The toilet light went off and then the bathroom light was briefly illuminated for Montana to wash her hands. I saw Montana re-enter her bedroom, adjusting her knickers through her skirt as she did so, hoping the young girl was feeling better after her poo. Evidently it did, the teenager immediately went back to her study and applied herself to her books.
This continued for another hour or so, before I saw Montana turn off her PC, put away her text books, yawn and stretch and go to her drawer, where she removed an oversized tee-shirt with a cartoon frog on it and a clean pair of knickers from her underwear drawer. Montana left her bedroom and the bathroom light came on again, remaining illuminated for about five minutes presumably as the teen showered.
This was confirmed a few minutes later as Montana returned, now barefoot and wearing her oversized tee-shirt. I saw the young girl put her worn bra, knickers and socks into her clothes hamper, then she sat on her bed her legs crossed. She was some distance away but I could still vaguely see the clean white knickers she wore under her sleep shirt as she brushed her long brown hair.
Then Montana drew her curtains, and my view of her was gone as I saw the light turn out for her to go to bed. I felt a little guilty about my voyeurism, especially as Montana and her two dads were such nice people. Even though the girl was 18-years-old now, she was born in 1997, my last year of university. I celebrated my 21st that year, and had yet to meet Libby. The Spice Girls and Backstreet Boys were the top music acts. Bill Clinton was US President, Tony Blair and John Howard Prime Ministers of the UK and Australia respectively. We said goodbye to Princess Diana and Mother Teresa among others. The movie Titanic was released, and there was a terrible disaster in Australia, the Thredbo Landslide in the Snowy Mountains in New South Wales. The Melbourne Docklands were still pretty much under construction, still full of old warehouses awaiting demolition and the stadium in the precinct just an oval shape pegged out. The Southern Cross Station was known as Spencer Street, just train platforms and a few bus stops, and the Eureka Tower not even planned, let alone built.
My reminiscing about the year 1997 made me feel like even more of a Humbert Humbert, and again I reminded myself that Montana was 18, I wasn’t teaching at her high school and I was only looking, not touching. I doubt my wife would have seen it that way, but Fitness Queen Libby was too absorbed in her fitness empire and her toy-boy Todd to notice my little crush on the girl next door young enough to be our daughter. Still, I had to be careful, one false move and a very pissed off wife not to mention a freaked out teenage girl and two upset fathers.
When younger, Libby and I had showered together all the time, but it had become infrequent in more recent years, my wife no doubt preferring to shower with her boyfriend rather than her husband. This afternoon Libby had taken her shower after an intense workout on the treadmill, and I had mine just before bed.
I was in the ensuite bathroom brushing my teeth, wearing a pair of boxer shorts before bed, when in walked Libby also ready for bed, my wife barefoot and wearing an oversized tee-shirt over panties, much like Montana was earlier.
Without a word Libby stood next to me, and started to brush her hair. She looked me up and down, and then said, “Jeff, get on the scales, I want to check your weight.”
“Libby, it’s not my day for a weigh-in,” I protested.
“Just fucking do it, Jeff,” Libby snapped, putting down her hair brush.
I sighed, and went and stood on the scales, Libby right behind me. “Jeff, 71.5 kilograms!” she exclaimed. “I told you to lose that extra kilogram, and what’s happened? You’ve put weight on! Fucking unbelievable.”
“Sorry Libby, I don’t know how that happened,” I offered.
“Well, while I go to the toilet, we are going to work it out together.” She pointed at the bench that was directly opposite the toilet. “Sit!”
Not for the first time feeling like a dog, I obeyed my wife’s instruction as she walked to the toilet on her bare feet. Too late, I realized I had left the toilet seat up, something that did not impress Libby.
“How many fucking times do I have to tell you to put the toilet seat down Jeff?” Libby snapped. “Do you do it just to piss me off?”
Libby put the toilet seat down, and lifted up her tee-shirt to show she was wearing white bikini panties with small blue flowers on them, which she pulled down to her ankles and sat down on the toilet. Libby’s legs were open, displaying me her pussy, and the curls of blonde pubic hair on Libby’s feminine mound showed the evidence she was a natural blonde. The slim pink lips of her vagina were perfectly symmetrical.
It wasn’t the first time that Libby had used the toilet in front of me. She never did when we were dating and in the early years of marriage, but over time had become more accustomed to it like with her belching and farting in front of me. Libby would not typically go to the toilet in front of me, most usually she would go in there and close and lock the door. However, if I happened to be in the bathroom like I was tonight, then Libby would have no qualms about pulling down her pants to sit on the toilet, whether it be to pee, poo, pass any excess gas from her bowels or when it was that time of the month, manage her period.
Libby began to urinate, her pee splashing into the toilet, and thus began her interrogation of me as to how I had gained more weight when she had ordered me the week before to lose a kilogram. And there was plenty of time for this grilling. Libby’s piss was over after about 20 seconds and she got some toilet paper to wipe her wet pussy, but she remained sitting on the loo and her face took on that look that told me she was either going to pass gas or poop.
As it turned out, Libby did both. She sat farting on the toilet, her wind echoing in the bowl, before her anus made a squelching noise and her poo came out of her bottom and splattered in the toilet, the plopping splashing sounds in the bowl very evident as she defecated. And as Libby had her shit, she interrogated me about my diet and exercise this week, trying to find out how my diet hadn’t worked.
It was very hard for me to concentrate. I kept looking at my wife’s lowered knickers and at her crack, knowing Todd’s dick had gone up her pussy today. Then there was the smell. When Libby had farted in front of me earlier, the smell from her bottom was a mere sample of her bowel movements right now. All that super healthy tuna, tofu, green vegetables, quinoa, ancient grains, wheat-germ and soy that Libby put into her mouth wasn’t so pleasant after it came out of her bum and into the toilet following a trip through her digestive system.
Within minutes, my wife had stank out our entire ensuite bathroom, and I looked at the can of toilet spray on the toilet cistern near Libby’s left shoulder. But no way was I going to reach over and get it and spray it around. Libby often spayed toilet freshener around to get rid of her smell after she went to the toilet, but I had learned a valuable lesson a few months ago.