This story is based on a combination of true stories, with a lot of fiction thrown in, actually, to make it (hopefully) a better story.
Friends are good to have. Friends like Joanie, though, are rare.
Warning: There is group sex in this story
**
Call me naive. Or better, call me Rod, which is my name: I’m Earl Cornfeld, to be precise, but everyone calls me Rod. Don’t ask.
Even at the beginning, I knew it was too good to last. I had fallen for Melissa Bock, hook, line, and sinker. We were sixteen and off at a summer boondoggle for around six weeks, far away in Britain, and I was taken with her eyes, which resembled kaleidoscopes, with amazing specks of emerald, gold and brown, and an overall blue effect. She was only feet five tall, and aside from her pretty face, most of the rest of her body was her boobs. We were sixteen at the time, and the way she would look up to see me, with adoration in her eyes, would melt the heart of any teenage boy. My own heart was a case in point.
I also could not get over her glorious boobs. Hey, I was sixteen and had a lot of hormones.
Melissa and I fooled around, of course, but she wouldn’t give it up to me for two long years, until we were both eighteen. I was too young to realize it, but having sex with her was the best I would ever have for the rest of my life. The kicker was that we ended up going to schools across the country from each other. I went to college back east, to please my father, and she went to the local branch of the University of California, which was Santa Cruz, a kind of redwood forest summer camp masquerading as a college.
You take a girl like Melissa and put her far away in a different college, and you have to think a lot of yourself if you expect the relationship to last forever. It didn’t. Melissa met someone else, although she didn’t tell me that when we broke up, but it didn’t matter. I was history for her, and that was that. She couldn’t handle having two lovers at the same time. Pity. Well, we had a good run.
Now I was back in California, going to graduate school to try to make something of my life, and Melissa was off in Texas, of all places, working for a living, and no doubt trying not to get shot. I had not yet replaced her with another girlfriend, not that one can ever truly replace a true love; but one can certainly find a girlfriend to prevent terminal blue balls, and that, I hadn’t yet done. It was by now, I must say, fairly high on my to-do list.
As it turns out, however, fate has a way of deciding things for us.
I live next door to a sexpot. We live in a small apartment complex not far from the beach, in Southern California. Despite that, neither I, nor my neighbor, are beach bums. We both work for a living, and we both work hard. Some would say we both work very hard, at least if the criterion is the number of hours spent at work on a given day. We’re both in our mid-twenties, or some might say late twenties in my case, and carving out careers. That’s definitely the case for me, and I assume it’s also the case for my neighbor Joanie Higgins.
Joanie and I couldn’t be two more different people. Joanie’s body, those parts she shows to the world, that is, are adorned with tattoos. Her hair changes color often (this week it’s blue; last week it was green). Her body jewelry makes her a walking advertisement for a punk jewelry store in Mission Beach.
In contrast, I’m a Brooks Brothers kind of guy.
Joanie, like almost everyone else our age who is looking for the big time and has some smarts, works in high tech, which easily tolerates her extreme counter culture appearance. I, on the other hand, work for the fisheries. That’s a branch of the Federal Government (NOAA, to be precise) which ‘supervises’ the fishing industry. I say ‘supervises’ in scare quotes, because what we really do is help the fishing industry in every way we can. They compensate us with bribes, uh, I mean, consulting contracts. All in all, it’s not clear which is a more lucrative career choice: Joanie’s, or mine. One thing is clear, both are lucrative, eventually; just not yet.
Joanie and I are not just neighbors. We’re friends, and we help each other out. Mostly, actually, I help her, and happily too, because whenever she asks me to come over, she is rather scantily clad. When Joanie asks for my help, her requests are genuine. In the last two months, she has asked me to open a jar, kill a spider in her bathtub that was the size of Montana, change a lightbulb she could not reach, and fix a dripping faucet.
