Orchard Flower (Version Charlie)

by Lubrican

Chapters : Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8-16 Available On

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Chapter Four

The little scene at the breakfast table that morning was even more important than either Lynne or I realized. We reflected on how unexpected and bizarre it was, and it showed us a side of Jill we hadn't paid any attention to yet ... but neither of us realized how important it was.

From Jill's point of view, "sex" had been brought out into the open. Never mind that her mother immediately tried to quell the frank and open discussion that Jill had in mind. Lynne had said she would be willing to talk about it, and Jill remembered that.

And, while she had been interested in sex for several years, that interest had been a somewhat vague and misty thing, a little like wondering what Sasquatch looks like. You've heard a lot of rumors about it, but you'd sort of like to see the real deal for yourself, even if it would be scary. Now, at least in theory, Sasquatch could be called into the room on demand, and under complete control. Jill was suddenly quite interested in seeing the beast.

Another problem is that Lynne and I were laboring under an illusion. It's understandable, as you'll see. The illusion was that we assumed Jill was like most other young people and had no interest in the details of her mother's sex life. All adolescents believe that all adults have sex. They're wrong, of course, but they believe it. And while they can be very interested in the sex lives of most adults, the average adolescent doesn't want to think about her parents having sex. Lynne and I knew that.

But Jill wasn't average. She didn't see me as a parent, and her father was gone before the age at which the taboo of thinking about her mother as a sexual being developed. She perceived her mother as both "Mom" and an adult woman.

In other words, Jill assumed that both her mother and I were having sex. Not with each other, necessarily, but if we were, then that was acceptable. And THAT was because sex, as far as Jill was concerned, was a good thing. She'd never been taught to think it was nasty, or perverted, or dangerous. She was aware that some people felt that way. She just didn't feel that way herself. To Jill, sex was an unknown, one of those exciting adventures she'd get to go on some day. It was like being at a theme park and not being able to ride because you weren't tall enough. You knew that someday you WOULD be tall enough.

And finally, Lynne and I were oblivious to the fact that I held a special place in Jill's heart. I was a friend and confidant who was an adult male. Those are rare in most young women's lives. We had worked together, played together and even cried together when her dog died. We were best friends, and had the kind of easy comfort in each other's presence that allowed her to run around in a lot less than she would have otherwise. It wasn't like we were nudists or anything. But if she went to the bathroom in her bra and panties and if I saw her, well ... it wasn't the end of the world.

So, at that point in her life, sex became something even more interesting than it had been. She was sixteen and curious. She had questions, and a pledge to answer them, at least from her mother. I'm pretty sure she expected she could ask me anything under the sun and it would be fine. She just hadn't thought to ask me about things sexual before.

That was to change. And all because of the coincidence that she happened to be in the right place, at the right time, to hear just two little words: "getting laid."

What actually precipitated the beginning of the actual questions was that Duke found himself a girlfriend. She was a stray, and wandered into the yard one day. She was a short-haired mutt of some kind, that looked like a dozen types of dog all put together haphazardly. Most people would have yelled at her and maybe chunked a rock her way to run her off.

Jill, of course, fed her. Jill was just like that.

She turned out to be a well mannered and sweet dog. She was also in heat, which Duke noticed right away. I came out of the shed, where I'd been sharpening the blades of the riding mower, and saw Jill squatting on her haunches, watching Duke licking his new friend's rear end. Her vaginal opening was black and swollen. About the time I got there he hopped up and his sharp, pink penis slid unerringly into her. He began to hump immediately and vigorously. Jill looked up at me as I walked up to her.

"Doesn't that hurt?" she asked.

"Doesn't what hurt?" I looked at my hands, expecting to see blood. I was always hurting myself, and Jill called me a klutz quite often.

"What he's doing to her," she said, looking back at Duke. The female was just standing there. She looked bored, but her back legs were spread slightly and her tail was out of the way. I could see the flash of pink as Duke frantically fucked the bitch.

"Naw," I said. "It's made to fit."

"I remember the first time I saw horses doing it," she said, watching the dogs intently. "I got scared. I just knew he was hurting her."

Duke went still for a few seconds and hopped down happily. His pointed penis was still out of its sheath and had a drip of clear liquid on the tip. The female looked around at him, as if to say "That's it?" I guess males are pretty much the same across the species.

"Mom said the same thing," she went on. "But I don't see how it can not hurt." She wasn't aware of it, but she had lifted one hand and was looking at her index finger. She might as well have said "It's bigger than my finger, and I can barely get that inside me."

The way she was squatting, her jeans-clad legs were apart and I could see the tight fabric that covered her crotch. I thought about her finger, sliding into what was behind that denim, and felt heat suffuse my body. I also felt blood finding its way into my dick.

"All part of nature," I said hastily and moved on, lest she see something she didn't need to see down around my zipper.

The next question was a couple of days later.

Because we didn't have the equipment to handle big bales of hay, Lynne had Hank Thompson bale our hay with an old-fashioned small square bailer. It produced bales that weighed between fifty and eighty or so pounds, depending on what kind of hay they were made of. We could handle those during the winter by putting them in the pickup and taking them wherever they were needed. Jill and I were getting twenty-five or thirty bales down from the loft in the big barn, to put in the stables. It was hot, sweaty work but it was the dust that made it itch uncomfortably. Jill was wearing a too-large T shirt with the sleeves cut off and she might as well have taken it off for all that it covered her bra. I could even see the little pink bow on the bra between her breasts when she bent over.

