Great Moments

There is a moment in a man's life when all that he is and all that he ever was and all that he ever will be is condensed into a single instant. It is that instant when she is sitting on the sofa, lying back and smiling at him as he kneels on the floor in front of her and he begins to slide her panties off.

She sighs her approval as he gently hooks his fingers into the elastic waistband and moves downward. The elastic has left a red band of ridges in her skin. The panties bunch up as they slide, revealing the soft, ever so smooth skin of her abdomen; the forward edges of her hip bones. Her mons is a mountain as he brings the edge of the panties to it, and she must lift her bottom a bit in order for him to get past her buttocks. Then inch by inch, even millimeter by millimeter, the band of elastic climbs that tiny mountain of dreams, climbs it, crests it, and begins the dizzying slide down the other side. This woman has shaved that mons and the valley below, and it's sculpted beauty is unhidden by foliage. The panty edge reveals the top of that crevice and as it is moved further the deep inviting folds are bared. A tiny pink tip is visible further down, the tip of her clitoris, the tip of the only organ that exists in the human body expressly and exclusively to produce pleasure.

Her body has already responded to the anticipation of procreation. Even as the panties were being drawn away, forces inside her have exuded a clear nectar that will lubricate and allow the entry of a penis. She has produced this liquid in such quantities that the narrow band of her panties is wet with them, and as this narrow band is drawn away her breathing increases, her eyes close, her body takes over active control from her conscious mind and once the panties have been removed completely she lifts her feet to the seat of the sofa and opens her legs and by that gesture announces that all who choose to enter that most moistly prepared portal shall be accepted.

The opening of her legs draws the outer lips apart and popping forward between them are the pink ruffled inner lips and the clitoris, both now bright pink and plump with their engorgement of blood. The air around them is thick with pheromones, those unseen aromatic messengers that scream unheard "I am woman! I am open!"

You lean forward and kiss this gaping center of erotic intensity and she hisses a sigh of eager anticipation.

It is at such a moment as this that this tale begins.

But there is more.

Beside her another woman waits, another wet-spotted pair of satin panties. You look at this woman and your eyes ask "Are you sure?" and she forces a taboo-battered smile past her inhibitions and she nods her head and again the elastic band, again the ring of impressed flesh, again the soft expanse of soft skin; the edges of her hipbones. This abdomen has a scar from a birth of a baby born a score of years before. As the edge of the panties tops the mountain there is hair there. It forms a soft and curled curtain, and as the panties come away the crevice is only barely visible beneath it, yet still there is the clitoris tip, larger, firmer, crested beneath with the edges of the inner lips moistened by the flow of lubricants. The panties come away and are discarded with the others. The legs open, overlapping her knee with the knee of the woman beside her, and you lean forward again and kiss this newly presented, newly surrendered valley of flesh and her voice rasps "Oh my gah..." and unheard are the words "I can't believe I'm doing this."

The occasion which led up to this moment happened only a day before. Lisa, the unshaven one; the long-time friend of Julie,your wife, the shaven one, came to visit. Lisa is divorced. She is an adventurer in life who has grown tired of her solitude and wants, as she explained to Julie, just once to be fucked wall-to-wall without having all of the baggage that goes with being involved. Julie, a wife of fifteen years, has grown bored with our stale though busy sexual life. She wants something more

electrifying; something that will involve all of her sexual energies. We have talked of this. We have fantasized about it together because it is true. There are only so many things a man and a woman can do together; only so many apertures in which a penis can be inserted, only so many nerve bundles that can be excited, only so many ways a man and a woman can come together.

It was at this morning's breakfast; brunch, actually, since it happened at eleven A.M. Lisa had been bemoaning her lack of close intimate contact with a human being. Julie had shrugged and said as casually as her own inhibitions would allow "Want to get naked and screw?"

It slipped right past both Lisa and me because we thought it was a joke at first. But Julie brought it up again a moment later. "Seriously. You want to get laid. We want to do something different. Let's all screw together." This time it did not slip by. It triggered another great moment in sexual anticipation. Lisa looked at Julie and then at me and said "Are you serious?" And Julie said "Yes." And my heart nearly burst through my chest.

At thirty five, Julie is a beautiful woman. At forty, Lisa is as lovely. At forty one, I was a quivering bag of boneless protoplasm at the thought of even seeing these two naked together, much less doing anything about it.

None of us knew quite where to begin.

We stopped short of the bedroom. That was too much of a statement; an admission that perversions might occur. They sat on the sofa side by side with a socially acceptable gap between them. They still wore their bathrobes. They seemed reluctantly eager to explore, to experience whatever was to happen. I was fully dressed, having anticipated a day touring the city. I had looked at Julie and I had asked her what she wanted me to do. She opened her robe as a response. Her eyes told me to kneel, to be appreciative, to remove her underpants.

