We were on our way home from the first game of the new season, a short drive. Anne was driving, Anne-too also in the front, reading a little booklet Barry had given her. I lounged across the back seat. The Volvo was very comfortable.
"Where did you learn so much about rugby?" I asked.
Anne-too snorted an unladylike snort.
"Bob, Dave and Henry played. Loads of other hunky guys played in those days. They also needed encouragement and support. We were their support team."
"We?" I asked tentatively. Anne wasn't old enough to support rugby when Bob was alive, surely?
"Me, Julia and Karen. A perfect team, we travelled everywhere with them."
My mind clicked over slowly. This was all new to me. Dave, Henry, Julia and Karen?
"You know my Mum and Dad, Aunt and Uncle? You never said."
"You never asked and besides I certainly didn't want to frighten you away. Think back, six weeks ago. What would you have done if I'd said ''Hi, Martin, I know your Mum and Aunt?'"
"I'd probably have erm.. done things a little differently, maybe had a nice cup of tea?" I responded after very little thought.
"Exactly! And where was the fun in that? And 'sposin', after you'd just finished fucking both me and my daughter I'd said, 'That was great and oh, by the way, I've also fucked your Dad and your Uncle'?"
"Yeah, come to think about it I'm kinda glad you didn't but..." my voice tailed off. It was going to be a tricky question however I phrased it.
"How did I get to fuck Dave and Henry?"
She asked the question for me.
"Yeah."
"It was a long time ago. We fucked around. I just got lucky. I married Bob."
"We being...?" Again I ground to a halt.
"We? Me, Julia and Karen? Yes, we made a great team. The changing rooms weren't so nice then though.
Which answered my next question.
I sat up and leaned around the front seat giving her a quick peck on the cheek. That startled her. I've never given her a simple peck on the cheek.
"You OK?" she asked in a worried sort of way.
"Never felt better," I admitted happily.
"How so?"
"Well," I paused considering my words, "You've just told me, in a round about way that my Mum and Aunt were, just like you. As you very clearly put way back when I first fucked you both, sluts! That comes as a great relief to me as ever since I've been able to get a stiffy my head has been full of filthy thoughts. No luck with girlfriends so I had to find someone else to fuel my wanking sessions. Mum and her twin fitted the bill perfectly. So here I am a horny bastard and I've just been told that the objects of hundreds if not thousands of wanking fantasies are sluts. How good is that? Do sluts ever change their spots, I wonder?
Anne-too looked at me in the reflection in the sun-visor's mirror.
"Yeah, probably as often as leopards. . ." she whispered mischievously."
### ### ###
"Hi, stud! Your Girls given you the night off?"
It was Monday, early evening, College had re-started, our first rugby match had been two days ago, with all its revealing details. I was at home, my house. Dad was away with Uncle Henry on a two week contract. Mum was out somewhere and little brother was was on a school trip for a fortnight. I was trying to take advantage of the peace to do some college work before going up to visit My Girls for an hour or two.
I say trying as it was difficult to concentrate. After the match on Saturday I'd stayed the night with My Girls. Enjoying the usual fuck sessions with both, to while away the time, you understand. Just for the record I'm not proposing to document every fuck session with one, the other or both. That would become boring very quickly. Anything different and I'll tell you - I promise.
After Anne-too's revelations on the way home from the match a number of things that, at the time didn't actually strike me as odd, made sense. Now I know that doesn't make much sense either but I know what I mean. F'instance, prior to meeting Anne in the pouring rain Mum had always wanted to know where I was going and what time I might be home. Now? She never asked. I'd say 'I'm off to see Anne' and she'd just say 'OK Dear, have a nice time.' I'd say 'I'll probably stay the night' or, particularly on a Friday, 'See ya Sunday night Mum' and she'd never challenge why I thought it necessary to stay over night when I would be less than a mile away. When I returned on the Sunday evening there was no Spanish Inquisition, just a simple, 'have a nice time Dear?' to which I'd reply, 'Yes, thank you Mum.' she'd smile and that would be that.
Now... I understood, perfectly!
### ### ###
We, My Girls and I, had had a long chat that Saturday evening, about things in general and sex in particular. I'd mentioned the 'L' word.
"What's love got to do with it?" asked Anne-too, "you shouldn't confuse love with good sex, ever. You can love the way a person fucks but that's not to say you have to love them! You could also say that you love someone but that's not to say they're a good fuck or even that they satisfy you. Totally different things. Meet someone you want to fuck? Then fuck them. Marry someone you love and you might well be frustrated for the rest of your life. Not a good position. Marry someone that fucks you senseless every night and at least you'll sleep well." she finish with a laugh.
"Yeah!" chimed in Anne, "Love is supposed to be exclusive. Sex is supposed to be fun. That's where problems always start. Why we all have erogenous zones. Why we get turned on, often for no apparent reason and by totally the wrong person. You want your love to suck your cock, swallow your spunk. She refuses. What do you do? Go without, frustrated or find somebody else to blow you? Cheat or quit? She wants you to eat her out or fuck her arse. You want missionary. Does she put up with the situation and get grumpy or find a guy to give her what she needs? Cheat or quit? You can't have real, fun sex if you are into the traditional love thing, now can you?"
I looked at her, totally bemused.
"Think about it. We met, and we fucked in less than ten minutes. I didn't love you. You didn't love me. It wasn't even a case of hardly knowing each other. We didn't know each other at all, we'd never even met but we still fucked and it was still fantastic."
I couldn't argue with that and told her so.
"I brought you home," she continued, "you fucked my Mother then you fucked me. How many times did you fuck us both that weekend? Did you feel guilty? Did I feel jealous? Did my Mum feel jealous? No way! We all enjoyed ourselves immensely. You came back for more, we came back for more. Do you feel jealous when Mum and me get it together? What about this afternoon? We stripped off and danced naked in front of the rugby team. You didn't look jealous! You looked as pleased as punch. Next week, if we win, we'll be showering the man of the match. You know what that will entail even if he doesn't. It is all about sex. We enjoyed it. Are you going to tell me you didn't?"
