Chapter 8

My prick gave another convulsive lurch in Lynne's pussy, as the tableau froze, and then began moving again.

"SHIT!" yelled Jill, as she obviously recognized me and lowered the poker.

"SHIT!" yelled Lynne in almost exactly the same tone and volume.

"AHHHHHH," I groaned as I spurted one last time.

"MOM!" yelled Jill, in that tone of voice that makes it perfectly clear that the mother in question has GREATLY disappointed the daughter yelling the word.

"JILL!" moaned Lynne, in that voice that makes it perfectly clear that the speaker is horribly embarrassed, mortified, even.

Jill stamped one foot. It would have been funny if she hadn't been so mad.

"THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME!" she yelled.

Then she whirled, and stormed out of the room.

In my fantasies about doing what I'd just done with Lynne, I had never taken them far enough to reflect on the aftermath. If I had, I doubt it would have been like what happened.

I was pushed off the naked woman I had just fucked, and there was another wet sound as My cock was separated forcibly from her pussy. She bounced almost athletically up and stood, poised to go after her daughter.

"Shit, shit, shit!" she panted.

"Put something on!" I gasped.

She looked at me, and then at her clothes, which were on the floor by her feet, where she'd thrown them. Then, for whatever reason, she whirled and went to get her robe, which was hanging on a hook by the door. She shrugged into it, her fingers fumbling with the belt as she went out the door.

Left in a bright room, naked, in Lynne's bed, which she had vacated as if she was fleeing from a bounty hunter, I wondered what I should do. The idea of getting dressed and leaving was attractive, but I knew it would be the wrong thing to do. Leaving precipitously after what had just happened would say something I didn't want to say to Lynne.

I wondered what I SHOULD say to Lynne.

In any case, I didn't have any place to go, other than the bunkhouse. I lived there.

In the end I got up, put my pants and shirt back on, and went looking for the women.

I found them sitting on the side of Jill's bed, holding hands, talking softly. When I stuck my head in, I got two different looks. From Lynne was a look of almost sorrow, or at least what I interpreted that way. Jill was ticked off at me. That much was plain.

"I'll talk to you later," Lynne said.

"Got it," I said. And then, for reasons I still can't explain to this day, I said "I love you both," and turned around and left. I got my shoes and socks and carried them to my room. What I really wanted was to take a shower, but I thought that might seem somewhat cavalier, so I turned on my reading light and got the pencil puzzle book I was currently working on. Lying on my front, I got the pillow situated under my chest and, with pencil poised, I opened the magazine to a random page.

If you're a guy, you'll understand why, as I was thinking about that shouted "THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME!" I was confused as to what it might mean. In the years since then I've learned that any woman would have understood it instantly. Lynne did. But us guys are sometimes a bit dense.

Obviously it referred to what was going on in Lynne's bed. And obviously it meant that Jill thought she should have been one of the people in that bed, doing what we were doing. What wasn't so obvious, to me anyway, was whether she was supposed to be taking Lynne's place ... or mine.

Stop laughing. I told you men are a little dense. And these days the world is full of girls who like other girls. And there were little clues that Jill wasn't all that much into boys. That she got interested in dating so late was one. That she didn't seem to get all gooey over any of the guys she met was another. And there was just something wrong about the way she and Langston had looked at each other before prom. I mean I developed the beginnings of a nice healthy boner when I saw her all dressed up to the nines, looking as delicious as a chocolate éclair. He'd glanced at her and then looked at me and her mother. And Jill hadn't seemed all that excited about prom at all, for as much time and effort as she and Lynne put into getting her ready.

There was just something that was off there, and it affected how I interpreted other cues.

So my level of angst about all this had twin taproots. First, while I could live with the idea that Jill might be a lesbian, I wasn't at all sure Lynne could. My heart went out to her. At the same time, what had happened between us, as fast and furious and untidy in the end as it had been, it had affected me down deep. Of course what she'd said might be the other thing, which meant she thought it should be her in bed with me. I could live with that too - no problem there at all - except that it was unlikely Lynne could live with that either, and it would surely mess up what seemed to be a very promising beginning for Lynne and me.

In other words, no matter what she had meant, Lynne might have a good reason to have that look of sorrow on her face. Jill might be making her choose between her daughter and me - literally.

So I was worried for the three hours it took for Lynne to contact me. And HOW she contacted me almost blew my mind.