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My Sister Jean
MY JEAN
by BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)
____________________________________________________________
Chapter 1 -- Jean's
Holding up the soiled I'd lifted from the wash
hamper and with an exaggerated voice of wonder, I asked,
"What're these?"
My sister, Jean--older by two years--blushed and shot
back, "You jerk! What do you think they are? Give me my
panties...right now, Billy!"
Jean and I had always been close and shared most
things, but the conservative atmosphere that surrounded
things sexual in our home had placed a "forbidden" charge on
things like underwear...and bathrooms . . . and (gasp),
private parts. Added to the mixed messages we'd received,
was the clear awareness of our parents' sexuality, for, when
my returned from a long sea trip, they'd always "get
it on." Ostensibly, their sexuality was not in the open, but
in fact, they were careless and we were aware of both of
them as sexually active people. But we never spoke of it.
That heightened awareness was to add spice to our own little
games.
Holding up the white cotton to the light, I
examined the crotch in an affected fashion and said, "Hmmmm,
what's this white stuff?"
"BILLY! Stop that this minute, you little rat. God!
You're dirty."
I loved her discomfort and as her kid brother, I loved
this fleeting moment of power. Sensing I was on a roll, I
held the up to my nose and made a loud sniffing
sound and added, "Boy, this smells sexy."
Would this stratagem work? I was dragging out of the
closet a specific point of sexual tension that had been
building between us for a long time. It started for me, I
think, when we were wrestling and I had become aware of the
distinctive "girl smell" Jean had, seemingly coming from her
bottom. I'd wrestled in earnest but as usual, I was
distracted. Everywhere I touched, it seemed, was soft or
feminine. She, on the other hand, wasn't distracted. She'd
finally whipped me with a scissor-lock. I was trapped with
my head between her thighs, looking up into the tight crotch
of her shorts.
"Give? Give?" she chanted.
"Never! Not on your life," I insisted. Give up?
Heck, I wanted some more time so close to her secret
spot. Reaching around her bare thigh, I tried to insert my
hands between her legs near the stretched bottom of her
white shorts. I'd already made out that all she had on were
short shorts and glimpsed under a too-large, baggy
sweat shirt.
Making a tickling sound as I touched the inside of her
thigh, I got her laughing a moment, relaxing her strong leg
muscles. I lunged-- not back and away-- rather, I pushed my
head in and higher up, bringing my nose right up to her
bottom.
"Now I really gotcha," she chortled. "Give?"
Got me? I smiled to myself. Who's got whom here?
"Never!" I mumbled from the confines of her sweaty crotch,
inhaling her smell, the sexy, aroma.
Smelling her that I'd snitched from the soiled
clothes hamper was always a turn-on, but smelling her this
closely, in real-time, was almost overpowering. I forgot to
struggle and gave myself over to the erotic moment. Seeing
the leg of her under her shorts, a few light brown
hairs sticking out, I wondered, has she any idea what I'm
seeing?
Jean suspected something was going on. "What are you
*doing*, you little shit?" And then she shrieked as I began
to run my finger tips under the pant leg, touching her
crotch, all in the guise of tickling.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle," I lied, trying to make my
mind work on two separate levels. Pretend we're wrestling,
but bury my nose in her crotch. I was desperate to smell
her, to touch her, to see her sex and I didn't really know
how to go about it...other than this game.
Still shrieking with laughter and repeating,
"No...no...no . . . ," she was trying to keep me pinned and
get away from my tickling at the same time. "Oh, God,
don't. I'll wet myself. Stop. Please stop."
Wet herself? What did she mean? It was then that I
became aware of another smell, the unmistakable faint scent
of pee. Cripes, was she in her pants? Craning my
head back, I attempted to look at the white crotch right in
front of my face and could see a wet place as big as a plum.
Then, before I could see anymore, she quickly disengaged and
ran from the room, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
As I'd often done in the past when I knew we were
alone, I'd listen at the thin bathroom door. Once again I
heard the familiar hissing of her hitting the porcelain
bowl. Other times she'd make a louder noise when her
squirting splashed in the water and I couldn't figure
out why it changed from time to time. Did she sit
differently? Could she really aim it? I didn't hear the
noisy paper roll as I anticipated. Rather, it was
quiet. Straining, I imagined I could hear her breathing, but
it may have been me. After several minutes of silence, I
then heard her pull on the paper, a long pull
followed by another short silence.
The bathroom door knob rattled, surprising me, for
she'd not flushed the john. She *always* flushed -- that
was my signal to get out of there. Oh, shit! I'm caught, I
thought, my heart suddenly in my throat. Yet, she'd paused
just a moment, allowing me to scamper away. Then the door
opened with a bang and Jean, walking out of the bathroom,
stepped over me. I could see the half moons of her ass
cheeks as she stepped over my upturned face. She simply
dismissed me with a casual, "Jerk!"
As she rounded the corner and passed from sight, I
jumped up and went into the bathroom. The lid was up on
the john and when I looked in I was thrilled to see pale
yellow water and a folded-up wad of tissue. There it
is, I thought. There's her pee! I stood looking at it,
thinking about how it got there and I just couldn't not jack
off. I was too primed, I was ready to explode with sexual
tension. It must have taken about ten seconds of
frantically stroking my teen-aged hard-on for me to squirt
my into the yellow water. That's it. I was
hooked. My had me by the balls on a downhill drag
and she didn't even know it. Jean's and Jean's
peeing, at that moment, became firmly linked in my mind with
an immense sexual charge.
Later, I tried to talk with her about our wrestling but
I wasn't surprised when she just wouldn't talk about it at
all. Still, we both knew something had changed and a new
tension, a sexual charge, had been established. For me, I
became obsessed with trying to see Jean naked, or up her
dress or under a pantleg. If that's all you think about and
you live in such closeness with another person, the rewards
are frequent. Yet, looking was one thing, but not enough.
I wanted to up the ante. I wanted so much to smell her
again and more, I wanted to talk with her about it! I just
wanted to talk dirty. And heaven knows, I wanted to watch
her pee.
