19740aa034

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Babes

We are going through our story collection. Rewriting them in view of the fact that we now know more about the technical aspects of non-technical writing. Trying to take into account all of the constructive advice that we have been given, not on what to tell. It’s what it is and it’s 99 44/100 percent true. We may have misremembered a thing or three and we changed the dates and some proper nouns for “deniable plausibility.” Or was that “plausible deniability…” Either way – those airplanes without national insignia or registration numbers – we don’t know anything about them. (San Mateo “in the Caribbean” — February 22, 2020)

I’m Lisa and this story took place when I was 27 or thereabouts. Kristin, my brother’s wife, was a year older and mom would have been almost 50. I had two young children and mom and dad, Katherine and Gabe, came over all of the time to help out. This story is basically a lot of talk about sex, including the fact that I have a sexual relationship with my brother George that our parents are aware of. (19740aa034)

Conversations with mom (3123 words) Mom talks about my childhood babysitters who were also their playmates. (2/22/20) hetero — lesbian — oral — polyamory

We were all in our early to middle twenties when we had our children, ten of them, born in a carefully scheduled span of four years. Since we were all working we wanted to make certain that each new mother had a discrete opportunity to be a pampered queen for that final trimester. The one when you are waddling around torn between loving every minute of it and just wanting for it to be over.

Guys think that we gals are crazy. Well, we pretty much are. Just look at what we do to ourselves. I grew an entire human being inside of me. She got big and strong and then stretched the hell out of me getting out. I loved it, every bit of it. I loved feeling her there inside of me flipping and flopping around, getting bigger, getting stronger. I loved nurturing her from the milk my body created.

This probably won’t come as a terribly big surprise. If you know me and the other things that I enjoy, things like getting tied up and fist-fucked and being spit-roasted by Paul and George: Giving birth, I enjoyed it, it was so fucking intense. Guys, I love ’em, but how did the old joke go? God said to Adam, “this is what you are going to do, a child will spring forth from your body.” And Adam said, “tell you what, why don’t you just take another rib.”

We were living in “the house of ill repute,” in San Angelo, Texas. A building which 80 or so years earlier had been a brothel. It had plenty of room for seven adults to sleep between our flights. Five of us are pilots and back then those flights were always at night. It had plenty of room to play when we weren’t sleeping. We had rooms for the kids and one that we used for a nursery. We had rooms for guests who stayed over to visit. A real advantage of being polyamorous is having plenty of adults available to do different things, including watch small children.

A huge advantage of having our children in our twenties was that our parents, their grandparents, were somewhat young. Willing to come see their first, or close to first, grandchildren and possessing the stamina to stay over and watch them while we took a little bit of time to play with one another. Katherine, mine and George’s biological and Jamie’s adoptive mom, was wonderful. She understood that young parents needed a bit of private time with one another as well as with their new child.

In retrospect, while we planned it all out pretty well, we could have had a few more children. That would have been really nice, but back then we didn’t know how everything was going to work out, so we ended up being a tad conservative. With seven adults we were certain that we would be able to properly care for ten. Technically each gal had two, Paul fathered mine, Lillian and Eva’s and my brother George fathered Kristin’s and Jamie’s. In practice every child had two daddies and five mommies.

Flying the night mail the five of us had an absolutely crazy schedule. Our employer tried to keep us right up against the hard limits for flight time and duty hours. It was always a real bitch. We waited for late arrivals a whole lot, driving bahis firmalar─▒ up our duty hours. We could only cheat on the paperwork at origin. We got paid on flight time, miles actually, so all of that waiting was a big opportunity cost. Meanwhile Kristin and Eva kept our bodies and souls nourished. There is no way that would we have survived without them.

This conversation took place on one of those rare days when all the kiddos decided to cooperate and nap at the same time. Eva was busy getting something prepared. She was very busy with her ministry. I just don’t write about it very much due to the confidential nature of much of her work. I was off the next day, so I could stay up and help Kristin with dinner. Katharine, my mom, had come over to help with the babies. But since they were all asleep, or playing in the next room with Lillian, we had an opportunity to chat as we chopped vegetables for another wonderful “Kristin creation.”

Six of our ten children comprise three-quarters of mom’s grand kids. My brother Ethan and his wife Claire supplying her with the other two. But mom is more than a “honorary” grandparent for Paul’s children with sisters Eva and Lillian. She doted on them just as much as she did with his two with me and my brother George’s four with Jamie and Kristin. We always made sure that mom knew that she was “not needed, but wanted. To be an important part of their lives growing up.”

