My Granddaughter Missy

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My Granddaughter Missy

Warning: This is more of a story with sex in it than a sex story, but more sex than I can post other places.

I was thinking about my father when I wrote this. He’s the right age and the right personality, and has had a few flings since my mom died. Before that I think she kept him from straying by making it fun to stay at home, fun in bed that is. I think they were still doing it like rabbits into their 60’s. BTW – I had some help on this from Cathy Cook.

———————- April 2006:

It was a strange request. But I was never very surprised about things my psychic granddaughter said or asked. We were sitting in a park in NYC, visiting the city for her first time. As had happened many times before when I took my beautiful Missy places, she showed little interest in the usual tourist sites. Instead of going to the Statue of Liberty, or the Empire State Building, or the site of the 911 tragedy, she decided she wanted to walk around in some of the residential neighborhoods. Of course, in Manhattan a residential neighborhood was quite different from a Vermont suburb. We found ourselves sitting on a bench eating some wraps and watching some high school boys, young men I guess, shooting hoops. Suddenly she set her sandwich down and stood up, taking a few steps in their direction. She seemed in distress and I immediately went to her. Just as I got to her side she closed her eyes and swooned.

It was another “vision”. Vision is my name for it. She says the information she receives isn’t visual.

I helped her back to the bench. She hadn’t actually fainted, just sort of gone weak in the knees.

“That boy over there. You have to help me meet him. It’s important.”

“Why? Are you going to marry him?” I said somewhat jokingly. But I knew I couldn’t simply laugh away one of these visions. My daughters have had several and they were never laughing matters. The ones Missy and her three female cousins have are always significant.

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I do know I’ll never have children by any other man!”

The young man had African features and medium brown skin. Like many American Blacks he probably had about as many European genes as African. He was quite handsome, but would hardly have interested Missy simply by his looks alone. And Missy was more than interested. She had suddenly discovered she belonged to him, that he was her preordained soul mate, or whatever the term was. Problem was he, like nearly everyone else in the world, wasn’t privy to such knowledge. I noticed she hadn’t said he would be the father of her children, only that no one else would. I guess the prophesy was coming up with two possibilities, no children or his children. She hadn’t said a word yet to the boy, but I could tell what her choice was!

I should point out several things at this time. One is that I love my grand children and Missy was my favorite. Also, I totally believe these messages the women in our family sometimes get. Third, fortunately I have almost no racial prejudices. I hoped the boy wasn’t too anti-white, though God knows he probably has enough reason to not like people like me. This was my hope because at best he was going to father my great grandchildren, at least any Missy had. He could, of course, simply walk away and leave her to wither on the vine. Not having children might please some females. But Missy was born to be a mother, apparently with him their father.

I would do anything for my Missy, even this. As I walked toward them the game seemed to be breaking up. The other two boys ran off and got into a waiting car, leaving him holding the ball.


It’s sort of a beginning. Instead of saying anything he threw me the ball. I’m in good shape for a 60 year old, but I couldn’t imagine going one-on-one with this specimen of athletic ability.

“How about Horse?” I said lobbing one towards the basket from about mid court. I was never very good at basket ball, and was only hoping to hit the backboard. As “chance” would have it, my Hail Mary dropped straight in. He stood there for a second just looking before retrieving the ball. He discovered almost immediately that I’d just been lucky. But I did pin him with an H-O-R before he made me an H-O-R-S-E.

“Name’s Ben, Ben Rogers. You can call me Ben, or gramps, or old man, even Mr. Rogers if you insist, even though my father died thirty years ago. I really prefer just Ben.”

“OK Just Ben, I’m David. Last name’s Copperfield, no joke. At least it’s not my joke. You can ask my mother why she decided to name me David. You with the girl over there?” It wasn’t a question, since he’d seen us sitting together. “You two live around here?” This was a question.

“No, up north in Vermont.” I answered. “I was born out on the Island but have lived in Vermont most of my life. Missy all her life. You have to meet her. In fact, that’s why I came over to talk to you. So I could introduce you to her. She’s too shy to approach a guy on her own.”

At this point the two of us had walked about half way to the bench where she was sitting quietly, waiting to meet the man. As we walked toward her I realized she was probably more vulnerable than any girl ever was walking down the aisle. David had not even smiled at her and yet she was convinced he was the only possible mate she’d ever have. I’m 6-1 but I had to look up slightly to talk to him. Missy’s 5-7. I assume she likes tall guys. He was smiling and he wasn’t looking at me. There was a good sign.

