Threesome Memoirs: Table of Contents
As most of our readers know Ryan and I have been playing the field looking for a viable female threesome partner. In this search, I have learned that anything you say in a text message to a possible third could be the absolute end of any contact. To help couples in the future not make a few obvious mistakes, we have compiled a list of things you should never text or say to your possible threesome partner in the courting process.
“Oh yea I love to blog. In fact, I almost have a million views. I can’t really give you the website or link or anything because I don’t want you to judge me or not want to kiss me because of the things you see or what I’ve said there.”
“Do you want my husband to have a camera ready?”
“Can I blog about you?”
“Are you a germ freak? If so, I will make sure I clean underneath my fingernails.”
” If you want, I will tell my husband not to cum in me tonight. Or he can, if that sounds better?”
” I am cleaning out my closet so my husband has room to hide tonight.”
” Do you want to adopt a dog together from the animal shelter?”
“Hell yea, I just bought a double sided dildo from the comic con. It looks just like a Star Wars Sith Lord light saber”
No matter how she responds:
“Luke, I am your father.”
“On a finger scale of one to fist, what do you like?”
“Do you want to look at commitment rings together?”
“I wonder if a gay marriage is possible if I am already in a straight marriage?”
“So should I sanitize my dildo or are you into sloppy seconds?”
“Are you against butt plugs in your mouth?”
“No, we’ll be in the basement, it’s soundproof. We won’t have to worry about my parents barging in.”
No matter how she responds:
” I call it the sex dungeon.”
“Don’t worry, my kids won’t knock or bother us.”
“Maybe you can pick up a few of my prescriptions before you come over?”
I don’t know what drove us to head back to the beach that night. Maybe we were summoned by the sound of perpetual waves rolling onto the wet sand. Maybe we were drawn to the idea of warm air surrounding us. Maybe our sandy feet from our stroll earlier that day caused us to make the drive back. Whatever it was, the romantic notion of “fucking at the beach” was too strong to ignore. But the fact was it was still winter. And despite us being in Florida, I bundled up as tight as I could, putting on layer upon layer of clothes from whatever was available in our car. I started off with a brown spaghetti strap tank top, tan wrap skirt, and flip flops and added a black scarf, my pea coat, and fur-lined suede boots. According to the reading on the rearview mirror, it was 43 degrees outside.
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