My First Threesome

Sometimes, what we think we want isn’t what we actually want.

Sometimes, what we think we want isn’t what we actually want.

Something what seems exciting and daring and erotic turns out to be weird and unpleasant.

Regrettable? Not sure. Forgettable? No.

The place was Broome, Western Australia. Pretty much the furthest point from home on my journey around Australia, and I was lashing out by paying at a campground, instead of a using a free spot on the side of the highway.

The manicured grass and the showers and flushing toilets were a nice change from dusty gravel and holes in the ground. The salty smell and the distant roar of the ocean reminded me that I’d hit the western edge of this big, red country.

I sipped the warm coffee I’d prepared in the kitchen a hundred meters away and smiled at the guy next door who was pulling gear out of a ute—you may know it as a pick-up truck—that made my little red Nissan look like a clown car.

“You on your own?” he said, just before I crossed the threshold from his patch of grass to mine.

“Yep.”

“Where you from?”

“Melbourne.”

“Oh, you’re a long way from home!” His vowels were wide and seemed to come through his nose. “Wanna sit down with your cuppa?”

A mixture of gratitude and anxiety ran through my chest and settled in my stomach, not unusual when I meet new people. Will they like me? What can I talk about? What if they realise I’m a complete fraud?

The next item to emerge from the flipped up side of the ute’s covered tray was a chair. He opened it out and placed it on a flat patch of ground next to another that was already set up, patting the canvas and indicating with a turn of his head that I should make myself comfortable.

“What about you?” I asked, lowering my hips and smiling over at the petite blond who was putting a foot out of the tent, her wet hair telling me that she’d just returned from the shower block. Their tent was large enough that she could walk out upright, before turning and bending low to close the zipper on the flyscreen. “Have you come far?”

“Weipa. Ever heard of it?” he said.

I shook my head.

“It’s in Northern Queensland.”

“I’ve never been further north than Gladstone. What’s it like?”

“Yeah, pretty good. But very small town.”

“Everyone knows everyone,” she said. “And it’s really fucking hot.”

I nodded. “So, what are you doing here?” Broome felt pretty small town to me too, and sweat was already pooling under my thighs on the canvas seat.

“Oh, just moving about,” he said. “Visiting friends and family. Might check out the mines over this side, see if we can get some work or something.”

“It’s meant to be good money,” she added.

“Yeah, cool. Where’ve you been so far?” I asked

She sat on a second chair and he finished unloading their shopping, the final object to emerge being an esky—you might know this as a cooler or chilly bin—which contained their cold items, including a six pack of beer. He passed one to each of us and sat on a tree stump to listen as I told them about my journey so far, driving through the red centre, and my plan to head down the west coast to see the parts of Australia I’d never been before.

They talked about their off-road adventures coming across the sparsely populated northern states. They were 4WD enthusiasts and shared their knowledge with zeal. I never knew that cars could have snorkels and drive through creeks almost up to the roof.

I pretty much assumed that being in the outback in a giant vehicle meant getting stuck in some tricky situations, but they had some hair-raising stories.

They spoke over the top of each other, their broad accents blending harmoniously as they re-lived their adventures getting stuck and waiting days for rescue, avoiding crocodiles in Kakadu, and driving off the map in the vast wilderness, having to use the sun to find their way back to civilisation.

“How old are you?” he asked me at one point.

“Twenty-five,” I said. “What about you two?”

“I’m 22,” he said, with all the confidence of someone ten years older than that.

We both looked at her, expectantly. “Same,” she said. “We went to school together.”

I looked from one to the other. His shaggy brown hair and stubble aged him, while her face was plump with youth and her pale hair was drying into cute waves.

“What are you up to this evening?” he asked, breaking my train of thought.

“Nothing.”

“We’re going to visit some friends. Why don’t you come along?”

There was that mix of fear and enthusiasm again, but I accepted and donned my thongs—you may know these items of footwear as flip-flops or jandals—so I could climb up into the cab of their giant vehicle.

The friend’s house was a short drive away. I was introduced as the girl from the big city, and the two of them were the Queenslanders who traveled off-road. We were offered food from plastic plates and drinks out of a bath filled with ice.

