Richard and Franco 10
Fall
Bisex-MMF
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Magical stories where a character born in 1998 lives through 2028 without ever experiencing any travel restrictions, who mysteriously says "Here in Italy" while he's in Spain!
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My name is Richard. I'm 30 years old and and I live with my husband, Franco, near La Spezia, Italy.
I use English in this story to make it easier for the reader.
I'm a junior partner at a local accounting firm. I grew up and went to college in the U.S.
Franco is the manager of the biggest hotel in town; he reports to the owners in Berlin, and they leave him alone as long as it makes money.
We swing but don't do anything without the other present and consenting.
A couple of surfers and sailors about ten years senior to us, who happened to be staying in the hotel that Franco manages, had come and participated in a four-way with us on our new deck to help Franco celebrate his 30th birthday, over a year ago.
They did come back once more, after their boat had been overhauled, they'd hired a crew, mostly of the guys they'd arrived with, and they thought that another four-way would be a good way to say goodbye.
That was about 13 months ago. They might be back in Rhode Island, they might be in Singapore; I don't know.
I don't know where to put this, but if you've followed all of these stories, you should know that the 20-year-old Citroen I bought in France when I was 23 and the Citroen that Franco and I take to work now are not the same car.
A couple of months ago we found that the "new" deck is now about 30% paid off, and that was the trigger for the garden.
I used wooden stakes and string to lay out the four big squares, and sixteen squares inside of each, and then I backed off and let the professionals start.
They yanked the dead grass and weeds with a scary thing called a sod cutter, and mulched it with a tiller.
They installed a buried sprinkler system with a timer, and then layed down sod everwhere outside of the four big squares that I layed out.
Along the string I had pegged down they put down borders of cement or cinderblock bricks, and then bordered the 64 smaller squares with more bricks, but on their sides.
Then the gardners went away; they said that they'd be back in two weeks.
This was a week before my thirtieth birthday.
Franco and I sat on the back deck, each of us with a glass of wine, looking at the straw-covered sod that wasn't rooted yet, cement brick (looked like firebrick to me, but my degree is in accounting), and space for plants that didn't even have fertilizer much less flowers, and we were quiet for a while.
I was wondering if the weeds hadn't looked better, and how long it would be before we could pick sage or rosemary from our own garden.
I didn't know what Franco was thinking, till he talked.
"What do you want for your thirtieth birthday?", Franco asked.
I finished my wine while I thought of my answer.
"One girl", I said. "We need some titties to make love to", I continued.
"Then", I said, "I want to put my dick inside a girl while your beautiful dick is inside my ass".
Franco cracked a smile as I finished explaining what I was asking for, then he smiled and said, "I'll do what I can".
Next year I'll go easy on him and ask for a train set.
On Thursday after work, Franco told me that he'd found the girl and that she had agreed. We would meet at 9am at a cafe where we usually got coffee and something light on Saturday mornings anyway.
Franco told me that after our celebrations we'd bring her back to the cafe for a lunch.
Franco told me that her name is "Islande", and that I knew her.
"How do I know her? I've never heard the name 'Islande' before?"
"Because we are some kinky faggots", Franco grinned at me.
"The Hatian woman!", Franco just nodded.
When Franco and I first talked about bringing a couple into our lives to swing with, we were at this same cafe and talking in Hatian creole in an attempt at privacy.
This black woman, whom I now know as "Islande", called us out, rather loudly, in Hatian creole.
She had been waving to us when she saw us for years now, but we'd barely talked before this week.
Saturday morning I looked at the just-started garden, looked at the grill and smoker, and was at least thankful that food was the cafe's problem today and not mine.
I put out one of the gym pads, showered, dressed with a little attention to looking good, and Franco went down.
Islande was waiting for us. She stood up when we arrived, and Franco and I both kissed her as we sat down.
All three of us had coffee. I orderd a fruit and yogurt parfait.
None of us ate heavy, and conversation was nervous.
I did ask for a little history; we knew that Islande was Hatian, but now we found out that she had been married for five years and divorced for ten.
We didn't ask for more detail than that.
Soon we were home and on the back deck.
Franco and I took our shirts off and then undressed Islande. She stood like a queen being undressed by her servants.
We took turns giving her French kisses, and then we used our hands on her breasts and ass, which got her purring.
