textfiles/sex/EROTICA/0/4some2.txt

             "My Only Foursome: A Tale in Several Acts"       

      It happened in the Springtime of 1974, at Easter in fact. At that
time, I had been renting a century old one room schoolhouse in Otis, Mas-
sachusetts in the foothills of the Berkshire mountains, a lovely old New
England kind of place.  George, the local schoolmaster, was an old friend
of mine, and he had suggested some months before that the schoolhouse
would be an ideal place for me to get away on weekends, to read and
write, and in general just to be away from the distractions of the city. 
The schoolhouse itself had been converted into what was really a very
cozy one room, rustic efficiency - two couches in the main room (not
couches really, but two single beds with cushions propped against the
walls), a "kitchenette" off to one side, small bathroom and shower, and,
in the rear, up a ladder and under the ancient eaves, a sleeping loft
with one double mattress and a heavy comforter which was in fact a heavy
sleeping bag unzipped, open, to accommodate two.  The ambience was very
much enhanced by the absence of electricity, light being provided by
kerosene lamps, heat by the antique wood burning Franklin stove.  At
night, anything requiring much light simply had to wait till morning....

      At the time, I was seeing Elizabeth, the lovely twenty-eight year
old sister of my good friend John, who with his wife Molly, had another
house four miles down a dirt road, through the overgrown woods.  Their
house was adjacent to a long disused and almost abandoned cemetery where-
in rested the bones of some who had fought the British two centuries
before, and birthed a new nation: it had an almost sacramental aura. 
Elizabeth had long, dark brown (almost black) hair, which she wore
straight, and large, very expressive brown eyes.  We had been dating only
three months, and our relationship in consequence was fresh, new, deli-
cious.  Very compatible, exciting sexually, we were still exploring and
discovering each other, in every sense.

      For this long weekend, I had invited some friends to stay over. 
They were Paul and his quiet, I thought shy wife Joan, who drove down
from Toronto to visit.  Paul and Joan are friends of mine from Dublin,
who married in 1972, and whom I had met five years earlier on an island
off the west coast of Ireland.  In January of 1974, they emigrated to
Canada, and were having a difficult time adjusting to what for them was a
different and alien culture:  I knew they were looking forward to seeing
me and meeting the others, because they had made virtually no new friends
since arriving in North America, finding the Canadians a distant and
inward people.  I had no inkling of what was to come....

      Elizabeth and I drove up from the city and arrived in Otis on
Friday afternoon, had a lovely meal with George at his beautifully   
restored colonial home, and settled in at his house to wait for Paul and
Joan, since there was no phone at the schoolhouse and we had given
George's number to Paul and Joan, should they need to call.  They arrived
at about ten, exhausted from the four hundred mile drive.  We all went
back to the schoolhouse, sat     around for a few hours having drinks,
and then went to bed, Elizabeth and I in the loft, Paul and Joan on the
couches in the living room. 

      The night was very still, and I was sure that Paul and Joan must
have heard the sounds of our lovemaking in the loft: Elizabeth loved my
tongue on and in her pussy, and moaned almost uncontrollably when she
came.  And after her first climax, she told me, she needed me in her,
hard, harder, pushing, and pressing down against her pelvic bone.  She
was an assertive lover, and was always the one actually to put my cock
inside her, holding her soaking pussy lips open with one hand and guiding
me in with the other.  And I liked (still like) that kind of assertive-
ness....

       The next day, all six of us (with Molly and John's two year old
daughter Annie) spent the day hiking in the woods, Paul and Joan general-
ly getting to know my American friends.  That night, ravenous, we grilled
steaks at Molly and John's place (which had electricity), listened to
music, and sipped fine old Irish whiskey brought for us from Canada by
Paul and Joan.  Molly, John, and their little girl were tired, so Paul,
Joan,  Elizabeth, and I drove back to the schoolhouse, lit the lanterns,
stoked up the fire, turned the (portable) radio to what was a soft-rock
station (I seem to remember Joni Mitchell's "Blue"album being played: "My
Old Man," "Carey," "River," and so forth).  We stayed up for about two
hours, and in that time smoked some very mellow marijuana, for Joan a new
experience.  I have no recollection of what we talked about, remembering
just that we were all comfortable together, "mellowed out" in the argot
of the sixties....

