Passions, Shoes, Sex, and Wine: A polyamorous adventure

By Denis Grace

Passions:

Shoes, Sex, and Wine

How Joanie became a wine Goddess

Caution!

This book might ignite a fire in you. Each sip contains forbidden information.

Drink it slowly. Drink deeply.

Joanie finds herself at the midpoint of her life. Without a partner, she relies on her three passions, shoes, sex, and wine. Her obsession with wine brings her into the terrifying world of quantum mythology. There she learns two things, somehow she holds the key to the future of goodness in the world and her chances of surviving the week are vanishingly small.

To her emotional and sexual delight, she discovers her soulmates, the God of Zinfandel and the Goddess of Chardonnay. Yes, even the gods end up in love triangles, especially wine gods. The novel is full of wine tasting, tradition, and history. Panpsychism is also woven into the storyline. The novel culminates in an insane road trip where all hell breaks loose, ending in a grand conflagration of hundreds of evil creatures, genetic scientists, gods, and goddesses and eventually setting into motion the grand ‘Deus Machina,’ the God-making generator.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889101222

Denis Grace

His journey in life has taken him into spirituality, sculpture, wine, and a love for dogs. In this timeline, his degree is in architecture. In another, he has earned a Ph.D. in quantum physics and has gone back in time several times. He has also been to Mars twice. Currently, he lives in Eugene, Oregon.

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About the Author

His journey in life has taken him into spirituality, sculpture, wine, and a love for dogs. In this timeline, his degree is in architecture. In another, he has earned a Ph.D. in quantum physics and has gone back in time several times. He has also been to Mars twice. Currently, he lives in Eugene, Oregon.

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to my long-suffering wife, Lynn, who spent countless hours correcting my mistakes and laughing at my jokes. I also dedicate this to my daughter Anna Grace, hoping she will never read it, and to Maggie and Riley, two females who are far better than I ever will be, even though they are dogs.

Copyright Information ©

Denis Grace 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Grace, Denis

Passions, Shoes, Sex, and Wine

ISBN 9798889101215 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798889101222 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023918423

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

I am grateful to all of those with whom I have had the pleasure to work with during this project. Book Helpline for their professional guidance, with a special shout-out to Tracey and Austin Macauley for their editing skills.

Introduction

Michael

A quick warning before we start. You, the reader, should be aware that you are driving evolution; therefore, any perceived defects in this manuscript are likely your fault.

Seriously, it’s hilarious that humans think they’re on the top of the food chain. They are not. In reality, it’s all a never-ending hierarchy. Turtles all the way up, as we say. Just trust me, a lot is going on above your heads and my head too! (If I had a head.)

Forgive me. I should introduce myself. My name is Michael, and I will be your narrator. Some people like to think of me as a guardian angel, but I’m not really an angel, and my name isn’t Michael, either. Shall we say, I am what you would call a ‘higher consciousness’?

Anyway, I’m getting old; even my shadow, once sharp and black, has turned gray. Naturally, with age comes forgetfulness. I’m not quite to the point where I can hide my Easter eggs, but it’s coming. So, I feel compelled to share this story with you while there is still time.

A story about how one small, relatively insignificant human named Joanie inadvertently changed the entire world’s destiny and became a wine goddess.

OK, confession time. I volunteered to look after her to impress those ‘Turtles’ above me. I am not proud of that, but I became charmed by her, and I think you will be, too.

I should mention that she is hot and bisexual. Sadly, I’m not a man or woman, and I don’t have a body, so there’s that. Living with my ambiguity is what I’m used to, so I’m content to be your humble scribe. She is smoking, so let me tell you about her body. Her body is a perfect ten. Every ‘i’ dotted, every ‘t’ crossed, perfection. Her climax is way over the top and very exciting, but her introductory chapter could use professional editing…Okay, I’m making lame writers’ jokes. Sorry. I’m a ‘thing,’ not a writer.

But I had to start somewhere.

Part 1

Joanie’s Passions

Passion #1: Shoes

Cloud level International Corporation

Today she is forty. How has she been able to cope? She’s devoted herself to three passions: shoes, sex, and wine.

