My Jean - Chapter 19
BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)
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Margi
Whatever tension there had been the previous day between
Jean and me was quickly dissipated in a day of glorious diving on
the Wall at Little Cayman. Our group was uncharacteristically
small. Margi, of course was our Dive Master. Ian and Jan joined
us and that was it, just us five while Gladys' other guests
choose to take the day off.
Margi said she'd like to dive with us and asked if we might
stay well within a safe profile, for she wanted Ian and Jan to
stay closer to her. My selfish desire to not be encumbered with
less experienced divers was far outweighed by the fun of having
Margi along to point out those fascinating sights visible only to
the knowledgeable. By the end of the day, we returned in high
spirits, laughing and affectionately kidding each other.
"God! Don't you two BREATHE down there?" Jan asked on the
trip back.
Jean answered, "Sure we do, but not as often I guess."
Jan protested, "I don't see how you do it. I get a little
short of breath just with the excitement of it all. And then
there's the work of the sport . . ."
"If you're *working* at it, you're not doing it right. It
can be almost effortless and if you're not working hard, then
you're not using up a lot of air."
They fell into a conversation with Jean explaining that they
both carried far too much weight. Soon their conversation had
become a distant buzz. I'd tuned out.
A hand touched my shoulder and I turned to smile at Margi.
"How's it feel to be back, Billy?"
"I can't tell you how alive I feel. It's somewhere between
wonderful and unbelievable"
"Jean told me that you thought I was a snot."
I was embarrassed. "Well, 'snot' wasn't exactly the
expression."
"Stuck up? Indifferent?
I couldn't see her eyes behind her sun glasses, but that she
might see me better, I lifted my glasses as I spoke to her.
"First, I'm sorry. I apologize. I had no right to expect
anything special. You've always been friendly and fair with me."
Margi reached out and touched my arm. "No, no . . .
please don't think of this as a complaint or a confrontation.
It's just that I want us to be friends and I don't wanna appear
stuck-up."
I still had a lot of questions about her last year's
behavior, but in the spirit of cooperation, I extended my hand
and said, "Let's do be friends." I wondered if I sounded as
stiff as I felt?
She ignored my hand and grabbed me behind the neck, pulling
us together for a quick kiss on the lips. "It's a deal."
A deal? Now I had a deal with two woman, I thought to
myself, but certainly different deals. The earlier deal with
Jean had to do with sexuality. This one with Margi had to do
only with being friends . . . or so I thought.
Back at Pirate's Pub as we were washing our gear, Margi
proposed getting together that night after dinner to listen to a
few new CD's she had recently purchased. "I know you've heard
"Enigma" but I've only caught a few cuts on the radio back home.
I'd love to hear all of it with you two guys."
I'd been thinking how Jean and I might spend a little time
together but when she replied to Margi with warm enthusiasm, I
put that expectation aside for the moment. And if I was
entertaining any remote hopes of getting to know Margi better -
you know, as in making out - it'd have to be another day. Oh
well. <sigh>
Sure enough, right after an extraordinary meal from Gladys,
Margi came over to our table and said, "We still on?"
Jean glanced at me and then without waiting, said, "You bet!
I'm looking forward to it. Aren't you, Billy?"
"Sure am," I replied with all the confidence of a who
has no idea just what he's looking forward to. If nothing else,
I was willing to let things unfold without my direction.
"Cool! I'll get some CD's from my room and come right over
to yours, OK?"
"See you there," Jean called to Margi's retreating back,
then turned to me and asked, "Ready?"
"Uh . . . I'm ready to go *back*. Is there somethin' else I
should be ready for?"
Jean gave me a funny smile and said, "What do you mean?"
"Nothin' I guess," I answered, getting up from the table,
still with the faint notion that there was something I was
missing. But then, that wasn't a new feeling. There were times
when I thought that if an instruction book had been passed out on
'How to do Life,' I'd missed it.
It'd cooled off a little after sunset but the oscillating
fans still created a downdraft of sweet, cooling air and I
sprawled out under one, arms out thrown.
"I'm going to take another shower," said Jean. "If Margi
gets here before I'm done, entertain her, okay?"
