I blame the Catholic church for making three such a powerful and reflexively desirable number… and I also blame the Catholic church for making the very idea of “three” such a sexy bedroom taboo, but I’m already off topic. Back to threesomes, right? It sounds so hot: three people getting all sweaty and bothered together on a bed built for two. But that’s the problem right there. Show me a happy, long-term threesome that you actually know of (and, no, reality stars from TLC don’t count) and maybe I’ll be convinced that threesomes don’t ultimately lead to problems with the twosome at the heart of the great “let’s switch it up and do something wild” idea that inspires almost every threesome known to man. Yeah, I said “man” because, while exclusively lesbian threesomes exist, they’re hardly ever the visual that comes to mind when the word comes up – even to lesbians.
I was recently out for coffee with a girlfriend who had just had her first threesome with a long-term boyfriend. She had often been the “other woman” in her threesome experiences of the past, and had even somewhat enjoyed the role, but she’d never been in a relationship that involved threesome sex. Threesomes are generally fun if you’re either: a) all gay and single; or b) either the “other woman” or man involved. Yes, there’s the option of two guys and one girl, but let me get to that rare and almost mythical ménage in a bit…
“Do you think it’s my body? Do you think he needs something more?” she inquired, pointing to her size-2 model physique. The “other woman” in my friend’s case was an acquaintance she and her boyfriend had met at a party who was probably a C-cup, but from my friend’s hand gestures seemed like the Canadian incarnation of Anna Nicole Smith. “Maybe he just needed to touch really big boobs. I’m not ‘porn star’ enough for him – that’s what it is. I’ve been trying to eat really fatty foods on purpose. Look at me, this is my second croissant this hour alone…”
As she went off on her quasi-Shakespearean dramatic monologue of Hamlet-worthy nervous breakdown proportions, I couldn’t help but think back to one of my most disappointing boyfriends who shall remain nameless because we are nevertheless still Facebook friends in the new era of “don’t be a stranger.” For the sake of the holy trinity nuances of this post, let’s call my ex Jesús.
After a few months of dating, Jesús, like many of my boyfriends in my early and late 20s, predictably thought enough time had gone by to spice things up with a suggestion I’d heard countless times before after the three-month mark: Let’s have a threesome! Jesús was French Canadian though, so he asked for a ménage à trois, which sound hotter but boils down to the same thing when a couple is involved – future relationship issues, naturally. I was wise enough to know this at the time, but I said yes anyway.
“Oui?!” responded Jesús excitedly, clearly expecting at least putting up a fight with his Anglophone girlfriend.
“Sure,” I said, like he had merely asked if we could watch the hockey game in French instead of English, and he already knew that I didn’t care what language an hour of boring is in.
“Do you already know someone you want to ask?” he then pushed further, his adrenaline pumping as he wasted no time putting the plans in immediate motion.
“Yes, I do,” I said casually. “I’ll call right now.”
Jesús looked like every pore on his face was crying happy tears and not simply unleashing the sweat of his overwhelmed inner teenage boy as I picked up my phone to dial up a friend so that we could take the 21st century version of the next big step in our relationship. He sat on the edge of the couch not moving a muscle, not even blinking, in case he missed a sexy moment of the conversation that was about to go down.
“Hi Jean-Luc,” I said. “Jesús and I were just talking and…”
Right then, Jesús started making violent slashes in the air with his arms, which I could only assume meant in both French and English: Please abort this conversation immediately! I invited Jean-Luc over for the hockey game instead, which he politely but nevertheless laughingly declined. Jean-Luc and I worked together at a fashion magazine at the time, and neither of us were particularly big fans of professional sports, save for using them as inspiration for fabulous photo shoots.
“I don’t understand,” I said to Jesús, acting shocked by his change of heart. “Did you change your mind? I just think it would be best if we have a threesome with someone we’re both comfortable with, and we both know Jean-Luc.”
“It’s just that I thought you were calling a girl,” he said, his mouth barely spitting out his words, like a manic depressive Jim Henson Muppet.
“Aren’t you okay with the idea of it being with another guy though?” I asked. “I think it’s only fair we do both then… because my idea of a threesome is with another guy. That’s what I want.” It wasn’t, in fact, what I wanted, but it was a risk I was willing to take to make a point.
“It’s just that I don’t want to be with another guy,” he said.
“No?” I said, once again feigning shock. “If it’s a big deal, then I understand – fair enough. If you change your mind though, we can totally revisit the idea. It could be fun – really spice things up, as long as it’s fair. I think it might create problems otherwise; jealousy and awkwardness and all that. You get that, right…?”
Have you had to turn down a threesome before and not known what to say? Comment below or tweet us @ViewTheVibe!