Her Fantasy or Mine?

The first person character of this story is called Mr. Rogers in an obvious reference to the surrogate father figure of the TV program. That is, however, no implication that the story is about Fred Rogers in any way. All the characters are fictitious, as you can imagine from the opening line, but then forget that.

"I want to sleep with you, Mr Rogers."

Fran, sometimes still called Francie, Francisca by her parents, was putting a nighttime pamper on my four year old grandson. I was playing memory with her four year-old and losing as usual, when her soft remark surprised me. It didn't sound like she had looked at me, and I didn't look up at her as I replied: "Really?" hoping my response sounded as matter-of-fact as her so surprising statement had.

"Talk about it after the kids are all in bed."

Needless to say, I was only lucky to get a couple of more pairs of cards, and her son was delighted.

"All the kids" were her son and his two year old brother and my grandson and his younger sister. The two younger ones were already sharing her cot, playing with stuffed toys. Fran had offered to help me with my grandchildren, when my daughter Henrietta had to go to a conference, her husband away on a business trip, as was her husband. Normally, my wife would have minded the grandchildren, but she was visiting her widowed father.

Francie and Henny had known each other as long as they could remember, over the years not always the best of friends, but now again, both living in a larger city and with the additional common interest of having children the same ages. Of course, I had also know Francie from the time she was the age of the younger children, but just seeing her occasionally. She had always been large for her age, as a toddler; probably as tall as me as a young teenager, taller now; and she had red hair, not reddish-blond or reddish-chestnut.

While I was losing the game, it did occur to me that her surprising remark was typical of her directness, but there was nothing between us to suggest to me why she had so blatantly made it. I had only seen her a couple of times since her wedding. My wife or I could have suggested that she and her husband could call us by our first names, but an opportune time to do so hadn't occurred, even during the day she and I had spent together keeping the children busy. That made her remark addressed to me as Mr. Rogers even more surprising, but she had said it: "I want to sleep with you, Mr. Rogers."

If she wanted to?! What had given her that idea? Nothing that I could remember from our day together.

She had come with her children to my daughter's apartment before she left, and we had entertained the children, giving them lunch and supper, agreeing that since they would be sharing beds, we needed to keep them active enough to ensure that they went to sleep quickly. Despite the occasional, usual differences between the kids, it had been a fine day, all afternoon in the park. Fran and I had never spent so much time together. We had enjoyed each other's company, but only in our cooperation with entertaining the children. She had said that she appreciated that her boys had also accepted my intervening when the kids couldn't agree, but that was hardly a reason to suggest that she wanted to sleep with me, nor because her marriage was problematic. It wasn't, as I knew from the last time my wife and I and both the young families had been together.

Fran finished diapering my grandson, who was too tired to object. We had told the boys that they would have to share his bed, and they let themselves be put down at opposite ends of it. Fran turned out the light, and we told our respective children good night. The younger ones were already lying with a stuffed toy, hardly responding when Fran spread the cover over them. Fran opened the window, and we returned to the kitchen, where we all had eaten supper, and she and I had had a glass of wine.

In the light, we looked at each other with slightly puzzled expressions. She suggested that we have another glass of wine while she cleaned up in the kitchen. I poured, while she closed the door, and we drank, smiling a little wryly at each other. She began to collect plates, not saying anything. Finally, I asked - again:

"Really?"

"Surprised?"

"Very!"

"Hmm! Me too, that I said it."

"Couldn't be as surprised as I am. ... Do I have to ask why?"

She busied herself without looking at me, while I stood aside, watching her; yes, wondering how she looked with nothing on. She snorted and replied:

"I always wanted to. No! Not always, but you were the first person I thought of, when I started thinking about that."

"Why me? Maybe inappropriate to say so, but I thought girls ..., well, thought about their fathers."

"Oh, it started before we were thinking about that, younger."

"Hmm? And why me? Who: 'we'?"

"My sister and I, wanted to know what boys looked like, and Henny had an older brother."

"Hm-hmm! I guess she knew, at least when they were younger."

"Um-hmm! And maybe the doctor's son."

"Hmm? Maybe. We thought he might know a little too much from the older boy at the clinic."

"Maybe less than 'maybe'."

"And?"