I thought about suggesting she buy, or even buy for her, a leverage device for opening jars; an aluminum step ladder so that she could reach things high up (such as the light bulb — Joanie is only five feet, two inches tall); and a book about fixing trivial household plumbing repairs — but I didn’t.
I refrained because I like going over next door to help her. She always rewards me, you see, with either a glass of top-flight cabernet, or a selection of cookies she just baked, or both. I also inevitably receive the benefit of some kind words, and some flashes of delectable female flesh.
It’s not all one way, either. Sometimes I ask Joanie over to help me with a computer issue. I’m pretty good with technology, but computers don’t like me. I don’t know if they like Joanie or not, but clearly, they are scared of her. When it comes to malicious computers, it is better to have them scared than affectionate. I think Machiavelli wrote something about that, in his famous book, The Prince. He put it more elegantly, although everything sounds better in Italian. He wrote something like, “It’s better to be feared than to be loved.” Of course, he wasn’t talking about computers back in the 16th century when he wrote The Prince, but if he were alive today, I’m sure he would agree that his insight applies equally well to computers.
One day it was super-hot, a perfect day to be wasted at the beach, but alas, I spent it in my air-conditioned office at the fisheries, located on the cliffs of La Jolla. Back home in the evening, after a burger and fries, washed down with a Negra Modelo, at The Last Race, one of the few remaining working class bars in the beach town area near the Del Mar race track, I was relaxing on my couch, watching the tube. My sliding glass doors to my small balcony, overlooking the recessed railway, were wide open, and my noisy fan was on top speed. I barely heard the soft knock on my front door.
“I need a big, strong man,” Joanie said, as I opened the door. No doubt she was once again using her technique of flattering me to get me to do something trivial, such as opening a jar.
If I was a shade embarrassed to be wearing only my briefs, it was nothing compared to what Joanie was, or wasn’t, wearing. I wondered if she heard the BOING as my cock jumped to full mast, creating a prominent tent in the obvious place. Luckily, her eyes stayed focused on mine. My eyes, in contrast, could not get enough of Joanie just then. The reason is clear: I’m a heterosexual male, and Joanie was wearing bikini cut, lace panties, a tight T shirt, and nothing else, if you don’t count body jewelry, nor perfume.
I should point out that I’m a sucker for perfume, especially the strong musky scents, such as Opium, by Yves St. Laurent. I’m also a sucker for women with delightful boobs, no bra, and a tramp stamp tattoo on their lower back, as Joanie had. Add to that a tight T shirt that offers lots of potential free peeks, cut off to reveal some flat, taut midriff, and sexy, lace panties, and I was totally sunk. Joanie, at this point in our neighborly relationship, knew all of that quite well, too. She clearly needed a major favor, and she was pulling out all the stops!
“You’re big and strong. You were in the army, too, weren’t you?” Joanie asked.
“Yes. I was an MP and a Ranger,” I said. Joanie should have known that, but she may have forgotten. The woman is scatterbrained.
“You say that meaningfully,” she said
“It means I was tough and knew how to subdue angry men. Men who were trained to kill,” I said. Okay, okay, I was trying to impress her. So, sue me.
“Were you good at it?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, in all simplicity.
“Good! I suspected as much. I need your help against Brian, please. I’ll make it worth your while,” Joanie said, standing there suggestively in T-shirt and panties, smelling wonderfully of Opium. Worth my while? Was she finally going to agree to teach me C++?
“Brian?” I asked in reply. I had no idea who Brian was.
“Brian Seames. He owns the seedy bars lining Railroad Avenue, and also Mystic Happiness, you know, the one where the girls dance and are scantily clad?” she said.
“I know the bars. I like The Last Race, myself,” I said. “They have good, honest hamburgers.” It went without saying that I knew Mystic Happiness. Every man with a pulse knew about Mystic Happiness.
“That they do,” she said.
“So Joanie, what do you need vis à vis Brian Seames?” I asked.
“I broke up with him. He’s a great guy, perfect in many ways, but he doesn’t take rejection well,” Joanie said, biting her nails.
