Bike Trip

She didn't say anything for a long time but I could feel her thinking. "Ya."

"Then you've got to give yourself to him; he has to know that, in every way, not just sex; he has to know that you are prepared to sacrifice for him ... to get him."

She abruptly sat up, stood up, pushed the coffee table out of the way and sat back down again. With an unobstructed view I watched Lisbeth's hand disappear under Harriet's shirt before Janet crawled on top of me again and with one hand, she awkwardly started to undo her belt.

I hadn't anticipated any of this. I had expected a few more people and a lot more backslapping but with Lisbeth here, it was bound to be odd. Obviously, Lisbeth wanted to say her unique goodbyes to Harriet; Harriet seemed all for it, or maybe she wanted to tease me with her liberalism ... her other side, and Janet wanted to exploit all possible conflict (or perhaps even show me she could care). I helped her push down her pants.

Janet, as I've said, has a feminist's body, an awful temperament and is a dreadful lay. But she means a lot to me, for the reasons I've given but also, I think, because she just expects so much from me. She moved in with me a couple of months after Lisbeth left, mainly because she thought I might be useful to her. It was a good time ... for me. We had long interesting conversations and very short bouts of feeble sex. She needed me to help her explore her past; to help her try to understand her emotions. I wasn't a shrink to her, just a willing ear. In return, she gave me hesitant access to her spare body.

We both thought the core of her problem was her mother, a dreadful woman who thought her daughter was a slut well before Janet ever once had physical intimacy with anyone, man or woman. When that finally happened at 19 she was already significantly damaged: she was maturing into an obnoxious contrarian anxious to distance herself from everyone, her mother included. She went wild for awhile, senselessly, almost proving her mother's prediction, then she stopped, cutting herself off from everyone — for almost ten years. Her halting progress back into society had only begun in the past twelve months, but mostly in the four months with me, then at 36 Hawkins Street.

But she had made progress. She was slow to sign on to what I thought of as Hawkins Street Exhibitionism: women expressing their sexuality to women ... no matter what the circumstance, no matter who the audience. She resisted, but she was gradually pulled in — how could she not? She was Nancy's partner for the most part so how could she escape the spotlight? She couldn't.

But tonight the spotlight wasn't on her here. By the time she started in on her shirt, both Lisbeth and Harriet were topless and I was pulling off my pants. I wasn't at all comfortable with this. Was I having misgivings? Only subconsciously: this didn't feel right, but then nor was watching a houseful of woman going at it (or having a startlingly ripped Norwegian guy suck me dry, but that's another story). What over-rode my aversion was the knowledge that with Lisbeth in the room, stuff happens.

And now it was happening to her: Lisbeth was on her back, her legs wide open and her hands grabbing Harriet's hair as Harriet bent over her, pressing her face into Lisbeth's bright yellow panties, a favourite colour. I couldn't help but watch, my prick now pig-iron hard. I think women are beautifully together and oddly natural in ways hetero couples don't seem to be.

"What are you thinking?"

I looked up at Janet, she was smirking. "How weird this is," I said.

"It's going to get a lot weirder." I had always needed to be the aggressor with her but this time, perhaps as a going-away present, she took my stiff prick and put me in her, kissing me lightly. "Slow, OK? We don't want to cum."

She seemed far more intent then usual, more focussed, as if this actually mattered to her. In the past she wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, or that's the impression she left. Then it occurred to me, something was stoking her engine. "You do really care about Allan, don't you?"

She smiled down on me, "Ya, I do. It's kind of neat." I put both hands on her ass and squeezed her cheeks while thrusting deeper into her. "Careful, lover-boy. We have to pace ourselves." Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me with more feeling than she ever had.

The slow fucking gave me time to think. I was happy for her. Janet could use a break; maybe Allan was it. He was definitely bringing a lot out of her, from which I was just now benefiting. But not for long. After just a few minutes she curled off me and sat up, her once impressive breasts drooping onto her belly.

I followed her gaze. Lisbeth's trade-mark panties were off now. She was on her knees, her head on her arms, her fabulous ass in the air, she was moaning mournfully; Harriet was behind her, stretching the fabulous ass licking Lisbeth's asshole teasingly.

"Jesus," I heard Janet mutter. Then she dropped onto her knees and crawled over behind Harriet, bent over her, fitting herself along Harriet's fabulous frame and cupping both of Harriet's wonderfully swaying breasts, kissing her upper back and neck.

