Chapter 3

I noticed that the Wagner family had a lot of erotic imagery around the room that I had not noticed earlier. I had been too busy ogling the women. Rachel was rubbing lotion around her pussy and I felt that I shouldn’t stare. They had a lot of framed photos that might be from the 60s or 70s on the walls. “Are any of these you?”

“Some,” Doris smiled at me. “My loving husband’s hobby is photography, and he loves to capture life and love in all of its forms.”

I said that I had some interest in photography as well. I wasn’t sure why. I had never thought that before. I guess I know why. She was naked and said amazingly smart and clever things and I felt like I had to say something like that.

“That’s excellent, Brian. The one you are looking at is me with my sister on the beach when I was about Lori’s age. I’ve swam nude off the coast of Australia, and five other continents!” she nodded in the direction of the black and white photo that I was checking out.

She appeared to have blonde hair there. She was walking and laughing with another young woman who was also naked on the beach. “I’ve participated in Carnival in Rio,” she indicated another photo. This time she had very long hair, and it appeared her body was painted with stars covering her naked boobs and she had a single feathered plume to cover her backside. There had to be a hundred people outside watching a parade of scantily clad ladies shaking their bodies and dancing. She said she was looking forward to skydiving “completely bare-ass” in the near future.

I didn’t think she was serious despite all evidence that suggested she was the type of person to do something that daring. I assumed it was illegal to be naked in public and certainly to sky-dive completely nude.

“You seem like you don’t believe me?” Doris was impossibly perceptive and read my body language like a book. I wished she couldn’t do that because I was thinking about a lot of perverted things. I told her that I thought it was illegal to be naked in public.

“Do you think the Sheriff is going to pull alongside of me while I am skydiving and ask me to pull over?” She asked playfully. “There are many places in the world where nudity is quite common. Naples Florida is unfortunately not one of them but here we are.”

I nervously changed the subject. There was a picture of the three of them walking down a crowded street. Rachel and Lori were much younger. There was a sign on the marquee above a theater that read “KITTY CAT, A GREAT VIEW FROM THE REAR, HINDSIGHT, A SUPER QUICKIE” along with a pretty lady in lingerie in a bouffant wig. I was a little shocked they permitted that on a public street.

“That’s Times Square! We were visiting New York for my movie debut such as it was,” she said with a bittersweet melancholy tone.

“Wow, that’s so cool!”

“I was an un-credited extra. It was fun. I’d always wanted to do it and my husband spoils me,” she said.

I got the impression it was a pornographic film (duh!). At the time, I didn’t think that they could show pornography in an actual movie theater though.

“Show him the one of you sucking off all those confederate soldiers during the civil war, Mom?” Lori teased her mother by suggesting she was much older than she was.

“Oh Pish-tosh, if you’ve done half the things that I have done by the time you are my age then you’ll have lived!” Doris obviously had a very adventurous and open-minded attitude about life in general.

She reminded me of the Spider from Charlotte’s web. Just like in the cartoon, she was there spinning her sage advice from a web (cage). I was simply the pink-bellied pig who had so much to learn about the way the world really worked.

“That portrait over there is me in New Orleans, getting a tattoo!” Doris was completely naked and her butt was presented to the camera as she lay on a tattoo bed. A black woman appeared to be giving her the tattoo in a very old tattoo shop. We walked Storyville, celebrated Mardi Gras and Fat Tuesday.”

I had no idea what those were. I didn’t think Doris went in for tattoos. I think my reaction probably suggested that I didn’t approve of her getting a tattoo. I had simply never heard of women getting one before.

“You seem shocked most of all by that photo” she looked surprised. “Was it because it was a black woman giving me the tattoo? That’s Jacci Gresham. She is a real talent!”

I wasn’t racist at all and I was happy to tell her that I hadn’t even thought about that.

“Well, what is it?” Doris seemed concerned by my expression.

She was asking me what I thought, so I told her without really thinking about how that sounded. (I often came across like a snot-nosed kid back in those days and this is one of those times I think back on and wonder why I didn’t edit myself a little before I opened my mouth.)

