The Conference Pt. 03
"Ain't that the truth!" I couldn't help blurting out.
She gave me a long, puzzled gaze.
I really didn't know what to make of her story. It was really quite obscene, wasn't it? Imagine a daughter telling something like this to her mother! But Marcia was always one to speak her mind, and we were both adult women now. But I'm sure you can understand why I was disturbed: what Jerad had done to her was almost exactly what he'd done to me. So much for his eternal devotion to me! Well, maybe I was also being unfair to him: after all, I was the one who'd shoved my own daughter under his nose.
But the fantasy I'd indulged in—of being (or having been) intimate with my own future son-in-law—now suddenly seemed far closer to a reality than it had been only a day ago. How were Marcia and I to deal with the mystery of Jerad? How could I keep what we'd done at that conference a secret from her? She had a way of relentlessly getting at the truth, wearing people down until they finally coughed it up. This was starting to seem like a grotesque "Mrs. Robinson" situation.
"What do you make of him, Mom?" Marcia went on. "I mean, he says he loves me!"
I chose my words carefully. "You know, Marcia, I think Jerad's one of these guys who put women on pedestals. He thinks everything about women is glorious and wonderful and mysterious, even maybe a bit holy. There are guys like that—plenty of them—especially those who haven't had much to do with women."
"You may be right," she said. "He told me he'd only been with two women before me. They must really have taught him a lot!"
Yes, those two women—that anonymous undergraduate and me.
"I'm not saying," I went on, "his feelings for you aren't genuine. I'm sure he believes with all his heart that he does love you. But I think it's just as well that you didn't say the words back to him—not right away, anyway."
"I wasn't going to say them back to him!" she said, almost scoffing. "I've known him exactly one evening. Well, one evening and all night and a little bit of a morning."
"So now what?"
"Well, I have to get back home. He'll show up sometime, I'll cook him a meal, and then—who knows what?"
"You surely don't think—"
"Mom, I have no idea. Any other man would probably need several days to recover. But with Jerad—I don't know! He seems to have a lot of stamina."
"I hope this doesn't become just a sexual relationship."
"I don't think that's possible with him. For him, sex and love go together. Very rare in men! But I think that's the way he is."
"Yes, I think so too."
Once again my daughter gave me a strange look, and soon thereafter she left.
I didn't see her again until Monday.
Unusually for her, she called me at the office that morning and asked to meet for lunch. She sounded as if it was pretty important. I asked her if something had gone wrong. She didn't reply for a moment, then said slowly, "No, not exactly," but wouldn't say more.
So I had to wait until she showed up at the department a little after noon. We wandered over to the student union for a bite, although something told me that neither of us would be eating very much.
We got our lunch at the cafeteria—chef salad for me, a sandwich for Marcia—and sat down at a table. It wasn't possible to find a secluded place, but we figured that the constant chattering and milling around of other students would give us as much privacy as could be managed. If we kept our voices down, no one would hear or care what we said.
I waited for Marcia to begin, since she was the one who had summoned me for this tête-à-tête. But for a long time she kept mum, nibbling unenthusiastically on her sandwich.
At last I said, "Is this about Jerad?"
She nodded, but then added, "More than that, though."
"I gather you spent the rest of the weekend with him?"
She nodded again. "He showed up around 4 p.m. on Saturday and stayed until this morning."
"This morning?"
"Yeah. It took a bit of effort to get to work on time."
"He . . . kept you busy?"
"You could say that."
"Was it too much?"
She had been staring down at her plate, but now looked up and smiled wryly. "I never thought I wouldn't be able to keep up with a man—sexually or otherwise—but Jerad is one incredible specimen."
I was just about to say Ain't that the truth! as I'd done once before, but luckily I held my tongue.
"Naively," she went on, "I thought he might be too tired from his performance on Friday night to do much more than cuddle Saturday night. But he was at me again—twice, three times, I think. This time he managed to pour his stuff into every one of my orifices, if you catch my meaning. It's been a while since I had a man's seed in my mouth."
"You don't have to elaborate."
"Sunday afternoon," she said reflectively, "we went over to his place. He has a fairly nice apartment off campus. I should have figured he'd get excited having me in his pad—and he was. Do you know, Mom, he actually bent me over the back of the couch, lifted up my skirt, pulled my panties down, and went into me from the rear?"
