Random Rim Jobs

[Continued from "Prague, Israel (Part 3)."]

After the incident with the neighbor I felt very uncomfortable in and around the apartment building; I did not want to run into the guy who was clearly “interested” in me in a very intimate way.  Israel told me he’d talk to the neighbor.

A few days later when I came home from work Israel told me he had talked to the neighbor.  He told me he had smoked a joint with the neighbor.  Uh, my boyfriend thought it was ok to smoke a joint this guy who said he wanted to “get with me”?  Let me remind my dear readers that I was 19.  I had certain ideas about how a boyfriend should be.  And I still have the idea that a guy who claims to be my boyfriend should have understood that if I’m upset at someone the best thing to do is not to smoke a joint with that someone, but rather to defend my honor.

Well, over that joint Israel got to the bottom of why the neighbor held out his wallet to me and said he’d pay to get with me.  Apparently, my evasiveness regarding where I worked at night, by saying I worked “down the street,” had sounded to the neighbor like, “I work on the street.”  He thought I was a streetwalker.  And my boyfriend thought that it was funny.

That was probably the turning point in our relationship.

He traveled to visit an ex-girlfriend and despite repeated assurances that he would not have sex with her, he did.  I cheated on him with a regular Q’s customer.  When we were alone we drank a lot.  I still couldn’t buy alcohol, but Israel could.  He bought me Irish cream – of various brands – which I drank over ice.

But we didn’t spend much time alone together since we were both working a lot and I went to school as well.  On Superbowl Sunday both Israel and I worked waiting shifts.  As I’ve mentioned, I was not a good waitress.  It stressed me out to no end.  On Superbowl Sunday Q’s was packed with people watching the game, drinking, and eating.

For the Superbowl there were food specials.  Only exactly what the food specials were was not communicated to us, the waitstaff.  The management and the kitchen staff had different ideas of the specials.  Those of us who were trying to earn tips didn’t know what the fuck to tell the customers.  After being told one thing by my boss and another by the cook, I was pissed.  My boss caught me just outside the kitchen.

I was mad, he was my boss.  There were words, of the loud and disrespectful nature.  He fired me.  On Superbowl Sunday.  I was actually relieved.  I was doing a shitty job waiting and probably wouldn’t have been tipped all that well anyway.  I handed my open tickets over to another waiter and walked home.

For the next few days I went to school and worried about my next job.  Unbeknown to me, Israel was working on his boss – my former boss.  He asked him to hire me back – because he was tired of having me around our apartment all the time.  Nice.  I went back to work, but no longer took any waiting shifts.

Israel announced one day that he had been to the local sex shop.  Back then the local sex shop was nothing like my local sex shop, Good Vibrations.  Back then the sex shops were dirty and sleazy and of the sort many people would only enter on a lark on drunk.  He showed me his purchases, some skin magazines of the extremely large-breasted variety, and a strap-on harness with a dildo.

I wasn’t even sure what the harness contraption was.  He told me he wanted me to put it on and to fuck his ass.  I was a naive flower at the time.  I’m pretty sure I wasn’t so naive as to think that him wanting something in his ass made him gay, however, I’m definitely didn’t fully comprehend dominance and submission/top and bottom dynamics.  I had already participated in some BDSM activities up to that point (though not with Israel), but I didn’t get much other than I liked being teased a lot.

Well, I tried.  I put the harness on.  I had a cock.  For about two minutes.  I tried, I really did.  I felt fucking ridiculous.  And silly.  I laughed more than anything and I didn’t even get close to fucking him.  Which may have been for the best as I don’t recall him having brought home lube from the porn store.

The strap-on purchase was a last-ditch effort to make our relationship work.  Another gesture that I considered downright ridiculous and silly was him asking me to marry him.  I was all of twenty.  He wasn’t much older.  No matter what, no matter how young and naive I was, I knew that a relationship of six months in which we’d both cheated on each other was most definitely not a solid foundation for a marriage.

He seemed to think differently because he married the girlfriend after me.  I never met her, but he and I continued to be friendly so I learned that she was older than him.  I figured that by age alone she was more ready to be married.  Many years later I know that there is a shit ton more to being married than “maturity.”

I swear.  True story.

[This from guest writer Dick Cramden (he he).]

