1 comments/ 25620 views/ 4 favorites Her Fantasy or Mine? By: leBonhomme The first person character of this story is called Mr. Rogers in an obvious reference to the surrogate father figure of the TV program. That is, however, no implication that the story is about Fred Rogers in any way. All the characters are fictitious, as you can imagine from the opening line, but then forget that. "I want to sleep with you, Mr Rogers." Fran, sometimes still called Francie, Francisca by her parents, was putting a nighttime pamper on my four year old grandson. I was playing memory with her four year-old and losing as usual, when her soft remark surprised me. It didn't sound like she had looked at me, and I didn't look up at her as I replied: "Really?" hoping my response sounded as matter-of-fact as her so surprising statement had. "Talk about it after the kids are all in bed." Needless to say, I was only lucky to get a couple of more pairs of cards, and her son was delighted. "All the kids" were her son and his two year old brother and my grandson and his younger sister. The two younger ones were already sharing her cot, playing with stuffed toys. Fran had offered to help me with my grandchildren, when my daughter Henrietta had to go to a conference, her husband away on a business trip, as was her husband. Normally, my wife would have minded the grandchildren, but she was visiting her widowed father. Francie and Henny had known each other as long as they could remember, over the years not always the best of friends, but now again, both living in a larger city and with the additional common interest of having children the same ages. Of course, I had also know Francie from the time she was the age of the younger children, but just seeing her occasionally. She had always been large for her age, as a toddler; probably as tall as me as a young teenager, taller now; and she had red hair, not reddish-blond or reddish-chestnut. While I was losing the game, it did occur to me that her surprising remark was typical of her directness, but there was nothing between us to suggest to me why she had so blatantly made it. I had only seen her a couple of times since her wedding. My wife or I could have suggested that she and her husband could call us by our first names, but an opportune time to do so hadn't occurred, even during the day she and I had spent together keeping the children busy. That made her remark addressed to me as Mr. Rogers even more surprising, but she had said it: "I want to sleep with you, Mr. Rogers." If she wanted to?! What had given her that idea? Nothing that I could remember from our day together. She had come with her children to my daughter's apartment before she left, and we had entertained the children, giving them lunch and supper, agreeing that since they would be sharing beds, we needed to keep them active enough to ensure that they went to sleep quickly. Despite the occasional, usual differences between the kids, it had been a fine day, all afternoon in the park. Fran and I had never spent so much time together. We had enjoyed each other's company, but only in our cooperation with entertaining the children. She had said that she appreciated that her boys had also accepted my intervening when the kids couldn't agree, but that was hardly a reason to suggest that she wanted to sleep with me, nor because her marriage was problematic. It wasn't, as I knew from the last time my wife and I and both the young families had been together. Fran finished diapering my grandson, who was too tired to object. We had told the boys that they would have to share his bed, and they let themselves be put down at opposite ends of it. Fran turned out the light, and we told our respective children good night. The younger ones were already lying with a stuffed toy, hardly responding when Fran spread the cover over them. Fran opened the window, and we returned to the kitchen, where we all had eaten supper, and she and I had had a glass of wine. In the light, we looked at each other with slightly puzzled expressions. She suggested that we have another glass of wine while she cleaned up in the kitchen. I poured, while she closed the door, and we drank, smiling a little wryly at each other. She began to collect plates, not saying anything. Finally, I asked - again: "Really?" "Surprised?" "Very!" "Hmm! Me too, that I said it." "Couldn't be as surprised as I am. ... Do I have to ask why?" She busied herself without looking at me, while I stood aside, watching her; yes, wondering how she looked with nothing on. She snorted and replied: "I always wanted to. No! Not always, but you were the first person I thought of, when I started thinking about that." "Why me? Maybe inappropriate to say so, but I thought girls ..., well, thought about their fathers." "Oh, it started before we were thinking about that, younger." "Hmm? And why me? Who: 'we'?" "My sister and I, wanted to know what boys looked like, and Henny had an older brother." "Hm-hmm! I guess she knew, at least when they were younger." "Um-hmm! And maybe the doctor's son." "Hmm? Maybe. We thought he might know a little too much from the older boy at the clinic." "Maybe less than 'maybe'." "And?" "She knew that you slept nude and started making breakfast that way." "True. And told you?!" "Um-hmm! All about it, what she could see, a real, naked, grown man." "Hmm! I thought she shouldn't be surprised the first time she saw another one, but not that I was enlightening the girls in the neighborhood." Fran turned and gave me a grin, remarking: "But you did, so with her description, ... well, when we - at least, I - started thinking about it, thinking about you." "Not just thinking about it?" She grinned again with a nod and reached for her glass, and we drank again. I snorted and remarked: "Well, I hope it helped, but that's long ago, like maybe - over - twenty years ago. You've seen at least one naked man since then; don't need to live out your first fantasy." "Not just one, of course, but why not?" She smiled and took her glass again, and we emptied them. She held hers out to be refilled, and I emptied the bottle in our glasses. She took a sip and repeated: "But why not?" "For all the obvious reasons, and I think you're happily married." "Yes, but we're here, and it wouldn't be like having an affair, ... and we don't have anything better to do this evening." "Hmm! At least the last bit was right." "So why not?" "You always were direct. Doesn't bother you?" "Not since I said it." "Hmm? Looking at his little penis?" "Maybe. Hadn't thought of that. Probably, since you mention it." "Probably shouldn't have." "Anyway, I want to sleep with you. Told Henny she didn't have to put fresh sheets on their bed." "Anticipating this?" "No, but it now seems convenient. I told her I would remake the bed in the morning, and she put out clean sheets." "Hmm! Very 'convenient'." She nodded with slight smirk, and we drank. She looked at me with a questioningly raised eyebrow. I snorted and remarked: "Before you ask me; it would be rude to say that I don't want to; wouldn't be true, either, just a very new thought." "That's good. ... Didn't you ever think about girls in Henny's class, when we were growing up." "Hmm?! Not like that! Oh, I liked the one who worked with her on that school project; she had a nice figure, and I especially liked her deeper voice." "Patsy?" "Probably. Oh, it was interesting watching you all growing up, you know, starting