The Slumber Party

"What do you make of

that?"

Carrie said to Marcia.

Marcia, lost in thought, made no reply.

"I've never seen him so smitten. Have you?"

"No."

"I mean, she's really pretty, and all that—but what gives with him? It's as if she already has him wrapped around her little finger."

Without warning, Marcia burst into tears and flung her arms around Carrie's neck.

Carrie was taken aback. Patting her back tentatively, she said, "What's the matter with you?"

Marcia pulled away and gave Carrie a furious look. "You should know what's the matter with me!

I love Grant—

that's what's the matter with me. And he doesn't pay me the slightest attention. I move into his house in the hope that he might warm up to me—and what happens? A new girl spends one night with him, and he's totally infatuated with her! And I'm back to being the low end of the totem pole."

Carrie really knew that everything Marcia was saying was true—or at least that it reflected Marcia's feelings—but actually hearing it spoken aloud disturbed her.

"Oh, come on, Marcia," she said nervously. "It's not as bad as that. I mean, he takes you to bed pretty regularly. I told you before: he wouldn't have invited you to live here if he didn't think you were pretty cool."

"I don't want him just taking an interest in my pussy and my ass and my breasts!" Marcia wailed. "I want his heart and mind!"

"I'm sure he has strong feelings for you—sometimes he just doesn't say so."

"Why doesn't he? He's probably already said it to that Angela creature."

"You gotta be kidding! After one night? I doubt it."

"I don't. You yourself said you've never seen him like this."

"Just be patient, okay? He'll come around."

"I doubt it."

"Maybe I'll talk to him."

"Don't you dare! This has to come from his own feelings, not because he feels he's been pressured into it."

"Okay, you're right. But you wait and see. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

A little later Carrie did speak to Grant—not about Marcia, but about Angela.

"So you really like her, don't you?"

"Who?" Grant said disingenuously.

"Angela, that's who."

His eyes suddenly gained that dreamy look. "Yeah." Then, with quiet emphasis: "I love her."

That shook Carrie. "You—you what?"

"I love her."

"After less than a day? Come on—are you crazy?"

"I think," he said reflectively, "I've finally come to my senses."

"What does

that

mean?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Listen, guy," she persisted, "what I wanted to say was this: you'd better go easy on her. You must have worked her over pretty hard last night, if the stiff way she was walking and sitting is any indication. And now you expect to spend the next two nights with her?"

"She'll be fine—she's strong."

"Maybe so—but I can tell you, boyo, that it takes a girl a little while to recover from that 'first experience.' Especially if she gets it in both places. She

did

get it in both places, didn't she?"

"Yes."

"Well, she's going to be mighty sore. And she won't recover overnight—it may take several days. So if you try to do your business again, that's gonna hurt."

"I don't want to hurt her," he said with clenched teeth.

"Well, then take it easy. Maybe you can do other things. There's more to sex than just copulation."

"I don't want to have sex with her," he said, looking right at his sister. "I want to make love to her."

"I understand that. I'm just saying—"

"Look, we'll be fine, okay?"

"Okay. You're the boss."

*

They decided on a picnic, as Seattle was experiencing a delightful Indian summer and the weather was still quite warm. They chose a remote area of Ravenna Park for the occasion, picking up a number of toothsome foodstuffs from Metropolitan Market—fried chicken, potato salad, a green salad, and some craft beers. A huge beach towel served as their dining table, and they were hungry enough by the time they got to their chosen spot that they devoured most of the food at once.

In reality, the picnic was just an excuse to spend time in each other's company. Their intense sexual intimacy of the night before had already created a nearly indissoluble bond, and now all that was needed was to strengthen that bond by actually getting to know each other. Grant, for his part, did nothing but drink in Angela's presence with his eyes. He found every single motion and gesture of hers unutterably affecting: the way her face, generally a curious mix of pensive sadness and hesitancy, would suddenly transform itself into radiant happiness when she smiled; the way her deep purple eyes darted around, attracted by whatever took her interest; the way she touched his arm or shoulder with the lightness of a butterfly wing, but with a submerged inner strength that impressed him.

Most of all, he loved the way she herself couldn't believe how she could have inspired such love in him so soon.

After the picnic lunch, they lay down side by side on their backs, looking up at the bright, clear sky. They had chatted on all manner of things over the meal, revealing the most intimate details about their childhood and adolescence out of an unspoken need to convey the essence of their distinct personalities to each other. Now, they just wanted to bask in each other's company.

But lying side by side wasn't enough for Grant. Presently he urged Angela to lie on top of him at full length.

She did so, and was not surprised when he held her close, then stretched one arm down to stroke that heavenly bottom of hers over her thin wraparound skirt.

No one was within view, but she wasn't certain whether she liked this kind of groping in public. She sensed, however, that Grant couldn't help himself.

For his part, he had taken Carrie's words to heart. And so he said: "How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful!" she said fervently. "Just being here with you is a tonic."

"No, I didn't mean that," he said, nuzzling her neck and cheek. "I meant: are you, um, sore?"

She colored slightly. "Well, yes."

"Both places?"

"Yes."

"Does it really hurt?"

"It doesn't

hurt

exactly. As I said before, it sort of throbs."

"So you don't think you'll want more tonight?"

She raised her head to look down at him. His pleading expression was so intense that she was actually amused. "Grant, darling, I don't know! Let's just see what I feel like. Aren't

you

sore?"

"A bit." What he didn't tell her was that he liked to have a night off after a particularly heavy bout of sex. "But probably not as much as you."

"You're such a dear," she said, and kissed him fervently.