I love the smell of pussy and I love the feeling of pussy juice on my cock. I stroked myself very slowly, taking in the threesome, revelling in all the sensations. Harriet was doing what every ass-lover in the world would want to do to Lisbeth, it was just that great an ass. I wondered why I had never found the nerve, especially seeing how much Lisbeth was enjoying it. But Harriet was obviously not sharing my reserve, nor having any performance anxiety, and no fear of rejection. Could she ever transfer such passion to a man?

Harriet was kneeling upright now, Janet beside her. She had turned and was smiling excitedly at me and motioning me to come over. When I did, when I was kneeling beside her Harriet spat on her fingers and rubbed them into Lisbeth's already wet anus. The implication was clear. I tried to be cool but I could feel myself leaning back (in horror). She laughed and pulled me closer. I looked at Janet for her reaction. She seemed uncertain but by no means repulsed.

Lisbeth was looking back, waiting. "Do you want this?" I asked, (it appeared unnecessarily).

"Ya, ya, I've only ever had toys."

With her encouragement, Harriet got more insistent, lining me up then collapsing down beside Lisbeth who coaxed her forward until Harriet could position her pussy under Lisbeth's face as Janet slid along the floor then strategically kneeled over Harriet who wrapped her arms around her.

I have never had anal sex before, never mind in a string of fabulous women. I had wanted Lisbeth's ass, of course, but never found the courage to ask — or face rejection over something so ... base. I dribbled a wad of spit on my fingers and added to the juices on Lisbeth's anus, then I placed my prick against her and pressed at her carefully, in and out, not deep. I was about to live a fantasy: sticking my prick into Lisbeth's fabulous ass. "Let me know if this hurts."

She was eagerly eating Harriet now, I couldn't see it but I could easily tell by Harriet's moaning and Harriet was frantically clutching Janet's thighs as she shimmered over Harriet's mouth.

I pushed in, more insistently now, waiting for the protest. None came. What did was a pressure, a steadily increasing pressure as Lisbeth pushed back at me until I stretched her wide and broke through.

It was a weird sensation. I liked it, physically, but anthropologically I was a little repulsed. It seemed so animal-like; so culturally wrong. But watching the three women daisy-chained together helped. They all wanted to be where they were; the sounds and body language were unmistakable. So I relaxed and tried to make the most of a moment I might have dreamed about but never expected and never expected to luck into again.

Her sphincter was clenched tight around me, like an elastic band. I wanted to go easy, but she didn't, she was slamming into me like she wanted my prick to poke through her throat. I thought it was her at first, or Harriet, it never occurred to me it could be Janet. But it was, the moans, they were so deep so primordial. But all I could see was her thin feminist's back.

"Turn around. Janet, turnaround." My words came out before I could stop them. But they wouldn't matter, Janet was far too into it to share. But she didn't have a choice. Harriet pushed her off and I almost laughed when Janet looked down confused, pissed off at Harriet.

"Turn around," Harriet repeated. And she did, obligingly and quickly and she was back into it in seconds, cantering like on a horse, smoothly, fluidly riding her pussy on Harriet's lips. All the noises were soon back. I watched in awe as the face I'd looked down on countless times became transformed in lust, base, unbridled, yearning lust. It was scary in its way, scary that Janet could lose herself so utterly. This wasn't sex or pleasure. It was utter abandonment; a rational being had turned animal -- all the more fascinating because it was the same Janet who never lost herself, except in argument.

I couldn't help but cheer her own. "Go for it, Jan. Fuck her, fuck her."

And then Lisbeth stopped. She pulled away and was on her knees beside her. "Come on, Jan, fuck her, fuck her, fuck her ..." With Harriet's insistent squeezing and loud muffled shouts we had all turned cheerleaders.

Her eyes were out of focus now, her mouth gaping, she was panting, leaning forward, her breasts were beating at her stomach. Harriet was holding on to her even tighter, pulling her in, squealing into her cunt.

And then it hit her. Like a vicious jolt of electricity it coursed through her body in wave after wave sending her into spastic convulsions that she fought hard to ride out, riding hard on Harriet's face as Harriet pulled frantically on her thighs until the jerking after-shocks took over and she shuddered and shook before she finally slumped in exhaustion.

