Intemperance X - the Life We Choose
Copyright© 2026 by Al Steiner
Chapter 17: Thirty Seconds Over SLO
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 17: Thirty Seconds Over SLO - INTEMPERANCE X is the tenth and final novel in the main Intemperance series. As the band headlines its biggest moment yet, decades of music, loyalty, and hard-earned love converge on one unforgettable night—where everything they’ve built is tested in front of the world.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual BiSexual Fiction
The Nerdly Compound, San Luis Obispo
Saturday, February 5, 2005
Breakfast was over. The smell of toasted bagels and coffee still hung in the air, but the table had been cleared and the clatter of dishes came faintly from the kitchen where Owen and Kelvin were loading the dishwasher. Aurora sat cross-legged on the living room rug with a pile of blocks, babbling to herself in toddler-speak as she stacked them in crooked towers.
On the couch, Sharon leafed through the Tribune with her mug of coffee at hand. Tif lounged nearby in a sleeveless nightshirt that barely covered her hips, legs folded under her, hair still tousled from sleep. At least she was wearing panties—though you could drive a car blindfolded with those particular panties and still see the road. Sometimes that was the best anyone could hope for with Tif.
Nerdly took the recliner, shifting uncomfortably like a man who knew he was about to put his foot in it. He cleared his throat.
“So ... Tif. What’s your plan tonight? You know, for the ... surprise?”
Tif perked up, oblivious to the tension that hadn’t arrived yet. “That’s easy. Tricia’s coming at eight. We’ll go in the room and get to it. Boom. Done.”
Nerdly blinked at her. “That’s it? No warmup? No build? Just straight into a threesome cold?”
“Well, yeah,” Tif said, utterly matter-of-fact. “That’s how you do a threesome, right? You get three people in a room and—ta da!”
Sharon lowered her coffee and turned her head slowly, like a tank turret locking onto a target. “Excuse me. Did you just say this little hookup is happening in my house? Behind my gates?”
Tif blinked, unsure. “Um ... yes?”
“Oh, hell no.” Sharon set her mug down with deliberate care. “Absolutely not. Not under this roof.”
Nerdly frowned. “What’s the problem? They’re already copulating in there every night. Every morning sometimes. You know that.”
Sharon shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “That’s normal copulation. Boyfriend, girlfriend, closed door. It’s tolerable. But a threesome? With some stranger from a bar? That is not happening here.”
Nerdly set his mug down hard on the side table. “This is terrible, Sharon. Do you understand what you’re saying? You’re trying to trample on the sanctity of a young man’s first threesome. That is a milestone in a man’s life! A memory that’s supposed to be cherished forever. You can’t just ... downgrade it to a quickie in a motel.”
“The sanctity?” Sharon repeated, incredulous. “Bill, listen to yourself. Sanctity is a bar mitzvah. Sanctity is a wedding. Sanctity is not Owen getting sandwiched between two living sex dolls while my toddler is in the next room playing with blocks!”
Aurora giggled and knocked over her tower, scattering blocks across the rug. Tif bent to help her, still smiling, clearly not following the gravity of the moment.
Nerdly pressed on, indignant. “You’re making light of this, but a first threesome shapes a man! It’s formative! If you deny him a proper venue, he’ll be scarred forever. Do you want that on your conscience?”
Sharon sat back, arms crossed. “If there’s ever going to be a threesome in this house, Bill, it’s going to be you and me. Not Owen. Not Tif. Not some athletic trainer I’ve never met. Us. Do you hear me?”
Nerdly’s expression softened. “Do you have someone in mind for that?” he asked her.
“I was thinking the guy who does the lawn every Tuesday,” she said.
“A threesome is two girls and a guy,” Nerdly said strongly. “Not two guys and a girl.”
“That is still three,” Sharon said. “The term is accurate.”
“I do not accept two males and a female into the threesome nomenclature,” Nerdly insisted. “My word on this is absolute.”
“You are defining sexual terms for the entire world now?” Sharon asked.
“If I must,” Nerdly said.
Tif’s eyes darted between them, wide and uncertain, as if she’d stumbled into a rabbinical debate conducted in a foreign language. Finally, she cleared her throat. “You know what I think?” she offered brightly. “I think we should just call Jake. He’s real smart. Almost as smart as Kelvin.”
Sharon and Bill both turned to look at her.
Tif nodded seriously, oblivious to the absurdity. “Jake will know what to do.”