"Good gracious!" I cried. "Not—not into your bottom?"
"No, thankfully enough. If he'd done that without lube, I would have strangled him. Even so, I felt a little bit like a sex doll that some lonely and desperate bachelor was using to relieve his urges. When he was finished, he pulled my panties back up. But of course they immediately got wet from all the stuff oozing out of my—"
"Yes, dear, I understand."
"It was really uncomfortable, Mom! Have you ever tried to walk around with—" Even she couldn't finish. With panties full of come?
"I can't say that I have."
"Well, it's no fun. When I complained, he gave me one of his."
"One of his? It couldn't possibly fit."
"Actually, it did. He has a bunch of bikini briefs that he'd bought a while back, but they didn't fit him very well—'not enough support for me down there,' he said. They look pretty much like women's panties, so I cleaned myself up and put his on. It did the job until we got back to my place."
"And Sunday night?"
"More of the same. Jesus, that guy has the stamina of Hercules! After a while I just felt like a ragdoll being tossed around by a careless toddler. Don't get me wrong, though: aside from that incident on his couch, he was pretty solicitous of me. In fact, I think I got more tired from coming so often than from what he was doing to me. Having an orgasm can be pretty exhausting!"
"Shh, dear!" I said, alarmed that Marcia was raising her voice so that others could hear.
"Then there was this morning," she said ruefully.
"He did you this morning?" I exclaimed, outraged on her behalf.
"Yup. He woke me up around seven a.m., peeled off my nightgown, and went into me. He was in me for quite a while. I wondered whether he was even capable of coming, but I should have known better. He came, all right. And he made me come. But that wasn't the big news. It was what he said right afterwards."
"What did he say?" I asked, dreading what my daughter would say.
"He proposed," she said flatly.
"What? He asked you to marry him?"
"Actually, it was hardly a question. At the very time he was shooting his stuff into me, he almost shouted in my ear, 'Let's get married!' I was so flabbergasted—remember, I was coming myself—that I hardly knew what to say or do. So I said nothing. I just ignored his absurd suggestion, dragged myself out of bed, took a shower, and got breakfast ready for us.
"But he kept after me. All through breakfast he kept staring fixedly at me, almost daring me to say no to him. I tried to keep mum, but he wasn't having any of it. So finally . . . I said yes."
She ended suddenly, looking sheepish and embarrassed.
"You said you'd marry him?" I said slowly. "Marcia, you've known him for—what?—three days? Maybe four?"
"Well, I got him to agree to a long engagement. I mean, I'd like to get to know the guy before I tie the knot! Maybe six months or a year. Or even until after he finishes his Ph.D."
"That would be about a year and a half."
"Sure, fine. That would probably work."
"You really think you'll want to marry him?"
"I might," she said in a soft voice. "Nobody's proposed marriage to me before—it's kind of neat."
So here was my nightmare coming true: I would now have had carnal relations with my son-in-law.
"There's something else, Mom," Marcia said in an even softer voice.
"Something else? What else could there possibly be after all this?"
She stared straight at me, and I suddenly had no doubt of what she was going to say. Even so it took her a full minute—during which the sound of all the other people around us yakking and laughing and clattering their silverware on plates seemed to recede to another planet—before she could articulate the words.
"Did you sleep with him, Mom?" she said. "Maybe at that conference in Philadelphia?"
I froze, and could hardly find my own voice. Surely Jerad wouldn't have spilled the beans to her? At last, with a nervous laugh, I said, "Marcia, that's preposterous! I'm a professor and he's a graduate student! I would never—"
"Did you, Mom? Just say yes or no." She reached over and placed a hand gently on my arm. "It's okay if you did. I'd just like to know."
I felt like a rabbit hypnotized by the gaze of a snake. I began breathing fast—maybe I was hyperventilating. But when Marcia stroked my arm tenderly and gave me a wan smile, I finally spoke.
"Okay," I croaked.
"Okay what?" she said.
"Okay, I slept with him. Down in Philadelphia."
She just nodded to herself.
"How could you possibly know?" I wailed, not caring who heard me. "Did he tell you?"
