Storiesonline.net
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                                Sardines
                               by Lubrican

Copyright© 2010 by Lubrican


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Description: Why is it that when an older man expresses interest in a girl young enough to be his daughter, society objects? She was the subject of gossip for years. Now hear her side of the story from her own lips.

Codes: Mf ff inc 1st safe oral mastrb pett preg slow
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Chapter 1


Nobody understands. Except Chrissy and she can't do anything about it.

I'm Mallory, Mal for short, and I'm tired of people looking at me "like that" and stereotyping me. So I'm going to tell the story of how things got the way they are. Then maybe people will understand.

And if they still don't? Well, then fuck 'em. Because I'm happy about how things turned out, whether other people like it or not.

Chrissy was my best friend growing up. We weren't like other best friends, who got in fights and chose new best friends. We stuck together through thick and thin. I grew up in her house, and she grew up in mine. I bet we spent more time together than real sisters would have.

So of course I knew her parents. And when her mother got cancer and died, it hit me just as hard as it hit Chrissy. We were only eleven at the time, and it wasn't fair. It shouldn't have happened.

But it did.

People said things like "That's life," or "It's too bad, but things happen," and "We have to go on."

And that's important, because other things shouldn't have happened, but did. And nobody said "That's life," or "Things happen ... just go on with your life." Oh no. When the things happened that I'm talking about, people would have screamed and shouted and thrown a fit.

If they'd have known.

Which, of course, they didn't.

Until now. I bet a bunch of people are going to just have a cow when they read this.

Chrissy's last name was Carter, and her dad's name was Bob. It still is Bob, but I'm talking about back then, so past tense seems more nearly correct. And back then I called him Mr. C.

Anyway, we grieved together, and Mr. C. let me grieve with them. He was the only one who understood that I was feeling the same kind of pain. True, she wasn't my mother, but she had been my friend for years, the one adult who talked to me like I wasn't some stupid kid. I loved her, and I missed her.

So we grieved together and we healed together. I didn't understand it then, but I fell in love with him.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I was eleven, and too young to know what love is. And maybe you're right, except that I think an eleven year old can love her parents, and her siblings, and her dog. So why can't she love her adopted father too?

I still went to her house, and she still came to mine, and time passed, and eventually that big, fancy place they had seemed almost normal without Mrs. C in it. And that feeling I had for Mr. C. kind of sank deep into my bones.

He never did anything wrong. Not back then. He hugged me, but they were just hugs. Sometimes he kissed me on top of my head, but so did my aunt and uncle and who knows how many other people.

Before Mrs. C. died, our families had this agreement about sleepovers. I'm not talking about her staying all night at my house, or me at hers. We did that all the time. I mean when you invite five to ten girls and make a party out of it.

If Chrissy and I had had our way, we'd have slept over all the time. It wouldn't have mattered where to either of us. But our parents didn't see it that way, and they restricted us to four sleepovers a year - two at my house and two at hers. We could invite as many other girls as we wanted to, to those four sleepovers, but those were the only ones we got during the year. We had the summer and winter sleepovers at my house. So the spring and fall sleepovers were at hers.

When Mrs. C. died, Chrissy and I were scared to death that we wouldn't be able to have any sleepovers at her house any more. But nobody said anything, and when it came time for Spring Break from school, and Chrissy asked her dad if she could invite twelve girls to the spring sleepover, he just said "Sure."

So nothing changed.

Until I was fourteen. Two things happened that year that had a huge impact on my life.

The first was that I passed the certification course for babysitting and immediately got four clients. Two of them were infants, which took almost no care because all they did was eat, poop and sleep. Another family had two kids, a boy three and a girl two. The girl was trouble, but only for about an hour after the parents left. Then she calmed down. The last family had a five year old boy named Nathan. I sat for them more often than the others. Nathan and I got along fine.

The other thing had to do with the sleepovers.

At that age girls begin to be a bit more particular about who is and is not a "friend." By "friend" I mean who might get invited to a sleepover. You might say hi to somebody at school, but that didn't mean they were invited to a sleepover. And just because you had been invited to a sleepover in the past didn't mean you automatically got invited to the next one. I know it sounds bitchy or whatever, but that's the way teenaged girls are, and we were no different. So for the spring sleepover that year, when we put the list together, there were only five girls that we liked enough that we wanted to invite them to the sleepover.

It was more intimate with fewer girls.

And we were older ... our interests more ... um ... sexually aware, perhaps?

Don't get me wrong. Chrissy and I and all our friends had been thinking about sex for years. I know this because it came up at every sleepover. But by the time we were fourteen we had more and better information about things sexual, and talking about it kind of happened in a deeper, more intimate way.

For example, Cheryl Jackson just came right out and asked us all if we masturbated. Just like that!

I'm not going to say what we talked about. We had a rule about secrecy, and I promised. It doesn't matter how much time has passed. A promise is a promise.

Anyway, it was just a different atmosphere.

It's important to say here that all five girls who came to that slumber party had been to ones in the past, either at my house or at hers. So when Suzie Wilkins got embarrassed about where the discussion was going, she said "So are we playing Sardines this year?"

Sardines, for those of you who don't know, is a game of hide and seek. There are different ways to play it, but the way we played it was for somebody to be chosen "it." Then that person went and hid, while the rest of us stayed where we were. After two minutes, or whatever, the rest of us scattered to the winds and started hunting for "it." Now the point of the game was that, if you found whoever was it, they pulled you into wherever they were hiding, and you both tried to be as quiet and unfindable as possible. If somebody else found you, they were pulled in. And so on. If it was a small hiding place, you were packed in there pretty tight. And each additional person who found the hiding place made it an even tighter fit. Hence the name Sardines. You were sometimes packed in there like sardines. You didn't want to be the last person to find the sardines, because that person had to do a dare that the group thought up. Like run next door and tee pee a tree.

I know. It was a goofy game. But we were kids, and it was a fun game too. There was something special about being all packed into some closet or behind a couch or whatever, everybody trying to be quiet, which, for girls, is next to impossible anyway. And each year the dares got more and more interesting. The last sleepover, at my house, one of the dares had been for Jillian Marsh to moon traffic on the street through the bedroom window. She had to stay there, with her bare butt against the glass until ten cars had passed. It was a riot.

So Suzie, who wanted to avoid talking about masturbation that she might or might not have been engaged in on a routine basis, suggested it was time to play sardines.

But there were only seven of us. You can pack seven fourteen year old girls into almost anyplace, especially in a big house like Chrissy had.

And then Marnie Filkins said something that ended up changing my life.

"Why don't we ask Chrissy's dad to play. That might make it more interesting."

Everybody looked at Chrissy. She had a funny look on her face.

"Okay," she said.

I didn't think anything of it then. But I agreed that it would be interesting to be cooped up in a closet with him. I thought he was gorgeous.

Mr. C. was, at that time, thirty-two years old. I knew this because every year Chrissy and I made him a cake for his birthday, and we had a great time putting all those candles on his cake and then setting a fire extinguisher on the table beside it. We always called him old man, or over the hill or whatever, and he always laughed. He was the owner of the company his dad had started, and he had grown up in the house they still lived in. He had two brothers and three sisters, but of course they were all married and lived other places. But they had all grown up in that house, which was why it was so huge.

Which meant there were a ton of places for "it" to hide.

Chrissy said "Mal, go find him and get him to agree to play."

So I took off. I was wearing fuzzy bunny slippers, and my Minnie Mouse PJs, which were my favorites, but were getting a little small for me. I was going to have to give up wearing them soon. I found Mr. C. in his bedroom, lying on his bed reading a book. He looked up at me when I stuck my head in his doorway.

"What's up, Mal? You guys need something to eat?"

"No. We're getting ready to play sardines, and we need you to play with us."

He smiled for some reason, like there was a joke in there. I know now what "play with us" sounded like to him. But not back then.

"I'm kind of big to play sardines," he suggested.

"Yeah, but we need you. We only have seven without you, and it will be more fun if you play too."

He looked at me for a long time, and I got this funny feeling in my stomach. I mean he was staring at me, not saying anything. It just felt different.

"Okay," he said, closing his book. "One game."

He went back to normal, by which I mean he just looked like Mr. C., instead of a guy staring at me. I took his hand and pulled him to Chrissy's bedroom.

I'll be honest. While I can remember what I was wearing, I have no idea what any of the other girls had on. I know they were pajamas, but nothing else. I don't' know if any of them were "sexy" pajamas or not. In later years, I'd pay more attention to that, but not then.

Marnie started telling him how the game was played and he held up a hand. "Girls have been playing sardines in this house for years and years," he said. "I know how to play."

So of course we made him "it."

He disappeared and Linda looked at the second hand on her watch go around the dial four times.

Right away I knew this would be different. There were seven girls, and six of them melted into three teams of two. I don't know if that was instinctive or not. Maybe down deep each of the others thought that finding Mr. C. and being pulled into some dark, close space with him would be scary or something.

Not me, though. I wasn't scared of him in any way, shape or form.

But they sought the safety of numbers. Chrissy wasn't scared of him either, but Marnie took her arm and wouldn't let go, so there she was.

But it left me on my own.

We looked everywhere. Well, everywhere normal. We had played the game in this house for years, so everybody knew all the normal hiding places. There were a lot of them, but everybody knew where they were.

And he wasn't in any of them.

I was the first one to think of the garage. You got to the garage by going through a door in the kitchen. It was a two car garage with a work bench in it, and shelves with all kinds of interesting stuff on them. Nobody had ever hidden in there before, because it smelled greasy and was dirty and all that.

But Mr. C. was a guy ... so ... I opened the door and went in.

The only reason I didn't scream my lungs out when he grabbed me was because at the same time one arm went around my middle, the other hand covered my mouth. I struggled like crazy for just a second or two, because I was scared so bad I almost peed, but then I realized it was him, and relaxed.

"Is that you Mal?" he whispered right in my ear. His warm breath caused me to shiver once, from the tip of my head all the way to my toes. I nodded.

"Good," he whispered. "I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth, okay?"

I nodded again and his hand disappeared. He was still holding me with his other arm, though, my back pressed against him. His hand was on my stomach, his fingers all spread out. I suddenly felt like I was so small, and he was so big and strong.

"You scared the shit out of me!" I whispered.

He chuckled and the hand that had been over my mouth came to join his other one on the other side of my stomach.

"You're fine," he said.

"I almost peed myself!" I whispered.

"Shhhh," he warned.

When I told Chrissy about all this, much later, she asked me if I thought it was odd that he kept his hands on me, pulling me against him like that. I didn't. Think it was odd, I mean. It was wonderful, being there in the dark with him, with his strong hands on my belly like that. I didn't pay any attention to what I was pressed against, because his hands felt so good. I mean there wasn't any need for us to be pressed together. The garage was huge.

But I didn't think it was strange or uncomfortable for him to hold me like that.

Suzie Wilkins found us next. She opened the door and stuck her head in. Mr. C. and I were behind some coveralls or something that were hanging on the wall by the door. She was being really quiet, and she stepped down onto the floor. I felt his hands move me over to his right, away from her. Then he ambushed her just like he had me. She squealed too, just as scared as I had been. He told her to be quiet too. He told her to stand in front of me and be quiet. She whispered that Debby was going to freak out, because Debbie had told her to stay in the kitchen while she went to the bathroom.

Then he moved behind me again ... and put his hands back on me, just like before.

I didn't think anything about it then either. And I didn't think anything about it when we caught Debby, five minutes later. She wasn't stupid, and figured that the only place Linda could have gone was in the garage. So she opened the door and whispered "You guys in here?"

I don't know how Mr. C. could move that fast, but he had an arm around her and his hand over her mouth so fast that I couldn't believe it. She told me later that if she hadn't just gone to the bathroom she'd have peed for sure, because she let go. There just wasn't anything there to come out.

It was that delicious kind of being scared to death when you know nothing bad is really going to happen. And it was that way for all of us.

Chrissy and Marnie were next. Chrissy figured it out when three of us disappeared and she never heard a thing. Usually when a girl gets scared in sardines, she screams or squeals or something, and others hear it. That kind of steers them toward the hiding place. So Chrissy figured like I did, that her dad had gone into the garage. But she also knew he'd try to scare them. So what she did was open the door and stick her arm in to turn on the light. Then they charged in, making enough noise to wake the dead.

Mr. C. let go of me when the lights went on, and when I next looked at him he was standing a couple of feet away from me.

Cheryl and Suzie turned up within thirty seconds, having heard the ruckus, but we pronounced them last.

Then we had a powwow to come up with a dare for Cheryl and Suzie to do.

Mr. C. knew about the dares, but he wasn't aware of the specifics of past dares. Linda, having just spent ten minutes in the dark garage with him, and having enjoyed the excitement of it, lost her head.

"Dare them to kiss each other, with tongue!"

There were squeals as people realized Mr. C. was standing right there.

"No kissing with tongue," he said gravely.

Marnie, always the bold one in the group, said "Okay, they have to kiss Mr. C."

That got silence. I didn't know it, but every girl there had thought, at one time or another, about kissing Mr. C.

"No kissing Mr. C. either," he said. "These slumber parties are supposed to be light fun, not Bacchanalian orgies," he said.

"Bach-a-what?" asked Marnie.

"Never mind," he said. "Bad choice of words anyway. Think of something else. Something the police won't arrest me for if they find out about it."

"Well that's no fun," said Suzie.

"I have an idea," said Mr. C. Everybody looked at him. "They can sneak next door, in their jammies, and turn Mr. Wilson's bird bath upside down on his lawn."

Seven pairs of female eyes stared back at him. It was something only a male would think of to do.

But we loved it. After four or five seconds of shocked silence, there was much squealing by five of us girls, while the other two pretended to be horrified. But all of us had been outside the house in our jammies before. Trust me on that.

So we all gathered in the window, with the room lights off, and watched Cheryl and Suzie scamper over to Mr. Wilson's yard, tip over his plastic birdbath, and then roll it on its top. I could hear them laughing through the window as they ran back, but no lights came on in his house.

I did notice, when the two girls got back, that their nipples were spiked. We had discovered years ago that doing something that felt dangerous made that happen.

I wondered if Mr. C. noticed too.

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We played two more rounds of Sardines that night. The second time we played, Marnie was "it" and this time everybody went alone to try to find her. I saw Mr. C. several times, going here or there, or standing and listening. I knew Marnie liked a particular bedroom on the second floor, because it had a big four poster bed in it with a roof over it. She called it the princess room and couldn't understand why Chrissy didn't live in it. I knew Chrissy thought it was old fashioned and ugly.

Marnie was under that four poster bed.

And Mr. C. was the next one to find us.

He scooted under the bed, right behind me and, like it was the most normal thing in the world, put his arm around me, with his hand on my stomach.

I remember snuggling back against him. Because it felt wonderful.

Linda found us next, and scooted in behind Mr. C.

That's when his hand slid up onto my left breast.

I held my breath when I felt it. But that's all it did ... was cover my breast. He didn't squeeze it, or rub it or anything like that. He just laid his hand on it, like he had laid his hand on my stomach.

And he kept it there until his daughter lost the game.

Chrissy got dared to eat a whole Jalapeno pepper raw, without taking a drink for one minute after she swallowed.

She couldn't do it.

The next game, it was Mr. C. who lost.

The seven of us put our heads together.

"Somebody needs to kiss that man!" whispered Marnie.

"Ewwww," said Chrissy.

"Not you," said Marnie. "One of us."

"Ewwww," said Chrissy. "Besides. He won't do it."

In the end, we dared him to take off his shirt and run one time around the outside of the house wearing one of Chrissy's bras.

