Why They Don't Work

The threesome is doomed to failure. There are too many emotions involved. Bringing a third person into your relationship for one casual encounter can only be crippling to your relationship with one another. It is doomed.

My first threesome started off on a weird foot. I was painfully attracted to a woman, one whom my boyfriend worked with. I met her when he brought her home to see our kittens. Mind wheeling, I expressed in private my desire for this other girl. My boyfriend agreed with me about the lust, and that was the first pang of jealousy. As much as I was attracted to her, I didn’t want him to be. While my words of lust and suggestions of sexual relations with this woman were purely fantasy, my boyfriend took them quite seriously. So seriously that he set out to win me this woman, without my knowledge seducing her, kissing her, suggesting threesomes with me. He did this for me, for my pleasure, so that I could have this woman who I was half in love with, puppy, crush love, in bed. It worked, we got her.

This woman was more than willing to jump through any hoops to get my boyfriend in bed with her. If I had to be there, so be it. If she had to seduce me in person to get me there, then so be it. The flirting was on, the seduction full blast. We drank, we laughed, we played childish games of Truth-or-Dare and before we all knew it, the windows were steaming. My head spun. This is what I had always hoped for, a girl in bed with me. But she didn’t want me. She wanted my boyfriend. I was practically a third wheel as I watched them have sex in front of me, feeling disconnected from the whole event. Something was wrong, but I didn’t understand what.

The three of us had many experiences together. The girl, myself, my boyfriend...well, my boyfriend and the girl. I still felt strongly for her, both lust and the crush that I couldn’t shake. I wanted nothing more than to be with her sexually, but every time we tried, I felt that I was pushed to the side of the bed and forgotten. In one instance, I stood up and left the room. She and my boyfriend continued in my bed, in my room, while I sat outside the door and cried. My emotions were wheeling. Too much seemed involved.

I cannot describe to you the hurt I felt over the many instances where we were together. I didn’t want to stop, for fear of making her stop wanting me, but I didn’t want my boyfriend involved. There was no way to make it clear, and I felt trapped. Finally, after more tears and many confused nights, I told him. My boyfriend loves me. He never wanted anyone more than he wanted me. He cut it off with that girl in a flash, who left without a word to me. But I couldn’t forget the hurt.

Years have passed since that first threesome. I have sworn to myself a million times that it would never happen again. I turned out unhappy, my boyfriend turned out unhappy because I was unhappy, and we lost a good friend in the crossfire. But a new passion was born, again by me, again for another woman. She came to stay with us, and once again I felt the pangs of lust.

Too many times I swore it wouldn’t happen. I didn’t want to hurt myself again, to get left out, to see my boyfriend fucking another woman while I received nothing, not even the smallest thought. But once again we were in bed. And this time it was spectacular.

Everything I’d ever imagined, every touch, every kiss, every embrace, was coming to life in my arms. The girl was fantastic, and I was sandwiched in the middle of two people. I felt like the most wonderful, desirable person on earth. My climax was shattering, and I fell asleep in their arms.

In the night, my boyfriend got out of bed. He lay down on the floor and slept there, my arm dangling over the side to him. When we woke up, he wouldn’t come to breakfast with us. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what.

The girl and I had a brilliant morning. Everything seemed new and wonderful. Every nerve in my body was relaxed, every thought happy. Every beat of my heart seemed spectacular and new. It was as though a new person had emerged from my bed that morning, and I was on top of the world. The girl went home with a hug and a kiss, promises of seeing each other soon and talking later. Back upstairs, my boyfriend was still in bed, his emotions wheeling.

Our situations had reversed. This time it was he who was hurt, he who felt betrayed and undesired. This time he was depressed, deeply depressed, and as much as it hurt me to see him sad, I was still walking on air. There was nothing to do but sit down and hold him, and nothing to say but words of love that he may or may not have believed.

The threesome breaks you apart. It tears you, hurts you, wounds you, and does not put you back together. Is one night of pleasure worth months of worry? Is one night of pleasure worth the doubt that you will feel? Is one night of pleasure worth hurting the one you love, the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, the one who you never want to see unhappy again? I don’t think it is. Too many emotions are involved, and after a threesome, you are doomed.