Swapping Sexualities

Doorbell rings. Gail and Steve hit the door together, trading a sly look that says we know what's coming. Gail swings it open. There’s Eric on the porch, suitcase in hand, all hopeful energy. He’s their new exchange student, first trip out of home, figuring Canada will be quiet maple syrup and maple leaves. Steve greets him with a handshake that turns into a grab at the waist, too friendly, lingering. Eric smiles through it, tight but polite. Inside, suitcase on the floor, Eric gets steered toward the spare room, but everything pivots the moment he steps into the kitchen hours later. Gail’s just in an apron, ass bare, tits barely covered. Steve stands in briefs, cock half-hard, watching Eric’s jaw drop. “Canadian custom,” Gail says, straight-faced for two seconds before they both laugh. They coax him in. Eric hesitates, then yanks off his shirt. Steve and Gail close in, arms over his shoulders like he’s already theirs. Days pass, Eric down to his own briefs, yawning at the bathroom door, already blending in. Then the door opens—naked Gail and Steve step out, steam clinging to skin. Steve clocks the surprise and shrugs like it’s nothing. “We shower together, babe,” he says, palm sliding low around Eric’s waist. “You’re fitting in like a champ. Want one of us in there with you sometime?” Eric swallows, brain short-circuiting, then grins crooked. “Maybe. This place is way more chill than home.” He ducks into the bathroom, door clicking shut while Gail and Steve share a satisfied look in the hallway. Now the three of them are on the couch, Eric wedged between them, comfortable with every casual graze and squeeze. Gail and Steve drop it: they’re bi, both of them, and they want Eric to stay that way—with them. Eric’s eyes go wide, but their hands don’t leave, their voices stay low, sure. He ends up nodding, color high, the lines he grew up with blurring fast. Turns out the boy’s learning all kinds of new tricks under this roof, every last one of them.