Chapter 23: It!

Moderation in all things, including moderation. That’s the secret of a balanced happy life. Don’t be a glutton, leave the table while you still have a little appetite left. It’s an investment equivalent with mere pennies to begin an appetite for the next rich banquet. A day to day routine, following this advice is good strategy. Don’t get bored trapped in a rut. Occasional days of fasting and on some occasions really pigging-out, creates delightful variety. These anomaly days avoid over indulgence in mundane moderation. I recommend this same moderate lifestyle regimen should apply to sex life as well.

Lauren is an early riser, even when she doesn’t need to, so we routinely retire early. Of course we don’t immediately go to sleep. When Lauren wakes up, she wakes up horny and wakes me too. We fuck some more before she heads to the camp kitchen to prepare everyone’s breakfast. So far, every morning when she leaves for work, she leaves well pleased. I deliberately reserve my strength and appetite in the morning for sharing with Dalisay. Lauren has me all riled up and I lose no time getting to Dalisay’s shack. Awaking to a passionate lover pouncing on her is enormously pleasing to Dalisay. This is my Sunday night to Saturday noon weekly stud schedule.

What remains of the weekend, about thirty uninterrupted hours, I have free time to chase new women, or renew flagging and other more casual relationships. Today is Saturday and I’ve just returned to the horse trailer from lovely hot TLC, compliments of Dalisay. Visitors already are awaiting me. Virginia, Georgia, and Dakota.

“Why did you skip out on the twins birthday party last night, Joey? They were very disappointed you didn’t bother to come. Did you forget them? Fourteen is an important milestone in a girls life.”

I honestly did forget, or it slipped my mind. So I naturally invent a plausible lie. Confess nothing to women. It’s survival. They’ll insist on beating you over the head with any concession of a weakness.

“Belated Happy Birthday to both of you. I truly intended to come, but an emotional crisis required my attention, took precedence and distracted me. Please forgive me, ladies? I do have gifts, and may I give them to you now, or should I save them until next year’s party?”

Devious aren’t I? Deflected their anger with a silly question. My gifts are tiny skimpy undies. The twins enjoy teasing me. I’m just providing a little material for their favorite hobby. Scant material.

“Mom says we’re now old enough to go on dates. Isn’t that cool?”

Is that a hint? All eyes are on me, and their eyes are very bright, seem back-lit with fervor of intentions. So this is how the sheep must feel, when my hard eyed dogs stare at them? Gives me chills.

It! I’m it. The prey.

“Do you want to see our new hairs?”

What? I’m startled out of my trance. A quick scan and memory comparison. No, their hair styles seem unremarkable, unchanged from recent recollections. Now I feel stupid, stuped by the combined force of their wills, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. Glancing down, they’ve unfastened and unzipped their jeans. The twins have hooked thumbs in the waist band of their panties, and stretched them downward, opened in a Vee in front. They’re showing me their bared pussies, and first spring sprigs of fine hairs sprinkled on their Mons.

My mouth is suddenly dry. Beats drooling as a reaction. I make mental note, congratulating myself my eyes didn’t pop out, and my tongue hang low slavering. I resist the impulse to lick my lips, with some effort. More encouragement they don’t need ... No longer girlish fun, this goes way beyond teasing! This is Come and Get It! Bold invitations. First day of open season. I better think of something gallant to say. They’re waiting for an appropriate glib response.

“Amazing to discover my little darlings have overnight grown up and without warning, abandoned childhood for good. I’m going to miss that lovely peach fuzz I so adored on your young little melons.”

All three women red-faced! I’m pleased at the reaction. The twins, embarrassed and guilty, dart eyes at their mom, fearing accusations. Dakota is inflamed cheeks angry. She didn’t fail to miss the implication of my reference. Have I been taking liberties in advance of a green light? Just how far have things advanced? That’s the burning question obsessing Dakota. She puts the question to me. The twins hasten to assure her. Ladies first, they’re leading the defense.

“He was only checking for musk, Mama. To see if we were ripe yet.”

Dakota half smiled skeptically at her daughters. Not a pleasant sort of smile. The edge in her voice held menace as well.

“Checking for musk and ripeness? How so?”

“Like a cantaloupe, Mama. When you press the button on top and sniff for scent of musk. Joey says that’s why they’re called musk melons. Muskiness is the test of goodness. Ready, ripe and sweet.”

“And Joey has been pressing your buttons? I’m to suppose that’s what you’re telling me? Has he molested you in any other ways?”

“Mama! Joey didn’t touch us. He just watched us rub each other.”

“Only watched?”

“Well, mostly he just watched. When we finished moaning, he rubbed his nose in our slits, sniffing for hints of musk. He told us. What he was doing, was checking for amount of ripeness and honey. He didn’t hurt us, in fact he made us moan some more, every time.”