The smell of peppers, onions, and sizzling potatoes filled the Kingsley kitchen. Jake worked the skillet with a practiced hand, stirring eggs in one pan, flipping a heap of homemade corned beef hash in another. On the counter sat two marinated pork loins he’d picked up from the meat market yesterday—tonight’s dinner plan, already resting under plastic wrap.
He was still in his sweats and a faded Zeppelin t-shirt, slippers on his feet. Not just any slippers—badass slippers. Mama Valdez had knitted them for him herself, thick and warm with red-and-black stripes. They were the best slippers he’d ever owned, though the grip on hardwood floors left something to be desired. One wrong turn and he was liable to eat shit into the cabinets. But he and Caydee could get a good game of sock-hockey going in the entertainment room, using a balled up pair of socks for the puck, their abuela-slippered feet for the skates, and empty wrapping paper tubes for the sticks. This was a game, naturally, that Sean strongly disapproved of, so they only played it when he wasn’t around.
Somewhere in the entertainment room, his cell phone started buzzing. He ignored it. He was cooking, and there was no one he wanted to talk to on a Saturday.
But, that person apparently really wanted to talk to him. A moment later Laura appeared, still in her nightshirt, hair loose and eyes sleepy. She carried the phone between two fingers like it was something dirty and smelly.
“It’s Nerdly,” she said. “Something about Owen’s threesome tonight.”
Jake looked up from his eggs, incredulous. “Why do I need to be involved in the details of that?”
Laura just shrugged and handed him the phone.
Jake sighed, wiped his hand on a towel, and hit speaker so he could keep stirring. “What’s up, Nerdly?”
On the other end, Nerdly sounded harried. “We have a dilemma. Sharon has vetoed tonight’s threesome happening in our house. She claims that even though Owen and Tif have been having twosomes in the guest suite since he moved in, a threesome is somehow categorically different. Women? There is no operations manual. No troubleshooting algorithm.”
Jake flipped the hash. “Yeah, women are a mystery. Not quite as much to me as they are to you, but still.”
“You can see why we need your help then,” Nerdly said.
Jake frowned. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Well,” Nerdly said, “couldn’t they just hold it at your place? The guest room at the Manor? Owen and Tif lived there for months while the Compound was being fortified. They had twosomes in there all the time.”
“Laura and Celia would object for the same reason Sharon did,” Jake said.
Nerdly’s voice sharpened. “But you have threesomes in that house all the time!”
“Not all the time,” Jake corrected. “Just three times a week or so. And that doesn’t matter. We’re not talking about boring old marital threesomes here. We’re talking about a man’s first threesome. That requires privacy. Freedom. The ability to let everything out and then walk to the kitchen naked between rounds to get pomegranate juice.”
A pause. “Why pomegranate juice?” Nerdly finally asked.
“Antioxidant thing,” Jake said. “Part of advanced study.”
Nerdly let out a low whistle. “Respect. I haven’t had a threesome since the original Intemp days.”
Jake shook his head. “That’s a long damn time to go without a threesome, Nerdly.”
“You’re telling me,” Nerdly said. “Though Sharon ... hinted she might be open to the possibility someday.”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “Sharon? Really? Tell me more.”
“Well, unfortunately, she suggested the gardener as the third.”
Jake barked a laugh. “I’ve met the gardener. Don’t do it. That’s a trap.”
“No intention,” Nerdly assured him. “I would never share my beloved Resonant Frequency with another man. The only marital threesome that is acceptable to me is of the two female, one male variety.”
Jake chuckled. “That’s the way to make a stand.”
“Well,” Nerdly pressed on, “what if you flew the entire threesome party down to LA? They could use your Granada Hills house. Plenty of privacy.”
Jake glanced at the pork loins waiting on the counter. “I ain’t flying anywhere today. I’ve got the Ramirez family coming over for dinner, and I plan on smoking meat and drinking wine most of the day.”
“They could go now,” Nerdly argued. “Stay overnight. I’ll even pay for the fuel. You can pick them up tomorrow.”
“Ain’t happening,” Jake said flatly. He gave his hash a final flip. “Why don’t you just use the old house in SLO? The one you never sold?”
The house was still fully furnished and sitting unsold not because the market was bad—it was booming in 2005—but because Bill and Kelvin were convinced the housing bubble would pop soon. Nerdly had insisted he’d see it coming a month or two out and could unload the property at peak value. Sharon thought the whole exercise ridiculous—after all, they had more than enough money to last their lives—but she’d let him keep it as a toy for his economic theories.
On the phone, Nerdly went quiet. “You know,” he said at last, “it never even occurred to me.”
