This is the sixth in a series of stories about a middle-aged couple trying to adjust to changes in their life brought on by events beyond their control. I struggled a bit with what category too choose, but finally settled on Group Sex because that is where the characters wind up. Before they get to that outcome there is plenty of exhibitionism and voyeurism, masturbation, a good deal of incest, some lesbian sex, a few sex toys, adultery, and a hopefully adequate quantity of enthusiastic fucking and oral sex among the various characters. Enjoy!
Hi. My name is Sharon. My husband of more than twenty years is named Rich. These stories describe the changes in our sex life that have arisen as we work to cope with the changes of reaching middle age. As you may have learned in the past five chapters I am in my early forties, living with my husband of more than twenty years in a small town in California's Central Valley.
We have recently become empty nesters with our children now working at their own careers on the East Coast and my husband who previously traveled five days a week for work has retired following a very lucrative buyout of his company. As a result of these changes we find ourselves with more money and a great deal more time to ourselves. Among the ways we have been trying to utilize this time has been to expand the scope of our sex life, which during our marriage had declined too almost nothing.
Even before Rich quit traveling for work we had started with phone sex—exchanging lewd photos of each of us masturbating. That was escalated with a threesome with the next-door neighbor lady, my first experience with girl-on-girl sex. We took another major step forward with a very explicit training session with a preacher/sex counselor in Boise who we refer to as the Rev. Since then we have each had clandestine affairs with others.
We were also having a great deal more sex at home, expanding our activities from hushed up missionary sex late at night in our bedroom, with my mouth stuffed with a pillow or a sock to stifle the sound of my orgasms, to no holds barred exhibitionism, fucking, sucking, and licking anywhere in the house with no limitation on the joyful announcement of our pleasures. We have declared the whole house to be clothing optional.
*
The next, and totally unexpected, change in our lives began with a phone call from my sister. We hadn't been close for years. Before finishing college she had married a Frenchman and moved to Paris. Our lives had grown apart and with the press of my own marriage and growing family I had not kept up with her life.
Christine was in tears when she called telling me that her husband was divorcing her and that she needed to come back to California where she had grown up. At that point I had no idea what her financial position would be, but she was my sister so I offered her a place to stay.
When I told Rich about it he said, "Sure. Fine. We have a big house with lots of room. She can help us eat all the zucchini." I laughed. The zucchini was a joke between us. Every year I planted zucchini and the vines generated mountains of the squash, some of them big enough to use as a ball bat.
"But I suppose we won't be able to run around the house and yard naked while she is here and screw whenever and wherever the mood strikes us. I'm going to miss that." he said. "I don't want to go back to the way our sex life was when our children lived with us."
"Hmmm. Yes, I see your point but we will just have to find a way to work around it. I enjoy sex too much to go back. Still, she is my sister Rich. We have to do something, but we will make this work." Then I kissed him and dragged him off to bed.
Forty-eight hours later Rich and I were meeting Christine at the San Francisco Airport. Christine, now in her mid-forties, looked a bit like me but with a French overlay. She was shorter and thinner than me. She always had been. She and I were only half-sisters. Her mother had died in childbirth and Dad had soon remarried. His second wife gave birth to me and was Mom to both Christine and me throughout our childhood.
Christine had the same body I remembered from college but she was trimmer than I expected because . . . well we all know French women don't get fat. Her clothing, a tight, short, dress and sweater combination and tall spikey heels, was stylish as was her makeup. Neither showed any sign of having just survived a 12-hour plane ride. Her blonde hair was neatly trimmed and styled stopping a few inches below her jaw line, although I seemed to remember that as a child her hair had been brown like mine. Her hips were narrow but still rounded enough to make it very clear she was female and her breasts, while smaller than mine, stood high on her chest well presented by her choice of clothing.
She had acquired a French accent and greeted each of us with a hug (something unheard of in my family while we were growing up) and a kiss on each cheek. As we walked from the airport to our car, dragging two huge pieces of luggage she had brought, Christine chattered on about the flight, telling us nothing about her domestic troubles except that she had been up arguing with her husband and his dreadful relatives for two days straight before departing for California.
About the time we got on the freeway headed back to our home in California's Central Valley my sister fell asleep and remained in that condition until we had arrived at our home. Rich carried her bags up to our guest room where she flopped down on the bed and dropped into sleep again.
Around eight o'clock that evening as Rich and I were just finishing up the dishes Christine reappeared, now dressed in a pair of figure-hugging jeans, a crop top T-shirt, and a different pair of tall heels. I would quickly learn that the two huge suitcases she had brought contained the materials for a never-ending number of clothing combinations, must of them stylish and sexy and some of them just plain lewd.
We had saved some of the casserole that Rich had prepared for dinner and once he served it up, along with a freshly opened bottle of wine, he departed into the back yard to work on the garden and leave Christine and I alone for some girl talk.
"Are you awake now Christine?" I asked.
"Yes. yes. The wine will help." She poured each of us a second glass.
That seemed a little counter intuitive to me, but I let it pass. "So," I said. "what happened with you and your husband."
"Oh it's so awful," she said bursting into tears.
I let her blubber for a minute, before I said, "Come on Christine, talk to me like we did when we were young. What happened?"
She sniffed a few times and said, "All right. The problem is not with me and it's not with Herve (her husband). It's his family." She began crying again. "They hate me because I am not French."
"But Christine, you've been married to Herve for many years. How could they just discover you are American?"
"Oh they knew but they didn't care. Not until Herve's brother Paul was killed in a car wreck."
"But surely you didn't have anything to do with that?"
"No, no. Of course not. He was in Nice driving his little sports car in the mountains. He always drove like a mad man. I was in Paris. And my affair with Paul ended years ago. I don't think they ever knew about it."
"You had an affair with Paul?"
"Yes. Yes. But that's not the problem. Herve knew all about it and didn't care. Even Paul's wife knew and didn't care. They are French. They have affairs."
"So why is there now a problem."
"It's about money. The family is very rich and now that Paul is gone Herve is the oldest son. That means he would inherit everything when the parents pass. They are very old so it could happen soon. What they are afraid of is that Herve would inherit and then I would go back to California, divorce Herve, and take the money. They are very afraid of American courts."
"So they want Herve to divorce you?" I asked.
"
Oui
."
"And what does Herve say?"
"As long as his parents are alive he must do what they say. We have no money of our own. Herve has never held a job in his life."
I sat thinking about the problem in silence. Obviously French divorce laws and succession laws are very different from California.