"So how many times have you done it?" she asked suddenly.

"Done what?" I asked. The "what" came out in a grunt as I bucked a bale up onto the others in the back of the truck.

"Had sex," she said.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I froze and stared at her. She was waiting for an answer.

"You can't ask people that kind of thing," I croaked.

"That's what Mom said too," she said. "I thought you might tell me, though."

"Most people don't keep count," I said reflexively.

She looked interested. "You mean because they have it so much?"

I had no idea what to say. What came out was "People just do it. They don't keep records or anything."

"OK," she said, adapting easily to the situation. "So how often do you do it?"

I didn't want to answer that question. No man likes to admit he hit a dry well but has been using the hand pump for years anyway.

If you don't want to answer a question, ask another one yourself. It's a time honored technique.

"What brought all this on anyway?" I asked.

"Duke had sex with Snow White four times yesterday," she said.

"Snow White?" I looked at her like she was crazy. The stray didn't have any white on her at all.

"It was either that or Ariel, from The Little Mermaid," she said. "She just doesn't look aquatic to me, though."

"And she looks like Snow White?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"No, but Snow White was my favorite princess when I was a little girl."

"Oh," I laughed. "It all makes sense now."

She looked surprised. "It does?"

I shook my head sadly. "No. Not at all. I'll never understand women."

"Well anyway, Show White lets Duke have sex with her whenever he wants to. She doesn't try to run away or snap at him or anything. And he wants to a lot! So are guys that way too?"

For some reason I imagined Jill standing there, naked, hands on her hips, one foot tapping, saying "Just exactly now many times do you want to fuck me today, Bob?"

And THAT was when Jill's image in my mind was irrevocably changed forever. She was still my best friend, but she was also a female, and she had just as much potential to be a sexual partner as any other woman on the face of the planet had.

Of course I didn’t think that would ever happen. And I wasn't going to try to MAKE it happen. It was just there, like a big fucking rock, so big you can't move it. You can work around it. You can build up against it. You just can't move it or get rid of it. It's just there.

Jill WAS standing there with her hands on her hips. She wasn't naked, but she was obviously waiting for me to answer her question. It took me a second to remember what the question actually was.

My voice kind of wheezed a little bit as I finally spoke.

"Probably not that many times a day," I gasped.

"So just once or twice?" she asked, sounding interested.

I just nodded. I realized I had a hard-on. It had just exploded into existence, while I wasn't paying any attention.

"Gotta go," I rasped.

I turned and shuffled off toward the house, because it was the only thing that would keep my back to her as I went towards it.

And wouldn't you just know it. With my luck, Lynne was coming out of the house as I mounted the steps.

Lynne looked at my face, which was flushed. I was panting too. She stopped, blocking the doorway. She could never explain why, later, but her eyes dropped and pinned on the jutting bump in the front of my pants. Her mouth dropped open. She was wearing bright red lipstick that day, and her mouth made a red, round shape that just blew my mind. I mean I was thinking of sex already, and there was nothing I could do to control my thoughts as I looked at that mouth.

"What happened?" she squeaked. Her hand went to cover her mouth, as if she was upset she'd said anything. Either that or she was a mind reader and knew what I was thinking about that mouth.

I started to just say "Jill!" but I knew that would require more, and I sort of doubted she'd appreciate what that more would end up being.

"I just get this way sometimes," I said weakly. "You leaving?" I would have said anything to divert her attention from my erection.

"No," she said, looking confused. "I was just coming to call you two for lunch."

"Oh!" I said.

"So where's Jill?" she asked, looking over and past my shoulder.

"Stable," I panted. My brain finally started working. "I gotta pee," I said.

She looked startled, but turned sideways as I tried to push past her. My chest scraped right across the tips of her breasts, which were encased, that day, in a halter top. We both looked down as it happened. My bulge was thrusting out and filled the little triangle of empty space between her breasts and my chest. It brushed her thighs.

This was not turning out to be a good day for me.

I did, in fact, go into the bathroom. The only other place I could go was my bedroom, but I'd already said I had to pee, so the bathroom it was. I did NOT have to pee, of course, but I took my cock out anyway. I knew I'd have to beat off to get it to go down, even though I was embarrassed half to death. The memory of those round, bright red lips had me going, though. And that's how I found myself thinking about BOTH Simmons WOMEN for the first time as I masturbated.

I usually have to get everything just right to cum when I beat off. I have to think of the right thing at the right time and get my hand moving at just the right speed. It all comes together, but it usually takes a few minutes.

On that day I didn't even have to take my pants down. I just unzipped, pulled it out, and stroked it while thinking of Lynne's lips and those pajamas sucking up between Jill's pussy lips and it was over. I mean stick a fork in me - I was done.

Then I had to catch my breath and wash my hands and face, which was red, and get presentable, so I could go out and eat lunch.

With the girl I had just fantasized about while beating off ...

And her mother.

The big question was whether or not I could face them with any kind of style or grace.

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