“Most men don’t. I imagine losing someone as special as you, could be considered a big loss, worth fighting for,” I said. I like to flatter women. It never does any harm.
“Thanks, Rod, but you’re not helping. Brian will come looking, and he’ll come with brass knuckles and a hunting knife. He’ll be coming for you,” she said.
“For me? Why for me? What I have done?” I was taken aback by Joanie’s almost casual warning.
“You’ve stolen my heart, and I dumped him for you. He’ll want revenge, both on you and on me,” Joanie said, studying my face as she said it.
“Joanie, I’m your neighbor, not your lover. There’s a difference, you know,” I said. Just how scatterbrained was she, anyway?
“I kind of exaggerated what I told Brian. I told him I was leaving him for you,” Joanie confessed. “Even though I’m not, of course. I’m just leaving him.”
“I see,” I said.
“Please, can you shelter me and protect me? The last girl to try to leave Brian was in traction for quite some time, and she still doesn’t walk right,” Joanie said. “It took a long time for the doctors to get all of the splinters out of her vagina, too.”
I just looked at her.
“As I said, I’ll make it worth your while.” Joanie was getting quite nervous at this point, worried, apparently, that I’d say no.
“Why are you dumping Brian? I could use a little background, here. I’ll tell you this, though: I don’t like men who beat up women, no matter how much they might be provoked,” I said.
“Well, then you should know that Brian beats me. I kind of like it, however, as it relates to sexual play, you know; but now he is out of control, and it’s far from sexy; more like terrifying.”
“That’s a good reason to leave him,” I said.
“Yeah, but I have other reasons, too,” she said.
“What’re those?”
“Drugs. He deals drugs, through Mystic Happiness, and he has lots of scurrilous friends and business associates. They come looking for him, and if he’s not home, sometimes they find me, and pissed off that they can’t find Brian, they try to take out their frustrations on me,” Joanie said.
“What happens?” I asked.
“Well…. they often try to force me to, you know…” she said.
“Force you?” I asked, wanting to know what she meant.
“They try to force me to pleasure them,” she said.
I looked confused.
“You’re humiliating me, here; I really have to spell it out? These are big, dangerous men, two of them at a time, and if they want to get their rocks off using me, well, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Joanie said.
“It sounds like rape,” I said, finally understanding.
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it? I do enjoy it, though, sometimes,” she said. “It’s kind of kinky having sex with a guy, while another guy is watching, and drooling, you know? I’d just like to choose the time and place myself, as well as the guys!”
I let that go. “So, you want to take shelter here, with me, next door to your own apartment?” I asked.
“Yes, please,” Joanie said, her upper lip trembling with nervousness.
“For how long?” I asked.
“All night??” Joanie asked.
“As you know, this is a studio apartment, albeit a large one (it’s L shaped), and I only have the one bed. The couch would not be that comfortable, even for someone as small as you,” I said. “Also, I rise at 6AM.” I knew Joanie was not a morning person. My ‘couch’ was more of a loveseat than a couch. To be honest, it was more like a large chair.
“I don’t mind. The couch is fine. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Joanie said, and she exhaled as if she had been holding her breath this entire time. She collapsed into my easy chair, her legs slightly apart. God, did she look sexy!
We talked for a while, I made us some dinner, and then we did the dishes. “I don’t have a dessert,” I said.
“I do! I made some brownies. I’ll dash home and get them,” Joanie said, and before I could stop her, she was out the door. Next thing I knew she was rushing back into my apartment with the brownies, a tub of ice cream, and a look of abject fear on her face. “He saw me! He knows I’m here, at your place. This is bad; this is so, so bad!”
“Who saw you?” I asked.
“Brian! Who else? He’s got his orange Cadillac parked out front. He’s watching. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! God, I’m sorry Rod. You’re such a nice guy, and all. I hope he didn’t bring his gun. Oh, shit. This is really bad,” Joanie said. She seemed hysterical.
