My Unconventional Life

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Chapter Ten

When he crawled off of me, he looked like he'd aged ten years. He kind of stooped over, and he was still breathing deeply, like he'd just run a long way. I felt his sperm begin to seep out of me and reached to press my pussy lips together. What he had given me was precious, somehow, and I didn't want to lose it. I let Brinn's drain out of me routinely. Maybe that's because I knew he was always ready to put more in. I know for certain that I thought, at that particular point in time, that what had just happened was an anomaly ... a one time thing.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down at me.

"I'm not," I said.

"I shouldn't have done that," he moaned.

"Yes, you should have!" I said firmly.

"Your mother will kill me," he sighed.

"Nobody will kill you," I said. "Anybody who wants to kill you has to go through me first."

I know this sounds silly, but my mind was already adapting the new reality. And it was already mounting arguments against this being a one time thing. A whole lot of my mind wanted this to happen again ... frequently, if possible.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I could hear the concern in his voice. Whatever that thing was that squirted in my belly before, squirted again, and just like that, I was ready to go again.

"How soon before you can do that again?" I asked.

He blinked at me, and his jaw dropped. "What?" he gasped.

My brain, which is capable, on occasion, of coming up with something clever, did so at this point.

"I still can't answer the question. I still don't know if size matters or not. I think you're going to have to do that again before I can tell for sure."

Finally he laughed. It was explosive, and short-termed, but he laughed.

Then he stopped laughing, and we had a conversation about what to tell my mother. And my siblings.

In the end, I decided that my first decision as an adult, was that what had happened in the barn - what Uncle Bob had given me for my birthday - was none of their business.

Of course trying to keep such a huge secret from people who knew me that well was ridiculous. Mom was up and frying more eggs when we walked in. Apparently I was "glowing" and she knew right away. The guilty look on Uncle Bob's face might have had something to do with it.

She didn't drag him off to the bedroom this time. Instead, she sat us down and said, "Tell me about it." Then she looked at me and said, "Are you okay?"

I nodded, realizing that I was busted. "Really good," I added.

"I bet," she said softly. She knew what this man was capable of in bed. She had luxuriated in it for years. "Well, I knew it would happen someday. I should have known it would be on your eighteenth. Happy birthday, Darling." She got up and came around the table and leaned over to give me a hug and kiss.

"Leave a little for me, okay?" she whispered in my ear.

Like an idiot I nodded again. I had tears in my eyes, which was confusing.

She sat back down and Uncle Bob proved he was the kind of man who was willing to take responsibility for his actions.

"Are you okay?" he asked my mother.

She didn't answer. She just stared at me. She told me later that what she was actually looking for were signs of discomfort on my part. Believe it or not, she was just then coming to grips with the fact that her little girl was sexually active. I know that sounds ridiculous, but when she was a girl, she and Uncle Bob only fooled around a little bit. She asked him to be her guinea pig when she wanted to learn how to kiss, for example. And she never thought of all the things they did as being serious sex until after us kids were born. So she didn't think of what Brinn and Shannon and I did as serious sex either. Nor were the things Uncle Bob had "helped us explore." She had always worried, as any mother does, that her daughter's entry into the world of sex might not go so well. Her own hadn't, and she'd always been scared that ours wouldn't either.

But what she saw was just me, relieved that she wasn't mad at me. I was relaxed. And she sat there examining me so long that I glanced over at Uncle Bob, because she still hadn't answered his question. When she saw how I looked at him, her worries evaporated. It was clear to her that I was completely comfortable being around him.

"I'm not ready for my little girls to be all grown up," she said. She smiled, but it was a thin, weak smile. "But I'll survive."

"I don't want you to just survive," I said. "I want you to be happy."

Now there were tears in her eyes.

"I'm so proud of you," she said. Her voice quavered a bit.

"For doing that?" I asked, astonished.

Her laugh was both automatic and cathartic. I think it was because my response was so completely off the mark that she realized maybe I wasn't so completely grown up, and that maybe she still had a little girl after all. I didn't even get it until Uncle Bob covered his eyes with the web of his right hand and groaned.

Brinn chose that moment to walk into the kitchen, stark naked, as usual. He was soft, of course, because Shannon never let him leave our bedroom with a hardon.

"What's so funny?" he asked, looking at the cabinet that contained the breakfast cereal, instead of us.

Mom only laughed harder.