“David,” I said making him pause for a second, “Please be nice to my grand daughter. She’s psychic, and she’s had this revelation. You figure pretty big in it. So she’s a bit at your mercy. I should add she’s also a virgin and hopes you can do something about it. A girl only has one first time. Be nice to her and she’ll love you the rest of her life.”

I guess I do have some prejudices. It never occurred to me that he was also a virgin.

He sat down on the bench next to her, took her hand and looked her in the eyes. When she raised her eyes up to look at him the two of them went into stasis. I stood there a while then went and found myself another bench. What was going on deserved some privacy. It was also beautiful. From about a hundred feet away, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Other people stopped, stared, and smiled. I might have been surprised that no one seemed bothered that the two of them were of different races. Some things are obviously so beautiful that stupid prejudices can’t compete. A middle aged woman stopped next to me.

“Isn’t that beautiful? Do you know them?”

“My granddaughter and her fianc? I think she hardly needs a chaperone, however.”

“I think I see what you mean. She’ll have him at the altar in a lot less than nine months, I’ll wager!”

We both smiled at each other and she finally went her way. After about an hour the two of them rose, and hand in hand walked toward me.

“David wants us to meet his mother.”

“We live about a block away, Mr. Rogers.” I groaned, but it was obvious he was simply too taken up with Missy to even remember what I’d said earlier. “Oh! Sorry Ben. Anyway it’s not far.”

Sara Copperfield was an attractive woman of thirty-eight, who was raising two boys on her own. She was much lighter skinned than her sons. David’s mother’s father had been a “whitey”. He had died three years earlier, but Sara’s mother was still very much around. David didn’t know much about his other grandparents. Sara’s “man” had been a real African, and gone back when he left her. David had been three the last time he saw his father. His brother was two years older, nineteen, and going to college part time. Very part time, but Sara was pleased he was going at all. Karl worked about thirty hours a week in a hardware store. He sometimes lived at home, sometimes with a girlfriend. Sara worked five days a week but not on Saturdays.

“Mom, I’m home! I brought along a couple of friends I want you to meet. This is Ben Rogers. We’ve been playing basketball together. This is his granddaughter, Missy.” I could tell David was trying to sound casual about it, but it all fell apart when he said “Missy”. Sara was surprised about being introduced to a 60 year old white man and then flabbergasted when she was suddenly being introduced to a sixteen year old white girl with whom her usually shy son was obviously smitten. She did the obvious thing and temporarily ignored the obvious.

“Can I fix you some coffee, Mr. Rogers?”

I hate coffee, but can sip it if the occasion demands. Preparing it is a ritual that Sara needed to perform. I also said nothing about wanting to be called Ben. I went into the kitchen with her, leaving the two love birds alone. I sat down at the table and watched Sara pay homage to a percolator.

“Mr. Rogers, can you tell me what’s happening?”

She looked at me as it I’d done something wrong. Well, maybe I had. At least under normal circumstances one might have expected me to try keeping them apart instead of making it easier for them.

“Sara. May I call you Sara? Did you get the usual religious training? You know the story when the angel comes down and tells Mary she’s pregnant? Well, this was a bit more believable I guess. Anyway, it’s scary how much Missy’s in love with your son. For life ever after, I think, if he’ll have her. Even if he won’t, which puts her in Çankaya Escort a precarious situation. Fortunately he’s almost as much in love with her. Frankly, I think they should get married, but she won’t stay away from him, married or not. Is he a junior or senior?”


“Good. Missy’s 16, but just barely. She’s only a sophomore. I wish she’d been a few years older before this happened. My daughters were nineteen and twenty-one, fortunately. The females in our family know, the minute they see him, that they’ve met the man. Right now Missy would rather die than not have David eventually become the father of her children.”

While I was saying this Sara had stopped making the coffee, turned facing me with her mouth open, and sat down, coffee forgotten.

“Other than being psychic Missy is a wonderful girl. David could do worse.”

“You don’t mind the fact that we’re Black?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement.

“No, not at all. But it doesn’t matter what I mind. Trying to keep them apart would be extremely difficult, probably impossible, and painful for everybody, especially Missy.”

“Ben, do you find me attractive?”

The question surprised me so much that I found myself reacting without meaning to. I’m fairly old and don’t get erections easily, but Sara is a beautiful woman. The suggestion hit my gonads before I realized she was simply looking to see what my reaction would be. And looking at my crotch as well.