to wear bras, but I didn't have any fantasies about any of you. ... Oh, I guess I did wonder if you had red hair there too." That question had only occurred to me while I was watching her in the kitchen, but it seemed appropriate now to suggest that I had had thought a little bit more about her back then. She snorted with grin and replied: "It is; it was, before I started shaving." "Hmm! When was that? Do all of you shave?" "Hm-hm-hmm! Not until I went to college and saw that many others did. Hmm? If you're wondering about Henny, I don't know." "Well, I wasn't, but maybe she does. Her mother said once that she complained that she had some that showed when she wore a bikini, so maybe the thought of shaving them all off came easy." Fran nodded with a slight smirk. She had finished cleaning up, and we emptied our wine glasses. She took mine, our fingers touching for the first time, and rinsed and dried them. After she had put them away, she murmured: "Better check on the children." She silently opened the door and went to the children's room. She returned with a smile, beckoning me to follow her, in the darkened room pointing at the cot with the two-year-olds. They were lying almost in each others' arms with my granddaughter's favorite little cloth rabbit between them. We smiled at each other, nodding, and retreated, closing the door. Back in the kitchen, Fran smiled again and murmured: "They have the right idea." "Hmm? We should, because they do?" "If you need another reason to?" "Hmm? Hmm! Hm-hmm! I sleep with the mother of my granddaughter's little friend because they are." "Hm-hmm! If that works better than sleeping with your daughter's girlfriend." "At least you're both twenty years older now. That would have sounded really wicked back then." "I didn't really think about that, back then, just found the idea very attractive." "Hmm? Good think I didn't know. ... You really want to? I'm twenty years older now, too." "But don't look it, more fit than Robert." Her husband was a big man, taller than Fran, but had put on a lot of weight since their wedding five or six years before. I was probably more fit, but did have more stomach than I liked. I pulled it in. Robert couldn't do that. With a snort I replied: "If you think so; I'm not sure, ... at least for what you're suggesting, ... a little out of practice." "That's a pity; all the more reason to." "Hmm? If you insist? No promises." "I do. Too late now for us to go to separate beds and wonder what might have happened." "Reawakening your old fantasies and me having new ones." "We can have them later, and then better." "If you're not disappointed." "I won't be, if you like to do what I want to do." "I hope so. Hm-hmm! Can't think of anything I wouldn't want to do." We both snickered with grins, appreciating that we had finally confirmed that we were going to. Fran murmured: "Have to go to the bathroom." "Me too; I'll use the guest toilet." "And then join me, and we can get undressed and wash a little." I nodded with a smirk, and we went our ways, leaving the doors open and hearing each other, and then flushing. We both had started to unbutton our shirts when I joined her in the bathroom. We smirked and continued to undress without any hesitations. She had the pale skin of a typical redhead and pale nipples. On her large figure, her breasts seemed smaller than they actually were, and, of course, she had long legs. When she saw me glance at her shaven pussy, she smiled slightly and remarked: "Nice curly red hair." "I hope Henny's description didn't raise false expectations." "Hm-umm. Back then, just sounded larger than we thought, told us that it wasn't always the same size." "And never like the first one you saw." "Hmm! No! And when she saw her brother's - like you mean - it wasn't either." "Yeah, their mother caught them playing doctor. What girls talk about!" "Don't boys?" "Mostly just speculation, or bragging. Gentlemen don't tell." "Girls don't either after they start really doing something. Now wash." She turned to the washbasin and took the nearest washcloth and began unselfconsciously to wash her face and then her pussy. By now, I was only slightly surprised at our situation, both naked, she unconcernedly letting me watch her wash. I couldn't remember ever having been in a similar situation. Before I married, we - not just with my future wife - never waited to wash, and later, we never so obviously prepared to have sex, or didn't anticipate that we would. Then she would warn me: "I didn't wash," as I was moving to go down on her. Of course, that didn't deter me. Disappointingly, she only sucked my cock as foreplay, not all the way, like a couple of my earlier girlfriends. Fran's smile at me in the mirror brought me back to the present, and I noticed the washcloth rubbing her asshole. Was I meant to relate her smile to what her fingers were doing? I knew that oral sex was now much more usual than in my youth and that young people had no compunctions about mentioning what they did, recalling that our son at once told my wife and me that a girl had gone down on him. Was that what Fran had meant: "if you like to do what I want to do"? No need for her to say that, if she didn't mean something different from the obvious. I hoped so. She rinsed the washcloth and grabbed a towel and stepped aside, smiling at me with a nod towards the washbasin. I smiled wryly and took her place and washed my face. A little self-consciously - she was standing where she could watch me - I draped my cock and balls over the edge of the washbasin, catching her slight nod and smirk in the mirror. My cock was a little fuller than it had been. I washed them and then moved back and also washed my asshole. My wife - or anyone else - had never done anything to make that necessary, although she didn't object to my touching hers - hadn't objected; it had been a couple of years. We had been silent for too long. I snorted and remarked: "If you want to suck my toes, I'll wash them too." That turned out to have been a prescient inspiration. Fran grinned at me in the mirror, shaking her head and replying: "Only if you want me to. I want to suck something else." "Oooh! That's good! I just love that! And doing it, too." "Hmmm! That is good!" We grinned at each other in the mirror, and she handed me the towel, and we grinned again with nods, as I turned to her and dried myself. We both snickered, and I remarked: "I was hoping that was what you meant before." "It was; I just love to do it, too, and that you do." "Very much; two of a kind. But not when you were first thinking about me?" "Hm-umm! Of course not; didn't know about that back then." "Took a couple of years before I did, and then a couple more before someone did, ... and many years since someone has - all the way." "That's a pity. I do, I will." "Mmmm! I will too." "I hope so, real good." "As good as I can; I love the taste of it." "Hm-hmm! This is turning out to being a very good idea, a lot better than I had hoped." "For me, too. Hm-hmm! Never talked about what we wanted to do, and sure never expected that it would be with you." "Nor with you; all the better!" Fran smiled sweetly, and I returned her smile, enjoying that her nipples were aroused and that she then touched them. She snorted and remarked: "I like them to be sucked, too, but there is time for everything; one after another." "Mmmm!" I nodded with another smile, and we went to the bedroom, leaving the light in the