By the time their knees had overlapped, and their most private places had been exposed to the world around us, we were all three past the point of no return. We were powerless to go back; to cover that which had been discovered; to clothe that which had been stripped bare. "Kiss her there again." Julie had said. I looked up at Lisa. She had her eyes closed. She had her mouth open. She had heard. I leaned forward and kissed her there again and she uttered a melodic, softly- aspirated Ooooonnh. Julie hissed softly, and as I kissed I looked up and watched her pull Lisa's robe from her shoulders, saw her unsnap Lisa's bra, saw her smile at the two lovely breasts thus presented to her, and saw her bend forward and kiss them, first the left one, then the right one.

This was another of those great moments; the one in which you witness your wife's first experience with another female body; the one in which you know that however this works out, she will forever be changed because she has shared your own deep appreciation for the softness of a breast. Julie removed her own robe and unhooked her bra and tossed it aside and guided Lisa's hand to her own breast. I watched Lisa's fingers caress, then hold Julie's nipple. I watched her lift the breast, I watched her trace her fingertips to the other.

"Let me do you again." I told Julie, and she sat back once more and opened her legs once more and her knee overlapped Lisa's this time, and I bent forward and inhaled the sweet salt- spray and surf smell of her, and the faint onion-sweat smell of her, and the erect clitoris and rigid labia smell of her and I pressed my lips against them ever so gently, for a woman is very sensitive in those parts, and touch them too vigorously and they become over sensitized and she must stop and wait as they return to their milder state. A woman will tell you when she wants you to put more pressure on. Her legs will clamp your head, her heels will draw you forward and her fingers will become hooks that snag deeply into your scalp and hair and she will jam your face against those delicate parts with such force that you know you must be hurting her. You will feel that tenderest, that smoothest of human skin, that of the insides of her thighs, against your ears. You will feel, rather than hear her pulse coursing through her body, and when your efforts have reached their goal, you will hear the sudden slug of pulse that announces the achievement of your mutual goal. It will slam past your ears and reverberate over and over as her heart floods her system with blood to carry dopamine and endorphins and phenylethylamines throughout her body to every axon, every synapse, every neuron. She will sing to her god. Her legs will straighten and quiver and tremble, and she will sing to her god. Her toes will curl upward, her hips will arch upwards to receive even more and more. And she will sing to her god.

And at last she will relax, gasping for breath a tiny puff at a time, and when she pushes your face away it is because she cannot take any more of this almost painful ecstacy. And if she suddenly lays on her side and draws her knees tight to her chest and wraps her arms around them to pull them in further it is to hold this painful ecstacy inside her body as long as possible.

In this condition she is indifferent to the widely open exposure of her most private part; her anus. She is indifferent that you can see in lovely detail the stark beauty of the twin rolls of her labia, that you can see the rigidly red ruffles of her inner lips. She is indifferent that Lisa, too, can see them.

Julie's hair is matted at the temples by the sweat of her exertion. She lays helpless, unable to release herself from the grip of her ecstatic seizure until she settles into the ennui of aftercome.

Lisa has watched this entire adventure. Her body has flooded her, too, with lubrication to ease any sort of activity; to eliminate any sort of friction. Her hand strokes ever so gently Julie's hip and buttock, her fingers move lightly downward to brush across the forbidden gape. "Don't touch anything." Julie commands in a weak voice.

"I'll have what she's having." Lisa says.

Lisa's smells are different. They are certainly the smells of a mature and sexually receptive woman, but they are somehow different; so different that with a little practice I could identify the two simply by their fragrances. Lisa looks down at me with a look that resembles one of consternation. I am, after all, a strange presence between her open legs. Her clitoris is a longer ridge at the top of her crevice. It has a longer tip, now almost white in its swollen engorgement. I touch my lips to it and she moans. I brush my lips over it and she moans. I take it into my mouth and she moans. I do not see Julie unfold herself. I am barely aware as she kneels beside me to watch this most entertaining phenomena. I feel her touch, a "May I cut in" touch, on my shoulder and I move back and she looks up at Lisa and Lisa nods to the unasked question. Julie leans forward and takes over. She is a woman, and she knows the places to touch. She is a woman and she knows how much pressure and how many tongue-twists equal a come. Lisa, too, is a woman, and she knows when a tongue and a lip and a suction have followed exactly the right procedures. She opens her legs even further, further than I thought it was possible for a woman to open them, and she hooks Julie's hair and presses her in and arches forward and that pulse! That slamming pulse! I see it in the arteries at Lisa's neck, I see it pound through the arteries at her temples, I hear her rasping breath mark its time, and she whines in a soft woman-coming whine. And her whine becomes a howl; a primal forest howl that announces to all within its earshot that she has found god yet again, and god is alive, and lives in her pussy.