“”But you’ve never made it with a Black woman, have you?”

I realized I’d been had. Cock teased just to see what my reaction would be. But I could hardly blame her. Sara was suffering too many surprises. I couldn’t blame her for testing the waters.

“Ok. Assuming your daughter, uh granddaughter, is no more prejudice than you I can imagine she could love my son. I just can’t believe any of the rest of it. I want to go talk to them.”

So we made our way back into the living room, coffee still forgotten. But the kids weren’t there.

“I suppose they went out somewhere?” she guessed.

“I didn’t hear the main door close. Do you have a rec room?”

“In this small apartment? No. Just these two rooms, a bathroom and two bed rooms. When my older son’s here he shares with David.”

We sat a second, each wondering what to say. After a minute we realized we were hearing the sound of bed springs.

“Is your son experienced? I’m pretty sure my grand daughter is a virgin. Or was.”

“I would have said the same about my son. I think we’d better leave them alone. I sure wouldn’t have wanted anyone breaking in on me my first time.”

We stared at each other for a while longer.

“Tell me about yourself.” she said, maybe just to break the less than total silence.

The two of them were getting a bit noisier. I’d guess Missy was managing an orgasm her first time. Maybe two.

“He probably won’t think to pull out before he cumes. And I doubt he has any protection.”

She made as if to get up, but sat down again remembering her previous statement.

“Wouldn’t matter anyway,” I countered. “She wouldn’t let him. She’s trying to get pregnant.”

She looked at me, her eyes even wider.

“Sara, don’t think badly of her. She loves him, maybe more than either of us can imagine. Remember, she thinks he’s the only one for her, ever. If he just disappears from her life, this may be her only chance ever to become a mother. Seventy years from now, on her death bed, she might regret not making him cume inside her pussy.”

“So, you’re from Vermont. Are you married?” she began, obviously trying to change the topic.

“Widowed. Six years ago. Two daughters and one son. I think my wife was a little psychic, though not like my daughters. It seems to be getting stronger, each generation. Missy’s mother died eleven years ago in a car accident along with her father. My wife was only forty nine so Missy came to live with us instead of her aunt or uncle. Since my wife died there’s just been the two of us.”

“Did your daughter know she was going to die?”

“Yes, but not exactly when or how. She made her husband promise to remarry so Missy would grow up with a mother. She had no clue that he was going to die with her.”

“No siblings?”

“No.” I didn’t mention the two miscarriages. My younger daughter wanted two children but didn’t get her wish.

Our family history is a little tragic. But I mostly think of the good times we’ve had. We’re a happy, loving family. And I think we’ve had more joy than most people, even my wife and daughter who both died sooner than they should have. Sara reacted the way some people do. She had gotten up and sat next to me and was now holding my hand while we listened to younger people doing what nature meant for two loving people to do.

“Earlier, I meant to surprise you by asking you if you found me attractive. But I liked your answer. We’re both unattached and I haven’t been intimate with a man for years. Would you like to kiss me?” she said, almost with tears in her eyes.

A gentleman doesn’t make a woman plead. I should have been more attentive to Sara’s needs. Of course, with our two young ones both experiencing their first time in the bedroom down the hall, such thoughts were pretty common in that apartment at that time. I turned to look at her and we were suddenly Frenching. Let’s assume I started it.

“Sara,” I said, leading her down the hall to the unoccupied bedroom. “Please don’t expect too much from me. I’m sixty. I hope you like cunnilingus.”

“I love being eaten!” This certainly turned out to be the truth!

When we emerged there was a note on the kitchen table:

“We went out to get a pizza. We’d have waited but… You guys sure know how to stretch it out, especially for old people!”

Sara actually blushed when she read her son’s note.

“They certainly sound smug for two newly deflowered ex-virgins.”

“I guess. Missy’s probably already planning the colors of the bride’s maids’ dresses. I hope she’s planning to wait until after David graduates. Are you ready to be the mother of the groom? Missy’s got an aunt and an aunt-in-law, but you’re going to be the big cheese. I expect she’ll be asking your opinion about everything. Knowing my granddaughter she’s going to make you her surrogate mother. Anyway, a sixteen year old might not be too young to get married, but she’s definitely too young to plan it. You plan everything. I’d rather just write the checks. Don’t worry about expenses. Within reason we’re relatively well off.”

