The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes (56 page)

Finally Adam’s band came on. Two women played violins, a man played keyboard and Adam sung like a force of nature, howling into the microphone with passion. My eyes travelled over my young friend, taking in his unusual outfit. Adam wore what looked like very baggy trousers. I peered closer, leaning forwards in my seat to see that they weren’t trousers. Adam wore a skirt: a long black garment that swept the ground with every move. I’d expected to see men wearing kilts in Scotland, but not skirts like that. I knew where my vote was going tonight.

I may have voted for Adam, but a Welsh band got the majority, and they would be going on to the finals. I felt a little sad for Adam, but his music was so good, I just knew that a record producer would snatch him up real soon.

I found Adam after the closing ceremony. He looked somewhat down, but he still smiled as I approached.

“I thought you were great. Thank you for telling me about this.” I stroked his back.

“The Welsh boyos were grand. I voted for them myself,” he said.

“Really?”

Adam nodded, holding up a little disc. “I’ve even bought their CD.”

We both laughed until we doubled over.

I awoke late the next day with the River Moriston as the only sound in my world. I walked around the local area after my breakfast, trudging up pathways that led me through a dense pine forest. Little sparkling streams ran alongside me as I climbed higher, enjoying the fresh air, the peace and all that green. I imagined mysterious woodland creatures danced just out of view as I made my way through this special place.

When I returned to my room several hours later, I felt as if I had slipped back in time. Everywhere I looked was lush emerald grass, the curve of high mountains speckled with purple heather. Everything was just perfect.

Later in the day, I made myself a cup of tea, and sat out in the grassy area outside my chalet. The sound of running water enveloped me – the River Moriston fl owed beneath the banks that formed a green steep drop. The clear water bubbled over rocks and small boulders, but as I peered into the distance, I saw how the river widened further on, streaming over bigger obstacles to become Telford Falls, which in turn fed into Loch Ness. I wondered if the Loch Ness Monster had ever been sighted this high upstream? I wondered if the creature that had spawned myths and legends was truly real.

I finished my tea, and then I walked along the riverbank to where a crumbling stone bridge spanned the rushing water. The sun was setting, but there was still enough light to see a couple on the bridge, enjoying the view to the sound of some ambient music. I watched intrigued as a man sat on the edge of the bridge – it was Adam, looking gorgeous in the waning light. A man danced with his back to me. The sensuous moves were hypnotic, but I was left in no doubt that he and Adam were an item. As if to confirm my thoughts, Adam reached out and ran a hand over the dancer’s back, stroking his neck. Adam’s partner leaned into the embrace briefly, and then stepped away.

The man picked up a strange object, and then he began dancing with it. Soon I spied a band of light that span in a wide circle with streaks of gold, red and blue. I watched amazed as he twirled a glowing rod in time to the music. He turned, still spinning the staff, gyrating slim hips to match the movements. I finally recognized him as the keyboard player from Adam’s band. I realized that the dancer was smiling at me. Light dazzled my eyes. I smiled back.

“Hello, Molly.” Adam raised his hand in greeting.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said weakly, as I clambered on to the stone bridge, now aware of how precarious it was: rubble was scattered down one side, and the low walls seemed incredibly fragile. “Your friend looked really interesting. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Molly, this wee lad is Cerise,” Adam said, pulling the dancer closer into an affectionate hug. Cerise glanced at me shyly before looking down at his feet. Adam punched the young man playfully on the shoulder. “Molly was paying you a compliment, idiot,” he teased.

“
Tapadh leat
,” Cerise mumbled. “Thank you.” I wondered how someone could be shy after moving with such open abandon earlier.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing at the wooden implement he held.

“It’s a glow staff,” Adam replied. Cerise handed the staff to me. I twisted it in my hands, but it only looked like an ordinary piece of wood in my grip. “Cerise is great with poi and the like,” Adam explained, but I’d never heard of poi before.

Cerise trotted over to the far end of the small bridge, where a black rucksack lay. He rummaged around for a moment before he came back to us, carrying an armful of objects.

“Poi.” He held up what looked like two long socks that bulged from the bottom. When I didn’t make any comment on the strange items, he took a step away from me. He rotated his arms, and the poi swung easily around him. Time slowed down as he began to move the rest of his body, and soon I was treated to the sight of an impressive routine. The poi were mesmerizing as they circled in front of my eyes.

