Peter, Paul and June: June

1. Growing up

My father wanted a son so much, but he got me. However, he was not one to bitch in bitterness- he raised me as a boy. My mother bitched about it. In the late 60's, it was not ok for girls generally to climb trees, to say what they think and pursue their own ideas. But with the backing of my dad, it was ok for me. It meant the envy of the other girls, friendships with boys and pregnancy at 19. I made the mistake of my life - no, not the incompetent use of latex to prevent that: I married that jerk and thought that is how I act responsible. My Dad was mad as hell at me, whereas my mother lived in the self-deception that I was finally normal.

I did not enroll at the university, stayed at home for two years and got left for a cow with an udder bigger than my brain. "Did I not tell you?", my dad could have said. But he did not. My son and me moved back in to my parents, my mother bitched and dad made sure I had enough time to study. I liked chemistry, but that would have taken too long- I went for chemical engineering instead. That was close enough and had already one third female students in the 80's, which was cool. We all knew that one girl that studied computer sciences and we did not want to swap places with her.

I focused on my studies, finished as one of the best and got a good job. My son grew up, and in my early forties he came out from under my wings. I had a career, a grown up son but no husband. My younger sister followed my mothers advice, stayed at home and had kids and husband. She was very happy except for the hard work needed to convince everybody including herself that she was happy.

Anyway, I tried dating. Horrible. The internet had appeared, dating sites popped up up like mushrooms over night and I had to make a choice between hundreds of frogs. No matter how I kissed or even fellated them- none would turn into a prince. I stopped, frustrated, and bought more batteries.

Then, at a party amongst us girls, a friend of a friend came forward with a story: She and her husband had been at a swingers resort. She visited with her husband only, but she had liked the atmosphere. We all agreed that if you keep it like that its perfectly ok, but we would never dare that (And envy her in in the farthest corner of our minds). Back at home, I started my computer and informed myself. The next weekend, I visited a club not too far, but also not too close. I was very nervous initially, but it was like back in my university days: More men than women and I could exercise female choice the way mother nature intended. Very quickly I developed a habit of enjoying sex with two-three men at once (and occasionally a woman, but shh!). For a few years, I had a sex life worth mentioning. Then came corona. The clubs had to shut down and lost so much money- they were run down and unpleasant to me after they opened up again. For me, it was over, just like playing in the sandpit as a child was over.

2. Single and looking - for more

My situation was now:

* I want to have sex with more than one man at the same time

* I do not want to wake up in the morning with them snoring, farting and being unshaven

It seemed hopeless. But I live near a large metropolitan area. Once in a bar at night, I picked up a little printed booklet with upcoming events. Yes, they still print them on paper! The last pages contained ads, students desperately seeking a room, bicycles to sell- and a gay married couple in their late forties seeking a female partner for "erotic experiments". I mailed them that evening.

The next weekend, the three of us met at a gay bar in the city center. They were already there when I entered the door. It featured a vintage retro style with pink velvet and a drag queen of 6 1/2 feet behind the bar. Her name was Hanni, I learned that evening, and she could reach the topmost shelf easily. In front of the bar was a gentleman with a dark suit, white shirt and leather slippers. He had a well trimmed short beard, well cut hair and a slightly arrogant smile: Peter. He looked small next to Hanni, but he is not. He also did not look gay- just that little hint how well he keeps himself, his vanity. His husband Paul did look gay. He is not too tall and wears Blue Jeans and T-Shirts which form a strange contrast to his soft features. His face is always shaven and his hair cut is never as good as Peters. He can afford that look, he works behind a computer for a media company and never talks to customers. Peter is a banker, maybe you guessed it. To my surprise, I immediately liked him, anyway. He is very charming and we quickly started a conversation. Paul, on the other hand, introduced himself and fell silent. His look was short of open hostility. As our date had a clear purpose, we soon talked about their erotic agenda. It turned out that Peter is pretty bi and, despite being happily married to Paul, sometimes would like to have female company. Paul on the other hand had had a hard time coming out, he defined himself as gay. "Women are not my kind of fish", he said with an evil smile. He mentioned "tuna" in his next sentence. The whole thing was clearly Peters idea.

Peter and I small talked, laughed and had fun, but when I left - I did not expect to meet them again. However, on Monday Peter invited me to dinner for the coming Saturday, at their home. After a little consideration, I accepted.

