Changing the rules of the happiness game (Part 8) [Str8][mf][inc][mm][Fm]

Timothy and I had a nice time in the Village. We went to Tower Records, and for the first time I ventured upstairs to the balcony where they had folk music, looking for records of the kind of music we had been singing the night before. Timothy didn’t know the names of most of the songs, or who had sung them, but he thought that the first song we’d sung, the one about “finding a better place,” was by a group called Pentangle, and I found a few albums by them in the P section. I didn’t know whether any of them had the song I’d liked — there were no lyrics on the album cover and no song whose title sounded particularly like it was about finding a better place — but I bought three of the most likely-looking ones anyway.

After the record store, we just walked around the crowded streets for a while. I could tell that Timothy was hoping I’d take his hand again, but, as much as I was enjoying hanging out with him, the sense of acute affection I’d felt for him the night before had faded, and I felt weird thinking about being too demonstrative with him in public even if we had done so before. It wasn’t at all implausible that we might run into someone we knew and, though I suspected all our friends already had figured out that something was going was on between us, I didn’t really relish removing all doubt. I felt guilty. Timothy obviously had deeper feelings for me that I didn’t fully reciprocate, even as I continued to be physically involved with him. I didn’t want to stop seeing him, especially as that would certainly mean no longer being able to see Alice either. Every minute I spent over there, I felt that I was expanding my horizons, learning about aspects of life that I’d never dreamed about in my sheltered, uptown existence.

But at the same time, I wished that Timothy weren’t so… *serious* about me. I didn’t know how to stay close to them without continuing to let him — and Alice — believe that we were a “couple.” All I knew was that, as affectionate as I felt towards Timothy, and as much as I was turned on by the fact that he was obviously infatuated with me, I couldn’t truly think of him — or any male — as a romantic partner. And that led me to the inexorable conclusion that I was abusing our friendship, allowing him to believe that I felt the way he did, just so that — so that what, actually? So that I could get my rocks off? I didn’t need that, I reminded myself. Lily and I were lovers now. No, I had to admit to myself that it was really much more about how much I enjoyed spending time in this odd, intimate little family that was so different from anything I’d ever known. I didn’t want to give that up, and it felt like letting Timothy believe that I felt the same way about him as he did about me was a prerequisite. But I didn’t feel good about it.

We ate an indifferent lunch on Bleecker Street, then simply wandered around for a few hours. When the afternoon heat began to tire us, we got Italian ices; then Timothy suggested we go back to his apartment: “at least we can get out of our sweaty clothes.” When we got there, Alice was out. Timothy suggested that we shower together. I of course wasn’t under any illusions about what he wanted, but I was starting to feel a little horny myself and I agreed. We stripped in his bedroom, then went to the bathroom and started the water. As always, I liked looking at him naked. He was just kind of soft and cute and his chubbiness, his immature genitals and mostly hairless body gave him a kind of androgynous look. We got into the shower and paid lip service to actually washing, then got down to what we were really there for. After we had touched each other for a while and were both fully erect, Timothy asked me shyly if I wanted to try taking him from behind. I rubbed myself against his butt crack for a while, but when he clarified that he wanted me to try actually penetrating him, I didn’t really feel ready for that; I wasn’t even sure it would be physically possible. When I’d had my finger in him the night before, there simply didn’t seem to be enough room to accommodate my penis, which, relative to his at least, was pretty thick. I didn’t turn him down outright, but instead took the soap and played around with washing his butt, then tried putting a finger in again. His reaction was gratifying; he moaned and tried to push himself back onto my finger. I had an idea; pushing the shower curtain out a little, I sat on the side of the tub. That positioned me to take his penis into my mouth. The clean, slightly soapy taste and smell felt strange; last time I had tasted him he had been sweaty and musky. I pushed my finger in and out of his anus as I sucked and tongued him. Quite soon he began to groan loudly and then, climaxing, spilled a surprising amount of semen into my mouth. The last time I’d sucked him there had been hardly any; this time I nearly choked as I tried to swallow it. At the moment of his orgasm, Timothy’s knees almost buckled out from under him; I had to hold him hard around his waist to steady him.

