Copyright © 1997 BillyG. ALL Rights Reserved.
This may not be reproduced in any form for profit
without the written permission of the author. This may be freely distributed with this notice attached.
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The Sisters, Sally and Gerry
BillyG
There was a period in my teen years when I was
uncharacteristically positive about few things in life.
This stance, so antithetical to how I would have people
think of me, was operative only secretly. On the surface,
what I lacked in self confidence, I compensated with
bravado. Not a loud, in-your-face, strutting bravado, but
more a quiet, act-as-if behavior. Yet, one of the facets of
my personality about which I *was* certain was my lust for
women. Not, mind you, a woman. But women. Plural. That
both the broad brush strokes of our culture as well as the
more narrowly defined constraints of our local society
didn't condone such a view was clear, even to an insensitive
teenage male such as me. I may have been a libertine at
heart, but I wasn't dumb about it. I kept my views to
myself.
I was, at the time, dating a girl, a high-school
cheerleader, named Sally. Our relationship wasn't "serious"
- there was never anything approaching commitment, at least
on my part. I was spared that near-fatal, teen-age malady
known as "falling in love." Oh, I recognized readily that
I'd fallen in lust, but that's quite another matter.
Sally was attractive, sexy, and very enthusiastic. She
loved to fuck. That was it, the whole of it, readily
summarized. Aside from that, we didn't have much of a
relationship. Part of that was due to my own
superficiality, I'm sure. Another part was a consequence of
Sally's limited interest in life's matters distanced from
fornication. I suppose that might be said another way:
Sally was an attractive and very horny air head with no
particular concerns or interests beyond getting laid.
Her interest and enthusiasm for things sexual knew few
bounds and even as a lustful teenage male with an ingrown
hard-on, there were times when she asked for more than I
could deliver. It may be that there were nymphomaniacal
elements there; even then I recognized this dilemma as a
quality problem.
I'm attempting to set the stage for the main thrust of
this little story. You see, Sally was the youngest of five
and all her sisters were as attractive. More, they
were sexy and to a one, knew of our affair. Somehow, that
carried a charge for me. Knowing that they knew added
considerable spice to the whole thing. Despite being fully
sated with Sally, I remained keenly aware of her sisters. I
didn't suppose I'd "make out" with any of them; heck, they
were so much older. Three of them must have been in their
early and mid twenties for God's sake! Still, no woman was
*too* old, I reasoned.
Sally was from an in our home town and like
many families, they named their children after even
members. Her real name was Sara and her next
- she was probably about three years than
Sally - was named Geraldine. No one - at least no one in
our generation - called her Geraldine. Gerry was the most
commonly used affectionate diminutive.
Anyway, Gerry was a raven-haired beauty with dark,
snapping eyes and a sensuous, mostly unsmiling mouth. It
wasn't that she was grim or lacked a sense of humor. It
just appeared that her natural countenance was serious and
unsmiling. She had a way of looking at me that made me
squirm a little. It was as if she knew something about me
and expected an explanation.
The rational side of me knew this was only my
self-centered fear speaking to me while the emotional (read
irrational) side of me knew with a certainty that I'd been
found out. She could see my licentious thoughts written
across my face. And with good reason. At a later stage in
my life I figured out why I felt guilty so often. Usually I
*was*!
You see, Gerry was a knockout, a sex bomb. She had a
fantastic figure with prominent and a nice jutting
butt. She had a habit of reaching with her right hand,
under her left into her left arm pit as she was
talking with me. This served to push her up and in,
accenting the visible cleavage. I was powerless; I had to
stare. Often, I suspected, she didn't wear a bra. Sometimes
when I'd give her a hug, I'd be sure of it. She was chief
among my illusionary women and an active masturbation
fantasy. Her dark-eyed serious stare was often interpreted
by me as representing her knowledge of my unbridled lust. Of
course, that made it all the juicier.
Back to the story: Once Sally and I were sitting
together in her living room. Actually, she was sitting on
my lap as I sat in a large, over-stuffed chair as we often
did. We'd been whispering and engaging in some low grade
petting. It was the custom of her to stay in the
room, rarely venturing into the living room it
seemed. Perhaps it was because we were there and they were
giving us space, but in any event, it had come to be held by
us as a safe place to mess around. Sally was wearing a long
and full skirt and was curled on my lap in such a way that
it was easy and natural for me to slip my hand under her
dress and into her to play with her pussy.
