In the Long Run
Copyright© 2024 by The Horse With No Name
Chapter 69: Being Idiots
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 69: Being Idiots - Mark and Lydia hit a lot of bumps during the cold war and fate eventually brings them to the other side of the globe, but even there the challenges don't end. This is the founding story of my planned "It's always the Germans" universe, which will be created when this story reaches the year 1998.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Consensual Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Sports Incest Mother Son Light Bond Anal Sex Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Pegging Petting Nudism
Mark
Unsurprisingly, I was feeling a bit second-hand in the afternoon. Everyone who has ever tried to evade a hang-over by topping up with a beer or two in the morning, knows that the effect is temporary at best. Humanity still has not found a way to evade the consequences of over-indulgence.
But it wasn’t dramatically bad either. While the ladies spent some time practicing on the roll or frolicking around in the pool, I was only too happy to lie on one of the deck chairs doing absolutely nothing.
I let out an ‘oof’ when a completely naked Meri sat down in my lap, facing me. Her massive boobs threw a lot of shade.
“I’ve heard, you and Lydia have been talking about Mario and Ilka?” she asked me.
I nodded. “I’m surprised that you have an interest in that.”
“It’s not so much about me,” Meri explained. “We’ve been traveling a lot lately, and usually it’s Regina who stays at home, looking after the kids. She’s getting way too little time with you. And that inevitably impacts her relationship with me. Things have not been all smooth sailing lately.”
“And you think, Mario could stand in when I’m away,” I noted.
“It’s at least an idea,” Meri said and shrugged. “We all seem to trust him, and he’s old enough not to get us into trouble. On top of it, we’d actually be helping Ilka out.”
“That’s where you are wrong,” I pointed out. “He could get us into trouble.”
Meri looked at me, astonished. “I thought the age of consent is fourteen in Germany? And he’ll be fifteen in October.”
“It is,” I explained. “But there are a few caveats if one partner is younger than eighteen and the other one is over twenty-one. The term mutual consent is very strictly defined in that case. Now, none of you would ever coerce him into anything, so it would be perfectly consensual and perfectly legal, but we are public figures. Some dirty hack gets wind that any of you seduced a teenager and you’ll have a sensationalist article about abuse of a position of power adorning the front page the next day.”
“Sometimes it sucks to be celebrity,” Meri sighed. “He’s actually a really nice guy. You don’t find too many teens behaving this maturely.”
“As I said, I’m not concerned that any of you would force anything, so it isn’t actually a legal problem. I think we need to speak to both Mario and Ilka first. Telling a teenager that he can never brag about the fact that he has bedded an Olympic champion is the point I’m worried about. That requires maturity far beyond his years.”
“Ah,” Meri said as she understood where I was coming from. “You’re concerned that the young gentleman would not only enjoy, but also talk.”
I nodded. “Now, I’ve met him a few times on the construction site by now, and I think he’s almost scarily level-headed for his age, but I really want to make sure this won’t cause trouble down the road.”
“But it sounds as if you’re not concerned by the idea as such,” Meri noted.
“Not at all,” I confirmed. “Ilka and Mario remind me of Lydia and myself. They have many of the same challenges that we faced, mainly due to the age difference. And, truth be told, I wouldn’t mind some help once in a while. None of you is exactly undemanding and I’m not eighteen anymore.”
Meri snickered. “And how will you go about it then?”
“The evening after your farewell race, we’ll have a barbecue at home – the full Monty with campfire and everything. We’ll invite them and use the opportunity to talk to both of them. We’ll play it by the ear from there.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Meri agreed.
Lydia
Although I had reacquainted myself with actually being German over the last few years, I was still happy to come home to our old place in Pasadena. The memories of finally finding peace in my life by coming here would forever be with me. Who knew if I would ever have had a career at all, had I stayed in West Germany in 1988. For all we knew, the Stasi would simply have tried to abduct me again or, even worse, they would have taken the Lutz Eigendorf route and simply offed me by making sure I would have ‘an accident’.
Those thoughts came rushing back to my mind all at the same time and before I could do the damnedest thing about it, I spontaneously started crying, overwhelmed by the memories.
Meri and Nadja looked at me in shock about my sudden emotional breakdown, but Mark seemed to know instinctively what was happening to me and he shot up from his deckchair and rushed over to hug me tightly.
