Part 2: Mary

I was really glad I had worn my sunglasses. The tinted glass of the airport terminal did little to lessen the reflection off the runway and the jumbo jets parked at the jet ways up and down the concourse. Tom and I had arrived way too early to meet Jill’s plane. I didn’t mind since the air conditioning worked well. The only thing I minded was the horrendous prices the little bar charged. Still, there was little else to do but eat or drink as we waited. We sat by the window and were sipping our third drink when the PA system announced the arrival of the flight from Phoenix.

When the door finally opened at the gate, we were standing outside the security checkpoint. Jill wasn’t the last person off, but she was far enough back in the pack that we were beginning to wonder if she had missed her flight. Then she was there. She looked great. Living in the desert agreed with her. Her face and arms were almost a mocha color and her light brown hair was shot through with even lighter streaks. She spotted us and her face broke into a grin. Her teeth were bright white in contrast to her tanned face.

She threw her arms around me, then Tom, and we spouted all the usual things people say when they meet someone they love after a long separation. She hooked each of us with an arm, her carry-on bag in Tom’s custody. We headed for the baggage claim. Tom was pretty quiet, but I didn’t think much about it. Jill and I had been sisters-in-law for 6 years until she divorced my brother, Paul, the year before. Since the split, I had stayed in closer touch with Jill than with my brother, in spite of the fact that he still lived about fifty miles away. Jill had moved down to Arizona.

We retrieved Jill’s checked bag and Tom wheeled it behind us as we made our way through the crowds to the parking garage. Since our older car has a bench seat, Jill rode in the middle in front and we spiraled our way out of the garage. Soon we were zipping down the freeway and Jill was still catching us up on things that didn’t make their way into emails and the occasional card. My arm was along the seat back. Jill gave off a scent combined of her light makeup and a faint coconut aroma. I didn’t know if it was some new scent, or if the sunblock had just soaked into her system. It was pleasant, in any case.

I noticed that Jill’s hand found its way to Tom’s leg. I didn’t mind, but I didn’t recall any previous expressions of such closeness between them. I mentally shrugged and let it go. I let my hand drop onto her opposite shoulder and I hugged her. She leaned into me, and her hand on Tom’s leg squeezed at the same time. I glanced at Tom’s face. I was amused to see he was blushing slightly. He had his own sunglasses on, so I couldn’t see his eyes. Oh well, she was family after all. She liked to say that she had divorced Paul, not his family. This week was going to be fun.

Tom pulled the car into the garage and cut the engine. He got Jill’s bags from the back seat and followed us into the house. Jill offered to take custody of her bag, but Tom said he’d put them in her room. I made a bee-line for the nearest bathroom while they trundled down the hall.

We have two bathrooms. Ours is off our bedroom and the guest bath is in the hall, shared by the two smaller bedrooms. It has two doors – one for each spare bedroom. That one was closer and I really had to pee. I jerked my jeans and panties down and let loose before I realized that the door to the other bedroom was slightly ajar. Oh, well, it was too late then. It was just my husband and ‘sister’, both of whom had seen and heard me pee before.

What I didn’t expect were the sounds I heard after my stream faded to a trickle. I frowned when I heard their low voices -- obviously not wanting to be overheard -- and then, Jill’s giggle. I sat still and silent wondering what all the whispering was about, the last drops of pee falling from my crotch to the bowl. Then an abrupt silence fell over the next room. I realized they had probably noticed the open door and were trying to decide what to do.

Then Tom (in a normal voice) said, “So, what’s your job like in Phoenix?” I knew then that he was trying to cover. We had known for months “what her job was like”, since we got nearly daily emails. My curious bone twitched. My eyes narrowed and I began to reassess my trusted husband and my trusted ‘sister’. I vowed to get to the bottom of this little mystery, and soon.

Then I smiled because I remembered that my birthday was in just a couple of days. It was part of the reason for the timing of Jill’s visit. They were likely cooking up some kind of surprise for me. I heard Jill make some bullshit covering remark and their voices faded, growing louder as they passed the hall bathroom door, and then fading completely as they moved away. I wiped and flushed, sliding my pants up quietly. Jill had not visited us since the last time she and Paul had stayed with us, shortly before their divorce. I washed my face with cool water and tried to control my curiosity. What I wanted to do was to go out and just ask them what all the whispering was about. I’m terrible about surprises. But I might be wrong. It might not be about my birthday, but about something else entirely. I just didn’t know what that could be.