I could hear her humming some tune in the bathroom through
the open door. A moment later, her clothes came flying out the
doorway, piece by piece, landing in a disordered heap by her bed,
last and on top of the pile.
If I got up and peered around the corner, I'd likely catch
her nude, I thought and then smiled to myself. We'd grown
increasingly casual about dressing and undressing in front of
each other, but I still thought in terms of trying to peek at
her. There seemed to be something naughty and delicious about
peeking. If I called her, she'd probably walk out nude, but it
just wouldn't be the same. Maybe I needed to get away with
something. I was pondering that when I heard Margi's voice
outside the screen.
"Hi, Billy. Can I come in?"
"Sure, come on in, but I'm not dressed for company." I
suppose I offered that as an excuse for wearing nothing more than
the shorts I'd left on.
"You naked?" she asked with a little excitement in her
voice.
"Nope. Got shorts on."
"Darn," she said as she walked through the door.
"Thought I'd get even for you gawking at my last year."
"Margi, if it'd be an acceptable exchange - my being naked
for the chance to look at your - why I'll take 'em off
right now!"
She laughed but didn't reply to that. Instead, she asked,
"Where's Jean?"
I cocked my head toward the bathroom door and almost on cue,
the shower started. "She's freshening up."
"I think it's really neat that you are so open and
comfortable with each other that you share a room this way. I
wish I had a like you."
Gesturing toward the pile of discarded clothes on the floor,
I said, "Jean's not exactly a neat freak as you can see."
"Wait'll you see my room," Margi replied, rolling her eyes.
I caught that she didn't say, 'If you could see my room.'
"Let me ask you something, Billy. I mean, it's kinda
personal. You mind?"
I shrugged. "Don't know. Guess you'll have to ask and
find out. If it is, I'll tell you, okay?"
"Well, it's like this. I'm a and I'm aware of what
do, especially around other girls. Good lookin' girls, I
mean."
I nodded. So far, I understood the words by not the
direction. "Yeah?"
She wasn't making eye contact with me and I thought her
cheeks were a bit pink. Was she embarrassed about something?
"Uh . . . yeah. It's like they're always, uh . . . checkin'
'em out, you know?"
I shook my head to indicate that I didn't know.
"YOU know," she protested, "Like they're always looking at
their figures and all."
"So? I do that all the time."
"But your sister?"
"Why not?" I asked. "Don't you think she's good lookin'?
I sure do."
"Well . . . sure . . . but . . . I mean, doesn't it
sometimes 'bother' you that she's so good lookin' and you two are
so close and all?"
"Margi, you think I'm or somethin'?"
"God, NO!" she almost shouted and then blushing, added in a
quieter voice, "No, not you. That's not what I mean. I mean,
you're all guy and she's a . . . a really sexy and all.
Don't that bother you?"
I was beginning to catch her drift. "I think I see where
you're going with this. You're wondering how I can travel with
Jean and be so physically close to her and not be . . . excited?
As that it?"
Nodding, she answered, "Yeah, somethin' like that."
In an unusual and unbidden action, I walked over and picked
up Jean's from the pile of clothes and held them to my
face a moment before chucking them into her lap. "Things like
this you mean?"
Margi gasped, literally gasped and stared at me with round
yes.
Jean's voice sang out from the bathroom over the sound of
the shower, "Margi, he trying to embarrass you with my panties?"
She laughed. Margi was holding Jean's and looked
confused.
Jean continued, "He did that with me a few years ago. Don't
let him get to you."
I jacked my thumb toward the bathroom and rolled my eyes,
then I said, "We tease each other a lot."
Holding up the panties, Margi asked, "Like this?"
"The first time he did it, he held them up to his nose and
smelled them!" Jean stood in the bathroom door, a towel wrapped
around her body and one on her head, her face shiny and beaded
with water as she smiled at us.
"Smelled them?" Margi asked, eyes wide with astonishment.
Then turning to me, she asked, "Did you really?"
By this time my face was burning. Jean and I were frank
with each other and save our little talk with Mom, we'd not come
out of the closet about our mutual attraction to each other.
Where was Jean going with this?
Attempting to put on a bold face, I said, "Yes. Really. I
guess it's the pheromones."
"Fero . . .?"
