The Question of a Third
Date: 03.02.2010
Keywords: Question, The, Third, of, a,
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Like the protagonist in whatever book, I could see the immensity of the question pass through Hayley's face within the couple of moments it took for her to lean her head slightly and run a hand through hair, pulling it back over her shoulder. Eric wouldn't have understood the context, but I knew what she was thinking, and she replied with a light, but enthusiastic, "Sure. That would be fun."
We decided that Eric should follow us in his Rodeo. We could fit his stuff in our van, but we didn't want to leave his car at the mall or drive back to the house to leave it there. Plus, he would be happy to head out to points undecided from the mountains just as well as from any other place. During the ride to the gas station, we had a couple of minutes to reassure each other that this was okay. If anything, it gave a premise that would fuel our sex the next time we imagined a threesome. As I filled the van with gas, Eric asked if Hayley could ride with him so they could catch up on things, which was fine.
When we were about an hour from the camp, Hayley rejoined me in the van, telling me what they had talked about. They had covered a lot of the same stuff as we did at the restaurant, but with more detail. I ventured a jest, "Did he make a move on you?"
"Ha Ha. No. But he did have the courtesy to say how nice my new top looks, which is more than you've done!"
I looked and was immediately convicted. I really hadn't noticed. It was a V-neck sleeveless shirt, tight in all the right places, including across Hayley's 40D chest. The shirt must have included some support structure, because on closer observation, she wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts were slightly higher than their natural position. She had obviously purchased it with me in mind, knowing that I'm particularly fond of her breasts. I made a mental note to thank Denise for her input at a later time. "What else did you buy?"
"You'll just have to wait to later," She added in a teasing voice. "He also went into a short history of his girlfriends. They apparently met someone slightly better than him and leave him to marry the other guy within a couple of months. He said it sort of started with me, which surprised me. We never dated, but he said he had decided he wanted to just as you and I started going out, but he never got the chance afterwards. Don't look at me like that. I said he didn't come on to me. It was just a part of his sad saga. He's been without a steady girlfriend for two years, and he hasn't had a date in months. He works in a small town, too."
Hayley stopped speaking, and the sound of the road noise was the backdrop to what I'm sure were duplicate thoughts running through our heads.
"So, what do we do, Steven?"
The discussion that followed was actually painful. I had to give more attention to the road as we were entering the mountains, and I couldn't do a thing about the stiff shaft in my pants other than give it an idle rub as we discussed "the question." And we discussed it the same way we had done in bed, only this time, there was no touching. For me, anyway. Hayley had pulled down her shorts and panties (hardly, it was a black g-string. She had apparently prepared her wardrobe specifically for a sexy weekend with just me), and brought herself to orgasm, which was no small distraction as I was driving.
Then the post-climax (for her) nuisance questions returned. "What if, what if, what if."
After Hayley "put herself back together," the process of which left several wet napkins on the floor of the van, we just agreed to just let it play out. If we both wanted it, it might happen if Eric was willing. If either of us didn't, then it wouldn't.
We paid the park fee, then drove to parking area at the far end of most of the main loop road, well beyond the frequented park facilities and recreational areas. We unloaded our van, packed lightly for the hike to our secret spot, approximately a mile down a faint path, then a half mile off of that, where we there was an excellent chance of privacy.
Then we did it again, to carry the cooler, table and chairs. Had it been just the two of us, we would have made it in one trip. The "campsite" was a clearing adjacent to a stream on a high bank. The stream had attracted us on the map during our first scouting visit, hoping for a private place to skinny-dip, one of those often considered fantasies that had proved to be difficult to carry out. Well, we had carried it out. The water was very cold, but there was a pool of water several feet deep, with large boulders on one side which were perfect to sit or lay on.
The clearing was rather modest, and the quaintness of our previous visit was replaced by a more suburban feel as Eric's tent had to be positioned such that his door flap opened facing toward the side of our tent, within several feet. His tent was considerably larger than our tent, which had chosen for it's lightweight and easy portability. Just the proximity of Eric's tent made the prospects of Hayley and I screwing like bunnies pretty dim, as the sound would carry easily.