After he had calmed down, I let him go. Remaining on the side of the tub, I motioned to him sit down on my lap and planted his ample buttocks around my erection. I closed my eyes and, putting my arms around his hips and my hand on his chubby belly, I rocked him back and forth, my shaft sliding between his wet cheeks until I felt myself getting close; then, I raised one hand to his breasts and, imagining Lily, fondled them. When I finally came, spraying his backside, it was with a sense of mild shame. I felt conflicted; the orgasm had satisfied me physically but left me a bit empty. I missed Lily. As we washed ourselves off, I tried to reassure myself that I would see her tomorrow, and that perhaps Timothy would, after this “afternoon delight,” be OK with just sleeping tonight. My feeling of shame, however, did not dissipate after we had dried ourselves and walked out of the bathroom, without even towels around our waists, only to find Alice — fully dressed — already home and indeed standing in the hallway near her bedroom door, only a few steps from the bathroom.

My heart leapt into my throat and my cheeks burned hotly. It was bad enough that she saw us leaving the bathroom together but — I wasn’t clear on when she had got back — surely she might have heard Timothy moaning, or even my own vocalizations? There could be no mystery about what we had been doing in there. But Alice simply smiled and greeted us. As we stood there, awkwardly, she asked how our day had gone, then announced brightly: “Hey, you guys, why don’t we just go nudist tonight, shall we? Like in the old days.” I didn’t know what old days she was referring to. “I’m going to take a shower,” she continued, “then we’ll see about getting pizza.” We retreated to Timothy’s room. He made no move to get dressed, even pull on underwear, and I asked him if his mother had been serious about “going nudist.” “Yeah,” he sighed. “We always used to go naked when I was younger. Even sometimes nowadays she likes to. I think Mom was part of a nudist colony or something once.” He didn’t seem super-enthusiastic about it, but he also didn’t pull on underwear, so I didn’t either. I was a bit irritated, though. After the embarrassment of being caught leaving the shower together I had rather the urge to hide. It didn’t help that Alice had acted utterly nonchalant about it. I almost had the absurd feeling that she was forcing us to go naked as a kind of punishment, although that was obviously nonsense: Timothy had just made it clear that it had been a habit by them long before I had come around. Still, it bothered me a little that I didn’t feel comfortable going against the tide and even just putting on briefs. I wasn’t going to do it if Timothy didn’t, obviously, but I would have preferred if Alice had just suggested our usual lounging-around-the-house attire.

Sure enough, Alice emerged from the bathroom stark naked and stayed that way. Timothy and I walked out — just a tiny bit reluctantly, it seemed to me — and we sat for a while on the sofa, Alice as usual on the loveseat opposite. I thought it a bit odd that Alice didn’t mind all of us sitting there without even a towel between us and the furniture, but I figured we were all freshly showered and in the end our butts weren’t going to make the somewhat ratty upholstery any worse than it already was. We talked. She was in fine form, and the conversation veered from politics to the environment to protestors to punks to drugs to music and so forth; I was getting caught up in the fun of discussing and debating with her and Timothy and my discomfiture at the (almost) enforced nudism was starting to fade. It was easy to forget that you weren’t wearing clothes when we were all focusing on each other’s thoughts, not our bodies. At some point Alice went to the kitchen phone and ordered a large eggplant and garlic pizza. I was figuring that she’d have to get dressed to go get it, and thought about perhaps volunteering myself and then just not getting undressed again when I came back, but Alice surprised me by asking if the place delivered. Apparently they did, and she gave them the address. “Hey, Friday and Saturday night they have free delivery,” she beamed, when she returned, with an open bottle of red wine and three glasses in her hands. She poured for each of us.