Jean chimed in, "The scent of a woman's sex that appeals to
a man, that turns him on. You know, Margi. You've smelled
yourself, I'm sure."
By this time, Margi was as as I was and with Jean's
accusation that *she* had a sexy odor, she began to fidget,
looking back and forth between us and then at the she
still held, perhaps wondering how's she'd get out of this. She
was probably used to hitting on her, perhaps even girls, but
she hadn't ever encountered a situation quite like this, I was
sure.
"No . . . well . . . sure, doesn't everyone . . . but who .
. . I mean yuck, who *wants* to smell *that*?"
"Billy does," Jean offered, sitting on the bed and drying
her hair. With her arms up, the tops of her were pulled
out of the towel a tantalizing bit. I watched, fascinated,
wondering what the hell kept the towel up anyway?
Margi looked at me as if to ask again, really?
"Sure he does. Most do, don't they Billy?"
Jean was dragging me into this loaded conversation, like it
or not.
"I can't talk for 'most guys,' but it's true. There's
something powerfully attractive about the feminine odor. More
than attractive, it's exciting. Maybe I'm a perv. I don't give
a shit. I love it." I finished that declaration in a rush.
"I don't know . . . I mean, I was always so embarrassed . .
." Margi started.
"Yeah, me too," Jean piped in, "but my muffin here gave me a different view of it."
I was watching the towel slip by millimeters, hopefully
waiting and not certain whether to be proud or embarrassed by
Jean's disclosure.
*That's* what we were talkin' about," Margi jumped in, "I
never knew anybody like you two . . . I mean . . . and
. . . and so close. You know?"
"Let me ask *you* something, Margi?"
Margi looked up at Jean and nodded. I thought I could see
Jean's areola peeking from the top of the bath towel.
"Do you think Billy's a sexy hunk?"
Christ, I wished they'd stop talking about me in the third
person . . . like I wasn't even there!
Margi slid a glance in my direction and then idly wrapping
Jean around her finger, blushed and nodded.
"Well, so do I," Jean declared. "Because he's my doesn't change that." She hitched the towel up an inch or so and
continued, "He's also my best friend. I'd trust him with my life
and I think he feels the same way. There's nothing . . . well,
almost nothing . . . that I can't talk with him about. We share
are feelings, Margi . . . our deepest feelings and I know he'll
never judge me. We LIKE each other. Does that make sense to
you?"
Margi was looking unfocused at the window, seeming to
contemplate her thoughts. "Yeah . . . it makes sense . . .
it's just that . . ."
"Just what, Margi?"
"Well, I don't know . . . I mean, I never had a connection
with anyone like that. Someone I could trust, I mean. Someone
who wouldn't take advantage of me, I guess."
"We *are* lucky, aren't we, Billy?"
More at ease now, I could smile and say, "A professor of
mine often says, 'It's better to be lucky than good.'"
Jean rubbed her hair vigorously and the towel dropped into
her lap, her full bouncing, the nipples erect.
Margi gasped. I stared.
Jean looked down, laughed and said, "Oh screw it."
It was silent for a few moments as we all were acutely aware
of this fork in the road. Jean had upped the ante. Now it was
in our laps.
I ran with it. "Don't you think Jean has beautiful tits,
Margi?"
Margi appeared to be reeling from one emotional blow to
another, stunned, not knowing whether to run or stay. She asked
Jean, "Doesn't that bother you? Billy looking, I mean?"
"It woulda a couple of years ago," she answered, mimicking
Margi's pronunciation a little, "but now it doesn't. In fact, I
like it!"
"But it seems so . . . so sexual, don't you think?"
"I hope so!" Jean replied with a chuckle. That's some of
the fun of it. Oh, there's a real comfort in not being tied up in
false modesty, but above that, there's a sweet charge that we
admire each other."
"It sounds like . . . I mean, I've always been so shocked at
the idea of . . ."
"Incest?" Jean asked, cutting to the chase.
Margi again looked at the floor and made a ball of Jean's
panties. "I wasn't going to call it that," she protested,
"but SOMEthing like that I guess."
"Would it make you feel any better if I told you that Billy
and I don't fuck?"
Jean almost never used the "F" word with me. I was startled
to hear it come out so easily.