bathroom on and leaving the door open to have a little light. Fran flung back the covers on the bed and murmured: "One after another; sit down; I want to do it like this." As I sat down, she dropped to her knees. I hummed and murmured: "Only once did a girl just do it to me." "Um-hmm, and married couples just get in bed and usually both do it at once - when they do it." "And then not all the way; we, at least." "Um-hmm, but it's more pleasure to enjoy it each way, one way and then the other." "God, this is going to be good! ... Uh, will you suck my balls, too?" "Hm-hmm! If you want. Haven't done that." "No one else ever has, either." "A first for us both; I like that." "Not as much as I will." "Just maybe!" Fran grinned at me in the dim light and fondled my balls in my loose sack. My cock was already rising. She chuckled and asked: "Now or later?" Hmm? Any time you want. Hm-hmm! Later, you may have to trouble getting them loose enough again, but that would just prolong my pleasure." "Mmmm! And mine too! ... Hm-hmm! And you can do something else to prolong mine." "Lick you somewhere else? Also haven't done that, but I want to." "Oooh! This is all going to be good; enough talk." The head of my cock disappeared between her lips. It had always felt good, when my wife had sucked it, but always with the frustrating knowledge that she was going to stop before anything happened and turn around over me. But this was so much better: the promise that Fran was going to let me come in her mouth, and that this way her tongue could arouse my cock where it was most sensitive, plus her obvious delight, enthusiasm, pleasure, skill at what she was doing! She was sucking my cock deeper in her mouth than anyone had before! Maybe even deep throat?! Did she do that?! She didn't, but my cock was throbbing in her mouth, and my sack was a tight ball in her fingers. I murmured insistently: "Balls." She nodded and raised her head, and my cock sprang up, glistening in the dim light, as I saw clear drops using from its little slip. She glanced up with a slight smile and murmured: "Just in time; thanks for reminding me." Her fingernails scratched behind my sack and then caught a tight wrinkle of it. It took a while before she could loosen it. When my cock began to sink, she chuckled and licked it, making it twitch. We both snorted, smiling at each other. Then my sack was all loose again. She lowered her head and pushed one of my balls between her lips, gently closing her mouth around it and caressing it with her tongue, sucking gently. Had I imagined how it would feel? Not as good as it did! I moaned and murmured: "God, that feels good!" She nodded, humming her agreement. That felt even better! "Mmmm! Do that some more, humming; feels even better!" She nodded again and did, and I moaned in appreciation. After a few moments, she let it slip out of her mouth and murmured: "For me too. The other one." That felt just as good, of course, and I murmured: "Oooh! Glad I thought to ask you to." She nodded with a more emphatic hum and then released it. She smiled up at me with a nod and murmured: "I'm glad you did, too. He's going to like that." "Hope he doesn't ask where you got the idea." "Hm-hmm! I can tell him that while he was away I tried to think of something else I could do." "He will be delighted." "Now to finish what I started, ... before I begin to drip." But instead of beginning to suck again, she surprised me by reaching down and feeling her pussy. When she brought her hand up and showed me her wet fingers, smirking. I surprised myself, taking her hand and drawing it up and licking them. She snorted with another smirk and murmured: "Just wait; it's not your turn yet." "Yours! But I'm looking forward to tasting it." "Me too, that you are. Hm-hmm! Hope you really like it a lot." "A lot, a lot of it. Uh, do you ...?" "Hmm? Do I squirt? I hope so." "Oh, good! I sure hope so, too." We snickered with grins, nodding, and then my sagging cock disappeared between her lips again. I had been born a generation too soon, if this was what all girls - young women - now did! Did my daughter also do it so good? I hoped so, for her husband's pleasure - whose else before him? Having sex had never been like this before: talking about it, telling each other what we liked, what we wanted to do. And it all started by her simply saying that she wanted to sleep with me, and now having told me that she hoped that she would squirt. She could, if I did it right! She sure was doing it right! How could I have been so lucky?! Her Fantasy or Mine? She wasn't just sucking and licking my cock so good, also bobbing her head. I could only see her red hair as her head moved; oooh, sucking it deeper in her mouth again, even deeper than before, the head of my cock brushing against the back of her pallet! Did she want it to shoot in the back of her throat to avoid tasting it? If she kept doing that, it would. My hips twitched, and I moaned, and she increased her efforts. She must know what was going to happen. My hips twitched more quickly, and it did! With an involuntary grunt, I came, the first two spurts deep in her mouth, and she moaned in response and drew her head back a little and sucked and tickled, and the smaller, following spurts landed on her tongue. She did want to taste it, moaning with me, and then letting me feel her moving it around in her mouth. I sighed with moans and murmured: "God, that was good! It was never so good!" She nodded with an "uhn-hnnn!" She let my cock slip slowly from between her closed lips and looked up at me with smiling smirk. I said the first thing that came to mind, although I had never done it before: "I have to kiss you for that, ... if it wouldn't be too intimate?" She shook her head with a closed-lips grin and rose up. She was so tall, that kneeling, her face was a little above mine, tilted down expectantly. I expected a nice kiss, but not the good one she initiated. Her tongue was immediately between her lips, between mine, and then in my mouth, letting me taste what I had given her. I hadn't really anticipated that, but it made my wanting to kiss her even more appropriate, wanting to share the strange taste from what she had done so arousingly. As I returned her kiss, our tongues caressing, my arms automatically embraced her, and her long arms went around my neck, both of us kissing and embracing as though we were aroused lovers. For the moment - for the evening - we were: no longer the father of her friend and my daughter's friend so unexpectedly doing something we shouldn't. Her breasts were pressed against my chest, and she didn't suggest that we should stop kissing, her arms locked around my neck, holding our mouths together. My hands roamed up and down, and she pressed her hip closer between my thighs. Finally, she loosened her embrace and murmured: "Just what I wanted to do, too." "Um-hmm," I agreed. She grinned with a snort and urged me to lie back on the bed. She rose off her knees and urged me to move further back from the edge of the bed, and got her knees on it and dropped down over me, her breasts level with my head. I didn't need her next murmur to tell me what I wanted to do, but it was very nice to know that that was what she also wanted: "Now suck them." I did, not just sucking, nibbling, and she moaned encouragement, and more, as one hand fondled her other breast, and then my other hand slid down to her ass, my fingertips finding their own way below the