My father died two years ago, at 72 years of age. After the funeral, and all the administrative details of the will, etc., it fell to me, as his son and only child, to look after and take care of my 70-year-old mother, his widow. Thus it was that I began spending many weekend days at her house, helping her dispose of Dad's worldly possessions.
One weekend, not long after the funeral, I was at Mom's; she was cleaning out the closets -- collecting Dad's clothes to send to the re-sale shops -- and she asked me to start working on cleaning the attic.
The attic was about what you'd expect of a couple of septuagenarians who'd lived in the same house together for over 40 years, and it wasn't helped by the fact that both Mom and Dad had significant pack-rat tendencies. Clutter was piled upon clutter, and, at least at first, it was a challenge just to find a clear space in which to stand, much less to move about.
I started moving things around to clear some space, and make it easier to move around. At the bottom of a pile of boxes, and hidden against a wall, I noticed a box that contained several old photo albums. I pulled the box away from the wall, and prepared to lift it and move it to another spot, so I could start clearing some space in earnest.
I noticed some of the old photo albums had labels on the front, like "Jack, 1972" containing photos of me from the year I was four years old. And I was lost in nostalgic reverie for the next hour or so, looking at photos from my childhood, and recalling the events for which the photographs provided documentation.
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I was just about to close the box and drag myself back to work, when I noticed one more album, at the bottom of the box, labeled "Sailing Trip, 1965". Doing some quick mental arithmetic, I figured that Dad would have been 27 at the time, and Mom 25; they would have been married for two years, give or take, and my own conception was still two years in the future. I'd seen my parents' childhood photos from visits to my grandparents, but this album promised to be fascinating, not least because it touched on the period of time between their wedding and the arrival of their first and only child (that would be me), a period of time about which I knew very little of their lives. So I found a stool to sit on, and started flipping through the old photo album.
The first page contained an 8x10 enlargement of a color photo of four people -- two men and two women -- standing on the deck of a good-sized sailboat (27 feet, if it was the same boat I remembered), waving to the camera. Mom and Dad were easy to pick out, although they were younger-looking than I ever remembered them being. Mom wore a bright-yellow bikini bathing suit, which by today's standards, was pretty tame. Even so, I found myself smiling at the realization that Mom had been a pretty hot number, back in the day. Dad wore a pair of swimming trunks, with one of the old sleeveless 'muscle shirts', and deck shoes with white crew socks.
The other couple I recognized as Mom and Dad's lifelong best friends, the Rutherfords -- Dr. Brian Rutherford, and his wife Gwen, although I'd only ever been allowed to call them Dr. and Mrs. Rutherford. Even now, in my 40s, it would still feel really strange to call them 'Brian' or 'Gwen'. Mrs. Rutherford wore a blue bikini, similar to Mom's, but perhaps just a touch more daring (by mid-60s standards, of course). And Dr. Rutherford dressed the part of the preppy young doctor, with a polo shirt and a captain's hat, signifying his 'rank', and the fact that he owned the boat.
I was sure that I'd been on that very same boat many times. As I said, the Rutherfords have been Mom and Dad's best friends for virtually their whole adult lives, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual. Even as Dr. Rutherford became increasingly prominent in the community, they had plenty of opportunities to leave our family behind, and chase a more 'upwardly mobile' crowd, but they never did. Even after I was born, and their son Scott, they would still take our family out for day sails several times every summer.
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I turned the page, and the next set of photos documented the provisioning of the boat, for what looked to be a pretty extended sail. In one picture, Dad was carrying a case of beer and Dr. Rutherford had a case of champagne, while Mom lugged a couple large bottles of harder stuff, all of them smiling broadly for the camera, obviously wielded by Mrs. Rutherford. They were certainly laying in plenty of provisions for having a good time.
On the facing page was a hilarious photo, in which Mom was holding a sign that read, "12 Miles From Land" with an arrow, presumably pointing back toward the mainland; Mrs. Rutherford sat next to Mom, shading her eyes with one hand, while her other hand pointed back in the direction of land. At the edge of the photo, Dr. Rutherford, now shirtless, held up a plastic bag containing what looked to be a dozen or so joints. I laughed -- my very conventional parents, and their even more conventional friends, were eager to toke up, but not until they'd passed out of US territorial waters. I tried to imagine my parents being stoned, but the image simply wouldn't come together for me. Even if I didn't see another photograph, this was already a very interesting album, for showing me a side of my parents (pre-parenthood, to be sure) that I would never have imagined.
