“If He Weren’t Such a Coward…”

Every year, like clockwork, I get a call from this guy in LA. Who knows what he even does professionally — we’ve never met, he’s never so much as bought me a coffee — but he always suggests we hook up, date, whatever.

And every year, I play along. I’m like, “Alright, let’s see what it is this time.”

This has been going on for four years now. One hour on the phone, and I swear he gets enough out of it to last him an entire year. Meanwhile, I’m left shaking my head because he’s such a tease. All talk. No action.

A total coward.

I doubt his cock could satisfy me anyway. If he keeps calling but never doing, he’s probably just jerking off to the idea — because deep down, he knows he’s inadequate. A real man wouldn’t hesitate to live out a simple threesome.

You know the scene I picture?

It starts slow. Quiet. The kind of anticipation that shivers through your skin. Two men, all eyes on me — hungry.

I’m the focus, the center of everything. Hands everywhere. Lips trailing my neck, shoulders, down my spine, as my body moves between them. I hear the sound of breath quickening, bodies pressing closer — heat on every side.

One hand grips my hips, firm, pulling me back into him. The other tilts my chin to meet his mouth, deep and possessive. They’re synchronized, like they’ve been waiting their whole lives for this moment — and I’m melting between them.

Every movement, every moan — it’s shared. I feel them both, and they feel me. There’s no jealousy here, only more. More touch, more pleasure. My body arching into them as they claim every inch of me together.

It’s overwhelming in the most exquisite way, feeling their hands, their mouths, their bodies — devoted, determined, unstoppable.

And when it’s all over? I’d lie there between them, skin flushed, bodies spent, thinking: He wasn’t lying after all.

But that’s just a fantasy, isn’t it? Because in reality, he’s just a coward with a big imagination — and I’m still waiting for him to act on it.

Doc