Sally and Gerry BillyG
There was a period in my teen years when I was uncharacteristically positive about few things in
life. This stance, so antithetical to how I would have people think of me, was operative only
secretly. On the surface, what I lacked in self confidence, I compensated with bravado. Not a loud,
in-your-face, strutting bravado, but more a quiet, act-as-if behavior. Yet, one of the facets of my
personality about which I *was* certain was my lust for women. Not, mind you, a woman. But women.
Plural. That both the broad brush strokes of our culture as well as the more narrowly defined
constraints of our local society didn't condone such a view was clear, even to an insensitive
teenage male such as me. I may have been a libertine at heart, but I wasn't dumb about it. I kept
my views to myself. I was, at the time, dating a girl, a high-school cheerleader, named Sally. Our
relationship wasn't "serious" - there was never anything approaching commitment, at least on my
part. I was spared that near-fatal, teen-age malady known as "falling in love." Oh, I recognized
readily that I'd fallen in lust, but that's quite another matter. Sally was attractive, sexy, and
very enthusiastic. She loved to fuck. That was it, the whole of it, readily summarized. Aside from
that, we didn't have much of a relationship. Part of that was due to my own superficiality, I'm
sure. Another part was a consequence of Sally's limited interest in life's matters distanced from
fornication. I suppose that might be said another way: Sally was an attractive and very horny air
head with no particular concerns or interests beyond getting laid. Her interest and enthusiasm for
things sexual knew few bounds and even as a lustful teenage male with an ingrown hard-on, there
were times when she asked for more than I could deliver. It may be that there were nymphomaniacal
elements there; even then I recognized this dilemma as a quality problem. I'm attempting to set the
stage for the main thrust of this little story. You see, Sally was the youngest of five girls and
all her sisters were as attractive. More, they were sexy and to a one, knew of our affair. Somehow,
that carried a charge for me. Knowing that they knew added considerable spice to the whole thing.
Despite being fully sated with Sally, I remained keenly aware of her sisters. I didn't suppose I'd
"make out" with any of them; heck, they were so much older. Three of them must have been in their
early and mid twenties for God's sake! Still, no woman was *too* old, I reasoned. Sally was from an
old family in our home town and like many old families, they named their children after even older
family members. Her real name was Sara and her next older sister - she was probably about three
years older than Sally - was named Geraldine. No one - at least no one in our generation - called
her Geraldine. Gerry was the most commonly used affectionate diminutive. Anyway, Gerry was a
raven-haired beauty with dark, snapping eyes and a sensuous, mostly unsmiling mouth. It wasn't that
she was grim or lacked a sense of humor. It just appeared that her natural countenance was serious
and unsmiling. She had a way of looking at me that made me squirm a little. It was as if she knew
something about me and expected an explanation. The rational side of me knew this was only my
self-centered fear speaking to me while the emotional (read irrational) side of me knew with a
certainty that I'd been found out. She could see my licentious thoughts written across my face. And
with good reason. At a later stage in my life I figured out why I felt guilty so often. Usually I
*was*! You see, Gerry was a knockout, a sex bomb. She had a fantastic figure with prominent breasts
and a nice jutting butt. She had a habit of reaching with her right hand, under her left breast
into her left arm pit as she was talking with me. This served to push her breast up and in,
accenting the visible cleavage. I was powerless; I had to stare. Often, I suspected, she didn't
wear a bra. Sometimes when I'd give her a hug, I'd be sure of it. She was chief among my
illusionary women and an active masturbation fantasy. Her dark-eyed serious stare was often
interpreted by me as representing her knowledge of my unbridled lust. Of course, that made it all
the juicier. Back to the story: Once Sally and I were sitting together in her living room.
Actually, she was sitting on my lap as I sat in a large, over-stuffed chair as we often did. We'd
been whispering and engaging in some low grade petting. It was the custom of her family to stay in
the family room, rarely venturing into the living room it seemed. Perhaps it was because we were
there and they were giving us space, but in any event, it had come to be held by us as a safe place
to mess around. Sally was wearing a long and full skirt and was curled on my lap in such a way that
it was easy and natural for me to slip my hand under her dress and into her panties to play with
her pussy. Sally secreted copiously when she was aroused, and that was most of the time when we
were together. In addition to the lubricity, her secretions had a strong and sexy musk. Once, after
a heavy petting session with Sally, I'd climbed into the car of a friend and he said, "Lordy, you
smell like a French whore house." I briefly wondered how he knew...about French bawdy houses, that
is. But back then, I'd grown accustomed to the odor and didn't realize how strong it was. Gerry
walked through the living room from her bedroom upstairs and then stopped, looking at us, not
speaking. I froze. At that moment, there was no way I could remove my hand without being obvious.