Joanie’s motto, ‘Beautiful shoes take you to beautiful places.’

Shoes were more than a covering for the most erotic part of her body. They were an expression of her parents’ love lavished on her when they first placed little booties on her baby feet. They represented the warm arms of her mother wrapping around her when tying her shoelaces. She began and ended each day of her life, cradling her shoes in her hands. The aroma of the leather the caress as she slipped them on. It was a moment of prayer.

She knew her love and affection helped every little shoe in her closet feel better about itself. She would never abandon an old shoe. Even her cell contained selfies of her shoe babies. Over time shoes became the coffee that fueled her creative genius. They produced feelings of euphoria that gave her life purpose. This passion carried her over the threshold of mediocrity into the high command of the business world.

It was no surprise to anyone that upon graduation, she chose to find employment within the footwear industry. Fortunately, the University of Oregon, her alma mater, was located next door to the mighty Cloud level Corporation, one of the largest purveyors of footwear in the world.

The First Tuesday of August, Eighteen Years Later

BOOM!

She had risen the corporate ladder faster than a chain smoker in a firework factory. Starting as a humble shoe salesman in a small retail store, she’d become the President of Cloud level International. Newsweek, always on the lookout for successful women, had asked her staff for a bio. She was being considered for ‘Woman of the Year.’

Joanie Donohue, who turned forty today, was at the top of her game.

Usually, Joanie arrived at work 15 minutes early; this morning, she was an hour ahead of her staff. ‘It’s going to be a killer day,’ she thought as she looked over her desk calendar. There, blocked out in red, were the first Tuesday and Thursday of August. The time when product decisions for the coming year were made.

The sky above Cloud level International was alive with activity. Circling overhead, like birds of prey, descended the manufacturers’ reps. Private jets, $5,000 suits, gold chains, luxury limos. They all came, hoping to add Cloud level to their chain of distribution. The waiting room was filling up with anxiety. It was a live-or-die, high-stakes game about to be played in real-time.

Busy, busy, busy. The air was electric. It was as if everyone had three extra cups of coffee and were on edge that morning. The success or failure of the following season came down to her decisions during these two days. With armloads of shoe boxes, research papers, resumes, corporate profiles, and other bits and pieces of pertinent data, the office staff scurried back and forth in nervous excitation.

Nine o’clock, it’s almost time for the meetings to begin. Feeling the pressure, she paused to sip her Italian roast cappuccino. She closed her eyes and could feel the warm feline vapor move across her face.

The warm Italian sun washed over her as the long trumpets let out mournful sounds. Emperor Joanie rose from her throne. The Roman citizens surged in adoration across the Colosseum. Below stood the armed sales reps, fists over their hearts. We who are about to die, salute you! they barked. She acknowledged their sacrifice with a dismissive nod, then, raising her chalice high in the air, yelled, Let the games begin! The crowd roared with approval.

Ding… ding…a computer prompt softly called her back into reality.

She glanced up at the three computers on her desk. They were running pro forma models of projected cash flows, net revenues, and taxes. This data was traded back and forth with the CFO and the other bean counters for technical analysis of discounted cash flow. ‘Go fast, go big’ was the corporate motto, but that meant nothing if shareholder value declined.

Looking down at her notebook, she smiled. ‘Step Up to The Cloud level,’ the corporate byline. Paging forward, she came to August, then nothing; the future was waiting to be written. She began to map out that future in her Victorian longhand.

Her script was a symphony of small things: the paper, the choice of pen, and the soft violet ink she liked to use. Each letter flowed into the next like the spirals in Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Others in the office thought her handwritten notes were a waste of time; they had all gone digital. They called her old-fashioned. ‘OK,’ she thought, ‘so I’m a little nostalgic about some things, but it’s not like I’m painting my notes on the walls like some caveman… Wait! Cave painting with stick figures chasing prehistoric animals wearing the latest line of Cloud level Athletic shoes, Digital Native, Ankle Rockets… Hmmm, that could work.’ She wrote it down.

