Reunion with Allison, Part I: After Dinner, We Adjourned to Her Apartment…
Author’s note: The following events happened last week. I am still processing the experience.
“When he’s there [next week], promise me you two have fun. And you know what I mean by fun. You have my permission. OK? Love you always, darling.”
That was a text message from my wife, Lauren, to Allison, her former girlfriend who in 1998 became our first polyamorous lover together.
I was traveling to the city where Allison lives for three days of meetings, and I had some available time to meet her for dinner and perhaps adjourn to her place. Lauren tried to accompany me on the trip, but her surgery schedule didn’t allow it. (She wasn’t without fun, though. Piper planned to sleep over a few nights.)
For married couples without a bisexual spouse, the polyamorous relationship Lauren and I shared for eight years (1998–2006) with Allison, also a bisexual woman, might look unmanageably complicated, fatally flawed, like a jealousy trap…even immoral.
Unquestionably, Lauren and Allison were in love. Plus, Lauren was in love with me, and her desire, as she once said to me, was to be “your wife and the mother of our children.” Allison knew where she fit into our lives and never asked for more. The sex the three of us had over the eight years we were together, before she moved, was out of this world. By the time Allison moved in 2006, she and I, both bonded in our love for Lauren, had also come to love each other. It was truly a “love triangle,” and somehow we made it work.
Of all of the lovers we’ve experienced over the years, Allison stands alone.
“I don’t know. Do you think that’s a good idea?” Allison texted back to Lauren.
“Will you enjoy it?” Lauren replied.
“Yes, of course.”
“I want you both to enjoy each other.”
A faculty member and administrator at a prominent university, Allison had climbed quite high in her profession. She had recently divorced. On the bright side, she told us over the phone, she and her ex-husband had amicably divorced and they had joint custody of their three kids. But the split devastated her. Her husband knew of her bisexuality. She wanted to have relationships with other women, but he dug in and threatened to leave her if she did. When he discovered her affair with another woman, he filed for divorce. But that’s not all of the story……
“What’s a bisexual woman to do?” Allison quipped in another text to Lauren about the divorce, lamenting that no man would or could ever understand her needs. And then: “You’re lucky you have a man who does.”
Lauren and I had seen Allison four years ago (a visit which included sex), but I still felt nervous as I sat at the restaurant bar waiting for her. Most — but not all — of our encounters over the years involved the three of us. A night of just her and me felt a bit out of context with our history…but I was excited to see her. Lauren’s blessing of this occasion, even urging of it to happen, certainly put some wind in the sails.
My first thought when I saw Allison walking toward me was, wow, at 51 years-old, she’s still beautiful.
She’d aged gracefully. Her hair had grayed (mine, too), and her face had started to show some laugh lines and the effects of the passing years. Her graying hair told me she’d chosen to embrace middle age confidently, which I found attractive. She still had a radiant beauty.
A fellow long-distance runner, the feminine features of her 5'6" body flattered my eyes — her firm breasts, her round hips and her taut ass. She wore red-rimmed eyeglasses and a black skirt to her knees, white silky blouse and black sweater. She looked every bit like the distinguished professor and administrator she had become.
“Hey there!” she exclaimed as we embraced.
“It’s so good to see you,” I said as we held each other.
She looked into my eyes, inviting me to kiss her, and I responded. Though our tongues didn’t meet, our lips locked sensuously. My nervousness dissipating, I discreetly squeezed her ass cheeks with my hands and felt no panty lines. Either she had on a thong…or nothing beneath her skirt.
“It feels good to be touched,” she said warmly and vulnerably.
“You look incredible,” I said quietly in her ear.
“Mmmmm, you, too,” she offered back.
Our hostess now stood next to us, eager to take us to our table.
“It’s sweet of you to tell me I look good to you,” Allison said as we walked to our table. “We’re not getting any younger, you know?”
Once at our table, we resumed our conversation.
I leaned in and whispered, “You know what Lauren told us to do, right?”
“I know,” she said, “and I’d like that if you feel the same way.”
Me: “I do.”
Her: “Are you sure?”
Me: “I am…. It’s not like we haven’t done it before, right?”
She chuckled and nodded in agreement. Then, after sipping some of her wine, she leaned in and deadpanned: “My place is very close by. The kids are at their dad’s this week. Let’s enjoy our dinner and then maybe we can enjoy each other afterward. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good.”
She held my hand as we ordered.
Over dinner, Allison shared that she could no longer suppress her bisexuality. She’d done that for over ten years for her husband. She met a female colleague on campus and the two connected romantically and ultimately sexually. When, one night, Allison told her husband about her lover, he went ballistic and threatened to divorce her if she didn’t cut it off. She refused, continuing to see her new lover.