"She knew that you slept nude and started making breakfast that way."

"True. And told you?!"

"Um-hmm! All about it, what she could see, a real, naked, grown man."

"Hmm! I thought she shouldn't be surprised the first time she saw another one, but not that I was enlightening the girls in the neighborhood."

Fran turned and gave me a grin, remarking:

"But you did, so with her description, ... well, when we - at least, I - started thinking about it, thinking about you."

"Not just thinking about it?"

She grinned again with a nod and reached for her glass, and we drank again. I snorted and remarked:

"Well, I hope it helped, but that's long ago, like maybe - over - twenty years ago. You've seen at least one naked man since then; don't need to live out your first fantasy."

"Not just one, of course, but why not?"

She smiled and took her glass again, and we emptied them. She held hers out to be refilled, and I emptied the bottle in our glasses. She took a sip and repeated:

"But why not?"

"For all the obvious reasons, and I think you're happily married."

"Yes, but we're here, and it wouldn't be like having an affair, ... and we don't have anything better to do this evening."

"Hmm! At least the last bit was right."

"So why not?"

"You always were direct. Doesn't bother you?"

"Not since I said it."

"Hmm? Looking at his little penis?"

"Maybe. Hadn't thought of that. Probably, since you mention it."

"Probably shouldn't have."

"Anyway, I want to sleep with you. Told Henny she didn't have to put fresh sheets on their bed."

"Anticipating this?"

"No, but it now seems convenient. I told her I would remake the bed in the morning, and she put out clean sheets."

"Hmm! Very 'convenient'."

She nodded with slight smirk, and we drank. She looked at me with a questioningly raised eyebrow. I snorted and remarked:

"Before you ask me; it would be rude to say that I don't want to; wouldn't be true, either, just a very new thought."

"That's good. ... Didn't you ever think about girls in Henny's class, when we were growing up."

"Hmm?! Not like that! Oh, I liked the one who worked with her on that school project; she had a nice figure, and I especially liked her deeper voice."

"Patsy?"

"Probably. Oh, it was interesting watching you all growing up, you know, starting to wear bras, but I didn't have any fantasies about any of you. ... Oh, I guess I did wonder if you had red hair there too."

That question had only occurred to me while I was watching her in the kitchen, but it seemed appropriate now to suggest that I had had thought a little bit more about her back then. She snorted with grin and replied:

"It is; it was, before I started shaving."

"Hmm! When was that? Do all of you shave?"

"Hm-hm-hmm! Not until I went to college and saw that many others did. Hmm? If you're wondering about Henny, I don't know."

"Well, I wasn't, but maybe she does. Her mother said once that she complained that she had some that showed when she wore a bikini, so maybe the thought of shaving them all off came easy."

Fran nodded with a slight smirk. She had finished cleaning up, and we emptied our wine glasses. She took mine, our fingers touching for the first time, and rinsed and dried them. After she had put them away, she murmured:

"Better check on the children."

She silently opened the door and went to the children's room. She returned with a smile, beckoning me to follow her, in the darkened room pointing at the cot with the two-year-olds. They were lying almost in each others' arms with my granddaughter's favorite little cloth rabbit between them. We smiled at each other, nodding, and retreated, closing the door. Back in the kitchen, Fran smiled again and murmured:

"They have the right idea."

"Hmm? We should, because they do?"

"If you need another reason to?"

"Hmm? Hmm! Hm-hmm! I sleep with the mother of my granddaughter's little friend because they are."

"Hm-hmm! If that works better than sleeping with your daughter's girlfriend."

"At least you're both twenty years older now. That would have sounded really wicked back then."

"I didn't really think about that, back then, just found the idea very attractive."

"Hmm? Good think I didn't know. ... You really want to? I'm twenty years older now, too."

"But don't look it, more fit than Robert."

Her husband was a big man, taller than Fran, but had put on a lot of weight since their wedding five or six years before. I was probably more fit, but did have more stomach than I liked. I pulled it in. Robert couldn't do that. With a snort I replied:

"If you think so; I'm not sure, ... at least for what you're suggesting, ... a little out of practice."

"That's a pity; all the more reason to."

"Hmm? If you insist? No promises."

