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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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The Darkness in Exactly Nowhere, Iowa
by Oscar (oscarpaco@aol.com)

***

A couple experience a bisexual threesome because of the 
woman's infidelity. Not all that unpleasantly as it 
turns out. (MMF, bi)

***

I awake to pitch black. I am lying on my back, my skin 
covered in a sheen of sweat, and I almost panic from the 
utter darkness but remember an old trick from childhood: 
I smile and close my eyes. 

Slowly I wake and hear the sounds: beside me they are 
making love again. Counting that first time with all 
three of us, this makes three or four. I open my eyes 
again to pitch black. I had never experienced such 
complete darkness. I move my hand before my face and 
scare myself when the fingers touch my nose: no vision 
possible inside this tent in the middle of the night in 
Exactly Nowhere, Iowa.

"Are you two at it again?" I say into the darkness.

The two of them laugh and stop moving for a moment, then 
pick up the slow and gentle rhythm once more. The sounds 
are filled with love, and they do not bother me. I want 
to go back to sleep, but the sounds won't let me. Their 
breathing is woven, the sounds of their soft skin 
intertwined, the moist give and take of their lovemaking 
joined with the mysteries of night. 

After a few moments and without thought, I am caressing 
myself, sub-consciously excited by their sounds, their 
discoveries, their kissing. As their breathing grows 
more ragged, tripped up by the ecstatic promise of 
release, my own breathing shallows and careens. 

We all seem to come together and the image of Colin 
releasing inside my wife brings unutterable joy to me. 
Still lost in the darkness, I feel a tongue on my 
abdomen, around my navel; then it is joined by a second 
tongue and the two of them are kissing my stomach, 
cleaning off their influence on me. 

When the two tongues leave my body, I feel a male shadow 
hovering over my face. I smell Colin hovering over me 
only a moment before he leans down and kisses me full on 
the lips. The gesture is startling in its clarity, its 
openness and its thanks. I kiss him back and touch my 
fingers to his shoulder.

Soon, Karen arches her body into mine, Colin arches his 
body into hers, and we drift off to sleep together again 
in the center of dark, hot Iowa summer.

***

I awake next to uncomfortable heat and daylight. It is 
morning, and I am alone in the tent. I lay on my back 
for awhile and pull the pieces together: the way Karen 
came to me while Colin was in the bathroom at the last 
gas station, the way she said, "I think I want to sleep 
with two men," the way she looked at me lovingly, the 
way her eyes wondered if I would give her this gift; the 
way she announced her desire, sitting between us in the 
front seat.

Nothing else was said about it for the rest of the 
night; the way Karen made a cooing sound after the three 
of us had crawled into the dark tent to sleep for the 
night, and the way she quietly slid off her clothes in 
the sleeping bag, the way she held my hand as she kissed 
Colin on the lips, the way she fell back in ecstasy as 
Colin and I caressed her entire body, kissed and kissed 
her. 

When Karen began to move her body against us in a 
pleading manner, Colin had produced a condom, tore the 
package off, then delicately and boldly placed the 
condom over my penis and told me to make love to my 
wife, which is exactly what I did, while Colin kissed 
and caressed her naked body. And after Karen and I 
climaxed, Karen turned to Colin's body warmly and within 
minutes they were making love beside me while I caressed 
first her body then his body until the two of them 
orgasmed and fell back in a sweat. 

"That was incredible," is what she said. 

Colin made love to her again before we all fell asleep. 
And I had been awakened later by the sounds of their 
lovemaking in the pitch black Iowa night inside the tent 
that felt like the center of the universe.

We made these decisions, yes, without saying a word. In 
total darkness.

I sit up in the tent and listen. Birds. A slight breeze. 
Colin breathing rapidly several feet away from the 
tent's door. I peak out and see Colin sitting on the 
picnic table, Karen between his legs, her hair cascading 
over his naked thighs, her head bobbing slowly and 
rhythmically over his sex. I fall quietly back into the 
tent and get dressed. Listen again. After Colin lets out 
a brief shout, I wait a few minutes before stepping out 
of the tent. 

