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Subject: Proclivities (m,f,m, sharing)
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The following story contains material of a sexual nature and is therefore not
meant for persons under the age of eighteen.  Comments and suggestions are
encouraged.



                                   Proclivities


When I relocated on the west coast two years ago, I was virtually penniless.

I had moved to get as far away from my ex-boyfriend as possible.  Our
relationship had soured, and when I attempted to break up with him, he had
grown obsessive and, in a word, scary.  He stalked me, called me night and
day on the telephone, and showed up at my workplace so frequently that I had
been fired.  I got a restraining order against him, though that had not
slowed him down much.  I changed my phone number, but he somehow had got hold
of it.  I simply couldn't get away from him.

One day at the spa, while my friend Susan and I were enjoying a sauna, I
complained about how seriously deranged I thought my ex had become.  Susan
laughed and said, "Why don't you move to the coast?  Surely he wouldn't
follow you there.  And besides, you've been complaining about getting away
from the Midwest as long as I can remember.  Here's your chance."

At first, I laughed it off, thinking that I would never be so bold as to
make such a big change.  But the more I thought about it, the more sense it
began to make.  I was a single woman approaching 30, my job only netted me
$1500/month and promised no promotion or raise in the immediate future, and
since both of my parents had died several years back, there was really
nothing keeping me in the Midwest -- except maybe for my friends, Susan and
Trenton.  When I told Susan that I didn't want to leave them behind, she told
me that a move would give them a chance to visit the coast.  "It's something
I've always wanted to do," she said.

And it was almost as simple as that.

The only hitch was money:  specifically, the amount of money that such a big
move would cost.  Nonetheless, I began doing some research at the library.

The way I saw it, I would want to move to a relatively big city to maximize
job prospects, and I knew that I wouldn't want to live in Southern
California:  too hot, and I hated palm trees.  San Francisco was a
possibility, though I knew that it was a very expensive place to live.  My
other two choices were Portland and Seattle, neither of which I knew anything
about at all.  But that didn't stop me from reading up on the cities, buying
newspapers from there to look over the classifieds, and checking out real
estate.  Susan was a gem through the whole ordeal:  she helped me with the
planning and provided all the encouragement I needed.

I sent out numerous queries to test the market.  Then, I waited.  One, two,
then three weeks passed with no news.  I was beginning to get discourage when
a small package arrived in the mail.  Litmus Publishing Company was opening a
new branch office in Seattle (they were based in Portland), and they had sent
me literature on the company.  They were looking for office staff, and it
appeared immediately obvious that my decade long history of clerical work at
three publishing companies in the Midwest made me a perfect candidate for the
job.  I beefed up my resume and attached a charming cover letter:  "Allow me
to introduce myself.  My name is Gabrielle Nesterman; my friends call me
Gabby.  I am the perfect candidate for Litmus Publishing," etc.

Susan was with me when I dropped the envelope in the mailbox on the corner,
and I thought she was going to pee her pants with glee.  She hugged me
tightly, kissed me on the cheek and announced:  "You'll be a Washingtonian by
the end of the summer!"

And she was right:  I received an acceptance letter in less than two weeks.

The best part was that I would be making 25K -- not a million dollars, of
course, but it was much more than I had ever made.  I was to begin on
September 9th, and Litmus would put me up in a hotel until I could find a
place of my own.

The month that followed was a blur.  I began packing immediately, and I
decided to have a yard sale to get rid of most of my belongings.  The sale
came and went:  I made a whopping $2000, a figure way beyond what I had
expected -- enough, as it turned out, to pay for my plane ticket and leave me
a small amount on the side for living expenses.  I had some money tied up in
a CD -- about two thousand -- but I wanted to save in case I'd need it later.

Because I had to move out of my apartment by the first of the month, I wound
up staying with Trenton and Susan for three days before my flight took off on
the third.  And although that certainly made the last few days tolerable, I
hated to impose on them.  Naturally, they both said it would be no trouble.  