Peering deeper into her proverbial sales crystal ball, she considered a few things no one was discussing—first, health awareness. Boomers had boomed, and now shoes were needed for the overweight, elderly walkers. Next, she reviewed a product piece from ‘The Dandy Cane’ Corporation. The idea of selling fashionable support accessories was new to the industry.

All of this had to do with getting ahead of the constantly evolving trends. The one trend closest to her heart was research showing a steady increase in wine consumption. ‘Was there some way of generating the same enthusiasm you see at wine tastings with shoe customers? Shoe tasting? No.’ She laughed at herself. Still, the more she thought about it, she sensed there was a connection there somewhere. Offer wine at Cloud level? Or maybe sell shoes at wineries? She wrote the ideas down.

From a practical standpoint, she knew that coupling shoes to someone’s addiction were a sure way to make sales. For example, with the legalization of pot, smoking slippers were now big. Sipping Slippers? She wrote that down and next to that, ‘Sippy Slippy.’

Not all of Joanie’s ideas were winners!

She liked the idea that the shoes had tricky names. It was one more layer of creativity that has now morphed into its third generation. This summer, the company started selling shoes using narratives. ‘The cool dude in a loose mood likes a good IPA flip-flops’ were doing well. As were ‘Glam Girls, a small dog named Fluffy, oversized sunglasses with a big purse, pumps.’ With the last one, there was always the possibility of an ‘upcharge’ by promoting the matching sunglasses and purse. Joanie loved scripted comments like, ‘Oh, you would look great with that purse. Here, have a look. See how well that goes with those shoes?’ That created a need in the consumer they didn’t know they had. To Joanie, it was pure capitalistic love poetry.

It should be noted that Joanie’s sales pitch was so convincing that she had sold herself the pumps, matching purse, and sunglasses!

‘Work and worry, work and worry,’ she thought, glancing up at the changing numbers on her computer screens. ‘9 AM, time to get it on.’ She punched the intercom to her secretary and, with a slight Italianate flourish, said, Helen, let the games begin!

Outside, the overly-scented multitude of manufacturing representatives lined up to make their pitch. Churning, roiling, and turbulent, they had reached a state of arousal. After months of planning, they had a few minutes to convince Joanie to buy. Now it was time for the kickoff.

Mine cheaper.

Mine woke.

Mine better made.

Mine, mine, mine.

Like little birds, they sang their songs, but only Joanie decided who was truly worthy. The handsome men winked, the female reps attempted to bond, and all would suggest other accommodations could be made. But if someone were going to offer her a bribe, it would need to be a really, really good one. She didn’t practice any religion, but her ethics were pure.

She also knew that they didn’t serve wine in prison.

‘Ah well, time to focus on the business at hand,’ Joanie thought. There were always shoes she rejected because the names were just too crude: Brothel Creepers, Titty Bangers, and the Limited Edition Big Schlong Biker Boots. Out. Doc Martens were supposed to be coming back…No. Fabulous lounge look…So, last year. Joggers…Left to the discounters.

Shoes went in, then out, then in, then out, then in, then out of style. Faster than a meth freak doing the Hokey Pokey. It was all Joanie could do to keep up.

‘The Sipper Slipper.’ She was having trouble letting go of the connection between wine and shoes. ‘Oh! I know,’ she thought. ‘Pair wine with shoes. That it! Wine-inspired shoes!’ Her soles tingled at the thought. She slipped out of her ‘Wombats’ and rubbed the soles of her feet against her knee-highs. She was becoming excited.

By 11:00, she had exiled thirteen salespeople and was about to give the boot to the next rep.

The Smart Shoe, he announced with a self-congratulatory voice. These shoes have a pocket for your cell phone. Check. It. Out. Just sit down, cross your legs, and BAM! He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and looked down at the top of his shoe. BAM! There it is! It’s got a built-in charger, he announced, eyes glowing.

No more fishing around in your pocket or purse. It’s big, Joanie, really big. This is 10G big! Look! What is the number-one Christmas seller two years in a row? Then, after a dramatic pause, he leaned forward, and with arms outstretched, he exploded, Cup phone holders!

