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Follows ‘A Wrestling Prelude to Pleasure’
The email came out of the blue.
“John, what are you up to the week of 4-10 February? Any wild chance you are up for a visit?”
Coming from a different correspondent, this would not have been an especially remarkable request.
But I hadn’t heard from Lisa in nine months, and she did not live in the next town, or even the next state or the next country, but Down Under — Melbourne Australia — some ten-thousand miles from my home in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I gathered myself to read further.
“Right, I know, you’re thinking ‘what is this about?’ I’ll give you the short story, then expand it if the request is more than just a theoretical issue for you. If this whole little request with no warning is impossible for you, that is not only fine but to be expected. But I was raised to think that it never hurts to ask. And we had such a good time the last time we saw you.”
This last statement brought me up short, the processing was going to take a little time before I continued reading.
“Good time” was an understatement of significant proportions.
My first trip ever to Australia last year had been a business trip. My architecture firm, in an expansionist phase, had sent me to a conference in Melbourne with some hopes of courting some out-of-country clients they knew would be attending. Melbourne had been a cosmopolitan delight to this North American from the wilds of Michigan, an eye-opening adventure. Not only did I get a respite, however briefly, from a nasty, cold winter for a week — to a sun-drenched summer, warm air, with shorts and sunglasses — but I had met Rick and Lisa my last day there.
“Good time” echoed again through my brain. “Good time.”
As when Lisa’s lips were clamped tightly around the root of my penis, her lips and throat suctioning me divinely. My opportunity to flood her cunt with sperm as an appetizer to Rick’s spirited humping right after me. I remembered the enchanting embrace of her warm, gripping channel. That our little “threesome,” however temporary, had been so effortless and fluid that I had trouble at times re-imagining it. Of course they had said “stay in touch” but I had not expected this to be an action-item, assuming nothing more than a promise of goodwill.
“Rick is going out of town for that week.” She continued. What?
“It’s a business trip, Monday through Friday, but it’s a long drive to Adelaide. He’ll leave Sunday, get back Saturday. He doesn’t want me staying alone at the place. None of our normal friends are available to stop in, for one reason or another, and there have been a rash of break-ins and other troubles in the neighbourhood lately, most unusual. Last night at dinner Rick said to me, ‘Why don’t you see if John can come down? He was fun, he’d look after the place, we could sandwich my time away with a couple amusing weekends of pleasure, the three of us. It will feel like a little vacation instead of a bump of loneliness in the road. Mostly I’ll know you’re in good hands.”
This was coming from Rick? I had reasonably good feelings about my “good time” with them last year, but more from Lisa’s end (I remember her thong she secreted in my laptop briefcase, whose surprise discovery while I was at Melbourne’s airport only narrowly avoided some embarrassment on my part) than Rick’s. And now he was asking for me to be the guardian stud over his precious Lisa while he was out of town for a week? I closed my eyes and held my head in both hands.
My life could not be described as exciting by almost any standard. Parts of it were fine, more than fine. Good job, decent pay, I was doing just what I wanted to be doing and my creative faculties were not only utilized well but recognized by both my boss and my peers. Designing things had been my passion forever.
But … but.
My last steady girlfriend was some distance in the rear-view mirror, and the last few years for me had been punctuated by short, occasionally lively, but ultimately unsatisfying liaisons. I had no real desire to be married but found myself in envy of co-workers who had ‘steady fucking’ at least potentially in their repertoire. My penis, at age thirty-four, was years away from peak production. And enjoyment. Dating in one’s thirties is not the same as a decade earlier. Rick and Lisa had been an unexpected, and thoroughly engaging, oasis in my little lonely sexual desert.
The rest of the letter was short, full of sweet, cajoling “understand if you can’t come” sentiments, and “sure would be nice to see you and pick up where we left off” phrasings. Holy Mother of God. It appeared my fairy godmother from childhood had only gone AWOL, not vanished altogether.
I issued an immediate, if tentative, response, indicating the theoretical possibility of my visit, trying not to seem too eager while emphasizing my complete agreement with her request’s spirit, stressing mutual friendships, etc. Yet I asked for a few days to see about logistical solutions.
