*n.b. Please don’t do what I did in this story. It’s extremely stupid and either you or one of your friends will probably drown.*
My second year of university drew to a close and, as I remember it, I was in a perpetual bad mood. I’m sure that I was no longer mired in self-loathing over how things had ended with [Lucy](https://old.reddit.com/user/itsonlycharlotte/comments/i3qb94/the_lucy_links/) by now, but I liked studying and disliked long summers, and no doubt I was fed up over some other romantic or sexual entanglement which had gone south.
I had been sharing a house with three other people; two of them had already left for the summer, and only Rosie and I remained. Rosie was—and remains—an exceptionally lovely person, by far my favourite of my housemates. She was a fellow English student with an earnest love for Harry Potter, an infectious smile, and a mild demeanour which people often mistook for shyness, but was more of a genuine, polite-to-a-fault fascination with others and what they had to say. And, I suppose, for the purpose of this story I might as well add that she’s very pretty in an understated way, a kind of soft-skinned, wavy-haired and (she wouldn’t mind me saying this, I’m sure) chubby cuteness, with smooth and gentle curves which, more often than not, she kept hidden.
Aside from avoiding one’s family for as long as possible, there was an obvious advantage to staying in town after the semester had finished, in the form of the beach which was only a short walk from our house. We had found that we were right in the centre of the early-July sweet spot where the students had mostly gone, the tourists had mostly not arrived, and as evening set in the beach was blissfully empty, and we could sit and watch the sun set and talk about all the things which seem so significant when you’re twenty.
Often it was just me and Rosie. Occasionally there’d be the odd other pair on the beach, and we’d space ourselves tactfully widely in order not to have to watch anyone getting drunkenly fingered. This time around, though, there were three of us; Rosie and me, and Rosie’s long-term, long-distance boyfriend James, who studied somewhere hundreds of miles away and had come to stay with us for the weekend before, I think, the two of them finally departed for Rosie’s parents’ place.
It was a cool and pretty summer night, the temperature suddenly dropping as the sun began to set, and I threw on my hoodie and didn’t particularly mind that there was sand in my shorts. Rosie and James, though neither of them were exactly outgoing people in their own right, had that unshakeable warmth and security in their relationship which meant that you could never feel like a third wheel as their single friend, even though they didn’t have to go out of their way to reassure you about the fact (they are, incidentally, now married, so I think my estimation here is accurate). Between them they had two of the loveliest smiles I have ever seen, they seemed to bring out the best in each other, and between Rosie’s delicate features and James’s carefree, scruffy hair and long, elegant limbs, they formed a memorable silhouette against the sunset. We were passing a spliff and a bottle of red wine between us in a pair of slow and overlapping triangles, talking about whatever it was we had to talk about, which was most likely me unburdening myself to them about another of the relatively small windows in which I wasn’t getting laid.
The seclusion and the calm and the closeness to nature had clearly worked their way under Rosie’s skin, because she stood abruptly alongside us and announced that she wanted to swim.
James and I shared a look, as though each of us took a moment to confirm with the other that Rosie wasn’t usually this spontaneous, and that this must indeed have emerged from some aspect of the cocktail of wine and pot, the calmness of the evening, and the expanse of the summer which lay before us as long and as shapeless as summers always seem until you exit education and acquire responsibilities. Rearranging his face to give me an ‘I’ll deal with it’ look, James turned and looked up at Rosie, shielding his eyes with his hand even though there was no need to.
‘We’ve got no towels or anything, baby,’ he said.
Rosie scowled good-naturedly at him.
‘We don’t need any fucking towels,’ she said, and I practically jumped out of my skin because I’d never heard Rosie use the word ‘fucking’ before.
‘Yeah, I’m really not sure it’s a good idea, Rosie,’ I said, a sentiment which was lost on her because she’d already started to take off her clothes.
I don’t think I had ever really desired Rosie. Or not before, anyway. But I realised that I had never even incidentally seen her in anything like a state of undress, clasping a towel to herself or wandering partially naked through the house such as someone more shameless or less organised might do, such as me. But now, with my head full of pot and my arms and legs feeling stringily detached from me, I was flopping there like a marionette on the cool sand, watching as Rosie pulled her top over her head, took off her shorts and piled the two of them neatly on top of the backpack she had brought to carry the wine.
Rosie stood there, framed in the pinkish peach light of the setting sun, wearing just her underwear, her hair held up gently by the wind, looking cute and fearless and a little bit chilly. Her skin glowed red-brown in the sunset, her thighs full, her breasts round and heavy under her bra, and I felt the first stirrings of a realisation that Rosie was a being who had a sexual existence which she didn’t typically share with me. She seemed to be weighing up the possibility of swimming in her underwear, and she looked thoughtful for a moment, and then she just shrugged, unclasped her bra and let it drop, then pulled her knickers down and started walking toward the sea.
‘How much wine has she had?’ I said to James.
