“Don’t mind me,” says Aphrodite. “I’m in a really weird headspace right now.”
She’s sitting crosslegged on one side of the bed, her skirt demurely over her knees, variegated wool in her lap and crochet hook in one hand. On the other half of the bed are Adonis and me, bare-arse naked and tangled up in each other.
She’s crocheting a blanket square. He and I are making out. It’s rather weird, and kinda hot, and not at all what I was expecting out of the visit. Still, she suggested he and I have some play-time after dinner, and neither of us wanted to say no to the opportunity! So he and I kiss and grope and reconnect skin-to-skin, and the three of us have random conversation, and we all giggle each time she drops a stitch and grumbles about it. The two cats, oblivious to our plans, decide where humans are is where they should be, and determinedly head for wool or bare flesh – they’re unwelcome either way.
Part of me feels like Aphrodite should be more involved, that ideally the bed would have three naked people (and no cats) all sharing intimate time with each other. But the reality is that we’re all comfortable, and all getting what we want – company, friendship, love. Time together.
For all that she’s not aroused, she’s still participating. I’m lost in a deep kiss with Adonis, my tongue exploring the mouth I’ve missed so much, when I feel a cold narrow needle sliding across my hip – she’s teasing me with the back of the crochet hook. I wriggle at the ticklish feeling, and call Adonis mean when he encourages her. That gets me tickled more …
Later, while I’m sprawled half-way off the bed and languidly licking my way around his cock and balls and perineum (and watching her watching me and him), she leans over and kisses him gently, letting herself be pulled into a deeper, longer, erotic-husband-and-wife kiss. I lift my head and smile at the smouldering look he gives her as she slowly disengages and returns to her crocheting.
At another point, she lightly slides her nails around his back in a circling motion. It leaves him shuddering and hard, grasping my shoulders and holding me tight to him.
And so we played, and talked, and played, for an hour or so. But none of us came. It was not a time for orgasms.
(Earlier on, he and I had shared a shower while Aphrodite sat outside the door and crocheted and talked to us. Rubbing me, teasing me, arousing me, he’d crooked his fingers inside me and asked me to come for him … and I gasped and added my juices to the water sliding down my legs.)
As Adonis had an early shift at work the next day, Aphrodite and I put him to bed. I helped him into his pyjamas, while she fussed with the sheets and rearranged them, then tucked him in. Finally, it was time for me to say goodnight. He pulled me close and kissed me slowly, thoroughly, tenderly. And then told me in a quiet voice that he was going to wank for me after I’d left. To think about it as I wrote this post. And to then go and bring myself off again, thinking of it. Which I shall do.
But Aphrodite? Well, she won’t be coming for a while. She has no desire to, no drive to. I can respect it – I’ve felt that way myself. So I’ll have my orgasms instead, and – when she’s feeling better – help to to catch up on some of the ones she missed, if she wants it.
Perhaps Adonis and I can help her together – and leave the crocheting in the lounge, instead.