I was starting to feel confident about this new drinking habit, after successfully fending off a hangover the night before, and I accepted the wine gratefully. We sipped and talked, and I started to feel, on the whole, much better. The better part of an hour later, the pizza arrived. Alice went and grabbed a bathrobe to answer the door, then shed it again as soon as she had paid and closed the door. It was still relatively early, not even 7 yet, but we ate hungrily, putting the pizza on paper plates the delivery guy had brought, drinking more wine to go along with it. Eventually we ran out of wine — Alice and I were doing most of the drinking, I realized; Timothy had had only two glasses if I had kept track right — and she brought out another bottle. I had an uneasy feeling that I shouldn’t drink any more, but I felt so good at that moment that I accepted another glass. When the daylight started to subside in the apartment, Alice lit candles again, then pulled out her guitar. This was the moment I’d eagerly awaited, and I lost myself in the singing for the next hour or two, my head swimming with the wine.

I was already getting a bit sleepy when Alice put down the guitar and went into her bedroom. She brought a few items out that I didn’t recognize, a small, thin green packet and a decorated hexagonal box. Timothy said, “Mom…” in a cautious voice. “Timothy doesn’t partake,” Alice explained. “But it’s nice sometimes, in good company. Do you mind?” I didn’t know what she was talking about, but figured it out when she opened the box, took out some material, put it on a paper from the green packet and began to roll. She lit the joint in the flame of the candle and breathed the smoke in, holding it for a while before exhaling. “Want a toke, Rob?” I had, of course, never smoked pot, and in fact thought of it as a seriously delinquent practice. I knew of course that some of my classmates partook, and of course hanging out Washington Square one occasionally saw even relatively normal-looking NYU students getting stoned in broad daylight. But the wine had lowered my inhibitions, I was feeling pretty good, and I was *curious.* I accepted the joint, took a deep puff, tried to hold it in as Alice had and immediately broke out in a coughing fit.

Alice giggled, took the joint back, and handed me my wineglass. When I’d recovered sufficiently to drink, I took a sip, then asked her for water. She stood up — I remember staring quite openly at her naked body and thinking how beautiful it was in the candlelight — and fetched a pitcher with ice water and more glasses. I took a long draught of the cooling water and when the ache in my throat began to subside, indicated that I was ready to try again. Timothy didn’t say anything. Alice passed me the joint and again I inhaled, trying to be a little more careful. This time at least I didn’t cough, although I wasn’t able to hold the smoke for very long.

I had three more tokes before Alice finished up the joint; I was acting like an expert at inhaling by the last one. I wasn’t feeling *anything* strange, I thought, other than mildly drunk from the wine. (In point of fact I was probably profoundly drunk from the wine, but sitting there on the couch it hadn’t really registered yet.) Alice started telling an anecdote, and I stared at her, sitting naked opposite us. She really was quite gorgeous, I thought. The candlelight dappled her breasts and her pubic hair was a dark, mysterious triangle in the midst of her crossed legs. She was neither too thin nor too padded, but just right. I reflected on the sum of my sexual experience to that point. I had been only been with Lily — a *child,* I thought, just twelve years old — and with Timothy, my age but hardly any more physically mature than Lily was. It must be completely different to lie with an adult woman.

I started to wonder what Alice thought of my body. She had stood close and toweled me down, she had watched me pee, she had invited me into the shower and stared unabashed at my nakedness, she had washed my hair and touched me as we brushed by each other in the tight confines of the shower. She had called me (and Timothy) beautiful. She liked to see me; it was obvious. I had mostly been sitting on the sofa in such a way that I was partly hiding myself; now, I relaxed, spread my legs a bit. Alice could look straight at my crotch if she wanted, just as I could see her pubic hair. I felt myself stiffening just a little. I was starting to feel *really* weird. It wasn’t just the wine; time seemed to be going slowly, and I was having a little trouble following what Alice was saying. Oh, I understood the words perfectly well, but the anecdote wasn’t making that much sense. Still, when she finished, I found myself laughing, hard, even though I didn’t quite know why. Alice made some comment to Timothy about me, chuckling. I didn’t quite hear it, and wondered what she had said, feeling a bit miffed. Timothy at least didn’t laugh with her. He looked a bit concerned, and again I felt a wave of affection for him. I put my arm around him and he leaned against my shoulder.

