A fresh spring rain had moved through the area only a half-hour earlier; making the woods fragrant and washing the city clean in the dusk. I inhaled deeply of the damp evening smells as I climbed out of the Jeep Wagoneer and strode towards Helen's apartment. Plum trees shaded the front of the light gray building from the rays of the setting sun. The trees still had a few of their white blossoms scattered among their new green leaves, and they reminded me of other springs when Maggie and I stood beneath a similar canopy of creamy flowers while having our picture taken. But that was then - this is now, I thought, as I began striding towards Helen's lobby. The needs of business had placed me 2000 miles away for almost three weeks. It had been three very long weeks. Minutes later I would discover that gap had seemed an eternity to Helen as well. Helen was waiting in the courtyard on the southside of her building. She was standing barefooted on a wet rock walk where she had been watering flowers, her baggy gardening dress hanging almost to her tanned ankles. Her smile as beautiful now as it was the first time it flashed at me. It was an easy smile, the sort of smile that made strangers instantly at ease with her, a disarming smile that told me she was not a complicated woman, a misconception I would soon learn to revise. I took a deep breath of the heavy air, and enjoyed the familiar earthy odors of damp plants and stones. We kissed. Softly. I could smell the faint fragrance of a familiar, yet unrecognizable perfume. I made a mental note to learn the name for future gift purposes. (Of course I would eventually buy the wrong perfume, that's what guys do, right?) Helen bent down and took the hem of her dress and dried her hands. Then she looked me in the eye and said: "Hello stranger." A sparkle of amusement began to pluck at her emerald eyes, "I shouldn't tell you this, but I've missed you terribly. I've managed to entertain myself in your absence though. I got so horny thinking about you and Bubba while you were gone . . . I went shopping and shopping . . . well, . . .. I can't wait to show you my new toy collection." She shook her head at this, seemingly delighted at the expression I now had on my face. "Ah, I see you're curious. Good. Let's go up now." There was a long, sensuous kiss in the empty elevator. We held each other close and it felt good. It felt right. The elevator door opened and we entered Helen's apartment. The late afternoon light throwing a long, brassy streak across the dark terracotta tile at the entrance of the living room. I made myself comfortable, dropping down into a tapestry covered armchair. "First off, let me get you a drink," she said, as she kicked her shoes off, and picked them up with one hand as she loosened her belt with the other. She walked through the dining room unbuttoning her dress, then back out to the stairway where she started up to her bedroom. My eyes devoured her body as she climbed the stairs. What had she said? Something about a drink? I came to the conclusion I was to make myself comfortable and that included making my own drink. Helen meanwhile, took the opportunity to bathe and wash her hair. She put on only a thin cotton sundress with yellow, red and blue tropical flowers swirling and blending into each other. She had combed out her rust colored hair, but left it wet and came down to the kitchen and poured a strong scotch and water before rejoining me in the living room. I knew she was naked under the dress from the jouncing of her breasts and way it clung to her thighs. Sitting down on the couch, she propped her feet up on a coffee table, and hiked her dress above her knees. (Unladylike you say, well . . . maybe . . .. But, I say it was by design and sexy as all get out.) Mind you, Bubba had almost wormed his way out of his zippered confinement. I could feel his one eye bulging obscenely as it thrust against the material of my slacks. Helen took a long drink of her scotch, and noting the uprising I was trying to suppress from her, smiled lewdly. I looked away and down at my drink. The tall, sweaty glass was standing in a puddle of its own condensation, the ice having melted, leaving behind an unappealing, warm, off-color liquid. Helen broke the silence, "I've really, really missed you. Let me show you some thing's I bought. Things to help me get by in your absence." With that she led me over to a toy chest. Looking in, I saw it was filled with sex toys of various types. Several items I recognized - dildos and the like, but, others I had no idea about. I got my first lesson as she led me to the bed. It was new. "It's our special bed," she whispered into my ear. I noted the elegant black wrought iron garden gate styling for both the headboard and footboard. The cotton sheets were striped with a fine herringbone accented in gold and black. The comforter featured a center of gold and black paisley print, with a checkered border. In this setting, the sun's last rays poured into the room like a staged spotlight, focusing upon Helen and her long auburn hair - now a glistening copper fire, as it draped down across her shoulders. Helen was a vision of unsurpassed beauty. (That's really why I recall the details about the bed. Of course I stood in front of it taking notes before I attempted to write this. I just didn't want you three women reading this to think I'm a fairy interior designer.) And so, as I stood transfixed in her radiance, she undressed me; coaxed me into laying down on my back; and began tying my wrists to the headboard. "Jim," she