No to Threesome
“Though I may really want to,” I look in the lust-filled eyes, “I really think it’s best if we don’t. Being roommates, there are a few lines that should not be blurred and crossed, just for the better of things like jealousy. I don’t want to break up the groove that you two have.”
“That’s respectable enough, but if you change your mind, you know where the bedroom is, okay? Just remember that the offer is there. Take it for what you’d like.”
Normally, I probably wouldn’t have shot down the idea so quickly, but I felt rather put on the spot. I thought it was one of those drugged out moments that could blossom into an evil demon somehow in the future. Things always sound great, until reality hits.
The thing is, with threesomes, there’s always a jealous person, somebody who feels that they’re not getting enough attention. There’s always one, and I don’t care how perfected it is. Time and time again, jealousy rears its ugly head, and I don’t want it to cost me my house, if you know what I mean.
Considering that I knew how fragile their relationship was, I figured it was best to not be part of it. Sex at one time means that it could come up again, perhaps when she was not around, turning the idea of a threesome into straight one-on-one sex. Not that it would be such a bad idea, but that’s a recipe for disaster.
I had already been woken up by their screaming matches, drunken rages. “You called out somebody else’s name during sex! I fucking heard it!”
The crying would follow, along with the screeching tires. Not having slept for days, trying to maneuver in a drunken oblivion of speed. It’s simply not healthy.
“You should’ve seen her! She was talkin’ shit to the dealer about me just to get an extra hit. You’ve seen how much she can snort, fucking puts most cats under the table, so she flirts with the dealer and talks trash about me just to get a fucking headstash!”
I didn’t want to be put in the middle. “What do you think she’s doin’ when she’s not here? She’s failing some classes, so it’s not homework; try the fact that she’s keepin’ up her habit by getting’ with other dudes.”
Though I can recall being 18 and in the college life, I guess I was just happy with weed. This world comes to me as a whole new sphere of space that I didn’t want to necessarily get into unless fully required. Who was I to take sides, because accusations come easily under the influence.
The best thing to do was to roll over in my bed, pull the pillow on top of my head. Listening to the yelps and hollars was hard, but it was not my place to interject, even though I knew too well how alcoholics crush the esteem. I merely waited for morning, when things would be semi-normal, even if morning came at six in the evening, which it did all too often.
Then what happens?
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