When my younger b*****r Tom, now 29, was in high school I got him a job as a manager on the football team. I was the starting quarterback so I had a little pull, and I begged the coach to give him a chance. His second day on the job he popped one football, mistook analgesic balm for linseed oil, and soaked practice jerseys in a lye solution. Many of my teammates ended up with rashes. Tom was fired the next day. This is only one tale of Tom's many "exploits."
Almost every f****y has one -- a fuck-up. Tom, the middle c***d in our f****y, is ours. Except that he's not a normal fuck-up but a super fuck-up.
I'm Tyler Britt, 31. My fraternal twin s****rs Jessica and Marjorie, 27, and I have always had a hard time dealing with Tom. Ever since I can remember Tom has been a rude smart-ass buffoon with a jaded outlook on life. Everything he touched turned to shit.
Some say Tom had typical middle c***d syndrome; my s****rs and I simply believe he is an ass. Not bright either. He only got through high school because the administration didn't want to keep him around anymore. Everyone in the school got tired of dealing with his constant fuck-ups and bad attitude.
Perverted ass that he is, Tom had had a thing for my little s****rs since he was 18, taking "candid" photos of them, "inspecting" their lingerie drawers, and asking irritating provocative questions at the wrong time. My parents (now both deceased) didn't have the energy or ability to rein Tom in, so I had to beat the hell out of him several times to keep him from harassing my s****rs. He especially had a thing for Jessica, constantly trying to "peek" at her in the bathroom, at one point drilling a peep hole between his room and hers, and trying to give her "b*****rly hugs" whenever he could.
Marjorie and I were especially close growing up. We both played basketball in high school, and I like to say that I taught Marjorie everything she knew, but she ended up being a better three point shot than I was. We both also loved science and dancing, and when I was in high school, and even when I came back from breaks in college, we would go to museums, science fairs, and expositions together, and took dance lessons as a couple on and off for several years. We both also loved problem-solving and mysteries, and among other things figured out why all the bird food in our f****y bird feeder was too quickly disappearing, how our driveway seemed to get iced up before all others in the neighborhood, who was stealing books from the school library, and how our next door neighbor's pool water got dirty so quickly.
Marjorie and I always attempted to include Jessica in our activities, but she didn't have the same passion for sports, science, or dance that we did. She was more artistic and laid-back, and sometimes I think our intensity was too much for her to handle. She did like it, though, that Marjorie (after she once kicked Tom in the balls so hard that he walked bow-legged for two days and didn't screw much with her after that) and I did our best to "save" her from Tom every chance we got. Jessica was very easy going and was not as visibly disturbed by Tom as most people would be, although she was always grateful for our intervention.
Tom stayed in our home town and lived with our parents until they died. After college Jessica moved west, and Marjorie and I moved east, ending up within 10 miles of each other in the same metropolitan area.
At the time of this story, Jessica was married to Bill, Marjorie to Frank, and me to Sandra. Tom had a girlfriend, Samantha. While Jessica and Marjorie are fraternal twins and their faces, hair, and eye color are not similar, they have almost exactly the same body type, height and weight, although Marjorie is more muscular. They readily wear one another's clothes, including lingerie. My wife, Jill, is also very similar to Jessica and Marjorie in body type, but maybe an inch taller and five pounds heavier.
Given Tom's constant harassment of my s****rs when they were teens, not surprisingly Tom's girlfriend Samantha also has the same body type that they do, maybe an inch shorter and a few pounds lighter, and looks a fair amount like Jessica. In some ways she is a good match for Tom, with the same jaded outlook on life, although she isn't an ass like he is. Although I hate to say this about anyone, Sam is really stupid too. Of course she would have to be to hook up with Tom.
Since our parents died, my s****rs and I have avoided contact with Tom to the extent possible without being blatant about shutting him out. We even helped him out monetarily at times when he was trying to recover from one of his constant monetary fuck-ups. We sold our parents' house when they passed and split the proceeds four ways, so Tom had to find another place to live. Of course with one fucked-up decision after the next, he went through his portion of the inheritance within 18 months.
There's an old saying that even a blind pig finds an acorn once in a while, so even a fuck-up like Tom can get lucky. He proved that by winning almost $8,000,000 in a state lottery. Not only were our f****y members shocked by the win, we were even more shocked by Tom's reaction.
