Chapter 24: The Measure of All Things

Indeed -- Frank was not disappointing in terms of endowment, as we all fixedly watched the man's surprisingly youthful-looking, circumcised penis gradually rise and straighten up from its nest of salt-and-pepper curls.

Well, it's bigger than mine, anyhow -- I reflected with a weird combination jealousy and situationally-induced lust, as I looked at it from the corner of my eye -- out there beyond my up-close view of Marie's cheekbone, nose, lips, eyelashes, and her loose, lovely, gentle curls of blonde hair. I relished imagining the two young girls in our company admiring this handsome older man's slightly curving, turgid tool.

"So, uh, how do I do this?" asked Marie, with a nervous catch in her voice. She was holding the tape measure nervously in her right hand, turning toward where Frank sat nearby on the couch.

"Scoot forward, Frank," Lissa suggested, helpfully -- so he did so, until he rested on the edge of the couch and his taut ballsac dangled freely at the edge of the cushion, below the now thoroughly engorged shaft, with its inverted-heart-shaped mushroom top, bananacurving from straight out -- it formed a tense and gently throbbing indicator of a carnal desire that I doubt Frank would've admitted to openly. Touch me, hold me, contain me, it seemed to cry out, in a language more primitive and universal than words.

Nevertheless, Frank seemed to be recovering a bit from his ambivalence, more likely due to lust than to any kind of tidy resolution of the concerns for propriety which seemed to have been flickering in his eyes moments earlier -- but regardless, he leaned back and spread his legs in response to Marie's turning and kneeling in front of him, allowing her complete access to his groin.

Marie very tentatively reached out with the tape measure -- with a laser-like focus derived from equal parts teenage horniness and innocent curiosity.

Leaning over the visibly throbbing member, she stretched the tape measure out as if along side it, but before even actually making any kind of physical contact, she withdrew her hands with a start. "It moved!" she shrieked, in a high-pitched giggle.

"They do that, sometimes, hun," reassured Denise.

"Heh," Marie grinned sheepishly. "I can, like, feel the heat of it. It's like I could toast a marshmallow."

Lissa giggled in response, and mimed holding out a stick toward a campfire, with Frank's tumescent pink log playing the staring role of "fire."

Marie reached out, once again, trying to appear confident, but she was still moving to try to measure the side of the man's cock, awkwardly.

"Measure along the top, Marie," Denise suggested.

Lissa was leaning in close too, to get a good view, but I noticed her gaze kept flicking back and forth between her friend's face and the object of her attention. I think she was as excited by Marie's reactions as she was by what was there to be seen. I could relate -- I felt similarly.

Finally overcoming her shyness and awkwardness, Marie succeeded in laying the tape measure along the top of Frank's cock, even as it jumped a few times at each gentle touch from the girl's fingers.

"Seven and, uh, one quarter inches," read off Marie, in barely a whisper.

She quickly took the tape measure away and began to settle back on her heels from her kneeling position, but Lissa reminded her, "you have to do thickness too."

Marie's mouth made a little "o" of recollection, and she leaned back out and reached. Without too much hesitation she started to wrap the soft cloth measure around Frank's penis, right below the flare of the glans.

"No, no. Do the thickest part," urged Lissa.

Marie let go again, and studied the object in front of her for a moment, as it gave one of its little leaps of male eagerness. Little leaps that were being echoed by my own unseen cock, merely for being the witness of this erotic sight.

Marie re-wrapped the tape measure, now around the flange of the glans instead, but to my surprise, Denise helpfully offered, "it's probably even thicker a little down the, uh, shaft."

Marie carefully slid the loop of plasticized cloth down the shaft, and let out a little more, confirming Denise's hypothesis.

"Yeah, you're right," she grunted, and finally read off, "uh, looks like, maybe, five and three quarters. Eheh, more like six, actually. Cool. I like how smooth it feels," she gratuitously allowed her fingers to linger, momentarily, on the hot upper surface of Frank's poor, yearning, burning-red-pink glans.

She released the entrapping tape and began to pull away, finally looking up and briefly meeting Frank's eyes, which were now somewhat hazy with a confused fragment of lust.

Then, suddenly, as if just noticing (and actually, maybe she did just then notice), "hey, it's wet at the end just a lil' bit." Without asking permission or waiting for this observation to even register in the rest our minds, she reached out and just gently touched the shiny, sticky-looking droplet that glistened at Frank's noticeably (well, I was noticing!) distended cum-hole.

