Weird sisters execute a diabolical plan Loving Wife Sex Stories


Weird sisters execute a diabolical plan Loving Wife Sex Stories

I guess that it’s hypocritical of me to criticize the family relationship of others when my family life growing up was bizarre, but the Jenkins sisters were, and still are, just plain weird. Before I explain about the Jenkins sisters let me (Scott Davis) relate my situation with my peculiar family.

I was too young to realize that my parents were swingers until my tenth birthday party. Jim and Pam Johnson, who lived three houses down on the same block, were friends of my parents and they had a son Jeremy my age. I didn’t really care much for Jeremy but I was forced to include him when I had other kids over and my parents were around, therefore he was at my party – along with Jim and Pam.

All the kids were playing in the backyard doing various party things, supervised by my 15 year old sister Jen and Sue, her friend of like age, who were the greatest girls that I and my friends had ever met. Jen was my favorite person in the world, all of my friends had little boy crushes on her, and I had a little boy crush on Sue. At the same time my parents, Jim, and Pam were in the house getting lunch, cake, and ice cream ready. I ducked into the kitchen for a glass of juice when I saw Jim standing behind my mother kissing her neck and with his hands massaging her boobs while she giggled. I may have only been ten, but I knew that that wasn’t right. Shocked all I could think of was to tell my dad.

Without being seen by mom I ducked into the living room looking for my dad. I saw him – in profile – kissing Pam on the lips while their arms were interlocked. Shocked once more, I stumbled back into the yard and tried to act normal while participating in games. My sister Jen could tell that something was wrong, but didn’t ask what was up in front of the other kids.

My birthday was ruined. I was on autopilot the rest of the afternoon. I tried to gin up some enthusiasm when my guests sang Happy Birthday to me, and when I opened my presents, but I’m sure that I gave a poor performance of a happy birthday boy.

Even before the last guest left I went to my room and cried. I was so confused, angry, hurt, and shocked it was like my emotions were on a roller coaster that was also going around in circles at sixty rpm.

Jen came into my room just as I was getting my emotions somewhat back under control and had wiped what I hoped would be the last tear from my cheeks. “What’s wrong Scott?” she tenderly asked. “It’s supposed to be a fun day for you – not one for crying.”

I told her what I saw. Unfortunately no surprise registered on her face. “I’m sorry that you had to see that,” she genuinely replied. “I guess that there’s no reason to hide it any longer. Mom and dad are swingers.”

I had no fucking clue what “swingers” were – I never saw them on any playground equipment – so seeing my blank stare Jen explained it to me the best that she could considering my age and naivety. When she was done I didn’t feel one iota better – perhaps even worse. While Jen didn’t like it she had come to accept it; I could not, and after that day my relationships with both of my parents was strained.

There is some question whether people are born with a certain moral compass or whether they develop one growing up. I can answer that question for myself. What my parents did so offended me in later years I realized that I was simply “born” different than they were, and for a time questioned whether or not I was adopted especially since I ultimately grew to be six feet four inches tall and 220 pounds even though both my parents were of slight build and much shorter. My dad was five ten, 160 pounds, and my mother five feet five, 115. When I was fourteen I did find my birth certificate when I rifled through my mom’s papers when she was out, and it looked legit. Also my facial features and coloring were similar to both my parents so I concluded that I was their biological child, just a mutation when it came to both size and moral compass.

According to one supposedly scientific study – at least the one most recognized by psychologists – the divorce rate among swingers is over 90%. My parents were no exception; they apparently made it work until I was twelve when I heard the yelling in their bedroom in the middle of the night that my father wanted out of that lifestyle and my mother wouldn’t agree. Shortly after that, when I was twelve and Jen seventeen, they divorced. I would have preferred to live with my father in view of his changed position, but I had no say in it. I stayed away from the house as much as possible, playing sports, learning martial arts, or studying at a library. That turned out well for me because I became an excellent baseball player, a brown belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and made the high honor roll in High School.

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