I like to leave a party while I’m still having fun, so after the Beatles sing-along and one more piece of cake, I started saying my goodbyes. Cute Master and Pretty Slave were disappointed--they’d assumed I was staying over because I had my PJs on and probably also because I’d been hitting on them off and on for about a month.
“Just let us molest you for five minutes,” he said, and that seemed reasonable, so I let them lead me into their bedroom and I climbed into their big satiny bed.
Being between them was a rush of unmitigated joy, him pressing himself into my back, her in front, both with their hands all over me. It was a transcendent moment of giving myself over.
He lay back and asked us both to blow him, but I couldn’t—we hadn’t done the when-were-we-all-last tested talk and besides I was worried about the emotional attachments that tend to happen to me, especially when confronted with large friendly penises.
“I can’t, I’ll get attached,” I said, and they both seemed befuddled.
“It’s okay to have a crush, we both like you…” But I just couldn’t. So she blew him and I watched. He rubbed my clit through my pajama bottoms. I was soaking wet from the however many hours of attention I’d just had and I liked the idea of walking out through the party with a wet spot afterwards.
“Come on, let me fuck you (my name)” He snarled.
Ohboy I really liked hearing my name that way but I knew I couldn’t and also I didn’t want to.
“No. Feelings!” I said. “I don’t want to fuck anyone I can’t belong to.”
Crap. I hadn’t actually put that preference into words before, but given my various FWB aches, it makes sense.
“Well, then, you’re just gonna have to watch me fuck her.”
I like helping. I put my arms around Pretty Slave and kissed her, played with her nipples, held her tight while he spread her legs and pushed in. She had such pretty little cries at first, building up to throatier groans.
He shoved his hand down my pants and pushed his fingers in hard, in the same rhythm he was fucking her. We yowled together and I enjoyed imagining the party guests listening downstairs.
As he started to get close to coming, he said, “Kiss her, kiss her hard, let me see tongues, come on.” And I did, in the exaggerated showoffy way that he wanted. That’s the one part I really didn’t like, despite her loveliness. The whole kissing-a-girl-to-turn-on-a-guy thing is just, no. (Does this disqualify me from unicorn fun? Jeez I hope not) I may have flashed my boobs for beads earlier that day, but I’m just not a Girl Gone Wild at heart.
I did love the feeling of contributing, holding her tight and helping her through it—that was absolutely beautiful. When they’d finished, he got dressed quick and went back to the party, citing a dislike of snuggling. (Which, oops, is one of my minimum play partner expectations, come to think of it.)
Pretty Slave and I snuggled and talked. I told her I was surprised about the not wanting to fuck and explained about my summer adventures and not wanting my heart to get me left out of parties. She was so sweet and understanding and still very strongly in favor of me fucking her boyfriend, which is really nice.
I think I may not be ready for unicorning or even for ladies post-Sweetie, but I’m so glad I followed them into that bedroom and got to enjoy the warmth and energy of them. As I said my goodbyes again (this time with awesome bed head) and left for real, I was proud of the night everyone had helped me make, so grateful to my new friends for being so game and helping me make my birthday fantasies into realities. Being vulnerable to the whole crowd was a huge win, and so was being true to what I wanted and (most of) what I didn’t want.
Dear Sunday night, thank you and thank you and thank you. It’s all the way Thursday now and the effects still haven’t worn off. What an amazing gift.