IMAGE by David Zeleznikow-Johnston

FOR by Clare Taylor

The Three Musketeers. Destiny’s Child. Harry, Ron and Hermione. The Sex and the City girls—minus Carrie, of course, because she’s annoying af. THE HOLY TRINITY. Three is the magic number.

1. Triangles are the strongest shape. It’s physics. Look it up.

2. Threesomes make you try harder. Everybody wants to be the proverbial Beyonce´ in the proverbial Destiny’s Child. This means everyone, especially Kelly, has gotta give their all.

3. Team work makes the dream work. It’s a fact.

The above adequately explains why non-sexual threesomes work. Knowing this publication, though, I can’t make my case without addressing a good ol’ fashion me´nage a` trois in all its blood, spit and cum-stained glory.

I have to admit, before writing this piece, I’d never actually had a sexual threesome. Thus, in the name of journalistic integrity, I posted on the college intranet in search of two lucky volunteers. The number of generous and detailed offers I received truly warmed my heart.

I selected my candidates carefully. I didn’t want anyone too elite. I wanted your typical white-bread-nutella-and-anchovies threesome experience. Eventually, I found two people who were average enough in looks, agility and emotional resilience for this journalistic experiment. Being only beginners, we began with the standard manouvres: some gentle scalpel ear- probing, sucking of the wenis and Hillary–Bill–Monica role play.

The extra tongue, ego and fingers didn’t make things easier. The whole experience was an exercise in logistics rivalling my attempts to take a shower while folding origami for my secret crush (hint: her name starts with A and rhymes with “Mangela Merkel”). Everything eventually disintegrated into a Masters-and-Johnson-style masturbation observation chamber. And yep, it was even sexier than it sounds.

I might have walked away four orgasms and three queefs short of my expectations, yet I’d never felt so fulfilled. Why, you ask? Because two people were willing to have sex with me. At the same time. After years of therapy, I’d never felt so accepted, so cared for, and so loveable. (That’s right, Mum. NEVER.) My verdict: Skip the cognitive behavioural therapy and opt for group sex with semi-strangers.

AGAINST by Sarah Foley

Yeah, threesomes can be fucking awesome (how about that saucy Gossip Girl episode?). Warm soft bodies everywhere (cuddles, am I right?) and just the right amount of hands in orifices. However, speaking as a wisened, threesome-ed out sexy-time lover, threesomes bring out the worst in me.

My first threesome only went down because I had a boyfriend at the time but sent nudes to his cute friend Cara, and the only way I could have sex with her was if he was there too. I wrapped my body around her and Brad awkwardly stuffed his fingers between our legs. We broke up soon after.

If you’re a little on the sensitive side about your body, threesomes are here to make you feel shit. Unable to orgasm because you’re sexually stunted and have weird trust issues? Your two partners don’t care because they’re on a three-way path to pleasure town. Nervous queefer? The others have perfect control over their bodily functions. How about when your boobs are an easily grasped B cup and your sexual partner is a whopping, delightful-to-lay-on, G cup? Yeah, all this comparison sounds like soooo much fun.

It also didn’t help that I was pretty high during my last threesome and wasn’t 100 per cent sure who was who. I ended up zoning out while he went down on her. I angrily fell out of bed and decided that Doritos and Kraft Mac & Cheese would make me feel better than watching my boyfriend finger my best friend. Even though they were both technically “there” for me, as soon as I wasn’t the centre of attention (which fortunately and unfortunately has been the case in all three times), I freaked out and demanded they look at just me and not each other. I ignored one person and then needed them both afterwards to admit they only wanted to have sex with me anyways. I became jealous. I became insatiable. I became a threesome nightmare covered in cheese sauce and corn chip crumbs.

Turns out, I totally suck at threesomes. Maybe you’re less selfish and actually a decent human being capable of normal sexual experiences. Maybe you’d thrive having two bodies to adore. I’m just selfish and don’t really get this whole “sharing” thing. Good luck to all you beautiful sexual beings, go forth and learn to be less selfish than me xxxxx