Margi became beet and sputtered in her confusion, "I
didn't think . . . I mean . . ."
"Bullshit!" Jean said with a large smile. "You see
Billy and I sharing a room, me half naked in front of him,
admitting that he turns me on . . . you you're telling me you
didn't think . . .?"
It was getting too warm for me, despite the fact that we
were talking about my favorite subject, me. I fell back on what
I did so well. I ran. "You can continue this chat. I'm
going to take a shower." They hardly looked up.
Retreating into the bathroom, I stripped, and copying Jean's
actions, I threw my shorts and briefs out the door as if to say,
"Here's MY underpants, girls." Brave, huh?
I strained to hear what they might be saying, but their
voices were reduced to a muted murmur, so I gave up and jumped
into the shower. Starting out hot and then finishing up with a
cold shower, I felt physically renewed. As often happened, I'd
sprouted a woodie in the shower, perhaps because I so religiously
washed it. So, drying off I took my time, waiting for the boner
to subside.
In the periphery of my vision, I saw motion out the bathroom
doorway. Looking that way, I say that a dresser mirror gave me a
view into the room and the movement I'd noted was Jean and Margi.
Jean was holding up a bikini top, apparently offering it to our
guest. She'd lost the towel and was wearing only a pair of
panties, while Margi was still wearing her shorts and a T-shirt.
I froze, aware that I'd walked into a scene. I couldn't
hear all the words, just a few here and there. Margi, who's back
was to the mirror, was facing away from me while Jean offered a
frontal view. Margi was shaking her head and Jean said something
like, ". . . he's in the bathroom." She pushed the bikini top to
Margi again who apparently needed just that much coaxing, for she
said something and then pulled her T-shirt off. I was right. No
bra. I could see her bare back and the side of one as she
accepted the top from Jean.
As Margi was looking down, adjusting the front of the
bathing suit top, I glanced at Jean and found her looking right
into my eyes! She knew! Before I could move, she looked back and
Margi and made some minute adjustment and then picked up the
bottom of the suit and said, "Here, try this."
Margi glanced at the bathroom door. Had she looked in the
mirror, she'd have seen me, but she didn't. I turned on the
faucet in the sink and began making noises as if I were occupied,
still watching the scene unfold in the mirror.
Again, making up her mind, Margi quickly skinned out of her
shorts and and for a moment, I saw her bare ass. That
might be her best feature, I thought. It was like Jean's. She
had a narrow waist and jutting buttocks that were made more
striking for their whiteness atop her tanned thighs. As she
stepped into the bikini bottom, I had a too brief view of her
through her legs. Her lips appeared to be shaven and they
were wonderfully prominent as she bent over.
I looked again at Jean who surreptitiously motioned to me to
come out. Jean appeared to have a plan and was in control. I
didn't ponder the decision. Instead, I wrapped a towel around my
waist and stepped into the room. "Nice!" I commented, staring
at Margi.
They both faced me as one and Jean asked, "So, what do you
think, Billy? How's Margi look in something more glamorous?" As
she said this, Jean pulled the bikini bottoms from the back as if
to 'adjust' them but what it really served was to pull them into
Margi's crotch all the snugger.
Pointedly staring at the outline of her feminine slit, I
leered and said, "Glamorous indeed."
To my surprise, Margi didn't protest Jean's blatant actions.
Instead, she pointed at my crotch and said, "No one had to pull
your towel tight, did they?"
In the excitement of the moment, I'd forgotten my woodie. I
didn't have to look down to know it was making a prominent and
unmistakable tent in the towel. At this point, I didn't care.
Actually, I was feeling a bit proud of myself and said something
like, "Well, it's you guys' fault!"
Jean, clearly the instigator in this play, kept things alive
by pulling the string tie of Margi's top with one hand and
snatching it off her body with the other, completely baring her
pert tits.
"There! Now we're even." Jean laughed and threw the bikini
top to me.
Margi tried to cover her for a moment and then gave
up in laughter. I was mesmerized by the two sets of in
front of me. Jean's were larger and mostly tanned while Margi's
were a bit smaller but with larger nipples and paradoxically,
very white. It was clear that her and her ass didn't see
the sun very often.
"Truth or dare time," Jean announced.
