Lana and Will and the Tripletts

I am in our backyard, sunbathing alone, wearing my skimpy yellow bikini. Next to my lounger is a picnic table with long side benches on either side. I glance up in response to the sound of our rear gate opening, and soon the Jameson triplets are walking toward me. I can't avoid an inner smile. The lads are 20 now, tall, strapping, and I've watched them grow from gangly 15-year-olds. I am also well aware that they've done considerable watching of me, through their telescopes that they think are cleverly hidden in shrubbery and their upstairs windows.

As they approach, I think briefly of snugging up the unstrapped top to my bikini, but decide 'what the hell' they've probably all seen my tits' so I leave the top 'as is,' and considerable cleavage is available to them. They pretend not to notice, and are looking very business-like. "Hi boys, what brings you by?"

"Hi, Mrs. O'Neill, "I'm Jim Anderson, these are my brothers John and Jackson."

"I know who you are," which isn't quite true because I never could tell them apart. "Just so you know, I feel deep down that you are naughty boys, even if older now."

The three turn crimson-faced in unison. "You mean, because we sometimes look at you?"

"Boys, I don't think 'sometimes' begins to cover it, It seems that every time I turn around, there are spying eyes watching me."

Jackson, possibly the dimmest of the Anderson-clan bulbs, smiles boyishly and says, "We really like to watch you turn around, Mrs. O'Neill"

Despite my best effort to maintain a scolding tone, I can't suppress a laugh. "Well, I really don't know what to say to that, 'thank you' I guess, but you're not supposed to be using high-powered telescopes to look through my windows."

Jim looks scoldingly at his brother, "Jackson has spoken out of turn, Mrs. O'Neill, but his outburst is related to the idea we want to talk about. May we sit down?"

Okay, I'll admit I was curious. "Sure, I can hardly wait to hear this." So they position themselves in a row on the picnic bench.

Jim says, "Mrs. O'Neill, we really do think you are a beautiful woman, We admire you very much."

Although I always enjoy flattery, I remain salty, "Does that mean you've all seen my tits?"

The faces turn crimson in unison again. "Well, uh, uh, well, sorta yes, Mrs. O'Neill, but there's much more to our plan than that."

"Jim, are the three of you sitting here about to give me some kind of plan, and you're admitting to my face that you've all seen my tits?"

Jackson chimes in again, "We love your face, too, Mrs. O'Neill, not just your tits."

Now Jim turns toward his brother, tone angry, "Will you shut the fuck up, Jackson." He turns to me, "I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Neill, Jackson sometimes speaks out of turn."

I stay salty, "To be honest, Jim, he's the only one of you that has made any sense, so far. What the hell is this about?"

Jim takes a deep breath, "First, Mrs. O'Neill, we don't think you could even imagine how beautiful and exciting you are to us."

I feel a little less salty; he really is a handsome, earnest kid, but I can't see where this is possibly heading. "Okay and...?"

"And we have good reason to believe that sometimes your needs aren't being fully satisfied."

I jerk to an upright position so suddenly I definitely risked leaving the bikini top behind, but it holds. "What the hell did you just say?"

"We have good reason to believe that Mr. O'Neill travels extensively and that sometimes it would please you to have friends who would help care for you?"

Now my mind is nearly blown, "So what the hell?" I sputter, "you guys want to be my Emergency Fuck Squad, or what?"

"Oh, no, Mrs. O'Neill, we know you are a married woman. Our plan assures that you remain faithful to your vows."

Now my head is spinning: so many questions, or should I tell the horny bastards to get out of my sight. "And what was the source of your information about my so-called 'needs'?"

"Mr. O'Neill, ma'am."

Now it's my turn to sputter, "Mr. O'Neill, as in my husband Will O'Neill?"

"Yes ma'am."

"So you're saying that the three of you, along with my husband, cooked up some idea that's going to service my needs while he's gone?"

"On no, ma'am, we've had the idea for a long-time, but then we had a chance to talk to Mr. O'Neill, and he said it might be of interest, and we should talk to you."

Now my mind is muddled except for the certainty that I am going to kick my husband's ass at the first opportunity, but I hear myself say, "So what, pray tell, is this plan?"

Excitement and relief are evident on three young faces. They lean forward in unison. Now my instinct to snug up my bikini top increases. This is almost like swimming in a sea of eager young hormones. But I decide it would be a sign of weakness. In fact, I lean forward a bit in anticipation of hearing the story, possibly meaningfully increasing the cleavage display.