It was the perfect place for our rendezvous. The club was dark and smoky. The band played urban blues, down and dirty, slow and sultry. Sitting at a booth in the back, I watched and waited.

I knew it was you the moment you walked in. I had to catch my breath in anticipation of the night about to unfold. I loved watching your body as you slinked closer to me, your outfit hugging the curves of your body. Hips swaying which each step. Arms slowly telegraphing the graceful move of each next step. You paused, looked around briefly, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I rose, and gestured to you.

I had thought we would start the night breaking the ice over a bottle of wine. I had already selected the one adequate Cabernet in the place. But when I saw you standing there, in that smok-filled room, as lusty couples slowly moved to and fro with the raunchy blues, the wine was forgotten. This night we would drink vodka.

Sitting together for the first time, we made nervous and polite small talk, disguising the raging arousal we were both feeling. The small talk grew more intimate. By the second round of vodka tonic and vodka cranberry, a confession: we were both really horny. By the third, courage enough to move together on the dance floor.

We never had to experience the awkward first steps of two people dancing together for the first time. The rhythm of the night consumed us. We began too far apart, but not for long as our attraction pulled us close … very close. Your perfume added the final sensory thrill to our introduction. Our eyes met and locked. Our legs met and gently rub together. My hands soon held on to your swaying hips. Your breasts lightly grazed my chest. I remember how your smile turned into a sultry purse of your lips, and my arousal swelled. You pressed yourself against it, and I could tell the game was now afoot.

The tempo of the next song picked up. The band ground out the four/four beat with a loud sensuality accompanied by a raunchy horn section. You pushed back from me, and flashed me a wicked grin. The buzz of the vodka was filling both our minds. You spun around and backed your fine, fine ass against me, and pressed it against my hardness, wriggling it there, teasing me. Before I could embrace you, you spun around again, stepping back, and rubbing your hands on your thighs below the hem of your black skirt. It was then I noticed for the first time the garter belt holding up the sleek black stockings that dressed your shapely legs.

Watching you was maddening. You had such grace in your tormenting of me. As the dance continued, I noticed your nipples begin to stiffen beneath your blouse. Sweat began to form on my brow; my temperature was rising.

Again you stepped back from me, rubbing your hand along your thighs, raising the hemline higher and higher. Your bare thighs, so silky smooth, there for me to see for the first time, and now all I wanted was to see more and more of your marvelous skin. You danced closer to me, finally, but only to cup the swell of my crotch, before taking two steps back to continue your play.

Again you pressed your ass against me, and I leaned forward and managed to give your shoulder a quick and gentle bite and kiss, before you pulled away, shaking a scolding finger at me to the tempo of the song. The sultry smile returned to your face. You dropped a hand back to your thigh, as the other caressed your neck, and ran fingers through your hair. This time your skirt lifted up so high, but only so that I (at least that’s what I thought) could see, as you dipped a finger into your panties, to let it dance momentarily at the top of your sex. This move stunned me, but before I could scarcely express my delight, you placed your finger in my mouth and let me taste your sweetness for the first time. I grabbed you and pulled your body tight against me, and we kissed for the first time. Our tongues continued the wild dance as our bodies slowly rocked to the rhythm of the waning song. It was time to leave.

[Look out for the next part of Dick Cramden's story.]

This is our drawer of sexy toys and goods.  See what you can pick out.  What’s that in the bottom right corner?  How about those MEDTEXX things?  Why do we have a paint stirrer?  What’s up with those neon things?

This drawer is not a night stand drawer.  Oh no!  It’s a dresser drawer.  Clothes can go anywhere but sex toys need to be close to the bed.  When sitting on the edge of my side of the bed it is very easy to access the entire contents of the drawer o’ sex.  Drawer o’ fun.

I swear.  True story.

[This is a submission from a hottie guest writer.  I've met her, she's hot and a whole lotta fun.]

My first threesome came as a surprise. ‘Twas my 25th birthday, to which I was not looking forward given I had been recently abandoned by not only the best sex of my life but also my last great love (two different men, mind you). I still had a few very good friends and, trying to be optimistic, I ventured out to a fave bar to celebrate.

After about two whiskeys, I declared that since it was my birthday, everyone should kiss me. This would be the catalyst that led to my premiere sexual experience with threesomes and with women (but not the last).

