Chapter 1

Molly and I didn't get to bed until late, and we didn't get to sleep until very late. We didn't stay asleep all that long between amorous bouts, either. On Sunday, we didn't keep at it until 2 p.m., as Molly had predicted. I was whipped long, long before that. It didn't matter. We slept until 2 p.m., anyway.

I woke up first, and went to make coffee. I was a happy, happy man. Why the hell not? I'd just had the best, and the most, unrestrained wall-to-wall sex that I'd ever had in my young life. The whole thing should have been immortalized on a DVD -- with voice-over commentary -- maybe by that guy from NFL Films.

Kama Sutra II.

If only I had some apricot nectar. Apricot nectar is the ultimate Post-Coital Beverage. Even a 25-year-old computer jockey knows that much.

Never mind. Coffee will do. I'll introduce apricot nectar into the relationship later. God knows I don't have many other sex-related novelties left to demonstrate.

I brought the coffee with me -- on a tray, all civilized -- back into the bedroom. Molly was still in the bed, naked and uncovered. She looked adorable. Her red hair was mussed, her unremoved date-night eye makeup was faded across her left cheek, and there was something on her ear that looked like it might be -- well, it sure as hell wasn't toothpaste.

Adorable!

I put the tray down and leaned over her, all puckered up.

"Get away!" Molly said, turning her head and showing me her right ear. "My breath is awful! Don't you know you can't kiss anybody who just woke up? Gaaaa!"

"You weren't complaining last night," I said, "when I kissed you, even before you woke up!"

"That's because I don't breathe through my vagina," she said. "But I imagine the smell down there wasn't that wonderful, either!"

"Don't go getting all antiseptic on me," I warned. "I like my pussy pungent and flavorful!"

"Well, you've certainly come to the right place! Hey! This coffee tastes wonderful!"

"You thought I couldn't make a decent cup of coffee?" I twisted my imaginary mustache and raised both eyebrows. "You will find I am a man of many talents!"

"I've already discovered a few of them," she said, smiling. "That was quite an evening!"

"The wee hours of this morning weren't half bad, either," I said.

"Do you know, this is the first time in my life I've ever had coffee in bed with a man?"

"What? All your previous lovers were tea-drinking pansies from Sussex?"

"No. -- And I'm not claiming to be sexually inexperienced, either. But the other times -- there haven't been all that many, by the way -- they were 'do it and go home' things. Once, in a car, even! Anyway, I'll tell you as much as you want to know about all that -- some other time. The point is, you got my wake-up-with-a-guy cherry!"

"I wish I could tell you that you got mine, too. But I have yet to wake up with a guy."

She hit me with the pillow, and I spilled my damned coffee. But she laughed, anyway. It's important that they laugh at your jokes -- especially if you're not that funny.

We got up, eventually, to brush our teeth, and I tried to coax her back into bed for an encore, but Molly resisted. "Honest to God," she said, I feel like somebody rubbed me with sandpaper down there!"

"Don't knock it if you haven't tried it," I said, and offered to restrict activities to tongue-in-cheek stuff. -- My tongue, in her cheek.

"Not even oral," Molly said. "Give me some recovery time, Greg. I'm out's practice."

"Let's just get a shower then," I suggested.

"Yes. But don't start anything in there -- really! I gotta find some baby lotion, or something!"

"I happen to know," I said, "that baby lotion tastes terrible! How about whipped cream? That would be soothing."

After a reasonably chaste shower, I gave Molly a t-shirt to wear and we hit the kitchen. I made microwave omelets for us, dumping in every odd vegetable and cereal I could find. Molly thought hers was fabulous. I didn't tell her that she'd just sampled my entire cooking repertoire.

It was close to 5 p.m. when we finally got dressed and threw the sheets into the washer. Molly wore the same little black dress she'd worn to the chamber music concert the night before. What else was she going to wear? My t-shirt didn't even cover her little red -- spot.

We agreed to get together later for a casual dinner -- maybe Chinese. We agreed that Molly would invite Sarah along.

"She won't want to be there, though," Molly said.

"Why not?"

"Because you and I are going to be smirking at each other like we were the original discoverers of sex, and we can't wait to publish an article about it in the New England Journal of Medicine. --How would you like to be Third Wheel for that kind of event?"

"Well -- ask her, anyway."

Molly was right, of course, Sarah didn't want to attend the post-coital dinner. Molly came back from her apartment, wearing a fresh dress. She brought along more clothes on a hanger and a little bag with Monday morning cosmetics and assorted girl stuff.

Goodie! She was spending the night!

We ate at the Greasy Chinese up the street (not its actual name) and I tried to bring up the Immediate Future.

"I'd like for you to move in with me," I said.

