Changing the rules of the happiness game (Part 7) [Str8][mf][inc][mm][F]

All morning at school I walked around in a daze. The full impact of how things had changed with Lily had finally landed. I knew the word for what we were doing, but I’d never, ever thought of applying it to my relationship with my sister; it seemed like a dirty, shameful, forbidden topic that belonged to the big, bad outside world, but had never had any relevance to us. I’d first encountered it in a crude scrawl defacing a 6th grade classroom desk, almost certainly placed there by a kid who was no more enlightened about its meaning than I: “INCEST IS BEST,” inscribed with, in place of the S letters, that funny-looking “cool” motif that was all the rage at the time. Surreptitiously, I’d looked the unfamiliar word up in the dictionary, realized that it was a dark and forbidden thing, and filed the knowledge away under “grownup stuff.” The only lasting impression it made on me was that I vaguely associated the “cool S” with forbidden knowledge for a long time thereafter.

But when, a year later, in the early throes of puberty, I found myself, to my great distress, involuntarily aroused when Lily and I started sleeping in our underwear, I didn’t make the connection with the “I” word at all. Indeed all I desperately wanted was to to erase any sexual thoughts I might have in connection with Lily, to let the joy of simply touching and holding her each night fill me up and force out any untoward stirrings. I successfully suppressed my urges for a couple of years, by sheer force of will and by masturbating nightly before bed, and was rewarded by being permitted to dwell in an innocent paradise, my life kept on an even keel through those turbulent early years of adolescence simply because I was centered around the deep calm that cuddling innocently, skin-to-skin with Lily brought me each night.

When, then, Lily herself slid into puberty — I barely noticed at first — and began showing an interest in exploring and in touching with less innocent intent, I resisted at first, then slowly gave in, until we were masturbating each other regularly; but even then, I did not think of it as “incest,” but just as a natural deepening of the bond of close touch that we had already shared for so many years. In the end, it took having our private idyll interrupted by our parents, then taken abruptly from us, to make me begin to feel even a little shame about our activities. But now — Lily and I had become lovers. We were committing… there was no other way to parse it, no avoiding the “I” word, no rationalizing it as merely an extension of our sacred childhood ritual. We had, perforce, made each other grow up; we had had sex, worse we had sex *as siblings*; we had done something that would shock and horrify anyone else in the world. There was no going back. I felt, at the same time, terrified and liberated: no one must know, but also, no one could take this from us now. I was, willy-nilly, an adult now, and I would have to figure out how to navigate the adult world, and protect Lily from the consequences of what we were doing.

At lunch, sitting in a booth at the Ambrosia with Timothy leaning so close up against me that I was sure our friends could tell something was up between us, I felt both distracted and, I’m ashamed to say, a little annoyed. I didn’t really want Timothy throwing himself at me like this. I felt a great deal of affection for him, and I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed our sexual dalliances, but especially now that Lily and I had become lovers, I felt little desire to act out the part of his… his boyfriend, I guess, is what he wanted me to be. Part of me wished we could go back to just hanging out, talking about books and computers and music and stuff like that. The spirit of rebellion with which, just a few days before, I had walked down Broadway openly holding Timothy’s hand, had brought him to orgasm on a bench in a public park, now seemed childish and irrelevant; my transgression with Lily was infinitely deeper by comparison.

Timothy and I had made plans to hang out on the weekend and, when he suggested on the walk back to school that I just come over and spend the night so we could get an early start on whatever we ended up doing on Saturday, my first inclination was to say no; I even had an excuse, namely that I had not brought a change of clothes. But something made me reconsider. I was almost a little afraid of a third night with Lily in such short succession; the past two had been so intense, and worrying about being found out in the morning — not to mention my lingering anxiety that Lily could be pregnant — had been so nerve-wracking that in a way I welcomed the thought of a distraction. Also, I thought, another evening hanging out with Alice and Timothy would just be… fun. It was a wonderful feeling letting go of inhibitions, not worrying about what other might think, just being honest and straightforward and engaged with two other people. I knew that I’d probably end up getting physical with Timothy again if I went over; I wasn’t feeling any particular desire to at that moment, but I also recognized that I’d probably be up for it when the time came. I briefly felt a pang of guilt — shouldn’t I tell Lily about Timothy, now that we were lovers? But I couldn’t do that. And I couldn’t, of course, tell Timothy about Lily either, so I lacked a real excuse to avoid his overtures. What was I going to say, that I had a secret girlfriend? Thinking about it, I knew I was being unfair to both of them, and I felt rotten, and put it out of my mind.