I patted my face dry. Then, in the back of my mind, a light went on. One of Tom’s favorite fantasies was to have a threesome. I found the idea of sharing our bed with a third person attractive, but I wasn’t sure I could ever find the courage to actually go through with it. He had started by telling me about his fantasy of having two women at the same time. We had even discussed inviting another man into bed -- “Fair’s fair,” Tom said. I liked that idea even better. Still, the appropriate potential candidate hadn’t been found, even if I thought I could go through with it.

We had gone as far as trying to decide if we knew women and men that we thought we might be comfortable sharing our bed and bodies with. During our fantasy discussions about possible partners, Jill’s name had never come up. At first, she was still married to Paul. Then she moved to Phoenix and was too far away, I guess. Besides, she was family. How weird would that be? I knew Tom had always liked her and found her attractive. He had never tried to hide it. One thing that we had made a part of all the scenarios – after Tom pledged to do it if I did -- was full participation. In other words, the partner of the same sex would not balk at interaction with the third person. That was another reason that made it so difficult to come up with a likely candidate.

I suddenly found that it was extraordinarily easy for me to imagine Jill in bed with us. Jill, all skinny, with her newly tanned skin next to Tom’s extra hairy body, then my pale, pudgy (but, Tom assures me, sexy) self. I found the picture fit well, maybe too well! I even began to think about what it might be like to go down on her – my own ex-sister in law! The idea smacked of incest ... well, sort of. Then I frowned. I wasn’t sure I wanted to broach the idea. Tom has convinced me that my body looks great to him, but I can look in the mirror. Still, who am I to argue when he calls me “Rubenesque”, and “voluptuous”? The way he makes love to me, the pleasure he derives from my body is evident, so I long since stopped worrying about the ten or fifteen extra pounds I wear around my waist and hips ... okay, and my ass, too.

A knock at the closed door brought me out of my reverie. Jill opened the door and stuck her head in. “Everything okay, Mary? We were wondering if you flushed yourself down.” I laughed a little and turned away to hang up the towel and to compose myself. I felt my face heat up from the thoughts I’d been having. By the time I turned back around, though, I felt okay. Jill’s expression looked worried now, for real. I smiled at her and put my arm around her shoulders as we walked out to the living room.

Tom had drinks made for us all (as if he and I needed more!) and we sipped them while we talked. I watched them for clues to their big secret, but they were sitting across the room from each other. There were no stray glances or guilty looks between them. Maybe I had jumped to conclusions. Tom is always telling me I do that. I tried to repress the memory, of the images of them -- of us all -- naked and writhing on the sheets. I lifted my glass to my lips and found it was empty.

Tom’s eyebrows rose in surprise when I held it out for a refill. “Whoa! Is this a race?” he asked. I rattled the ice noisily, holding the glass out for a refill, and smiled at him. He set his half drink down and went to the kitchen. I turned to Jill.

“So, are there any new men in your life, Honey?” I asked her. First she grimaced. She shook her head. She told me she had been on a few dates since she and Paul had divorced, but nothing great. “I haven’t had sex with anyone but my friend, “Buzz” (her pet name for her vibrator), since Paul.” Then her face lit up and she grinned a wicked grin.

“I have a sneaking suspicion that is about to change, though. There’s this one guy at work, Hal. Well, it’s Harold, but everybody calls him Hal. At least that’s what the guys at the office call him. The girls call him Harry, at least in private. You know, as in “Harry the Horse”? They say it’s because he’s hung like one.”

She sipped her drink. I laughed and waited for her to go on. “Anyway, that’s the report that came from one of the guys. They belong to the same gym and he’s seen Hal in the locker room. Most of the other females in the office are married or attached. They’ve all been urging me to make a move on him to find out the truth – and solve my horniness problem at the same time. They’re eagerly waiting for me to report back.”

“Are you going to go out with him?” I asked. Jill fluffed her short hair back dramatically, then looked at me and batted her eyelashes.

