A Conversation
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The smell of fresh coffee and bacon filtered into the room late the next morning. I surveyed the room. I was still at Sally's, so it hadn't all been a bad dream. Damn! I raised the sheets and checked my equipment. I breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't pulled a Bobbit. In fact, it looked and felt as if my erection had never gone down from the night before. The few personal items I kept at her place were still hanging in the closet and sitting unbroken on the dressing table. So far, so good. No open suitcase conveniently left out for me to pack up my things and leave.
I reviewed the final events of the previous evening in my head. Same conclusion; I had really fucked up this time.
The wafting aroma of a hearty breakfast had me confused, however. Sally and Janey were extremely health conscious and didn't eat a lot of eggs and bacon, or as Janey called them, 'cholesterol and nitrates in non-unsaturateds.' It's what she meant when she said 'CNN.'
Under normal circumstances, I had been able to associate these particular smells with the hearty breakfasts we would have following an exceptional night of wild passionate sex. Or of nights filled with passion and romance, not just fucking and sucking, as had been the case more often than not of late.
I slipped on my robe and walked out to the kitchen. On the way, I went past Janey's door, which was open. The bedroom doors in this house were always open, even during sex. It took a bit of getting used to, as Sally was extremely vocal during intercourse, announcing her pleasures with descriptive words and sounds. Privacy was for the bathroom, unless, of course she was horny. Janey respected the privacy visually, but I wondered how much she heard.
I peeked in on Janey, to check on her, of course. She was still fast asleep, but curled into a protective fetal position, as if hugging herself. I continued on, following my nose to the kitchen.
At the door to the kitchen I paused and reconnoitered. Two place settings, both with coffee cups, one of them was the special cup reserved for my use and another good sign. Fresh squeezed orange juice, a special treat. Sally hated the work it took. I cautiously cleared my throat, ready to duck at the first sign of flying utensils.
"Good morning, lover. Hungry?" she asked gaily, without turning from the stove.
'Lover?' Me? I quickly checked behind me to see if anyone else was there. Nope, just me.
"Uh, sure. You know I like a big breakfast... ," I started.
I bit my tongue, as I had almost added 'after a night of great sex.' I edged closer to the table, still watching for flying pottery or hot grease.
Sally was standing at the stove, wearing her 'I just had another night of great sex' robe. It was the red silk one and was short enough you could just see the bottom swells of her ass cheeks. When it was cinched tight with the silk rope belt, like it was now, you could see everything, back and front. Usually that meant 'breakfast can wait, shove the dishes on the floor and do me hard and fast on the table.' I had no idea what it meant this morning. I took another cautious step towards the table.
She watched my progress with a strange expression on her face. It was more a wry smile than anything, but there was a definite element of sadness in it to, or seriousness, maybe.
"Sit," she said.
It was gentle, like the final concession in an argument, but it was an order, nonetheless.
I sat, trembling slightly.
She came over with two plates, business-like. They were hot out of the oven. She put them down, poured the coffee and sat down with me at the table. She then proceeded to push her food all around her plate until it was a congealed mass in the center. It looked just like my plate.
I had been watching her fidget for the longest time. I had only known her to fidget once before, and that was the first night she asked me to stay over with her when Janey was there, too. Indecision was not something I was used to from her. She finally noticed me watching her and blushed. That surprised me.
"Is something on your mind, Sally?" I asked her
"Yes. No. Yes. But I don't know how to start," she said haltingly.
This was even more uncharacteristic of her, and immediately I misunderstood.
"Look, if it's about last night, I'm terribly sorry. I don't know what happened that it popped up like that. I was tired, we were both stressed out because of what - you know, all that happened. And it's been a long time since we, well, did anything together to relieve that particular kind of stress. I swear to you with all my heart, soul and body, I have never thought of Janey in that way before. Cut it off and toss it out if I'm lying! I don't know what came over me."
I hesitated, choked up a bit. "Just - just don't make me leave you."
My eyes started to water. Hey, it was an emotional moment. I was really sincere, and I was sincerely afraid she would never let me see her again. I was prepared to continue to beg, plead, scream, grovel or whatever it took to obtain her forgiveness. Fortunately she took pity on me and stopped me.
"That's very sweet of you. I'll bet I could almost get you to grovel on the floor, couldn't I?" she asked, almost teasingly.
I nodded. My heart sank to my knees. I wasn't all that good at begging, really.
"And I wouldn't think of cutting it off. It has - you 'both' have brought me too much happiness and pleasure. That's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about."
She chewed on the next line for a long time. Then she dropped the bomb.
"I want you to teach Janey about sex."
My ears were playing tricks on me, but my prick had heard and was rising once again to the challenge. It popped its head out between the flaps of my robe, as if wanting to participate in the conversation. It was so hard it hurt. I was going to have to do something about these uncontrollable erections. More sex more often, maybe?
Sally looked at me, waiting for a response, other than the one sticking out of my robe. I think she wanted something verbal, some response from the cognitive side of my brain.
"You're serious," I said.
It was a statement, not a question. A thousand thoughts whipped through my head, with the foremost being the jolting realization that my position in this house was not as precarious as I had at first thought. In fact, I suddenly felt pretty damn smug. But I wanted to see how much it meant to her.
"Let's get this straight; you want me, a much older man, to teach your underage daughter about sex? Do you mean teach, as in 'tell her about it, ' or teach, as in 'actually have sex with?'" I queried her.
Her hands over her beautiful face muffled her answer, as if trying to hide from the absurdity of this conversation; to blank it from her mind.
"What?" I asked baldly. "I didn't quite catch that."
OK, so I lied, big deal. I had heard just fine. I just wanted her to repeat it for posterity, and to make really, really, really sure.
"Have sex with," she said again, making my heart leap for joy. "I want you to have sex with my under-aged teenage daughter and show her how wonderful it can be. And that means whatever it takes to do that. Satisfied?"
She had enunciated her answer very carefully, as if speaking to an idiot or a foreigner. No offense intended. Everyone does it to foreign visitors. She glared at me across the table.
"No," I said simply.
She looked at me disbelieving, almost in shock.
"Check that. Let me clarify. I mean, 'No, I'm not satisfied with your answer'. Don't take that as a 'No' to the sex part. Yet."
I was grinning at her like an idiot, which I was. I had the upper hand for the first time and she knew it. She also didn't like it and knew I was going to rub it in. Good.
"How much sex?" I asked.
She glared at me. I kept going.
"What kind of sex? How often? Is she on the pill? You know I don't use condoms..."
I looked down and then grinned up at her.
" ... They don't fit very well, as you well know," I finished up.
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