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1:
It is my idea, but my friend is French and says it the right way.
It is my idea, but she agrees.
First, I figure, ménage a trois needs two. You need to gang up. This is the plan.
We buy a Twister at the drug store and take it out of the box and toss the spinner. We bring the matt in a bookbag (we are in college) and knock on the boy's dorm room door.
He answers and lets us in. Not long after, drunk, we lay the mat down on top of his futon.
"All hands on red," I say.
There are only so many red dots. Then: my forehead hits the green spot, my knee on a yellow. Her knee on my shoulder, his arm on my ass.
You can only hold some positions for so long, but I let go quicker than I have to. We all come crumbling down, and then on top, and then on bottom.
My friend, the French girl, who is beautiful and sweet and far away from home freezes midway between each one of his hands on our breasts and our stomachs.
She pushes us, begins to cry and runs out of the room in her underwear into the co-ed hall. She is my friend first (we started it together) so I follow her, and kiss her, and we don't try it again.
2:
It is like a sandwich but not a good one.
"You have nice breasts," the one below me says, surprised in a way that I wish he wasn't. Why wouldn't I have nice breasts? They are new. I am still in college.
We had been at a party. Some kind of bonfire. I was into tequila then, drinking it from a beer cup, when one boy and one girl said we should go do it. We should get some others to do it, and have an orgy, they said. I followed them down the hill to a dorm.
It is a boy's room with colored Christmas lights around the window. It starts quickly, and soon I am looking up at the ceiling, a boy, wet and tired-seeming, working hard between my legs.
I look around the room. Everything glows from the lights. There is no "en masse;" each of us falls into twos and threes.
I push the boy off, get up, and lay on the bottom bunk bed next to two people fucking. I try to talk to them and tell them how funny it was, me talking to them while one of them was inside the other. Then I lay back down on the floor and get inside the sandwich.
I don't kiss above or below. I know it is not working from the moment I get in. The wet and tired boy follows me back to my dorm where I hide from him in the shower stall.
3:
There are two boys with gold crosses around their necks, younger and Italian. They are in a fraternity and I've got them both. They are perfect, unbelievable and finally mine: identical twins.
One of them has a bit of a different nose, maybe. There is something about them that makes me tell them apart, but I don't mind.
I am no longer in college and suddenly I see clearly: you can begin with only one.
My idea comes to me as I do it. Sure, I have a friend. But she is small, more of a foil. She tries to kiss me while each boy kneels between our legs, but I am not interested.
We are in the girl's apartment, but I tell the boys what to do and they listen. They are good boys, momma's boys. One is smarter than the other. They take turns, and then we come together.
Finally, a sandwich with meat! A perfect platter. Stuck and dividing. It's over faster than you'd think.
I lie on my back, done, and reach over. One of my hands rests, matching on each boy's chest. There is a peace that comes when you've learned your own lesson.
Finally, the answer! Divided and stuck: you have to be the one they can't do without.
From Dirty Words: A Literary Encyclopedia of Sex (Bloomsbury), which will be released in summer 2008. n°
©2006 Rachel Sherman and Nerve.com.
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Commentarium (9 Comments)
unless matt - not mat - is actually in a bag, and that would be interesting. and that would make four people.
I couldn't get past the abundance of grammatical errors to see if the narrative was compelling or (Probably) not compelling. Is there an editor at Nerve ???
This kind of erotic fiction is so dull. I'll stick with my Emily Dickenson. Let me know when you get some staff with real-world experience.
Actually, to even describe it as erotic fiction is generous. Perhaps obtuse ramblings would be more precise.
I don't get it either. This was boring as hell to me, and my eyes glazed over after the first few paragraphs. This is going to be in a book???
It's like something you'd find in a collection of short stories you wrote in your diary in middle school, that you find when you're 25 and you feel stupid and silly and embarrassed.
Plus, "threesomes" in college are 99% stupid kids just doing the moves and not really knowing what the fuck they're doing. Sorry, not digging this.
"Finally, the answer! Divided and stuck: you have to be the one they can't do without." Uh, what does this even mean? C'mon now.
this is a hot-looking author exciting the editors with her dirty talk which is how she gets this nonsense published.
You guys should have published my story: The Quesadilla Connection!
absolute rubbish. there's been a real lack of decent fiction on nerve recently. still, the fact that tripe like this can get published should give hope to would-be authors everywhere.
Now you say something