She rarely got to go to the john without me being aware
of it and listening at the door. The sound of her
was an aphrodisiac for me --instant woody! Even the muffled
sound of her soft farts gave me a thrill. I came to know
her micturition habits born of the certainty of long
experience.
For me, a ritual was established. After school, Jean
would always change her clothes including her underwear,
leaving the soiled garments in the bathroom hamper. As soon
as she'd come out, I'd go in, lock the door, and fish out
her panties. Then, with my own pants down around my ankles
and sitting on the toilet, I sniffed her as I played
with myself. It had been years since I'd caught a glimpse
of her bare pussy, but my active imagination played that
tape over and over, seeing the hair and her
little-girl slit slowly open, the lips swelling and moist.
With my nose close to the odor of her "private place," I
smelled the heady scent of her sex. I beat off every day,
often twice, trying to think of a way that I could get Jean
to play with me.
She'd become increasingly aware of my voyeuristic play
over the weeks and pretended indignation when I tried to
look up her dress, but I sensed her stance was more pro
forma than real. Else why did she sit so carelessly when I
was around? Why did she bend over in front of me so often
the tight crotch of her shorts pulled up into the crack of
her ass and then ask me some nonsense question that I might
look her way? She sure didn't act that way when was
around.
Still, I knew her "rules"-- the rules of our
household-- don't talk about it. We could play the game and
pretend we weren't doing anything, but we couldn't openly
acknowledge it. She might sit carelessly, reading a book,
and I might sit on the floor in front of her,
surreptitiously watching the junction of her thighs and
catching a peek of her panties...but I couldn't openly let
her know I was doing this. That angered her -- me
attention to my interest in looking up her dress. It was
part of this teenaged seduction, part of our forbidden
incestuous play...pretend it isn't really happening.
Much later, Jean was to tell me that she knew exactly
what she was doing and what I was doing. She was very
aware, very excited and more, thrilled and scared at the
same time. She wanted to escalate the game herself, but it
just had to be in a way she could square with her
hypertrophied sense of morality...it just isn't so if you
don't admit it.
So, if we couldn't openly own up to our kinks, we could
beat around the bush (as it were) and teasingly approach our
horniness. At that time, I didn't know that Jean wanted to
play as much as I did. I thought the burden of seduction,
of guile, was mostly upon me. And, functionally, most of it
was. Like so many boys, I thought I was the only one who
was this sick. I was the only one who hung around the
bathroom door or sniffed their sister's underwear and then
had wet dreams about it. Cripes!
Clearly, I needed a plan. I just couldn't wait around
forever. I suppose I had the typical teenager's impaired
tolerance for delayed gratification. I needed something
more direct, less subtle... something to address the topic
in a frontal fashion, yet maintain the denial. Her
underpants were the key to this, I thought. She knew, I
suspected, that I played with them in the bathroom, but the
secrecy of my masturbation habits didn't allow the
eye-to-eye confrontation I wanted. Time to crank up the
intimacy rheostat. I'll somehow use her as a tool of
seduction.
Think about it for a moment. Panties. They've
*always* carried a charge. giggle about them and
have an unflagging interest in them. They're secret.
They're naughty. And they're sexy as all get out. They're
worn right next to "that place." They get "dirty" with . .
. you know, those things kids don't talk about
easily...pee... juice...skid marks. My Jean
*knew * of my horny fascination with her undergarments, both
on her as well as in the dirty-clothes hamper, so they'd be
a natural, I reasoned. Further, it wouldn't be too far out
-- not like just out-and-out grabbing her as I'd really
like -- and I could retreat if she was really offended. (I
was limited in the cojones department as a kid, that's
clear.) Thus, my need for an oblique scheme.
Now, back to the soiled panties: Spreading the crotch
of her white cotton underpants over the palm of my left hand
and examining them obliquely to the light, I asked, "Is this
a spot of I see? Did you in your panties, Jean?
Did you have a little accident, big sister? Did you..."
Whop! Something hit me in the face. She'd thrown the
first thing that fell to her hand, thrown and hit me right
in the face, with -- you guessed it -- another pair of her
panties!
Pulling them from my face as I staggered back in a
theatrical fashion, I looked at them. These were pink rayon
with lace around the top and the legs. "Oh, do you want me
to do a crotch check on these as well?"
She went ballistic. "You rat. You stinking, little
rat. You're sick. You're a twisted little shit of a
and I wish you'd fall into the and be washed out to
the dump and I'd never see you again and I'd get your room
and I wouldn't have to wait forever for the bathroom while
you..." Red-faced and sputtering, she leaned across the
folding table to grab her from me. Her front
fell away.
As part of her Saturday, stay-at-home,
no-one-will-see-me uniform, she was wearing one of my old,
baggy and stretched, sweat shirts. Perhaps because we were
doing the wash, and it was a Saturday when no one was
around, she'd not worn a bra. I could see her tits! Down
the gaping front of that sweat shirt, I could see all of her
and her front, right down to her belly button. Her
were medium-sized and her nipples were large and
erect. I can see them in my mind's eye yet today. Bending
over the table, her arm outstretched, blushing and angry,
her white swayed. At that moment, they weren't the
of a young, teenaged girl; they were the of
a sexual woman and I wanted to touch them! There was
silence. I don't know how long it lasted...seemed like long
minutes. Jean, looking into my eyes, angry, hurt, confused
and yes, aroused. I'm holding her and looking down
her shirt, mesmerized by her breasts, by her nipples. I
stared. I stared and didn't say anything.
I was acutely aware of my cock. It was hard. Hard and
pressing into the edge of the table, bent in my pants and
hurting a little. Unbidden, my hips pushed into the table
harder, pushing my hard-on sideways, the tip of my dick
suddenly springing up toward my belt. Now I was
unconsciously dry humping the damn table, holding Jean's
and staring at her tits. Nothing subtle here. I was
trying to fuck the damn changing table and couldn't stop.
Didn't want to stop.
Following my eyes, Jean looked down and saw her own
breasts, fully exposed. With a sudden inrush of breath, she
slapped her hand over her shirt, closing the top. At the
same moment, I extended my hand to her with her panties, as
if to give them up. Falling for that, she reached for them,
pulling her hand away and the fell open again. And
again, I could plainly see her bare with their very
prominent, eraser nipples.