I ataköy escort had enough vacation saved up, that would not be a problem, mostly it would just be the work thing, and how it would sit with the firm’s schedule. I vowed to see if I could dredge up the short list of potential clients I lined up last time, and guessed that if I could convince Douglas that I was willing to make some potentially useful contact with them — While On My Own Vacation Time — that that might grease the skids.
It took longer than a week to iron details out, but work was willing, and by November I had plane tickets booked for Melbourne Australia, from February 2nd to the 11th, 2018.
Lisa was thrilled.
All this said, with the prospects ahead of me for a “can’t lose” situation, it was not without trepidation that I stepped aboard United Flight 1836 to Melbourne on a February morning in Detroit, the outside wind chill at minus-five degrees. It would look totally stupid for me to arrive in Melbourne with a down parka and gloves among my possessions, but they were necessary adjuncts for a mid-winter Michigan departure and return.
Rick, not Lisa, met me at the airport, and I felt the iron squeeze of his oversize paws by way of a handshake. I couldn’t mistake his broad face, easy smile, barrel chest, solid shoulders, a rugby-type build with a no-nonsense demeanor. He had shorts and a loose shirt, short-cropped hair and a well-tanned skin.
“Thanks for coming John, saves us a bit of trouble.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Welcome back!”
I vaguely remembered the route from the airport, in the north of town, to their place. I cataloged the differences from home. Mostly it was just the driving on the wrong side of the road. I found myself holding on to the door arm rest more tightly than was warranted, and while Rick was clearly more than a competent driver, there were times I felt like we were going to career into some wall or another on a tight right turn.
Their car was a Holden, maybe ten years old, which I learned was some sort of Aussie General Motors sedan, no longer in production. “We got it from Lisa’s mum, when the doctor said no more driving for her. It’s boring but serviceable. Best of all it’s free.”
Their neighborhood was all one-story bungalows and even what we might call ‘ranch houses’ in the states, trees and bushes about, many yards neat and tidy, some brown, dusty and clearly unwatered, a mix. Relatively prosperous, it was more middle-class than up-scale. Hard to believe break-ins could be that common, except that every house likely had televisions, computers, all the usual attractive middle-class portable valuables.
Folks back home had asked me about my earlier trip to Australia, how was it different? Did I see a pile of kangaroos? Did I “get” the accent? Some of the questions were stunningly stupid.
We pulled up in front of Rick and Lisa’s tan low-slung bungalow, Lisa waiting on the porch for us.
She had on jeans and a rose-colored cotton blouse buttoned down the front. I could tell instantly there was no bra on underneath.
I kicked myself for neglecting to bring a present for them, of any sort. Now, trying not to stare at Lisa, with her sparkling eyes, I wished I had brought her one of those silly cowboy shirts (a simple one, no pattern) but with those mother-of-pearl or turquoise snap-buttons (which would have accented her sky-blue eyes) that looked like a cliché on most people except for real westerners and the Country-Western crowd. I had forgotten how ravishing a simple blouse fit her frame, outlined her chest, made you want to rip the buttons off on your way to her skin.
“John! Excellent! You look great!” A kiss and ardent hug and I felt right at home. Sandy-blonde hair in a pony-tail, that sweet little gap between her upper front teeth when she smiled that looked so appealing.
“Although a bit pale about the gills…” She examined the mid-winter pallor of my face and bare forearms. It occurred to me only then that a couple of even short trips to a tanning booth might have saved me some aggravation and given me a jump start on sun protection here. I remembered that this was what I knew U Michigan students did in the early weeks of March before heading to Florida or Cancun for their spring break.
“We’ll fix that this week, although we’ll have to be careful you don’t crisp your US superpower skin into some carbonized level of brown.”
We had dinner, which Lisa had prepared, some local fish and a salad. Good healthy fare, but I knew both of them as fitness enthusiasts, remembering their back-room gym and an overall careful attention to their bodies, trim and strong.
I asked them how they knew I was American when they first saw me at the hotel bar the year before. To my knowledge they hadn’t heard me speak. Was it my shoes? My clothing that gave me away?
“No, not at all,” said Rick. “Your beer was a Fosters! No Australian drinks that avcılar escort swill unless it’s the only possible choice.”