       And then it just seemed to happen, naturally.  Joan said, simply,
"Let's go up to the loft."  Just like that.  I looked at Elizabeth, and
her eyes were heavy lidded, shining.  They always were like that when she
was aroused, and I had more than once told her that they (her eyes)
betrayed her thoughts.  I even had shown her a passage from the sixteenth
century Arabic treatise "The Perfumed Garden,"  which reminded me of her
and her lovely eyes.  Shaykh al-Nefzawi, the author, purports to have
gotten this advice from one of the noted courtesans of his day:

      Oh you men, one and all, who are soliciting the love of woman
      and her affection, and who wish that sentiment in her heart
      to be of an enduring nature, toy with her previous to coi-
      tion; prepare her for enjoyment, and neglect nothing to
      attain that end.  Explore her with the greater assiduity,
      and, entirely occupied with her, let nothing else engage your
      thoughts.  Do not let the moment propitious for pleasure pass
      away; that moment  will be when you see her eyes humid, half
      open.  Then go to work, but, remember, not till your kisses
      and toyings have taken effect.          

Her eyes were very humid....

      Located as it was up a ladder and under the eaves, it was impos-
sible to stand up in the loft.  To go to bed, one  undressed before
climbing the ladder.  Even at this point, I was not too certain about
what was going to happen, or, more properly, who was to be with whom. 
That question was answered wordlessly by Joan, quiet, shy Joan, who was
nude first; when she turned, looking me full in the face, unbuckled my
belt, unzipped my jeans, and pressed her hand inside, hard against me. 
We were  first up the ladder, Elizabeth next, Paul last.  By the time
they got into the bed next to us, Joan was already stroking my by now
very erect cock.  The lights were out, and the only very dim light pro-
vided by a waning moon shafted through the window, whose top was about
even with the top of the ladder, just below head level.  So I really
couldn't see very much, just outlines, but I could hear, and there was
no mistaking what was happening on the other side of the bed.  Paul was
already atop Elizabeth, his motions and her responses shaking the mat-
tress.  And then she began to moan....

      But Joan and I had just begun, really, feeling each other all over,
I on my back, she by my right side, her face over mine kissing, my cock
still in her stroking hand, my knee pushed tight up into her groin.  And
then she half sat up, and began licking her way down my chest, down
further, and took me into her mouth, licking and sucking.  For me to get
at her, to reciprocate, because space was so tight, she had to get on top
and lower her pussy down to my mouth, her knees on either side of my
head, even as she kept working at me.  My legs were parted, she cupped my
balls in her hand, fondling them, at the same time continuing to work me
with her mouth.  And all the while this was happening, Elizabeth was on
her back beside me, her legs also parted, so that the outside of our
thighs were pressed together.  It was very exciting...

      They finished first, were already finished, when Joan and I revers-
ed positions.  Joan was not only orally oriented, she was also very
vocal.  "Come on, get on top of me...I want you inside me.  Fuck me, fuck
me hard...I love your cock...give it to me... come inside me, come...." 
And that too was exciting.  And so I did.  And this time, it was our
movements, and Joan's urgent and thrilling sex talk, that aroused Paul
and Elizabeth again, and they fucked again, beside us, at the same time.

      Afterward, nothing was said.  We lay there quietly, for how long I
don't know, but none of us slept.  Finally, Elizabeth got up, went down
the ladder, and into the living room, it being clear by then that there
was no way all of us could spend the entire night in that one bed.  So a
little while later, I too got up and went into the living room, where
Elizabeth was lying on the couch, on her side, facing the wall.  I got in
beside her, behind her really, and found that she was still awake.  Not
knowing what she was thinking, or feeling, I turned on my side, so that
my chest was pressed against her back, spoon like, and cradled her
against me.  I reached around her to cup her small breasts in my hands,
stroking them and feeling her nipples stand. Then I moved my left hand
down to her groin, and began stroking there too.  She responded by push-
ing back against me, parting her legs, her left leg raised, resting on my
hip.  Then, in her assertive way, she reached behind her and took my cock
in her hand, guiding it to, but not into, her.  Still behind her, almost
passive, my cock was between her legs, and she was rubbing it against her
clitoris.  When I moved to get into her, she pushed me back, and said
"Not there; I want you here," placing me at the opening of her anus,
rubbing up and down.  We had never done that before, and I remember
wondering if this was something about Elizabeth's sexuality that I hadn't
known.  My cock was already so wet from being rubbed between her pussy
lips that it slid right in....  Afterward, she told me that, in fact, she
had never before had anal sex.  I asked what had made her want me that
way, and she told me that she wanted to give me something that was for
me, only.  We never did it again because, she said, it hurt too much....

