Vicarious (The Vicarious Trilogy) (4 page)

Chapter 6: Blackmail and the Babysitter

Are threesomes really that common? It’s
difficult to know for certain how many people have experimented with group sex, since it’s not something that comes up in everyday conversation. Rather than impose on my circle of friends and acquaintances for such stories, I placed ads online in three nearby cities where I might have an opportunity to meet with those willing to share their stories.

My first contact was with a
young woman who lived two hours north of my city. We arranged to meet at a coffee shop in a suburb somewhere in between.

I
arrived early to claim a corner table. A pretty brunette entered and scanned the room. I smiled and waved her over. She searched the crowd as she made her way to me, nervously looking for anyone who might recognize her. She sat with her back facing the rest of the room.

“Are you Sheila?” It was the pseudonym I’d used in the ad.

“Yes, that’s me. Thank you for coming,” I said in a low voice. “I appreciate your willingness to meet me, and to share your story.”

She looked relieved. “I was worried you’d be some
weird predator guy, but you really are a writer, aren’t you?” She motioned toward my pen, notebook, and tape recorder.

“Yes,” I assured her with a smile, “I really am. I’ve brought a recorder to make sure I’m able to transcribe our interview accurately, but I don’t have to use it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, that’s okay.  I mean, a voice recording is okay, but no pictures, right?”

“Right,” I smiled. “No photos, no names. I’m interested in true experiences, but I never ask for real names, and I never reveal my sources.”

With that, she visibly relaxed and peeled her jacket off, and wrapped her arms around it.

“Well, the truth is our babysitter is blackmailing my husband
and me,” she said, then laughed nervously. “It’s such a strange situation, but we…we don’t mind, I guess, and we don’t want to stop.  Stop having the threesomes, that is.”

She
laughed again, the sound strained.  I put my pen down and folded my hands in my lap.

“Would you like some tea?” I asked her.

“Yes, yes, I would. I’ll be right back.”

While
she waited in line, I made some notes about her appearance. She was lovely, trim and graceful as an athlete, comfortable in her jeans and hiking books, yet feminine in a ponytail, pink lip gloss, and a tailored shirt. I avoided looking at the license plate of the Jeep she’d parked just beyond the door but noted the “Life is Great” sticker at the corner of the windshield. She looked trusting, fresh-scrubbed, open, and optimistic; she was the grown-up version of a healthy, sporty, American co-ed. It was difficult to imagine this young woman embroiled in a sexual triangle tainted by extortion.

“It started innocently enough, as they say,” she laughed
yet again, after a sip of her drink.  “We came home late one night, the kids were asleep, and the babysitter was asleep too, on the couch in front of the fireplace. I poured us a glass of wine, and asked her if she wanted one. She’s a senior in college, so, what, 21, 22-years-old? I didn’t know her that well, but she was recommended by someone who knew someone I knew, nobody close, I mean. She interviewed well, the kids liked her, her references were fine, so we gave it a try a few times, for short errands, and then for an evening here and there.

“Anyway, this night, my husband and I had come home a little mellow after a
really nice evening, and that’s why I offered her the wine. The wind began to rise while we were chatting and finishing the bottle, so I suggested she stay over, rather than drive back to her apartment in the storm.

“It’s funny; if my husband had suggested she stay
over, I would have stuffed her back into her little Toyota and sent her packing, but it seemed right to me that she should stay the night. It was so cozy in the house, with nothing but the firelight and the wine, and the wind howling outside.  I dozed off for a while, leaning back into my husband’s arms. When I woke, she was cuddled up next to me. It was sweet, really.

“Talking about it, like this, is so odd. I mean, I can’t even discuss this with my husband, but I really want to talk about it. Are we crazy? The situation has gotten a
little out of hand, but that first night, when I think of it, I remember it as having a romantic, dream-like quality, because of the firelight and the peaceful silence among the three of us. The music was low, the wind blew outside, and none of us said a word.

“I started it, I guess, by stroking her hair, smoothing a strand away from her face. She’s pretty enough, not really a beau
ty, but she’s at that age when the freshness of a young woman’s skin is so appealing. Tipsy as I was, I felt moved by her prettiness. I kissed her cheek, and then she leaned in and kissed me back. A full-on, girl-on-girl kiss. It was surprising, and surprisingly hot.

I heard
my husband (I don’t want to tell you his name), I heard him moan softly behind me. He slipped his hands around me and started kneading my breasts while the babysitter and I kissed. What can I say? She pulled her tee shirt over her head, and my husband unbuttoned my pants. It ended up with him bringing me off with his fingers, and her kissing and suckling my breasts while she rubbed herself to climax on my thigh.

