Three Threesomes: An Education

It’s hot AF to find myself in a New York City apartment of a college friend, the fall after graduation, late-afternoon light honeying the beige walls, the decor a reflection of his father’s work in the arts.

I’m hanging out with him and his friend, both lacrosse players, months after breaking up with the team captain, about whom I’d end up dreaming for the next 10 years.

Side note: In my dreams, we kept missing each other. I’d be waiting on a corner for him for hours, give up and leave, only to find out he eventually showed up. Or he’d be running to meet me at a bus stop and arrive just after the bus pulled away. My longing wouldn’t let him go, but my subconscious knew what was up. Fucker.

So, here I am, hanging out with a lacrosse player I’d met through the captain. He’s about my height, dark-haired, olive-skinned, and lithe in a fast runner’s way. Another player I tangentially know is visiting from out of town. He’s taller, hunkier, paler, with dirty blond hair. They’re as opposite from one another as they could be.

How is this lacrosse team so fucking hot? It’s mystifying. I’d never been into jocks before senior year, but the captain changed all that. Lacrosse-player-hotness is its own brand, I mean, there’s a reason I didn’t fuck half the football team.

After chatting on the velvet couch, drinking beer, and eating chips, the electricity crackling between us creating an open door we decide to walk through, the three of us end up in bed together.