I Blame It All On My Wife

"Is this her room?" With the open stairwell landing, the room was very loft-like.

"Actually, it is my room, but Jezebel was needing some privacy."

"Privacy?" I blurted out and wished I hadn't.

Between suffering from girls who were starting to develop both physically and sexually at the middle school I had set a firm conviction that I was a math teacher and not a confidant, if the girls had womanly issues they could talk to one of the numerous female teachers. If a boy had growing pains, they could talk to one of their peers. Harsh you say? Bobby-cock, I say. I have been up on sexual harassment charges twice; once for telling that rude Mrs. Pierce to put her fag out (how was I supposed to know her son came out of the closet that previous weekend) and when one little 8th grader by the first name of Nikki (have to protect their innocent you know, so no last names please) told another teacher that she and I had 'special' liaisons.

Yes, I would talk to her, but always in the hallway, never behind a closed door and I kept my door locked so no one could invite themselves into my room. So the accusations flew and I was suspended baring an investigation, but little Nikki hung herself. I carpooled with two other teachers so her accusations of me taking her to a motel room on the way home didn't fly and of the supposed weekend getaways two of the dates she provided I was able to counter with my credit card bill showing that I was in the next state over and the third weekend we were visiting the arrival of my youngest sister's latest brood fifty miles away.

Poor little stupid Nikki. When these facts were made to her, she stood up and screamed that I took her virginity. That was when her red faced mother told her to shut up, it seems that Nikki was taken to her OB/GYN after the accusation came out and the doc confirmed that Nikki, while still having her hymen attached proved her own stupidity by not knowing what her hymen was. Nikki was removed from school and I haven't had an issue with another of those snot nosed hormonal vamps since.

Mrs. Maloney thankfully ignored my outburst. The door out of the loft bedroom to the rest of the upstairs spaces slid to the side on rails. This I found interesting. The next room was more of an attic vice bedroom. It was one long room, looking more rustic than the rest of the house because the wood here was darker, whether a darker stain or darker natural wood I wasn't sure but the pine paneling from the previous room was missing so the rafters could be easily seen. The room, for its size was very sparse; two beds, two dressers. There were a few boxes scattered here and there with only the front portion of the room appearing to be domesticated outlined by the furniture and three interwoven area rugs.

"Mom?" Another from the loins of Mrs. Maloney. When Mrs. Maloney pulled on the string chain connected to the over head light I was able to make out another daughter (younger than the first?). This one wasn't as shy as the first because she didn't attempt to yank her blankets up, instead the blanket laid across her chest, thankfully covering whatever may have been growing there and her arms. That can't be right, her arms looked like they were...well, the blanket above her crouch was rippling. Turning away I looked at Mrs. Maloney, trying to get my bearings.

"So, this...this only really a one...one bedroom house?"

"Well, no, it is two."

"But this room is unfinished."

Her smile added to her way of looking at it, "I prefer to think of it as this room is a bit big for just the two of my daughters."

I went to look out the far window on the back wall. The front of the house was still dark and the overhead light was too weak to allow me a proper look of the window frame which was a shame. When I turned around Mrs. Maloney was gone so I moved to follow her exit.

"Are you going to be my new daddy?" What the fuck? Where did that come from? I looked at the girl in the bed who was now sitting up and while she held the blanket up to her chest, since I was facing the side of the bed, I was easily able to distinguish that she was naked underneath the blanket as the side of her thigh, hip, waist and torso was in plain view.

"Uh, no, I am just here to look at your house. That is all."

"That is a shame." Uh!?

"Why is that?"

"Because you are nice looking man, I would love for you to be my new daddy."

That was the last thing I expected to hear visiting this house. Next to her bed was a full length mirror and I looked at myself. I am not narcissistic so the guy on the other side of the mirror was a bit of a stranger to me. I guess my wife's stomach wasn't the only one to have gone to pot, but I guess I was okay looking. My eyes always get me compliments. They are 'friendly' looking blue eyes is what everyone tells me, and for a long time I thought that meant girls wouldn't be interested in me. My beard was full and red; though the rest of my hair is real dirty blond (that would be the Irish from my dear old mum). I am not a tall man; at five eight, the low ceiling in this attic didn't threaten me. And here this girl and yes, she was a girl; to me any girl who isn't old enough to buy alcohol was still a girl in my eyes, was telling me I was good looking. Well nice anyway.