Alice smiled at us and picked up the guitar. She began singing again, and her voice was the voice of an angel. The music felt like it was physically washing over me, bathing my body in golden light. It felt almost sexual, and I realized I was quite hard and Alice could see and I didn’t care at all. I just rested my head on the top of Timothy’s and listened to the music, my legs spread comfortably apart. *Timothy* wasn’t hard, I noticed. He seemed to be enjoying cuddling me, but his legs were pressed together. *Well, of course, he doesn’t want Alice to look at* his *penis,* I thought. It seemed to make sense to me. Alice started into another song. I was feeling sleepy.

When she finished the song, she put down the guitar. I could barely keep my eyes open, but a rich jumble of images was streaming across my mind’s eye. There were abstract colors and shapes, but also vague, fleeting memories. They weren’t fully-formed images, just impressions. I was suckling at my mother’s breast; it felt good, but my father was annoyed; I didn’t know why. I was a little child, naked in the bath, and my mother was washing me. She touched my penis. It got hard and she jerked her hand away like she’d been burned. I was waiting with my father in a bright, uncomfortable room. A man in a white coat came out and invited us to see my new little sister. My mother was lying in bed. Her breasts were bare, which shocked me, but then I was looking at an impossibly tiny creature, swaddled up in my mother’s arms, and I could see nothing else; I was filled with a sense that I must love and protect her. I was lying in bed the first time that little Lily came to me; she woke me up and I welcomed her into my bed. Holding her, everything felt right with the world. I was lying in bed with Lily and Mom came and suggested we take our pajamas off. I thrilled at the feeling of Lily’s bare skin. I was lying in bed and Lily, tall and half grown up, came naked and lay on top of me and I was erect and…

I woke up. Lily — oops, no, Alice, had stood up and was softly padding over to the sofa. I opened my eyes just a tiny bit, not moving at all. She was sitting down on the other side of Timothy. She put her arm around him; I could feel her hand touching my shoulder, where his head was still leaning. Timothy lifted his head and protested weakly, “Mom…!” but Alice pulled him towards her. I closed my eyes again. She’d pulled Timothy over so he was leaning on her, but her hand was still on my shoulder. She was stroking my collarbone idly. I fell asleep for a minute or so, then woke to Alice whispering. “Timothy, please… for me. It’s been so long.” I listened, uncomprehendingly. What, for her? What had been so long? Timothy sighed, and shifted a little. I opened my eyes as narrowly as I could, afraid to move my head too much. I could just make out that Timothy was leaning over Alice’s chest. Oh, that was nice; they were cuddling. I wished my mom would cuddle me sometimes. Not naked, of course.

I slowly became aware of little, wet noises. My mind was struggling to make sense of what I was hearing and what little I could see. I gingerly rotated my head a little more to the side. I needn’t have worried about Alice noticing my movement; her head was bent down, and she was looking only at Timothy. Who was, I realized with a sudden shock of comprehension, suckling at her breast. I tried to straighten out what I was perceiving. Surely, Alice wasn’t *breastfeeding* Timothy? No, of course not, he was 15, Alice had to be in her 40s. Then what on earth…?

Alice was stroking Timothy’s back and whispering, “Oh Timothy, my little one. Oh, that feels nice. Oh, Timothy. My beautiful boy.” He was making contented noises… “mmmm, mmmm, mmmm” like that. I became aware of another sort of wet noise, a kind of quiet repetitive motion. Daring to open my eyes a little wider, I realized that Alice’s other hand was down by her crotch. Yes, she was masturbating, unmistakably. Her breaths were shallow and quick. “Come, come over to this side,” she said, and Timothy shifted to her right breast. I could see the left one peeking out from under him. The nipple was hard and elongated and glistened wetly in the dim light.

The shock had partially cleared the confusion from my sleepy, stoned, drunk brain. There was no question about it; Alice was breastfeeding — well, *feeding* wasn’t the right word, but… she’d asked Timothy to suckle on her breast, as if he were a baby being breastfed, and he must have done it before because he seemed to know what to do, and she’d said “it’s been so long,” and, oh my God, she was masturbating while he did it. And he didn’t seem to mind. And they were doing this right next to me. It was all too much; I closed my eyes and tried to process it. What should I do? What *could* I do? This wasn’t about me, this was their private ritual, they thought I was asleep, I wasn’t meant to witness this.

