panty satin, her fingers combing through the hair, her middle finger stroking.

Without taking my eyes off the event, I stood up and moved the coffee table away. When I'd done that, Pique looked up at me then down at Melissa's panties, into which Pique's hand disappeared. It was a signal to me; I pulled Melissa's panties down just enough to expose her pussy and the lovely sight of Pique's two fingers gently stroking Melissa's clit, then slowly disappearing into Melissa's cunt.

Just as slowly, and watching my face, Pique withdrew her fingers, turned to me, untied the sash of my robe, and pushed the robe off. It puddled at my feet, leaving me standing dumbly naked before them, my hard cock bobbing in front of me. Pique took it into her mouth for a moment or two, and then she backed off, sat up on her knees and took her own robe off. Pique and I were both naked now, and we turned to Melissa.

While I rolled Melissa's panties the rest of the way down her legs and pulled them off, Pique took hold of the bottom of Melissa's cashmere sweater and lifted it over her head. Melissa wore no bra, so now she, like us, was naked.

When Melissa sat up, Pique put one hand on my ass and pressed me forward, and the other hand behind Melissa's head and pushed it forward. Melissa's lips met my cockhead and opened, and she took my hard prick into her mouth. She sucked softly and enthusiastically, but only briefly, for Pique separated us, drew Melissa down to the floor on her back, got behind her, and cushioned the back of Melissa's head between her breasts.

I, too, was on my knees, kneeling between Melissa's outstretched legs. Pique took hold of Melissa's breasts, one in each hand, and offered them to me. I bent forward and sucked on each nipple in turn; at the same time my fingers probed her pussylips, entered between them, pussy-played. Melissa reached for my cock; I had to scamper closer so she could reach it; she stroked it in her fist and kneaded the balls. Our hands played in each other's genitals in perfect concert.

Melissa smiled up at me, opening her mouth a little, wanting a kiss.

"Don't you want to kiss Melissa?" Pique asked. "I think she wants a kiss."

Of course I obliged, lowering my face to hers and kissing Melissa’s mouth softly but deeply as our hands continued to caress each other. After a few minutes of smooching and handplay, Pique smiled lovingly at me and nodded, and I moved forward, knees closer to Melissa's body.

Melissa lifted her hips and placed the head of my cock at her opening. I left it there, head against those plump, waiting lips. Then Pique took Melissa's head in her hands and gently laid it flat on the floor and straddled it; she reached under and spread her pussylips and lowered herself over Melissa's mouth. Melissa's tongue shot up and flicked at Pique's clit. I bent forward and sucked Pique's beautiful tits. Melissa took Pique by the hips and pulled her down against her open mouth, shot her tongue out to lick Pique's pussy, then shoved it in to slurp and explore.

Pique lifted my face away from her tits. She wanted to watch this: She put her hands on my buttocks, urged me forward. There was a brief tug as my cockhead pushed against Melissa's pussy lips; then they parted and I entered, my hard cock sliding smoothly into the soft, wet warmth. I felt my whole body slacken with pleasure as I watched my prick pump into Melissa.

I looked up along Melissa's body, watched her stomach contract and relax as she fucked back; I saw her unattended tits trembling; then I saw Pique's middle moving against Melissa's mouth and tongue in sympathetic rhythm. I looked up along Pique's body, saw Melissa's hands on Pique's hips, guiding her movements, and Pique's hands squeezing her own tits. And finally I saw Pique's face, looking at my face and smiling as she and I matched movements into and against the pleasure-giving supine figure beneath us.

"I love you," I said without sound, just mouthing the words, and Pique said the same, the same way.

Melissa and her husband split up for good shortly thereafter, and for a time we were a classic ménage à trois. Well, almost classic. We couldn't really live together because of the kids. The month or two that followed were truly among the most exciting of my life. We really had the knack. It was seldom about configurations with us; we soon tired of those. Most of the time we two-on-one; that is, two of us would make love to the third. At other times we would be two with the third looking on.