“We’re not! I only earn five hundred a week working as a maid. My older son pays his way, but I’m also supporting my mother. I can’t just quit my job.”

“Yeah. I could well … Sara, I really like you.. “ “Just like me?” “Well, it obviously goes beyond that. We both know what you did to me in that bed. I should be too old to manage what you inspired me to do. But you’re just fishing for compliments my sexy friend. I could hire you to be my mistress, you naughty slut. But that’s probably a bit too sensational a title for the mother of the groom and surrogate mother of the bride. How about if I hire you as wedding consultant? If you get tired of sharing my bed you can always resign your position and come back here. Or else we’ll have to think of some other excuse after it’s all over. Partner? We could start some kind of business together. There’s another possibility we could eventually try, though some would say I was offering to rob the cradle.”

“Are you telling me you’re psychic too?”

“No Sara. For us there’s no blessing from above. We’d have to feel each other out like most people do. Maybe six months from now we could have a serious conversation about a future together. And with our kids married we can hardly avoid it. Of course, we’ve gotten off to a rather fast start. Boy is my pecker tired!”

“Really?” she said, unzipping my fly. She pulled up the skirt of her dress and her lack of panties became obvious. As I sat there she squirmed around so that my enlarged but not very hard penis became delightfully trapped between her cheeks. Then she began massaging it with the crack in her ass, a dreamy look coming into her eyes. I was sorry I couldn’t get up another erection this soon after the ejaculation I’d had in the bedroom. I said something to that effect.

“Ben, I’m not sorry. I love feeling you like this, big and soft, pressing into my private parts. A guy doesn’t have to be inside a girl to please her. You do know that girls hardly ever go inside each other when they do it? And yet, lesbians have great success having orgasms.”

“Well, I’ve had hand jobs, and blow jobs. I’ve never had a tit fuck, but I don’t care for big tits any how. This is my first cheek job. I think I like it.”

My lukewarm compliment got me a friendly slap. It was an obvious joke. Sara could tell I loved what she was doing to me from my sighs if not from an erection. In truth, though, I was proud of my comment about tit fucks. Sara had nicely shaped tits of modest size, the way I like them. But women think all American men lust for DD’s. I wanted to tell her I didn’t in a way she’d believe.

———————– August 2006

“Sara offered to take a leave from her job to help Missy plan the wedding. God knows Missy needs help, and I’m useless. Don’t know the Cebeci Escort first thing about it.”

This was my standard line for explaining why Sara was living with me and Missy for several months while her son was still back in NYC finishing his school year. If possible I left people with the impression he was already in college. But I didn’t actually lie. If anyone suggested Missy was too young we simply stared them down. Few people were that impolite, at least openly.

For a while no one at her school knew about the impending event. About two weeks before the end of the semester, when they found out, I received a very unusual call from her principal. Clearly he didn’t want to even suggest she wouldn’t be welcome back the following year. However, the fact that she’d be married, pregnant or not, was an unprecedented situation.

“Mr. Rogers? I believe your future son in law is in college. Did you know Missy has enough credits to graduate this year if she wants? Perhaps she could get accepted at the same institution so that they could remain together.”

I knew she had enough credits but wasn’t sure if she really had the right credits. The school seemed ready to bend some rules. She had taken her PSAT’s and done very well, qualifying for a National Merit Scholarship. Missy got straight A’s, but so did kids of average ability. Some of her teachers knew she was an outstanding student, but in the non competitive atmosphere we encourage, this wasn’t easily discernable. Her scores on the PSAT, the highest in the school, had surprised some in the administration, including, I think, the principal. He had apparently known almost nothing about her, his brightest tenth grade student. He didn’t even know I was her grandfather, not her father.

I’ve often wondered about this guiding spirit that seems so interested in our family. Sometimes it gets concerned about other events, but matchmaking is always paramount. I think that among other things it’s breeding us for intelligence. My two daughters married roommates from Harvard. I went to RPI and my son went to Cal Tech. I suppose I should have not been surprised to discover that David, in spite of growing up in poor surroundings, and raised by a single mother, had scored 1600 on his SATs, the highest score possible. He was the first kid to ever do so from his high school, and he wasn’t even sure if he was going to college full time that next fall. Money was one of the big problems. Or had been. I intended to deal with that particular problem. My son in law Mark, decided to do something about the other. It took some maneuvering because David had already missed all the application deadlines. But with his scores and his “disadvantaged” background, he was a prime candidate for a full scholarship at a prestigious school, even Harvard, with one of their more successful alumni pulling strings. By the time the principal called it was already almost a done deal.