He pondered the answer for a little while.
‘Enough that I should go in too,’ he said, and then ‘sorry about this.’
I wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. Possibly he meant the fact that he was about to expose himself to me, but I didn’t mind that at all, and to be honest I don’t think I made any attempt to look away as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and gave me a good look at his shoulders and abs, or when he unabashedly allowed his cock to fall free of his boxers, turned and started to follow Rosie. She had already reached the water, and with a calmness that was almost eerie, she was walking straight out until she was submerged up to her neck, without the slightest hint of screaming or cowering from the cold.
James, when he got there, was a little more tentative, but soon both of them were bobbing gently and they looked to me, as I still sat on the beach, as though they were dangerously close to the horizon. Reassuring myself, although I don’t know quite how it was supposed to help, I stood up and wandered closer to the shore and the line of wet sand and pebbles where the waves had reached, and it was so quiet that I could hear the water lapping softly around their necks and shoulders as, above them, the moon now sat glowing and low in the twilight.
Perhaps I was wrong to stand there at all, and ought to have been more tactful and stayed behind where I sat at a comfortable distance from them. It occurs to me now that they might have been—alright, that they definitely were—touching each other under the darkness of the water, enjoying the safe semi-publicity to luxuriate in the cool and salty skin of each other where I would be unable to see it happening. But at any rate, now that I had advanced on them or maybe before, they were duty-bound to peer-pressure me into joining them.
‘Lottie,’ Rosie said, speaking now in her usual calm and measured way, the calm surface of the water carrying her words to where I stood, ‘you should really come in.’
‘Why should I do that?’ I said, probably sounding rather slacker than Rosie had, my brain feeling sticky and weighed down with weed and wine.
‘It’s looovely,’ she said, succumbing a bit to the same effects.
James turned to me too, now, and shook his hair out of his face.
‘You should, Lottie,’ he said, calmly. ‘You might regret it if you don’t.’
I don’t know if I felt that James was trying to imply something by this—that, if I got into the water, something else might happen, something else that I would regret if I didn’t give it a try—or was, quite harmlessly, suggesting that a nude swim under the rising moon is a worthwhile life experience to have. But at any rate, he triggered my fear of missing out enough that, even if I was reluctant on some level, I started taking off my clothes all the same.
‘Could you two…turn around, maybe?’ I said.
I saw James rotate, chivalrously, on the spot, turning to look tactfully out into the indigo expanse of the sea. Rosie, on the other hand, continued to look directly at me.
‘Nope,’ she said. ‘I saw you looking at me.’
I started protesting this, but I supposed it was true, and besides, the last of the sunlight was fading away and it wasn’t as though Rosie could see much of me anyway. I walked a few paces back to where Rosie and James had left their stuff, took off my hoodie and began to have second thoughts about my decision; if the air of the evening felt this cold on my bare shoulders, I shuddered to think how cold the sea would feel on my bare arse.
But at this point I had committed and, I reasoned, if I tried to resist then Rosie and James would only try harder to bully me into it. So I pulled my top over my head, wriggled my shorts down my hips, folded my underwear between the layers of my hoodie, suddenly gripped by the fear that it would blow away, and turned to walk back toward the lapping waves.
The water didn’t feel as cold as I expected it to. Or perhaps it did, but I didn’t really mind, and I looked down and watched the ripples spreading around my ankles as I stepped deeper, the milky reflection of the moonlight lighting the way for me. I had progressed past my knees, the cold present but not unpleasant, and then Rosie piped up again, her voice soft in the strange, bouncy quiet of the sea.
‘James, are you sure you don’t want to see Lottie’s boobs?’
I think I heard James sigh a little.
‘Leave her alone, baby,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ Rosie said, ‘but you might regret it if you don’t.’
She laughed as though this was uproariously funny, and probably I smiled in spite of myself, then told Rosie to fuck off. Once the level of the water reached my belly button, I bent my knees beneath me and let my weight fall forward, pushing off the sandy bottom and letting the cold of the water knock the air out of me in a thin gasp as it washed over my shoulders and back.
‘Doesn’t it feel nice?’ Rosie said.
And it did. The cool of the water was sharp and shocking, on the insides of my thighs, on my nipples and my throat. And the air above us was cool and fresh and expansive, and somehow the experience of being in the water made it smell different; colder and sweeter and surprisingly seaweed-free. I lay back and let the water soak into my scalp, picking out the stars above me as they began to appear in the darkening sky. I lay there and breathed quietly, and I was vaguely conscious that, very close to me, James and Rosie were wrapped indulgently around each other, floating gently with their bodies entwined, and I thought about how it would feel to have another person’s cold and naked skin against mine, and probably I was a little jealous.
