Chapter 5

Riley was much more sanguine about the sexual state of affairs at the Robinson house.

She let us go on for about a minute, after her mother and I uncomfortably approached her about the turn intimacy had taken in our family, before Riley held up a hand to stop us.

“Why are you guys so worried?” she asked. “I’m fine. I’m great.”

“We’re worried,” said Amanda, “because it started out as you wearing a sexy bikini, and has progressed to your father, lying on you naked and practically having sex with you!”

“Mom,” said Riley calmly. “Isn’t all this just a product of you being jealous? You know I’m not going to take him away from you. I can’t take him away from you. More importantly, I don’t want to take him away from you. He’s my father, and I like it that way.”

“That isn’t the point,” said Amanda, who kept her cool better than I would have if I was a mother and my daughter said things like that to me. “The point is that this kind of behavior leads to the kind of relationship you can’t sustain, precisely because he is your father. You’re falling in love. I know you don’t think so, but you are. And a woman in love craves to be able to be with her man whenever she wants to. She wants to go out on the town with him, and show him off to her friends. She wants to walk down a street with her arm in his and look at all the other women and send the signal that this one is hers, and they can’t have him!”

Riley looked at both of us and sighed.

“Look,” she said. “I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings here, but I think there might be a little bit of a generation gap going on. I don’t want to show Daddy off to my friends. He’s practically a geezer, for pity’s sake. But he’s cute, and I love him and he makes me feel things nobody else ever has. No, he lets me feel things I’ve glimpsed before, but could never see up close. I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to take him away from you. I just want to play with him a little.”

It was the quintessential situation in which an adult is speaking on one level, based on life experience, and it just sails over a teenager’s head because the teen is on a completely different level. They just don’t get it. And no matter how much the adult tries to explain it, they can’t get it, because their life experience has holes in it a bus could drive through.

Every parent eventually faces that dilemma and comes to the realization that, sometimes, you have to let them crash and burn. All you can do is be there with a fire extinguisher and hope for the best.

“You’re going to get your heart broken,” warned Amanda, giving it one last shot. She was thinking about all the things that could go wrong, the things that could tear our family apart.

“You worry too much. Things will be fine,” said my clueless daughter.

“Not even a whisper of this can get outside the house,” said Amanda.

“Well, duh,” Riley replied. “I know that. That would be the worst possible thing.”

“I’m glad you know that,” sighed her mother.

“If my girlfriends knew how much fun I was having, they’d want to horn in on my action,” said Riley, grinning.

Again, if this was a sex story, things would have accelerated rapidly to the point where I was humping Riley on a daily basis. But this was our life, and life tends to proceed in fits and starts, jerks and skidding stops.

The next ‘fit’ (I’ve always wondered what a fit was, in the context of that phrase) that happened was one Saturday when Riley, naked as the day she was born, came into our bedroom at eight in the morning and crawled into bed with us.

Okay, I guess this is starting to sound like a sex story, but it wasn’t like that. Not really.

It was raining cats and dogs that morning, with thunder and lightning dancing in the sky. It was the perfect morning to stay in bed and just huddle/cuddle under the covers. Riley wanted to huddle/cuddle with us. And she didn’t slip into bed craftily. She pulled the covers off of us and climbed onto the bed, standing on her feet.

“Make room,” she demanded. “I’m cold and I’m scared.”

Then she lay down between us, wedging and wiggling to make a human sandwich.

“Go away!” snapped Amanda.

“No, I’m cold and scared,” said Riley, who didn’t sound as if she was in any distress at all.

“You’re not scared,” grunted her mother.

“And now I’m not cold, either,” said Riley, hugging her mother.

“You’re naked!” said Amanda.

“You are, too.”

“We sleep naked,” said Amanda.

“Me, too.”

“When did you start sleeping naked?”

“I tried it last night. It’s really delicious. It would be better with sheets like yours, though.”

We used sheets that weren’t satin, but kind of felt like it. I think Amanda told me they’re 600 count Egyptian cotton, though why cotton from one place could be better than cotton from another escapes me. I mean cotton is cotton. It’s a plant.

“You can’t just come get in bed with us,” groaned Amanda.

“Why not? I used to do it all the time.”

“When you were six.”

