Berlin Turing Test: 1 Man, 3 Women

"That's certainly an interesting concept," I said. "But you know, right now your boobs should be singing the MLK song." They were puzzled. I enlightened them: "It goes like this: 'Free at last! Free at last! Great God Almighty, we're free at last!'" They recognized the ditty, giggled, retrieved their bras, then hooted at the silliness of putting the things back on: the hilarity released the built-up tension, returned things from borderline serious to simply fun. There were lots more items to try. I poured champagne again, and they ducked behind the screen.

A long series of bras and panties followed, various combinations, styles, colors. The hostess had done a good job selecting – everything was sexy, revealing but not invisible, almost every combination worked.

The ladies did a lot of low-volume chatting in German, of which I understood exactly zip, but we also continued bantering. They got steadily more serious about showing off and shed all pretense of remaining modest, but although I'd seen fully-nude buttocks many times, I had yet to get a full-frontal nude view of either in the mirror. A minor setback, but annoying!

At one point we paused with them standing together between me and the scrim, looking for all the world like identical twins in their cross-matched lace thongs and brightly-colored Little Nothings – which they'd agreed were instant favorites.

Now working down into their third glasses of wine, the girls gave one another a long look, significant rather than casual. Then, breaking the moment's silence, Vera asked softly "Josh, please... we are wondering - all that stuff about multiples and so forth, our little talk outside in the hallway – was that on the up and up? I mean, a dozen or more climaxes? And taking hours – PLURAL! - instead of just a few minutes? Or, more likely, a few seconds?!"

I nodded.

"Well," giggled Carla, "...the very thought seems to have gotten my juices flowing, in the literal sense! This entire discussion has been erotic in the extreme for me!"

Vera nodded her agreement: "Me too. But Josh, what about YOU? Is this sort of chat erotic?"

I laughed. "Of course it is! Just in case you've somehow failed to notice, I now have the world's finest blue-steel teenage-boy hardon. Which is the male equivalent of your being dripping wet."

Carla looked puzzled: "Hardon I understand – but what does 'blue steel' mean? And I can't SEE it if you just sit there – why don't you stand up and prove it? I dare you!"

I stood up: the bulge was unmistakable. They stared, then Carla just said "Oh. Oh, my, yes! Proof accepted." Vera nodded silently. Both continued to examine me.

"Blue-steel means tempered steel, the hardest possible. Blue-steel is also called tool-steel, which means steel that cuts other steel. Very hard indeed, that stuff."

Vera looked suddenly mischievous. "Carla, I believe we are being complimented again, and at a very basic level of biology. That is, if WE are responsible for THAT!" She shot another long glance at my crotch.

"Damn right you two are personally responsible!" I said: "And nothing's more basic than wetness and hardons. Future of the species and all that. Serious biology!"

They exchanged another significant glance and Carla nodded, apparently encouraging Vera, who replied: "Josh, we've been prancing about in our underwear for quite a while." She paused, eyed me innocently, and asked in a little rush, "Sooooo... Why don't you just return the favor? Right now would be good!"

When my expression said I was considering declining, she hurried on: "I mean it: RIGHT NOW, before anything changes! Turnabout! It's fair play, isn't it? Why not? Come on, be a good sport!"

Why not indeed!? I accepted the dare, stepped behind the screen, removed my shoes and socks, twisted my tee-shirt into an underarm band that would stay up by itself. As my fingers hit the belt buckle, it was "Houston, we have a problem!" time. I'd worn my usual small white undies – very snug, low-rise cotton briefs. No way in hell were they going to contain my hardon completely. Oh well!

I took a deep breath and stepped out with my entire cock-head showing, poking above the elastic waistband: there really wasn't any way of tucking it in. They stared. Carla managed to speak first: "You're circumcised! I've never seen a penis with a naked head – have you, Vera?"

Vera just shook her head, but she wasn't too preoccupied to notice something else. After several seconds of study she asked, without shifting her eyes, "Are you – um, shaved down there?"

Carla started: apparently it had taken Vera's comment to make her notice.

I shrugged, said "Yes, for over forty years now. I like it that way. Lots more nerve endings available. Since we're all clearly interested in playing sexual peek-a-boo – perhaps you want to see things for real?"

