How the Women Got Plastered and Patrick Got BustedChapter 8
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You’d think that it would have been all open and above board, what with it being discussed between all of them like that.
You’d have been wrong.
It was one thing to agree to do things that no one else in the culture would understand, or permit. It was another to do it bald-faced. Everything from that point on was quite private, with one exception that I’ll mention later.
After the ritual was done, the women went back to treating me ... and later Danny ... almost like they had always treated us before. As I write this, years later, I am still lover to all six women, but an outsider wouldn’t have a clue. I still had disagreements with them, and fights with some of them. I still had to do chores, and get good grades. Almost nothing changed, except that, when they were in the mood ... and sometimes when I was in the mood ... they made that known and ... in private ... I emptied my balls, while they had orgasms.
Mom was the exception. The night of the confab, she asked me to sleep with her, in her bed. I did, and we must have made love four or five times. After that, her bed was always open to me at night, except for a little misunderstanding that I’ll also tell you about later. I could have slept with her every night. Even if she had been my only lover, I doubt I would have done that. She really did take up the whole bed in her sleep.
Some nights I slept with Randi. She had her own signal that meant she wanted some attention. She’d swat me on my butt as she walked by. That was it. Just a swat that didn’t even hurt. I didn’t figure it out for almost a month. After that, I paid attention to what the others did. Most of them started out asking me to come over to the house to do this or that for them. When I got there, there was a horny woman waiting for me. There were a couple of times when they actually wanted me to do some chore for them, and no sex was involved. Aunt Christy was the hardest to read, except for when she was ovulating. I learned how to track a woman’s cycle based on hers. There was a nine day window in the middle of that cycle, and she tried to get my sperm in her womb every one of those nine days. I had to do double duty, between her and some of the others, when Christy was ovulating. I didn’t have any trouble with that, though. Once they knew they could have me whenever they wanted, they didn’t get so frantic about it any more. There were lots of weeks where I only emptied my balls two or three times. At least in a warm pussy. Both Mom and Randi, my primary sources of relief, had decided they didn’t want to get pregnant, and during each of their nine days, they wouldn’t come near me.
Aunt Vanessa just called me on the phone, said, “I’m horny, Pat,” and that was all their was to it. She did more kissing on me, when she visited, than any of the others. I think that’s because she was pregnant. She didn’t tell anybody until she showed so much that Grandma asked her when she was going to spill the beans.
It took me nearly a year to knock Aunt Christy up. It turned out that part of the problem was her. Everybody had thought that Danny just had a low sperm count. It turned out that was true. He did have a low sperm count. But she had a blocked fallopian tube or something like that. They found out about it when she was pregnant, and got it fixed.
Remember those nine days that my mother and Randi wouldn’t let me near them, because they didn’t want to get pregnant? They had been availing themselves of the “safe” man, during those times ... the one who couldn’t get Christy pregnant. Of course I got the blame, when they turned up preggers. There were some very tense weeks in our house as Mom and Randi muttered and scowled, and it was a good thing I still had my own bed, because I sure didn’t get invited into theirs for a while. They calmed down, after a while, though. Mom got all sappy about having another baby. Randi was less happy about it, until the baby started moving around in her belly. That changed everything. Once she saw it as a living, almost breathing little piece of her (and me), and you could see its little footprint through her skin sometimes, she got all sappy too.
We ordered more belly cast kits, and I made casts of all the pregnant bellies in the family. That was almost as much fun as making the original casts had been.
I thought it was almost hilarious when both Mom and Randi delivered babies with flaming red hair. I had the best time explaining to them all about recessive genes, and how that meant Danny had to be the father, instead of me!
They took it in stride. They even chose Irish names, to commemorate the occasion. Mom named her daughter Eileen, which means “Bringer of Light” because she brought so much light and happiness to her mother. Randi named her son Shamus, which means “The Supplanter”, because she hadn’t planned on getting pregnant. She loved him, though, and adjusted to being a mother well. Randi was the first to teach me what breast milk tasted like.
Aunt Christy’s little boy had coal black hair, exactly the shade of mine. It was curly like mine too. She named him Jordan, my middle name, and I knew I’d try my best to knock her up again.
Aunt Vanessa’s baby was known to be mine. That’s because she didn’t exert her privileges to Danny until after she knew she was pregnant. I was her only lover between the menstrual period she had after dallying with Danny, and the one she missed after I had spurted her belly full of my sperm several dozen times. She had a daughter, and named her Mona, after Grandma.
Grandma didn’t have the libido of her daughters, and granddaughters. On the other hand, a lot had happened in the sexual world, in the time since she’d kicked her philandering husband out, and given up sex. She wanted to try everything. She said that acting out everything in the Kama Sutra kept her young. Some of that stuff is just plain goofy.
As for Tabby, she was actually serious about keeping her virginity intact. She kissed me good night almost every night, and rubbed her breasts in my face. When Mom and Randi found out they were pregnant, and I was banished to my own bed, Tabby interpreted “staying a virgin” to mean that no penis had been in her pussy, yet. That meant everything else was fair game. She came in most nights and lay down with me, cuddling and kissing, while I got her off with my fingers or mouth. For my High School graduation, she wanted to give me a blow job. She had secretly been getting lessons from Aunt Vanessa, working on a dildo. She was a good student.