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On the next page, the first photo was of Mom and Mrs. Rutherford, smiling as they reached behind their necks. I couldn't see what, exactly, they might have been up to, but the next photo told the story, as both women were topless, though with their arms tightly against their sides, trying to minimize their exposure. But in the third photo, they were standing with their arms raised over their heads, still clutching their bras, their firm, round breasts on full display. The photo after that had them gazing coquettishly at the camera, their hands cupped under their breasts, displaying them for the camera.
I was somewhere between a bemused smile and utter astonishment -- Mom? Mrs. Rutherford? Flashing their tits for each other's husbands? REALLY?
The next photo had Dad between the two women, with his arms around them both, fondling a breast of each woman, while grinning impishly. Then Dr. Rutherford, evidently not wanting to miss out on the fun, took his groping-turn on camera in the next photo.
I tried to wrap my head around the idea of my parents and their friends going topless and groping each other's wives, but no matter how hard I tried, it simply wouldn't compute. The photographs were indisputable, though -- that was Mom and Dad, beyond a doubt, and that was Dr. and Mrs. Rutherford. Of course, I also couldn't quite grasp that my parents had ever been carefree 20-somethings, either. By the time my own memories kick in, my parents were already in their 30s, and well settled-down.
I looked at the album -- there were still several pages of photos yet to peruse, and given the progression of the first three pages, I wondered where there could possibly be left to go. With a degree of trepidation, I turned the page again.
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The first photo appeared to be a card game. Mom and Dad and Mrs. Rutherford were studying their cards, and Dr. Rutherford must have been taking the picture. In the next picture, Dad's face was twisted into an exaggerated pout, while Mom and Mrs. Rutherford were laughing and pointing at him. Then, in the next one, Dad had his swimsuit wadded up in his hand while he stood naked, his dick hanging out for all to see. I noted, with some bemusement, that he appeared to be semi-hard. So -- they were playing strip poker? Not much of a game, I thought, when each player only has one article of clothing to lose. But maybe that was the idea. The next three photos documented the nakedness of each of the crew-members in turn, until all four of them were completely naked, dicks and pussies on parade.
The next two shots showed Mom, and then Mrs. Rutherford, sitting in the well, grinning while Dad and Dr. Rutherford stood on either side of her. She held a firm grip on both their cocks, now fully erect. Then in the last photo on the page, Mom and Mrs. R were spreading their legs, flashing the pink insides of their hairy pussies for the camera.
Goodness, Mom. . . you were quite the naughty girl, weren't you?
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Once more, I hesitated to turn the page, but I couldn't help myself. What in the world were my parents going to do next?
At the top of the next page was a photo of Mrs. Rutherford naked and smiling and waving to the camera as she headed below-decks, towing her naked husband behind her by his erection. He was shrugging his shoulders, his hands palms-up in feigned resignation.
The next photo made my jaw hit the floor. It was evidently a photo taken from outside the Rutherfords' cabin below-decks. The door was cracked open a few inches, and inside, Mrs. Rutherford, with her back to the camera, sat astride Dr. Rutherford, riding his cock in unmistakable sexual intercourse. She was leaned slightly forward, and Dr. R's erection was clearly visible, stretching from his balls upward, until it disappeared inside his wife. I couldn't tell exactly, but it looked like she was clenching her ass-muscles, squeezing her husband's cock inside herself. Had Dad snuck the photo? Or had the Rutherfords allowed him to?
The following picture was almost identical to the previous one, except that Dr. Rutherford had his head raised, looking at the photographer, a huge grin on his face, his hand raised in the middle-finger salute. Mrs. Rutherford still sat astride her husband, her face turned towards the camera, looking back over her shoulder. Her husband's balls still nestled against her ass, and she had a look of bemused surprise on her face.
Holy shit! I could never have imagined that my parents, much less the Rutherfords, would be so brazen with each other, sneaking photos of each other fucking!
The last couple photos on that page didn't even appear to have been snuck. Mom and Dad were having what appeared to be a leisurely missionary fuck in the dinghy, while Dr. Rutherford snapped the photos.
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