Building a Real Family

By their nature kids don't like to share their stuff. As soon as our parents deem us to be teachable, they try to teach us to share. But then as young adults, we realize that society condemns us for sharing.

Chatting with my sister Irma as we walked in the sand towards Georgioupoli and our hotel, I was really at peace with myself. Not just because my husband, Greg, and I had made her so happy to be included in our holidays, it was also that Irma is so easy to talk to and was informed about a whole lot of stuff -- nature, politics, customs, travel, you name it.

After Irma's husband had left her for a juicy young secretary a number of years earlier, she had gone into a partial social isolation. Sure, she had female friends whom she accompanied to plays, concerts, etc. and went hiking with, but to my knowledge, although in her early thirties, reasonably good looking, a nice figure and in good shape, she had not dated since Peter had left her. Living in a small city near Kaiserslautern, some 200 km from Sindelfingen where she lived, we weren't able to see each as often as I would have liked. At one point though, Greg noted that in spite of numerous friends and activities, Irma seemed lonely.

Greg and I typically go to Crete for a couple weeks in April/May. That's before high-season so flights and rental cars are available at bargain basement prices and hotels are plentiful and available at low-season prices. But there's another reason for April/May, actually a better one than the off season prices: April/May is when everything that blossoms, is in full blossom.

It was one Saturday evening in February that Greg and I were sipping Raki and dreaming of our spring holiday when he surprised me. "Hey Gertie, you ever think Irma might like going with us? You said she often don't go on holidays when she can't find one of her female friends to go with her."

I was really surprised. Greg had long resisted any suggestion of going on holidays with anyone, be they friends, neighbors, relatives, whatever. All I could answer was to ask if he was serious.

"Look, Irma's easy to get along with. And money's no object. She's got a good job and there's lots of rooms for, like what, 40 Euros? And when we'd have to stay where there's only one room vacant, we could always ask for a roll-in bed."

"You wouldn't mind my sister sleeping in a room with us?"

"Why should I? You always say she's one person who really doesn't snore."

"You're right, she doesn't snore, but I had something else in mind. It's just that, well, we might have to be real quiet, or maybe not do it at all." When we're on holidays, Greg, away from the daily job stress, develops a voracious carnal appetite. At home he's happy with two or three times a week. On holidays, he's a once-at-night- and sometimes then-again-in-the-morning man.

"Gertie, you'd just have to stifle your scream when you cum."

"Oh I can stifle my orgasmic screams just fine. But you? Can you stifle your groans and 'oh fucks' when you shoot your wad?"

"Damned right, remember I'm discipline man. Why when I was in ............ uh what I wanna say is I can control myself."

"What just about slipped out is how you had this girl friend, Sally Mae or something like that. Had home dates. After her mommy and daddy and little sister and brother went to bed, you and Sally Mae had the living room to yourselves."

"Sally Mae and I never had sex!"

"Yeah, like Bill and Monica never had sex either. Ah, how could I forget? It depends on how you define sex. Greg, I been listening to your dreams for the last 15 years. Maybe you didn't stick it in her but she always made sure there were Kleenexes close to the couch after her folks went to bed."

"Okay, okay. Carol Ann was her name, not Sally Mae. She felt sorry for me and relieved my tension. Look Gertie, I just think asking Irma to come along is something she'd really appreciate. Maybe break her out of that cycle of depressions she's been in since that asshole Peter left her. And anyway, you always say it's too bad you two can't see each other more often."

So it had been my loving husband, Greg, who had made it possible for my eight-year younger sister to be with me on this holiday. Irma and I hadn't always been close. Siblings with an eight year age gap don't normally become close until later in life, if at all. Just imagine how our interests collided. On of us just starting to grow titties and pubic hair and the other still believing storks bring babies, Santa Claus comes down the chimney with presents, and the Easter Bunny brings all the colored eggs and chocolates on Easter Sunday. And so it was that Irma and I became close only later, around the time that Greg and I married.

Greg is American and women often ask me how we met. What they really want to know though is what it's like being married to an American and that mostly relates to the repressed prurient interests so many women have. In other words, they want to know what it's like with a circumcised penis. After all, it's known that some 70% of all American men are circumcised and so the chances of not getting a foreskin are statistically pretty high. Women who marry Turkish men get the same question.