“Oh. He has asked me to go as his ‘companion’ on the ... overnight ... white-water rafting trip the office has set up next month. I figure it will be a great opportunity to see him in his swimming trunks -- and hopefully out of them, too!” She winked at me. “Also, it will be a good time to let him see what I look like in my little white bikini when it’s all wet and clinging to my sexy little body.” Tom came back from the kitchen then, drinks balanced and clutched precariously.

“What about your sexy little body? And who is going to cling to it when it’s all wet?” I thought his interest seemed a bit too eager, but that’s just Tom. He’s always ready to explore anything that has to do with sex.

“Hey,” Jill said, “If you’re going to eavesdrop, you need to turn up your hearing aid, old man!” Tom’s eyebrows rose as she and I chuckled. Of the three of us, I’m the baby. Tom and Jill are about the same age, five years older than I am. Tom was quick to point that out.

“Listen, Shorty! Remember I’m only three years older than you. If I’m old, Grandma, you are, too. That remark deserves be punished.” Jill laughed, but I saw her tan turn a little bit ruddy. I found myself with a new movie running in my head. This one was even hotter than the last one.

I like Tom to spank me sometimes as part of our foreplay. I never knew that my brother had the same fetish -- or at least a form of it, since he liked to be the one doing the spanking -- until one time Jill asked me about it. She and Paul had been wrestling one night and he flipped her over his knee and started swatting her. She said it had hurt at first, but the effect on Paul was so dramatic -- extra hard, extra energy! -- so she allowed herself to explore that side of herself. It wasn’t too long after that she admitted that it had begun to excite her, too. She told me they had made it a fairly regular part of their sexual repertoire. I’ve often wondered what it said about our parents that Paul and I had both developed that fetish. We’d been swatted, but never really spanked.

Anyway, the picture that popped into my mind when Tom made his threat was of Jill’s skinny little ass upended over his lap (both of them naked, of course), his rampant cock trapped between them, while I watched the whole thing. I felt my panties getting damp at the thought. Then I wondered what it would be like to be the one spanking her, or having her slapping my ass.

I must have been more toasted than I thought, because I closed my eyes and dwelled on the scene as I sipped my new cold drink. I only half heard the continued banter between Jill and Tom, until I heard Tom saying, “Earth to Mary! Hello-o-o! Is anybody in there?”

I blinked my eyes open and it was my turn to blush. For some reason I found myself imagining that they -- or at least Tom -- could tell what I’d been thinking. He was grinning at me. “I thought we’d lost you, there, Sweetie! Are the drinks too strong?” I looked at my glass. I had thought I’d been sipping when I apparently had been gulping. It was nearly empty again. I set it down on the coffee table as if it had bitten me -- which, in a way, it had. I tried to blame my lascivious thoughts – and the wet panties they caused -- on the booze, but inside I knew it was just my horny imagination.

“Ahem!” I cleared my throat, making the noise sound the way I’ve seen it written in books. “I think I’d better start dinner.” I rose to my feet, more to demonstrate to all concerned that I wasn’t drunk, than for any other reason. A little wave of dizziness passed and I headed for the kitchen. Tom grabbed my hand as I passed and I stopped.

“Why don’t we go out to Mario’s? We haven’t been there for a while.” Tom’s suggestion was a relief. I hadn’t been looking forward to kitchen duty that night. We agreed we’d go soak up some pasta and Italian atmosphere. I collapsed back on the couch. Jill went to the bathroom and Tom came and took the seat she had vacated next to me. He leaned in and we kissed. I guess I put some extra passion behind it because when we broke -- quite a few seconds later -- he sat back, eyes wide and said, “Whew! What got you so hot?” Then I saw the light behind his eyes. “Were you thinking about me “punishing” Jill?” When I couldn’t meet his eye, he chuckled. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

He raised my head, his fingertips under my chin. “What a naughty, naughty girl you are, Mary Fields!” he whispered. “Maybe you are the one who needs the spanking.” His voice had that quiet but husky quality that tells me he is getting aroused. “Just imagine it, though: Jill’s tanned behind, naked and stretched out over my knee. I bet she sunbathes in the nude down there in Arizona. No tan lines, just those little browned half moons of her butt cheeks rising up from the tight cleft between her thighs. I would hold her down with one hand and ... Wait! YOU can hold her down for me! Yeah, and then I’d begin to swat her: SMACK! SMACK!” He went on whispering in my ear, describing her spanking, with me as his lewd, nude assistant. As he spoke, his hand was slipping under my shirt to play with my aroused nipple. I closed my eyes, leaned back, and pictured his fantasy as he went on telling me about it. He had just reached the point where he paused in his spanking and ran a finger down between her thighs to test her arousal. I let my eyes open halfway to look at him. My hand went to his crotch and found that he was as hard as a rock.