"Good Lord, no! He wouldn't have done that. It's just the way he talks about you—how fabulous and wonderful and pretty and sweet you are. It's exactly the way he talks about me. He has this way of saying under his breath, 'Oh, so pretty'—like some collector fondling a rare gem he's obtained at great expense. And I know he doesn't mean 'pretty' just in the sense of physical charms—he's not that sort of guy. That's just the way he talks about the women he cares for. It's the way he talks about you and me both."
"You're right about that."
"Did he tell you he loved you?"
"Yes, he did."
"Do you believe him?"
"I have no idea. I think he believes it."
Marcia sighed heavily. "So what do you want to do?"
"Do? What is there to do? I mean, you're engaged to him!"
"Oh, Mom, that doesn't mean much right now. It might not even mean much even if I do marry him."
"How can you say that? What are you suggesting anyway?"
She again looked directly at me, this time as if I were some kind of moron. "Mom, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? These last couple of days with him have been incredible, but he's going to want you just as much as he wants me. So—"
"You're not really thinking—"
"Yes, I am, Mom. We'll have to share."
Okay, the word was out. Share. Good God, have mother and daughter ever had such a conversation before?
"That—that's totally out of the question," I said.
"Is it? Didn't you enjoy your session with him?"
"That's not the point!"
"Anyway, you don't have any other boyfriend, do you?"
"You know I don't."
"Well, then, I don't see why, at least in the short term, we can't all . . ."
"And how exactly do you expect this to work? Is he—I mean, one night in your bed, one night in my bed?"
"Something like that."
"That's just so obscene!"
"Oh, Mom, we're all adults. What does it matter?"
I shook my head. I couldn't believe we were even talking about something like this.
"You wanna tell me what happened at that conference?" Marcia asked.
With a heavy sigh I gave her a very truncated and expurgated version of my encounter with Jerad. She listened to it wide-eyed, but with a faint smile as if enjoying it vicariously.
"He must really have a crush on you!" she cried after I was finished.
"It's a whole lot more than a crush, Marcia," I snapped.
"Okay, fine. Maybe he's obsessed with you."
"That's more like it."
"Well, that's another reason why we should share him. He can't remain obsessed with you if he has me around also. You know how intense and high-strung he is. If he feels you're refusing him, this could all blow up in our faces."
"You have a point there," I grudgingly admitted.
"Well, let's just see how it goes," she said, suddenly discovering her appetite and wolfing down what remained of her sandwich. As she munched, she gave me something of a smug, self-satisfied expression.
I stabbed some lettuce and ham with a fork and shoved it into my mouth.
"You're really okay with sharing?" I said. "Young women can be pretty jealous."
She gave me an Oh, please, Mom! look. "You're my mother," she patiently explained. "I don't have any fears that you'll take him away from me. It'll be cool, Mom, believe me."
I rolled my eyes. "I have doubts about that—but what else can we do?"
She made haste to get back to her office, and I did the same. Luckily, I didn't have a class to teach in the afternoon—I doubt I could have focused on it. But somehow it didn't surprise me when, around 3 p.m., Jerad shuffled in.
I bit my lip before saying, "Hi, Jerad."
"Hello, ma'am," he mumbled.
I sat down in my chair and urged him to sit in the chair next to the desk.
"How are things going?" I said.
"Okay."
"You . . . you've been spending a lot of time with my daughter."
"Yes, ma'am." Then, with sudden enthusiasm: "She's fabulous!"
"I'm glad you think so."
Something in the tone of my voice troubled him. "But you're fabulous too!" he almost shouted.
"Thank you. But—"
Then he did something that took me aback, even though I knew of his emotional instability and the way he idolized women—or at least some women.
He fell to his knees and buried his face in my lap.
"Jerad, for heaven's sake!" I cried. "The door's open!"
With a deft gesture he raised a leg and kicked the door closed. He then wrapped his arms around my hips and moaned into my thick wool skirt, "I want you so much! Please don't turn me away!"
"Jerad, no one's turning you away," I said, stroking his head as he kept rubbing his face back and forth across my groin. I was about to tell him what Marcia and I had agreed to over lunch, but I didn't get the chance. As his hands clutched my skirt on either side of my hips, the hem of the garment started riding up my thighs. Maybe the scent of my sex—for I was getting noticeably wet—unconsciously inspired him, for he pulled up the skirt even higher, exposing my panties, now wet at the crotch. He moved them away from my pussy with gentle fingers, then began lapping up the juices that were flowing out of me, licking my labia and clitoris while I just stared down at him in disbelief.