Much as I loved being the male lover with two women, the thing about it that excited me most was watching Pique and Melissa fuck. And fuck they did, even though they both remained women. They used no dildos; neither assumed the male or female role; but they embraced, entangled, mashed and thrashed as any fuckers would, and they were beautiful.

The very first weekend of our three-cornered relationship we had another of those black-tie benefits, and we asked Melissa to join us. (We offered to get her a date but she said, "Why do I need a date?" I loved that.)

Anyway they were both so pretty that night, Pique in an elegant black gown, Melissa in a stunning red, both looking sexy and scrumptious and youthful. I felt great. I don't know what was closer to bursting that night: my head, my chest, or my cock; they were all swollen.

I was talking to a friend during the evening and turned around and there they were, Melissa and Pique, talking to the actor Michael J. Fox (who isn't that much taller than they). And flirting. And turning him on. And I knew exactly what he was thinking. And what he wanted, I had.

Before long, though, it became obvious that Pique's reservation about a threesome with Melissa had been correct. Melissa wanted Pique much more than she wanted me. Indeed, after awhile it was easy to see that Melissa fucked me because that was the only way she could get to fuck Pique. I didn't care; I'd take it any way I could get it.

Then Melissa insisted on having time with Pique alone, which was okay with me, although Pique didn't like where Melissa was headed. Finally Melissa started working on Pique to leave me so they could go off together. Pique wasn't interested, so Melissa, rejected, tried to get me to leave Pique for her. Not a chance.

Now twice rejected, Melissa became totally destructive, and not only did the ménage à trois fall apart, but so did the friendship.

The outcome is sad, I think. They were such good friends. And though I don't think she'll admit it, Pique still misses Melissa.

I know I do.

Pique's Postscript

Soon after our threesome began, Melissa started getting seductive when Doc wasn't around. She wanted us to make love without Doc. I felt uneasy about it but when I told her about my doubts, she made it clear to me that that was part of the package.

Melissa was smart. She knew how much Doc was enjoying our threesome, and she knew it wouldn't be easy for me to take it away from him. So I was in a quandary. I'd fuck the Oakland Raiders if I could, but only if Doc suited up with them. I don't cheat on him, period.

So I explained my dilemma to Doc. Or, rather, I started to -- as soon as he realized what I was getting at, he let me know that it was okay with him. If my making love with Melissa was the price of keeping our threesome with Melissa going, he wanted me to pay it. It wasn't as if it was a sacrifice or anything. He saw how much I enjoyed doing sex with Melissa; "You like it, do it!" was Doc's attitude.

And we did have fun. Melissa was no newcomer to women. Even before we started our threesome, Melissa used to tell me stories. When she and Rudy first got married they shared a house in Toronto with the other two married guys in Rudy's band and their wives. The band was on the road a lot and whenever they were, the three wives played. (I think she used to tell me these stories as a way of coming on with me, getting me aroused. I guess it did -- at least, it made me curious, which is step one.) Sometimes the women prowled -- they once picked up a kid who was hitch-hiking and brought him back to the house and kept him there for three days -- but mostly they did each other. I'm not sure if, or how often, she had seen the women since that time, or if she'd seen other women, but the point is, she'd had experience.

Not that I needed teaching. I'd had my share of touchy-feely experiences as a teenager, and there was nothing in the idea of making love with a woman that repulsed me -- especially when the woman was Melissa, who was so cute and cuddly and affectionate and feminine. Besides -- let's face it -- a woman doesn’t need to be taught what to do to make another woman feel good.

God, it was great. Doc's blessing gave me the freedom to let myself go. And how Melissa exploited it: she was at me constantly. I was willing, eager, even greedy sometimes. When we were apart I craved the look and feel and smell of her; my mouth watered for her lips and the silly way she'd run her tongue along my lips and teeth, and for the feel of her nipples puckering in my mouth, and for the taste of her sweet salty pussy.

But mostly I craved the things she did to me, which was everything, anywhere, all the time. We always seemed to be doing something. She ate me in the ladies room of Jimmy's restaurant, with ladies coming in and out. I came. We fingered each other when we went to see Back to the Future together one afternoon. We both came. I buzzed her with a little vibrator the whole time she was on a conference call with her lawyer and her soon to be ex-husband -- and made her come then, too, without missing an issue. It seems to me that we were always coming. I never knew it was possible to come that much.