We both noticed the motion at the same time. Jill had come back and was standing there looking at us. Her mouth was hanging open, but I couldn’t tell if she was shocked or surprised ... or excited. I also couldn’t tell just what had caused her reaction the most – if she’d heard the scene Tom was verbally sketching, or the fact that he had freed my left tit from my bra, to pinch and twist the nipple. We reacted like two teenagers caught in the back seat.

By the time we’d jumped apart and I had pulled my clothes back into some sort of order, she was all but falling down laughing, holding her sides and shrieking. Between gasps for air, she howled out, “Oh my God! I’m so glad ... I just peed! If I hadn’t, I’d be wetting my panties now! You two are the guiltiest looking married couple I’ve ever seen!” Tom and I, not being the kind of people who miss the humor in even the most bizarre situations, soon joined in the merriment, even though we were the butt of this joke.

Our laughter seemed to take forever to abate. For myself, I was glad of that. I was afraid we would have to really look with a (semi-) sober eye at what Tom had been saying. And at the fact that it had gotten us -- particularly me -- so goddamn excited. I covered my embarrassment by pleading my need to pee again and beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom. As I closed all three doors, I leaned against the vanity and caught my breath.

My composure began to return, but not totally. There was a sense that I was about to take a step I wasn’t sure I was ready for, or that I was even sure I wanted to take. Again, I splashed cool water on my face. Then I looked at the mirror, into my own eyes to see if I was the same woman I had been just a couple of hours before. I watched my reflection. That head slowly moved back and forth in a negative motion. The face that looked back at me had been suddenly unmasked.

Our (intentional?) slip and being caught by Jill in the middle of fantasizing about adding her to our sex life had released me from myself. I could look at my private side of the picture Tom had been painting. I had been imagining that, while I held Jill down, her face was buried between my thighs, her tongue licking and her lips sucking at my pussy. My eyes blurred. My reflection disappeared. I felt myself go lightheaded and I thought for an instant I was going to faint – or have a spontaneous orgasm. My hands gripped the edge of the vanity, the knuckles white from the power of the image in my mind. I lowered my head to the cool surface of the counter. My mind cleared. I stood back up and looked at myself in the mirror again. Another thought popped into my head: I couldn’t believe Tom could have constructed that fantasy on the spot. It must be something he’d been thinking about before.

Suddenly, I knew what I wanted for my birthday. I admitted to myself that I had wanted it for a long time. That it would be Jill that would be the one to help Tom give it to me was perfect. I somehow felt certain that she would agree to the idea. I loved Jill as a person, and I knew she loved me. What I was contemplating would be next door to incest. That didn’t bother me though. I took a deep breath and let it out. More cool water, then the towel again. I opened the door and stepped out into what was to become my new life.

Mario’s wasn’t too crowded. We asked for a table in the corner. Tom and I go there every couple of months and the hostess remembered us. The waiter recognized us too, and he gave Jill a thorough, Italian-American (same as Italian, but sans the butt pinch – at least for me. I don’t know if he pinched Jill) once over. Then he gave both Jill and me a European style hug with his head on either side of ours -- and grinned in approval. He seated us and returned to serve us the warm loaves of crusty bread with saucers of olive oil dusted with cracked black pepper, and then asked if we wanted our usual wine. I saw Jill’s eyebrows rise at that. I grinned at her. Tom said that would be fine and the man scurried away.

“So, when did you two get to be such VIP’s?” Jill asked.

I snorted. “Oh, he just remembers us because Tom tried to stiff him on our check the last time we were here.” I explained that Tom had gotten outside the better part of the two bottles of wine we’d ordered that night. “He wasn’t falling down, just very, very ‘relaxed’. So we dawdled a little while over our espresso after the check arrived. When we got up, we just walked out. It wasn’t until we had reached the car that Tom remembered he hadn’t paid.” He rushed back in before they could sic the cops on us for “defrauding an innkeeper” (that’s what they call the old ‘dine and dash’ prank impoverished college students play -- but that was long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away).

