Menage a trois in red, black and blue: an erotic tale of our times.

This is a story about sex. It's about the pushing and the shoving, the sweat and the funk, the caresses and the smacks and the back-scratching attainment of the big O. This is the about calculated flirtations and tricky negotiations that with some luck, result in a wild ride leaving you thoroughly satisfied. This is about the one-night stands, long-term losers, maintenance booty calls and fantasy flings. This is about getting yours, about getting off, getting a piece. This is about the end game. This is a story about sex.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

Let's imagine a survivor of the game. She was quite a catch. This was an astute soul sister who had mastered the politics of the kinky power struggles and sleazy back room dealings. It had all become a familiar routine. So much so that her suitors had begun to take her for granted. Sure they enjoyed the hype they received on the nights that she elected one over the other. But the high of the evening was fleeting, leaving her with little more than empty promises and a wet spot. Victory parties were short-lived affairs.

One crisp November afternoon, she summoned her lovers to her bedside bistro for tea and tattle. They had passed each other in the hallway before, never stopping to speak. But a seething silent acknowledgement of the other was evident as Ron adjusted the knot of his red tie and John secured the pin of his gold donkey cufflink. The left-to-right tug-of-war left her frustrated and spent. There was an intolerable matter that had to be rectified. The sex was no good. Now she wanted something more. So she arranged a special threesome to see what she could get and who would produce.

"Well darling, we've been together a long time," started John. "Our little afternoon escapades have moved from the back of the bus to the head of the party. We have shared our passions in convention halls, voting booths and even oval offices. Why spoil all that fun now? I admit that I haven't always been a model candidate for your purposes. There have been times when I have stopped taking your calls or publicly denied knowing you. I have even forced my will on you. But I've apologized for my transgressions, like the time I lied about having sexual relations with that woman. Look, haven't I been good to you? With me you've enjoyed many positions. And there will be many more. That's because I know you. I know what you like. And when you are hurt, I feel your pain. Better yet, you know me. When you come my way, you know what you are in for. Why change that?"

And in one practiced moved, he cupped her elbow and gathered up her hand in his, almost whispering his last words into her fingertips, "You know that we are really good together. We can make this work again."

"Well hooray, hooray for the mighty ass," she chuckled as she removed her hand from his. "Only a charlatan like you, John, could simultaneously take credit for the highs that I achieved, and offer pitiful regrets for coming up short when I needed you most. Yes, I do know you. I know what you've got and what you are willing to give, which is why I'm considering taking my goodies elsewhere."