"What happened to your dad?" Shit there I go again blurting out questions.

"He was defending my honor." What?

"And how was he doing that?"

"Gamora!" So that was the pretty girls name, she took after her mother. More so than Jezebel.

We both turned and saw Mrs. Maloney. Arms crossed, pushing up her robe, splitting the opening wider and displaying an amount of cleavage I didn't think she owned. Fuck, I need to get out of here if she is going to keep doing that. Yes, I am a tit man.

Unlike most men, I can tell you when I became some an aficionado of the female mammary glands. I was eight or nine and my younger sisters, all three of them had more Barbie dolls then they ever needed. Now my mother's bosom was not on the large side, yes, she had some but they were closer to my wife's than Barbie's. One thing that really irked me was that my sister had a plethora of Barbie's and I didn't have a single GI Joe. Not the six inch freaks that came out with the A-Team style cartoon but the twelve inch bearded one my next door neighbor Joey had. So one summer rainy day, I started playing with three Barbie's my sisters had left laying around. My mother thought that my playing with the girls toys was cute and even made me a couple of green camouflage outfits for them to go to war in. The first couple of times I changed the Barbie's into their war gear nothing electric happened. But the third time was an enlightening moment.

I was again bored because I was stuck inside with chicken pox and I ran across the camo outfits my mother had sewn and three different Barbie's on my sister's bedroom floor, not far away from the clothes. This time though, the Barbie's were actually dressed and I would have to undress them. My youngest sister especially likes to strip all of the Barbie's and then go play with something else so most of the Barbie's were always undressed. As I started to pull on the Barbie's top the vision in front of me made me feel funny. Over and over again, I removed Barbie's top, only to put it back on just so I could remove it again. I was enthralled but by what I didn't know.

For weeks that summer I could be found hidden under one of my father's two over sized rocking chairs playing with Barbie's. After a while my father started to grouse to my mother that she was turning me into a girl like his sisters, but he was so far from the truth. Those plastic Barbie's changed my outlook on life, suddenly I had a new favorite Aunt, Aunt Wilma, whom I use to despise because squeeze my ruby cheeks and try to suffocate me in her fat chest. That chest I had suddenly realized wasn't 'fat' after all. (Well, it was, but it was fat that was meant to have that shape, a shape I found myself constantly dreaming of).

After my outlook on Aunt Wilma changed, she suddenly found plenty of reasons to visit us and gave me plenty of hugs and teased me, though at the time I did not know she was teasing with all of the rubbing of her teat flesh against me. Sadly, she died not long after my self-revelation. My father was heart broken at losing his only sister, though my mother didn't seem as heartbroken.

It is funny how a flash of skin can prompt memories from your subconscious. Mrs. Maloney directed me to the door so she could show me the basement and I lethargically followed. In the room occupied by Jezebel who still had the blankets up to her neck, Gamora called for her mother and excused her self to answer her daughter's summons. I told her I would be fine and would take the opportunity to look over her circle stair case one more time.

Resisting the urge to pull out my camera again, I looked down the stairway, marveling at the symmetry of the view when Jezebel spoke to me. I had all intents on ignoring anything she may have had to say and I just wished I could have ignored what she did say.

"So are you going to want to fuck me now?"

The question was quiet in its approach but arrived like a Mack truck to my soul. I could help but to defend my integrity.

"No...no...NO!" I did fail in keeping my eyes focused on the stairwell and the vision of Jezebel's face followed up the Mack truck to my soul with a Mack truck to my sight. She was sincere, asking not like I was going to take advantage of her but because she wanted me to have carnal liaisons with her. I was one hundred percent certain that if I would have told her to uncover herself and spread her legs, she would have been happy too.