This was the first I’d heard of a gun possibly being involved. Guns are bad news. Introducing them into a volatile situation is never — I repeat, never — a good idea. Brian, however, while possessive and macho to a fault, ran a string of successful businesses, apparently, as well as his drug business; so stupid, I assumed, he was not.
He’d probably researched me, and if he had, he knew that bluffing with a gun wouldn’t work with me; and using it meant a lot of attention would fall on him, and with his drug business, he most likely couldn’t afford that. So, that’s how I reassured myself that no guns would be involved. Brass knuckles, sure; a hunting knife, possibly; but a gun? I think not.
There was a loud and forceful knock on my door. We were on the second (and top) floor, so it seemed doubtful anyone could enter via the patio door. Nevertheless, Joanie slid it closed, and she locked it. I screwed my courage to the sticking place, as Shakespeare would have put it, and went to get the front door. I opened it wide, to reveal Brian Seames standing there.
“You don’t have to knock so loudly; this is a quiet neighborhood. How may I help you?” I said, standing tall, to emphasize my full height. I’m six feet, two inches, with broad shoulders, and lots of muscles.
“I’m looking for Joanie Higgins,” Brian said.
“You’ve got the wrong apartment. She lives next door,” I said.
“I think she’s in your apartment, hiding from me there,” he said.
“Well, she’s not,” I lied. “And if she were, I wouldn’t help you, anyway. I like Joanie,” I said.
“She’s mine, asshole. Don’t you try to fuck her, you hear me?” he said.
“We’re done here,” I said, and I closed the door in his face.
Banging on the door and some ugly screaming followed my action. I opened the door again.
“May I help you?” I said.
“I want Joanie,” he said.
“That’s nice. You have good taste in women. As I said, however, she lives next door. Now please stop bothering me,” I said, letting an edge creep into my voice. I forcefully closed the door.
Brian would not give up. Again, he banged and yelled. Now I was getting mad. I threatened to call the police, and he laughed. I quickly figured out that Solana Beach was a small beach town, and he was a small-time gangster, so probably he owned the local police. He wanted to search my studio apartment. Joanie was hiding in the bathtub/shower. Obviously, I couldn’t allow him inside my apartment.
It happened, and I must say I wasn’t surprised. He tried to push past me, and I blocked his path. He moved to slug me with his right hand, itself enhanced with his brass knuckles, but I saw it coming and blocked the blow. I saw by his footwork, or lack thereof, that he didn’t know the first thing about boxing. It was child’s play to let loose a fusillade of body blows that would have had him on the ropes, if my porch were to have had ropes. I then followed it with a vicious right cross to his chin, and even without the benefit of brass knuckles, he fell like a ton of bricks, almost spilling down the stairs.
I was glad he didn’t fall down the stairs, since he could have been seriously injured, or even killed. As it was, I figured at worst he had some cracked ribs and a very sore glass jaw. Joanie had snuck into a position where she saw the brief exchange, and she was astonished.
“My hero!” she exclaimed. I did my best aw shucks, Andy Griffith imitation. Joanie was clearly turned on by the two of us fighting over her, and my brief, but intense display of masculinity. Joanie ran to me, jumped up upon me, as my hands held her ass, and she wrapped her legs around me. She began kissing my bare chest, frantically. Her hands went up and around my neck. She had to stretch to reach the top of my head, but she did, and her hands began to move up to run through my head of hair.
I carried her over to the couch. The girl seemed to be in heat. Her chest was heaving as she looked up at me adoringly. “Sex between neighbors is not a good idea,” I said, since it was clear where we were headed.
“I don’t care,” Joanie said, as she spread her legs, revealing every detail of her black, lace panties.
“Still,” I said, trying to resist the compelling scene of a sexpot in heat, with a nearly perfect body. When Joanie pushed up her T shirt, revealing her boobs with their gorgeous shape, their huge areolas, and her long (and erect) nipples, however, my attempt to be noble became cast seriously into doubt. Now Joanie was only in panties, with her T shirt around her neck, and her chest was again heaving with desire. My own cock was hard, and begging to be freed.