“Anyway, when Tom came back out, he told me that he was so embarrassed he tipped the guy nearly fifty percent! That’s why he’s pushing the wine so hard tonight. He’s probably hoping Tom will get sloshed again and forget.” We all laughed about the story. Of course, Jill and I laughed harder than Tom did.

“I think he might be interested in something other than a fifty percent tip tonight, though. Did you see the way he looked at you, Jill?” Tom asked. I almost thought I detected a hint of possessiveness in his tone.

“I’m sure she’s used to getting the fish eye all the time,” I said before Jill could answer. “Just look at her!” Turning to Jill, I began to tell her how good she was looking. I played with her short hair and slid my hand over her bare shoulder (she had worn a casual summer dress, cut fairly low, with narrow straps) I mentioned the beautiful tan. I had noticed there were no visible tan lines, just like in Tom’s fantasy. I asked her, “So, tell us, do you lay out in the nude in Arizona?” I knew Tom was dying to find out. So was I!

“Well, I have sometimes. My balcony is private enough at certain times of the day. Then, there’s this girl at the office that belongs to a nudist resort. She took me as her guest a few times. I have to admit, it was a really eye opening experience.” Jill’s face had taken on a little more color again.

I snickered and said, “I’ll just bet it was!” I got a sudden picture in my mind of men walking around with perpetual erections and asked her about it. She was quick to dissuade me from that stereotypical response to ‘social nudity’ (as she called it) by the general public, however.

“No, it isn’t orgies and open-air screwing! It’s really a serious, relaxed lifestyle. No sex in public, no overt sexual displays.” She explained that was the general rule serious nudists have, at least most places. “Oh, sometimes you might see a hard cock, but they’re ignored and usually covered up until they go down.” Then she laughed and added, “Except the really little boys! It’s so cute to see a kid under nine or so running around with a stiffie! Sometimes I wonder if they’ll ever father children the way they bang them around.”

She turned to Tom and put her hand on his arm, asking, “When do boys start getting erections, Tom? How old were you when you got your first one? Do you remember?” Tom frowned, looking uncomfortable.

Just then Luigi, or Antonio (or whatever our waiter’s name was) reached the table with the wine. We waited until Tom had played out the tasting scene and pronounced the Merlot acceptable. When Luigi (No, really, that was his name. I asked him) went away again, Tom tried to change the subject. “So, Mary, what do you want for your birthday?”

“Well, I have some ideas, but I don’t want to talk about them now. Let’s finish this subject now.” I’d never thought about it before. He still hadn’t answered Jill’s question. He looked disgruntled, but shrugged.

Jill repeated her question. “I don’t really remember, honestly.” He said he recalled being pretty young. “My dick was about the size of my childhood index finger by the time I really noticed it,” he said. “Sometimes it got stiff, but there didn’t seem to be any real reason for it. I certainly didn’t know anything about sex then.” Jill and I got a kick out of that. Then she said something I kind of wondered about at the time.

“I’ll bet you’re glad it’s so much bigger now!” Then she blushed and coughed. She claimed she’d inhaled a piece of bread. Her remark would come back to me later.

“Well, Duh!” He looked at me. “I know somebody who’s glad!” Tom said, laughing and looking at me. “Anyway, I do remember thinking it was something I was supposed to keep to myself, though I don’t know if that was something my mom told me when she saw it sticking up or not. She did tell me not to play with it.” “And you ignored that, I’m sure!” I joked. Jill put me on the spot then. She grinned at me and asked, “When did you have your first orgasm, Mary?” She was inordinately curious that night, I thought. And everything seemed to be about sex. Maybe it was just that she was so horny. Or maybe it was the generally charged air left behind by our little scene at home. I told her about humping my pillow at night when I was in junior high. I really thought I remembered telling her once before, but maybe I hadn’t.

“When did you have your first one, Jill?” Tom asked her. Kind of bold, I thought, but considering the tone of our conversation (not to mention what I’d been thinking about) I figured, we might as well let it all hang out.

