Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 A NOTE FROM JOAN: The following is a bit different that what is otherwise
found on my web site.  The writer is older than most others on this site...
and most of his involvement in being the extra guy in MFM play has been...
as he says...  "Wannabe." But, I found his "Remininscences" enjoyable
reading.

   MEMOIR OF AN OLD THREESOME WANNABE   I`m an interloper (at least so far)
in this community.  I have only had a few thin threesomes, and they barely
qualify.  Plenty of great couplings, but few triplings.

   Thank you, Joan, for putting together this cum-provoking abundance of
enviable stories.  Thank you even more for getting me to realize the
threesome may be the right sex-life for me (though, like Moses, I may never
see the promised land).  In my far-off bachelor, days there was no Internet
to show me, as you have, that a carnal threesome is not a rare perversion
to be avoided.  Your encouraging window on reality makes me to think that
perhaps all is not (yet) lost.

   I did have some tantalizing opportunities, but I couldn't believe they
were for real, and I let most pass me by.  I still groan in frustration
thinking about the big ones that got away.  (This demure French girl, with
whom I had so far been "the perfect gentleman", took me back to meet her
two male flat-mates in Earls Court.  Their sly invitations were just veiled
enough for me to ignore, though putting their hands instantly up her skirt
should have tipped me off...)

   Here are some reminiscences with a threesome angle, however tangential.
I hope there is enough incidental titillation here...  or at least
entertainment...  to be worth reading.

   I am now 75, a retired scholar and consultant.  Average weight, height,
looks and endowment.  I could be described as a good-natured horny old
wimp, with a colorful past.

   Pre-Teen Experiences

   I have always been obsessed with sex...  never fully satisfied (but
enough, I expect, that most people wouldn't complain).  I started young at
what, at a stretch, might be called communal sex.  At five I got canned
(legal in England then) for organizing a pull-down-knickers chase in the
school yard.  When I was nine I won my first and only elective office, by
being voted 'dirtiest boy in the school' by a jury of my peers.  Runners-up
Brenda and Arthur and I used to while the time away exploring each other at
the back of geography class.  I can still call up the fishy smell of my
fingers.

   My demand for sex has always run way ahead of supply, partly due to the
guilt-inducing misconception that it is a zero-sum game...  what I gain,
she loses.  My Catholic family almost persuaded me that "self-abuse" would
send me to hell, but I took myself in hand at least twice a day, anyway,
through my teens.  My first progress was discovering my left hand...  it
felt like someone else.



   Adolescence Adventures

   With the onset of puberty and adolescent inhibitions, my sexual
evolution stalled for several years, except for pretty tame gay jerk-offs
and co-ed group truth-or-dare, .

   During my grammar school years (10-17), I was an absolute wash-out on
the romantic front.  I was paralyzed by attractive girls around my age, and
that seemed to suit them just fine.  I was awkward, timid, nerdy and no
trophy catch (in spite of being successful in several school activities,
and eventually Deputy Head Boy).  However, I seemed to do OK with the
younger girls, who brought me my first brush with a sort of threesome.  A
couple of giggly, but not unappetizing, 14-year-olds would stalk me around
the school-grounds, taunting me with vague offers of carnal delight.  One
day they managed to make off with my prized fountain pen, and announced it
was hidden somewhere on their persons.  I would have to search them to get
it back.  I led them up to our deserted "Boy Prefects Room," One of them
promptly lay on her back on the table, and I began a careful body search,
while her co-conspirator sat quietly by, in eager anticipation.  I had just
gotten into her damp knickers and was preparing to delve for my pen in the
enticing depths within, when an enraged teacher burst in, alerted from his
office next door by excited squeals, and so the promise of my first
threesome was brought to an abrupt blue-balled end.  It must have done
something for my reputation, and I got credit among students and teachers
for unbridled debauchery (which was sadly unfounded).  Forty years later I
met a former school-mate who clearly remembered this incident with
something like awe.  For all that, I remained a most reluctant virgin until
19 (but in those days such deprivation was not a rare).  Then an older
German woman took my cherry (to her great surprise), while I was doing my
National Service in the Royal Navy.  From then on I never looked back.  I
had a glorious sexual rampage in my 20s, at college and early workplace,
embracing (!) 16 nationalities, before I stopped counting.

   My College Days I wasn't always very responsible at college.  For
example, I prevailed on an engaged girl, Diana, to give my cock warm
hospitality.  Her fiance promptly broke up with her and she went to pieces.
She was admitted to a local nursing facility.  I am not proud to say that I
resumed taking my pleasure with her by climbing up a drainpipe into her
room, and hiding under her bed when the ward nurse came around.

