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Question: What would it take for you to have a three-way with me?
Answer: First, allow me a moment to admire your subtlety. You are a man who knows how to woo a woman with sweet nothings, ply her with charm. The Don-Juan quality of your, ‘What would it take?’ query rivals only that of the frat-party classic, ‘So, are we gonna screw, or what?’
Purrrrrrr.
I wish I could give you a one-size-fits-all answer, but this is a question that every woman must answer for herself. Therefore, you should be asking a girl who is going at it with some other chick when you open the bathroom door at a party hosted by people you’ve never officially met.
Instead, you’re asking me.
Fortunately for you, I’m rather drunk. (Threesome Criteria Numero Uno? Check). In this fictional advice-column world, I’m not yet 25 (Criteria 2), and find myself conveniently single (Criteria 3). What’s more, your particularly horizontal shoulders and ready smile help you meet Criteria 4: You are white-hot.
Also, you look kind of familiar. I think you were in my second-grade class. Yeah! I remember you. Weren’t you the shy one who wore yellow galoshes rain or shine? How funny! You’re so…non-threatening (Criteria 5). And my, how you’ve grown.
Do you still live in my hometown? Goodness, no. You’ve been in China teaching English since college. How lovely. So it would seem we have few, if any, common acquaintances (Criteria 6).
Let us test this theory with a few minutes of banter about where you went to college, where you moved after school, and so on. I name the two people I know who attended the university you attended. You shrug your shoulders winningly and admit there were 30,000 students there at the time. We laugh and order another round of martinis.
But what are you doing in town? Just stopping in. In fact, you’re headed back tomorrow morning, pretty early. It is quite likely that our paths will never cross again (Criteria 7). That’s a crying shame.
You rest your hand on my knee as you leave a tip on the bar. Your skin feels like you must be plugged in somewhere (Criteria 8). Your ring finger is band-free (Criteria 9).
Have I mentioned that you are not an unattractive young man? And just my type. Smart, kind, confident, likes to travel, abs like the wind-blown surface of a calm summer lake.
I’m pondering the dollar-to-yuan exchange rate and imagining romantic walks along the Great Wall when you ask if I have a couple bucks to cover the drink you just bought me. Um…sure. Later, you begin an entirely too-detailed conversation about the track trophies you won in high school.
All right. So China’s out. You aren’t necessarily boyfriend material (Criteria 10). But have I mentioned that you are not an unattractive young man? Yes, I suppose I have. And I certainly have some time on my hands this evening, so how could it hurt to pass that time with you?
I’m buzzed, imprudently young, and pleased by the way you lean forward when you whisper to me. What’s that? What would it take to…what?
Ohhhhhhh.
Ha! Are you serious? You are.
Well. Ha! That’s not an entirely uninteresting question. Hell, haven’t I always wondered anyway? I mean, hasn’t everyone?
So how are your papers? In order? Disease-free, psychosis-free (Criteria 11)? Excellent. Do you have condoms on you? You don’t. All right, you make a drug-store run (Criteria 12), and I’m in.
While you’re gone, I’ll go find the other guy.
