My Sister-in-Law’s Thigh

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Foreword

Is it nevertheless sexual infidelity if in sudden happenstance? Or is it infidelity and not sudden after all? If one has been sort of open to it but unassertive over the years and then goes along with the moment when it arises, I suppose it isn’t really sudden. So I can’t justify what happened with that rationalization. Best I forget lame effort to win empathy; simply tell my tale and let it go.

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We relatives made our goodbyes, with handshakes, hugs and kisses all around after an evening of good food and drink and togetherness at our niece’s home. It was about 9:30 p.m., on a moonless dark night. My wife and I were visiting from out of town and the gathering was in celebration of our visit.

I left her daughter’s home, i.e., my sister-in-law’s daughter, with a nice wine buzz, resuming my passenger side second seat just as on the ride over. Then my wife sat beside me and we mutually left a thigh air gap that was of a piece with our decade of sexless marriage that brought us to the eve of 45 years. But now it was her sister, Pamela who scooted into the middle for the return to her home where we were guests.

At first I hardly noticed. But a synapse crackled and I became aware that Pam’s calf pressed cozily against my own once she settled in. My initial impulse was to slide my foot over slightly to give her room. But my inhibitions had been alcohol suffused just enough so that an inner voice said, oh just leave it there. Pleasant isn’t it, so what’s the harm? If she doesn’t care for it she’ll move herself away. If she’s oblivious no harm either. If she leaves it knowingly, well just enjoy the touching and it’s no big deal.

Pam and my wife are each other’s favorite siblings. Pam and I have gotten along quite well and become friends over the years since I married into the family. I am 70 now and she is 73. Neither of us is a model of septuagenarian fitness.

I am short; maybe 5’8″ in my shoes, mostly bald, have a bay window and a Parkinson’s disease tremor in my left leg and arm. Moreover I had prostate cancer 10 years ago and no longer can achieve erection sufficient for penetration following radical prostatectomy. But removal of the prostate gland and erectile dysfunction do not shut down production of testosterone. My libido is intact and, if anything more eager than when I was much younger. I can and do masturbate and have very intense orgasms but no ejaculation. However, I dribble some clear viscous fluid when highly aroused; one of the constituents of the seminal admixture emitted by intact males at orgasm. Too much information I suppose; but welcome to elderly life.

Pam is a smart, clever and talented woman notwithstanding her appearance. She is a short zaftig lady, alanya escort maybe 5’2″, with pretty flashing brown eyes, pug nose, quick smile, a grey page boy, a belly, ample breasts, prominent behind, and sturdy thick thighs and legs down to pretty small feet. It is a peasant’s body, made for reproduction and stomping grapes as did generations of her Sicilian ancestors. I would also learn after so many years of acquaintance that there was a molten pool of sexual hunger flowing within her knowing, witty and outwardly tranquil façade.

Before the events I write about here I kidded her as I am disposed to do, nothing even suggestive. But I came to realize she enjoyed our repartee and our conversations about a wide range of topics; that she anticipated our visits back and forth as much because I charmed her (as she did me). as for her closeness with my wife.

Who knows what will precipitate a pivotal moment in our lives? I had been without sex for a decade. I was slightly inebriated. I had my calf firmly pressed by my bright, engaging, chubby, amply endowed sister-in-law. The first turn we made (her son driving) the polite slight air gap between our thighs disappeared and neither of us made a move to restore it.

Thus emboldened and completely amoral, whilst relishing the soft warmth of her leg, thigh to foot , firmly ensconced against mine, I moved my hand slowly into the declivity between our thighs until it came to rest palm against my thigh and back of my hand and fingers against her thigh. This could not be construed as anything but purposefully done and I wished it be construed as such.

She made no movement or gesture and sent no other indication that I should desist. In this position I wiggled my fingers and with my little finger I made tiny strokes of her so warm and inviting thigh.

We turned left and her hip rolled up and away and I let my hand drop between us. She covertly reached down and took my hand in hers. I thought surely she would guide it into my own lap, gently but clearly setting a limit on our thus far titillating but mostly innocuous hijinks. So I was pleasantly startled when she guided my hand high up on top of her own warm thigh.

Meanwhile she continued light conversation with her son and my wife. Nothing in the cadence, pitch or tone or her voice indicated that she now had my hand in an intimate position upon her ample thigh; my fingers only a couple of inches from her crotch.

Pam’s action took our play to another level. I relished the gonadal response that this development produced in me. But was it a plateau or a way point on a path leading onward? Our tactile communication clearly conveyed it was up to me to seek an answer. The interior of the car antalyajazzfestival.com was completely dark and she had on a coat that concealed her lap and the presence of my wayward hand.

