la fee verte [mff]

The absinthe should have been the end of the evening. Honestly, it should have never gotten to that point, but by the time I came careening back out to the garden from the liquor pantry with my arms full of a half a dozen suspect and intricately labelled bottles, I should have known it was already too late. Lucky for me I have never had much of a sense of judgment.

I was in my thirties at the time. Fat with opulence, slightly overconfident and somewhat cynical. Tall, Saturnine, with an honestly-come-by dad bod, and passably attractive, I was not starved for female companionship, sexual or otherwise, but you’d never have known it to hear me complain.

I shared a house in a small “city” a few hours’ north of NYC with an attractive woman who shared my cynicism, detachment and the certainty that the best years of our lives were behind us. We’d had a history, including not only a business partnership and friendship, but some of the hottest, dirtiest, ashamed-to-tell-your-perviest friends porno sex I’d ever been privileged to be a part of, but we had since settled amicably into a more-or-less platonic arrangement, which still included a great deal of affectionate casual intimacy. And the occasional sexual favor.

Jace was my age, short, sharp featured and dark haired with a great body (just enough of everything) , and a sarcastic wit, neither of which she had any qualms about displaying suddenly and to great effect. We also shared a stunning dearth of impulse control.

The party had been a casual, but slightly ribald observation of the high summer. The backyard of the two century old simple American Gothic brick house, at this time of the season, was well shaded and verdant, with a shocking profusion of vegetation screaming technicolor fecundity in breezy whispers around a tolkien-esque stone patio. It was a full moon that night, which would, of course, explain a lot.

I’d spent the day sweating magnificently over the kitchen stove and the grill. I was still cooking for a living back then and I never feel quite so primal and manly as I do with tongs in my hand and an open flame nearby. The cooking for this event had been a studied labour of love and the processional tumult of guests had each shared with me each requisite and perhaps perfunctory oohs and aahs as they dove uninhibited into the cornucopian orgy of food and wine.

The weather had not cooperated, however, alternating between sullenly humid and steady summer rain. The patio was well covered and once I’d closed the grill and lit the fire-pit it was cozy and pleasant. I showered and changed and felt like a new man.

My palate explored the courses peripatetically. Grilled, garlic and rosemary studded leg of lamb with lightly chilled, funky, pheremonal Northern Italian Gamay. Scallops, marinated in thyme and electrically tart citrus zest went beautifully with aged Meursault, redolent with Noisette and remembered caresses. Exotic cheeses, Charcuterie and scintillating Cava each created new percussive rounds of exclamations of enjoyment from myself and my playmates, like a human fireworks display. I’m pretty sure my watermelon salad with cucumber jalapeno margaritas got a standing “O”.

Every table was heaped with food, every cooler was filled with ice and beer and bottles of stronger stuff were already being passed around by the time the sky fell even remotely dark.

The strains of beautiful music wafted from the open bedroom window and everything felt dreamy, sultry… And I felt like Oberon in need of a Titania. Restless and festooned in my over-indulgence like beads on a Crescent City Co-ed.

Furtive glances at the swollen moon only heightened the sense I felt that I wanted to eat and drink and fuck everything and everyone.

The conversation and flirtation had been splendid. The guests were vibrant and funny and sexy. Laughter echoed off the brick walls of the house and the fire made smoke creatures dance lurid tribal rounds with pyrotechnic effects against an Indigo sky.

I’d certainly been noticing one guest in particular, Melissa, all night. It was a bit frustrating that I had yet to find occasion to speak one-on-one with her. I knew her, she was my type and I had been looking for a shot at a little lighthearted flirtation for some time. In truth, a good part of the reason I had thrown this soiree was to get her to my house and hopefully have the chance to make a definite impression on her.

She was my age, maybe a year younger- tall, with curly black hair. Mediterranean features, absolutely stunningly curvy and very flirty. She seemed smart and motivated but clearly liked to party. We’d hung out a few times in groups before, and she used to go to my restaurant a lot (one time I re-opened and fixed food for her and her friend when they pulled up desperate and hungry as I was locking the front door to close the joint for the night, an act of no small kindness for which she had, in fact, promised me sexual favors.) I’d always believed I was catching a bit of a vibe from her; more and more so with each subsequent occasion. I had always told Jace that I thought that she would be amazing in bed (I have always had a sense for these things) but each time she would smirk and scoff, a trait as established as her constant smoking of menthols.

