Three people sleeping in one bed is often better as an idea than it proves to be in practice.
I woke between Emma and Mitzi in exactly the same position in which I had fallen to sleep. I was stiff, wedged into place by their nude bodies pressed close against mine.
I took my nose from Emma’s hair and looked to the clock. It was mid-morning. We had been asleep only a few hours.
I had to stretch and breathe.
I lifted myself on one hip, taking care not to adjust position lest I disturb my bedmates. My hip slid from under Mitzi’s arm as I pulled myself to the edge of the mattress.
“Jefferson?” she whispered.
I stood and went to her. I kissed her cheek. “Shh, baby. Don’t wake Emma. I’m just stretching.”
“Coming back?” Her eyelashes fluttered between sleep and wake.
“Yeah, soon.” I pet her hair.
She turned back to her pillow as I kissed her shoulder. My bare feet cooled against parquet as I left the women to slumber.
The living room was full of morning light. I stretched my arms up and lifted myself on my toes. I could feel the expansion of my hamstrings and calves. My vertebrae and joints complained as they popped back into place.
I twisted on the axis of my hips, my cock flopping amicably between my thighs.
I yawned and scratched my ass.
I poured a glass of orange juice and returned to the doorway of my bedroom to survey the women under my covers. I smiled at their arms over the duvet.
They looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the memory.
The citrus slashed across my tongue’s cottony memories of the previous night’s cocktails.
I finished the glass. My mouth was a little more awake, but my body was no less fatigued.
I needed to rest to the sound of my own pulse.
I rinsed my glass and took a piss. I took a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and curled up on the couch.
Mitzi woke me there, as she had just before dawn.
“Hmmm?” My eyes remained closed.
“Sweetheart,” she said softly. “Can you come back to bed?”
I turned to my back. “Hmmm, no, I’m fine. Go to sleep.”
“But I miss you.” She sat against my hip, caressing my hair.
“I’m just sleeping.”
“Come sleep with me.” She put her lips to mine.
I flipped to my hip and pulled her into my arms. “No, you sleep here,” I said, too leaden to move. She nodded and lay on her side, nuzzling her back to my torso. My face was buried in her black curls.
“Honey, I’m falling off the couch.” I realized that she clutched my forearm with tense fingers.
“Okay.” I rubbed my eyes. “Maybe the bed makes more sense.”
We sat up, abandoning the couch and it’s bedding to find slightly roomier accommodations.
Emma awoke to the sound of us fucking beside her.
“Good morning,” she smiled.
“Hey, morning, sweet.” My cock pushed deeper into Mitzi as I leaned to kiss Emma.
“Did we wake you?” Mitzi asked.
“Yes, like you care,” Emma said. “I mean, you’re not going to stop just so I can sleep, are you?”
“We’ll stop,” I grinned to Mitzi. “Eventually.”
“That’s what I figured,” Emma said, lowering her heavy lids. “Just leave me some room on the bed.”
I put my forearms under Mitzi’s shoulder, pulling her closer to me. I kissed her earlobe.
I held my cock deep in her, pressing my pubis back and forth against her clit.
“So deep, baby,” she squealed quietly.
“I know, so deep,” I whispered. “Now give me what I want.”
She nodded. Her cheeks were wet against mine.
“Unh,” she moaned. “Unh, no, Jefferson . . . so close, but I can’t.”
I pulled my face back and looked at her. “Do you want to . . .?”
“Yes, please,” she nodded.
I pulled away from her body. She sat up.
We traded positions. She lowered her pussy to my thigh.
She began to grind down on me. I tensed a muscle under her, and took a nipple between a finger and thumb.
Emma turned and sat up. “Are you going to high school him?”
“Uh huh,” Mitzi smiled. “Now be quiet.” She closed her eyes.
Emma and I watched Mitzi’s face as her hips pushed back and forth against me.
Mitzi lowered her hand to brush my cock, bobbing against her hip. “Unh,” she moaned quietly. She moaned again, more loudly.
She opened her eyes and smiled.
She collapsed on my chest.