When I found out he won I called him and left him a voicemail congratulating him. After a couple of days I got an email from him (reproduced here with mistakes, misspellings, and all): "Hey, dude so ya herd bout me, huh... Thanx for the congradulation, it sure bout to make my life easier. Ya no though I wanna share in my fortune so I want you -- Jess -- Marj - and your spoues to joint me in celebrate, so Im gonna take you guys on an all expensed trip. Let me have your calender for May and we'll do it."
Tom sent similar messages to my s****rs. The three of us talked and decided that we might as well take him up on it since he owed us big time for all his fuck-ups that we had to put up with or bail him out of. So an outing was planned. Shockingly Tom either organized the outing by himself or hired people to help him out since we three siblings were required to do nothing but show up.
Tom arranged for a luxury cabin in the woods, but near a ski town, for a four day and three night outing. The term "cabin" seemed to be a real misnomer from the literature Tom sent us. It had four large bedrooms on two floors, a hot tub, sauna, exercise room, in-home theater, pool room, swimming pool, one lane bowling alley, and just about anything else you could want. The nearby town was used to catering to an upscale clientele during ski season, and was open and un-crowded now that it was offseason. Tom sent us all plane tickets and had a stretch limo pick us up at the airport, which was about 50 miles from the town. Marjorie, Frank, Sandra and I traveled together, and Jessica and Bill arrived within about an hour of when we did, so all six of us took the limo together.
On the way to the cabin we all expressed amazement that Tom had been willing and able to put this together, wondered what his inevitable fuck-up would be before we returned home, and speculated on how long it would take him to burn through $8 million.
When we got to the cabin in early afternoon on a Thursday, Tom had already been there a few days, and Samantha had arrived earlier on the same day as we did. The cabin was even nicer than it looked in the literature, and Tom was surprisingly upbeat. I thought "I guess winning $8 million can improve your outlook on life," but my s****rs found it weird even considering his windfall. Rather than spend our energy analyzing the situation, however, we decided, hell, just enjoy ourselves.
Tom had some locals bring in great meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, had an endless supply of all of our favorite wines and beers, and some feature movies available if we choose to watch. Everyone was loose and friendly and enjoyed all of the accommodations. Even though my wife and s****rs were off-put by Tom's leering -- at least he didn't make his normal crass comments -- when they had bikinis on at the pool or hot tub, they simply ignored it. All four women looked great, and from the back could easily pass for s****rs.
When noon Saturday came around, Tom said he had organized a treat for all of us. He knew Bill, Frank and I all loved to fish, so he had paid for a guided fishing trip for us. For the four women he had arranged a day of shopping, massages and spa treatments. Reverting somewhat to his perverted self, he promised to pay for everything the girls did if they all agreed to get Brazilian bikini waxes and buy the same lingerie at the town's answer to Victoria's Secret. Since it was likely (from what my wife told me -- not from personal experience) two of them already tried to remain hairless down there, and the other two were willing to try if they could buy many other clothes and trinkets, while they all rolled their eyes they agreed.
Tom didn't accompany us on our fishing trip -- he said he didn't enjoy "angling."
Bill, Frank and I enjoyed our excursion. We went to two different wonderful trout streams and the guide provided perfect equipment. All three of us caught our quota, and as earlier arranged the guide prepared our catches for dinner, served with other foods he had brought along. Not planned, however, was vehicle trouble when we were getting ready to leave. We were delayed two hours.
At least Tom had our favorite drinks, which the guide insisted on serving us on the way back, telling us that if Tom found out he didn't actually serve us he wouldn't get the bonus he had been promised. That sounded strange, but wasn't really a problem for us.
By the time we got back to the cabin it was past midnight on an overcast night. The cabin was completely dark. Tom met us in front with a small dim flashlight.
"Hey, dudes, I'm sorry but I must have fucked up the power to the place because everything went dark. Maybe you can take a look." Tom fuck something up? No, say it isn't so!
The four of us went to the utility room. While Bill and I -- and obviously Tom -- didn't really know what the hell was going on, Frank was handy and made a thorough inspection of all of the breakers, electrical lines, etc. At least to the extent possible using only the one crummy flashlight Tom had. Tom insisted that he had searched hard and found out that there was no other source of light in the house, not even candles.
While we were all musing about what could be done, Tom told us that the women had had a great time at the spa, had gotten their matching Brazilian bikini waxes and lingerie, and had consumed more than a bottle of wine each. I knew that meant that Sandra would really be horny, and I was anxious to accommodate her. I actually had a hard on most of the trip back from the trout streams, and a little congestion, which I attributed to my interaction with nature.