A group of firemen from Modesto or some equally central California city were sitting close to our group and conversation began. One took a liking to me and before his group left we took a trip outside and made out for a bit. Thankfully I didn’t really mind voyeurs because a certain couple took a particular interest in our little tongue session. They became even more interested when they saw the fireman’s hand try to go up my skirt, which I deflected in the midst of still keeping the kissing hot. This move turned them on apparently; when they saw me walk back inside the bar without the fireman, they followed.

They stopped me before I got back to my group. They bought me more whiskey and asked me what was going with the fireman. I answered that it was my birthday and I was kissing everybody. So they both kissed me. We went back to the table and conversed while I got drunker (but with whiskey, I rarely get sloppy). Last call came and they invited me back to their place. I excitedly and curiously accepted.

Back at her apartment they showed me around, told me about a new dot com idea they had (something about networking via your sexual partners), introduced me to her cat, and then led me to the bedroom.

Sheepishly, I declared that I was a virgin when it came to women. With a little giggle, my first girl – a beautiful blonde with wonderful breasts and creamy skin – told me to go with my instincts and she would direct me from there. After a little bit of kissing, the whiskey seemed to fully permeate into my bloodstream and stripped away my remaining inhibitions.

I ventured towards her breasts and my happy explorations there made her moan, encouraging me to go farther south. I hesitated for just a moment before I put my tongue on her clit, tasting something indescribable but oh so amazing. I used my fingers to penetrate her pussy while I continued licking her clit and her boyfriend, who had been watching while I popped my “girl cherry,” began to go to work on me. He finally started fucking me from behind while I went to town on his girlfriend. Eventually he got his share of attention but I loved being in the middle of them; getting it from him while giving it to her.

We fell asleep after much orgiastic behavior and when I woke up in the morning and tried to sneak out, I was dragged back to bed for more and given the many orgasms that the whiskey had denied me the night before (the only real negative I get from the malted grains).

I have done a fair amount of memorable bisexual exploring since this experience and hope to do much much more but I would say that my first threesome was the best birthday present to myself ever.

I was just thnking about what I was doing a year ago. Sinéad O’Connor made me do it “Where did I go wrong?” I was going through some serious shit with mysef and my parents and especially Erica. I don’t want to remember how much it hurt. I don’t want ot ever be in a situation where I let myself get out of control. It’s my life and I decide what goes on in it. Thank God time fades memories so that the only thing left is actual evens and a faint glimmer of what it was actually like.

Now I’m doing everything for myself.  I feel much better thought I’m sort of at a standstill it seems.  Of course I’m on the verge of another all-consuming relationship.  But he’s the type who wouldn’t ask, expect or even want ALL of me.  I think he’ll do me good.  My jealous streak will be to no avail.  He is is own person and wouldn’t succumb, or rather give himself up, to me.  He won’t want to spend every waking moment with me and because from the beginning that will be establisehd, he won’t get tired of me and I won’t think later on that he cares for me any less because he “needs his space.”  The space will always be there for him, and me, so I can continue with myself without relinquishing the control on myself and my life.

Wonder if he’d be very affectionate.  I’ll just have to tell him, or show him, that that is a must.

I want to see his writing for some reason.  And his baby pictures.  And to have sex with him on the floor of the practice room with loud punk-type music playing.  Wonder if he has any idea at all how much I think about him.  Maybe if I think about him this much, he thinks about me at least half, ok, a quarter of the time.  That would be nice.  He has a very nice profile – cute little nose and an adorable pouty lip. I want to kiss his lips very badly.

This lovely photo, taken by Heidi Schumann, was featured in a New York Times article about OkCupid.  Aren’t all my plants pretty?  Isn’t my place cool?  Yes, it is.  So cool that various things have been filmed here.  So cool that it’s available for other things to be filmed here.  Contact me if you need a kick-ass location to film your commercials, documentaries, features of the mainstream or adult nature, shorts, etc.

I’m glad I don’t look too fat in this photo.  Thanks, Heidi.

I swear.  True story.

Didn’t really get into a deep sleep but I was having dreams.