The countryside through which we rode meant the two lane state highway curved and dipped its way through semi-mountainous hills. Centrifugal force caused us to sway and shift as her son at the wheel adroitly hurried us through the night.

So afforded opportunity by the kinetics of our advance I shifted my hand so that my little finger lay along the seam that in turn lay against the intimate cleft at the apex of the juncture that has preoccupied men since Adam. Disposed in this way I could feel the soft plumpness of her labia beneath the fabric of her slacks. I pressed my hand firmly down and back while clutching the proximate thigh. This was explicit and aggressive carnal groping. And I wondered if now I had gone too far.

Pam quickly conveyed a non-verbal response by shifting slightly to ease the passage of my hand and rolling her hips forward slightly to increase the pressure of my provocation against her pudenda. Testosterone or something molecular within wired and energized an immediate sensory circuit that led from that hand to my own genitals now stirring and communicating pleasurable pulsations through my groin and hips.

In further response and advancement of our boldly illicit behavior, Pam’s hand found its way onto my own thigh and hence to my groin. She set about caressing my semi-erection, the bulge of which she easily encountered just there on the other side of a layer of fabric as she forayed between my legs.

Decorum and the status quo were well served by the darkness as we two septuagenarians, wrinkled and adipose, took pleasure with each other in the darkness, unbeknownst to our dear spouses and offspring but inches away. By the time we arrived at Pam’s house I had semi-erection straining and oozing within my jeans; a state in which my penis was not to be found with frequency and but momentarily these days. I know Pam relished the rubbing of her pudenda that I gave her because at one point her loins clamped together tightly on my hand while her reciprocal hand on my erection gripped me firmly as shock waves from an orgasm caromed through her.

I would like to be able to tell you that our groping led to a copulative assignation then. Alas, Pam gave no hint, not only whether or not she was open to anything further but also whether or not that which I fondly recall really happened at all. Still, when our stay came to an end, she did put her hips into our hug goodbye and made sure that our kiss was one on the lips not just a buss on a proffered cheek.

It was a good visit.

Epilogue

I add this with conflicting emotions, foolishly smug satisfaction and arousing reverie jangling against chagrin and an impulse to remorse.About five months later Pam and Ed, her husband came to town for a visit and so that Ed could attend his high school class reunion. As usual they divided their stay between our home in the burbs and that of another sister who lives in the city.

Our front bedroom is furnished as a TV den with a sleeper divan and hassocks for comfortable feet-up viewing. Both Pam and I are night owls while our spouses are usually abed for 9 p.m., or shortly thereafter. Invariably Ed has three or four Vodka tonic highballs beginning before dinner and on into the evening. So he sleeps very soundly. Pam often reads in bed into the wee hours. My wife, Carol sleeps soundly and really crashes if she has but a glass of wine with dinner as she did this particular evening.

On the second night of their visit it was, recalling now, I think about 12:30 a.m., and I was alone in the TV den watching a rather erotic movie (so memorable that I can’t recall the name). The door was not quite shut. I heard Pam quietly saying my name just beyond the door and at the same time she opened it confirming her presence.

“Pam,” I said, “Hi. Is everything ok?”

“Everything is just fine Dave,” she said. “I saw the light and thought you might have fallen asleep in here.”

She was in her nightgown of white cotton and had foregone her light summer robe.

“What are you watching, a stag film?” She asked while she stepped into the room and closed the door.

“Nah,” I said, “It has some pretty good sex scenes but it’s not porno.”

“Mind if I sit and watch it for a bit with you?”

I invited her to join me on the couch and she sat down a chaste distance away, or so I thought.

I took pleasure in her presence, noting her perfume and clean womanly smell; the curves and mounds of her breasts and belly, her hands folded in her lap right over her crotch.

The characters in the movie were now in bed simulating feverish coupling.

We watched silently then Pam said, “Carol doesn’t have sex with you anymore does she Dave.” It was a statement, not a question.

I was silent for a bit, thinking about where this was coming from and where it was going.

Finally I looked at her and spoke, “No she doesn’t. We’ve not had sex since my prostate surgery. But then I can’t really get hard enough anymore, even with ED medication to achieve penetration.”

“Ed is not interested in sex anymore. I am not sure when we had sex last but it has been at least five years.” Then she continued, “David there are other ways to have good sex without vaginal penetration.”

We tried and enjoyed several of those other ways and were both taken aback and delighted by the smashing orgasms we gave each other. Then with parting hugs and warm kisses we rejoined our own slumbering spouses.

End

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