Two’s company, three’s a wow.

On the face of it, my wife and I don’t appear too much alike.  She’s in her twenties, I’m twice her age.  She’s a blithe and sunny spirit, I’m all too prone to instrospection and gloom.  She’s Asian and trilingual, I’m caucasian and still learning my one and only language, English.  In fact the only thing we have in common besides our Capricorn star sign, whatever that means, and our devotion to each other and our daughter, is our love not to say lust for women.

Because my wife, God bless her, is bisexual.  And so our relationship is based not just on the proverbial attraction of opposites, but an alliance – an unholy alliance, if that’s how it strikes you – of apposites. It’s a great feeling of togetherness to spot an attractive female and, instead of having to hide my interest from my wife, to be able to come right out and share it with her.  And she feels the same way, to judge by how often she digs me in the ribs and points out a pair of great tits or a fabulous ass.  I also find it very exciting to be able to wonder when she’s out somewhere not who she’s with or what she may be up to, but what sexy story or convivial companion she might possibly bring home.  Just as she wonders the same when I’m out and about, and often urges me to go out on dates with interesting women I meet in case they prove hot prospects for both of us.   

I had no inkling of all this when we met.  Though neither of us was really looking around at the time, it was love or at least enthusiastic liking at first sight.  Vision being the only sense we had going for us in Hard Rock Café Kuala Lumpur, as the music there was so deafening that we never even caught each others’ names.  It wasn’t until much later, when we’d been living together for several idyllic weeks in a relationship that seemed absolutely perfect and complete, that she was to reveal its magic extra ingredient.

Strolling back toward my office one day in a shopping mall where we’d met for lunch, we saw ahead of us what appeared to be a sensational-looking woman.  I say “appeared to be” because we never saw her face.  Just the rear view of a shapely, hip-swinging sensation in a slinky black lace dress.  I don’t recall who spoke first or said what, but I’ll never forget my wife’s next words and how my heart leapt and my cock stirred when she said them:  “Ooh”, she said, “I’d love to see you fuck her”.

She didn’t get what she wanted that day, I’m sorry to say.  But if not then and not ever with the beauty in black lace, she’s had her wish and her way with a good many others since.  We both have.  With every woman we’ve met since then who’s been willing to join us in our quest for the ultimate threesome.

It’s been quite a trip, or perhaps more a voyage of discovery.  For me, for example, it’s been an adventure in, of all things, monogamy.  Not that I’d previously been a totally dedicated Don Juan.  Just that, however faithful to the concept of fidelity I’d always been determined to remain in previous marriages and romances, I eventually reached the point where juan just wasn’t enough.  But I’ve never had the slightest inclination to cheat on my present wife.  Not, I fancy, so much because I’ve changed, but because I get to cheat with her.  And sex without her seems a very flat proposition indeed compared with our three-dimensional version.  Either between just the two of us as of course it usually is, triply eroticised by our memories, dreams and fantasies, or with a second woman.  In other words, one of the greatest joys of our staying together is straying together.

Not that it’s been without its hitches.  The first woman we found for a threesome, a Bangkok bargirl named An, seemed unable to grasp the concept of three-way sex beyond the fact of the extra fee.  She was there, to be sure, in body, but you could hardly say she participated.  And whenever the action or her patience flagged she’d ask not both of us but just me, “You fuck me now?”  As if I could be bothered.

In fact we found the experience so dispiriting that, on our next and last night in Bangkok, our hearts weren’t really in looking.  But we made the rounds of  Patpong Road anyway, and thank goodness we did.  Because the moment we walked in the door of what we’d agreed would be the last establishment we’d try, one of the girls dancing on stage, a very sexy little number indeed, flashed us a dazzling smile of what seemed almost like recognition, and urgently beckoned us to wait for her at the bar.  Thip turned-out to be either heavily into ladies, or an actress deserving of an Oscar.  In the short-time hotel she took us to she was friendly enough with me, but with my wife she was something else.  She treated her like a princess.  Or perhaps more like a banquet fit for a princess, as she hungrily feasted on her pussy for the whole hour we’d hired her for.  It was a wonder to watch, so that’s mostly what I contented myself with.  As Thip, her tiny firm bottom in the air and her mouth between my wife’s legs, kissed, licked, nibbled, and sucked her from one series of ecstatic cries to another.  Until eventually, almost crazy with pleasure at the sight of it all, I rolled a condom onto my cock, knelt up behind the small nuzzling,  slurping girl and slid into her.  Pounding in and out until I came, all the while looking into my wife’s eyes, it felt like fucking her for the very first time, not just with a penis, but a person.

