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Sisters, Sally and Gerry
by BillyG (address defunct)

***

A guy gets lucky, very, very lucky... with two sisters. 
(MFF)

***

There was a period in my teen years when I was 
uncharacteristically positive about few things in life. 
This stance, so antithetical to how I would have people 
think of me, was operative only secretly. On the 
surface, what I lacked in self confidence, I 
compensated with bravado. Not a loud, in-your-face, 
strutting bravado, but more a quiet, act-as-if 
behavior. 

Yet, one of the facets of my personality about which I 
*was* certain was my lust for women. Not, mind you, a 
woman. But women. Pleural. That both the broad brush 
strokes of our culture as well as the more narrowly 
defined constraints of our local society didn't condone 
such a view was clear, even to an insensitive teenage 
male such as me. I may have been a libertine at heart, 
but I wasn't dumb about it. I kept my views to myself.

I was, at the time, dating a girl, a high-school 
cheerleader, named Sally. Our relationship wasn't 
"serious" - there was never anything approaching 
commitment, at least on my part. I was spared that 
near-fatal, teen-age malady known as "falling in love." 
Oh, I recognized readily that I'd fallen in lust, but 
that's quite another matter. 

Sally was attractive, sexy, and very enthusiastic. She 
loved to fuck. That was it, the whole of it, readily 
summarized. Aside from that, we didn't have much of a 
relationship. Part of that was due to my own 
superficiality, I'm sure. Another part was a 
consequence of Sally's limited interest in life's 
matters distanced from fornication. I suppose that 
might be said another way: Sally was an attractive and 
very horny air head with no particular concerns or 
interests beyond getting laid.

Her interest and enthusiasm for things sexual knew few 
bounds and even as a lustful teenage male with an 
ingrown hard-on, there were times when she asked for 
more than I could deliver. It may be that there were 
nymphomaniacal elements there; even then I recognized 
this dilemma as a quality problem. 

I'm attempting to set the stage for the main thrust of 
this little story. You see, Sally was the youngest of 
five girls and all her sisters were as attractive. 
More, they were sexy and to a one, knew of our affair. 
Somehow, that carried a charge for me. 

Knowing that they knew, added considerable spice to the 
whole thing. Despite being fully sated with Sally, I 
remained keenly aware of her sisters. I didn't suppose 
I'd "make out" with any of them; heck, they were so 
much older. Three of them must have been in their early 
and mid twenties for God's sake! Still, no woman was 
*too* old, I reasoned.

Sally was from an old family in our home town and like 
many old families, they named their children after even 
older family members. Her real name was Sara and her 
next older sister - she was probably about three years 
older than Sally - was named Geraldine. No one - at 
least no one in our generation - called her Geraldine. 
Gerry was the most commonly used affectionate 
diminutive. 

Anyway, Gerry was a raven-haired beauty with dark, 
snapping eyes and a sensuous, mostly unsmiling mouth. 
It wasn't that she was grim or lacked a sense of humor. 
It just appeared that her natural continence was 
serious and unsmiling. She had a way of looking at me 
that made me squirm a little. It was as if she knew 
something about me and expected an explanation. 

The rational side of me knew this was only my self-
centered fear speaking to me while the emotional (read 
irrational) side of me knew with a certainty that I'd 
been found out. She could see my licentious thoughts 
written across my face. And with good reason. At a 
later stage in my life I figured out why I felt guilty 
so often. Usually I *was*!

You see, Gerry was a knockout, a sex bomb. She had a 
fantastic figure with prominent breasts and a nice 
jutting butt. She had a habit of reaching with her 
right hand, under her left breast into her left arm pit 
as she was talking with me. This served to push her 
breast up and in, accenting the visible cleavage. I was 
powerless; I had to stare. 