The man was so sincere that Joanie felt compassion for him. She put her hand on his arm and said, Fred, all last month, the news was about TISS, Technology Induced Stress Syndrome. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a real thing or not. People think it is, which means technology is out for this season. That goes for everybody: no lights, mp3 players, PCs, cell phones, or laser pointers. Nothing that requires a manual.

Fred was obviously disappointed.

Joanie attempted to ‘moonwalk’ her comment, i.e., pretending to go forward while going backward. Look, Fred, it’s a great idea. It’s just that the timing is a little off. I think your idea has potential; let’s try it again next season.

You can take that to the bank and smoke it.

You should know Joanie has an internal brain wiring problem. She often gets her metaphors mixed up. It’s cute, and let’s face it; there’s no explaining why when someone mixes up a metaphor, they don’t know they have just mixed up a metaphor.

But it holds your cell phone, Fred said, making one last attempt as Joanie led him out of her office.

Lordy, Lordy, there must be something out there I can sell.

She needed some time to collect her thoughts. Next to her, on a side table were several pastries and small gifts her staff had given her that morning. ‘Forty years,’ she thought, ‘my life is half over.’

She pressed the intercom. Helen, give me a ten-minute break and then send in the next rep.

Joanie Turns Forty

In a midway of this our mortal life

I found me in a gloomy wood astray

—Dante Alighieri

Usually, she could handle whatever the day called for, but today was different. It was her fortieth birthday. She sighed, closed her eyes, and began to breathe deeply. Relaxing, she placed her hands on her desk and continued to meditate.

Breathe; she felt her shoulders fall as she collected her thoughts.

Breathe; she relaxed her body.

Breathe; she imagined the sun filtering through the canopy of an old-growth forest.

A cool shadow passed over her. Someone was in the room! Looking up, her attention was drawn to a Gustave Dore illustration. It was the poet, Dante. Looking over his shoulder, his melancholy eyes made contact with hers.

She took a moment to ponder the caption.

In the midway of this our mortal life

I found me in a gloomy wood astray

—Dante There was Dante, lost at the midway of this our mortal life with little sunlight to give him hope. The midway of this life had finally arrived for her. It wasn’t her age that bothered her, but like Dante, she felt she was lost. Lost. As the months turned into years, she’d lost faith in soulmates. After that, she lost hope in finding the right person for her, and now she was losing faith in relationships altogether. She was lost, lost in the woods that she had planted.

‘What is Dante trying to tell me? Oh right,’ she thought, ‘keep it moving until you find your way out of the woods. Besides, not to worry. Birthdays are a good thing. The more people have, the longer they live, right?’

She smiled at that thought, but it wasn’t a smile of wit or humor. It was a smile of sad irony.

The other issue that bothered her was the dating-after-forty thing. To her, it was like shopping for shoes at Walmart. Lots to choose from, but you will not find anything you would want to place on your foot. No Bruno Magli, Francesco Russo, or Sergio Rossi.

‘Oh well, who needs relationships anyway?’ She had plenty of things to occupy her spare time. Joanie’s passions of shoes, sex, and wine, were all-consuming. To say her life revolved around this trinity would be an understatement. For her, shoes, sex, and wine were the meaning of her life. ‘Forty is no problem,’ she thought, ‘isn’t being successful and living a full life all that matters?’

Damn right, she muttered. She took another sip of her coffee and thought about the end of time when all humans were gone. The sun would collapse in on itself, other stars would run out of fuel, so they too would cease to shine, and the universe would slowly and inexorably grow black. Then, finally, the inevitability of human oblivion would come about. The universe would eventually freeze into an impenetrable nothingness for all of eternity. All forgotten, nothing would matter, and nobody would care. Continuing on this depressing thread, she thought, ‘If life has no meaning, why am I here? What is my purpose? What is my destiny?’

I found me in a gloomy wood astray. Yeah, Dante was talking to her.

‘A gloomy wood astray,’ she couldn’t escape the feeling that when she looked into the darkness, something was looking back. Fortunately, on most days, the sun would shine through, but on the bad days, in her nightmares, she would suddenly awake, gasping for sunlight. There was no textbook she could consult on her connection with the sun, but she could feel it. Lost in a gloomy wood astray, there it was. When Joanie thought she had wandered off the path, it took her a while to realize she was lost. Her remedy: get back to work, and focus. Eventually, she would find her way. Then at the day’s end, at nightfall, she would find herself lying in bed worrying which direction the sun would rise or if it would at all.