Ah, but mom… Mom is wise. Unlike Kristin and Paul’s parents who politely pretended not to notice… Mom knew that when she and dad came over and watched and played with the kids… That we weren’t discussing strategy in the room with the euphemistic sign “Corporate Headquarters” on the door. Mom understood that moi, her daughter, might be bent over a big padded table in there, our “playroom.” Bent over and spread wide, with her son, my brother George’s, beautiful hard penis up my ass and pounding away. Well, if I was lucky.

Mom came over because she loves her grandkids and her kids and her adoptive kids, my family. She came over and helped because she wanted to make sure that we had some time together. Not just me and Jamie that the world sees as a couple, but all seven of us. She knows and she understands. She talks to me about it and everything else. Eva and Lillian have a really cool mom. I have loved her since I was a little kid coming over to their house read in their library. But I am really biased, I can’t imagine a better mom than the one that I have.

As mom and I were cutting up ingredients for the filling and Kristin was making the crust for Welsh Pasties, mom asked me if I remembered my “aunties,” as she called them. We had lived with Judith, my father’s sister, in my grandparent’s house until I went to grade school. But that wasn’t what mom meant. Mom had two sisters who were also my aunts. She didn’t mean them either. At least I didn’t believe so when the conversation started. She meant their “playmates” from back in San Antonio, my “aunties” Becca, Nora and Shel.

I had heard variations of the story so many times that I wasn’t certain what I remembered from repetitious telling and what I actually remembered first-hand. When we were little my aunties had watched me and my brothers at times and played with us. Shel was still around as was mom’s older sister Margaret, my real aunt. But Becca and Nora had sadly drifted away over the intervening years.

“That must have been so cool,” said Kristin. “Being raised at an ongoing orgy.”

“It wasn’t like that,” mom said.

“She knows,” I said, “besides, our kids are growing up in a brothel.”

“An old brothel,” said Kristin, “one that isn’t open for business anymore.”

“At least not to the general public,” I said with a grin.

“That’s bad,” mom said smiling, “you have to be pretty awful at business to fail at running a brothel in west Texas.”

Kristin snickered.

“Actually, what we did was pretty much like what you are doing now,” mom said, “Gabe…”

Gabriel and Katherine are my mom and dad’s given names.

“Gabe and I come over and watch the children while you guys retreat to your little room. Your private sanctuary and have a wonderful time in each other’s arms and inside each other’s ka├žak iddaa bodies. It reenergizes you and makes you ready to face a whole new set of challenges.”

“I told you it was cool,” said Kristin. “I grew up in a diner.”

That was true. Kristin’s mom was widowed when Kristin was a child. She doesn’t remember her father. Miss Sherry, as the sign on “Miss Sherry’s Diner” proclaimed, was the single mother of two running a business in the 1950’s and 60’s. People in a small town can be downright mean at times. I have always found it amazing that so many proclaim to know everything about others while remaining blissfully unaware of all the things others swear to be true about them. Kristin’s childhood was very different from the way that I was raised and the way that we raised our children.

“I imagine millions of young couples do it,” mom said.

“I don’t know,” Kristin said, “look how ornery so many folks are. Not enough nookie…”

“Well,” I said, quoting Bob Dylan, “too much of nothin’ makes a fella mean.”

“True enough,” said mom.

“This is just great,” Kristin said, “I love talking like this.”

“We were all just starting out,” mom said, “Gabe and I had the first children in our little group, You know how young women are with babies, everyone wanted to come over and see you and help. Nora was my best friend and her guy was balking on the whole settle down and get married thing. She actually lived with us for a while.”

This was new, I knew that Margaret had lived with them and so had Becca at times. One third of grandpa’s ranch was to be dad’s. But Aunt Judy had staged a little coup when dad and Uncle Mike went overseas to fight Hitler and Tojo. When they came back, she was firmly in charge of the place. Hired help loyal only to her had replaced her brothers. I don’t know how much of her tiff with dad was really about my “aunties.” I suspect her indignity was simply a cover for her ambition.

Grandpa Nicholas was the wrong audience to play that tune to. He saw through everyone’s bullshit. He let her run the place because she was good at it. But he wasn’t going to give her more than her two brothers. Her outrage backfired completely, dad probably ended up being admired more based on her exaggerated assessments of his romantic and sexual prowess.

“I don’t remember Nora living with us,” I said.

‘You were little,” mom said, “she had lived with us before you were born. She was in love with her brother. He went off to fight in the 36th with your father…”

The T-patch, 36th Infantry Division, was made up of Texans. It landed in the south of France right after D-day and fought up through Provence and Dijon to Alsace and into Bavaria.

“He loved her, but at first he couldn’t deal with the pressure. Having to hide his feelings for her from everyone, or almost everyone. He married someone else and she came to live with us for a while. Then she flitted back and forth between being with them as a third and being with us. Eventually they all learned to cope with what to say and do and how to act and she finally worked things out with them.”

“Damn,” Kristin said.