I pulled her hair from her face. “Did we get it?” I asked.
She nodded into my chest. “Unh huh.”
“Nice work,” Emma said. “It’s good to see Jefferson finally having sex when he’s awake.”
I asked the girls what I had missed by falling asleep at the orgy. Emma said she had enjoyed it when Nate fucked her as she was poised in midair, her back against one hallway wall, her feet against the opposite.
“You were in the air?” I marveled. “Wait, didn’t that block the hallway?”
“Wasn’t that Apollo?” Mitzi asked.
“It was one of them, whichever.” Emma shrugged. “I don’t know if we blocked the hall; I was too busy to notice.”
“Damn, I sleep through the best sex,” I lamented.
Mitzi raised up and punched my shoulder. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“Ow!” I winced. I sniffed Mitzi’s hair. “Oh, is that liver I smell?”
“Motherfucker,” Mitzi laughed, hitting me harder.
“Bitchcunt,” I replied, grabbing her wrist. “Bitchcuntpussyass punk.”
“Children, behave . . . ,” Emma began.
“She fucking started it,” I grimaced between clenched teeth.
Mitzi struggled against my grip. “Bring it, asshole—I’ll kick your bony ass.”
“You talking to me?” I snarled.
“Can’t we all just get along?” Emma asked plaintively.
“Stand back, Emma,” Mitzi warned. “I don’t want you getting hurt as I take him down.”
I blocked a blow with my free hand, now gripping each of Mitzi’s wrists. “Ha!,” I gloated.
Mitzi jumped her feet and wrestled free. She crouched into a wrestler’s stance and drummed her chest. “You want a piece of this, old man?”
“You can’t be talking to me?” I rose to echo her pose.
We circled, our eyes locked.
“Jesus, would you just get a room?” Emma sighed.
“We’ve got a room . . . ,” I began before being silenced by a lunge.
“Mother fuck,” I reeled back. “Ref, did you see that?”
“You gonna cry to mama, poor little wee wee?” Mitzi taunted, bobbing from side to side.
I took her arm and hurled her to the bed.
She fell, raising a foot to stop my advance.
“Okay, enough,” Emma said, raising a hand. “It’s all fun until someone loses an eye.”
“Fine by me.” I stood back and extended a hand. “Truce?”
“Truce,” Mitzi nodded before kicking my hand away.
“You double-crossing, yellow-bellied cocksucker,” I swore. I came at her waving my hands in a mock sissy fight.
She waved me back.
We turned our heads, eyes closed.
“Okay, okay, you win,” I surrendered. “You are boss sissy.”
“Damn right, Mary.” Mitzi leaned back on a pillow, her cheeks flushed, smug in victory.
I sat on the bed between the two women looking at me. Emma’s blond hair was sprawled on one pillow, Mitzi’s dark locks on another.
“Huh,” I said. “Now I get it—you two look like a Courbet.”
“What Courbet?” Emma asked.
“A painting?” Mitzi smiled. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, squinting to recall a painting I knew better in graduate school. “It’s called ‘The Sleepers,’ and it shows two nude women embraced in bed. One is blonde and the other is brunette, like my present company. I remember something about the blonde representing Europe and the brunette representing Asia, but I’m not sure about that. I’m just sure it’s pretty hot mid-nineteenth-century girl-on-girl.”
“Sounds hot,” Mitzi looked at Emma.
“Yeah, Courbet was a pervert,” Emma nodded.
“Or his patrons were,” I concurred. “Remember ‘Origin of the World' . . . “
“L’origine du monde,” Emma corrected.
“What’s that?” Mitzi asked.
“It’s a painting of a woman’s spread legs,” Emma said.
“Basically a beaver shot, right?” I nodded. “It hangs in the D’Orsay these days, but it was painted for a Turkish patron who went for the smutty pictures. It was originally commissioned for his private viewing pleasure.”
“Or wanking,” Emma said.
“Most assuredly, wanking,” I smiled. “It’s now public, but it was intended as a private thing.”
I realized I was absent-mindedly massaging each woman’s thighs.
We fell quiet, listening to the city.
