Marsha and I were sitting in the Arcade Drive-in Theater, sipping our fountain drinks, cooling down from the fuck we’d just finished. We’d rolled the windows down, and it was almost too cool outside, but the interior still smelled of sweat and women’s passion. The remaining windows were still fogged up, too.

“Bud and my mom seem to be getting along well,” she said rather matter-of-factly. There was an odd tone to her voice, though.

“They do. I can’t tell you how shocked I was to find out, though.” Hmmm. The hairs on my neck were pricking up.

“Well, I’m just glad I don’t have to taste and smell her on you anymore.” Again, in that unemotional, matter-of-fact voice. Oh, fuck, I was busted. I started to say something but couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound like lying or damage control. I flashed back to that day her mother, Mrs. D, had called me out on fucking her daughter. Being completely open and honest had done the trick because that was also the day that she and I started our tryst. She was at her sexual peak, and romance prospects in our small town were nil. Basically, she had me fuck her to keep her satisfied. Okay, that sounds bad, much colder than how it really was. It was honestly a mutual decision that either of us could have stopped at any moment. Fortunately, I was at my sexual peak, too, and could get it up often with only short breaks. That came in handy when I’d fuck Mrs. D in the afternoon right before going out with her daughter. Now I realized the quick shower wasn’t sufficient. Maybe a scrub brush and Pine Sol under the foreskin?

Marsha was my age, maybe a few months younger, and simply delicious. Sweet face, awesome body, incapable of just one orgasm, and adventurous in the back seat/bedroom. We’d even done anal at her suggestion. Come to think of it, that was after Mrs. D and I had started. I wondered if she was trying to one-up her mom. Anyhow, there was nothing we hadn’t tried and through those experiences, learned there was nothing we didn’t mutually like. I’d never considered Marsha for a long-term relationship, but that was beginning to change. Now I wondered if we’d be together beyond tonight. The thought of us breaking up surprisingly did not sit well with me. I waited.

“I think I understand why you and she got together, and judging by the way you’ve treated me since, I don’t feel like it’s damaged our relationship.” She put a strong emphasis on “our”. “Steve, I like you ... a lot ... a whole lot, and when I first smelled her on you, it hurt. When I could taste her, it hurt even more. And those bites, scratches, and nail marks? I can only imagine what you two are like together.” Damn, I was confused. On the one hand, the things she was saying sounded like she was maybe going to be okay with it. I mean, we had just fucked and she wasn’t screaming or crying or anything you’d expect considering the topic. But there was that business-like tone with something running underneath it. That was really throwing me off. I still waited, hoping to be on clearer ground before saying anything.

“How did you two get together? No, never mind, I shouldn’t know that; don’t know why I asked.” We sat there in silence, her staring straight ahead through the windshield, me looking at ... hell, I have no idea. I was too busy waiting for the blade to fall on my neck.

A jumble of thoughts crashed around in my head. Two emerged in dominance over the others. First, I didn’t want this to damage Marsha’s relationship with her mother. Second, I didn’t want this to damage Marsha’s relationship with me. The first moved me to speak. It was important she understood something.

“Marsha, I hope you understand that what happened between your mom and me, well, it was just a physical thing. In fact, it was for her benefit, not mine.” Fuck, that sounded lame. The way she tilted her head as she continued to stare straight ahead suggested she thought so, too. “I mean, Jesus, how do I put this? Your mom had not had any physical contact, sexually, since she and Asshole parted ways. How many years has that been? Can you imagine yourself going that long? Add to that the knowledge that her daughter was having sex, regularly, and was expecting her to support our dating. She needed a source of relief, a safe one for both her and her daughter’s sakes. Turns out, that seems to be me. Honestly, hon, I won’t say I don’t enjoy it, but it was nothing like what we experience together. There’s something between us that your mom and I never had that makes making love to you so much more special.”

Whoa! “Making love?” I just said that? Where did that come from? And “hon?” I’d never used any term of endearment toward her. Well, whatever, I’d said my piece, it was as honest as it could be, now it was up to her. I waited.

After a year’s worth of a few moments, she seemed to relax. “I get it.” That’s all she said, but the matter-of-fact tone and the odd undercurrent were both gone. She was back to the Marsha I knew. “I couldn’t imagine going five years without you ... um ... without sex.” I caught that slip and it did much to ease my worries. She turned her head and looked at me questioningly, as if pondering whether or not to say something. Then she did.

“So, she started with you, then somehow moved to Bud, but you still satisfy her from time to time. Is that right?” I nodded. “Do you and Bud ever do her together?” Shit!

“We have. A few times. His first time with her was that way because he interrupted us.” Open honesty had worked with her mom all those months ago. I hoped it worked with Marsha, too. I watched her carefully as I said that, as carefully as I could in the flickering light from the movie screen shining on the back row. I didn’t see her flinch.

“Tell me about it.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. That set off all sorts of alarms in my head. Nothing about answering that seemed like a good idea, but I couldn’t think of any dodge that wouldn’t smack of lying by omission. With a strong sense of déjà vu, remembering that afternoon her mom and I first got together, I forged ahead.

“Your mom and I were having sex one afternoon when Bud walked in unexpectedly. Scared the shit out of both of us.” I omitted that I was about to cum when it happened. “He was so embarrassed.” That brought a soft laugh from her. “He was leaving when I had the idea that maybe he could take some of the load off me. Honestly, Marsha, it was stressful satisfying her in the afternoon, then going out with you afterward, worrying that you might notice something which, as it turns out, you did.” That last bit was said with true remorse. The last thing I wanted was for Marsha to find out and be hurt over it. I failed on that one.