Chapter 18: A Bittersweet Symphony of Life

San Luis Obispo, California

February 5, 2005

For all its strangeness, the threesome was still in progress, and Owen was still in the middle of it. They had migrated from the sectional to the master suite without a single word of reflection about whose bed it had once been. Sharon and Nerdly’s old marital mattress was now the stage, and nobody hesitated. Owen thought maybe—just maybe—Tif would pick up a little residual intelligence by osmosis, but that was as far as the thought went. The women were naked, he was naked, and there was no room in his head for philosophy.

He lay flat on his back, his body taut and overheated. Tricia was between his legs, her short dark hair brushing his thighs as she worked her mouth along his length, slow and deliberate, like she was savoring him one measured inch at a time. Above him, Tif straddled his chest, her breasts swinging over his face. She kept feeding him her nipples, first one, then the other, with playful little grunts of satisfaction every time his lips closed and his tongue flicked. One of her hands trailed down between Tricia’s legs, fingers pumping steadily, drawing wet sounds that filled the room almost as much as the ragged breaths and soft cries.

Owen tried to keep some grip on reality. He told himself over and over that this was not a dream, that he wasn’t currently passed out on the couch at The Compound with a raging hard-on and drool on his chin. This was real. He was in a threesome. He was actually here, part of this swirling knot of sex. And if it did turn out to be a dream, then it was the best dream in the history of the world and he would accept that.

Tricia pulled off him with a wet pop, stroking his shaft once with her hand before glancing up. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her chest rising and falling quickly. “I want you inside me,” she said. “Do you have a condom?”

The words crashed into Owen like a cymbal strike. A condom? He had never once thought about that. Not tonight, not during the days since Matt had given him the pep talk, not even during the months he and Tif had been together. With Tif it had always been skin on skin, no questions, no barriers. She hated condoms like the Taliban hated free-fall, laser guided, two thousand pound bombs. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Tif jumped in before his silence could grow awkward. She grinned as if she’d been waiting for this. “We’ve got some,” she said brightly. “Teach told me I should have condoms for tonight, so I went and bought a box. They’re in my travel pack.”

Owen turned his head toward her, sweat running down his temple, hair plastered across his forehead. “A box?”

“A big one,” she said proudly. “A hundred. I didn’t know how many we’d need.”

Tricia laughed softly and reached up to squeeze Tif’s breast. “Go get one,” she said, fixing Owen with a look that left no room for hesitation.

He climbed off the bed, cock stiff and aching, and padded across the cool floor to where one of Sharon’s gaudy old pieces of furniture still stood—a lacquered sideboard with gilded handles. Tif’s travel pack had been tossed on top, half-zipped, scarves and odds and ends spilling out.

He dragged it down, unzipped it the rest of the way, and started rummaging. Out came stage makeup, a tangled knot of panties, a bottle of coconut shampoo, a vibrating dildo. Finally his hand closed on cardboard.

He pulled it free and stared. A hundred-count box of non-lubricated condoms.

Jesus Christ. A hundred? Who the hell bought a hundred condoms at once? Why did they even sell them in that number? How long would it take the average man to go through a hundred of them? He wasn’t terribly surprised, however. Teach told her to be ready for this one night, and this was Tif’s version of preparedness: go all in, no half measures, no fine print. She didn’t think about details like lubrication or whether a hundred for a single threesome might be a tad bit excessive. That was just Tif—wild, literal, lovable Tif. And he wouldn’t have her any other way.

He tore the box open, packets spilling across the carpet like playing cards. He snatched one up, clenched it tight, and shoved the rest of the debris back into the pack with his foot.

Behind him came sounds that made his pulse thrum even harder—wet kisses, little moans, the slapping of hands against bare flesh. He turned back to the bed and nearly lost his balance.

Tif and Tricia were pressed together, breasts in each other’s hands, lips locked in slow, teasing kisses that slid into playful flicks of tongue. Their bodies gleamed with sweat and arousal. For a long moment he simply stood there, condom packet forgotten in his hand, drinking in the sight. The Grand Canyon and the Taj Mahal didn’t have shit on what he was looking at right now.

Then he saw it.

Tricia’s left eye.

The one he’d spurted into earlier.