base of her spine and scratching. She liked that too, and then I was sucking and nibbling on her other nipple, exchanging where my hands were. She sighed and moaned, and then murmured: "Before I start to drip," and rose up on her knees, moving further up over me. Before I could grasp her ass and urge her to lower her pussy on my face, she murmured again: "If you really want it 'a lot', not just on your chin." She began to turn around over me, and then I understood that the mouth of her vagina would be over my mouth while I licked her clitoris. I was thankful for her recalling that I had asked if she could squirt and her saying that she hoped she would. Now it was up to me to arouse her so that she would. If she and her husband - yeah, Robert was his name - usually did sixty-nine, she sure still knew how to kneel over a man's face. Her pussy descended right on my mouth, moist, already a little open. Did I know what to do to make her squirt? Probably better than years earlier, having watched too many porn videos in the last couple of years, and this was going to be "all the way," not like with my wife, just foreplay. I had always loved licking pussy. One young woman hadn't wanted me to, but I assumed that it was because she didn't want to reciprocate, but the others all had, even if they didn't. One warned me the first time that she wouldn't, but she certainly didn't mind that I wanted to. But Fran had wanted to - so good! And had said that she hoped I could do it to her just as good! Should I have talked to the other girls about it? Did any of them back then know if they could squirt? I hadn't, but now I did, and Fran did, and had even thought to consider the best way for me to enjoy that she would. Was she moaning to encourage me, or was she already so aroused? Her pussy was so wet and tasted so good, and her clitoris was so firm and prominent, and so sensitive. Oh, she had mentioned that I could prolong her pleasure when, after she had washed her asshole. When my tongue slid back past her opening, she rock her hips forward. Uhnn! Funny, nice to explore, feeling it tighten and relax, and hearing her chuckling moan. That was what she had meant, what she had wanted. We enjoyed that until she rocked her hips back, and my tongue was again everywhere it could be on her pussy. I reached up and found that her hands on her breasts. She slid her hands down over mine with an "um-hmm," and I held them. When I began to fondle her nipples, her long fingers spread past mine and squeezed the sides of her breast. Then I sort of forgot about them, concentrating on licking her pussy, encouraged by now obviously aroused moans, insistent moans, feeling her thighs twitching. Then she gave a deeper moan, and her pussy was all wet. Her thighs clutched my sides and then she cried out softly: "God, yes!" and a squirt of her pussy juice flooded my mouth, and then a second one! I gulped and moaned. Success! And it tasted so good! Her hands were grasping mine. My tongue stilled, resting, while I heard her gasping softly and sighing with deep moans: "Uhnn, ... uhnn, ... uhnn, ...." I expected that when she had recovered she would move off me, but then her hips twitched and she murmured insistently: "Don't stop! More!" Surprised, but very willingly, eagerly I began to arouse her again. I had never experienced a woman's having more than one orgasm, but she obviously wanted a second one, knew that she could. Soon, her thighs began to quiver again. This time, I knew what was going to happen. When her pussy began to flow, I opened mouth wide, my tongue pressed between her clitoris and my lower lip. This time, she gave a deep, pulsing groan: "Uhn-hn-hn-hnnn!" and her pussy juice squirted deep in my mouth, again two long spurts. Success again! Was that how it had felt when I came in her mouth?! No wonder she liked it; I did; it was so gratifying to know how good it had been for her! My tongue rested again. Very pleased with myself, I waited for her to recover, wondering if she want still a third orgasm. Her moans receded, and she held my hands and murmured: "God, that was good! You did that good! ... Oh, it wants me to do it again." I assumed that her eyes had been closed and now were open, seeing my aroused cock. I knew, of course, that it was arousing to give oral sex, like it had been for her - her: "before I start to drip." I did what would make it twitch, and felt that it did. Fran snorted and repeated: "It does want me to." I urged her to raise her hips and replied with a snort: "If you think so. I was still thinking about how good you came. I loved it." "Real good, thank you. I sure didn't anticipate how good this would be. You want me to, again?" "Hm-hmm! Could I say 'no'?" Fran raised her hips further and leaned down, grinning at me between her thighs, and replied: "If you really wanted to, but I wouldn't believe you." "Hmm! And I would have to throw you off me - try to - if I really meant it." Her thighs clutched together, suggesting that she was going to make that difficult for me, and we both snickered. I felt her hand grasp my cock, moving on it to encourage it not to forget that it was aroused. She murmured: "I want to. ... I ..., uh, want to try something, ... you know, ... really 'all the way', ... swallow it." "My cock?" I murmured superfluously in my surprise." "I want to try. I think I can, if you don't mind my experimenting." "If you think so; if you want to try." "I want to, but if I can't, you know: gagging, maybe worse, ...." "Don't do anything that hurts. I know it is possible. Hm-hmm! Once even saw a video of the original film." "Really? Linda Lovelace?" "Um-hmm, discovered a scratchy video tape the people in our apartment had." "Hmm! If she could, and all the others can ...." "I won't be upset if you can't. You were pretty close before." I think I can; tried with a peeled cucumber, but it was smaller." "Good luck, I hope so; must feel very good, but you're going to have to start all over again." "Um-hmm, the easy part." My cock had softened in her hand, shortened too. Fran leaned down and most of it disappeared in her mouth. I couldn't see that, just felt her lips down close down on my cock, her chin brushing my pubic hair. I looked up at her pussy and asshole, wishing it wasn't so dark, so that I could see them better, and let her do what she wanted. She had no trouble making my cock aroused again, and I hummed my appreciation at feeling it stiffen and grow in her mouth. She hummed in reply, which also felt good, and then began move her head up and down. It felt arousing, of course, but I knew after having come so good before, that I could let her experiment without disappointing her by coming before she had done everything she wanted - at least, I hoped so; good idea of hers to try it with an older man. I felt the head of my cock push further and further back against her pallet, just a fraction of an inch further each time. Then she turned her head down, and the more sensitive side of it was rubbing on the base of her tongue, apparently less sensitive for her, but more for me. I could stand it, however, suddenly recalling Kipling's Kim's doing multiplication tables to keep from being hypnotized. That helped for a few moments, until I suddenly wondered if I would get to something times something equals sixty-nine: three times twenty-three, both prime numbers. I had managed to distract myself for only a very few moments; the head of my cock was deeper than