I don't need to tell you that he was good. He knew exactly what he was doing: I think he was one of those rare men who enjoy giving a woman a climax even more than having one himself. As he continued licking me, squeezing as much of my bottom as he could reach, I began getting dizzy. This was my office, for God's sake! Someone could march right in and see this graduate student servicing me as if he was a male whore I'd summoned for the purpose.
Well, mercifully it didn't take long. Clenching the arms of the chair, I let out heavy groans as my orgasm flashed over me, radiating out from my sex all through my body. But I should have known that he would keep on stimulating me for as long as I could bear it, coaxing the maximum pleasure out of my climax. It seemed to go on for minute after minute, and I was quivering from head to foot as I continued to gape at him in amazement at what feats of magic his lips and tongue were producing. Finally I had to shove his head away, but even then the tremors continued all over my body, and I let out gasps and moans and mews and whimpers as my climax finally subsided.
"That was very naughty!" I said, trying in vain to sound like an old-fashioned schoolmarm.
He remained on the floor, smirking up at me with lips that glistened with my secretions. "I'm glad you liked it."
And with that, he heaved himself up to his feet and left the room.
*
Jerad and Marcia moved into my house soon thereafter.
At this point, I hardly cared what anyone at the university would think if they found out. I could always claim that I was just trying to save this poor struggling graduate student some money in rent while he worked diligently on his dissertation. Anyway, my daughter was on the premises! Surely nothing irregular could possibly be going on, right?
We unconsciously lapsed into the alternating-beds situation that Marcia had outlined. It seemed to work reasonably well. I'm not saying that Jerad poked us every single night—he's not that much of a superman—but I'd say he did me at least twice a week and Marcia three times a week, on average.
There was one night when Jerad was particularly importunate with me. I'd had to take over a colleague's class that day, and my brain was fried. But that didn't seem to concern him in the least. He plowed into my pussy and my bottom in quick succession and was clearly intent on more—but I balked, saying, "Oh, Jerad, I'm so tired! I just need to get some sleep."
He glared at me, then slipped out of bed muttering incoherently. Leaving the room naked, he made a beeline for my daughter's room. In very short order I heard the telltale signs of copulation—but by that time I was close to falling asleep, so I didn't care what the two young people did.
Then there was the time, in early February, when it was Jerad's turn to be with Marcia. I was in my bedroom, flipping idly through a magazine and getting ready to go to sleep, when she and Jerad came in. They were holding hands; Marcia was wearing a short nightgown and Jerad was wearing only his underwear—which was already severely distorted.
I looked at them in silent wonder.
"We were hoping," my daughter said in a shy, hesitant tone of voice, "that you might join us." She didn't have to say what I was supposed to join them in.
"It was my idea!" Jerad shouted enthusiastically.
"That doesn't surprise me," I said.
Nodding to myself, I put the magazine down and stood up. Marcia and I met in the middle of the room (not that there was a lot of space that wasn't taken up by the king-size bed), standing in front of each other as Jerad watched in fascination. She reached out and took hold of the neckline of my nightgown, pulled either end off my shoulders, and let it fall to the ground. I did the same for her. We were now standing inches apart, naked.
"Oh, my Lord, Marcia," I breathed, "you're so lovely."
"So are you, Mom," she said fervently.
And I suppose that, by the standards of the average oversexed male, we were. As I've mentioned, my breasts were slightly larger than hers, but hers—round, firm, high, and exquisitely shaped—were of a sort that any man would be happy to worship. Her hips had a slightly gentler curve than mine, but even from this angle I could see that she had a bottom that would send most men into transports. Her bush, interestingly enough, was a bit thicker than mine.
"You're both beautiful!" Jerad cried in the height of aesthetic appreciation.
We extended our arms and embraced. I hadn't seen her naked in a decade or more, and she had never seen me naked, so her eyes were wide with amazement and perhaps a bit of naughtiness. I have to say that the feel of her breasts against my own was a heady experience: that's not something Jerad or any other man could supply! She held up her face to mine, and I instinctively kissed her on the mouth. At first we kept our mouths closed, but after a while we opened them and I felt her tongue flicking tentatively at my own. The idea that I was being French-kissed by my own daughter did cause the juices to flow in my pussy.r"
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