I Had An Awesome Gay Threesome

It was only the second time I’d ever set foot into a gay club. I’d been waiting for a long time. I’d really wanted to cut loose. Immediately after walking into the place, I got a wink from a pretty hot kid from across the floor. I knew it was going to be a great night.

I ditched my friends and started dancing with a guy. Eventually, I got bored and settled into a couch in the lounge, alone. Just then, a ridiculously cute 24-year-old approached me. He told me he had just graduated from Columbia, and wondered if I wanted to dance.

Maybe his Ivy League degree made him more attractive. I couldn’t really control myself. The dancing was great: fun, free, and hot. After a while, we settled back on the couch for what I thought would be an awesome make-out session. Then he introduced me to his boyfriend. That he lived with.

I introduced myself and tried to find an excuse to escape. But the two of them didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. The idea of a threesome briefly crossed my mind, but threesomes were only for porn, where some random observer walks in on two people having sex and spontaneously joins them and no one takes issue. Threesomes weren’t for a college freshman and a committed couple six years his senior. Anyways, I’d already given him my number. I came up with some wild excuse and ran away.

The next morning I woke up hung over. My legs hurt, and I was horrified about what had happened the night before.

Then I got his text.

I had a lot of fun last night. We should all hang out again, soon. Really soon.

I told him I was impossibly busy this weekend. Lies. Yet I kept texting him out of curiosity — what was he doing texting an 18-year-old at his 9-5 government job? He was cute so I didn’t care. After extensive Facebook stalking, I finally agreed to hang out with them.

We had great pizza, wine they let me choose, and watched some TV and laughed. They started making out. I got so tense, I almost ran out. I felt creepy. Then the cute, Ivy League grad leaned in for a kiss from me, and I greedily indulged in a long, romantic kiss. I probably sound like an idiot, but I hadn’t realized until that exact moment that I was about to have my first threesome.

It was fantastic, romantic, and incredibly pleasurable. We showered together. They took turns showering with me and kissing me, then we all dressed and sat back on the couch to watch more TV. Five minutes later, we were all at it again. After another series of showers and kissing, we were all dressed and they were ready for bed.

If what I had experienced with them outside the threesome had not already been painfully awkward enough, they refused to let me leave since I had been drinking, which I suppose was reasonable. But it also seemed like the part where they kill me, or force me to engage in some horrific, traumatizing event or religious sacrifice. But all they did was offer me a place in their king-sized, comfy bed. I was nervous to intrude on their adult relationship. I’ve never even had a boyfriend, and they were 24 and living together. That’s some committed shit I know nothing about. So I opted to sleep on the couch, alone and cold.

I woke up at 7 a.m. as they were getting ready for work. I put on my clothes and grabbed my things. The cute Ivy League grad was leaving for his job and offered to walk me down. I had a nice hug with his boyfriend to say goodbye. At my car, Ivy League said goodbye, like we had just casually met at a Starbucks. I was slightly saddened by how our night together had not changed him, or opened his eyes to some new life where he would date me instead.

I hopped back into my shitty 2002 Prius and drove away. Then I got a text saying he had a lot of fun and that we should do it again sometime, and I replied like the dirty, desperate slut I’d thought I’d become — I’ll be there whenever you want. And this is pretty much where my life is right now, as an 18-year-old college freshman.