I became aware of a presence behind me: Adam stood close, pressing against my back and my bottom. “There’s a little trick you can do,” he whispered in my ear, moving his hands down to mine. “Like so,” he continued, lifting my hands straight out in front of me. Cerise grinned, moved closer, and let the poi wind their way around my forearms. The solid feel of the poi restrained me, pulling my hands together in a sudden clinch. Cerise twisted the poi, tying it securely in a quick movement. My breath faltered in my throat. I stood sandwiched between the two men, helpless to escape.

“Nice trick,” I whispered. My voice was hoarse. My whole crotch began to pulse and spasm. The two men moved closer to me, squashing me slightly as they leaned forwards. They exchanged a long kiss over my head. I felt twin erections against me, from the front and from the rear.

“
Ceutach
,” Cerise crooned. He licked along the side of my neck.

“Beautiful,” Adam translated the Gaelic into English.

Adam’s hips moved against mine, rubbing his length against my bottom. Cerise nosed the skin around my bound arms, mouthing across to my elbow, and then back up again.

“Do you want us to stop?” Adam asked, as if my humping his legs wasn’t enough of a clue.

I bit my lip, whined as he stroked my front, brushing fingers across my chest. I felt the play of muscles against me as Adam wrapped his arms around my waist. Cerise leaned over once more to kiss him, his dark hair brushing against my face. I was hungry, longing to be kissed too, but I couldn’t reach either of them. I gasped, stood on tiptoe, but the men just pulled me back down again, and resumed kissing each other instead. Just when I had given up on getting any attention, the two men directed me to where the canopy of a tree spilled over the side of the bridge. We tumbled into the bushy leaves, balanced on the crumbling rock of the old bridge. My eyes fl uttered shut as fingers reached into my knickers, tugging them down in three short pulls. The material of my panties lay twisted around my ankles, restraining me even further.

Adam ran his thumb over my mouth. “Suck it,” he whispered.

I licked and slurped on his thumb, drawing it inside, enjoying the feel as it invaded me. My tongue swirled over the whorls of his thumbprint, memorizing the unique feel of his hard skin. Abruptly he pulled it free, but then I felt calloused hands cup me, whilst Adam’s wet thumb circled my arsehole from behind. Even in this pursuit, the two men were affectionate with each other; their fingers joined as they stroked and caressed my pussy and my arse. The pounding water from the River Moriston sped around me. I felt awash in the stream as my breathing grew faster. And then suddenly the whole world tipped to a strange angle as Adam leaned back, holding me with one hand whilst the other was buried in the crack of my arse. Cerise bent to latch on to my protruding nipples, biting right through the fabric of my sweater to make me hiss with pleasure. A small part of my brain wondered what on earth I was doing, fooling around on a dangerous bridge with a couple of young men. However most of my mind was just satisfied with the way Cerise’s fingers tweaked my clitoris, how Adam’s thumb had wedged inside the tight entrance to my arse. I could beat myself up about this some other time.

I heard a low moaning sigh, but this wasn’t the sound of a mythical creature that swam far beneath us. The noise came from my own throat as Cerise unzipped his trousers, and then dragged his cock against my thigh. Adam held my skirt in bunches as he helped his lover enter me.

“That’s my wee lad,” Adam crooned to the man above me. “My beautiful boy.” His thumb hooked into my arse, a solid weight that made every nerve ending sing with delight.

Cerise said something in Gaelic that sounded like it meant, “Good.” He thrust inside me, surging into my pussy that was wet and willing. I had been waiting for this for the past two days, although I had thought that it would be only Adam and I. I wasn’t going to complain though, not when Adam’s thumb made my arse sparkle with pleasure. I wouldn’t say a bad word when Cerise’s cock nudged my clit with every thrust he made. The younger man practically climbed on top of me as his movements became harder, less fl uent. I felt shudders beneath me. I prayed that it was Adam shaking, and not the bridge that was falling apart. The sound of the torrent that thundered below grew loud in my ears, but I knew that if I fell, tumbling into the water, I would not be alone.

