Prelude
I didn't plan any of this.
I didn't plan to suddenly find myself the man of the house.
I didn't plan to be the guardian of my older sister.
I didn't plan to have my life turn into an ongoing romp of sexual gratification.
But I ain't bitchin'.
I was Mom and Dad's "surprise," a menopause baby. I still remember, very fondly, when I turned 18 and Dad and I were sharing our first beer. Dad was one of those kind of rough-edged guys, a union carpenter, whose sense of humor was more Jeff Foxworthy or Bill Engvall than Dennis Miller or Johnny Carson. I'm pretty sure he never would have found one of my favorite lines from Dennis Miller to be funny ("Billy," Millier had said to Bill O'Reilly during an interview, "I once saw a narcoleptic Basset Hound with more energy than this guy").
We were in the bar, about four beers into a Saturday afternoon when the conversation turned to the age gap between Lindsey, my sister, and me. I was, as I said, 18, fresh from registering with the draft board, and Lindsey was 32, working her way up the career ladder as a District Manager for
Lowe's
. Her career goal, she had told me once, was to be Vice-President of Seven Boring Things before she hit 40, and the last time we talked she had moved her goal down to 38. That's how her mind works.
I laughed as Dad was telling me of receiving the news that Mom was pregnant. It turned out, they figured she was done with menopause after, his words now, "I managed not to kill her during one of her crazy rants." She hadn't had a period in months and when she started being sick in the morning she went to the doctor, worried, as I suppose everyone is once you hit the half-century mark, about cancer. Pregnancy had been, Dad went on, the farthest thing from either Mom or Dad's mind as she disappeared into the examination room. In due course the nurse came out, got Dad, and then in the doctor's office they got the good news.
I damn near fell off the bar stool as Dad described dropping Mom off at home and coming to this bar, walking in, hitching up his pants, and announcing to all and sundry, "Yep. Knocked up the old lady."
Lindsey, herself, had been a "geriatric" baby, Mom was 35 when she was born. She turned 50 while pregnant with me. But everything was okay and my 14-year-old sister resented me from the day I got home. From being an only child and the center of my parent's world, she was relegated to second place behind a wonderfully cute, adorable, beautiful new baby.
Yep, me.
Lindsey and I really didn't interact very much. As I would learn later, when the age gap is that great, you are, effectively, an only child. She was a vaguely remembered shape who disappeared when I was about 4 when she went to college and then appeared a few times a year. You know, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Mom and Dad's anniversary, Uncle Tom's funeral, Cousin Roger's wedding, things like that. We were cordial, called each other "brother" and "sister" but really didn't, you know,
know
each other very well.
And then, my life changed.
Well, and then my life changed, Lindsey's life changed, and Mom and Dad's life ended.
What happened was this.
I was 19 and in my first semester at the local junior college. I was an iffy student but went to college because, like males since Oog the caveman hit Oogla the cavegirl over the head with his trusty club and drug her into his cave for a lifetime of love and procreation, my current love interest was going to college and so that is what I did.
Lois, the object of my affection in those days, was my last slim girl. She was slim in that way of the athlete she was. She was a swimmer, to be precise, a speed swimmer. She lacked the specific gravity additional fat cells would provide to make her a distance swimmer. She had broad shoulders, long dark hair that hung about halfway down her back, small teacup breasts with oddly oversized pink nipples, a slender waist, gorgeously flaring hips, and long legs that you could call "dancer's legs" and I wouldn't argue although they were, technically, "swimmer's legs." She had a long face, generous mouth, tiny little bulb of a nose, and big ears. She was, with apologies to Mrs. O'Neil, my third-grade grammar teacher for using a double negative, "not unattractive." Mostly, she had that most important of all traits. She seemed to have forgotten how to utter the word "no."
So when it was time to go to the family reunion, this time held two towns away at a distant aunt's house, Lindsey rode with Mom and Dad but I went to Lois's house and picked her up. We went to the reunion, exchanged greetings with family members I would see and talk to again in a couple of years at the next reunion, ate some excellent smoked pork sandwiches with potato salad on the side, drank a couple of beers, and headed out. Remember, I was 19 and had other things on my mind.