“I can’t Joanie. I have a girlfriend,” I lied. Well, six weeks ago it would have been true.
“Just tonight. Nobody needs to know,” Joanie said.
“No, I can’t; I’m sorry,” I said. I really was sorry, too. I had to be an idiot to pass on this gold plated opportunity to have some free sex with a lushpot.
“If you have a girlfriend, where is she? How come I’ve never seen her?” Joanie asked. “I do live next door you know, and I’m the curious type. I would’ve noticed.”
“She’s in Texas,” I said. She was, too.
“Harrumph! Some girlfriend, half way across the country. I can help you out in the here and now, you fool,” Joanie delicately pointed out.
Just then my cell phone rang. The ringtone was the theme song of “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” and it was not subtle. It was the ring tone I had chosen for Melissa, since sometimes she’s good, sometimes she’s oh so bad, and recently, her behavior has just been downright ugly.
Hi, Melissa, I said into the phone. Melissa and I were no longer together, but we’d often call and talk.
Joanie grabbed the phone from me, in a surprise and particularly deft maneuver.
Melissa, this is Joanie Higgins, and I live next door to Rod, and we’re friends. Since you’re not here, would you be okay if I seduced Rod tonight? I promise to give him back to you, but he must be horny, you know? He needs some relief. Men can’t wait forever and…. Oh! Well, okay, then! Will you tell him yourself, please?
Melissa told me herself, on the phone, that as far as she was concerned, I could fuck Joanie’s brains out, and not to forget, Joanie’s giving me back to her.
What do you mean? I asked.
I’m flying to San Diego next weekend for a job interview, and I’d like to see you, if you’ll see me?
I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Melissa, I replied.
I’ll call you tomorrow, when Little Miss Horny is not around, and we’ll discuss it, okay?
I agreed, and we hung up. I looked for Joanie, but she was gone. I happened to glance into the short part of the L shape of my apartment, where the bed is, and there was Joanie, lying on it, her hand inside her panties, and it was moving around in a suggestive manner. She had a Cheshire Cat smile. I was doomed, and I knew it.
Well, Melissa had given me permission, even if it wasn’t hers to give. My excuse destroyed, and even though Joanie was my neighbor, my resolve not to have sex with her had disappeared. I went to the bed and removed her T shirt and her panties. I like my women naked.
My apartment had quite a nice balcony. True, you could see it from The Last Race and some of the other bars lining the railway tracks; but they were on the far side, and unless you had bionic vision, you’d need binoculars to see us. I took the hand of the now naked Joanie Higgins and led her out to the balcony. To my surprise, she balked! Joanie, the exhibitionist sexpot with her tattoos, her body jewelry, and her blue hair, balked at stepping out onto my balcony naked. Go figure.
I shed my boxers, and Joanie smiled when she saw my member. I don’t like to brag, so let’s just say I’m not small down there. I moved into position, and no foreplay was necessary: Joanie apparently gets wet easily! I took full advantage and slid right in. As I was pumping my meat inside this luscious sexpot, it occurred to me that we had not yet even kissed! I was playing with her nipples as we fucked, so I moved to kiss her at the same time, and to my surprise she turned her head. She wanted to fuck, but not to kiss? I was puzzled, but I let it go.
I love the sounds Joanie made as we fucked. She gasped, she moaned, she cursed, and the best ones were when she said, “Faster, Rod, faster!” and “Harder! Give it to me, Rod! You’re loafing, damn you.” Nobody had ever before accused me of loafing during sex, but inspired by her ‘requests,’ I gave her the roughest fuck I knew how to give. Joanie rewarded me with two intense orgasms before we finally finished. I pulled out at the last minute and shot my load all over her luscious tits. It was really a lot of cum; I was impressed with myself.
