Games Some People Play Ch 20

Here is the last chapter. The cum has dried. Time to find our panties, wherever the hell we dropped them. We are all of us hurtling toward death at 65 heart beats per minute and better figure out what is next. Sandra is very good that.

"This is boring beyond belief!" said Stephanie, morosely shaking her head. Her gaze might have been at some spot on the floor, except that her eyes seemed unfocused, as though intent on something far away. "My sex life ought to make great porn, but, to me, it's nothing but a wastebasket of tissues stuck together with dried cum."

And then: "Listen, I can't go through this, now. Anyway, Sandra and Stephanie saw Butch, and what she's like. Susan can see all that on the DVD she made." Tilting her head, she frowned at Susan, and muttered: "Still can't quite believe you did that, Sis!

"Anyway, Butch and Angelina: That's where I ended up. That was the Mecca of my journey of discovery. Can I leave it there? Please?"

"Of course," said Sandra.

"This isn't a trial, Steph," said Susan. "But we do know each other so much better, now. Stories can't take the place of the last two days. Now, we know that we accept each other just as we are."

"That's true," said Stephanie dully. "You saw me in action. You saw everything..."

"You know," said Sandra, "I think you might have been as surprised at us as we were at you, Stephanie."

Stephanie suddenly brightened: "That's for sure! I never dreamed that the other women in the family had such wild sex-at least once upon a time!"

Susan smiled, looking into her sister's eyes. "Doesn't that feel good to you?"

"I guess. I just feel as though I'm sort of back in the family." Suddenly, she snapped, "No! I don't need a hug, right now! Sit down! Thanks, anyway!"

Both Sandra and Susan had begun to rise at the same moment, as Stephanie spoke of being 'back in the family.' Now, they let themselves flop back onto the sofa, Sandra and Susan sitting together across from Stephanie. A sweet family resemblance, there.

"I'm all right," added Stephanie.

"Then let's get showered and dressed for dinner," said Sandra. "I think I left the striped bass and chardonnay on the kitchen counter. I should go deal with them."

"I'm more than ready!" said Susan.

"I do have one announcement to make," said Sandra. She paused a moment, scrutinizing Stephanie.

Then, she said: "I invited Henry Cabot over for a drink, and that would be in"-she craned her neck to peer at the modem atop the TV—"really only 45 minutes, so..."

"Henry Cabot!" It seemed that Stephanie always shot to her feet when excited. She took half a step toward her mother, so threatening that Sandra held up a defending hand.

"I should explain..." said Sandra.

"We're all fucking bare-ass, here! Tommy has dried cum on his dick! Henry-fucking-Cabot?"

Sandra had raised both hands, palms outward like a shield. "Hold it! Two days ago, I met him at the fish store. You were coming for this visit-first time in how many years?"

"Okay," said Stephanie, fists in the classic pose on her curvy hips. "I came because Susan offered the house. I wanted to treat Butch and Angelina to the beach."

"Of course," said Susan.

"What do you mean 'of course'?" Stephanie demanded. "I get here and Tommy is hanging by his wrists and you're gone!"

Sandra said quickly: "Do you know, every time I have seen Henry for...what is it? For 10 years? He has asked about you? Every single time."

For a moment, I thought Stephanie would slide to the floor like a silk suit slipping off a hanger. She seemed to lose all muscle tone, slumping. She took an awkward step and leaned forward, resting a hand on the arm of the sofa.

"Are you okay, Sis?" Susan started to rise, hand out.

"Of course, I'm fucking okay," said Stephanie. But from my position, I saw the wide green eyes blinking rapidly, and her lips parted. "I just can't believe this!"

Then, she said, suddenly, "Isn't he married? To Tina?"

"Nope," said Sandra, "that lasted about a year, I think. And since then, I don't know that he's been with anyone. It's been a long time."

"He was the hottest guy in high school," said Stephanie tonelessly, her gaze lost in some distance that she alone saw.

"Did you like him?" asked Susan. "Stupid teenage question, I know."

"No, I didn't 'like' him," said Stephanie wearily. "I worshiped him. You don't have fantasies about a date with God. I had better things to do."

She added, "He had a beautiful dick."

"What?" Susan sat up so fast that her boobs swayed forward; unconsciously, she brought up her hands to steady them.