Still grinding my cock against the hard table edge and
watching her sway as she stretched farther to get
her panties, I pulled back a little, just out of her reach.
And again, time was frozen. Her breasts, now pink in the
wave of her blooming embarrassment, were there in front of
me, one slightly flattened against the table by her chest as
she leaned across, the other swaying free, the nipple
prominently erect. I humped still and she looked. Just
looked and looked. The only sound was our breathing. Both
of us, I think, were mesmerized by the erotic charge of what
was happening, and we didn't even really know *what* was
happening.
My world narrowed. Through slitted eyes I could see
only her breast. As down a tunnel, her voice came to me in a
hoarse whisper, "Billy, you're doin' it, aren't you...you're
doin' it and you're gonna come, huh?"
I heard her but I didn't. It was too late. I was gone
and it never occurred to me to even attempt to slow this
runaway avalanche of feeling. It began somewhere deep
inside, gathering force and rumbled up and a core of heat
poured out my cock in near-painful pulses, once, twice, a
third and then a fourth spurt. I came, spurting jet after
jet inside my Jockeys and the pooled and ran back down
the shaft of my cock, the warmth of my come bathing my dick
down to the root.
The roaring in my ears quieted. Dimly I heard the hum
of the refrigerator and then a car passing on the street.
Then my own breath, gasping. Opening my eyes I saw Jean.
She hadn't moved. Her eyes were wide open in astonishment,
her mouth slack. I could see her tongue behind her lower
teeth and still, her nipple, now almost purple against the
white background of her belly.
Caught in the terrible intensity of this unplanned
erotic high, we stood watching each other for a long minute.
Embarrassment began to flood my feelings. What had I done?
How had this happened? I never planned this. What would
Jean think? Worse, what would she tell and Dad, or her
friends? Suddenly, I was no longer horny. I was
scared shitless!
I looked away and then, as if it had broken a spell,
Jean spun away, muttering, "Ho-ly shit!" I stood there
alone with her in my hand, still pressed up against
the table, my cock wilting. Was I in for it?
My mind raced. Well I might be 'in for it,' but what's
done is done, I reasoned. I'm not going to turn back now.
It'd be hard to make it much worse and she just *might* be
turned on too, I reasoned. Gaining some shred of self
confidence, I decided to press any advantage I might have.
For some obscure reason, I decided that it was unlikely
she'd tell on me. For one, she'd be too embarrassed. And
for two, I thought she just might be a little excited
herself.
Knowing she'd want to be "offended" for a little while,
I gave her space and just smiled when she tried to brush me
off. While she was a little bigger than me (then), with the
instinctual certainty of the horny hunter, I knew she wasn't
as sure of herself and that she needed to be chased, to be
talked into being naughty. Well, I was just the guy.
Chapter 2 -- The Couch
I really liked Jean. Heck, I adored her. She was a
wonderful and I know she loved me as well. So it
wasn't an act when I set out to be her champion. I stuck up
for her. I defended her from my mom's sometimes erratic
sense of fair play and when my friends teased her, I'd only
let it go so far. I'd let those know that she was my
and not to disrespect her. Jean, at first, was
uncertain, but her loving nature pushed right through. She
spoke to me with affection and began to engage me in
conversation, at first about inconsequential things, but
later about "boy-girl" things. Our relationship had been
changed. It was growing more "real," never to go back to
our sibling rivalry.
Oh, my behavior around her hadn't changed. I was still
trying to look down her blouse or up her dress. I still
listened at the bathroom door. But now, we were closer
buddies. She really liked me, so it was both easier to
accept my aggressive sexuality and harder for her to take
offense at my shenanigans. Added to that, I began to accept
myself a little more and was far less hesitant about letting
her know that I was horny.
One afternoon, alone in the house together, she asked,
"Can we have a heart-to-heart?"
Grinning and with a pointed look at her left breast, I
said, "Sure, girl, I'd love to have a heart-to-heart with
you. Your place or mine?"
"Come-ON, you nit. Be serious. I need to talk with
you, so get your mind out of the gutter."
Sprawling out on one end of a large sectional in the
living room, I said, "Okay, okay, Sis, sit and talk to me.
What's happenin'? What's on your mind? Boys? Yeah, I'll
bet that's what it is...boys, huh?"
Sitting opposite me and giving special attention to a
button on her shirt, she didn't make eye contact, a sure
sign of her embarrassment about something.
"Well...kinda...that is, I need to...well, I'd *like* to ask
you some questions about what think okay?" When Jean
was uncertain of herself, she often placed an interrogatory
inflection on the last part of her sentences as if to say,
"You know?"
"Only if you share with me...tit for tat, girl. I'll
tell you things what you wanna know -- if you tell me what I
wanna know...and no mincing around either. Fair?" It was
always better to establish the rules of engagement with
Jean. More often, she was willing to give a little before
the fact. Before she became embarrassed and dug in, I
wanted her tacit agreement that if I were to tell her "all
about boys," I wanted reciprocity. I'd been pulling her in
this direction for weeks and she was ever less reticent to
'fess up.
"Well...okay, but don't get too dirty again, will
you... promise?"
"Heck no. I don't promise anything, except to be
honest. Where can you get a better deal than a promise of
honesty? The truth can't you, you know." I was
shamelessly playing on her sense of morality and fair play,
trying to suggest that what she had to talk about was
probably just as "dirty" as my stuff. (*I* didn't even
believe that.)
Still pulling on the button, "Okay, little brother."
Then smiling, "I do trust you."
Mentally rubbing my hands, I thought, yes...trust
me...to try to get into your pants, big sister. Affecting a
nonchalant indifference, I leaned back (and almost fell off
the couch) and said, "Thanks. Now, shoot. What's on your
mind, woman?" (She loved to be called "woman.") Now that
the general topic was out of the bag and we'd established
the ground rules, she visibly relaxed a little more.
