Milwaukee Vibrator

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2021 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: fpov; cuckold; petting; cabin; party; rom; cons; X

Continues from

There is a great deal of truth in this chapter as well, so much so that I have tamed some parts down, so that the actual participants don't realize it's them in it. I have to tell this part so that part 4 makes sense, and then I intend to tell Ken's Birthday Gift from my point of view too, this the last in the series that I think I want to share. There are some other "scenes" that we got involved in, but I don't exactly know how to tell those without it getting boring. There are also other stories with these characters, but those are almost pure fiction, where these are loosely based on real things that really happened...

...That night in bed I slept like a rock because I was exhausted, both from a very long and exciting day, and an orgasm like no other. One would think I would have had all kinds of dreams that night, and I could easily claim to have, but I just don't remember it that way...

The next morning I got up last and found my way down to the lingering smell of cooked breakfast, the boys both up already and sitting across from each other, talking like nothing unusual had happened last night at all... about "you guessed it," motorcycles. Ken's eyes met my own with a big warm smile, telling me he was genuinely happy to see me, where my own boyfriend's look was just a bit less so, his expression just a bit forced.

... There's something about walking into a room where things are happening, last, for me, that bothers me, I don't know exactly what it is, but I was feeling this that morning. Maybe it was the secret of what happened the night before, and the fear that this embarrassing thing would become known to the others, but I'm not sure to be honest. At least Ken's aunt was apparently back to her usual kind self, even towards my boyfriend, perhaps even she realized that our taunts were just a little over the top cruel the night before.

"I moved your laundry into the dryer, dear" she tells me casually when she sees me by way of a greeting, for which I thank her. If there is special meaning in this for her, I'm not necessarily getting that message. But to be fair, I'm not exactly feeling the least bit confrontational this next morning, or bitchy, or whatever one would call it. The unique messy orgasm that Ken's new bike gave me the night before has me feeling very mellow, more so than what I would ordinarily be so long after a big O. This causes me to think back to the camping trip, and the many orgasms that Ken had pried from my willing, but at times, restrained body. Back then I also think I had a very relaxed and non-bitchy feeling too, but I only realize this now.

"Thank you, I just hate to pack dirty laundry" I lied, "and thank you as well for last night, I don't know that I remembered to do that" I tell her. I of course mean the dinner and drink she and her husband had graciously bought us, and not necessarily for my boyfriend's degrading treatment almost certainly intended to separate us. I didn't clarify this with her though, but there was no good way to do so with my boyfriend in attendance, so perhaps for her this is ambiguous. For my own part I didn't come to his aid a single time, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that this next morning. I likely wouldn't point out her rudeness toward my boyfriend for a host of reasons anyway to be honest, it's their house, and I'm still a guest, although I get the feeling that my net worth has increased in her eyes, after the "date" that Ken and I had the night before. Maybe increased net worth isn't exactly the proper way to say it, maybe I just moved from one tidy little box to another, the one linked more directly and romantically to Ken.

"You're quite welcome dear. What would you like?" she then asks me sweetly. I tell her, realizing that I'm the only one that isn't properly dressed, but the pajamas I had slipped into just before coming down - I slept nude that particular night - aren't the least bit sexy, perhaps even the antithesis of sexy. I make small talk with both of my guys, but I feel Ken looking at me hungrily like I'm wearing Victoria Secret lingerie, all while he's sitting right across from my own boyfriend. He's trying to play it cool with this look of his, but a woman knows when she's being "checked out," this very good for my ego, but perhaps not for my boyfriend's.

This "look" I feel is definitely a new thing between us, but this is also the same "boy" that was now firmly a man in my mind, after taking charge compassionately the night before. He and I also share an embarrassing secret now though, so perhaps he feels at liberty to look at me like this now. I'm not necessarily put off by this hungry look of his, but I do take notice of it, Ken elevating himself in my company, and my boyfriend's, all as I let him, as we let him. As I look back on that moment it seems as if Ken was "staking his claim" as in subtly letting the others in the room, including me, know of his interest. I might even call this cautious aggression, an oxymoron if there ever was one, but that assumes that Ken was cognizant of what he was doing, and I don't think that was the case.

I have also inadvertently told one of these two guys that he was "the best" implying perhaps that the other one wasn't; I remember that part clearly too. My boyfriend had even asked Ken to be just a little more of a jerk with him on the way up here, meaning - to me - to assert his dominance, at least from a today point of view. Upon reflection his apparent brazen assessment of my sleepwear - or more accurately what lies hidden under it - accomplishes this goal, although perhaps unintentionally.