Everyone has their own secrets, I am no exception. My secret is that I like teaching the young girls. I like to look at their developing bodies. I relish seeing the change in the girls from one year to the next. I mentally appraise each girl and see if I can figure out which ones will grow up to be the real beauty's or the slut's to give it away first, or the frugal bitch who concentrates only on themselves or the one that will stay naive the longest or the one who won't like sex and think it is over rated. But this is a game I play with myself; in the dark recess of my mind away from prying eyes or self righteous parents. This was not in the recess of my mind, this was happening, this was ludicrous.

"I am real need right now, real bad need and my father is no longer here to take care of my needs. Will you take care of my needs?"

"Your father...your father was your lo..lover?"

"Both of them."

"BOTH?!?"

"Yes, my birth father and my step father."

"And did you step-father die defending your honor?"

Jezebel looked at me with the young face of hers; the want on her face was still there as she thought of my question. Obviously I didn't know the whole story.

"My mother left my father because he didn't want to lay with her anymore; he much preferred me and Gammy. My mother doesn't mind sharing us; she just wanted her own attention."

"Okay." I emphasized though I did not.

"So mom married our father's younger brother. And everything was fine until Pa found out that mom was sharing us with Uncle Walt, our step-dad. Pa showed up when we were all in the outside hot tub and attacked Uncle Walt. They fought and when Uncle Walt tried to push Pa over the railing both of them fell to their deaths." A tear ran down the left side of her beautiful face as she remembered the ordeal.

Fuck a duck and suck it too! We came to Conrad because the wife and her perversion heard about a family killing. She was striking out and here I was in the place of her desire hearing first hand what had happened! I couldn't help but smile at her loss. Unfortunately, that smile must have been interpreted by Jezebel as meaning something else because she shamelessly pulled by her blankets, showing that she too was naked.

My eyes zeroed in on her sparsely covered mound before I was able to jerk my head up to look at her face. Like before, she was serenely offering herself to me. I...I didn't know what to do. My dick was screaming for release and my larger head was in a twisting haze. Everything in my conscious said that this was wrong; that I should turn around, run out the door and never come back to this enticing den of evil. But in the back of my head, that recess that I thought I had complete control over was laughing maniacally. This was the opportunity of a lifetime! I just did not know what to do, what to command my body to do, so I stood there with a dumb look on my face and hard-on in my pants.

"Jezebel."

Mrs. Maloney's voice broke through the haze.

"Yes, Mama?"

"Why don't you take care of yourself and try to get some sleep. We have a busy day in the morning. You have to finish packing so we can leave."

"But Mama!"

"No buts Jezzie. Try to get some sleep and if you are still up later, I will take care of you then."

"But Mama, I want..."

"I know what you want Jezzie," pausing she looked at me like I was a piece of prime rib before tucking her eldest in and kissing her good night on the lips. "But I don't think the time is right for that Jezzie. Take care and I will be back later."

"Yes, Mama."

As Mrs. Maloney walked away from her bed, I saw Jezebel's knees raise her blanket and the area above her crotch start to ripple as she stared at me.

Mrs. Maloney touched my short sleeved arm at the elbow to guide me down the stairs and I recoiled from her hot touch as it shocked me before turning to go down the stairs. I wish I could say I had the fortitude to not look back at Jezebel, but I would be a liar if I said so.

Nothing was said until we reached the basement of the A Frame and though my mind was in a swirl the sight of the basement was enough to break through and right my mind. The basement was fully furnished with a bar, pool table, wide screen projection TV and central piece, a large hot tub. There were three rooms that I was told lead to the bathroom with the shower and water closet; a storage room and the furnace room. The wood paneling in the basement was stained a darker red color with the hidden floor and ceiling lighting really added to the atmosphere of the room. Above the hot tub was a large and equally quiet fan vent for the excess moisture. The wall mirrors along the sides of the hot tub was equally absurd and alluring and added to the over all feel of the red glow of the room.

Again Mrs. Maloney had lied to me, the hot tub was not in the bathroom and the bathrooms from what I could see through the open door was very generic, nothing special at all. I was beginning to think that it wasn't the house that was so special but the occupants who currently resided in it.

