“I sure want to get some of THAT!” I announced as Ella and I watched her naked big brother through his bedroom window as he worked his oily cock.
“You’d take him to bed?” A little surprise in Ella’s voice, but no disapproval. “I’m sure that could be arranged,” she whispered. “He complains that women his age think he’s too young and too small to notice. He says he just ‘can’t get lucky.’ Oh, and another thing,” she confided. “He thinks you’re hot.”
“He said?”
“Not exactly. He told me he hears us sometimes and imagines what we must be doing to make such a racket. ‘What would that be?’ I asked him, and he’s like, ‘I just imagine you’re doin’ that fine tall white girl’s snatch, and that gets me goin’, and I do myself thinkin’ about doin’ her myself.”
“Do you think he fantasizes about you, too? You’re way more gorgeous,” I confess.
There’s a pause as we are transfixed by the show. Ben has his long curved unit well oiled and he’s teasing himself while flexing his muscles in the mirror. “He’s left-handed,” I whisper to myself. He turns away, and we both moan. I try working my eye magnet on him: ‘Turn, turn toward us, turn...’
And he does! As he turns, the light catches a droplet of crystal clear pre-cum on his cock tip. He deftly harvests it with his forefinger and puts lifts it to his tongue. With a single voice, we both go, “Yum.”
At last, attention to Ben teasing his erect rod becomes sufficiently undemanding for Ella to process my question. “I think about incest, a lot. Ben is definitely aware of my body, looking down my blouse when I bend over, watching my ass when I pass by. He ‘accidentally’ walks in on me showering, and I admit it turns me on that he wants to see me. I get wet when he gets hard seeing me in my undies. I admit that happens more often when Mama’s away. You and I haven’t been that bashful about letting him know we’re all over each other, especially when she’s not home. You notice he leaves his door open sometimes when you stay over, and neither of us is afraid to walk to the bathroom naked when it’s just us at home. But he’s a traditional boy. And he’s got you to fantasize about.” Musingly, “He has a beautiful dick, don’t you think?”
“Do you think about him? “ I started to ask, but then we both froze, as it was clear that the show’s climax was nearing. Tiny’s admirable member seemed to swell as his stroking accelerated, and suddenly an absolute fountain of milky white cum began spurting from its tip. We were both holding our breath and Ella’s fingers, having reached my clit, stopped their explorations while we watched the spurting diminish.
“I sure do NOW,” she admitted. “I never saw that part of the act before.”
Ben milked the last of his abundant cum out of his prick into his palm and, to our mutual surprise, lifted his hand to his mouth and licked it off. Turning to the window, and with his slowly softening cock in his hand, waved it and his right hand to us, and then reached to pull down his shade.
– o –
Back in Ella’s room, with three of her fingers inside me and her tongue thrumming my button, I quickly came, releasing a bundle of tension. “Ooo, that was nice. I’ve never seen you so wet,” she said, guiding my head between her legs to return the favor. She too was swampy and sweet smelling. “I guess you like what you saw.”
“Mmmmmm.” was all I could say with my lips sucking her juicy flower into my mouth. In those days, I could have spent hours snuffling about her gorgeous pussy while twiddling her nips.
After our debilitating orgasms, we cuddled, legs entangled, our wetness warm against each other’s thighs. “He knew we were there all the time, didn’t he?” I asked.
Ella giggled. “Yup. I have thanked him for the show before. But that last act was new, and, I bet, for your benefit.”
“Got me really hot,” I admitted. “I’m sure that for me, this ‘sex stuff’ is more about love than anything else.” And that, I think, was the first time I heard myself saying how I felt for Ella. “But I’m curious, and he seems like such a clean, safe boy. If I’m going to get fucked. I can’t think of a better way than with his gorgeous dick.” And, to myself, ‘and I am going to get fucked – sooner than later!’
As if she heard me, Ella asked, “You mean, you’d like him to be your first?”
“If I thought he’d be ready to go again, I’d do it right now,” I confessed.
“Nunh-unh,” Ella disagreed. “We have to make an event out of it. You’ve got your eighteenth coming up in June.”
“Oooo, I think Mom’s thinking about going to Cambridge to meet up with Dad pretty soon after school’s out. Would that work?”