“Not likely at Harvard.” I answered smugly. I was guessing he hadn’t quite expected that. “But it probably would be a good idea getting her enrolled in one of the schools nearby. Thanks for the suggestion.”

Until that phone call I hadn’t given enough thought about what Missy would be doing the next fall, only David. I called back and asked the principal when the next SAT’s were. I thought they had some scheduled during the summer and was right. Meanwhile we got her to send in preliminary applications to a number of schools, ranging from Harvard to Northeastern, all of course, in Boston. If she couldn’t get into a good school that fall, there was no reason why she couldn’t take a vacation, then start as a Frosh in January. The idea sounded a whole lot better than having her go back to high school. Of course, I’d miss her. But she was getting married so I couldn’t help that anyway.

The wedding was “smallish”, meaning about sixty people. Missy had her three cousins as bride’s maids, but didn’t single any one of them out as her maid of honor. Karl, of course, was the best man. In spite of the fact that their mother’s father was white, the two boys never considered themselves anything but black. Having had a white grandfather, David might have been more friendly to me that day in the park than most black teenagers. But mostly he’s just a nice boy. I’m sure he’d noticed Missy was white and dismissed her, until I brought him over and they looked at each other. Perhaps since his grandmother had done it, he wasn’t that concerned about marrying across racial lines. Karl, however, wasn’t that comfortable being saddled with a bunch of whiteys. The attention he got from a number of attractive females, however, was flattering, even if they were white girls. David didn’t want to ask anyone he knew, other than his brother, to be in the wedding, so instead he asked Missy’s two male cousins to be ushers. Of the eight people in the wedding six of them were my six grandchildren. Because it was “unthinkable” for one of the girls to be paired with her own brother, 16 year old Becky, Paula’s daughter, got matched with her 17 year old cousin Paul, leaving Karl and her brother Matt to Harriet’s two girls Laura, 14, and Jenny 19. Jenny, of course, got Karl, which sort of made her the maid of honor. Anyway, she was also Missy’s oldest girl cousin.

David’s mother, Sara, and grandmother, an aunt and uncle and two cousins came. Sara’s brother and family lived in California, and she hadn’t seen them in five years. She was tickled pink that they decided to come. Counting me, Missy had ten close relatives present and forty or so friends, neighbors and distant relatives. David, counting his mother, had six relatives there. Four friends of Sara’s came up from the city. Even with his brother as best man, David’s side was a bit under represented.

Missy had two relatives who almost didn’t come. Her other grandparents, the Canfields, were in their late sixties and very much alive. They had never taken that much interest in this particular grandchild, but Missy and I had visited them once a year, usually around Christmas. This wasn’t much different from the first five years when her parents were still alive. Larry hadn’t been that close to his parents and everyone loved my wife Lisa. Although Marie had expected Larry to care for their child after her death, their will still made the standard provisions for their mutual demise. The senior Canfields never contested custody nor showed any interest in doing so. The will made Lisa and I clearly her guardians.

The S hit the fan, however, when they discovered that their occasionally beloved granddaughter was planning to get married at the embarrassingly young age of sixteen. Good girls didn’t do that. Although she could legally give consent at age sixteen, at least in Vermont, she would still need her parents or guardians’ consent to marry. First they demanded to know why she didn’t just get an abortion. So I told them it would be difficult since she wasn’t pregnant. There was silence for a while. Then they demanded to know why I was giving my consent. Actually, I hadn’t even realized it was necessary. But I did end up signing something when they got the license. I didn’t even inform the Canfields at that time that Missy’s intended was a black man. The Canfields were bigoted in many ways. I wonder how their son had turned out so nice. Anyway, Missy called them back and gave them a piece of her mind, including the racial bit. We didn’t hear from them for two weeks. But eventually things got straightened out. Maybe someone told them David was going to Harvard. I guess they had to be there, being her grandparents. But they were no one’s favorite guests.

For most of the two months before the wedding Sara was the only one from David’s side anyone in Vermont met. And she was so light that some of the neighbors didn’t realize she was “officially” black. I didn’t want to suddenly surprise people about Missy marrying a black man but didn’t know how to bring it up. Sara, however, had a good approach. She, being the proud mother, simply showed people a picture of her family. I also put a picture of Missy’s fianc?on the table. I guess there’s a lot of reverse discrimination among the younger set. The three female cousins were all pining over the pictures of Karl to a degree they might not have, had he been just another white boy. The fact that he was David’s OLDER brother was just too much. For teenagers, older is clearly better.