Tom also told us that the girls had decided to switch rooms because each one thought the other had a better room, so all our suitcases had been moved to new rooms. Tom pulled out a list of where each girl was sl**ping.
Frank couldn't diagnose the problem, maybe because he, like Bill and I, was a little tipsy, so we decided to call it a night. With that Tom gave each of us an envelope with a note in it. We took turns reading our notes, to ourselves, using the one shitty flashlight.
I don't know what the other notes said, but mine made my balls ache and my already hard dick try to pop my pants zipper.
"Hi Hon sorry you not hear at bedtime screw me doggy when you turn in OK"
It was unusual for Sandra to make word mistakes like "hear" instead of "here," and not use punctuation, but it sure looked like her handwriting. Maybe the red wine stain on the paper indicated why my normally precise wife wasn't this time. In any event I was more interested in acting on her suggestion rather than critiquing her writing. I was raring to go!
It was so pitch black that Tom had to quietly lead us to our rooms. About all I could see illuminated by Tom's dim flashlight when I went into my new room was the luggage Sandra and I brought with us near the door.
When I stripped naked and got into bed I could feel the new silk lingerie and was anxious to experience the freshly Brazilian waxed pussy, since Sandra was usually hairy down there. While planting kisses on her neck and shoulder I carefully and gently pulled down her silk panties. Whether it was instinct or conscious action, she moved her ass and legs to help me pull them down, while emitting a few moans.
I didn't know how much foreplay was necessary; Sandra normally required a significant amount. I stroked her pussy with my fingers a few times and very quickly she went from wet to saturated, and her moans went from barely audible to clear. I couldn't see anything, especially with the light-tight shades pulled down over the windows, but I sure was enjoying the feel of her newly de-haired pussy lips.
I started stroking my dick from her ass crack to the bottom of her pussy, and back up, and she unquestionably intentionally pushed her rear back toward my cock. I couldn't wait any longer. With less foreplay than I had probably ever had with Sandra I lifted her ass up so that she was on her hands and knees and buried myself completely.
Holy shit did she feel good. I was probably hornier and harder than since I was 18 as I first ground my hips against her ass as my cock did a little exploring in her pussy, and then started pounding, harder than I normally do hoping she wouldn't chastise me for rough sex because she likes it "deliberate." I intended to stroke gently at first, but when she uncharacteristically started banging back I couldn't help myself.
I pummeled her with more intensity than a P90X workout as I alternately squeezed her ass cheeks and teased her rosebud, or grabbed her shoulders for more leverage. Then she started wiggling her ass at the same time she was banging back, a whole new experience for me. Within a dozen strokes after she started wiggling I unleashed a tsunami of cum in her, clearly triggering a massive orgasm in her too. She tried to bang back through her orgasm, but couldn't, and collapsed on the bed.
My dick stayed hard for much longer than usual. I could have sworn that while we were lying there with my cock still up her slit that she was contracting some muscles that I didn't know she had, because it felt like my prick was getting squeezed and released. She must have gotten her massage with an unusual massage liquid or body lotion too because she had a new odor, slight but pleasant, that mixed nicely with the red wine clearly still evident on her breath. I slowly short-stroked my cock until her real or imaginary muscle contractions ceased, at which time I pulled out of her. We fell asl**p in a spoon position.
I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. Still no lights. After banging my knee, but eventually finding the toilet, I did my business then put the seat back down. I heard a laugh as I bumped into a female form -- I hope it was Sandra, ha, ha -- and when she was mumbling after she obviously ran into something in the bathroom too, I felt around the bed and found her silk bra and panties. I hadn't removed her bra meaning she had taken it off herself. That got me excited, as did the essence of her body lotion and the lingering red wine odor. But the time she got back to bed I was hardening up.
As she crawled over me getting back in bed she intentionally dragged her hand over my ¾ mast cock, said "ummm," and bent over, and started sucking my cock as she massaged my balls. Excessive amounts of red wine almost always got Sandra hot, but I didn't remember her ever being this enthusiastic. After she got me nice and hard, and clearly encouraged by the appreciative sounds I was involuntarily emitting, she straddled me like she was mounting a horse, and unceremoniously impaled herself on my cock. Was it possible I was going to get fucked twice with minimal foreplay?
She dug her heels into my thighs and put her hands over my nipples as she started bucking at what seemed like a stroke a second. I couldn't really see her tits, but I could hear them, and eventually found them with my hands. I held onto her nipples as best I could given how fast she was moving; I had never seen this intensity in Sandra. She was clearly on a mission to fuck my brains out. And she did. Again we reached essentially mutual orgasms, for me even better than the last one.