Sally secreted copiously when she was aroused, and that
was most of the time when we were together. In addition to
the lubricity, her secretions had a strong and sexy musk.
Once, after a heavy petting session with Sally, I'd climbed
into the car of a friend and he said, "Lordy, you smell like
a French whore house." I briefly wondered how he
knew...about French bawdy houses, that is. But back then,
I'd grown accustomed to the odor and didn't realize how
strong it was.
Gerry walked through the living room from her bedroom
upstairs and then stopped, looking at us, not speaking. I
froze. At that moment, there was no way I could remove my
hand without being obvious. She turned and walked over to
our chair, still not speaking. She leaned over and sniffed
the air. Busted! I was a goner, I just knew it.
Still without smiling, she said, "Nice to see you,
Billy," and walked out of the room. Christ! What did that
mean?
I whispered to Sally, "What did she mean by that?"
"Oh, she's just teasing you," Sally replied, giving it
no more thought.
"Jesus, she must have been able to smell you," I
argued.
"Yeah? So what?"
So what indeed. I knew the social dynamics of her
were leagues removed from my own. I had no notion of
how things worked in this and decided to do what I
usually did when I didn't fully understand. Shut up and
listen, try to figure it out.
Gerry seemed to be around more after that incident. It
was nothing intrusive or objectionable, it was just that I
was aware of her more than usual. Her comments, usually
pithy, became even more pointed, particularly around
allusions to sex. Her hugs were warmer and definitely
fuller. I was always aware of her tits; now I knew what
they felt like, pressed into my chest. My fantasies soared.
Once when she was wearing tight shorts, she bent over
in front of me to pick up the paper. This pulled the shorts
tight across her ass, outlining the underneath and
pulling the crotch of the shorts tightly into her. The
white, half-moons of her buttocks were calling out, "Look at
me!" I was staring, trying to make out if I could see her
lips, when she looked back at me from her upside down
position. "See anything you like?" she asked. The best I
could manage was a smile and a nod.
What was the allure here? Why is it, I wondered then,
did I find other women so attractive when I had all I could
comfortably handle? I must admit that with my marginal
maturation, things haven't changed a lot. I'm much like the
alcoholic who admits that the drink he's most interested in
is the *next* one.
The resemblance among the sisters was
remarkable. While their body types differed a bit, their
coloration, eyes and hair notably, were characteristic.
Sally was willowy while Gerry was fuller. Perhaps
exaggerated is a better description, for everything about
her was just a bit on the bold and exotic side. Her cheek
bones were slightly more prominent and her lips just as bit
fuller. She had an improbably small waist that threw into
greater eminence her full and wide hips. She wasn't
nearly plump enough to be called Rubenesque. Yes,
exaggerated is a good term.
I was vaguely aware that while her maintained a
heightened concern about appearances, there was an undertone
of "there's nothing wrong here and don't you tell." While
no one spoke of it or acknowledged it in any way, I was
aware that Gerry had been "dating" a serviceman. This took
the form of them disappearing upstairs in her bed room, not
to surface for a week. Everyone walked around this elephant
without talking about it. Mostly I was jealous of the
serviceman.
One warm afternoon Sally, Gerry and I were chatting in
their room, a bright place with lots of plants and a
southern exposure. We'd been looking at photo albums
together, sitting on a pillow-strewn day bed. I can't
remember how I came to be sitting on the day bed in the
first place, but I remember well that Gerry came and sat
beside me, the bed sinking just enough that her thigh
pressed against mine. I had to turn my head to speak to her
and I was acutely aware how close our faces were to each
other. I noticed gold flecks in her eyes I'd not seen
before and how her eye brows were. She had a spray of
light freckles across her nose. Her teeth were remarkably
white and perfectly even. She wet her lips frequently as we
chatted and I was increasingly aware of her warm breath. I
tried not to look, but my eyes were drawn to the front of
her which gapped open when she turned toward me or
leaned forward. No bra there it was clearly evident.
Several times I was certain she'd seen me staring and a few
times I thought the corners of her mouth turned up
fractionally.
Thereafter, most of the interaction was between Sally
and Gerry, chatting about this memory or that person. I had
little more than polite interest in the pictures of dead
relatives and it showed. It was a warm day and little air
was moving. I lay back and closed my eyes for a moment as
they argued about the people seen in an photograph.
Their voices droned on and became distant. I guess I fell
asleep.
