While stopped at an intersection on the way to their house, I noticed “4-way” printed at the bottom of the stop sign and chuckled. Certainly we’d talked about having a four-way, but I wasn’t necessarily expecting it, and I’m sure Jill wasn’t either. Still, we’d spent the better part of four hours having breakfast and conversation; certainly we’d all hit it off quite nicely. And while the other wife and I got on incredibly well – indeed, even better than Jill and the other husband – I’ve never really viewed myself as that guy.

You know what I mean by “that guy”: The confident Alpha male who develops an easy connection with a beautiful woman and transitions smoothly from breakfast (or dinner, or drinks, or whatever) to her place and gets laid. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been this guy before. I totally have. But not in years, and when I was, it really didn’t seem all that smooth a transition. I was never expecting it to. So I don’t really view myself this way.

(Actually it had only been about a year and a half or so since it had last happened. See what I’m saying? No matter how often it happens, I still don’t view myself as the sort of guy who experiences things worthy of Penthouse Forum.)

We hung out in their living room, continuing the small talk and aware of the palpable sexual tension that was soon to come to a head. When the other wife left the room, the other husband – I’m going to refer to them as TOW and TOH for brevity’s sake, or better still, just W and H – suggested I make a move on her when she returned. I was hesitant; while I am absolutely a take charge guy in the bedroom, I am sometimes less so until we actually get there. The first time out I need to know beyond a doubt that my advances are wanted. And while I was pretty sure they hadn’t invited us back to their place to check out the fire pit in the yard, express consent is kind of a requirement for me. I’m not sure what I expected, exactly – “I’m ready for you to fuck me, Jack” would have nicely removed any lingering doubts, but would also have been really awkward – but I had been communicating directly with W through Twitter DMs and Kik messages for more than a year, I enjoyed the connection we’d been building, and I didn’t want to inadvertently do anything that might curtail it.

Note that just because there is chemistry, or an intense connection online, that doesn’t always translate to a connection in person. It’s normal to hope for it, even expect it, but that isn’t reality. The way someone presents themselves via Twitter or another social network is one thing, and who they are offline is often something else entirely. So it stands to reason that despite how well we got along when separated by hundreds of miles, once sitting across from each other at the restaurant she might have decided she wasn’t feeling it. I’m not such an egomaniac that I’d take the connection for granted.

Perhaps this is why I don’t see myself as that guy: I need some evidence that my potential partner wants what I want. And if you’re going to wait for said evidence, you’re bound to miss an opportunity or two. It happens; I’ve accepted it. This is also a big part of why I appreciate Twitter so much. When you’re able to exhibit your sexual side in a safe environment, it takes away a lot of pressure when it comes time to actually meet in person, away from the online safety net.

And that’s why my connection with W was so strong. We are both somewhat introverted, with a lot of shared interests. We even have parenting styles in common. So while we’d spent so long getting to know each other and ensuring when we did actually meet it would be comfortable, I still had some difficulty initiating things once we were inside their house. It’s ridiculous, I know; why else would we be there if not to fuck? We’d discussed it on many occasions, we knew they were non-monogamous, and they probably had a signal worked out in case one or the other wanted to end breakfast without inviting us back to their house. They knew what they were doing.

Fortunately, once she returned to the room, W saved me the trouble by mounting me in the armchair where I sat and kissing me hungrily. It was the first time we’d ever kissed, despite more than a year of talking about it. We’d talked about a great deal more than just kissing, in fact. Her lips were soft and sweet, her kiss strong. She introduced her tongue quickly, and I reciprocated. It was every bit as intense as I’d anticipated, and I could tell she felt the same.

At the same time, on a futon on the other side of the room, Jill and H had begun playing as well. Shirt buttons were undone, shoes kicked off. Hands slid into pants, and bare flesh began to reveal itself. As hot as the spectacle on the futon was, it wasn’t difficult to keep my focus on my partner. This was everything I’d been awaiting for a very long time. We continued to kiss, caressing each other’s bodies as we undressed. By the time she took off my pants, intent on finally taking me into her mouth after all this time, I was rock-hard and ready for her.

I fingered her as she knelt over me, completely naked. Her thighs were warm, her lips slick and slippery. Her wetness betrayed the attraction and the arousal she’d felt all day. I rotated my thumb over her clit as my fingers worked their way in and out of her. After awhile, I put on a condom and watched with delight as she lowered herself onto my cock.

To be continued…