Her bra wouldn't fit him, of course. Chrissy had 32 B breasts. We kidded her about it all the time. She'd been called "B-B boobs" for probably two years now. Marnie got some yarn and tied the ends of the strap together. She had help. Almost all the girls wanted to help put the bra on Mr. C...

Only Chrissy and I watched. And he stared at me the whole time.

But he did it. It was probably one of the coolest dares we'd ever come up with.

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After that sleepover, it was probably three days before I ended up at Chrissy's house again. And the thing that just blew my mind was that he never said a word, and he never laid a hand on me. It was like nothing had happened. He still hugged me, but he treated me exactly like he always had. He didn't talk about it, or ask me how I felt, or if I had been scared or any of that. And after a week or two, I sort of forgot about it.

I never told any of the girls he'd touched my boob. Not even Chrissy. It was my special secret, and I didn't share it with anybody.

Six months later, the seven of us who had played sardines with Mr. C. were there again, along with two more girls, Megan Flock and Valerie Hooper. And of course, during the festivities, it came up that Mr. C. had played during Chrissy's last sleepover. Suzie and Marnie both wanted to ask him to play again, and they got no argument from anybody. I looked at Chrissy, wondering how she felt about it, but she didn't look upset at all.

The funny part is that, before Marnie went to ask him if he'd do it again, she wanted to swear us all to secrecy.

"Why?" asked Valerie. "I thought you said he was cool."

"He is," said Marnie. "But would anybody outside this room ever understand why a grown man would play a hide and seek game with a bunch of girls?"

"Good point," said Valerie. "You're sure he's cool?" She looked at Chrissy. "Sorry, but he is a guy."

"A cute guy," said Linda.

"Ewww!" said Chrissy. "Do any of you actually think he'd be interested in messing around with some fourteen or fifteen year old girl?"

He got asked to play, and he did it.

And the first time he and I were caught in the dark, he put his hands on my breasts again. He did it like it was completely normal.

You can bet your ass I noticed that. But it didn't feel threatening. Again he didn't squeeze or anything like that. He just touched me, and held me.

And I liked it. By the end of that evening ... I loved it, and followed him, because he knew how to find anybody. And as soon as he got caught, I got caught next. The last two times I backed up against him and put my hands on top of his as he touched me.

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Again, though, in the following weeks and months, he gave no indication whatsoever that what had happened ... had happened. He was the same old Mr. C. and I never felt threatened or like I was in trouble with him. Chrissy never asked me what was wrong with me, because nothing was wrong with me. A man I liked ... loved ... had touched me in a way I loved. It really was just that simple.

But it affected my babysitting jobs. I knew, somehow, that this game was about sex. And I knew sex was about babies. Or at least could be. For the first time I looked at the kids and tried to imagine they were mine. It was impossible with the older ones, but I could do it with the babies. They were so cute and loveable and cuddly.

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The next time we had a sleepover at Chrissy's I was fifteen. And we played sardines. And Mr. C. played.

This time, he moved his hands around. He cupped my boobs and squeezed them, and found my stiff nipples through the fabric of my new flannel jammies and squeezed them until I thought I was going to have to change panties. Rhonda Williams was hiding with us during one session and she asked me what was wrong because I was panting. He moved his hands to my hips then, and I got my breathing under control. I made some excuse that it felt like the walls were closing in on me and she bought it, because we were in a pretty small closet at the time.

The next game, he just rubbed me a little, and kissed the side of my neck once.

It was so delicious and naughty and fun. I loved every second of it. And somehow I knew that, when the sleepover was over, he would go back to being plain old Mr. C., who never did anything exciting except take us shopping or to the carnival at the county fair, or maybe take us out in the country and let us drive a little bit.

But he never touched me unless we were playing sardines.

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When I turned sixteen I was allowed to date. Chrissy was too, and we doubled as often as possible. It was an unspoken agreement, and we never actually talked about it. If she had a date, she'd tell me and ask me if I wanted to get a date and go too. I did the same.

It helped with the guys, though, because all the guys wanted to push it on dates. They were all horny and ham-handed. The first time a boy groped my breasts I almost smacked him, because it hurt! He just grabbed and squeezed hard. And if one of us was having a hard time, the other would suggest that we go do something, or get something to eat or whatever, anything to break the "mood."

We did talk about that. Boys were a pain in the ass, and had to be managed most carefully. We agreed on that.

Then there was a sleepover at Chrissy's.

I knew something would happen. Our circle of friends had stabilized, and the girls who were invited had all been there before. They all knew Mr. C. and thought he was cool. Several of them thought he was cute and talked about what a shame it was that women his age were too stupid to date him.

As we got older, Chrissy said "Ewww" a lot more frequently. Eventually the girls ignored her and went right ahead talking about ... things ... they had thought about doing with Mr. C.

Marnie looked around like there might be someone else in the room none of us could see, and leaned in, conspiratorially.

"I tried something with him last time," she whispered.

"EWWWWWW!" yelled Chrissy, looking disgusted.

"It wasn't that big a deal!" insisted Marnie. "When we were in the dark I put my hand on the front of his pants. That's all. I pretended it was an accident."

"What did he do?" asked Linda, her eyes wide and round.

"He was really kind of nice about it," said Marnie. "He said I was a doll, and that if he was fifteen years younger I'd be in big trouble, but that he really thought it was a bad idea."

"Wow," sighed three of the girls.

"He made me promise not to do it again, or he would have to stop playing sardines."

"You promised ... right?" asked Valerie, who was one of the girls who thought he was cute.

"Yes," said Marnie.

"I cannot believe you tried to molest my father," said Chrissy, sounding irked, but not really mad.

"I just wanted to see how he compared," said Marnie.

"Like you've ever felt anything to compare him to," said Megan.

"You have no idea what I've felt and haven't felt," said Marnie, trying to look superior.

Suzie spoke up. "While you two are discussing who is a slut and who is not, we could be playing sardines ... with Mr. C."

"I'll go ask him," I volunteered.

Nobody objected, so I got up. This year my jammies were a pair of gym shorts under one of my dad's 2X T shirts, which was really big, but really comfortable. It was probably already eleven when I left Chrissy's room.

As usual I found Mr. C. reading a book in bed. He looked up at me, but didn't say anything.

"You up for sardines this time, Mr. C.?" I asked.

He looked at me for maybe ten seconds and put the book down on his chest.

"Are you?"

I could feel my face get hot as I blushed. We both knew what his question was really about.

I nodded once, a tiny down and up motion with my head.

He sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He was still staring at me.

"Are you sure?"

I swallowed, but managed two nods this time.

He smiled, and said "I'm glad."

I swear I felt my panties get wet right then and there!

I waited for him and we walked down the hall together. He put his hand on my right ass cheek, and "pushed" me along. I held my breath, but couldn't hold it for long. Finally I leaned to my left and bumped him with my hip.

I was sixteen, and I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't know what was going to happen. All I knew was that I was excited and I wanted ... it. Whatever "it" was. It was insane, but I felt completely comfortable with him, except for the fact that I was so excited I was sure the girls would smell my pussy.

Nobody did, though. Or at least nobody said anything about it.

He played the game like always. He looked for whoever was it, and hid with them when he found them. If I was there, either before or after, his hands were all over me in the dark. On what was supposed to be the last game of the night, Suzie was it, and I hadn't seen anybody sneaking through the house for quite a while. Then I saw Mr. C. He came towards me and put his mouth right next to my ear.

"I know where they are. Do you want to find them ... or keep looking?"

I blinked at him in the dim light. Sardines was always played with a minimum of lights on. My mind was moving a hundred miles an hour. Then I realized what his question meant. If we found them, the game would be over and he and I would have to do the last dare. But if we kept looking...

I looked up at him. "Keep looking," I whispered.

I saw the white of his teeth as he bared them in a smile, and he pulled me down a hall and into the princess room. We went into the walk-in closet there.

Then he kissed me for the first time, and I thought my knees had turned to rubber. He caught me as I fell and chuckled. The next thing I knew we were lying on the floor in the closet and his lips were sucking my breath out while his hand slid up under my shirt and found my naked boobs.

It felt so different! His rough hand on my bare boobs was so much better than what it had ever felt like before that. I whined into his mouth as he squeezed a nipple. His tongue pushed against my teeth and I felt like sucking a man's tongue for the first time ever. Guys had tried to get me to French kiss before, but they always tasted like burgers and fries, or pizza, or whatever. Mr. C. just tasted sweet and good.

When he moved his hand down, over my belly and slid it into my shorts, my knees sprang apart like a reverse bear trap. Later on, I'd think about how this went, and wonder about some things, but I couldn't think about anything then, except the exquisite feel of his middle finger finding my wet slit and driving into my body. He hooked that finger and pulled and I swear his hand vibrated!

I've masturbated since I was about ten. I don't remember the first times I did it. But I've done it a long time. I've touched myself dozens of different ways, with dozens of different objects besides my fingers. I've had everything from a banana, to a hair brush handle, to a cucumber in my pussy. Some of them felt weird, but most of them felt good, in one sense or another.

But nothing had ever felt like this. I thought I was going to die, it felt so good. I had an orgasm within twenty seconds of him penetrating me. And I kicked the door in the process. His hand stopped for just a second, until his leg found mine and then pinned it so I couldn't kick anything again. Then he vibrated some more and either extended the one I was having, or made me have another one. I honestly don't know which. I felt like I was coming apart, except that I knew I was all right. I mean I wasn't scared. I was just blown away by this new, ultra intense feeling.

His hand vanished from my shorts, and I remember whining "Nooooooo" into his mouth, but he hugged me and went from one long crushing kiss to shorter ones, between which he whispered to me.

"You're all right ... It's okay ... Breathe deeply."

As soon as I had enough breath to speak, I rasped out "Again!"

"Not now, baby," he said. "That's enough for now. You'll be fine."

And then he kissed me some more, with little quick kisses that kept me from saying anything.

I could hug him, though, and I did that until my muscles screamed.

"We have to go," he whispered, and there was urgency in his voice.

I knew he was right, so I sat up. He hadn't dislodged my clothing, so there was nothing to do except stand up and walk out of that closet.

I felt like a completely different girl. Even walking felt different. Something had changed, deep inside me. What had happened had been special in a new and amazing way that I couldn't wrap my mind around. He patted me on the butt and aimed me at the door. I felt like I was part zombie, and part electricity, zipping through the cosmos.

"They're in the pantry," he said softly. "Go find them and make a lot of noise about it."

Before, when he kissed me, I had felt like every bit of strength had just drained out of my body and into the floor. Now I felt like I could leap tall buildings. I was so full of energy that I had to do something to let it out or I knew I'd explode. So I threw open the pantry door and jumped in screaming.

There was pandemonium as all the girls in there screamed too. Then there was laughing and all that and, in the hubbub, nobody noticed that I had what I knew was a well fucked look on my face. I had never been fucked, but I knew how it would feel when it happened. I mean nothing could be better than what Mr. C. had just made me feel.

-------

I went home with Chrissy the next day after school. We goofed around until Mr. C. got home from work. When I heard the garage door closing I said I'd be back and went to wait in the kitchen. He came in, saw me, and went to the shelf where he always unloaded his pockets.

"Thank you," I said.

He glanced over at me.

"You're welcome."

Somehow I knew that was enough, and I turned and fled.

"What's wrong?" asked Chrissy when I ran back into her room.

"I don't know," I said. "Nothing."

"What happened?" she looked concerned.

"I was getting a cookie and your dad came in and I guess I wasn't expecting him. It scared me."

I actually saw the interest fade from Chrissy's eyes.

"Oh," she said.

Once again, nothing else was said. He didn't do anything differently. There was no tension, no unpleasantness. We both acted like nothing had happened at all.

But while I could act that way around him, I couldn't forget what it had felt like.

Dates were a disaster after that. Chrissy was just as disgusted, which made me feel better. All the cute guys wanted to do was fuck us, and they didn't have a clue as to how to really satisfy a girl. It was that clear. And while there were some nice guys out there, they weren't exciting. It was weird. Chrissy even said at one point that we were going to grow up to be old maids.

Time passed, and we had the sleepover at my house. We played sardines there too, but it wasn't nearly as much fun. And I mean for all of us. Nobody ever talked about it, but we only played maybe two games and then they lost interest.

At the next sleepover at Chrissy's though, everybody was eager to play again. Now that I think back on it, all those girls enjoyed the feeling of being in close confines with a handsome, older man, a man they were all attracted to, like a hot teacher, but who you got to hide in the dark with. And even though nothing happened (to them) it was exciting on a level that was different from other kinds of excitement.

This was the second sleepover I had been sixteen for, and he did exactly the same thing. He fingerfucked me through three orgasms while he French kissed me. I was able to count them this time. And I loved every single one of them. I was even able to lean back against him and relax while he worked me over until my body erupted and I shook. I was quieter too, only whining when it hit me. I would have let him do that all night long, but again we were the last two who hadn't found "it." This time he said I had to be the loser.

After that game, while they were trying to come up with a dare for me, I felt like I was floating. I saw Chrissy looking at me strangely. I smiled, trying to look normal. We were older, and Marnie turned to Mr. C.

"Are we old enough for kissing yet?" she asked.

It got very quiet.

"Kissing who?" he asked.

"Anybody," she said.

He looked around. None of us were acting all weirded out by her suggestion that I might be dared to kiss one of them. That's because we had been kissing each other since we were thirteen. We weren't lesbians. We were just great friends. And nobody wanted to be outed for it, which was why it was always kept in strictest confidence.

"It would be inappropriate for me to kiss anyone," he said.

I held my breath for about five seconds and started breathing again. He had sure broken that rule.

"But who your ... um ... special friends are ... is not my business," he added.

The girls put their heads together. I saw Chrissy get agitated. The huddle broke up. Marnie, ever the one who put herself in charge of things, looked at me.

"We dare you to kiss Chrissy, and make it look like you're lesbians."



-------

Chapter 2


This is hard to explain, at least to a guy, because I don't think guys allow themselves to have the kind of relationship some of us girls had back then. We weren't lesbians, meaning we didn't have an exclusive attraction to other girls. We weren't even bisexual, really. If you'd have asked any of us if we planned a life that included both male and female sexual partners on a routine basis, we'd have looked at you like you were crazy. Well ... actually ... we'd have probably gone "Ewwww" and called you some kind of name.

But somehow, kissing one of the other girls in the group was all right. Our friendship was on a different plane than other kinds of friendship. And the strangest part of all is that each girl in that group had a preference as to which other girl she would kiss if the occasion ever came up. What I mean is that the normal social rules against same sex affection were suspended in our group, even if we didn't actually see it that way at the time.

It's so hard to explain.

So when I was challenged to kiss Chrissy, whom I loved above all other women, and make it look like we were lesbians ... well ... the only problem we had was that we got embarrassed by how emotional it ended up being.

It wasn't the first time we had kissed. She was my primary test dummy when I was learning how to kiss, and I was hers. We hadn't done anything else, but I'm fairly sure now that it was only because we hadn't actually thought about the possibility of trying other things. And I know that some of the other girls felt that way about each other too.

Anyway, when Chrissy and I finished kissing each other, we were both flushed and panting. I saw her nipples pushing bumps in her jammies and I didn't even have to look at mine to know they were rock hard ... again. They had been rock hard only half an hour before, as Mr. C. squeezed and pulled at them while he fingerfucked me nearly to oblivion.

In other words, at that moment in my life, I loved Chrissy and Mr. C. more than any other human beings on the face of the earth.