   One encounter had just a whiff of threesome about it.  Tamara, a Russian
student at Moscow State University, where I was visiting, was, I gather,
charged by the Soviet authorities with learning my secrets (actually
non-existent) by any means necessary.  A rather dumpy student (Greta)
breathlessly watched Tamara do her patriotic (but not seemingly irksome)
duty, possibly also on orders from above.  Greta signaled that she would
like to join us, but by that time Tamara and I were beyond interrupting and
we ignored the signal.

   After College

   After joining the work-force, I got a little closer to a real threesome,
with two 19-year-old co-workers.  We started as two independently
fornicating couples in my small London bedsit.  Vicki and I were banging
away on my bed.  Shirley and John were right next to us on the carpet, with
Shirley (whom I secretly fancied) on top, with her face down.  Which means
that her bare bottom was up and deliciously close to my nose, which
evidenced her arousal (and intensified mine).

   I couldn't resist reaching down and gently caressing her lovely soft
undulating bum.  That didn't seem to bother Shirley.  In fact I could swear
she was thrusting her rump up, in pursuit of my fingers.  I gradually
pressed down on her bum-crack until my middle finger found her puckered
hole, and kept on pushing.  She suddenly went still (much to John's
frustration, I am sure), until I got about two inches in and started
wiggling my finger.  John suddenly remembered some urgent appointment (at 3
AM), pulled his pants up and left, without shaking my hand (even though it
was no longer otherwise engaged ...).

   Disconcerted, the girls and I went out for a drink.  It was cold, so I
gathered them under my big coat and we pressed together, to warm up (as
if). When I reached under Vicki's skirt, Shirley's hand was already there,
with two fingers submerged.  I'm not sure what Vicki's hands were doing,
but they weren't touching me!  Feeling left out, I disengaged them from my
coat.  As we parted, Shirley murmured that she found our clinch "highly
satisfactory," and I never saw her again.  (My affair with Vicki sputtered
out a couple of weeks later.  I've no idea what, if anything, developed
between her and Shirley.)

   A Matrimonial Desert

   At 32, I got married, and sexual frustration re-asserted itself with a
vengeance.  I have been slightly (but not unhappily) married to Dolly for
the past 40 years, and plan to stay that way.  However, I am a
mega-polygamist and she's a "nonogamist".  She has never been much into
sex, and can't see why I should be.

   So I have surreptitiously made alternative arrangements (including the
occasional gay glory-hole).  For years I limited my wooing to married
ladies, so as not to mess up the marriage prospects of single girls (like
Diana above), and limit the threat to my own marriage if I got caught
(which I invariably did).  I developed quite a thriving, rewarding and
sought-after neighborhood service.

   I was in a London hotel room with the wife of an old school buddy, and
we plotted how to inveigle a saucy bell-boy into giving us special
room-service.  We didn't have the nerve to go through with it, and anyway
we were already having too much fun on our own.  (At dinner on another
occasion, I diddled her under the table with my big toe.) The couple
divorced a couple of years later, and I was sad when my buddy suddenly
stopped talking to me.  As it happens, all but one of my married female
friends ended up breaking up with their husbands (not necessarily because
of me)

   The one exception led briefly to a spouse swap (when Dolly was still
trying to rein in my wandering urges with a carrot rather than a stick). 
We were squashed together in a tent, and I found the grunts at my elbow an
unwelcome distraction from enjoying my date.  (She had a delightful trick
of reaching back between her knees, as we fucked doggy-style, and caressing
my balls).  For her part, Dolly complained that George's cock was too small
to do her much good, and we never swapped again.

   I have had several threesome "almosts".  An elegant French lady
approached me with her shy teenage daughter at a hotel bar in Tunisia and
invited me to join them for a drink in their room.  Her tone suggested (to
my receptive imagination) that she had in mind to introduce a virginal
daughter to fleshly pleasures at my hands.  Alas, my wife was not far away
with a younger friend I hoped to seduce.  (I succeeded beyond my wildest
nightmares and lived through a scary remake of the film "Fatal
Attraction").



   A Real Threesome At Last!

   My sole proper threesome (so to speak) was barely consummated.  In my
early 30s, I moved from UK to take up a visiting lectureship in the US.  I
was living "in sin" (as it was then viewed) with Anna, an adventurous lady
whom I had met at my going-away party in London, and who followed me across
the Atlantic.  Our landlord Ron was a renowned professor whom I thought to
placate by confessing my depraved misuse of his premises.  Far from being
affronted, he invited us for friendly "folk-dancing" with Dorris, his
classically beautiful girl-friend, at his cozy apartment in Washington
(where he was, at the time, serving as an advisor to Casper Weinberger, US
Secretary of Defense).

