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There was never any competition although once in a while Marge might ask "is getting fucked by my mouth better than getting fucked by Kara's pussy?"

Or

"Does my pussy taste as good as Kara's?"

Whenever that came up, I'd go down on them. "I can't talk right now with a mouthful of your delicious pussy."

They didn't push it. I never sensed any real jealousy.

For the first six months, Marge's blowjobs were fabulous and no one and I mean no one fucked like Kara. I found both their pussies tasty; not one tastier than the other. I'm talking sixty-year-old pussy.

One Friday night at the golf club's Happy Hour, we had a table outside, away from eavesdropping. "How can we keep everything fresh? I'm not saying it's getting stale, but I don't want it to get that way," Marge asked.

"I think that's what happened with my ex-," Kara interrupted.

Over a second and then a third Happy Hour drink we threw out and ...

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