My Loving Family: A Prologue

Prologue

It was an adolescent's dream come true. I felt my cock twitch as I gazed fondly around the living room. A half dozen naked and partly dressed people sat in the room with me -- one pair playing chess in the corner, another couple sitting on the couch cuddling and casually touching one another; she stroking his thigh, he idly plucking at an elongated nipple, while my daughter sat curled up in a big easy chair, reading a novel. Unlike the others, she wore a thin pair of panties which nicely emphasized her beautifully sculpted ass.

Just then her mother, my Sarah, came in from the kitchen. Her soft breasts shone with a fine perspiration from the heat, and as always, I admired the way they rolled and jiggled as she crossed the room and bent over the couch, casually giving her (our) son-in-law a warm, open mouthed kiss. His response was immediate and enthusiastic. Even Willa, the woman in his arms, a widow Sarah's age, greeted her by reaching up to touch her soft, quivering breast.

I was enjoying the byplay, wondering if it would mean delaying dinner, and was mildly annoyed when my daughter looked up and said, "Hey, Mom, lay off. I thought you were going to do my hair before supper!"

Sarah straightened up and smiled at her daughter. "Sure thing, Nonnie. Let's go to the bathroom."

I watched as my daughter rose to follow her mother. The two women were similar in size and coloration. Although 19 years separated them, and in spite of faint stretch marks on Sarah's belly and breasts, breasts which no longer had the firm resiliency of her daughter's, the only obvious physical difference between the two was that while Sarah's pubic bush was lush and as colorful as the hair on her head, Nonnie's thin panties betrayed the absence of genital hair.

I smiled as I remembered the mild shock I had experienced when, late one night, my probing fingers had encountered only slick smooth skin surrounding my daughter's vulva. When I asked her about it later, she had giggled and said, "So you can tell the difference between me and Mom in the dark!"

Our dear friend, in whose house we lived, Karen, still had the lithe figure of a professional model, and, as she stood next to one of the chess players, I took full notice of the delightful contrast between her Nordic good looks, tiny breasts, slender hips and thin, wispy, genital hair shielding her mons like the shadow of a passing cloud, and those of the woman on whose shoulder her hand now rested.

June, by contrast, was, some would say "voluptuous." Others, less charitable, might have described her as plump or even fat. I was in the former camp. I had spent many happy hours between her soft thighs, playing with the turgid black spikes that tipped her soft, somewhat pendulous breasts. Even their coloring was almost diametrically opposite, because unlike her husband, who was a redheaded Irishman, June was African-American.

June and Rick were friends of some year's standing. Like us, their children were grown and (with the exception of Nonnie) gone. We had met at as a result of my job. They owned a small wooden sloop and had graciously invited us to join them on numerous occasions. Our Friday nights had become almost a ritualized bridge game. One drunken night, we had switched to strip poker, and that had changed our relationship forever. Now, June and Rick were co-sponsors (with us and Willa) of our communal home where the only rule was that everyone was free to touch everyone else and that the only constraint on sexual activity was mutual convenience. Clothing was strictly optional.

(Author's note) I've modified some of the material that follows, but I'll be glad to furnish the original on request.