Rose is game for anything.
She sees her role, thankfully, as being my fuck-toy. She will do as I wish, with whom I wish. She will do as I say, dress as I say. It’s lovely to have that in a companion.
I had mentioned the possibility of a threesome or foursome to Rose, and she was, to put it mildly, enthusiastic. This is good for me, because, as you may recall, my greatest single fantasy is to be with lots of women at once, the only guy in the room. And, in my fantasy, I’d like the women to be delivered to me, not sought/identified/wooed by me.
So in the lead-up to this particular evening, I was hell-bent on making this, at a minimum, a threesome. But ideally, I wanted four or five women present. And for a moment, it seemed like I had likely candidates. There was Raquel, a very young woman on Tinder who was game. Rye, though still young, is a bona fide grown-up, and is thus more mature. She was hesitant. And, in the hours before we met, a tall, multinational woman surfaced – she might be interested. And there was Penelope. Penelope, it seemed, was in. So if I were to find another woman, she would be a fourth in our crowd, not a third.
Raquel demurred at the last minute – some combination of her period and her not wanting to fuck people she’d just met. Though, to interact with her, you’d think this was a kind of regular thing for her – at one point the other day (after the date this post recounts), she texted me – we’ve still not met – “I’m in xxx. Want to fuck me? Now?”
So as the hour approached, it seemed increasingly clear that it would be Rose, Penelope, and me.
Rye, hesitant from the start, made clear she was a “no” at 6:45 or so. Maybe a more accurate way to say it is that she stopped allowing me to imagine she might not be a “no” at 6:45 or so. She never was, to be clear, remotely close to a “yes.”
Rose and I were meeting at 7.
The tall woman actually met Rose and me for a drink, but the way things unfolded, she went home, and this seemed right to all present.
A note on “hell-bent”: I need to note a return of compulsivity to my experience of late. It’s not been too bad – it hasn’t prevented me from doing the things I’ve needed to do, but this stuff has been consuming more of my time, more of my mental energy, and doing so in a less relaxed, and more intense way than it had been for a long time. I don’t say this as self-criticism or lament, but rather, a sort of neutral observation. It’s worth watching myself: it’s not good when I start needing things to be a certain way, rather than gently preferring them. I think, on this evening, I was dangerously close to needing a threesome or moresome.
That’s not good.
Threesomes and moresomes are good. Always. I like them. I love them, in fact. I’d love to have as many more as humanly possible in the short span of my life that remains. But. I don’t need them. I don’t need to find someone to join Rose and me, or Penelope and me, or Rose and Penelope and me. When I start feeling like that’s what I need, it’s a good time to take half a step back and breathe. And, fortunately for me, I started to notice this even before the evening was upon us.
So anyway. Back to the evening.
Penelope wasn’t going to be available til 9 or 10, but both Rose and I were free at 6 or 7. So. We met for a drink. The tall woman was to join us, but cautioned she’d be a little late. “Don’t be too late,” I said, “or you’ll miss your chance to meet us.”
She arrived just in time. Rose had dressed as I’d directed. The dress she wore turned out to be too fragile: I tore it off later. But that was o.k., because a) she liked it when I tore it off, and b) she had, at my request, brought a spare dress, a cute little black one with a belt. She also had brought her knock-off Magic Wand. She sat with me and we sipped our drinks. She wanted a Bullitt Rye, but the bar didn’t have it, so she fell back on Knob Creek. I had a Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks. She looked lovely – pretty, petite, curvy. “I’m going to have so much fun using your mouth,” I said to her. Or something like that.
Our drinks were almost done. No sign of the tall woman. I was about to suggest we head upstairs (I was ready, impatient, chomping), and text the tall woman, when she arrived.
We ordered another round. The tall woman, too, wanted Bullitt Rye. (Maybe the bar will start stocking it.)
I asked the tall woman to find the bathroom, so we could watch her ass. While she was gone, Rose stepped out for a cigarette. (I like that when I kiss her, I get the taste of smoke without having a cigarette.) I said good-bye to the tall woman, and Rose and I met in the room.
It was 7:30 or 7:45, and Penelope wasn’t expected until between 9 and 10.
Wanna know what happened next?