“Look, Robert,” I said, “You’re my friend. I like you. Lola likes you. I think you like Lola.”
“I do,” he said.
“So, I’m going to tell you something. If you play your cards right, you might not get all you want, but you can get what you need, as the song goes.”
“I’m not following,” he said.
“Look, you told us you need companionship, someone to wake up with in the morning, someone to go to bed with at night. What you need, if I may be blunt, is to get laid, get your rocks off, get your ya-yas out.”
“You certainly are blunt.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No. But what are you getting at?”
“Lo and I, we have a special relationship. An open relationship. Or, as we like to say, a half-open relationship.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, with all the naiveté of a middle-aged divorcé.
“That means, my friend, that she’s allowed to play with whomever she wants. I am not.”
“Yes, fuck, fornicate, copulate, however you wish to put it.”
“And, you big dope, she’d probably do you if you just got out of your own head for a while.”
“Yeah, buddy, you.”
“And you wouldn’t mind?”
“Mind? I’d be happy for you! I’d be happy for you both. She’s a fucking fantastic fuck. She’d set you right. And I know, on good authority, that she lusts for you.”
“You haven’t noticed?” I asked, very disingenuously because, I knew very well that some time ago when we all shared a beach house together, Lo had kissed him on the mouth, stroked his cock, and gave him a blowjob in the open air. Perhaps he didn’t know that I knew, but I knew, alright. Oh yes, I knew. . . and I liked it.
“Now that you mention it,” he said, feigning innocence.
“I thought so. She’s not subtle.”
“So, what do I do?”
“Next time she comes onto you, try reciprocating. For a Ph.D., you really are dense.”
“When it comes to the opposite sex, I’m lost at sea.”
“Well Lo’s got a safe port of entry for you to park in.”
“Oh, HH, that’s a tortured metaphor.”
“Whatever your kink,” I said.
[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]