She turned and walked over to our chair, still not speaking. She leaned over and sniffed the air.
Busted! I was a goner, I just knew it. Still without smiling, she said, "Nice to see you, Billy,"
and walked out of the room. Christ! What did that mean? I whispered to Sally, "What did she mean by
that?" "Oh, she's just teasing you," Sally replied, giving it no more thought. "Jesus, she must
have been able to smell you," I argued. "Yeah? So what?" So what indeed. I knew the social dynamics
of her family were leagues removed from my own. I had no notion of how things worked in this family
and decided to do what I usually did when I didn't fully understand. Shut up and listen, try to
figure it out. Gerry seemed to be around more after that incident. It was nothing intrusive or
objectionable, it was just that I was aware of her more than usual. Her comments, usually pithy,
became even more pointed, particularly around allusions to sex. Her hugs were warmer and definitely
fuller. I was always aware of her tits; now I knew what they felt like, pressed into my chest. My
fantasies soared. Once when she was wearing tight shorts, she bent over in front of me to pick up
the paper. This pulled the shorts tight across her ass, outlining the panties underneath and
pulling the crotch of the shorts tightly into her. The white, half-moons of her buttocks were
calling out, "Look at me!" I was staring, trying to make out if I could see her pussy lips, when
she looked back at me from her upside down position. "See anything you like?" she asked. The best I
could manage was a smile and a nod. What was the allure here? Why is it, I wondered then, did I
find other women so attractive when I had all I could comfortably handle? I must admit that with my
marginal maturation, things haven't changed a lot. I'm much like the alcoholic who admits that the
drink he's most interested in is the *next* one. The family resemblance among the sisters was
remarkable. While their body types differed a bit, their coloration, eyes and hair notably, were
characteristic. Sally was willowy while Gerry was fuller. Perhaps exaggerated is a better
description, for everything about her was just a bit on the bold and exotic side. Her cheek bones
were slightly more prominent and her lips just as bit fuller. She had an improbably small waist
that threw into greater eminence her full breasts and wide hips. She wasn't nearly plump enough to
be called Rubenesque. Yes, exaggerated is a good term. I was vaguely aware that while her family
maintained a heightened concern about appearances, there was an undertone of "there's nothing wrong
here and don't you tell." While no one spoke of it or acknowledged it in any way, I was aware that
Gerry had been "dating" a serviceman. This took the form of them disappearing upstairs in her bed
room, not to surface for a week. Everyone walked around this elephant without talking about it.
Mostly I was jealous of the serviceman. One warm afternoon Sally, Gerry and I were chatting in
their family room, a bright place with lots of plants and a southern exposure. We'd been looking at
photo albums together, sitting on a pillow-strewn day bed. I can't remember how I came to be
sitting on the day bed in the first place, but I remember well that Gerry came and sat beside me,
the bed sinking just enough that her thigh pressed against mine. I had to turn my head to speak to
her and I was acutely aware how close our faces were to each other. I noticed gold flecks in her
eyes I'd not seen before and how thick her eye brows were. She had a spray of light freckles across
her nose. Her teeth were remarkably white and perfectly even. She wet her lips frequently as we
chatted and I was increasingly aware of her warm breath. I tried not to look, but my eyes were
drawn to the front of her shirt which gapped open when she turned toward me or leaned forward. No
bra there it was clearly evident. Several times I was certain she'd seen me staring and a few times
I thought the corners of her mouth turned up fractionally. Thereafter, most of the interaction was
between Sally and Gerry, chatting about this memory or that person. I had little more than polite
interest in the pictures of dead relatives and it showed. It was a warm day and little air was
moving.

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 I lay back and closed my eyes for a moment as they argued about the people seen in an old
photograph. Their voices droned on and became distant. I guess I fell asleep. When I awoke again,
the house was quiet and the lengthening shadows suggested I'd been asleep for an hour or more.