"God, what else'we got to lose," asked Margi.
"Nothing much, 'cept our psychological defenses," I
suggested.
"What'ya mean, psychological . . .? Margi asked sitting on
the floor, legs crossed Indian style. I liked how it pulled the
crotch of her suit into her pussy.
"It's like this," Jean explained, "do you mind so much right
now that Billy can see your nipples?"
Margi glanced down at her turgid, erect nips and said, "Well
. . . not so much right now. I mean, YOU uncovered me . . . and
'sides, your are showing too."
"That's just what I mean. You have a psychological defense
or even a justification for showing us your tits. My being bare
makes it all right and more, since I uncovered you, it's not your
fault."
Margi nodded. I could see where this was going and sat down
to watch with interest, mindful of the fact that the towel was
not covering much.
Jean sat, also Indian style. Her dark pubic hair was
clearly evident through the thin crotch of her panties. "So,
the end result is that we . . . Billy, actually . . . gets to see
your nipples. But . . ." then she paused for dramatic effect,
"what if . . ." another pause, "what if I said to you, say as you
were wearing a blouse or a T-shirt . . . what if I said to you,
'Margi, pull up your and show Billy your tits.'? Then how'd
you feel?"
"Oh . . . that'd be different. I couldn't do that."
"Sure you could, and you'd love it. That's the
psychological part. It adds an edge. It makes it more exciting.
just know this, huh, Billy? just know that the
partially nude woman is far more exciting than the completely
nude one, huh?" She addressed the last part at me, seeking
confirmation.
I replied, "Sure. Why do you think Jean's just wearing
panties? She coulda put on shorts, even a if she wanted.
She knows how sexy casual undress can be. More, it's the tease.
The psychological game adds to the tease which, of course, adds a
delicious edge to anything sexual." Turning it back to Jean, I
added, "Aren't I right?"
"Of course you're right, you horny lech," she laughed and
reached over to flip up a corner of my towel, exposing part of my
scrotum. "And if he wasn't sporting such a boner, you'd be
able to see it too."
"You said something about Truth or Dare?" I asked,
attempting to keep things rolling and turning the attention away
from me.
"Yes! This is no simple strip poker game. Heck, we each
have just one article of clothing on anyway, so getting totally
nude is no big deal, but if we do this right, we can add several
layers to the excitement by psychological Truth or Dare."
Jean didn't ask Margi if she wanted to play, she just
continued to set out the rules. I'd seen Jean's daring and
strong side before, but never so pronounced. I was usually the
aggressive one but now I was quite content to see this assertive
side of Jean express itself.
She finished, "So you see, it's nothing more than a form of
spin-the- bottle."
"Can I watch someone else go first?" asked Margi, a little
skeptically.
"OK, I'll go first," I offered. I'm so magnanimous at
times. I spun the bottle and it ended up pointing at me.
"Nothing there," I said as I spun it again. This time it ended
up between Margi and Jean, but closer to Jean. "It's you, kid.
Truth or Dare?"
"Oh goody," cried Jean. "I want a dare!"
"How'd I know you'd say that?" I smiled at Margi. "She's
such an exhibitionist!"
"Come on, come on, big . . . what's your dare?"
"OK, smartass. As I recall, you trimmed your before
coming down here, right?"
Jean gave me a wolfish grin and nodded eagerly.
"Then, your dare, should you choose to accept it, is to pull
the crotch of your aside and show us!"
I knew Jean'd milk this one. She'd do it. Hell, she
*wanted* to do it, but more, she wanted to make a production of
it. She wanted to add some psychological tension to it. I'd
counted on that.
"Billy!" she exclaimed in mock indignation, "My are
one thing. Even my panties. But you want me to uncover my . . .
my sex and SHOW myself to you and Margi?"
I nodded gravely. "If you dare,"
"But . . . but that's private! I mean, that's so intimate,
looking right at my . . ." and then she added in a very small
voice, "my pussy."
Margi's eyes were bouncing back and forth between me and
Jean, first my eyes, then her crotch. She squirmed a bit.
"Would you tell anybody?" Jean asked.
"Not me," I answered in my best sincere voice. "But
Margi, she might. How about it, would you, Margi?"
