Triple Pass: An MFMM Reverse Harem Romance

by Sierra Sparks

  “…and right there in the wok, with no warning or question, shit hit the fan. Man those firecrackers were legit Spencer. And I’m telling you what I told my facial reconstruction surgeon-”

  “What? What did you tell the guy?” I incredulously asked, kicking up some snow in my wake. I was really getting the appeal of her life, and quite cheery that she could entrust me with her past. Her boots, brown in muck at the soles, rustled up some leaves and crunched them, ever so satisfyingly.

  “Well,” she hopped on, nudging me to hop along. Briar patch rabbits we were, with no unfortunate tar in our midst. “I told her that it was the goblin men that did it. Hey, don’t look at me like that,” she gushed, after my look of surprise on her, “You assumed it was a dude, and I loved the creepiest poems back then. I still do, in a way.”

  I have never met anyone who read Christina Rossetti before. Not then and not now. Walking along the lit paths, we recited poetry from all the weirdoes and the greats. From Poe to Rossetti to quotes from Agatha’s novels and, by the time we were at the door of her sorority, my ribs were cracking from the musings of Thoreau.

  “Oh, Nicole,” I recall whispering, “this was something nice.”

  Her arm was still in mine; and the scent of fresh bacon and daisies in her black and terribly beautiful long hair. “Uh, Spencer, I don’t think it’s wise to use any word like ‘nice’ after a walk like that.”

  “Correction noted, and you’re right. This was…exceptionally nice,” I added with a smirk, my trademark. She blushed. I warmed.

  “Since we’re talking honesty Nicole, I think you’ve been open enough with me. Unfortunately, I’ve been the silent one all the way through.”

  “We can finally get to talk about Stacey Brown!” she remarked, howling out a misty breath in exasperation.

  “Wait, what?”

  “Stacey Brown…the girl that you had a crush on last semester and got heartbroken when she dropped out? The queer nudist of the school? Okay, that look is not very convincing of a guy that crushed on a girl, not especially her.”

  “Umm, Nicole, I never had a crush on Stacey.”

  The confusion was intense. And justifiably added upon by the falling snowflakes.

  “So…you were not into her at all?”

  “No.”

  “Even when she flashed her boobs at you in class or snuck out of Bryce’s bed to come stare at you as you slept?”

  “Okay, first of all. No. Second of all, gross. And third; what the fuck? Where do you get your intel?”

  She laughed, and huddled in her parka. I helped put her hoodie in place, on her head, and I shuffled my muffs harder on my throbbing earlobes.

  “Okay, it’s getting cold. Really cold. How about I invite you into my dorm room and we can talk all about it tonight? I promise I’ll be a lady,” she winked. Well, that was a thought, and Bryce had put three socks on the knob. He was extra busy that night.

  Besides, it would be rude if I didn’t.

  The first time a guy walks into a house full of the hottest, and most elite cheerleading harem, all rational thoughts are definitely thrown out the door, hard. It felt like I was intruding, being invasive, and most importantly of all, like I was going to get laid. Somewhat, that excited me.

  “In here, I got one of the private rooms in the hostel,” she whispered, into my ear. The snow was falling from our clothes, and by her doorstep, there was enough to sprinkle on some of mom’s hot cocoa. The door shut behind us. She locked it. I gulped.

  “Hey, make yourself at home. I promised I would be nice, right?” Her scarf started, and then followed my hoodie. She left to use the washroom in the hall and promised to get back soon as she could. Clean arms and elbows out, I took a moment to study her room. Clean was the first thought that kicked in. The walls were lined with posters on Einstein and Rossetti, and by the back wall, a framed photo of her and a dog, a Shiba Inu, in a sunset background by a beach. The bed was large, and fitted with some really soft duvet, I presumed to be Egyptian cotton, to the touch. I suppose mom’s quilting had gotten to me so deep I hadn’t even realized it then. The window grew smaller with each glance I asked upon it, and it revealed the cutest view of the school football grounds. The light in the room was damp, an ebony glow so soft from an antique lamp squatting by her bedside. It was old with age and stood defiantly by the hot plate opposite it by the wall, and the kettle stirred empty. Above it, a tiny cupboard grew silent. I got up and worked my magic.