“It was one of the most wonderful things that has ever happened to me, to have two people want me and want to please me. But it was disturbing and strange, too. It was the wine
, I said to myself. We blamed it on the wine. She dressed, we dressed, and my husband paid her the babysitting fee, and then he gave her a hundred dollar bill as a tip, I guess. She didn’t stay that night, and it was awhile before we heard from her again. I was too embarrassed to call her, to be honest, but one day after the holidays, she called and acted like nothing had ever happened. Said she wanted to let us know she was taking a light class load her final semester and would be available to sit whenever we needed her.

“Neither of us, my husband or I, had ever
talked about what happened, but then that night, as we settled into bed, I mentioned that she had called and maybe she could watch the kids when we went to an upcoming event. He said, sure, why not, very casually, you know? But then, when the lights were out, we had completely heated sex. He was so turned on, I knew he had to be thinking about that heavy petting session with her on the couch, and that made me feel even hotter. It was one of the best nights we’ve had since the kids arrived.

“
Not long after that, she sat with the kids, and we came home a little early, eager to try it again, but it wasn’t the same. The kids were running around, and she seemed agitated, in a rush to leave, so nothing happened. The next day, though, she called and said she thought she lost a bracelet in the sofa, and could she stop by to look for it?  I said sure, and then quickly arranged for the kids to stay with friends and called my husband to ask him to bring home a couple of bottles of this wine we like. He left the office early, raced home, and together we waited for her to show up with the music going, the fireplace lit, the lights dimmed.

“Well, it was amazing. We did a bunch of things that night, playing around, trying this position and that. We’ve gotten together ten or twelve times since then. The only thing is, she says she’s a virgin and wants to stay that way, so my husband doesn’t, um, have intercourse with her, but we do other things. I never thought I’d get turned on watching some other woman suck his
tool, but wow. Just seeing his face…it’s incredible.”

The woman
stopped and sipped her tea. Her face was bright red, and she wasn’t able to meet my gaze.  I kept scribbling and glanced to make sure the recorder was running.

“You said she’s blackmailing you,” I prompted.

“Yeah, she is. It’s our fault, right? I mean, the first time, he gave her a hundred dollar bill, and it seemed like, you know, the thing to do. So, every time she came over, she was leaving with a hundred bucks. Then, things got a bit more…graphic, I guess.

“Our favorite game now is more elaborate. After a certain amount of wine, some frisky petting, we end up on our bed with me spread-eagled on my back
with pillows under my hips. She…she uses my vibrator in my pussy, and licks my clit while she talks dirty. My husband, he penetrates her from behind, while she says these crude things to us.

“She’ll say things like, ‘Do you like to have
a hot young thing like me between your legs, sucking you off? Do you know your husband is back there, stuffing his big dick into my little hole?’ Oh, it’s mortifying to say this out loud! But I have to be honest, it makes me crazy. I squirm and moan and pant ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ while he pumps in and out of her. I come hard, he comes hard, and I can’t tell if she does or not and at that point, I guess I don’t care. All I care about is her tongue on me, the vibrator moving in and out, and knowing I’m doing something so bad I can’t ever tell anyone about it.

“Now that we’re so involved, she’s demanding $500 every time. We’re doing well, but we’re not rich, and it’s starting to be a strain on our finances, giving her as much as $2500 a month.”

Here,
she blushed again, realizing she has admitted to me how often the three of them enact this scenario. I leaned in to look into her eyes.

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’ve ordered this strap-on dildo, and I’m really hoping it shows up soon, before she graduates and leaves town, because I want to switch places with him and fuck her myself.” She said this in a rush of sincerity and determination, but then put her hand to her mouth, afraid. She grabbed her jacket and purse and stood up. “Please…don’t put that part in.”

She turned and left the restaurant, leaving behind her paper cup with its pale crescent
of innocent pink lip gloss.

Chapter 7
: La Cerveza Mas…

I heard this story from a woman I know well, a friend from college whose sexual romps and romantic conquests were both
openly reviled and secretly admired by the young women in our circle. “We love you, even if you are a major slut,” wrote one of our friends in her senior yearbook. She was hurt by the name-calling, but didn’t cross it out, as another, less honest, woman would have.

We met for dinner when she was in town for a
meeting. She ordered a bottle of expensive red wine with the confidence that comes from a generous expense account. After the plates were cleared, I asked her to tell me a story of an unusual sexual experience she’d had.

She shifted in her seat a bit, playing with her dessert spoon.

“I’ve been fortunate, and I’ve had lots of good times. What can I say? I like sex, I like men. It feels good, so I do it. I’m single, so why not?

“Something happened a few years after we graduated, though, and I still can’t explain it to myself. I haven’t told anyone about this before, either.