Often, I suspected, she didn't wear a bra. Sometimes 
when I'd give her a hug, I'd be sure of it. She was 
chief among my illusionary women and an active 
masturbation fantasy. Her dark-eyed serious stare was 
often interpreted by me as representing her knowledge 
of my unbridled lust. Of course, that made it all the 
juicier. 

Back to the story: Once Sally and I were sitting 
together in her living room. Actually, she was sitting 
on my lap as I sat in a large, over-stuffed chair as we 
often did. We'd been whispering and engaging in some 
low grade petting. It was the custom of her family to 
stay in the family room, rarely venturing into the 
living room it seemed. 

Perhaps it was because we were there and they were 
giving us space, but in any event, it had come to be 
held by us as a safe place to mess around. Sally was 
wearing a long and full skirt and was curled on my lap 
in such a way that it was easy and natural for me to 
slip my hand under her dress and into her panties to 
play with her pussy.

Sally secreted copiously when she was aroused, and that 
was most of the time when we were together. In addition 
to the lubricity, her secretions had a strong and sexy 
musk. Once, after a heavy petting session with Sally, 
I'd climbed into the car of a friend and he said, 
"Lordy, you smell like a French whore house." I briefly 
wondered how he knew... about French bawdy houses, that 
is. But back then, I'd grown accustomed to the odor and 
didn't realize how strong it was. 

Gerry walked through the living room from her bedroom 
upstairs and then stopped, looking at us, not speaking. 
I froze. At that moment, there was no way I could 
remove my hand without being obvious. She turned and 
walked over to our chair, still not speaking. She 
leaned over and sniffed the air. Busted! I was a goner, 
I just knew it. 

Still without smiling, she said, "Nice to see you, 
Billy," and walked out of the room. Christ! What did 
that mean?

I whispered to Sally, "What did she mean by that?"

"Oh, she's just teasing you," Sally replied, giving it 
no more thought.

"Jesus, she must have been able to smell you," I 
argued.

"Yeah? So what?" 

So what indeed. I knew the social dynamics of her 
family were leagues removed from my own. I had no 
notion of how things worked in this family and decided 
to do what I usually did when I didn't fully 
understand. Shut up and listen, try to figure it out.

Gerry seemed to be around more after that incident. It 
was nothing intrusive or objectionable, it was just 
that I was aware of her more than usual. Her comments, 
usually pithy, became even more pointed, particularly 
around allusions to sex. Her hugs were warmer and 
definitely fuller. I was always aware of her tits; now 
I knew what they felt like, pressed into my chest. My 
fantasies soared.

Once when she was wearing tight shorts, she bent over 
in front of me to pick up the paper. This pulled the 
shorts tight across her ass, outlining the panties 
underneath and pulling the crotch of the shorts tightly 
into her. The white, half-moons of her buttocks were 
calling out, "Look at me!" I was staring, trying to 
make out if I could see her pussy lips, when she looked 
back at me from her upside down position. "See anything 
you like?" she asked. The best I could manage was a 
smile and a nod.

What was the allure here? Why is it, I wondered then, 
did I find other women so attractive when I had all I 
could comfortably handle? I must admit that with my 
marginal maturation, things haven't changed a lot. I'm 
much like the alcoholic who admits that the drink he's 
most interested in is the *next* one.

The family resemblance among the sisters was 
remarkable. While their body types differed a bit, 
their coloration, eyes and hair notably, were 
characteristic. Sally was willowy while Gerry was 
fuller. Perhaps exaggerated is a better description, 
for everything about her was just a bit on the bold and 
exotic side. Her cheek bones were slightly more 
prominent and her lips just as bit fuller. She had an 
improbably small waist that threw into greater eminence 
her full breasts and wide hips. She wasn't nearly plumb 
enough to be called Rubenesque. Yes, exaggerated is a 
good term.