“You know,” Mitzi broke the silence. “I’m having the best time. I’d like this to continue. Would you?”
“Sure, it’s nice,” Emma said.
“You want to go to a movie?” Mitzi asked.
“I need to see ‘Walk the Line.’” I said. “It was just nominated, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and I haven’t seen it,” Mitzi agreed.
“Me either,” Emma said.
Mitzi sat up. “Oh my God, are we going to do this?”
“I think we are,” I said, just as excited. I liked the spontaneity of Mitzi’s proposal. Why end this time together, or limit it to my bedroom? Why the hell not go to a movie?
Mitzi needed to stop by her place to walk her Chihuahua, Monster. Emma needed to study. I had writing to do.
We resolved to take a break of a few hours, and then reconvene at the theater. Emma would study at my place as I worked.
But first, we each needed a shower. In the spirit of togetherness, we took our party to the bath.
I was soaping Emma as Mitzi shampooed.
“You know, Jefferson,” Mitzi said, as if this thought just occurred to her. “You are living every man’s fantasy.”
“You think?” I grinned.
I blubbered as I washed my face in Emma’s soapy tits.
The girls laughed.
I hoped this joke hid my blush. I knew that what Mitzi said was largely true; my life is pretty much a wet dream for most men. But it’s a little embarrassing to have it so baldly stated.
Yes, I have a lot of sex, and some very cool lovers.
But, it’s not a put on, or some Playboy Mansion grotto fantasy.
It’s my life.
The daily fabric of my life may well be the envy of most men. Who would not want to awake between two women? Who would not want to have sex with these women, and trade playful barbs or ideas about art before facing the real world?
But it’s my life. How does one maintain a private life in so public a situation?
Mitzi messages Emma, who messages Shelby, whose best friend is Meg, who messages Madeline, who shares my girlfriend Viviane and my boyfriend Marcus . . . and of course, everyone has fucked everyone else.
Everyone talks about everything. There are no secrets.
I was pondering all this as my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex entered its second week—and I realized I had reserved no time to myself.
The afternoon was waning as Mitzi joined us at the theatre.
She smiled knowingly as she approached us on the sidewalk. We had already purchased tickets.
“Hello, Jefferson. Hello, Emma.” She kissed our cheeks in turn.
“Hi,” Emma kissed her.
“Hey baby.” I kissed her.
“Did you get much studying done?” Mitzi asked Emma.
Emma demurred. “Well . . . “
“Not so much,” I volunteered.
Mitzi smiled like a crocodile. Her voice teased. “Oh, Emma, did that bad Jefferson distract you from your studies?”
Emma turned to me. “Maybe a little.”
“Maybe we need to get seats,” I suggested, hedging the follow-up questions.
I avoided a few admissions.
Emma had put her books aside as we fucked. For several hours.
Emma cums so readily. It was almost cruel how I pushed her from one orgasm to another. A body can only stand so much. And yet I was insatiable for more of her shudders and gasps.
It was also cruel how close that brought us. Emma’s body found its language with mine. Our minds were just as synchronized.
At this moment in her life, Emma has no use for love and all that. She likes that I am uncomplicated about the emotional stuff. I’m a good person. I give her good sex. I’m a gateway for more good sex. I don’t mess it up.
But our hearts had to take care.
Emma was a little quiet as we walked into “Walk the Line.”
The heart is only so resilient.
I sat between Emma and Mitzi.
For nearly three hours, we watched Johnny Cash find his soul mate in June Carter.
I leaned to the left, leaving an arm entwined with Mitzi’s. Our fingers were interwoven.
At my right, my hand fit dryly into Emma’s palm.
I had to borrow my right hand to daub tears when June finally relented and agreed—on stage—to marry Johnny.
It was evening when the movie let out. We clustered on the sidewalk, parsing scenes and offering reviews.
Viviane waved to us as she rounded the corner.
The four of us talked for a while before Viviane said it was time to go. We all kissed cheeks. Viviane flagged a cab.
Viviane and I had a date that night.
Walk the Line
June Carter Cash