“Well, like you, Mary, I used my pillow, my hands and various other things to rub myself. But all it did was feel good. I never hit the top.” That changed on her third ‘official’ date. She was fourteen. She and the boy -- Stanley Harris – were walking back to her house after a movie. A stop in the woods earned the boy a hand full of ‘barely there’ tit (Jill’s description), and then of ‘barely haired pussy’ (Jill’s exact words again). He kissed her sloppily as his fingers ground against her little clit, the way she directed him. Then she felt herself overwhelmed with a feeling she had never felt before. “I thought I was going to die and go to Hell for sinning! I pulled his hand out of my wet cotton panties and took off! When I found out later what had actually happened, I was so embarrassed! I could never look him in the eye again. Poor guy! He must have thought he had damaged me or something. At the time I even wondered the same thing.”

“Tell her about your first orgasm, Tom,” I coaxed. Tom blushed. He had blushed when he told me the story. I thought it was a pretty cute story, but he didn’t want to tell it. Then Jill slid her chair over close to his and put her arm over his shoulders. They looked good that way and I smiled at my husband. He smiled back, but he was still uncomfortable.

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal, really. Like you,” he told Jill, putting his arm around her waist, “I thought I had broken something. In my case, since it was accompanied by this puddle of milky goo, I really thought I was in trouble.”

“Come on, Honey! Tell her how you did it,” I urged him. He rolled his eyes. But he told her.

“We had a little shed out back that my brother had set up as an art studio when he came home from college that summer. I was eleven years old...”

“Wow!” exclaimed Jill, “Pretty precocious!” She jumped when Tom poked her in the ribs. At least I chose to assume it was her ribs he poked.

“Anyway, I went out there when he was home and practiced sketching while he painted. He even had my dad’s old Navy hammock strung up so he could sleep out there sometimes. He thought he was a real ... well, back then, in the last year of the fifties, they were called ‘Beatniks’, precursors of the ‘Fringies’ (as they called them for a short time in Seattle, at least), and then the Hippies. Anyway, one afternoon when everybody was at work, except my sister (who was off somewhere with her boyfriend, probably screwing his socks off), I went out there to draw.

So I was home alone. It was really hot; I had only put on a pair of shorts that morning. No shirt, shoes, or even underwear...”

“Sort of the way he goes around the house now,” I interjected. “Only now, he usually doesn’t bother with the shorts.” Tom flipped me off, casually and Jill chuckled.

“If you want me to finish this before our dinner comes, just shut up, okay?” I made a lip-zipping motion. I thought he was really enjoying telling his story by then. I noticed that Jill had removed her arm from his shoulders and (probably – I couldn’t see) had her hand on his leg. I imagined she was holding his cock under the table and I felt a little internal gush in my panties.

“So there I was in this stuffy little shed. It smelled like hot wood, paint, turpentine and the canvas of the hammock. Oh, yeah, and blackberries! There was a big blackberry bush just behind the shed. God! I haven’t thought about that for a long time! Those blackberries were huge and delicious.” He looked away from us for the first time since he started talking.

“So I spent some time drawing, and then I began to poke around in Dick’s stuff. I found some Playboy magazines. I’m sure he kept them there to study anatomy for his painting.” We all had a good laugh at that. “So I pushed the sketch book aside to begin poring over the pictures of naked women in them. My dick -- which by then was somewhat larger than my finger (but not much) -- got stiff. I played with it a while, then had this great idea.”

All the time Tom was telling his story, I watched. I didn’t know about Jill, but my panties were definitely getting moister, imagining Little Tommy with his little brand new hard on and budding sexuality. Jill’s arm went back to his shoulder and her fingers started kind of playing with his hair and ear lobe.

“So, with my mind full of the airbrushed bodies of playmates – that was before they could show even pubic hair in magazines -- I took my shorts off and climbed onto the hammock, face down. The canvas was coarse, but pretty soft. I raised myself up and moved my legs over the edge of the hammock. When I lay back down on it, I pushed my dick and balls between the compressed sides. I humped against that hammock and felt my excitement build rapidly. It was light years beyond the pleasure I got from just playing with it by hand! Then my orgasm hit me. I felt like something was pulling my intestines out of me through my penis. I felt like I was suffocating and had a hard time getting my breath.