Man, talk about being across the flirtation-border!

The girls nodded in unison: I caught the waistband with my thumbs, tugged it down until my cock sprang completely free. I held that pose for a couple of seconds, cock at about a 60-degree up-angle and bouncing with my pulse, then tugged the undies back into place, tucking the hardon away as best it would go. "Personally, ladies, I think I got the better of our exchange – boob-grazing versus cock-gazing."

They hemmed, looked at one another, and finally Carla said "Very pretty; impressive. Your cock and balls are a nice size and shape. You men can look at boobs, we women can concentrate on cocks and buttocks: everything is even that way!"

Vera gave a soft cough: "Josh, things are not quite symmetrical, and you're being a bit unfair to us. We gave you permission, and so you got to touch our breasts - and in more ways than one. Very nice ways, too, I must say. Therefore, another turn-about seems in order, don't you think, Carla?"

Carla grinned broadly and nodded vigorously.

"Permission?" said Vera, reaching for my crotch.

I nodded, muttered "You're quite right, but you may be going to need that squirt-gun shortly! Better be careful!"

They were careful, alright. Together they hefted my brief-covered cock and balls on their fingertips, jiggling, mimicking my fingers under their boobs. Then Vera said "You know the old American expression, in for a nickel, in for a dime?"

I nodded, and she knelt in front of me, grabbed the waistband with her teeth, tugged it down to free my cock, said "I, too, can do interesting things with my mouth!", and laid a long, very wet half-kiss half-suck on his head.

She released him, giggled, pulled back and said "Now, Mister Josh, it is I who has gotten the better deal – this is bigger than my nipple!" She ran a fingertip around the base, muttered "So smooth! I like it! Just like a baby's bottom!", then circled the base of the shaft with her hand, aimed the rod at Carla like a pistol and asked sweetly "Care to share, Big Sister? Want nexies?"

I was almost catatonic.

Carla whispered "Of course I do. Me, too!" and copied Vera. Her prolonged bit of suction and friction left me gasping. But after a few seconds Carla tugged the waistband back up with her teeth, then stood up.

I shook myself and muttered "So, ladies, do you always work as such a fine team?"

Vera smiled sweetly and said "No. Never before have we done such a thing! In fact, we have never even gone double-dating together. This is QUITE an unusual adventure for us!"

Carla patted me on the hip and said "RIGHT! An adventure – breaking new ground! You better by golly get your clothes back on immediately. And then we better finish up here before something really truly wild happens which might get us forcibly ejected from this store, or maybe even from the entire mall! Not to mention before we drive Daddy bankrupt – he volunteered to pay for this as a homecoming gift!" She waved a hand at the expensive heap of "gotta-buy-its".

The finale of the show was swimsuits: the winners were two Rio-Thongs, one white, one black, and probably the most expensive fabric on Earth per gram... two of the smallest bikinis I've ever seen in person, both with "cups" that were effectively just slightly-overblown nipple-pasties held on with strings and leaving entirely exposed and unsupported the gorgeous underhanging curves of their boobs.

Our hostess had been right, and the champagne a fine investment for the firm - the bill was nearly 1000 Euros! I was the appointed mule for carrying the bag: I guess it weighed most of a pound.

As I was squirming about to shoehorn myself into the Mini's back seat there was yet another flood of rapid-fire German, thoroughly interspersed with giggles. Carla started the car, and off we went.

Vera, in the passenger's seat, turned partly around so she could see me. "Josh, you have been a really good sport about all this. Truly. And we didn't mean to be such teasers, such prick-teasers actually. But it's so much fun being able to talk about all these sexual topics intelligently and coolly with a man, and to flirt so heavily and not feel somehow threatened or obligated for something – that's quite unusual and very refreshing. At any rate, we're sorry if the shopping left you all horny and frustrated, what with the boobs and cocks. That wasn't really our intent, events just kind of took on a life of their own, got going fast, and spiraled. We hope for no hard feelings, and no regrets, right?"