Jake smiled. “That’s why you called me. I solve problems.”
They finished the conversation and Jake went back to cooking. Laura came back in the room to sneak a bite of whatever she could get her little fingers on.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
Jake just shook his head. “Do other people on Earth besides me have their friends call them up on a Saturday morning for advice on pending threesome venues?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetie,” she told him. “I’m sure it happens all the time.”
By three o’clock Owen was starting to think maybe Matt had been fucking with him after all. Nobody had said a word all day. No hints, no winks, nothing. Maybe this was Matt’s idea of a joke—set him up with all that “don’t eat beans” and “clear the pipes” and “get a picture of them sucking your dick” bullshit just to watch him squirm.
Then Tif came bouncing into the den, purple hair pulled back, smelling faintly of coconut shampoo.
“Guess what, Cutie Patootie? We’re going out to dinner tonight for your birthday.”
Owen blinked. “Dinner?”
“Yup. That steakhouse in Arroyo Grande. The one with the cow statue out front? Super yum.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. Just us?”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “We’re meeting a friend of mine there. Her name’s Tricia.”
“Tricia?” he asked. “How do you know her?”
Tif hesitated just a fraction too long. “Uh ... we go way back. Like ... way back. She used to, um ... help me with ... stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“You know,” she said vaguely. “Like ... girly stuff. Singing ... makeup ... aerobic classes sometimes.”
Owen tilted his head. “Aerobic classes?”
“Yeah,” she said brightly. “Step aerobics. It was totally a thing. You should’ve seen me in the spandex. I looked hot. Anyway, that’s Tricia.”
“Okay,” Owen said mildly. “So she’s a singer too?”
“Kind of. Well ... no. Not really a singer. More like ... she trained me. Like a coach.”
“A coach?”
“Yeah. Totally. She was ... uh ... an athletic trainer. Yeah. At a gym. A nice gym. With treadmills.”
Owen just nodded.
“Anyway,” Tif went on, words tumbling faster now, “we lost touch for a long time, but then I ran into her again at, um ... a store. I forget which one. Maybe Vons. Or Ralphs. No, wait. It was Rite Aid. She was buying shampoo. Or maybe conditioner. Whatever, it was hair product. And I was like, ‘Tricia!’ And she was like, ‘Tif!’ And then I was like, ‘We should totally hang out sometime!’ and she was like, ‘Yes!’ And so now we are.”
“Got it,” Owen said.
“And she’s really nice,” Tif added, warming up. “Like, really, really nice. You’ll like her. Everyone likes her. My mom liked her. Sharon will like her too. Even Nerdly. She’s just that kind of girl, you know?”
“Sounds good,” Owen said.
“And she’s totally pretty. Like, super pretty. Like, if you were into girls, you’d be like, ‘Wow, she’s hot.’ Not that you’re not into girls. I mean, you are. Obviously. ‘Cause of me. But if you weren’t into girls, you’d still think she was hot.”
“Right,” Owen said.
“So don’t get all nervous or anything, okay? It’s just dinner. Totally normal dinner with a totally normal old friend who just happens to be really hot and nice and single and open-minded and ... um...” She caught herself, biting her lip. “And anyway, you’ll love the steak.”
Owen smiled faintly. “I’m sure I will.”
“Good.” She clapped her hands together. “So put on something nice. Like a shirt with a collar. And clean socks. And underwear. Definitely underwear.”
“Definitely underwear,” Owen echoed.
She beamed at him, satisfied she’d covered all the bases, and skipped back out of the room.
Owen sat there a moment, biting back a grin. If he hadn’t already known the plan, he would’ve thought she was just dragging him to dinner with a flaky old friend. But as it stood, every word just made his stomach flutter harder. Tonight it was happening.
Two hours later, Owen eased the truck into the Arroyo Grande steakhouse lot, still half-convinced he shouldn’t be using it for something as trivial as a date. To him it was a company vehicle—part of his Studio Runner duties, not a personal perk. It had taken Mr. Nerdly ordering him to take it before he relented, and only then because Bill had reminded him that if there were some emergency at the Campus, he’d be expected to respond.
Inside, Tif glided them past the hostess stand like she owned the place. She’d actually made reservations, which floored Owen. Organization wasn’t her strong suit, but apparently tonight she was full of surprises. They were led to a booth near the windows, where Tricia already sat waiting.