Afterwards the three of us cuddled and kissed in the room, in the street and back in the club, as even Thip seemed excited by the experience and eager to exhibit her elation to the other girls.  She was terribly disappointed when she asked if we’d come back next night and we had to tell her were were flying out next morning, and so were we.  She jotted down her name and address for us, and a week or so later we wrote her a letter.  But she never ever responded.

Since then we’ve tried making it with dozens of women, and succeeded with quite a few.  Next after Thip was a doe-eyed Indonesian girl we spotted in a bar in Jakarta’s Blok M and shared three nights in a row.  But that didn’t end so happily, as my wife became jealous because she felt I concentrated too much on our playmate.  Who later took it into her head to turn serious and wrote us asking whether, as long as we were now “family”, would we like to contribute to the cost of her sister’s forthcoming wedding.

Then there was the 19-year-old student, another testament to my wife’s particular predilection for slim yet succulent females.  She was a real sweetheart, and quite a buddy to us both.  She was also a virgin and took a great deal of getting into bed.  And when the night did arrive, and on all the others that followed, she’d only consent to stripping off topless, leaving her jeans on and firmly buttoned.  But she and my wife came just by kissing each others’ mouths and breasts, and under my wife’s tuition she came to love stroking and sucking my cock.  Again there were bouts of jealousy at times, as my wife convinced herself that our pupil and I were too much in love with each other.  Actually we were both more in love with her, though maybe we failed to show it enough.  And in any event it finally became academic, as the time arrived, as we’d always known it would, for our small friend and lover to travel overseas to university.

Months later we ventured to Thailand again, this time to Patong.  At one of the bars there we asked the delightful forty-something American woman who managed it which of her girls might be good for us.  She went off and had a word to a few, one of whom, a gorgeous creature with a most off-puttingly haughty manner, approached us and offered herself for an outrageously inflated fee.  Thanks but no thanks, we told her, and spent the rest of the evening just hanging-out and catching the scene.  Back at the hotel my wife commented that in her opinion, despite all the competition from the countless half-naked nubiles on offer, the manager had been the most sensual woman in the bar.

So next night we went back and I told her so.  She laughed out loud and said something self-effacingly dismissive.  But then I took her aside and told her we were in earnest, and invited her to come back to our hotel with us after she closed the bar.  “Really”, she exclaimed, “you’re serious?  I’d love to!”  Then went on to explain she’d have to bring her boyfriend, but that he mainly got off on watching.

What a top night that turned out to be.  The American lady and my wife got acquainted by sharing a shower, then made love for hours.  I looked on for a while with the boyfriend, a most pleasant and friendly guy, then he and I took ourselves out on the balcony to talk and smoke while the girls kept right on at it.  Finally they got tired and the sun came up, so we all got dressed and went down and had breakfast.

When this couple came to stay with us a few weeks later, it all just got better and better.  The ladies literally ate each other up, and my wife, who isn’t really attracted to most men, felt comfortable enough with the boyfriend to enjoy his licking her pussy.  I felt quite inhibited with the American lady, though, because I didn’t want to offend by going further with her than her guy did with my wife, and nor did I want to flaunt my erection or what I could do with it when he never seemed to have one.  But when he had to leave a day early to go somewhere on business, leaving the lady behind in our care and our clutches, all feelings of restraint went out the window.  She’d earlier confided to my wife that she was dying for a thick, hard cock, and I delighted in treating her to mine.  I gave it to her to suck on, and she greedily gobbled it for ages as my wife looked on and occasionally took her turn.  Then I slid it into her and my wife one after the other, over and over, as they lay on top of each other kissing and rubbing their breasts and pubes together.  And eventually fucked her doggy style, my cock in her cunt and my thumb up her ass as she ate my wife all over again.

In short, we all had an absolute ball.  I’d never seen my wife enjoy herself so much since Thip made a meal of her in Bangkok.  She really got off on humping our lady friend like a man, and I loved lying back watching them go at it and taking a lot of polaroids of them. And I know the other woman loved it, because she showed it in a way I’d never seen.  Every time she climaxed, she didn’t just pour out her juices, she actually spurted.

She was the high point so far in our search, and if we’d stayed in Asia could well have been the perfect mate we’re still searching for. Because, as hard as we’ve looked in Australia, we haven’t found anybody we’re as totally in tune with.  Though at times we’ve thought we were close.  The first near-miss was a woman my wife found through a bi contact group.  They met, they talked, they made love one night in her apartment after her husband went to sleep.  My wife thought she was marvellous, with lovely breasts and the prettiest pussy she’d ever seen.  The only trouble was that, as her husband worked long hours and she had no children, she had too much time on her hands.  Nor did she want me involved.  She started demanding more and more of my wife’s time and attention, then became jealous of me and our daughter. 