But the worries I had about this affair before it started weren't wrong. Melissa had an agenda and it was me. And it was dangerous. You know how it is when you're in the throes of a new sexual relationship -- it's new, it's intense, and you want it every minute. Alongside of it an older relationship can't possibly stay as exciting. Melissa knew that; she knew how exciting this was to me, and she knew all the sex we were doing would begin to drain away some of the heat from sex with Doc. I knew it, too, so I made sure that I -- and I and Melissa -- kept Doc happy. But it required acting sometimes, forced effort; for the first time ever sex with Doc became almost dutiful.

And then Melissa began to cut the underpinnings of my marriage. She was my best friend, she knew everything about Doc and me, and she would create situations that highlighted the weaknesses of my marriage -- and the strengths of my relationship with her. At first it was very subtle. For example, I'm a jock, a much better athlete than Doc. I always beat him at tennis, and I'm a far better skier. He always went skiing with me, though, until he had surgery a couple of years ago and gave it up. Anyway, Melissa had the great idea that we should go skiing. Doc fell right into Melissa's trap by saying that he couldn’t go, but Melissa and I should. And we did -- and had a fabulous time. It was one way of Melissa's showing me that we can have more fun without Doc than with.

And from there on, Melissa escalated, obliquely putting Doc down, creating circumstances that made him the third element of the threesome. Until finally I said, "Melissa, what do you want? Do you want me to leave Doc for you?"

She said, "Would that be such a terrible idea?"

"Yes," I said, "it would. And if you think it could ever happen put the idea out of your mind right now because it never will." And she took it pretty well, and we went on.

About a week after that conversation we were having lunch at the Polo Lounge, and our waiter was young, cute, and flirtatious. Melissa encouraged him, of course, flirting back, asking him what time he got off, using double entendres.

"He likes us," she said.

"I know," I said.

"I'm going to do him," she said.

"Melissa!" I said. "He's a baby."

"Doesn't bother me," she said. "Besides, the only guy I'm fucking is Doc. I've got to find a prick of my own."

She was serious, though at the time I didn't realize how serious.

After lunch we went back to Melissa's house and took a long, lazy bath together. We were seated face to face with a glass of wine, our toes toying with each other's pussies, enjoying a lazy foreplay, when I noticed Melissa looking past me, smiling. I looked to see.

There in the doorway stood the cute young waiter. It seems that in the restaurant, while I went to the ladies’ room, Melissa had slipped a note into the check folder. The note contained her address and the suggestion that he come straight over after work and let himself in; she'd leave the door unlocked.

I turned back to Melissa. "Oh, no," I said.

But she interrupted. "No, no, no, no," she said. "He's just for me. I just thought we'd give him a little show first... Then you can watch."

I didn't like it, and if I hadn't been so light-headed from the wine and aroused from the foreplay I would have dressed and left. But to tell you the truth, I liked the idea of performing for the kid, of turning him on and then watching as Melissa fucked him.

There's a robe behind the door, Melissa told the boy, and as we continued our bath, sudsing each other up, cleaning and scrubbing, the boy undressed slowly and slipped into the robe. Poor thing -- he couldn't resist the urge to stroke himself as he watched. "Better be careful," Melissa said to him. You don't want to..." But it was too late, he was too worked up; he came in several big spurts.

"Tsk Tsk," said Melissa as she and I climbed out of the tub. "But of course at your age... it won't take long, will it?"

She kissed him, then kissed me, and said, "We'll just have to put on a show for him, won't we -- to help him along." And so we dried each other in big, fluffy bathtowels and put a little powder on each other, doing everything very slowly and sweetly, showing off for the waiter, and then we went into the bedroom and sat the boy down in the easy chair where he could watch, and we dropped our towels and climbed into Melissa's bed and Melissa went to work on me.