As she lay collapsed on my chest she continued wiggling her ass and softly giggling until I went flaccid and popped out. The last thought I had before I dozed off was "Holy shit; I may have just had the two best fucks of my life. Sandra and I have to get away more often!"
I awoke in the morning and could just see the smallest sliver of light coming around one of the light-tight shades in the room. I had one of my arms on a heavenly orb and squeezed it a little, getting a giggle. I decided I was hungry and wanted to really inspect that newly shaved pussy, so I scurried down the mattress so that my face was even with her crotch and started licking and sucking.
Boy she tasted good -- I wondered if it was something she had eaten the night before -- and couldn't believe her clit was as pronounced as it was. I was just starting to laughingly think to myself "Am I sure this is Sandra," when she mumbled "Oh Frank, that feels so fucking good, nibble on my clit you little bastard!"
Wait! Sandra doesn't use that language, and I'm quite sure I'm not Frank. With that I snapped to attention, got up, lifted one of the blinds, and when the bed was showered with the morning light I gasped and lost my breath for a few seconds. So did Marjorie.
While we both were likely a little hung over, our minds were working well enough that we fully recognized this mutual "Oh shit" moment.
"What in the fuck are you doing in my bedroom Tyler, and where's Frank?"
"Tom told me you guys had switched bedrooms and Sandra was in here, and so is our luggage," I whined, pointing to the suitcases near the door.
"Then where's Frank?"
"Shit, I don't know Marjorie."
"Were you here the whole night -- did you really fuck me twice?"
"Yes, and not exactly -- I fucked you once and you fucked me the other time."
"This is no time to be cute; oh holy shit, I can't believe it."
With that Marjorie started to hyperventilate as she sat at the edge of the mattress. I got her a paper bag from the desk in the room and had her breathe into it. With my mind in turmoil, I stood next to her as she recovered, oblivious to the fact that my dick was at full mast and within two feet of her face. She "subtly" made me aware, as the first words out of her mouth when she stopped breathing into the bag were:
"Why is that goddamn thing still hard, and why is it staring at me?"
"Shit, I'm sorry," I groaned, moving to the other side of the bed to find my clothes from the night before and put them on, "my brain is malfunctioning right now."
Marjorie hurriedly dressed too. Once clothed, but still red-faced, I said out loud what I knew Marjorie was thinking "Where's that fuck-up, Tom?"
Since we had no idea what the extent of Tom's fuck-up was, we were quiet as we started an inspection of the house.
The bedroom Marjorie and I had shared was on the first floor; we first went into the kitchen and found a note from Tom. "Me and Sam had ta go cause an emrgencie but the limo coming at 2 oclock." With all those mistakes and the scraggly handwriting it had to be from Tom even though it wasn't signed. Just like him to fuck-up and then take off. The electricity was now strangely working, however.
We first looked at the other bedroom on the first floor. There was Jessica sl**ping alone -- naked. We went upstairs. In one bedroom we found Jessica's husband Bill sl**ping alone -- also naked. In the other bedroom were Sandra and Frank, still asl**p, naked, but facing away from each other.
It was clear that Tom had fucked Jessica, Bill had fucked Samantha, and Sandra and Frank had fucked each other. If Marjorie and I were fooled there is no doubt the others were too -- except for Tom. Marjorie and I both realized that Tom, the only one who hadn't been drinking, had obviously planned this whole thing to get to fulfill his dream of fucking his s****r Jessica, and probably really got off that everyone else was fucking someone different too.
Marjorie and I took this as another mystery/problem to solve. We needed to right things to the extent possible, most desirably so that none of Jessica, Bill, Sandra or Frank would figure out what had happened. Plus we needed to figure out how the notorious fuck-up Tom could pull this off.
We first switched all the luggage back where it belonged. Then with the shades still pulled down in Sandra and Frank's room we each went to the side of the bed with our spouse. While I covered Sandra's ears without waking her, Jessica got Frank up -- he was on the side of the bed closest to the washroom -- and got him to come help her with the toilet that she had fiddled with so that it wasn't functional. Once he was in the bathroom, I kissed Sandra awake and told her I had a surprise for her and carried her into the kitchen where I had an outfit wrapped that Marjorie had recently bought but hadn't worn on the trip, and had her put it on (so that she was clothed).
