Chapter 14: Miss Prentiss

Carol Prentiss rang my doorbell exactly at four o’clock Sunday afternoon, as I’d suggested to her the night before at the prom. She was pretty as a picture dressed in snug fitting tan Bermuda shorts, and a colorful sleeveless top that suggested she had more upstairs than she normally revealed at school. She was wearing bejeweled flip-flops on her dainty feet with her toenails painted in a beautiful shade of pink. I was smitten all-over again.

Seeing her in the daylight gave me a better chance to assess her beauty – and beautiful she was. My heart instantly beat faster and I know I had a goofy smile pasted across my face as I stared at her. She was Penny’s height, blonde, blue eyes, a face I wanted to kiss all day long, and a body I wanted to possess for the rest of time when I wasn’t kissing it.

As she came into the house, Misty and Penny thundered down the stairs to greet her with hugs and thanks for her presence. They were wearing their ‘barely there’ bikinis they bought online from a place that sold Wicked Weasel bathing suits. Their suits were so brief that Carol’s eyes almost popped out of her head at the teens state of undress. I didn’t react, so she must have figured that was acceptable dress around the Reed household and cooled her response. I worried that maybe she was too prim for our family. This might be a good test; to see how she responded to them.

I led Carol out to the patio deck, pouring each of us a glass of white wine on the way through the kitchen. She got a very brief tour of the downstairs on the way through the house and seemed impressed. A home on the water with a pool and Jacuzzi was not to be sneezed at. I was pleased that she was impressed.

We sat down, and only then did I see a brassiere gently blowing in the breeze hanging from the back of one of the chaises. I believe that was one of the chaises where Doug and Crystal had been fucking last night during the prom after-party. Carol spotted the undergarment and must have pondered why it was where it was in this household.

Carol looked away and asked, “Your house is large; you all live here? I thought I heard something about that last night.”

I nodded, “There are five of us. Joan Marshall and her son Doug have two bedrooms upstairs and the run of the downstairs. Misty Reese is Penny’s best friend, and she lives here most of the time; enough to leave most of her wardrobe here rather than where her parents live. They travel a lot, including internationally, so Misty living with us provided them a safe haven for their daughter. Misty’s parents hang out here, too, when they’re home. We’re good friends.

“Lastly, there’s Penny and me. Her mother, my late wife, died almost three years ago from some weird autoimmune thing that hit her like a truck and destroyed her in less than a week. I alluded to her passing last night, but that’s pretty much the complete story without the gory details. I think it affected all of us. Life is so short, so we tend to grab and hold onto it as best we can with all our might. Thus, you can expect some unconventionality here from time to time as well as a family that is high tolerant of just about everything that could go on.”

Carol sought verification, “And you and Joan are not involved?” I chuckled internally; that question was fraught with disaster if answered the wrong way.

I laughed, “It’s complex. We’re very good friends, but date other people. We’re not exclusive, yet are comfortable living together. She’s divorced. How about yourself?” I tried to turn the question back on her.

“Oh, I’m still single. I was engaged for a while three years ago, but ... well, he couldn’t keep it buttoned up and a few other issues emerged, so I broke off the engagement. We’d just started to plan the wedding, too. The whole thing left a bitter taste that I’m only now getting over. I haven’t been dating very much. That gene pool is kind of limited working in the high school.”

“Sorry about that. That was Joan’s problem with her ex. There were other options, but she didn’t think about them then. All our eyes have gotten wider with time.”

“What other options?”

“You’d have to be willing to accept others into your relationship instead of only building a relationship based on two people. This household is maybe an example. Some call it consensual nonmonogamy or CNM, but that also simplifies the matter. Polyamory is a word that could be used, too.”

“Loving more than one person. It sounds kind of like swinging. Are you and Joan Marshall swingers?” She thought a second as I pondered how to answer the blunt question. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m prone to say the first thing that comes into my head.”

I chuckled at her spontaneity. “I guess a short answer to your question is yes, we’ve tried it several times. We found it exciting, erotic, exotic, and extremely enjoyable. The people we’ve met are becoming good and affectionate friends. I guess I should ask that you not spread that around the countryside. Some people are not as broadminded as yourself, and might take umbrage at our behavior.” I baited her with the last sentence; I hoped she was very broadminded.

“Does your daughter know?”

“We have no secrets in this household.” I smiled and thought if Carol only knew what a slut, in her terminology, my daughter could be at our monthly swinger parties.