She was truly inspired. She laid me on my back and used her hands and mouth on my face, my breasts, my belly, the insides of my thighs; in fact she used her whole body, now rubbing and sliding her flesh against mine, now lifting away and tracing my contours with her nipples until I was squirming and writhing with joy and desire. And then she scooted down and put her mouth around my pussy and pushed her tongue between my pussylips and found my clit. She licked, she sucked, she nipped, and she was wonderful. I raised my ass up off the bed and pushed my center against her, the better to feel her tongue pressing my clitoris back into the pelvic bone. Oh, the noises I made!

When she saw that I was close to coming she slowed down, eased up to prolong the fun. She turned me over onto my stomach, massaged my back and the insides of my thighs, kissed my buttocks and licked between them, and darted her tongue under, dabbing at my cunt again, prodding me up, up again, toward my peak, and then she laid down flat on top of me, pressed her tits into my back and pushed her pubic hair into the flesh of my ass and kissed me on my neck and licked my ears.

As I started to tremble Melissa reached under me and took hold of my tits, put her legs inside mine and hooked my ankles with her feet and suddenly, quickly, turned us both over.

Now we were both face up, with me on top, Melissa's hands on my tits holding me against her, her ankles inside mine pushing my legs apart. And then I got it, I understood: she had gotten me into position and locked me there, spreadeagled and exposed, open and ready.

And sure enough, as soon I realized it, the waiter was there, climbing onto the bed, kneeling between my legs, looming. Inside my head I was saying "No! no! Stop this, I've got to stop this, no..." But when I saw him move at me with his prick in his hand, ready to go, I knew I couldn't get away and didn't want to get away: I wanted to feel that prick more than I wanted him to stop.

The waiter placed his cockhead at my niche; Melissa squeezed my tits and raised our legs to cross over his calves. I was fully committed now: not only did I not resist; I thrust my hips upward to capture the waiter's invading prick.

The second his fat cockhead pushed through my lips and entered my channel, I came. I kept on coming, coming in great spastic clenchings, and so the entire fuck was contained within my orgasms. The waiter drove into me like a piston, his cock rockhard and strong and unstoppable, each downplunge filling me up and keeping me coming. Sharp pangs of pleasure -- stripes of ecstasy -- streaked from my womb and coursed through my innards, galvanizing my flesh, sparking my nerve endings, singeing the very tips of my nipples and fingers and toes. It was all peak and no valley and it made me crazy: I thrashed, I bucked, I grabbed, grabbed any way I could, with my fingers, with my cuntwalls, fucking him back as hard as he fucked me.

The orgasm never faded, just kept rolling, but there was only so much bucking and clenching my body could do before I started to cramp, and eventually the pain overtook the pleasure and I had to stop. I tried to push him away or squirm free but I was trapped between him and Melissa, and all I could do was reach my hand down and pull the waiter's cock out of me. I wanted to bend it downward and back and put it in Melissa, but the waiter, panicked to find himself close to coming but bobbing unsheathed, momentarily eased up and I scampered out from between them, and he placed his cock himself and plunged into Melissa.

I lay on my side beside them, took his balls in my hand and held them gently as he fucked her, and I looked at her face and she looked at mine and we kept our eyes locked like that, even as the waiter started coming, and as he shot inside her, she smiled at me.

I was first to move. I got up off the bed and went to the bathroom. I won't say that I was disgusted with myself, although I'm sure that on some deep level I was, but I was defensive; my thoughts ran to, "Okay, great, now I've done it, I fucked another man, big deal, it was great, the greatest fuck of my life, and I'm going to fuck again because I loved it and I want more and what difference does it make?" When thoughts of Doc flashed in my head I told myself he'd pushed me into this, which wasn't all there was to it, but it was true to the extent that he wanted me to keep it going with Melissa no matter what. This was a what.

When I got back to the bed Melissa was on her hands and knees sucking the waiter's diminished but not hopeless cock, and she looked at me and kept sucking him, taking him full inside her mouth, fucking him with her lips and bathing him with her tongue, but watching me, all the while looking straight at me, until at last he came, shooting into Melissa's mouth.