Alice’s breathing was getting faster and her whisper was throaty. “Oh, Timothy, you’re so grown up now. You and Rob, both of you, you’re so beautiful… together… Timothy… let me see you, let me see how grown up you are, let me touch you..” All of a sudden her hand was touching Timothy’s thighs, trying to coax them apart. Timothy made an angry sort of protesting noise, muffled by the fact that his mouth was still pressed against his mother’s breast. My eyes were fully open now — neither of them were looking at me, what did it matter? — and I could see she had managed to slightly spread his legs and was groping at his genitals. “Timothy, Timothy, love, let me feel you…” He pulled his face away and said, “No, Mom, stop it, please!” She sighed and slowly withdrew her hand from his crotch; his penis was soft and tiny, it hadn’t responded to her attentions.

I could smell the scent of Alice’s sex, rising thickly in the air. She pressed Timothy’s head back to her breast and he resumed sucking. She was masturbating harder and faster now, with a rhythmic almost-sloshing noise, and had stopped whispering. She appeared to be staring at the ceiling, although I could see her eyes were closed. Timothy sucked and sucked and she began to moan softly and then all of a sudden let out a loud grunt. “Unnnnhhhhhh…” and she slammed her legs together and shook hard, holding Timothy tight to her.

I closed my eyes, disbelieving my own senses. This could *not* have just happened. It must be a vivid dream brought on by the marijuana. But I felt awake. Surely, then, I had misunderstood what was happening? I was at once horrified and excited. I wanted it to be over, to turn out to have been my imagination all along. But I could hear them moving around. Alice was whispering something to Timothy, he whispered something back. I opened my eyes a little and she was standing up off the couch. Even in the dim candlelight I could see that her pubic hair was absolutely drenched. And I could smell it. And her nipples, especially the right, still seemed freakishly hard and long, as if Timothy had coaxed it out with his sucking. Timothy said “he’s out cold, we need to get him to bed.” I didn’t want to them to try to carry me or something, so I opened my eyes and ostentatiously faked a yawn. Alice said, “Oh, Rob! You fell asleep. Time to get to bed I think.” I stood up, or rather tried to stand up; I felt suddenly dizzy and queasy at the same time. I collapsed back onto the couch. “Uh-oh,” said Alice. “Here, let me help you up.” With her and Timothy steadying me, one on each side, I stumbled towards the bedroom. When we passed the bathroom I suddenly realized I was going to be sick and motioned that I needed to go in. Fortunately they understood right away. I knelt at the toilet and threw up.

After one bout, I felt somewhat better. At least I no longer felt nausea, though I still was unsteady on my feet as I got up. Timothy went to fetch water. Alice sounded sympathetic and contrite. “I’m sorry, Timothy. I shouldn’t have offered you all that wine, and probably not the grass either. Was it your first time?” I nodded, miserably. “Just brush your teeth and drink a lot of water. You’ll feel better tomorrow, I promise.” She hovered over me as I drank the glass that Timothy had brought dry, then filled it up and drained it again. I found my toothbrush and brushed my teeth, then drank another couple of glasses of water. Alice joked, “you’re going to need to pee like a racehorse in the morning.” I remembered peeing in front of her and felt a bit sick to my stomach again. I suddenly was conscious of the fact that I was still standing stark naked in the glaring bathroom light and Alice was watching me in the mirror, albeit with a look of genuine concern and caring, not concupiscence, her eyes. I could see her breasts behind me in the mirror, too, but couldn’t get the image Timothy sucking on them while she masturbated out of my mind. If I hadn’t felt so unbelievably rotten at that moment it might have aroused me, but as it was, I could think of nothing but getting to bed. I made it there under my own power, but Alice followed me into the bedroom. I collapsed into the bed, and Timothy, who liked to sleep on the inside, clambered over my naked form. Alice was watching, but I didn’t really care. She gently pulled the light sheet over us, stroked my hair, then Timothy’s, then leant over and gave both of us kisses on our forehead. “Sleep tight, kids. I’ll make strong coffee in the morning.”