She brought her hand away again, and studied the tiny amount goo now coating the very tip of her index finger with a mixture of disgust and wide-eyed wonderment.

"Is that... ?" asked Lissa, incoherently, leaning close and looking at Marie's finger too.

"It's called pre-cum," Denise finally volunteered after a rather long silence, since Frank and I were both speechless.

Both girls nodded as if they fully understood, though I'm not entirely certain they did, though I knew Lissa at least had read plenty of erotica online and had some passing second-hand knowledge of what it was. I wasn't sure about Marie, but I suspected she was at a comparable level of expertise.

Marie started to reflexively wipe her finger off on her pants-leg, but got a mischievous glint in her eye, seeing how much Lissa was also interested in this substance, and so in a single rapid motion, reached out and wiped it on the edge of her friend's towel, instead.

"Hey, gross!" yelled Lissa, leaping up with such rapidity that both Frank and I were blessed with just a momentary flash of the girl's sparse but dark-haired pussy as the towel she was wearing billowed.

Marie laughed and pointed the finger at her friend, but then, somewhat contradictorily, held it to her nose and sniffed it, as if testing to see if she'd succeeded in thoroughly removing the disgusting-but-compelling residue.

Denise, meanwhile, teasingly said to Frank, "you could probably go ahead and pull your pants back up now, dear."

Frank looked sheepish, and with some only slight evident discomfort got his glowing-in-infrared shaft tucked back into his jeans. "The game must go on," he commented, wryly.

I got his implied point -- after that incredible experience, the fact that the game would go on seemed almost anticlimactic -- but that's the sign of a truly wonderful edging experience, right? A near peak, followed by anticlimax, followed by further peak, ad infinitum. And Frank was now fully initiate, even if he still had no actual idea what was going on or how deeply the conspiracy ran.

It was Denise's turn, and Marie summoned a truth -- doubly anticlimactic. The question was, "The person to your left chooses someone who is not your boyfriend/girlfriend/significant other/etc. How much would someone have to pay before you would fool around with that person for an hour?"

Although at the moment I was still attached to Marie's cheek with my lips, I was obviously the "person to her left," and the only logical choice for the "someone to be fooled around with" was Frank, so with no delay, I gestured in his direction.

Denise hardly hesitated, only making a pointedly lewd gaze at the man's recently exposed crotch (and the tumescence still resident there beneath the denim of his jeans) and, licking her lips in a kind of slow-motion flirtation, said flippantly, "oh, damn ... at LEAST a dollar."

"Momm!" complained Lissa mockingly, while Marie giggled.

Frank and I both just sort of chuckled, and the game moved on again. At last my round of having to stay attached to Marie's cheek was over, so, with mixed regret and relief, I was allowed to return to my seat next to Denise.

Marie read the following dare for me: "You must shave your pubic hair. You must then show that you are shaved to other players. If already shaved, you must shave your armpits."

"Might be interesting," she commented, but there was a "but" embedded in her tone.

"It would take too long," said Lissa, conveying a slight impatience with the game. "Can we get him a different dare?"

No one objected to this suggestion, and so Marie tried again. "Select a member of the opposite sex. Both of you must now find a mirror, preferably a large one. You must make the biggest bare butt prints on the mirror that you can, then sign your name on each of them using your finger. The prints must remain on the mirror until the next day."

"What in the world is a 'butt print'?" asked Denise, jaw open.

Marie laughed, "I have no idea."

"Should we try it?" asked Lissa.

"Seems kind of disgusting," chimed in Denise, again.

The girls were giggling, but nodded in agreement. Marie suggested, "Let's see what the next dare is, and if it's better, we'll use it, if not, we try this one."

Without waiting for approval, she "re-spun" the website, and read the following: "The group selects some kind of sauce/cream, like whipped cream, ketchup, chocolate sauce. Allow the player on your left to dab this all over your lips until they are covered. The person on your right now gets to select another player from the group that must clean your lips off using only their tongue -- no lips."

"Oh yeah, that's a good one," said Lissa. "And I'm on his left," she gave an evil little laugh, and without pause ran off to the kitchen.

I exchanged a glance of helpless enjoyment with my sister, and shortly Lissa returned with a jar of chocolate sauce, like for topping ice cream. "Sit still," she admonished, bending over next to me and opening the jar.

With her fingers, she quickly applied a layer of chocolate around my lips, very businesslike. "No licking," she warned, as my tongue tried to flick out involuntarily. I controlled myself.