before in her mouth, and she was making unattractive sounding noises. Did she really want to? She did! Her head dropped further, and I felt the head of my cock slip into a tight hold, like the first time it had slipped in the vagina of my first girlfriend. A guttural sound escaped from Fran, and she raised her head and gasped and then lowered her head again, and the head of my cock was back deep in her throat. This time she held it longer, and I felt her throat muscles tighten in the grove below the head of my cock. No pussy could be that tight! She raised her head again, gasping and then raising it further, my cock slipping from her mouth. She whispered in a satisfied tone: "I did it! Enough for the first time. God, I'm slobbering." I felt her saliva drip on me, and nodded, replying: "You sure did! You can't imagine how that felt. Congratulations!" She quickly turned around, lying heavily on me. I could see in the dim light that her cheeks were wet from tears, and then her slobbery mouth was on mine. It was only an affectionate kiss, and then she raised her head and murmured: "Thank you for letting me try that. Mmmm! Letting me find out that I could. ... I didn't want to try with Robert and find out that I couldn't or that I didn't dare to." I nodded. Before I could think of what to say in response, she added: "Oh, hope you don't mind my having said that." "Of course not! ... What a wonderful excuse for our having done it, and everything else." She kissed me again, chuckling, and replied: "It sure is. I really didn't plan this, but if I had, it couldn't be better." "Um-hmm, for both of us, ... things we both hadn't done before." "Um-hmm. ... Hm-hmm!" She smirked and added: "But we can do that too; a little unfair just using you for my experiment." "If you almost started dripping again?" "Hm-hmm! Maybe. You made me come twice." "And I was thinking that it was good that I wouldn't come before you finished your experiment." "Thanks! All the more reason to let you now." "If you want to, and think I can. You'll have to tell him." "Hm-hm-hmm! He knows how I can 'talk'." "He sure does, ... just don't swallow him." Fran snickered and moved down over me and began to suck my cock. What followed was a very good conventional fuck, better than the ones I could remember with my wife, because Fran showed me all the ways a woman could move her hips on my cock and then encouraged me to do more than just rub her asshole, when she dropped down over me and wanted to have her breasts sucked again. I didn't know if she squirted again, but I sure did, and my pubic hairs were soaked. She rolled off me, and we kissed, chuckling and agreeing that her so surprising suggestion had led to a mutually most satisfying evening. When I mentioned that I had heard that my grandson often sought his parents' bed in the morning, we reluctantly agreed that I should go to the guest bed. We both went to the bathroom, smiling with smirks in the light as we watched each other use the toilet. I followed her back to the door of the bedroom. We both snorted at the scent of all our love making. Fran whispered: "I hope he thinks that is how their bedroom always smells." "Me too, but I'll open the window." I did, returning to Fran, now in only the light from the street, enough light for us to find each other to embrace. She lowered her face to mine, and we kissed, a lot better than the previous couple, pressing our hips together. When we separated, Fran chuckled and murmured: "Thank you, Mr Rogers." "Hmm! I think you should call me Martin now." "Thank you, Martin. Sleep tight." "You too, Fran." We snorted, and I found my way in the dark to my guest bed. I fell asleep before I could enjoy recalling the evening. In the morning, when I woke up, my first thought was that all my clothes were in the bathroom. Then I wondered if my grandson had surprised Fran, surprised himself. I put on my change of underpants and then heard that Fran was busy with the kids. In the bathroom, I saw that her clothes were gone and began to take a shower, assuming that she would hear that I was up. Showered and shaved, I dressed and tossed my used underpants in the guest room. Then I put on my best granddad-greeting-his-grandchildren expression and joined them. Fran was diapering one of the younger ones and without looking up said: "Good morning. There you are. Hope you slept well." "Very well, thanks, you too, I hope. And you too, young man, both of you." The boys were already playing and hardly looked up. I offered to start making breakfast, asking Fran if she wanted scrambled eggs. She did, this time responding with a smirking smile, and I escaped to the kitchen. After a few minutes, she joined, smirking again, and murmured: "He did; good thing we didn't sleep together." She snorted, and I nodded with a grin. Then the toddlers joined us, and she remarked: "Tell you later." Then we were busy giving them something to eat, trying to keep them from insisting that they wanted what the other one had. I knew that my grandson would also want to have scrambled eggs, but maybe wouldn't eat them. Fran thought her older boy should eat what was offered, even if he wasn't accustomed to eggs for breakfast. I scrambled four eggs, sure that I could easily eat what the boys didn't. While I was scrambling them with diced ham and spices, Fran gave me a grin and murmured: "Of course, you always make breakfast, just not like back then," then whispered: "Nice party trick for the morning after." We both snorted with smiles, and she returned to minding the kids and making coffee. When her son liked my scrambled eggs, my grandson also finished his portion. Luckily, the weather was good, and the kids liked the suggestion of returning to the park, even better, when we said that we would go to the larger park. Armed with a ball for the older boys and toys for the younger children, we set off with strollers for them, but they wanted to walk, obediently holding hands, like they did on outings from their daycare centers. In the park, the children immediately entertained themselves, and Fran and I could sit on a park bench just watching them. After a couple a remarks about our liking that they got on so well together, Fran snorted and said: "Yeah, he did come to his parents' bed. Hm-hmm! He was already getting in it, when he woke me. I wasn't sure what to do, so just lay there. Then he realized that I wasn't Henny, mumbled something, but just continued. Does she sleep naked?" "I should know?" "Hmm! Didn't seem to surprised him that I was, just cuddle up next to me with his arm on me." "Who wouldn't?" "With his hand on my breast?" "Should have known that it wasn't his mother's; yours are bigger. You'll have to ask her, explaining that you forgot to bring a nightgown or whatever you wear." "Nothing, why I forgot." "Hmm! Nice. Then Henny probably doesn't either. ... I'm not going to ask her, but you can tell her that and hear what she says." "Hm-hm-hmm! ... What are we going to tell her about how we spent the evening?" "Oooh! Hadn't thought about that! " "Just occurred to me." "Hmm?! Maybe we had trouble getting the kids down? Finally just went to bed, when we had?" "Hmm! Well, we did that, just went to bed after we finished the wine." "Um-hmm, after some nice talk about how we would do, but that ..., I don't think that ...: 'Oh, we just emptied the bottle of wine and went to bed,' is a good answer, ... at least, knowing how we did." "I guess not, 