   His place had a love-in grotto, tastefully done up with a Polynesian
motif, and subdued lighting and music, to get us in the mood.  Alas, as a
foursome, it was a bust.  We started cautiously and gently, just plugging
our own ladies, with Ron directing traffic by jiggling my cock inside Anna.
Entering, I thought, into the spirit of the thing, I grasped his beautiful
9-incher, which was temporarily taking the air.  He softly pushed my hand
away, saying he "wasn't into that."

   Then, as we moved to switch partners, Anna burst into uncontrollable
sobbing.  I suppose she got erotic indigestion, or some kind of guilt trip.
Amazing to me, because she had let on earlier, with some pride, that at
Oxford she had been servicing up to four lovers a week... but one at a
time. Ah well, the mysteries of the female psyche!

   Any way, Anna and I repaired to another bedroom, and I stayed to comfort
her until she stopped sniffling and dropped off into troubled sleep.  I
crept back to Ron and Dorris, and we went through the body-sharing motions,
but my hard (sic) wasn't in it by then.  (We were awoken by a call from the
Secretrary of Defense, to consult with Ron on some pressing business. 
Really!).

   Months later, after Anna and I broke up, Ron and Dorris invited me back
for a threesome, this time in his large rural home, outside Boston.  We
pleasured each other nicely, short of intercourse, but when she tried to
finish me off in her mouth, I couldn't rise to the occasion.  Eventually
she gave up, complaining of an aching jaw, and murmuring ruefully that I
must find her too old, at forty (I was 32).  Truth is, she was too much of
a classic trophy blonde to my more modest taste, but that wouldn't normally
have stopped me.  Performance anxiety, I suppose.

   Over the next few years, we again tried a foursome, first with Dolly
(whom I had just married), and then with my steady mistress, Babs, but both
balked when push turned to shove, and I never even got the chance to put
Dorris' jaw muscles to the test again.  I introduced Ron and Dorris to
several couples, who (reportedly) had a great time.  One of them, Steve,
tried to "date" Dorris on her own... which was an absolutely no-no for both
Ron and Dorris.  Ron later complained mildly to me about it, since I had
introduced Steve to their wife-swapping circle (which I no longer had a
screwable entrance ticket to).

   A Threesome Niche?

   As you can see, none of my post-marriage quests for sexual
fulfillment... self-service, marital fidelity, two-some adultery or
wife-swapping...  have worked well.  I had almost given up on a sex-life to
perk up my waning years (and equipment), when I came across Joan's
wonderful web site, and a light bulb went off.

   How about playing with a loving (and, above all), stable couple, who
won't threaten anyone's marriage?  Perhaps there's a congenial couple out
there who would appreciate what I have to offer, even though they have
their pick of virile young studs.  My niche might be to provide back-up
stimulation for the ladies.  Your inspiring tales alert me that a lady
often craves interim attention, while her man recovers his strength.  I
would just love to keep the momentum up for her until he's ready again.

   (Long ago, I learned the hard way about the need for leisurely foreplay.
A mature one-night stand complained that I didn't know how to take care of
a lady [unlike her Italian lovers].  To compound my embarrassment, her
daughter, whom I yearned hopelessly for, caught me sneaking out of her
mother's bedroom and never spoke to me again.)

   My hands and mouth have not lost their cunning, and it may help my case
that I don't need to insert myself into the situation (so to speak) or to
have my own needs attended to.  (These days, I really do find it more
blessed to give than to receive.) Anyway, I'm not sure I can always count
on upright behavior from John Thomas when he's in company.

   Poeple find me friendly, accommodating and interesting (with a colorful
past).  I'm not too concerned about age and physique (and can't afford to
be).  But I do need our personalities to be compatible.  I am OK with the
real prospect that exploratory correspondence or pleasant meetings don't
lead anywhere physical.

   Whats Next?

   I feel like a shipwrecked sailor putting a message in a bottle and
hoping it fetches up on a welcoming and not too distant shore (Northern
Virginia?).  I can be reached at rndyvndy@aol.com, and my slightly
out-of-date face photo is on Adultfriendfinders.com under randyvandy0925.

   I'd be glad to flesh out (so to speak) these experiences and other sexy
episodes with no 3-some aspect.  Some may sound far-fetched, and readers
may want reassurance that they are being fed the real thing.  I could
arrange with someone I trust (like Joan) to check out much of it (say, with
my website or a magazine with my face on the cover).