We caught up. Through my usual scatter-shot, nosy American blizzard of questions I learned a little more about them. I knew before that they had met at university, but not that it was the local one, the University of Melbourne. I heard more about the higher education system there, the emphasis on distance learning to adapt to far-flung students. But also that most college-bound folks usually just went to the closest university to home if they could.
I was astonished to discover that Rick had a PhD, since he worked as middle management in a nautical supply wholesaler.
“Engineering?” I asked. “Or finance? Either of those would fit with your position. Although in the US it wouldn’t have been a business PhD that would have made a difference but an MBA.”
Lisa let out a long comfortable laugh.
Rick snorted. “No, not at all. English. Got it? An English PhD!”
“Well, why didn’t you use it? There have to be teaching positions in the colleges and universities?”
Rick shook his head. “Very, very few. Even if you’ve got a degree from one of the elite universities, what we call the group of eight, which includes Melbourne, there just aren’t enough positions to go around. It is overproduction I know now, but didn’t then. They have no business giving out so many advanced degrees. Particularly in non-lucrative fields.”
“I taught English in a Wurundjeri community for a year or two but that wasn’t going to cut it. This private sector job opened up and I took it.”
“You know how academics here search for positions?” Lisa asked me, arching her eyebrows.
They looked at me, smiling. What was I supposed to say?
“I dunno. Job adverts in the appropriate specialist journals?” Head shaking.
“Go to conferences? Work the networks? Word of mouth?” Lisa started laughing.
Rick shook his head in disgust. “Only one reliable means, unless of course you have a powerful ally or insider knowledge.”
He paused for effect.
I stared at him. “You look in the obituaries?”
“Yep. If an English professor dies, and your specialty area aligns with his, then there might be an opening. Not much otherwise. Of course you do have one other option — go overseas. Our ‘group of eight’ have a good reputation internationally, but that means leaving this place, and we have no notion of doing that.”
I let out a breath. Okay, makes nautical supply sound like a suitable choice then. And if anything like the US, it paid better too, a fact that Rick confirmed.
As we talked I was feeling the effects of the long flight. It felt as if only some parts of my brain were working. I was excited but a bit off-center. The situation was win-win, no question. A night with the two of them, then a solid five nights with Lisa myself, then Rick’s return. I quivered, wondering if things would play out the same odd way as last time with all three of us together. Rick had been Captain Alpha, me the third wheel (second penis?) And Lisa had enjoyed it all.
They clearly were comfortable with the ‘threesome’ idea, although what they said last time did not suggest it was a regular feature of their love-life. I mostly just recalled Rick, rather offhandedly, mentioning to me that sometimes “Lisa likes two cocks.” This apparently was okay with him. I wondered if another woman was ever an option for them, but never figured out a decent way to ask.
But the scene was also one that I knew I could ruin if I wasn’t careful. Rick’s rightful place needed total respect. I would likely need to follow their lead in the upcoming dance.
We went out to their backyard porch after dinner. Rick poured us each some brandy. “St. Agnes VSOP, half-way local,” he said. It was quite good.
“Wine making, and the accompanying products like this, have come a long way here.”
He lifted a glass.
“To three friends.”
Impulsively, I echoed the toast with an addition, “To three international friends.”
Lisa smiled hopefully. “Two of them with soon-to-be erect penises?”
After clinking glasses and taking a sip, Rick laughed and put his glass down. “Who says ‘soon-to-be?'”
He slowly unbuckled himself and pulled his shorts and drawers off. Sure enough, his penis, which I correctly remembered as short and thick, with darker skin than the rest of him and a good heavy set of balls underneath, was standing out about seventy-five degrees, on its way towards serious interest. As an architect, I know my angles. It looked menacing.
I felt Lisa’s hands on my crotch, probing, sensing. While I couldn’t match Rick yet, a few minutes of her hands’ actions, all the while looking into my eyes, was enough to produce some results.
She stood me up and carefully pulled my trousers and pants off, after shaking my shoes off, and gazed avrupa yakası escort appreciatively at my out-stretched organ, slowly stiffening. Rick and I looked at each other and he laughed.
“Come on Lisa, no fair to be the odd one out. Out of your knickers!”