One – I still lived at the house in Alhambra but not with DJ and Gloria. I’m not sure who it was. Anyway, at about 1:30am I got a knock at my door and some chick was telling me that I had to do my part around the house because Mother’s Day was coming up and she didn’t want to be embarrassed.  So I said yeah, yeah and blew her off.  I had thought she was going to yell at me about my pot smoking ’cause I did it so everyone could see and didn’t really care.  Then I went to the refrigerator because I hadn’t been home in a while and wanted to make sure everything was still good.  In chalk there were instructions for everyone’s chores but somehow I never saw them except smeared.  In the refrigerator were several packages of hot dogs – all partially eaten – one with a note from DJ on it, a gallon milk carton with what I now suppose to be iced tea – it was clear brown in color.  I can’t remember anything else that was in there nor the exact sequence of events.  Erica called but I couldn’t talk to her very well because I was so stoned (2nd dream I’ve had in which I can’t do something simple because of pot – maybe I’m afraid of something.) and we talked about her girlfriends and how she can get someone to clean for her if she needed it (pertaining to me having to clean my house) ’cause she has so many adoring fans.  Then we got off the phone – oh but I remember while we were talking, I was in the living room and I turned on the tv and it was something like 3:24am – because of one of those fans.  Then I came out of my room and there were a bunch of really scuzzy, dirty, old men on the couch all watching television.  I was in something skimpy like a bikini or something and was talking to them like they were my buddies, though I did stay up in the dining room.  Then some guys closer to my age came over and were playing music for the old men who were tripping out on it.  The guys reminded me of the little guys I used to hang around with at Oak Ridge.

Two – my mother, Laura, and myself in a little car (though not my mom’s vehicle but she was driving) driving to a mall.  She said something about not having a lover so snidely I replied with, “What, are you born-again or something?”  Apparently she had been.  but then we were arguing about whether God was a man or a woman.  she kept saying that it was definitely a woman.  She, etc.  We got to this underground parking garage and had to find a way to get up to the mall.  There was an elevator but it looked shabby so I talked them into taking the stairs.  I was worried about going on the elevator ’cause I don’t like the damn things – they make me nervous.  So as we were walking, Laura met up with some chick and they started fooling around – Laura on her back and the one on top on her knees doing I’m-no-sure-what to her – while moving.  It ends up that the one on top is Merilu Henner (don’t ask me why) and she’s got her ass up in the air with her knees so far apart that I can clearly see her (how can I put this delicately?  I can’t – ) asshole.  I was like a target for me to zero in on.  I was totally hairless (maybe I’ve seen too many Penthouse issues) and brown – darker towards the center.  I was there very quickly licking with an incredible amount of saliva.  Then they stopped and I went for her (this is what works here) cunt.  Only thing was, I started to feel it – and not in the dream either.

I could feel it for real.  I wiggled my finger – or at least I think I did – and I felt more  So I proceeded to take my panties off one leg and masturbate.  I expected myself to be a lot wetter than I was – I thought the dream was going to whip me into an orgiastic frenzy – but I proceeded anyway.

I feel sorry for Laura.  Orgasms are nice to have and seem to complete the act.  Of course I wonder what will happen if Henry doesn’t give me orgasms.  (Yep, I’m confident we will have sex ‘cuase unless some other chick butts her way in, we will be together.)  Will I have to masturbate anyway?  Will I show him what he can do?  Why am I assuming that he won’t be able to?  I’ve assumed quite a few other incorrect things about him already.  That’s good, I like surprises.  He has had 9 IX nine years of experience.

I just want to break through and really get to know him.  I want him to tell me that I’m different and that he’s never felt this way about any other girl.  I don’t know if I can be patient much longer either.

My ear hurts a lot.  Why do I put myself through the torture [of piercing my ears with my own ear-piercing gun]?  I can’t sleep on my left side at all unless I prop pillows up just so.  And I know that after it heals, I’ll do another one and there’s no place to go but up.  The only problem with doing it myself is that they’re not very even.  Like the one I did before this one is up a wee-bit too high.  And the one I did before that one is too close to the one above it.  There was one I did so close I couldn’t get the back of the stud on so I had to take it out.  Wasted energy.  But the more I do it, the more nerve I’ll have and the better I’ll get, I hope.

so it looked like (forgive me please) he was fucking that guitar like there was no tomorrow. I was very turned on and not because I was stoned ’cause I wasn’t.

I have cookies in the oven – they’re for Laura so she’ll bring me toilet paper.

