Chapter 23: Jenny Smokes Them

Lydia

“Well Ladies, I’ll have to leave you to it. I’m off to Holland with Meri today,” Mark said and stood to go.

“Trying to pitch the body painting idea?” I asked him. He nodded and left to meet Meri.

Regina shot me a curious look, and I remembered that neither of us had told her about Mark’s successful ‘side job’. Once I had told her the stories of the charity run and our FHM shooting, Regina’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

“How does that work?” she asked. “Mark gave me an orgasm just by using his tongue on my boobs. I would go ballistic if someone tickled them with a brush for an hour.”

“We found a good solution for us women folk. There’s a desensitizing medicament for sportswomen who are still breastfeeding or have recently stopped.”

“Damn, I would have loved to have something like that. When I was still breastfeeding, I had to go without a shirt most of the time. My nipples were so hypersensitive I could make myself horny like the neighbor’s mutt, just by wearing a shirt.”

“At least you had boobs,” I said, slightly uncomfortable with the memory. “I had little more than two pimples yet, way too little to produce enough milk. I think some of Mark’s fascination with boobs comes from the fact I could only feed him once a day and for the rest of the time he had to make do with being fed formula from a bottle.”

“That’s were the other question comes in. I’ve noticed myself that he was inordinately obsessed with my boobs. How does he paint a whole pair of them without getting, you know, over-excited?”

I had to giggle. “He gets very excited, especially when painting on mine. We just have to find a quiet place to ... take care of him.”

During that little pause in my sentence I sucked on my index finger to give her the clue. Her reaction was not what I had expected. Regina looked positively mortified.

“Shit!” she swore. “He worked me from head to toe and I didn’t even try to return the favor. Not that I would have known how to do it properly, but I should have made the attempt at least.”

Finally getting what her shock was about, I smiled at her.

“He didn’t expect you to. Yesterday was all about you, but if you’re serious about returning the favor, I think I can help you.”

Meri

As so often after a lengthy training ride, and a hundred and thirty miles is mucho longo in my book, my bottom was sore, as were my leg muscles. The long car ride was not helping either. At least I had Mark with me this time, who did his best to distract me from the pains of my battered carcass with his silly jokes.

I hadn’t even bothered with a shower or getting changed. Accordingly ripe was the smell inside our little Nissan. Although we could hire cars quite cheaply through John’s company, Lydia and I had decided to get ourselves our own runabout. Ignoring Mark’s protestations that we should go for a German car, Lydia and I had chosen the Nissan, because we liked the look of it.

As soon as we arrived I intended to make a bee-line for the gym half of the basement, at least as soon as I had unloaded my stuff. It had a small shower next to the sauna and it had a massage bench. Exactly what I needed right now. By the way Mark literally ran off I could only assume he wanted to beat Lydia to the massage bench and call first dibs on being Meri’s physiotherapist-slash-erotic masseur.

How wrong had I been about that. The rascal had run off to put a completely different plan in action. So much became obvious when I had finally made my way downstairs, more than ready for a shower to get the day’s muck off me.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I was greeted by a stunningly beautiful, naked woman – Lydia’s friend Regina. So this was what Mark had hurriedly arranged. Not that I was complaining. Jeez, that girl could give Lydia a run for the money.

“Hello, I’m Regina,” she introduced herself as if we hadn’t done that the evening before. “I’ll be your masseuse for the evening.”

“I’m Meri,” I mock-introduced myself the same way. “And I think I could use some help with the shower.”

Mark

It was a good thing that Jenny had insisted on accompanying auntie Bea to the therapy session in nearby Wilhelmshaven. That meant it would be at least another two hours before they would be back. At the age of five years and 364 days she wasn’t quite ready yet to witness two naked women having fun with each other, lots of fun if the sounds from the basement were anything to go by.

Mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a light wine, cackling like idiots about the moans and shrieks coming from the basement. It wasn’t very gentleman-like that I had ‘forgotten’ to close the door properly, but since Mom and Meri had barged in on Regina and me last night, I only found it fair that I got at least an audible insight into what went on as well.

Not that I needed the clue. About forty minutes later, both Meri and Regina came up to join us in the kitchen. Both were completely cross-eyed and naked from the waist up.

“Darling, we’re completely over-dressed, wouldn’t you say?” mom said and chucked her shirt and her bra.

“If there is a god, he better have one helluva entertainment program running,” I quipped. “This looks a lot better than the after-life.”

