Lydia is my so-called “friend with benefits.” It’s been a mixed bag, but I’ve never had another relationship anything like ours.

We swing together. We fuck each other in front of other people, and it can be quite the show. Sometimes we’ll pile into an orgy together, and sometimes we’ll act like a married couple, indulging in a hot-wifing scene.

But we don’t live together. We reside in the same town, but we seldom see each other apart from our sexy escapades. And — sorry, folks — when we’re together and not fucking, we don’t really like each other that much.

She’s sexy as fuck, though. No argument there. She’s curvaceous — definitely not a stick figure — with a beautiful mane of blonde hair. She also has plump tits with dainty, pink nipples reminiscent of wild strawberries, sweet pussy lips and a nicely trimmed bush.

But personality-wise, she’s irascible. She grates on my nerves, and I know I drive her batshit crazy, too. Usually, the sex is good, and there are times when I’m in sync with her — and then the sex is really good.

But it’s hit or miss.

I met her at a swingers party in a nearby city. We clicked sexually right away. I had gone there with another gal who often was my partner in crime. But she was more of a wingwoman than a sex partner.

Lydia was there with her friend Lee, who identifies mostly as a lesbian. Like my friend and me, Lydia and Lee just pretended to be a couple because it was a couples weekend, and they couldn’t go to the orgy alone.

The sex Lydia and I had that night was monumental, and I found her sort of cool — in a cantankerous kind of way. Shortly afterward, she and I began going to parties and clubs together. She was into it, but she always seemed somewhat unsatisfied. One day, she said to me, “Our group — our little circle? I just don’t know. They’re mostly good-looking, the guys and the women both. But have you noticed? All the guys have itsy-bitsy teeny-weenies.”

I made a sour face at her.

“That’s not remotely true,” I argued.

“OK. Present company excepted.” She rolled her eyes. “But why don’t you find me a big mastodon dick to suck and fuck?”

“One right here for you, sweetie.”

“Yeah, fine. Sheez. It’s not bad. But I could do with something more. Don’t you know somebody with an epic schlong?

I said she could probably get all the dick she wanted if I threw a gangbang for her.

“No.” She literally stomped her foot in protest. “I told you: Three guys with three inches don’t measure up to one guy with nine inches. Go out. Find me one guy with some genitals I can write home about.”

I laughed it off. But she kept pestering me. I really didn’t know anyone who fit the bill.

Then one day a neighbor who was doing some metalwork in his house dropped by. He asked me if I happened to own a ball-peen hammer he could borrow. I didn’t. But the encounter touched off a memory in my brain.

Back in college, there’d been this guy, Sandy. He was a nice-enough dude, but he fancied himself a stud. He was a big guy, well over six feet tall. He told people his luck with women was partly because he was Don Juan reincarnated — and partly because he was hung like a bull moose. I never really believed his boasting until the night I actually saw the thing in the flesh.

I was actually at the drunken party when it all went down. The talk had turned to sex and — specifically — to male endowment. A couple of the women began telling Sandy to put up or shut up. If he had such a big dick, he should whip it out and prove it.

Sandy complied. He warned anybody who didn’t want a look to clear the room. Then he dropped trou right there. People actually gasped. That anaconda of his had to have been a thick ten inches, and he had big balls, too. As the guys laughed and the girls oohed and ahhed, Sandy’s dick grew all the more. Then he abruptly stuffed it back in his pants.

After that, Sandy got nicknamed “The Ball-Peen Hammer.”

A plan struck me immediately after my neighbor departed. I thought Sandy still lived nearby. But I had no idea if he was married or what. Finally, a mutual friend confirmed that Ball-Peen was indeed still living where I thought he was. He’d been married briefly, but he was now single.

I hunted down his number and called him. He was surprised to hear from me, and even more surprised to hear about Lydia’s request. Was he up for a threesome with us? Sure! He had plenty of experience with group sex, and he thought it would be “the shit.” We set a date to satisfy my galpal’s much discussed craving.

“You didn’t exaggerate, did you?” Lydia asked. “This isn’t a case of false advertising?”

“I saw the fucking thing with my own eyes. I think you’ll be happy. And maybe you’ll stop bugging me about this.”

“I’m not bugging you.”

“You keep complaining. Is my dick really not big enough for you? I’m bigger than most guys are, you know.”

“You’re right. I’ve seen smaller,” she said. “But you’re not winning any contests,” she teased.

