All three of them felt it, but you couldn't define it. It defied defining. Like an inexplicable thrum underfoot, an earthquake brewing, a monsoon about ready to break loose, leaving everyone soaking wet down to the skin. It had something in common with all of these things. Suspense…that was its main element.
An almost imperceptible, primal urge tethered the three young people together. Something on the horizon was imminent. They all knew it, yet not a word was spoken regarding it. Davy looked out at the property behind Shannon's house on the pretense of watching the pretty colors the lights from the house cast down there. He couldn't settle his gaze on either Shannon or Peter, but he could watch the lights and have a means to condone his seeming inattentiveness toward them.
Davy was ever cunning, sometimes scheming, slippery. He would do just about whatever it took not to appear to be too eager, too needy. This was all he'd been thinking of since the last time he was here—doing it again. The worst part of all this was that he didn't know what was in their heads; if they were just playing around, or hinting at experimenting in some way. It made him edgy…the not knowing.
He was afraid there was no room for doubt about himself and Peter. The staring sessions all by themselves told the story. It wasn't normal guy behavior. Their attraction for each other was tangible in that shared bedroom of theirs. When their eyes met, the air sizzled like hot coals.
His biggest vice by far was his impatience. He couldn't just sit here and wonder why they were hanging onto his every word, even though he was not saying anything noteworthy or remarkable. He was instead rambling on about ordinary, everyday things. It was their reaction to him that left him in limbo.
Surrounded by the mammoth oak tree in which the treehouse fit snug as a bug in a rug, the moon shimmered through the leaves, the colors within Shannon's house glinting off them and throwing them onto Davy's face. He was, in turns, everything from yellow to brown to blue. Unflattering for most ordinary folk, but Davy was anything but common.
This situation was aggravating to him, to say the very least. Were they going to spend all evening staring at him?
Davy was usually pretty good at seeing around corners, but this one had him completely and utterly baffled. Where could this possibly lead? Or should he just ride by the seat of his pants, be a free spirit? In the end, he decided that was just what he would do. It was what Peter had done, and look at Peter now! Yes, Peter knew how to be a free spirit.
Peter purposely leaned around Davy to give Shannon a kiss. He couldn't seem to remember how, but somehow Davy had landed between them. Her breasts were heavy on Davy's arm, Peter's chest brushing against his. Peter used this tactic to enclose Davy into a romantic mood that would be difficult to break himself free of. Designed to make him breathless.
Davy wasn't particularly embarrassed, just in a quandary. He was wondering if maybe Shannon and Peter might be a little kinky. They might just want him to watch them. But then, why had they been so eager to comply when he'd expressed a desire to be wedged between them on his last visit? And Shannon kissing his neck like that…the memory had his cock aching.
And now, watching them kiss, Davy suddenly was breathless. He sat, entranced, as it happened directly in front of his face, fighting back the screaming, clawing lust building up on the inside. When Shannon and Peter stopped kissing, neither one moved all the way back to their prior sitting positions. They were still leaning into Davy.
"You smell good," offered Peter.
With a jolt, Davy's feet touched earth again. "What, your Hai Karate?"
"Oh yeah," said Peter, remembering how they both wore it now for Shannon's benefit. And just maybe, for each other too.
"You get to buy the next bottle," Peter added. "But… I meant, your hair smells good too. And did you know that your own body chemistry alters the way something smells? Hai Karate smells a little different on everyone."
"Well, it smells bloody good on you too," Davy informed him. Being brazen was part of Davy's personality, and it really was becoming to him, thought Peter.
Shannon really enjoyed their banter, which carried seductive indicators without the blatancy she would have been expecting about now. She knew men were more forthright than women, and two men together… Well, you would think they'd be more upfront and plain-spoken.
Shannon couldn't help being slightly amused. She still had not felt even a miniscule amount of jealousy, even when Peter had told her of their staring sessions in their bedroom. She was secure in Peter's love—so secure that she couldn't see Davy ever being a threat—only an inspiration. She and Peter both desired Davy, but he wasn't necessary to make them complete. Still, if he were ever to be amenable and desirous of their attentions, they would find it irresistible. No questions asked.
