And so to Bed

Perhaps I should have seen it coming. My parents had always been pretty open when it came to sex. And when I married Oliver, Mother had been only too happy to offer me advice.

'Men are funny creatures,' she said. 'They worry.'

'Worry?'

'They worry that you won't approve.'

'Approve?' I was none the wiser.

'Of their little desires. Their little fetishes. For years, your father had a thing about Diane Browning. But did he tell me? No he did not. Not a dickie bird. And then, one day, it slipped out. Sort of accidentally. In the heat of the moment, as it were.' And she laughed.

'And then, when he realised that it had slipped out, the poor boy was mortified. "What? Diane?" I said. "Oh, yeah. That woman is sexy as all fuck. I wonder what it would take to get her to join us in a bit of three-way fun." As it turned out, it didn't take much at all.' And Mother laughed again. 'You gotta keep them talking,' she said. 'Men, I mean. Keep the channels of communication open. Yes.'

Then there was the day that Mother and I went shopping at Fripperies. I was thinking of buying a particularly... well... not to put too fine a point on it: a come-fuck-me negligee. Semi-sheer. Navy blue. With hot-pink ribbon trim. 'Oh, yes. Your father would

love

that,' Mother said.

'Oh? So, are you going to buy one then?' I asked.

'Me? No. I mean your father would love

you

in it,' she said.

I though about it for a moment or two. About the negligee, I mean. Not about Dad enjoying seeing me in it. But it was rather expensive. And, in the end, I decided against it. I thought that Oliver would find it just a bit too frivolous, spending that much money on... well, on next-to-nothing really.

And then Oliver, who was fast becoming one of the country's go-to marine biologists, got selected to lead a team on some Antarctic expedition. 'Six weeks,' he said. 'But it'll be priceless on my CV.'

'

Six weeks!

'

'Yes, we fly to the States for a few days to meet up with the American contingent. Then we go on to Christchurch in New Zealand. Then down to the ice for four weeks. And then back again.'

When I told Mother that Oliver was going down to Antarctica, she said 'Oh, that's perfect.'

'Perfect? He's going to be away for six weeks!' I said.

'Yes. But you can come up a spend a few days with your father and me. We've only seen you a couple of times since the wedding. Your father would love it if you came up and spent some time with us. Well... I would too. But that goes without saying.'

I did go up to stay with my parents for a few days. I caught the train. It was easier than driving. Dad met me at the station.

Dad has never really liked the telephone. I don't know why. So, whenever we get together, face to face, there is always plenty to talk about. The drive from the station was no exception.

'Gosh, the old Hammond place looks as if it has had a bit of a makeover,' I said as we turned into Acacia Place.

'The new owner,' Dad said. 'Delores. I gather she made her money in adult films. Double-D Davinia -- I think that was her nom de guerre. Presumably she was working back in the days when making money in adult films was still possible. I doubt if anyone makes good money doing that sort of thing these days. Too many amateurs. Mind you, some of the amateurs are bloody good. Your mother and I belong to a club. A sort of an online film library. All amateurs. And, as I say, some of them are very good. Very good indeed.'

I was a little surprised that Dad was telling me this. But then again, not really. As I said, my parents had always been pretty open about matters sexual.

'Oh, one or two of them could do with a lesson or two in lighting,' Dad said. 'A bit more light on the... umm... subject. You know. A bit more opportunity to see what's actually happening. But, on the whole....' Then he said: 'Your mother and I have talked about perhaps making a little contribution of our own. But, of course, we'd need a camera person. So that's as far as we've got. Talking about it.'

And then we were turning into my parents' driveway.

Although I couldn't quite put my finger on it, there was something rather nice about being up with my parents. In London, Oliver and I always seemed to be rushing. There were always things to be done. Places to go. People to see. But with my parents, the only things to be done were the things that you actually wanted to do.