...I realize now that we each had separate ideas, concepts if you will, of how this would all work out between us. My boyfriend wanted to share me again with his best friend because he got off on it, or at least that's how it seemed to me. I didn't necessarily understand this entirely, but I didn't have to. He got off on the submission aspect of all this too, and I had just learned that such submission didn't exclusively include just Ken and I.

I, for my own part, wanted to fool around with charming and "different" Ken because he was different from my boyfriend, and we weren't actually married yet. Ken was big and manly, and could be aggressive with me, binding me experimentally and letting me struggle. It was nirvana for one with my unique fantasies, but safe at the same time, Ken never letting anything really bad happen to me, or even us.

What was Ken after though? I should have worked that all out first, but my boyfriend should have too, to be perfectly honest. Would Ken be happy with a playmate, a "friends with benefits" kind of thing, or would he want more? Was this somewhat innocent fun and games for him as well, or a teasing taste of what he would never fully possess for himself, as in replacing my boyfriend completely?

An old saying occurred to me, but in this modern era it's meaning is just a bit skewed: "Women have sex to get married, and men get married to have sex." It seems to me now that I was, in the context of that old saying, offering theoretical marriage to two guys, but could obviously only marry one of them, setting all three of us up for eventual conflict at some point...

...I don't have time to change, but I do have time to excuse myself to the bathroom and further tame my long hair, thinking Ken's hungry look is related to my actual appearance, and not just his perception of my appearance. I brush out my hair again, it's not in bad shape considering my late shower and damp going to bed hair routine. I then look at my pajamas critically, they made of bulky flannel material that's warm, but also concealing. I even have the shirt part buttoned almost all the way to the top, just the two very top buttons undone, but the buttons do pull around my chest area. Things don't usually come in my size, chest wise, just like my borrowed leather jacket, unless I super size the shirt part and wear it baggy, or buy fitted, but I digress.

I'm not wearing a thing under my sleep clothes though, but I'm also a firm teen, as in no sag at all despite the well endowed nature of my chest. Anybody would be hard pressed to notice my lack of a sleep bra - that I detest - short of feeling me up, or my doing jumping jacks for them, but I have no intention of either. I'm self conscious about my chest anyway, why would I put on that kind of a show, most especially for Ken's parentally aged aunt and uncle?

I then examine my face carefully in the mirror, there is a smirking trace of guilt looking back at me, likely due to all that had happened the night before, but on top of that and drowning it out is a playful mischievousness. I physically look no different - body wise - than the day before, and the day before that even. My guilty face tells a different tale though, it suggests that I have a playful sexy secret to keep. My face is all but screaming it, and everybody in the other room perhaps even sees this too, to include my now sober boyfriend. None are openly commenting on it though, so what does that tell me?

...Is this what our friend Sam noticed himself sometime earlier, meaning that I have actually had this "look" since our last camping trip? Maybe being firmly attached to one guy for so long has even blinded me to another guy's interest, and this new look of mine - this glowing look of playful mischief - is spotlighting my... I don't even exactly know what to call it... open market availability, sexuality?

Is this why Ken's aunt has laid off my boyfriend, because she herself feels "mission accomplished" in her redirection of my affections in regards to her nephew, and his towards me? Or, is this just a brief intermission in her subdued hostilities towards my inconvenient future husband, he in the way of her unstated but obvious goals of shoving Ken and I together romantically?

Ken and I did have one hell of a first alone motorcycle date, so there was that, but who could I possibly tell about it back in the day without it getting back to my future husband, unless of course I shared the details with him first, which I was disinclined at the moment to do anyway? In my teenage mind that was yesterday, and not only embarrassing, but past history! That last thought, if nothing else, is morally convenient, although ethically challenged to be sure. On top of all this I wasn't exactly proud of what I had done - although the case for "permission" beforehand was a strong one - so much so that the term "conflicted" would be an understatement.

I come back out to my plate of eggs, toast, and coffee placed right next to Ken, so at least some things haven't necessarily changed. Ken's aunt then drafted my boyfriend to "help" her get the garbage out, this the least he can do in return for a wonderful breakfast, and a free dinner with drinks and overnight accommodations too. That leaves Ken and I alone for a few moments at least, as each is carrying a bag, and we can then share a few private words. This is all due to her thoughtful manipulation, this woman, in her mind, likely only helping me to further "see the light" in regards to her nephew's desirability, which I have no problem actually seeing for myself.