Swinging around, she put her bare feet on the couch
near mine and leaned her knees into the cushions, tugging
her skirt down. Out of my peripheral vision I noted that
the hem of her skirt had fallen in such a fashion that I
could see well up the back of her thighs. This has
potential I knew but I'd have to be careful not to be too
openly leering at her legs, at least at first.
Again, nervously tugging at the button on her shirt,
she sat silently for a moment, I imagined composing her
question. Whatever it was, she'd been thinking about it for
days at least, but now she had to compose the words. If
nothing else, I was patient. I waited without further
prompting.
Finally, hesitantly, she stammered, "This is
embarrassing, but . . . when you...do you remember...uh, the
time when you..."
"The time when I came?" I offered.
Blushing and tugging more on the button, she nodded.
In a soft voice I admitted, "Yeah, well sure. How can
I forget? It was the neatest thing ever happened. What
about it?"
"Uh...I've been wonderin', that ever happen before? I
mean, have you ever, uh, before...that is...oh shit! I
wanna know. Do guys, you know...jack...uh, masturbate?"
Do guys...? I couldn't believe it. It was too good to
be true. I'd been wondering for weeks how'd I'd get Jean to
talk about masturbation and now here it was, right out
there, and she'd asked me! Boy, was I going to have a good
time with this one. I thought it'd take a long time to get
up to The Topic and now, wham, here it was.
I almost fell off the couch again in an attempt to look
casual. My dick was already stirring. Cripes, I could see
the bulge and I know that if she looked, she could as well.
I was now the one who was almost tongue tied. "Well sure
masturbate, Jean. At least everyone I know does, and
all the time, or at least that's what they say."
Jean gets restless when she's approaching an
emotionally-charged conversation and I was increasingly
aware of her legs as she shifted them back and forth.
Abruptly, they parted as she crammed both hands, straight
armed, between her thighs. I saw a flash of white, the
crotch of her panties. It was more than a flash. Actually,
it was a several second look and the poochy bulge that
formed the crotch of her was the sexiest thing in
the world at that moment. My mind went right back to the
memory when my nose was smashed next to her crotch and the
olfactory memory kicked in. I could smell her, I thought.
"And you?" she prompted.
"Geez, Sis. I'm a guy! Sure. That is, I mean, I
have," I admitted in an evasive way.
Tilting her head in way she had, she held out one hand,
palm up and said, "Oh, I supposed you did...I mean, the way
you're always trying to look at me and all. But what I was
really wondering was, uh . . . how?"
"How?" How what I wondered?
Now, her voice more certain, "Yeah. Just *how* do you
do it. I mean, the one time I saw you...you did it against
the table. Is that the way you *always* do it? I just
wanna know."
Laughing, I replied, "That was the *only* time it
happened that way, Sis. That just happened. I didn't plan
it. I don't normally get off on the table...I usually do
it...uh, the usual way, you know."
With a trace of irritation she countered, "No, I*
don't* know. That's why I'm asking. I mean, if I knew, do
ya think I'd be asking? I know how girls...I mean, I don't
know how really do it."
For a moment I couldn't believe that Jean was that
naive. She *must* have known. But, maybe she is as
inexperienced as she said and I needed to give her support,
not teasing.
"Okay, I think I understand what you want to know.
It's like this. You know what a hard-on is, don't you...when
a guy's dick swells and get hard...when he's all excited?
Well, when my dick's hard, I just wrap my hand around it and
then stroke it up and down. I almost always think of
something sexy...you know, fantasize while I'm doing it . .
. and before I know it, wham! I come...and, well you saw
what that's like."
"You think of something sexy? Like what? A star
or a in Penthouse?"
"Well, I have thought of I've seen in sexy
magazines, but most of the time I think of someone I know,
someone closer to me, someone who is real and very sexy."
"Janey Pritchard?" she asked, naming the most
outrageous flirt in high school.
"Not Janey. She's okay, I guess, but she doesn't get
me off. No, I think of someone who's far sexier than Janey
when I jerk off... that's what call it, ya
know...jerking off."
Jean had succeed in pulling her button all the
way off and was absentmindedly working on the next one down.
As her opened and closed, I caught repeated glimpses
of the swell of her above the lacy white bra she was
wearing. She continued to shift around as she became more
excited and had dropped one foot off the couch while the
other, still bent, was up against the cushion giving me a
completely wide-open look under her skirt.
She was wearing bikini-style panties, very low cut in
front and high on the sides. The darkness of her pubic hair
was plainly visible, for I'd picked the end of the couch
with the light behind me. Jean had to squint to look
directly at me while I had a clearly lighted, unobstructed
crotch shot. The conversation and the sexy view were
getting to me. My pants were clearly bulging out and I'd
seen my glance at my crotch several times and then
quickly look away.
She persisted, "Who, then? Just who do you think of
that gets you all...uh...hard and...and horny?"
Was she fishing? Dropping my right hand to bulge of my
pecker and holding it pointedly, I said, "You."
"WHAT?" She gasped, her eyes wide in surprise, her
hand frozen with the pulled part way open. "What do
you mean, me? Billy, I'm your for cryin' out loud!"
Lowering my voice and looking hard at her, I rushed on,
"Sis, I *am* your and I still find you attractive.
I still find you *very* attractive, beautiful even. Why,
you're the most attractive I know and by far, the
sexiest I know. I can't help that and I can't help the
way I feel. I care for you and I love you. I'd do anything
for you. I can't help it you turn me on. When I see you, I
feel warm. When I see your or your butt, I get a
thrill. When I think of you naked, why I just get so darn
horny...there's only one thing I can do."
Jean sat, frozen, with one leg up which pulled the
crotch of her into her pussy. There was a natural
silence. We just sat and looked at each other. Now I was
no longer trying to sneak peeks at her panties; I was
blatant about it. I knew she could see me and yet, she
didn't close her legs. I could plainly see the penumbra of
soft hair high on her thigh, above where she shaved her
legs. Then, looking at the crotch of her white cotton
bikinis, I could see a wet spot. She was getting wet. She
was getting excited, I was sure.
Chapter 3 -- Our First Sex
Suddenly dropping her raised leg, she pushed one hand
into her skirt-covered crotch and seemed to cup herself as
she asked, "Just what do you think about, Billy? I mean,
what do you think about me when you, uh, do it?" She'd
taken the bait!