"My God, Greg. Do you always invite a girl to move in with you the first time you have sex with her?"

"First of all, we've had sex -- countless times. I lost count, anyway. The fact that all the times were in the past 24 hours doesn't change anything. I'd really like it if you'd move in. I'd help you move! You can redecorate -- well, you can decorate -- my townhouse! You'll be in charge. And free computer-repair services! Think of the benefits!"

"It actually sounds wonderful," Molly admitted. "But it would be really dumb. We've known each other for three weeks, and we've slept together for 24 hours. OK, so we've had sex -- several times -- but still, it's only 24 hours. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right next door. Let's give this some time!"

"OK. But the offer remains open until expressly withdrawn in writing. And you are staying over tonight, right?"

"Yes. But I plan to sleep, sometime tonight, and you'd better cooperate."

"Don't worry. Last night was my best shot. It's all downhill from here."

Chapter 2

We got some unseasonably cool weather for early June, and when I got home from work at dusk on Monday, I noticed the windows were wide open at Molly and Sarah's place.

That seemed like a pretty good idea to me, so I copied their example and soon was feeling a pleasant breeze blowing through my kitchen. Best to enjoy it while I could. Washington was mostly a place where one needed air conditioning, all summer long.

Tonight, my life would go back to "normal" after the blissful weekend spent with Molly. When she kissed me goodbye and left for work that morning, she'd warned me that she wouldn't be spending the night with me again until next weekend. "Maybe we'll get together some," she promised, "before Friday night -- but only for a quickie!"

So I was alone-as-usual that Monday evening. It was just as well. I was almost as worn out from our sudden immersion in athletic sexuality as Molly claimed to be. The poor girl really was suffering some pain with her pleasure. She wasn't uncouth enough to spell it out, but I thought my little vacation from her was intended to cure her latter-day diaper rash.

I'm a pasta feen, so my Monday night dinner featured a large plastic container of cold macaroni salad. Unlike my leftover unheated spaghetti, this dish was intended to be eaten cold -- although, perhaps, not in such large quantities.

I took my macaroni and a kitchen fork out onto the back balcony and relaxed. Darkness was settling in over the neighborhood. Lights were coming on in the units across the green. Less sexually curious than I might have been, 48 hours earlier, I nevertheless casually checked out the neighbors' doings.

Nobody seemed to be doing anything particularly interesting.

"You look like you were sent for and didn't come!"

It was Sarah's voice -- from next door. She was apparently talking to Molly at their usual evening meeting place -- the kitchen table.

"Oh, I came, alright," Molly answered, laughing.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Sarah said. "You haven't known this guy very long."

"I hope I know what I'm doing, too," Molly said, serious now. "But I sure don't regret anything, so far!"

I smiled to myself. This was a very flattering conversation to overhear! Nothing like having rescued a fair maiden from the tyranny of celibacy. --The White Knight and his trusty lance!

"Just keep in mind," Sarah said, "you haven't had that much experience with men. You could be riding for a fall, here."

"I know," Molly said, softly. "I know you're right. But jeez, Sarah, it was wonderful! We really connected!"

"Right. --And you've got such a great basis for comparison. How many guys have you slept with? --Four?"

I was listening hard, now. First, I got to enjoy Molly bragging on me. Now I was going to get the intimate details of her past sex life!

"Well, yeah. I mean -- Greg makes four."

"Jesus!" Sarah said. "Only three guys, before this one, and now, you're in love!"

"I didn't say I was in love," Molly protested. "but I'm in lust, at least!"

"Has he got a big cock?"

"Sarah! Shame on you!"

"Well? Does he?"

"I don't think that size matters all that much," Molly said.

You've heard the expression, 'I'm all ears?' Well. I was all ears. If they start mumbling, I thought, or move to another room, I'm gonna flat-out die, right here on the balcony!

Sarah sounded triumphant. "When a girl says 'size doesn't matter that much, ' it means her boyfriend's got a tiny dick!"

"I didn't say that!" Molly protested.

C'mon, Molly, tell her I've got a really big dick!

"OK," Sarah said. "You've slept with four guys -- right? So where does Our Boy Greg rank, among your extensive collection of penises? We already know he's not Number One, because you've given me that 'size doesn't matter' nonsense. So where does he rank? Second? Tied for Third?"

If the balcony hadn't had a strong, high railing, I know I'd have fallen off, leaning over to hear Molly's defense of my lance.

"I think he'd be -- fourth," Molly said.

She'd spoken so softly I'd barely heard her. But I had no trouble hearing Sarah.

"Fourth!" Sarah almost shouted. "Fourth -- out of four! Oh, you poor baby!"

