The Reason I’ll Never Try A Threeway Again!

Yesterday from out of the blue, I get this surprise email from this girl I knew way back in college.  According to the email, she just happened to be in town for some kind of a conference and seeing how she didn’t know anyone else in New York, she asked if I was perhaps free to come down and meet her for dinner.  Even though the girl was somewhat on the homelier side back in school, earning the nickname “Squatty Dottie” from all the guys on the floor due to her very boxy low to the ground frame, very similar to that of a spoiler kit on a Dodge Stratus; I actually didn’t mind going down to meet up with her.  It wasn’t like I really had anything else to do, and besides everyone knows you get to expense all of your meals whenever you’re your traveling on business.  With that said I quickly threw on my clothes and headed over to midtown.  Walking down the subway steps, my excitement was already beginning to build merely just thinking of all of the appetizers I was going to order.  I thought, “I sure hope they have those little fried macaroni and cheese balls I love so much.  If so, I’m ordering at least five orders of those things.”  This was going to be better than Christmas.

When I finally arrived at the Midtown Sheraton and saw old Squatty Dottie I couldn’t believe my eyes.  She looked absolutely nothing like she did back in school.  From the looks of things she had actually thinned out a bit so she didn’t quite look so low to the ground anymore; she had obviously gotten corrective surgery on her lazy eye so when she talked to you it didn’t just kind of go wandering off to the left anymore; and most important, she finally appeared to have gotten that excessive facial hair problem under control.  That’s actually how we became friends.  Since she lived right across the hall, whenever my mustache trimmer would go on the blitz I’d sometimes go borrow hers.  She was actually the first person to introduce me to Magic Shave.  Standing there I could hardly believe this was even the same girl.  Although she was certainly no Beyonce by anyone’s account; to my surprise she had now managed to at least graduate to the category of “doable”, which for her was a pretty big feat.  As she made her way across the lobby I thought “Good for you Squatty.  Good for you.”

After a really nice dinner where we both caught up on each other’s lives over the years, she suggested that we go back to her hotel bar for a couple of vodka gimlets.  Since we were still on her dollar, in my opinion that was what you’d call a no brainer.  After about an hour and several premium vodka cocktails later at $18 bucks a pop, this sort of wirery framed woman with short boyish blonde hair and a grey pant suit came and sat down beside us.  The woman had a slight gap in her teeth and spoke in a thick Russian accent.  She kind of put you in the mind of a Ukrainian Ellen Degenerous.  As it turned out, both women were tax accountants and in town for the same conference.  Within minutes we were all laughing and having a good time, while both women took turns charging rounds back up to their rooms.  I thought “Hmnh…it’s Sunday night in the city, I’m sitting here in a bar between two marginally attractive women, not to mention enjoying expensive premium cocktails on them.  Things could sure be a whole hell of a lot worse.”  About twenty minutes later, Ukrainian Ellen mentioned this killer weed she’d just scored from her brother, and suggested we all go back up to her room for a little toke; which for some reason always sounds like a brilliant idea after six cocktails.  They both settled up at the bar and within seconds we were all on the elevator heading up to the 18^th floor.

It was a typical New York hotel room which meant it was slightly bigger than your average walk in closet with a full sized bed stuffed in it.  We all took a seat on the edge of the bed while Ukrainian Ellen rolled up a couple of big doobies.  Although she used quite a bit more saliva than I probably would’ve preferred, from the looks of things she really knew what she was doing.  By the time we were halfway through the first joint, I noticed the mood in the room was now slightly changing.  I wasn’t sure if it was the cocktails or the Ukrainian dope, but I noticed that the two women were slowly starting to become way more touchy feely.  Every time I’d say something even remotely funny, both of them would rest their hands on my thigh as they burst into laughter.  And with each joke the touches seemed to linger longer and longer.  I thought, “Wow this is kind of turning me on.”  Although they certainly weren’t the two most prettiest tulips in the pot; there’s just something about two women fawning all over you that kind of makes a guy feel like Jay Z.  I thought, “If I squint my eyes hard enough they could maybe be Beyonce and Rhianna.  Or at least their business managers.”

