by Hazel October
(12/10/03)

Instead of fucking, we decided to go out to dinner. Yeah, living together is fun and convenient, and roommates never walk in on your greatest sexual moments, and nobody has to go home in the cold, but after seven months our life had become just a little bit...routine. So we went to Giambastiani's, our favorite local pizza-pasta place.

I was feeling slightly miffed at David's ability to withstand my fatal charms. I ordered an antipasto for the sole purpose of doing fellatio on the rolled salami and the pitted olives. He raised an eyebrow, but looked more amused than aroused. Discouraged, I tore into the garlic bread.

Well, another tack. I used one of the tall, mirrored panels lining the walls to scan the room discreetly -- one reason this place was our favorite -- and asked, "How about the one in the blue sweater, eating the breadstick?" This was an old game of ours, one we'd played since our days of being "just friends."

He looked. "Not bad. Needs more tits."

I smiled smugly -- I'm a 36C. "Okay. Find one for me."

"Easy. Him." 'Him' was an ectomorphic, pale, black-haired aesthete who looked as if he'd been living on bookstore coffee for the past five years. "The leather jacket is nice. I like the shabby poet look, but I don't think there's a body under there. I'd cut myself."

"Come on, you always go for those androgynous types."

"Maybe you'd prefer that Meg Ryan clone sucking the lemon sorbet off a spoon." I was annoyed. I could hear the edge in his voice, too -- but just then the waitress set our pizza down in the middle of what was building up to a fine old pointless snarling match.

"Relax, you two. Eat something," she said, and walked smartly away.

David laughed. I didn't. Startled, I looked after her. As she turned the corner toward the kitchen, she quirked a smile at me.

We chewed at our pizza for ten minutes without speaking. Then I looked up at David: "She's my type."

"Who?"

"The waitress."

"What does she look like?"

"You didn't notice? She's beautiful!"

"Describe her to me."

I didn't notice the change in his tone; I was too busy remembering, seeing. "Well, she's tall -- you noticed that much? Slender; little pointy tits. A long neck, with a fine gold chain. One of those narrow pear-shaped butts. Her skin is café au lait. Her hair makes little corkscrew curls -- and she was smiling. Her lips are deep red and she's not wearing any lipstick. She has wide dark eyes, like a Persian painting. She's beautiful."

"And what do you mean, your type?"

I choked. "I...guess I meant, if I were ever to have sex with another woman...I'd like someone who looks like that."

We stared at each other.

"Can I take your dessert order?"

It wasn't her! Had she somehow known what I was saying about her? The new waitress, fair and buxom like me, was saying, "Samara just had an errand; she sent me to ask if you'd like dessert."

David answered. "One piece of chocolate gateau please -- and two forks."

This is our "being-a-couple" dessert, the one we shared when we used to eat dinner at ten-thirty because we hadn't been able to tear ourselves apart long enough to put clothes on our lustful persons. The atmosphere was improving.

The cake arrived in graceful café au lait-colored hands -- Samara's. She put it in the middle of the table and ceremonially placed a fork in front of each of us.

She smiled again. It was dazzling "That's better. You two always come in here looking so connected. I hated to see you on the outs."

"Thank you!" I blurted. She smiled at me and did the waitress walk, out of sight in a second without looking like she was hurrying.

David cut off the first bite of cake, the pointy bite that always tastes the best, with his fork, and offered it to me. I scraped the icing off and fed it to him. People were smiling at our loving antics. After that we managed to feed ourselves, but our eyes grabbed and held and wouldn't let go.

"Done?" It was Samara again. David and I discovered we were holding hands across the table, our arms bracketing a plate scraped clean. David held my right hand solidly, and put his right hand on Samara's. "When do you get off?

She looked at me -- at me! -- before she answered. "Well, that's always the question, isn't it? But I stop work at eleven."

"Would you like to come to our place?" I couldn't believe he was asking her this.

She smiled and the gold chain swung away from her chest as she leaned to lay down our check. "I'm sure you'd both make me very welcome." And did that disappearing thing again.

