by Radcliffe U. Hall
Recently I was the victim of a deadly game. I had heard about it through some friends but mainly I had gathered its importance from my favourite news source: the Playboy show The Girls Next Door. Yes, you guessed right. I participated in the ritual of threes. That being three people having sex. Me, and two other people.

Before the events of that evening I had been desperate to share the immense love within me. It was immense mainly because it hadn’t been released in a while. Meaning ever. And I found an answer while watching Hugh Hefner cuddle, enjoy cinema, eat fried chicken and giggle with his girlfriend Holly. And Bridget. And Kendra. I knew that was the kind of love I needed. If one plus one plus one equals three then more people together adds up to more love.

I had gotten an e-vite from my friend; which apparently is like an invitation but sent through the world wide web. I was involved with marveling at that concept when my attention shifted to what the e-vite was offering: an “All Girl Sexy Party”. It was exactly the right place for me to find my three new girlfriends. I fretted for many minutes over what to wear and eventually decided that if I wanted to make an impression I had to wear a tuxedo. Not with a cane though. Or a cape. But a nice tailored tuxedo.

I bounced down my doorsteps, ready to shine, when I suddenly worried that maybe I was too dressy. So I quickly swapped my pants for some hot jeans. I was prepared. And thus I arrived, stylishly, to this “All Girl Sexy Party”. Maybe I had misread my e-vite, but this party wasn’t entirely what I expected. I mean, yes, it was All Girl – 20 to be exact. And it was a party as there were Doritos and wine. But the sexy part was what concerned me. It was less sexy and more uncomfortable mix of overzealous women and a lot of sex toys.

First of all, my tuxedo was lost as I was forced to sit cross-legged in a circle on the floor. It reminded me of a witch’s séance. There were candles and some gross incense which was supposed to get us in the mood. But it also smelled like beets. I was cursing my very existence until I had the feeling that maybe this was actually a good thing. I say ‘feeling’ literally as one of the girls was rubbing oil into skin to show its warm, lovemaking effects. Another girl was tickling me with a feather. The rest were passing around large prods and wearing them. I was totally in! I could crawl over to any girl in the circle and, with the offer of anal beads, have her for one of my three girlfriends. But then it all went very bad. While massaging a mock vagina, one girl said “my boyfriend would never use this” and all the others agreed. And I rapidly realized that they all must’ve thought I was some foreign retarded cousin. They weren’t using their powers of seduction! They were straight. And I was wearing a tuxedo. And jeans.

Just as the oil on my skin was beginning to dry, the demonstration paused so that these boyfriends could show up and join in. I was appalled. But right at that moment, like a Godsend, I was passed a large glass of red wine. It was followed by seven more. By this time the girls were starting to yell out their favourite positions. I realized not all was lost yet as this group were clearly experimental. So I pulled out all the stops: I loosened my tie, began winking and involved myself in the conversation. I thrilled them with my sexual knowledge of gorilla costumes and household appliances. The girls thought I was a wizard.

Around this point one particular couple (like girl and boy couple) started inching towards me. At first I thought they were dancing but then I figured out they wanted to ask me a question. The girl was cute, with a blonde ponytail and red suspenders. She had blue eyes and fourteen freckles. I’m not so sure about the boyfriend. I think he had a moustache. Or maybe it was a mouth. I know he had a head. Whatever. The girl was hot. And holding a large vibrating dildo. Our exchange went something like this:

Hot Girl: Hey there. I really like your shoes.

Me: Thanks. Nice dildo.

Hot Girl: Ha ha oh that. Do you want to touch it?

Whatever shuffles awkwardly towards his girlfriend, Hot Girl. I poke the dildo and giggle.

Hot Girl: No. Like this.

Hot Girl then starts to stroke it. Whatever blushes.

Hot Girl: So what are you doing tonight?

Me: I forgot to feed my cat.

Hot Girl: Well me and Whatever are thinking about playing a game. But we need another player. What do you think?

One thing you should know about me is that red wine makes me feel romantic. And the other thing is that I love games. And that is how I ended up sitting on a piano, sans tuxedo, and feeding shots of vodka to the Hot Girl, while “Whatever” stood like a block in the corner and gave me the eye. After I realized what I had gotten myself into I tried to escape, but I think they thought that I was playfully wrestling. The more judo chops I provided the more enjoyment “Whatever” had. Every time I tried to get Hot Girl alone, “Whatever” would try to enter my unwelcoming lesbian zones. He didn’t seem to understand my swearing. I really just wanted to cuddle Hot Girl and maybe kiss her. Unfortunately, as a result of my reckless vodka prodding, Hot Girl passed out on the floor and I was left alone with “Whatever”, who appeared to be in heat. I tried to revive her numerous times with all of my fingers but this only increased his heat. I had not choice – in one swift movement “Whatever” rug burned my face in an attempt at kissing and proceeded to mimic lovemaking in a style I can only describe as vaccination.

But I have no one to blame but myself. It wasn’t ‘Whatever” or Hot Girl’s fault. He wanted excitement and the touch of a different type of woman and she wanted to practice her sleeping techniques on the wooden floor. However, I learned a lot about myself. In my quest for three times the love I found it was far too much love even for me to handle.