I wouldn’t label myself as bisexual, primarily because I’m not fond of categorizing my sexual preferences. However, I’ve found myself attracted to both men and women on different occasions. To be honest, ever since I became sexually active, a threesome with both a man and a woman has always intrigued me.
Perhaps it’s because I can only enjoy adult films when they feature women, which sparked my curiosity about being intimate with one. Alternatively, I might have preferred this combination because the thought of a threesome with two men feels overwhelming to me—too much testosterone and not enough balance. But for whatever reason, the idea of a mixed-gender threesome seemed like the perfect blend of excitement.
Little did I realize that I wasn’t a fan of threesomes, a realization that struck me after a disastrous experience five years ago.
It was a Saturday night, and I had indulged in a wild evening with some colleagues, resulting in a bit too much alcohol consumption. My then-boyfriend was at his place, enjoying drinks with friends while catching up on a new series. As I made my way to his house, accompanied by a co-worker who had playfully hinted at a threesome, my liquid courage kicked in, prompting me to boldly ask, “So, would you be interested in a threesome?”
I knew she identified as bisexual, and I was curious about exploring that side of myself. Still, I was anxious about her reaction. I wanted her to understand that this was just for fun and that I didn’t want to jeopardize our work relationship. But with a few drinks in me, I decided to go for it.
To my surprise, she was enthusiastic and asked, “How about tonight?”
Alright then.
We made our way to my boyfriend’s house, where he had just drifted off to sleep. We had discussed the possibility of a threesome before, but it had never materialized. Still, I figured he would be open to the idea with the right person.
As I stumbled up the stairs, I woke him with my proposal: “Hey, babe. Want to have a threesome?”
His initial question was, “With who?” I told him it was the co-worker he already knew, and he seemed intrigued. I went back downstairs to grab some water and inform her that it was a go. He pulled out a box of condoms, and we headed to the bedroom.
Honestly, I was so inebriated that I can’t even recall how everything began. All I know is that we started, it happened, and it was nothing like what I had envisioned.
Maybe it was because I prefer to be dominated in bed, and both of them allowed me to take control out of respect. Or perhaps, while she was intimate with my boyfriend, I sat there wondering, “What am I supposed to do with my hands? I guess I’ll just take care of myself… literally.”
Or maybe, simply put, I just don’t enjoy threesomes the way I thought I would.
I’ve been with women before, but this particular experience felt entirely different. Even with the alcohol, it was bizarre. I’m not one to hold back during intimate moments; if something is humorous, I’ll laugh about it. I speak my mind, and I certainly won’t fake enjoyment just to be polite.
However, this co-worker, while fantastic in the office, was a bit over the top in the bedroom. As she reached her peak, she started yelling, “I’M GONNA SQUIRT! I’M GONNA SQUIRT!” Now, I’ve only ever experienced that once, and let me tell you, it was not enjoyable. I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
Then, she escalated her shouting, “OH YEAH! SMACK IT! SMACK IT! SMACK IT!” I timidly lifted my fingers towards her, unsure of what to do. Thankfully, she began laughing too, and soon my boyfriend joined in. We were all naked and giggling uncontrollably. At that point, we decided we had enough of the threesome and made our way downstairs to whip up a quick meal. We enjoyed our food and then resumed the night without any further antics. She stayed downstairs while we took the upstairs.
And that was it. From that experience, I concluded that threesomes were not for me.
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In summary, my curiosity about threesomes led to a chaotic experience that ultimately confirmed they weren’t for me. Sometimes, what seems enticing in theory doesn’t translate well in practice.