And yes, I know it was hormones. I know it was puppy love. I know I was a stupid teenager.

But it felt real to me then.

-------

As always, after the sleepover, Mr. C. paid no special attention to me at all, other than the regular special attention he showed me as Chrissy's best friend. And the amazing thing is that it wasn't awkward or strange to be around him. We had this secret, and the power of being able to keep that secret just between us made me feel like the rest of the world was blind and stupid, and I was smart and powerful.

That kiss Chrissy and I had shared, however, did not fall in the same category. First of all, it wasn't a secret and we didn't have to pretend it hadn't happened. And second ... well ... it had felt wonderful.

We didn't go all lesbo, but we were much closer after that, and twice, after dates that were not at all satisfying, we made out and then masturbated in front of each other.

And then, for my seventeenth birthday, Chrissy said she wanted to do something special for me. She wouldn't tell me what, but she was like what my dad used to say - a cat on a hot tin roof. As the date got closer and closer she got more and more freaked out, until I told her whatever it was wasn't worth going crazy for. I thought she was having a hard time saving up enough money to get whatever it was, or that something she had ordered online hadn't come in the mail yet, and she was worried it wasn't going to be there in time.

And then my birthday was there. It came on a Saturday. My parents let me sleep in, and then took me out to lunch. I had already told them I didn't want a party, so they gave me my presents - a beautiful watch and a gift certificate to Dillards - and that was it.

I got to Chrissy's around three in the afternoon.

Mr. C. wasn't there. I knew that because his car was gone. He didn't work every Saturday, but as the owner of the business he said he liked to be in touch with what was going on, so sometimes he went in and worked with his employees on whatever they were doing. Chrissy was in her room. She looked like she was sick or something.

"I'm here," I said, and waited.

"Happy birthday," she said, listlessly. "I can't do it."

"Can't do what?"

"I can't give you your special gift."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll hate me and never want to see me again," she said. "It was stupid to even think of it."

"What was it?" I asked. Based on her attitude, "it" was already past tense.

"I can't tell you that!" she moaned. "It would be as bad as giving it to you."

"You mean you have it?" Suddenly "it" wasn't past tense any more.

"It wasn't something I have. It was something I was going to do." She clapped both hands over her face.

If you're a woman, you know the deal. One friend can worm almost anything out of the other friend, even if that friend really doesn't want to tell. If you're a man you've probably watched it happen. It took me twenty minutes of whining, leaning on her, bullying her and just pleading to get it out of her.

She had wanted to go down on me for my birthday.

-------

Remember how I told you I felt after I kissed Chrissy in front of the girls and her father? At that moment I had loved them more than anybody else.

Nothing had changed.

I still loved them more than anybody else.

And because of that I wasn't grossed out or disgusted. In fact, I felt remarkably like I felt when a sleepover at Chrissy's was coming up, and I knew I was going to hide in the dark with Mr. C. again.

Chrissy was crying, because she thought there was something wrong with her for wanting to do that. I think she loved me the same way I loved her, but she just wasn't comfortable with it the way I was.

I don't want you to misunderstand this, because it was an incredibly important moment in my life. We were not lesbians. I still assumed I'd find a guy some day who wasn't a complete jerk, and we'd get married. I wanted to have babies some day - the normal way. And Chrissy was the same. I knew she was looking for a boyfriend. We had already projected that, when we got to college, the guys would be more mature, and we'd finally find that special guy who could give us what we were missing in high school.

But we loved each other too, with a deep, life-long and abiding love. Isn't that the kind of love successful marriages are made on?

And it killed me that she was crying. And what she had thought of was so sweet.

So I comforted her ... and kissed her ... and the next thing I knew we were naked on her bed, writhing around, sliding our bodies against each other and...

Suffice it to say I got my pussy sucked for my birthday.

And Chrissy got hers sucked for my birthday too.

In fact, we spent all afternoon at it, and only stopped when we heard the garage door go up, and had to scramble to find our own clothes and get them on, and wash our faces and stop laughing hysterically, before Mr. C. came in and yelled that he was home.

-------

By the time of Chrissy's next sleepover, she and I had made love four times. We didn't treat it like some new game that was fun to play. That was for special occasions, or for when one of us was really down and needed to be loved to be brought back up.

But all that made no difference whatsoever in how I felt as I went to her house for the sleepover. I was excited, jittery, almost spastic as I anticipated what Mr. C. would do to me on this night. Every time I had gotten a year older, he had turned it up a notch. I had had his thick, long finger in me, and now I couldn't help but wonder if something else he had that could get thick and long might replace his finger.

And then disaster struck.

The girls didn't want to play sardines.

They thought they were too old for that.

It was a kids' game.

I now know that all of them except Suzie had lost their virginity by then. And Chrissy, of course. I knew she was still a virgin because we almost always went out on dates together. And she'd have told me if some guy got to her. And maybe it was that fact that dulled the thrill of hiding in the dark with Mr. C. The girls no longer fantasized about what it would be like to have a man make them into women, because they already knew what it was like.

I tried. I talked about tradition, and fun, and being scared. But it didn't do any good. They didn't want to play games. They wanted to talk about boys, and college, and plans, and restrictive parents. I though I would explode.

I said I'd be back and let them think I was going to get something to eat or drink. But I went to Mr. C.'s bedroom instead.

And he wasn't there.

I had a moment of almost heart attack, but then I found him in the den, watching a historical show on some caves someplace that were full of ancient documents. When he saw me he muted the program. He just stared at me.

"They don't want to play sardines this time," I said. My voice no doubt sounded tragic.

"I see," he said, his voice neutral. "Well ... it's not strange to leave childish things behind, eventually."

"But I want to play sardines!" I moaned, like a ten year old.

"That's not what you want," he said, his voice low.

The ten year old in me vanished. The adult was there, and she was ready to negotiate.

"You want to fuck me," I said, so low that only he could hear it.

He stared at me for a long time. So long I got nervous.

"I know you do!" I insisted.

He looked tired, suddenly.

"I want to make love with you," he said. "There's a difference."

"I want to do what we've been doing!" I said, impatient.

"What we've been doing is in the 'fucking' area. I want to do so much more than that," he said.

"I do too!" I moaned.

"You're not ready," he said.

"Oh I am soooo ready!" I said.

"What you're ready for is for me to get you off," he said. "I understand that. When you can understand what I'm talking about ... then I'll make love with you."

My body started vibrating when he spoke the words "get you off." My pussy tingled, and my nipples crinkled and needed to be squeezed.

"I do understand. That's why I want you so bad right now," I argued.

"You don't understand," he insisted. I started to argue and he held up his hand so stop me. "Remember the last sleepover, when they dared you to kiss Chrissy and make it look like you were lesbians?"

I blinked. I remembered that kiss all the time ... especially when Chrissy was doing it again just before she stuck her tongue in my pussy. I nodded.

"When you feel about me like you felt about Chrissy after that kiss that night ... then you'll understand what I want for us."

I stood there, thinking about how I felt about Chrissy. It seemed like I loved her for a million reasons, all of which competed to be number one on the list. And sex wasn't at the top. It was easily in view, but it wasn't at the top. Then I thought about Mr. C. He was this big, fuzzy ball of feel-good, who I liked to be around, and loved to be touched by. And I realized that sex was at the top of my Mr. C. list.

"So what have we been doing?" I asked.

"Having fun," he said.

I didn't get mad. And I didn't feel used. I had fun with my friends all the time. It was something we tried to do.

"Are we going to have more fun?" I asked.

"I sure hope so," he said, smiling.

"Do you love me?" I asked. I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up.

He stared at me for ten or fifteen seconds and then pointed to the couch, which was separated from the chair he was sitting in by an end table. "Sit down."

I did and he moved to sit on the edge of his chair. He leaned toward me.

"At your age almost everything is ruled by hormones. It's a little like being bipolar. Everything is either way up, and great, or way down, and terrible. That will begin to change radically in the next year or two, and you'll begin to think about things, instead of just reacting to them. I have done things to you over the years, and you reacted by letting me. But it was still a reaction, rather than a choice."

"I chose to come back every time," I said.

"That's true," he said. "And you understood, somehow, that what we were doing was metered ... just for special times."

I nodded.

"And that's why I continued to have fun with you," he said. "I saw you weren't taking it too seriously, and that was good."

I nodded again.

"Now right now you're chock full of hormones. If I told you I loved you, and wanted you in the bedroom in five minutes, you'd be there. Am I right?"

I nodded yet again. I didn't even have to think about it. And don't wince like that. I was seventeen. And I was chock full of hormones.

"But the thing is, Mal, that while I want you in the worst possible way, I want you to decide you want me, rather than your hormones driving you to it. In other words, I'm not looking for a woman to have fun with. I want something much deeper and more important than that.

I knew I was going to puke. "So you don't love me?" I sounded like a ten year old again.

"I love you like a daughter," he said in that voice adults use to comfort hurt children. "I could love you the way you want me to, but only after you've grown enough emotionally to understand more about what that kind of love means."

I felt better immediately. Being loved like he loved Chrissy was no small thing. And he held the carrot of some other kind of mysterious love out there.

"Okay," I said. "On one condition."

"What's that?" he asked, smiling that little smile that made me want to crawl all over him naked.

"I want to have some fun tonight."

He didn't bat an eye, which made me want to crawl all over him naked.

"I thought they didn't want to play sardines."

"They don't."

"Then how are we going to arrange for you to have ... fun?"

"That's your problem," I said, standing up. "You're the one who got me addicted to this stuff. You're the one who's going to have to figure out a way to give me my fix." I smiled at him, using a special smile that all girls practice in the mirror for hours, to perfect. It's a catty look ... that look that says "Gotcha!"

I went back to Chrissy's room, where Valerie Hooper was describing in detail what Jerry Colwell's penis and balls looked like. Chrissy shot me a look when I came in. It was odd, because it started as a frown, but then relaxed almost immediately. Then she ignored me.

We didn't realize it at the time, but we were women inside girls' bodies, trying to break out like a butterfly emerges from its chrysalis. An example of that was when we ordered pizza and three of the girls went to let the delivery boy in. He was a little older than us, but that didn't matter. By the time we were seventeen, the Minnie Mouse jammies had been put away and we wore things that we thought looked grown up. That meant showing off skin. Suzie, Debby and Megan were wearing the skimpiest outfits, and so naturally they were the ones who went to get the pizzas ... and show off in front of the poor delivery guy. Megan's top was too loose and she kept popping out of it. Not on purpose, but you know what I mean.

It was that kind of night.

So we were all running on adrenalin that night, and stayed up until three in the morning. Sleepovers were always done on Friday nights, so that we could all crash as long as we wanted to the next morning. And Mr. C., having as much experience with sleepovers as we girls did, knew the deal.

Which is why he waited until we had all crashed, before he came and got me. He could have let me sleep. There wouldn't have been anything I could do about it but frown and mope and glare at him the next day.

When somebody got tired and wanted to sleep in Chrissy's house, they just went and found an empty bedroom. Sleeping two to a bed was routine, and Linda and I had ended up in a bed together. It was like a dream. He woke me up by tickling my breast, and put a finger over my lips. He took that finger off my lips and crooked it at me, backing away in the semi-darkness.

I got up. Linda slept like a log and didn't make a sound.

He was insane. He grabbed me as soon as I left the room, just like the first time he'd grabbed me, with a hand over my mouth and an arm around my waist. This time, though, his hand was on my right breast. I stiffened, but then relaxed. He was in control, just like always. He could have done anything he wanted to. If he'd taken me to his bed and stripped me I'd have laid on the bed and spread my legs eagerly.

But this was a sleepover, and everything that had ever happened had happened in some dark, usually small room, hiding from the others. And that's exactly what he did this time too.

He took me to the garage, where it had all started. He didn't say a word. There was one of those table lamps that had a tiny bulb in it, sitting on the work bench off to one side. The work bench was cleared off, and had a towel draped over the surface.

My top was silk, and had spaghetti straps on it. The cloth went straight across my chest, and didn't show any cleavage at all. There were boyshort panties that matched it underneath. He stood me in front of the work bench and raised my arms. I held them there as he pulled my top slowly up, revealing my panties, and then my abdomen, and finally my breasts. I felt the wet come into my pussy. He was going to see me for the first time. I was so into it that when he got the top off my head, I kept my arms straight up and he had to pull them down to get it off of me. He had even thought of what he was going to do with my jammies. There was a stool next to him that he laid the top on.

His hands came out and started in my arm pits, sliding down my sides as he stared at my breasts. I started shaking, but I wasn't cold. I felt hot all over. He touched my breasts so gently, just brushing the nipples he had always squeezed and pulled at.

His hands smoothed down my sides again and hooked my panties, pulling them down over my hips. I moved my left foot six inches to my left automatically. It was just instinct. He slid the panties down and I lifted each foot until I was naked.

I was naked in front of Mr. C.

It was glorious!

I had never felt as powerful as I felt in those few seconds with his hot eyes on my body. I knew he was in charge, but I still felt powerful.

He bent over suddenly and sucked in a nipple.

This I had felt before ... from this man's daughter's lips. And yet it was all different somehow. I still can't describe it, but his lips felt different, and the way he sucked felt different. When Chrissy did it I wanted it to go on forever. When Mr. C. did it ... I wanted to be fucked.

I made a sound in my throat and he stood. His hands went back to my waist and he lifted me like I weighed nothing, sitting my butt on the towel on the work bench.

Then he gripped my knees, spread them apart to expose my pussy ... and he ate me.

That's the only way I can describe it. He ate my pussy. Chrissy licked me and teased me and stroked me with her tongue and lips. Mr. C. chewed and sucked and nibbled and rubbed. He ate me. I could feel my pussy producing gobs of juice, and I could hear him slurping and swallowing that juice. It was the most sexual thing that had ever happened to me.

Chrissy and I played with each other. We gave each other orgasms. We massaged each other. Mr. C. made me want to have a baby, right then and there, in the garage, no waiting, no gestation, nothing except having a hugely swollen belly for a few minutes and then squirting out the baby he had made in me. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to feel his cock in my pussy. I know it sounds silly, and I know I was full of hormones, but that's what was going through my mind as he took me over the top. I had to cover my mouth with both hands to keep from waking up the whole house.

I fell back against some pillows he had stacked up there for that very purpose and he stood up, a wild look in his eyes. He was wearing gym shorts and he shoved them down almost violently, exposing a weaving, bobbing, stiff snake that captured my eyes like a snake captures a bird's eyes.

"Don't move!" he rasped.

Then he masturbated in front of me, looking at my body. I kept my knees apart, just for him. I don't even know what my pussy looked like, because I never took my eyes off of his cock. His hand covered the knob and then there it was, shiny and swollen looking, before it disappeared into his fist again. It was amazing. He was going so fast! It looked like it had to hurt, but then I remembered how fast I strummed my clitty sometimes when I was rubbing off, and knew it felt good to him like what I did felt to me.

"Oh Mal," he gasped suddenly and his hips jutted forward. A long stream of white jetted from the tip of his cock and my eyes followed it to where it landed in a line that went from my right thigh up past my pussy and onto my right hip. I felt the heat of it instantly, and then another line landed to one side of that. I looked back at his cock, and saw little, smaller squirts leap out of it to fall to the floor of the garage.

I realized I was holding my breath, and had been for a long time, because I suddenly had to gasp or pass out.

Then I sat there, while he stood there, still holding his cock, and all we did was pant.

-------

This time was different.

He had a towel that he wiped his cum off of me with. He gave me back my jammies, and I put them on again while he pulled up his shorts. He left everything there - the towel and pillows and such - but he turned off the little light and led me into the kitchen.