“And you still do it?”

“There’s a party the last Saturday of each month. The dates slide around a little if some of the usual crazies can’t make it for some reason. We have hors d’oeuvres and then get together with others.”

“Doesn’t the experience feel kind of empty and unsatisfying?” Carol asked, trading on the usual trope about swingers. I had the feeling that I was the first person she could talk to about such events, and she wanted to explore while she had the chance.

“I expected that last fall when we were invited to attend a party for the first time. It didn’t happen, and never has. We’ve all been eager and excited about going, and the others we meet are the same way. I explained it to another person as like to magnets coming together. We each kind of snap together to make a pleasant whole.” I paused and added, “By the way, I read a survey article that estimated that about five to ten percent of the adult American population are or have been engaged in this activity at some point in their lives.”

“Did Joan feel slutty?” I started to wonder why Carol was digging so deep into this topic, especially so soon after really meeting me for the first time where confidential topics could be discussed.

I told Carol, “That thought came up, but we had a long talk about situational ethics. Judging yourself by what you think society as a whole will think about what you’re doing is not a worthwhile exercise in any endeavor, especially when you’ve purposely chosen to hang out with a fringe group that you know has different moral standards and believes in situational ethics.”

Carol thought about my reply. “Well said.” She smiled. I hadn’t thought my remark that profound, but she liked it.

I teased, “If you dare, you’re welcome to come with us in two weeks. There are often new people there. I’d love to escort you.”

Carol’s eyes flared and she leaned back away from me in mild shock. “Oh ... Errr ... I am ... I could ... Maybe ... Wouldn’t ... I’d never...”

I’d flummoxed her cognitive process with the invitation. I could tell part of her strongly wanted to come, she was really curious, and then she was being besieged with moral principles of the perceived masses.

I teased further but laughed, “You have my contact information. You can let me know if you’re interested. Personally, I recommend it. You’d have fun, and I’d have fun being your mentor for the first couple of sessions.” I tried not to sound like I had lechery in my heart and lust for her beautiful body – but I did.

There! I’d put my stake in the ground. I’d fundamentally told her that I wanted her sexually, and not just once. We’d been sending out friendship gestures to each other to each other since we met last night. I thought there might be a spark there, but the whole swinging thing may have killed it for her with me. Was she going to run screaming for her car at any second? ‘The guy I thought was nice, turned out to be a pervert.’

Of course, there were about a thousand other complicating things going on in my life. Well, maybe not that many, but the other things were mammoth gorillas in the corners of the room that I knew about and that she didn’t – yet.

Penny and Misty came bursting out of the house, the personifications of youthful enthusiasm. “We’re going to swim.”

This time, what made both of them unique and shocking, was that they were topless. They’d removed their bikini bras. Those bras hadn’t hidden much, given their gossamer fabric, but still there was the illusion of propriety. That illusion was all but gone now. When the girls stood still, we could both see their slits and part of their pubic hair through the remaining monokini material.

I tried to direct their attention to the bra swinging on the back of one of the chaises, but neither teen got the message.

Penny said eagerly to Carol, “Why don’t you come in with us. The water is the perfect temperature. We have an outdoor shower to wash off the chlorine, and all sorts of hair dryers and things you can use afterwards.”

Carol stammered, “I didn’t bring a suit.”

Penny opened her arms and turned skyward with her entire body in a state of rapture and bliss and said to Carol, “You don’t need one! We dressed because you were here, but we all go in naked all the time. We’ll join you.”

Carol hesitated and smiled slightly. In those few fractions of a second, I knew we had her. The hesitation told me all I’d hoped for. I prayed I was right and knew the next few seconds would reveal the answer to me.

Penny and Misty both peeled down their bathing suit bottoms until they were naked and tossed them onto one of the chaises. Two wet pieces of Kleenex would have taken up more space. The girls were unusually bubbly in their running diatribe about how wonderful the pool was, especially when you were swimming nude. Penny added, “The Jacuzzi with all the bubbles coming up underneath you is even better. It’s so sexual and arousing.”

Carol kept looking at me to see how I was reacting to my daughter. I tried to maintain a nice neutral façade and encouraging smile. My silent prayer was something akin to plea to the forces of Nature that Carol get naked.

I coaxed, “Go on. I’ll even join you, unless that would gross you out. We are all routinely naked around here anyway. This is sort of our own little nudist camp. If you want you can wear your underwear.”