**
“Hi Melissa. You’re looking good,” I said, to the vision that was my ex. God, was she fetching. This was a mistake, I knew; I’m going to fall for her all over again. Thank goodness she was wearing mirrored sunglasses.
“You are, too. Joanie, your neighbor, been treating you well?” Melissa said.
“That was just a one-time fling. I was trying to avoid it when your phone call sabotaged me,” I replied.
“How many times did the one-time fling repeat?” Melissa asked, smiling, teasingly. She really knew me, much too well.
“Quite a few, to be honest,” I said.
“Well, it was nice of Joanie to give you back to me,” Melissa said.
“Right,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Melissa just looked at me. “I’m not hers to give,” I explained.
“I know that, Rod. No woman could ever own you,” she said. She removed her mirrored shades, and I saw her eyes. I get lost in those eyes. They’re like a window to heaven, and if one is not careful, he’ll fall into her eyes, and die and go directly to paradise.
When Melissa removed her mirrored shades, my will was gone. All the love for her I had suppressed for so long came rushing back to the surface. I had worked so hard, so very hard, to get over her, and now, one look at those amazing eyes, the windows to her soul, pulled me right back into her captivating spell.
“You did, you know. Then you cast me aside,” I said.
“What can I say? The stupidity of youth is legendary, after all,” she said.
“What are you trying to say? Why are we meeting? What’s going on, Melissa?” I asked.
Melissa smiled. “You know of a good Mexican restaurant in town?”
I laughed. “Is this your way of saying you’re free for dinner tonight?” Melissa nodded yes. “Where are you staying? 6PM okay for me to pick you up?”
“I was kind of hoping to stay with you?” Melissa asked. Seeing my face, she quickly added, “Or perhaps with your neighbor Joanie. She’s offered.”
“You’re in touch with Joanie?” I asked.
“Of course, I am. She’s really sweet on you, you know. She thinks you’re a stud,” Melissa said, and try as she might have, she couldn’t keep from giggling over the idea that a woman could think I was a stud. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Again, Melissa. What’s going on? You dumped me, remember?” I asked.
“Yeah, well, sometimes a girl can make a mistake, you know?” Melissa said. “I still love you, Rod.”
“Your affair with Mark didn’t work out?” I asked.
“What do you want from me? I said I made a mistake. I’m asking, I guess, can we try again? It’s okay with Joanie if we do,” Melissa said, with her fetching smile. I knew, however, that it took courage to do what she was doing. The bitch had kicked me to the curb, dumping me for some other guy, and sending me into an ever spiraling, downward depression, and now she comes back, looking fantastic, with those amazing and spellbinding eyes, all smiles, and wants me back?
I just stared at Melissa. “Stay with Joanie, not me. I’ll pick you up at 6, we’ll go to a little Mexican place I know, and we’ll see how it goes. Best I can do,” I said.
Melissa looked like she has just descended from Mt. Olympus, after a make-up consultation with Aphrodite, when I knocked on Joanie’s door at 6pm. I had cleaned up, myself, trying to look nice for my one true love. I had spent the afternoon trying to decide what to do. I decided to try to suppress the hurt and bitterness, and just to go with the flow. See where this was going, if anywhere? Melissa was worth it.
Four margaritas and two mole enchiladas later, we stumbled back to my apartment. We kissed, looked into each other’s eyes, and both of us were too scared to move on to the main event, if it were even to be the main event. After around an hour, there was a knock at the door. There was Joanie, with her homemade flan. She pushed herself into my apartment, and said, with horror, “You’re both still fully dressed? Jeez, Rod, what the fuck is wrong with you? You waiting for the Upsilon variant of Covid to appear, or something?”
Joanie moved over to Melissa, kissed her, and undressed her above the waist, revealing to both of us the extraordinary beauty of her breasts. Melissa blushed and whispered something to Joanie. Joanie came over to me and quickly, efficiently, stripped me nude. After all, she had some experience with undressing me. Then she went back to Melissa, kissed her again, teased her nips, and finished undressing her.