3. My first two-and-a-half some

How do you dress when you date a married, gay couple, when you are way over fifty and unsure where this will lead to? Tight Jeans to emphasize my big butt? F-me Pumps like Amy Winehouse sings? I like her music, but her style would not suit me. I do not just look retro- I am vintage. But I am ok with it. I went for a wide, colorful dress and comfortable slippers without heels. I organized a bottle of french red wine, a "Remplissage de garage", which in this case is a mark of quality: You cannot buy that in a supermarket, very likely not even in a wine shop. Peter and I had talked about wine, I was sure he would appreciate it.

Saturday, 5pm I was at their front door and pressed the door buzzer. Peter opened the door, looking sharp and smelling seductive. His After Shave was even better than when I first met him- he has several. Behind him came a cloud of Asian smells that were simply mouth watering. The two guys love to cook together, and they had put a lot of effort in it.

We ate together, but only Peter and me talked. Paul remained silent, even when I tried to draw him into our conversation. When we were done, Peter got up, went to my seat and took my hand. Solemn, he guided me to the couch and pulled my dress over my head. I did not resist! I loved what he was doing and had missed it so long. The way he touched me, the way he smelled- it was such a turn on. He removed my bra and caressed what he found. He kissed my neck, my face my cheeks and my mouth. I parted my lips for him willingly and let his tongue in. He played with my tongue, circled around it like he circled my nipples. I dropped my panties, he placed me on the couch, taking a step back and looking at my nude body. I was feeling insecure, I am not young and I know it. But his smile took my insecurity away, he opened his shirt and soon I could admire his big hairy chest. He came closer, started to touch me again, everywhere. He soon found out how needy I had gotten. I could see a big bulge in his pants. He removed them, and I could see his big beautiful penis which I touched and kissed. I opened my legs, inviting him, and when he teased my entrance, I looked back at the table: Paul was looking very unhappy.

Peter ignored that completely, he was focused on me, and I enjoyed that so much. Soon, he was inside me, moving slowly and driving me crazy. He did that on purpose, he had complete control and I surrendered happily. He took me prisoner to a long ride that made me die a little several times until he finally unleashed the beast within. Felt like a fire hose squirting inside me, my inner burning quenched for the moment.

When I had my senses together again, Paul still looked unhappy at us. It made me feel bad, I did not want so have so much fun at his expense.

"Paul, is there anything I can do for you?" I asked.

"No, I am not into tuna!"

"Paul, do not be rude to our guest!" Peter snapped.

"I am adult, I can handle that" I commented. "Its ok Paul, you are not interested in vaginas, but how about a blow job?"

"HA! Women do not know how that works. Don't you complain all the time we do it bad? Vice-versa its the same." he replied triumphant.

"Are you sure? Have you tried that?" I challenged him.

"I do not need to, its plain common sense."

"But you do like blow jobs?" I asked.

"Sure, but Peter is more on the receiving side.." he replied, giving Peter a nasty look.

"How long can you enjoy a good blow job?" I continued.

"Oh, I can hold the tower of power for hours.." he bragged.

"How about this, Paul: You let my tongue on your penis, and I bet you cannot stand thirty minutes. Half an hour."

Paul fell silent, realizing what his bragging had brought him into.

"She has a point!" commented Peter, grinning broad. We worked on Paul for ten more minutes until he gave in. The bet was he would not last thirty minutes. If he won, I would leave and not return. If I won, I would visit regularly, and he would have to undress with us and let me touch him.

He dropped his pants to the knees, I knelt before him and started to do what I had not in a long time. I teased his tip, gently holding his balls and keeping eye contact. To Pauls horror, he grew hard very quickly. I smiled, sucked him in deeper, breathing around his cock, licking him like an ice cream. I could taste some drips of precum, it had taken me five minutes. I pressed my tongue under his cock, going back and forth rubbing his frenulum like I rub my cat when it comes home from the rain. He was about to come in less than 10 minutes, but I did not let him. He hated and enjoyed the next 19 minutes until I made him unload in my mouth.

I licked my lips. "Great!" I said, and I meant it. Paul looked confused and fell silent, Peter hugged him and politely asked me to dress and leave, which I did. Again, I expected not to see them once more, though I would have liked to.