The night before I left for college, (I got accepted at a private school, with a full ride, because I’m a genius, after all) they had a big party. There were four babies crawling around on the floor, and Aunt Vanessa was showing again. This time she didn’t know whose it was. Nobody knew about the Everclear Danny dumped in the igloo cooler of punch he and Christy brought. Well, nobody except Danny and Vanessa. He whispered it in her ear, so she wouldn’t drink too much and risk harm to the baby in her womb. Everybody else figured it out when Tabby got loopy and lurched into a wall. Mom and Christy took her up and put her in bed, but the party broke up soon afterwards.
I awoke to find Tabby sucking my dick, that night. When I asked her what she was doing, she said she hadn’t kissed me good night, and since it was my last night at home, “maybe ever!“, she couldn’t not do that. She crawled up on my naked body and laid her naked body down, rubbing her pussy against the prick she hadn’t quite finished off with her mouth. I thought she was going to make a mess with it, because while she was kissing me, she was jerking me off too. Then she stopped kissing me.
“I’m sorry, Pat,” she said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble, but I can’t wait ‘til I’m seventeen. That’s a whole year away.”
I’d had enough of that punch that I didn’t react fast enough when she plugged my prick into her pussy and then pushed, with her other arm, sitting up straight. She slid down my pole like a fireman in a hurry, and sighed.
She’d borrowed that dildo. She told Aunt Vanessa it was to practice her oral arts, but she’d used it to make sure that when she did what she was currently doing, it wouldn’t hurt.
It didn’t.
The second I realized my root was planted in a fresh, virgin pussy, I went off like a volcano.
Then she got all worried, because it wasn’t a good time to be doing this. By the time I got her calmed down, she was horny again, and got another dose of spunk. She really was a true Turner woman. I left for college, and she called me every day until her period finally came. It was a week late, but I think that’s because she was so worried and emotional about it.
I’d only been gone two months when I started going home every other weekend. I know you’re thinking it’s because I had all this pussy at home, and could tap it any time I wanted to. That’s true, in a way, but it’s not the original reason I started going home every other weekend.
I got a call from Danny. He begged me to.
Oh yeah. I didn’t tell you about how the project turned out. I wonder why? That was, after all, the whole point of the story ... right?
Making the busts was messy, but it worked. They looked almost eerie ... pure white things that were so perfectly detailed, and looked so much like the real thing. Cat was amazed by them, and demanded to know exactly what it took to make them. I showed her Tabby’s cast, which was the only one I could get my hands on, and one of the boxes the kits came in, and explained how it was made. Her response was simply: “Fascinating!”
Cat arranged for a select group of students from the art department to paint the busts for me. When they got done, they looked so real I wanted to put my mouth on the nipples. She found a room we could borrow, and I put an ad in the paper for men for a research project. It read as follows:
Wanted: Men of all ages. College research project, concerning men’s preferences for female body types. Approximately ten minutes needed. Involves viewing busts of naked women. Completely confidential. No monetary compensation provided.
I didn’t know how long to run it. Cat had suggested having more than ten men in each of four rough age groups, so I paid for five days. I put my mother’s number in the ad, which turned out to be a mistake. That happened around the same time she and Randi found out they were pregnant, and weren’t happy with me.
The phone rang constantly over the next six days. All three of the women I lived with, went to stay with Grandma. It worked out to about one call per hour ... twenty-four-hours a day. And that didn’t include the crank calls. I didn’t get a wink of sleep, and I got grounded because Mom had to get a new number.
Cat also convinced me to set the busts up in a circle, on a table, facing out. They were lit from above, by multiple, angled spot lights. The table was covered with some black, shiny cloth. The men were sent in and told to circle the table up to three times, make their choice of favorite breasts, and then fill out a short questionnaire about why they chose that bust.
I used fifty men, age eighteen to twenty-five, fifty men age twenty-six to thirty-five, fifty men age thirty-six to forty-five, fifty men age forty-six to fifty-five, and fifty men over fifty-five.
Officer Dalton got to go first. He’d done me a favor. He was in the twenty-six to thirty-five group.
There was a sign in front of each bust that said “DO NOT TOUCH“ in huge black letters.
Cat and I sat in one corner of the room, watching. That started after the sixteenth man to view the busts tried to smuggle my mother’s bust out under his coat. He was pretty bald-faced about it, saying he thought he was supposed to choose the one he wanted ... and take it with him. Officer Dalton was still hanging around, hoping to have a second go, and offered to arrest him, but we decided not to push it. We did let Officer Dalton take it back in and put it back. He had clean hands, though, and didn’t smudge anything, even though he felt it was neccessary to use the breasts themselves as handles. I thought about rewarding him again, by telling him it was my mother’s bust, but decided it might be awkward if he decided he had to seize it as evidence or something like that. He’d given me back the negatives and contact sheets, but that didn’t mean he’d give me back the bust.
After we started monitoring the viewings, almost every man who circled that table touched at least one bust, almost always squeezing a nipple, though some cupped a breast. Thank goodness the artists used paint that could be cleaned with a soft damp cloth. I spent more time cleaning smudges off of the busts than I did making them in the first place. Of course that brought back memories, and I caught Cat staring at the front of my pants.
“Who were these models, again?” she asked, at one point.
I hadn’t told her that. “I signed a confidentiality agreement not to disclose that,” I lied.
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