She woke me with soft kisses and light fingertips.
I pretended to sleep but I guess the change in my breathing or something tipped her off. Not that it mattered. I lay there, unmoving, just enjoying what she was doing.
"You're not fooling me," she breathed into my ear, each little breath a warm puff. She finished by tracing the inner shell of my ear, the
fossa
if you care about the nomenclature, with her tongue. Her voice was so soft it wasn't really "speaking." It was just "breathing" the words.
"You're not fooling me," Mark breathed into my other ear, the surprise of that sending a wave of tingles through my body from the waist down.
She did that thing only the young can pull off, lifting her legs up and then using her momentum to sit and roll around in one smooth move leaving her knees on the side of the bed so she could step off onto the floor.
"Everybody pee," she said, giggling, "I don't want any distractions later."
"I guess," Mark said, his lips at my ear, "that's our cue."
I turned and kissed him, one of those morning kisses with morning breath that you don't really want to linger but that you want to be a good kiss.
It WAS a good kiss and it seemed perfectly natural for my hand to trail down his side, find his soft cock, and give it a squeeze before rolling out of bed.
In the bathroom, Jennifer looked about 12 as she sat, peeing, her hair mussed from sleep, her makeup gone.
I was surprised when Mark walked directly to her, bent, and kissed her as she peed. I guess my midwestern sensibilities were still operating. I found that odd intimacy to be exciting but, well, not quite "dirty" but maybe just a little "strange." Not quite "perverted," but definitely "odd."
I was even more surprised when I realized I was feeling a bit of jealousy. So, I moved to her other side, kissed her, pulled a yard of toilet paper off, and folded it into a pad.
"I'll take care of this," I said.
She smiled.
"Oh yeah," she breathed, "I could get used to this."
"Good," Mark said, kissing her.
"Good," I said, wiping her, the pad moving slowly from front to back.
Jennifer got the giggles when the second pad went all the way back and I touched her anus with it.
"All right, Perverts," she said, giggling and pushing us both away, "Enough."
Mark and I offered her our hands and she stood, with that odd athletic grace.
In another of those unspoken understandings, I lifted the lid, kissed Mark, and took him into my hand to aim him.
I shivered a little when he took me. I'd been in enough locker rooms in school and barracks in the Navy. I wasn't "bladder shy." As I explained once in one of those weird conversations you have after a half dozen beers and several hits of good pot - - once you've had a conversation with the guy sitting a cross from you while you're sitting on the toilet, your body modesty is pretty much over.
But this was a new sensation and I realized I liked it. It wasn't just "accepting" so I could make Jennifer happy. I liked it.
We stood, peeing, holding each other, oddly, not meeting each other's eyes.
"Shake it more than twice," Jennifer said, startling me, "and you're playing with it and I don't want you to do that until I can watch."
I felt a rush in my belly at her words and when I felt Mark's hand squeeze I felt a touch of embarrassment when I felt myself start to get hard as he shook me.
"Well, well," he said, smiling and giving me a squeeze, "good morning."
Then I felt a little disappointment when he stayed completely soft as I shook him, holding him a little longer than was probably strictly necessary.
There was that odd intimacy as we stood, side-by-side, brushing our teeth and then rinsing and spitting.
When I started to turn he caught my hand.
I suppose I knew it was coming, but still, this first man-man kiss, standing, without Jennifer there to somehow make it "okay," was, well, "shocking" is a strong word but it fits.
It was his kiss. He initiated it and, in many ways, assumed the masculine role. His hands were on my cheeks and it was somehow natural to accept the traditional feminine role, my hands moving to his waist, stepping forward so our bellies and, yes, our cocks touched, my hands moving slowly around into an embrace, slowly moving up and down his strong back and after just a hint of hesitation on my part, cupping the firm roundness of his ass.
It was a good kiss and I became aware of the softness of my pot belly in a way I never had before. His firm body against mine reminded me that I had pretty much let myself go since I hit the BIG four-oh.
And the thought came, clear, in my grandmother's voice,
"So this is what it feels like to be bisexual."
Because that IS what it felt like. I wasn't kissing Mark to make Jennifer happy. I was kissing Mark because it felt good. More to the point, though, I WANTED Mark.
He broke the kiss, grinned, and said, "We'd better find our woman. She can get cranky."
I laughed, kissed him quickly, took his hand, and went in search of our bride-to-be, my erection pointing the way.
Jennifer was in bed, leaning back against a couple of pillows, centered on the big bed. I reluctantly released Mark's hand and moved to the right side of the bed while he moved to the left. She looked about 12, laying there like that, her hair a mess, with no makeup. Her thin arms and small breasts added to the image.
In one of those movements that seemed choreographed but was just natural, Mark and I kissed her cheeks, blew into her ears, and then found her lips in one of those odd, awkward, but oddly satisfying three-way kisses. As we kissed, Jennifer's hands caressed my back and, I assume, Mark's, while his hand and mine found a breast each and pressed.
There was no hurry and we held the kiss while she caressed and we played with her breasts.
I broke my part of the kiss and moved down to kiss her breasts, her belly button, the curly hair of her mons, and then scooted all the way around to go down on her properly.
Her nectar was salty, leavened with our semen that still leaked after last night. Her womanscent was strong and I inhaled that pheromone-laden perfume deeply, sucking it in like it was a hit on a marijuana joint.
I used my fingertips to gently part her labia, those thick, protective outer lips, and my thumbs to lift her clitoral hood, exposing that little pink button at the center of her pleasure. I blew on it gently, making her squirm a little, and began touching it with the tip of my tongue. When I moved forward to give her more pressure, to lick and suck gently, I could see, across the rise of her mons and her belly, as they kissed, his hands tormenting her nipple, and then, as her legs closed, covering my ears, I watched them share a conversation.
Not that I cared what they might be talking about. I could feel that I was getting to her as the big muscles of her ass and her hips tensed and relaxed with her building excitement. I could taste her excitement building in the changes in her nectar.
I closed my eyes, finding my vision to be a little distracting from what I was doing.