I told Timothy that I would indeed stay over that evening, but wanted to quickly run home after school first to pick up a change of clothes. In point of fact it wasn’t so much the clothes that I needed, but rather to see Lily, to reassure her that I was just going to sleep over with my friend again — and to reassure myself that she wouldn’t be upset about that. After my last period class, I took the subway back uptown, marveling at how crowded it was; I was used to hanging out for a while after school, avoiding the biggest rush. When I got home Lily’s bus had not yet arrived; I told Mom that I was going to stay over at Timothy’s and would likely spent Saturday night as well, then quickly repacked my backpack with two changes of clothes and waited impatiently in the living room for Lily to get back.

I didn’t have to wait long; when she walked through the front door and saw me, her eyes lit up and she ducked into the living room to sit next to me on the couch. I said, “Lil, I’m going over to Timothy’s tonight and maybe even staying tomorrow too. I came home just to see you before I go.” She looked disappointed for the briefest moment, then smiled meltingly. “I’m so glad you came back, Robbie! I was looking forward to seeing you all day.” I felt terrible and wished I hadn’t promised Timothy I’d go over, but she put her hand over mine and started toying with my fingers. Almost immediately, Mom saw fit to peek in to greet Lily. If she noticed that we were, essentially, holding hands, she didn’t say anything; she merely repeated to Lily that I would be staying at Timothy’s tonight, and said “Dinner’s at seven, when your dad is home.”

It wasn’t even 5 yet and, when Mom when back to the kitchen, I decided that Timothy could wait a bit longer and sat with Lily; I put my arm around her shoulder and she rested her head there, while I stroked her hair with my free hand. The uncomplicated contact calmed me and I could tell from Lily’s deepening, slowing breaths that she was enjoying the rest as well. For a while it seemed almost like we were back to where we had begun, taking comfort in just simple touch, and we sat that way for ages, until finally I said, “Lil, I’d better go.” She looked up at me and smiled, and I felt I could barely contain my love; I gently kissed her lips, then reluctantly pulled back again when it seemed things would get too steamy. “I love you, Lil,” I whispered. “I love you, Robbie,” she whispered back. We stood up, I hugged her tightly, then, feeling light-hearted, I ducked into the kitchen to tell Mom I was going, and headed out for the subway.

When I arrived at Timothy’s place I knocked on the door and Alice answered. “Hi Rob, dinner in about an hour, OK?” She was, as I more-or-less had expected, scantily dressed, in panties and a bra. I could see Timothy at his computer, also in his underwear. Alice returned to the kitchen and I mentally shrugged and, putting my backpack down next to Timothy, took off my shoes, socks, jeans and shirt and pulled up a chair next to him. Timothy wanted to show me a new computer game he had copied from someone I didn’t know at school. We fiddled around with the computer for a while. The game was pretty bad, but — this was an unusual novelty back then — it had funny, barely-intelligible synthesized voices in it, and Alice came out of the kitchen and wanted to see these odd sounds emanating from the computer were all about. She leaned over me to look at the monitor, resting her arms on the back of my chair, her wrists on my bare shoulder. I felt myself get goosebumps, and was uncomfortably aware that if I were to put my head back now, it would touch her breasts. I tried not to think about it. Why was I reacting at what was obviously completely innocent contact? But I sat there stiffly and presently Alice stood up and returned to the kitchen, which was emitting tantalizing smells.

Dinner was, as always, a revelation. Alice lit two candles and placed them in the center of the table, then dimmed the lights. She had prepared a casserole with, she said, rice, yogurt, and chicken — “No eggplant this time, I’m afraid,” she joked. “I’m eggplanted out, so I’m making an exception to being mostly vegetarian today.” She inverted the heavy-looking pot over a serving dish and coaxed a beautiful golden-brown mound out. I commented on the color and she said “Saffron! Special occasion.” I wondered what exactly saffron was, and what the special occasion was for that matter. She sliced triangles out of the dish and served me, then Timothy, then herself. It looked like rice, but golden yellow, with a crispy-looking crust on top. The steam rising from it carried a delicate, almost intoxicating fragrance. I wanted to dig right in but Alice was opening a largish bottle of wine. Without asking, she poured some for each of us. “Bon appétit!” I took a forkful of the rice; it was unbelievable, fluffy and tender on the inside, crunchy on the outside, suffused with a delicate flavor I assumed was the saffron, supported by an chicken undertone. I was stunned, and said so. Alice beamed. “Tahchin. It looks complicated to make, but it really isn’t that hard.” Not for the first time, I envied Timothy. My mom was a decent cook, I’d always thought — I didn’t really give it much thought. But our meals at home tended towards a someone monotonous rotation of meat, potatoes, and boiled vegetables. Pretty much everything I ate at Alice’s table, even the takeout pizza from the other night, counted among the best food I had ever put in my mouth. I wondered how she did it, especially as, unlike my mom, she worked during the day.

