{{{before this begins, allow me to state that I am only posting this on the suggestion of a friend. I would not normally detail such exploits in this type of forum}}}
Allow me to tell you this lovely tale, as a side note to the efforts of my roommate, Jeremy.
Between my 18th and 20th birthdays, I was quite the adventurous individual. One of the regular adventures I experienced was a monthly game of Truth or Dare with about 20 of what I thought were my closest friends.
Anyway, one of my favorite questions from those games mysteriously came to be very true in my day-to-day life. The question posed to me was this: If your sex life could be described as a car, what car would it be and why?
My answer to this question was the Plymouth Prowler. Not because it is a limited edition that everyone wanted to have at one point in time. Not because it is powerful. Not because it has a style to it that was all the craze. Not because it was worth every ounce of work to get one. No, my reasoning was simple:
How many times in a year does the average person SEE a Plymouth Prowler?
Well, with that thought in mind, my sex life became compared to a Plymouth Prowler . . . rare. Encountering one was few and far between, but it was wonderful when it happened.
Now, it seems that this comparison has gone the extra step, as it seems that every time I may actually add a new experience to my sex life, I will see a Plymouth Prowler on the road. If I didn't see it the day before the "event," I would see it immediately after.
Since the end of this most recent relationship, the population of Plymouth Prowler drivers has remained at an all-time drought. That is up until a few nights ago . . .
I had always worked under the assumption that one of my co-workers was a lesbian, and as such I made no move for her. She is beautiful, without question, but I was under the assumption that she had no taste for me, so I didn't offer her one.
A few nights ago, however, after this co-worker and her girlfriend had re-united from a breakup, they invited me to their house after work.
It was here that I learned a few very important details about their relationship:
1) They were bisexual (like myself) and not purely lesbian.
2) part of their reconciliation was the adoption of an Open Relationship . . . meaning that, as long as each is honest with the other about their sexual exploits, automatic permission is granted for those activities.
3) As a means of assuring that the both of them would be accepting to this idea of an open relationship, they decided to test it by having a threesome . . . and they just so happened to bring home a co-worker named Kolvirian.
We talked. We talked a few times. Then we switched positions and talked again. Then they traded and one of them talked to my upper half while the other talked to my lower half.
We got up and talked in the kitchen a few times, too. And then we talked in the shower, although that was a dangerous conversation (it's amazing how a conversation in the shower can lead to slipping and pulling towel racks out of the wall. Apparently, they aren't meant to be hand rails. Go figure).
We had one last talk out in the living room before they brought me home, and I slept the soundest I have slept in the last month.