Alas, all good things come to an end, usually way to fast. The topless wine party lasted only about an hour, during which all three women seemed quite eager to present themselves, asking me to check their breasts for ‘suspicious knots’. That kind of check had been part of our message during the breast cancer charity run, but it wasn’t the first time that this message had been misappropriated to entertain me. It was quite obvious that mom had been blabbing about by boob fetish again. But I saw no reason to complain.

The festivities were over when we heard the sound of the horrible diesel engine in the Volkswagen bus that had taken Bea and Jenny to Wilhelmshaven and back. My aunt was clearly exhausted from the therapy session, but a seriously looking Jenny led her back to the house, proudly watched from behind the curtains by her still topless mother, an oversight that was corrected by Meri handing her one of her own shirts.

Nobody was too keen on explaining to a near six year old why her mother was half-naked and had finger prints all over her breasts. We would have gotten away with the naked part. They both were from East Germany, like mom and I, but my paw prints all over her boobs would have been a bit of a strech to explain.

Regina

That night I stayed in Meri’s room. After I had been hogging so much attention around here, it was only fair that Lydia and Mark got some time alone. After all, Meri and I were only supposed to be temporary additions to their pairing. In my case probably more like a one-time addition.

But what a time I had had. Being with Mark had been more than what I had dreamed of. From what Lydia had told me I knew that he had been a rather scrawny kid, but as part of obscuring his identity he had become quite a hunk. And the last thing I had expected, was that a guy who looked like he could wrestle a bear would be this gentle.

And then there was his ... thing. Goodness me! Considering what kind of pathetic sausage Jenny’s biological father had unpacked, I was initially terrified. It ended up being heaven, mainly because Mark knew how to wield his sword.

Of course Lydia had put it a bit more bluntly the next morning: “He’s used to doing my rear-end. He knows how to get that thing into tight spaces without doing damage.”

Germany certainly didn’t lose a poet when Lydia decided to go into competitive sports instead.

And Meri, my god! She definitely knew how to please a woman. I had had a handful of bouts with other girls over the last year and a half, and they had been good, but none of them came even close to being with Lydia’s friend.

Returning home to Cottbus would feel even more bleak this time, now that I knew what kind of heaven was out there.

Mark

Regina was still looking apprehensive when the birthday girl unpacked her present. Of course, since Jenny couldn’t read yet, a voucher for a karting session wouldn’t have made much sense. So, against all of Regina’s protestations, we had bought her an appropriately sized helmet and a race suit.

Granted we could have rented both at the karting track, but auntie Bea had told me that there was no way Jenny’s interest in racing was only a kid’s dream. Mom’s sister was much more versed in all things motor racing than mom or I were, as Rita had been a big Formula 1 fan. She could tell that Jenny was way more knowledgeable than just a casual fan. You don’t meet too many six year olds who know what lift-off oversteer is. I certainly didn’t know.

Her reaction was foreseeable. The screech of joy however did also do some damage to our eardrums. She jumped right into her mother’s arms, requiring Regina to feign happiness, which I felt a bit bad about.

We all piled into our cars - mom, Meri and I in the Nissan - and Regina, Bea and Jenny in the Fiesta. With mom being much more comfortable in busy city traffic than Meri, she did the driving with Regina following us closely.

Walking into the indoor karting arena we had to curb little Jenny’s enthusiasm as auntie Bea was in no condition to follow her as quickly as the little one would have preferred. Mom and I remained back in the office, dealing with the payments and the administrative bureaucracy while the others charged ahead.

By the time we arrived at the track, Jenny was already on a bambino kart, one of these little things specifically designed for kids aged six to eight, with a puny little moped engine. Of course she was not yet driving as a young female instructor went through the paces with her, explaining what’s what on the kart.

The first thing I did was organizing a chair for Bea. There was no way she could stand through the whole experience. When I had her settled in, we were joined by a middle aged man who walked straight up to me.

“I’m the Chief instructor around here. Is that your kid?”

“She’s mine,” Regina interrupted hotly, obviously insulted by the fact he had jumped to conclusions.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he corrected himself. “That’s the first time a mother has brought any kid here, let alone a daughter.”

“She’s crazy about this stuff,” Regina said with a shrug.

“How old is she?” the instructor asked.

“Six, as of today.”

He just raised an eye-brow, not willing to get into a pissing match with Regina. Not that he would have had much chance as any small talk was drowned out by the engine on Jenny’s kart being started by the female instructor pushing her kart onto the track. Those puny little hairdryer engines made quite a racket.