The short answer to the question about how Greg and I met is that we met at the company where I was working.

To expand a little more, when we met, Greg was a USAF lieutenant stationed at Ramstein AFB and working in base logistics and sourcing. I was employed as a controller by a German company that specialized in providing facility services (janitorial, maintenance, cafeteria, sanitation, etc.) to factories and commercial offices. In those days, the US Government was going through a privatization mania and the company I worked for ended up bidding for work at Ramstein. Being the air base's contact person to our company, 1st Lieutenant Gregory A. Towson was a sometimes visitor at my employer's company office in Kaiserslautern.

Good looking and polite, he hadn't failed to escape the attention of young unattached females like myself. I began paying special attention to my appearance, especially on days when I knew he was expected and I always found an excuse to be in a room where he happened to be. All to no avail! Not that he shunned me. No way! Almost the exact opposite. Always the smile and polite greeting: "Good morning Miss Meierhof! Good bye Miss Meierhof! A pleasant day to you Miss Meierhof!" I started wondering if the guy knew how to flirt. Or was he gay? Married he was not. Early on in my crush, I'd checked him for a wedding ring.

Then one day came the surprise of my life. I'd ambushed him in the reception area and was determined to get more out of him than 'good morning.' Out of the blue, literally out of the blue too considering his blue Air Force uniform, "Guten Tag Fräulein Meierhof!" Completely accent-free high German!

"Guten Tag Leutnant Towson. Schön, dass Sie heute bei uns sind." (Good day Lieutenant Towson. Happy that you can join us today.)

Believing that saying 'good day' was probably the limit of his newly acquired German, I switched to English and tried to move the conversation in a more personal and informal direction.

To my surprise he continued in accent-free German and to my great pleasure, he took up the personal and informal vein that I'd been striving towards for months. All too soon though, the receptionist said our sales manager was ready to receive him. When he was out of earshot, I told the receptionist to ring me when the meeting was over. I wanted to ambush him again.

My second ambush of the day went even better than the first. Lieutenant Gregory A. Towson finally asked me out! Two weeks later on the couch in my apartment, he removed my panties -- but not before he'd pulled off his boxer shorts.

Four months later we walked down the aisle of the Pauluskirche in Kaiserslautern.

Like many good things in life, the really fateful (in a positive sense) part of that holiday on the Greek island of Crete began without our conscious planning, just sort of happened. We'd walked the 800 meters into the nearby village of Georgioupoli to have dinner at one of our favorite family owned tavernas. Like most of these places, after desert, the waitress would bring the check and as a gratuity, a small carafe of Raki -- that strong clear Greek schnapps. Perhaps the expectation and custom is that customers drink only a small schnapps glass each, and that is what we usually did. However, not everyone limits themselves like that and that evening, we three didn't limit ourselves to one small glass each either.

We didn't get fallen-down-stumbling drunk, just a bit mellowed out, finding it easy to laugh at almost any attempt at humor. By the time we got back to the room that the three of us were sharing, we decided it was about bedtime. Greg and I grabbed out sleep clothes, a short sleeved and short legged pajama for Greg and a sleep shirt for me, and went into the bathroom to change. (None of us are particularly prudish, however, we'd somehow decided or perhaps rather drifted into the custom that Greg and Irma did not undress in the presence of one another.) While we were in the bathroom, Irma knocked on the door and announced that she had left her sun hat by the pool that afternoon and was leaving to retrieve it.

Greg and I were in bed by the time she returned, happily waving her sun hat. "Hard to believe, it was still there! By the way, you won't believe what I overheard some of the staff talking about. They sure didn't know that I understand French."

Greg and I sat up in bed, showing obvious interest in whatever gossip Irma had harvested by eavesdropping on the staff.

Irma wasn't in such a big hurry to tell or maybe she really had to pee. "Lemme get changed first."

When she came out of the bathroom dressed in her sleep shirt, she slid under the covers in her bed and faced us, elbow on the bed and head in her hand. "Anyway, like I said, there's three or four of these young French guys, like barely college age, hanging out around the maintenance shack near the pool. I greeted them in English and they must have figured I didn't know French cause while I was busy looking for my hat, they kept on gossiping in French."