We paused long enough to drop our shorts and walk her over to the gym pad. Franco told her to lay down while I handed her a pillow for her head.
Franco and I repeated the French kisses and caressing, but this time we worked our way to Islande's ears, shoulders and then breasts, and as our hands started caressing her crotch our mouths were on her nipples.
Islande produced a loud, happy howl.
I got between her legs, held her feet for a second, and then started working my tongue on her labia.
Now Franco was in charge of her breasts and nipples.
It had been years since the two of us made love to a woman together, but we remembered our routine.
Soon I could hear that Islande's breathing was fast and labored, and I figured that it was time for her to get off.
I pulled my head up enough to tell Franco, "Kiss her!", and then I focused everything straight onto her clit.
Our neighbors can tell you that Islande had a loud, intense climax right then.
When Islande got her breathing back under control, Franco gave her more kisses, and I discreetly made sure that both of us boys had hard-on's.
In Hatian creole, I asked her if she was ready.
"Fuck me!", she said in English, probably the crudest language that she knew.
I made sure that she was comfortable with the pillow still under her head, and I put on a condom, got on my knees and slowly started to enter her.
Her pussy seemed tight, but she likely had sex less often than Victoria, the only woman I'd been with since we moved to Italy.
Once I was all the way in, Franco lubed my ass. He already had a condom on, and he was completely inside me in about a minute.
I cracked a smile when I realized how long it had been since I'd been inside of a sex sandwich on my birthday.
I was sixteen the first time, and now I was thirty.
I started a slow motion, like a long coal train starting up a hill.
Islande and Franco let me set the pace, and I worked to make it last without getting boring.
This time I sped up a couple of times on purpose and then slowed down, to keep from losing control of myself.
After that, when I felt my climax coming, I just let it happen.
Franco had been holding my hips, but when he came he reached around and grabbed my pecs and squeezed my nipples.
Islande was quiet this time, but when I opened my eyes she was grinning at me.
Franco pulled out and got up. When I stood up he was handing me the tissue box, and he gave me a solid kiss.
We took care of our condoms and then each of us grabbed one of Islande's hands and helped her up off of the pad.
It was warm now, and the pad had the silhouette of a person outlined in sweat; we'd take care of that later.
Now standing, the three of us made out yet again. We let Islande use the outdoor shower first, and handed her a towel.
She stood there in her towel watching Franco and I soap and rinse each other.
While Franco and I were drying off, she asked, "How much do you work out?"
"Most mornings", I told her. "I'm a member of a gym in the building where I work, and Franco manages a hotel where he can use the gym. We both work out and swim laps."
"You are beautiful men", she smiled.
"You are a beautiful woman!", I replied.
After we were all dressed, we got in the Citroen and went back to the cafe.
Lunch was more substantial than the light breakfast we'd had earlier.
We chatted for another ten minutes after we were done eating; Islande was still an interesting person.
As always, various people stopped to greet us, like they do most every day.
Franco paid the check, Islande kissed us and went on her way.
We got a few things from the street market and went back home.
Franco and I cleaned up the gym pad and put the throw pillow with the dry-cleaning.
Finally, Franco gave me a big hug and a quick kiss.
"Happy Thirtieth!", he said.
Two months later, the garden was finished.
After Franco and I had walked around it for the first time, Franco complimented my design.
I told him that it wasn't my design; it was just a cheap version of one in the Quran.
"WHAT!"
"Palaces throughout Islam have these. The Taj Mahal has one.
Ours doesn't have nearly enough water, but that seemed expensive so I just went with one fountain."
Franco wasn't ready for a Moslem husband. "Why?!"
I shrugged and told him that it was simple and it fit our yard. He relaxed and kissed me.
We've got four fruit trees now and I'll probably never have to buy basil, sage or rosemary again.
More importantly, I'll get a nice view from now on when he fucks me in the ass while I'm facing the back yard.
Winter in La Spezia makes temperatures drop into the seventies Fahrenheit.
We kept up our laps and gym routines, our jobs went well, and we stayed busy with dances, town festivals and holy days, LGBT youth counseling and once in a while we'd spice up our sex routine by fucking on the beach at sunrise or nailing each other in our sex swing, that could be set up under our pergola when the spirit moved us.