David reached for his wallet. "It's my turn to pay," I objected.

"Let me," he said, looking at me seriously. "Tonight, I want to give you a treat." He flipped the check over and wrote our address on the back, stood up, took me by the arm, and walked me out of the restaurant.

"What was that for?" I demanded as we started our walk home.

"You wanted her."

"All I said was, if I ever had sex with a woman..."

"Marie." He stopped and took me by the shoulders. "You're crap at asking for what you want. But I'm going to see you get it anyway. Now shut up; we're going home." He put his arm around my waist and we continued walking.

I couldn't find a thing to say; I wanted to deny, to defend myself, but I couldn't have made it convincing. The growing warmth and tension in my body warned me that I wasn't going to be able to say no to whatever was going to happen.

I'm five-foot-two (with the traditional eyes-of-blue). David found it easy to cup my breast and tease my nipple with his fingertips whenever the sidewalk traffic was light. He'd never fondled me in public before; I knew if I protested he'd stop. I said nothing.

When we got home, he sighed. "Okay, you can yell at me now."

"Yell at you?" I didn't know the sound of my own voice: small, tight, scared, like a schoolgirl about to burst into tears. "She won't come anyway."

David took my hand. "Let's have a drink." We sat in our little kitchen drinking Chianti in honor of our Italian dinner. The first glass had begun to dissolve my panic when there was a knock at the door.

"She's here." I gasped. "I can't!"

David raised my chin, looked into my eyes. "Marie, no one will force anything. I promise." He kissed me and went to the door.

The sound of Samara's voice destroyed my last crazy hope that it was a pizza delivery gone astray. David and Samara came into the room with his hand on her arm, a host showing the way.

She was still wearing her uniform, a short-sleeved black blouse tucked into a short black skirt. Her tight curls bounced about her face. In the soft light, she looked even more beautiful than in the restaurant.

My mouth went dry. I was aroused -- and terrified.

Samara walked up to me. In her heels she was as tall as David -- too tall for me. She took my face in her hands, looked into my eyes, and kicked off her shoes. Now her lips were only an inch or two above mine. She raised my face and kissed me.

Her lips were warm, soft, vibrant, neither too gentle nor too insistent.

I looked at David in a panic. He was waiting quietly, "holding the space" for us.

My eyes went back to Samara's. No threat. No demand. Her breath was sweet and warm. My heart started to slow.

Then, to my amazement, my mouth opened and my arms went around her. My tongue met hers, parted, touched again. My hands ran up her back, feeling the long muscles beneath the silk. She wore no bra. My hands crept to the front and cupped her small, light, pointed breasts. I felt her nipples respond to the warmth of my hands. I drew my thumbs across them and they tightened. But it was me that moaned.

She took half a step back, leaning back against the kitchen table. "Would you like to see?" she asked. I couldn't speak.

She began to unbutton her blouse. As she pushed it off her shoulders, I reached out toward her breast and saw my hand, disembodied, separate from me. It was shaking. Samara seemed unreal, beautiful, utterly desirable; I saw on her a golden radiance. I hardly believed she'd allow me to touch her.

I lifted my hand oh, so lightly to the underside of her breast. I felt her tense and saw her chest rise. How long had I imagined touching, tasting, knowing a woman's body?

I bent my head to her dark nipple, something calm and certain growing in me. I bent her back and tasted and caressed first one breast, then the other. She pulled my head against her; her nipples hardened. I knew her response with my own body, and it made me ache to give her more.

I unzipped her skirt, pulled it down. I drew her naked against me, nuzzled the hollow of her neck, my tongue tangling in the delicate chain that was now the only thing she wore.

I pulled back to gaze again at her breasts. I wanted to see them pressed against mine, to feel their difference. David, who I'd almost forgotten, stepped behind me. He stripped off my T-shirt, then cupped my breasts in his hands. I pulled Samara against me again and stared at the two of us -- sun-dark skin against linen-white, mocha nipples brushing rosy ones.