Molly spoke louder, too. She was defiant. "Well, he's the first man ever to give me an orgasm -- with just his penis!"

Wow! I thought. I must be pretty damned good! --For a needle-dick.

Sarah was somewhat mollified. "Got you off, eh? Well, that's something, all right. If men knew how hard that was to do -- how rare it was -- they wouldn't be so proud of themselves all the time!"

"He made me come that way more than once," Molly declared. She was on a roll, now. "And he's wonderful with his -- his mouth, too!"

"I like a big dick, though," Sarah ventured. "I mean, you're right -- it isn't everything. But all things being equal, I'll take a big one!"

"Well, I don't have your vast experience," Molly said, obviously a little annoyed. "But based on my more limited sampling of the field, I'd have to say that Greg's the best lover I've ever had!"

Preach, Girl! Tell it like it is!

"Well. I'm -- happy for you," Sarah said. She didn't sound all that happy.

"Thanks," Molly replied.

I think Molly's pissed, but they're going to make peace now.

"Uh. --How many guys have you -- actually -- uh, had?" Molly asked.

Tell her, Sarah! I'm still listening!

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen! Holy shit! You're only a year older than I am!"

"Well, don't make it sound like I'm some kind of slut," Sarah said. "I mean, this is the 21st Century! I don't think nineteen is that unusual! Anyway, I've been very careful."

"I'm not gonna call you a slut. But, Jeez, Sarah! Nineteen! I don't think I've even dated nineteen guys -- not even if I count 8th Grade!"

"OK, so we're not exactly alike. But you know me pretty well, Molly. I'm not a bad girl! I just -- like sex, is all. God, it's so great -- being a woman -- when you like sex! I mean -- the guys are just out there, waiting in line, for Chrissakes. They can't get enough! It's all I can do to stay calm; hold them off like a bunch of wild dogs, until I'm ready to pick one out! Being an attractive woman is like -- like being the gatekeeper at one of those exclusive nightclubs!"

"I like sex, too," Molly said. "Even before Greg -- even before I got off from -- uh -- regular sex, I already liked it."

"You were just a little more -- cautious -- than I've been," Sarah said.

Sounds like Conciliation Time over there.

But Molly couldn't quite grasp the concept. "That nineteen," she said. "Does that include guys you just -- you know -- did orally?"

Sarah laughed. "You mean do I adhere to the Bill Clinton definition of what's sex? Well, the answer's complicated. First of all, I do think that oral sex counts as sex. --But when I said 'nineteen, ' I was talking about the number of guys who've actually done me -- all the way!"

"Nineteen!" Molly repeated. There was the sound of wonder in her voice.

"C'mon! Ease up!" Sarah said. "At least it's not like I've lost count!"

"How many would it be -- if you did count the oral too?" Molly wanted to know.

"Fuck, I don't know," Sarah said. "I guess I've lost count."

I didn't know whether Molly thought Sarah was a slut or not, but I looked upon my lover's roomy with new respect! I wondered if Sarah would like to go for an even twenty?

Chapter 3

I said nothing to Molly about having overheard the intimate conversation she and Sarah had shared. The information, though -- all of it -- was awfully nice to have. I knew I was doing pretty good, keeping my Sweetie happy in bed, and I knew her Roomy was a volcano, waiting to go off.

But if that volcano ever went off on me, it wasn't going to be because I had tried to climb it.

(This metaphor is getting 'way out of hand. Let's just say I didn't expect to get any sex from Sarah, and I sure as hell wasn't going to jeopardize my relationship with Molly in any insane effort to score her brunette roomy.)

For the next three weeks, Molly and I lived a charmed life. The sex remained great (and frequent) and although I think we were both kind of waiting to discover some terrible weakness in the other person that would bring all this to a sad end, it never happened!

I didn't say anything about it to Molly, but in addition to her having been -- on that first night -- the finest bed-partner I'd ever had, she had also, in only three weeks, become the female with whom I'd had the most sex -- counting everything: coitus, fellatio, cunnilingus, the Lesser Arts -- you name it.

Well. Not anal. We hadn't tried that. But I hadn't tried that anyway, so Molly was tied for first place, even there!

In each and every type of sexual activity in which we engaged (and in all of them, added up together), Molly was the Undisputed Champ, quantitatively and qualitatively.

She was a wild and crazy lay. I had the scratched-up back to prove it. Best of all, she was a screamer! Oh, God, is there anything more gratifying to a man than bedding a True Screamer? I mean, it's like getting the Nobel Prize in Fucking.

I was hoping the fire wall between my apartment and Sarah's wasn't keeping Ms. Nineteen from hearing the festivities. I wanted her to wonder what she was missing.

Just give me a shot, Sarah-girl, and I'll show you how much size matters!