  By the time she was getting back, I had made two huge mugs of my favorite cocoa with no sugar, but filled with marshmallows that I was extremely lucky to find a pack of up her cupboard’s pantry. She was delighted, to say the least.

  “So, I invite you to my room and you make shit I have never had before, what’s your secret to introvercy?”

  “Me…an introvert? I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” I laughed it off, sipping more of my buzzing chocolaty goodness.

  “Oh come on Spencer. We’re the two students in class that Michaels actually talks to, and we’ve never had even a conversation outside those walls. If you’re no introvert, I’d just assume you’re gay.”

  Okay, shots were fired.

  “Hey, just because I don’t talk to anyone does not imply my sexuality. I love anyone who’s discovered their preference by the way, but judging the book by its cover? Really, Nicole?”

  “Calm down rocket!” she laughed, placing her mug on the coaster by her bedside stool, “I was just joking, alright?”

  “Hmph, joking…” I smiled, sipping away at the night.

  We spent the next half hour randomizing our conversation from dinosaurs to political agendas in virtually anything, until…

  “How are you single Spencer?” she asked, munching on a marshmallow.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you have this passion on life that you hide from everyone who you don’t talk with, right until it bursts open the minute you get interest. How are you still single?”

  “It’s not like you’re any different Nicole. You’re simply, well, epic, to be honest. I would ask you the same question,” I surmised, sucking on old dates that had hidden quite comfortably at the far edges of the pantry.

  “I asked you first Spencer, there’s no avoiding this,” she curtly got to me. I supposed it wouldn’t kill anybody to be honest. It was a while since I opened up to anyone but mom.

  “You might be onto something here,” I added, placing the last of the dates down my throat. “Okay, maybe it’s better if I blurt it out and not make it weird later on. I am in your room, on your bed after all.”

  She beams, and nods.

  “I just got out of a really serious relationship a few months back. Ah, no. It was a long while back, almost by half a year. We were pretty much an item of legend…” And off I droned and spew about Jasmine and I, breaking it down for her till the last effort on the email.

  When I was done ‘confessing’, we were both thirsty. I got up and poured us more water, but she stopped me midway and grabbed my neck. I slightly cringed.

  “I’m not going to kiss you Spencer, and I kinda wish I had known about your history before ramming my lips on yours back there at the cafeteria. But…I can be your friend. At least then I can still have you to talk crazy with.”

  And that, an icy night filled with snow, a dorm room in the corner of beta phi, a girl with cheekbones to dream of, and a hot mug of coca, solidified a friendship that’s been going on for weeks. Even now as she stares at me from the stool she’s on to me in the back here, I feel elated to have someone to have a convo with. Today, we had plans to go for a food fest down the street just a shirt mile down the road. Nicole could eat up a burger like no man alive.

  I signal her to wait on me. I’m about to clear my shift. She nods and signals back. If a third person watched us signal, I guess the message carried across would be ‘two cannibals in the hall waiting on mango soup’.

  Just as I was leaving my apron on the hanger and give Ca
rol my goodbye, my phone buzzed.

  That was odd. It was a buzzing I had never heard before. It must be from…the app! Quickly, I know who it is.

  “Carol, I’ll be in the back, yeah?” I shout over to her by the counter. She’s busy; handling rowdy jocks who were seemingly having a fondle with her extra waitress, Mandy. Her hands are too full to reply to me. I walk out of the metal door and breathe in the fresh air. It’s biting to my lungs, but I might need it to prepare me for what I might see.

  The software still works, after all this time. It’s her. The screen never lies.

  For the moment, I feel joy in bounds and leaps. Maybe this time she really does want to talk. I haven’t even been home in months because of her, just because she’s seeing someone else. Could it be that she still wants to talk?