Then, on my next to the last night of my life in the Midwest, an occurrence
cropped up that completely blindsided me.  After dinner, the three of us were
sitting around the front room listening to James Taylor CDs and sipping wine.

After we finished the first bottle and popped the cork on the second, Susan
lit some candles and turned out the light.  We got so relaxed that Trenton
laid out their futon/couch in the bed position and we lazed in a mountain of
pillows.  It was a familiar scene, but there was something odd about it this
time.  I brushed it off at first, thinking that we were all a little more
emotional than usual because I was about to leave town, but when the feeling
didn't disappear, I began to wonder what was going on.  

My curiosity was answered soon enough when Susan sat up on one elbow and
smiled over at me with a look in her eye I had never noticed.  She placed her
free hand warmly on my stomach and said, "You know, Gab, Trent and I had a
discussion last night, and we've decided that we want to give you a special
going away present."

I glanced over at Trenton, his body cupped around Susan's like a spoon.  He
was grinning impishly, but he also had a serious expression on his face that
made my heart race.  I swallowed and managed an impish smile of my own and
said, "And what, pray tell, might that be?"  I'm sure they could hear the
nervousness in my voice.

Susan began to rub her hand over my belly, then across my ribs, in a
circular motion that landed her fingertips very close to the bottom of my
bra.  I was startled and curious at the same time:  in the five years we had
known on another, she had never made a pass at me, and I knew that she was
desperately in love with Trenton.  They had been married for six years and
had been college sweethearts before that.  Then she uttered that sentence
that would be active in my brain for the next year:  "We were thinking, if
you were interested, that the three of us might … get together before you
left."  Her voice fell nervously in thick air, but the intent was not lost.

Granted, I was not what you might call a liberal woman, but I knew what that
"get together" meant.  What was more, I stunned myself by desiring it to
happen.  Yet something didn't allow me to express that desire -- perhaps I
was afraid of lesbian contact, or perhaps I didn't feel comfortable wanting
to sleep with my best friend's husband.  Whatever it was, here is what I
said:  "Suze, I can't.  Thanks for asking . . . I mean, it's an incredibly
generous offer, and if I had time to consider it awhile, I might just take
you up on  it.  But I don't think it's right just now."

They were very understanding and they chose not to press the issue, though
it was clear when I looked at him that Trenton was a little disappointed; his
eyes grew shadowy, and he had trouble making eye contact with me.  Still, I
reasoned that a bad sexual encounter on my last few days in town might put a
irreversible strain on our friendships.  I had read an article about it in
college:  menages a trois are rarely equal, and jealousy is the standard
development.  Beware!  I didn't want -- and didn't need -- that kind of
stress in my life.  I had enough to worry about with the move, the new job
and the new life two thousand miles away from this very comfortable futon.

When I went into the kitchen to retrieve the third bottle of wine -- I felt
like we needed it now -- I was amazed that my reasoning was clear-headed and
responsible.  I mean, I was not a prude:  in college, I once made love to two
men on the same evening in the same bed, though at different times; but a
threesome with my best friend and her husband seemed as if it could lead to
more trouble than fun.  None of us wanted that kind of trouble, did we?

Mainly, I think I was most nervous about sexual contact with Suze – every
time my mind crossed that path, I got goose flesh.  Not out of disgust
really.  More out of curiosity:  was my best friend a bisexual?  I didn’t
know what to think about it all.  I wanted instead to get drunk as possible.

When I returned with the fresh bottle of dry red, Susan and Trenton were
kissing playfully.  I poured us each a glass and said, "Okay, guys, you
better knock it off before you get me all hot here."  At that, they looked up
and smiled at me.  Trenton had a hand on Susan's breast, and I could see,
even in the candle light, that he had an erection. I giggled nervously,
looked away, and said, "It may be too late," then took a rather large swallow
of wine.  It was perfectly dry, and my mouth felt like a desert.  My head
reeled.   