I didn't ask Molly if I was also the holder of all her quantity and quality sex-records. I didn't necessarily want to hear her answer. But my guess was, I was at least rapidly becoming her Lifetime Main Squeeze, too.

I'd long-since introduced her to apricot nectar (and got a great positive reaction). But that was pretty much the end of my sexual innovation. So far, though, I didn't seem to be boring her with my Menu of Standard Practices.

Meanwhile, the sunbathing --by both of my neighbor ladies -- was proceeding apace. It wasn't as regular. Molly was spending most of her weekend afternoons having wild sex with me. But they got out there together from time to time, and both had returned to their old preference for doing their thing, stone-nude. I continued to spend pleasant times in my swivel bar chair, appreciating their natural gifts.

Neither Molly nor Sarah made any more blatant gestures, specially aimed at arousing my interest. Molly more or less pretended I wasn't there (although she knew I was), and Sarah showed me that she had a lot of character.

She didn't pretend I wasn't there -- in fact, she'd make eye contact from time to time and usually could stare me down -- but her attitude was no longer hostile or challenging.

She wasn't flirtatious, either. No special beaver shots aimed in my direction, no little reach-downs to tickle her little shaved twat -- either for my benefit or her own.

But she didn't overdo the modesty, either. It's hard, I guess, to be modest when you're nekkid in the sunshine. Sarah didn't try. She just relaxed, and let it all hang.

Everything hung -- except Junior. Even if Molly had left my bed fifteen minutes earlier (as sometimes was the case), I seemed to have enough blood left to stand at attention for the sunbathers. It was a nice life. No amount of actual sex seemed to dampen my lifelong love of voyeurism.

I suppose Molly's old invitation for me to join them out there was still on, and I no longer feared rejection by Sarah if I did so. But at least for the moment, I continued to prefer the status quo.

It was Friday night and we were all looking forward to the coming three-day Independence Day holiday. Is there anything as lovely as a Friday night with the civilian version of a three-day pass staring you in the face?

Molly and I already had made plans to spend virtually the entire long weekend together. We were going to see a probably-good movie that was opening this weekend. We were going on a hike.

Mostly, by unspoken agreement, we planned to fuck each other blind, starting tonight and continuing until somebody hollered "stop!"

When Molly got home from work, later than I, she called me.

"Greg. We got problems," she said.

"What?"

"Our air conditioner has gone blooey," she said. "It's hot as hell over here, and we're having trouble getting the management company as excited about it as we are."

"You can't live, around here, without air," I agreed. "Surely they'll arrange an emergency service call."

"Maybe," Molly said. "But meanwhile, it's awful over here."

"Give them your cell phone number," I said, "and you and Sarah come on over here."

Nobody had to twist Sarah's arm to get her out of their steamy apartment. She not only came willingly, she brought an overnight bag and a couple of hanger-fulls of clothing. She was delighted to find that, even if I was a bachelor-geek, I had a guest room with an actual bed in it.

"I don't have anything good to eat in the house," I said. "Let me take both of you out to dinner tonight! You can bring the phone, in case The Call comes."

We hit an Italian place that Sarah recommended, and it was great! I had avoided the place in the past because, like most Washington-area restaurants, it always seemed too full of people waiting to be seated. We got lucky, though, and didn't have to wait too long.

It was really the first time the three of us had been together in a social situation, and it occurred to me that I should have made some additional efforts, over recent weeks, to "reconcile" with Sarah. I'd been pretty much ignoring her -- treating her as if our feud of the Early Days was still on. She'd made it pretty clear, for some time now, that I had been forgiven.

But when you're getting it real regular, you tend to forget all about third parties, and their feelings.

We had a really good evening, though. The errant air conditioner (and the management company's failure to call back) were forgotten. We drank wine, we laughed a lot, and I suggested, after we'd knocked off two bottles, that we spend some time across the street at the coffee house before I drove them back home.

"What's wrong with the coffee here?" Sarah wanted to know.

"Beats me. It's my first time here. Is it good?"

It's like Starbucks -- only without the snooty guy at the cash register," Sarah said. "Trust me. This place is the best."

She was right. While I was still savoring my coffee, Sarah excused herself and was off to the ladies' room. Molly didn't go along.

"This could be your big night," Molly said.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I kinda thought I knew what she was going to say, but, hey -- never assume!

"I mean, I think Sarah has itchy-crotchy, and tonight, you've got her under your roof, feeling grateful for all the TLC, and -- as far as I know -- not in the middle of her period."

"And where are you going to be, while I'm scratching Sarah's itch?"

"I hope I'll be right in there amongst ya!" Molly said. Where'd you think I'd be? In the guest room?"