“I just thought tattoos were for truck drivers and guys in prison,” I said out loud without thinking. I really wished I engaged my brain a little more before I spoke, but it was too late. The girls sucked in air and fumed a little.

“You have some very unusual pre-conceived notions for a young man, Brian,” Doris explained politely. She told me to stand up. I thought she was going to kick me out of her house. I felt like I probably deserved it because I had obviously offended her. “Come and look at this flower,” she beckoned me to look at her in the cage.

“Go ahead and get on the step stool, so you can see,” she offered sweetly as she parted her knees. Her feet were bound and together. Doris was able to spread her knees as wide as she dared (and she did).

Her pussy was just as bald as her daughter’s vagina was. I had assumed that Rachel’s body hadn’t reached puberty yet because my health book told me it happened at different ages during your teenage years.

I was in shock that as a grown woman she didn’t have any pubic hair! I immediately assumed that this was due to some genetic disorder the way baldness runs in some people’s families. Her pussy was quite a bit different looking than her daughter’s was as well.

Her pussy was fat and puffy with an impossibly infinite amount of folds that seemed to go on endlessly into the crevice. In the center of her pussy was her unhooded clitoris. The pink skin flap was shaped like a sailboat to me. I imagined Ernest Hemmingway was riding it out into the Florida Keys. There was a tiny crinkle on top of it that looked just like a sail. I was still confused about how a penis could enter a vagina.

Doris’s pussy was like an open, budding flower that had exploded and there was no visible hole, or perhaps the entire thing was a hole. It still didn’t look like a place I could stick my dick to me. I was a little frightened by her pussy – like it may swallow me. It was wet too! Sticky like she had been sitting in something gooey.

“That is a rose bush,” she indicated the tattoo on the side of her labia that looked remarkably like her daughter’s tattoo. I made a remark that it looked the same as the one Rachel had...

“Yeah, we all got one!” Lori said excitedly. It sounded like there have been a good story behind the reasons they got matching tattoos but they didn’t share it with me.

The way she parted her knees allowed me to see into her pussy. I could also see just the top nub of Doris’s asshole. I felt intensely guilty for being fascinated by it. I knew she didn’t mind if I looked at her body but I assumed that did not apply to her poop-hole. After all, that was the most personal space on a person’s body.

“You seem like you have many other questions, Brian.” Doris sighed when I didn’t sit down. My face clearly belied the fact that I had more on my mind. She told me to relax, take a deep breath and ask one at a time. “When my husband gets here, I may not have the opportunity to answer all of your questions.

“That’s IF daddy lets him stay,” Rachel had finished rubbing lotion on her body. She squatted down and began tying thick rope around her calves. It was a heavy, scratchy rope – the kind you have to climb in the gymnasium. It was one of the objects on the table she had been preparing.

“As long as he is respectful, I do not see why not. Your father is not so ruthless that he would kick a boy out on the street,” Doris replied. She told me to hit her with whatever I wanted to know. “I am an open book,” she moved her knees back and forth to pantomime like her legs were the covers of the book. Ultimately, she left them wide open even though she could have quite easily closed them and prevented me from staring inside her body.

“Well, I was wondering why do you have those wooden things in your mouths? They don’t prevent you from talking?”

“If Lori or Rachel go an entire hour without talking, they’ll build up such a giant fart that they’ll explode,” Doris scrunched her pretty upturned nose into a giggle and laughed at her own crude joke. I totally did not expect her to say that OR to admit that girls even farted.

I still wasn’t sure if they actually did. However, if that WAS true, then I could see just the tip of the wrinkled ridges of the part of Doris’s butt where farts come from and for some reason – that seemed even naughtier to me than looking inside her pussy!

“This is a gag, and it isn’t a very effective one,” Doris stopped joking and gave me a straight answer. “We’ve learned to talk with one in our mouth but it requires effort. My husband learned a long time ago how quiet the house could be when everyone is gagged. At first, he had peace and there was no arguing but it felt empty and lonely. I guess we are like birds in a gilded cage, and we are able to fill the room with laughter and discussion. It passes the time and keeps things lively.”