The wine was very different from the one we’d had the other night; rich and juicy, far less acidic. It went perfectly with the tahchin, but after Alice had refilled my glass once already, I stopped her before she poured asecond. “I didn’t feel so good the next day after all that wine last time,” I admitted. Alice chuckled and said “Drink lots and lots of water. If you drink enough water, you won’t get a hangover the next day”; but she put down the bottle. Water sounded good, actually. I excused myself, went into the kitchen found a pitcher, and a few ice cubes in a metal tray the freezer. I filled the pitcher with water, added the ice cubes, refilled and replaced the ice cube tray, and brought the pitcher and three extra glasses to the table. After I downed a glass — I was thirstier than I’d realized — I couldn’t refuse a third helping of the tahchin, and with it, another glass of wine. I was feeling the effects of the wine already; I felt a bit light-headed, but also just very contented, sitting at the small, oilcloth-covered table, in candlelight, with two people I liked a great deal, each of us in our underwear (I’d almost stopped noticing it by now) on a warm night, drinking wine and eating delicious food.

After dinner we retired to the sitting area, as we had last time, with Timothy and I sitting on the couch and Alice opposite us on the loveseat. This time, though, she took a guitar out of a dilapidated-looking case and started to tune it. I looked at Timothy quizzically. “Mom knows a lot of really good songs.” She noodled around a little on the guitar, then, without warning, launched into a song. *Let’s get away, you say, find a better place…* Alice’s voice was hauntingly beautiful. I felt chills; the music was making me feel emotions I didn’t even know I had. When she began to sing the wordless chorus, Timothy joined in, softly at first: *da da, ba doo da*, and I felt tears coming to my eyes listening to them together. *Time passes all too soon, how it rushes by; now, a thousand moons are about to die, no time to reflect on what the time was spent on.* I felt transported. Timothy sang quietly but confidently; I could tell he enjoyed it, had sung with his mother many times before. I wished that I knew the words, knew the melody, could join in. I liked music, listened to classic rock stations on my clock radio at home and occasionally even tuned into the Long Island station that played the cutting-edge new music, though I tended to tire of it quickly and go back to the “safe” stations. But this was something else entirely; in Alice’s hands, the guitar was weaving a story deeper than the words of the song, and she and Timothy harmonized so beautifully that it felt like they were reading each other’s minds. I felt an aching loneliness; I couldn’t share in creating this beauty, I was just an outsider, condemned to listen and not understand.

But now Alice was beginning another song, and Timothy joined in right from the beginning. This one was simple enough, each verse just three repetitions of a phrase, followed by a new phrase that was repeated in the next verse; and by the fourth, in spite of myself — and perhaps I could never have done this if I had not been disinhibited by the wine — I joined in, quietly, maybe a little out of tune: *Wind’s away, laddie-oh, wind’s away, laddie-ay*. Alice brought it deftly back around to the first verse, and we sang the whole song again, with my voice slowly finding its place. It felt… it felt like time stopped and the rest of the world faded away and there was only us, sitting here singing, and maybe the boats on Dillon Bay, wherever that was. At the end, Timothy leaned up against me, and I felt such a surge of closeness to him that I put my arm around his bare shoulder. Alice smiled at us, and began a new song: *Hey-ho, nobody home…* I actually knew this one; it was a round, and I vaguely remembered we’d sung it in music class in elementary school; it had made an impression on me then. Timothy came in on cue, and when it was my turn to join, I surprised myself by doing so, and not messing it up. We sang it through a few times, until Alice faded out, then I, then Timothy.