He poured us each a glass of chocolate milk and we sat at the table and drank it together.

When mine was finished I put the glass down and licked my lips.

"You have to fuck me some day," I said softly.

"We'll see," he said.

"You can make love to me all you want to after that," I said. "But you have to be the man who gets my cherry."

"We'll see," he said again.

"I mean it," I said.

"I know you do."

"I love you." It sounded odd coming from my lips. It felt odd saying it.

"I know," he said.

But he didn't say he loved me back.

-------

It didn't matter.

He wouldn't say it, but I knew he loved me. And I knew I loved him, whether it was the "right" kind of love or not.

Of course the fact that he wasn't dating gave me a lot of confidence. If he had been, I know I would have been a basket case, but I didn't even think about it back then. We had this secret, and I knew the rules. Well, at least up until the spring sleepover of our senior year. It would be the last one at her house, probably the last we'd ever have, considering that after the next summer we'd all be off in college somewhere. Chrissy and I had both applied to State, which was only two hours away from where we lived. I hadn't declared a major yet, because I had no ghost of an idea of what I wanted to do with my life.

So as the school year passed, and the time for that sleepover drew near, I was filled with both anticipation and dread. Anticipation made me antsy to find out what we'd do this time. But there was dread because I didn't know if he would ever touch me again after that. I had told him he'd get my virginity, and I had meant it. But there wasn't anything I could do if he refused to take it. There just wasn't.

And I knew, on a conscious level, that he was making decisions based on what he thought would be best for me. I knew he wanted me. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. But he thought I was too young and refused to take something I could never offer another man. It was sweet, except I wanted to beat some sense into his head. I wanted him naked, on top of me, pinning me to the bed, while he fucked me senseless. Then he could teach me how to make love or whatever it was he was talking about. I was horny and from my vantage point there was only one cure I was interested in.

-------

The prom committee announced the theme for prom, which was all about the sea shore. It was supposed to represent us leaving the safety of land and heading off out into the unknown, a metaphor for our coming graduation. Chrissy was in the running for queen, so of course she had her pick of dates. John Dill, the kicker on the football team, asked me to go and I accepted. I'd never been out with him. He was very tall and quiet. I was a little surprised that he asked me, because the week before, he had won the game by kicking a field goal with only seconds on the clock. He probably could have gotten a prettier girl than me.

But all of that paled to insignificance as the week of the last sleepover got there. I spent the whole week at Chrissy's house. I was around him all the time. I talked to him, and asked him questions and everything. It was just like it had always been. Even if I wore something slinky he didn't flirt with me or anything. I was just Mal, and he was just Mr. C.

There were twelve girls at that last sleepover. I think we were a little nostalgic, because they were acting they were thirteen again, instead of seventeen and eighteen. Well, with the exception of the outfits. Some of them were downright pornographic. Of them all, only two girls wore robes when Mr. C. was around, and they were girls who had never been to one of the sleepovers before. The rest of us couldn't have cared less if Mr. C. saw us. His behavior had always been so impeccable that he had a reputation for being a gentleman who could be trusted implicitly. He had never responded to being teased, even, so the girls were used to being careless around him. Of course I thought about it differently, but I was unique in that area. And that fact was precious to me. Some of them might have been better looking than me, or had bigger boobs than me, but I was Mr. C.'s secret lover. They were nothing, compared to me.

Cheryl had brought two movies with her, one of which she said we all just had to watch. We all went down to the den, where there was a big plasma TV. The movie turned out to be porn. Within minutes most of the girls were glued to the screen, looking at closeups of cocks. But I had seen a real one ... one that was right there in the house ... and one I might possibly get my hands on that night some time. If only I could figure a way to get away from them, and get him alone.

It was something in the movie that gave me the idea. There was a sex scene in a big whirlpool tub. While "the" sleepover happened at her house only twice a year, I probably slept in her bed at least once a week. She slept in my bed just as often and we both kept clothes at each other's house. And one of the things I had there was a bikini from last summer. I leaned over and whispered into Chrissy's ear that I was going to go soak in the hot tub, outside. The weather was still cool, but I knew Mr. C. had filled the tub because he liked to sit in it when it was early spring and late into the winter. She nodded and I left.

He was in his bedroom when I stepped in, wearing the bikini.

"Is it okay if I use the hot tub?" I asked innocently. "The girls are all watching a porn video and I'm not much interested in it."

He looked at me and blinked. "Want some company?"

"I guess so," I said, carelessly. "Since the girls will probably be tied up with that for a while, it might get lonely out there."

I was in the hot tub when he came out, bare chested and dressed in actual swimming trunks. He got in and I didn't waste any time. I scooted over next to him, kissed him thoroughly, and stuck my hand in his trunks. He let me, but he broke the kiss.

"This could be very dangerous," he said softly.

"Not for at least fifteen minutes," I said. "Maybe half an hour, if we're lucky."

"They won't miss you?"

"Like I said, they're all staring at big cocks on the TV screen. I'd rather feel the real thing. And I told Chrissy I was going to be in the hot tub because I wasn't interested in the porn."

"So Chrissy knows you're here."

I nodded and squeezed his cock. It felt squishy and soft and interesting.

"We'll still have to be careful," he said.

I stood up and sat down on his lap, leaving my hand in his trunks. I spread my legs and lay my head back on his shoulder.

"Make me cum," I whispered.

His hand snaked into my bottoms and that lovely thick finger of his hooked into me again. He couldn't vibrate it the exact same way with me on his lap, but he still managed to make it delicious. Within a few minutes I felt the streaks of zinging pleasure and moaned through an orgasm. His dick had gotten hard in my hand, and when I caught my breath again I let go of it, turned around and crouched in the water. He was wearing baggies, so I slid my hand up inside the loose leg to find his cock again. His legs were open and his head was back as I started stroking him. When I had watched him do it, I hadn't realized that the skin along the shaft was loose, and would slide as much as three inches either direction. So while my hand stayed in contact with the same skin, I was still able to move my hand up and down so effortlessly that I stopped worrying completely about hurting him, or rubbing him raw or anything like that.

His suit kept me from having complete freedom, though, and I pulled my hand out so I could grab his trunks and pull them down. Once his genitals weren't covered any more, I used both hands to explore and feel his ball sack while I stroked him slowly. I had no idea how to bring him off. I didn't think I could do it as fast as he'd done it in the garage, but it was so much fun to play with. Then I got an idea.

"I want to see it," I whispered.

He looked over at the French doors that led into the dining room from the patio, where we were. The lights in that room were off, and off in the rooms beyond that too. If anybody turned them on we'd have some warning. So he slid up, pushing with his arms, until his butt was perched on the edge of the tub, and his stiff, jutting cock was exposed. I got my first good look at it then. It was much whiter than I expected. I don't know why, but I thought it would be dark, or tanned or something. There was what looked for all the world like a turtle neck collar around the tip. That shiny knob was in there somewhere, but it was covered up at the moment. I reached for the shaft and did what I had been doing under water. Presto, the crown appeared, pink and hard looking and shiny. The little hole in the tip changed into a slit as my little finger crushed his pubes.

My idea had been to see what it felt like in my mouth. I knew girls did that. At least half of the girls watching porn in Mr. C.'s den had done it, if you believed them. I had heard the process described in detail a dozen times. And now I wanted to find out what was true, and what was not.

I pushed back, exposing the knob again, leaned forward, and closed my lips around the part right behind the flaring hood of the head. I sucked, trying to figure out what to do with my tongue. Finally I just pushed it against that little hole.

"Oh fuck," he sighed. I felt tingles shoot to my pussy. I had made him happy. I could hear it in his voice.

I sucked some more, and then tried moving my lips along the shaft. I let go with my hand and tried to make the skin move with my lips, the way I had moved it with my hand. That worked a little bit, but my lips eventually slid so far that the tip of his dong was poking the back of my throat, right where it makes you gag. I pulled back and realized my mouth was full of saliva. I kept going, and felt the skin cover the head. As my lips pulled off the tip I swallowed and then pushed my lips against his foreskin, pushing it back behind the crown.

This was fun! It felt good. He tasted good. I loved the noises he was making. I was very glad I had decided to do that.

I especially liked making that loose foreskin move back and forth with my lips, and I did that for a while, flicking the tip of his cock with my tongue. He was groaning constantly while I did it.

I had no warning at all. Suddenly my mouth was bathed in warm, slippery goo that tasted faintly of salt and was slightly bitter. The realization that he was shooting off in my mouth shocked me. I swallowed on pure instinct, and pulled off the tip to close my mouth and swallow again, to clear my mouth. Another shot leapt from that little hole and struck me right between the eyes, making me close them. While that was happening my brain caught up with what I had experienced.

The girls were divided on whether to spit or swallow. Linda, Marnie and Suzie all claimed swallowing was the thing to do. Valerie said she had puked the first time it had happened to her, and she decided never to do it again. Rhonda and Tina said they spit because the taste was nasty.

My brain decided that, while this wasn't my favorite beverage of all time, it was his nectar, and that made it precious to me.

So I opened my mouth and, by Braille, found the tip and sucked on it until he was finished. I felt his hand splashing water over my eyebrows and wiping his spunk off so I could open my eyes. When I did, and looked up at him, his dick was still in my mouth. It was softening, but I liked sucking it so I kept on.

"Girl, you are in a world of trouble," he said softly.

I finally gave him his penis back and moved away from him washing my face further.

"What are you going to do? Spank me?"

"I've been having a hard enough time keeping my hands off of you already," he said. "After that... " He sighed, reached for his trunks and slid down into the water as he pulled them back on. "Let me just ask you not to tease me from now on, okay?"

"Why?" I asked innocently. "Do you think you might lose control?"

"You're not eighteen yet, Mal," he said softly.

"I will be in three months," I reminded him.

"It's going to be a long three months," he sighed.

We heard them before the lights went on. Giggling girls flooded out of the French doors onto the patio. By the time they could see us I was on the opposite side of the tub from him. Both of us had our arms stretched out along the rim of the tub.

"Not fair!" yelled Linda. "Nobody told us to bring suits."

Marnie leaned toward me. "You are wearing a suit ... right, Mal?"

"Of course I'm wearing a suit," I said smugly. "I'm not a slut like you."

Marnie ignored me, knowing I was just teasing and turned to Mr. C.

"How freaked out would you get if we wanted to get in?"

He blinked. "In your jammies?"

She shook her head twice. "Naked."

"Not while I'm in here," he said, standing up.

"Awwww, come on," whined Valerie. "We won't do anything. I promise. Right girls?"

There was a chorus of excited promises. Mixed in there somewhere was an "Ewwww" from Chrissy.

"I know what you were just watching," said Mr. C. "And I know that it would be a mistake of Biblical proportions for me to stay here, while you ladies frolic naked in my hot tub. I am older and wiser than you. Heed my decision.

They were stripping off their already scanty sleepwear as he climbed out of the tub. Since I had just taken the starch out of his rod, he had no trouble making a dignified retreat into the house.

The tub wasn't big enough for twelve girls. And I didn't feel like being naked with women at that particular moment. So I got out to make room. As I padded inside, I looked over my shoulder to see the last two, Jenny and Suzie, trying to cram themselves into the hot tub, which sprouted naked girls like a glass full of uncooked spaghetti. They were shrieking and laughing so loud I expected the neighbors to complain.

I went to the guest bathroom, where I knew there were towels, and dried off. Then I put on my jammies again, and went and found Mr. C. in his bathroom, taking a shower. When he got out and saw me standing there, waiting, he jumped, unprepared for something so bold.

But all I did was kiss him thoroughly again, tell him I loved him, and then left him alone.

-------

I didn't tease him. At least I didn't think I did. But about a week after the sleepover I stayed the night. When I got up in the morning (Chrissy always slept in when she could) I went to the kitchen and was pouring a bowl of cereal when I felt a hand grip my right butt cheek and squeeze.

"Morning, beautiful," he said.

"Morning, handsome," I said back.

He got himself something to eat and we sat down and ate together. He asked me about the prom and I told him about John. He asked me what color my dress was and I told him. It was just simple stuff.

But I'm pretty sure him asking me what color my prom dress was what led to the next thing.



-------

Chapter 3


Prom was a waste of time. For once Chrissy and I weren't doubling. John came to the door to pick me up. I had told him to do that and not to just honk. My parents shook his hand and all that stuff. He had a corsage for me. To pin it on he had to slide his fingers down into my cleavage a little bit. He was obviously very nervous about that, but he got the thing on. Then there were pictures, and we finally escaped.

John might have been an athlete, but he couldn't dance to save his life. Even slow dancing went wrong. He stepped on my feet at least three times. And he brought booze in a little flask. He showed it to me like he was some big hero or something. He put it in my punch too. I drank a little, but he was an idiot because he'd brought bourbon and was putting it in fruit punch. It tasted awful. We sat for a while and talked to friends. Then we danced some more.

Finally he got to the point by talking about what a great time we were going to have at the after party George Stillwell was having out at his father's farm. There was going to be a bonfire and beer.

"George is fixing up the barn with all kinds of dark corners so people can take a blanket in there and get it on," he said, smiling widely.

The guy thought I was going to sleep with him! On our first date! After stepping on my toes and ruining my good shoes!

"I can't go," I said. "I have a curfew."

"You didn't tell me that when I asked you to prom," he complained.

"I didn't know it until my parents told me," I said.

"Can we at least do it in the car on the way home?" he asked. Just like it was completely normal. I couldn't believe it!

"No, we cannot do it in the car on the way home," I said calmly. "I'm not having sex with you tonight, John."

"Shit!" he said.

That's when I realized he was drunk.

So I said I had to go to the bathroom, and left the school instead. It was cold, and Chrissy's house was closer than mine. Besides, my parents had said I could go to the after party as long as I promised not to drink. I had my cell phone, and Daddy had made sure it was fully charged before I left. He was all primed to come get me if I needed help.

But I didn't need help.

What I needed was Mr. C.

-------

They never locked the French doors that led to the dining room from the patio. I took my shoes off so they wouldn't click on the paving stones. As I walked by the hot tub I remembered my first mouthful of man juice. I intended to get my second that night. The door was open, as usual, but I heaved a sigh of relief. If I'd have had to call him to open the door, I was afraid he wouldn't do it. I still wasn't eighteen, and would not be for another thirty-nine days.

As I made my way through the darkened house, I started worrying that, when he heard me, he'd be scared, or startled. My dad had guns in the house, but I'd never seen one at Chrissy's. Still, scaring him didn't seem like a good way to set the mood.

I stopped and got my cell phone out. I punched the button that called them and heard the phone ring far away.

"Hello?" he answered.

"It's just me, Mr. C." I said. "Chrissy is fine."

"Good," he said. "You okay?"

"That depends," I said. "I would really like to show you my prom dress. You asked me about it, remember?"

"I did," he said. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"So can I come up and show it to you?"

"What's going on, Mal?" he asked.

"I'm downstairs. My date was a jerk, so I left."

"Isn't that against the rules?" he asked.

"It is," I admitted. "If they find out I'll be blackballed from all future proms, no doubt."

"You're in the house?"

"I'm in the dining room. I didn't want to surprise you if you've got a woman in bed with you."

He laughed. "No chance of that."

"No chance?"

"This isn't a good idea, Mal."

"All I'm going to do is show you my dress," I said plaintively.

"Yeah, right."

"I promise. I'll show you the dress, and then I'll do whatever you tell me to."

There was a long silence. Finally he said "You'll leave if I tell you to ... right?"

"Right," I said. I didn't like saying that, but I was locked in.