As the evening drew past the time of feasting, through the interludes of S’mores & cigarettes and on toward the wee hours, the guests gradually thinned out. It came down to Jace, Melissa, and a quartet of other mixed, mutual friends who deserve individual description, but owing to their lack of involvement in what happened later, will get none for now.

With this lovely bevy of amazing folks keeping me in such high spirits, my Professional Bad Influence tendency kicked in.

“Absinthe!”, I exclaimed, and ducked inside to gather my hoard.

Jace was already cleaning up (or trying to) when I came out with the booze. The air was already heavy with redolent smoke and I beamed a grin.

“Things are about to get weird”

We sipped and smoked and chatted bawdily for another hour or so, as I served up properly chilled and louched absinthe until I couldn’t keep track and we just began to drank out of the bottle. One pair of friends started to couple up and went off in search of some privacy. The rest bid sloppy adieu’s and then it was just us three.

Jace continued doing her nervous hovery tidying thing and so, finally I got the opportunity to chat up Melissa. Unfortunately I was, by this time, out of my mind from wine, weed and absinthe. I could sense her chagrin, but was powerless to play it any other way than drunken bon-vivant, which was at least honestly come by. She politely excused herself, offering Jace some help cleaning.

I lay heavily down on the couch on the patio and watched the leaves on the huge tree in the yard move briskly in the night wind, seemingly choreographed by the spirits themselves. The night air seemed to be sparkling.

I muse about the fact that wormwood was used by the Romans as a burnt offering and say a silent prayer to the most lascivious of Lares that my salacious dreams may come true.

The next little spell of time is very very unclear to me, and comes in strobed, static-ridden memories that break like waves against my subconscious.

I get up at some point and make my way indoors. I am surprised to find the lights off in the kitchen. Jace and Melissa must have finished cleaning up in the time I was outside, enjoying my mental midsummer mummer’s dance in the trees.

I wander into the living room. Obviously my house has been put to sea, because my balance seems a bit off, my vision seriously compromised and the very decks (floors) seem to heave beneath my feet. Commensurately, I am taken aback by what I think I seem to see as I bull-in-a-china-shop my way into the comparatively brightly lit living room.

There on the antique green couch, is Ms. Melissa, her body akimbo on the couch and Jace feverishly accounting for herself between the curves of her magnificent thighs. I cannot see either of their faces, as Melissa’s back is arched in exquisite pleasure and her unruly mop of gorgeous black hair is entangled in the pillows under which she has buried her head to stifle a moan.. The air in the room is thick with sex, and I immediately sober up a notch. Which is not saying much.

I stand for a few moments and attempt to absorb what is going on. I feel momentarily embarrassed and like I should excuse myself but before I can make a move, Jace whips her head around, and grins with glistening lips. I give her a frustrated “What-the-hell” look and collapse into a nearby over-stuffed chair.

I must have passed out again, because the next flash of memory is them giggling, snuggling on the couch in their fuzzy aftersomething. They must have been talking about me because the first thing Jace says is:

“Shhhh – he’s awake”

I harrumph at her. I tell her I think this sucks goat balls.

“Why?”, she challenges.

“Because I liked her first,” I retort, petulantly.

“I’m right here”, adds Melissa, with mock offense.

“Well?!?”, Challenges Jace.

Melissa shrugs and says something to the effect of:

“Fine, I’m totally into it… but no way I am having my first threesome on a couch. Pick one of y’alls beds and let’s do this.”

I don’t remember going upstairs, but I remember my room candle-lit and music (Morphine, I think) seemingly suffusing our whole being.

The blur of memories clarifies momentarily again as we all lay on the expanse of the mattress naked and curled up like a triskelion. There are so many kisses and its hard to keep track of who is kissing who and nothing makes sense until I feel a mouth on my now insanely erect cock.

Its Jace, as usual, taking the initiative. I kiss Melissa deeply, feeling the air and the moon and the booze and the lust all take turns coursing through my veins and briefly, I feel like it is only the two of us. And then I remember I’m getting this amazing blow-job. Silly me.

Jace, capable as ever of multitasking, has already gotten Melissa whipped into a mewling froth with her fingers as she’s been kissing and sucking me. I mumble something about wanting to see her pussy and we collapse back into the circle, with Jace’s mouth on me, mine on Melissa’s amazing, lightly furred pussy (which tastes so fucking good I am almost immediately engaged in the forgetting of all the other lovely treats that have been on my tongue that night) and finally Melissa tentatively exploring Jace’s smooth “innie” with her lips and tongue.

It goes on like this for some time. The world outside the window obliges and at this point, sets the stage with a ferocious thunder-storm. We momentarily disentangle.