"How is he?" I whisper so softly that Ken has to lean in to me to hear, likely to read my lips too. I even looked briefly towards my departing boyfriend's back with just my eyes, to make it extra clear who I was talking about. I "have" to put his thoughts first, where they properly belong, but I felt obligated to do so, and it took an entire night of sleeping alone, and actually looking at him face to face in the morning for me to do this. I don't like how guilty this makes me feel, but I played a rather big part in all this "last night" nonsense, so I also own a part of this too. I find myself wanting to forget about the whole episode, put it behind me, but that's not exactly courageous of me either. I don't necessarily get the feeling that he's any the wiser about what happened on that bike, nor earlier while Ken and I parked it and had our make-out session as the sun romantically set, but Ken has no doubt talked to him more than the few words that I have managed to get in so far.

"He's fine; doesn't know a thing" Ken's tone right on the edge of dismissively patronizing though.

"You look REALLY good this morning by the way," the subject of my boyfriend already at the wayside, dismissed with a few simple words, at least from Ken's perspective. He's dominating and steering this conversation, and the message seems clear to my conflicted brain, and also my heart; my boyfriend is irrelevant, at least at that particular moment.

"Thank you" I tell him, the compliment making me smile and blush just a little, or as I've heard others put it, I'm "glowing." I feel the heat in my face, and I can tell that Ken can see this too. Whatever biological thing happened to me the night before hasn't apparently diminished me in his eyes in the least, and he sounds like he wants to keep this secret between us, which is also fine with me bearing in mind the embarrassing nature of it.

...I, at the same time, don't know how sharing this with my boyfriend can make anything better. I can't imagine it coming out as sounding like anything but a confession, and one only confesses something if they're guilty of something. Someplace in there too is the confession itself, it always delivered to one in authority over you, as in your parents, or a teacher, or even your Priest. My boyfriend is neither, and his net worth has even slipped with me as of late; his having to be put to bed by Ken like a little child perhaps driving this further home, as did Ken's aunt's degrading treatment of him. I know this isn't necessarily fair of me, but it's just how I was feeling at that point in time.

At the same time Ken's just so commanding, and exciting, and even desirable to me, and I feel his aggressive interest too, mind and body. Muddying the proverbial waters on all this though is my boyfriend's suggestion of us, meaning Ken and I, going on a for-real date with each other, as still another lost bet condition. He has even suggested several good ways for us to get rid of him so that our date can be a more private one, without our families even being the wiser. So, the only real problem here is the actual timeline, and my growing perception of him as being less than my equal, and way less than Ken's. Again, this isn't fair, but it's real.

We had "spontaneously" made love already, Ken and I, on that camping trip, and then the next day we had much more deliberately made love again, several times, passionately kinky just us two alone love too. There were a lot of firsts on that camping trip, and I think this was the start of my seeing my future husband in this new and unflattering light. The very first time in my life that any man had made love to me bare and without a condom, skin on skin, it had been Ken, and not my boyfriend. And shortly after that, after watching us go at it, and after Ken had delivered my first ever manly deposit, my boyfriend submissively ate me clean, all at his insistence. This was also a first, but I would be lying if I said that part wasn't just awesome. And then that next day, and Ken's creative ordeal that got rid of my boyfriend for hours, the one that really let me see my boyfriend submit to Ken in a meaningful naked way, his thin and nearly hairless body looking almost effeminate in comparison to Ken's manly one. And then his wearing of my panties - although I hadn't actually seen that for myself - it was a lot to process all at once, but sufficient to say that Ken most definitely came out on top...

"You know, a real jerk would swoop right in here and steal a kiss, while we're alone for a few seconds," I startled by his soft conspiratorial words, and I realize that I've been daydreaming, assessing both guys in my mind, and one of them coming up short still again. Ken's softly asking permission again as well, although in this risky environment I can't say that I blame him this time. It's scandalous and crazy to even think about doing this right now, my boyfriend likely to walk back in at any second and "catch" us red handed in the act, but this adds something exciting to this "proposal" rather than taking something away.