Both Greg and I expected some juicy gossip, like maybe the lady at the front desk was screwing the manager. Greg answered her hesitation with a simple "and so?"

"Those young shits were talking about us. Like how I was one of Greg's two mistresses. Speculative stuff like how we arrange who Greg fucks on any one night. Whether one of us watches when the other gets fucked. Do we do it as a threesome? All that sort of stuff."

Greg had to laugh.

I thought it was funny too but I put on a show of shock and disgust, if for no other reason than to liven up our conversation.

Irma reacted to my show. "Look Sis, you gotta see the advantages. For one thing, if we were into that sort of thing, when you and Greg do it, you wouldn't have to be quiet."

Greg just laughed harder. No doubt he realized that we hadn't been quiet enough.

I protested something or other. Then realized how silly that was. What could I say. If I said we hadn't been doing it, Irma wouldn't believe it because we probably hadn't been quiet enough. In fact being quiet enough would have been a pretty big challenge. There must have been all of three feet between the beds. I said the only thing that wouldn't sound too ridiculous. "We thought you were asleep."

"Just pretending. I was doing my best to stay awake. Did my snores sound that real?"

I accused her of being a voyeur.

She joined Greg laughing.

I decided to take the quasi academic approach. "Look, there was this American TV show Big Love. This guy who owns a bunch of DIY stores has three wives. They never got into this having-to-be-quiet stuff. Bill had his own bedroom and one of the wives went there every night."

Greg interrupted. "Did he know who was coming on any particular night?"

"I never noticed whether he looked at the schedule the wives made up."

"Gertie, I never noticed that you watched that shit."

"What you mean, shit? Greg, if it's shit, how come you're so keen to know whether Bill knew ahead of time who he was gonna fuck on any one night?"

"For me it's just academic interest. Like a sociology problem in college."

"Is the erection that's poking me in the ass academic interest?"

That's when Irma had a giggling fit.

"Irma, if his rod was poking you in the ass, I bet you wouldn't be giggling."

She choked back her giggle long enough to answer. "If right now, I had Greg's stiff dick poking me in the ass? Oh, you better believe I wouldn't be giggling. And you know what Gertie? I'd sure have a hard time being quiet."

"You mean you wouldn't mind if Greg came over and got in bed with you?"

"Mind? Gertie, are you kidding?" Her look, head slanted a bit, faint smile, expectant expression in her mouth and eyes, told me she wasn't kidding.

Somehow it never occurred to me that I should ask Greg if he wanted to. Instead, I pushed him towards the side of the bed and the two of us got up together. As I led him around our bed and as we started around her bed, Irma's expression changed to one of pleasurable disbelief. By the time we stood at the side of her bed, she had rolled over to face us. For me, the moment of truth had come. Should I check my impulses and say I was playing a joke? But the impulse to carry through was just too great. I stuck my thumbs in the waist band of Greg's pajama shorts and pulled them down to his ankles. It seemed that is what he expected because he shifted his feet and stepped free. Irma gave one of those utterances of self-righteous shock as is expected of proper girls when a man exposes himself or is exposed to her.

As I went back to the other bed, Greg slid under the blanket with Irma. By the time I got under my blanket on my bed, Greg was in behind Irma and they were spooning. I was on my side facing them. Not wanting the humor to stop, I couldn't resist asking Irma how she liked having Greg's rod in her rear end.

Her answer shouldn't have surprised me. "Oh it isn't in my rear end, it's sliding around in my wet crotch."

That's when it really hit me. I was going to be witnessing my husband of some 15 years fuck my 8-year-younger sister! Did I care? Normal rules of society would require that I be insanely jealous. After all, this thing that was about to take place was the stuff behind countless divorces every year and not just in Germany. Funny thing was, I felt not the slightest tinge of jealousy. What I did feel was erotic - pure overwhelming eroticism at the sight of Greg smothering my sister's neck with kisses, of the rocking movement of the blanket as he sawed back and forth in her wet crotch, his left arm over her with his hand massaging her breasts.