When I awoke again, the house was quiet and the
lengthening shadows suggested I'd been asleep for an hour or
more. Looking to the left, I saw Sally, apparently asleep.
On the right was Gerry. She looked back and smiled, holding
a forefinger up to her lips. We were all covered by a throw
blanket. I didn't know how I came to be between them but I
thought Gerry may have actually dozed off as well, for she
had one knee thrown over my thigh. Slowly awakening, we
stirred. I became exquisitely aware of Gerry's body pressed
against mine. In the readjustment, Gerry's hand had moved
down to my low belly, only inches from the tip of my dick.
It lurched and I wondered if anyone besides me could feel
the movement. Yeah, yeah, I know...grandiose thinking.
Moving my right hand that had been wedged between me
and Gerry, I suddenly realized that it was right next to her
crotch. I could feel the softness of her thighs and the
roundness of her mons against the back of my hand. God!
There was nothing separating me from Gerry's but her
dress and panties.
A plan spontaneously hatched and, as with most of my
lust-driven brilliant ideas, I didn't subject this scheme to
even the briefest consideration, I just acted. As Gerry
traced circles on my chest, I began to inch up her dress
with only the tips of my fingers, a decidedly slow but
delicious task.
Could I get away with such an audacious transgression,
feeling up my girlfriend's as we all lay
"innocently" under a blanket? My rational brain said, "Of
course not," Fortunately, or unfortunately, that part of my
brain was not in control. I suspect my more primitive hind
brain was calling the shots and it said, "Go for it, Billy.
You deserve it, you sexy devil you."
My lecherous intent had to have been unmistakable to
Gerry. I'd inch up her dress a bit and then press the back
of my hand to her mons. She'd answer by rubbing her knee up
and down my thigh. Subtlety was lost on us.
I felt something, a finger, no, a hand against the
bulge of my cock. Who was it? They were both facing me,
both with their legs over mine. It could be either one. My
brain was frying from over stimulation. Sally, now awake,
was nuzzling against my neck and talking to Gerry just
across my Adam's apple.
"Isn't this cozy?" Sally asked, kissing my neck.
Was she talking to me? Hell, there wasn't a prayer I'd
be able to talk much less think. I just continued to inch.
After a moment, Gerry answered, "Yes. I'm enjoying
being with both a you guys. It's kinda sexy, huh? I mean,
all of us in bed together."
"Kinda," Sally admitted, "but we've got all our clothes
on," she complained in a fake petulant voice.
I wasn't sure if this was a complaint, an argument or a
suggestion. I thought of a solution but wisely chose to stay
quiet and continue my inching. Suddenly my fingers touched
warm soft, bare thigh. I pulled the hem up higher and ran
the tips of my fingers across Gerry's skin. How close was I?
Could I pull it up higher? What about the part of her dress
that was trapped under her leg?
As if reading my mind, Gerry adjusted her position on
the day bed and in the process, lifted her hip and pulled
her dress up and out of my hand. Since that accounted for
her free hand and there was still a hand cupping my cock and
balls, I knew it had to be Sally copping a feel.
I was thrilled with the entire thing. My girlfriend
snuggling against me, caressing my cock while her sexy was on the other side pushing her mound against my
hand. I knew it was naughty at best and possibly forbidden
at worst, yet that made it all the more delicious. Was this
a form of second-hand, non-consensual incest? I
rationalized my behavior by thinking to myself, "They *both*
want you, Billy." The very worst part of such errant
nonsense was I believed it!
I pulled my left arm up and wrapped it around Sally's
shoulders, leaving the back of my right hand against Gerry's
prominent mound. Now I was touching her warm right
over the cushy mons but there was a problem. I couldn't
turn my hand around to really feel between her legs.
She solved my problem by further turning into me,
ostensibly to reach across and run her fingers along Sally's
face. But what it really accomplished was to turn her
pelvis down toward my hand and by rolling the palm up, I
could cup her fully.
I thought to distract Sally by caressing her tits, so I
slid my hand off her shoulder and across her chest while my
left arm was wrapped around her neck. Even though the
blanket was covering us, the bulge of my hand moving under
the blanket's cover was evident to everyone. Both Sally and
Gerry could see my hand groping Sally's breast. Neither
said anything. We all fell silent. The only audible sound
was our breathing. It sounded deep and passionate, or was
that just me?