Shortly thereafter, she said, she discovered he’d been having an affair with another woman. The two agreed to a divorce. Since that time, Allison and the other woman parted ways. She was now alone, and I could see the pain of the loneliness on her face.
“You’ll find love again,” I reassured her.
She smiled.
We reflected…. Where we now were in our lives, she added, starkly contrasted to the years she, Lauren and I were together as a threesome couple. In those years, we were so young. She and Lauren were training as surgeons and, even though they didn’t have a lot of time, we always found opportunities for fun, she said. We agreed that we missed those years — that we’d never get them back — but that we had no regrets.
Now, we were middle-aged, graying parents and in the peaks of our earning years. She told me about menopause and hot flashes, all of which Lauren, too, was facing. “Fortunately, my running and lifting weights have helped stave off the battle of the bulge and the great sag,” she laughed.
“You are still so beautiful,” I told her.
“Thank you. The years have been good to you and Lauren, too.”
I kissed her tenderly, my hand on her upper thigh. I could feel her feminine heat.
“You know, I still love Lauren,” she confessed, now drinking her second glass of wine.
“She still loves you,” I offered.
She smiled, and we sat in silence for a few seconds.
She asked about our lifestyle. I minced no words. We still shared women in our bedroom, I said, and we enjoyed a lifestyle most other couples fantasize about but never even discuss, much less explore.
“Sounds exciting,” she interjected. “The women you share…yes. But the part about other couples and big group situations…not for me.”
We again held hands — it felt more as friends than as old lovers.
“Thank you for dinner,” Allison said with her trademark sincerity, born of her upper-Midwest upbringing. “How about we head back to my place?”
The wine had left us both buzzed, and I felt certain that, once at her place, clothes would come off fast and we’d have a lot of fun, as we’d had years ago even just among the two of us (always with Lauren’s knowledge).
I leaned forward and we again kissed, this time a bit more sensuously.
We left the restaurant. She held onto my arm as we walked to her brownstone, sharing memories — some of them quite risqué.
As soon as she closed the front door of her well-appointed brownstone, we kissed, this time with our tongues.
Dropping her sweater to the floor, she walked me up to her bedroom, where we again kissed. I fondled her breasts and and squeezed her ass cheeks. She unbuckled my pants and unbuttoned my shirt. We both had a lot of buttons to navigate so, after laughing over it all (which mature lovers do), we agreed to undress ourselves to make things easier.
She unzipped her skirt, revealing that she did, after all, have on panties —silky black panties that I pulled down and she stepped out of. I noted her well-groomed landing strip (more on that later), which I found quite sexy. I unclipped her bra, running circles around her hard nipples with my fingers as I held her quite full breasts in my hands.
She dropped my boxer briefs and smiled seductively as she held my throbbing cock in her hand.
“I want,” she whispered.
I lovingly pushed her back on her bed and got between her legs to taste her. I generously licked her, tasting her wetness, burying my tongue in her feminine depths and teasing her engorged clitoris.
She ran her fingers through my graying hair and fondled her breasts as I pleasured her. Her fresh taste pleased me. When she orgasmed, I licked deeply and again twiddled my tongue over her clit and she moaned with pleasure.
After she came, Allison laid there, gathering herself. My cock ached for her. I got up next to her, on my knees, and she took my dick into her mouth.
As she sucked me deeply, I knew this had to be for foreplay. It would be crass to choose a blowjob over intercourse. But this felt so good. I looked at her, admiring how aging had begun to gracefully change her features. She looked sophisticated, accomplished and scholarly.
While she blew me, I fingered her cunt. I found her narrow, closely trimmed strip of black hair irresistible. She’d previously been bald down there, and I was curious as to why she’d grown a landing strip.
We looked into each other’s eyes.
I got on top of Allison. She spread and held back her legs with her hands. She whimpered with pleasure as I slid into her. Her wetness overwhelmed me with pleasure.
I sucked on her nipples and large, pink areolas as we fucked each other. She ran her fingers through my hair and we kissed, my seven inches plunging in and out of her like a piston.
She started to moan. I pulled back a bit so I could watch her, especially as she masturbated her clit. She wanted to orgasm again.
I cupped her breasts in my hands as she approached climax.
Without saying a word, I pulled out and turned her around, guiding her to her hands and knees. She dropped to her elbows as I re-entered her from behind, cupping her ass cheeks. I stroked her asshole with my thumbs and gave ever every one of my seven inches.
“Yes,” she whimpered.
The skin-slapping, sloshing, whimpers and moans filled the room with the sounds of sex. She again orgasmed, begging me to fuck her harder and deeper.
Her ass cheeks felt so good in my hands. I squeezed them, never getting my thumbs too far from her bum. I looked at my cock sliding in and out her, watching her labia move with my manhood.
This woman was so fine.
I went all the way into her and erupted, filling her with spurts of my warm, thick semen.