I kept that secret from my siblings too. Do not ask me why it was so obvious to my mother, but my brother and sister missed it. Maybe they were too busy scratching the same itch.

Oddly, the way Uncle Bob and I treated each other didn't change much. At least not "publicly," which meant from the perspective of the others living in the house. Mom knew, of course, so maybe she saw the way I reached to touch Uncle Bob sometimes. It was just a touch, but she knew why that little touch was special. And the way they treated each other didn't change much either, as far as I could see. She still regularly had that look that I now knew meant she was well and recently fucked. I saw her touch him too, just reaching to slide a fingertip along his arm, or whatever.

There were less public changes in the way we acted, of course. It was kind of weird, actually. We didn't actually talk about what would, or would not happen. But whenever we found ourselves alone, under circumstances where we didn't think we were going to be missed, or interrupted, it usually ended up with me under him, getting my bell rung and wishing it would never stop. I have to admit we checked a heck of a lot of fence in the next two months before us kids went off to college. And let me tell you, there is nothing that compares with making love out on the prairie, with the big, blue sky staring down at you, and the wind blowing in your ears.

I learned a lot that summer. What Uncle Bob did with me was like going to a symphony, where the music swelled and you wanted to close your eyes and let it take you to the clouds and beyond. Then, later, Brinn would bring out the hard core rock and roll, and it would be party time. I'm amazed we never broke our bed.

But summers always end, and we were also excited about going to college. Pretty soon it was time for us to start packing. Mom got all weepy again. Uncle Bob kept reminding us that the bed in the pickup was only four by six feet, and that we couldn't take the whole house with us.

Then we were on the road. There wasn't room for all of us in the pickup, of course. I volunteered to ride with Uncle Bob, and Mom convoyed with us in the car, taking Shannon and Brinn. I am not at all embarrassed that Uncle Bob wavered a bit (Mom said it looked like he'd been drinking) when I lay down and exposed his penis to get one last dose of his yummy semen in my belly. I'd much rather have gotten that load in my belly the other way, but you can't have everything, you know?

The next four years were interesting. I'd have to put them in the category of things I'm really glad I did, but don't ever want to do again. I admit I'm a mamma's girl. I missed my mother. And I missed Uncle Bob. I met hundreds of interesting people, and living with Shannon and Brinn, I always felt "at home." Brinn eventually learned how to have sex that wasn't so energetic. I like to think I taught him how to make love. I know he learned patience. One of the things he had always complained about was when either of us girls got on top. We knew how to lean just so, and move just so, such that orgasms fairly popped into existence, like so much popping corn. He complained that we went forever, seeking "Just one more little one, Brinn!" and that he never got to cum. He stopped complaining about that while we were in college, and simply tried to help us get another one. He became the world expert at twiddling my nipples. Nobody else has ever done it as well as he does.

Speaking of which ...

I had compared size, between Brinn and Uncle Bob. It was impossible not to be at least a little curious about what other "sizes" might be like. And I met a lot of handsome, interesting men. They were quite interested in me as well. And Shannon, of course. Apparently all men have a thing about twins. Or at least a fantasy about twins.

There was this one guy named Jeremy. We were lab partners for a semester. He was sweet, and I guess the curiosity overcame me, because I ended up in bed with him one night. It wasn't awful, but my curiosity was assuaged. While I admit to still finding some men interesting on higher levels, I haven't slept with any of them. Jeremy could tell too. We agreed to be friends after that. I still have a soft spot in my heart for him, but he's married now and has two kids.

And yes, Shannon did him too, just as soon as she found out I had slept with him. She actually went to his fraternity house and knocked on his door. He told me later, "She said the two of you have to share everything ... that it's a rule." And then she started taking her clothes off and kissing him. What would any guy do in a situation like that? I'm pretty sure they did it again a week later, but neither of them has ever admitted it. But while Shannon was a slut, she still had the same set of values I did. She recognized the difference between being a slut for our brother, and just being a slut.

We roomed together in a tiny little house in the back yard of a much bigger house. Mrs. Henderson was our landlady, and she lived in the big house. She was in her seventies. The little house was what was built first, back in the early nineteen hundreds, so they had something to live in while they built the big house. It had two cramped bedrooms, and there was no way to get a queen or king into either of them. We didn't have one anyway. So each of us girls had our own bedroom, and Brinn just slept wherever he felt like it. Actually, he slept where we told him to.