After they played, Beth went right up to Maury to hug him so I went right to Henry – but I didn’t hug him. I asked if he wanted his jacket back but he didn’t. I asked if he had fun and he said he was kind of bored and did he look it. I told him I liked the way he looked. I figure I’ll tell him how sexy he is later in our relationship. I don’t want to totally freak him out. Or maybe I should be direct – he did say he liked that. Well, we’ll see what happens. While the next band was playing we all had to wait around cause they were using our guys’ equipment (not their personal equipment though). We sat around the tail of Henry’s truck and got stoned and talked. Bill was still hyped after singing so he was loud and funny and of course I laughed loud and gross. I don’t like it when I’m loud, that’s why I cover my mouth and try to stifle my laugh. I also don’t look too hot when I laugh cause I smile too big or my mouth opens. Henry was saying how cold he was but he still didn’t want his jacket back. So finally he asked if I wanted to “sit in the truck and listen to music.” Hell yes. We were in there talking and stuff. People kept coming up to the window to talk to him so we didn’t really get to the point where I scooted a little bit closer and kissed him. But oh well. Then, when everyone was ready to go, Beth tried to say she couldn’t give me a ride home so Henry would’ve had to. But I didn’t want to impose and he didn’t offer and he was burned out. So we went home. Not even a good bye kiss or anything. Oh well, next time for sure. And I believe he was thinking about kissing me ’cause he asked me if my mouth “tasted like shit” (from the pot) and in the truck he kept saying how dry his mouth was. We each had a Lifesaver which did help the ol’ cottonmouth problem but that’s when he started having everyone ask him lame questions. Then when he finally had to go help load the stuff back into his truck he kept looking at me as he was getting out and with a cute look on his face. Oh and he kept bending over – first time in his back room right in the front of me – to expose his cute little butt. He had on faded jeans with holes in them (not, as I had at first suspected, strategically placed by him) with black spandex tight-type things underneath and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. And the only reason he had his shirt unbuttoned enough for me to see his chest was ’cause he was hot from the coke. Or did I already put that? I wish my memory wasn’t so bad. Too much pot’ll do it to ya. This all started when I said he bent over – he had a cute LITTLE butt and nice skinny legs. But not skinny bad ’cause they are very cute in shorts, skinny good – they look good n pants and all the time.  While he was playing I started thinking about running my hands up and down his legs and sliping my hand into one of the holes that was on the back of his upper-right thigh.

I like the smell of wet cement.  Then we were driving home, I was really stoned and I was thinking about being in Henry’s truck with him and giving him head while he’s driving.  Only thing is, I was thinking about it in extreme detail.  Wow, I’m amazed even at myself.

For a while I didn’t like, or didn’t think I liked guys but I like Henry and he’s a guy so I must like guys.  The thought of him driving that big truck and being all powerful really turns me on.  I like masculinity.  But I still like girls cause I look and want to touch them.  Maybe it’s just the person I like male or female.

I think I’m gonna steal a big flood light from work to put in my brown lamp on the floor so it will be realy bright in here.

I mean whomever I happen to like, be it male or female, I find things attractive, sexy and appealing about them.  I was saying this to Laura and she said, “Suzanne, you’re bisexual.”  Just like that, matter-of-factly, and everything.  Why can’t I just be normal though?  Oh well, it’ll never happen.  D.J. told me when I was 14, I think, that I would always live an alternate lifestyle, be it with a male or female or by myself.

My hair falls out a lot – there’s hair all over my damn house – room.

Now that I have the time and energy (sort of) to make stuffed shells, I should.  But I don’t feel like it.

Wonder who’s gonna get impatient first?  He wanted to kiss me last night but didn’t.  I want him to kiss me.  I don’t want to make the first moves.  For some reason, with boys, I always have to be the first.  Does something about me scare on intimidate them?  So I act nervous, that’s normal, isn’t it?  One time when I was sitting on the hood of Beth’s car and he was leaning up against the side right next to me, he turned his head and I noticed out of the corner of my eye so I turned and asked, “What?!” like I always do.  He was all, “I didn’t say anything.”  Maybe he was going to kiss me – maybe not.  Who knows but he and he’ll never tell.

Could I please have me two hot guys to do this in front of me?  Please?  Any volunteers?  While I wouldn’t mind if the guys would only let me watch, I would really, really like it if they would also let me participate.  I would be more than happy if I weren’t the center of attention.  After all, I’ve participated in threesomes where I wasn’t the focus, and while I didn’t have fun that first time if I knew what was expected of me I would certainly not overstep my bounds.

