I don't care what they say; there's no better way to be intimate with three other people than to join a string quartet.

Just how intimate I didn't find out till three years out of college.

We'd met at the academy. I (Melissa) and my husband Jocelyn, the two violins, were the white half of the quartet; Elijah on cello, and Cherish on viola, formed the black half. I loved them all. Two years after college we were well established, touring and sharing hotel rooms; sometimes sharing partners. I don't know why they call it wife-swapping, like it's only the husbands who choose. I loved both the men. Elijah, with his warm, large, rich cock that I love to feel inside me. He's big but gentle, and his penis is likewise. I like Elijah's black dick.

But if I like Elijah's I love Jocelyn's. Well, it's Jocelyn's for a start, and I will never stop loving Jocelyn. Okay, his dick isn't like Elijah's, but he knows how to use it. When he enters me (I can feel it now) he always holds it still for a moment, as though in wondering appreciation, before he starts ministering to me. Every time he comes in he's able to make me feel I'm his first. I like to clasp his neat, white ass while he comes into me, and then keep hold while he thrusts. He says, much as he likes Cherish's body, when his cock comes into me it's like it's returning home. I guess we both feel like that. There's always a welcome in my vagina for either of them, but it's definitely Jocelyn's home.

The thought's never far from my mind while we play our quartets, whether I'm watching the passion in their eyes during sad Russian music, or their devotion to Beethoven's sublime late quartets. I was always specially aware of Elijah and Jocelyn.

That's till I 'discovered' Cherish.

It was another quartet who approached us and started it all.

Somehow they must have sensed we were game for it. They said they wanted to make a video of Mendelssohn's famous octet, scored for two string quartets, a gloriously youthful and energetic play for every instrument. They wanted to make the video on a remote mountain top. The sort of place where you can see a hundred miles in every direction but no-one can see you.

They didn't tell us why that last bit was important.

Like ours, their quartet was half white, half black. They drove us into the mountains, and we climbed. Their first violinist, black Milton, leading the way. When I say leading, he was lengths ahead of us. Athletic, hardly taller than Jocelyn, but built like a lean Marathon runner, he floated up the mountain like a bird, in spite of carrying the video equipment, his violin, and a cello. This last belonged to the white girl of the quartet, a round, cheery-faced girl who looked to be the quartet's mother figure, rather as Cherish was ours. In our quartet I was the slim white girl and Cherish the archetypal 'Black Mama' but in theirs the roles were reversed. They had a 'White Mummy' and a slim black girl.

We caught up with Milton and at last paused to see where he'd chosen for his film. It was stunning. We stood on a grassy platform with sides sweeping away towards views of mountaintop after mountaintop—even higher mountains looking down upon us like guardians.

Up in the sunshine we played the octet together.

Then they dropped their bombshell. They wanted us to video it again naked, so they could research the difference it made to our playing.

No way would I dare to be first to undress. Funnily enough it was the two white men who took the lead. Looking steadily ahead I plucked up courage—after all, there was nothing my quartet hadn't already seen anyway. I looked away from the others, concentrating on the breathtaking panorama. I removed my bra and instantly felt the breeze as my breasts fell free. Then all I was aware of as I stripped was the exhilaration, the freedom. I felt the mountain air blowing through my hair, over my breasts, ruffling my secret—or no longer secret—hair. But why should it be secret? This was the way it should be.

I looked round at the others. Now we were all naked. You could see the others felt the same exhilaration. Some were still looking down the glen, or up to the higher mountains behind us. Others looked at each other. Jocelyn gave me a smile of encouragement and admiration. I returned it, full of love and pride in my partner. Milton was looking at me with an innocent wonder that held no embarrassment for either of us. And wow, I looked back at him. No wonder he'd practically leapt up the mountain. His lean, black form had looked good dressed. Now I could see the structure that produced that energy. Pure muscle, and a masculinity that…well, I can't honestly swear that my look was entirely innocent. But I enjoyed being looked at by a body like his.

Cherish looked as I'd never seen her before. Full, motherly, fecund and fulfilled, her bush of black hair the very archetype of fertility.

Here, atop the mountain, everything felt so right and natural. No-one could see us, but we could see the world. More—we were the world.

We sat to play again.

What a difference. Free, uninhibited, we gave ourselves over to the music. It resounded down the glens, an exultant sound of nature.

When it was over, we burst into spontaneous applause for each other. We laid aside our instruments and the eight of us, still naked, ran, hugging each other, until we found ourselves in pairs holding hands. I couldn't believe I was snuggling up to Milton, his hard abs against my softness. I could even feel his cock swelling against me and, well-hung as he was, I could feel the weight against my thighs. My hands were beginning to creep down his back. But he pulled away.

He spoke to us all. His voice was as cultivated as his muscles were toned.

"No," he said. "This is a special moment, in a special place. We mustn't do what we've always done. Nature has other ways than these. Express your joy in the way you are doing. But the occasion needs something different. Share your love, man to man, and woman to woman. If you haven't before, now is the perfect place and time."

Without any choosing we drifted towards new partners. I found myself in the arms of the slim black girl of the other quartet, Monique. She needed no encouragement. She must have done this before. Her arms were around me, pressing me to herself, our breasts wonderfully cushioned against one another. She kissed me. And ran her hands down my back, clasping my ass the way I clasped Jocelyn's. I clasped Monique's in return. So different she felt from Jocelyn. That someone so slender could have an ass so round, so yielding. We kissed, pressed ourselves against one another. Her hand came round to my front. I was dizzy with the feeling. She was stroking my secret lips, haltingly as though waiting for permission to enter between them. I took her hand in mine, and slowly guided her, like I was giving her a tour of my treasury. I showed her to my inner labia, into the corridor of my vagina, and took her to the most exquisitely delicious parts of my clitoris. Now that she knew where everything was I gave her freedom to roam. Her fingers teased, expertly feeling, fondling, touching. Her other hand still clung to my ass, while her lips breathed over my boobs, occasionally bestowing on a breast a fluttering kiss or even a lick of the tongue.

