Chapter 16

They settled in on opposite ends of the couch, with more hot chocolate, and Monica’s fingers toyed with the folded sheets draped over the backrest.

“I really enjoyed our talk last night, “ she said. She had not mentioned anything related to things sexual all day.

“Yeah?”

“I did,” she said, firmly. “So, if I ask you more questions about sex, would you think I was stalking you?” she asked.

He laughed.

“I don’t think you’re stalking me.”

“I probably learned more last night than I learned the rest of my life,” she said.

“Well, I didn’t teach you that much,” he said.

“You have no idea,” she said. “So, can I ask more questions?”

“Sure,” he said.

“You said Sheryl was on top of you, that first time. Did you ever do it again where you were on top?”

Bobby felt his face get hot.

“Yeah.”

“So? What was that like?”

“I don’t know. Good, I guess.”

“Come on. What do you do? How do you hold yourself? Do you just lie down on top of her? Wouldn’t that crush her? You’re big.”

“Well, sometimes it’s like she’s a giant pillow,” he said. “Sometimes I hold myself up a little, so she can breathe better.”

“And she likes it?”

“She says she does.”

“Does she have ... orgasms?” The last word was almost whispered.

“Lots and lots,” said Bobby, eager to make himself sound better.

“Lots and lots,” whispered Monica. She licked her lips. “How about other types?”

“Types?” He frowned.

“Not types,” she said, almost impatiently. “You know. Different ways. Like on all fours.”

“You mean doggy position?”

“Positions! Yes, positions. Okay. Doggy position. Ewww, that sounds so nasty.”

“It’s okay, I guess,” he said. “I like on top best, though, with her ankles on my shoulders.”

“Her ankles on your... shoulders?“ Monica was obviously trying to imagine this in her mind, and wasn’t going well. “How does that work?”

Wanting to be helpful Bobby got up and used a pillow. He put the pillow on the couch and his hands on either side of it. “Okay, this is her, and she lifts her legs so her feet are here.” He patted his shoulders. “And I kind of use my weight to squash her in half. I can get really deep in her this way.” He flexed his hips in a repetitive motion that even a novice whose social education was lacking couldn’t mistake. One of her hands came to cover her mouth and her eyes got huge.

“Squash her in half?“ she squeaked.

“It doesn’t hurt her,” said Bobby, urgently, as he saw the girl trying to edge away from him. The arm of the couch prevented that.

“I’d just as soon not find that out for myself,” she gasped.

“Well sure,” he said. Part of his mind wanted to say, “I could show you and you’d love it, honest,” but another part of his brain stopped that disastrous message from being delivered. He actually sighed in relief when he realized he hadn’t actually said it. “I swear she likes it, though. See, that’s the key to making love. You pay more attention to making the other person happy, instead of pleasing yourself. And when you do that, it does please you. It sounds goofy, but that’s how it works.”

Monica’s brain had several parts, too. One part, the inexperienced part, was shy and afraid of pain. That was the part that recoiled at the idea of being folded in half and savaged by being repeatedly stabbed by a knife made of flesh. Another part, though, heard him say that the other person’s pleasure took priority over your own, and that part sat up and took notice. That sounded exciting ... loving ... romantic.

“Wait!” she said. “Say that part again.” She wanted to hear it a second time to convince her it had been said the first.

“Which part?” he asked.

“The part about the other person’s pleasure being more important.”

“Oh,” he said. “That part is hard sometimes and easy sometimes. Like there are times, usually when she’s on top, that I love lying there watching her face and knowing that she’s having a great time. I don’t even feel the urge to cum, sometimes.” He blinked. “Who am I kidding? I always feel the urge to cum.” He grinned. “But sometimes it’s easy to be patient and wait. She’ll go so long that sooner or later she just wears down, like a toy with a battery that finally goes flat. Then I can have my fun.”

“Wow,” sighed Monica. “It’s really like that?”

“Yeah, unless I’m crazy turned on. Then I can’t wait. But they always know when I’m that way and they love pushing my buttons and getting me to squirt.”

She went still and there was a long pause. He knew something had gone wrong, but couldn’t put his finger on it.

“They?” she asked, softly, letting him know about his slip. “I thought we were just talking about Sheryl. You did say two, though, didn’t you. Last night. You said there were two. So ... who is the other one?”

As any good interrogator will tell you, the problem with lying is that you have to think about a lie. The truth comes naturally and effortlessly. But lies mean you have to remember what you said the first time. If you don’t, your story changes and the fact that it’s a lie is revealed.

Bobby couldn’t remember what he’d said. So his mind offered up a little of the truth.

“It’s her sister,” he blurted.

There was another long pause as Monica chewed on that.

“You’re having sex with two sisters?”

He nodded, sheepishly.

She stared and then a tiny smile broke on her lips.

“Well, I guess that explains why you can’t marry her. Boy, would that be an interesting wedding. The groom is boffing both the bride and her maiden of honor. Would both go on the honeymoon, too?” She giggled.

Bobby just sat and tried to think.

“What’s this sister’s name?” asked Monica.

“Barbie,” said Bobby’s overstressed mind.

“Not your sister. Sheryl’s sister.”

“Oh ... uh ... right.” Bobby’s mind drew a blank. Who was the last girl he’d taken out for appearances sake? He could see her face in his mind, but what was her name?