Alice looked at us in silence for a long time, smiling, until I began to feel self-conscious about sitting there with my arm around Timothy; but presently she said “You two make a lovely couple,” and I realized I wasn’t too surprised that she knew very well that something was going on between us. I was feeling so close to the both of them after the singing that I didn’t even really mind. If being Timothy’s boyfriend was what it took to be part of an evening like this, well, then, I was Timothy’s boyfriend for the time being. Alice refilled all of our wine glasses, then ceremonially said: “a toast to the young couple!” That *did* embarrass me, a little, and even Timothy protested ineffectually: “Mom!…” But we all drank, and then Alice picked up the guitar again and began to sing, a sad song in her haunting voice: *oh that I was where I would be, then should I be where I am not…* and Timothy picked that moment to take my free hand. We sat like that, listening to the song, my hand in his resting on his thigh, and I felt wonderful. Alice looked beautiful, sitting on the loveseat in the candlelight with the guitar in her lap. I had the crazy thought that I was maybe sort of almost falling in love with her, but that because she was so close to her son, I’d make her happy by making *him* happy, and so I didn’t mind Timothy putting his head on my shoulder, and his other hand on my leg, and I even gently kissed his hair.

After we had polished off the wine and sung a few more songs, Alice sighed, and stood up. “You two should get to bed.” She sounded almost wistful. “My beautiful son… his beautiful friend.” Neither Timothy nor I said anything. The compliment might objectively have been a very odd thing to say, but at the same time, it gave me goosebumps. I felt I was being allowed to be a part of something very special, and yes, in a way, it excited me that Alice thought I was beautiful, thought that Timothy was beautiful, and knew very well that we would be making love quite soon. The thought was arousing me; I could feel myself hardening under my underwear. Perhaps again because of the wine, I didn’t really take any special care to hide my erection when I walked to the bathroom to brush my teeth; I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw Alice looking. Remembering Alice’s advice, I took care to force myself to drink plenty of extra water to fend off a hangover.

Once Timothy and both closed the door to his tiny bedroom, we took off our underwear, and I saw he was as hard as I was. We didn’t say anything, but got into bed, and held each other in a close embrace. I felt the wine, and a mixture of emotions swirling around in my head. After a while we slowly began to rock back and forth; I felt his hard little penis rubbing against mine and then slipping past, urgently probing my groin, but I used my hands to steady and slow him. We moved together like this for what seemed like an eternity, and then I heard him begin to moan, and decided it was time; I pressed faster and more urgently until I felt the familiar pressure building, then — remembering Lily coming when I did the same thing — I put my hand between his butt cheeks and massaged his hole a little. His breathing quickened and, sensing he liked it, I slipped a finger in carefully. The effect was immediate: he groaned, loudly enough that I feared (remembering how we had heard her own moans faintly through the wall the other night) that Alice must certainly hear. Then he began to repeat, softly, “Rob.. Roobbbb.. Roobbbb…” as he rubbed against me and I fingered him. Hearing him murmur my name and sensing his pleasure excited me, and finally I could hold back no longer and came, my penis pressing against his belly, covering it with my semen.

Timothy kept thrusting against me for a few minutes, as I cautiously delved deeper into him with my finger; then suddenly I seemed to hit a special spot; he moaned loudly, his butthole contracted hard, as if it were trying to push my finger out, and I could feel his ejaculation spilling onto me. We lay there like that for a minute, then I cautiously withdrew my finger and he rolled over onto his back. We were both a mess of sweat and semen. I thought briefly of taking a shower, but it seemed like too much effort. Eventually we just drifted off to sleep; but I thought as I began to lose hold on my consciousness that I heard Alice moaning as she masturbated in the next room over. Perhaps it was just a dream born out of anxiety that she had heard us.

In the morning, I didn’t have a headache or dry throat, but I did have to pee, urgently. Apparently all that extra water had done its work. When I got up, though, I could hear that the shower was running. I cautiously peeked out of the bedroom and noticed that the bathroom door was open. “Well,” I thought, remembering one of my mom’s trite proverbs, “what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” I took a deep breath and, still naked, walked out of the bedroom, then, after a little hesitation — I really did have to go — strode into the bathroom, saying “goodmorningAlicegottago” so as not to startle her. She gave a little wave through the transparent shower curtain. I lifted the toilet seat and relaxed, releasing a long, powerful stream.

