Hi! My name's Monica Coulter; and the story I'm about to tell is one that you will more than likely never forget. At the time, I was eighteen years old and I lived with my mother in the suburbs of Phoenix, Arizona. I was a straight "A" Honor Student and President of the Student Council. I was also a member of the National Honor Society and was on the Debate Team. Oh, did I mention that I was head of the varsity cheerleading squad too? Well, I was. And that's all the more I'm going to say about my physical appearance. Suffice it to say that you didn't obtain such a coveted, and dare I say sexual position without the "Right Stuff". But I will add that I'm five feet nine inches tall, have long, wavy black hair down to my shoulder blades and glacier blue eyes; the eyes of my grandmother. And thanks both to living in the Valley of the Sun and making weekly visits to the tanning beds, my natural alabaster skin was a year round hue of golden mahogany.
Now, from what I just told you about myself, I was what most people would consider a very normal and ambitious young woman with a bright and promising future; heaven knows I came from a generational line of very prominent and successful women; i.e. my mother and my grandmother. But as you will soon discover, the word normal and the name Monica Coulter very seldom collide in the same sentence; nor does it with my mother or my grandmother either.
Allow me to introduce them:
My mother, Quinn Coulter, was only twenty years old when I was born; she was in her third year of college at Stanford University at the time. By the time I was eighteen, Mom was thirty-eight and a renowned, New York Times Bestselling author, having written fifteen spellbinding romance novels and was currently working on her sixteenth. Standing also at exactly five foot nine, my mother has a gorgeous maim of full and flowing dark auburn hair that drapes delicately to the tops of her alluring shoulders. Mom's body is long, lean and statuesque with a full set of sensuous and tempting curves. Her face is soft, but stunning; with pouting, luscious lips, a sparkling white smile, perfect nose, marvelous chin and enchanting emerald green eyes. A pert, glamorously round and bountiful chest, fertile and savory hips, taut and magnificently spherical ass, flat tummy, slim waist, willowy arms, long and slender neck; and her skin is the purest of creamy white silk.
Along with her immaculate physique, my mother is also a brilliant scholar. Despite my arrival so early in her life, Mom completed her Bachelor's Degree in Political Science from Stanford University where she spent three years on the Dean's List's; then followed that with a Masters Degree in Literature from Yale University. She is also a Rhodes Scholar and spent time at Oxford University in England where she studied politics and philosophy. Aside from being one of America's most beloved novelists, my mother also serves as a city councilwoman in Phoenix and has aspirations of perhaps running for higher office. Suffice it to say, Quinn Coulter is the most amazing woman I know; save possibly one:
Her mother!
My grandmother, Farah Coulter, was just twenty-one years old when she gave my mother life. Despite her blue collar beginnings in the suburbs of Detroit, Michigan; which is where my mother was born, my grandmother is now a prominent socialite in New York City; not to mention the founder and CEO of one of America's most popular women's magazines and on the board of directors of countless civic, cultural and social organizations all along the East Coast. Being one of the most influential and wealthiest women in the country, my grandmother also heads up one of the largest charity organizations in North America, second only to Goodwill. When not traveling all about the globe on her countless business and social engagements in her private jet, my grandmother divides her home life and down time between her three story penthouse on Fifth Avenue and her colossal beach house in the Hamptons on Long Island. She also owns a ski lodge in Aspen, Colorado and a breathtaking Chateau in northern France. Then at the age of fifty-nine and having been a widow since she was forty, Grandma was more elegant, charismatic, graceful, alluring and radiant than ever. I won't waste too much space to give you her physical description when all that really needs to be said is "Like Mother, Like Daughter"; or in this particular case, "Like Daughter, Like Mother."
Just like my Mom's, my grandmother's face is heart stopping beautiful, with just a few more lines of wisdom; alluring wrinkles if you like. As for her body; well it's a clone of my mother's and one any other grandmother would kill to have as she nears the age of sixty. With the exception of being an inch taller than my mother and I at five-ten, Grandma possesses mystical glacier blue eyes, just like mine; and where her hair was once a glossy shade of auburn, it has since faded into a breathtaking shade of pearlescent silver with long frontal bangs and curled at the base of her sleek, sexy neck that immaculately frames her stunning face. Apparently, my long and wavy black hair was a gift from my father; and the only one at that.