From there on it was a debauch. I called home and said I was spending the night at Melissa's -- which was fine with Doc, of course. Melissa and I fucked each other while the waiter slept, and took turns fucking him when he woke up. I kept drinking wine and passed out.

At around midnight I woke up being fucked. Great, let’s get going, and I was into it. But as I fucked I became aware that the bed was shaking more than it should have been and the moaning and groaning and giggling contained too many voices. I opened my eyes and there beside were Melissa and the waiter fucking.

Who was fucking me, for God's sake?

I looked up and saw someone I'd never seen before. "Oh, God I’m lost," I thought as I thrashed and writhed beneath the stranger. Lost, as I lifted my ass up to meet his plunging prick. This was a first, even for me. The first time I lay eyes on somebody is while he's laying me. Lost lost lost, as I fucked and fucked and fucked the night away.

Seems that while I slept the waiter had called a friend to come over, to even out the numbers. Melissa's suggestion, no doubt.

Since we'd used Melissa's car the day before, she had to drive me home in the morning.

During the ride I told her I thought we had to stop. I loved her, she was my friend, but I felt I was becoming somebody I didn't want to be.

And it was true. I'm the first to admit that sexually there's not much I won't do. I love sex; to me it's the greatest of all amusement park rides. But Doc is my honey and I love him and I won't betray him. And I just had.

"And loved it," Melissa said.

"Yes," I said, "I loved fucking the waiter, loved the way it felt physically, loved fucking his friend, loved fucking you, but talk about amusement park rides, that's all that night was -- thrilling, but only thrilling, and when it was over, empty."

"Like us?" she asked.

"You know better than that," I said.

She was quiet for awhile, then she took an audio cassette from her handbag and slipped it into the player.

It was a recording of Melissa and Doc, in bed, fucking, sucking, laughing, having a fine and dirty old time.

I didn't say anything or shut it off. I let it play. It was still playing when we got to my house and I got out.

And that was that.

The funny thing is, I think our friendship could have survived but for one thing: that tape. Doesn't that sound odd? She fucked my husband behind my back; okay, that's Melissa, I could've lived with that. She did all in her power to make me betray my husband, and she succeeded, but somehow I think that wasn't malicious: it was her way of showing me I was no better than she was.

But making that audio tape -- she did that for one reason only: to hurt me. And it did.

Melissa tried me first, then Doc. When we both rejected her, she punished us by proving to us, separately, that we were both as capable of betrayal as she was.

Of course we were. Of course we are. Big deal. Betrayal's our exception, not our rule. We're together. She's alone.

Eventually I told Doc about the waiter. Eventually he told me about his fucking Melissa alone. And -- no question about it --the admissions caused pain and strain for awhile. But we got past it -- not by blaming Melissa, but by realizing what we knew down deep all along: that indulging our lust for her was going to cost us something.

I still miss the friend she was, though. I really loved her. And when I think about what happened, I don't regret anything, because early along, our threesome gave me some of the sexiest, hottest, most loving moments of my life.

A few times after we all three became lovers, we would go down to Doc’s and my bedroom, and instead of getting into bed with Doc and Melissa I'd plop myself down in the chair and say, "Okay you two, never mind me, go to it!" And I'd watch them. I would watch them undress each other. I would watch him go down on her. I would watch her blow him. I would watch them fuck. Now and then they'd look my way and I'd say, "No, I'm not here, forget me." And they would. And you know what? They were the hottest, most stimulating sight I'd ever seen. I loved watching them. I loved the sight of her lips on his cock and his tongue on her clit and his cock pumping merrily in and out of her pussy. And lord, how I loved watching them come, Doc shooting his cream into her in great spastic jerkings, Melissa tossing her legs straight up in the air when she started to peak, heaving her hips upward, slamming her pelvis against Doc’s to make sure her cunt captured every available cock inch. Eventually I would join them, and love it, but it's the watching I remember best, the watching that got me hot, the watching that put images in my memory that get me hot even now.

My husband and my best friend, fucking each other. Nothing ever made me hotter. Or happier.