Out of the corner of my eye I could tell that Alice was watching through the open area where the shower curtain didn’t reach, but I didn’t turn my head. I felt a little proud of myself for my nonchalance; I had “done as the Romans” again, and it was fine. When I finished, I flushed the toilet, then instantly remembered just as it was too late. Alice yelped and moved over to the end of the tub to get away from the suddenly hot water. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Alice, I forgot!” I moaned. She laughed. “That’s quite all right Rob, it serves *me* right for never remembering when Timothy is in here. Or you,” she chuckled again. I allowed myself to look at her; she was definitely not averting her eyes from me. I felt a little embarrassed, I probably looked like a mess after last night.

As the water returned to a normal temperature, Alice moved back under the spray, and I started to walk out, but Alice parted the shower curtain as I passed. “Want in?” I assumed she meant that she was getting out and would leave the water running for me, and I said “OK” and stood there awkwardly for a moment waiting for her to exit, but she just waited with the curtain open. My heart started to pound a little. Surely she didn’t expect me to… But now I was stuck! I shrugged inwardly and got in, on the side that the spray mostly didn’t reach, half hoping that Alice would step out, half hoping she wouldn’t. She let the curtain close again and we both stood there for another endless moment.

I think Alice had suddenly realized that this *was* pretty weird. Drying me as I stepped out of the shower was one thing, but the tub was small and we wouldn’t even be able to pass each other without touching. I tried to avoid thinking about showering with Lily, as I had so many times; I knew if my thoughts strayed in that direction I’d get hard. As it was, the situation was so odd that I didn’t feel particularly aroused even with Alice standing there naked in close proximity. She handed me the soap and I lathered myself up, then indicated that I needed to get under the water. We did a little dance and, as I’d feared, rubbed up against each other a little as I passed her. I tried to ignore it and washed off the soap, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that Alice was quite obviously looking at my naked body.

To be honest, I felt a little thrill at her seeing it, but I also didn’t want to get excited and spring an erection in front of her, and I felt like that was a serious risk. To distract myself, I wet my hair, then took some shampoo and started to lather it in. “Here,” said Alice, “let me do it for you.” She gently turned me around, took the shampoo bottle from me and squirted a little more out, then massaged it into my hair. It felt quite nice, certainly more thorough than I would have been. After a while she gently pushed me back under the water and continued to massage my scalp until the shampoo had rinsed out. At the end, she briefly brought both of her hands down onto my chest, brushing my nipples almost as if by accident, then held my hips while she slipped past me to get under the water herself. With a shock I realized I had felt her pubic hair rub against my butt as she moved by.

I felt like, as “normal” as it might be in this family to share a bathroom and to see each other naked, there was no way that Alice could think this was a completely innocent thing. I doubted, for example, that she ever showered with Timothy, although of course I couldn’t be 100% sure of that. It seemed only remotely plausible, though, that she was so used to taking showers with her son that having me in there didn’t register on the weirdness scale at all. And she was quite obviously looking straight at me, not even pretending to avert her eyes. The thought that she might be registering interest in my body was starting to arouse me and I said, brightly, “I’m done… getting out.” Was it my imagination that Alice looked a bit disappointed? I stepped out, got a towel, and began to dry myself. To my relief, Alice didn’t get out and start toweling me as she had before. She waited until I was done, then got out herself, as I walked back to Timothy’s bedroom.

Timothy was getting up when I returned. We sat, naked, and talked for a while; I didn’t mention that I’d just taken a shower with his mother. He was looking at me with evident interest, and I allowed the slight thrill of being admired to give me the erection I’d successfully avoided in the bathroom with Alice. Timothy got hard too, but I carefully avoided getting too close to him; I didn’t want to get messy again. Eventually our erections subsided and he got up to go take a shower, walking out into the hall naked. I looked around for my backpack with the change of clothes, and realized that I’d left it out by the computer. I didn’t really want to put on my underwear from the previous night if I could help it. Perhaps I could just run out and grab it before Alice came out of her room?

When I peeked out the door, though, I could see that Alice was already out and about; she was standing by the dining table gathering up the dishes we had left last night. To my slight surprise — at this point, it had to be admitted, I was learning to roll with the unexpected — I saw that she was topless, her breasts hanging slightly as she leaned over the table. Seeing her like this, in only panties, even from a distance was somehow even more exciting than having her right next to me naked in the shower, and I wondered if she was going to put on a bra or just hang out like this at breakfast. I rather hoped for the latter. As far as my backpack was concerned, I reasoned that at this point she probably wouldn’t care if I briefly went out naked, so, as casually as I could manage, I simply walked out to the computer desk. I’d initially intended just to grab my backpack and go back to the room to put on fresh underwear, but Alice called out, asking me what I wanted for breakfast. She didn’t seem at all perturbed, though she was looking straight at me. I said, “oh, anything would be fine” and she suggested she could make a frittata again. I had a sudden idea: “could I help you make it? I’d like to learn the secret!” She beamed and replied, “Of course, Rob!”