By this time I'd decided to turn up the intensity.
Screw this footing around. Let's get going. "Okay,
Sis, I'll tell you everything...everything you want to
know...I'll tell it all, but first, you've got to tell me
something. I'm way ahead of you and I'm feeling kinda funny
about it like I'm all alone. Know what I mean? So, before
I spill the beans, you've gotta tell me things. Like I know
that do it too. And I suspect that you're just like
everyone else, so you probably do it as well...but I wanna
know just how *you* do it." I'd emphasized the "you" so
she'd talk about herself and not about in general.
By this time her skirt was half way up her thighs and
we were both cupping ourselves shamelessly. "All right you
horndog, I'll tell you. Yes. Yes, I do it...a lot. I've
been doing it for years...ever since I was nine. Usually I
do it when I'm in bed, late at night, but sometimes I just
wake up hot and have to do it again. Lately I've had to do
it in the day time, and then I go, well, you probably know
where I go. You go there all the time!"
Now her skirt was at her hips and I could see her hands
over her crotch. I slipped my hand inside my pants to
adjust my dick, noisily air between my teeth. It
was all hard and caught bent in my underpants. She stopped
talking and watched me, so I kept my hand inside my pants,
holding my cock.
This was working better than my wildest dreams. I'd
hoped we might "talk dirty" and here we were, touching
ourselves openly. I was getting more excited by the minute.
I could hardly sit still. The loving feeling I had for my
right then almost choked me up.
"Sis, I wanna tell you how sexy you are right now. You
are just beautiful. I love to look at your legs and I love
to see you there and I'm going crazy trying to see more of
you. God, this is HOT and I don't know if I can stand it!"
Jean, it appeared, had crossed some emotional line of
propriety in her mind. The shy, embarrassed was gone
and the provocative, sexy woman was emerging. She was
enjoying herself and she was turned on by seeing me turned
on. She'd entered the game without reservation. I just
knew that. I didn't know where this was going, but I was
sure of one thing, it was getting more powerful and going
*somewhere* and I was going with it.
I suppose like most boys, I didn't imagine a would
be interested in looking at my dick; still, Jean had been
watching me throttle my hard cock through my pants for the
last several minutes. Suddenly, I knew what to do. Pulling
my zipper down, I pushed my hand through my open fly and
grasping my cock, I looked at my and said, "Show me,
Jean...show me yours."
Looking up through her lowered lashes, she smiled and
said nothing but slid one hand into her and between
her legs. The wet crotch of her were bulged with
her fingers and I could see some dark brown hair where
the pants were pulled away. My was really calling my
hand, imitating me and teasing me at the same time. When I
began to move my hand, she moved hers. It looked like she
was running one finger up and down her slit, pausing at the
top to make little circles.
Put up or shut up, I thought as I pulled my boner out
of my pants. There! No accident this. I was showing my
hard-on to my and waiting to see what she'd do...run
or join in. Then she surprised me. Suddenly standing, she
reached up inside her skirt and pulled her off.
Stepping out of them, she rolled them in a ball and motioned
to throw them down, but then, as if having a second thought,
she let them unroll and held them up for me to see. Rolling
her eyes, she shrugged and tossed them onto my chest as she
sat back down.
My dreams...my wet dreams were coming true. My
sister's warm were mine. The crotch was quite wet
and her scent was strong when I pulled them to my nose. Her
stolen from the clothes hamper were hot, but nothing
like the fresh wet and warm ones she'd just stripped from
her bottom. I could hardly believe that my sister, sweet
Jean, knew what I wanted and flaunted it for me.
Shaking my head, as to clear it, I stood up and skinned
out of my jeans and underpants. My dick almost slapped my
belly as it sprang up. I stood there a moment, my hips
slightly thrust forward, cock at attention and asked, "Is
this what you wanted to see?"
"Yes. And is *this* what you've been trying to see?"
She pulled her skirt up and spread her legs for me. I was
seeing now, for the first time, my sister's naked pussy.
God, it was beautiful. Her pubic hair was curly and
on top. It was trimmed on the sides and on the lips. My
innocent trimmed her hair! Where have I been
this century?
Scooting her hips forward, our legs overlapped as she
scrunched her bottom toward me. Her splayed legs pulled the
lips of her apart just a little and I could see a wet
pink inside. The scent of was heavy in the air and I
so wanted to bury my face in her crotch. Below her
partially-open cunt, I could just see her puckered anus.
She was showing me her asshole! My dick lurched again,
precome wetting the area around the hole.
I hunched my bottom closer to her and slid my legs
farther over her's as I continued to stroke my woody. The
tip of my cock was only inches from her pussy. I could see
her clit as she pulled the hood back. She was showing me
her little hard-on. By now I was so excited I didn't know
what I wanted. I wanted it all. I wanted to jack off, to
watch her jack off. I wanted to smell her, to taste her. I
wanted her to touch me, to touch my cock, my balls, my ass.
I was nearing circuit overload. I couldn't think.
Scrunching forward again, I muttered something like,
"Let me touch your clitty with my dick, Jean...Oh, God...let
me touch you!"
She was beyond speech and answered with her pelvis.
She thrust her hips to me until our sexes touched...until
the head of my dick, almost purple with stasis, touched the
hard nubbin of her cunt. I was mindless. I had no idea
what I was doing or what to do. I began mindlessly slapping
her clit with my dick, between the inverted "V" of her
fingers that were splaying her lips open. Slap, slap,
slap . . . I masturbated myself as I softly beat her clit.
Once again, my world constricted. Visions and images
swam before me. I couldn't tell fantasy from reality. My
sister's pussy. The smell of her juice. My hard, curved and
shining cock pounding on her . . . on her clit. Slap,
slap, slap. Her wet fingers...red nails . . . holding open
her pussy. Groaning sounds...strained, garbled, meaningless
speech, "Pussy...cunt...shit...piss...fuck . . . Oh,
Christ...I'm coming."
"Come on me, come on me, come on me," she chanted over
and over as I squirted ropy spurts of white on her
chest, on her stomach and then onto her hair. From
far away, I thought I heard her scream. I must have blacked
out for a moment. My next aware sensation was being held.
