My writing is based on events in our lives – You may even recognize some places, but names have been changed for obvious reasons. Check out my other stories if you’re interested to learn more about the characters and in this standalone there is a small reference to another adventure “Threesome Fantasy Becomes Reality” that you might want to take a look at.
I woke to the sound of my alarm, fortunately Alexa never seems bothered by me yelling at her to stop, and glanced at empty space next to me. Nicole was, as usual, up and about already well in advance of me; I hadn’t even heard her this morning. I pulled on some sweats and a t-shirt, brushed my teeth and padded down to the kitchen and the waiting barista coffee machine. Slotting the double portafilter in place I nudged the handle to start the beans grinding as I poured milk into a steel jug. Foreplay over, the filter slotted firmly in place and the steam wand penetrated the creamy milk; I stroked the magic buttons that started the machine groaning and moaning as pressure built and built until suddenly an ejaculation of thick dark espresso spurted into the waiting mug ready for the warm soft foam to come together.
“Good morning lover!”. Nicole wandered into the kitchen and we greeted each other with a hug and kiss before settling in at the kitchen island each with coffee and reading the news.
“I’ve been thinking.” Nicole said.
“Mm, hmm.” I was sipping at my coffee.
“I’d like to have two men at once…”
I almost sprayed my coffee across the kitchen counter.
Swallowing, I pointed out that we’d experienced that threesome with Roger. “In case you forgot!” I teased.
“No, I mean that was fantastic but you each had me one after the other. Actually, it was incredible but I’m thinking about both of you at the same time.”
“And you just thought of this drinking your coffee?” I laughed. “Please elaborate.”
“Well it could be fun, and we can connect with Roger again. He’s cool so if I don’t like it then you can both still have me like we did last time.” Nicole’s demure side always inhibited her from using graphic language anywhere except in the bedroom.
“Ok, do I have time to shower and dress first?” I deadpanned my wife.
Nicole looked at me and paused for a second while her puzzled french speaking brain caught up. She laughed. “Ah you idiot.”
“I’ll give our pilot friend a call. See when he’s next in town.”
Fast forward eight days, we’d parked the car in the city and we’re heading into Brasserie Beck, Roger’s recommendation for dinner; clearly he knew Nicole well by now. The terracotta tiled floor contrasted perfectly with the rattan furniture and Belgian blue material accents, abundant booths, marble table tops, and the smell of boiling mussels wafting from the open kitchen combined for a very European feel. Although Nicole was french born she had lived in Brussels for a few years and this was sure to delight her.
The maître d’ showed us to a perfect booth, within range of the action-packed kitchen area but still discrete enough for private conversation; Roger stood to greet us, kissing Nicole on both cheeks and shaking my hand ethusiatsically. The wonderful wines and amusing conversation flowed comfortably as we worked our way though everything the kitchen sent our way. We sat finishing our Chassagne Montrachet as the reminiscing turned to the matter at hand.