“Remember when John R----- died so suddenly that summer? The year after his wedding to Angie? I was devastated. I went to the funeral, sobbed through the whole thing. It was gut-wrenching. He and I never got together, you know, we just hung out. He was like an older brother to me, a really great guy. We kept in touch like once, twice a month at most, but consistently. I’d pick up the phone, and he wouldn’t say hello, or hey, it’s John. No, he’d just launch into some idiotic joke, trying to make me laugh. It always worked, too. I thought he was really funny.

“Angie didn’t get it. She vetoed my being in the wedding,
possibly because she thought our friendship was something more than it was. I understood. I just wanted him to be happy, and I was happy for him.

“After the funeral service in San Diego that day, a bunch of us went to a bar down in Pacific Beach. I hadn’t eaten all day, and I had a few drinks.
We struck up conversations with a group of guys from Australia. They were in town for some big sailing race, the Pacific Cup, I think it’s called.

“The guy I chatted up was good-
looking, tall, muscular, lean, good-smelling—just my type, in other words. The sexy Aussie accent was a nice bonus. The attraction was mutual, and pretty soon he was nuzzling my neck and running his hands all over me. The bartender told us to take it outside. Normally, I’m not ridiculously obvious like that, but I was wrung out emotionally and drunker than I should have been. I let him lead me by the hand outside.

“We were in the shadows, leaning against the wall behind the bar. I can remember how the day’s heat radiated from the rough stucco wall through the back of my dress, and the long strokes of his hands from my shoulders to my hips, then running over my ass, and back up to squeeze my tits.

“I’m usually pretty game, attentive to how a man is feeling, responding to where he is in the flow of excitement, but that night, I just let him take the lead. I felt both frantic for it and languid, at the same time. It was almost like one of those out-of-body experiences people claim to have. I really felt like I was watching myself from outside of the scene.

“He knelt in front of me, and slowly pushed up my skirt, teasing and kissing his way up my thighs. He hooked his thumbs under the elastic of my underwear and paused a moment, to give me a chance to say yes.
Thinking ‘hell yes’ I tilted by hips away from the wall so he could tug them toward my ankles. Isn’t that the best feeling? A sexy pair of panties on their way down your legs?

“I put my hand on his shoulder to balance while I stepped out of my underwear and wadded them up in one
hand. He kissed my pussy through the fabric of my skirt and then went down and started up the thighs again, under my skirt. I wanted him to hurry, to get there now, dammit! but he teased and nibbled and took his sweet time. In frustration, I made little impatient whimpering sounds and tipped my head back against the wall.

“That’s when I noticed we had an audience.

“Across the alley was a row of townhouses, all with second-story balconies and ocean views. Of course, they had to look beyond a strip mall and the bar, but still, ocean views.

“There was a
chick in a bikini, sitting on one of those balconies, drinking a bottle of Mexican beer. She had her feet up on the railing, tipped back in her chair, watching us. The bottoms of her feet were black, like she’d spent the day wandering around barefoot, and I remember she wore a silver ankle bracelet. Cute beach chick, finishing a cold beer, watching a drunken couple make out in the alley.

“The guy under my skirt hit the target just at that moment, and I couldn’t have stopped, even though I knew she was watching. He was skilled, I will say that for him. By the time he inserted
two, then three fingers and expertly located my G-spot, I had stuffed my panties in my mouth, trying to stifle the noises I was making.

“I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the girl, either, because when she finished her beer, she pulled the crotch of her bikini bottoms to one side and slowly slid the slender neck of the bottle
inside herself with one hand and started rubbing her clit with the other.

“I
opened my top to take my tits out, squeezing the nipples and cupping them while I arched my back. She mirrored me, wrenching aside the triangles of her bikini top to expose her breasts, her nipples looking as hard as mine felt.

“I don’t know how this could be, but it seemed that we were all in the same rhythm. His fingers inside me, the
neck of the bottle slipping in and out of her. His tongue, her fingers. Faster, and faster. The taste of my panties in my mouth was like me tasting her and like him tasting me, and when the moment came, I hung there for what seemed an eternity, in the blinding crush of one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had.

“
The guy stood up, and I could see he had one incredible erection. It was a truly admirable dick, and any other day, I would have taken full advantage of such good fortune. But, I was spent, exhausted and wobbly-kneed. I think he realized it, too, and as a gentleman, made the best of the situation.

“My
using my panties as a gag inspired him to catch both my wrists in one of his large hands and hold them over my head while he whispered naughty things to me and jacked off against my thigh.

“Afterwards, I used my wadded-up panties to wipe off my leg, and straightened my clothes. By the time I thought to look up, the bikini girl was gone.” My dinner companion shrugged and drained the last of her wine.

“As far as he was concerned, it was just the two of us that night, but I know we had company. The guy lucked into a threesome and didn’t even know it!”