"I do. Too late now for us to go to separate beds and wonder what might have happened."

"Reawakening your old fantasies and me having new ones."

"We can have them later, and then better."

"If you're not disappointed."

"I won't be, if you like to do what I want to do."

"I hope so. Hm-hmm! Can't think of anything I wouldn't want to do."

We both snickered with grins, appreciating that we had finally confirmed that we were going to. Fran murmured:

"Have to go to the bathroom."

"Me too; I'll use the guest toilet."

"And then join me, and we can get undressed and wash a little."

I nodded with a smirk, and we went our ways, leaving the doors open and hearing each other, and then flushing. We both had started to unbutton our shirts when I joined her in the bathroom. We smirked and continued to undress without any hesitations. She had the pale skin of a typical redhead and pale nipples. On her large figure, her breasts seemed smaller than they actually were, and, of course, she had long legs. When she saw me glance at her shaven pussy, she smiled slightly and remarked:

"Nice curly red hair."

"I hope Henny's description didn't raise false expectations."

"Hm-umm. Back then, just sounded larger than we thought, told us that it wasn't always the same size."

"And never like the first one you saw."

"Hmm! No! And when she saw her brother's - like you mean - it wasn't either."

"Yeah, their mother caught them playing doctor. What girls talk about!"

"Don't boys?"

"Mostly just speculation, or bragging. Gentlemen don't tell."

"Girls don't either after they start really doing something. Now wash."

She turned to the washbasin and took the nearest washcloth and began unselfconsciously to wash her face and then her pussy.

By now, I was only slightly surprised at our situation, both naked, she unconcernedly letting me watch her wash. I couldn't remember ever having been in a similar situation. Before I married, we - not just with my future wife - never waited to wash, and later, we never so obviously prepared to have sex, or didn't anticipate that we would. Then she would warn me: "I didn't wash," as I was moving to go down on her. Of course, that didn't deter me. Disappointingly, she only sucked my cock as foreplay, not all the way, like a couple of my earlier girlfriends.

Fran's smile at me in the mirror brought me back to the present, and I noticed the washcloth rubbing her asshole. Was I meant to relate her smile to what her fingers were doing? I knew that oral sex was now much more usual than in my youth and that young people had no compunctions about mentioning what they did, recalling that our son at once told my wife and me that a girl had gone down on him. Was that what Fran had meant: "if you like to do what I want to do"? No need for her to say that, if she didn't mean something different from the obvious. I hoped so.

She rinsed the washcloth and grabbed a towel and stepped aside, smiling at me with a nod towards the washbasin. I smiled wryly and took her place and washed my face. A little self-consciously - she was standing where she could watch me - I draped my cock and balls over the edge of the washbasin, catching her slight nod and smirk in the mirror. My cock was a little fuller than it had been. I washed them and then moved back and also washed my asshole. My wife - or anyone else - had never done anything to make that necessary, although she didn't object to my touching hers - hadn't objected; it had been a couple of years.

We had been silent for too long. I snorted and remarked:

"If you want to suck my toes, I'll wash them too."

That turned out to have been a prescient inspiration. Fran grinned at me in the mirror, shaking her head and replying:

"Only if you want me to. I want to suck something else."

"Oooh! That's good! I just love that! And doing it, too."

"Hmmm! That is good!"

We grinned at each other in the mirror, and she handed me the towel, and we grinned again with nods, as I turned to her and dried myself. We both snickered, and I remarked:

"I was hoping that was what you meant before."

"It was; I just love to do it, too, and that you do."

"Very much; two of a kind. But not when you were first thinking about me?"

"Hm-umm! Of course not; didn't know about that back then."

"Took a couple of years before I did, and then a couple more before someone did, ... and many years since someone has - all the way."

"That's a pity. I do, I will."

"Mmmm! I will too."

"I hope so, real good."

"As good as I can; I love the taste of it."

"Hm-hmm! This is turning out to being a very good idea, a lot better than I had hoped."

"For me, too. Hm-hmm! Never talked about what we wanted to do, and sure never expected that it would be with you."

"Nor with you; all the better!"

Fran smiled sweetly, and I returned her smile, enjoying that her nipples were aroused and that she then touched them. She snorted and remarked:

"I like them to be sucked, too, but there is time for everything; one after another."