Oh, hell, let's be honest.
I was 19 and the little head of my one-eyed friend Wilbur was doing all of my thinking for me. He was telling me it was time to get the fuck out of here and get him out of my pants.
I made the rounds, Lois in tow, telling everyone how happy I was to see them and making my manners as my grandmother might have said. The men tended to smile as they shook my hand and gave Lois a quick once over and me a knowing smile. The women were more mixed. Some, my cousin Sandy who I'm pretty sure had a bit of a crush on me, looked very disapproving, her scowl pretty much saying it all. Her mom, my aunt Rita, kissed me, a kiss that I thought lingered to the point of almost being an invitation, invited me to come over "any time," and told Lois to be good to me.
We escaped.
And since I knew where Mom, Dad, and Lindsey were, I didn't have to go someplace to park.
We barely cleared the front door before she was at my shirt buttons.
Did I mention that Lois was 19 too and the horniest woman I have ever been with?
She actually popped a button off of my shirt in her haste.
I managed to get clear and take her hand to lead her down the stairs to my basement bedroom.
Did I mention that both Lois and I were living at home so being able to make love, okay, to fuck like monkeys, in a bed was kind of a treat?
By the time we made it to my bed, still a mess since I can't see the point of making a bed, she had my shirt off and dropped to her knees. This had become our standard practice and, since we had a "standard practice" I had already decided it was probably time to move on. The next step, I assumed, would be talking about living together and marriage and I had no interest in either of those things.
But I was VERY interested in watching as she eased to her knees, still fully dressed, and started on my belt.
There's something about this position, as everyone reading this who has a Y chromosome understands, that gets to me and, I honestly believe, any man on levels far below thinking. Even far below allowing Wilbur's greedy head to do the thinking. This is something left over from when we were covered in hair and living in trees or maybe even farther back when we were tiny mouselike creatures contending with the dinosaurs for a place to live and losing that battle.
My cock, old Wilbur, was straining to come erect, prevented from that by my clothes.
When she got the belt undone, the button unbuttoned, and the zipper down she pulled my pants down, freeing Wilbur in the process, and pushed them to my ankles effectively hobbling me. I grabbed her shoulders for balance and watched as she took me into her mouth. This was, her words, not mine, "basic preparation," as she quickly masturbated me with her mouth. We talked about it after the first time and she said that "boys" my age were too "hair-triggered" for her. She had learned, at, well, let's just say a "less than legal" age, that a quick blow job made the sex that followed last. She had also learned that she
liked
the sensation of having a man cum on her face and in her hair.
And that is what she did. Her head bobbed, her lips sucked, her hands on my ass held me to her, and in about 30 seconds I came.
As always after a few days without sex, well, with only my good right hand for comfort, that first ejaculation was powerful. My semen, thick and white and very sticky, hit her face making a diagonal line from her forehead across her right eye and to her cheek. The second pump hit right in the middle of her forehead, right at the hairline.
The third and fourth pumps were weaker and she caught them on an outstretched tongue.
When I relaxed, catching a deep breath, she stayed where she was. She got my shoes off, my loafers didn't have laces, and then held my slacks and boxers while I stepped out of them. She took each sock off separately, laughing when I squirmed as she tickled my feet.
She stood then, smiled, and said, "Thank you for your beautiful gift."
I grinned and said, "Any time."
"Will you still kiss me?" she asked, the concluding line of our, well, our "ritual" I guess could call it. Our pre-foreplay sex.
I kissed her, my hot, sticky semen making it a special kiss that I had come to like with Lois.
The preliminaries complete, I began unbuttoning her blouse. I enjoy undressing a woman, and I like to do it properly. I would undo a button and kiss the skin I revealed. I would trace the line of her bra, and kiss the skin where I had just touched. When I had her blouse off I reached behind her and, one-handed, undid the hooks of her bra and tossed it to join the blouse.