I put a cupped hand on the side of her head. She leaned into it. My hardon throbbed urgently. "Nothing to be sorry about, Ladies – believe me! If a woman ever STOPS teasing men it means she's either dead or comatose. Besides, perpetual horniness and frustration are just a part of the human male condition. Me particularly! If you couldn't tell, I enjoyed myself immensely – and still am. I mean it when I tell you that both of you are extremely sexy, genuinely beautiful, and wonderfully intelligent... so this has all been hugely enjoyable, even if it has a very strong tinge of frustration. Besides, I think the world generally takes things sexual far too seriously! What's wrong with the whole business being FUN?"

Carla nodded vigorously, keeping her eyes on the road: "I think you're right about people's level of horniness and also about being too serious. It's not just men, you know - me, I'm horny all the time and wouldn't have it any other way."

She paused to think, dodged a bicycle, and continued. "Mom and Dad, were part of a genuine free-love community back when they first met, when she was singing on tour. They've told us all about it. For several years at least, for most of the participants that arrangement seemed to eliminate those two problems - you know, the perpetual horniness and the whole 'sex-cannot-possibly-be-fun' thing. Our folks say they can't remember how many partners they had, just that it was a very big number for them both. And they did a HUGE amount of partner-swapping, and group sex. Get them both drunk and every once in a while they will get all teary-eyed in their reminiscing. It can be embarrassing, sometimes, for Vera and me."

She paused, restarted: "Anyhow, amidst all that uproar, they found one another and decided to become exclusive, to go monogamous – they say that happened a lot, that many good, long, stable marriages eventually were formed from within the group. I suppose that if you try out lots of partners, eventually you will know exactly what you want, and then if you find it you can grab it."

Vera nodded, then picked up the story. "Every now and again they talk, even in front of us, about how perhaps it's time to begin that life again, before they are too old and wrinkled to find attractive partners. They're kidding... at least, I think so. I think they've been monogamous since they got married... but of course who can ever tell for sure about such a thing? They both travel a lot and could certainly have secret lovers if they wished. I wouldn't mind if they did, but I have no right to even an opinion, much less to make a judgment, do I? They are both still attractive, so if they WANTED to, it shouldn't take much to re-start! What a thought!"

Vera turned around even farther, bringing our faces quite close together over the back of her seat. There was one of those hanging, extended moments when I believe we were both wondering who was going to make the first minuscule shift that would end up in a kiss, but Carla's sudden hard turn threw both of us, and the moment, off-balance and it didn't happen.

Instead, stopgap, Vera asked if she could continue the in-store conversation with a purely sexual question, but personal too. Of course I agreed. She stared me directly in the eyes: "So tell me, Herr Doktor Professor von Josh, are you one of the usual sort of guy who demands a blowjob as soon as you and your lady start doing something intimate? That seems to be the primary goal of most men!"

I wasn't t all shy about taking on this one. "More candid conversation, eh? Hell, no, Vera, I'm not that type – haven't you been listening? But an awful lot of men certainly ARE that way – and that means they're among the amateurs I spoke of. That's definitely not me. I like the VOYAGE, not just the final docking maneuver!"

They both got the image, sputtered.

"My idea of the right way to begin is maybe twenty or thirty minutes of uninterrupted pussy-eating – cunnilingus that is – as a real warm-up. Follow that with a couple of hours spent with fingers and tongue and hardon exploring all three major orifices in whatever sequence seems to fit the moment."

Vera went bright pink at "all three major orifices", but held onto our eye-contact and said nothing.

I continued: "Remember, I mentioned that I can come usually about three or four times in one session, given a good partner and plenty of enthusiasm and time?" They both nodded. "Well, my personal "ideal" sex session - if there is such a thing, which I doubt - is for an orgasm of my own in each female opening, always accompanied by one or two –or more if she wishes – for the lady. Simultaneous is nice, but awfully difficult, so any real gentlemen always lets the lady come first!"

They both laughed. Luckily the road was straight and clear: Carla harrumphed slightly and our eyes locked in the mirror: "You are being perfectly serious, aren't you!? I believe I can tell."

"Never more so, Ladies. Never in life. All this is very important to me, since sex is one of my primary driving forces and absolutely my biggest pleasure. And I like first and foremost to please my partners, and to get started on that before worrying at all about myself. It always comes back multiplied, you know. It's like priming a pump!"