Cerise angled his hips, slamming against me, touching a spot deep inside that made all my fears dissolve into pure pleasure. I came, surrounded by two Highlanders, with my voice wild and free. The words I uttered were the first moments of Babel, where the single human language splintered into a thousand dizzying tongues.

Cerise cried out too, and then he slumped against me. His hair was soft against mine.

“You might want to let me up now,” Adam squeaked from behind.

The music came to an end. The two men stepped away, leaving me bound and breathless, a heap on the crumbling bridge. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I wriggled in my restraints, but could not get free until Cerise kindly unwrapped me.

“Do all your guests receive such a great reception?” I rubbed my arms until the blood began to fl ow freely once more.

“It’s the latest thing,” Adam replied, picking up his small stereo.

“Nos Ur,” Cerise chimed.

“Plus mature women do something to me,” Adam confessed with a shy smile. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Scots Gaelic is really a beautiful language,” I said dreamily.

“Aye it is,” Adam whispered before he helped me to climb back over the broken portion of the bridge.

“Do you think you could teach me some?”

Adam looked at Cerise before he spoke. “Meet us here tomorrow night, and we’ll see what we can do.” Adam gripped Cerise’s hand in his. He drew him farther into the growing dark.

Ivo

Alana Noel

When my friend Micah was too old for a babysitter his parents hired one anyway to stay overnight with him. Giselle lived in the neighbourhood. His dad knew her dad, something like that. What Micah remembered about Giselle was she had whip-long hair pulled into a tight cord over one shoulder, and she’d painted her fingernails purple, fingernails she dragged across the kitchen counter when they were alone; and she’d ordered him to make her some scrambled eggs. Micah said he felt that drag of nails across his soul, like his electrodes shifted, and he tried to make those eggs perfect. Except he fucked them up or so she said he did. Giselle yelled at him, and the more this chick shouted at him in the kitchen by the stove, the harder his cock got. Micah said he beat off in the bathroom later. He jerked off reliving the heat of Giselle’s breath beating him in the face.

Now we were in a hotel room, Micah and me, and you could say the room was swanky because Ivo had class. The air in the room smelled like fl owers, and the furniture was plush in that upscale hotel kind of way. The bed was huge. A picture window overlooked Portland, a gleam from the Willamette River. Out on the balcony you could smell rain, just the smell though; the sky at the moment was clear and dark like a bruise.

Micah had started on the champagne. He continued looking at me over his shoulder. “What do you think she’s going to ask us to do, dude?”

“You know what she’ll ask us to do.”

“OK, so will you take it up the ass or will I? We should figure

this out.”

I shook my head. No way. “We do whatever she says.” “Yeah, yeah,” Micah said. And then he got back to the champagne.

Three months ago
,
I answered an ad.
Woman seeks beautiful bisexual boy to do what he’s told. Apply with a phone number and photo.
When I sent off my photo to a post office box, I didn’t expect a reply.

It was a Wednesday night, and I sat in an apartment I shared with Micah and watched him fast-forward through a porn tape looking for a girl who could squirt come from her cunt. “She ejaculates, man!” Micah was excited.

The cell phone in my jeans pocket vibrated, agitating my boner. I looked at my phone: caller unknown. Meanwhile, Micah couldn’t find the girl with the squirting cunt.

“Fuck, she was here.” His jeans were open, and his cock poked out.

I hit the answer button on my phone. “Yeah?”

“Tyler?”

“Uh-huh . . .” My voice trailed off. Feminine voice. Unfamiliar. “Who’s this?”

“Who do you think? Elmore Park, one hour. Bench by the water fountain.”

“OK.”

She clicked off. I looked at Micah.

“I’m about to find her,” he said. I stood from the couch and zipped up. Shit, sweating already, an adrenaline rush, something. I felt dizzy. “Hey, I’ve got to go.”

“What are you talking about? I’m about to find the chick who squirts.”

I dropped my phone in my pocket then went to a mirror and looked at myself.

There was this actor, Jonathan Brandis, big eyes and darkish-blond hair, who did a show about the sea or something, and chicks often said I looked like him, so I figured, Hey, a good thing. Except I heard this guy had gotten depressed about his star falling out of the sky, losing his fame or something, and so he’d killed himself, and I’d imagine a supernova when I thought about this actor guy, a star that burns real bright before it’s gone, and then I got sad about it. Weird feeling.