Anyway, it was while we were at college that we came up with the plan. Originally, I had thought about being a biologist. Shannon had decided to major in English, which I never understood. Brinn started his college life preparing to be a teacher. Within the first year, though, we'd had enough time to sit, quietly in our little house, and talk about the future. The idea of splitting apart, and letting the wind take us in different directions ... well, let's just say it never got any real traction. So we began to re-examine how we should be preparing ourselves for the future ... a future we intended to spend in the same place. And that meant having the kind of skills that could support us in the same place.

We never talked to Mom and Uncle Bob about the plans that were slowly and carefully crafted in the dark, as we all squeezed naked into a bed meant for only two. We just worked it all out in our own minds. We didn't even let on about it on our visits back home.

But we made preparations.

During the summers, we worked a lot harder at chores than we ever had before. I took Brinn out to places where Uncle Bob had taken me. And yes, we did the same things in those places as Uncle Bob and I had, including having glorious, hot sex under the open sky.

Shannon took a greater interest in learning how to do things like painting the barn. I think that's because whenever painting was being done, Uncle Bob supervised. And that meant she could get him alone in the barn.

Oh! I forgot! I never told you about that!

The second summer we were back, between our sophomore and junior years, it was evening, and Mom needed something from town. I don't even remember what it was, or why it wouldn't wait until the next day. But going to town had always been a treat, so Shannon and Brinn said they wanted to go with her. I told her I was tired, and Uncle Bob was preoccupied with what was on TV. So they left.

But I wasn't tired, and Uncle Bob wasn't preoccupied with what was on TV. We knew they'd be gone for a couple of hours.

So, within a minute after they left, I was sitting on Uncle Bob's lap, lying back on his chest, with his big old nasty uncle boner right up in my pussy. His hands were already working on my nipples, and my legs were spread so he could find my clit when he was ready.

And Shannon suddenly dashed, in asking, "Have you seen my phone?"

She went to town with Mom that night, but the next day she asked Uncle Bob to teach her how to paint, because the barn needed painting.

Need I say more?

Anyway, by the time we walked across the stage, both Shannon's and my degrees were in business. Brinn's was in agriculture, with the emphasis on ranching.

And at dinner afterwards, we told Mom and Uncle Bob about the guest ranch they were going to live at for the rest of our lives.

I mentioned, way back at the beginning of this story, that Uncle Bob got given a boatload of money for saving his boss's life. What I never went into was how he invested it, and how my mother never felt like any of that money was hers, so we lived pretty frugally, all things considered.

Turns out the interest on a boatload of money, or at least the earnings in the stock market, can raise a family of five, including sending three kids to college, with quite a bit left over.

Uncle Bob still took out a loan to build the bed and breakfast that most guests stay in. We also have a bunkhouse, for the more adventurous. I say more adventurous because it's just a long room with beds of various sizes, and no privacy. It's also unisex, meaning if a couple (or singles of different genders, for that matter) want to bunk there, with other singles or couples ... they can. Mostly, who stays in the bunkhouse are the guests who want to work with the horses Brinn is so proud of. We have a herd of forty, now, and the ones that aren't being used for the business of the ranch are taken care of by the guests who like horses. I've heard stories about the bunk house. We have a number of very loyal repeat guests, and a lot of them specify they want to stay in the bunkhouse. I've also noticed that there are certain groups of couples who always show up within the same time frame.

Anyway, the B&B has ten bedrooms in it, plus a huge living room and a dining room that will seat twenty-four if all the leaves are installed in the table. Sometimes the B&B is reserved for corporate retreats and that sort of thing. The house we grew up in has now been remodeled to handle all five of us, and the children. We've installed four mobile homes for the staff who live on the ranch, or need to stay overnight because of their shift or whatever. Mostly, who lives there are the cooks and maids. The wranglers work a week on and a week off, and live with the guests who they're going to take out to work with the cattle and horses that now populate the ranch.

Looking back, I now realize that we grew up living a privileged life of idleness. We kids thought we were busy, because we all had chores to do, but we had no idea how good we had it. When you run a working guest ranch, with a bed and breakfast operation thrown in there, you find out what the word "work" actually means. Even when you have a full time permanent staff of fifteen people. We have become a destination, and when things are like that, you can't just close down and take some time off. We only schedule two breaks a year. One is in the spring, and the other is at Christmas. The whole staff gets two weeks off. We pay them for that vacation, but they know, when they come back, that they'll be keeping their noses to the grindstone for the next six months.