      Finally, we slept.  When the four of us got up the next morning, it
was a glorious Easter Sunday, sun shining, the daffodils already up.  I
think we all felt somewhat sheepish, embarrassed perhaps, by what had
happened the night before because very little was said about it, and
everyone spent a long time in the shower....  It was Joan, ultimately,
who volunteered a quip about our having truly cemented the bonds of
friendship.

      The plan for Easter dinner was to eat at the schoolhouse in the
late afternoon, all of us, including Molly, John, and little Annie.  But
before that we were all visiting with George and his wife in the big
house up the hill.  I was doing the cooking, with help from Elizabeth,
and before we went up for brunch and Bloody Marys with George (his Sunday
morning ritual), we had put a large leg of lamb into the Franklin stove
to roast over the coals.  At about two in the afternoon, I explained to
the others that I had better go back to the schoolhouse, to check on the
roast, and stood up to get my jacket, saying I would be back in about
thirty minutes.  At this point, Elizabeth said she would come with me to
help.  I said that really wasn't necessary, that I could manage on my
own.  But she persisted, saying that one person shouldn't have to do all
the work.  So we went back to the schoolhouse, checked the roast in all
of five or ten minutes, and I again noticed Elizabeth's eyes....

      She was washing her hands at the kitchen sink when I came up behind
her and pressed myself into her rear, putting my hands up underneath her
sweater, feeling and gently squeezing her breasts. She wore no bra. 
Turning around then, she put her arms around my neck, our mouths found
each other, and we pressed, and rubbed, together.  I reached down to the
top of her jeans, undid the button, unzipped them, and slid my hand down
between her lips, finding her already very wet.  In time, I pushed the
jeans down. Her panties followed, and I lifted her by the waist, sitting
her on the kitchen counter next to the sink, took off her boots, then her
jeans, then the panties....  I was still fully clothed, she was naked
from the waist down, and open.

      The counter was just a bit more than waist high, and there was a
barstool, conveniently just the right height for me to sit on....  "Lean
back," I told her, "...its my turn to do something for you."  Lowering my
mouth down, I licked the inside of her thighs, then higher to her pussy,
I opened her with my tongue. She was resting on her elbows, her legs
apart and over my shoulders.  Holding her open with my fingers, I found
her little clitoris, standing, and licked there.  And then, again, she
began to murmur, and to moan....  Because of her position, and because it
was broad daylight, the sun shining through the windows, she could see
plainly my face buried in her groin, licking from anus to clit and back
again.  "My God, it's so exciting to watch what you're doing to me..."
and with one hand she pressed me harder against her, squirmed on the
counter, and came, and then I started again....

 We didn't get back to George's for about another hour, and when we did,
it was Joan who smiled a knowing smile, and asked, sotto voce, "What
kept you?"  Late that afternoon, after dinner, they left, for the long
trip back to Canada.  But Elizabeth and I stayed the night, Easter Sunday
night, and made love again that night, and again in the morning, before
finally driving home. The schoolhouse itself seemed suffused with sexual-
ity, and desire.

      What it was that happened that weekend I really cannot explain. 
Nothing seemed planned, it just happened, I thought.... And now, almost
thirteen years later, Elizabeth and I have long  since parted company as
lovers, but are still friends.  But writing this account of that in-
credibly carnal weekend, and reading what I've written, I find that the
memory still has a potency, and excites me.  Perhaps I'll send a copy to
Elizabeth, for auld lang syne....

      Paul and Joan never did become acclimatized to Toronto, and moved
back to Ireland two years later, where Paul is a prominent, successful
tax consultant, and quiet, retiring Joan, is the model wife, the mother
of their two beautiful and perfectly groomed young children.  They are
socially prominent in a very strait-laced, almost puritanical society.

      Dubliners love to gossip.  So I wonder what they would think if
they knew what I later learned.  You see, though I for long thought that
that weekend had just happened, nothing could have been more remote from
the truth.  It had all been planned, orchestrated if you will, by an-
gelic, innocent Joan....  And I also know that Elizabeth and I were not
the first, or the last, to be so willingly seduced.... And Paul and Joan
are still together, and she remains a modern Diana, a huntress, a goddess
of wooded places....