They smiled and embraced and kissed again, his hands enjoying holding the nice round cheeks of her ass, like they had her sister's. The church clock hadn't struck ten yet, but he departed, this time by the front door and hurried to his car.
As he waited till he could drive home, he wondered about his affair with both his daughters, not "affairs;" it was one, even though – because – the girls had agreed that it was better when he was with just one of them. Of course, it was incestuous – doubly so – but both girls had explained why it was better than their trying to have sex with classmates, and - he hummed with grin - that it was better with him. It sure was good with them! He suppressed thoughts about why it shouldn't be, and then the church clock struck ten.
At home, Louise was asleep as usual. Their sex life had become more interesting, which was very pleasant, but he had to admit to himself that sleeping with his twin daughters had a double influence on that: the too delightful inspiration from what they wanted to do with him, but also his feeling that he had to make sure that Louise didn't get the impression that he could be showing less desire, question if he was slacking off, or worse, getting sex somewhere else. He was - damned guilty conscience! But if it was being better with Louise, that was a plus, and he was a little proud that he could have more and better sex more nights a week than in the past.
The next day, one of the girls called him at work and said that their mother had already mentioned that she was going out again the following Monday evening. He sent an email to the leader of the tenors in the choir, telling that he would probably be missing the the next few rehearsals, then wondering how the twins were settling that, maybe advising that just one of them would be missing rehearsals. He assumed that they would be taking turns. What would the other want to do Monday evening? They told each other what they had done.
Monday evening, she wanted to do what her sister had, just as delightful and arousingly. As they parted, she reminded him that they both would have their periods. They agreed that the three of them could spend an evening together without doing anything.
He picked up a six pack of beer, and they had a very pleasant evening together, catching up on talking about things they would have, if they hadn't been doing something else, none of them directly referring to what they had been doing, which was very nice. The girls told him that they had been accepted to university in another city in the fall, telling him that they hoped he would drive them there. Since the city was a few hours away, that suggested his staying overnight before returning home, and they all smiled. They speculated about what his ex-wife, the girls' mother, did every Monday evening, all agreeing that she must be enjoying herself and that that was good. Perhaps their smiles about that also were an oblique reference to it's allowing them to enjoy themselves. A less oblique reference as they were finishing their second beers was one of the girl's mentioning:
"At least, we don't have worry about breaking up with any boyfriends."
"Just with me," he murmured, only then realizing what he had said.
The twins nodded with frowning smiles. The other one then said:
"But there are two more rehearsals before the summer break."
"One for each of us," her sister murmured.
He nodded, smiling. When the church clock struck ten, the girls both got up and gave him a good kiss at the door.
The Monday evenings with each of them were quieter, subdued, more loving. Both girls wanted to lie on him with his cock in her pussy, enjoying it that way as long as she could, until the two of them couldn't help wanting more. Then they talked: "sweet nothings," if that could be the expression for father and daughter murmuring with each other in bed. And then the daughter crawled around, and they did the only other thing they could together. At the door, he embraced his naked daughter and they kissed, not letting it become arousing, their tongues reminding them, however, that it could be.
Without choir rehearsals, he had no excuse for spending the evenings with them. They called him at work and told that their mother had asked them if they minded if she still went out Monday evening, telling that they had assured her that they did not. When Louise wasn't around, he watched some videos, excusing himself that he was just seeing what Louise and the twins had viewed. That quickly got repetitive, and he was a little ashamed about his vicarious viewing. He clicked to art pictures of nudes, statutes and paintings, a slightly less questionable activity, even a little educational, he justified, singling out individual artists and seeing what else they done.
Of course, he admitted to himself, he was comparing the nudes with his daughters – and with Louise, he quickly added. Some models had nice round breasts like the girls', especially those of Renoir and Courbet, but they usually weren't as slender. Anders Zorn had painted lots of lovely nudes, not to mention all the Renaissance painters, nice slender girls with nice but smaller breasts, and none of them had pubic hair, except on some paintings from the late 19th and 20th century.
He turned to studying "midriffs" not wanting to admit that he was looking at pussies. He couldn't see them anyway, since artists seemed never to show more than the women's "mons veneris," mound of Venus - and usually carefully draped to hide it. That was a challenge. He saw plenty that were bare, but never the start of the model's pussy lips. It was still delightful, however, and he enjoyed recognizing the differences: some swelling out more between their thighs, that never had a gap between them, nice round thighs like his daughters', which, as best he could remember, also didn't, but they had hair on their mounds of Venus, not thickets, but enough that he couldn't recall if it was flesh or just hair that suggested a swelling there.
He scowled, recalling that he had licked both their pussies, but hadn't noticed. A photo that popped up showed the woman's pussy lips descending from the top of the inside of her thighs, which he found unattractive, sure that Paula's and Klara's did not. While looking at paintings and statues, he discovered that the angle of the folds at the top of the models' thighs varied. On the artists' works, never less than about ninety degrees, often wider, which he preferred, as apparently did classical sculptors. Canova's marble nudes were very attractive, more breasts and asses, but wonderfully realistic. The sculptors of Greek and Roman statues all had the two folds pointing at the model's pussy at a flatter angle.
He mentally kicked himself for not being able to remember how his daughters' were, then excusing himself, that most of time with them he hadn't been in a position to look. Pursuing that, he discovered a female statue, said to be a copy of one by Praxiteles. The even wider angle of her folds he found most attractive, and was delighted to read that Praxiteles was the first to sculpture the nude female form and that his work was the model for many others, including Venus di Milo, Venus de Medici, and others, and most of them had nice round breasts, like those painted by Courbet and Renoir.
He didn't know if this knowledge was really a justification for looking at nudes, admonishing himself, that he hadn't been comparing them with Louise's figure. He subsequently did and wasn't disappointed, which didn't stop him from wondering about the twins', looking forward to driving them to their university in the fall, then admitting that he was looking forward to what he hoped they would do together, then trying to count the weeks, hoping they wouldn't be having their periods.
But then! He got an invitation to his parents' fiftieth wedding anniversary. The girls also had, as they told him them next day, both humming on the phone and telling him that "we can." Of course they could, but he understood correctly that they meant that they wouldn't have their periods that weekend. The invitation was for a festive midday dinner and a church celebration on Sunday. His ex-wife did not want to attend, of course, and Louise also did not, although invited, not wanting to have to be introduced to as his unmarried companion. It would be a three hour drive. A second phone call from the girls allowed them to explain to the girls' mother and Louise that they would leave Friday afternoon, so that he as son could be there early, but he told his parents that he and their granddaughters would drive Saturday morning, arriving for the dinner.
The girls were ecstatic, he was too, shifting his cock, when he hung up after calling his parents. He reserved two rooms at a motel, wondering what the cleaning staff would think if all the beds weren't used.
When he stopped in front of their house, the girls almost rushed out, waving at their mother. She waved at him, as he got out to take their suitcase. The girls were chortling as they got in the car. He had to chuckle with them, not sure why they they were. They hardly greeted him, one immediately remarking:
"Oh, this is great." The other immediately added:
"It is, for us. What she means, is about Mom."
"Um-hmm. We finally asked her ..."
"What she does Monday nights."
"Did she ever blush!"
"Then we asked her if she had male friend."
"She couldn't have blushed more."
"But looked she wanted to."
"Then said that we were grownups, that it was her old classmate."
"'Like that?' one of us asked.
"You!"
"But you nodded."