"I want to apologize for Jezebel." Were the first words Mrs. Maloney spoke after I had quit moving around the basement. The architect in my eyes liked what I saw but not as a family room or room to socialize in. This was a modern den of inequity. This was a room for sex. As I looked at Mrs. Maloney, I noticed that her hair was starting to dry and her blond hair had a slight natural curl to it. In this red light, she was prettier than I had originally assessed.

"There is nothing to apologize for."

"There isn't?" She asked with a questioning face. "You don't think me some monster?"

"Why would I think you are a monster?"

"I heard what Jezebel told you. And she spoke the truth. The relationship I have with my daughters is not...normal. The relationship we all had with my husband and then his brother was not...normal."

"Is that why you need to sell fast?"

"Yes. Giving blowjobs to the Chief of Police and Mayor is only going to stave off the social elite who look down on my daughters and I for so long. They are very embarrassed by our presence once everything came out from the accident."

"But child services?"

"Like I said, a hummer here or there or in the Mayor's case, letting him have a crack at Gammy only goes so far. Child services is coming and I need to get my girls away from here and start over."

Mrs. Maloney had slunk to lean on the side of the percolating hot tub, her robe was opening further and she had yet to attempt to refasten the sash. I wasn't going to complain because I was enjoying the tantalizing glimpses of her cleavage.

"But how could you abuse your daughters like that?"

"So you do think I am a monster!"

"No, I am just trying to understand. That wasn't the first time I had been propositioned by girls under the age of 18." (Sadly no one over the age of 18 gave me the time of day) "But unlike the previous girls, your daughter was very sincere in her offer, like she knew what it was she was offering and she was eager for it."

"That is because she was. And she isn't under the age of 18, she is actually 20, Gammy is 19."

"But they don't look 20 and 19!"

"That is because their father liked them to look like little girls; little girl haircuts and outfits. When we first married, he used to have me wear school girl outfits almost every day."

Even after looking at my reflection in the mirror I couldn't adequately describe the confused look on my face; I knew a couple of guys who were into the school girl outfit fetish, one guys wife liked and one did not, but they would have sex with a stranger?

"Uh? Uhmm, can you explain that, that her offer was sincere and that you are okay with her offering herself up to strangers?"

With a wry smile, Mrs. Maloney stood up from the side of the hot tub and bade me sit on the couch between the hot tub and the projection screen.

"I..we, both their father and then their Uncle, raised our girls that sex wasn't a bad thing, that you had to take responsibilities for your actions because there was a chance for pregnancy and sexual disease out there but with the proper attitude and outlook sex could be a wondrous thing; something worth living for."

"So you encouraged your daughters to want to have sex?"

"No, we did not put a veil of social miasma around sex. Their father and I were free to have sex whenever and however we wanted, even in front of them. For such a long time, we lived in a run down one bedroom shack given to us by my parent. After they died we were able to sell the land it was on to buy this house."

"And you don't think you were brainwashing your girls?"

"No, we didn't. They still had their childhood, they still do but when their body went through the change we were very upfront with them and helped them figure out what their bodies were trying to tell them."

"And what was that? That they were nympho's?" That last part was supposed to be a glib joke of the situation. Only it wasn't.

"Yes, that is exactly what they are. Like their mother and their grandmother before them. Generation after generation in my family the females have suffered a social stigma that I was not going to let my girls suffer. Nymphomania runs in my family, in my daughter's genes and I will not curse them for it."

"But...but...nymphomania is not REAL! It is just a man's pipedream that he will someday marry a nympho! A female who wants sex just as much as he does. A female who does not associate sex with love and tenderness but sex for sex!"

"Exactly!"

"Bullshit." And before I could dare her to prove otherwise, Mrs. Maloney pulled apart her robe, displaying her womanly charms for me. I felt me dick throb so I stood to leave and I moved right into her sights. Mrs. Maloney tit flesh was larger than normal, but she must have eschewed the necessity of a brassiere because they hung like flap-jacks in the wind. Not at all pinup material most boys prefer but I liked them. They were real and big, if a bit elongated. That pause in admiring her physical beauty was all the opening Mrs. Maloney needed.