Page 45 of Cuffed to my Roomies
“You know what I mean. It’s not a three-way to be wild and try it once or twice. It’s not something to check off my wild oats bucket list. It’s a relationship. It’s a lifestyle. There’s been loads of articles about trying something racy, picking up an extra girl or guy at a club and taking them home to spice up your tired relationship. This is so different from that. I want to write about it, explore it. But I want to make sure you’re okay with that. I’m not going to use names or identifying details or anything, but I want your blessing.”
“You don’t need our blessing to tell your own story,” Derek said.
“That is such a Brett thing to say,” I said, smiling.
“He beat me to it,” Brett said, “But he’s right. I just don’t want my name attached to it because one of these days I may take the detective’s exam and I don’t want to have to answer questions about my sex life being in the news, and how police are in a position of trust.”
“I’d never risk your professional reputations. I just wanted to know if you’d be up for some anonymous research? Try a few new tricks? Cause I’ve been looking online and—”
“What exactly have you been looking at online?” Derek asked, reaching for my laptop and spinning it toward him. I wished I’d thought to clear my browser history. I tried to get it away from him, but my hand eye coordination was a little loopy from too much wine on an empty stomach.
“Look, don’t browser shame me. It’s research.”
“Filthy Menagé? Fired Up Four-way? These are what you’ve been reading?”
“Reading isn’t the word I’d use. It’s mostly pictures. And, you know, video,” I said, starting to blush. I ducked into the bathroom. When I emerged, Derek was still at my laptop, Brett peering avidly over his shoulder at the screen.
“Why do you have the sound turned off?” Derek said, “The sound is like the best part.” He adjusted the volume and soon the loft was filled with theatrical moans and grunts over a soundtrack of eighties-style slow grind music.
“Ugh, it’s embarrassing. If the sound’s on, someone might hear it—”
“And know you were watching three-way porn?” Brett said.
“Wait, there’s another leg. I think it’s four way. Or else that one chick has three legs,” Derek said.
“Freaky. I think that’s a guy back there. Is he drinking a Gatorade?”
“It makes sense they’d need to hydrate. It’s like a workout. Just—messier,” Derek said with a grimace, closing the laptop.
“So, are you guys in? Do you need to hydrate first?” I teased.
“I think you’re hydrated enough for all of us,” Brett said, “Have a glass of water and eat something.”
“Fine,” I said, “If y’all don’t want to get naked and nasty with me, I’ll just heat up this frozen diet chicken meal,” I giggled.
“Give me that,” Derek said, “You’re not eating frozen chemical crap.”
“But drive thru burgers are nutritious?” I said.
“No, but at least they taste good,” he said, “Here.” He started getting stuff out of the refrigerator. Within minutes, he had made thick sandwiches, meat and cheese, dill pickles on the side. I took one happily and bit into it.
“Oh, my God. Derek. This is incredible. You could totally work at Subway!” I said enthusiastically.
“You’re such a funny drunk,” Brett said, “Subway would never hire him. He’d eat all the meat and then stop work to do pushups all the time.”
I laughed, and part of a pickle fell out of my mouth, which made me laugh even more. Derek choked on his beer, laughing, and I had to thump him on the back.
“Yeah, I’m a sex goddess,” I giggled, “Totally ready to teach the readers of Envy a thing…or three.”
“If you didn’t have mustard on your chin that would sound so much sexier,” Brett said. Derek was still blowing his nose on a paper towel after choking on the beer.
“Maybe you’re buying in to the glam porno image of the threesome,” I said, “when what I’m going to research and write about it the reality, the affection and playfulness and occasional messiness of the relationship.”
“If you saw that video we saw, glamour was not part of it. They were doing it on one of those vinyl picnic tablecloths like you get at the dollar store,” he shuddered.
“That makes sense though. You could hose it off when you were done. Or just, like, throw it away and get a fresh one for next time,” I said.
“Wouldn’t it be better for the environment to have your three-ways on something you could throw in the washer afterward? Reduce the amount of trash you produce, be kind to the earth?” Derek asked.
“Environmentally Friendly Threesomes, written and researched by Lynette Weaver,” Brett announced.
I giggled while I washed my hands at the sink, “Are you guys ready to stop kidding around and do some serious research?”