Jean had my cock in her hand and was holding it softly,
cooing as she stroked it like a feather. My body spasmed
again, a jerk that pushed an unbidden grunt from my chest.
"God, Jean...shit...Jesus H. Christ! I can't believe
this happened. It was
unbelievable...incredible...fantastic."
"Oh, Billy," she whispered. "Please hold me, won't
you? I do love you so!"
Chapter 4 -- The Hike
Hiking up the switchback climbing from Fourth of July
Lake, I watched Jean in front of me. More correctly, I
watched Jean's legs and the movement of her buttocks. She
was a few feet in front and above me on the steep, dusty
trail.
We'd broken camp a few hours ago after having spent a
couple of lazy days in a remote part of the Sierras. It was
our family's custom to pack into remote areas at least once
or twice a season and this was the first time Jean and I had
gone alone. With no agenda save a couple of day trips and
some reading, we'd had time to further our connection. I
suppose it's not unusual for siblings to know each other
very well on some levels while being almost strangers on
other levels. It was that way with Jean and me.
For as long as I can remember, she'd been my
sister... aloof, superior and occasionally condescending.
As with most of us, the position of apparent superiority
was assumed to cover the usual teenaged feelings of
insecurity, of being "less than."
I'd taken on a completely different persona in the
family. I was the joker, the hero and, deep in my own mind,
the lecher...the closet rake. A few months before, in an
attempt to expand my licentious sphere and engage Jean in
some "dirty talk," I'd turned up the intimacy current.
Unexpectedly, we'd literally fallen into some near-explosive
sexuality. While our "fooling around" had had sudden
intensity, we'd not really "done the deed" and since then
our connection was clearly more tender, yet guarded.
In my loving moments, I'd welcomed the chance to
continue our process of a deepening relationship. In my
horny moments, I'd looked forward to escalating our
previously ill-defined sexual connection. In short, I was
hot for my and hoped she was too. What an opportune
time, I thought, to explore our sexual side.
Jean, however, had reservations. Oh, she'd shown that
she was capable of intense sexual response once before when
we'd been fooling around on the couch and it'd progressed
into a short-lived voyeuristic masturbation. But since that
time, as if frightened by the unplanned and seemingly
uncontrollable force of the experience, she'd drawn back.
Her response to my plaintive entreaties of, "Oh, come
ON, Jean . . . why won't you let me..." (fill in the
blanks) were met with a smile and her reasonable position of
wanting to go very slow.
"Billy, you *know* I love you. You're my kid
and the sweetest in the world. You're sexy and, most of
the time, you're kind to me. But...(damn, there's always a
"but" that follows such a good start)...but, this is scary
stuff. I don't know what's right and what's wrong. I know
how I feel, but that doesn't make it right. Won't you give
me some space, please?"
When she said "please" to me with that certain sincere,
loving tone of voice, I was a goner. "Okay, okay. But
don't blame *me* if I'm limping around all the time." (As
if there were blame or that I'd really be limping. The major
organ limping in me was not my dick... it was my brain!)
We'd gone skinny dipping each day in the freezing
high-Sierra, snow-fed lake. It was so cold that my pecker
had attempted to crawl back into my abdomen. My cremasteric
muscles - that thin sheet of muscle that envelopes the
spermatic cord and testes - had gone into such intense
spasm from the cold that each day, on dashing back out of
the water, I was doubled over with pain. It didn't help my
sense of dignity or my macho image when Jean'd point and
laugh at me. (I've since come to see the wisdom that warns:
"It's okay to laugh in the bed room, but not to laugh *and*
point.")
Anyway, my unflagging desire to see Jean nude was
answered, but I was so blue and shivering that I could think
only of jumping back into my sleeping blanket. (My
suggestion that Jean and I zip our mirror-image sleeping bag
together elicited no more than a twinkle and a smile coupled
with a mute shake of her head.) So the wish that I carried
with me on the backpacking trip that I see Jean naked had
been filled each morning...when my dick was a negative
impression. The rest of the time, she'd managed to change
clothes out of my presence. While we'd talked into the
night, she wouldn't let me even cuddle her. Rats! I was
frustrated. Still, I was having a wonderful time. What a
collage of feelings.
Too, I thought I'd get a chance to spy on her peeing.
Remember me? I'm the horny little kid who presses his ear to
the bathroom door to listen to his take a leak? Yep.
That's me. I'd almost come in my pants from smelling her
and once, when finding some of her pale yellow
and a used tissue in the toilet, I'd jacked off right into
the bowl...taking all of ten or fifteen seconds.
Out here in the great outdoors with no bathrooms, not
even an outhouse, I'd surely get to peek at her...I thought.
So far, no dice. Either she's got a holding tank for a
bladder, or she was adept at slipping away. I, on the other
hand, believed that the only bad publicity was no publicity.
I used every chance to casually take a whiz when I was
around her. Oh, I didn't come up and on her shoe, but
I did things like continue a conversation, turning just a
little aside as I took out my pecker and peed on a tree or a
rock. She didn't comment on my little exhibitionistic
streak and I couldn't really tell if she was watching or
not.
No cuddle, no peeks, no peeing. Shit! I just wasn't
getting what I wanted and was feeling sorry for myself and
not a little petulant. So I employed the short form of the
Serenity Prayer and said, "Fuck it." It was, after all, all
right. Here I was, in God's indescribably beautiful
mountains on a primo day with my dearest friend and best
buddy, and I was petulant. Boy, talk about an ungrateful
wretch!
Knowing it was going to get very hot by midday, and
that we had a twelve-hundred-feet climb out of that basin,
we'd packed and started early after a good breakfast and
tanking up on mountain water, both in our bellies as well as
our canteens.
Jean was a surprisingly strong hiker and often, on
long, uphill climbs, she'd naturally take the lead. So it
was that I was watching the roll of her hips from close
behind as we were forced to take occasional extra long
step-ups on the trail. Her short-shorts, already revealing,
had climbed up on her ass, framing the white, half-moons of
her buttocks above her tan thighs. The crotch of the shorts
seemed to thin to a narrow band between her legs. I already
knew (from my snooping) that Jean had thong-type Bikini
so I didn't expect to see them as we trudged along,
but they were a green vision in my mind.
