"I don't have any story! Don't you guys get it?"
How shall I describe the scene? Fagged out, Sandra, Susan, and I are slumped, still naked (but hardly focusing on that), on the sofa and in the easy chairs. Both are big, full-breasted girls, Sandra and Susan, mother and daughter-but notably muscle-toned. Now, the long thighs and shaggy bellies are pushed forward in a slouch, the torpid breasts are sedate and spreading on slack torsos, and the pretty blond faces have declined to form slight double chins in the collapsed curve of ease of their bodies. And I, too, am without noticeable posture, slumped on the sofa beside Susan, my recently fearsome prick flopped over to take a nap on my leg, the dried cum like a cracked film of white over the shriveled pink head of my dick.
Only Stephanie, the chronically turned-on younger Lorraine girl, is sitting up, bent forward, haranguing us. "You have lives! You tell your story about some sex drama that was part of your life! Now, it's my turn, right?"
She glanced from one to the other of us, her pretty pixie face animated with emotion, green eyes challenging, slim shoulders drawn in, a little, so the divinely rounded, firm breasts were squashed forward. I wondered if her nipples ever were less than erect.
"I don't have a life! Do you get it? My life since I went away to college has been sex! I have no 'sex story' because my story is sex! Between sex dramas there's nothing—almost nothing, except maintenance work like getting some money, exercising, doing my hair, and getting treatments for my skin.
She paused to assess her audience. "That's it! I have no story! My story is like the last two days here: a fuck fest!"
"Sounds exhausting, Sis," drawled Susan, managing to open her eyes for a second or two.
"You aren't hearing your sister, Susan!" said Sandra suddenly, pulling herself upright, consciously squaring her shoulders so that her jumbo breasts resumed their glorious defiance of gravity. She glanced a moment at the spreading blondish pelt of fur on her belly and seemed to shrug slightly. What could she do?
She said, "Stephanie, your whole life became your sexuality and what it meant. Is that right?"
"My whole life became sex for everything, for every decision, for my whole non-career! I found out I could sex my way anywhere to get anything!" But she added, "Well...not anything..."
Susan, too, sat up, now, and her slimmed down copy of Sandra's body took shape. "Sorry, Steph," she said. "I'm with you, now. Anything you tell us is okay. The only thing I know is that I love you."
"Fine! In high school, my only sexual activity was crawling out my upstairs window onto the porch roof and sneaking over to look in your window while you jerked yourself off."
"Okay," said Susan. "You expressed all your own new feelings about sex through your big sister, and what she was doing. And you felt guilty, I'm sure."
Stephanie thrust forward her face. "Not too guilty to bring girls and guys I knew to watch you too!"
"Stephanie!" exclaimed Sandra.
"No, Mom!" said Susan quickly. "This is about me. Shut up for a minute."
"You're so right, Susan," said Sandra, with a sigh of contentment. She resumed her slump and I noticed that her breasts nevertheless had an assertive fullness, raised and round on her torso, the nipples fleshy even in relaxation.
"What about you, though?" asked Susan. "By that age, you were gorgeous, just exquisite."
"Well, I didn't think so!" snapped Stephanie.
"Well," said Susan slowly, "so there may be quite a few of my neighbors around town, here, who look at me and recall my frantic jobs between my legs. Makes life pretty exciting! I wonder how many guys see me in the fish store and think of that night on the porch roof!"
"Oh, don't be so fucking understanding! I was a pathetic little voyeuristic juvenile delinquent!"
"Let me ask you something?" said Susan thoughtfully. "Out there on the porch roof, did you have fantasies about being inside-in the bed with me?"
"No," said Stephanie, slowly. "Too scary, much too scary. Sometimes I had fantasies about guys being in there, fucking you. And then you would become me. And sometimes... Oh, shit, this is so sick!"
"Don't go there, Steph," said Susan quickly. "People discover their sexuality in some strange ways. And most of time, for some reason, they suspect that their way was the only sick way."
"Okay," said Stephanie stolidly. She was looking at Susan in a very different way.
"I'd just like to hear about when you started sex on your own," said Susan. "You went off to that college..."
"No one had touched me in high school," said Stephanie. She shook her head. "No one. And I tried really hard, even in gym classes, for no one to see me, either."
"I just thought you were beautiful," murmured Susan.
"Thanks," said Stephanie bleakly. "At college, I tried exactly the same thing. We didn't have a co-ed dorm. All girls. But even so, I wore my bathrobe into the bathroom and shower room and I only showered at about midnight, when no one else was there."
I could not resist. I have related the conversation, but I had been both listening and taking in Stephanie's body. After all that had happened, I still could not take my eyes off of her. She was as svelte, alluring, and arresting a treat for the eyes as a man ever sees. I admit that I felt like a satyr. I simply could not get enough of her. And here she was with this story of obsessive concealment; I didn't get it. And so I asked, "Because you were ashamed of your body, Steph?"
"I don't know. I just don't know. I only know that it was unthinkable for anyone to see me naked, and that went for women and men."
"But now you know..." I began.
"Let her tell it!" said Susan.
"In a Greek myth, some god would have turned into a swan or a..."
"Shut up, Tommy!" said Susan.
"A girl on my dorm floor warned me. She came into the girls' bathroom late, when I thought I would be alone. She was fat. Fat and with a square face and dropped-straight hair. As far as I could tell, she was huge in the boobs, but I never saw the details. And she came up to me and said, 'You know, they're going to get you, don't you?'