Susan smiled, then turned her attention back to Trenton, specifically to the
fly of his jeans.  I sat motionless and dumbfounded, wine glass in mid air,
and watched as Susan deftly unbuckled his belt, unsnapped his button and
lowered the zipper of his pants slowly and deliberately.  He wasn't wearing
underwear, as I saw soon enough, and when Susan fished around a little bit,
she pulled out his penis and stroked it gently.  Then she looked at me and
said:  "Isn't his cock beautiful?"  

I shook my head without saying anything.  It was true:  his penis was
straight and thick, and it pulsed in Susan's hand.  In the candlelight, I saw
a drop of pre-come glinting.  I was a goner.  My entire body flushed.

Despite my earlier reasoning, my body was responding clearly and wonderfully
to the circumstance.  It was all I needed to feel.

Setting my goblet on the coffee table, I did something that still amazes me:

in a slinky but formal manner, I pulled my shirt over my head and then in
one movement of the wrist unsnapped my bra in the front, letting the lacy
garment float to the floor.  The effect on the two of them was immediate.

Trenton's jaw dropped an inch, and Susan said, "My god, Gab, you have such
beautiful breasts.  I had no idea."  

I grinned.  Once, a boyfriend in college had told me that my breasts were
the best kept secret on campus.  I took that to mean that nobody would
suspect them to be so large, considering that I usually wore baggy clothes.

As a child, I had been embarrassed by my breasts because I had developed
earlier than the other girls and I had developed rapidly.  In one summer, I
went from an A cup to a C cup.  It was then that I developed the habit of
wearing loose fitting cotton shirts:  I preferred to have the boys look in my
eyes when they talked to me.

And now, as I sat before the two, nude from the waste up, I felt like a
model for a painter, a well-rounded, fleshy nude model.  The sensation, I
have to admit, took me by surprise.  I had never been an exhibitionist, but
with the two of them gawking openly at my chest, I felt a strange sense of
power in my sexuality that I had never experienced before.  Quietly to
myself, I signed on for life.  Added to this rush of new excitation was the
fact that, since I had gained weight from worrying about the trip and since
the extra pounds always went to my chest, I could proudly stiffen my spine,
knowing that my breasts presented a dramatic profile, especially in
candlelight.  I was in a new kind of kinky heaven.

Without so much as a pause, Trenton and Susan leaned forward, each taking a
breast to feel and to suckle.  I felt like Artemis.  I threw my head back and
let out a considerable sigh as they licked and nibbled on each nipple, the
combinations of pleasure rushing straight to my sex.  And in no time, I felt
wandering hands and fingers moving in tandem to remove the remainder of my
clothing.  Once my own jeans were unzipped, I stood up completely to step out
of them, then removed my panties quickly and dropped them to the ground.  In

moments, Susan and Trenton were naked as well, and the three of us fell into
one another, arms and legs caressing and nudging, until we were one moving
mass of sensual skin.  I had never felt so utterly naked and so utterly flush
with sexuality.  It was marvelous. 

Surprising Susan and myself -- the three of us, really -- I made the first
serious move and knelt before Susan to gaze at her sex.  Her pubic hair was
dark and plentiful, and when I touched the tip of my tongue to her labia, I
found that she was already quite wet.  The contact drew a loud sigh out of
her, which in turn caused a chain reaction.  I began to kiss and lick her
vagina in a fury, and Trenton lowered himself to my sex and began in earnest.

In short time, Susan was panting in an orgasm, with me close behind.  The
combined sounds and sensations of two orgasms so close together were clearly
too much for Trenton, and he let loose with several muscular spurts, groaning
loudly as he did so.  The sensation of his sperm hitting the side of my calf
was like nothing I’d felt before:  natural, different and torturously kinky.

Not yet fully come down from our climaxes, Susan and I shared in licking the
rest of his sperm off his belly, his knuckles and his thigh.  I felt as if
something strangely wild and free had been set loose in me, something awesome
and terrible had been unchained and invited to go insane with uninhibited
delight.