We got Jessica and Bill up separately telling each that the other was already up, and after the four of them were in the kitchen, all hung-over, I made breakfast while Marjorie did her best to make everything in all the rooms appear normal, including packing and bringing all the suitcases into a central location. I pretended that I had diagnosed and fixed the power problem.
Also, Marjorie and I had written a fake note from Tom -- with a level of vagueness and enough mistakes and misspellings so that it looked completely legitimate yet didn't tell the whole story. For one thing it gave as his excuse for leaving that he had to go to a doctor. Further the note said that he was afraid he might have inadvertently put an herb that was hallucinogenic in all of our foods the night before -- including his and what the guide served us on the fishing trip -- and if we had any "memory issues" or other strange effects he'd pay for a visit to a doctor.
Marjorie and I also talked up what a fuck-up Tom was and how that this was so typical for him, and recited some pretend lapses in our memory and strange feelings from the night before.
Marjorie and I were quite certain that we had pulled it off. The other four didn't seem to suspect anything, but how lovey-dovey they were with their spouses confirmed our suspicions that they all had fucked the night before.
Before the limo picked us up, by talking to the fishing guide and the spa employees, and with a little further investigation at the cabin, Marjorie and I had figured out the rest of what Tom had done, including spiking the guys' drinks with sildenafil citrate. We vowed never to let on to Tom that we knew we had sex with each other, or that we figured out that his fuck-up was really a devious plan, or to ever let the other four know what happened. Also, we resolved to figure out a way to write Tom out of our lives for good!
When the six of us rode to the airport together in the limo, Marjorie and I were strangely quiet while the other four were more animated than usual. I glanced over at Marjorie fairly often, and I could sense her glancing over at me too, but we were too uncomfortable to make eye contact.
After we got back home the next few days were tumultuous for me. I have to say I really enjoyed sex with Sandra, with her newly waxed pussy, over the next few days. She didn't know why I wanted to fuck twice every day, but she was happy to go along and she appeared to be more than satisfied with our love-making. However, she was nothing like the tiger Marjorie had been in bed. Sandra had always liked lots of foreplay and then slow and deliberate sex, and that is what she still insisted upon.
What Sandra didn't know, and what I tried to put out of my mind but couldn't, was that when I was fucking her I was thinking of wild sex with Marjorie. In fact Marjorie was either at the forefront or back of my mind most waking minutes.
One minute I was horrified at what had happened, and hoped that it had not freaked Marjorie out too much and that it hadn't ruined our fantastic relationship. The next minute I would dwell on how much wild fun it had been to fuck Marjorie and wish that I could re-live that night. I didn't know what to do but was afraid to call Marjorie to talk about it. We normally talked, at least over the phone, every other day, but we hadn't talked at all since we got back.
Marjorie called me at work in the morning about ten days after our night together. She said she had taken the morning off, and had to talk with me about what happened, and asked me to go over to her house. I was primarily going to be working by myself that morning anyway, so I apprehensively agreed.
I was perspiring, fidgety and distracted on the way to Marjorie's house. I almost got into two accidents. It took all the self-control I had to compose myself by the time I knocked on her door.
When she answered the door we gave each other f***ed smiles and hesitant hugs. We made some small talk while she served us tea and biscotti. We never made eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time. Finally:
"Uh, Tyler, we have to resolve what happened between us. How could we not have known what was going on?"
"Well, Marjorie, even though we likely didn't have a real hallucinogen, we had been drinking and the Brazilian wax thing was really effective for me. To be honest, I just thought that Sandra was more frisky than usual, although maybe the no need for much foreplay should have tipped me off. Why didn't you figure it out?"
"I keep asking myself that, and I wonder if it was because I didn't want to figure it out. Sure I was disoriented because of the wine and dark, but Frank had never fucked me like that. He's always slow and deliberate, whereas I want to get to it and move around like a wild woman. I keep blaming myself for not having prevented it."
We went back and forth, chewing on the topic ad nauseum but still never making prolonged eye contact. Finally we concluded the discussion: "I guess we just have to move on and over time it will go to the back of our minds. We'll make sure it's never repeated, right Tyler?" Marjorie said, with a little nervous laugh, and looking down more than she was looking at me.
"I don't think we have a choice but to do as you say. We just can't let our fuck-up b*****r ruin our relationship," I replied.
We got up, I went to the door, we gave each other fake smiles and cautious hugs, and I left.
As I was walking away from Marjorie's house a thought entered my mind that I had never consciously recognized before. I stopped, turned around, knocked on her door, and when she opened it with a perplexed look and asked "Did you forget something?" I had a terse reply.