And so I was treated to the sight of her unbuttoning her blouse, her meaty drifting breasts swaying off to the side as her top came off, then a slow wiggle out of sandals and jeans. Well-defined aureola, pubic hair darker than her streaky, blonde head-hair, her sweet, short-waisted trim body was on display in front of us.
The rest of the clothes came off and we sat out back for perhaps half an hour, watching the summer light gradually get flatter, the birds making their last calls before retiring, the sultry summer air underlining the anticipation of the coming excitement.
We talked fairly self-consciously, and overtly avoided sexual matters, yet we each were checking each other out, remembering our last encounter. I am more slender than Rick, but in reasonably good shape. I was acutely aware of being circumcised. My penis slipped in and out of varying degrees of erection. Under different circumstances I would have been nervous about its ardent condition, but felt no concerns here. Rick’s stayed semi-erect for the duration, his penis-head just poking free from his foreskin, smooth, heavy, dangerous looking.
Finally Lisa stood and stretched. How marvelously her breasts shifted and jiggled with her body’s movements! I held my breath.
“Gents!” She looked at each of us. “Bed beckons! I’ll hit the loo first, you each can take five minutes after, no longer! No more dallying.”
I was, this time, to be allowed access to their bedroom and what turned out to be its oversize mattress.
As the last arrival to the grand suite, I noted Lisa spread out comfortably at the top of the bed amongst the pillows, her hair loosened from her pony-tail and free. Rick was at her side, stroking a thigh while they chatted. Lisa patted the section of mattress next to her while I eased myself alongside.
Although no communication took place, both Rick and I began to stroke Lisa’s shoulders. She looked from one to the other of us, and I felt finger-tips from one hand sliding along my penis, then under my balls, along the cock-head. Her other hand attended to Rick.
For some ten minutes or so, silent finger explorations took place. No one spoke, although eyes gleamed. Only an occasional murmur of enjoyment escaped our lips.
Lisa rose to a sitting position, then knelt between us. She alternated, two hands now attending to Rick’s penis for a few minutes, then mine. We both grew quite hard.
She turned us over, eased our eyelids shut with fingertips, and gave us back rubs, one hand on each of us. My mind drifted, enthralled at her touch, at the pressure of my erect penis on the mattress beneath me, anticipating the next stages of arousal.
Little kisses on my back, along my vertebra, soft, endearing.
Under different circumstances (as when I could have ignored the aroused condition of my cock) I could have found myself easily drifting off to sleep.
Rick leaned over and whispered in my ear.
“Try not to make too much noise when she does it.”
What? When she does what? I opened my eyes but he had turned his head away, as if the communication had never happened.
A few more gentle kisses, my muscles, all but one anyway, relaxing and drifting into a comfortable ease.
Kisses on my rump, sweet, exploratory. Fingers caressing my ass-cheeks.
And then, holy terror, a stabbing pain in one butt-cheek. My body seemed to shoot two inches off the mattress. My left ass was burning and I turned to see Lisa suppressing a laugh. She deliberately turned to Rick and bit him hard on the right bum-cheek. He was far more composed than I, although she got him good. Red indented teethmarks developed, like some ancient Polaroid print, in his ass. You could even see the little gap that existed between her front two upper incisors.
Rick turned to look at me, a gleam in his eye. “Alright mate,” he said to me, “that’s our sign.”
He leaped up and grabbed Lisa by an arm and around the waist, gesturing me to do the same. We grappled with her until her arms were under control. She fought in a desultory fashion until we had her “subdued.”
“What manner of foreplay was this?” I thought. There was no other explanation possible.
We wrestled her to the bed, on her back, and Rick had me hold her arms, pinioning them above her head. He straddled her chest, I loved the sight of the indents his rump put into her soft chest underneath him. He ran his erection over her face, along her nose and forehead, into her hair, then dropped it into her mouth. She was smiling to beat the band.
I watched entranced as she suckled Rick’s penis. He pushed it about a little, and she worked him shallow, around the head with her lips and tongue, then deep, with his penis-head far into her throat. At some point I realized I didn’t need to hold her hands anymore.
When released, her hands went immediately to his hips, guiding him in and out of her mouth, while his penis slid along her lips. It sure looked nice. Rick looked down at the proceeding, evidently pleased with the sight.
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