She stood as they approached. Short dark hair framed her face in neat lines, and her tattooed arms caught the light—bright, feminine vines and butterflies curling down firm forearms. She wore a fitted blouse that hinted at strength across her shoulders and a pair of jeans that showed off the same athletic build. Not a model, not a siren—an athlete. A woman who clearly took care of herself.
And then there were her breasts. Not enormous, not disproportionate like Tif’s, but full and round beneath her blouse, pushing just enough against the fabric to suggest shape and softness. Owen’s throat went dry. He tried to keep his face neutral, but inside his head he was practically shouting: I’m going to see those later. I’m going to touch those later.
Tricia’s eyes ran over him in a quick scan, then she smiled, playful. “I guess you’ll do,” she said with a little sparkle.
Owen laughed weakly, nerves and arousal tangling together. “Uh ... thanks?”
“Tricia!” Tif chirped, looping her arm through Owen’s and bouncing slightly on her heels. “This is my Cutie Patootie. Owen is his actual name.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tricia said warmly, offering her hand.
Owen shook it, forcing himself not to glance back down at her chest. “So ... how do you two know each other?”
“Oh, that’s easy!” Tif said, eyes wide with false innocence. “We went to high school together. Right, Tricia?”
Tricia tilted her head, amused, but didn’t answer.
Owen frowned. “I thought you said it was step aerobics in Atascadero.”
Tif blinked. “Oh. Right. Yeah. That too. We ... uh ... we met in high school and then later we were step aerobics partners. It was, you know, like ... dexedrine.”
“Dexedrine?” Tricia asked. “The diet pill?”
“No, silly,” Tif said. “Those are dexies. I’m talking about dexedrine. Something that’s totally meant to be. Like... ‘Luke, this is your dexedrine.’”
Tricia looked at her for a moment and then blew a little blast of air out through her puffy lips. Tif got that a lot when she explained things and didn’t even notice.
“Dexedrine,” Owen said, sipping his water and nodding. “That’s what it sounds like all right.”
“And,” Tif rushed on, “we also used to ... um ... babysit together. We babysat for this family with, like, four kids. They were totally crazy. We had to chase them around and once Tricia climbed out on the roof to get one down and I was like, ‘You’re so brave!’ and she was like, ‘No way,’ and I was like, ‘way.’”
Owen raised his brows. “I thought you said you ran into her at a Rite Aid.”
“Oh!” Tif slapped her thigh. “That’s right. We totally did that too. Shampoo aisle. Or conditioner. One of those.”
Owen looked at her steadily, saying nothing.
Tricia chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t think he’s buying it, Tif.”
Tif sighed, shoulders slumping. “Okay, fine. The truth is ... we met at Bojangles. We hit it off. And, well ... remember when we agreed not to date other people? That didn’t include women. So...”
Owen, no actor, lifted his brows and put on his best innocent voice. “Whatever are you talking about, Tif?”
Tricia burst into laughter, hand covering her mouth.
Tif rolled her eyes at him but grinned anyway. “I’m talking about how you’d like a threesome. With me and Tricia.”
Owen felt his pulse throb in his ears. He glanced from Tif’s eager grin to Tricia’s amused, steady gaze. Every nerve in his body was buzzing, but somehow he kept his voice even. “I ... think I could live with that.”
The hostess handed out menus and left them alone in the booth. Owen picked his up, but the words blurred a little—he was too aware of Tricia sitting across from him. She had that athlete’s posture, shoulders back, chest forward, and every time she shifted, the fabric of her blouse moved just enough to remind him what was underneath. He dragged his eyes back to the list of steaks.
“So what do you like?” Tricia asked him, friendly but with a little sparkle.
“Uh ... steak,” Owen said, immediately regretting how dumb it sounded. “Ribeye, maybe.”
“Good choice,” she said. “I like the New York here.”
“I’m getting the filet,” Tif announced. “Extra garlic butter. And I want my baked potato stuffed with cheese and bacon. Oh! And sour cream. And broccoli. And chives. And ranch.”
“Maybe you should stay away from the broccoli?” Owen suggested.
“How come?” she asked.
“Uh ... it’s been known to hamper the libido.” Owen said.
“That sucks,” Tif said. “And that might make me not want to threesome?”
“There have been recorded incidents of that,” he said.
“Wow,” she said. “You’re really smart, Cutie Patootie.”
“I have my moments,” Owen said.
Tricia smiled at him. “You really are a cutie patootie,” she told him.
“Told ya,” Tif said.
When the waitress came back, the three of them rattled off their orders—steaks, potatoes, salads, iced teas. Menus were collected, water refilled, and the waitress disappeared toward the kitchen.