It was a stupendous performance, breathtaking and it wasn't just a man that thinking, either. Almost from the moment it was over Lisbeth had Janet by the shoulders and had forced her down on her back, laughing uncontrollably.

I was uncontrollable, too. I uncontrollable fell on Harriet, who was struggling to sit up while I tried to kissed her frenetically ... until she pushed me away, laughing, "Yuk. You just want her cum."

A few minutes later I was feeling kind of sheepish. I had cum in my first ass ... in public and Lisbeth was walking around theatrically pretending a major injury to her bum. But the three women had cheerfully moved on, they were laughing now about the prospects of reasonable female hygiene on a long bike trip.

Actually, it was kind of a piss-off. Here I was a fully functional, impressively together man with three women, each with significant psychological problems, (and dubious sexual identities), yet it was me who was having the problem, not them.

But I didn't have much time to develop the thought. Lisbeth came over and abruptly knelt on the couch, nimbly straddled me, putting me in her and slowly eased herself down. "What am I going to do with out you?"

I peeked over to see how the others were reacting. They weren't, they were chatting in the kitchen.

I worry about Lisbeth, I have since about the first day I met her, about two years ago. She seems like an adult child to me, excitable, undeveloped, unpredictable. Astonishingly, she has changed dramatically since she read the Lisbeth Salander novels; she has calmed down significantly and become much more focussed as if in the books she had finally found a life plan. But Salander is hardly a constructive role model. While the fictional character has some impressive characteristics, she is essentially a semi-deranged computer hacker, not someone either easy or advisable to emulate. But even so, the best of Salander, even the fictional stretch that she is, has been an enormously calming influence on the old Becky and a calmer Becky has a much better chance in life than the the old frenetic flighty head case.

I tried to smile up at her but I could feel it came off more as a grimace. "You're going to take care of yourself?"

"Ya. I'm moving back to Hawkins Street." She had been staying with Cindy, the fat girl I had met at 36, the one she wanted me to take in for a year — I heard she'd been booted out of her place. "I feel more whole when I'm there. I think it's Nancy, she kind of feels like a mother to me." She laughed. "And she's bossy enough to be one."

Her going back to Hawkins was good news. Nancy is an odd woman with a very strong and varied sexuality, but while she likes to grandstand, in every other way she is a positive role model. So great. It felt like I was leaving her in good hands, if literally. "It's the best place for you," I said, encouragingly. "Will you stay connected to Janet?" Janet still lived there but was spending increasing time at her boyfriend's.

Lisbeth kissed me on the forehead. "Why do you always worry about us so much? We can take care of ourselves, we did before you came along and we will when you leave."

"Will you stay in touch with Janet?" I repeated, I couldn't help but pinch Lisbeth's strangely pointy nipples.

"Ya, although we have nothing in common."

"You've always helped each other. I want that to continue." Janet got Lisbeth her job at the corporate mail room, a job, astonishingly, that she loves, especially after she looked at the job as a kind Salander-esque spy mission. As a quid pro quo Lisbeth softened up Janet's more dominant sober side. Actually, they liked each other, they just didn't know it.

Lisbeth put her arms around my neck and kissed me with real feeling, then she pulled back. "I love it that you care about us. We both know that. That alone will hold us together."

I wanted to lecture her, yet again, on her promiscuity, I've always thought she takes way too many risks but Harriet sat down beside me and pecked me on the cheek.

Lisbeth looked entirely perplexed. "So, two years in a tent. Together. Is that even possible?" I knew Lisbeth couldn't possibly get her head around what we were about to do.

Harriet looked at me as if the question was entirely new to her, then she smiled, teasingly. "There won't be any Lisbeths and Janets to distract him."

Janet was standing in front of us now, her remarkably intelligent face, sagging breasts and lush pubic patch always a turn on. "They'll still find him, you know: we always do: all the frail and fragile, all the bent and broken women needing a strong shoulder to cry on. Your tent will never be big enough."

"How about you?" Lisbeth turned to Harriet and squeezed her left breast. "Can you give up girls for two years?" She then leaned forward, held Harriet's breast in both her tiny hands and sucked on it.

When the girls left, we went to Harriet's where all our gear was, I had vacated my place this morning. Soon after we arrived we were in the tub together; she was leaning back against me; I was massaging soap into her belly and breasts. "You never answered Lisbeth's question. Can you get through two years without girls?"