Anyway:
Very much like Mom and me, Grandma and Mom shared a very close nit bond; they were the best of friends. And despite their demanding careers, celebrity and financial success, you might be surprised to learn that both my wonderful matriarchs are extremely grounded women; very down to Earth, humble, brimming with compassion and deeply rooted in traditional family and Christian values. Regardless of anything, I always came first with Mom; and she with Grandma. They both have hearts of gold! It goes without saying that I am extremely blessed and fortunate, for I was raised by one of the most loving, nurturing and level-headed women on Earth; just as she had been before me. I never knew my father; he died just days before I was born and my mother almost never speaks of him. Nor does she speak of her own father, who died when she was eighteen. And it wasn't until I began the transformation from girl to woman that I commenced to become curious as to why Mom, or Grandma too for that matter, had never married or remarried. There were of course countless suitors that came and went like the months of the year or even days of the week for both of them; but for as long as I can remember, never anything serious or committed for either one of them. Which was absolutely fine with me, because in case you haven't already figured it out by now; the only thing my generational line does for me is fill me with forbidden love, incestuous lust and taboo lesbian fantasy.
Sometimes I find it nearly impossible to think when I'm anywhere near my grandmother. I become so intoxicated with insatiable lust that I can hardly breathe; she is that fucking sexy. But the situation is far more complicated where my mother is concerned; for the matter becomes one of the heart and soul along with the body. Yes, I am very much in love with my own mother. I love her more than life itself. She is my soul mate.
So what was a teenage girl to do when she was in love with her mother and in lust with her grandmother? Well, that brings us to where my story truly begins; on the Sunday before Thanksgiving when I was eighteen. Grandma had flown out to Phoenix earlier that very day and would be spending the week with us. So, now I would be trapped in the house for an entire week with the two women I desired more than anything on Earth, but could never ever have.
Happy Fucking Thanksgiving to me!
***
It was nearing midnight when I pulled into the driveway. All the lights in the house were off, which told me that Mom and Grandma were already asleep. Since I had told Mom that I would be spending the night at my friend Shawna's house after we got off work, I figured I'd just slip into the house quietly and wait until morning to explain why I had come home instead. Shawna and I had gotten into a rather heated argument during clean up that evening and basically told each other to go to hell just before storming off our separate ways.
Letting myself in through the kitchen door, I stopped briefly at the fridge and soon discovered that I wasn't the least bit hungry. Moving on, I passed through the dining room, into the foyer and climbed the massive staircase to the second floor landing. As I was turning to head toward my bedroom, I heard the faint sound of music coming from the direction of Mom's room. Turning that direction, I then noticed that the door to the bedroom where Grandma was supposed to be staying was open with the lamp on the bedside table turned on; but Grandma was not in there. Growing very puzzled and even a bit concerned, I tiptoed down the long hallway to the double doors of my mother's bedroom. The music was definitely coming from inside her room and it was enticingly sensual and intensely erotic; perfect sex music, I thought to myself. Just then, I heard the soft, tender, almost orgasmic moaning of a woman coming from inside Mom's room; and it sounded like Grandma.
Instantly an enormous knot lodged in the pit of my stomach as my heart began to pound like a jackhammer. With my chest constricting and my pulse popping in my ears, I reached with a trembling hand for one of the door handles and pushed down ever so gently; it was unlocked, so I quietly pushed the door open and stepped carefully inside. Mom's bedroom is a veritable penthouse suite complete with a fireplace, full wet bar, enormous bay windows, double bay doors leading out to a balcony, large sitting area with a love seat, sofa, high back leather chairs and a coffee table. Not bothering to close the door behind me, I crept silently down the short entrance corridor on the landing and then peered ever so carefully around the corner of the privacy wall. The cavernous bedroom suite was illuminated by a small fire burning in the fireplace, as well as several scented candles placed meticulously about, giving the room a mystical and intensely romantic luminous glow. Along with the fragrance of the scented candles, there was also the powerful aroma of burning incense hanging in the air, along with something else; the musky odor of feminine sexual arousal, and it was, at that moment, extremely potent. And then, as if in a dream, I discovered the source of that intoxicating and forbidden aroma; and I felt as if I'd just been hit by a speeding train.