The day rolled around for our hookup, and soon the three of us were having cocktails in my living room. Sandy looked about the same as the last time I’d seen him — a few more lines were etched into the face, maybe. But he’d stayed in shape and remained more than a bit full of himself.

The small talk didn’t last long. Lydia was in no mood to drag things out. She wore a sexy green dress, and I knew she was not wearing panties. She knew that turned me on.

“So, Sandy,” she drawled. “Tanner told me you’ve got a hammer or something between your legs.”

He smiled a horny smile and said, “True enough.”

“Then let’s have a look, shall we?

He got up off the sofa and pulled down his jeans. Lydia stared down at the big lump of genitalia in his tighty-whities. He was fondling it idly. Gradually, the lump got bigger, and before long, the tip of his glans was peeking out from the elastic waistband of his briefs.

“Promising,” said Lydia.

“It’s a threat, not a promise,” Sandy said in a husky, amused voice.

“Well, unwrap the damn thing already,” she demanded.

Lydia was trying to play it cool, but there was a tremble in her voice. She knew now that I hadn’t exaggerated about Sandy’s endowment.

Down came the briefs and out popped Sandy’s raging hard-on. Clearly this big reveal routine excited him, just like it had back in our college days. Fully engorged, his member was a thick, fleshy crowbar.

For once, Lydia was speechless. She looked at his phallus, apparently spellbound.

Sandy stripped off the rest of his clothes and sat back on the sofa. He spread his legs wide.

Lydia walked over to him and knelt on the floor. Gingerly, she kissed the tip of his penis, then put the helmet head in her mouth. She experimented — seeing how much of his meat she could devour.

I was crazy turned on, and I was now massaging my own dick. I had hoped — and sort of planned — that if Ball-Peen’s peen wound up in Lydia’s twat, I would have access to her butthole.

In seconds, Lydia pulled off her dress, tossing it across the room. Then she was back on her knees with her ass pointed my direction. She mixed things up by kissing and licking Sandy’s ball sac. I got on the floor and began tonguing her tight little butthole. Her pussy was dripping with excitement.

“Why are we not in the bedroom right now?” she asked in an exasperated voice. “You washed the sheets didn’t you, Tanner?”

“You’re too much, Lyd,” I said. “You want it in the bedroom, we go in the bedroom. And, yeah, the sheets are clean.”

Minutes later, the three of us sprawled naked on the queen-size mattress. Lydia wanted to 69, so I sat up and watched as she and our guest engaged in the classic act. She tried her best to deep-throat that whopper, while Sandy lapped up her streaming pussy juice. I beat my meat while they played. Dribbles of pre-come soon ran down my shaft.

Fucking was, of course, the next thing on the agenda — specifically a DP. Sandy had brought along some jumbo-sized condoms. He strapped one on. I put on a standard model.

Lydia seemed a bit distracted.

“Look, Sandy” she said. “I’d love to have that monster in my pussy. But, believe it or not, I think I’d have better luck with it in my ass.”

I was dumbfounded.

“As you wish,” said Sandy, smiling like the devil himself.

I lay back on the bed. She faced me and straddled me, then eased her cunt onto my prick.

Sandy was lubing up her anus with one hand, while tugging on his dick with the other. He worked that massive rod into her backdoor until, almost impossibly, he had it in to the hilt! Lydia was breathing carefully and methodically, as if she were in the middle of an advanced Lamaze class. I had to hand it to her. When she’d said she liked mastodon dicks, she wasn’t kidding. She was a champ.

At first, anyway.

There wasn’t much wiggle room for either of us guys to pump or thrust. But our subtle, synchronized movements were powerful enough to take her over the top within a few minutes. She wailed in wild abandon as she experienced her first and only orgasm that night. Her ecstatic cries were enough to prompt both Sandy and me to let loose our loads. I can’t speak for Sandy, but it was one of my most intense orgasms ever.

We three continued playing for a little while. But before long, she’d had enough. She went into my bathroom and took a hot shower. When she emerged, she got dressed and said she was going home.

It was hard for her to admit defeat, but she had met her match in The Ball-Peen Hammer. And so, she went into retreat mode.

She and I haven’t played since. That’s probably for the best. When Lydia gets this moody, all the fun stops. And when we’ve talked on the phone, she’s been more sarcastic and irritable than ever.

It’s OK. It’s probably time for the two of us to end our swinging partnership anyway. While I’ll remember that incredible evening with some regret, I’ll recall the excitement even more.

I have a few other prospective play partners already lined up, so I’m ready to hit the ground running.