My whole torso was tingling -- from my breasts to my crotch. And he hadn't even entered her yet. Then it happened, she pulled her knees up and almost as if in the same motion, the blanket over his hips moved and then I heard the euphonic "ooh" and saw her mouth open as he slid into her. And then my husband was pumping away, groaning with pleasure. Her responses turned to cries and squeals as he became rougher and wilder. When her cries became much louder, he stopped. "Irma, is it okay? Am I too rough?"

She answered as I expected. "No Greg, please give it to me, use me! Fuck me hard!" He did and neither lasted long before they collapsed, still mostly under the blanket, breathing hard, uttering all kinds of sounds of appreciation. So I had seen it. My husband fucking my sister -- not just with my permission, rather with my encouragement.

Slowly they came down from that insane high of first time sex. When they did, both looked over at me, sheepish grins on their faces -- like saying "well you wanted us to." I returned their looks with my very best understanding grin.

I imagined that they were wondering if I expected Greg to rejoin me in our bed. I really didn't want them to wonder. "I'm gonna get some sleep. Enjoy cuddling! And more! Nighty, night!"

I heard some whispering and then for me, sleep took over. When I woke, I sensed someone near my bed. Opening my eyes, there stood my sister and my husband, she in a sleep shirt and he in pajama shorts. Blinking, I slowly recovered my memory of the night before. "You two have a nice night," I asked.

Irma was the one to answer. "Oh yeah. But now it's your turn again." With that she put her hands in the waist band of his shorts and pulled them down to expose a very nice erection. "All yours, sis!"

With that, Greg lifted the blanket and slid into bed with me. We groped and kissed and rubbed bodies and before long I was worked up and nice and wet. He couldn't help but notice how wet I was and rolled me on my back, spread my legs and was on his knees between them. I pulled my knees toward my chest and he was in me. I had a realization that the blanket had dropped away and looked over to Irma. She was still sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her sleep shirt and giving me the thumbs-up. Then, although I was in full realization that she was there enjoying the sight of my husband putting it to me, it simply didn't matter. Her presence didn't affect Greg either because we had the noisiest fuck since before going on holidays.

When we came down from our sexual high, I glanced over at Irma and got another thumbs-up.

"You two love birds wanna shower and go get some breakfast? I'm hungry. From fucking or watching or both." She pulled off her sleep shirt and got up. "Come on, it's faster if we shower together." We did shower together in the hotel bathtub-shower, all the while wishing we had a big walk-in shower with rain head. There was some groping and Greg soaped both Irma and I and we each got in a turn on him too but he stayed in the hanging mode. Later that day Irma told me they did it twice after I went to sleep. Four times in one night for a 40-year-old? There was no way he could have gotten it up there in the shower, no matter how many shapely, horny women went to work on him.

The breakfast buffet at that hotel was a real wonder and would have been fit for a Roman senator. First we grabbed coffees and some breakfast rolls and picked a table. A few sips of coffee and bites of the rolls and Irma gave me this suggestive look. She answered my raised eyebrows by tossing her head for me to follow. Then turned to face Greg. "You wait here, you big stag!"

On the way to the buffet line, she explained. "We need to get lots of protein into him or neither one of us is gonna get satisfied." Greg got a real logger-trapper-miner breakfast.

As we were leaving the dining hall, Irma nodded toward some young guys on the hotel staff and whispered to me, "They're the ones blabbering last night about how we're doing threesomes. Let's give 'em something to blabber about!" Both of us held hands with Greg as we headed for the lift. They'd surely be blabbering tonight. Probably jacking off later in bed too.

That day the three of us went for a 5-hour hike in one of the mountain gorges and afterwards had a long late lunch in a taverna in a small village. Back at the room, we decided that a swim in the surf was in order and quickly changed to our swim wear. Earlier that week, whenever the three of us were going swimming together, Greg would go into the bathroom to change and then before coming out, call to see if both Irma and I, actually meaning Irma, were dressed. That day we just peeled off our hiking clothes and changed to swim wear -- right in the room, all together.

When we got back from the swim, off came the swim wear, just like that, no hesitation, no asking. The tub was really too small for three to shower together, that had become clear that morning. We sort of looked at each other, should we just shower separately? Irma had the answer. "Gertie, you go first with Greg. But maybe try and save him for later. Promise and I'll promise to not make him cum either."