Not So Friendly Competition

Kylie invited Maya and Aften over. She looked them both in the eye and came clean: she knew they each had a thing for her. Maya and Aften stared, caught off-guard that the other was just as interested. Kylie smiled, admitting she found them both irresistible and could not pick one. Maybe they needed a contest. Arm wrestling was tried. Muscles locked, veins stood out, yet they could not push past the other. Kylie shook her head; they needed something sharper. So each wrote a poem, each poured feeling into the lines, and each read aloud. The words hit Kylie hard, but every verse felt just as right as the last. One idea left. They slipped into lingerie. Aften mounted first, rolling her hips while brushing lips across Kylie’s mouth, breath tasting of mint and heat. Maya followed, spine arching, slow grind and slicker kisses, forcing small, greedy sounds from Kylie’s throat. When the last song faded, no one moved away. Hands reached, mouths met, and three bodies slid together on the couch. Sharing Kylie felt like the only winning move.