I should mention another reason I should have suspected David’s high IQ even before I learned about his test scores. When he talked to me, he seemed to have a much better vocabulary than one expects of a seventeen year old. Yet when he was talking to his friends he almost spoke a different language. In a sense he was bi-lingual. So where did he learn English well enough to score a perfect 800 in Verbal? Apparently mostly from reading.

Saturday, July 15, 2006: “Do you, David Owens Copperfield, take this woman, Melissa Sandra Rogers Canfield, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

I was always a bit surprised at how many people didn’t know or remember that Missy’s real last name was Canfield. But then, her parents had died when she was five. In first grade the school asked us if it was OK to call her by just our last name which was her second middle name anyhow. And so she’s grown up calling herself Missy Rogers in spite of what it says on her birth certificate. She may not remember her parents Çukurambar Escort much but she certainly feels she should honor them. So for a few minutes before she became Mrs. Copperfield, she made sure everyone was reminded that she was actually Miss Canfield, the daughter of Larry and Marie Rogers Canfield and the granddaughter of Lisa Miller Rogers. The senior Canfields and I were all present and didn’t need to be remembered.

In a similar speech David thanked his grandmother for being there, expressed his regret that neither his grandfather nor father could be. One might have assumed his father was deceased, which he could be. Sara never married him and didn’t have to divorce him. Neither she nor her sons have heard anything from or about him since he walked out of their lives.

———————- May 2007

Missy didn’t get into any school in time for the fall semester. But she did quite well on her SATs. 1540 isn’t quite 1600. But it’s way above average, even for Harvard which is where she started last January. I got a phone call from her old principal congratulating us. In the papers they referred to her as one of the high school’s youngest graduates and the first ever to get accepted to Harvard. No one said anything about her being married. The information was obviously supplied by the school.

Sara decided not to move back to her apartment in NYC. I think I’m too old for her, but that’s for her to decide, which she has. Her plan is for us to get married on the kid’s first anniversary. And she wants to have at least one more child! Missy, however, is going to make me a great grandfather before I can become a father again. Her baby’s due in November, and Sara’s making plans for us to move to Boston so she can baby-sit, letting Missy stay in school. We’ll probably set up house down there this fall.

My granddaughter Jenny doesn’t claim to have had a vision. But she’s zeroing in on David’s brother Karl, perhaps not as quickly as Missy did, but certainly just as surely. Next fall she’s transferring to Columbia and she hasn’t made the reason for doing so a secret. Sara says Karl is both pleased and upset by Jenny’s actions. Karl is now taking a full load at NYU. He’s almost as smart as his younger brother so even that’s pretty easy for him. Of course, he’s had to cut down his hours at the hardware store. I told her to tell him we’d be glad to pay his expenses. Or loan him the money if he’d rather borrow it. My son Frank is certain he’s eventually going to acquire the kid as a son-in-law. His daughter Jenny usually gets what she wants, which will include Missy as her Matron of Honor. She credits Missy for introducing her to her future husband. I’m guessing the two of them will wait until they both graduate from college, which may be Karl’s reason for switching to full time. When I asked Sara about Karl’s earlier girlfriend, the one he’d been living with, her response was: which one? I guess that was why he kept most of his clothes in the room he’d been sharing with David.

———————- June 2007

It’s strange that Sara and my daughter Paula were born only three days apart and my daughter-in-law Harriet is less than a year older than them. The minute the two women met Sara they decided she was their new sister not soon-to-be-step-mother. Sara and Harriet became especially close, probably because my son’s family lives close by.

Sara has a habit of shocking people, mostly me, by what I would call her earthy ways. In my studies of the female sex, not exactly scientific but very enjoyable, I’ve come to the conclusion that most members of the “gentler” sex love exposing themselves, “letting down their hair” with people they trust and love. For hetro girls this usually means with guys. Lisa used to claim this was a big part of why she loved spreading her thighs for me. Of course she also loved getting eaten, fucked, and other things.

Sara loves physical exposure as well and goes a bit beyond what Lisa did. For one thing, Lisa wasn’t much into anal sex while Sara is always offering me her asshole. She likes it when I examine with my eyes and fingers, but prefers my erection when I’m up to it. With my lack of stamina these days I doubt there’s another woman I know with whom I could still enjoy the Hershey Highway. But Sara considers it a delightful challenge preparing herself. When she says she’s ready I easily slide down inside her. Or up, since she likes doing a wide variety of positions.