"Mmmm!"

I nodded with another smile, and we went to the bedroom, leaving the light in the bathroom on and leaving the door open to have a little light. Fran flung back the covers on the bed and murmured:

"One after another; sit down; I want to do it like this."

As I sat down, she dropped to her knees. I hummed and murmured:

"Only once did a girl just do it to me."

"Um-hmm, and married couples just get in bed and usually both do it at once - when they do it."

"And then not all the way; we, at least."

"Um-hmm, but it's more pleasure to enjoy it each way, one way and then the other."

"God, this is going to be good! ... Uh, will you suck my balls, too?"

"Hm-hmm! If you want. Haven't done that."

"No one else ever has, either."

"A first for us both; I like that."

"Not as much as I will."

"Just maybe!"

Fran grinned at me in the dim light and fondled my balls in my loose sack. My cock was already rising. She chuckled and asked:

"Now or later?"

Hmm? Any time you want. Hm-hmm! Later, you may have to trouble getting them loose enough again, but that would just prolong my pleasure."

"Mmmm! And mine too! ... Hm-hmm! And you can do something else to prolong mine."

"Lick you somewhere else? Also haven't done that, but I want to."

"Oooh! This is all going to be good; enough talk."

The head of my cock disappeared between her lips. It had always felt good, when my wife had sucked it, but always with the frustrating knowledge that she was going to stop before anything happened and turn around over me. But this was so much better: the promise that Fran was going to let me come in her mouth, and that this way her tongue could arouse my cock where it was most sensitive, plus her obvious delight, enthusiasm, pleasure, skill at what she was doing!

She was sucking my cock deeper in her mouth than anyone had before! Maybe even deep throat?! Did she do that?! She didn't, but my cock was throbbing in her mouth, and my sack was a tight ball in her fingers. I murmured insistently: "Balls."

She nodded and raised her head, and my cock sprang up, glistening in the dim light, as I saw clear drops using from its little slip. She glanced up with a slight smile and murmured:

"Just in time; thanks for reminding me."

Her fingernails scratched behind my sack and then caught a tight wrinkle of it. It took a while before she could loosen it. When my cock began to sink, she chuckled and licked it, making it twitch. We both snorted, smiling at each other. Then my sack was all loose again. She lowered her head and pushed one of my balls between her lips, gently closing her mouth around it and caressing it with her tongue, sucking gently. Had I imagined how it would feel? Not as good as it did! I moaned and murmured:

"God, that feels good!"

She nodded, humming her agreement. That felt even better!

"Mmmm! Do that some more, humming; feels even better!"

She nodded again and did, and I moaned in appreciation. After a few moments, she let it slip out of her mouth and murmured:

"For me too. The other one."

That felt just as good, of course, and I murmured:

"Oooh! Glad I thought to ask you to."

She nodded with a more emphatic hum and then released it. She smiled up at me with a nod and murmured:

"I'm glad you did, too. He's going to like that."

"Hope he doesn't ask where you got the idea."

"Hm-hmm! I can tell him that while he was away I tried to think of something else I could do."

"He will be delighted."

"Now to finish what I started, ... before I begin to drip."

But instead of beginning to suck again, she surprised me by reaching down and feeling her pussy. When she brought her hand up and showed me her wet fingers, smirking. I surprised myself, taking her hand and drawing it up and licking them. She snorted with another smirk and murmured:

"Just wait; it's not your turn yet."

"Yours! But I'm looking forward to tasting it."

"Me too, that you are. Hm-hmm! Hope you really like it a lot."

"A lot, a lot of it. Uh, do you ...?"

"Hmm? Do I squirt? I hope so."

"Oh, good! I sure hope so, too."

We snickered with grins, nodding, and then my sagging cock disappeared between her lips again.

I had been born a generation too soon, if this was what all girls - young women - now did! Did my daughter also do it so good? I hoped so, for her husband's pleasure - whose else before him? Having sex had never been like this before: talking about it, telling each other what we liked, what we wanted to do. And it all started by her simply saying that she wanted to sleep with me, and now having told me that she hoped that she would squirt. She could, if I did it right! She sure was doing it right! How could I have been so lucky?!