“I’ll be back later, and there had better be plenty of splooge all over the place,” Joanie said.
**
A couple of hours later Joanie came back in. This time, however, she entered my apartment wearing panties only. Melissa and I were both naked, and Melissa was leaking splooge from both her pussy and her anus. She looked happy, and winked at Joanie. Joanie pushed us over on the bed and joined us.
“Who wants me first?” she asked.
“I’m pretty messy, well, everywhere,” Melissa said.
“Works for me,” Joanie replied and spread Melissa’s perfect legs, placing her head between them. Nobody can eat out a woman like another woman can. That was the major piece of wisdom my sister had imparted to me. The acoustic soundtrack coming out of Melissa’s filthy mouth while Joanie ate her creampie was spectacular. It was musical, too, since Melissa used her talent as a soprano to sing out her bliss.
Joanie had always, steadfastly, refused to let her mouth touch my cock. She wouldn’t even touch my cock with her fingers, and I’d had no blowjobs nor any hand jobs from her. All we ever did was fuck. Not that I’m complaining! We fucked in every imaginable position, and I was always happy and satisfied. The main downside was that my recovery time between fucks, without any stimulation, was often a good twenty minutes. Good thing Joanie is a patient girl.
Interestingly, Joanie did let me have her ass from time to time. Now I saw a new side both of Joanie, and of Melissa. I liked it. There are few sights sexier than two naked, sexy women going at it with each other.
I thought Melissa had worn me out, but the sight of these two women, one of whom I loved, with the other being my lover of the moment, drove my cock to new heights, as it were. I thought Joanie was going to take advantage of it, but she graciously stepped aside and gestured to the orgasm happy woman who had once been my true love.
As I took my rightful place between Melissa’s spread thighs, as I had so many times before, albeit not since she dumped me, I saw Joanie walk to the door, and — still stark naked — leave to return to her own apartment. As Melissa and I made love, and my hurt and anguish disappeared, pushed aside for the wonder that was this woman beneath me, I realized what a precious friend Joanie truly was. I found out later that it was Joanie who had convinced Melissa to overcome her fears, and to try again, to win me back.
It’s good to have friends. It’s even better to have good friends. Having Joanie, though? She’s one in a million. Melissa and I will owe her a debt that will never be repaid.
**
We all three had a wonderful time for the remainder of the summer. Melissa aced her interview, and a week later she got the San Diego job. She rented her own place, but basically, she moved in with me. Joanie would come over to visit with us almost every evening, and I was practically mainlining Viagra. When I needed to rest, I’d relax and watch the two women have fun.
Brian Seames got into trouble and ended up in prison for eighteen months on drug charges. He was clever, and he transferred all his holdings in the three bars, and in Mystic Happiness, to a trusted friend, before he was sentenced. I was impressed with his brains. While he was in prison, the three bars and Mystic Happiness flourished. Best of all, the hamburgers at The Last Race, if anything, only got better!
Somehow, against all of my expectations, his prison experience changed Brian for the better. He came around, apologized both to Joanie and to me, met Melissa, whom it was obvious he was quite taken with at first sight. The two of them, Melissa and Brian, got on well. Brian resumed dating Joanie, who had forgiven him. Later, we began to double date. It was only then that I learned, that all this time, when she was not seducing yours truly, Joanie was managing the three bars and Mystic Happiness with a light, but magical, touch.
The rebirth of the Brian and Joanie love, gave Melissa and me some time alone, that is to say, without Joanie being ubiquitous. We made the most of it. There was no question that Melissa had once again become my true love and — I suspected and hoped — I became hers.
As I said, we began to double date with Brian and Joanie, and I’ll be damned, but Brian was actually a man who was fun to be with. On the double dates, since Joanie and I were still next-door neighbors, the four of us would end up in my place, more often than not.