Next attempt we made to find a hot-to-trot third party was at a swingers’ club.  At three swingers’ clubs, in fact, which is how many we had to try before we found one that wasn’t mostly a bunch of solo guys sitting around in their towels waiting for the one or two women on hand to service them.  Third time lucky was a jolly, most likeable and very fat lady who said she was happy to be the “passive” in a threesome.  Even though word quickly got around and just about everyone in the club that night crowded around and watched us, it really wasn’t too bad. 

Which is more than I can say for our attempts to net prospective partners on the web.  Or what I like to think of as locating an AC or a DC on the PC.  At first we convinced ourselves it was virtually sure-fire.  Lots of sites just loaded with ladies all swearing they were there for the taking.  So we registered our details, looked-up all the likely candidates and sent off sexy emails. Dozens and dozens of them.  And we got quite a few replies.  Email replies, that is, many of them oozing enthusiasm and accompanied by lurid pictures.  But nobody we clicked with by email seemed at all eager to take the crucial step of phoning to arrange a meeting.  Finally we hit on one with whom we succeeded in making a date via email, but when my wife went to the appointed coffee shop the advertised “bi girl seeking a couple” turned out to be a guy.  Which finally made sense of all the reticence concerning phone calls.  They must all have been men either presuming to speak for their partners or outright masquerading as women.

“What about real life”, I hear you ask, “what about just getting to know some girls and simply popping the question?”  Don’t think we haven’t tried it.  With everyone from friends and colleagues to total strangers in meat-market bars.  We asked one very attractive woman we’ve been close to for ages and she said “no thanks”, which was a bit of a downer at the time, but doesn’t appear to have marred the friendship.  Another woman we saw lots of socially but had never really been attracted to, on hearing we were looking form a trio, actually phoned and volunteered herself and said she’d be around in half an hour.  She turned up alright, and all seemed to go quite swimmingly, but, whether out of regret or embarassment or both, she’s hardly spoken to us since.  We also continually conceive hopeless longings for women that we either see and never actually get to meet, and for others who for some reason we consider too socially risky to approach.  People like our daughter’s delightful and delectable former piano instructor, for example, or one of her preschool teachers we both secretly drooled over, or most recently the exotic and voluptuous but self-declared prudish childhood school friend with whom my wife recently resumed contact after discovering she was now living not just in this country, but in the next suburb.  We did venture out of the safety zone this February to send a Valentine to a woman in Malaysia we’ve both had a crush on for years, and she responded warmly enough. But I fancy her reply signified nothing more than her customary platonic affection, as ever since then she’s kept our email intercourse strictly light and chatty.

But we’re nowhere near giving up.  Having found her before in two or three guises, we still believe Ms. Right is out there somewhere, and we could conceivably meet her tomorrow.  Meanwhile we have a terrific twosome.  And quite frankly, aside from the relatively minor matter of variety’s sometimes possibly spicing-up one’s sex-life, I can take other women or leave them.  My wife is really all the woman any husband could ever need.  And I have the impression that I’m all the man she needs, or at least that she happens to want.  But she also needs a woman, the sex and soul and softness of a woman, and I’m delighted that she wants to include me in the quest for the one of her dreams.

Just who is this dream-girl likely to be when she shows up?  Take your choice.  She might be a sultry little slut spoiling for thrills.  An apparently uptight matron secretly itching for a no-strings fling.  A sex-slave who’s realised she can double her fun by serving a master and a mistress both.  A client who books us to shoot her portrait and, what with all those exposures and f-stops, sheds first her camera-shyness then her clothes and eventually develops the urge to proceed to totally pornographic.  Almost any girl, for that matter, who’s willing to open her mind, spread her legs and go both ways is made-to-order for creating a threesome.  But the ultimate arrangement, to my mind and I think my wife’s, is a menage a trois.  Which, “menage” being the French for “household”, implies a somewhat cosier and longer-term situation.  More of a love affair or even a kind of marriage than purely physical fun and games.  Calling for the extra woman to be not only unusually adventurous and versatile, but convivial and compatible company for us both as well.  Plus of course smart enough to perceive what my wife and I long ago discovered.  That while two may be well be company, it can never be more than a single solitary couple. Whereas three can be either a wow of a crowd, or a fascinating mix of  - count all the possible permuations for yourself - three couples.