"OK."

"Be right up," I said.

I took the dress off on the way up the stairs. It was deep blue, and it really was pretty. It was backless and had a built in bra, so when I arrived at his door, all I was wearing were the lavender high rise panties I had gotten to go under it. My nipples were already stiff, but it might have been because I was scared to death he was going to yell at me and kick me out.

I gathered all the courage I had in me and stepped into the room, holding the dress out in one hand to my left. He was lying on a bunch of pillows, half reclining in bed, with the covers pulled up to his waist. An open book lay face down on his stomach.

"Here is the dress," I said. I pointed at the panties. "And here is what I got to wear under it."

"I knew it," he groaned. "I knew you'd have something up your sleeve."

I dropped the dress on the floor. I ran a hand up each arm.

"Nope. No sleeves, and nothing up there even if I had some." I went for broke and pushed the panties down too, stepping out of them. "Nothing in here either."

"Well that's not true," he sighed.

"What?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"There is a beautiful, delicious pussy in them. Or there was," he said.

He hadn't ordered me out, so I took a step toward the bed upon which he was lying.

"Yes, but my pussy is empty too," I said.

-------

I know it sounds corny now. It probably was then too. But we had always played a sort of strange game. It had started when I was fourteen, and the rules had change a little each year, but it was always the same game. I didn't know how the game would end, or when it would be over. I didn't want it to end, actually. So I kept trying to play.

He stared at me with that deep, dark gaze he used so well. I stopped, unsure now. Here I was, standing naked in his room, hoping for something that had never happened, and which I didn't know what would be like, but wanting it all the same. I was scared, but I was also hopeful.

His arm moved and I watched his hand reach for the covers at the edge of the bed. He pulled them back, exposing an expanse of pale blue sheet beside him.

He was naked.

His hand patted the sheet beside him, while the other hand picked up the book, closed it and put it on the night stand, all without him taking his eyes off of me.

I felt the most incredible rush of relief, and joy and ecstasy. It was exactly like an orgasm, except my sexual organs weren't involved at all.

I ran, and he smiled as I jumped into the bed, landing half on top of him and pushing my face at him for a kiss.

I got the kiss. And then the world became a place I had never been before, and knew nothing about.

He was on me like a wolf must attack a sheep. In no time at all I found myself on my back, with both arms above my head. My wrists were crossed and he gripped them both with one big hand so that I couldn't use my hands at all.

His mouth attacked my breasts, licking, sucking, nipping even. I felt his teeth grip a nipple and pull it away from my chest until I whined with the discomfort of it. And yet it felt delicious. He needed a shave, and his stubble scratched me, but that made my skin feel more alive than I could imagine. Then his mouth came back up and he kissed me over and over while his hand slid so slowly down, over my belly and onto the fluffy hair I had so meticulously snipped and clipped so it would fit in my bikini. The tip of one finger arrived at the top of my split, but stopped just short of my clit. I thought I'd die if he didn't touch my clit.

Finally he moved the finger to circle my bump. I cried out into his mouth and bucked my hips up at his hand. His finger penetrated me and he hooked it like he always had. I felt the tip moving back and forth, like it was searching for something. The base of his fingers squashed my clit and he did that amazing vibrating hand thing again.

He was still holding my hands, but the orgasm came anyway. I know I screamed. And I know I kept screaming, because right in the middle of that orgasm, he rolled on top of me, kneeing my thighs apart, and I felt a stretching, searing sensation just inside my pussy lips as he took what I had offered. Only then did he let go of my wrists, but it didn't matter, because his full weight was on me and there was nothing I could do to get away from that thing that was splitting me apart down there.

It felt like I was in an earthquake, or maybe a ship at sea in a hurricane. The bed was shaking and our bodies were heaving and bouncing. Out of the blue there came an incredible streak of pleasure that I recognized had been sent to my brain by my clit. I felt tremendous pressure in my pussy, but it didn't hurt, exactly.

Then he suddenly stopped.

He did a pushup with his arms. His hands were right under my arm pits. But only his chest rose, and I dragged in a huge breath, half sobbing as it was expelled so I could drag in another.

He looked down and I realized his weight was completely off of me. I raised my head and saw he was on his knees. I also saw that his brown pubic hair was kissing mine. He was in me ... all the way in me. I had a penis in my pussy at that moment. I couldn't believe it!

Then he pulled it almost out of me, hesitated just a second, and slid it back in, bouncing off my mons. My clit sang out again.

He did it again, almost gently pulling and pushing. The pressure was still there, but felt different somehow. I realized there was no pain at all any more. In fact, I could barely remember what that pain had been like. I was so amazed that that big thing actually fit in me!

He pushed in and then moved his hips sideways to the right, and back to the left.

I felt so many things when he did that. I felt his cock deep inside me, moving a little bit as he tried to drag it sideways and my pussy refused to let it go that way. My clit almost buzzed with the joy of being massaged by the base of his cock. I felt the skin of his thighs rubbing on my own. I felt his breath washing over my face as he panted. Everything wanted to be felt first.

He stopped rubbing and started fucking it in and out of me again. I watched until my neck muscles complained at holding my head up, and I let my head flop back. It was different when I couldn't see what was happening. Now it was all up to my tissues to report what they were feeling.

And what they were feeling was incredible. I tried to think of anything else that felt that good. The first swallow of cool water on a hot day after a run? No contest. This beat that hands down.

And then I couldn't think of anything, because I felt an orgasm looming over me. Usually I could tell when it was going to happen, but this felt like I was surrounded by something that could pounce at any time.

He surprised me by leaning down and kissing me again. It wasn't rough this time. Instead it was tender. But at the same time he let his body weight down on me again and sped up, his cock sliding in and out faster and faster. I felt a drop of something on my face and realized he was sweating.

"Oh Mal," he groaned into my mouth. His lips slid off to one side and his chin dropped onto my shoulder. He was moving so fast now that I was reminded of when he jerked off in front of me.

"Oh Mal!" he whined.

Then he stopped, deep inside me and I felt a new heat blooming right where the tip of his cock was. I knew he was shooting in me ... those streaks of white I had watched coming out were now confined in my body. I knew about sperm, and the danger of sperm, but I hadn't thought about it until that very instant when I felt his sperm being released into my belly.

But it was his sperm ... the sperm of the man I loved. And it didn't feel dangerous at all.

It just felt wonderfully warm inside me.

-------

There is almost nothing more pitiful than a man who feels he has failed his lover.

I had overwhelmed his defenses, and he had reacted as men were intended to react. He had mated with me. That's what men are supposed to do.

But modern men expect more of themselves than mere mating. At least the men who are worth a flying fuck do. They expect to leave their selected mate limp and satisfied, unable to even think of finding another man to add more sperm, to increase the odds of successful fertilization.

And I hadn't quite made it to orgasm.

I didn't care. It had been something wondrous and amazing, and I'd never forget it. But he was devastated that he had "ruined" my first time. If he hadn't been so close to tears I would have laughed.

Teenage girls might not be as sophisticated as our older sisters, but we aren't completely lacking in the tools which can be used to manipulate a male.

I told him he could make it up to me.

I told him I wanted to cuddle. He turned out to be good at that. Half an hour later I went down on him, steeling myself to confront my own juices, and was pleasantly surprised to find out I didn't taste any different on his cock than I did on his daughter's lips.

The second time wiped his record squeaky clean. He was gentle, but forceful, and he was calm enough to pay attention to me, which he did in ways that still amaze me. Three orgasms later, I was that limp, satisfied woman, who wanted nothing more than a chance to snooze in warmth, next to my man. He kissed me as he came in me again, and this time I felt the pulsing of his penis as it delivered another ball of heat to my middle.

Then, held in his arms, I heard the click of the lamp switch and saw the light go dark through my eyelids ... and slept.

-------

I woke up when Chrissy climbed in bed with me, naked.

That wasn't odd. We had slept naked together dozens of times. Something niggled at my brain this time, but I felt so good and warm that I didn't want to think about anything that might be amiss.

She snuggled up to me and her hand found my breast. It squeezed. I smiled in that place between sleep and waking.

The hand squeezed again and the bed shook as she sat up, using me as a prop.

"Mallory?"

Of course I was Mallory. Who else would I be? Why was she being so loud?

"MALLORY!"

"Whaaat?" I complained.

"What are you doing in bed with my daddy?" she squealed.

I felt Mr. C. move then, and realized the warmth I was leaning my back against was him.

The world flip flopped suddenly, and I felt weightless. I knew I wasn't weightless, and that I was falling as a result of that flip-flopping world. I was pretty sure when I hit it wasn't going to be good. My mind was whirling. Then the lamp on the nightstand came on and my eyelids clamped down.

"Mallory?" Chrissy's voice had gotten higher and louder each time she said my name.

I cracked open my eyelids and saw her sitting above me. She had flawless skin that she took good care of, and her nipples, unlike mine, were tiny and pale. Her areolas were all but invisible until you sucked on them for a while. Then they darkened up enough to be seen. She looked mad as hell.

"What ... are you doing in bed ... naked ... with my father?" she demanded hotly.

I was thinking a little more clearly now. I was still jangled, but Chrissy and I had had innumerable arguments in the past, and I knew how to argue with her.

"Me? I think the question here is what are you doing in bed, naked, with your father?" I suggested.

She blinked and the anger in her cheeks paled.

"Oh shit," she said.

Mr. C. got up on one elbow. He looked at both of us.

"I know I shouldn't say this, at least not right now, but you have no idea how often I've wanted to see the two of you naked together."

-------

There was uproar. But it wasn't like any uproar I'd ever witnessed (or taken part in) before. It turned out Chrissy had been sleeping with her father since she was sixteen. It happened after a sleepover, actually, when the last of the girls had left. She had gone to climb in bed with her father, just to cuddle and be near him. He had been fully asleep at the time, but only hours earlier he had had his finger in my pussy and was kissing me and loving me. And when she got in bed with him, his mind, feeling a warm woman in bed with him, had drifted off into areas his waking mind would have avoided. As a result, she had gotten the same thing I had gotten - she got stroked and kissed and a finger in her pussy before he woke up enough to realize who she was and what he was doing. She had gone from shock, to curiosity, to acceptance in a matter of minutes. When he had refused to continue, she had masturbated right there in the bed. Seeing her as a sexual being ... who was actively involved in seeking sexual climax, he couldn't resist helping her. The rest, as they say, was history.

So she thought of him as "her" man in even more ways than I did.

Which was why, when she learned about my story, she got even madder, because he had been playing with me sexually long before he played with her. She was jealous.

I pointed out that, if I wasn't mistaken, she had lied to me for two years about being a virgin.

She pointed out that I should have told her what her father was doing with me.

He let us act like cats for ten minutes and then told us both to shut up.

"You love each other," he said. "You've loved each other for as long as I can remember."

Chrissy tried one more shot.

"If she loved me she wouldn't have screwed around with my daddy."

"You love each other," he repeated. "And you both love me. For just one of you to love me would be enough to make me happy into my old age. That both of you love me is ... it's like an atomic bomb has gone off in my heart, but it didn't destroy anything. It just made the world that much better."

He stared at us. He was so good at seeing deep inside us with those dark eyes!

"And I love both of you," he said softly. "I'll always love both of you."

I almost sat down because my knees were acting up again. He had said it! And he had said it right in front of Chrissy!

He frowned. "And because I love both of you, and I know you love each other, I don't want to come between you. So both of you have to leave. My bed is closed to both of you from now on."

Who'd have thought a man would know how to argue that successfully with two almost grown women?

-------

"No!" we both shouted simultaneously.

"I'm not going to choose one of you over the other," he said. "And you're both going off to college, which is where you should go. So dragging things out with me when you should be planning for your new life as independent women is a foolish use of your time."

"No, Daddy," whined Chrissy, shifting from foot to foot.

I just tried to hug him.

But he pushed me away. He cheated and tickled, but it wasn't funny.

"You two go on back to Chrissy's room," he said. "That's where your friendship was forged, and where you have spent so many happy hours. Talk this out and get it behind you. I want you to be best friends for life."

In the end he had to get out of bed himself and push us out of his bedroom. Thinking back on it now, I giggle, visualizing two naked teenage girls, bumping into each other and the door frame as a gorgeous naked man pushes them out. It's not the normal image one would think of in any situation where there was a naked guy with two naked girls.

He closed the door behind us too. It was dark in the hallway, but we both knew the house like the back of our hand. I think we were in shock at the horrible loss we had just suffered, because we didn't talk until we got to her room.

For the first time we were uncomfortable being naked in front of each other. My dress and panties were still in his bedroom, of course, but I went to the bottom drawer of her chest of drawers and got out one of the T shirts I kept at her house. She opened a drawer two above mine and did the same thing.

It was the first time in my whole life I could remember feeling awkward around Chrissy. It was awful. I didn't know what to say. It was clear she didn't either. So many things were going through my mind, and I'm sure it was the same with her.

What brought me around was getting to the image of Mr. C. on top of Chrissy ... fucking her. It was easy for me to visualize in my mind. And suddenly I realized I didn't blame him. Making love with her was one of my favorite things too.

I keyed in on the concept "making love" that had just flitted through my brain. And in that moment I realized what he had been talking about. The things Chrissy and I did felt good, but only because it was me and Chrissy. We loved each other. I had never wanted to slide my tongue between any other girl's pussy lips. I had kissed a few, but that was different somehow. When Chrissy and I were pleasuring each other, it was for that very purpose, to produce pleasure in the other. It was always fun for me when we did that, but the most fun part was hearing her have an orgasm that was because of me. That was making love. And somehow, I knew he felt the same way when he made love with her.

"I don't blame him," I said suddenly.

Chrissy had been pacing. "What?" She turned to me.

"I don't blame him for loving you ... like that. I love you like that, and I understand why he would want to too."

She stared at me for a long moment, and then her shoulders relaxed.

"I wasn't mad at you when I found you there," she said. "I was surprised. Flabbergasted, really. But not mad. And then when I found out about the rest, I got jealous, but I still wasn't mad. I didn't understand that until you said what you just said. Of course he loves you. I do too."

"He loves us both," I said. "Just like I love you and love him the same way."

"Yes!" she squealed.

"This isn't normal, is it," I sighed.

"I don't care!" she said. "Do you care, Mal?"

"If you mean do I care that he loves us both, then no. If you mean that you love him and me, also no. If you mean what he just decided, then yes. I care a lot!"

"Oh, that," she said, tossing her head. "He tried to stop doing it with me a dozen times. He can't resist me."

"He couldn't resist me tonight either," I said. "He tried. He's been resisting for years."

"He doesn't have any trouble resisting the women who flirt with him and try to get him to take them out," she said.

"What women?" I asked.

"He meets them at business meetings and various places," she said. "He told me about some of them. I've been with him sometimes and saw what was happening, once I knew what to look for. He's had plenty of chances to get laid. I always thought he didn't bring any of them home because he knew I still remember Mom. Then he finally admitted that he compared them all to me and they couldn't compete."

I felt a fluttering in my belly. I had successfully competed with Chrissy, who was the prettiest girl I knew. I told her what I was thinking.

"I don't think it's competition," she said. "He's not choosing one of us over the other. He even said that. He just loves us both. You're as much his daughter as I am."

"This is so weird," I said. "Here we are talking about incest and it doesn't seem wrong at all!"

"All I know is I love him," said Chrissy. "I know I won't spend my life with him, or have his babies or any of that, but I still love what we do."

"Speaking of which," I said. "If you've been sleeping with him for two years, how is it that you never got pregnant?"