“And now I’m six... teen!“ squealed our daughter.

“Bob, do something with her,” snapped my wife. She’s a morning person, generally speaking, but only after she’s out of bed and dressed.

Riley released her mother and rolled, disrupting the covers. Amanda snatched them back.

“Mom says you can do something with me,” she whispered, at about forty decibels. In case you’re wondering, the average whisper is 30 decibels.

Her hand snaked to find my morning wood.

“Mmmm. Was Daddy thinking about getting frisky with my mother?” she purred.

“No, it means Daddy has to get up and go to the bathroom,” I said.

“Really?”

“Really. It even has a scientific name.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s called nocturnal penile tumescence. And that’s your science lesson for the day. Now let me get up and go deal with it.”

“Awww, you’re no fun,” Riley complained.

I got up and she rolled back to hug her mother again. As I left, Amanda was complaining.

When I got back, they were face to face and Amanda was in a much better mood.

There were things I didn’t know about my wife. One of them was that, at a slumber party she attended, one time, one of the subjects of discussion was whether or not kissing another girl made you a lesbian. I should have said made you into a lesbian, because that was the tenet one girl espoused. Another girl said she’d kissed girls before and wasn’t a lesbian. An argument developed, and then raged, until girls started kissing girls. It started as what amounts to a soft terror campaign, where the girls who were fearful got stalked by the girls who weren’t. But emotions got high and some of the kisses got a little steamy. This was just before Amanda started going out with me and one reason she let me in her panties so easily was because she was worried that she had enjoyed a few of those kisses a little too much.

Now, after sixteen years of happy heterosexuality, kissing another girl (at least kissing Riley) no longer scared her.

And, just like I was attracted to our sweet daughter, Amanda could feel that kind of tug, too.

I mentioned Amanda is a morning person after she gets dressed. The exception to that is that she likes sex in the morning.

They weren’t having sex, or anything. They were just being very, very close in a very, very intimate sort of way.

A peal of thunder alerted me to the weather situation and water cascading down the bedroom window told me how hard it was raining.

I climbed back in bed.

Both women ignored me for ten minutes, as they whispered to each other. I heard something that made my ears prick up.

“Are you two kissing?” I asked.

“A little bit,” said Amanda. “Does that bother you?”

“Bother, no,” I replied. “Surprise, yes.”

“I’ve never kissed anybody like that,” said Riley.

“Like how?” I asked. I admit I was feeling lonely, like someone is at a party when nobody is paying attention to them.

“Her lips are so soft, and warm. She doesn’t push hard, and she doesn’t try to stick her tongue down my throat.”

“And just who has tried to stick his tongue down your throat?” I asked, as blood flowed to my muscles, to prepare me to go thrash some punk.

“It doesn’t matter. I decided not to go out with him again.”

My body relaxed, but I didn’t feel good. I imagine I felt like a hunter who has just missed his quarry with an arrow and it’s run away.

“Can I kiss Daddy now?” asked Riley.

“No,” came the firm voice of my wife.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s a really good kisser and you’ll get excited.”

“I’m already excited.”

That little three word phrase sent blood rushing to another ‘muscle’ in my body.

“Why did you come here?” asked Amanda.

“To snuggle. It’s raining, and the thunder made me think of back when I did come get in bed with you because I was scared.”

“You did that to feel safe. If you start kissing your father, you won’t feel safe very long.”

“He could never do anything that would make me scared,” said my daughter.

“May I remind you that you’re not on the pill?”

“May I remind you that sperm has to get inside the vagina before it becomes dangerous?”

“Fine! Learn the hard way,” growled my wife. I felt Riley roll toward me and looked to see she was being pushed.

“Hi, Daddy,” she grinned as she wiggled up next to me.

Amanda rolled over and faced away from us. She pulled the covers up to her ear.

“Please try to be quiet as you run off the cliff,” she muttered.

I was already lying on my side. I’d been watching Amanda’s hand drifting over Riley’s back as they cuddled. I was hard as stone and, as Riley cuddled up to me, it pressed into her belly. She reached to feel it and whispered, “I love it when it gets hard like that.”

I realized that Riley had brushed her teeth before she came to get in bed with us. I’d done the same thing when I went to relieve my bladder. I did that pretty routinely, since Amanda got frisky in the morning sometimes. There’s nothing like morning breath to spoil the mood.

