            Copyright © 1997   BillyG.   ALL Rights Reserved.

            This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit
            without the written permission of the author.  This story
            may be freely distributed with this notice attached.


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                              The Sisters, Sally and Gerry

                                                                 BillyG


                  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. Plural.  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 countenance 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 plump 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 made 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 groping 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, assessing 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 her's, 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.


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