I turn in my seat more fully to face him, we're already sitting very close, but this makes his offered kiss easier, my lips somehow more accessible, telling him I'm fully on board for this. I therefore further invite this risky act with my willing body language alone. I haven't actually really kissed my own boyfriend in days, and in comparison, Ken and I have had two alone quasi make-out sessions in the last twelve hours, AND he's about to kiss me still again, with the threat of my boyfriend walking in on us at any second and catching us. "What would he do if he caught us anyway?" I thought, other than being deeply embarrassed in front of Ken's aunt, or perhaps even horned up. He could always get either angry, or hurt, or even pretend that he didn't see us, really he was open to almost any human emotion under the sun at that point, this thing of ours still new, and therefore not clearly defined, the rules unknown.

It's hard to explain this next part, but I've been almost instantly redirected towards manly and adult feeling Ken. I've heard this called "tunnel vision" the single focus on something so acute that nothing else around you matters. For me, there's just nobody else in the entire universe besides Ken and I at that particular moment, Ken reaching towards me with his hands just under each of my raised arms, my left at least still resting somewhat on the high table top, as if to eat my cooling breakfast. He pulls me into him with his spread fingers on my upper rib cage, I feel each digit individually as it finds its corresponding place between each of my ribs there, his thumbs lightly grazing the sides of my boobs through my heavy sleepshirt. Still, he can feel the heat of what lay beneath, because I can clearly feel his. He and I then exchange a serious long peck on the lips, but I taste his second cup of coffee there anyway, Ken still an excellent kisser. He withdraws his hands from my upper flanks, his thumbs and fingers raking the sides of my boobs intentionally, and intrusively. He's laying a subtle claim to what lies beneath, but more importantly, I'm letting him. He ends by dragging his fingertips past my buds, and they're erect and hard now, and he can't help but to notice this either.

"You're a Jerk!" I tell him softly with a smile, but I might as well have told him "I love you!" instead, it's just the way the words sounded when they came out.

I look around conspiratorially, but only after the deed was done, wondering if we'd been caught. At that moment, in my tunnel vision, I was going to kiss Ken pretty much no matter what anyway, but it was obviously better in the end not to have been caught. I feel my erect buds rubbing on the inside of my sleepshirt now, Ken's touch and kiss obviously exciting me sexually, right here in his relatives nice kitchen under serious threat of discovery.

As it turns out we didn't have to rush at all, Ken's aunt kept my boyfriend outside to see the late fall garden, and then even to run a rake between the rows for her. I therefore had all the time in the world to finish my cooling breakfast, all while Ken and I talked in private, and even get my things from the dryer and head for the nice upstairs shower before they ever came back. I thought playfully of baiting Ken up to the shower with me on a pretense, then maybe flashing him some flesh, or even stripping completely for him if we were still alone, just to playfully shock him while saying thank you again for everything he had done the night before. In the end I thought we had pushed our luck far enough for one day though, but the thought of me actually doing something brash like that was profound all the same. The mere fact that I had thought about it was a major hurdle to cross in this adventure of ours. Camping, from my perspective, had been spontaneous, where this most certainly wasn't, or wouldn't have been if I had actually followed through...

I did find out a little later that morning that Ken and his uncle had come to an agreement on the price of the bike, and I would also find out that this included the original and far more comfortable factory passenger seat, which his uncle had saved. He saved everything, the owner's manual, the original sales agreement between him and the local Harley dealer, bills for everything, tires, repairs, ect... It's just the way people were of that generation, but to me was still pretty cool, almost like Ken had actually bought a brand new twenty year old motorcycle.

...Ken paid absolute top dollar for that bike, in hard earned saved teenaged cash, but it was also perfect in every way, and I think he was also mindful of being gifted his pickup truck too, making both together an almost bargain; one given, and the other actually fully paid for. Ken's uncle didn't need the money though, but who were we to even think like that? Such thoughts weren't in keeping with the way we were raised either. It was only twenty plus years later that Ken would find out that his uncle had made a series of rather wise investments with Ken's bike cash, the stocks in question managed by him and given to Ken by his uncle much later in Ken's life. Ken would be set for life, but much later in life though, as a last surprise gift by his uncle, as was the title to the little cabin that he always loved...

The only other noteworthy thing that happened that morning occurred after the guys had gotten the heavy bike into the back of Ken's pickup truck, there being stainless steel boat cleats bolted into the floor at each corner to tie the bike down, this feature a leftover from the days when Ken's uncle had owned the truck himself, and used it to take the bike someplace he didn't want to ride it. The kinky part of my mind went in a predictable direction when I saw those cleats, wondering at what else could be held tight between them, in an almost "farmer boys from Crestmount" kind of way, should Ken still be willing.