And now it is Lisa that curls into fetal helplessness. It is Lisa who is indifferent to her open buttocks, her secret sphincter, her cupped labia. It is Lisa that lies with her eyes tightly closed, her mouth pursed, her heart pounding, her hair plastered to her temples.

And then Julie looks at me. "Why," she asks, "are you still dressed?"

It is rare that the women come first. It is rare, perhaps even once-in-a-lifetime, that a man has two women who can and will devote their entire attention to giving him that one most excruciatingly celestial come of all, the first come with two women together.

Not that I needed that much help with it at that moment. My difficulty was rather more oriented toward holding it back as long as possible, for it was right there, right on the tip of my cock, in the chamber, the safety off, ready to fire at the first touch of the hair trigger.

It nearly fired itself in the air when Julie caressed Lisa's bottom and said "Come down here."

It nearly went off and put somebody's eye out when Julie said to Lisa "Kneel down on all fours."

It nearly exploded in the breech when Julie asked her "Can he fuck you from behind? I want to watch."

And it almost backfired into my own body as Julie GUIDED my cock into Lisa's waiting sheath. I was, at this time, so overcome with the power of their combined pheromones that I had no mind of my own. I was powerless to do anything but what I was told. I had all of the independence of a rag doll.

I looked down at my hands on Lisa's hips and wondered who's hands they were. I looked down at my cock buried in her and wondered who's cock that was, and I watched Julie pet us both and trace a finger around my cock where it met Lisa's tightly stretched vagina and wondered if someday I myself would ever experience anything like this.

Lisa's anus was darker than Julie's. It puckered more. It must have occurred to Lisa that both I and Julie could see it, because occasionally she would try to close her cheeks so that it would be hidden again, but she always relaxed, and there it was and I thrilled that I was looking at the bottom end of another woman's alimentary canal. I felt Julie's hand on my buttock and realized she was giving me a rhythm with which to fuck and I followed it and suddenly I was gripping Lisa's hips more tightly, suddenly I was pounding in more powerfully, suddenly my testes were slamming against whatever was down there with faint fleshy slaps and if one can imagine a slug of nearly coagulated semen the size of a shooting star, that's what shot through my cock and smashed against the top of Lisa's whatever so hard that Lisa gurgled in delight. I came. I tried to breathe right but couldn't. I tried to keep my rhythm right, but couldn't, I tried to maintain what dignity I had but I couldn't. I dissolved into a slobbering imbecile and came and came and slowly, I came some more.

"Gah." Julie remarked. "You got that messy."

I sprawled nakedly on my back on the living room carpet. Julie, gracious loving Julie, found a warm washcloth and wiped me and then Lisa off and they both lay beside me, Julie's head on my right shoulder, Lisa's on my left, and they idly twiddled my lifeless wad of a cock and occasionally kissed my chest and I thought that if God were to take me at that moment and send me to everlasting hell I would not complain, because I had had a taste of heaven.

The rest of the day was filled with naked fun. Julie and Lisa 69'd. Lisa and I 69'd. I and Julie 69'd. Julie and Lisa took turns sucking my penis. Julie and I took turns going down on Lisa, Lisa and I went down on Julie. I learned the most intimate crinkles and wrinkles of their most intimate places. I tested their rectal temperatures with my finger and found them to be about equal. We showered and explored each other's bodies and soaped and rinsed and sucked and licked and tasted each other.

I noticed a few other things about them as we played throughout the day. For example, they both borrowed a T-shirt from me and wore nothing else but. I find that incredibly sexy. I found it amusing that Lisa would close her knees and pull the hem of the shirt down over them if I was talking to her; as though she was afraid I would look "up her dress". This after I had more than once seen her widely exposed in all of her parts. I noticed that they kept their buttocks shut whenever they were engaged with each other, yet whenever they were engaged with me they let them shamelessly open. Not that I would complain; it's just something I noticed about them. Once, when Lisa had her face snugly nestled into Julie's pudenda, she covered Julie's anus modestly with her hand. I noticed that when they masturbated one another they did so much more vigorously than I would have. I wondered if that might be the reason Julie never came when I masturbated her. When they masturbated me they were vigorous as well, and when I came once that way Lisa seemed intrigued to watch the semen come out. That was intensely sexual, even after I had already come just half an hour before.

We managed to bring each other to come four more times that day, and the orgasms hung in the air like butterscotch pudding. Finally, after one last squeak of a feeble little come I could do no more, and they took over on each other and masturbated themselves and worried their parts and strained and sweated out another beautiful girl and girl come and we lay down to sleep in a naked pile of flesh.

And going to sleep with Julie in my arms, her bottom pressed against my middle, and with Lisa's arms around us both, her breasts pressed against my shoulder blades was the final great moment in sex.

For that day, at least.