“Take five, smoke ’em if you got ’em”, Says Jace (I shit you not) with a completely straight face and ducks out of the room.

After Melissa and I get over the immediate incredulity and have a good laugh, we start making out. I love this part. Just making out. I mean all the other stuff is fucking amazing but there’s really no substitute for the first time you get to get a good snogging session in with someone you’ve been crushing on for a while.

Its even better when you both taste like pussy.

Next thing I know, Jace returns with her strap-on firmly secured to her.

“Who gets to fuck her first?”

“I think technically you already did, Jace”

“Shhh, don’t try so hard to think when you’re drunk”

Melissa’s surprisingly girlish giggle is her only contribution to the discussion. She’s clearly enjoying even the playful rivalry.

“Why not both?” I suggest, coquettishly.

No words are said, but I take it as a yes, because Melissa gets on all fours in front of me and takes my cock eagerly in her mouth, savoring the precum now oozing from my head. Jace climbs up behind her and after playing with her generous lips, rubbing her ass a little and enjoying the sensation of that “shocking fuzz of electric fur”(I know this because she is narrating the whole thing, thankfully), slips inside her with her fairly generous detachable penis and Melissa begins to positively writhe with pleasure.

This goes on for long enough that it begins to kaleidoscope a bit in my memory. I am approaching ecstasy myself, shivering with an almost religious delight as she expertly and enthusiastically sucks me like a life-long lover.

“Are you ready to fuck her yet?”, Jace asks with a mischievous grin.

“Um, Fuck Yeah! How about you Melissa? May I?”

Jace laughs sharply because she knows I am not used to asking permission from my playthings, but in spite of my sobriety or lack thereof, I am very much in tune to the fact that this is the first time I’ve played with Melissa and it really makes better sense to at least gauge if she actually wants it to go any further.

Melissa smiles and says

“Fuck Yeah”

I don’t waste a minute. I enter her in an almost curious position, my cock sliding easily into her glistening pussy as she is still sitting on the edge of the bed. We fuck in that position for a while, as I begin to get used to this amazing new vagina I am getting to know. Eventually we collapse to a more horizontal position, and Jace sidles up to her. They begin kissing and petting. After a few moments of very sexy lip-locking, Melissa pulls Jace up and gets her to straddle her face while I begin to pound her relentlessly.

“Slow Down”, Says Jace, between moans and breaths. “Save some for me”

They are both coming, which I find incredibly hot, so I do slow down and just enjoy their mutual orgasm for a bit. They sort of collapse, and I come along for the ride. I continue to slide slowly in and out of Melissa, very much enjoying the way her pussy feels on my cock, the unique sort of “secret handshake” that exists only between one particular pairing of peen and vagine.

“Wait, wait- he loves this!”, insists Jace, as she recovers from her own little death and her innate bossiness resurfaces.

She pushes me up, and pulls Melissa down on the floor on her knees in front of me. Joining her, she begins to encourage Melissa to lick and suck me as she works my balls gently. She begins to hold her hair, pushing her down on my shaft over and over again until my knees buckle and I can’t not moan like a revenant.

Then they take turns for a time outside of time, eventually finishing me up in a hot, dramatic quivering mess of lips, cock and come, as they greedily slobber parallel up my shaft, just engulfing the head a bit on each “up-stroke” so that when my seed comes bursting hungrily out it gets all over the place, in their mouths, on their faces, on me. It feels insanely good as this final flash of crystalline consciousness passes through the event horizon of orgasm, and is replaced again by the murky intoxication of the evening.

I see them kissing, sharing my come. It is exceedingly hot, but I am already slipping in and out of consciousness.

They both snuggle up to me and we all kiss for a while before sleep takes me. The last thing I say as I descend into dreamland is:

“Tol’ you so, Jace!” and I vaguely recall her giving me the finger without lifting her head to look at me.

I awake a couple of hours later to an unslakeable thirst, an empty rumpled bed, melted down candles and the cool air and false dawn of 5 am.

Nobody is home, and there is no evidence that the night before ever happened save the blackened coals and scorched marshmallow sticks in the fire-pit. I fix myself a coffee and slink into the future.

Every mid-summer full moon since, in sultry air that makes me feel like I am swimming, if I catch even the merest scent of anise, I can remember that night that I danced with the Fairies perfectly. Or at least delirious, ecstatic flashes of it, which suits me just fine.

“*If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream*”
-Wm. Shakespeare

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/6oe05w/la_fee_verte_mff