Sara goes beyond Lisa not only in what she likes exposing but also to whom, which means pretty much anybody she likes, especially men. She’s talked Paula and Harriet into treating our house as a mini nudist camp, at least when there are only friends present. I have a large chunk of property with the area around and behind the house totally private, unless you happen to be on my land. So this nudist thing she’s got going extends to the outdoors in good weather.

As I understand it there’s very little sexual display in most nudist camps. Girls don’t do much cock teasing and guys hardly ever get visible erections. But my earthy fianc?believes in changing the rules. She loves giving me an erection with everyone around, and can usually manage, sometimes just by bending over and giving me a wink. But she has an even easier time with Frank and Ted. And then she came up with this rule that a girl earns the right to kiss it if she can make it hard. Because she started doing this with her “sisters” present, everyone found her excuse, for giving her two “future stepsons” blow jobs, amusing. Perhaps Harriet always had a thing for her husband’s sister’s husband. After seeing Sara give Ted head she had to have the same, and had her way with his penis almost immediately. As soon as the two of them were done, there was this embarrassing pause. My daughter Paula is just as horny as her sister in law, and she’d just watched her brother get sucked off once and her husband twice. It might have been embarrassing but before anyone said anything she walked over to Frank, her brother and performed incestuous fellacio, to his obvious delight. Perhaps she did it mostly to diffuse an embarrassing situation. But it was clear she also enjoyed performing oral sex on her brother.

I watched all this display of oral sex with delight. It was much sexier than seeing strangers doing the same thing on a TV screen. And I’d probably have had an erection if Sara hadn’t just sucked me off in front of everyone before turning her attention to the two younger men. So I was saved from a fate worse than, well something nice I suppose. But my immunity was only good for a certain period of time. Later that day my daughter in law caught me with my dingus up and asserted her “rights”. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Paula pulled the same trick on me the next day. But once with the old man seemed to be enough for the two women. From then on they’ve mostly left me to Sara’s devices.

Sara’s next rule a few days later: if a female can make her own partner hard in front of everyone, then she has the right to demand intercourse from him with everyone still watching. Our nudist camp was turning into a full time orgy. Sara thought to make me her first victim, but I am a little old for what she had in mind. Anyway, almost as soon as Sara announced this new rule, Paula got what she wanted from Ted. So the four of us got to watch my daughter get fucked by her husband. So I found out that Sara wasn’t the only female there comfortable with getting her heinie fucked. I suspect Paula hadn’t planned to let that secret out, but Ted apparently decided to “get even” with her for making him the first male victim.

What happened went like this: As Sara finished speaking Paula turned toward her husband and dared him to stay soft, then turned away, spread her buns and began rubbing herself with wet fingers. The rule, of course, was that she couldn’t touch him. Looking back at him she could see the success of her plan. At this point she turned around, sucked him a bit while we all watched, then resumed her doggie position. Eventhough he later decided to get even, it was obvious Ted wasn’t the least bit self conscious about letting the rest of us see him run his sword up Paula’s sheath.

For a while before we started having the family parties, I was lamenting the fact that I wasn’t able to give Sara the sex she deserved and appeared to need. And then she reminded me that before Missy and I stomped into her life she hadn’t had any sex for eight years, and not any satisfying sex for even longer, not since her beloved Bantu left her.

Bantu Cou Pafeld is almost like a member of the family. Sara has never stopped loving him. She never held it against him that he left her with the two boys. He never said he wouldn’t, and in fact, told her right from the beginning that he was going back to Africa in six years. The fact that she was his “girl” for those years and gave birth to two of his sons changed nothing. When he met her, he was quite open about the fact that he had at least three daughters, and probably four, back in Africa. This was with two different mothers who had both been living with him. Sara is smart, but since both his sons are super intelligent, I suspect Bantu is a near genius. Perhaps is not so bad for the world that he seems bent on spreading his genes around.

Sara, as a joke, started calling herself “Mrs. Copperfield” when Bantu moved in with her. Apparently he loved her corruption of his middle and last name, and claimed Cou Pafeld was only an English approximation anyway. Copperfield was almost as close. Of course it was just a joke until Karl was born. For the birth certificate she gave Copperfield as the last name of both parents, and did so again when David was born.

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