As expected, Jim is the spokesman. "Ok, first it's important to know that all three of us have taken a course in human anatomy and that course included a section on erogenous zones, and one night while we were watching and you apparently forgotten to shut your window shades, we got excited -- actually Mrs. O'Neill we got VERY excited -- talking about your erogenous zones."

My head spins again, impressed in an odd sort of way. For at least four years, I've thought of them as horny little bastards who were a bit of fun to tease when my exhibitionist side was feeling frisky, but now they have studied me in-depth and almost sound like men of science. Still, I know that I must remain harsh about this over-the-top affront to my role as a neighborhood housewife. "Jim, do I hear you saying out loud that the three of you want to fulfill my needs by manhandling my erogenous zones?"

"Oh no, Mrs. O'Neill, we will be very gentle with your erogenous zones. We took an optional class on erotic massage, and a key principle is careful and respectful contact with your erogenous zones. We all got an A in the class."

Now I am having the conflicted realization that the horny little bastards' affront to my role as a neighborhood housewife is making me moist. "So, Jim, are you saying, in so many words, that you and your brothers want to use your newfound erotic massage skills on me, I presume whenever I have what you're calling 'special needs'?"

Their faces light up in unison and Jackson pumps his fist in the air, "Yes, YES, YES?"

And Jim says, "Shut the fuck up, Jackson," and he looks at me with an expression both earnest and somehow smoldering, his eyes are a deep gray. "That is exactly right, Mrs. O'Neill, although I apologize for Jackson's exuberance at this moment of mutual understanding."

I know instinctively that I'm making a mistake, but I hear myself ask, "And what am I wearing during my encounter with the skilled hands of the Anderson boys?"

"Your panties, Mrs. O'Neill -- we really like the pink bikinis with the butterfly flying on your hip, but really any panties will do."

Now my mind is thinking, 'Son of a bitch, maybe I overdid it on some of my window-tease moments.' but I continue down the rabbit hole, "I'm surprised. I assumed that your careful planning would find a way to get me naked..."

"Oh no, Mrs. O'Neill, your panties are an element in our pledge to not cause a violation of your marital vows, both a symbol and a physical barrier."

I realize I'm having too much fun in this verbal joust, but I can't resist, "Jim, think this through carefully: don't you think it is implicit in my marriage vows that I don't allow my erogenous zones to be massaged and manipulated by three sets of horny young hands?"

"Shit, we didn't think of that!" exclaims Jackson.

"Shut the fuck up, Jackson!"

"We -- with the embarrassing exception of Jackson -- did think of that, and we believe it is implicit in Mr. O'Neill's approval of this meeting, that he does not feel your vows are threatened."

Now I find myself meeting the gaze of the smoldering gray eyes, although my resolve to kick my husband's ass is not diminished, "And if, by any chance, I agree to this very unusual arrangement, where will it take place?"

"We've thought of that, too, Mrs. O'Neil. "Our house has an unused room which we have prepared using concepts from our classwork. There is exterior access which can be very discrete given the proximity of our properties."

"I'll think about it, boys," and I wave them as casually as I can toward the rear gate.

And then, in a response that would have been unthinkable 25 minutes before, I discretely go to my bedroom toybox and find my favorite vibrating dildo.

________

"Son of a bitch, Will, I just had the damndest so-called meeting of my life, and I learned that you were a major player... what the fuck?"

"Do you like their idea," my husband asks calmly.

"That's not the fucking point," I sputter, "I was absolutely ambushed, and the little bastards were practically teasing me... you asshole."

"They aren't so little anymore, did you notice?"

"That's not the fucking point either...."

"How did it feel to be teased? Don't you sense a bit of poetic justice here?"

"Okay, you've got a point there, but still, you could have warned me..."

"Lana, sweet Lana, how many times have you flat-fucking astonished me with some erotic antic of yours, without giving me the slightest warning?"

"Hmm, good point, too."

"Are you going to do it?"

"Are you really okay with this?

"It seems to fit within the latitude we have given each other. Besides, at this point you honestly don't care what I think, right?"

"Are you accusing me of being a 'charmed out of my panties, in all probability", victim of their youthful enthusiasm and collective lust?"

"Are you?"

"Yes. They are very compelling, especially Jim. There's something about the eyes."

"Have fun."

"Thank you, I think I will."