Every silver lining has a cloud.
After a truly spectacular day… the very end wasn’t truly spectacular.
I fucked up. While I had done a good job of titrating the alcohol consumption throughout the day (as I said in an earlier post, alcohol and anxiety have tanked many a threesome), my vigilance slipped at the end of the day. First, I allowed Charlotte and Sarah to finish the second bottle of wine I had brought with me. I had poured all the glasses of wine theretofore, but as the end of the day approached, I relaxed a little, and I let them do the pouring.
The pours were heavier and heavier, until the second wine bottle was gone. And still, I didn’t yet notice the warning signs that full-blown inebriation was approaching. I sent the women to the bar for a stretch, with a little assignment to do. I underestimated the damage they might do there. But by the time they returned to me, not an hour later, they were well and truly in their cups.
We only had the room for about forty more minutes. I had just blown my wad for the second time that day, this time down Sarah’s pretty gullet, and while the ladies were gone, I had packed up the room, for the most part. I was dressed. The restraints, rope, blindfolds, and other accouterments of pleasure had found their way back to the brown velvet bag in which I had transported them there. All that remained was a bed, and two beautiful women.
The final stretch started hot enough: “Get naked,” I said. “We only have a few more minutes.”
They undressed, dutifully.
“Now. Sarah. I know 69 isn’t your favorite sex act, but it’s what you’re going to do now.”
I positioned Charlotte on her back, her head at the foot of the bed, and Sarah, on top of her, her pussy on Charlotte’s pretty face, her head in Charlotte’s pretty pussy.
Both women came in what felt like no time. “Good girls,” I said. “Now, we have to pack up and leave.”
I had hung Charlotte’s jacket in the closet, but failed to communicate this to her, and she struggled to find it. Eventually – Sarah and I waiting in the hall – she did. As we waited for the elevator, Charlotte said to me, “Can we talk for a few minutes?”
I had maximized the day. I didn’t have a lot of time. But I could see this was important.
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll sit in the bar.”
We descended to the lobby. The women kissed their farewells. I walked Sarah out to the street, and pointed her in the right direction, and returned to find Charlotte sitting in a chair in the lobby.
Charlotte was, sad to say, truly shitfaced at this point. She was slurring her words. She was sloppy drunk. And, she was emotional.
Charlotte and I entered the day having built a remarkably intense relationship over a period of months. We chatted by text throughout most days. We knew nearly everything about one another’s lives. We were… intimate. Charlotte had – as you will have read – anticipated at least a little jealousy as the day approached. She had been a bit possessive of me (as I had been of her). The thought of me with Sarah wasn’t effortless for her. And there were certain things she had told me she simply didn’t want. For me to fuck Sarah, for example.
No worries: I’m not the world’s best fucker, to begin with. And I was happy simply to take fucking off the table. (It’s rarely on most of my tables.)
And in the middle of the day, Charlotte had expressed the concern both that I was attending too much to Sarah, and not enough to her. And, that I had put a finger in Sarah’s ass, which I hadn’t done to Charlotte (that day).
Charlotte communicated well, and Sarah and I listened, and we attended to her concerns – concerns which had seemed to abate throughout the afternoon, as we implemented some fixes. I stopped going down on Sarah, and made sure to lavish copious attention on Charlotte.
But it wasn’t enough.
Now, drunk, Charlotte had full access to her anxieties and insecurities, and … well… it wasn’t fun. For her, or for me.
I want to be clear: I take responsibility for this. I allowed the alcohol to flow too freely. Charlotte’s jealousy was sure to figure in the day – as was mine – but the alcohol multiplied it exponentially, even while removing any inhibitions she might have had about expressing it – or skills for managing and communicating about it. Add to that: I had two dates planned later in the week – one with Sarah, one with Charlotte. By this point, the thought of me alone with Sarah simply wasn’t tolerable to Charlotte.
I won’t walk you through the rest of the evening. It. Was. Hard. Much harder for Charlotte than for me, to be sure, but hard for both of us.
And as the sun rose the next day, we both were forced to confront head-on the unsustainability of the intense connection we had built, the contradictions embedded in it, the mismatch in our needs.
As I write this, Charlotte and I have pulled apart gently. The date with Sarah didn’t happen later that week. Neither did the date with Charlotte. All for different reasons. But the bottom line is, the intensity was a bit too much for everyone.
I used to have a cat. He was spectacular. And he loved having his ears rubbed. And rubbed. And rubbed. And then, all of the sudden, he would fling copious snot, and turn on his rubb-er, and bite, hard. As if to say, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” And he would turn and run.
This isn’t what Charlotte did to me, or what I did to Charlotte. We’re both grown-ups. Mature. Sensible. And, we like one another, and don’t want to lose one another. But we needed to find a path forward that doesn’t subject either of us to torture – as her nights with Mr. A did (do) for me; as my hypothetical nights with Sarah, or anyone else, might her.
We agreed not to text one another throughout the day for a bit, not to update one another on our interactions with others. And, we entered the next chapter of our relationship.
Meanwhile: both Charlotte and Sarah do want to repeat this. We all had so much fun. The challenge, simply, is to find a way to do it that makes everyone feel safe, and well attended to.
And in the coming weeks, I trust, you will continue to hear about both ladies. So. Lucky me!