"He always uses a condom," she said. "Always. The only times he's ever actually refused me was when he didn't have a condom."

"Oh," I said, feeling weak in the knees again.

"What?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, my mind whirling. "He didn't use a condom with me tonight."

She blinked. Then she frowned.

"Now I'm pissed!" she said.

-------

I had seen Chrissy and Mr. C. interact before. That much is obvious from what I've already told you. But I had never seen the kind of interaction they had next.

She said "Come on!" and pulled me out of her room and back to his. The door was still closed, but she barged right on through. I don't know what would have happened if he'd have locked it, but it wasn't locked. The bedside light was still on and he was reading, even though it was three in the morning. He didn't look surprised to see us.

In fact, he smiled a little bit.

But Chrissy missed it.

"How come she gets to have you bareback and I don't?" she yelled.

He closed the book.

"Sweetheart, we've had this discussion before."

"No we haven't!" she yelled some more. "We had it about me, not her!"

"I guess I let things get out of hand," he said, looking abashed.

She folded her arms across her chest. She actually tapped her bare toes on the floor.

"Don't give me that," she snorted. "You never lose control. I've tried to make you lose control."

"Well, it's a moot point now," he said, "since I won't be doing anything bareback from now on."

"Hold that thought, Daddy dear," said Chrissy.

She turned to me and put her mouth right by my ear.

"Do you want him?"

She pulled back and I stared at her.

She put her mouth back by my ear.

"Now that you know he fucked me, do you still want him?"

She pulled back again. I nodded, and hoped she wouldn't scream at me.

She came back in and whispered "If I ask you to share him with me, will you do that?"

I realized then that she intended to fight his ban. I nodded more forcefully.

She surprised me by kissing me. It was one of our really good kisses, that lasted a long time and involved some tongue. When she broke it she said "Thank you," softly.

Mr. C. was staring at us now. Chrissy glanced over at him and saw the shock on his face.

"Gee, Daddy, I guess there are just all sorts of secrets coming out tonight. Did I forget to tell you that Mal and I have been lovers for ... oh ... I don't know ... four or five years?"

She was fudging on that, but I was pretty sure she was counting that first tentative exploratory kiss we had tried, just to find out what another person's lips felt like pressing our own.

"You two?" His voice sounded hollow.

"Well we are best friends," she said. She went behind me. Her hands caught the hem of my T shirt and lifted it, exposing my pussy, belly and breasts. She cupped my breasts and pinched my nipples. "Did you really think you were the first person to play with her titties, Daddy?"

I had frozen at first, when she exposed me to him, but then I remembered she was fighting for us, and went with the flow. When she let go of my shirt and moved beside me, raising her own, she said "Or mine?" I read her mind and leaned down to suck at one of her tiny nipples. She held my head to her chest.

"So I guess it's only fair that you know we were taking care of each other for a while now. We're not lesbians, though, and we'd really rather have you too, but since you're going to be such a dickhead about it, I guess we'll have to take care of each other again."

She took her shirt off and then pulled mine off too. "Move over and give us girls some room, Pops," she said, and pushed me down on the bed right beside Mr. C.

Then, to prove this wasn't some prank, she ate my pussy. I'd have cum too, except that it was too weird with Mr. C. right there next to me. But I played the part, because I knew what she was trying to do. I faked an orgasm for the first time in my life. I did it all as a show for him. And Chrissy knew it, because she knew how I came for real. So then she raised her head and smiled, her face shiny, because while I couldn't cum, that didn't mean I didn't enjoy it.

His mouth was hanging open and his face was flushed. He was breathing pretty fast too.

"We're not mad at each other, Daddy. Nothing could tear us apart. We're sisters, and sisters are for life. And if you think you can keep us out of your bed ... well look at us right now. I admit I'm a little upset about you doing my sister bareback, but I'll get over it. And we'll correct that little problem in the future."

I think she ran out of things to say. She'd done pretty well, in my opinion. I mean it had all been ad lib, on the spur of the moment. And he was clearly freaked out, which was very strange because I'd never even seen him ruffled. He didn't say anything. He just kept looking from her to me and back to her. He looked at my pussy too.

Finally I said "Will somebody please kiss me?"

Chrissy, bless her heart, said "Your turn, Daddy," and then went quiet again.

I turned my head and his face was only a foot away. I put a pitiful look on my face that I had used against my own parents hundreds of times. They knew what it was and had ignored it for years, but he hadn't seen it. "Please?" I whimpered, pitifully.

And when he kissed me, I knew we had won.

-------

Chrissy struck while the iron was hot. I thought she was just trying to seal the deal. We were both tired. It had been a long day. And Mr. C. couldn't have been all fresh either. It was probably almost four in the morning by then, but she wanted some concrete resumption of the games under our belts.

She pulled the blanket off of him. He was still naked, and he was hard as a rock. I'm told two girls making out will do that to a guy, though I don't understand it. You'd think he'd rather be involved than watch. But who understands men?

She was obviously familiar with sucking him, because that's what she did. She got him good and wet with her saliva and raised her head. He was still kissing me.

"Has he eaten your pussy yet?" she asked.

I stopped kissing him long enough to nod.

"Have you sat on his face yet?"

He groaned. "Good grief, Chrissy!"

I stared at her.

"Do it," she said. "It's the best when you can move around on his mouth."

For the first time I began to suspect she had something else up her metaphorical sleeve.

"But let me get a condom first," she said. "It's my turn to feel this in me."

She knew right where they were, in the drawer the lamp was on. She was also an expert at getting the foil packet open. She applied the thing with a smooth five second motion that involved both hands kind of sliding downwards like she was masturbating him, but only in one direction. She even checked the reservoir at the top by pulling on it and letting it snap back.

"Okay," she said brightly. "Let's climb on together. I'm pretty sure Daddy's never done a threesome."

I realized then that she owned him. She had seduced him, albeit not intentionally, but once she had him, she held on tight and trained him right up. I doubt she did that on a conscious level either. He was just putty in her hands, because he loved her.

As I got on my knees, trying to figure out how to do what she was telling me to do, she made a motion with her hand that I knew meant "look" and she mouthed "face me."

I knew she was up so something then, but I played along. Then it occurred to me that maybe she wanted me to see her fuck him. I wasn't wild about that idea, to be honest. I mean I understood why he wanted her, because I knew how that felt. But to actually watch them do that? I was afraid I wouldn't like it, and if I didn't like it, I'd never be able to get it out of my head. It might ruin everything. But it was too late, because Mr. C. had finally come alive and was manipulating my hips, positioning my pussy where he wanted it.

I felt his tongue spear up into me, and was suddenly too distracted to worry about Chrissy.

Still, as he began to work on me, I watched as she got on her knees and moved his latex-covered cock to her entrance. She sank down on him with a sigh, and gave a few jerks forward and back with her hips. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and bit her lower lip gently.

It didn't look bad at all.

She leaned forward, putting her hands on his chest. I thought she wanted a kiss, so I leaned forward too, putting my hands on her shoulders. But she didn't kiss me. Instead she whispered.

"I know how to make him cum."

"Okay," I croaked. What he was doing was starting to feel really good.

Then she kissed me, and mouthed "I love you."

And then she leaned back and did some kind of jerky thing with her hips that looked like a lot of work. I felt him react, though. He got kind of more frantic about sucking at my clitty and I felt an orgasm rushing toward me.

Chrissy suddenly moved her feet up and, so smoothly that I'd have sworn she had practiced it a dozen times, stood up enough to pull off of him while the long nails she'd glued on for prom hooked the rim of the condom. She pulled and it flipped off his cock, shooting off to the side like a rubber band.

Then she sat back down on his cock and solved the problem of him doing me bareback and not her. He went nuts, but what he was doing felt so good I just pushed down harder, which trapped his head. I didn't mean to trap his head, but I did. So he couldn't do anything about Chrissy. She started that herky jerky hip flipping again, with this intense look on her face.

Mr. C. bounced his hips up in the air so hard that he actually lifted her knees off the bed. She got this dreamy smile on her face, and, as my own orgasm slammed into me, she said "Oh yeah.
That's what I'm talkin' about!"

She had gotten a pussy full of her daddy's sperm too. And I realized the whole episode had been just for that reason. Now she wouldn't be jealous of me any more.

-------

He was mad. And I saw another side of Chrissy I'd never seen before. She became very quiet and subdued, submissive in the extreme. She said she was sorry three or four times, and promised never to do it again. She hugged his chest. It was when she cried that I saw through the whole act. She wasn't sorry at all. She was playing him like a violin.

And it worked. Pretty soon he said "All right. As long as you promise never to do that again."

I had been lying next to them, just watching. Chrissy, having played her role, subsided into cuddling mode. Mr. C. didn't notice that she stopped crying entirely too quickly. I was going to have to give her a critique, because she'd have never pulled that off if it was aimed at me. But she wasn't quite finished.

"I'm glad you love Mal too, Daddy," she said.

That reminded him I was there, and I took the chance of moving toward him. It paid off as he cuddled me on his other side.

"I should have used protection with you too," he said. "But you made me crazy. I promise I'll protect you from now on."

"Okay," I said. What did I know about condoms? I assumed that if he and Chrissy had used them all the time, it must still feel fine. I also assumed that the only reason Chrissy had wanted him naked in her was because he had been naked in me, and now we were even.

But what was most important was that it sounded like he had agreed we would do this again. 



-------

Chapter 4

Waking up the next morning wasn't romantic at all. My left arm was completely asleep, and it flopped like it was paralyzed. I had to pee something fierce. My mouth felt like leather and I knew my breath stank. Chrissy and I had awakened with morning breath hundreds of times. Chrissy was on the other side of the bed, snoring. Mr. C. was gone.

I got up and, naked, went to the bathroom in Chrissy's room, where I had my own toothbrush in the rack. I got another T shirt out of my drawer and went to the kitchen to get something to eat. I was starved. I found out why when I looked at the clock on the stove, which said it was eleven in the morning. My parents were probably freaked out of their mind. I was sure they had called the cops.

I called them and my mom picked up after the second ring.

"I'm sorry!" I moaned. "I came over to Chrissy's last night and fell asleep."

"Mister Carter was good enough to call us this morning and let us know," said my mom. "You could have called last night, Mallory."

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't plan on staying all night."

"Well, you're a big girl now," said my mother, amazing me. "We'll see you later today."

"Thanks, Mom," I said.

I hung up the phone and turned to find Mr. C. standing there, looking at me.

It could have been weird, I suppose. But he said "Morning, gorgeous," and everything felt okay.

"You're not so bad yourself," I said.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you mean am I walking funny?" I asked. I shook my head. "No. I wouldn't even have thought about it except you just reminded me." I took a couple of steps and winced. I threw in a moan for good measure. He looked concerned and I couldn't help but laugh.

"I see," he said, frowning. "My girls have decided I'm some dim-witted old fogy who can be gamed night and day."

"I was just teasing," I said. "I'm fine, really."

"And were you just teasing last night, when you helped Chrissy do something really stupid?"

"I didn't know she was going to do that," I said. I crossed my heart. "Honest."

His face changed. "How do you feel about the fact that I ... uh ... didn't protect you?"

"Curious," I said.

"That's it? Just curious?"

"Well, you seem so firm and resolved about not doing that with Chrissy," I said.

"She's my daughter," he said.

"I might as well be," I replied.

"As much as I agree with you, our blood does not. If I got you pregnant, it wouldn't be the end of the world for us both."

"My parents would kill me," I said.

"I'm not saying it would be a good thing," he admitted. "But it's something we could survive. I really did lose control with you last night. I had not intended to do that until you were older."

"Like this summer?" I asked.

"Like in a year or two," he said.

"But I'm going to college?" I said. "What if I had met a guy there?"

"I hoped you would," he said. "I still hope you do. It would be better for you. You deserve a normal life, Mal. What I've felt for you all these years has been a crazy, juvenile fantasy and I know it."

"What about what I've felt for you?" I asked.

"Puppy love," he said. "At least I hope so. You get to always love me, as Chrissy's adopted sister and my adopted daughter, but you deserve a man you can understand and who you have things in common with."

"Puppy love," I muttered. Puppy love was what I had for Jerome Quincy in the second grade, and Paul Starkey in the third grade. Boys had gotten tedious after that, and had only been worse as time passed. "Well, I'm not sorry about last night," I said.

He smiled and I felt flutters in my belly again. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that."

You're probably thinking that after that we had Bacchanalian orgies regularly after that. It wasn't like that at all. He never let Chrissy drink alcohol and never offered any to me, though he had a little Scotch now and then. I don't know how often he and Chrissy slept together. Or I should say I don't know how often they made love. She probably slept with him every night except for the ones I did.

Now, you see, when I stayed the night at their house, I didn't sleep naked in bed with Chrissy any more.

But it wasn't often either. That summer I got to have him maybe five times.

Part of that was because both Chrissy and I got jobs at the day care center run by a consortium of churches in town. The center itself was at the Methodist church, and it operated twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. We had a packing plant and two other heavy industrial outfits in town that ran around the clock, and their workers needed "day"care around the clock too.

I loved it, because I loved kids. Chrissy was good at it, but she didn't have the same drive I did. They had a full staff of very committed people. Chrissy and I got hired so they could take vacations or other time off, so our schedules were crazy. Sometimes we worked together, and sometimes we didn't. We worked all hours of the day and night. They'd have let us work seven days a week if we wanted to. It was good for saving up for college.

But my excuse for spending so much time at Chrissy's was gone. We had graduated, and we were hopefully going to be roommates at State, so there was no big drive to spend the last days of summer "vacation" together.

I found out the real reason Chrissy wanted her father bareback in her. Condoms are nasty. Maybe if I had never felt it without one I wouldn't have known the difference. But the first time he went in me with one on I could tell the difference instantly. It wasn't as warm. I didn't feel as much. And the warm ball at the end was missing entirely, of course. Then there was this thing hanging off his cock, with white stuff in it, which looked yucky. I know, I know. I was willing to let him shoot that white stuff in my mouth and swallow it. I loved doing that, in fact. But it was different somehow when it was in this bag. I still shudder when I think of a cum-filled condom.

I hated them, but he wouldn't budge. Apparently my ability to drive him crazy-out-of-control had abated.

But it was still wonderful, and I still loved every second of it. I'd have loved it even more without the condoms, though. And the pill was out of the question, of course. My parents are Catholic. They don't attend mass, but they're still Catholic.

And so the summer passed, and the day I wasn't ready for approached.

And then it was there, and the car was packed, and we were ready to take off on our great college adventure.

And I was a basket case.

I did all right when we left my house. Chrissy came and packed me up first. But then Mr. C. and I helped her pack her stuff in the car, and it hit me that I was leaving, and he was staying, and there wasn't going to be any more going over to Chrissy's to see my best friend and, oh, by the way, get laid.

And I bawled, and that made Chrissy bawl. And I wanted one last time before we left. It was funny, because while I was being a complete little girl about it, begging him to take me to bed one last time, I remember thinking "If he does it, I'm not going to let him use a condom!"

But of course he was the adult in the situation and didn't carry me off to the bedroom for one last quick fuck, like would have happened in a romance novel.

I cried for twenty miles, until Chrissy yelled at me.

I admit that things were different enough, and exciting enough at college that I was distracted for a while. I was, in fact, distracted for almost an entire semester. It started when we found out they had screwed up and Chrissy was in a whole different dorm than I was. They couldn't do anything about it, so we both had strangers for roommates.