Looking to the left, I saw Sally, apparently asleep. On the right was Gerry. She looked back and
smiled, holding a forefinger up to her lips. We were all covered by a throw blanket. I didn't know
how I came to be between them but I thought Gerry may have actually dozed off as well, for she had
one knee thrown over my thigh. Slowly awakening, we stirred. I became exquisitely aware of Gerry's
body pressed against mine. In the readjustment, Gerry's hand had moved down to my low belly, only
inches from the tip of my dick. It lurched and I wondered if anyone besides me could feel the
movement. Yeah, yeah, I know...grandiose thinking. Moving my right hand that had been wedged
between me and Gerry, I suddenly realized that it was right next to her crotch. I could feel the
softness of her thighs and the roundness of her mons against the back of my hand. God! There was
nothing separating me from Gerry's pussy but her dress and panties. A plan spontaneously hatched
and, as with most of my lust-driven brilliant ideas, I didn't subject this scheme to even the
briefest consideration, I just acted. As Gerry traced circles on my chest, I began to inch up her
dress with only the tips of my fingers, a decidedly slow but delicious task. Could I get away with
such an audacious transgression, feeling up my girlfriend's older sister as we all lay "innocently"
under a blanket? My rational brain said, "Of course not," Fortunately, or unfortunately, that part
of my brain was not in control. I suspect my more primitive hind brain was calling the shots and it
said, "Go for it, Billy. You deserve it, you sexy devil you." My lecherous intent had to have been
unmistakable to Gerry. I'd inch up her dress a bit and then press the back of my hand to her mons.
She'd answer by rubbing her knee up and down my thigh. Subtlety was lost on us. I felt something, a
finger, no, a hand against the bulge of my cock. Who was it? They were both facing me, both with
their legs over mine. It could be either one. My brain was frying from over stimulation. Sally, now
awake, was nuzzling against my neck and talking to Gerry just across my Adam's apple. "Isn't this
cozy?" Sally asked, kissing my neck. Was she talking to me? Hell, there wasn't a prayer I'd be able
to talk much less think. I just continued to inch. After a moment, Gerry answered, "Yes. I'm
enjoying being with both a you guys. It's kinda sexy, huh? I mean, all of us in bed together."
"Kinda," Sally admitted, "but we've got all our clothes on," she complained in a fake petulant
voice. I wasn't sure if this was a complaint, an argument or a suggestion. I thought of a solution
but wisely chose to stay quiet and continue my inching. Suddenly my fingers touched warm soft, bare
thigh. I pulled the hem up higher and ran the tips of my fingers across Gerry's skin. How close was
I? Could I pull it up higher? What about the part of her dress that was trapped under her leg? As
if reading my mind, Gerry adjusted her position on the day bed and in the process, lifted her hip
and pulled her dress up and out of my hand. Since that accounted for her free hand and there was
still a hand cupping my cock and balls, I knew it had to be Sally copping a feel. I was thrilled
with the entire thing. My girlfriend snuggling against me, caressing my cock while her sexy older
sister was on the other side pushing her mound against my hand. I knew it was naughty at best and
possibly forbidden at worst, yet that made it all the more delicious. Was this a form of
second-hand, non-consensual incest? I rationalized my behavior by thinking to myself, "They *both*
want you, Billy." The very worst part of such errant nonsense was I believed it! I pulled my left
arm up and wrapped it around Sally's shoulders, leaving the back of my right hand against Gerry's
prominent mound. Now I was touching her warm panties right over the cushy mons but there was a
problem. I couldn't turn my hand around to really feel between her legs. She solved my problem by
further turning into me, ostensibly to reach across and run her fingers along Sally's face. But
what it really accomplished was to turn her pelvis down toward my hand and by rolling the palm up,
I could cup her pussy fully. I thought to distract Sally by caressing her tits, so I slid my hand
off her shoulder and across her chest while my left arm was wrapped around her neck. Even though
the blanket was covering us, the bulge of my hand moving under the blanket's cover was evident to
everyone. Both Sally and Gerry could see my hand groping Sally's breast. Neither said anything. We
all fell silent. The only audible sound was our breathing. It sounded deep and passionate, or was
that just me? Gerry was doing a slow, erotic grind into my upturned hand and at the same time,
Sally was pressing her crotch into my thigh. I took my girlfriend for granted. At this moment, it
was her sister who had my attention. As I cupped her soft pussy through her soaked panties, I ran a
finger along her cleft, gradually sinking in deeper, carrying the panty crotch with me. Somehow I
managed to get my fingers inside the legs of her panties to cup her full, hairy cunt. By this time,
she was increasing the intensity of her pelvic grind at the same time she was tracing lines about
Sally's mouth. Sally loved to have her face touched. It had a near hypnotic effect on her and Gerry
must have known it. I was only dimly aware that she had been able to carry out two tasks at once.