By about midnight, I had relaxed into a few cheerful conversations but people had started to say their goodbyes and I was wondering if we’d head back soon too.

I spotted the couple in the kitchen. He was leaning on the bench and she was leaning back on him, holding a bright pink premixed Smirnoff. He had one hand on her waist and in the other was a beer. Her legs looked long under her short skirt, even though her boyfriend could almost rest his chin on the top of her head.

“Yeah, I know some good places for 4 wheel driving,” the friend that lived at the house was saying.

“What? Now?” she said, taking a sip and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Why not?” replied the friend.

“I’m game,” said our ride, then looked over at me with a big grin. “What do you say?”

“Um, yeah, I guess,” I was wondering how many beers had gone into him before the one he was holding.

“Alright!!” said the friend. “I’ll take my car. You guys follow, K?”

“Yeah, wicked!” she said, standing up straight and shooting a wide smile my way.

“Just try and keep up!” The friend was already on his way to the door, keys in hand, with another housemate close behind.

“Don’t you worry about that, mate!”

Next thing, we were sitting in the front of the ute again, three across, with her in the middle and him driving. He had to keep the pace up to keep sight of the red tail lights of the ute in front. It stuck to the roads for a few kilometers until the last electric lights gave way to reflectors, and then the endless black expanse of Indian ocean came into view. We were jostled about as the bitumen became gravel and the incline grew steeper as the vehicles swept down onto soft sand.

Since the car in front barely slowed down, he kept his foot down and I held a hand to the roof to steady myself, trying not to squeal too loud or too often.

“What’s that up ahead?” she said, her voice high pitched with excitement.

The tail lights swerved and careened around a field of rocks, avoiding the largest but tearing over the smaller ones.

Our driver tried to do the same, but at the speed he was going, he seemed to go over more than he went around. Looking down, I noticed that she and I were clutching hands tightly and I cast my eyes around the cabin for evidence of a roll cage.

He sped up to draw level so the two trucks were neck and neck, bumping over rocks and into dips and sometimes splashing in the shallow water.

Finally, we came to a gap in the rocky fields and came to a stop on packed, flat sand.

The drivers were both whooping and punching the sky as they jumped down and us two girls and the other passenger found our feet with wide grins on our faces.

The growl of the engines was replaced by the crashing of the waves over the sound of the radio playing country music through the open door of the other ute.

We ran around to the front and danced under the beams of the headlights while the guys cracked open more cans of beer.

“Want to go for a swim?” said someone.

It was warm and balmy, being a tropical beach in the middle of summer, but there was one problem.

“What about the jellyfish?”

Not just any jellyfish—box jellyfish. One of the most poisonous creatures on earth, they have long tentacles that stick to your skin and cause intense pain, often leading to cardiac arrest and death.

When it’s the season, most people avoid the water altogether.

And when the water is black, absorbing more than reflecting the night sky, they’d be even less visible.

“Ah, what the hell?”

She and I had somehow ended up on the far side of the open door of the ute in our underwear. Her pretty blue eyes were flashing and her chest was heaving, making her white lacy bra extend over the ample flesh beneath with each trepidatious breath.

“Should we…?” I laughed, conscious of my smaller chest and larger tummy, not quite as perfect an hourglass as she was.

We didn’t look sideways but I could feel the guys’ heads swivel as far as they could go as the two of us tore past them into the waves, our clothes abandoned on the driver’s seat of the ute we’d driven in on.

A moment or two later, the others were in there with us, completely naked, splashing about, dunking us and pretending to be unidentified sea creatures that snuck up under water and made us scream. Any excuse for skin to touch skin.

I was more relieved than I liked to admit when we all clambered back to the sand, dripping, but safe, and now completely uninhibited.

We drip dried for a few minutes and the occupants of the other car got dressed before saying goodnight, but the three of us got into the cab of the ute as we were to follow them out. Three naked bodies in a row. We drove back over the field of rocks, back up the sand, up the banks and out onto the road.

While one of his hands stayed on the underside of the steering wheel, the other one gripped first her nipple, then reached over to stroke mine. I let my open palm rest on her thigh and was more conscious than ever of the sides of our bodies connecting along their length.