'knowing how we did'. Very good, thank you, Martin." "Thank you, too, Fran." I wanted to hold her hand, but didn't, but she held mine for a moment, and we exchanged smiles. I snorted and remarked: "I guess we couldn't just tell her the truth." "Oooh! That would be funny! But she's more likely to ask you first this evening, after we leave." "Hmm?! And I tell it was all your idea." "And hers, a little, for telling me about you." "And I would have to tell her that, too? I don't think that would work. But if she asks, as she probably will, we need a good story that won't have me blushing at her question." "True! Sorry for getting you in this predicament." "Oh, it was well worth it, thank you. Hm-hmm! Now just help get me out of it." "Hm-hm-hmm! Want me to immediately tell her, tell her how good it was?" "Hm-hmm! With me standing there, blushing to my ears? ... What would she think of you?" "Hmm? Guess I would be blushing too." "I hope so." We grinned at each other, and then looked about to see that the kids were all in sight and not fighting. They were, they weren't. I snorted and asked: "What do you two know about what ..., well, you know, about your love lives?" "Hmm? ... About, ... well, not so much 'about', just when we first did and with whom. Of course, I knew that she slept with her husband the first time she met him, well, when they first met, years before they got married. And in between, before? Don't know, couldn't have been too many our last couple of years in school." "I shouldn't have asked; about what I assumed." "Oh, if you are thinking that maybe she could think that I ..., might assume that I wanted to sleep with you, I don't think so. Fathers and daughters and all that." Her Fantasy or Mine? "I wasn't." "Uhnnn? But you could have, my parents separated." "I didn't, but you mentioned that." "Hmm? Um-hmm. More likely my sister; she's more like our mother. Don't know, wouldn't mind, if they both wanted to." That ended our conversation, and we joined the children. Eventually, it was time to return for dinner. Fran's telling them that they would have their favorite food, let them finish their playing. The younger ones happily let themselves be put in their strollers, and we returned, having to wake the little ones when we got there. The older boys needed to go to the toilet, and the younger ones needed fresh pampers. It was a little tedious with the four children until the noodles with tomato and meat sauce was on the table. Then they were all delighted and hungry. Henny had told us that we could raid the supply of wine, and Fran and I also enjoyed our meal. Four young faces and the table had to be wiped clean of tomato sauce, and the younger ones immediately agreed to taking a nap. Fran and I smiled when we saw them again curl up together. The older boys weren't so cooperative, but my insistence that that they had to, so that my grandson would be fresh when his mother came home convinced them to lie down, and soon they were also asleep. Fran patted my hand with a smile at my success, and we returned to the kitchen and emptied our wine glasses. She glanced around at what needed to be washed up, and then at me, asking: "Do we need a nap, too?" "Hmm? Probably? But like you might mean?" "Hmmm! Probably; better now than after cleaning up." "And if the kids wake up?" "They won't for a while." "You really want to? Want to risk it?" "If you will. Hm-hmm! We can both do it, and keep most of our clothes on." "Hmm? Never did that." "Me neither, ... but better than not doing it, and we'll hear the kids before they can surprise us." "Hmm?! Mine, I hope. If you think yours will, won't." "They won't." "Promise?" "No." Fran grinned. I grinned and said: "My bed, ... if you promise not to make me have to think about you all night." "No! But I wouldn't mind if you did. Oh, we have to remake their bed." "Later, before we clean the kitchen." We grinned and hurried to the bed in the guest room. Smirking, Fran pulled up her skirt and pulled down her panties, while I opened my trousers and pulled down my underpants. She slipped off her shoes and let her panties drop, picking them up with a snort and putting them under my pillow: "In case I have to jump up and just let my skirt drop." "And I get to keep them?" "Hmm! If you want, but I think they're pretty clean. You first, in case ..." I slipped off my loafers and slid my trousers and underpants down further and got on the bed. Fran gathered up her skirt and joined me, drawing her thigh up under my head. She snorted and pushed my trousers and underpants down past my knees, so that I could open my thighs to let her put her head between them. There was nothing romantic or erotic about our actions, just preparation for the sexual experience we were both anticipating. Her mouth slipped around my soft cock - all of it - and my mouth kissed her still closed pussy lips. But they quickly opened, and my cock began to grow in her mouth, and her pussy began to taste better. She was just sucking, her chin still pressed against my hair, but that was enough to make my cock start to stiffen. Did she want to try to do it again, just hold still and let my cock force its way into her throat? It seemed like it, felt like it, but then she made a soft gagging sound and pulled her head back a little with a soft hum. I stopped licking and murmured: "You want to try again?" She nodded with an "uhn-hnn." "I'll wait then, but you don't have to; it will still be good." She nodded again and began to suck and lick my cock, and I returned to enjoying her pussy. When her hand slid over my hip, I wondered if she wanted to hold it so she could try, but her fingers crept down to my asshole. Good idea; mine also found hers, and we both nodded with muffled chuckles. For a while, probably only a minute or two, we enjoyed arousing each other and being aroused, especially for me, the new sensation from what her finger was doing, encouraging me to do more with mine than I had the night before, which had already been more than I ever expected. Then she nodded and did tighten the pressure on my ass, beginning to move her head, letting my cock go slightly deeper each time. I stopped lick, as I had promised, but I probably would have, anyway, from my aroused anticipation of what it would feel like again. Uhnnn! It was almost there. "Want me to come?" I murmured. I felt her shrug, and then her arm pressed against my ass, and with another move of her head, and then another one, with a gurgling sound, she pressed her mouth right up against me, and I felt the head of my cock slip into the tight ring of her throat. "Uhnnn!" My cock was trying to twitch in the contractions of her throat, and I could feel on my balls her panting breath, and feel her tongue moving on my hair. Deepthroating wasn't overrated! She pulled her head back and took a deep breath, moaning as she exhaled, and then took another one, and then the head of my cock was back in her throat again, more easily than before, and she held it there for longer, apparently more comfortable with the sensation, enough to remember to move her finger in my asshole, while my cock tried to twitch. The she drew her head back and caught her breath again. I could feel that her mouth was full of saliva, and she let me feel it, slavering it around the head of my cock with her tongue as she gave a deep, satisfied sounding moan. When she moved her finger again, I also did and returned to licking her pussy, hoping that