Peter made a move with no forewarning. The way he was leaning forward, Davy's face was only inches from his. It was easy—too easy…
Shannon's eyes were like magnets on the two of them. She saw Peter's hand moving, much like Davy's had the other night, hovering near Davy's face. It brushed Davy's cheek lightly.
Davy turned his head, now barely two inches from Peter's face.
"Peter," he said. "I don't know what to do with this."
The words had a huge impact. They told the whole story from Davy's standpoint.
"Then don't do anything… just feel."
Peter's choice of words were perfect, though Shannon. His lips were closer yet; Davy didn't move. Finally, Peter closed his eyes, and his lips touched Davy's. There was absolute silence.
Even the enthusiastic mockingbirds, still calling for a mate in the night, stalled out for a minute or two. It was as if they were trying to afford Peter and Davy a shot at harmony and tranquility. The kiss must have lasted only ten seconds, but it was entrancing for Shannon. She'd pondered many times what it might be like if and when it happened, and this event did not disappoint her. Desire was overtaking her as she watched Peter's lips move on Davy's.
Davy had no resistance in him, and it held Peter awestruck. Davy's hands had somehow crept to Peter's jawline, and the fingers of each hand caressed there as Peter kissed him. Peter's arms slipped around Davy's upper back, and coaxed him closer.
Their lips opened to each other, tentatively at first, seeking acceptance. But soon Davy's lips began to move with resolve. He seemed to have lost all his doubt. He was letting Peter know this was no game—Shannon saw it evolve right in front of her own eyes. It seemed this moment had moved them forward—had graduated from teasing. Instead it was now stone serious.
As the kiss came to an end, Peter removed his lips very slowly, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes were Davy's eyes searing into him. There was that stare again. So it had been desire in his dark eyes all along. It was hardly surprising. Peter wanted to look away, but Davy was insistent, uncompromising, beckoning even, and all without speaking a word.
Then, the reality hit Davy…
"Mother fucker," muttered Davy, lurching up from the glider, hanging his head—not in shame, but in an attempt at cognition. What had they just done? He and Peter?
Davy would have bet just about anything he owned that he would have kissed Shannon first. He was a lover of women, after all. He was sexual; so was Peter. But to turn to each other when a beautiful, receptive woman was present? Unthinkable! Davy had been avoiding his sexual feelings toward Peter. But now… now he had to admit it—even to himself, which, at this moment, seemed even more difficult than it would be to breathe the words to someone else. He was his own worst critic.
Peter had looked hesitant, yet pleased. His expression, his posture, everything about him screamed natural eagerness. This would absolutely be easier for Peter to accept than himself. Christ, but Peter's lips had felt sensual, and he tasted like beer and Peter—Peter's own essence, his lifeblood. Davy had wanted to drink him in. The end of the kiss had been bittersweet.
The appealing fox that was Davy made Peter want to hunt him down, hold him captive, and there was not a solitary reservation in Peter's mind about how Davy would take to that. He'd eat it up. They'd reached the truth now, and what lay ahead of them seemed about to consume them.
Shannon's skin prickled when she felt Peter's gaze turn to her. She displayed a slight smile, a peaceful smile, hoping he'd pick up on her state of mind. That it hadn't bothered her. He sensed it more than saw it in her look—she approved. He slid his hand over and stroked her shoulder for a few seconds.
Davy remained standing in the same place—his back to them, a foot or so in front of the glider, his head bowed. Peter didn't know whether he should approach him, or leave him to the privacy of his thoughts. When Davy still hadn't moved a couple of minutes later, Shannon leaned forward, as if to go to Davy. She looked at Peter first, before rising, gauging his standpoint. He gave her absolute clearance with an open door look.
If Davy recoiled, she knew to leave him alone. But she had to let him know he had her support, her trust. How she would do that, she had no idea. She just moved of her own volition, gravitated toward him.
"Davy," she said gently, tenderly as she came up beside him. Her hand came to rest on his forearm as she uttered his name.
He didn't move, nor did he raise his head to look at her. Was he ashamed? Or just thinking it through? She waited, knowing he would respond when he felt he was ready.