Margi looked at us with wide, round eyes and slowly shook
her head, "Not me neither," she intoned.
"There, see, you're safe with us. Now show us, wimp!"
Jean looked dubious as her hand fell to her lap. Curling a
finger into the crotch of her panties, she paused. Jean was
giving me an opportunity to crank up the current, I knew.
Pointing, I said, "Say, Jean. Is the crotch of your wet? You or somethin'?"
She flushed. Perhaps she hadn't wanted me to turn up the
intimacy current so high after all. But her finger stayed there,
pulling the material a few millimeters, enough to see the outside
of one lip. Margi stared, hypnotized.
Jean turned to Margi and explained, "He's up to his tricks again. He'd embarrassed me with that one before. You'd
think I'd get used to it, wouldn't you?"
I went for another notch on the intimacy rheostat. "Is
that you I smell, Jean?"
"See what I mean?" Jean said to Margi, who looked like she
was ready to fall through the floor.
Turning to me, she announced, "Yes, they are wet and I'll
let you figure out with what. And for all you know, that's Margi
you're smelling."
At that point, Margi reddened again and cupped her crotch as
if she might stem the flow of odoriferous pheromones.
I sensed that Jean had taken this as far as it would go on
our first Truth or Dare.
"OK," she said, "this goes against my better judgment, but
here's my trim job!" With that, she pulled the crotch of her
well to the side, exposing all. No cheap flash here. I
admired her bare lips slightly parted by her position as
well as the lush dark curls atop her mons for the full twenty or
thirty seconds she gave us.
Shaking my head in admiration, I passed the bottle to Jean
who let her snap back into her crotch. She held the
bottle in her lap, stoking the neck idly as she grinned as us.
Nodding to Jean's masturbation of the bottle neck, I said to
Margi, "She always had a serious case of penis envy."
"You're darn right!" Jean agreed. "I always wanted to be
able to write my name in the snow." Then she turned to Margi,
holding the neck of the bottle in her fist and pointing it at
her, she asked, "You ever write *your* name in the snow?"
Margi surprised both of us by saying, "Yeah, several times,"
and then she laughed, "but I could never dot the i."
"See!" Jean said to me.
See what, I wondered? Yet, I liked the image of Margi
trying to her name in the snow. I wondered if there was some
way I could work that into Truth or Dare . . . even without the
snow? Keep 'em off balance, Jean had once advised me.
"Now *I* get to spin the bottle." She emphasized the "I"
part, as if that had special portent.
I knew she'd somehow manage to skip Margi and that I'd be
the next 'volunteer.' Sure enough, when the bottle looked like
it was going to stop near Margi, Jean grabbed it and said, "And
that was one of my allowed practice spins."
Practice spins? I never knew anyone who could make up Truth
or Dare rules faster than Jean.
The next spin pointed at her and the third spin pointed
roughly in my sector.
"Another practice spin?" I asked, already knowing the
answer.
"Nope, big boy. That was for real. You're IT! Truth or
Dare?"
I already knew that no matter what I picked, it'd be
embarrassing. So I'd leave it up to fate, in this case, the
second hand of my watch. I'd occasionally employed this
scientific technique when I'd narrowed a multiple choice down to
two equally attractive answers. The second hand between twelve
and six was Truth and between six and twelve was Dare. The random
chance of my watch's second hand decided my fate. "Truth," I
declared with far more confidence than I felt.
Jean commented to Margi, "I know most of Billy's secrets
already, so I need to ask a question in an area he and I haven't
explored before."
That's all she needed to say. I could see it coming. The
'new' element here was Margi. The bottle hadn't pointed at her,
yet she'd be pulled into Jean's web, I just knew it.
Trying to fend it off, I attempted a first strike.
"She's gonna ask me something embarrassing about you, Margi."
Syrupy sweet, Jean agreed, "Of course I am. We all know
that."
I wasn't sure Margi knew, but I sure as hell did.
Turning to our hapless guest, Jean started, "Can you
imagine, Margi?" and then she pointedly looked me up and down,
"that this overgrown kid, this lunk, once told me he'd like to
put his nose in my CROTCH! Is that sick or what?"
By this time, Margi was getting the picture. She could see
Jean's flair for the dramatic, for overstatement, for hyperbole.
