It was late, past midnight when I awoke. I was alone in the great bed, and silver moonlight flooded in through the bedroom windows. I shook my head to clear it, and wondered where the girls were.
I got out of bed and wandered through the silent house. As I approached the great room I could begin to hear their voices. At last I could see them together in the swimming pool, standing in water up to their breasts, speaking softly to one another and stroking each other’s hair and faces.
Few things in this universe are so beautiful to a man as two women making love. I think it’s partly because to men women are inherently beautiful, even the less than perfect ones. Two beautiful naked female bodies together is beauty squared. That, and two naked women together look like two thirds of a three-way already in progress (Hey, I can dream, can’t I?).
It might be two thirds of a three-way already in progress I was watching, but this time I thought it would be impolite to intrude, but I couldn’t take my eyes off what I saw. I thought back to a time years before I met Eve when I accidentally saw my neighbors in the apartment building next to mine one night. They were two black women, naked, and in the midst of getting it on. I quickly killed my lights and watched across the gap as they pleasured each other, their dark bodies the most beautiful colors of chocolate and bronze. Somebody over there was into all sorts of color lights from Spencer’s Gifts, and their room looked like a disco as they got it on. Or a strip joint, if you prefer. I like strip joints too.
The ladies kissed each other, each other’s breasts, each other’s stomachs, butts (one had the most fabulous round ass, which I bet she loathed because it wasn’t skinny like a supermodel’s, but I liked it), and ate pussy like there was no tomorrow. The show went on for longer than I did, because I jacked myself to a stupendous climax about the time they hit their third. Or fifth. I lost count.
My ladies tonight were a pair of sparkling silhouettes against the moonlight reflecting off the pool surface. They were now locked in an embrace, kissing, nibbling, and frenching each other in their own world alone. My heart melted at the sight. I knew I was being left out again, but this time I was at least getting to watch. Sometimes you take what you can get, and voyeurism is sometimes the greatest spectator sport. I hunted around and found a chair that looked comfortable, quietly placed it where there was a clear view, and settled in for a little "personal time" at the show.
When I first came of age there were still movie houses where they showed "nudie" movies in a theater, instead of peep booths at the back of an adult movie store. The one in my town had originally been a Vaudeville theater, and it was said that W.C. Fields had once played there. When I was a child, they still had strippers and baggy-pants comedians in between what were then called "stag" reels, but those were long gone by the time I was old enough to buy a ticket.
Inside, it was one of the old "palace" type theaters, with turreted boxes overlooking what had been the stage, and red-carpeted staircases in a lobby made to look like the Doge’s Palace in Venice. Alas, all had been going to ruin for years by the time I first got there.