It was swollen now, the skin puffy and angry red, the lid drooping. The whole left side of her face looked inflamed. Could she even see out of that eye anymore? A stab of guilt jabbed through his haze of lust. He opened his mouth, the words right there on the tip of his tongue—we should stop, you need to rinse that more, maybe take some Benadryl, maybe see a doctor—

But Tricia looked right at him with that bloodshot eye, licked her lips, and said, “Put one on and fuck me good.”

The guilt melted away. His cock twitched as if responding directly to her command.

He ripped the package open with his teeth, yanking the rolled rubber free. It looked impossibly small in his hand. He tried to steady himself, rolling it down over his shaft the way he remembered from high school sex ed videos. The dry latex clung and dragged, squeaking faintly against his saliva-slick skin.

Owen hissed out a breath, fighting with the tight rubber, and finally got it seated. His heart pounded. His hands trembled.

Tricia crawled across the bed, planting her hands on the mattress, arching her back so her ass lifted high. She spread her knees wide and dipped her face toward Tif’s waiting pussy. “While he’s inside me,” she said, voice husky, “can I eat you?”

“Fer sure!” Tif squealed without hesitation.

Tricia’s ass swayed in the air, her dark hair falling forward, her swollen eye hidden now against Tif’s thighs. Tif leaned back on the pillows, spreading her legs open with a sigh that was half-pleasure, half-invitation.

Owen climbed onto the bed, condom tight, cock pulsing, and in that moment he forgot completely about the swollen face.

He lined himself up behind Tricia, cock straining, condom tight and dry as parchment. She was soaking—slick and hot and ready—but even so, the rubber dragged like he was trying to push through with sandpaper. He pressed forward carefully, inch by inch, adjusting his angle, sweat dripping off his forehead. It took longer than it should have, a series of tiny, awkward thrusts before he finally worked himself inside.

Tricia let out a low moan, her face buried between Tif’s thighs. Tif shivered and squealed. “Ohhh yeah. Girl and boy threesomes are the best!”

Then her eyes flew wide. “Oh my God, Cutie Patootie—she just put a finger in my butt! That’s hot!”

Owen had no words. None. He was inside a strange woman while his girlfriend not only watched but actively encouraged, her hands tangled in Tricia’s hair, her voice shrill with excitement. He had no frame of reference for this. He had no vocabulary. All he could think was: God fucking loves me!

If only he wasn’t wearing this stupid rubber.

He could sense it—the potential of Tricia’s pussy. It was tight, tighter than Tif’s, and gripping him beautifully. But he wasn’t feeling it all. The condom was a barrier, muting the sensation, keeping him from the full glory of what was wrapped around him.

“Harder,” Tricia said, voice muffled against Tif’s slick skin.

He obeyed, thrusting with more force, hips slapping against her ass. And then—suddenly—the sensation shifted. It hit him in a flood, warm and raw and exquisite. His whole body shuddered at the change.

Holy shit! So this was what condoms were like? Was this the trick—once they got wet enough, the real feeling came through? He could go like this forever. He could fuck all night.

And since he’d already come once—into her left eye, a voice of doom reminded him, relentless—he had control now. He would not come until the moment was right. He was the master of his cock, and this pussy felt so goddamn good.

So good it was almost like...

Like he wasn’t wearing a condom at all.

He froze mid-thrust.

Did I just pull a Coop here?

The thought slammed into him like a hammer. Coop had told him that story a few months back, sitting around after rehearsal with a beer in hand, his voice dropping into that grim, confessional tone. He’d been trying lambskin condoms, curious if they felt better. And they did. They felt amazing. They felt so good that he thought he’d finally found the perfect brand.

Until the end, when he realized why they felt so good. The condom had slipped off somewhere in the middle. The girl had gotten pregnant. Now Coop was shelling out eighteen grand a month in child support for a kid he’d never met.

Owen’s pulse roared in his ears. He hadn’t come yet—thank God—but that didn’t change the fact that the condom was still in there. Somewhere. Tricia’s pussy was gripping him bare, and he had no fucking clue what the next step was supposed to be.

None of Matt’s lectures had covered this. Matt had gone on for hours about threesomes, about refractory periods, about beans and pictures, about never coming during the side by side doggy style portion of the threesome. But not one goddamn word about what to do if the condom abandoned ship mid-mission.

“Why’d you stop?” Tricia panted, twisting her head just enough to look back over her shoulder. Her swollen eye was half-closed, her face flushed. “I was about to come.”

