With Mother and Two Daughters
The work task set for me involved four weeks in a regional town north of the city. Away from home for so long I felt private accommodation a better option than the usual motels or hotels. I selected and booked a farmstay providing breakfast and dinner, about twenty kilometers out of town. My arrival confirmed the wisdom of my selection. The house was about half a kilometre from the road, a large modern place with verandahs on all sides. Jean, the owner, greeted me with friendliness and courtesy. My room was to be in the bedroom wing, which I was to share with her children. She gave assurance that they would not disturb me, in fact would help her look after me.
My room was a bright and airy, showing feminine touches, with a ceiling fan over the double bed and French doors onto the verandah. Out there were comfortable looking chairs for relaxation. The only minor drawback I could see was sharing the bathroom, situated at the end of a corridor past all the bedrooms, with the children. Happy overall, I unpacked and put away my belongings, well attended to by a chatty Jean, before I departed for town to check out my work assignment.
At dinner that evening I met the rest of the family, two daughters; Simone, nineteen, worked at a pharmacy in town; Serena was studying business at the local TAFE College. Both helped their mother with the farm and any guests. Apparently Dad had departed long ago with a couple of boys, and someone else. The three women had decided to stay on against the odds, and be successful.
The meal was pleasant as we all learnt a little about each other, and shared a bottle of wine I’d brought with me. Apparently the girls always did the dishes after dinner while Jean attended to her bookwork. They were surprised I was happy to wash while they dried and put away. Later I decided to shower and read while Simone watched television, Jean worked, and Serena studied.
I lay naked, relaxing in the middle of the bed, French doors open to the verandah but security doors shut against the insects, fan slowly turning the air over keeping me cool, night-light on reading. I was enjoying my book in the comforts of home; thankful I was not in a motel. Soft tapping on my bedroom door interrupted my reverie. Before I could move the door opened. It was Jean. I was a bit flustered and suggested I make myself decent. She smiled in reassurance that a naked guest in her home was perfectly acceptable. She was getting ready for bed, already in a pink thin-strapped translucent nightie that stopped well above her knees, and wanted to make sure there was nothing else I needed before she retired. During this explanation she managed to come into the room, close the door, and sit on the edge of the bed. I know my body is nothing to rave about, but I had the impression she didn’t mind what she saw as she looked me over.
I took off my glasses, put my book aside, and listened to her. There was no doubt she was lonely, for conversation at least. As she talked I surreptitiously looked at her body. Her nightie rode high on her slim muscled thighs. Through the material some cleavage was evident. Thankfully my genitals showed no stimulating response to her presence. After chatting about all sorts of trivia Jean commented on my good condition for my age, the signs that I played some sport, and the fact that I shaved smooth from the navel down. It was while I was telling her about shaving every couple of days, and my opinion on that appearance, that her hand rested on my flaccid cock, to feel it’s smoothness she said.