One time proved to be providential. We were all quite drunk, and Melissa and I began to make out, right in front of Brian and Joanie. Not to be outdone, I guess, Brian and Joanie began to make out, too. Joanie had never been good at keeping her clothes on, and soon the kissing and fondling began to go up to the next step. I looked at Melissa for her permission, and she nodded, to my surprise.
Perhaps I should not have been surprised. There had always been a certain dialectical tension in Melissa’s mind between devotion and fidelity, and promiscuity, and I knew she’d be intrigued by Brian’s surprisingly large cock. Melissa always had a taste for variety, shall we say.
Melissa knew by then that Joanie did not touch cocks, nor did she give blowjobs. Brian knew it, too, but he still asked for one. Joanie of course refused, offering him her ass as compensation, but Melissa simply got up, went to Brian, and seemingly effortlessly swallowed his cock whole. I could see Brian’s cock poking in her neck, extending down almost to her cute, little, feminine Adam’s apple. Watching my tiny doll face Melissa, devour a huge cock like that, gave me a strange reaction: I became as hard as a rock.
As Melissa bobbed up and down on Brian’s huge member, and as I became mesmerized watching the show, and as I was about to speak, Joanie came over and lowered herself onto my cock, as she had done so many times before. San Diego was in its almost perpetual drought, or aridification, as we in the Fisheries would say, but Joanie was as wet as the Pacific Ocean, and infinitely more pleasurable just then. Joanie bouncing on my cock blocked my view of Brian and Melissa, so I did not see Brian pull Melissa off his cock, reposition her, and then bury his long member inside her welcoming passage to paradise.
I didn’t see it, but I knew from Melissa’s soaring soprano voice she used when she was loving getting laid, as I fucked my own little nymph named Joanie, that Melissa was giving her little piece of heaven, supposedly my private terrain, to someone else; namely, to Brian Seames. I also knew that Melissa couldn’t handle having two lovers at the same time, which is why she had dumped me that first time. The situation made me, shall we say, nervous.
When both Brian and I had shot our loads in the two women, we were treated to another intense lesbian show. I call it the Joanie-Melissa show, or sometimes these days it’s the Jolissa Show. Brian and I both looked at each other, and we both smiled at our good fortune. When the ladies finally finished with each other, I reclaimed Melissa and Brian reclaimed Joanie, and we both brutally fucked our own respective women. There’s nothing like watching some girl-on-girl to make men want to reassert their masculinity by fucking said women to death.
That night was portentous. The rest of the summer we double dated every Friday night, and we always ended up at my place, and who fucked who at any given time seemed to be random. I not only got used to it, I began to look forward to it. So too, quite obviously, did Melissa.
The summer ended, however, and Brian felt he had to survey “his” bars, and especially “his” Mystic Happiness girlie bar, to prevent the skimming of profits he was sure would otherwise happen. Joanie would keep him company, and our ménages à trois and à quatre became a lovely ménage à deux, of just me and Melissa. Melissa and I became truly close, and when I knocked her up, partly on purpose on Melissa’s side (she told me she was protected, knowing full well that she was not), we decided to marry. Melissa’s brother was best man, but Brian was back up best man, just in case. Joanie was maid of honor.
Brian gave Melissa a good luck fuck the night before the wedding, and Joanie gave the same present to me, and then we flew south to one of the many islands in the Caribbean for a wonderful honeymoon, just the two of us.
We named our daughter Joan Rachel Cornfeld. Rachel was the name of Melissa’s dear, departed, grandmother. Cornfeld is my own family name. We chose the name Joan, since Joanie had agreed to be little Joanie’s godmother, and after all, Joanie had played a key role in reviving our love for each other.
Eventually Brian and Joanie gave their own contribution to the continued propagation of our species, and they named him Rodney Seames, which was their way of returning the compliment. Joanie and Rodney have become great friends. We still double date, from time to time, and you can guess what mischief we four get up to once the kids are asleep, and the babysitter has left. I hope we all stay friends for a good long time; I suspect that we will.