For a moment there was an awkward silence. Owen fiddled with his napkin, Tricia sipped her water, and Tif looked around like she’d just remembered something important.
“Ground rules,” she blurted out.
Both Owen and Tricia turned toward her.
“Teach told me the most important thing about threesomes is ground rules,” Tif explained. “She said lots of relationships got totally destroyed because people didn’t make rules first. Like, blew up in their faces. So we gotta make some rules.”
Tricia set down her glass, amusement flickering in her eyes. “All right,” she said. “Let’s hear them.”
“Okay,” Tif said, holding up one finger. “Rule number one: nobody gets to smoke during the threesome. Smoking is gross.”
Owen blinked. “None of us smoke.” He turned toward Tricia. “You don’t smoke, right?”
“Never have,” she confirmed, smiling faintly.
“See?” Owen said. “We’re good with rule one.”
“Good.” Tif nodded, satisfied. “That one’ll be easy. Okay, rule number two: nobody answers their phone during the threesome. Totally rude.”
“That makes sense,” Tricia agreed.
“Yeah,” Owen said. “I can see how that would kill the mood.”
“Exactly,” Tif said. “Phones are off-limits. No calls, no texts, no checking the weather.”
Owen fought back a grin. “Right. No checking the weather.”
“Okay, rule number three...” Tif scrunched her nose in thought, then perked up. “Nobody gets to leave in the middle to go get a burrito. Even if you’re starving. That’s a dealbreaker.”
Tricia looked at her carefully. “Has that ... actually happened to you before?”
“Almost,” Tif said solemnly. “There was this one time in Vegas, and we smoked some pot, and the guys had just discovered Taco Bell chalupas and—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Anyway, no burritos.”
Owen leaned back, watching her with bemusement. “So no smoking, no phones, no burritos.”
“Right,” Tif said, proud of herself. “That’s a good start.”
Owen exchanged a glance with Tricia. She smirked, waiting to see what he would do.
“Those are good rules, Pookette,” Owen said carefully. “But ... I think what Teach probably meant was more like...” He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “First rule—uh ... do Tricia and I get to do anything with each other?”
“Of course you do,” Tif said instantly, wide-eyed at the obviousness. “It wouldn’t be a real threesome if you couldn’t.”
Tricia smiled, but her tone was more thoughtful. “I hadn’t entirely made up my mind about that.”
Owen’s stomach lurched. “Oh.”
She leaned in a little, her eyes steady on him. “The truth is, I went to Bojangles because I wanted to have sex with a woman. It’s been more than a year since the last time, and I’m kind of burning for it. That’s what drew me there. And when I saw Tif...” She gave a short, low laugh. “She’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I thought, if I have her, I may never need to do it with a woman again. So I agreed to the threesome figuring I’d just keep myself locked on her and touch you as little as possible.”
Heat crawled up Owen’s neck, but then Tricia’s smile softened. “But now that I’ve met you—now that I’ve seen how adorkable you actually are—I can’t wait to be touched by both of you.”
Owen’s breath caught. “So ... I get to touch you then?”
“Yes,” Tricia said simply. “You get to touch me—as long as Tif doesn’t mind.”
Tif gasped as if insulted. “Of course I don’t mind! It’s a threesome. Everyone should touch each other. As long as you don’t mind if I touch you, Tricia.”
Tricia’s eyes sparkled. “I’d be very disappointed if you didn’t.”
By the time they rolled into San Luis Obispo it was pushing nine o’clock. Owen guided the truck into the driveway of the old Nerdly house, headlights sweeping across the familiar garage door. In the mirror he saw Tricia’s silver Mercedes easing to a stop at the curb—sleek, polished, and as confident-looking as its owner.
For a moment Owen’s gaze drifted three doors down. His old house. Lights were on in the front windows, but there was no sign of his mother. He looked away quickly and shut off the engine.
The Nerdly house felt almost eerie when they stepped inside—like a snapshot of a former life, frozen in place. All the furniture was still there, exactly as it had been left. The Nerdlys had bought all new everything for The Compound, and this place had become a kind of time capsule. A maid service came by once a week to keep it spotless, so the rooms still gleamed and smelled faintly of polish and lemon.
Tif wasted no time. She drifted to the stereo, plugged in her little MP3 player, and hit play. A strange playlist poured out—the kind of thing only Tif would put together. Godsmack one song, Loretta Lynn the next, then something obscure and funky.
