Depression over her late husband's death banished, Alice continues to explore her new sexual freedom.
*****
For the rest of the school year my sex life was pretty much oriented towards Joan and Hervé. Sometimes just with Hervé, sometimes just with Joan, and just as often with both of them. I enjoyed it thoroughly and I learned a lot about sex that I should have learned in high school or college. It was much better than Larry's porn collection and no comparison can be made with my marriage to my late husband. There was no sign of any return of my depression. I was just happily fucking my way through life with my new lovers, Hervé and Joan.
When summer came, things changed a bit. First, I was not working full time any more. As with the prior summer, I was just teaching a high school remedial English class three days a week for two hours a day. The rest of the time was my own. In addition, Hervé and Joan took off for another extended trip to France. They were to be gone for a month and a half.
Just before they left, Joan and I were talking about their trip. We were lying in my bed recovering from a delicious session of eating each other to a passionate climax.
"Joan," I said, sounding a little whiny, "What am I going to do while you and Hervé are gone."
"Same as you always do," Joan said, more or less ignoring the obvious intent of my question.
"I mean for sex."
"Oh. Well, pretend you are Hervé and find someone else to fuck. The variety will do you good. Maybe you will learn some new tricks to show us when we get back."
"I'm not Hervé. I've never understood how he does it. Women seem to fall all over him."
"What he does, my dear, is simply make indecent proposals to a lot of women. Occasionally he gets slapped, more frequently a polite no, and surprisingly often a yes."
"So he just walks up to someone and says, 'Let's fuck.'?"
"That's when he gets slapped, and he has to be pretty drunk to be that inartful. What he does that works is to start a conversation with a woman and listen intently to what she wants to talk about while he slowly steers the topic around to sex. I've watched him do it. He's a master. I swear half of them think that the sex they have with him was their idea."
I smiled. "Is that what he did with you the first time you met."
Joan laughed. "No, he was drunk. We were at a party. He walked up to me and said, 'I love your tits. Let's fuck.'"
"Did you slap him?"
"No I fucked him. I was pretty drunk too."
I was laughing pretty hard now. "Well," I said. " I don't think I can use Hervé's 'let's fuck' approach. But maybe I can try his softer approach. We'll see."
"Try it on some of those horny high school students you are teaching."
"What!" I said in outrage. "I can't fuck my students. That's so wrong."
"Why? They're all over 18 aren't they? Why else would they be seniors taking remedial English so they can get the diploma they missed in their first four years. They are barely still in school, and you yourself told me they are some of the horniest people you've ever met."
"Joan! You're so bad. Not happening! My students are off limits. Now kiss me again and let's make love once more before you have to leave for Paris. I love those big tits of yours too."
After Joan left I thought about our conversation. (Not the part about my students. That was out). I wanted to try Hervé's soft approach, but when would the opportunity arise? I wasn't exactly a social butterfly.
Then one afternoon a pair of missionaries knocked on my front door. You know the kind. Clean-cut young men who ride bicycles and wear dark blue suits and white shirts with neckties.
I didn't immediately recognize them as an opportunity to try Hervé's seduction technique, but I did recognize them as gorgeous. They were identical twins in their early twenties—tall, broad shouldered, and athletic looking. They had neatly trimmed blonde hair, blue eyes and smiles that could have starred in a toothpaste commercial. Their eyes were particularly sexy. Why is it there is something about some men's eyes that sucks me in. It's not every man I meet, and I can't describe it, but, oh do I know it when I see it.
As soon as I opened the door they started into their standard proselytizing pitch. Normally I would have said, "Sorry not interested," and sent them on their way, but there was something about them that had nothing to do with the substance of their words that really grabbed me. The eyes I guess.
So I invited them in. It was a hot day out and they had been suffering in their dark blue suits and neckties. I got them each a cold drink (non-alcoholic of course). Then we all three sat in the living room and I listened to their pitch.
Well, I sort of listened. Mostly I was thinking about how sexy they looked. I could feel just the very beginning of that itch in my pussy that tells me I am going to want to cum soon. Not immediately, but once I feel the beginning of that little itch I know it's going to continue growing until I just have to scratch it somehow. Sometimes I try to suppress it (always a failure), but this time I savored it and let it grow as I sat through the boys' talk. I'm sure they thought I was listening, but in reality I was fantasizing about what it would be like to make love to both of them at once. I told myself it was an unrealistic fantasy, but I let myself continue to enjoy it as I half-heartedly listened to their pitch.
Finally when they began to wind down I asked, "Are you boys married?"
"Oh no," they said very seriously. "In our church we always go on our mission before we get married."
"Oh, I see. So you have someone waiting at home you're going to marry when you get back?"
"Alex does." One of them said, nodding towards his brother.
"Andrew likes to play the field," Alex responded.
"Hah," Andrew laughed in response. "You're not that different from me," he said looking at Alex. "You and Laura both play around, but you let the parents think you are exclusive."
