It's Not Unusual is the eighth story in a ten-part serial called Part Time Lovers. PTL is a website that's completely different from eHarmony or Match.com - it's all about the right person for right now. It's all about sex and great hook-ups. These stories follow two different threads - the continuing personal and extremely hot sexual relationships of Jules and Mercy, the owners of Part Time Lovers, and the connections made between a couple (or three) of Part Time Lover's clients. It was a lot of fun to write. I loved the idea of a serial (kind of like Charles Dickens) and I enjoyed writing about ten completely different sexual encounters. I hope you enjoy this one - and if you like it, check out the others.
Josee
Blurb: Mike’s a celebrity, an extra large ex-football player. Women are attracted to him because of his money but are frightened of his size. Mike’s pretty sure the only way he can get what he wants is to find two sexually adventurous women. Maybe Part Time Lovers will find him what he needs. Dee and Samantha are more than up for the challenge, in fact, in the end they take over the sexual relationship and Mike gets—and gives—way more than he’d expected. This threesome is hotter than any of them could have anticipated.Excerpt
It’s my fortieth birthday this month, and I’m still single. What I want more than anything is to fulfill the secret fantasy I’ve had since I was a teenager.
I went to school with two girls—twins. They weren’t identical. In fact, they were quite different in looks, but it was obvious they were close and there was just something about them, something that fascinated me. Of course, that might have been because I was a teenage boy!
Ever since then I’ve been thinking about them. Not them exactly, but about two women. And honestly? It’s not all about me and that secret male fantasy, though there’s that too. It’s about being surrounded with warm and willing female flesh.
I grew up in foster care and though I was fortunate and didn’t have to live through any of the horror stories we hear about, I didn’t get much of a woman’s love and caring.
Do you have a friend who’d be interested? I promise I will satisfy you. Both of you. I love women. I love kissing and sucking and hugging. I love sex.
Will the two of you be my secret fantasy?
Mike
Dee hit the send button on the response to Mike’s post and sat back in her living room, the computer screen glowing on her desk and the sound turned up so they’d hear the ping signalling the arrival of an email.
Dee and Samantha discovered the joy of Part Time Lovers a year ago when Dee had wanted to do something completely different for her birthday. They had a tradition of spending their birthdays on weekend trips away, somewhere not too far but where they were unknowns.
Vancouver was still, in many ways, a very small town, and both of them had jobs that kept them in the public eye enough that breaking loose wasn’t a good idea. Being gossiped about wasn’t good for a woman running a public relations firm, or for a woman who worked on camera for a community broadcaster.
So they picked a place—Seattle, San Francisco, L.A., Las Vegas—and planned a three day, three night trip where they were free to get their freak on. Two rooms, no holds barred. Dee had the best sex of her life on those trips.
They’d had the best sex of their lives on those trips. Never together, but part of the joy of it was sharing the details with a bottle or two of wine once the trip was over. And then they’d discovered Part Time Lovers.
It was perfect for the long dry spells in between those trips. Not exactly secret, more discreet, and they’d taken full advantage of its services over the past year. And continued sharing their escapades over wine. It made the months between vacations bearable, sometimes even more than bearable.
And both of them had decided that a night with Mike—Samantha laughed out loud when she said that, adding, “It sounds like a movie, a bad movie”—would be just the thing for gloomy November.
They’d never been in a threesome, at least with each other, though Dee had once spent a weekend with two old friends, male friends. It had been entertaining but it felt a bit too contrived, as if the men had decided they needed to try it so they could check it off their To-Do list, rather than because they were desperately interested in it.
This, though, this thing with Mike, might be right up their alley.
* * * * *
Samantha had been surfing the Web site when she’d spotted Mike’s post and emailed Dee with the link. A quick yes had come back and they’d met at Dee’s place to draft and send their response.
Once that was done, and it hadn’t taken more than a single glass of wine to do it, they’d sat back to talk about it.