I could again make her squirt. I did, deep in my mouth again, after she made me fill her mouth with my semen. We both relaxed with moaning sighs, rolling apart and chuckling softly. She snickered and murmured: "Oh, he's going love that." "Don't have to tell me." "Guess not! Once it's there, ... at least after a little practice, thank you - it's easy." "If you say so. He will." "And I will too. ... He's bigger that you, but not there." "I'll try to forget that when I see him, ... and how I know." "Hmm? Yeah, I guess, try to then, but I won't forget." "Nor I; ... how could I; the best sex I ever had." "Sorry about that, but it has been for me too, at least, the way it all has happened." "I hope so. You can make it happen again." "Mmmm! I sure will try." We snorted and sat up, smirking as we looked at each other and at our exposed hips and legs. Fran snorted again with a wry grin, pulling her skirt down as though she were embarrassed at the state of her attire. I reached under the pillow and handed her her panties. She nodded and murmured: "Wash first." She shuffled into her shoes, while I pulled up my underpants and pants. With more smirks, we went to the bathroom and washed. Properly clothed, we remade the other bed, still exchanging smirks. In the the kitchen, after a glance at the still sleeping children, I snorted and murmured: "We still don't know what to tell Henny." "Hmm? No. Anything you want. ... Hm-hmm! Kind of nice to tell her what happened." "Really?! You two see her all the time." "Oh, we have other secrets, known each other for over thirty years." "Hmm?! If you think so. I hope she asks while you're still here; it was your idea, so you can tell her, ... or make up a better story." "Hm-hmm! Couldn't be better than what we did." "That's for sure, but it's more about your reputation than mine, especially since it was your idea." "And if it had been yours, that wouldn't have made much difference." "Um-hmm. She knows that I once had an affair, at least her brother does, so she probably does too. But this was with you. So?" "Not an affair." "But with you, so?" "Lies have short legs. I'd just tell her, also that it was very good - for you too - she knows that both our parents aren't perfect. If she doesn't ask till we're gone, you can tell her whatever you want." "Hmm? And if she asks while you are here, I have to live with any more questions?" "Maybe I'll think of something." "I hope so." We both snorted and exchanged wry smiles. We had been cleaning up in the kitchen, making enough noise to wake the children. The older boys joined us and got a glass of milk and cookies. The younger children called to be taken out of their bed and got the same. With a little encouragement, they all went back and played, Fran and I accompanying them. We exchanged a few more wry smiles. It suddenly occurred to me that she couldn't tell Henny what we had actually done with the children there, and whispered that to her. She nodded. An hour or so later, Henny returned. Her children immediately ran to greet her, followed by Fran's. We followed, greeting her. With her daughter on her arm, she asked if everything had been all right, and we assured her that the children had gotten along very well. "And you two? Thank you for all your help." "Very well," Fran replied, with only a neutral glance at me. I nodded, agreeing: "Yes, very well, with the kids and with each other." My daughter smiled and suggested that Fran and her children stay for supper, since everything had gone so well and to save her from having to make supper for them. Fran agreed, with a slight smile at me; there was going to be plenty of time still for Henny to ask how we had spent the evening. Henny played with the children for a while, and then it was time to think about supper. Fran immediately offered to help. I was a little apprehensive about her and Henny being alone in the kitchen, knowing that Henny would want to ask what we had done with the kids, leading to the obvious question of how the two of us had then spent the evening. Henny's: "Daddy, you can keep the kids out of trouble," settled what I had to do. I tried to forget what they might be discussing and tried to keep the kids entertained, more difficult before supper. I was doing a pretty good job, when Henny suddenly called: "Daddy, can you come here?" Had she asked, had Fran told?! I excused myself from the kids, telling them that I had to help in the kitchen and to behave themselves. Very apprehensively, I joined Henny and Fran in the kitchen. Luckily, I could see Fran through the door first. Her quick wry smile was not reassuring. When I was in the doorway, my daughter's expression was very different - shocked disbelief. I mentally kicked myself for not have anticipated the obvious questions, remarks, the first one: "Fran just said that you slept with each other last night." I nodded, replying: "It was her idea. We did." "She told me that already. You really did?!" I nodded again, replying a little facetiously: "Not really sleep." "Daddy! I assumed that!" "Should I have said 'no'? If she wanted to?" "You wanted to?" "I did. Do you mind?" Henny glanced back and forth at Fran and me. Then she replied: "I am just very surprised about you two." "We were too," Fran replied softly. I nodded. Henny scowled and muttered: "My Daddy and my oldest girlfriend." "Fran didn't tell you why?" "We didn't get that far," Fran replied, adding to me: "You can tell her this evening." "That's unfair; you got me into this." Henny snorted and replied, looking at me: "You'd better. I know you and Mom now sleep in separate bedrooms, but ..." she looked at Fran, continuing: " ... you, Fran?!" She looked a little embarrassed, but not blushing, and replied: "We talked about it - beforehand - that it wasn't an affair, that there was nothing better to do ..." "'Nothing better to do!'" Henny interjected with a snort and another scowl. "Fran did most of the talking," I remarked. A slight, wry smile passed over her lips as she nodded once, continuing: "I guess so; and that ..., well, after I had said that I wanted to, surprising myself, and since we had talked about it, that it was too late to go to separate beds, both of us then wondering what might have happened." "Hmm? Hmm!" Henny snorted, glancing back and forth at us, and remarked: "Thinking about it is as bad as doing it, or something like that in the Bible." "Probably St. Paul," I suggested. "So you just went ahead and did it." "Something like that," Fran agreed, and I nodded, exchanging slight smiles with each other. "Hmm! I won't ask what you did," Henny remarked. That ended the conversation, which would have had to stopped, anyway, since the two older boys came in the kitchen and asked if supper wasn't ready. It wasn't, but the mothers quickly completed preparing it, while I fetched the two younger children. During the meal, Henny asked the children what they had done, and their telling kept my mind off the subject - except when Fran smiled once with a wink. After supper, Fran packed up her kids. Henny and I thanked her for helping me with them. When she replied: "Anytime," we all snorted with wry smiles. Henny snorted again and remarked: "I can imagine; rather not think about it; your help is just too convenient. Thanks again." After they left, Henny looked at me with a snort, shaking her head with a puzzled smile. I offered to clean up in the kitchen, while she got the kids ready for bed. I joined them