'I had a threesome with two men that focused solely on me. It changed how I had sex forever.'

My last (and only) threesome had hardly been romantic. Two guys. Outside a lifeguard tower on a beach, late at night. I’d met them at a dodgy bar and after minimal conversation, I’d driven us to the beach. They hadn’t even bought me a soft drink.

Men are easy: you tug this, suck that. Take it. Done. I hadn’t even been nervous.

Not like I was now. Now that it was going to be all about me…

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It was day five of my ‘back to the body’ retreat and my fifth session with Neal, my practitioner. Each session, I was getting more comfortable and braver – I’d even managed to say “yes” once or twice (I was working my way up to “more”).

This session was going to be different: This session was a “cradle” – two male practitioners at once. Two male practitioners whose sole job would be to give me one hour of uninterpreted, unreciprocated pleasure.

I was terrified.

I decided to wear my simple wrap dress – and the shell necklace my best friend had made for me 25 years ago. Nothing else.

I liked the feeling of not wearing underwear. The way air brushed my outer vulva when I walked – teasing me, reminding me of what’s possible.

But while awaiting my practitioners, another woman revealed her risqué elaborate lacy number complete with bra, thong, garter belt and stockings.

Great. My first cradle and I was already failing.

I paced the room. Trying to look cool and collected, while I internally freaked. What do they think about me? I wondered. Am I some desperate middle-aged women in need of attention and decent finger-banging?

I didn’t even feel middle-aged. Even at 42, I still felt too young to have children. I was in decent shape, active. I don’t think I looked 42 on the outside, so maybe I wasn’t on the inside either.

Plus, I wasn’t desperate, I reminded myself. I’d been having really good sex lately. I’d just had this sense that there was more to experience and feel.

That if I had the right space, where I could let go enough, if I could peel back these layers of my inhibitions… And if I had the right partner (s)…

I was already cracking jokes as they led me to Neal’s room – Neal grasping my hand, Tim’s arm around my shoulders – trying to cover my nerves. They went with it, but I could tell I wasn’t fooling them for a second.

At the door, I stepped out of my shoes and paused. Waiting for my cue. Tim asked if he could hug me. I nodded. He did. Holding me. Letting me relax against his body. Matching his breathing to mine. He smelled like incense and beach.

“I’m really nervous”, I said.

“Thank you for naming it”, Tim replied as he led me to the massage table and gently guided me to sit between him and Neal. Tim played with my fingers. I leaned against Neal.

They let me breathe. Take stock.

“My heart’s beating really fast”, I said.

I checked my Fitbit. Only 80? It felt like 160. At least.

“Let me feel”, Neal said.

Oh okay…

Neal placed his hands on my heart and kept them there. Long, gentle graceful fingers. Just the right amount of pressure. Holy f*ck, this guy was sexy.

“Okay, I’m going to take off your Fitbit now.”

He did. Slowly. Oh my God, he even made taking off accessories a turn on. This was already better than the lifeguard tower and I wasn’t even naked yet.

“So what are you thinking?”, he asked.

I gulped. Took a deep breath. Stop filtering, I ordered myself.

It came out like a rush. Before the rest of my over-thinking brain could override it.

“I want to hand my body over to you both. I don’t want to think. I want to get out of my head.”

Neal and Tim exchanged a slight grin.

But I wasn’t finished.

“And… I’m thinking… ropes.”

Neal had a reputation at being very, very good at ropes.

Neal chuckled. I was getting braver by the day. The minute and the second, really.

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They moved in. Ben’s necklace got taken off.

My dress dissolved and disappeared off my body. And I was naked. Being eased up onto the table.

Tim moved to my side. Raised my arm up. Fingers playing under my rib cage, around my breast, my armpit.

Until this very moment, armpits were something where deodorant and razors went. Now my armpit suddenly had a direct hotline to my vagina. It was sexy AF.

I closed my eyes as Neal slid me back on the table. I was leaning back against Tim, while Neal was playing with my thighs, ankle and feet.

Until this moment, I’d felt the same way about my feet as I did about my armpits. Now they were their own sexual organs.

“You’re so cute”, Neal said.

“I’m 42. I’m too old to be cute!” I retorted.

They laughed.

“In a sexy way”, Neal added.