Gerry was doing a slow, erotic grind into my upturned
hand and at the same time, Sally was pressing her crotch
into my thigh. I took my girlfriend for granted. At this
moment, it was her who had my attention. As I cupped
her soft through her soaked panties, I ran a finger
along her cleft, gradually sinking in deeper, carrying the
crotch with me. Somehow I managed to get my fingers
inside the legs of her to cup her full, hairy cunt.
By this time, she was increasing the intensity of her pelvic
grind at the same time she was tracing lines about Sally's
mouth.
Sally loved to have her face touched. It had a near
hypnotic effect on her and Gerry must have known it. I was
only dimly aware that she had been able to carry out two
tasks at once. Like me, one of these "tasks" might have
been purely instinctual, a no-brainer as it were.
I'd slipped my hand inside Sally's blouse and bra and
was idly rolling her hard, erect nipple between thumb and
forefinger, then tugging on it. When I pulled hard, she
groaned just a little. Gerry was watching me and when I
looked over at Sally, she was watching Gerry watching me.
Both of the sisters were light complected and both were
brunettes, with near-black hair. Sally, I knew, had a broad
and bush of long, black curly pubic hair. I wondered
if this was a genetic trait that also ran in the family? I
managed to extricate my hand from Gerry's crotch and run it
down inside the waistband of her panties, assessing the
quality of her hair. If anything, it was thicker and
more profuse than Sally's and by now, matted soggy wet
between her thighs. I felt a strong compulsion to smell my
fingers but couldn't figure a way to accomplish such an
overt act without being obvious.
After rolling Gerry's prominent clit between my
fingers, I curled one, then two fingers into her cunt. She
gave a soft grunt and humped against me harder. My own
pelvis continued to work against Sally's hand which was now
gripping my cock through my trousers. I wanted her to open
my fly and stroke me, but didn't know how to ask. I mean,
how *do* you ask for a hand job in polite company?
Glancing at Sally, I noticed she had a puzzled frown.
Her nostrils were dilating as she sniffed the air. Then I
smelled it. Pussy! She must have know it wasn't her's, for
she suddenly looked at me as if to ask, "Where is that smell coming from?"
Her hand slid off my cock and found my right forearm.
She followed it under her sister's belly and then pushed her
hand between Gerry's thighs where she found my hand. As
guilty as I felt at that moment, I knew there was no chance
of me stopping. This was some run-away train of erotic
desire; I was aboard and it was an express.
When I glanced over at Gerry, she had her eyes closed.
She could feel both my hand in her and her sister's
hand feeling mine. She simply chose not to deal with it.
Ignore it. Maybe it'll go away.
Looking back at Sally, she met my eyes with a confused
and look. She didn't say anything right then, but I
knew the erotic moment was over. I'd been caught with my
hand in the cookie jar...well, not quite a cookie jar, but
certainly caught. I suppose I was coming from the emotional
high ground, knowing that she cared for me more than I cared
for her. I didn't want to her, but I'd already moved
into that space that allows to happen whatever is going to
happen. Whatever it was, it was all right.
Sally pulled her hand away from my mine as Gerry's hand
dropped to the I was feeling. I felt empty in my
pelvis, neglected even and I wanted to be held. As if
reading my desires, Gerry then ran her hand down my torso
and cupped my cock, slowly stroking me as she humped against
my hand. Moments later, she shuddered and groaned as she
crashed over the top.
I wanted desperately to cum, but the situation was too
weird. It just didn't happen that way. Instead, we all lay
quietly, no one saying anything. I'd practiced a studied
imperturbability so long, it actually worked. I fell
asleep. Later, when I awoke, Gerry was gone and Sally was
curled up next to me.
"You okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned.
"I suppose you're Gerry's boyfriend now, huh?" Sally
asked with a catch in her voice.
"Sally," I began, "I'm attracted to Gerry...hell, I'm
attracted to all you girls. Sure, I'd love to jump her
bones, but there's no romance budding here. I'm not her
boyfriend and she's not my girlfriend. You are."
"Really?" she asked, wiping a tear from her eye. "Are
we still boyfriend-girlfriend?"
I nodded.
"Oh, good. I didn't mind you feeling up Gerry, I just
was afraid that you'd want her all the time and not me. I'm
so glad I'm still your girl."
I knew Sally well enough to realize it was that simple
for her. She didn't complicate her life with lengthy
analysis. Our relationship, narrow and limited as it was,
limped on. Less than a year later, we just drifted apart.
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