Ken did have four equal length pieces of heavy rope with him behind his seat in the cab, they used by me to tether my lost bet boyfriend between the trees while Ken and I "got after it" on the picnic table, the presence of that particular rope causing all of us to share, what I had hoped, was a private look between us over the irony. The rope was practical though, it wouldn't scratch the bike's perfect chrome hard parts, and it was well strong enough - with proper knots tied - to easily hold it firm. There was a clever trick to tying the bike fast, we had to first push down on the bike to load the suspension, and then tie it tight, the bike springing back up when we let go and simply not going anywhere once it did that.

"If those cleats and that rope could hold a five hundred pound motorcycle, what else could they also hold immobile in the back of that long truck bed?" I wondered to myself, the possibilities were endless.

On the ride back home neither Ken, nor I, brought up either our awkward dinner, or our sexy extended test ride, both eventually humiliating, but for different reasons. I thought a lot about the make out sessions with Ken, and even how I had told him I thought he was the best, but he was playing it cool on both, and my boyfriend seemed almost devoid of any natural curiosity on the entire issue. "Was he confident that nothing happened despite the circumstantial evidence to the contrary, or just not wanting to know the actual details, once permission had again been established?" I wondered in my mind. These of course were contradictory thoughts, but such was the nature of our teenage logic, most especially when off the charts passion was added to the mix.

It sounds terrible, but the further away from the actual event that I got, both in time, and distance, the easier it got to not fess up and speak about it. If he directly asked me I would surely tell him, but that simply never happened...

That fall turned into winter far too quickly, the guys not really enjoying their bikes all that much before putting them up for the winter, but that brought new years eve, and a party that opened a few sets of eyes. Hubby was the designated driver - he usually was - we therefore all in his car, "we all" consisted of Ken and I, Sam, and Sam's older brother, with my boyfriend making a total of five in his car. The party was at an older friend's rented house, he really more of a friend to Sam than us, but still a good guy. The place was big, but these guys and girls had gotten together to rent it, each with a room of their own and a common kitchen to share, all well beyond the reach of any one of the twenty something year olds all on their own. There was a real bar in the basement though, and even a pool table, but the party got very wild, as in by midnight and the ball drop we five had all collectively decided that we didn't want to be there any longer...

But, I'm skipping ahead...

So anyway, by the time midnight was close... think the movie Animal House, with John Belushi, and D-day on his bike inside the house in that movie. Our friend who invited us is a Harley guy too now, but it's winter time, so his bike, you guessed it, is parked in his downstairs bedroom. The bike is almost brand new, and he actually starts it up in the house, and revs it up a few times when one of his other buddies asks him how it sounds with his new exhaust. This pretty much means open pipes with no mufflers, and as loud as that sounds, it was way louder than that inside his rented house, loud party or not.

Our friend's name isn't John - and John wasn't riding the bike in that movie anyway - but we might as well call him this for the purposes of this story. Anyway "John" is sitting on his bike wearing a ripped, open flannel shirt, and his muscular chest and arms look magnificent like this, as do his recent tattoos, but I digress... Anyway, he also has on his work boots and blue jeans, and somehow in his mind it's suddenly a good idea to put that thing in first gear - with a clunk that I instantly recognize over the noise of the exhaust - and head for the double front doors at the front of the house. One of his buddies opens the doors as we all watch; our, or should I say "my" thoughts that I can't be seeing what I am!

He's out the doors and down the three steps leading from the house, and we then hear that impossibly loud bike going up and down the street in front of the house, bearing in mind that it's like twenty degrees Fahrenheit and just starting to snow! He then parks it under a pine tree to keep it out of the snow, but by then we just want to be out of there before the cops show up.

At the very same time Ken was very drunk, like we had never seen him before, but we had his back as he had been dumped by still another short term girlfriend, and this opportunity for him to drink seemed like the proverbial perfect storm. He even told us his intentions ahead of time, and he didn't have to drive anyway, so that part was good. But, our original plan had been to sleep it off there in our sleeping bags and go home in the morning, at least until the party got so wild.

Self preservation demanded we leave though, we had a friend or two there, but "John" who invited us was quite drunk himself as well, and most of these other guys were invited by the other house members, which means we didn't actually know them. They seemed nice enough and all that, but I was at the same time one of only a few girls there...