"There was only one guy I spent time with, but no one ever knew it," explained Stephanie patiently. "I know he was wild about me, pathetic. In love. I didn't give him a thing, but he did whatever I wanted. Once, I told him he had to get a picture of Henry Cabot's dick in the shower room!

"It was a joke, for me, but, yup! He got some miniature camera, high-speed film. Put together a little darkroom. God, he was my slave!

"In a week or so, he slips me a note. I forbade him to talk to me in school. The note says: 'Got to meet you in the woods. The path right behind the cemetery. Three-thirty. I got what you want.'

"Totally perfect afternoon, that day. Middle of October, as warm as summer, the leaves all changing to yellow, orange, red. The woods had the odor of toasted nuts. Leaves spiraling down all around us. You could almost touch the sunlight streaming down through the last leaves.

"So we met, there, and he opens a manila envelope and hands over some eight-by-ten photographs. Black and white, of course. And they're good! And there is Henry Cabot, nude in the shower with fantastic shoulders, arms, ass. And then with the other guys, then walking back to his locker, drying himself. I have no idea how my friend took these without being caught. And then a few close-ups. And I stood there, staring, and trying to take in this gorgeous dick with a nice big head on it, nestled down in Henry's dark hair.

"And my friend asks, 'Okay, Steph? What you wanted?' I sort of look up, noticing him for the first time. I lean over and give him a peck on the cheek, and say, 'Great, thanks!'

"I knew he was dying, watching me study Henry's prick. I sort of didn't care. He would never make a move or anything. Never."

She looked up at us. After a moment, she said, "Best friend I ever had." She added, bleakly, "Went in with Desert Storm. Never came back."

We sat as though holding a moment of silence, but, actually, I couldn't imagine what to say. And so after a few moments, I said: "We'd better change," I had been imagining a knock on the door and four naked people in a panic.

"I felt I had to invite Henry for a drink," said Sandra. "Stephanie, you haven't been here for 10 years, like I have, running into him every week or so, in town, and watching him find some reason to ask again about Stephanie."

"Yeah, happens to me, too," said Susan. "He has it so bad."

"And what am I supposed to do?" demanded Stephanie. "I mean, let's all greet him bare-ass if he has a thing for me. He can see my hot bod and get it out of his system. Fair is fair, I saw his dick."

Sandra sat up. "We will dress now," she announced. She added: "and I mean, now! I'm sure I will be ready before any of you, since it doesn't matter so much how I look. I will let Henry in and entertain him until you ladies make an appearance."

"And then?" demanded Stephanie.

"Then, you will remember everything—everything-that Mommy taught you! You will be a lady. You will be dressed appropriately. There will be no so-called 'potty mouth' and no references to sex and related topics! You are a lady!"

"What the fuck does it matter..."

"Stephanie, dear, shut up. We don't have time. Henry Cabot is bright, he is wealthy not only by birth but because he works very hard, he is decent in his life and manners, and, if I am any judge, he has a body to die for. And he loves you."

"So I'm on offer?" Stephanie asked, but I thought I perceived a softening in her expression, and her question sounded like a question, not a sarcastic rejoinder. "I'm on offer, just like that?"

"Got anything better to do, Sis?" This from Susan. She added: "I'm asking totally seriously."

"I've got fucking nothing to do! And nowhere to go. You know that! Why do you even ask?"

"Although you have declined to tell us your whole story, I believe you have exhausted the possibilities of spending your whole life experimenting with peak sexual experiences." This from Sandra.

"You mean with being a total slut?" demanded Stephanie, fists again on her hips, red rising in her cheeks.

"Hey, Sis, it doesn't get any more experimental than with Butch and Angelina," said Susan reasonably. "I would say you're lucky you're alive and have no scars."

"All right, you know what? Just tell me what to do," said Stephanie with a sigh. "I'm waiting..."

"Good," said Sandra, "very good. You will shower, dress decently, but with all curves revealed..."

"Okay," said Stephanie.

"You will smile when you meet Henry for the first time in 10 years."

Susan interjected, "Give him a hug, but no chest pressing, no pussy rubbing, and just a decent peck on the cheek."

"Yeah, got it," said Stephanie. "I know normal."

Sandra added: "I think it is obvious you should talk about high school, since that is where you knew each other. But nothing about sex, of course."

"Nothing about photos of his cock," said Susan.