I know some of you are wondering if we incorporated any nudism into the operation. After all, we'd grown up as nudists, and we were quite comfortable with nudity. The answer to your question is that the only place where there's actually a sign that says "Entering this building may expose you to nudity" is the bunk house. It has a common bathroom, with stalls for the ladies and urinals for the gentlemen. The shower area has eight shower heads, but it's all in one large room. A lot of those stories I told you I hear about the bunkhouse involve that shower room.

And, twice a year, we schedule clothing optional activities. Each of those is also for two weeks, one in early summer, and the other in fall, before it gets too chilly. The guests out working with the herd don't go naked, of course. Not until they come back into the compound to unwind for the last couple of days of their stay. I've been told that sometimes there's a lot of clothing optional going on at nighttime, when the herd beds down, and the wranglers and guests do too. We have tents big enough for four or five people, and tents that will hold only one or two. Guests stipulate what kind they want to stay in before they hit the trail. We have some repeat couples who share one of the big tents each time they come.

Kids are welcome, and we have a daycare center with a whole program for the kids. That's good, because five of them are ours. The eldest of the new crop is Jasmine, who Uncle Bob created in our mother when her birth control pills didn't work as advertised. Jasmine was born while we were seniors in college.

Shannon, for as much a slut as she is, wanted to wait to have babies until the guest ranch was well along. Not me. When I saw Mom's belly swelling, and lay with my head on that bulge, I felt a longing deep inside me to join her. I didn't tell anybody. I just stopped taking my own pills. It was obvious I'd get pregnant. I had sex every day. I did, however, wait until just before school was out that year to stop my birth control. I wanted to have Brinn's baby. But I wanted to have Uncle Bob's baby too. And since I probably couldn't squirt out multiple eggs at a time, like my mother had, I just had to let chance decide who would knock me up first.

Of course, when she realized I was pregnant, Shannon changed her mind about waiting.

Actually, I must confess that I don't know who the father is of either of my children. Annie, my daughter, has all my features. Bryce, her little brother, looks like both Brinn and Uncle Bob to me. It's not important now. Maybe it will be later, but not yet.

Shannon's children, on the other hand, very clearly announce who sired them, at least to those of us who know who the candidates are. The little boy she had two years ago is obviously Uncle Bob's. Her second son, who came along a year later, is just as obviously Brinn's. I think he made sure of that.

Mom runs the daycare center, so she gets all the time in the world with her grandchildren. She raised triplets, so there's nothing the daycare center can throw at her that she hasn't handled a dozen times before. She has help, which is good, because I missed my second period last week, and Shannon is already showing. We both say good things come in threes, but we'll see. Shannon is a natural at being pregnant. She doesn't gain tons of weight, and all that swells is just enough room for the baby. She looks sexy, pregnant. I'm more the whale type, but all my pregnancies, thus far, have been manageable. I'm not fond of contractions, but I know they'll end, so I can deal with that.

If a few contractions are the worst thing that happens to me in this life, then I'm in pretty good shape.

So, there you have it. Our life started in an unhappy (if admittedly unconscious) incident, that had no love in it at all. The ramifications of our mother's rape could have ruined her life. It certainly put her feet on a path that was difficult to walk. But love can overcome adversity, even unconventional taboo love that isn't supposed to happen. And that's what happened in our lives.

Love overcame adversity.

We were raised in an atmosphere of love. It was unconventional love. There is no doubt about that. It was the kind of love that most people could not embrace. But somehow we missed all the pitfalls that everyone insists go along with the kind of relationships we had. We made it. We made something of ourselves, and of the ranch, and of the part of the world we were able to affect.

Some might center on how unusual our life was. Some might say we were abused or molested.

But I wouldn't say that. And neither would my brother or sister.

I could point out that (if all three guys who raped our mother fertilized an egg) we are actually half siblings, and that our relationship to Uncle Bob could also be considered tenuous, on a genetic level. I could point out that we are all well-adjusted, and happy, and that we contribute to the economy, as well as provide excitement and relaxation for our guests. I could point out that our children all have only ten fingers and toes, and that none of them are cross-eyed or drool or any of that crap.

But I don't have to point out all those things.

My mother is well-adjusted and happy.

We are well-adjusted and happy.

Our children are well-adjusted and happy.

If only the rest of the world could be that unconventional.

The End

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