I don’t know how it happened, but some kind of way the entire conversation suddenly shifted to women’s breasts.  And after a round of them trading complements back and forth like: “Yours are the perfect size” and “You think so?  I’d much rather have yours”,  the next thing I knew both oxford tops were off and they were now standing in front of me feeling up each other’s breasts like they were testing out cantaloupes at the farmers market.  I couldn’t believe what I was actually witnessing.  Despite the fact that they were both dressed like two homicide detectives, I had pitched a tint so high you’d a thought Ringling Brothers Circus was about to do a show inside my pants.  Then the unbelievable happened.  The two women started tonguing each other down right in front of me.  I couldn’t believe it.  It was like my wildest dream coming true.  Although in my dream the two women would be dressed more like members of The Pussy Cat Dolls as opposed to Cagney and Lacey, this was still no doubt every read blooded boy’s fantasy; minus the sensibly cut loafers.  As I sat on the edge of the bed watching the two marginally attractive women lez it up, I thought “Wow God, you really had been listening to my prayers.  Well…sort of.”

It’s weird because as many times as I imagined and even prayed for this moment in detail; for some crazy reason now that it was here, believe it or not I was beyond petrified.  A guy just randomly happening upon two women making out is kind of like the lotto.  You fantasize about it your whole entire life, but what are the odds of it actually really happening.  My palms were dripping and my heart was racing a mile a minute.  It felt as if I had huge bionic butter flies inside my stomach literally doing the Soldier Boy.  I thought, “WTF”.  Next, Ukrainian Ellen took Squatty Dottie’s hand and gently guided her over to the bed.  She then said those famous six words to me that every guy longs to hear, “Are you going to join us?”  That was my cue.  Finally all of those years of breaking in my grandma’s room and watching her porn collection had led up to this exact moment.  It was time to show them what I had learned.  But just as I was preparing to jump in, I noticed that something was terribly wrong.  The intense rumbling in my stomach just kept on getting worse.

I shrieked and thought “Oh no Brett…not now!”  For some stupid reason every since I was a kid, whenever I get really nervous I get a serious case of the bubble guts.  I remember way back in my 3^rd grade Christmas program when Mrs. Turner made me do that big solo.  I was so scared I literally shit my pants; which of course probably wouldn’t have been as bad if I was actually wearing some at the time.  We were doing the nativity scene, so all I had on was this little robe.  I tried my best to play it off praying hopefully no one else would notice.  But when two of the Three Wiseman slipped and fell in it the jig was pretty much up.  Determined not to have a repeat of Mrs. Turners Christmas program, I replied “Sure but first would you mind if used your restroom?”  As they slid into the bed, I quickly darted into the restroom and bolted the door shut.  Something told me this wasn’t going to be pretty.

Now I don’t know if it was my nerves, the weed, or those two orders of chili con queso fries I insisted on ordering as an appetizer; but I had never in my life had to go as bad as I did in that moment.  And for some reason it just wouldn’t seem to stop either.  I could not believe my f*cking luck.  Here I had two naked women in a hotel room going at it so hard I could literally hear the moans through the door; meanwhile here I am stuck on the toilet with a case of the damn bubble guts.  At that point I just looked up to the sky and asked, “Wow…God, really?”  After a while of being in there, one of the girls eventually yelled out “Brett is everything okay in there?” to which I replied, “Yeah everything’s great!  Be right out shortly.”  Of course I knew that was a lie but what else was I going to say, “Hey…do you know if by chance there’s a doctor on staff here?” or “Can one of you be a doll and run over to CVS and pick me up a pack of Mylanta?”  This was most certainly not how I envisioned the evening going.

Believe it or not I finally finished crapping after about twenty minutes.  I had never been so embarrassed before in my entire life.  When I finally opened the door, they both were now under the sheet smoking a square.  As soon as they saw me, Squatty extended her hand for me to come join them for round two.  However, after taking a big twenty minute chili con queso dump, for some reason I just wasn’t feeling all that sexy any more.  Not to mention, something told me that once that smell eventually seeped out, it was going to pretty much be a wrap for everybody.  I don’t know why those stupid hotels never keep spray in the bathrooms anyway.  Attempting to save face, I immediately replied “Sorry ladies…I actually need to go walk my dog.”  I don’t even have a dog but it was the only thing I could come up with at the time.  Grabbing my jacket, I commented “Please just carry on without me.  Maybe we can do it again some time?”  I then high tailed it out of the room as fast as I could.

As I did my walk of shame down the long hotel corridor, I could not believe what had just happened.  Waiting for the elevator, I finally understood what Jesus was going through when he shouted out “God…why hath thow forsaken me?”  Believing in my heart that everything happens for a reason, I immediately took comfort in the thought that it just wasn’t in the cards for me.  Then as the elevator finally arrived, just as I was stepping on; suddenly from all the way down the hall I could hear two female voices yelling out “Holy Shit!!  What the hell is that smell?!”

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