Girl on the Net

Ahh this guest blog makes my heart flutter – as well as other parts of me. It’s about friendship and intimacy as well as, you know, the hot stuff. While I rang in 2018 with good friends and a bottle of cheap prosecco, this week’s anonymous guest blogger started her year with good friends and her first threesome.

Starting 2018 with my first threesome

“You want to fuck, don’t you?”

There’s half an hour left of 2017. Having smashed a bottle of wine on a friend’s kitchen floor, made significant inroads into my spare bottle, and almost accidentally wandered onto a golf course after the taxi driver was SURE he’d dropped me off in the right place, I’m on the couch of two of my friends, a longtime couple. I’m half supine, alcohol-flushed, and as soon as she asks that question, sing-song and teasing, I’m suddenly unable to make eye contact.

This is it. This is the moment.

I wouldn’t say I’ve had a bad 2017; that would display an elephantine lack of perspective towards friends and strangers who’ve objectively had it rough this year and emerged still smiling and strong. But it’s not what I’ve wanted it to be – dogged, mainly, by isolation, and a lack of affection. Living alone, having a hobby which involves a great deal of alone time, and a lack of a regular partner have taken their emotional toll over the months. And even an exercise in romantic self-improvement – breaking it off with several men of the 1am ‘u up?’ text variety who wouldn’t deign to speak to me for any other reason – has come with its own frustrations. It turns out when you drop toxic men from your life, new and better men don’t automatically enter your life to plug the gaps. As it were.

So, a threesome hasn’t seemed likely. Threesomes are for confident people. People who have their shit together. People who don’t come home at 1am drunk and crying and considering buying a body pillow so they can briefly pretend they’re being spooned. With one or two notable exceptions, sexually, 2017 was a disaster for me. (Ironic, given I spent most of the year producing and performing a stand-up show about sex.) What were the chances of successfully hooking up with two people at once when I could barely manage one?

But here we are, on the couch.

She’s looking at me. He’s looking at me. This is the moment.

I love those moments; the blissful, beautiful tension before you kiss the new person, before one of you closes the physical gap – I know what’s about to happen, you know what’s about to happen, but let’s just tease this out a little longer. The moment when mentally you’re tearing each other’s clothes off, but physically you’re holding back, waiting, enjoying how thick the air is, the way they’re looking at you. Basking in it. I feel that same fizzy high when I’m on stage and people are laughing, long and loud, at a joke I’ve made, and I stand silent and poised and let it wash over me, ready to make the next move. In those moments, my confidence is as high as it can get.

But right now, I’m totally disarmed. Even though this has been on the cards for a while and only not occurred previously because of logistical obstacles, and the minute I was told that I was their only guest, I knew it was on – managing a moment with two other people is completely alien to me. It’s like having to suddenly think in 4D. Who do I move on first? What are the rules? How do I – ?

Luckily for my internal bubble of increasingly panicky self-analysis, she kisses me first.

And then it doesn’t matter. Not loneliness or inadequacy or worry, or lack of confidence or knowledge of the so-called rules. I’m too distracted by her kiss, the first kiss I’ve shared with a woman in years, the way she’s pushing me down, the way that I can see him approach us, the smooth, cocky joy of a man who has two women to play with who love and trust him. I can’t think about saying or doing the wrong thing when her mouth is on my cunt, the vibrations of her moans as he touches her travelling through my body and making my voice match hers. Over-analysis is difficult when I’m bent over their sofa, feeling four hands on me; squeezing, slapping, pinching, stroking. And thinking anything of any particular coherence is impossible when she begs him to spread her cunt for me, and he does, telling me where to touch her with my tongue and both of us watching her spasm and shake.

Apart from, possibly, ‘this fucking beats the Hootenanny.’

We’re about an hour and a half into 2018 when my favourite moment comes (as do I, harder than I have all night). All of us together, lying on the floor under a blanket, a sweaty, exhausted cuddle pile. Her fingers start moving, exploring, finding my cunt.

“Babe, she’s still so wet, come and see.”

And there are his fingers, together with hers, and they’re talking together, asking each other how much I can take, and I’m a mess of sensation and noise and heat, writhing on both of their hands. This attention, this focus, this total passion – coupled with the peace afterwards, as I sit lazily wrapped in a blanket, laughing at them playing Streetfighter, and I feel what I’ve frequently been missing: inclusion. Affection.

It may sound fleeting, but an experience that intense with friends who won’t let you down leaves you feeling anything but lonely.

The one thing I’d redo for next time (and I’m sure there’ll be a next time, and hopefully more with other couples, other delicious combinations of delicious people) is to not drink as much before I start. Not because I felt out of control or out of my depth in any way, but because I want to remember everything I can, every single touch and cry and shudder, and how everything felt, with crystal clarity.

Every single moment.

This week’s guest blog is sponsored by the amazing folks at PeepShow Toys. They support me so I can pay guest bloggers and keep this site running, and they also sell cool things like sex furniture that would be perfect for your own threesome (or twosome, or foursome!). Use the code GOTN10 for 10% off anything on their site.