I was vaguely aware that while her family maintained a 
heightened concern about appearances, there was an 
undertone of "there's nothing wrong here and don't you 
tell." While no one spoke of it or acknowledged it in 
any way, I was aware that Gerry had been "dating" a 
serviceman. This took the form of them disappearing 
upstairs in her bed room, not to surface for a week. 
Everyone walked around this elephant without talking 
about it. Mostly I was jealous of the serviceman.

One warm afternoon Sally, Gerry and I were chatting in 
their family room, a bright place with lots of plants 
and a southern exposure. We'd been looking at photo 
albums together, sitting on a pillow-strewn day bed. I 
can't remember how I came to be sitting on the day bed 
in the first place, but I remember well that Gerry came 
and sat beside me, the bed sinking just enough that her 
thigh pressed against mine. 

I had to turn my head to speak to her and I was acutely 
aware how close our faces were to each other. I noticed 
gold flecks in her eyes I'd not seen before and how 
thick her eye brows were. She had a spray of light 
freckles across her nose. Her teeth were remarkably 
white and perfectly even. She wet her lips frequently 
as we chatted and I was increasingly aware of her warm 
breath. 

I tried not to look, but my eyes were drawn to the 
front of her shirt which gapped open when she turned 
toward me or leaned forward. No bra there it was 
clearly evident. Several times I was certain she'd seen 
me staring and a few times I thought the corners of her 
mouth turned up fractionally.

Thereafter, most of the interaction was between Sally 
and Gerry, chatting about this memory or that person. I 
had little more than polite interest in the pictures of 
dead relatives and it showed. It was a warm day and 
little air was moving. I lay back and closed my eyes 
for a moment as they argued about the people seen in an 
old photograph. Their voices droned on and became 
distant. I guess I fell asleep.

When I awoke again, the house was quiet and the 
lengthening shadows suggested I'd been asleep for an 
hour or more. Looking to the left, I saw Sally, 
apparently asleep. On the right was Gerry. She looked 
back and smiled, holding a forefinger up to her lips. 
We were all covered by a throw blanket. I didn't know 
how I came to be between them but I thought Gerry may 
have actually dozed off as well, for she had one knee 
thrown over my thigh. Slowly awakening, we stirred. I 
became exquisitely aware of Gerry's body pressed 
against mine. In the readjustment, Gerry's hand had 
moved down to my low belly, only inches from the tip of 
my dick. It lurched and I wondered if anyone besides me 
could feel the movement. Yeah, yeah, I know... 
grandiose thinking. 

Moving my right hand that had been wedged between me 
and Gerry, I suddenly realized that it was right next 
to her crotch. I could feel the softness of her thighs 
and the roundness of her mons against the back of my 
hand. God! There was nothing separating me from Gerry's 
pussy but her dress and panties. 

A plan spontaneously hatched and, as with most of my 
lust-driven brilliant ideas, I didn't subject this 
scheme to even the briefest consideration, I just 
acted. As Gerry traced circles on my chest, I began to 
inch up her dress with only the tips of my fingers, a 
decidedly slow but delicious task. 

Could I get away with such an audacious transgression, 
feeling up my girlfriend's older sister as we all lay 
"innocently" under a blanket? My rational brain said, 
"Of course not," Fortunately, or unfortunately, that 
part of my brain was not in control. I suspect my more 
primitive hind brain was calling the shots and it said, 
"Go for it, Billy. You deserve it, you sexy devil you."

My lecherous intent had to have been unmistakable to 
Gerry. I'd inch up her dress a bit and then press the 
back of my hand to her mons. She'd answer by rubbing 
her knee up and down my thigh. Subtlety was lost on us. 

I felt something, a finger, no, a hand against the 
bulge of my cock. Who was it? They were both facing me, 
both with their legs over mine. It could be either one. 
My brain was frying from over stimulation. Sally, now 
awake, was nuzzling against my neck and talking to 
Gerry just across my Adam's apple. 

"Isn't this cozy?" Sally asked, kissing my neck.

Was she talking to me? Hell, there wasn't a prayer I'd 
be able to talk much less think. I just continued to 
inch.