I understood someone wanting to talk, but only if it was difficult about as well I as understood why someone would enjoy having their mobility restricted – which is to say not at all.

“Yeah, but why do you do it at all? If you are going to talk. Why not make it easy?”

“Walking over a hill is easy, climbing to the top of a mountain is difficult. What is more satisfying?” Doris explained.

“Oh, don’t listen to the old crab,” Lori interrupted. “I’ve had an oral fixation as long as I can remember. I love having things put in my mouth,” she said. I didn’t know what oral fixation meant or I would have had such a throbbing boner. “We can talk but spit flies down our chin and drips all over boobies. It means we have to choose our words carefully and spend them only on things worth talking about.”

“Why don’t you ever do that then? It’s torture having to sit next to you on Fridays,” Doris was clearly ribbing her daughter but there may have been a nugget of truth to what she said.

“How long do you stay in the cage?” I asked another question and that stopped the women from bickering.

Doris considered my question and cocked her head from one side to the other. She still didn’t close her legs.

At the same time, Rachel was bent over tying more rope to her other leg.

“You must think I spend my life in a gilded cage-like a kept bird? Free to peck all day at birdseed and chirp-chirp while my husband slaves away for me to earn a paycheck?” she asked.

I hardly thought that at all and explained that I was simply wondering what was normal to them.

“Normal is important to you, isn’t it, Brian?” Doris seemed disappointed that it was. “Conformity to a standard. It is important that everyone pray to the same God, or else that God might not be real. It is important everyone dress the same, wake up during the day, and sleep during the night. There are some who eat only when they are hungry rather than at a scheduled mealtime. They sleep when they are tired instead of because it is their bedtime. Not everyone marches to the beat of the same drum,” she said quite seriously.

“Now, the world don’t move to the beat of just one drum, What might be right for you, May not be right for some,” Lori started reciting the lyrics to the theme song of Different Strokes as if she was deadly serious. It was pretty funny!

Lori was easy to like. She was charming and her eyes twinkled when she told jokes. The room seemed to brighten when she smiled.

Her mom didn’t even realize she was joking until she started smiling and added, “A man is born, he’s a man of means. Then along come two, They got nothing but their cunts! It takes different cunts, different cunts, to rule the world!”

“Lori, I was trying to explain something to Brian,” Doris frowned, although she did seem slightly amused by the interruption. “Brian, I do much the same things that your mother probably does and for the same amount of time. I cook, and clean, do laundry, shop, and sunbathe, run errands. It is all quite mundane and rather a bit dull.”

“I am trying to understand how long you spend at any one time in the cage,” I clarified and said that I appreciated the context she was given.

“I spend as much time as possible in the cage. I enjoy it. It gives me clarity. It feels safe in here,” she said. I wasn’t sure how that could be. Anyone could come along and shake her cage. I could reach through the bars and touch her pussy or even her asshole, and she couldn’t have stopped me because her wrists were bound with leather straps much the same way that her ankles were.

Rachel’s mom looked over her shoulder and indicated a calendar on the wall. It had dates written on it and this weekend was circled in bright red marker. I couldn’t actually read what it said. “My husband picks a weekend where we can all spend some time together. He likes us to be ready when we get here, which is why my daughter is hastily trying desperately to tie herself up before he gets here,” she said.

Rachel appeared frustrated as she tied a rope under her tits and around her back and began to tie it in a knot.

“What time did you get into the cage today?” I asked. I had a reason for asking, but I was desperately afraid to actually ask the question I really wanted to ask.

“Rachel locked us before she went to school, so probably 6:30am,” Doris looked up as if the answer was in the air above her head. She had beautiful blue eyes. As an older woman, she was quite lovely.

“When do you get let out?” I asked how long they’d be in the cage.

“When someone unlocks us,” she seemed to think that was a silly question and pursed her lips into a churlish grin. I was looking for an approximate range of time that she had to spend continuously locked up and I think she knew that is what I was asking, but she seemed to enjoy dancing around it – or perhaps it really was too variable.