"I want you so much," he whispered into her ear.

"I know you do. I want you too."

"How about right now?"

"What?"

she said, alarmed. "Not out in the open!"

"I didn't mean that. I meant—with my fingers."

"Even so! Someone might see."

"There's no one around."

"Oh, Grant, I don't know . . ."

But he had already pulled up her skirt in front and slipped a hand underneath the hem. In a single motion he pulled her panties down to her knees and then began caressing her sex—at first gently, augmenting the wetness that was already there, then more vigorously. Angela, embarrassed and stimulated at the same time, buried her head in Grant's neck, as if that would somehow prevent anyone from seeing what was going on. His strokes were having their predictable effect, and in minutes she was suppressing her cries by holding her lips firm to Grant's neck and shoulder. Grant deliberately prolonged her orgasm by continuing to stroke her gently, using his other hand to squeeze her bottom. Her cries turned to a kind of mewing, and she was becoming dizzy. Finally she had to pull his hand away from her delta—she couldn't take it anymore.

Her breath was coming in ragged bursts, and a tremor shook her whole frame. Gradually she subsided, resting bonelessly on the body of her lover.

"Was that nice?" he said.

"Yes," she breathed. "Very nice."

The question was what to do about him. By this time she had no particular compunction about doing things out in the open—not actual intercourse, of course, but perhaps other things. But there was always the issue of the mess that men created during this process. So, after she had recovered her composure, she evaluated the situation strategically. Looking around to make sure that there was absolutely no one around, she pulled down his shorts, letting his hugely erect cock pop out of them. Quickly she put as much of his member into his mouth as possible, also stroking his balls lightly with her fingers—something she had already come to know he loved. Her head bobbed more and more quickly as she worked his shaft with tongue and lips, and within minutes she could sense a tightening in his balls that signalled the culmination of his desires.

She took in the fluid that shot out of his cock, developing the technique of letting the stuff flow effortlessly down her throat while coaxing more of it out with her mouth and hand. Only when she was convinced that every drop had been accounted for did she release her lips from his organ, which flopped back onto his belly. She quickly covered him up.

"Was

that

nice?" she said.

"Very nice," he said.

And they both took a well-earned nap.

*

In spite of Carrie's admonitions to Grant and her own concerns, Angela was emphatic about her lover doing anything he wished that night. He himself was a little resistant at first, but in the face of her quiet determination he acquiesced. During their first session of vaginal sex, he made sure that she was as wet as she could be before going into her—and his entry was so gentle, even tentative, that she became uncharacteristically impatient, saying irritably, "Oh, for God's sake, Grant, I'm not a porcelain doll! Just go in me!" She took him in at his full length without too much pain—and also found that a subsequent entry into her bottom was also largely painless. She also took occasion to try a new position, squatting over him as he lay flat on his back. This position had the advantage—for Grant—of allowing him to devote a kind of hypnotic gaze at her exquisite breasts. There were times when Grant didn't even want to touch or kiss those breasts: seeing their glorious perfection, especially without the flattening effect that occurred when she was on her back, was enough for him.

The next morning, the breakfast routine concluded in an unusual manner.

As Grant, at the head of the table, took in the females around him—his mother and sister to his left, Marcia and Angela to his right—something came over him. He had been unusually quiet during the meal, content to let his women chatter among themselves. But he had not failed to notice Marcia's glum demeanor, and he sensed that even Jessica and Carrie were anomalously melancholy. And he thought he knew the reason why.

I really shouldn't play favorites so much.

So, as breakfast was concluding, he abruptly slipped under the table, causing all the women to cry out in surprise. Had he suffered some kind of attack and fainted? That seemed the height of absurdity. Had he lost something on the floor and was making efforts to find it? That didn't seem very plausible either. But the explanation for Grant's actions soon became all too apparent.

Jessica felt him raise up the hem of her nightgown and then part her legs. He had known that she—like the other women—wasn't wearing anything under the nightgown, and so her sex was readily exposed. Her eyes boggled as he began licking her.

"Oh, Grant, no!" she said—but only out of a sense of duty to conventional morality. She had longed for intimacy with her son over the past two nights, but knew that his love for Angela took precedence. Now, although she professed to be aghast at his shamelessness, she welcomed the love that radiated from him as he licked and sucked her clitoris while taking hold of her bottom.

Her moans and groans were received with wide-eyed smiles by the other women. Her breasts were rising and falling agitatedly, and it wasn't long before a sharp cry broke out from her throat. Her face was already crimson with emotion, and the unexpected orgasm made her so weak that she had to hold on to the table to keep herself upright.

Carrie knew what was coming next. She felt the lifting of her nightgown and the parting of her legs, and she let out a groan when Grant pasted his lips to her sex. He knew how to get her excited in the most efficient manner possible—part of it involved actually nuzzling her clitoris in a manner that fell just short of biting. He lapped up the liquid that oozed out of her, and in a few minutes was rewarded with her own heavy sigh of contentment.

It was Marcia's turn next, and she was so eager for the procedure that she lifted up her own nightgown to make her sex more readily available to him. She liked slightly different things from oral sex, and he was happy to oblige. After her orgasm, he moved dutifully to his beloved, from whom he had already elicited half-a-dozen climaxes the night before. But she managed one more with very little effort on his part.

As Grant clambered back into his seat to finish the meager remains of his breakfast, he gazed around at all the red-faced, heavy-breathing women and said, "Is everyone happy?"

They weren't able to speak, but they did nod enthusiastically.

Grant nodded in turn, chiefly because he had now definitively confirmed something he had always sensed:

Yep, all women's pussies taste just a little different.