After a moment, Gerry answered, "Yes. I'm enjoying 
being with both a you guys. It's kinda sexy, huh? I 
mean, all of us in bed together."

"Kinda," Sally admitted, "but we've got all our clothes 
on," she complained in a fake petulant voice.

I wasn't sure if this was a complaint, an argument or a 
suggestion. I thought of a solution but wisely chose to 
stay quiet and continue my inching. Suddenly my fingers 
touched warm soft, bare thigh. I pulled the hem up 
higher and ran the tips of my fingers across Gerry's 
skin. How close was I? Could I pull it up higher? What 
about the part of her dress that was trapped under her 
leg?

As if reading my mind, Gerry adjusted her position on 
the day bed and in the process, lifted her hip and 
pulled her dress up and out of my hand. Since that 
accounted for her free hand and there was still a hand 
cupping my cock and balls, I knew it had to be Sally 
copping a feel.

I was thrilled with the entire thing. My girlfriend 
snuggling against me, caressing my cock while her sexy 
older sister was on the other side pushing her mound 
against my hand. I knew it was naughty at best and 
possibly forbidden at worst, yet that make it all the 
more delicious. Was this a form of second-hand, non-
consensual incest? I rationalized my behavior by 
thinking to myself, "They *both* want you, Billy." The 
very worst part of such errant nonsense was I believed 
it!

I pulled my left arm up and wrapped it around Sally's 
shoulders, leaving the back of my right hand against 
Gerry's prominent mound. Now I was touching her warm 
panties right over the cushy mons but there was a 
problem. I couldn't turn my hand around to really feel 
between her legs.

She solved my problem by further turning into me, 
ostensibly to reach across and run her fingers along 
Sally's face. But what it really accomplished was to 
turn her pelvis down toward my hand and by rolling the 
palm up, I could cup her pussy fully.

I thought to distract Sally by caressing her tits, so I 
slid my hand off her shoulder and across her chest 
while my left arm was wrapped around her neck. Even 
though the blanket was covering us, the bulge of my 
hand moving under the blanket's cover was evident to 
everyone. Both Sally and Gerry could see my hand 
grouping Sally's breast. Neither said anything. We all 
fell silent. The only audible sound was our breathing. 
It sounded deep and passionate, or was that just me?

Gerry was doing a slow, erotic grind into my upturned 
hand and at the same time, Sally was pressing her 
crotch into my thigh. I took my girlfriend for granted. 
At this moment, it was her sister who had my attention. 
As I cupped her soft pussy through her soaked panties, 
I ran a finger along her cleft, gradually sinking in 
deeper, carrying the panty crotch with me. Somehow I 
managed to get my fingers inside the legs of her 
panties to cup her full, hairy cunt. By this time, she 
was increasing the intensity of her pelvic grind at the 
same time she was tracing lines about Sally's mouth. 

Sally loved to have her face touched. It had a near 
hypnotic effect on her and Gerry must have known it. I 
was only dimly aware that she had been able to carry 
out two tasks at once. Like me, one of these "tasks" 
might have been purely instinctual, a no-brainer as it 
were.

I'd slipped my hand inside Sally's blouse and bra and 
was idly rolling her hard, erect nipple between thumb 
and forefinger, then tugging on it. When I pulled hard, 
she groaned just a little. Gerry was watching me and 
when I looked over at Sally, she was watching Gerry 
watching me. 

Both of the sisters were light-complected and both were 
brunettes, with near-black hair. Sally, I knew, had a 
broad and thick bush of long, black curly pubic hair. I 
wondered if this was a genetic trait that also ran in 
the family? 

I managed to extricate my hand from Gerry's crotch and 
run it down inside the waistband of her panties, 
accessing the quality of her pussy hair. If anything, 
it was thicker and more profuse than Sally's and by 
now, matted soggy wet between her thighs. I felt a 
strong compulsion to smell my fingers but couldn't 
figure a way to accomplish such an overt act without 
being obvious.