Owen’s mouth went dry. He had no idea what the hell he was supposed to say. Finally, he said, “Uh ... I think we need to call a time out.”

Tricia raised her face from between Tif’s widely spread legs. “Time out? There are time outs during a threesome?”

“Uh ... normally there are no time outs in a threesome,” Owen said carefully. “At least as far as I understand them. But we really need one here.”

Tif’s voice was puzzled, sweet. “What’s wrong, Cutie Patootie? Aren’t you having a good time?”

“It is not physically possible for me to have a better time,” he said, “but ... the condom slipped off. It’s not on me anymore.”

Tricia pulled her face back from between Tif’s legs, her flushed features sharp under the dim light, her swollen left eye nearly shut. “That’s what you stopped for?”

“Kind of a big deal,” Owen said.

There was a pause, then Tif tilted her head. “But why are you even wearing one, Cutie Patootie? You never do with me.”

“Because of tonight,” Owen said. “Teach told you to have them. And ... we don’t really know each other yet. So it seemed ... you know ... responsible.”

Tricia sat back on her heels. “That’s the only reason? You don’t know me?”

“Well ... yeah.”

“Okay. Then let me put this out there. I’ve got Norplant, good for another two years. I haven’t had sex in more than five months. And I get tested every six months—personal choice. I’m clean.

Tif nodded, smiling, eager to join in. “We’re clean too. Me and Cutie Patootie have only been with each other—you know? Monogamany—for six months. He’s never been with anyone else at all, ever. And me...” She wrinkled her nose. “Not since nine months ago, except for collecting ointment before I met him.”

Owen felt his face flush, but it was the truth.

Tricia nodded slowly, her gaze steady on him. “Then what are we doing with condoms? I don’t need them. I don’t want them. I want you to come in me.”

The words slammed into him like thunder. Every nerve in his body lit up, cock throbbing with a fresh surge of heat.

Tif clapped her hands together, delighted. “There we go! No condoms! Everyone’s happy! Just like a threesome should be!”

Owen’s heart hammered in his chest. They had just dismantled the last barrier, the last reason for hesitation. Whatever came next would be raw, unfiltered, and completely unforgettable.

Before he could even move, however, Tif sat up straighter, her eyes wide. “Oh wow, Cutie Patootie—look at her eye. It’s, like, huge.”

Owen glanced at Tricia and felt his stomach twist. The left side of her face was puffed, the lid drooping almost shut. He’d noticed it before, but now it was even worse. “Jesus, Tricia ... maybe we should stop. That looks—”

“Like I got a shot of boy juice in my eye,” she said flatly. “Which is exactly what happened. I’ll be fine. I’ll just rinse it out again when we’re done in here.”

Tif leaned closer, biting her lip. “It looks painful, though. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Tricia said firmly. “I want to finish the fuck. I want to come! We can worry about the eye later.”

Owen’s chest tightened. Part of him wanted to argue, but the other part—the part that was throbbing and desperate—clung to her words like a lifeline.

“Okay,” he said. “But first ... we still have that other problem.”

Tricia exhaled. “The condom.”

“Yeah.”

They kicked around ideas again. Tif, ever enthusiastic, suggested the vacuum cleaner. Owen mentioned the shower spigot and a good rinsing. Tricia rolled her good eye. “There’s a simpler solution,” she said. “One of you is just going to have to reach in and get it.”

Owen looked at Tif. “Your hands are smaller.”

“No way,” she said immediately, shaking her head. “This is your mess, Cutie Patootie. I didn’t leave a condom inside of her.”

Owen was about to make another argument, something about how Tif was the one who brought condoms in the first place, and then Matt’s voice roared in Owen’s skull, harsh and uncompromising: “It’s your fuckin’ responsibility, GM! You’re the dumb shit who slapped a rubber on your dick right after a bitch sucked it. You gotta let that shit dry first! Now dig in there and get your fuckin’ rubber back!”

Owen swallowed hard. He nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Tricia lay back on the bed, spreading her legs without hesitation. Owen’s hands trembled as he dug through the thick bush of black, curly hair, slid his fingers inside of her swollen lips, and felt around inside the heat and slickness, fishing carefully. It took longer than he thought, his fingertips brushing folds and muscle before finally catching the edge of the rubber all the way near the back—near her simplex, as Tif would put it. He pinched it and drew it out slowly, the latex stretching wetly before slipping free.