'I've made chicken schnitzel for supper,' Mother said when I had dumped my bag and re-joined her in the kitchen. 'With picante lemon sauce. I hope that you still like chicken schnitzel.'

'Love it,' I told her. 'Especially the way that you make it.'

'Well... no sun today,' Dad said. 'But if there had been any, it would have been well past the yardarm by now. Time for a gin and tonic?'

'Perfect,' I told him.

Over supper, I asked Dad how he was finding retirement. He was only 57. And he had always said that he would never retire. 'I wouldn't know what to do with myself.' And then, shortly before his 56th birthday, he suddenly had a change of heart. He sold his share of the business in which he was a partner and set up a small investment fund.

'It's great,' he said. 'In fact, my only regret is that I didn't do it sooner.'

'You don't find yourself with too much time on your hands?'

'No. There are quite enough things to do,' he told me. 'The investment fund doesn't look after itself. And your mother and I have discovered a few interesting things that can be done just as happily during daylight hours as they can during the hours of darkness.' And he smiled. 'Oh... and we go to an exercise class a couple of times a week. Keep the heart, lungs, and joints in good working order. You'd be surprised a some of the positions that your mother can get herself into these days.'

Mother smiled. But she also nodded.

After supper, Mother produced an elegant box tied with a flamboyant ribbon. 'I know it's not your birthday for another month or so,' she said. 'But we thought that we could save on the postage. Happy birthday-to-come.' And she handed over the box.

'Gosh,' I said. 'Yes... gosh. Am I allowed to open it? Or do I have to wait until the day?'

'I think that you can open it,' she said. 'We won't tell anyone -- if you don't.'

I tugged at the bow and then lifted the lid of the box. Inside, there seemed to be several layers of tissue paper. And, inside the tissue paper, there was the come-fuck-me negligee that I had almost (but not quite) bought when Mother and I had visited Fripperies. I laughed.

'I thought that you secretly wanted it,' Mother said.

I took the negligee out of the box and held it up. It was every bit as sexy as I had remembered it. Perhaps even more so.

'Oh, yes,' Dad said. 'Very nice. Very nice indeed. Are we going to see it modelled?'

I just laughed.

'Oh, well. Perhaps later,' Dad said.

After supper, we took what was left of our wine and went and sat in the sitting room. 'How's trade?' Dad asked. 'Are you still getting a few projects?'

'Oh, yes,' I told him. 'Although they tend to come in fits and starts. New projects can be a bit few and far between at this time of the year.'

'Oh? That surprises me. I would have thought that, in the garden design business, winter was the ideal time to plan for spring.'

'I think many people just forget all about their gardens in winter,' I said.

Dad nodded. 'And then in spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, eh?'

'Tennyson,' I said.

'Lord Alfred himself,' Dad confirmed. And then, turning to Mother, he said: 'Speaking of young men, I see that young Gerald has a new offering.'

'Oh,' Mother said. 'Well... that's... umm... usually worth a bit of a look.'

Dad nodded. 'Yes. Yes it is.' And he nodded again. 'And I think you might find Gerald rather... umm... entertaining, Lulu.'

'Gerald? Entertaining?' I said.

'Arousing even,' Dad said. 'Perhaps I should find us another glass of wine, eh? And we can go through.'

'Gerald?' I asked Mother when Dad had gone off to find more wine. 'Who is Gerald?'

'The... umm... film club,' Mother said. 'He and his wife -- at least I assume that she's his wife -- they... well, you'll see.' And she smiled. 'We'll go through, shall we?'

My parents had a smallish screen in their large dine-in kitchen. That was where they tended to watch the morning and evening news and such. And they each had their own iPad. But their main 'entertainment' screen was a large affair that rose from a custom-built unit at the foot of their king-sized bed.

Somewhat to my surprise, when Mother and I reached the bedroom, Mother immediately started to undress. I have to say that the exercise classes that she and Dad were taking twice a week appeared to have been working. And then, as the final item of clothing came off, she reached into the wardrobe for a towelling bathrobe and slipped it on. 'Your father and I like to make ourselves comfortable,' she said.