After everyone was situated, the afternoon carried on, recalling our lives in recent years as well as the times we had shared together in college. We could have drank more beer, but we wanted to save the other half for Saturday.
As night fell, we faced a problem. The Park prohibited fires outside of the designated camping areas, and the fluorescent light we brought was attracting unknown species of flying bugs. We had to move indoors, and only Eric's tent would fit us, as our dome shaped tent was suitable only for two.
Even in Eric's tent, which had significantly more headroom, the space was crowded. We brought the fluorescent light in as well, which had been a timely buy when we read an article about a family dying from carbon monoxide exposure from a propane light inside a tent.
Eric began moving his backpack out of the tent to clear more room. As he shuffled his bag, a paperback fell from it, which he didn't notice. Hayley picked it up. "Penthouse Letters - V". It appeared to be a collection of sex stories that had been published in Penthouse magazines, categorized by types - Exhibitionism, Serendipity, Domination, Threesomes. Aha. Threesomes.
Eric was commenting from outside. "I've got some cards in here somewhere. We can play something while we talk."
He reentered the tent, and Hayley held up the book so that he could see it. "Why bother playing? I'll bet there's a story in here about strip poker." Neither Eric nor I laughed. In any other setting, it would have been funny as hell. But the close confines of the tent, the presence of a "bed" as such, the familiarity between us and the show of cleavage from Hayley, made the thought of it very much within reach. Strip poker just didn't happen in real life, just like threesomes. It was the stuff of stories.
Eric was a bit embarrassed about his book, and continued to be so for several minutes as Hayley read the titles to the stories on the pages that were clearly Eric's favorites - the pages were dog-eared. "My Wife - the Sex Slave I Always Wanted," "Horny Housewife Lures 3 Black Studs," "Girlfriend Tastes Cum for the First Time, and Can't Get Enough." "Sorority Girl is the Lone Female at Frat Party, But Not Alone." And there were others, tons. We laughed and joked about them, until Hayley came to "Two Couples Reunite for Strip Poker."
"See, I told you there would be one. I guess we're just one short." Before Eric or I could make any comment, Hayley launched into reading the story. After she read the scene set up, she looked up. Eric and I both looked a bit stunned. I didn't know what Eric was thinking, but I was thinking of sex, and that Hayley must want to go through with it if she was being this forward.
"Hey guys, I'm not playing strip poker because I wouldn't want to embarrass you," she winked, "but that doesn't mean we can't read the story."
Eric said, "Well, go ahead. I'll never read it the same way again!"
I heard my wife say words such as "cock," "cunt," "pussy," "tits," "fuck me hard" and on and on. It wasn't that I hadn't heard her say these before, it was that she was saying them in front of another man, in a very bawdy context. At some point, the story became just a backdrop to what I was seeing. Eric and I were mostly stretched out and propped up on our elbows. A quick glance confirmed we both had flagpoles in our shorts. Hayley was sitting between our legs, with her legs folded under her and the book held to one side to capture the light.
I became aware that, although certainly the temperature of the mountain air had cooled, her nipples were fully erect, their shape and size easily discerned through her shirt. Her cleavage, neck, and face were also flushed. I risked another glance to see if Eric had noticed. His concentration was lower. I looked, too.
Although Hayley's shirt was tantalizingly tight, she was wearing hiking shorts. The hem was short, and the size of the leg pattern was large to facilitate walking and climbing. As she sat there, with her legs spread and folded back, the light shone up her shorts. Her g-string was clearly visible, as was the fact that her pubic area was shaven to within its confines. The light seemed to play tricks, suggesting at times that she was very wet. I became aware that she finished the story.
No one said anything. She had quickly picked up that we had been spying on her. Several uncomfortable moments passed, and I offered, "I don't think I can take any more stories. Let's call it a night."
I could feel the relief in each of us, but I also felt a little disappointed. It could have happened. A suggestion, and a fantasy would have been realized.
Hayley left the camp a ways to go to relive her bladder, and I did the same in a different direction. We met back at our tent, and made facial expressions indicating we were horny, relieved, oh so close to living a fantasy, and frustrated that we couldn't speak about these things.
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Keywords: Question, The, Third, of, a,