...It was only some time later that I realized the parallels between my abducted biker clubhouse fantasy, and this place, the latter even having a bar, and a pool table. John was even a biker kind of guy, but he was way more like an older brother or cousin to me, and not really sexually interesting, although I will admit that he had one hell of a hard body, he a very blue collar kind of guy and "hard" from his daily labors to make it on his own. It was hard not to respect that aspect of his life, as he was very much on his own, and had been since his middle teens. His tattoos were wild too, and an obvious part of his rebellion, as were his living conditions.

Not that this was a hostile environment, but if the guys there, who were also drinking and getting wilder by the minute, managed to get my boyfriend, Sam, and Sam's brother drunk enough, or distracted enough, I could see my biker inspired gang rape in a clubhouse bar potentially coming to fruition. It was a fantasy though, and not something I ever wanted in the real world for very obvious reasons. Perhaps my boyfriend sensed this potential peril too, because he never was more than about six feet away from me the whole night, even when I used the bathroom...

So anyway, self preservation finally tells us it's time to leave, but Ken has started dry heaving, so we borrow a big pot from the kitchen and slip out. My boyfriend is driving, and Sam and his brother are stuffed into the front seat with him, leaving me and a very drunk Ken, and his big pot of soon to be puke, in the back seat. When that started happening the smell was just terrible, it was winter and cold, so no open windows on that trip either.

We're going to Sam parent's place, he and his brother share the bottom floor of their house, and they're very cool parents so we can all sleep there, no questions asked, nice and safe and sound. They even have a separate entrance for their apartment-like bottom floor rooms, and I'm envious of what they have. It's only later on that I realize that the cost of all this apparent freedom is that the boys have had to pretty much raise themselves, but again, that's a different story...

...So anyway, Ken is in back with me, and I catch hubby's eyes in the rearview mirror watching what's happening, not out of any jealousy, but more concern for his friend who sounds like he's dying! Sam and Sam's brother are turned in their seats and watching as well; it was a bench seat kind of car. They're watching Ken be sick too, because it's the primary action going on in the car, and they likely couldn't help but to look; like staring at a car the cops have pulled over when you drive by on the highway, you just can't help it. Speaking of cops, it's right after midnight on new year's day morning, and you would think we would have been pulled over several times for sobriety tests on the way to Sam's, which was a fairly long ride. But, we didn't see any cops, or hardly even any other drivers, and it seemed odd to all of us at the time, but it was snowing too.

I'm taking care of Ken in an almost motherly way in the back seat, and he tells me between heaves that he loves me, but in more of a drunken "I love you guys!" kind of way. I tell him that I love him too, but my tone is almost dismissive. Ken is as helpless as a baby at that moment, but we're watching out for him, as we should. I realized later on that when things looked like they could get less than secure at the party, my boyfriend had MY back, he never more than like six feet away from me the whole night. Ken not so much, but in all fairness he had told us ahead of time that his plan was to get good and hammered, which he did...

Ken has his hands all over me, not really feeling me up, he's too drunk for that, but to the guys in the front seats it surely must look like this. It also looks like I'm letting him, but I'm busy trying to keep his puke in the pot, and not hurl myself as the smell is just awful. He's babbling too, saying things that I just wish he wouldn't, Sam and his brother paying attention. He doesn't come right out and say I give great head, or that I'm a good lay or anything like that, but his babbling words are going in that general direction. I shrug my shoulders towards the two brothers, as in "I have no idea what he's saying" but the damage is already done.

We get to Sam's place, quietly sneak in, and sleep it off, I staying protectively close to Ken in my own bag on the floor to keep him from choking during the night, but the brothers know something's up between us three. Sam I think had this partially figured out already, and we three still remained friends, but not quite so close of friends from then on. I don't know if he felt left out of the party so to speak, or what it exactly was, but it wasn't like I was interested in doing something with Sam too, or even his brother. Neither one clicked for me like that, and I wasn't interested in becoming the easiest lay in the county either; other girls had that already sewn up.

Simply put, Ken was special to me, but so was my boyfriend. But, of the two, one had my back, even when I may not have realized that I needed him there. This kind of thing happened several times to us, odd if one thought about it, as the one who consistently had my back for security and safety issues was the more submissive of the three of us, convincing me that labels like submissive and dominant can be an oversimplification of some very complex characteristics...

But springtime and a very wild motorcycle adventure were right around the corner...


To be continued...

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