#27443 - Maggie, forty-one and green bikini-ed, still supple and smolderingly mature – he otherwise liked better her broader behind – and The Coup: Eleanor, Bridget, and Gretchen, identical and identically almost dressed in red – strings & a few swatches of fabric, as if wearing only samples of complete bikinis – three sets of blue eyes and dark brown hair, all ivory white softness and ready heat, they could brood and conform like George, laugh and swear like Maggie, had neither of their parents’ innate talent but were intelligent even more so, buying into none of the illusions of culture: sex was what it is, and morality was how you defined it. Maggie wasn’t let in on this stunt, and then realized they’d all be alright; especially the girls, but even she. This was their daughters’ show: romancing & affectionate, the free girls worked-up the one getting railed with improvised fuck-speak, two sisters buoying the burdened third with lusty reminders of their purpose to bask in this banging,
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