And then she said: 'Oh. Sorry. I don't suppose that you brought a bathrobe with you, did you? Never mind, I have a spare one.' And she took another robe from the wardrobe and lay it on the bed.

Oh, well. I hastily undressed, and slipped into the spare robe just before Dad arrived with the wine. 'Right,' he said. 'Glasses?'

Mother pointed to the dressing table.

'Oh, yes,' Dad said. And he poured a slosh of wine into each of the waiting glasses.

With the wine glasses replenished, Dad also stripped off. I tried not to take too much of an interest. But the exercise classes seemed to have been working for him as well as they had for Mother. I also noticed that his cock was not as 'relaxed' as it might have been. I did briefly wonder if he had given it a bit of a tickle-up while he had been off getting the wine. Or was it simply anticipation of Gerald's imminent arrival? And then he too slipped into a towelling bathrobe.

'Are you going to be Piggy in the Middle?' Mother asked him.

'Yes. Why not?' he said. 'And then I can have one of my beautiful girls on either side.'

'I could sit in one of the chairs,' I suggested.

'No, no. You don't want to be looking at the screen from an angle,' Dad said. 'The bed is quite large enough.' And, with his right hand, he patted the unoccupied space to his left before taking charge of the remote control.

I'm not sure what I expected to see as the screen lit up. Erotica of some sort. Obviously. I think that much had been made clear. But, having had a gin and tonic and a couple of large glassfuls of wine, I think that I had just made up my mind to 'go with the flow'. What I didn't expect was what appeared to be a private lap pool with a swimmer ticking off languid laps. It was more arty than erotic.

'Gerald,' Mother said, leaning forward slightly and speaking to me around Dad.

If the little tableau had been home-filmed, it certainly didn't look home-filmed. It looked like something straight out of a rather well-made arthouse movie.

And then Gerald emerged from the water. He appeared to be quite tall. He also appeared to have the build of an Olympic swimmer. Although the camera never showed all of him. Just selected parts of him. Then the camera followed him as he walked away from the pool, pausing for a moment to drop his swimming trunks. 'Oh, yes,' Mother said as the camera paused to focus on his perfectly-toned arse. I could see what Mother meant. Oh, yes, indeed.

And then Gerald was fully dressed. In a car. Driving along a suburban street. It was the first time that we got to see his face. Was he especially good looking? No, not really. But he was pleasant enough. There was a certain boy-next-door sort of look about him. And it was all surprisingly believable.

Then the car was pulling up outside a neat semi-detached house. From an upstairs window, a woman was looking down. Smiling.

'Lorraine,' Mother said. 'We assume that she must be Gerald's wife. But, of course, she may not be. She may just be his girlfriend. Or she may be someone else's wife.' And Mother giggled. 'They never really make it quite clear, do they?'

'No,' Dad said. 'Not really.'

Well, if she is someone else's wife, at least Gerald has his own door key, I thought to myself, as he let himself into the house and, after leaving his jacket draped over the newel post at the foot of the stairs, began his ascent, pausing from time to time to shed another item of clothing. A shoe. Another shoe. His trousers. His polo shirt. His boxers. By the time that he had reached the open bedroom door, and the waiting woman beyond, he was completely naked, and the camera was once again focused on his perfectly-toned buttocks.

'Oh, yes,' Mother said for the second time.

And then the camera took up a position looking back at Gerald and we saw his cock for the first time. Well, I saw his cock for the first time anyway. I got the impression that my parents had seen it many times before. And it was pretty impressive. Long. Although not especially thick.

'It doesn't get any smaller, does it?' Mother said.

Dad just laughed.

Lorraine -- who may or may not have been Gerald's actual wife -- also had a totally believable look about her. And when they came together -- Gerald reaching down and fingering her furry slot -- there was no acting about it. They were really doing it. They were really getting into each other. And, out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Mother had started to go to work on Dad. Well... she had started to go to work on Dad's growing cock, anyway.