  But she moved on. That much was clear all those months back. She wants nothing to do with me or our past. My resolve to taking steps to ensure college and a future for me split us apart, and now she is with another.

  What if? Oh God no, how could I never have seen this? What if Harvey had done something to her? Oh fuck no, then I would have been jealous all this time and not even questioned the one sick bastard capable of hurting his own flesh and blood!

  Fuck it. I dial her number and call.

  Beep

  “Hello?” a gruff male sinew pulls the rug from under my feet.

  “Harvey? Where’s Jasmine?” I ask, trying my best to keep the rage for my fuel under wraps.

  “Ah, Winters. Of course it would be you. You’re the only imp I know who would ruin a beautiful thing however far you lurk. What do you want? Why are you calling my Jasmine now?”

  “Look Harvey, that’s her phone. You have no right to take it and answer as if it were your own. I want to talk to her. She had just called me and-”

  “Oh my dear boy, still living in that little fantasy of yours? You two are done, and she’s moved on quite well if I might add. Didn’t your dearest mother tell you? It’s been the talk of the town this month. And I’m sure it still will be after a sore while.”

  He’s speaking in parables again, and I hate it when he does that shit. I can hear he ruffle of something in the background, and he says, “No,” to it swiftly.

  “What don’t I know Harvey?” The lump in my throat must have known. Same goes for my palms so clammy that the cold stings harder.

  “Jasmine’s getting married dear boy. I thought you knew, otherwise we would be having a very different conversation on why you are fraternizing with a seriously engaged woman.”

  The penny was in the air, and it dropped in on its third side, heavy and full on my heart. No words can come out of me, not just yet, and I need to process this faster than the words I hear on the other line.

  “Is it too tight, dad? I think it really captures my waist.”

  It’s her. I want to scream her name so loud she hears from however far she is. I need her to…She’s getting married. And not to me. The penny digs deeper.

  “No dear, it captures your hips. Try the other one in the back room.” The ruffling I heard before was her dress, her wedding dress. “Winters, you are very lucky she was trying out dresses and left me her phone. This would be an issue with my lawyer. Then again, I wouldn’t go so far. How would you pay for your defense?” Maniacal laughter seeps through from his fat-faced lies and through to my pale and shrunken frame. I can’t process it that fast, not just yet.

  “That one my dear, is perfect. Carl will surely love it to the end-”

  I hang up.

  I fear for my sanity. Here I was thinking that we had something to at the very least mull over, to never forget what we were, and what we could be. I thought, without the slightest of doubts, that she had called to give me at least a hello, or even at the worst, a goodbye.

  No, she had called to sink it in, knee deep up my ass through my throat, that she was not only engaged, but getting married. And here I am, saving myself for a woman, a bride, to Carl, who has passionately moved on with her life. She was never this reckless. We’ve been together through shit, and she suddenly falls for a man and marries him, in months? What the fuck is happening?

  My knees are on the grit, and my arms by my face in a fetal manner. I need a hug, a cuddle, anything to creep this reality away from me. I can feel the lump manifest into hot water that streams down my eyes and onto my cold arms. It is funny how they warm me up, drop by drop.

  I guess people do change after a while. Jasmine, the calculating specter, is now gone off singing wedding bells in a few weeks maybe. I didn’t sign up for this shit.

  “Spencer?” a melody calls to me. It’s Nicole, running from the front around the alleyway. “Carol told me you were here and…what’s wrong?”

  My hand falls and the plastic phone clangs to the ground.

  “Oh no…you didn’t. You called Jasmine?”

  “Mmhmm,” I respond, still figuring out where my voice has gone.

  She kneels by my side and embraces me. Her breasts are warm and caring. I can feel her beating heart through the mess of hair that I breathe through.

  “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up. The burgers can wait till next time,” she smiles, hoisting me up and holding my hand. I’m a mess, and all I need is a friend right now. Anything more, she understands I cannot. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Jasmine has truly become someone else, something else. Nicole grabs the phone from the ground and pockets it. Her smile is unfading.