Finally, he turned and hugged her. But it wasn't like the hugs of the past. This one was very close and devout. She sensed he needed reassurance, so she didn't end the hug, leaving that up to him. He smelled of Lifebuoy soap and Hai Karate. She inhaled him deeply.
Peter, still sitting, watched on with mixed emotions—all of them positive. He felt true affection for both of them; so grateful Shannon had gone to Davy, so relieved when Davy hugged her. This showed him that Davy wasn't going to close himself off, and that had been a real fear of Peter's.
"It's okay," Shannon whispered in Davy's ear. Very simple, yet right to the point. She hoped to pass along to him that everything was going to work out. Everything. Himself. Peter. Herself. The situation. She soothed him, her lips naturally going to his neck for exactly one succinct kiss. Just enough to encourage him to relax. Davy let out a long, slow breath. Her lips on that spot on his neck—again. Okay, so they both turned him on. He already knew it, but tonight it had been solidly confirmed.
Before he could put a halt to his actions, his lips found Shannon's. It wasn't an effort …she was so near and so accessible. He liked how she was so approachable. He felt an immediate softness in her. She yielded to him, her body pliable. He deepened the kiss, his lips coming apart softly, unobtrusively. His mouth ate at hers, passion directing his moves. He knew Peter would have intervened by now if he had a problem with Davy and Shannon kissing. Peter not only desired him as much as he desired Peter, but was also willing to share Shannon. And best of all, Shannon wanted it too. Soaking all of this up made Davy feel as though there was a smorgasbord of passion laid out on the table in front of him, there for the taking.
She felt she was cooking on the inside, Davy breathing into her, filling her with hot desire. If she had been turned on by the kiss Davy had shared with Peter, how turned on must Peter be right now, seeing this extended, ardent, totally consuming kiss? The talent Davy had with the application of kissing staggered Shannon. Peter was damn good, but Davy was an artist in the extreme. He'd practiced thousands of hours—she was certain of it. He was drugging her with some kind of red hot mystical influence. She could have kissed him for hours on end, but she had to end it, much as she abhorred the mere thought, to give Peter the opportunity to experience it.
She whispered into Davy's ear. "Give Peter a taste of that magic," then, feeling dizzy from Davy's love spell, she sat down next to Peter, tremors running rampant. When Davy turned his dark eyes on them, Shannon sliced a glance at Peter. He sat tall, his eyes were unusually bright, and she knew what he was daring to hope for.
Davy, seeing Peter's slight trepidation, held out a hand to him, and Shannon felt the persistent throb between her legs increase. Peter took Davy's hand, and stood up, facing Davy, looking white as a ghost. His well of courage was running dry. And no wonder—witnessing what had just happened between Davy and Shannon had intimidated him a touch. He didn't know if he could hold up his end of such an amazing display of affection. Would he impress Davy as much as Shannon had, or would he fail miserably? Talk about pressure…
But as soon as Davy closed his eyes, Peter closed his as well and thirsted for the first touch of those plump, soft, perfect lips. This kiss, if it were to be like the one he'd just watched, could be the deciding factor as to whether Davy and Peter had the kind of chemistry that Shannon and Davy evidently had.
Peter got lost in the kiss within the first fifteen seconds. Davy was indeed a master. It had been a joy to watch, but to feel it was in another dimension altogether. The intensity jarred him, and suddenly he didn't care if the world came to an end. Everything was tied up in the kiss. His whole being.
He followed Davy's lead, and felt himself melting like butter on a hot, steamy day. Want coursed through his body. Want and need and lust, and… something else a lot more tender than all that. He was caught up in the feeling, the texture of Davy's lips, his tongue.
They clutched at each other, yet were a lot more gentle than Shannon would have imagined. They responded to each other with a wantonness that lacked restraint, yet it was somehow also softhearted, sweet.
It was almost too much for Shannon, who wriggled and fidgeted on the glider, fighting the urge to grab them and drag the both of them to bed. They looked so mouthwatering together. Not a thing about it looked unnatural. As the seconds ticked on, and neither one showed any sign of breaking the kiss, Shannon became so totally engrossed that she doubted a true disaster would break her concentration.