I woke up much later than I’d expected to. The clock on Timothy’s desk said it was almost 8. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel too sick; unsurprisingly, I did indeed have to urinate, urgently. I pulled on underwear before I walked out. Fortunately, the bathroom was empty; I relieved myself, then cautiously ventured out. Alice and Timothy were at the table already. Neither of them was wearing anything, but they didn’t comment on my underwear. Alice solicitously asked how I was feeling; I told her I was felt fine, which wasn’t really true. I wasn’t dizzy or sick to my stomach or even suffering from a headache, but I was completely bewildered and disoriented by what I seen last night. It wasn’t that I was disgusted by it; indeed I couldn’t help but imagine *myself* in Timothy’s position, suckling on Alice’s breasts — unhelpfully, they were right there opposite me for me to see now; I tried to avoid staring. Perhaps instead of masturbating she would even want me to touch her, as I had touched Lily so many times? Or even to invite me into her? But at the same time, I was horrified that I was even imagining such things. This, *this* was too strange to accept.

I kept thinking of the “I” word. Well, *I* was the one guilty of that with Lily, wasn’t I? Timothy and his mother weren’t having sex. He hadn’t even hard been last night; he’d told Alice to stop groping him. Of course he did; he was gay, and besides it was his *mom*. I had the insight that, more than anything, it was the thought of a similar scene playing out in *our* family that shocked and horrified and disgusted me. I briefly remembered the vision I’d had last night of my mother’s breasts, in the hospital room holding Lily when I was four. I had never remembered that until last night’s marijuana-fueled free association, but I was positive it was a real memory. I’d never seen her breasts any other time that I could remember, though of course I must have as an infant. I didn’t *want* to see them. I was repelled by the thought of seeing them, let alone sucking them, let alone my mother masturbating while I sucked on them. How could Timothy have done that? But of course he was used to seeing Alice naked, to being naked with her, whereas that was utterly taboo in our family. And he was gay; so it couldn’t have been sexual. For him. But it was sexual for Alice! She had brought herself to orgasm, right there on the fucking couch, with Timothy suckling her like a little kid, a baby. I just could not get my head around all of it at once; I kept going around in circles.

Alice had made Turkish coffee for Timothy and herself earlier. She asked me if I wanted some. I rarely drank coffee at all, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to have something stronger than tea; and besides, I was curious what Turkish coffee was like. She asked me if I wanted it sweet or not, and I said I didn’t. I wasn’t a big fan of sweet things in general. Alice went into the kitchen and made the coffee, which turned out to be a thick, frothy, fragrant liquid poured from a small brass coffeepot; it was prepared for one person at a time. I wasn’t prepared for how good it tasted. It wasn’t thin and acidic like the coffee my parents drank, or the sort you might get in a blue and white cup at the deli. It was rich and tasted just a little earthy and you could only drink about three quarters of it before it turned into mud at the bottom of the cup. Alice was kind enough to make me another one and I sat there, mostly silent, trying to figure out what to say. I could hardly admit to having been awake during last night’s… action, but part of me wanted them to acknowledge it, to bring it up themselves. I desperately wanted some reassurance that everyone was still happy and everything was as wonderful and beautiful as the conversation and music and singing had led me to believe and that the breast-feeding, or whatever it was, all fit into the bigger picture somehow. Of course that didn’t happen. We sat around drinking coffee and not saying much. Eventually, I said I probably had to get home soon as I still had homework to do for school.

It took another hour to pull myself together, get dressed, and leave. Timothy said he’d come down to the subway with me and got dressed too. Alice stood at the door, still naked, and gave both of us big hugs. She had showered in the morning and smelled fresh and clean. I still hadn’t, and I felt a little gross and hoped she wasn’t turned off by me. At the subway entrance, Timothy looked at me seriously. “Umm, Rob, …” I stared at him. “Uhh, well… nothing, I guess. See you in school tomorrow!” “Yeah… I’ll see you,” I replied, and descended into the bowels of the subway system.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/p24fgh/changing_the_rules_of_the_happiness_game_part_8