“How are we going to handle this?” Dee asked, her bright red hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. That was one of the things Samantha loved about her friend, how she had absolutely no inhibitions. She’d change her hairstyle at the drop of a hat and often did, changing colors and styles with wild abandon.
Samantha’s hair had been the same since she was a teenager. The only way to tame the unruly curls was to keep them long enough for the weight to pull them at least quasi-straight.
The two of them didn’t look anything alike—Samantha with her olive skin, dark eyes and hair; Dee reminding her of a pixie, all white skin and twinkling blue eyes and whatever hair she’d chosen that month. Or week.
But they’d met at a painting class and something had immediately clicked between them. Maybe it had been the laughter they’d shared over the fact that their paintings were so embarrassingly bad the teacher wouldn’t even comment on them. Or the fact that they’d spent the whole eight weeks of class time critiquing the rest of the students. Not their art, but their attitudes, their hair, their clothes, their whatever the two of them were fixated on in a particular class.
Whatever it had been, they had become the sisters neither of them had ever had. Dee had grown up as an only child; Samantha with a troupe of brothers, six of them. She didn’t see any of them anymore, tired to death of being criticized because she wasn’t yet married, had no children, had a job they didn’t understand, and lived in Vancouver rather than in the small prairie town the rest of them seemed bound and determined to populate without help from anyone else.
Samantha settled back to the question at hand.
“I think we drive him crazy. We treat him as if he were some sultan from a desert kingdom, the man who could choose any women—as many women—as he wanted to pleasure him.”
A smile lit up Dee’s face.
Dee loved Samantha’s idea. It was sweet and yet incredibly sexy at the same time. At least it was to her.
She’d spent some time with a guy a few years back who was totally into treating her like a princess, spoiling her with clothes and jewelry and sex. He’d done whatever she wanted, for as long as she wanted. He’d lick her body from head to toe, he’d suck her clit until she trembled, he’d fuck her with his tongue.
He used toys on her, not whips or handcuffs or anything like that, but dildos, vibrators, butt plugs—and she loved all of that. In fact, she stayed with him for far longer than she should because of the orgasms, the many, many, many orgasms he gave her.
But she felt as if she’d contributed nothing. He wanted to please her. That was how he got off. Sometimes he didn’t even climax, instead lying in bed next to her and watching her while she slept.
Dee wanted to hurt him, to push him until he finally broke and rammed his cock into her cunt and fucked her until he exploded. She couldn’t do it. But because she wanted to, she finally had to give up the orgasms before she did something she’d always regret.
Mike, though… Mike was going to be her opportunity to see what it felt like to be the giver rather than the receiver of that kind of tenderness, that kind of gentleness, that kind of unselfish caring for another person’s sexual journey.
“I’m with you,” Dee finally said to Samantha. “He’ll be our sultan, and we’ll be his sexual slaves.” She jumped up from the couch. “What time is it? We have to go shopping.”
“Shopping? Now?” Samantha’s eyes were open with shock as she looked at her watch. “It’s seven-thirty.” She looked at her wrist again. “And before you ask—it’s Thursday night and the stores are open until nine. So we’d better hurry.”
Dee thought about that for a minute. They wouldn’t have time to do what she wanted to do in only ninety minutes. She flipped through her PDA and dialed the Love Shop, asking for Tracy, the owner.
“I need a favor,” she said. “I’ve got a date tomorrow night and I need some clothes. And a whole pile of toys, none of which I have. It’ll take us half an hour to get there, so would you mind waiting for us and maybe hanging back a little if we go over?”
Tracy laughed. Dee had known she’d like this woman the minute she met her at the organizing meeting for the Taboo Show last year. She was outrageous and funny and smart, and she made a pile of money at her shop on the edge of the city.
“Come on by, but bring a bottle of wine with you, okay? If I’m going to stay late, I need a bribe. I prefer red.”
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