  “Let’s get you some hot cocoa, yeah?” she asks, grabbing my arm and holding it tight. The walk is calm, and her support golden.

  “Yeah,” I respond, glad my voice is back.

  And with it, I resolve never to call or associate with my past ever again, with Jasmine at the very top of that list.

  Chapter 10 - Jasmine

  Eight Years Later

  “Where’s my dinner woman?”

  “It’s on the table Carl, right where you’re sitting; in front of you,” I reply, timid in response, waiting the beast to abate.

  “This is not a man’s meal. I specifically said,” too quick for me, he’s stood up from his chair, kicked it back and let the wood break, and run for a grab of my hair, “that I need meat in my food every day! What is this? Cabbage?”

  He yanks at it, and in the stabbing pain my scalp endures, I can only hope that his drunken stupor wears him out in the next few minutes before he makes anything worse.

  “Go get me my meat you dumb bitch,” he whispers, half-awake and fully reeking of cheap liquor, into my ear. Then he forces his lips onto mine, and a humble wife as I am, I slide and give him my cheek.

  His eyes don’t notice. But his arm does.

  SMACK!

  The only other person I fear for, right now, is my 7-year-old spark, Spence. He is downstairs, in the room set aside for wine and brooms, hopefully with his ear far from the door. I try my only best not to make too many noises; not to make him come out foolishly like last time.

  He was 6, just under a year ago. Carl had been moaning out my name as his three prostitutes gave him unconditional pleasure. My hands were forcefully behind Spence’s ears, and I hummed all his favorite tunes to sleep. Carl spent hours defiling our matrimonial bed, and after he was done, he called me out. I remember the skunk-like stink that pervaded the entire floor of that house. It reminded me of unwashed sheets that he once pissed on just to piss me off. Even the windows up there were stained brown, after years of neglect. The third floor was his to defile, and the basement, mine to raise my son.

  The women were naked, and I had underestimated his spunk. Three were on the bed sucking Carl off, and the fourth on the floor fingering herself with her eyes closed, her tongue sucking his fingers. It was a harem of sorts, and almost, no, all of them were high off their rockers. The waft of cheap booze and expensive caviar filled my nose, and I just had to mix myself in there and heed his call.

  “Where’s my breakfast whore?” he asked, puffing his cigar away, and plopping it out just as one
of his bitches slopped his cock out. They all giggled, giving me the stink eye.

  “It’s downstairs Car- Mr. Glenn,” I replied, careful not to call him by his first name; his rules, not mine. He never wanted there to seem like we had fostered a love together. It was all for the church and legalities of course.

  My face stung. He had thrown his ebbing cigar butt at me. I whimpered like the forgetful tramp I am, and he stood up. The bitches flopped away, giving him room, waiting to see what he would do to his weak wife. Carl used his belt’s buckle on me, and thereafter his back hand.

  “Yay Carly…slash her up! Fuck that pretty face of hers up.”

  “Come on Carl, harder!”

  “Can she come and join us after? That blood is kinda turning me on.”

  “Shut up Cinder. Carl, use your fist!”

  On and on, he listened as they cheered him on. I lay on the floor as he used his feet at me, and I did little but raise a finger. I had to take it all, all of it, for if I didn’t he would direct it at the only innocent sleeping and dreaming of counting sheep in the basement.

  When he was done, he spat at me; on my face. He was done, and I was about to get up when…

  “Mommy, why are you hurt?”

  Five words that rained dread deep into me were uttered. Spence was on the highest stair, watching, with his children’s book on Wildin’ Creatures of the Past lugging behind him. He took after me, blonde hair and blue eyes, but his height and intelligence; those he took from him. From Spencer.

  Instinct kicked in. “Carl, please, he’s our boy. Punish me, not him. Please, let him go. Let us go and we will not bother you, please. I beg of you.”