schweblog

This weekend I spent most of my time in northern New Mexico, near Aztec, on a chunk of river-front property my dad just purchased. It was a good time, overall, but there was a particular event that totally made my time up there worthwhile.

My brother, Ian, has moved up there full-time and is now making his living as a surveyor’s assistant and living out of a tent on the land. He happened to drop by a small French cafe in Durango, Colorado one afternoon and meet a waitress that took a rather immediate liking to him. She gave him her number and we decided to hang out with her on Saturday night.

After the arrangements were made, we headed up to Durango. On the way there, Ian and I laid out the ground rules–just one, really: we were each other’s wingman. If the girl didn’t bring along a good-looking friend/sister/acquaintance, there would be no abandonment in the name of booty. We were in the same vehicle and 20 minutes’ drive away from my bed. That shit wouldn’t fly and we both agreed to it.

We arrived and met her–she was a moderately attractive 23-year-old Jewess who had just finished her college degree and moved to Durango from Florida. She also smoked heavily (a perfect match for my brother!) and could speak Hebrew and Spanish quite well. I was impressed, at first.

The evening progressed. After hitting a couple of spots in town and not being able to circumvent the inconvenient fact that my younger (18-year-old) brother couldn’t get into a bar, we decided to have a couple of drinks at her mom’s apartment. We headed up and I was struck immediately by the place.

This girl was well-off. The furniture was fabulous. There were several original works of art around the apartment. And her taste in wine wasn’t half-bad, either. We went out on the deck (which had a fabulous view of the mountains) and chatted for awhile longer. She proposed that Ian stay the night…he and I convened to the kitchen to discuss the matter.

In spite of the previously stipulated wingman rule, I was willing to let this one fly…but I wasn’t going to wake up in the morning to go pick him up before mom and dad woke up. After a fruitless discussion, I excused myself to the bathroom. Upon washing my hands and stepping out, I realized that Ian and the woman had headed upstairs and left me alone. I settled down on one of the couches and prepared for a long, lonely night.

Shortly after flipping on the TV, I heard a voice from upstairs. She was telling me to come upstairs. I did so and found her sprawled on the bed (still clothed, thankfully) with Ian next to her. She asked me to sit down and I did so. I complimented her decoration sense and, briefly thereafter, she mentioned her fetish for brothers.

I’m not sure Ian realized what, exactly, she was proposing right away. I said with a smile that I wasn’t too comfortable with the prospect of crossing swords with my brother. Then Ian realized what she wanted. To sum up his sentiments, I’ll quote one of the most memorable phrases from the night: “Now you’ve gone and fucked everything up.”

Turns out the girl had managed (or claimed to have managed) to wrangle 3 other pairs of brothers into bed for a romp. Uninterested in becoming another item in her collection and with Ian virtually jumping out of the bed, saucer-eyed and white as a ghost, we departed. But not before she tried to orally sex him up as he retrieved his CD from her stereo.

On the way back home that night, Ian and I had a good discussion. In spite of his man-whorishness (you have to beat the girls off of him with a stick, almost literally) he really wasn’t that much of a kink–in fact, he was a downright conservative guy that was used to “good Christian girls.” I’m not a total perv, but I prefer my bedroom affairs to be on the spicy side.

It was an awkward ride home that eventually turned comedic. We both agreed, in retrospect, that we should have at least nabbed a couple of pictures before high-tailing it out of there like we did. But it also helped me…it reminded me that, even though there are a lot of people getting laid–myself not included–that I’m doing it with a flare when I get around to it. There’s more to it than a nice traditional position; while I’m not comfortable with a MMF threesome with my brother, the situation isn’t absolutely off of my sexual repertoire with another guy that isn’t my brother (and preferably a gal that isn’t my long-term mate).

Quality over quantity, baby.

Filed under: family, memories by Jesse