said serenely, "don't worry." (What me worry? Hey, I was numb, chum.) With that said, she tied my feet to the footboard. I could move, and I thought if I struggled I could free myself so what the heck, let the games begin. She reached in her toy box and withdrew a small bag. Out came a string of 5 colored beads. Helen asked if I'd done the beads before. I said no. She placed a pillow under my hips. Helen picked up a tube from the dresser, and I jumped when she applied a lubricant to my ass. Then she straddled me, inserting Bubba easily into her very warm pussy, and as we started to screw, she reached back and stuck a finger up my rectum. Moments later, Helen began working a bead in there. It hurt, but then the bead popped in. What a sensation! She distracted me by increasing her pace and shoved a second bead in. Now I'm going crazy. I started to moan, (I'm a natural crybaby, ask anyone who's shoved beads up my ass) but in a moment or so, the moans went from painful to pleasureful, I found it was extremely pleasant.) Helen's kissing me, her tongue snaking into and around my mouth as the third bead goes in. I'm soaked with sweat and have goosebumps all over me. It's intensely erotic! The 4th and 5th beads follow. I can't describe the feeling, except to say it's wonderful. We're screwing frantically now; Helen anticipates my coming ejaculation and begins to pull the beads out. One-by-one. I'm tossing wildly, out of control, screaming bloody murder, and I erupt in the best orgasm of my life. "That fuck's for you James," I hear Helen murmur softly, just before I fall asleep, warm and satisfied. Helen woke me with a kiss about 9:00 PM. "Well," she asked, as a wry grin eased onto her face, "how did you like the beads?" She was wearing a translucent white teddy, with frilly stuff, (lace?) running along the edges. I tried to stifle a yawn, and asked where she'd gotten the idea for the beads and other paraphernalia that I'd yet to take a close look at. "The Internet," was all she offered in reply. With a mischievous smile she rose up from the bed and crossed the room to her PC. Moments later I was reading a story written by a clever woman named Sande called Hot Tub Musings. It more then adequately described the events that took place earlier that evening. We sent Sande an E-mail thanking her for writing the story and telling her that we were going to try it, as well as several other things. We were too cowardly to admit the truth, about the beads, but were convinced we'd make good on our other promises to Sande shortly. CHAPTER 7. Forty-five minutes later we entered Fuzzie's, a downtown restaurant with a good lounge. Helen's wearing a deep green sarong and the top of a black bikini. She is definitely a knockout. There's a lot of cleavage. She's not wearing any underwear. I can tell I'm the envy of every guy in the place, since every male and several female heads seem to have directed their attention to Helen. (Am I a male chauvinist, or what?) I'm watching, somewhat amused and very proud, as several wives or girlfriends start jabbing elbows into their men to recapture their attention. Mentally, I speak to all these women, telling them to remind their guys about how good Helen looked after they've gone to bed. They may revive some dormant dicks. Oh, yes, I was enjoying myself. We sat at the bar and ordered a Dewars scotch and water for Helen and an Absolute martini on-the-rocks with a twist of lemon for myself. Twenty minutes later we moved to a booth in the darker recesses of the restaurant where we chose to sit side by side. Helen ordered mackerel in a marinara sauce, with zucchini and squash. When it arrived, it made for a very colorful plate. I went for a major league sized shrimp cocktail, followed by a light salad. And, of course, a second round of drinks. Our waitress was a really cute blonde. I said as much to Helen. She looked at me over the rim of her glass and raised her eyebrows as if to say "Oh?" Stung, and surprised by the gesture, I attempted to justify myself. "Really, I like her, what about you?" "Let's wait and see," she responded mysteriously, and took a lusty bite of her mackerel, pausing between chews to erotically lick some marinara sauce from her lips. Where was this leading, I wondered. The sarong had fallen open; exposing her long tanned inner thigh. She didn't bother to fix the sarong. She appeared to be weighing my comment about the waitress. "Would you like to have us both in bed," she asked finally, looking directly into my eyes, "I wouldn't mind if you did." I reached for my martini, racing to formulate the right response to her question. Was this a test? Was Helen sincere? Was I in hump heaven? Quickly, I reached a decision. If I guessed wrong about this, I consoled myself, I could grovel appropriately to regain her good graces. I swallowed some Absolute, which now seemed more water than vodka and said: "She's awfully attractive," keeping my expression sober, "I think the two of you would complement each other in many ways, that is, if she has half the sex drive you do." "Oh, cut the crap," Helen began, "You love the idea, and I feel like experimenting. Let's start foolin' around right here and I'll be able to figure out how hot that makes her. If we do it right we can have her in our bed tomorrow night . . .. Not tonight. Tonight belongs to me alone." There was nothing to say but "Let's go for it." CHAPTER 8. Helen observed the waitress had begun her approach back to our table to check on our drinks, and in sotto voice, that I kiss her. As I reached for her, Helen