We kissed once more, slow and deep. The length of her lithe body pressed against mine; it burned the last shyness from me. David's hands caressed us everywhere, and when we broke our kiss I saw my jeans and panties were around my feet. As I stepped out of them, David embraced both Samara and me, used his full strength to pull us close. I could feel her hands stroking and caressing him, and I could feel his response. Sandwiched between them, I felt their hunger, and my desire intensified.

Now David guided us to the bedroom, lifted Samara in his arms, kissed her again, and placed her on our bed. He kissed me once like a blessing and let go.

She laid back full length, the pillow under her shoulders, her head dangling back. I knelt between her knees and my hands slid up until they met at her dark triangle of curls. As I had a thousand times in my fantasies, I parted her lips and blew across them, then followed with a slow, deliberate sweep of my tongue, tasting her.

David raised me to my knees. As he entered me -- God, I was ready -- I cupped Samara's ass. I lapped her juices, and she moaned and thrust her hips at my face. I slipped two fingers inside her. She clenched as I thrust in rhythm with David's cock, dizzy with the circling of my tongue on her clit.

She cried out at the end of every breath. My own orgasm, rushing toward me, distracted me from what I wanted to do to her; I whispered to David not to move. Somehow, he managed it: he held still inside me as my tongue pushed her over the edge. She thrashed while my own cunt tightened until it ached.

As Samara collapsed, I slipped away from David and lay alongside her, kissing her and telling her how beautiful she was. Her eyes opened slowly and said, "You're the beautiful one." Her eyes turned to David, and she asked him what he wanted.

"Lie on your belly," he said to me, then had Samara straddle me. He raised me until Samara's tits brushed my back.

He let out a huge, shuddering breath as his cock plunged back inside me. He entered me, and then her, one stroke at a time. Me, and then her. And again. And again. I could feel nothing of him but his cock -- my body was surrounded by Samara's. It was her scent I smelled, her skin I felt. As David's pace increased, she pulled my ass tighter against her belly. She reached under me and began to rub my clit in rhythm with David's strokes. Then, whenever David withdrew for a stroke, she slid her fingers into me, fucking me in turn with David's cock.

He came in her; I felt her shudder and her fingers curl hard in my cunt.

I exploded.

I can never remember the order of things after that. We moved into a world where time and light and dark weren't measured by anything outside our bodies. I don't remember how many times I came or who had the most fucks. I don't remember ever feeling left out or jealous or sleepy or cold. I see moments, moments that I can't string together, but that I can never forget.

Samara's mouth on one of my nipples and David's on the other.

Samara along one side of David's body as I lay on the other, kissing one another around his cock, touching one's another's breasts as we licked and sucked him.

Samara sucking my clit as I sucked David's cock.

Raking my nails down David's back as we fucked, Samara cradling me from behind, hands on my tits, teeth and tongue along my neck.

Three of us in the shower, laughing at how bad a fit it was. Him fucking her standing up while I lathered their bodies with soapy hands. My hands caressing his balls, and her ass.

Straddling David, rocking on him with his cock deep in me. Staring into Samara's eyes as she knelt over his mouth, me reaching for her, stroking and holding and kissing until she pulled away and bit my shoulder and came in my arms.

Tucking Samara in tenderly in the early light, and settling down to sleep.

When we woke from deep, dreamless slumber in mid-morning, she was gone. How she'd slipped out from between us I have no idea, but not a trace was left -- no imprint left on the pillows, and then, searching further, no scattered clothes, no shoes tumbled next to mine on the living room rug, nothing. She might never have been there.

As I came back to bed, David looked up at me. "When did she give you that?"

"What?" I asked, looking for a bruise or bite.

He scrambled out from under the covers and tugged me in front of the bathroom mirror. He pressed himself against me from behind, warm from the bed. At first I could see nothing but the light in his eyes, reflected in the glass.

"Look," he said, in a voice that was barely a whisper.

"What?" I said.

"Here," he breathed, the tips of his fingers brushing my collarbone.

I looked.

Around my neck, bright against the pale skin, hung the delicate thread of Samara's gold chain.

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