—
Since there were two of them, I let Rosie and James share the shower first when the three of us arrived, with wet patches soaking through our clothes, back at our place. Alone, I peeled off my wet clothes in my room, shivering and wrapping my cold and salty body in a towel. I made some tea and sat downstairs in the kitchen, and probably they spent far longer in the shower than they ought to have, knowing that I was cowering outside, but I could forgive them that.
Besides, as soon as I got the opportunity, and the two of them came giggling out of the bathroom and Rosie called to me that it was free, I indulged in just the same thing, letting the warmth of the water penetrate slowly until it reached my bones, coating myself in an elaborate and uneven blanket of bubbles, breathing in the herby smell of them and washing the salt-crackle out of my hair.
I stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a fresh towel, probably starting to get a bit of a headache from the red wine, and I had to walk past Rosie’s bedroom door to get to my own. And I stopped in my tracks in spite of myself, even though I know I shouldn’t have, because James was sprawled naked on the bed, Rosie was kneeling naked on the floor, and she had his cock in her mouth.
I’m sure my mouth fell open, and that I should have just ignored it, but it’s not every day that you get to see the chaste, sensible housemate giving what looks to be a very intense, very wet blowjob.
Of course, Rosie saw me looking after a moment, and handled it as well as could be expected, jerking her head back as a string of spit formed between her and her boyfriend’s cock, which I’m quite sure one of her hands maintained a firm grip on throughout.
‘Oops!’ she said. ‘Sorry!’
And she moved as though to get up and close the door, but I calmly and good-naturedly shook my head, went into my own room and closed the door behind me.
Look, I think we all know how we’d like this story to end. And maybe, if it were a work of fiction, it might plausibly go that way; I could drop my towel at my feet as they opened their arms and welcomed me to join them, we could engage in all of the drunken fumblings of three twenty-year-olds trying to fit on one bed, and I could shyly catch Rosie’s eye over the rim of my morning coffee cup, knowing that our relationship was both different and exactly the same as it had been twelve hours ago, before I had eaten her pussy.
But this was very much not the way it happened. I kept my towel around me until I was back in my room, where I folded it to pillow my wet hair and lay back, naked, on the bed, my head perpendicular to the wall I shared with Rosie.
I could have banged moodily on the wall above my head when the noises started, but I didn’t, and I guess this was as close as I got to being involved, not least since they must have known I could hear them: the walls in that place were pretty thin, and this was how I learned that Rosie, my kindly and demure friend who loved Harry Potter and The Shins, had one of the filthiest mouths I’ve ever heard.
She swore like crazy in between gasps of pleasure, saying ‘Jesus fucking Christ’, ‘holy fucking shit’ and the like, as though she was completely astonished that anything could feel as good as things clearly did. She moaned elaborately when it sounded, quite clearly, like she was being fucked, and she narrated a series of changes of position with statements like ‘do you want to fuck me like this?’ or, I’m certain, ‘I really want to ride your big fucking cock.’
It sounded at one point like she was talking through a mouthful of pillow, and she might have said ‘put it in harder’ or she might have said ‘put it in my arsehole’. I don’t suppose it really mattered which it was, since by this point I had already long had my fingers on my clit, and I was beginning to focus as much on making sure they couldn’t her me as I was on listening to them. It was for this reason that I decided that my dirt-cheap, hot pink and extremely noisy bullet vibrator should probably stay in the drawer, but somehow leaving toys out of the equation only made me feel more like what I was doing was connected to what they were doing.
Rosie, for her part, continued the performance; the mild-mannered and softly-spoken James was a little quieter, gasping occasionally, gently moaning once or twice, but generally confirming my suspicion that he wasn’t the type of guy to slap his girlfriend in the face and call her a dirty fucking whore. And all the while I ground my knuckles exuberantly into my clit, and I ran my spare hand freely over the front of my body, thinking back to how it must have felt for the two of them to be naked and pressed together beneath the surface of the water.
I heard exactly how things drew to a close for them, because Rosie had an orgasm which must have shaken the foundations of the house, squealing helplessly as James fucked a Rosie-shaped hole into the mattress. I didn’t blame James in the slightest when, clearly, this made him come too, with this long, deep, masculine sigh.
And perhaps it would have been nicer, somehow, if I had come then and there too, but it took me a moment longer, and I held myself right at the brink as I heard one or the other of them making their way to the bathroom, letting the pressure on my clit fall away to a feather-light touch, knowing it was coming and letting it slowly overwhelm me, starting in my fuzzy head, radiating out from the middle of me into my limbs, to the tips of my toes and to the fingers that I had jammed into my mouth.
Maybe it was a missed opportunity, and indeed it did take years before I actually had a threesome. Perhaps they were trying to signal something to me, or perhaps they simply trusted me enough, as the open-minded and non-judgemental friend, that they could enjoy each other’s bodies freely even though I was nearby. Either way, I found that this way it was easier to look them in the eye over breakfast.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ibesmt/the_world_drifts_by_the_threesome_that_wasnt_ffmf
This is extremely well written. You have some serious talent!