Saturday, 26 June 2010

Three's company

In modern love, dates for threesomes and foursomes can be hard to arrange. After several months we finally got Ruby into bed last night. Before that we made her dinner and entertained her. This is the first time Virgil and I have accommodated. So far our sexual adventures with others have taken place outside the home. I realise now that one advantage of this is the convenience of not having to cook and clean.

What's the adage about women being cooks while men are chefs? On a hot, work-day afternoon, our preparations became bad-tempered. Ruby is 'mostly' vegan and Virgil had decided to impress us all with a feast from our new Otto Lenghi recipe book. He also decided to deep-clean the flat which offended me. I stewed on the sofa and remarked on the inefficiency of his vacuuming technique. He blamed my Dyson. We have a running disagreement about the relative merits of mine and the £25 model that he had before I moved in.

"Your behaviour today has been so hurtful," he shouted, "I will never forget the way you have spoken to me today." I'd said the same thing to him a few days ago when he told me that my homeopathic medicine doesn't work.

Virgil pointed out that if I had come round to dinner at the beginning of our relationship I would have arrived to a nice clean flat and a nice dinner, which I would have enjoyed in ignorance of the immense effort that had gone into making it so.

I couldn't deny the truth of this. Caught between exasperation and pride, I chose pride in Virgil's vision. It's something I love about him. In return, he promised to let me do my share of the cooking. We made up, and by the time Ruby arrived the flat was immaculate and dinner almost ready.

She sat by the bedroom window and smoked while we made the final preparations.

"This will be you later," shouted Virgil, as he smashed ginger and garlic with a hammer.

"Here's hoping," said Ruby.

Some time in April we spent several hours in Ruby's company. Ruby isn't her real name. She claims to have been brought up in England but her accent ranges from unplaceable to improbable. She might be twenty, or thirty. Despite our best efforts Virgil and I came away knowing very little about her. She sipped hot water with lemon. When words failed her she reapplied red lipstick and said: "Gosh!". When Virgil asked what she would most like to be remembered for, she replied that she wouldn't like to be remembered for anything.

Virgil is more forgiving of her fragile pretense than I am. Ruby is sweet but she's hard work. She has to be coaxed and cared for. She is doll-like, with a vintage femininity. Last night she admitted to being only "mostly vegan". She says she is a lesbian which is surprising: everyone seems to be queer these days. She has joked about the disapproval of the lesbian council that playing with a couple might elicit. However, when I asked her if she might like to be fucked by Virgil she smiled and agreed.

We were all in our bed by this time. There had been hours of play. We had undressed her slowly, enjoying her in her underwear and how quickly her pussy had got wet. I had come twice. Virgil was trying not to. Ruby hadn't. We had both been trying to make her, but hadn't found her switch. It's not easy when someone gives very little away. Virgil asked her how she liked his fingers inside her. He pushed into her while I rubbed her clit. Ruby tensed and whispered "faster" but after some time she said "stop".

We reassured her that it was fine. We cuddled her. I said "Don't worry, it's not a numbers game."

"That's ok for you to say," she replied, and then: "I feel cheated." So we went back to work on her and she got an orgasm, although I have a slight suspicion that she faked it.

Talking about it this morning, I said that I was glad that Ruby had finally asked for something and said what she wanted. If you can't ask for what you want and say what you like, how can you expect to get it?

No comments:

Post a Comment