“So we’d have your house to ourselves? We could pretend to be having a graduation dinner, and tell Ben he was one of several invited.” Ella was thinking out loud, “That way, when it was just the three of us and Alice, you’d be able to convince Ben to comfort you because the others didn’t show up . . .”
“What’s he like to eat?”
In mock horror, Ella riposted, “I never ate him!” and then pursued the thought: “I bet you’ll get him liking eating pussy!” And scootched herself down the bed to suit her action to her words. I was more than ready and spread myself wide. Her knowing tongue bathed my swollen nether lips and teased my clit before she swooped in and engulfed the little man in the boat with her mouth. “Mmmm, hmmm,” she hummed, as my orgasm blew the top of my head off. An encore that Ben must have heard.
And then we began planning our mutual Eighteenth Birthday, Graduation, Coming Out, and Seduction dinner fit for royalty.
– o –
“What do you think about vaginal orgasms?” asked Alice. We were slowly emerging from a post-orgasmic stupor, lying entangled together on the Saturday night after school closed when Mom had thoughtfully accepted a speaking engagement in Monterey.
“Hunh? I thought orgasms were all clitoral,” I ventured.
“I don’t think so,” advised Ella. “My clit certainly contributed to what I just experienced, but the thing that sent me over the falls was sweet Alice’s middle finger pumping the front wall of my cunt.”
“Okay, Ali, what do you know?” I was pretty much immune to my Mom’s orgasmic theories, having already enthusiastically assumed them as my own. But Alice was becoming our designated body oracle and sex pioneer.
“Well, you know that spongy little mass just inside your pussy, right behind your clit?”
“No, I don’t,” I answered honestly.
“Shuush,” said Ella, up on one elbow and looking at Alice intently. “I think I do. Show me?” A pregnant pause while Alice obligingly oiled her right hand and worked three fingers into Ella’s vagina. “Oooo! You mean, right there? That feels awesome! Oooo!”
“If you hadn’t just, do you think you could come just from me pressing . . . here?” Alice queried.
Ella was breathing unevenly, gasping in breaths, “Any...” quick breath “...time...” big intake, and then her body arched, her nipples contracted, and a blush passed across her dusky cheeks “NOW!” Alice smiled at me, surprised. For her, this unbridled intimacy was very new, and she was still adjusting.
“Happy to help,” she offered wryly. “But, Gracey, you see my point? Would you let me see if I can find your spot?” How could I resist?
“Only if you’ll let me look for yours after,” I said.
The upshot of our research replicated Dr. Gräfenberg’s: I am apparently among the roughly half of women for whom vaginal orgasms are unlikely. Alice, on the other hand – well, on my right middle finger to be precise, proved herself to be vaginally multi-orgasmic. The little tart! I couldn’t help being a little envious.
Mom got home in the middle of the night, and by the time she arose in the morning, we three were a-twitter to share our findings. She already knew about Gräfenberg’s research and was personally skeptical. Around the brunch table, for the first time, we four women discussed our differences, and Mom accepted the idea that she and I weren’t ‘well endowed’ but El and Ali might be. “It’s interesting, but not that important,” Mom asserted, looking at me directly, “as long as you’re having good orgasms?”
Still a little dazzled, and even a little sore from our first night together with Alice – I had lost count of my orgasms – it was easy to assure her that I was doing superbly in that department. Mom’s response, “Just another testimony to the supernumerary nature of the penis, don’t you think?”
To which my girls took sharp exception, with Alice being, as usual, the most expressive: “We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we, Ella?”
– o –
Sixty years later, slowly emerging from post-coital bliss after awakening on a Sunday morning, Ella confesses, “it was your finger on my G-spot that got me there this morning. Thank you.” Then, after a thoughtful pause, “So much has changed! We’ve learned so much in a lifetime. Why do you s’pose...” and her forehead wrinkled into deep thinking mode, “It took our species so many, well, millennia! to discover that not all women can climax simply from penetration?”
“Or,” I felt duty bound to add, “that so many women could. Maybe because women’s pleasure hasn’t been high on the prevailing agenda? Until our lifetimes.”
“Now that,” declared Ella, “is something to be grateful for! But you know what I’d be even more grateful for right now? Your version of a Denver omelet!”