And then I could feel a hand parting my borrowed bathrobe. Working its way up my thighs. That certainly wasn't something that I had expected. But, on the other hand, I wasn't totally surprised. My thighs yielded slightly to the pressure and, yes, the hand moved higher. And higher. And then a finger was parting my outer cunt lips. Dad still had his eyes fixed firmly on the screen at the bottom of the bed. But Mother was looking across at me. And she was smiling. Smiling while she worked Dad's cock with one hand and explored her own cuntal valley with the other.

Dad's no-look fingering was rather good. It was certainly better than what I was used to from Oliver. Combined with what Gerald and Lorraine were up to on the big screen, it soon had me coming to the boil. Well, to the simmer anyway. And then as Lorraine reached her first little orgasm, so did I.

'We shall return to this,' Dad said with a broad smile. 'But first I should give your mother a little ride.' And he pressed Pause on the remote control.

Mother didn't need a second invitation. In a flash, her bathrobe was open; she was astride Dad; and, from somewhere, she had produced a small bottle of lube, lube which she was now applying to Dad's rather stubby cock. And then his cock had disappeared between Mother's meaty labia. 'Oh, fuck, yes,' he said.

I'll say this for my parents: they were enthusiastic fuckers. I could easily imagine that the 'contribution' they were talking of making to their new-found online erotic library (once they had a suitable camera person) might find an equally enthusiastic audience.

While Mother rode Dad's cock, I watched and, with my fingers, worked my own tunnel of lust.

I had never watched other people fucking before. Yes, I had seen videos. Obviously. But I had never seen real people doing it in the flesh. I had come close to it once when Oliver and I were on holiday with our friends Hannah and Karl. Over a few drinks, Hannah and I had sort of planned that we were going to go back to Hannah and Karl's hotel room where we would have a few more drinks and each couple would watch the other couple fucking. I think that Hannah and I secretly thought that there might even have been a bit of swapping on the cards. But Oliver got cold feet.

I was idly thinking about what might have been, when I realised that Mother was starting to come to the simmer. 'Oh, yes,' she said. 'Oh. Oh. Oh. Yes. Oh.' And she was starting to puff like The Little Engine that Could. And then: 'Yes, yes, oh, fuck, yes!' And then she let out a squeal and broke into a giggle. 'Whee!' she said.

For perhaps thirty seconds, Mother just stayed there, in the cowgirl position, astride of Dad's presumably still-hard cock. And then she rolled off. 'Your turn, Lulu,' she said. 'And then I might have to come back for seconds.'

To be honest, I hadn't realised that I was going to be getting a turn. But, by that point, I wasn't about to decline any offers that were being handed to me on a plate.

'How do you want to do this?' Dad asked. 'Shall I go on top?' And before I really had a chance to enter into discussions, he was on his knees, between my now-spread thighs, lining up his still more-or-less hard cock with my wet and waiting fuck hole.

'Do you need me to help?' Mother asked.

'Umm... maybe,' Dad said. 'Just....'

And Mother reached out and took his cock in hand and fed its pinkish-purple head into my slippery slot.

I think I read somewhere that the average stiff cock is about five-and-a-half inches from stem to stern. (A little more in Gerald's case.) But Dad's cock was probably only about four inches. It was, however, seriously fat. As he plunged into me, it felt as if someone was slipping a warm hand inside me. Yes. And it felt seriously sexy. Oh, fuck, yes!

Having already had one orgasm from Dad's earlier fingering, it didn't take me long to come back up to the simmer. And then, when Mother reached under and began gently fingering my arsehole, I just boiled over. Oh, fuck! Yes, yes, yes!

After another short interval, Mother licked Dad's cock clean, and then we watched the other half of Gerald's little encounter with Lorraine -- before we enjoyed another round of hide the parental sausage.