and read a story to them, and then it was time for them to go to bed. After they were down, I mentioned that there was still wine in the bottle for lunch. She replied: "Hmm! That too. I could use a glass of two after hearing that." Back in the kitchen, I poured, and we drank - more than just a good sip. She looked at me with her puzzled expression and remarked: "Sure didn't expect that to happen. Oh, I know she as always liked you, but not like that! Telling me back when that it was nice the way you helped take us to sports and so on; and now, that you're good with the kids, and you are, thank you - but not like that!" "You couldn't have been much more surprised than I was." "And she just told you that she wanted to?" "Um-hmm. She was diapering one of the boys, and out of nowhere said: 'I want to sleep with you, Mr. Rogers.' I've told her she can call me Martin." "Hmm! I suppose so! She can be very direct, but like that?" "That's what I thought, too. I was playing memory with the other one and just replied: 'Really?' I guess I was trying not to sound as surprised as I was." "Hmm! Just not to embarrass her?" "Oh, she was a little surprised that she had said it, but she had; no escaping the subject." "Men, boys say that, but not my girlfriend to my father." "I won't ask how you know they do." Henny smirked slightly, and we had another good drink of wine. Then she snorted and said: "Oh, you were supposed to tell me how she came to think about doing it with you." I told her what Fran had told me. Henny snorted a couple of times, but didn't interrupt me. Then she remarked: "Shit! I had forgotten that, that I told her. Sort of had forgotten that you always made breakfast that way. Hmm? Just the way you were before breakfast. And she had fantasies about you?" "She said so, based on whatever you told. You must have ..., you always were good with words." "Hmm! Telling her how you looked?" "I guess. ... Hm-hmm! I didn't ask her if she thought you had been right." "Hmm! You're shameless; she is too." "More than we thought, probably." "I hope so. My girlfriend harboring fantasies about you for twenty-plus years ...." "I didn't have any about her. To be polite, I said that I had wondered if she also had red hair there too, but that only occurred to me while we were talking." "Just to be polite. She does." "She did, shaves now." "Like most of us do." "I didn't ask." We snorted, smirking slightly, and I refilled our glasses. We drank again, smiling again at what seemed to be a new level of intimacy: her having revealed that and our talking about my having had sex with her girlfriend, now apparently with no shocked undertones. No, there weren't any; Henny snorted and remarked: "Well, I hope it was good." "You weren't going to ask, but it was. ... I'm sure it was for her, too. Kind of makes an older man feel proud." "Hmm! Hm-hmm! Congratulations then." She grinned, and we chuckled, and we had just a sip of wine, grinning again. Suddenly she looked more serious and remarked softly: "Oh, once when I was I college, you wrote me to try to be the best lover he ever had, long before we got engaged. Hmm? I wondered if you had been sober." "I was, surprised myself that I did write that, but ..., well, you can imagine the unspoken complaint that suggested that." "Um-hmm. Oh, I was surprised, but it was good advice. Thank you, now. Back then, I didn't know what to say, and it was a while before ..., well, you know, ... I could 'heed' it, to use that old-fashioned word." "I'm glad. What every father should tell his daughter." She nodded, and we chuckled with smiles and had another sip. She nodded again and replied: "Helped us to get through that bad period before our wedding. Those were nice letters too, they also helped; couldn't confide in Mom about that; knew that I didn't want to hear her comments." I smiled with a nod, thinking that Fran's suggestion was having positive, unexpected side effects, for an instant, wondering if Henny also thought so and would suggest again that we both mind the kids. I resisted the impulse to remark that Henny must be a very good lover; there are some limits to how much intimacy we could share. She took another sip from her almost empty glass and remarked softly: "Nice to be able to talk about it. Whatever you and Fran did, we wouldn't be, if you hadn't." "About what I was just thinking." We smiled and emptied our glasses. She yawned and said that it had been a long day. "Want to go to bed now?" I asked, quickly adding: "not together, of course." "Hmm! ... Hmmm? I almost could. ... I said that? It's nice to sleep with someone, just 'sleep' with him." "Um-hmm, it is, but I wasn't suggesting that, just clarifying that my first remark not be misunderstood." "Of course. ... Hmm? I wonder if Fran or her sister do, their parents' being separated." "We talked about that too. She said that she wouldn't mind if her sister did, if they both wanted to." "Hmm? Sure, of course, you talked about everything that has anything to do with it." "But that's not an excuse to do it." She nodded with wry smile, remarking softly: "But it makes it easier to think about it." "I know, but your boy will probably come along sometime in the morning." "You were thinking about it." "If you don't mind. That's why Fran and I didn't. I warned her. Oh, he did, apparently only a little surprised, but then continued to climb into bed with her, with his hand on her breast." "He did?" "We wondered if he did with you, and sleeping naked." "Hmm! Naked, yes, sometimes he does. Hm-hmm! Hers, more for him to hold." "But not for his small hand." We chuckled and turned out the light and left the kitchen. When we said goodnight in the dark, as usual, we embraced like father and daughter, with European-style kisses left and right. But then she didn't release me, murmuring: "Like this too," and kissed me on my mouth, her tongue immediately wanting to find mine. For a few seconds, they caressed, and her hips pressed against mine. Before my cock could respond - had she anticipated that? - she retrieved her tongue, humming cheerfully, and murmured: "Nice. I just had to do that." "Hmm? Very nice, and more surprising. Remember when you were ten and wanted to show me how grown-ups kiss." Her Fantasy or Mine? "Of course! Goodnight and sweet dreams." "You too." We separated and went our ways: she, to the bathroom; I, to the guest toilet. In bed, I wondered if she was thinking what could have happened, like Fran had mentioned. I was: delightful fantasies about her wanting to do everything that Fran had done, and everything I had done. I cheated a little, recalling her small breasts the way they were when she had been nursing: full, round hemispheres, like those of the Madonna in some medieval paintings, not that I had ever seen them either way. Since she was the best lover he had ever had, it was easy to fantasize - only appropriate to fantasize - that she had more experience than Fran when she sucked my cock. Very satisfied and with no compunctions about having fantasized about my daughter, I rolled over and dozed off, hearing Fran's "anytime" again and suddenly also hearing the melody of "Some enchanted Evening." Was I dreaming, or was Henny really slipping into bed with me, curling up with her back to me, her slender, warm body fitting itself against mine, wanting my hand to hold her breast? My fantasy or hers? That of us both? All thanks to Fran's fantasies? Or was that also just one of mine?