After rolling Gerry's prominent clit between my 
fingers, I curled one, then two fingers into her cunt. 
She gave a soft grunt and humped against me harder. My 
own pelvis continued to work against Sally's hand which 
was now gripping my cock through my trousers. I wanted 
her to open my fly and stroke me, but didn't know how 
to ask. I mean, how *do* you ask for a hand job in 
polite company?

Glancing at Sally, I noticed she had a puzzled frown. 
Her nostrils were dilating as she sniffed the air. Then 
I smelled it. Pussy! She must have know it wasn't hers, 
for she suddenly looked at me as if to ask, "Where is 
that pussy smell coming from?"

Her hand slid off my cock and found my right forearm. 
She followed it under her sister's belly and then 
pushed her hand between Gerry's thighs where she found 
my hand. As guilty as I felt at that moment, I knew 
there was no chance of me stopping. This was some run-
away train of erotic desire; I was aboard and it was an 
express. 

When I glanced over at Gerry, she had her eyes closed. 
She could feel both my hand in her pussy and her 
sister's hand feeling mine. She simply chose not to 
deal with it. Ignore it. Maybe it'll go away. 

Looking back at Sally, she met my eyes with a confused 
and hurt look. 

She didn't say anything right then, but I knew the 
erotic moment was over. I'd been caught with my hand in 
the cookie jar . . . well, not quite a cookie jar, but 
certainly caught. I suppose I was coming from the 
emotional high ground, knowing that she cared for me 
more than I cared for her. I didn't want to hurt her, 
but I'd already moved into that space that allows to 
happen whatever is going to happen. Whatever it was, it 
was all right. 

Sally pulled her hand away from my mine as Gerry's hand 
dropped to the breast I was feeling. I felt empty in my 
pelvis, neglected even and I wanted to be held. As if 
reading my desires, Gerry then ran her hand down my 
torso and cupped my cock, slowly stroking me as she 
humped against my hand. Moments later, she shuddered 
and groaned as she crashed over the top. 

I wanted desperately to cum, but the situation was too 
weird. It just didn't happen that way. Instead, we all 
lay quietly, no one saying anything. I'd practiced a 
studied imperturbability so long, it actually worked. I 
fell asleep. Later, when I awoke, Gerry was gone and 
Sally was curled up next to me.

"You okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

"I suppose you're Gerry's boyfriend now, huh?" Sally 
asked with a catch in her voice.

"Sally," I began, "I'm attracted to Gerry... hell, I'm 
attracted to all you girls. Sure, I'd love to jump her 
bones, but there's no romance budding here. I'm not her 
boyfriend and she's not my girlfriend. You are."

"Really?" she asked, wiping a tear from her eye. "Are 
we still boyfriend-girlfriend?" 

I nodded.

"Oh, good. I didn't mind you feeling up Gerry, I just 
was afraid that you'd want her all the time and not me. 
I'm so glad I'm still your girl." 

I knew Sally well enough to realize it was that simple 
for her. She didn't complicate her life with lengthy 
analysis. Our relationship, narrow and limited as it 
was, limped on. Less than a year later, we just drifted 
apart.


EPILOG

One might think that with that experience and given 
Sally's tacit permission that I'd certainly get it on 
with Gerry. That was not to be the case. Oh, we flirted 
around for a long time and there was always energy 
between us, but circumstances never allowed it to 
happen. 

Sally eventually married an abusive alcoholic who 
threatened to kill her if she messed around with 
another guy. Years later I visited her and while she 
admitted she was horny all the time, nothing could 
happen between us, largely out of fear on her part I 
suspect.

Gerry never married but lived with an older guy for 
years. We always talked about getting together, she and 
I, but it just didn't happen.

Things happen just as they're supposed to. Otherwise, 
something else would have happened, eh?

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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