She could feel her heartbeat slowing down.

She would never admit anything was wrong in public, but in private, her tears fell on a world of polished mahogany and Corinthian leather.

We are all born with our share of blessings and curses. Joanie was beautiful, sexy, and intelligent, yet she struggled. Anxiety and depression seem to be just a moment away. She saw it for what it was, fear of fear. So, her default position was to shut it down. Instead, she would focus her energy on her work and passions during those times. By now, you have figured that Joanie’s game is pretty easy to see through… It’s all about diversion. Shoes, sex, and wine were her bodyguards.

The good news was that those feelings drove her lifelong tendency toward perfection. That pleased, to no end, the overlords at Cloudlevel International. So, in some respects, she considered her depression a blessing.

Outside Joanie’s office, a cloud moved in front of the sun, and the office momentarily went dark. Joanie shivered; she could feel the winds of change coming her way. They were dark and closing in like a rising storm. The sun was leaving her again. Something which she preferred to leave undisturbed was awakening.

Her mind started back on the inevitability of nothingness… Then, quickly shifting gears, she looked at the clock; it was 4 o’clock. ‘One hour to go,’ she smiled,’ and then I’m free. So, I think the first thing I will do is pour myself a nice glass of zinfandel and relax. Then I’ll change into my sexy French underwear. Oh, this will be a great evening,’ she mused. And just like that, she chased the goblins of depression out of her mind with her favorite standby medicine, sex.

‘A great evening ahead.’ As she undressed that thought, a cat-like expression moved across her face. Fueled by alpha waves, her cerebral cortex began to purr. Tonight, she was going on her fourth date with Daniel. Their first two dates had been celibate. Casual sex was not her thing. Now they were entering into the phase where they were exploring each other. What made the night special was the concept of ‘birthday sex’ where Joannie could choose whatever sexual favors she wanted. Everybody knew that. Joanie was in the mood to embrace her sexuality, not to mention a few fantasies she’d been thinking about.

‘HA!’ she thought. ‘Neanderthals may have discovered fire, but I know how to burn the house down with it.’

Passion #2: Sex

(And Joanie’s Little Secret)

The Innocent Awakening

When going on walks, their hands would occasionally find each other. Like young girls everywhere, when braiding came into fashion, they would spend hours playing with each other’s hair. Then, there were sleepovers where they would lie in bed and talk about everything. For Joanie, their relationship became an intimate journey into parts unknown.

It all came together that Christmas, just before graduation. Her family had placed mistletoe over the entry to the dining room. Thinking it was funny, Maggie led Joanie to the threshold and pointed at the mistletoe. Joanie kissed her, not the intended kiss on the cheek but a tender kiss on the lips. A moment of awkwardness followed as Joanie was drawn further into the puzzle of herself. That night, alone, she undressed her heart and looked at it in the mirror. Something had been written upon it in a language she couldn’t yet understand, the language of desire. Some bisexuals call this the ‘innocent awakening.’

Regarding college choices, Joanie chose the business school at the University of Oregon, and Maggie went to Washington State. During her first winter quarter, she invited Maggie to come down for a visit. Heavy clouds greeted them as the wet black pavement filled with thousands of worms trying to escape the deluge.

After showing Maggie the university campus and what few sights the small hamlet of Eugene had to offer, they walked home and got caught in a downpour. They ran as fast as they could, but the rain ran faster. By the time they made it back to Joanie’s apartment, they were totally soaked and laughing breathlessly at each other. Getting soaked in a downpour with her best friend was a pleasure.

Joanie cranked up the heat, built a fire in the fireplace, then set their drenched clothes out to dry. She dressed Maggie and herself in oversized flannel nightshirts. From the top drawer, she pulled out two pairs of wool knee socks. The evening had a mind of its own.