My sudden appearance startles them, their faces redden, 
and they avert their eyes, making silly gestures to look 
busy with breakfast. It is not necessary:

I am not jealous. Strangely, I love Colin in a new way 
because Karen loves him in a new way. A part of his 
spirit exists inside of her now, and I have to learn how 
to love that, how to be gentle and loving with that part 
of him he would never get back, that part of himself he 
has offered my wife freely and without fear. 

***

Two months earlier, just as we began the melodic dance 
of making love, Karen broke into tears, quiet at first 
then violent fits of crying. I held her body to mine, 
tried to absorb whatever pain had climbed out of her 
body, and I waited. When the crying died down, I gave 
her a tissue. She blew her nose, glanced into my eyes, 
then started to cry again, softly. "I'm sorry," she 
said. "I've fallen in love with another man." 

Without saying anything further, she told me this story 
with her body, with her eyes and hands: while I was away 
for the weekend, she and Colin had tried to make love on 
our bed, but the guilt grew too heavy. 

***

The three of us drink Bloody Mary's and scan the 
classifieds for an apartment. Colin is moving to Iowa 
soon. His life in Iowa is beginning with Karen and me, 
and that makes us all feel good, the way it feels good 
to have somebody next to you when you are sad. 

We drive around this little city looking at buildings, 
soaking in this strangely exotic place that will absorb 
our dear friend soon. Finally, we arrive at the building 
that Colin will live in for the next two years, and 
Karen and I wait in the parking lot while Colin signs 
the papers and hands over the security deposit. 

Karen asks me if I'm mad at her, and I tell her that, 
no, I am not mad at all, I am happy that the two of them 
are happy to share. It is an honest answer. It depresses 
me, though, I have to admit. Five years later I will 
rehearse this answer, and it will still be honest, only 
in a slightly different and darker way; for now, it is 
true as truth, no catch. 

We go to a bookstore and make a few purchases: Rimbaud 
for me, Shelley for her, and rare Brautigan for him. We 
drink beers downtown and talk about everything but sex, 
everything but our eventual sadness when he moves. Once, 
when Colin turns his head, I drink up his profile and 
swallow and understand part of what she loves about him. 
The cleft of his chin, the long sideburns, the alabaster 
skin and freckles, the James Dean good looks, the 
seductive rhythm of his carriage. 

He feels himself being swallowed and looks over at me, 
smiles: his eyes are open as doors. I smile back and 
blush slightly, knowing what I know but not wanting to 
let on that I know it. He knows it all. Still, he looks 
away. 

We drink more beer from the cooler and sit around the 
campsite playing guitar and telling stories. Karen's 
green eyes flash as she watches these two men she loves 
intensely, her blonde hair glints and suffocates in the 
summer sun; her lips quiver with a dangerous knowledge. 
"I'm hot," she announces and takes off her shirt. Colin 
and I exchange a nervous glance and smile, drop a beat 
in the song we are playing, then pick it up again and 
harmonize through the chorus of a ancient spiritual we 
all know by heart.

There is nobody else in the universe besides the three 
of us, and we are singing prayers and gazing through the 
future.

***

Ten years later I will ask Karen what she loved about 
Colin's body, why she craved his penis so profoundly at 
that campsite in Exactly Nowhere, Iowa, in the dark so 
many years ago. We are tripping through time, defying 
realists the world over, jumping from one zone to 
another in the forever space of our marriage. She speaks 
of his wry grin, his deadly profile and his tender skin. 
She tells me that his body sang to her in the middle of 
the night, asking for harmony in the darkness; she tells 
me that her body learned a new dance inside that canvas 
tent, that her body learned to harmonize with gestures. 

I ask her to tell me about his penis, and her smile 
broadens with the physical memory. She narrates an epic 
come from an ancient grotto: a warrior who visits the 
alchemist for strength, who strips bare while the 
alchemist smokes every inch of skin, even the insides, 
magically, then sends him on his way. 

