From our never-ending search for yet more socially iffy erotic adventuring, this morning, on possibly the worst threesome fallout a well-sexed liberal can fathom:

I came first, with a massive, desperate roar. As soon as I finished, I withdrew, shivering. I wanted to vomit. Of course, we were all equally culpable in this situation. But I needed to remove myself, immediately. I pulled up my pants and went into the other room, where I curled my knees to my chest and flipped through a Noam Chomsky pamphlet. I’d always imagined my first three-way on a beach or in a hotel room or something. Also, it was supposed to be two women and me, and we were all supposed to be giggling. Instead, the smell of another guy was involved, and I’d never touched him.

Nothing’s spoiled, now go read: Three-Way-Out, Neal Pollack, at thePEEQ.