pulled herself up in the booth and let the sarong fall away from her leg completely now, exposing it nearly to the hip. The very edge of the dark triangle between her legs was visible above the sloping curve of her naked thigh. The gesture seemed to be deliberate in that it was impossible for the waitress to miss. We kissed, open mouthed, our tongues trying desperately to switch mouths, while the waitress stood mesmerized in place. As the kiss continued, I had an inspiration, and languidly reached out and began to caress the waitress's calf. She trembled, but did not move, nor did she say anything. As we broke off our kiss, I moved my hand higher to her lower thigh, and spoke to her. "Ah, good timing. Another round please," I said as I removed my hand. "Yeesss sir, I'll be right back." she stammered, stumbling as she started to leave, but managing to catch herself in time. "Jim," Helen said, "that was great! I'm sure she's hot now. When she brings back the drinks do it, or something like it again." I turned away from Helen to follow the Waitress's firm ass as she wove her way to the bar. Without turning my head back toward Helen I asked, "and what will you be doing when she returns?" "This," she replied, reaching down; opening my fly; and withdrawing my cock. Two strokes and a good squeeze and I was fully erect. "Okay?" she said coolly, and she touched her tongue into her scotch, never taking her eyes off me. "Actually," she continued. "This won't be my first sexual encounter with another woman." She tossed her head, and her auburn hair jumped up only to settle quickly back in place. "When I was in college my roommate and I got back late one night after a party. I went to sleep immediately, only to wake up and realize she was in bed with me. She was naked and was touching my breasts. She started to take my panties off. I let her. I was completely passive at first, letting her do the work. Then after a while, I began touching her too, gently, every small movement an incredible experience, that I found astonishingly pleasurable. It was bizarre, like touching myself. I remember two special things: the weight of her breasts . . . the subtle change in texture that became the nipple, and the little hollow place inside her thigh, near her vulva. I knew how I liked that touch, so I knew what I was doing to her and how she must have felt. I have not done it since. It's time to enjoy a woman again, but this time I want you to share the intimacy with me." Still slowly stoking my cock, she looked down at her glass and poked at her ice a moment, shoving it around in a swirl. I caught a movement off to the side. "Here she comes," I said, wondering how long this idea had been fermenting in that active mind of hers. The waitress was dressed casually, white tailored shorts and a white safari shirt. She served our drinks in a somewhat subdued manner. I replaced my hand on her thigh as Helen began talking to her. She fidgeted in her cute cuffed shorts, like a reprimanded schoolgirl, but did not turn to leave. Her youthful breasts required no help to create a seductive cleavage. Had she undone a button or two before returning? Her permed ginger hair was full and bouncy around her face, which even when expressing confusion as it was now, was a seductive attraction to either sex. She kept glancing furtively from Helen's face; to Helen's hand, which was slowly milking my cock and then to Helen's now almost unobstructed view of her cunt. I lost track of Helen's conversation with her, simply because there was no objection as my hand rose closer to the V between her thighs. My fingers were now under her shorts. They were tight shorts and my operating room was limited, but I felt the dampness within non-the-less. She sighed, a sure indication of compliance, as I slowly withdrew to a lower level, but maintained contact with her thigh at all times. Her name is Anne. I got that much from the conversation. Helen said something else to her that I didn't catch, and closing her sarong, leaned forward, exposing her breasts almost to the nipples as she rose up from the booth. They headed for the ladies room together as though they were old friends. Alone, I replaced Bubba, and checked my watch, suddenly concerned about getting up for work in the morning, then working out a fabricated story to explain my absence in the event . . .. They are gone about 25 minutes and Helen has this self-assured look when they return. Anne places herself in a position where I can easily return to caressing her thigh. As I do so, Anne smiles down at me, while running a hand though her hair, "I'd love to join you guys after work, but I'm meeting someone tonight. I'm off tomorrow though." Helen jumps in saying: "That's great. Tomorrow at 8. We'll pick you up here at Fuzzie's Okay?" Anne agrees. "Tomorrow at 8 it is." Wistfully I remove my hand from its illicit travels and place it in Helen's lap, working my way under her sarong. She's soaking wet. Anne following my hand with her eyes grins again and says goodnight. I leave a preposterous tip and we leave for Helen's. Back at Helen's, she asks if I want a nightcap. I decline, "I think I'll pass. I'm going to need everything I can muster up for tomorrow's meeting. Helen laughed and squeezed my privates. "You'll be fine. I have plenty of toys to keep all of us going for as long as we need to go." That did it, self-imposed curfew be damned, I was ready to go again, but she ushered me to the door and kissed me goodnight. I got home around two, wondering if Anne was already filling in for me.