“So? What’s her name?”

The name of his lab partner in biology popped into his mind. He’d never really lusted after her, but she was a nice girl.

“Jessie!” he gasped. “It’s Jessie.”

“Right,” said Monica, whose Spidey senses were tingling again. She sensed a lie, but it didn’t make sense. Unless there weren’t really two sisters, and he hadn’t really done it with two girls. But his slip, earlier - and she’d recognized it as a slip instantly - had been so normal. His face had lit up when he was talking about both girls. Curiosity nibbled at her mind, but she could be curious later. Right now she had juicy details to uncover. “So they live together. Do they know about each other?”

“Oh yeah,” he sighed.

“Are they twins?” If they were twins, that would help explain why they might want to share the same boyfriend. Everybody knew twins liked to share things.

“No, not twins,” he said.

“So explain how you got into Sheryl’s pants, and then later got in Jessie’s. Or was it the other way around?”

“Sheryl was first,” he said, weakly. “Jessie sort of caught us.”

“And she didn’t tell on you?”

“No. Quite the opposite. She liked dating, but didn’t want to fool around with any of those guys. She asked if she could do some things with me because it couldn’t get serious.”

“What about Sheryl? Didn’t she think about getting serious?”

“No. We were just friends, until she lost control. After that she still wanted to be just friends.” He blinked. “Except for the other stuff.”

“So you’re kind of double friends with benefits,” said Monica.

“I guess so,” he said.

“And how do you manage to have all this sex without their parents finding out? Do they live at home? Or are they older? Do they have their own place?”

“Man, you ask a lot of questions,” he groaned.

She’d pushed too hard again.

“How about I make us some popcorn?” she suggested.

“Good idea,” said Bobby, who was eager for a break in the grilling.

They had to snoop to find popcorn supplies, and ended up finding a bag of kernels and a glass jar with popping oil in it. Bobby had never made popcorn in a pan on the stove, this way, but Monica had. He enjoyed the process, standing close to her and taking turns shaking the pot so the kernels wouldn’t burn. It also gave them something to talk about other than his sex life, and he relaxed. They were just dumping the pan into a bowl when Mildred got home.

“Smells delicious,” she commented, “but I’m tired. You two enjoy it. I’m off to bed. Behave yourselves.” Monica got another wink, and felt bold enough to return it.

An hour later, Monica put her plan into next gear and said she was going to bed.

“I’ll be back in a minute to help you with the sheets,” she said.

“I’ll wait to get undressed, then,” he said, eager to get another chance to look down her night dress again.

“It’s okay. Like you said, we’re both adults. I thought you looked kind of handsome in just your underwear.” She smiled.

“Thanks,” he said, enjoying her muted response. His sisters usually said something like, “Get nekkid, boy, we got things to do here!” or something similar.

“See you in a few,” she said.

Monica stopped when she was naked. She glanced at her night dress, laid out on the bed, but didn’t put it on. Instead, she looked in the mirror.

‘I’m naked,’ she thought. ‘I’m naked and there’s a boy just down the hall, and he’s almost naked by now, and I’m supposed to seduce him.’

She stared at her image in the mirror. It looked just like it always did. Nothing about her image had changed. But a lot had changed inside her body ... inside her mind. This was crazy. He had a lot of experience. He had made love to two girls, two sisters! And they didn’t mind sharing him! To him, she must look like a cute little bunny, something to be viewed with patience, something appropriate for a virgin boy to be paired with.

She turned, looking at her butt in the mirror. She was nothing special to look at. He’d probably laugh at her when she tried to do what her mother had planned out.

Her nipples crinkled at the thought of that. Now that she was alone she could squeeze them and maul them. She did, suppressing a low moan as flashes of joy shot from them to her pussy. She wanted to masturbate, but she was afraid to. It would take too long and if she had an orgasm, the courage she was drawing from being horny would have vanished.

She did slide two fingers across her pussy lips, at the top of her split, completely unaware that she was doing the exact same thing men did when they stroked their cocks slowly, anticipating using it for its intended purpose, keeping it hard and ready to plunder a pussy. Her clit responded and firmed up nicely. She knew it was peeking out of her nether lips. Her clit had been an embarrassment to her for years because her friends, when they saw it at sleepovers, called it a ‘tiny dick’ and made fun of her. She couldn’t help that it was so large, or so prominent. Then she learned how to masturbate and she didn’t care anymore. She could rub her clit with anything and get off. Even a pillow worked if it was crammed between her athletic thighs. If she wore pants that were too tight in the crotch, she could have an orgasm just by wiggling in her seat.

Would he laugh at her abnormal clit, which refused to hide like a normal one would ... like all her friends’ clits had?

Would he even want to see it?

She felt overwhelmed and tears leaked from her eyes to trickle down her cheeks. Why was this happening to her? Why couldn’t she have been born in a normal town? Why couldn’t she have the same normal life that the sisters Bobby made love to had? Why was she reduced to trying to trap a nice boy, just so she could have a future that wouldn’t make her want to give up?

She stared in the mirror. It didn’t matter why all this was happening. It just was. She picked up the nightgown and let it fall over her head. No panties, this night. She looked in the mirror and adjusted her hair.