That turned out to be less than a disaster, at least for me. My roommate was named Letisha, the first black person I had ever spent more than ten minutes with. We were a little wary of each other for a while, but that passed as we got to know each other and found out we had more in common than separated us. Chrissy got along with her roommate too, but we vowed to get things fixed by the next semester.

Chrissy, being beautiful, had guys all over her. She even liked a couple of them, but she had a rule about not dating anybody exclusively and she told every guy that. I had guys all over me too, but I was pretty sure it was just an attempt to get at my best friend through me.

There was one guy named Jack who was interesting. Part of that might have been because he was a Junior, and was a little older and a little more sophisticated than my Freshman classmates, who reminded me of high school guys. But college guys - especially juniors - weren't into double dating, so I no longer had Chrissy to help me fend off the attentions of men on dates. And Jack had a silver tongue. More important, he didn't seem at all interested in Chrissy. And he was a great kisser, and his hands felt good on me. And everything went fine until I decided to find out what a different man felt like inside me.

Jack, it seems, had an aversion to using condoms. Jack, it seems, expected me to be on the pill. And when I thought about how Mr. C. cared enough about me to insist on protection, and Jack kept saying "Come on, honey, you'll love it and it will be okay," I suddenly compared him to Mr. C. on a detailed level. Jack came away a very distant second place.

So I dumped Jack and threw myself into the books. I told myself that Mr. C. would reward me for good scholastic habits. Finals came and I did well. So when we went home for the Christmas break, I expected everything to be just like it was before we had left.

But it wasn't.

Some things were the same. My parents treated me just like they had before I left. That meant just like I was still in high school.

I had Chrissy drop me off at home first, because we had agreed she got her father first. I was supposed to come over the next day.

But my parents couldn't understand why, when I "lived with Chrissy" at college, I needed to spend any time with her at all during this precious time they had with me. My mother actually cried when I said I just needed to get out of the house for a while.

Obviously spending the night with Mr. C. was going to be difficult. Spending eight or ten nights with him wasn't going to happen at all.

Oh sure, I could just go do it, but then my parents would get all parenty on me and who knew what would happen then. For all I knew they'd figure things out and then try to make trouble for Mr. C. I was eighteen by now, and technically I could do whatever I wanted, with whoever I wanted to do it. But those bridges, once burned, are a motherfucker to rebuild.

So weeks went by, while I sat at home evenings. Dad watched TV and Mom did her needle point and hummed. They didn't actually do anything with me at all. They just wanted me there.

Finally I couldn't take it any more. I got up and put on my coat.

"Where are you going, dear?" my mother asked.

"I'm going for a walk," I said.

"Where?" she asked.

"Mother?" She looked at me over her reading glasses. "I'm a grown up now. I don't have to tell you where I'm going."

She looked startled, then miffed. "All right," she said. "When will you be back?"

I wanted to scream. But I didn't. "I don't know," I said. Then I left, before anyone could say anything else.

It was Chrissy's car, so it was at her house. I had run or biked over to her place countless times over the past decade, and it had always seemed like a hop, skip and jump to their house. That night the distance seemed to have doubled or tripled.

When I got there my spirits picked up. The door was locked, so I rang the bell. Chrissy pulled the curtains apart and then smiled. She let me in, asking where in the world I'd been? I told her and she commiserated with me.

"Where is he?" I asked. I admit I asked eagerly.

"Oh Mal," she said sadly. "He had some kind of business convention thing he had to go to. He won't be back until day after tomorrow."

My spirits sank again.

She took me into the kitchen and made me some hot chocolate.

We had lived for a semester in buildings two hundred feet apart. We went to each other's rooms, and went out together too. But with classes, and work and social events, we hadn't actually spent as much quality time together as we might have in the previous year. And Chrissy had gotten really chummy with a guy named Jesse, who was a nice guy. I liked him, but she spent a lot of time with him.

So this was the first time in a long time we'd had for extended time with each other.

Time in private.

We ended up in bed, of course.

It was just like old times. She was sweet and loving and appreciative. We went for two hours, having orgasm after unhurried orgasm together. While we were cuddling afterwards, she told me she'd let Jesse fuck her. More than once.

"Does your dad know?" I asked.

She nodded. "He says he's happy for me."

"Do you believe him?"

She nodded. "He got all tense about it until I showed him my birth control pills."

"You bitch!" I half yelled. "You never told me you got on the pill!"

"I was afraid you'd yell at me," she said. "I was afraid you'd look at it like I was cheating on Daddy."

"You were cheating on him," I said.

"I'm supposed to cheat on him," she replied.

"Well I didn't cheat on him," I said. "And now he's not even here to reward me for it."

"You're supposed to cheat on him too, Mal," she said. "You know that."

"So did he refuse to take you to bed?" I asked.

"Oh no," she said. "He was very happy I'm on the pill. No more condoms." She grinned.

"Why didn't he just put you on the pill when you were sixteen?" I asked.

"He was resisting the whole sex thing," she said. "He felt like if I was on the pill he'd give in completely. I honestly think that's one reason why he started with you. He was trying to do less with me."

"He only touched me twice a year," I reminded her.

"He had more control with you than he did with me," she agreed.

I looked at my watch. "I gotta go. My parents will call out the National Guard if I don't show up soon."

"He's going to be really sad he missed you," she said.

"Really?"

"He's resisting the sex thing with you too, Mal," she said. "But I know him. He wants you. He wants you like crazy."

"I want him too," I moaned.

"Maybe we can figure something out," she said.

I had never read the last Harry Potter book, and my dad had it, so I threw myself into that the next few days. My tryst with Chrissy had taken the edge off my horniness, but I still fantasized about Hermione getting well fucked by various of her peers and teachers at Hogwarts. I felt so silly.

I volunteered to go do any chores that needed doing, which is why I was gone when the call came. I got back from the store with three quarters of a bag of groceries and my mom came to help me unpack the bag and put things away.

"That nice Mr. Carter called while you were out. He and Chrissy are going to some kind of concert and they have an extra ticket. He wanted to invite you to go along."

My heart thudded in my chest, and it was an effort to stay calm.

"Oh?" I asked casually.

"He asked you to give him a call when you got back," she said, peering at the expiration date on the milk.

"All right," I said, as if I might get to it some day.

I didn't get the chance. Chrissy arrived at our front door not five minutes later. She was bouncing off the walls with excitement, talking about how her father had been given tickets to a John Tesh concert in Denver, and they were VIP tickets, which meant seats in the first five rows and back stage passes. They might get to meet Mr. Tesh himself!

"You have to come, Mal!" she moaned.

"Denver? Why that's a thousand miles away," noted my mother. "Are you going to fly?"

"No," said Chrissy, suddenly subdued. "Daddy has this thing about airplanes. He's a wreck if he has to fly and he has to take this stuff that knocks him out." She brightened. "But it's the holidays and we can make a kind of road trip out of it. Daddy says he'll spring for hotels." She turned to me. "We'll have our own room, of course, and he says we can order room service and go to the spa and get massages and just everything! He says it's a Christmas present for me. Oh pleeease, Mal ... you just have to come! I couldn't stand it if I had to stay in a hotel room all by myself!"

"When is this?" asked my mother.

Chrissy turned to her. "The concert is on New Year's Eve. He wants to leave here on the 29th, just in case there are weather issues, and we'd be back on the second."

"Oh," said my mother, seeming to lose some interest. "As long as it's not over Christmas."

I was on cloud nine, of course. Five days and four nights with my two lovers. I couldn't ask for more.

I packed a bag, throwing in clothes for an extra day and night, remembering what Chrissy had said about the possibility of weather issues. My folks were actually glad to see me go, I think. I had been bored out of my mind for most of the time I was home, and my constant complaining probably got to them. My parents were hibernators during cold weather. Both were experts at finding things to do so they could stay inside when it was cold or snowy. Both had a dozen hobbies or more. Park Dad in front of a TV, for that matter, and he was happy. He could always find something to watch.

I expected Mr. C. to be in the car when Chrissy picked me up. I had assumed they would be ready and, when my stuff was in the car, we would leave town. But it was only Chrissy and she drove me back to their house.

"Daddy's a last minute packer," she said.

When we got to their house and got inside, Mr. C. came downstairs and kissed me hello. He said he was sorry he had been gone when I was last there. Then he handed me four tickets and said I was in charge of them. He turned around and went back upstairs. Chrissy suggested that we go to her room and I could help her finish packing and carry things down.

I followed her, looking at the tickets, which looked fancy and expensive, like tickets to the opera or something. My eyes flickered over the dates and then went back and stopped.

"Chrissy!" I said.

"Hmmm?"

"Something's wrong."

"What?"

"Look!"

I pointed to the dates on the tickets, which were in all numerical format. The first four numbers were 01/31. The last two were the digits for the next year.

"Shit!" said Chrissy. "He got the dates wrong! It's not the thirty-first of December. It's actually the thirty-first of January!"

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

"We have to tell him," said Chrissy. "We can't go off on a road trip that has no purpose." She frowned. "Shit!"

I followed her to his room, where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. There was no suitcase ... no clothes laid out.

"Daddy?" said Chrissy. "Mal was looking at the tickets, and she noticed something. We think you misunderstood about the dates, because the concert isn't until the thirty first of January ... not December."

He frowned. "You mean it isn't for another month?"

"Yeah."

"Well shucks," he said. He looked around. "I guess we can't go, then. You two will be back in school by then."

Suspicion blossomed in my mind. Something was obviously wrong. He wasn't nearly upset enough.

"What will we do?" asked Chrissy, sounding tragic.

"I guess we'll just have to stay here and make the best of it," he said sadly. He looked at me and those dark, penetrating eyes were suddenly boring into mine. "Since your parents think you're going to be gone for almost a week ... you could stay here. I've missed you, Mallory."

My mouth dropped open. It all came clear to me in a flash. The whole thing had been a ruse, designed to trick my parents and get me out of the house. I turned to Chrissy, feeling blood suffuse my face.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I yelled.

"Because you can't keep a secret!" she laughed. "You'd have blown it, and then you wouldn't be here, with almost a week to be a very bad girl."

"Oh yeah?" I said, jutting my jaw out. "Well if I'm so rotten at keeping secrets, how is it you didn't know your father was diddling me for years?"

She blinked.

Mr. C. calmly said "Am I going to have to ban both of you from my bed again?"

We both said "No" at exactly the same time, and in exactly the same tone of voice, which was along the lines of "Don't go there, buster, because that's a non starter from the get go."

He looked at me. "I didn't mind lying to your parents, but I didn't want to ask you to do the same thing."

"Oh," I said.

"So ... will you stay?"

I felt hysterical laugher welling up from inside me. Was he serious? Did he actually think I might have some reason to leave?

Less than an hour later I was naked, panting, and already tired from the rigors of being the beneficiary of three orgasms, dispensed by the talented tongue and fingers of Mr. C.

Chrissy was in the kitchen, preparing something for us all to eat later. I lay limply as he got to his knees, his erection straining from the hair at his groin. He leaned over toward the night stand. I reached to grab his wrist.

"I'm on the pill now too," I panted softly.

"You are?"

"Just don't tell my parents ... okay?"

"Of course not," he said. "I'm just ... surprised."

I admit I hadn't had time to really think things out very well. But the fact was my vacation from school had been anything but memorable up to this point. I had been horny and frustrated for weeks. And when Chrissy had said she was on the pill, and that he was fucking her bareback ... I guess I decided that if this was all I was going to get during the holidays, I was going to get it the way I wanted it. And he had lied to my parents, to get what he wanted ... so I lied to him to get what I wanted.

"There was this guy at school," I said. "And you know how much I hate condoms. So I got on the pill."

His face went still. "And you and ... this guy... ?"

I shook my head. "It didn't work out. He didn't want to wait for the pill to kick in, and I wouldn't let him until it had. You know what they say about greener pastures."

"So you didn't ... I mean you haven't ... with anybody else?"

"Are you jealous?" I asked, smiling.

"Maybe a little," he admitted.

"I haven't," I said, not smiling any more. "Only you have ever loved me in that way."

"Oh Mal," he sighed. "Oh baby ... sweetheart."

His eyes got wet looking and I reached for him, thinking I'd get some kisses.

I did get one kiss. But just one. Then it was a repeat of that first time, kind of, where he put my arms above my head and held my wrists. He didn't have to pry my legs open, though, and he wasn't rough at all. He actually slid into me slowly, staring into my eyes. I realized for the first time that what he was doing, in his mind, was claiming me.

Then he went crazy, going as fast as he could. He gasped "I'll make it up to you later, I promise!"

Within minutes he was gripping me so tightly I could barely breathe, and he was lunging into me frantically, until I felt that lovely ball of warmth blossom at the tip of his prick, deep inside me. He thought he was being selfish, going fast to get his own cookies like that. But that wasn't the way I thought about it. He was crazy for me, and I loved that fact. He was eager to cum in me, and I loved that fact. He had given me three orgasms already, which suggested that he cared about my own pleasure.

And, of course, I knew he would make good on his promise.

We almost killed him during those four days. They had shopped ahead of time, so we never left the house. One of us girls was naked, in bed with him, as often as we thought he could get it up. He was only thirty-six, but two eighteen-year-old girls are more than a match for any man over twenty-five.

We both slept with him each night, making what we called a "Daddy sandwich." And when he was too worn out to perform, Chrissy and I teased him by making love with each other.

It was glorious. It was delicious. I felt so decadent. I decided I would have been an excellent harem girl, in some far off kingdom hundreds of years ago. I wished it would never end.

But of course it had to. We had to "come back" from the imaginary road trip. They had even thought to purchase Tesh's latest CD, which I "brought back" home and played for my parents.

And then it was time to go back to school.

I just couldn't get into it. Even the fact that Chrissy and I were now roommates didn't help. She had missed Jesse, and he was practically insane for her, so they spent a lot of time together. I kept looking around for a guy of my own, but whenever I found one, he couldn't compete with Mr. C.

Chrissy set me up on dates, and I went on them. I even had a good time sometimes, but the idea of making out with any of the guys was just uninteresting.

Chrissy kept me from going crazy. Sometimes we slept together in the same bed, though they were really too small for that to be done comfortably. And she gave me lots of orgasms.

Then one night she came in from a date with Jesse and I was horny and one thing led to another. In the process I went down on her. About the time I stuck my tongue in her she sat up and squealed "No! Wait!" ... and I tasted sperm.

She had let Jesse fuck her.

I wasn't mad at her. I knew she'd gotten carried away. It was one of the reasons making love with her was so satisfying. We loved each other and loved to please each other.

But, in a blinding moment of pure clarity, I decided that if I was going to taste sperm ... it was going to be Mr. C.'s.

I sat up. The mood had been broken.

"I want to marry your father," I said.

She stared at me. "What?"

"I want to marry your father. I love him. Every time I am with some guy all I can think about is your father. I want to live with him, and have his babies."

She was blinking rapidly, her mouth open.

"But what about school?" she asked.

"Fuck school," I said harshly. "What am I doing here anyway? I don't know what I want to do. I'm just going through the motions." I stood up. "Can I borrow the car? I'll have it back in a day or two."

"You're serious!" she gasped.

"I've never been more serious in my life," I said. "I finally know what I want."

"You can't marry Daddy," she said, breathlessly.

"Why? Because you won't let me?" I asked.

She frowned, and, after a pause, shook her head. "No. He just won't do it."

"But if he would ... what would you think about it?" I asked.

"How the hell do I know what I'd think about it?" she yelped. "You just sprang this on me!"

"I just figured it out when I tasted Jesse's spunk," I said.

She flushed dark red. Then her eyes got wide.

"You'd be my ... mother!" she gasped.