“Cute-sexy”, said Tim. “That never gets old.”

Oh f*ck. I was already blushing and squirming. Stupid body, betraying me, I mentally scolded it. Not that it was going to do any good.

“Tim and I were having this conversation about you”, Neal continued.

“I told him about your labia. How pretty it was. These lips”.

He rubbed his hand teasingly over it to demonstrate and I squirmed. Someone had told me that before but I didn’t believe them. This guy was a professional, so maybe I could actually trust his opinion.

“And Tim said he’d had a lovely conversation with you.”

Tim jumped in.

“Yeah it was so lovely and sexy. And intimate.”

I didn’t quite see what the fuss was about. We’d talked a bit about a book he was reading — a historical book about a woman warrior in the 15th century. It had been nice to talk about books with an actual story. Non-fiction “heal-your-misaligned-chakras”, or “learn-to-love-your-labia” books bore me senseless.

Anyway. It had been a nice conversation. Refreshing.

“You’re so cute. And sexy.”

Neal was teasing my ego as much as my vulva right now.

“Shut up”, I mumbled through closed eyes.

“But you are, Jo. And beautiful”.

I smirked. Dismissing the compliment. I’m not beautiful, I thought. They have to say that.

“And Smart. Very intelligent.”

Okay, I could give them smart. That I knew. And dammit. It was working. There were other sensations running through my body. Hands were playing over my breasts now. Teasing my nipples. On my thighs. I lost track of whose hand was whose, and let myself feel.

Okay fine, I sighed to myself.

“Thanks”, I squeaked.

They laughed.

“Our pleasure.”

And they meant it.

There was this pause and suddenly no hands. Nothing. And then this course, rough texture over my shoulders. Playing across my neck, around my breasts, over my nipples. And down the tops of my thighs. Over my knees. Towards my ankles…

Gently my hands were raised up and a rope tied them behind and above my head. And another set gently spread my legs and I felt rope securing them to each side of the table.

Oh my f*cking god. Dip me in honey and feed me to the Gods of Hedonism, I thought. I’m ready.

“Cute. Sexy. Beautiful. Smart”, someone murmured.

“If you say so”, I replied.

“We’ll have to add funny to the list”, Tim said.

Neal’s hands played up my thighs and over my stomach. I felt my hips arching and my body responding. Trying to urge his hand further down, without having to resort to those annoying things called words. Or worse – asking. The thought of which still mortified me.

Tim leaned and breathed into my neck. Kissing it.

Neal stroked my clit with his fingers. Circling around it. Then moving away. Up and around. Dammit. My hips bucked and arched in pleasure.

Further down please, I thought.

“How’s that, Jo?”

“Say please, Jo…”

That bastard. He knows how I much I suck at asking. Begging. This was our fifth session and I still hadn’t managed to say “more”.

“Please”, I stated.

Flatly. Ironically. My obvious arousal making my Aussie twang even thicker.

They laughed. But Neal was not letting me get away with it.

“Like you mean it”, he added as his hands little danced over my vulva.

Oh my f*cking god.

“Please.”

Now I just sounded coy. Impish. This was the best I could do. There was no way I was going to beg. Clearly he had to realise that.

“Our pleasure”, he laughed.

Finally. His fingers circled my clit lightly, then slightly harder.

“Do you like the left or the right?”

“Right”, I said. “Because I’m left-handed.”

Yes, I know. That made no sense to me either.

“What about both?”

He demonstrated. Sigh.

“Yeah okay, both.”

“Thank you”, he said.

He continued to circle both. And then I felt something slid inside of my vulva and a delicious pressure built inside. While the circling outside continued. And hands played and pulled at my breasts.

I bucked and moaned. Tim’s mouth brushed over my neck, he moaned and breathed in my ear, panting. I mostly don’t like panting, but nothing was stopping the ride I was on right now.

I lost track of whose hands were where. My entire vulva — my entire body — was alive with sensations — teasing, circling, prodding.

The pressure was getting faster and harder and my body was swimming in waves of pleasure. I’m sure I must have been writhing and pulsing. But I didn’t notice. I was somewhere else. A thousand universes away, colours flashing before my eyes. Yellow. Green. Purple.