Except for the chatter of an occasional bird and the
scrunch of our boots on the trail, there were no sounds...if
you ignored my panting. We'd settled into that
semi-comfortable, endorphin-enhanced pleasant walk-climb. I
was sweating lightly, feeling good, watching Jean's sweet
ass checks bunch and relax in front of me and thinking, I
can't believe how beautiful and sexy this is. And
she's my sister! How lucky can a guy get?
I am not the one with the cast-iron bladder in the
family. It's almost a joke that Billy has to take a leak
more frequently than anyone else. Jean was not surprised
when I called out, "Pee break."
"Okay. I could use a breather anyway." She swung her
pack to the ground and turned back to look back down the
mountain toward our camp site, now barely perceivable.
In genuine relief, I moaned, "Ah," as I peed into the
dust on the side of the trail. Jean, this time, was clearly
watching me so I made an extra production of "shaking it"
when I'd finished. "Hmmmm, that felt good," I added in a
redundant fashion.
To my surprise, she said, "I've gotta go too. Don't
watch."
It might have been easier if she said, "Don't breathe."
Was she kidding?
"Okay," I answered, turning only my head away, still
watching her movements in my peripheral vision. Yet another
surprise. She didn't step off the trail; there was a bush
ten or fifteen feet away, but she didn't use it. And she
didn't turn away from me.
My head pulled back to watch her, not even pretending
to look away. She unbuttoned the side of the short-shorts
and, with her thumbs hooked into the top, pulled the yellow
shorts and white down while squatting in the same
continuous motion. My position, downhill from her, afforded
me a bore-sight view right between her thighs. Now for the
second time in my life, I had a clear view of her
closely-cropped, curly, auburn-haired pussy. After a
weekend of horny frustration, hard-ons and surreptitious
masturbation, I was getting, without guile, a look at Jean's
treasures. Full on, up close...and damn personal!
For a moment, nothing happened. Her smooth anus pushed
out just a little as she strained and then a trickle of
dribbled out into the dust. The dribble increased and then a
stream, clearing her lips and arcing out several
inches in front of her started that familiar hissing. It
was happening. I was getting a chance to watch Jean for
the first time in my life. Something that I'd fantasized
about, something that I'd failed to do with deception was
happening right in front of me. The erotic intensity of it
was gut wrenching. My cock, trapped in my Jockeys, had
erected so fast that it suddenly hurt.
Something caused me to look up. Jean was looking right
at me! Her clear, ice-blue eyes were looking into mine,
into my soul. Her eyes seemed to ask, "Is this what you
wanted, Billy? Do you want to see me pee, Billy?"
For all I know, she'd been saving it for a long time.
Her continued to gain force and the hissing sound
increased as the gusher of ran over a rock and pooled at
my feet. I was struck numb. Not having the presence of
mind I have now, I forgot to touch it, forgot to dip my
finger into the pool and taste it. I just stared,
dumfounded and struck terminally horny. It didn't last for
minutes, it just seemed that way. In comparison, mine was a
piddle. Her's was a production.
It slowed and stopped after one final, small squirt as
she clenched her bottom, making her little rose bud wrinkle.
If I'd expected her to stand suddenly, hiding herself, I was
wrong. Rather, she squatted there, uncovered, hovering
over the trail of now-wet dust and rock.
"Well?" she asked. It sounded so loud in the sudden
quiet of the mountain, I was startled and looked at her
dumbly. "Is that all you've got to say," and you could hear
the smile in her voice. "Do you have a tissue?" she added.
Gaining my sodden wits, I said something cleaver like,
"Sure... if you let me help."
Pulling some Kleenex from a side pocket, I took the few
steps to her. She hadn't replied so I simply kneeled in
front of her and extended the tissue in my hand between her
legs, watching her eyes. She nodded only, with a little
half smile.
Leaning forward, looking under her shorts bunched and
pulled apart above her knees, I softly patted her
slit, slowly, from front to back. I was acutely aware of
her warmth and her breathing, now quickened. I was even
more aware of her pubic hair brushing across the tops of my
fingers.
Unthinking, I dropped the tissue and traced a
feather-light touch along the inner lips of her cunt. Jean
made a soft, sound and looking up, I noticed that
she'd closed her eyes. I continued to "pat" her.
The lips of her were swollen and slick and they'd
opened up a kind of blossoming. Laying the pulp of my
middle finger along the length of her cunt, cupping her mons
in my palm, I slowly pushed in. It was like pushing my
finger all they way into China...or a ripe Papaya.
Now, years later, when I think of love, I think of
this.
Chapter 5 -- The Trip Home
The jazz group Four Play was playing softly over the
hum of the big 4X4's tires. Bob James and Lee Rittenour
were weaving their usual seamless and delightfully rich
acoustic fabric as the western slope of the Sierra foothills
fell away behind us. We'd fallen silent in the Scout after
loading up our backpacking gear and getting some more ice
for the chest near the exit of the National Forest. I was
driving and Jean was looking out the passenger's window as
we sat silently in our own thoughts. We were used to
periods of silence and it wasn't uncomfortable.
My mind was playing a tape of endless loop. My sister,
Jean -- the sometimes ice maiden -- had, when we were hiking
out from Fourth of July Lake, actually squatted in the
middle of the hiking trail and peed right in front of
me...in the most blatant fashion. It was not accidental and
not remotely innocent. Rather, it was considered and
extremely provocative. Most baffling, it had seemingly just
happened, out of nowhere. I was excited and stunned, for it
had been the realization of a longstanding, obsessive
fantasy of mine. Now, after that intense sexual peak of
halting interaction, we'd lapsed again into our usual quiet
space of uncertainty.