Davy's hands were now stroking up and down Peter's back, his sides. Their mouths were sealed together, Shannon wondering what their tongues were doing. The rhythm of their kissing was perfect, as if they had rehearsed. She knew it was all that pent-up desire coming through, as Peter had admitted he'd had the crush for some time—Shannon suspected it had been years. From what she could gather, they had known each other at least two or three years. So Peter might have desired Davy right from the beginning. He'd lived with it all this time.
Davy was in control, and there wasn't an inch of room for doubt. At first Peter had pursued, but now that Davy knew there was no fighting it, the alpha male in him was set free.
"Let's go in the house," said Davy after working himself loose of their embrace. The three of them filed inside, sat on the couch, and Peter made sure Davy was the one in the middle.
Her bra unhooked, there was no stopping Gretchen's desire. As Michael avidly kissed her, slipping her his tongue with a lot more initiative than he'd ever displayed before, she rubbed his chest, feeling the crunch of the hair brushing abrasively against his shirt. She could actually hear it. She wanted to feel it bare—his chest. She also wanted his hands on her breasts, minus the bra. They were so into the kissing though, that neither one wanted to break from their embrace.
"Want to get more comfortable?" Michael asked with admirable poise between kisses. Gretchen looked down demurely. Wanton—she'd been so wanton just a few seconds ago, and now she was being a little on the coy side.
"Sure," she said so softy that it was barely even a whisper. Mike heard it though, and began taking his shirt off. All by himself! She had thought she'd surely have to rip it off him sooner or later. He was beginning to take charge, and that was arousing. She knew he had it in him, as Shannon had told her he was the leader of the group, that no one messed with him, or anyone in the group either, when he was around. He demanded respect. Yet, she hadn't seen that side of him. Sure, she'd seen him be mildly assertive with the other guys, and it was clear he was the leader, but there had been no occasion for her to witness that self-assured, emphatic side. She would have loved to see him smash the guitar over Tony's head on that fateful day!
Michael and Davy, the two alphas of the group. It was funny, in a way. Michael was the tallest, Davy the shortest. Yet they shared more in common than you would think. Both had piercing stares and a mysterious air about them. They emitted fearlessness too.
His chest came into view, Gretchen trying to not drool in front of him. It wouldn't make a particularly good impression. That black hair that had played peek-a-boo with her on occasion by sticking out of the top of his shirt, torturing her. She now had license to feast her eyes on it. Michael's confidence slipped up a notch when he saw her staring.
"Need help with yours?" Michael indicated her blouse.
"Um… that would be nice." Gretchen decided to let him do it. It seemed so intimate to allow him the honors; so hands-on. She needed to encourage that in him. He unbuttoned her blouse, pausing at each button, as if to prolong the anticipation of the treat he was about to reveal. Then he pulled her blouse and bra off in one graceful sweep.
Gretchen had the worst urge to cover herself, but she didn't. The scrutiny of his eyes was almost too much. She was fighting herself tooth and nail not to conceal herself. She sat there resolutely, forcing herself to at least appear to be calm.
Mike didn't stare—just looked long enough to acknowledge her nakedness. He didn't want to embarrass her.
"Even better than I imagined," he said in a voice that somehow caressed, even though he wasn't touching her.
"I want… I want to see more of you," Gretchen's voice held a plea. Mike didn't need to be asked a second time. He unfolded his lanky form from the couch and stood before it, preparing to unfasten his belt. Gretchen didn't know how to act, where to look. Always before she'd already been in a bed with a guy when he undressed, or in the dark. She'd never had a guy undress, standing right in front of her, without the benefit of darkness or at least subdued lighting.
When his pants came down, she was briefly disappointed, as she remembered Shannon had told her that Peter never wore underwear. In the back of her mind, she'd been hoping Mike didn't either. But at least he had the tight, jockey type on instead of boxers. She loathed boxers. They were so loose, didn't show anything. Now that she thought about it, she doubted any of the guys wore boxers. With those tight band pants, she couldn't see it working. As it was, Mike's underwear just barely kept him contained. She was startled to see that, once Mike was all the way hard, the top of his cock would slip right out of the top band of his underwear to peek around at the world.