With that I closed the door behind me, pushed Marjorie back against the wall, and pressed my lips against hers as I ran my hands up and down her body. She tried to push me away, moved her head to the side, and in a low voice said "We can't do this -- goddamn it, stop, Tyler."
I was not to be dissuaded. I pressed my lips against hers again. She fought for a few seconds more, then stopped fighting, and then threw her arms around my neck and passionately kissed me back. After a long lust-filled kiss I dropped to my knees and pulled down her skirt and panties. Her firm prominent pussy lips were glistening, and when I parted her lips with my tongue she screamed. Within seconds I was furiously fucking her with two fingers from one hand, and kneading a pussy lip with fingers of the other hand, while simultaneously sucking and tonguing her distended clitoris. I'm sure she had three orgasms as she leaked pussy juice all over the place while pulling my hair and groaning like a zombie.
After her third orgasm I stood up, unceremoniously dropped my pants and boxers, picked her up by her thighs, pinned her against the wall, and shoved my cock up her pussy. She squeezed me tightly while moaning, biting my neck, and pulsing her vaginal muscles. Yes, I hadn't imagined it the night we fucked -- she could undulate her pussy, tripling my pleasure as I frantically pounded her!
I literally exploded in her causing her to scream and initiating another massive orgasm in her. I continued stroking in her long after the last cum grenade had detonated inside of her vagina, and she squeezed me even more tightly. Our energy completely drained, once the adrenaline started to subside we collapsed onto the floor into a cum and sweat-soaked mass of protoplasm. My mind was no longer in turmoil. It was vivid. I lifted up Marjorie's chin, peered into her eyes, and in a clear voice said "I guess I've always desired you but never would consciously admit it to myself. I love you on so many different levels, it's like the Empire State building of love."
Marjorie got the biggest, warmest, smile on her face, gave me a peck on the lips and said "I love you romantically too Tyler, and I guess that I suppressed it also. Apparently our fuck-up b*****r released our pent-up emotions."
I smiled back and said, devilishly but truthfully, "Plus, you're the best fuck I've ever had! Not slow and deliberate, but wild, fast and animated." With that she poked me in the ribs and retorted "I'm still not sure you're my best fuck ever -- why don't we go to the guest bedroom and let me try and figure it out!"
I had recovered enough to stand up, pick her up, carry her to her guest bed, strip her, and pound the shit out of her doggy style while massaging her tits. I pumped my second massive load in less than an hour into her as she wiggled, bounced, and screamed. She really did turn me on more than I've ever been turned on in my life.
As we lay cuddling and panting after I pulled out of what was now my favorite place in the world, I said "Well?"
"It was an OK fuck," Marjorie deadpanned.
When I started tickling her she yelled "Stop, stop; OK my fucks with you were my best ever, satisfied?"
"Yes!" I smiled back.
After some more pillow talk we got up and got dressed.
"Marjorie, I can't give up sex with you. I need to have our previous relationship with sex layered on top of it. Now that I've seen what sex can be like with a passionate lover, I can't be satisfied with only 'slow and deliberate.'"
"We've got to figure out the end game, Tyler. We both have to think long and hard about it. Regardless of what we eventually decide, however, I too can't possibly give up wanton, lustful sex with you."
"Well Sandra is going out to dinner with clients tomorrow night; can we arrange a fuck fest for then?"
"Coincidently, so is Frank. Come over right after work and I'll do my best to try and fuck your brains out."
After a lascivious and prolonged kiss, I left. While I was sitting in my car a little shell-shocked and trying to regain my composure my cell phone buzzed indicating a text.
The text was from one of the guys I work with saying that an impromptu meeting had been called for that afternoon to discuss a consultant's report. "Shit, my marked-up copy is at home," I mused to myself. No problem, I'd go pick it up then go back to work.
As I drove toward home I was playing mental ping pong; should I tell Sandra, if so when, what would her reaction be, how could Marjorie and I possibly live together, what happens when we want k**s, etc., etc., etc. As I approached my house there was a car in the driveway. I didn't think Sandra was home -- the car looked familiar, but why would it be there if no one was home? I drove past my house and looked over to see Frank and Sandra embracing on the front porch, and then Frank starting to walk to his car.
"Maybe they knew that they had slowly and deliberately fucked each other at the cabin after all and were just playing dumb?" flashed through my mind. I continued to the next street intending to wait until Sandra left before getting the document I needed.