However, I’d be even happier if they’d let me suck their cocks.  Just a bit.  And bite those nipples.  Oooh, and lick those asses.  I could certainly have a lot of fun with these two.

Really, I would dig quite a bit participating in something like this.  Anyone?  Contact me at shazamsf@sbcglobal.net.

I swear.  True story.

I had my first threesome with two guys. I was 18.  Or maybe 17.  Either way, it was when I lived in my first apartment alone, a very small studio.

My boyfriend at the time had finally admitted to me that he found men attractive. Actually, after months of me teasing him he finally acquiesced.  I knew he liked guys, I just knew it.

I’m of the opinion that everyone is a little bisexual, pansexual, whatever; everyone likes cock and pussy to a degree.  My boyfriend at the time was certainly no exception.  He liked guys but had all sorts of shame and guilt about it.  I hope I showed him that he needn’t be ashamed about being attracted to someone of the same gender.  I was openly bisexual, I told him my mother was an out lesbian, and I had plenty of friends who were gay and/or bi.

One such friend was a bisexual guy with whom I had fooled around previously.  As soon as a broached the subject of a threesome he was in.

My boyfriend, on the other hand, had to be talked into it.  He was so fucking far into the closet that he was very secretive and constantly scared of being “discovered.”  I assured him that the person I had in mind was cool and that he didn’t know anyone my boyfriend knew.  I also assured him that he was his type.  My boyfriend had admitted he had a crush on his neighbor, a blond-haired, blue-eyed, and – to me – white trash-looking guy.  My bisexual boy was blond and blue, but not white trashy.

After much cajoling my boyfriend agreed.  But then we had the scheduling issues.  One of the most difficult things with threesomes is coordinating the schedules of not two but three people.

Finally, the day of the threesome came.  My boyfriend still lived with his mother and the bisexual guy had a roommate so it was agreed that we’d have our threesome at my place.  My very tiny place.  Really, it must’ve been about 200 square feet.  Maybe.  The “kitchen” was a corner of the room with a sink and counter, tiny freestanding stove, and college-sized refrigerator.  There was also a walk-in closet and a bathroom that wasn’t large enough to accommodate a bathtub, just a shower.  I paid $395 per month including utilities.  Ahh, the good old days.

The furniture in the apartment/room, other than the stove and refrigerator, consisted of a dining table that served as a tv stand and a desk, three dining chairs, two stacked orange crates that served as a entertainment center – meaning they held my CDs and “stereo,” a boombox – and bookshelf, and a queen-sized futon that was always in bed position.  I was a slob at the time so most of the time my floor was covered in dirty clothes, magazines, and other household detritus.  At the time I was not the type to clean up for company.  It was my first apartment on my own and no one was telling me what to do so I did whatever the fuck I wanted.

The three of us sat on my bed.  It was awkward.  So my boyfriend pulled out the pot.  He smoked a lot of pot.  A lot.  It was rare that he wasn’t high.  The three of us smoked pot.  It was still awkward.

Finally I did what I had to do – I kissed the bisexual guy.  This was the first of many sexual instances in my life where I knew if I didn’t just fucking go for it that nothing would happen.  Sometimes I like it, sometimes I resent it.

Then I kissed my boyfriend.  Then I kissed the bisexual guy.  It was fun.  I definitely liked going back and forth between the two men, noting the contrasts between their kissing styles.

Eventually they kissed each other.  And then they forgot about me.  Really.  From then on I was completely and totally ignored.  Ignored.

They kissed.  They got naked.  They sucked each others’ cocks.  Their bodies writhed.  I read a magazine.  As we were in my apartment and I had no car I had little else to do.  As my apartment was so tiny I had little else to go.

I sat on one side of the bed reading my magazine while they went at it.  I wasn’t even fascinated enough to watch.  I was bored.  And annoyed.  And irritated.  How fucking rude of them not to include me in the threesome that I set up?!

Eventually they finished.  I’m pretty sure they didn’t fuck, but they definitely sucked.  I have no clue if either or both of them came.  I didn’t care.

I never saw the bisexual guy again.  My boyfriend and I continued to go out, and thereafter were friendly, for some time.  My first threesome was most definitely a disaster.

I swear.  True story.