"Step mother," I corrected.

"Like that makes a big difference?" She was incredulous.

And it was at that moment that I had another blinding epiphany.

The idea wasn't incredible to me.

"Do you love me?" I asked her.

"That's not fair, Mal!" she shouted.

"Do you love me!" I shouted back.

She blinked some more, and swallowed twice. Then tears overflowed her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Christina Carter," I said solemnly, "May I have your father's hand in marriage?"

I know, I know. I can imagine you, out there, laughing at the stupid girl who would come to those conclusions and say something like that in perfect seriousness. I had just turned nineteen, and all the science books these days trumpet about how the hypothalamus, in the front of the brain, isn't fully developed until at least age twenty-one, and often times even later. And that hypothalamus is integral to making decisions based on rational analysis of the facts and circumstances of a given situation.

But the fact is that I believed what I believed, and acted on it. We all do it every day. How could I do anything else?

I believe Chrissy's answer was something along the lines of "You're fucking crazy ... but you can give it a shot."

She gave me the keys. I made her promise not to call him, on pain of destroying our friendship forever. I think that's when she figured out how serious I was, and started taking it seriously herself. She gripped my shoulders and put her eyes three inches from mine.

"Are you sure about this?"

I nodded. "I can't stand the thought of living without him."

"What if he won't do it?" she asked. More tears leaked down her face.

"I don't know," I said. "I can't think about that. I have to at least try."

"Let me come with you," she said.

I shook my head. "This has to be between him and me. And if he does say no, I don't want you yelling at him."

"He's old enough to be your dad, Mal!"

"That didn't stop you," I said softly.

She blinked. "This is so fucking weird!"

I put my hands on her face, holding it and making her look at me.

"If I do this ... and by some miracle he goes along with it ... are we going to be okay?"

She looked right into my eyes.

"I don't know. I haven't had time to think about it. Mal, I can't even imagine it!"

I felt the first pangs of uncertainty. "I don't know what to do, then," I said.

She was Chrissy ... my best friend ... my sometimes lover. She had shared me with her father. We were sisters, and sisters were forever. She took a breath.

"Go on. Go talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Then call me."



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Chapter 5


Those first pangs of uncertainty bred like rabbits. By the time I got there I was a wreck. I went forth on pure adrenaline and pounded on the door. When he answered it I must had scared him half to death, because I burst into tears and he thought something had happened to Chrissy.

I quelled that fear first, telling him she was fine, but it was like a dam burst inside me and I couldn't keep anything in any more. It all came out, not in the logical, reasoned bits and pieces I had practiced saying as I started the trip back home. It just flowed forth like waves on the beach, unruly and disorganized, as I told him I loved him, and couldn't do without him, and wanted to be his wife and live with him. Bless his heart. He didn't shush me or tell me to grow up. Instead he just held my shoulders like his daughter had held them a few hours past, listening to me babble. He didn't even wipe my tears away, letting me do that myself.

He just listened.

When I finally ran down I felt so hopeless that I almost sat down on the floor. I know I swayed.

"Come on," he said, and pulled me into the kitchen where he sat me down at the table. The car had been warm, so I wasn't wearing a coat when I jumped out of it and ran to beat on his door. He went to the cupboard and got down the bottle of Scotch he kept there. It was half full of a dark amber liquid and had a black label. He splashed some in a small glass and handed it to me.

"Sip this," he said. "Just sips! Sorry, it's all I've got."

I let the liquid go into my mouth and swallowed. Fire flowed from my mouth down to my stomach, leaving a column of warmth, and the faintly bitter taste of smoke in my mouth. I sipped again. It didn't burn as much this time.

"Not too fast," he said.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Why?"

"For coming here and crying and making a fool of myself," I said.

"Oh."

He got his own glass and poured for himself. He took a few more sips and I took another one. I decided it was good.

"I see you're driving Chrissy's car. Does she know about all this?"

"She didn't call you did she? She promised she wouldn't!"

"Would I be asking about the car if she had called me?" he asked, calmly.

"I guess not. She said I was crazy."

"I see."

"I probably am."

"Mmm hmm. Is that all she said?"

"She said she didn't know how to feel about it, but gave me the keys. Would you please just say something and get it over with?" I moaned. I took another sip. This one was a little bigger, and I felt that delicious burn again. I decided that the burn of that in my stomach felt almost like the warmth of his sperm in my belly.

"Are you willing to talk about this without yelling and screaming?" he asked.

My gut tried to go cold, but the Scotch wouldn't let it.

I nodded.

"Such a marriage would upset a lot of people," he said.

"My parents," I admitted.

"And many, many others. There is a significant age difference involved."

"That doesn't matter to me," I said.

"I know," he said. "But it would matter to a lot of others. There would be talk ... snide, unpleasant talk."

"Why?" I asked.

"People would assume I got myself a trophy wife," he said. "Or they'd assume you were a gold digger, after my money."

I blinked. I had never really thought about "his money."

"By the time you're the age I am now, I'd be fifty-five," he said. "You'd be in the prime of your life, and I'd be slowing down and getting old."

"That's almost twenty years from now," I said. "That's a whole lifetime away!"

"For you, yes," he said. "But for me, only half as long as I've already been alive."

I said nothing.

"What about your education?" he asked.

That was one of the things I had thought about long and hard on the trip back.

"I've tried to think of occupations I might enjoy, but nothing comes to me. Maybe some day I'll decide I want to do something. I can go to college then. But the time to have children is when you're young and in shape. I love children. I love taking care of children. I want to have your babies, and take care of them. It's not that I want to be a housewife. I want to be your wife, and take care of our family.

"What if Chrissy ends up not approving?"

I had been feeling sorry for myself, and that I just needed to find a way to get out of this torture somehow. I didn't know what to do. I felt awful. He had put forth all the standard reasons why what I wanted would be considered a bad idea by almost everybody.

But when he said "ends up not approving," my mind registered a difference. Everything he had brought up was a possibility. The way he said that about Chrissy, though, sounded like he was expressing concern about a real future.

For the first time since I'd arrived, I had the faintest hope that he was actually considering my proposal seriously.

"Chrissy loves us," I said carefully. I took another sip and realized that my glass was empty. I pushed it toward him and he shook his head.

"You've had plenty," he said. "The last thing you need right now is to get drunk."

"I've never been drunk in my life," I said.

"Well don't start now."

"Chrissy loves us both," I said again. "She wants us both to be happy. If she thought we were both happy, she'd come on board."

"It would change your relationship, though," he said.

Again, he was talking as if it might happen, and he was worried about the possibility there would be conflict.

"Why?" I asked. "I love you already. I'm not jealous of her. The only difference would be that I'd be living with you. Our roles might be reversed in those terms, but why should that affect how we feel about each other?"

"You'd let your husband have extramarital affairs?" His eyebrows rose and he looked shocked.

"You making love with Chrissy would not be an extramarital affair," I said. "It's normal."

"Wow," he said.

"I don't think you get it," I said. "I have been in love with you since I was fourteen. I've never thought of another man in the same terms I think of you. I can't imagine living with another man or having his babies. I've tried to imagine that with other men, and there's nothing there. It's just a big blank. But with you I see this house full of children again... our children. It's so easy to imagine that that it just seems like it has to happen some day."

"And what if I felt like Chrissy was enough ... that I had already had all the children I needed?"

The tears practically burst from my eyes, but I didn't wipe them off. I just let them run down my cheeks.

"I don't know," I whispered.

-------

He got up and came to my side of the table. He held out his hand, and when I stood he held me for a few moments. I tried not to cry, honestly I did, but I was so sad.

He let go of me and sat down. He pulled me onto his lap. I felt huge, tall, and he looked small somehow because his head was below mine.

"You are something," he sighed. I hiccupped. He put a hand on my thigh and went on. "When you were thirteen, you came to a sleepover. There were a bunch of other girls there, and you guys made so much noise I was afraid that the neighbors would complain. Then it got very quiet, suddenly. I was curious. I went to Chrissy's door and peeked in.

I felt a sudden rush of excited shame. I knew exactly what he was going to say next.

"All of you girls were topless and had your hands in your panties."

"Marnie talked us into trying something," I whispered.

"The look on your face was something I'll never forget," he said. "You were in ecstasy. I wanted, at that second, nothing more than to be able to make that look come over your face."

I wiped my cheeks with the palms of my hands. I wasn't crying any more.

"I couldn't forget it. It was the first time I had wanted to be with a woman since Jennifer died."

"I was just a kid," I objected. "I barely had boobs!"

"You were beautiful," he said. "You were captivating. You had so much potential. It practically drove me crazy. And you were here all the time. I managed to wait a year, but then, when you wanted me to play games with you, I lost it."

"You didn't lose it. You barely touched me."

"You have no idea what was going through my mind," he sighed. "I masturbated five times that night. As soon as the game was over I jerked off. I couldn't even get to sleep until I'd done it again. Then I woke up twice more in the night and did it again. In the morning I was sore, but I still had to go again before I could face you at breakfast."

"I never knew."

"You weren't supposed to know," he said. "And when you didn't say anything, I tried to be satisfied with that memory. And it worked, too, until the next sleepover."

"But I slept over lots of times between slumber parties," I said.

"Yes, but you were always with Chrissy."

"And because of sardines..." I said.

"That let me get you alone."

"And each time you had to do more," I said.

"And each time you let me," he sighed.

"Because I already loved you," I said.

"You were too young. I felt terrible. But you didn't get upset about it, so I thought it was all right."

"It was all right."

"Mal ... you came here tonight and asked me to marry you," he said softly. "I can't help but think I warped you when you were too young."

That was just bullshit and I told him so. "Look. Somebody had to get my virginity. It could have been any of a dozen boys I dated in high school. But the thought of letting them do that made my skin crawl. Should I have let one do it anyway? Just to be rid of my troublesome cherry? How would that have not warped me? I wanted you to do it. I dreamed of you doing it. I masturbated endlessly, imagining what it would be like with you on top of me. And it took you years to finally do it!"

"Would you just listen to me?" he asked.

I nodded.

"So there I was, thoroughly captivated and in love with a fifteen year old girl, something nobody on earth would approve of. And there wasn't anything I could do about it."

"You never told me you were in love with me," I complained.

"It wouldn't have been fair to you. It would have messed with your head. It was bad enough I couldn't keep my hands off of you."

"Twice a year?" My voice rose. "You call that being unable to keep your hands off me?"

"If I'd have let myself do what I really wanted, you'd have been pregnant by the time you were fifteen. The least I could do was leave your mind alone."

"All my girly parts are connected to my mind, Bob," I said.

I blinked. I had just called him by his name. That had never happened before. It was so strange, and yet it didn't feel strange at all.

"I was just trying to do the right thing," he said.

"I think everything you did was the perfect thing," I replied.

"When you were fifteen, I'd have chalked that up to puppy love," he said.

"You told me I was in puppy love with you one time," I said.

"You were."

"Well, my puppy grew up and now I'm in doggy love with you." I was amazed I could make a joke.

"I guess that's the point," he said softly. "You can't choose who you fall in love with."

"So what does all this mean?" I asked.

"It means I'm insane," he sighed.

"Well then I'm insane too," I said.

"I agree," he said. "Fortunately, I think you might be as strong as you are crazy."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means you're going to need to be strong, because you are going to be tested severely in the coming months."

"You're saying no," I said, my voice tiny.

He squeezed my thigh.

"No ... I'm saying yes."

-------

I wasn't around when they dropped the atomic bomb on Japan. I wasn't there when President Kennedy was assassinated. I was just a tiny tot when the Berlin wall came down and the cold war ended. But I'm pretty sure I know what the reactions to those things were like.

It took probably an hour for me to get control of myself. Then Bob insisted that we go shopping for a ring.

Three hours later I had a rock on my left finger that made my knees weak.

After that he said we had to go see my parents.

I thought my parents would go completely off the deep end. Bob lied to them by saying he asked me to marry him, and that I had accepted. My mother glanced at my finger, but didn't examine the ring. My parents still didn't believe it. Then they forbade it. Finally I said "I love you both, and I hope that some day you'll come to accept that this is the right decision for me. I understand if you don't want to help plan the wedding." Then we left. Bob said I was harsh. I told him I knew my parents. He wasn't Catholic. They would never approve of the marriage.

On the way back to his house ... our house? ... he asked me what kind of wedding I wanted.

"An immediate one," I said.

"What about friends and family?"

"We already know pretty much how they're going to react, now don't we?" I said. "Why stir them all up. Let's just get married. I want to make love with my husband."

"Damn," he sighed.

I froze. "I forgot to call Chrissy!" I gasped.

He handed me his cell phone. Her name was at the top of the list and I punched it. She answered in the middle of the first ring.

"You better have said yes, Daddy!" she yelled.

I handed him the phone.

"It's for you," I said.

-------

Well, the rest is history, as they say. People did exactly as he predicted they would. Some assumed I was a gold digger (and even called me that to my face on two occasions.) Others accused him of robbing the cradle. Practically everybody thought that the president and CEO of Carter Industries had found himself a trophy wife.

Subsequent events - and a dose of time - resolved most of those issues.

We got married in a very small ceremony. I had seven bridesmaids: Marnie, Linda, Cheryl, Suzie, Debby, Megan and Valerie. Chrissy, of course, was my maid of honor. They threw a hen party for me, at Chrissy's house - Bob was banned from attending - and it was just another sleepover. We didn't play sardines, of course. Instead they got out of me the details of how all this happened. I managed not to burn Chrissy.

Bob took me to Bermuda for our honeymoon. As soon as we got into our bungalow, which had wide open French doors facing the beach and ocean, I took off my clothes and crawled on the bed. I wagged my ass at him and looked over my shoulder.

"I used to be in puppy love with you," I said. "Now I'm in doggy love."

He took me doggy style for the first time. He also slid his hands under me to put them on my still flat belly, just like he had when I was fourteen.

Except that this time that flat belly had life in it ... life he had put there.

He was only mildly upset with me for lying to him about being on the pill during Christmas break. That's when he got me pregnant. I hadn't believed it would happen, like most young women who aren't planning on getting pregnant.

After the honeymoon, while I used up each day loving my husband and little boy, I wrote all that comes before this, trying to understand why people seemed to hate that we could be in love. I put it in a box, along with my diary which, other than eight entries on the day after there was a slumber party at Chrissy's, probably looks just like any other girl's diary of those years. I just found it a few weeks ago and, on a whim, decided to set the record straight.

-------

It was after I gave him twins, a year and a half later that my parents finally came around. Two years after that when our fourth was born, the comments about trophy wives and gold diggers finally faded away. His peers still kid him about robbing the cradle, but it's a compliment now. At twenty-eight, having borne him three daughters and three sons, I'm still running five miles a day, and could still fit in my wedding gown if I had it. I gave it to Chrissy, though. I'm sure she has it in a box somewhere. Somewhere safe from her own three kids. She married Jesse, and they are quite happy together.

Nowadays every other Thanksgiving and every other Christmas at our house is a raucous affair, what with nine kids running around screaming and playing games, while the parents talk, in-between changing diapers or whatever. And I can even ride herd on all nine of them by myself for an hour or two, if need be. Jesse is a geologist, and he travels to far off places, working for one of the big oil companies. It's not unusual for Chrissy to come stay with us part of the time Jessie is gone.

And I am perfectly capable of watching all nine of the kids while she and Bob ... relax and get caught up on things.

How, you ask, might I keep nine children busy for an hour?

That's easy.

We play sardines.


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The End
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Posted:  2010-11-15
Last Modified: 2011-03-17 / 10:07:49 am
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