The chatter was no longer strained smalltalk or drunken ramblings. We were in a state of flow, all of us knowing where this was going. Speaking like old friends with deep understanding, my accent broadening to be more similar to theirs with every word.

“Youse have been together forever, hey?” I said.

“Yeah. High school sweethearts.”

“You make a beautiful couple. You’re both so gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” she smiled at me, then put her hand on his upper thigh. I saw him react.

The bright headlights lit up the expanse of tents as we inched through the campground to our spot.

Lights and music were all extinguished and we all made our way into their roomy tent and onto their thin camp mats and sleeping bags.

She lay on her back and he and I explored her chest with our mouths. Kissing her, I started to get the feeling that she was outside of her comfort zone, but he was too hot to stop and I was enjoying her fleshy perfection. I slowly moved down to the space between her legs and asked myself if I could do this.

I had kissed girls in high school, but the thought of eating one out was more intimidating than putting a cock in my mouth, which I’d had plenty of practice at by this stage. I’d studied how to give a good headjob to a man in magazines and conversations, but I had no idea how to please a woman, and had received very few quality ones myself.

Closing my eyes, I put my face down and tasted her. The salt from the sea was still present and it mixed with her natural flavour. I couldn’t tell if she liked it or not and so I plunged two of my fingers inside her. She wriggled but the moan she emitted didn’t sound genuine so I moved my face back up to her breasts but left my finger inside and moved it gently up and down. I felt him grab me by the hips and turned to check he had put on a condom. Satisfied, I lowered my head and let him raise my back half and enter me.

She had her eyes open in the dim half light and she watched with her mouth half open. I’m not sure she enjoyed the sight of her boyfriend fucking another woman, but he leaned forward and pushed a hand down on the breast that wasn’t in my mouth and kept thrusting.

As he increased the intensity, she seemed to lose hers and somehow she shifted further and further to one side until she was touching the edge of the tent. I took my hands off her and buried my face on the sleeping bag and he knelt up, holding me with both hands while he moved in and out with increasing speed and pressure. She lay still, as if waiting for it to be over.

I used her for her soft beauty, accepting that I couldn’t force her to enjoy the experience when he was too far along to stop. He finished with a few heavy thrusts that pushed deep inside me and the two of us collapsed on the hard ground beside her.

As if that was the only thing holding her back, she pulled herself up and put on some shorts and a t-shirt and unzipped the opening.

“She OK?” I asked, as he threw the used condom away and leaned over to give me a lazy kiss.

“She’ll be right,” he assured me.

I let him kiss me again and rested my head on his chest for a few more minutes before I stood shakily. My head was starting to throb as a mild hangover began to kick in and I stumbled to the toilet block, noting the dusky light that meant the heat would soon return. I collapsed in my own tent to sleep while I could, listening for the soft rustle that told me she had gone back into theirs. I thought briefly about my clothes in their truck, reminding myself to collect them the next day before I moved on.

They smiled politely and ate cereal from plastic bowls in silence as I folded poles and removed pegs from the ground.

Do I need to talk about consent?

I wanted the experience, but should I have stopped the moment she seemed to lose interest? She obviously liked the fun of the dancing and the skinny dipping and the drive home, but when it moved into territory she wasn’t comfortable with, I guess the ethical thing would have been for both he and I to pull back and check in.

Sometimes what we think we want might not be what we want.

I wonder if she remembers the incident with a little thrill at having been a little bit crazy—swimming in jellyfish-infested waters, stripping in front of strangers, driving naked over a deserted beach—or if she’s just left with the bitter taste of jealousy and resentment.

I’m sure I’ll never find out because I barely remember her face. I certainly don’t remember her name. But I remember those perfect, huge breasts and the taste of her—my first woman.

And my first couple. A completely different vibe from the pairs of guys who would say “Can I have the front?” before spinning me in the right direction to suit them.

But not my last. Maybe I’ll tell you about some of the others another time.

Image credit: By Avispa marina.jpg: Guido Gautsch, Toyota, Japanderivative work: Mithril (talk) - Avispa marina.jpg, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15374006