I released my hands from around Monique, craving to return the pleasure she was giving my breasts. I held hers in both hands, testing their weight. Though of a similar figure to mine, she had much larger breasts, and I could feel their heaviness. I fingered the dark nipples and kissed them, wonderingly. She was breathing heavily, regularly—but then so was I.

Why had I never thought that two female bodies could express themselves like this? Why had I thought that only Jocelyn and Elijah could be exciting for me, and not Cheryl? Why shouldn't we all find each other equally wonderful and stimulating? I knew that next time we found ourselves in a hotel-room-foursome the dynamic would never be the same. No longer could it all be male on female.

I watched the others. Jocelyn was certainly finding Milton satisfying. They were deep in a kiss. Both had neat, handsome asses, which each was clasping like they would never let go. It felt strange to see them, but somehow sweet to see men so liberated, unashamed, expressing real feelings. I couldn't see their cocks, they were pressed so closely against each other, but I couldn't help wondering how hard and full they might be.

The other two pairs were each lying on the grass, the girls curled up together, the boys lying side by side. Elijah and his white companion were as naturally happy in their own skins as we two were. Their distinctly aroused dicks each nestled in the other's caressing fingers. They, too, expressed love and wonder at the miracle of each other's bodies. I'd heard of unsavoury practices in young boys' schools, but this was nothing like that. Against the Alpine backcloth of grass, rock and sky every movement of limb and loin was slow, languid, beautiful. Their fingers rested against each other's proud, erect cocks, scarcely moving, serene and noble. I had never thought how glorious same-sex love can look and feel.

The two women were curled in each other's arms on the sward. They stood up and came towards us. As I stood in Monique's embrace, motherly black Cherish came up behind me. She stroked a hand all the way down my back, right into the cleft of my ass. Even Jocelyn and Elijah had never touched me there. Cherish's white counterpart must have stood behind my partner in the same way, because Monique loosened her hold on me so that I fell into the arms of Cherish. In a trice Cherish, black mama that she was, had me clasped in her embrace, an arm over my breasts, and a hand over the fur of my pussy. She touched with one finger the dimple at the top of my outer labia. Then, expertly, she ran a finger along their length. Already aroused I moaned as loudly as when Jocelyn's finger touches my depths. I wasn't sure I could take this.

"There, my baby. Be good for Mama," she whispered. "Pussy belongs to me now. I'm gonna look after her. Come down."

She knelt on the grass. I curled in her lap. Her plaything. And she played with me. At first I didn't attempt to touch her, just to snuggle against her as her hands had their way with me. It was like she had to awaken every centimetre of me before I could do her anything like justice. She stroked my secret hair, making soothing noises, though she must have known it was anything but soothing. And just as I was least expecting it her hand reached down to my labia again, measuring the length of them, and then driving me almost out of my mind with her expertise between them. Suddenly she left my pussy untended and stroked my ass, my thighs, right to the knees. She appraised my waist and hips; everywhere but where I desperately wanted her to go back to.

At last her hand returned home, seeking my clitoris, and staying to soothe and excite all at once. Every now and then she'd murmur something like, "You enjoying this, little one?" or "Now, Baby, that's right." I seemed totally encompassed by her arms and hands.

My eyes closed in hypnotic trance. New hands touched me. The other two girls were joining Cherish's play with my body. I felt large, warm, feminine hands massaging my shoulders. It must be Sally, the 'White Mummy' cellist. And now six hands were playing me like I was a violin, the black girl stimulating my inner thighs into ecstasy while Cherish's fingers were still around my clitoris. Again I felt fingers, I don't know whose, deep in the cleft of my ass, claiming that place even Jocelyn had never been. I felt helpless and possessed, front and back, loved and appreciated like never before.

I closed my eyes, basking in love and sunshine. They made me lie down, and I felt a head nuzzling against my secret hair. A tongue stroked between my lips, so much more sensuous than a finger, tasting my vagina. It was Monique again. I couldn't return the compliment but White Mummy, Sally, had come to kneel beside me, presenting her own luxurious treasury. I buried my head in her lap, deep in her hair, savouring the honeyed warmth and allowing my inexperienced tongue to seek out her secrets. She was warm, moist, musky-sweet. She took my head in her hands and pressed it between her thighs, against the warmth of her pussy. Even with my two men we had never explored half the pleasure our mouths could give us. That was definitely going to change. Sally was like a white version of Mama Cherish. Even dressed her body invited you to sink yourself into her. But naked, in her lap, all I was aware of was her voluptuous furry centre, this source of pleasure for man or for woman, this source of new life. I sank my tongue deep into its sweetness.

Suddenly they stilled. I cried out. They must go on. But I sensed their thoughts as they paused. They knew I was going to climax. Tenderly two held me in their arms while Monique found my clitoris. Reading my mind, emotions and inner secrets, she took possession of it; teased it, loved it and brought me, with every exquisite movement of her fingers, to a point of almost unconscious delirium. I fell whimpering with happiness back into Cherish's arms, dear wonderful Cherish, and she laid me gently on the grass. The world came back into focus as I looked across at the four men. I saw in Jocelyn's face the look I had seen so often—though far more often my eyes had been closed as Jocelyn climaxed. He and Milton were being brought to climax by the other two men, in ways every bit as subtly exquisite as my women had ministered to me.

We lay still and warm before we dressed and left the mountains, those unchanging, majestic guardians. But we, we were changed forever.

Never again would I belittle same-sex love. And never again would I want to be without it.