I PLANNED A THREESOME FOR MY HUSBAND Pamela Druckerman reveals how she treated her partner to his ultimate sexual fantasy
When her partner asked for a surprising 40th birthday present, Pamela Druckerman acquiesced. Here’s how it went down…
For my husband’s 40th birthday, I decide to buy him a vintage watch. It’s an expensive, nonreturnable gift, so I mention my plan to him one night before bed. He balks, saying what he really wants for his birthday isn’t a watch, it’s an experience: a threesome with me and another woman. I’m not exactly shocked. He’d floated the idea before. And although I’ve never done it, going to bed with two women is a standard-issue male fantasy. This time, though, I say yes. As a journalist, I can’t resist a deadline (his birthday is six weeks hence). Plus, I like the idea of a gesture to show I’m not slipping quietly into middle age. Occasionally, I mention the name of a female friend. ‘Would she be acceptable?’ I ask my husband. ‘Absolutely,’ he says each time. It turns out practically every woman we know would make the cut. He doesn’t want to spoil his chances by being picky. At first, I’m too
embarrassed to raise the topic with anyone we know, and I’m pretty sure that recruiting a friend would be a mistake. There’s the enormous potential for awkwardness and I don’t want someone creating a wedge in our cosy twosome. Anyway, I wouldn’t know which girlfriend to ask. Straight women don’t often discuss their same-sex fantasies with each other, so I’m not sure who’d be tempted and who’d be appalled.
My husband and I rule out advertising online, since that seems like an open call for venereal disease. We decide the ideal would be a sexy acquaintance.
She’d be vetted but easy enough to avoid afterwards. A candidate soon emerges: an American friend of a friend who, by chance, is seated behind us at a concert. She’s tall and sassy with a ballerina’s waist. ‘How about her?’ I whisper. ‘Yes!’ he says, too loudly.
After the concert, we chat. Her name is Emma. I pretend to be fascinated by her views on the performance. When I suggest that she and I have lunch, she seems flattered. Over soup, I quickly understand that under a pond of sassiness is a lagoon of insecurity. She’s probably
too emotionally fragile for a threesome, but I broach the topic under the guise of exchanging girly confidences, saying, ‘You won’t believe what my husband wants for his birthday!’ I explain I’ve agreed but haven’t yet found the third party. Instead of taking the bait, she describes the ex-boyfriend who pressured her to sleep with him and his other lover. And she warns me that I’ll be scarred by images of my husband doing unspeakable things to another woman.
Emma is out of the running, but my new man’s-eye view of the world is thrilling. I now notice women everywhere: in line at the supermarket, at my book group. I realise that the message about threesomes is paradoxical: every straight man supposedly wants to have one, but no one has ever had a good one. My therapist tells me that introducing a third party could damage my marriage. I’m undeterred, but still no closer to finding the other woman, so I decide to look at some websites. Perhaps not everyone on there has gonorrhoea? My post reads: ‘I’d like to give my partner his best birthday present ever: an experience with me and another woman. Will you help me?’ Fifteen minutes later, I get a reply: ‘Hi, I also have a boyfriend with the same fantasy (not very original, I know!). Maybe we could end up doing a deal (though not necessarily). If we like each other, I’d be happy to help out. What kind of scenario did you have in mind?’ She signs it ‘N’. It’s probably imprudent to pledge loyalty to an anonymous woman who scans no-strings websites, but I like her sisterly tone and perfect spelling. I’m not sure about the exchange deal, but that doesn’t seem to be mission critical for her.
We exchange several more emails. I call myself ‘P’. N claims to be a straight, divorced, disease-free mum in her late forties. She says that she responded to my ad out of a kind of sexual altruism, and she quotes the French expression, ‘One need not die an idiot.’ As I’m putting on a dress to go meet N for drinks, I’m suddenly struck by the strangeness of what I’m about to do: try to convince a stranger to sleep with me and my husband. I’m nervous. I’ve only ever been on the receiving end of seduction attempts. How exactly do I convince a woman to take off her clothes? My husband, who devoted years of his life to exactly this question, gives me a little pep talk. ‘Just keep asking questions. Be pleasant and reassuring, but also slightly mysterious,’ he says.
I’m already sitting down when N walks into the cafe. She’s a pretty, slim brunette with a friendly face. I notice that her make-up is fresh. She’s eager to make a good impression, too. I’m certain that my husband will like her. I try to seem riveted as she describes her life as a single mother and her elderly father’s health issues. Then I steer the conversation toward sex. She says she’s never been with another woman and isn’t sure how she’ll feel about that. She doesn’t mention the possible swap with her boyfriend. When I show her my husband’s picture, she just glances at it. For her, this is more about the two of us. We part warmly with a doublecheeked kiss and I follow up with a message explaining I found her charming ‘in every way’. She replies immediately, saying that she’s game for our adventure but that she’d like to meet again to discuss our plans in detail.
Over drinks a week later, we lay down rules for the threesome. To avoid it becoming too porn-like, the two of us will be in charge. My husband won’t make a move unless we allow it. She and I will go to the furnished apartment he uses as an office, and he’ll join us once we’re ready.
‘Do you think he’ll agree to these terms?’ she asks. ‘He’ll just be grateful to be in the room,’ I reply.
We schedule the threesome for a week later. She and I meet for coffee, then head to my husband’s office. On the way, I insist we stop at a food stand in case we work up an appetite. I’m shopping to calm my nerves, but when we get to the office it’s N who’s nervous. ‘You’re in charge, okay?’ she says. I don’t want to be the boss of the threesome either, and we’re both relieved when my husband arrives. He’s immediately physical with N, which breaks the ice. We have a sort of group hug, then agree he can take our dresses off. I’m surprised that a threesome is so, well, sexual. I’d focused so much on the logistics and catering that I’d almost forgotten we were all going to be naked. Also, threesomes are confusing. You quickly lose track of who’s at which stage. There’s a lot of ambiguous moaning. My husband tells me afterwards that he got a little lost, too. It’s a polite threesome. I sense we’re all trying to divide our attention equitably. Occasionally, N and I ask each other, ‘How are you doing?’ like concerned friends.
After about 40 minutes, I’ve had enough and think about checking my emails. I realise that part of what appeals to me about men is that their bodies are different. I try to stay attentive – it is a birthday present, after all
– but soon I’m just scratching both of their backs while they continue. When I glance at the clock again, I’m surprised to see that an hour has passed. I had no idea that sex could last so long. Finally, they tire themselves out. There’s a sweet moment at the end when the three of us lie together under the covers, with the birthday boy in the middle. He’s beaming. N seems pleased, too. As we walk home together, she says she’s surprised by how erotic she found the whole experience, especially being with me. I’m flattered, but I’m not planning on a repeat performance. My own birthday is coming up, and I would like a watch.
‘I HAD NO IDEA THAT SEX COULD LAST SO LONG’