“Nora really loved you, Lisa,” mom said, “and like most of us gals, she wanted her own. Like most of us she was lied to, told she couldn’t. But more importantly he was lied to…”

“It’s okay mom,” I said, “I’m happy. Paul is wonderful…”

“I know…”

“Nobody really knows,” I said, “besides, you have more grandkids this way.”

“No, I have twelve either way,” she said.

I had wanted to bear George’s children, really wanted to once. But we didn’t because we were afraid it could be harmful. Now I felt really guilty about it, because Paul was such a wonderful dad. But then after we decided not to I felt good. Feeling that I did what was empirically safer. What was less likely to cause harm. That is until I spoke with an actual geneticist who told me I hadn’t. That going back a few generations we were all cousins anyway… I know that is an oversimplification of a complicated equation. But not knowing most of the variables – the problem is currently unsolvable.

“She wanted Gabe to knock her up,” mom said.

“Really,” I said.

“Shit, girl,” Kristin said, ka├žak bahis “do you have halfies running around?”

“No,” mom said. “It was hard–“

“Oh, I bet it was,” Kristin said with a smile.”

This time mom snickered. “See, we loved NoraÔÇö”

“We?” I said.

“We… Loved Nora, as I said she was my best friend,” mom repeated. “Nora loved her brother. Gabe and I talked about it. We would have happily accepted her into a triad. But we also thought that she should work out all of her issues with him first, for her sake. Well, and for your fathers.”

Yeah, I thought, dad isn’t the kind of guy who would be very keen on having a child who didn’t live with him and that he could only see part of the time.

“Before… Back when we weren’t trying to get pregnant, it was all so free and easy. Nora and I would wake you dad up in the morning by playing with his penisÔÇö”

“This is too much,” Kristin said giggling. “Oh… But please continue.”

“He rather enjoyed it,” mom said.

“I’m sure he did, “I said with a huge grin.

I realized the symmetry of nature I was here in the kitchen with my brother’s wife, someone I am happy to love and share my brother George with. By brother whom I enjoy waking up by fellating. I am talking to my mother who twenty-five or thirty years ago shared my father with her best friend Nora. Nora who loved her brother and who enjoyed waking my father with a nice warm, wet blow-job. True symmetry, or something pretty close to it…

“She and I would take turns very softly taking him into our mouths and getting him nice and hard without waking him. It was a really fun game. If we went slow we would get him hard and rolled back and have him moaning just a little in his sleep. Moving his hips involuntarily without waking up. We could get him right to the brink of an orgasm before he woke up. Sometimes it seemed like he only truly became consciously aware of what we were doing with him as he ejaculated into one of us, or on one of us.”

“Sounds like fun,” Kristin said.

“Grab a notepad,” I said, looking at Kristin.

“Somehow I don’t think you two really need one,” mom said. “At times we blindfolded your dad and played ‘guess who is blowing me.’ I can explain the rules if you want.”

“Oh, I can probably guess the rules,” Kristin said.

“At first it was really easy for Gabe to guess. Because we had different techniques. But then we started to closely watch what the other one was doing, and we copied each other. We made it…” Mom paused, and smiled, “Harder… Harder to guess, sometimes it took two or three times for him to get it right.”

“Of course, it occurred to you,” Kristin said, “that by not knowing he got multiple blow-jobs.”

“Sure, honey… It was all part of the fun and games. We left him spent.”

“Spent but happy,” I opined.

“And we shared his offering,” mom said.

“As in…” I said, although I knew.

“We kissed and she shared with me.”

“You know,” Kristin said, “the very first time that your son came in my mouth. I shared it with Lisa, and Jamie, my two new ‘sisters.'”

“That was such a sweet thing to do,” mom said. She wasn’t being sarcastic, even though mom is fluent in sarcasm. She really meant it. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“It meant a lot to me,” I said.

“I’m certain it did,” mom said. “It was an acknowledgment of the fact that all three of you gals were together with each other as much as with him, that you share quite literally absolutely everything.”

“Philosophy and Fellatio,” I said.

“And it tastes really good, too,” Kristin said, smiling.

“That it does,” mom said, returning her smile.

“I wouldn’t think that Gabe would go for being tied up,” Kristin said.

“Well, first up Gabe is a confident secure guy,” mom said, “there isn’t anything that he is afraid of. Second I didn’t say that we tied him up. I said that we blindfolded him and that we gave him blow jobs and rode cowgirl on him while he wore a blindfold and that he had to guess which one of us it was. He got really good at it too.”

“With practice,” I opined.

“Lots and lots of practice,” mom said, “But you guys are doing better than we did.”

“Really how so?” Kristin asked.

“You make sure that you don’t lose anybody along the way like we did.”

I thought that to the extent that her assessment is correct. It was because we had such a great teacher.

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