That Time I Chickened Out Of A Threesome

“What are we gonna do tonight?”

I wasn’t sure if he was setting me up for the joke or if it was just a hilarious coincidence. I looked at him. “Same thing we do every night, Pinky.”

He laughed and cracked open another beer. It was the same thing we did every night. We had known each other for three years at that point, having met through our horrible minimum-wage job slinging pizzas. To help numb the drudgery of our lives, we often indulged in a cocktail. That’s a classy way to say we would split a case of Natty Light.

“She won’t stop texting me, man.” He put his phone down and flipped through the channels. I knew who she was. We worked with her and she was infatuated with him. She was friendly with me. I knew about the infatuation because I was one of the few people – and probably the only guy – that she opened up to about it.

She wanted us to come over. She was bored. She wanted him to come over, but knew he wouldn’t without me involved. We weighed our options; drink here with each other or drink there with her. We gathered up the beer and got in his car.

I’m not sure who made the first joke. Probably me. “We’re fucking her, right?” He told me he’d only do it if I was involved. I told him the same. He looked over, took a sip of beer and told me: “We’re gonna be the tag team champions of the world!”

We got there and it was weird. She had a roommate, so we weren’t out in the living room. The three of us were sitting on her bed. She wasn’t drinking. I was well on my way to plastered.

Parts of the night are a blur. She was playful. Not with me, but I was there. She kept trying to tickle him. I watched. Somehow, either he touched something or she touched something and things took a totally different turn.

The next thing you know, she is laying on her back – with a pillow over her face to hide her embarrassment – and he and I are looking at each other in wide-eyed amazement. My hand is up her shirt and his is down her pants. We can’t believe it.

After a few moments, the act concludes and she excuses herself. He and I look at each other. I say, “What the fuck are we doing?” He’s not sure, but asks “Are you down?”

This is weird. But, I’m down. Fuck.

She comes back and wants to watch a movie. “Wayne’s World” is selected. I’d never seen it, but they both like it. The lights are turned off and the movie begins. More beers are consumed.

Near the end of the movie, things begin happening again. As this progresses, I notice one thing that is not happening. I’m mentally there, but I’m not physically there. And, I realize that I’m not physically there because I’m not really mentally there. It is weirding me out that she’s not drinking. She is stone-cold sober and saying, “I’ll take both of them at the same time.” It would be one thing for all us to wake up the next morning and go, “What the hell happened?” But, no, she was in full control of herself.

The movie ended. The TV was turned off. The three of us were in the dark. He was standing beside the bed. She was laying on it and I was sitting beside her. He pulled her pants off. I sat there drinking my beer. He began doing whatever he was doing. I felt his hand nudge me a couple times, like saying “Come on, bro. Get in this.”

I don’t know how much time passed. Enough for me to finish my beer and slowly open another one, so as not to disrupt them. There was nothing fast about what they were doing; he was slow and sensual and I could tell she loved it.

He finally finished. At that point, I realized that the sun was starting to rise and I could kind of see things. He pulled out and in the most hilarious asshole moment I’ve ever seen, pulled up his pants and said to me, “Well, I guess we’d better be getting out of here.” I grabbed the beer and left.

We get in his car and leave. I get a text from her: “I’m so sorry about that.” I reply back, “It’s cool.” He looks at me: “What the fuck was that!?” I have no idea. He playfully smacks me on the chest. “We were supposed to be the tag team champions of the world!”