Mike knew his nerves were what was causing him not to be completely erect. He was afraid Gretchen might not approve of his body. He was awfully thin, despite his efforts to gain weight. It made him feel self-conscious. He hoped she'd like what was down below, as most girls seemed to, but he found it disconcerting and somehow wrong to remove his underwear just to get her attention on it, and off his thinness. He was no exhibitionist, in any case.
Gretchen saw the ambivalence on his face, sensed his unease, and took his hand to guide him to the bedroom where she could pull the drapes to dim the light. She did just that, walking tall, with her back straight so she wouldn't succumb to the urge to try to hide her breasts. Her breasts were not as large as Shannon's, but they weren't that much smaller either. They were perky, and she'd been told they were a perfect handful. Supposedly, the word was that anything more than a handful was a waste. Michael's appreciative statement about them had boosted her confidence too. She wondered if he were a breast man. If so, he might be disappointed, but she didn't think his good reaction had been forced or insincere.
As Gretchen pulled the drapes closed, blocking out the street lights, she left the bedroom lights out so only the living room lamp afforded a little illumination. Michael loosened up a bit from within. His stomach muscles weren't so damn tight and rigid. It was just that so much was riding on this… he wanted Gretchen to like him in every way, including his naked body. He removed his socks and shoes, then took a deep breath and removed his underwear.
The lowered lighting had done the trick. He was as hard as he'd ever been in his life. Gretchen's eyes widened, much as she tried to hide her reaction. It was impossible not to notice his enormity, his beauty. Her hand, unbidden, flew to her mouth.
For the first time, Michael smiled. It had been a while, but just about every girl he'd taken to bed had had the same reaction. But Gretchen's approval was paramount.
"Oh Michael…" she didn't know what to say. Her mouth wouldn't cooperate.
"Well, I'm from Texas, and you know what they say about it… everything's bigger there," and he smiled again. Gretchen burst out laughing, and the tension was eased. The rest of her clothes came off, and they lay back on the bed together.
They cuddled, happy to be alone together. They were naked, it was quiet, and it was just the two of them.
"This happened… quicker than I thought, by a long shot," said Mike.
"Yes, it was fast for me too, but somehow, with you… I just knew the time was right." It was hard to explain. She had only gone to bed with a man this quickly a few times in her life, and that had been, sadly, after she'd had a little too much to drink, and her inhibitions had gone awry. This crazy age of the sixties, where everything was free love, was instrumental toward encouraging promiscuity. But neither of them had had a drop of alcohol tonight, they were fond of each other, and they fully knew what they were doing.
Mike laid on his back and Gretchen played with his chest hair. Michael felt a rush that ended in his cock. It flexed in impatience. He hoped she hadn't noticed, but the look on her face told him she had.
"I'm eager too," she said, as if talking to his cock, reaching down and stroking it along the top. Michael let out a long, low, "Ahhhhhh." He hadn't really touched her at all yet, except for the kissing, and the brief caressing of her breasts in the living room. And now, naked, the first touch had come from Gretchen. She had just fondled his cock by barely touching it, leaving him panting for more. She was making this easier for him.
Michael sat up, drew her into his lap in the middle of the bed. "You're teasing me, and you know it," his voice took on a low, vibrating murmur. It was sexy as hell. Gretchen turned so they were facing, still in his lap. She wrapped her legs around him. Michael kissed her deeply. So deeply she thought she was going to disappear onto his tongue the way candy melts, slowly and enticingly. And when it's gone, you yearn greedily for another piece.
She would never have half-guessed how passionate he was. He was all over her. Nipping her neck, kissing it, then her collarbone, then back up to her lips again, her cheeks. They did this for no determined length of time. Gretchen was so lost in the sensations he was giving her that time wasn't something that even existed anymore.
His hand was on her belly, sliding down, smooth as liquid, until his finger touched her clit and she tightened up, startled. He teased it dauntlessly with rapid, light strokes. Gretchen was now certain he was quite experienced. He'd gone straight to it, no hesitation and no searching around. He treated it with delicacy, knowing how sensitive it was. As he continued to rub her clit, he leaned forward, his mouth seeking her breasts. His tongue lapped greedily at the tips of her nipples, having almost forgotten how provocative this activity could be.