She tells me this without saying a word, and I hear 
every syllable rolling off her tongue as if it is coming 
exactly from an impossibly mysterious place. Part of it 
pisses me off, but I don't say a word. 

Colin is in the next shower stall. I listen to the water 
hissing over his body. The water hisses over my body, 
too. We are neighbors, locked in time, pressed like 
moist flowers in a book of poetry. When I step into his 
stall, he smiles at me and turns to greet me. We kiss 
openly, he touches his tongue inside my mouth, touches 
my teeth as if they are piano keys. 

I kneel in front of him and take his penis in my hand, 
feel it growing, feel the blood rush of desire. Fully 
extended, his cock is so sleek, so hard and so 
marvelously different than my own – like the largest 
mystery there is. There are no words between us. The 
water hisses on our naked skin. I take him into my 
mouth, crossing that line willingly, and begin the way 
Karen begins. It feels as if a parallel universe is 
entering me by a secret portal, one that isn't on any 
map, and I nearly faint from the exquisite texture. 

I begin slowly. I take his balls in my hand: so much 
larger than my own. I do exactly what Karen does because 
I know how tremendous it feels, and soon his body gives 
off the clear message. In another moment or two, he 
comes in my mouth: a sensation so dramatically different 
than I expect, a taste so wildly different than my own. 
My head spins in an ecstatic world for a brief time, and 
I swallow stars and dust and darkness, taking it all 
inside me, gladly. 

After I finish, I return to my stall, and we finish our 
showers in silence. We dress in silence and leave the 
shower house in silence, walk in comfortable silence 
back to the tent, enter the tent silently and find Karen 
lying naked in the sprawl of sleeping backs in the 
middle of the tent in Exactly Nowhere, Iowa. 

Twice now the phone rings and it is the wrong number and 
I answer the absurd questions before hanging up. We have 
been waiting four days for a phone call from Iowa but 
continue getting the wrong number. It has become a 
childish game, something to do when it's raining, even 
though it hasn't rained for weeks. It's a mild drought, 
the talking heads on TV keep saying, but Karen and I 
know differently. We can feel it in our blood. 

Colin writes letters to us but they never arrive. All we 
do is wait. 

Karen hasn't said a word since we returned from Iowa. 
Once I came home late at night and found Colin and Karen 
making love on the sofa: their bodies grinding into one 
another with abandoned zest, with verve and purpose. 
They didn't hear me walking in, didn't drop a beat. The 
sight of it gave me a chill, which is why I left and 
drove around in the country, dazed and uncertain, but 
sure of one thing: the sadness of his departure was 
going to be difficult. But that was the day before he 
left.

I haven't said a word since we returned from Iowa. My 
body does all of my talking for me. Sometimes I wake up 
in the middle of the night shouting, covered in sweat, 
usually with a painful erection. Karen hugs me and 
drifts back to sleep. It takes a lifetime for me to find 
sleep again once I've misplaced myself again because of 
a nightmare. More and more, that is the way things go.

All we do is wait, wondering when the waiting will end. 

***

Colin sends us a postcard from New Orleans, but it gets 
lost forever in the middle of Kentucky, taking a wrong 
turn somehow.

Sometimes or never – it is impossible to tell which – 
Karen and I get out the photo album and flip the pages, 
trip through time the way we do, tell stories and 
exchange a glance and gesture, twelve courteous and open 
years of loving one another. 

Somewhere in the middle of that first photo album is a 
picture that defines a night in Iowa. Let me tell you 
about it...

Colin plays an ancient spiritual, harmonizing with his 
guitar. He wears a leather jacket, a red flannel shirt, 
a black T-shirt. His head is cocked forever to the side: 
profile trapped in time. A curled lock of hair on his 
forehead, that long sideburn beside that delicate ear, 
that strong nose etches against the dark night of Iowa 
summer a lifetime ago, that cleft in his chin. The 
expression of his mouth, the serious glint in his half-
shielded eye, the calm demeanor of his posture: 
everything was leading to dangerous love.

When we stumble over this photo, Karen and I stop. We 
gaze in complete silence, we travel through time, and we 
know things that we will never regret.

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. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 69