She strained to look back at me. "What are you saying?"

"Could you?" I pressed.

"Of course I could. And I could go two years without eating ice cream but do I want to? No. Do I have to? No. Do you want me to? Now that's another question." She sat up and looked back at me for the answer.

I stayed quiet. I really didn't know if I did, but I did know I wasn't the type to lay down boundaries for others.

She smiled. "'Follow diligently the Way in your own heart, but make no display of it to the world.'" She lay back down against me.

"Who's that?"

"The Man, Lao Tzu."

"Is that who you've been quoting all the time."

"Hardly all the time, only when his wisdom can teach."

I let this pass, but I was impressed. "So it's in your heart?"

"Lao Tzu? Ya."

"No, girls. The need to be with girls."

"'When you are content to be simply yourself and don't compare or compete, everybody will respect you.'"

I thought about this for a moment. Not the meaning of it, the tactic. "So I'll always have to argue not with you but with Lao Tzu?"

"Are you arguing?"

I pinched her nipple.

"Hey!"

We didn't sleep very well. We tossed and turned trying to settle our excitement. But we couldn't. When the clock read 2:18 Harriet turned on the light and looked at me. "So how did sex with your sister start?"

It hit me like a blow to the belly. I was reeling, my head swimming. I always knew I'd be caught ... but how did she know? It took me a moment to recover, to consider a response. What is the lie? Then she elbowed me in the ribs. "Just tell me." I didn't say anything, didn't breath, didn't move. "Just tell me, Jim."

It began innocently. We were lounging on the floor of my bedroom, having just completed a puzzle, when she said she wanted to see it. Though there had been no context, I knew immediately what she meant by 'it.' I demurred, uselessly: Annie always got what she wanted. Within a minute she pulled down my pants and inspected me, soft, at first, but quickly stiff to her touch.

As she inspected me, with pinched fingers she turned me like a joy stick in all directions, she told me she'd had one in her and wondered what they looked like, you know, up close.

I wasn't shocked, either that she had had sex or that she would admit it or even that she was holding me. Annie was impulsive, the type to try anything. I asked her when. A few times, she said, starting last year and she told me with whom and where, not like she was proud of it but like it was for the record. When she finished looking at my prick she gave me a little peck on the cheek and said, thanks.

It was about a week later when she asked me if I wanted to see her. I did. Which part? I went for the tits but I really wanted to see her pussy. I was talking as if in a confessional, but to the ceiling. It wanted to come out.

As she took off her shirt she said she expected to grow to be at least as large as Catherine but they would look bigger on her because she would always be slighter than our older sister.

That afternoon was the beginning of my underwear fetish. I had seen her bras and panties lying around her room, which was always a mess. They never did much for me on the floor but on her it was different. When she dropped her shirt it was there, white, flimsy and feminine. She started to take it off but I stopped her. I told her I wanted to look at her. She leaned back against her arms and let me and she let me touch the material, let me drag my fingers across the stiff nipples that were poking at the amazingly soft fabric. She told me to undo it when I wanted to. When I did, I held the cups of the bra in my fingers and felt the heat through the cloth. I wanted to smell where her breasts had been but I thought that might be a bit much.

I looked but didn't touch. They were beautiful. Big enough to hang down a little. Her nipples were very stiff and very pink in a very round field of pink. She smiled as I looked at them. I think she was proud of them. Then she took my hand and put it on one, the left one. I still remember how soft and warm it was. She asked me if I wanted to suck it. She held it for me and I did. I still remember how stiff the nipple felt in my mouth and how salty her skin was.

When I got out of there I went directly to the can and masturbated. When I got back to my room she poked her head in and asked me if I had a good one. I knew what she meant. It wasn't a tease or a throw-away. She wanted to know. It was amazing I told her and so where you, that's what I said. She laughed and left.

For the next week her naked breasts were all I thought about. But I was careful not to make it too obvious. She thanked me for that when we were finally alone. She said we could 'mess around' only if we could keep it totally secret and that meant we had to be absolutely cool about it. Did I want to be cool about it? Yes. She kissed me on the cheek and left. And that was it for about a month. I think she was testing me because we had lots of opportunities. But if she was testing me, I passed.