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Archive name: procliv.txt (MFF, sharing)
Authors name: Oscar Paco (oscarpaco@aol.com)
Story title : Proclivities

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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2001. Please
do not remove the author information or make any 
changes to this story.  You may post freely to non-
commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of
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Proclivities (MFF, sharing)
by Oscar Paco (oscarpaco@aol.com)

***

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 he 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 
eyes I had never noticed before. She placed her free 
hand warmly on my stomach and said, "You know, Gabby, 
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 strange 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 a sentence that would stay with me 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 on me.

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 in me didn't allow me to express that desire -
- perhaps I was afraid of lesbian contact, or perhaps I 
didn't feel comfortable sleeping 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 for me 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 an 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 candlelight, 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, my breasts had embarrassed me 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

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 13