Almost as if by instinct, my hips moved in a bucking motion, and I
discovered that I was now rubbing my very wet vagina against Trenton's thigh,
soaking his leg thoroughly, pulling it  toward me in such a way that it
appeared I was trying to swallow him with my sex.  I felt another orgasm
coming on and let out a raspy yell, "Oh, my god!" -- calling out to the one
general entity that could fully understand the power of the desires rushing
through my loins.  As I let loose a guttural scream, I heard Susan say,
"She's coming again Trenton," and with that she placed the tip of her index
finger against my anus.  I nearly threw the two of them off me with the force
of my second climax -- it was not only more powerful than the first, but it
was also different, originating as it seemed from my lower abdomen, then
flashing through the lower part of my body and through my toes.

Exhausted and sweaty now, I collapsed in a breathy heap against the futon,
throwing my arms over my head as I did so.  And to my considerable surprise,
Trenton without pause placed his body over me and entered me.  Our joining
was rapid, frantic and focused.  He was much thicker than I expected, and I
felt the walls of uterus expand to allow his entrance.  He was rhythmically
different than any man I'd been with, and I must say that I knew instantly at
least one of the reasons Susan had fallen for him:  he was incredible lover,
sensing as he did how to maintain the balance with a woman.  Not to overpower
violently but to take firmly and lovingly.  He was the first man in my life
who knew that an overly sensitive approach to lovemaking left most women
unfulfilled and an overly muscular approach made them feel like an object or
a toy.  Trenton's pacing was marvelous and varied:  he could move rapidly for
a full minute, then switch gears and tilt his body in a way that maximized
the texture of his penis inside my womb, slowing down to a near stop.  

We made love for a good ten minutes, switching positions several times very
smoothly, while Susan caressed and encouraged both of us. "That's it," she
said, "I want to hear you come again."  And that's exactly what I did.  As I
was traveling back from a third and equally intense orgasm, Trenton gripped
my body forcefully and came inside me with a quiet and focused intent.

Somehow -- and I had never experienced this before, either -- he managed to
extend his orgasm so that at one point we seemed to be suspended over the
futon, breathlessly hovering over the surface in a crystal consciousness,
almost out of our bodies.  When at last we settled into rest beside one
another, I felt fulfilled, though not entirely satiated -- there was still
plenty of time for that.

As our breathing returned to normal, Trenton kissed me softly on the lips,
lingering over the tip of my tongue as if he were memorizing every taste bud,
and said, "I think I like the way you change your mind."  

We all fell out in laughter.

For the next thirty-three hours, Susan and Trenton reacquainted me with
dozens of hibernating proclivities.  It had been nearly a year since the last
time I had had sex, so I was all but starved for the attention that they
bestowed on my body.  Susan, in particular, spent a great deal of time
touching, nipping, cupping, sucking and licking my breasts -- I discovered
that she had secretly lusted after them ever since the first time we took a
sauna together three years ago, even though I always wore towels.  Trenton
was more than content to faun over my sex, especially my clitoris.

As for me?  I learned that I had some tastes of my own, and ones quite
different from those I was aware of.  For one, I discovered a fondness for
erect nipples -- men's or women's -- the longer the better.  Susan's are in
fact exceedingly long and thick when she is excited, a state I made sure she
stayed in until my departure.  I also re-discovered my particular fondness
for felatio, a leaning that Trenton certainly enjoyed . . . repeatedly.

I found out on that next to last evening that I am what is called a
bisexual, and since my move to Seattle, I have enjoyed two female lovers,
though I still primarily prefer men.  I received a letter from Susan the
other day:  they are visiting the Northwest in a couple of weeks and wondered
if I had enough room to put them up for four or five days.  Of course.  And I
can't wait to introduce them to my new young friend, Alex.  I think we'll all
get along nicely.


                            The End

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