I felt tears welling up. A ride of emotion. There I was splayed and tied, naked and vulnerable on a massage table with two amazing men focused on my pleasure…

Suddenly it was overwhelming. I was drowning in pleasure…

STOP!!!!!!!

I don’t know where that voice came from. I’d never used it before. I hadn’t said “stop” that New Year’s Eve when the drunk guy I shared a tent with tried it on. I hadn’t wanted him to, but it was easier to just go with it.

I hadn’t said stop when a guy I met on Fetlife had come over after lunch, fingered me to orgasm, and then decided to enter me without a condom. I hadn’t wanted to, but I remember thinking to myself as the belt came around my neck and he spanked my ass, it was only fair. I’d come. Now it was his turn. Besides, he had bought lunch.

Now here on this table, with nowhere to go but ride a pleasure wave into the sunset and I was saying STOP. Loudly. Irrevocably.

They did. Instantly.

“Thank you”, Tim said.

Huh?

“Thank you for telling us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I instantly shot back.

They laughed. I struggled up to free my hands. I easily wormed out of the knots.

“HEY! I could do this the whole time!”

They laughed with me. They let me sit up. Breathe. Tim gently rubbed my back. They waited. No pressure.

“Do you want me to untie your legs?”

“No! They’re good!”

I was so adamant, they laughed. And waited. I took a deep breath.

“Let’s just slow things down a bit. Please.”

Neal smiled. He understood. His hands played over my inner thighs and gently I eased myself back down again. Arms underneath my back.

Soon I was lost in the feelings and sensations again. Building and building. Colours flashing across my eyelids. I didn’t even hear the magic wand.

But suddenly I felt something on my clit. Sending vibrations and sparks all through me. Fingers inside me moving in rhythm, matching the arching of my hips.

Tiny ripples and waves of pleasure cascaded through my body. Rippling and breaking over me. Again and again.

I didn’t climax in one huge wave like I usually did. It was a thousand tiny ripples of pleasure that ebbed and flowed, ebbed and flowed. And eventually seemed to culminate into a feeling of pressure that soon became uncomfortable.

“Please stop. Stop.”

Again, they did. Instantly. I lay still. I was officially pleasured out.

“Untie me.”

Wow. Where did that come from? I was actually demanding things now?

They did. I sat up and hugged my knees. Tim rubbed my back.

“Wow. I’m a total convert on polygamy now.”

They laughed. I was relieved. If I could make people laugh, then everything was okay. Laughter was my survival tactic.

Tim stroked my thigh.

“You know your whole body was shaking. Your thighs were twitching.”

“That’s coz I haven’t been to the gym all week.”

“That’s not it”, Tim said.

“Okay”, I allowed, “That was all you guys.”

“No”, said Tim, “That was all you. Your body is so responsive. Own it.”

“Thank you”, he added.

I couldn’t believe I’d heard right.

“You’re thanking me?”, I squeaked.

“For allowing us to give you pleasure. It’s such a joy. And a pleasure. For us.”

“That makes three of us”, I said.

I hugged them both tightly. They helped me to my feet which suddenly didn’t seem to hold me up very well.

They dressed me as carefully and tenderly as they had undressed me.

I was being held with loving tenderness. Supported. They had seen me at my most vulnerable, recognised it and received it as the precious gift it was. And they’d given me a gift too.

Without letting go of my hand or back, they slowly walked me back to the nest and delivered me into the waiting arms of the other women.

I collapsed into a bean bag. Residual sparks and sensations still zapping through me, held inside a body that would surely float away from these jelly-like legs at any second and might never come back to earth.

For the first time in my life, I realised I hadn’t been afraid to speak my mind. I’d actually been able to say what I wanted. This was the gift they’ve given me. The freedom to be who I was and speak my mind.

I felt sensual, powerful, confident.

I knew I’d reached a turning point. I didn’t know what was ahead of me, I only knew that whatever came my way, I had a new voice with which to greet it.

Bring it on, universe. I’m here and I’m ready.

Jo Buckman is an English born, mostly Australian writer, currently living in LA. When she’s able to be physically separated from her laptop, she can be found camping, scuba diving, travelling the world or reading a book. Sober and single. Currently exploring sexuality, mental health, love and life – and taking you along for the ride.