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Shy males first sweet MWM

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It was with a fair dose of fear and trembling that I approached my first threesome. Thankfully, the experience proved to be mind-blowing in the most subtle and delicious ways.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

 The year was 1982, I had just moved to New York City, and my thirty-something hormones were raging full bore. There had always been curiosity about group sex, but I had been slow in giving myself permission to actually do the deed.

Picture a time before the Web: No clicking here and there and hooking up for same-day dalliance. Meeting swingers back then involved either managing to get into some club, usually needing a date, or replying to an ad in a swinger's magazine. I chose the latter.

After leafing through some national mags like Seekers and Select, I decided on a local publication that catered to those in the New York suburban region. One ad in particular caught my attention, a couple from New Jersey in their early 40's seeking a male for "joyous lovemaking." I was struck by the refreshing gentleness of the words. No, they didn't want a super stud hung like a horse able to cum a half dozen times a night, which I am not and couldn't.

I responded to the ad, enclosing the requested photo of myself, just a head shot, mentioning my passion for oral, but not getting graphic.

Within a week or so, a cheerful sounding woman called and introduced herself as the couple who placed the ad. I tried to contain my nervousness with some mundane response, "It's good to place a voice with the ad." She chuckled, and after an easy, friendly conversation, we set up a time and location to meet socially.

I hung up the phone punch drunk with excitement, cock at half mast. Gads, it all seemed so civilized, not a bit of the sleaze factor that I had feared when contemplating "swinging."

On the agreed date, I drove to the riverside bar in the suburbs well ahead of time and waited anxiously, eyes constantly checking the door. Emily had described herself as a tall slender brunette, her husband Gordon as goateed, so it was easy to spot them and extend greetings as they came through the door right on time.

We moved to a quiet table, ordered drinks and conversed like old friends. Although we were seated only about 15 feet from the bar, we had privacy. No one was seated at the tables adjacent to ours, and those perched at the bar all seemed very busy chatting up the lissome bartender.

At one point, Emily excused herself to go to the john, and Gordon casually mentioned that they enjoyed threesomes because Emily loves an extra cock. As I later learned, she truly loved to suck, not hurriedly, but with a slow languor that makes it all the more magical.

Emily was attractive without being flashy, impeccably groomed with sexy, longish fingernails that somehow really caught my attention. What is it about nails? The anticipation of her wrapping those fingers around me as she guided me into those luscious lips of hers? Or the thought of her raking them across my balls or digging them into my buttocks? I found myself having to suppress such musings; crotch bulges are not cool when striding through a bar.

After about 40 minutes conversing, Emily invited me to join them for dinner at a local inn, but first we had to stop by their home to take one of their children to a local movie theater. Any negative expectations about swingers was by now completely erased. I would be introduced simply as one of Gordon's clients, should the need arise. It didn't.

 The dinner was enjoyable, without much talk about sex. We did make a date to meet at my place in the city about a week hence, for dinner and play.

Skip forward those anxious days to a Friday evening: they arrive, we go down the street to have some very fine Chinese food, then return to my loft.

We sat and chatted for a while, then there was a silence; we all somehow acknowledged simultaneously that it was time for some of that "joy." Emily moved closer to me on the couch and we kissed, and I gently squeezed the nipple of one of her small, firm breasts, prominent beneath a silk blouse and sheer, loose-fitting bra.

After a few more moments, Gordon stood up, we followed suit and all headed for my king-size bed.

 What followed unfolded like slow-motion choreography. Once we had doffed our clothes, Emily lay on her back down the middle of the bed, while Gordon and I kneeled, facing each other across her midsection. Both of us had middling erections my now, and Emily reached up and took each of us in hand and ever so gently massaged us.

I had never seen another man's erection up close and personal like that, and the dominant feeling was regretfully banal: I'm not so small after all.

 Then Emily whispered something, and Gordon assumed a position straddling her where she could suck him, and I took up the logical alternate position, and one very dear to my heart, between her long legs with mouth nuzzling her sweet bush.

Why is it that I feel so at home there? Freud would certainly have something to say, but for me it's pure intimacy. Taste, touch, smell, the visual--the immediacy of it all is intoxicating. I remember wanting to be methodical and not just tongue away in a frenzy. I may have let a thumb circle her clit before bringing my tongue into play. I wanted to tease a bit, so I first explored those gorgeous folds, avoiding the clit, except for some glancing licks. Then I focused more in earnest.

There was some disconnect because I could not see Emily's face, to see how she was responding. So I just lost myself in the sensations, trying to let her know how much I enjoyed her, while her sweet juices lathered my face.

Again, there was a whisper, and Gordon indicated we would change positions. Emily seemed to be in a blissful, floating trance, a joyful yet somewhat serious expression on her face. She took me in and began a slow back-and-forth motion.

I had wondered if I would cum quickly in such a scenario, but was pleased that I could easily maintain control and just enjoy the moment. 

The exchange of roles would happen a few more times before Gordon lay down alongside Emily, a foot or two away, and by some unspoken communication, I realized that it was time to consummate things. Emily guided me into that by now very well lapped bush, and, again, I wondered how best to perform. I was after all being watched.

But those thoughts quickly evaporated as I concentrated on the building pressure in my cock and her quickening moans. Again, I was gratified that I was able to last for a fair amount of time before cumming with a somewhat repressed sigh. We kissed briefly, smiled at each other, and I rolled off, allowing Gordon to resume things.

Again, this was a definite first for me. I was overwhelmed by how natural, dare say beautiful, Gordon and Emily's lovemaking was. He came, and we all seemed to glow in our slightly sweaty states for several minutes.

Ever the gentleman, I shortly got dressed, ran downstairs to a local Italian bakery for cappuccinos and cannolis, and scampered back, a definite lightness in my gait.

Why had I proclaimed all this as mind-blowing? You just have to understand where I was coming from, so to speak. Back in the 1980s, sex had not yet become aerobics, and oral sex was sex. So the real joy was knocking down some internal inhibitions and stereotypes in the company of some very fine, loving people. As Gordon would confide, they would go home and make love again that evening, all the more passionately. One very loving couple, indeed.

Some observations: Very conservative looking married couples have more side arrangements--with other couples, men or women--than you might think. The stereotype of swingers as tawdry fuckaholics does not fit a lot of those "in the lifestyle."

And, what unexpected turn-ons were those tender whispers, and those fingernails.


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