Meri and Nadja were still confused, but when Mark said “bad memories”, both immediately understood and made it a group hug. Having gone through a fair share of shit under a dictatorship herself, Nadja even started to weep too.
Mark
“I think you never even told me what had happened before you came here,” Meri said as we sat around the table in the dining room. “I know you fled East Germany, but not much more than the few bits and pieces you told Letterman back in the day.”
“The Stasi tried to abduct me,” Lydia said. “It was sheer luck that I was going home with someone from the boxing team. I normally went on my own. Suddenly a car stopped and two big guys tried to drag me into it. Jens, the guy who was walking with me, beat both of them to within an inch of their lives.”
“So this shit really happened?” Meri said, shocked. “I’ve heard about the secret police trying to abduct East Germans who had fled to the West, but I had always thought it was exaggerated.”
Nadia shook her head. “It was the same in the Soviet Union. The East German Stasi was modeled after the KGB. There is certainly no exaggeration there.”
“So that was why you came here,” Meri realized and Lydia nodded.
“Jebus H. Christ on a pogo stick!” Meri continued. “Doesn’t that make our costumes for the Idiotarod a bit inappropriate? I mean, we’re dressing up as the stereotypical German soldiers, spiked helmet and all.”
“To the contrary,” I explained. “They aren’t actual uniforms, they are fantasy uniforms. We borrowed them from a theater in Berlin. They are used in a famous German play called ‘The Captain of Köpenick’.”
“Kapetan s Kyopenika,” Nadja said in Russian. “I’ve heard about that in school. I think it is a parody, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “It is about an ex-convict cobbler who has been badly treated due to his low social status and his poverty. He gets himself a Captain’s uniform and since Prussians were conditioned to be deferential to the military he suddenly was someone, despite not being an actual Captain. He eventually ‘confiscated’ the town’s treasury, taking revenge for being hard done by in the past.”
“I hope you don’t rely on Americans knowing that association,” Meri replied. “I consider myself partially educated and I certainly had no idea about that. For me those costumes just look like stereotypical imperial German uniforms from the 1910s.”
“That’s because they are supposed to,” I said. “Do you remember the WaPo article after you won your first national championship and Lydia won the time trial? ‘The Germans win both American Titles’. Ever since then the American media have taken to call us ‘The Germans’ especially after that Magazine article.”
“Which is funny,” Lydia took over. “Because technically none of us is. You, Mark and I are US citizens. As far as the public knows, I’m the only one who was born in Germany. Nadja is Russian, but now an Icelandic citizen. So technically none of us is really a German. We just live there.”
“Ah, so you want to stick it to them by posing as stereotypical Germans,” Meri finally understood. “That’s actually a neat idea.”
“Yep, and since the uniforms are theater props they have a hidden zip,” I explained. “That allows you to flaunt your bits in the special zone,” I said, chuckling. “If your tits fall out of that uniform the other teams will definitely be distracted.”
“Speaking of big tits,” Lydia said and giggled. “You do know that you better be well prepared when Rhonda comes here tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “It has been ages since I’ve done a body painting. But it’s like riding a bike, you don’t really forget how to do it.”
“No, you silly sod,” Meri chipped in. “It’s been nearly two years since she had a chance to take you up her ass the last time.”
Meri
I had a sense of déjà vu. Years ago I had walked in on Mark, Rhonda and Lydia having fun with each other. And all three of them seemed eager to relive that memory. Mark was lying on his back. Rhonda rode him cowgirl style, his massive rod buried deep in her rear-end, and a blindfolded Lydia was face-sitting Mark while fondling Rhonda’s large tits.
I had to admit, considering that Rhonda was now forty-four and not quite as genetically gifted as Lydia, she still had aged rather well. Yes, her large boobs had migrated a bit further south, a fate that some day would inevitably befall my massive tits too, but all in all, for a woman who spent most of her days in an office and didn’t do much in terms of fitness, she was still a fine looking girl.
Then I remembered that the memory wasn’t quite complete yet. Almost seven years ago, when I had walked into pretty much the same scene, Mark had made me strip and diddle myself for him.
Well, the striptease would be lost, as we had been naked pretty much all the time since coming here. After years in Germany we weren’t really used anymore to the scorching August heat in California.
I grabbed two chairs and indicated to Nadja that she should follow me. I showed her how to sit on the chair, our legs draped over the arm rests to give Mark a clear view at our pussies and we started to masturbate for his entertainment.
