Linda Alvarez - The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes

Even weary as she was, it was downright exciting, seeing others engaged in intimacy at such close range, and so emphatically. DeVille’s hand snarled in Harcourt’s hair almost immediately, as if afraid he would escape; but after Harcourt’s first instinctive flinch, she could see his shoulders relax as he let DeVille taste him. Then Harcourt’s hand lifted, and she’d never seen anything so tender in her life as when his big square hand fitted itself to DeVille’s cheek, his thumb stroking. A moment later, he leaned forwards, moving into the kiss, and DeVille made a tiny sound in his throat.

Austin slid her hand down between her legs. Harcourt reached back, blindly, and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards them. He dragged his mouth away from DeVille’s, looking dazed, and kissed her hungrily. Then he turned back and kissed DeVille, who made a sound like a whimper, then Harcourt was tugging them both down to the blankets.

The night wasn’t quite over yet.

When morning came, Austin found herself rolling her few extra clothes into a saddlebag, not quite sure how DeVille had talked her into going with them, to make their fortunes in San Francisco.

Nalo Hopkinson

“You want some blackberries?” I asked Tad. “They grow wild all along here.”

In fact, blackberry bushes lined the narrow winding road as far as the eye could see. I walked over to the nearest one, where there was a clump of fat, ripe fruit hanging just about level with my mouth.

“You crazy, Shuck?” asked Jamal. “Those things are growing by the roadside with all this pollution! You gonna make him eat those?”

As if to prove Jamal’s point, a semi came hurtling down the road, careening around the curves, belching blue smoke. It was huge and it stank, but there were still three cyclists riding in its wake. They had serious gear on, and straddled serious racing bikes. One of them looked sure to overtake the truck at the next bend. I shook my head. Vancouver. Gotta love this city. I’d only been living in her three years, but already she had my heart, with her tree-hugging, latte-sipping, bike-riding ways. Some girls are just like that. I waved a wasp away from the bunch of blackberries I was eyeing and pulled the ripest ones off. They just fell into my hand, staining it a little with juice.

“Here,” said Tad. “Lemme try ’em.”

Jamal sighed and rolled his eyes at his boyfriend. “Your funeral, sweetie.”

Tad smiled and made a kissy face at him. “And I know you’ll look hot at the wake, so cute in your tux.”

I put one of the blackberries into Tad’s mouth, enjoying the warmth and slight dampness of his mouth against my fingers. Tad had the kind of plump, ripe brown lips I liked. I imagined crushing the berries against them, and licking the juice off. Shit, the things I was thinking about my oldest friend.

Tad bit into the berry. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. I grinned. “The blacker the berry,” I told him. He responded with that flirty grin I remembered so well. Oh, gay boys could make me so randy. Gay boys and mouthy femmes.

“Come on, Jamal,” Tad said. “You really need to taste one of these. Here.” He took a berry from me and waved it in front of Jamal’s face. Jamal looked sceptical.

“Just smell it.” Tad put the berry under Jamal’s nose and winked at me. “You know how they say the way to man’s heart is through his belly?”

“That’s no belly,” I pointed out.

“You know it,” Jamal said. “I don’t spend all that time in the gym for nothing.”

Jamal was wearing denim shorts that looked like they’d been sewn right on to him, and a sinfully tight white tank top. Like many black men, he didn’t have much body hair to obscure the view. The white cotton made his skin gleam. His chest was a map of every workout he’d ever done. He was long and lean to Tad’s short, rotund muscularity. Ah, so what? I bet my arms were bigger than his. I bet I could take him. I felt the warm pulse come and go in my clit and smiled. That was the thing with me and some guys: this balled-up heat, this combination of competitiveness and good, hard wanting. A lot would satisfy it. Wrestling, maybe. Or … no. Shut it, girl. I didn’t know if I could flip these boys. Even if I could make them, just for a little while, hard for someone with girl bits, would it be someone like me? Every fag I knew was fascinated with breasts, and I was a little deficient in that department.

Jamal got a good whiff of the blackberry, and his face changed. He practically sucked it out of Tad’s fingers. Tad laughed.

Two lanky white guys in surfer shorts and skateboarding T-shirts scrambled around us on the narrow verge, trying not to stare at the tableau of three black folks together in the same space. Not a sight you saw a lot in Vancouver. They headed on towards the entrance to Wreck Beach, the smell of weed tailing them.

I slurped down the rest of the berries. “C’mon,” I said. “Let’s go.” We continued along the roadside.

Jamal and Tad were up visiting me from Seattle. Tad and I had been buddies when I lived there. We’d known each other since school days. Sometime near the end of high school, Tad had come out to me, like I hadn’t guessed! With his example to follow, I’d come out to myself — a good obedient black girl from a fine Christian family, engaged to a minister in training — and fled into the arms of outcast women like myself with no plan of ever looking back. Tad and I had stayed fast friends, but we’d stopped the outrageous flirting with each other that we used to do. No need, right? Now that we’d each shown our true colours and didn’t need the other as a shield any more. Except, when Tad contacted me a few weeks ago, we’d fallen right back into the sexual innuendo, the teasing. It felt familiar. Tad was my home. I’d invited him and Jamal to visit me and Sula, and I was thrilled when they accepted. The guys had landed at Vancouver airport a scant two hours ago. I’d whisked them off immediately to show them Wreck Beach.

We were at Trail Number Six, the path that led to the beach. “Nearly there,” I told them. I took the first few steps down. Tad and Jamal followed me, then stopped to look around. We were in a forest, dark, damp and cool. Lean old maples stretched forever to reach the sky. The footpath angled sharply down in steps hewn out of the earth and shored up with planks. A deep ravine dipped down beside the footpath. It was overgrown with saplings, tangled blackberries and undergrowth. Here and there, a few giant rotted tree trunks jutted up out of it, looking like a giants’ caber toss.

“ This leads to a beach?” said Jamal.

“Yup,” I replied. “It’s about twenty minutes straight down; ten if you’re fit.”

“Lawd ’a mercy,” muttered Tad. “The child still has a taste for hard labour.”

I smirked at him. “Ready to hike?” I said to them.

Shot through with bars of precious sunlight from above, a yellowed maple leaf drifted slowly down into the ravine. The leaf was the size of a turkey platter.

Jamal looked at me, a gleam in his eye. “Ten minutes?”

“For me, anyway,” I said. The gauntlet had been laid down. Would he pick it up?

“Betcha I can do it in seven.”

“You’re on!” I burst past him. He yelled and ran to catch up. I knew this path well; could do it in the dark. I had, one night, with my girlfriend Sula. And when we’d made it to the beach; well, mosquitoes bit me that night in places no mosquito had any right being.

I grabbed a sapling for purchase, slid around that little dogleg you get to about a third of the way down. I shouted for the joy of it.

“Please be careful, both of you!” yelled Tad.

I stopped, looked up at Tad a few yards above me. He was skating and slipping on the pebbles. He skidded to one knee, grimaced as he skinned it. He’d stopped about an inch from the edge. Jamal looked down. It was a steep drop over the side.