Like me, one of these "tasks" might have been purely instinctual, a no-brainer as it were. I'd
slipped my hand inside Sally's blouse and bra and was idly rolling her hard, erect nipple between
thumb and forefinger, then tugging on it. When I pulled hard, she groaned just a little. Gerry was
watching me and when I looked over at Sally, she was watching Gerry watching me. Both of the
sisters were light complected and both were brunettes, with near-black hair. Sally, I knew, had a
broad and thick bush of long, black curly pubic hair. I wondered if this was a genetic trait that
also ran in the family? I managed to extricate my hand from Gerry's crotch and run it down inside
the waistband of her panties, assessing the quality of her pussy hair. If anything, it was thicker
and more profuse than Sally's and by now, matted soggy wet between her thighs. I felt a strong
compulsion to smell my fingers but couldn't figure a way to accomplish such an overt act without
being obvious. After rolling Gerry's prominent clit between my fingers, I curled one, then two
fingers into her cunt. She gave a soft grunt and humped against me harder. My own pelvis continued
to work against Sally's hand which was now gripping my cock through my trousers. I wanted her to
open my fly and stroke me, but didn't know how to ask. I mean, how *do* you ask for a hand job in
polite company? Glancing at Sally, I noticed she had a puzzled frown. Her nostrils were dilating as
she sniffed the air. Then I smelled it. Pussy! She must have know it wasn't her's, for she suddenly
looked at me as if to ask, "Where is that pussy smell coming from?" Her hand slid off my cock and
found my right forearm. She followed it under her sister's belly and then pushed her hand between
Gerry's thighs where she found my hand. As guilty as I felt at that moment, I knew there was no
chance of me stopping. This was some run-away train of erotic desire; I was aboard and it was an
express. When I glanced over at Gerry, she had her eyes closed. She could feel both my hand in her
pussy and her sister's hand feeling mine. She simply chose not to deal with it. Ignore it. Maybe
it'll go away. Looking back at Sally, she met my eyes with a confused and hurt look. She didn't say
anything right then, but I knew the erotic moment was over. I'd been caught with my hand in the
cookie jar...well, not quite a cookie jar, but certainly caught. I suppose I was coming from the
emotional high ground, knowing that she cared for me more than I cared for her. I didn't want to
hurt her, but I'd already moved into that space that allows to happen whatever is going to happen.
Whatever it was, it was all right. Sally pulled her hand away from my mine as Gerry's hand dropped
to the breast I was feeling. I felt empty in my pelvis, neglected even and I wanted to be held. As
if reading my desires, Gerry then ran her hand down my torso and cupped my cock, slowly stroking me
as she humped against my hand. Moments later, she shuddered and groaned as she crashed over the
top. I wanted desperately to cum, but the situation was too weird. It just didn't happen that way.
Instead, we all lay quietly, no one saying anything. I'd practiced a studied imperturbability so
long, it actually worked. I fell asleep. Later, when I awoke, Gerry was gone and Sally was curled
up next to me. "You okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned. "I suppose you're Gerry's boyfriend now,
huh?" Sally asked with a catch in her voice. "Sally," I began, "I'm attracted to Gerry...hell, I'm
attracted to all you girls. Sure, I'd love to jump her bones, but there's no romance budding here.
I'm not her boyfriend and she's not my girlfriend. You are." "Really?" she asked, wiping a tear
from her eye. "Are we still boyfriend-girlfriend?" I nodded. "Oh, good. I didn't mind you feeling
up Gerry, I just was afraid that you'd want her all the time and not me. I'm so glad I'm still your
girl." I knew Sally well enough to realize it was that simple for her. She didn't complicate her
life with lengthy analysis. Our relationship, narrow and limited as it was, limped on. Less than a
year later, we just drifted apart. 

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