Riley removed her hand and just wiggled, trying to touch as much of my skin with as much of her skin as possible. It wasn’t overtly sexual. It was foreplay, but she didn’t know that. To her, it just felt good.

It made my prick leak, though. Her face was right there.

So I kissed her.

I have to say it was a traditional male sort of kiss. While her mother had more or less brushed lips with her, a kind of mutual stroking, or massage of the lips, I crushed her lips and my tongue did not behave itself. I heard her take air through her nose, a rushing attempt to get her lungs full. I knew my whiskers were poking her tender skin, but the sudden passion that flooded my body didn’t care. My hand went to her lower back and I pulled her against my erection, pushing that against her as hard as my lips were pressing hers.

I didn’t eat her face, or anything. I just gave her a very passionate kiss. And passion like that can be clearly transmitted from kisser to kissee.

It is one thing for a girl to have a boy she sort of likes, but doesn’t know very well, try to stick his tongue in her mouth. It is another when a man she loves does it.

Her excitement level was already raised, and that kiss was like the High Striker at the fair, where you use a huge mallet to smash the lever that sends the puck flying up, hopefully to ring the bell.

To keep the analogy going, that kiss made the puck go halfway up. And, as you know if you’ve ever seen some macho guy playing the game ... if he doesn’t ring the bell on the first try, he forks over another ticket to try again.

Our kiss didn’t make much noise. And, since we have one of those beds they advertise by placing a wine glass on one side, and dropping a bowling ball on the other (the wine glass doesn’t tip), Amanda didn’t feel us wiggling around. That kiss led to another, as my hand touched her back everywhere I could reach. Riley ended up mostly on top of me.

There was a pause to breathe, and she wiggled higher so she could reach my ear with her lips. I barely heard her whisper.

“I’ve never been kissed like that, either.”

“Good,” I mouthed.

She wanted another kiss. I did, too.

The problem was that she didn’t scoot back down before she kissed me.

She scooted back down after the kiss started.

When she’d scooted up, it was enough that my penis slid over her mons and between her closed thighs.

When she scooted back down, it was just like when I’d been sitting on her thighs, rubbing sun screen on her back.

The tip of my cock nosed between her sloppy pussy lips, and wedged them open.

“Mmmm,” she murmured into my mouth.

She scooted down, fractionally.

I felt it happening. I could have stopped her. All it would have taken was for me to push her off, or roll away from her. My cock would have slapped back against my belly and I could have rolled back to continue our embrace safely.

Well ... more or less safely. You get the idea.

But I didn’t do that. I lay there, kissing her, as in super slow motion she wiggled until the head of my prick was being clamped in hot pussy.

I started to pull my lips away, but her hand came to the back of my head and held me in the kiss.

There was nothing even remotely tentative about her actions.

Instinct slammed into me and I gave a little jerk with my hips.

The sound she made as four inches of hard cock slid into her might have been an “Uhhh! or even an “Owww,” but our lips were sealed and the noise came through her nose and cheeks.

Amanda heard that, though, and, finally, my wife reacted.

“What’s going on over there?” she asked, raising her head.

Now Riley pulled her lips away.

“Nothing,” she panted. “Daddy’s kissing me.”

Amanda rolled over and faced us. I felt her hand move the covers right about where Riley’s hip was.

Sanity resumed and I pulled my penis out of my daughter. I promptly replaced it with my middle finger.

Riley was sharp as a tack.

“He has his finger in me, too. It feels reeeealy good.”

“I’m jealous again,” sighed Amanda.

“You can have him in a second,” said my daughter. “I’m almost there.”

I went to town on her and she popped.

I crawled over her, getting exclamations about how heavy I was, and found my wife ready for me.

As I kissed her, her hand guided my cock to her waiting pussy. She sighed as I filled her and kissed me.

I stayed deep in her, just moving my hips to massage her clit. I could tell by the force of her fingers on my back as she got closer and closer. When she came, it was a hard one, the kind that forces a sound from her throat that would convince a bystander she was dying, in agony. I felt another hand on my back and looked to find Riley right next to us. She had tears in her eyes and I watched as one broke loose and sipped over the bridge of her nose.