I excused myself for a moment, ducked back into the bedroom and put on my fresh underwear, then went back out to the kitchen, where Alice was already taking ingredients out of the fridge: a dish of boiled potatoes covered in Saran wrap, long green peppers, onions, cheese – “Gruyère,” she explained – eggs, and cream. She turned the oven on. As she began to chop the peppers, Timothy emerge from the bathroom, and walked over to the dining area, a towel wrapped around his waist. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see his mom topless; perhaps that was normal for a Saturday morning? He asked what we were making, then squeezed into the kitchen to put some water in an teakettle to boil. Alice broke eggs into a bowl and whisked some cream in. She showed me how much salt and pepper to add, and grated in a small amount of nutmeg, emphasizing the importance of not overdoing it with spice in particular. I cut up some onions, inexpertly, while she chopped garlic. She poured some olive oil into a heavy skillet and sauteed the garlic and chopped vegetables while, on her instructions, I grated some of the cheese. Finally, she whisked the egg mixture again a few times, then added it to the skillet along with the cheese. “Now it just stays in the oven for about ten minutes,” she explained.

Timothy was sitting at the table drinking his tea. I wondered if he was naked under the towel. I didn’t remember him taking underwear when he went to take a shower, and he’d come straight out to sit with us. It sort of excited me in an obscure way that he might be sitting there naked, while Alice was right here topless next to me, standing so close I could see the bumps around her nipples. I wondered idly if she had breastfed Timothy when he was little. I imagined she had; she didn’t seem like the type to forgo close physical contact. At the same time, the whole scene seemed so banal; despite all of our near-nudity, we were just making breakfast, drinking tea, chatting about inconsequential stuff. It felt years away from the intimacy of last night’s singing, or the extreme weirdness of showering with Alice that morning. I kept kind of forgetting our state of undress, then suddenly noticing a little thing – a little pubic hair peeking out from under Alice’s panties, or the hair on her forearms, or how her breasts sagged slightly. I wanted the easy comfort of the situation to last. It felt good to be nearly naked, it felt good that Alice saw me and liked what she saw — she’d said I was beautiful last night, hadn’t she? And she had looked at me in the shower. It felt good that *Timothy* didn’t mind that we were all so exposed, that he found it completely normal and unsurprising.

I felt an odd dissatisfaction with the fact that this was utterly unimaginable in *our* family. I certainly did not want to see my mother nude, much less my father; but I couldn’t help but imagine myself and Lily being free to be walk around naked at home. Our parents would — so I daydreamed — just ignore our nakedness, as if it were so natural as to not be worthy of comment. Lily’s breasts would be free to bounce pertly as she walked; maybe my mom would comment approvingly on how they were developing. If I got an erection looking at Lily, my parents would ignore it — at most, perhaps, my dad would say, *Looking good, son!* They’d be aware of course at some level that Lily and I were making love each night in our room, but they wouldn’t dwell on it, just as I intellectually understood that my parents probably had sex sometimes, but had no desire to imagine it. Perhaps they’d look at Lily and me and say, *my beautiful son… my beautiful daughter… what a beautiful couple.* Just like Alice had said to me and Timothy last night. I felt myself starting to harden and quickly sat down at the table to hide it. Alice sat down opposite and poured herself some tea.

When the frittata was ready, Alice retrieved it from the oven and we had a fine breakfast. I knew I hadn’t done that much to help, but I still felt glad that I now, in theory, knew how to make one delicious meal. Someday perhaps I’d make it for Lily. We discussed our plans for the day: Timothy and I were going to head over to the Village and hang out, have lunch, maybe go to a record store. Alice said she’d probably run some errands but we should feel free to stay out as late as we wanted; she’d get pizza again if we approved. After we’d eaten, Timothy and I got dressed — I noticed he had indeed been naked under the towel — and headed out; when we left, Alice was still wearing only her panties.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/p1ho8a/changing_the_rules_of_the_happiness_game_part_7