She glanced at me through lowered eye lashes and smiled. Probably
a smile of sympathy.
Her voice raising, Jean went on, "I mean, my own BROTHER!
In my *crotch*!"
I looked at that crotch. Now it was definitely wet. I
checked Margi's and I think it was as well, but the color of the
bikini bottom made it difficult to say with certainty. So,
Jean's gambit had something to do with me and Margi's crotch. I
mean, how many possibilities can you come up with?
"So, here's my Truth question, Billy! Ready?"
As if my readiness made any difference. I rubbed my eyes
with my fingers and nodded. Hell, it was like asking the on
the gallows if he was ready. Everyone knew what was going to
happen.
Being sure to include Margi in this, she asked, "And you
Margi . . . you ready?"
Margi was still holding her crotch, I imagined more to keep
my nose out than her scent in. She nodded dumbly. Her areolae
were puckered and pebbled. So were Jean's.
"Now Billy, I know you had the hots for Margi last year.
You told me so, remember?"
Grasping at straws, I asked, "Is *that* my Truth question?"
"Hell no! We're just setting the stage here and if you
don't admit it, I'll tell her right now everything you told me
last year!"
I couldn't remember the details of what I'd said last year
and afraid I might have been more lurid than I'd be comfortable
admitting, I caved in, just as Jean knew I would. "Yes,
that's true."
"What's true?" Jean goaded me.
"That I had the . . . uh . . . 'hots' for Margi last year,"
I mumbled.
"You hear that, Margi?"
I heard a breathy yes in reply. Jean knew darn well that
Margi had heard me.
"So tell me, dear . . . and this is just a
hypothetical question you understand . . . IF I'd asked you last
year if you wanted to put your nose in *Margi's* crotch . . . if
I'd asked you that, what would you have replied?"
My mind raced for an out here, partly for the fun of it, and
partly because I was getting increasingly excited and
increasingly sheepish.
"Nothing hypothetical about that question," I began.
Jean, in her best debating style, cut me off and said,
"Answer the question please."
"Yes, you know I would. I even said that last year."
Actually, I don't think I ever said that, but what the hell . . .
Embellishing the lie, Jean picked up on it and said, "Yes, I
remember that well. You went on for the longest time how you'd
like to sniff in her crotch and that you'd give anything to kiss
her there." Turning to Margi, she added, "My brother's such a
horn dog. You'd better be careful of him, I tell you!"
Before Margi could reply, Jean picked it up again. "So
tell me, Billy. Now that you've got your poor innocent down to her panties, almost defenseless and now that you've
maneuvered this guileless sweet here," gesturing to Margi,
"into sitting in front of you in nothing but the skimpy bottom of
my bathing suit . . . are you going to tell us that you've
reformed? That you're no longer interested in our . . . our places? Do you expect us to believe that for a minute?"
"Of course I do," I remonstrated. I mean, think about it.
A guy as pure as me . . . as pure as the new-driven snow . . . a
guy who helps little ladies across the street and gives
quarters to panhandlers . . . surely you can't believe that I
entertain any thoughts other than chaste ones!"
Jean leaned over and ripped my towel aside, baring my
hard-on. It was almost quivering, so chaste were my thoughts.
"Now *there's* purity," Jean announced, pointing at my
woodie.
I hung my head, still looking at Margi's crotch through my
lashes.
Adjusting the crotch of her own panties, Jean said, "So
there! Now we're ready for my question. You ready?"
"No," I answered truthfully.
"Good," she replied. "Here's the question . . ." and she
paused.
"You ever see a Truth or Dare game last so long on one spin
of the bottle?" I asked no one in particular. Margi shook her
head.
As if I hadn't interrupted her, Jean continued, " . . . and
the question is: Do you wanna go down on Margi tonight?"
Even though I saw it coming a long time ago, even though I
had time to put on my emotional armor, it sill struck with
freight-train impact. Here's this we knew from last year, a
we'd been diving with one day this trip, and we're near
nude, sitting in a circle, me with an erection pointing to the
ceiling and we're talking about my going down on her! This wasn't
going the way I imagined it al all. I was much better!
"Before I answer that - and I will - I'd like to ask Margi a
few questions." I knew Jean wouldn't object to this deviation of
whatever loose set of rules pretended to govern this game.