****

Just know that her one-night love affair with Maggie had a limiting if not disastrous, effect on her life. Her friend left, and soon the letters ceased. She refused to talk about it. ‘It wasn’t a one-night stand,’ Joanie thought, ‘there was too much love for that.’ The last she heard, Maggie was married and living in the suburbs of Hood River. She often wondered, ‘Does he kiss her like I used to kiss her? Does she know how many nights I think about her?’

When Joanie was in this mood, the main question that haunted her was, ‘If she knew in advance that she would lose her friend because of the affair, would she do it again?’ Her answer was always the same. ‘Yes.’

The Bisexual Dilemma

Bisexuals seldom reveal themselves, yet they are everywhere. This explains why the problem they face is unknown to most people. The problem is called the bisexual dilemma. In the world of dating, there are very, very few couples seeking a third. Because of this, the bisexual must pick one gender or the other, and when they do, the seeds of discontent are planted.

This was the garden in which Joanie found herself. She loved everything womanly about women and everything masculine about men. She loved the shadow of herself, the soft, caring tenderness of the feminine. Yet, she equally loved men’s masculinity; she desired to be taken.

Thus, the ‘time thief’ haunted her. When with a woman, she felt the time was stolen from her life with men. Then, with a man, she could feel the little thief busily snipping away at each hour, each day. As the relationships continued, the greater her longing for the other grew. It made it impossible for her to give herself to anyone. Completely misunderstood, she held back on commitment.

Looking for a remedy, she sought out tango. Walking into the Milonga, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Instead of the lean men and long-limbed women sensuously dancing together, she found that the dance had opened itself to include same-sex couples.

A simple glance across the room with eye contact was all it took to engage in a brief love affair expressed through movement. Snuggling in a close embrace, she experienced the emotions accompanying the first kiss without actually kissing. The lovely subtle fragrance only women possess, breasts moving against hers, holding and being held. This part of the ritual was heaven for Joanie.

Something that nice couldn’t last, and the ‘time thief’ always lurking about had been busy. Although she loved dancing with men and women, there was always that underlying anxiety. The fundamental essence of the dance was expressed in its motto, ‘It takes two to tango.’

With Joanie, it took three to Tango

As one lover dissolved into another, her passion only grew, and her feeling of being incomplete increased. Left to her daydreams, she would construct the memories she hoped someday to have. Taking wing in this dreamy flood of endorphins, her imagination would soar and glide upon the visions of romantic loves and grand weddings. Years passed, but she never gave up hope; stick by stick, she carefully built a bonfire ready for the moment she could take her lovers’ hands and burn in ecstasy forever.

Her lovers’ hands.

Eventually, she accepted that her bisexuality was something alive and had a mind of its own. It crawled underneath her skin, driven by forces she had no clue about. ‘Just born that way’ was her default self-talk as she moved through life in wonderment and dismay.

Daniel… Back to Work at Cloudlevel

Her thoughts went back to the date she had planned with hot Daniel. ‘I wonder what my present will be.’ She smiled to herself. Looking up at the clock, she saw it was now 4:30. The interviews were done, and there was a sense of exhausted satisfaction throughout the staff. Everyone was eager to get on with their personal lives, and Joanie’s now consisted of Daniel.

Daniel was an attractive man she had met at a local wine bar. As she thought about him, her hopelessly sad eyes were replaced with a sated gleam, an inwardly focused eroticism that caused her to wiggle in her seat.

‘Fantasy time, an idle mind is the devil’s workshop,’ she thought, ‘the devil’s workshop indeed!’ She had never experienced a ménage à trois. She was aware he dated other women, which got her wondering if he would be interested in a threesome. She also knew that simply telling someone you were bisexual was fraught with bad outcomes, so she thought it might be best to frame it in terms of his pleasure. Maybe something like, Daniel, what is your wildest sexual fantasy?

‘That’s it. Make him think it’s his idea. Then she could pretend to be shocked by his suggestion.’ Then, with appropriate timing, reluctantly, she would agree to try it, but only because he wanted it. ‘Hee, hee!’

She had to tread carefully here. The last time she had told a date she was interested in a threesome, he looked at her incredulously and said, "What? You want me to bring another person