All participants are over the age of 18. Nobody living or dead is portrayed in this fictional account. A slow burn.
I have seven sisters. Six older and one younger. We all share one thing, in addition to the same parents: We all love women. That's normal for me, since I'm a 22 year old guy but all, all of my sisters are lesbians. Was it something in the water or maybe there's some truth about a gay gene? If so, then I'd be gay and I'm surely not.
We're stair-step kids: Anna was seven when I was born. Betty was six. Connie was five. Debbie was four. Edna was three. Freda was two (clever naming). There was a gap there because the one after Freda was stillborn. Then me, Raymond, and then Stacy at one year younger. Mom then had her tubes tied.
You might think mom and dad would be living in poverty with that tribe to support; however, the family business was an 80,000 acre wheat farm in eastern Washington. We were expected to participate in farm work. That we did till person-by-person, we went off to college. Except for Betty, who only stayed a year in school, that was our four-year vacation from the farm. All of the older sisters returned to the farm.
I had enough of farm life. After a degree in physics, I started grad school. To say my parents and older siblings weren't happy would be putting it mildly. Not that I wasn't happy with farming itself but here's the real issue: Our parents decided they needed some privacy, away from all the kids, so they built another very nice house for us when Stacy turned 18. Ten bedrooms and baths. Far enough away that we really could lead our separate lives. That led to my major issue. I really didn't care that my sisters were lesbians. They were free to choose how they lived and I always supported them. However, I was surrounded by the lesbian culture whether I liked it or not. It was OK for a while, since I was in college and only visited during breaks. But during the summer? I couldn't escape. It got so depressing. Everything was gay this, gay that, gay girlfriends visiting, gay girlfriends staying over...If I brought a girl home, she was immediately hit on over and over. They didn't respect my request that they refrain from hitting on any woman I brought home.
Now, even I'll admit that in addition to any gay gene, they also got to a beauty gene. All, without exception, were stunning. Light brown hair, bright brown eyes. Ranged from 5'1" to 5'7", well matched weight-wise. Boobs from small B to D. If they weren't my sisters and gay, I'd have had a perpetual hard dick. Still had one often as my cock didn't know they were my siblings nor that they had no interest in men. Obviously, growing up together there were many instances of inadvertent displays of near or full nudity. Them pointing me out and going "Eeuuu" perhaps wasn't the most enjoyable feeling.
Not that we didn't get along. We seldom fought. Some it was, of course, that the older ones were sufficiently separated in years to insure no interactions outside of the house. Until we moved into our separate house, any major malfunctions would be quickly squashed by our parents. After the move, we were old enough to be sort of rational. Can't speak for them but I enjoyed the female company despite their sexual orientation.
Our parents were obviously somewhat detached as evidenced by them moving us out. That's not to say they didn't have influence in our lives. Mom was still Mom, the one we could count on for a loving hug and to go to when we had problems. The older sisters had each other, so their reliance on Mom was diminished.
Dad was remote. He insisted on two things: honesty and trust. If you weren't honest with him, he had absolutely no trust in you. That involved not just us but every person he dealt with. He hammered that into me at an early age. That's probably the only thing I ever got from him. Your word was your bond. His contract was a handshake. I saw absolutely nothing wrong with that.
So, here I am in grad school at the same university where our youngest sister, Stacy, is a senior. I was on a research fellowship and our parents hadn't completely cut me off, so I had funds for an apartment. Just prior to the start of the school year, Stacy asked if we could get a two-bedroom and we could live together. Since Stacy was the sister I got along with the best, it was an easy agreement.
Stacy is the tallest of the sisters. She's 5'7". Alas, she also has the smallest chest, with barely a B. She keeps her hair short in what I call classic gay. Even at 5'7" she was shorter than my 6'1". Since both of us come from a lifetime of farm labor, we both have well-developed musculature. I claim it also applies to her head since she's majoring in dance. I also accuse her of majoring in something that has a lot of females and very few males. That earns me a swat. She's in no way stupid. Perhaps the brightest of the sisters.
