Perfect Matches

Accidentally bumping into each other tends to become even more volatile, because it is right now, wherever we happen to be in the house; the third floor's master bedroom or its private bath, any one of the three the second floor guest bedrooms or the bathroom on that floor, the main floor living room or its half bath under the stairs, the dining room, the kitchen, or in the laundry room. It also happens outdoors, in the hot tub on the back deck or with our hot and horny naked asses in the tall grass; even in the dead of winter; both of us with our ski pants yanked down around our ankles, rolling around in a snow bank, laughing and mashing snowballs into horny pussies, then licking them all nice and warm again.

And it's not just all about the hot sex. It can be as simple as spending an evening putting together an intricate jigsaw puzzle—a number of which have been framed and are hung in the guest bedrooms; or sharing the kitchen duties—Chloe cooks, I clean up/ I cook, Chloe loads the dishwasher; or splitting the laundry duty evenly—I do Chloe's, she does mine.

By attending part time at the community college and taking classes online, Chloe has finished college and is now trying to decide if she wants to go for her Master's Degree in corporate law. I bring home the paycheck, which is sizable enough to support us both comfortably, with more than enough left over for frills and new toys.

Chloe and I still visit Krystal's Palace, only now it's more along the lines of bi-monthly, versus my previous bi or tri-weekly visits. There has also not been a replay of the night we were destined to meet there. Chloe got to experience her kinky bondage fantasy once, and once proved conclusively that there could be too much of a good thing for my Baby Girl. We still revel in group sex, switching partners, sharing partners, fucking, sucking, licking and eating out other orgiers apart from one another, indulging in moderate heterosexual, bisexual, or lesbian gangbangs—no more than three mixed or matched participants doing either of us at any one time. After all, that is what Krystal's Palace is all about.

But, when it's time to go, we always split the scene together, arm in arm. What happened inside the club, stays there, because, from the time the car doors close until the next time we set foot in Krystal's Party Palace, there are only two people in the whole fucking world who mean anything to us, only two people we'll go out of our to please, and that's each other; Chloe and I.

Naturally—since she's the one we both give the most credit to for bringing us together—if Leslie's working those nights, she's got two wide open invitations to join us. She generally does and occasionally comes home with us, which means there are two more hard-nippled titties, a third juicy pussy and another tangy asshole to be indulged until the sun has long since come up.

Chloe's mother did not take the news that her daughter was "living" with another woman at all well. How on earth could a good, well-raised Midwestern girl possibly be... "one of those kinds of women"? She conveniently blames her "evil" sister for turning her sweet, naive daughter into a... "lesbian". Margaret and Chloe's mother haven't spoken a word to each other since.

Margaret visits us now and again and Chloe always wears the same outfit for her favorite aunt's weekend visits; a short plaid skirt, starched white blouse, white knee-high socks with buckled patent leather shoes, a white training bra and plain white cotton panties. She caps off this innocent, irresistible schoolgirl look with her hair up in cute pigtails. The innocent panties never last very long and have to be constantly replaced, because Margaret invariably chews the crotch right out of them. And I don't blame her, or even begrudge her the pleasure, but I do get a little envious from time to time.

Recently, we've found out that Chloe is pregnant. I'm so happy I could bust and the inner glow that shows in Baby Girl's beaming smile is the most captivating sight of all. The father has been narrowed down one of six men, but the unknowing sperm donor's identity, even his ethnicity, is irrelevant; it'll be our baby; Chloe's and mine. We don't know the baby's sex yet, we don't want to know, but, whether it's a boy or a girl, they won't have to read some silly booklet to find out what having two loving mothers is all about.

None of this means that Chloe and I don't have our disagreements—we have, we do, and then some—but there are two hard and fast rules in "our" home. Rule #1: Since there is no actual door to our bedroom to be slammed shut—the entire top floor is all one suite—neither of us can be barred from the third floor. Rule #2: We may argue all the way up the stairs, but once the pinnacle of our "Stairway to Heaven" has been reached, any and all bickering must cease immediately. The bedroom is for playing and loving and, yes, even sleeping in; it is not a place for fighting.

Now, if all of this isn't true love, than what Chloe and I have is the closest either of us will ever come to knowing the real thing. To us, it's as real as reality can possibly be.

The End

Almost all of this is true, so help me. All, that is, except for the numerous lies and embellishments I've told you, of course. I never once said anything about this story being autobiographical, or anywhere close to it... even though portions of it are. Author's gotcha!