"Oh!" She held his head, shamelessly pushing her breasts at his mouth. After titillating her this way he felt moisture on his lap and finger. He took a nipple into his mouth and applied suction, taking care to stimulate the tip by pressing it up against the roof of his mouth with his tongue, then rolling it. She got wetter… and wetter… and soon she was begging him for release.
"Come up here, Gretchen, darlin,' he said, coaxing her body upward as he laid back down on his back. He tugged her up until she was sitting on his face, and then he really poured on the pleasure. Gretchen grasped the headboard, woozy with the feel of his tongue bringing her to new heights. Mike couldn't wait for the day when he would look up to see the ecstasy on her face as he did this. It was too early yet, and he kept his eyes closed, but she'd be ready for that kind of intensity soon.
Gretchen let the waves of fierce enjoyment roll over her again and again. His tongue was a tool of unending sensations. Her legs stiffened, she began to tremble, and Mike knew she would soon reach the peak. He picked her up and positioned her over his erection, letting her set the pace. If she didn't come this way, he'd just put a halt to things and settle her back on his face again. In time, they'd learn what felt best for each of them.
Slowly, at a snail's pace, really, Gretchen lowered her body onto his cock. He thought he was going to shoot prematurely a couple of times, but he gritted his teeth and held back. She was wet, but very tight, and he had size, so things didn't mesh right away. That was life. You had to grin and bear it, and he knew that soon, her body would learn to accommodate him. A custom fit.
When he was finally buried in her, he moved slowly in and out, then joyfully bucked a few times, shallowly, watching for any discomfort. She responded instantly, grinding her pubic bone against his. In the next few minutes, he thrust deeper and deeper, until they were completely joined and there was no pain. They found a rhythm, and it wasn't long before Michael grunted softly, "Gretchen, I can't…"
She knew what he meant, and she moved deftly and quickly, trying to climax as closely to his as possible. He drove into her then, fast and hard, afraid he was being maybe a little too vigorous, but it had been so damn long…
After he came in great spurts, he continued to thrust, as he was still mostly hard, and she used him for all he was worth, bringing a grin to his face. She came violently, grabbing his upper arms, gasping, crying out, slipping up and down his cock fluently, at great speed, then gradually slowing, until she had finally worked her fabulous orgasm to a standstill. She finally slumped over on him, and they got their breath back in time.
"Michael, you're wonderful! The only, and I mean the only thing we need to work on is your lack of being vocal," she teased. He smiled.
"No problem. I'd do anything to make you happy, Gretchen."
They were crawling all over him, smothering him. But not a single complaint passed his lips. Davy was in Heaven. It felt better than any girl, or combination of girls, he'd ever been with. Peter's hands all over his torso as if in search of something, Shannon kissing his neck where it made him get goose bumps, Shannon kissing his mouth, then Peter—taking turns.
The stars must have been aligned, because everything was smooth as pudding. They undulated together, like three snakes intertwined. No one had touched any "hot spots" yet, but that made the wait even sweeter.
Suddenly Davy panicked again. He sat bolt upright.
"I'm bloody flippin' out!" He looked pasty white. "Don't get me wrong," he said. "I'm buzzin' for this, really chuffed, but…" Davy tended to revert to some of his Manchester dialect when he was roused and his emotions ran high for any reason, good or bad.
Peter was used to this—Shannon didn't have any idea what those strange words meant. But Davy was clearly flustered, so she imagined he was, yet again, concerned about their activities.
"David, like I told you before, you are the king pin here. You're in charge, and what you say, goes…always," Shannon loved the way Peter expressed how he understood the significance this had for Davy, and respected Davy's wishes completely.
"It could be now, it could be later, it could be never," Peter went on. "But no matter how things go in the end, nothing about our friendship will change."
And then Peter started kissing and licking that spot on Davy's neck that drove him crazy…
Davy had completely lost control of the situation. Peter's kisses, his beard stubble, turned Davy on insanely, as well as tickling him at the same time. Davy giggled. "Knock it off, Shotgun!"
Peter stopped long enough to say, "Shotgun?"
"Well, I thought if I used Mike's nickname for you, it might sound more authoritative."
Peter considered this for a moment, then, "Nope, didn't work," and he promptly resumed stimulating Davy's neck relentlessly…