As we were moving in, we established a few rules. Given our fairly small living room and kitchen, when one of us wanted to bring a guest, notification was required. With only a single bathroom, we needed to make accommodations to ensure equal access. Of course, that meant her time was only three times mine.
It also meant there were times when we ran into each other in less than full clothing. Things like running from the bathroom to bedroom in a towel. I admit to enjoying the view but Stacy probably didn't care or think much about it. Coming to breakfast in shorts and no shirt for me and a long shirt and panties for her. I probably enjoyed that the most. She has a really nice ass.
Stacy was well embedded in the college lesbian culture. I insisted that she not bring that home. While she could invite guests, inevitably lesbians, she couldn't invite a conclave of them. I put up with that at home, mainly being the reason I left, so wasn't going to allow it here. Violation means she moves out.
Some of her guests were stunning and somewhat less inhibited than Stacy. I walked in more than once to find Stacy, her shirt open, and her guest topless. Pretty sure her open shirt was the biggest attraction.
We agreed that we wouldn't hit on each other's guests. Stacy wasn't aggressive like some of our older sisters. I knew that lesbians or bis first and foremost attraction was to other women. While some may have an attraction to males, other women would always have the top priority. Pussy over dick, always. We had arguments, well discussions, about this. She could never furnish any example of this rule being violated. This made it easy to never hit on any of her guests, regardless of how pretty.
That didn't mean that it sometimes wasn't difficult. Once or twice her guests were very vocal and provided explicit descriptions of what they were doing. My hand would get a good workout. I honestly admit my visions were more about Stacy than her guests.
Since we had lived together all our lives, it was pretty simple to adjust to us living together. We both kept pretty busy and out of each other's hair. Grad school didn't leave a lot of free time, so my social life was rather barren. Because Stacy's wasn't, I spent a lot of time either in my room or at the physics building while she entertained.
I did have guests a few times, so Stacy, true to her word, didn't hit on any of them.
I started to notice that just before Christmas break, the number of Stacy's guests started to decline. Thought nothing of it. Figured it was just the normal ups and downs.
We went home together for holiday break. I really wasn't looking forward to it, while she was. Back into the Isle of Lesbos. I don't know if the sisters are involved with each other...
The first stop is obviously the parents. Getting our hugs and kisses and told to come for dinner. On to the house of iniquity. Stacy's eyes light up when all six of them meet us on the porch. We get hugs and kisses all around, though I easily note Stacy's are more energetic than the ones I receive. Not unexpected.
While all of us are friendly, seldom quarreling, there isn't any real feelings towards me. One, because I'm male and, two, because I'm studying physics. Math and science have never had any appeal to any of them.
So, I retreated to my room and then to the bathroom for a shower. By the time I was finished it was time for all eight of us to go up to the main house for dinner. It was pleasant enough, although I could still sense disapproval of me being in grad school instead of on the farm. The parents asked Stacy what she was studying and how her classes were going. I was asked what grad school involved.
"Well, I take advanced classes, study for qualifying exams and do a little research for one of my professors." I wasn't asked to elucidate.
I don't think I said another ten words the rest of the evening. We said our good nights and returned to our refuge.
I got to play mixologist for the rest of the evening. Nothing new and I enjoyed making drinks for the sisters. Just drank my beer in peace till they had a few rounds and got a little loud. Then they started on the lesbian talk. Which of their girlfriend had the best tits, the best tasting pussy, and which gave the best head. That's when I decided to head off to bed.
"One last round, Ray. Please." Asked Connie.
"Sure. Coming up."
I mixed and/or poured up a complete round for them. "Good night, ladies."
"Night, Ray." Came a return choirs.
I could still hear them until I closed the door to my room.
That was pretty much the standard for the rest of the holiday season. Interruption for Christmas and New Year's. There was some mistletoe so I got quick kisses from all of them. Perfunctory, except for Stacy who at least acted like I didn't have some sort of infectious disease.
Now, all of us did have some good times. All eight would sit around the fireplace and just talk. About family, about the farm, whatever... It only got uncomfortable when sex and personal relationships got too deep. Things like "Shirley is hot. We always have a good time." were OK. Casual mentions, then on to other things. If it started a big discussion of all the hot women they knew or wanted, I left.