We motored along, with Vera mulling silently. Finally, she asked her question: "Josh, since we're being so honest, tell me..." She hesitated: "...um... er... eating pussy... is that something you actually ENJOY? Most men don't seem interested, and most of them certainly aren't very good at it." She turned pinker, muttered "If you don't mind the question, that is. Now that I've actually asked it out loud, it seems MUCH more personal than when it was just in my brain! Sorry if it bothers you!"

Carla nodded vigorously: "I second the question, if you don't mind! I have the same feelings about MY men! All of them."

"Ladies, for me there is simply nothing in the world that I enjoy more. Pussy comes in infinite variety... not just no two alike, but also never the same scenery or reactions on the same woman in two successive episodes. It's a feast for all my senses! Every woman is wired slightly differently, every one reacts differently, and every female body, every pussy, is unique. Hence my endless fascination with them."

True confessions, to illustrate a point: "I once made love to a pair of sisters – separately, you understand, not a trio!"

They eyed one another, almost giggled, nodded together.

"They didn't have the strong body similarities you two have, and in addition their pussies were completely different, required different approaches: I could tell them apart in the dark anytime! You know... not to be too personal, but although I doubt I could tell you two apart in total blackness by body morph or boobs, no matter how superficially identical you are, your pussies will be completely individual. I guarantee that without reservation and in a complete absence of confirming investigations!"

They seemed unable to reply – perhaps I was getting far too personal? Moments later we made the final turn onto their street, and Carla had to go back to active driving, dodging parked cars. Unloading was done in silence, I suppose partly in response to my pussy-rave.

Inside, Mom had arrived. In a low-key blooming, buzzing uproar, the girls showed her their loot. She laughed at some items, but seemed genuinely taken with most, holding them up to herself and saying how, since all three of them wore stuff interchangeably, they'd bought for HER as well as themselves, especially so because it was with Daddy's money.

Vera abruptly suggested that when Daddy got home, maybe the three of them should put on a fashion show – of the swimsuits, anyhow. Carla thought it a fine idea, and hurried to point out that I had been their advisor and therefore had already seen them in the new undies, which after all weren't as skimpy as a smallish bikini, really.

She got Julie's attention more clearly when she explained that to maintain equality and fairness, they had demanded that I model my own underwear for them in the shop and so they'd seen me equally exposed. No mention was made of our more intimate adventures and discussions. "His underwear are no bigger than his running suit, Mom! You'd like them! And he has a VERY nice butt, too!"

Mom turned to eyeball me, smiled and shrugged "See what your America did to my girls? Hussies now they are, at least sometimes. But a fashion-show, why not? It could be fun, I think. We will wait for their father, then we will see." Vera volunteered that it would be very interesting to see if Daddy's opinion on "what is or isn't sexy" coincided with mine: Julie didn't ask for elaboration.

Philip arrived, laden as usual with more wine, and applauded the idea of a swimsuit show. There came laughter and howls aplenty from the study/changing-room. Then with a verbal fanfare, the three appeared in the two bikinis and a thong/bra combo, holding sheets of typing paper in front of their faces, with Carla declaring that Josh had said he probably couldn't tell the girls apart in the dark, so he should try now.

The truly astounding thing was how good Julie looked... age showed in her hands, of course, but precious few other loci. Philip and I agreed that if sight were eliminated, accurate identification would indeed be difficult: they did have different colors of nail polish, but in the dark...? Jewelry wouldn't help either - the three all had identical jewelry – tiny earrings and nothing more. Philip sighed that finding such "identical-threes" gifts was one of his primary family responsibilities.

From behind her sheet of paper, Vera ahemed and said "Daddy, Doctor Josh here told us, when we were modeling for him at the store, that the only proper place for a bra was on the floor beside the bed. We wonder if you agree with that? He seems to feel that naked women are sexier than women in fancy lacy underwear. Do you agree?"

Philip eyed me, grinned, and said "Modeling for our guest, were you two? What is he going to think of us!? Oh well, it's too late probably, he will just think what he thinks. YES, I absolutely agree with him. Bras belong on the floor most of the time, and naked is much sexier than any kind of clothing in the world! Perhaps most women just do not understand the male mind?"

Vera said "Ummmm. Okay, that's good to know! After all, nakedness is certainly easier and much cheaper than fancy underwear!"