"Of course. You have that right." Jean pronounced with
authority.
Cripes, the only "rights" we had were those we made up, I
thought.
"Before I answer, there's a couple of things I'd like to
know . . . so I can frame my answer better you understand."
"I understand," Jean said solemnly, again adjusting her
crotch, flashing us in the process.
"Well, for starters, before I can speak to uh . . . 'going
down' on Margi . . ." I paused and she flushed, adjusting her own
crotch, "I need to know, ah, Margi . . . have you had someone go
down on you?" I left it sexless on purpose. I'm not sure why.
Margi looked at Jean as if to ask, do I have to answer?
Jean nodded and made a get-on-with-it motion with her hands.
Margi looked at me a moment and then looked down, nodding
her head.
"Is that a 'yes'?" I asked.
She nodded again.
"Margi, I can't hear you," I protested.
"Yes!" she whispered, almost in a hiss.
Pushing it, I asked, "Many times?"
"Yes!" Louder.
"And now, most important, Margi, did you LIKE it?"
She pulled her legs up and leaned on her knees, her smashed against her thighs. She opened her mouth as if to speak,
but nothing came out.
"Margi, I need to know. My answer depends on what you say.
Did you LIKE it?"
She mumbled something. I couldn't make it out. "I
couldn't hear that, Margi."
She looked up and almost shouted, "I LOVED IT!"
The tension in the room was thick. I looked at Jean and she
gave me a thumbs up sign. Margi wasn't looking at anything,
except perhaps that same spot on the floor. I wonder if she had
it memorized?
"Now I'm ready to answer your question, Jean. But just in
case I've disremembered it, would you ask it again?"
"I'll be glad to. Do you remember what I asked, Margi?"
Head down, she nodded vigorously.
"Good. Then I think it'd have more erotic impact if you
told Billy what my question was. Why don't you do that, girl?"
Still speaking to the carpet, Margi said, "You asked him if
he wanted to uh . . . go down on me."
"Tonight," Jean prompted.
"Uh . . . tonight," Margi added.
"Is that a question or a proposal?" I asked.
Jean smiled. No one said anything for a moment.
"Margi?" I prompted.
Turning to Jean, Margi asked, "Do I hafta?"
"Margi, Margi. You don't 'hafta' do anything. This is a
game. We can say or do anything we want." She paused and then
added, "Just as long as its consensual and safe."
"Margi, it's OK to say no." I said, "Remember, it's just a
fun game and we're all playing together. No one's the victim
here."
"Proposal," Margi mumbled. And then without prodding, she
said in a louder voice, "It's a proposal!"
"That Billy go down on you tonight?" Jean asked.
"Oh shit!" Margi cried, "I don't know what you guys're gonna
think of me, but I'm so on edge, I'm so damn horny I'm about
ready to bust. I really DO want Billy to go down on me. Like
now."
"And you, Billy?" Jean asked. "You still haven't
answered my question or even Margi's question. Do YOU wanna bury
your head between her thighs? Do you want to tongue her pussy,
Billy?"
By way of answering, I stood and pulled Margi to her feet,
turning her back to Jean and held her by her shoulders. I
pointed to Margi's swimsuit bottom and without further prompting,
Jean reached up and pulled them off her hips, letting the bikini
puddle about her ankles.
Margi looked a question at me and I nodded. She stepped out
of them and now stood before me, totally nude. I held her by the
shoulders at arm's length and looked her up and down. Her
dark-haired bush stood out in marked contrast to her white belly.
A thin line of hair pointed to her belly button.
Glancing down, I saw Jean pick up the swimsuit bottom and
hold it to her nose. "Ripe," she declared and threw them up
at me.
I pulled them to my face as Margi squirmed before me.
"Yes, quite ripe," I agreed. "Now I know who I was smelling a
little while ago."
Margi flushed again.
"Do you want me to leave?" Jean asked.
If she really wanted to leave, she wouldn't have asked. I
knew that. But more, I *wanted* her to say. She was a part of
this seduction and I wanted her to stay with me, to stay with us.
"No, don't leave," I asked. "After all, we've just spun
the bottle twice."
End 19
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