The Nerdlys, of course, would never allow her to play this playlist at the Compound. Not because they disliked the music itself—they liked any and all good music, no matter the genre—but because MP3s, in their view, were not how music should be listened to. The very format meant imperfection, and imperfection was an insult to the art.
Tif bobbed her head happily, declaring it “the good stuff.” To Owen, it reminded him of those new “Jack” radio stations—random, surprising, weirdly good.
The bar in the corner was still stocked, and they helped themselves—Owen nursed a beer, Tricia poured herself a glass of wine, Tif mixed a rum-and-Coke heavy on the rum. She then produced a tightly rolled joint of Purple Tokalicious. Laura had slipped it into her hand earlier with a wink, and now the three of them passed it around. Before long the air was hazy, the music felt deeper, and the edges of the night softened into something warm and lazy.
Owen leaned back on the couch, high, buzzed, and more than a little aware of the two women sharing the room with him. He cleared his throat, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt.
“So...” he said carefully. “What’s the best way to go about this? I mean ... I’ve never had a threesome before. Do we just ... jump right in, or what?”
Tif tilted her head at Owen’s question. “You know, I’m not really sure either. My other threesomes—well, and that one foursome—weren’t something we planned. They just kind of ... happened. I’m not even sure now how they happened. They just did.” She brightened suddenly. “But Teach gave me a good idea.”
Before either of them could ask, she hopped up, snatched the truck keys off the counter, and was out the front door.
The house went quiet. Owen sat frozen on the couch, his beer bottle sweating in his hand. How was one supposed to make small talk when you were about to jump into a threesome—and Number One of Three just disappeared on a mission? Or worse, what if she’d misunderstood what threesome actually meant and decided to leave? With Tif, you couldn’t rule that out. She was lovable, adorable, sexy as hell ... but you didn’t want her doing your orbital calculations for you. Not her department.
Tricia shifted on the couch beside him, just as unsure. Finally she said, “So ... it’s cold.”
“Yeah,” Owen said quickly. “Cold. But it’ll warm up soon. Another month or so.”
“I hope so.”
He nodded, trying not to stare at her breasts. The silence pressed in again.
Then the front door opened and Owen nearly sighed out loud. Thank God.
Tif breezed back in, grinning, a cardboard game box tucked under her arm. She dropped it on the coffee table with a little flourish. The words on the lid read Naughty Truth or Dare.
“Teach gave this to me to help break the ice,” she announced. “She and Jake and Celia bought it about a year ago and only played it once. She said it wasn’t fun when the ice has already been broken, sucked on, and long since melted. But we have fresh ice. This’ll help us suck on it.”
“Wow,” Tricia said, a little smile on her face. “I haven’t played Truth or Dare since high school. I got my first taste of a girl’s nipple during one game. Sucked my first cock during another one.”
“I totally played a lot of Truth or Dare back in high school too,” Tif said. “That’s how I had my first threesome.” She looked at Owen. “How about you, Snookums? When was the last time you played Truth or Dare?”
“Uh ... well ... I’ve never played Truth or Dare,” he said, somewhat ruefully.
“Never?” the girls asked in unison.
“I’m a nerd, remember?”
“Wow,” Tricia whispered. “That’s like ... almost a virgin.”
“He’s no virgin,” Tif said. “I took his cherry from him.”
“No shit?” Tricia said. “How was it?”
“He only lasted a few seconds when I sat on him,” she said. “It was so fucking hot.”
“Damn,” Tricia said. “Never had me a virgin before.”
“Uh ... why don’t we play now?” said Owen, who was already hard as the proverbial rock.
They topped off their drinks before sitting back down around the coffee table. Owen refreshed his beer, Tricia poured herself another half-glass of wine, and Tif dumped more rum into her Coke until it was nearly clear.
“Okay!” Tif chirped, sliding the box toward herself. She popped it open and began sorting through stacks of cards. “See, there’s four decks in here. Flirty Fun, Hot & Heavy, Naughty Nights, and—oooh—X-Rated Extreme.” She held them up like a magician with a new trick. “It says to start with Flirty Fun for beginners, but I think we’re better than beginners, right?”
“Probably,” Tricia said, amusement glinting in her eyes.
Tif thumbed through a few cards from the first deck, reading them aloud. “‘Give the person on your left a compliment.’ Lame. ‘Kiss the person on your right on the cheek.’ Boring. ‘Do your sexiest dance move for thirty seconds.’ That’s not even a dare, that’s just a warm-up.” She tossed the deck aside. “See? Too lame.”
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