"Susan!" said Sandra. "Unnecessary! Why are you provoking your sister?"

Susan sat up straight. "I am so sorry, Steph! It's obvious I have a shit load to learn. Forgive?"

"It's all right," said Stephanie, "I'm a joke anyway..."

"No!" said Susan. "Screw that! You are not a joke!"

"Sometime toward the end of drinks, I will invite Henry to stay for dinner," said Sandra. "And you, Stephanie, will chime in with 'Oh, could you, Henry! I would love it!'"

"Okay," said Stephanie frowning. And then, abruptly, she said, her mouth dropping open, staring at Sandra and Susan sitting side by side on the sofa: "My God!" It was a whisper. "How much of this did you two...?"

"We don't have time for that!" said Sandra peremptorily. "Just listen. Sometime toward the end of coffee, I imagine Henry will say something like: 'This has been so wonderful, Stephanie, 'I would like to take you to dinner.' Or, he might say, if he's the bashful type, 'Want to walk a little, Stephanie?' and then he asks you while you're alone."

"On no account do you kiss him!" interjected Susan. "No way! If he moon-faces you and leans down, you turn your face away, and say, 'Let's just wait, Henry! It's been so long...'"

"I second that," said Sandra. "And no feeling you up, of course. You keep a tight grip, Stephanie! There will be plenty of time for..."

"Yeah, yeah," said Stephanie. "Sweet, alluring, and oh-so-innocently cock-teasing."

"Exactly!" said Susan.

"We can talk more about that later, of course," said Sandra. "But no kissing or boob play when he takes you to dinner, either. Not on the first date. Remember: Henry Cabot views you as infinitely inaccessible—and infinitely desirable."

"Oh, my God," murmured Stephanie. "This really is a honey trap."

"You will make it up to him!" said Susan. "Once you're married, you will demand at least two years of pure, licentious, nasty-as-hell, beautiful sex before you start to have babies with him."

"Oh, sure," said Stephanie. "Why not? And I imagine that this whole scenario is written down somewhere?" She stood looking at Sandra and Susan, her perfect full lips in a pout.

"Of course not," said Sandra. "It will be your decision to make with your husband, Henry." But she added, "It is just a recommendation."

"And apart from fucking and babies, what do I do for a life, if I may ask you two?"

"You had many wonderful interests in high school," said Sandra thoughtfully.

"You mean like breeding pedigreed wolfhounds? Or my art? For God's sake..."

"Whatever you want to do, just tell Henry that is what you have spent the past 10 years preparing to do," said Sandra. "You realize that you can do anything you want, don't you? The Cabots are wealthy and Henry seems to be growing the family fortune."

"So I'm whoring for the big money, now..."

"Not if you are in love," said Susan-rather haughtily, I thought. And she added, "Or married. Or both."

"As far as doing it for money," Sandra began.

"Yeah," said Stephanie wearily. "Yeah, I know. All the money I've ever made..."

"I would think of it as a partnership," said Sandra. "You bear his children..."

"HIS children?"

"Just a manner of speaking," I managed to slip in. "Probably Henry thinks of it that way. On the other hand, when he watches you breast-feeding the baby, he's the happiest man in the world. And would die to protect you."

"You will need to work on all this, Stephanie," said Sandra, craning again to glance at the clock of the modem. "You will have time—but not right now!"

She added, rising to her feet, "Right now, you girls have about 10 minutes to shower, dress, and get back down here. You are very fortunate that I can accomplish all that in five minutes. Learn from me!"

"You haven't exactly said what happens after he takes me to dinner," said Stephanie uncertainly.

"He proposes to you, guaranteed!" I said.

She whirled to me. "Hey, Tommy, how about you? Did you know all about this, too? Am I the little drummer girl?"

I shook my head, my expression, I trust, solemn, and said: "Nope! All this is new to me. I thought all of this was about my big 30." The absolute truth.

"But that is another story," said Sandra. "Think of this as the end of a chapter in your life, Stephanie, and the start of a new one."

Suddenly, she bent forward, the full breasts swaying, and brought back her slim arm, a beautiful contour of muscle. She commanded, "Go, daughter!" and the slap on Stephanie's perfect tight little ass sounded like a shot.

Stephanie's arched back, yanking in her lovely, reddened butt, and yelped, "All right, Mom!"