Granted, considering we both got howling orgasms out of it a few minutes later, it had not been just for his entertainment.
Mark
The re-enactment of Rhonda’s wild ride had been successful for all parties involved. And since Rhonda was for now intimately sated, the body painting didn’t result in any need for further relief. Thankfully the design she had asked for wasn’t very complex, so me not having done any body paintings for over two years didn’t really pose a problem.
Our fantasy uniforms weren’t the only bits that got us some attention as we arrived in the starting area of the Idiotarod. Well, for starters, three ‘idiots’ of our team had Olympic medals and national championships to their names, so people probably knew that winning it was no longer an option, but we also had a substantial technical advantage.
Every team had to put one of their ‘idiots’ into a shopping trolley and push him or her along the route. Not wanting to rely on the usual Walmart equipment with wonky wheels, we had brought a Metro trolley from Germany. Metro was a wholesale chain that only admitted customers with a business license, and goods were sold in bulk. If you bought cheese at a Metro store, you didn’t get some little package with ten slices of Gouda in it, you took home a one-hundred pound wheel.
The dimensions of their shopping trolleys matched the size of their wares, and they were sturdy enough to hold nearly half a ton. No wonky wheels on those babies. Not to mention that I as the designated idiot to sit in it, I would be traveling a lot more comfortable than the competition as it was big enough to fit me easily. Unlike some other unlucky ‘idiots’, I wouldn’t spend my time covering my own ears with my knees.
When the race was started, I quickly realized that the word ‘comfortable’ would be doing some heavy lifting here. For all its advantages over the equipment of the other teams, our monster trolley still lacked a suspension, so I was feeling each and every bump in the road, and Pasadena roads had lots of those. That Nadja and Lydia set a rather stiff pace was not helping in any way.
The crowds loved it though. For the first time I could remember, I could actually speak German outside of our home or the Bachlmayer’s restaurant. Since I was only yelling out commands, nobody was any the wiser as people just assumed I had rehearsed some German military speak and the average American wasn’t able to discern that I was speaking in a flawless Berlin accent.
By the time we reached the special zone we only had two competing teams who had kept up with us. One was of the Pasadena Track Club, Lydia’s old club from years ago. They were all dressed up as chickens and were obviously not willing to lose to the Club’s most famous former member.
The second team was a Coastguard squad, dressed up as dolphins. Obviously aware that the bog standard Walmart equipment wouldn’t get them anywhere, they had used a wheeled stretcher instead of a shopping trolley. That wasn’t strictly within the rules, but this was a fun and charity event, so nobody had made a fuzz about it.
Rhonda whooped and cheered, standing completely naked and body-painted among a group of topless women from the local pride group. I had body-painted some of them with the help of local graffiti artists who had been rather excited to decorate something else but gray walls for a change.
Seeing the enthusiastic greeting, Lydia, Meri and Nadja pulled down the hidden zippers on their theater prop uniforms and revealed that they were actually going commando. A loud crashing sound was followed by hysterical laughter. The coastguard boys had crashed their stretcher into a fire hydrant and were now laughing in surprise.
The Pasadena Track Club team, also all-male, had kept their composure, but they noticeably matched their speed to ours, their eyes glued to the three spectacular bare torsos on display. Quite a few wolf-whistles where emitted in appreciation.
The special zone soon ended and we stopped so the girls could close up the vests of their uniforms again. That gave the Track Club a little head start for the last two miles to the finish, but once we left the special zone, now properly decent again, the girls put the hammer down. Although Meri was about to retire for good in ten days time, she was still as fit as if she was eyeing next year’s Olympics, so with three world class athletes wrecking my spinal chord over the many bumps in the road, we soon passed them and left them in the dust.
Apparently someone in the organizers committee was a history buff, because when we crossed the finish line in our fantasy imperial German uniforms, the speakers blared out the pre-1918 Emperor’s anthem “Heil Dir Im Siegerkranz”, which must have confused quite a few people, because it had the same melody as the British anthem “God Save The Queen”. Not too many people were aware of that little detail of history.
John
Well, I had not been too sure about this Idiotarod idea, but from a purely PR point of view it had been absolute gold. First of all, the whole event had raked in an amazing amount of money for Breast Cancer Action, which meant the oncology ward in the local hospital would have quite a bit of funds to expand.
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