The grasses and flowers changed as we lost altitude. I
reflected on the events of the last little while. While, in
the preceding weeks, I'd made no secret that I was terribly
excited by her and more, that I was lightheaded with passion
for her, I'd never come right out and asked her if I could
look at her nude, much less watch her pee. Not that the
thought hadn't been foremost in my erotic mind for years, I
was simply reticent to disclose myself...to uncover my
secret kink, largely from embarrassment. Oh, I didn't mind
so much, particularly of late, that she knew I masturbated,
or that I smelled her panties, or even that I was crazy
about staring up her dress or down her shirt. Somehow, that
was all right...that was manly or at least okay stuff.
But peeing? Hmmmm. Sounds sick and perverted...or so my
judgmental mind spoke to me.
My mind spun on. Why had she done that? Why did she
suddenly expose herself to me in such a provocative way? A
fleeting glimpse of her or skinny dipping was one
thing, but letting me watch her a long stream into the
dust of a Sierra back trail...a scarce few feet from
me...that was quite another. Had she known about me . . .
about my kink? Or and I couldn't really believe this -- was
she kinky like me?
No, not the very proper and often prim ice queen. If I
had not been sneaking around for years, listening to her
when she was in the bathroom, I might have supposed that she
didn't even at all! Jean was the type who wouldn't say
shit if she had a mouth full. If pressed, she might, in
some clinical fashion, allude to micturition or to (ugh)
but she'd never utter the word "piss." I imagined
that she might allow, grudgingly, the expression pee-pee
if some little kid had no other way to express it. So how
was it, I wondered, had she moved from that moral high
ground to pulling her down and in the middle
of the trail while staring into my eyes? Once again, I was
baffled. Girls!
On a long curve, Jean swung around toward me, tucking
her bare feet up on the seat and asked, "So, Billy. What
are you thinking?"
She always did that. Well, she did it a lot...opening
up her topic by asking me what *I'm* thinking. Or, if the
topic is established, she tries to get me to commit myself
to a position before she discloses her's.
Making a vague motion with my hand, I replied, "Oh,
nothing." Smiling to myself...If she only knew.
"Come ON, Billy. I know you better than that. You're
never thinking of nothing. What's going through that
pointed little head of yours?" The smile in her voice
belied the insult. She leaned back against the passenger's
door, pulling her left foot further onto the seat, pressing
her knee into the back rest. The leg of her shorts gaped a
little. I noted things like that.
I also knew this drill. I'd been through it a thousand
times. If I was stubborn enough, I could simply stonewall
it. I'd done that lot of times, heaven knows. But Jean
knows me, and most of the time I *wanted* to be drawn out.
I tried to maneuver it in such a way that the topic was
her's, not mine. This, of course, was stuff, born of a
sibling's need for protection from being ratted on. The
fact of the matter was that neither Jean nor I had ratted on
the other in years. At root, we acted to protect each
other.
"Well, actually I was thinking of our relationship,
Sis." There! That covered a multitude of sins.
"Hmmmm, what about our relationship?"
We both knew the dance so well that the opening steps
were done without effort or thought. Actually, we were both
thinking way ahead of this conversational chafe.
"Come on, dude. Open up. What about it...what about
our relationship?"
Looking pointedly at her, I asked, "Do you *really*
want to know?"
This was a well-established signal that one of us would
cut through the fog of protective words if we were serious
or impatient and wanted to get on with something pressing.
On the other hand, if it were the usual verbal game, we'd
parry that offer with some gratuitous insult or another.
"Uh, yeah, Billy. I really *do* wanna know. What're
ya thinkin'?" The last question was a little muffled as she
pulled her sweat over her head, partially pulling up
her T-shirt and momentarily uncovering the bottom of her
bare breasts. Without hurry, she pulled her T-shirt back
down, molding the front against her nipples.
Jean almost never spoke in contractions or idiom. Her
diction was usually precise and her demeanor was
oh-so-correct. So when she said "Uh, yeah" and "I wanna,"
I recognized her I-want-to-be-one-of-the-guys gambits. She
was letting down her goody-two-shoes protective distance.
Jean was telling me it was okay to be frank and, in light of
our most recent adventure, it was clear that she wasn't
interested in my opinion of the men's basketball team... or
their locker room. She was letting me know that it was okay
to talk about what had happened on the trail.
You might think it strange, that "talking" about our
sexual connection, once done, wouldn't be difficult. The
reality was contrary to that, however. A lifetime of denial
had, in some paradoxical manner, permitted us strange
behaviors...as long as they weren't validated with
acknowledgment. That is, just don't talk about it.
This interaction, however, was moving at warp speed.
Jean usually took forever to circle up the wagons and
establish her perimeter of protection more often of the
barbed-wire variety. Cutting through the niceties this
rapidly let me know that she felt strongly about what had
happened. Usually, Jean dealt with uncomfortable topics by
ducking behind her long-practiced wall of denial. And I
know what that was like.
Glancing again at the gap in her shorts, I could see
the edge of her panties. I pointedly responded, "To be
perfectly frank, Sis, I was wondering about you."
Jean rolled her eyes in an exasperated fashion, knowing
that I was being anything but frank. She slipped her right
hand under the front of her T-shirt and absentmindedly,
scratched the area under her breasts. Cripes, how could I
watch the road, watch her scratch her tit and listen to
her...all at the same time?
I didn't ask her why she rolled her eyes. I knew. But
could I really enter into this forbidden area? By now we'd
had at least three intense but too-brief sexual encounters
and had yet to *talk* about them. A moment of uncertainty
washed through me.
She cleared her throat in a dramatic fashion and I
glanced at her. Maybe it was sibling communication, or the
soft smile, or the direct stare of her blue eyes...but
suddenly I knew that it was okay. She was lowering her
guard. There'd be no pretend ignorance or indignation in
this conversation. There'd be no frustrating
evasions...unless I slipped into them myself.
Taking a deep breath, I blurted, "I loved watching you
pee, Jean. I just LOVED it. But why did you do it? I mean,
how'd you know? Uh . . . we've never..." My strong start
trailed off. I didn't know how to give voice to my
thoughts.
I took another deep breath but before I could start up
again, she answered, "Billy, I've suspected for a long
time...I knew you listened outside the bathroom door
and..."
Interrupting, I asked, baffled and alarmed, "How did
you know?"
Glancing again at her, I saw the big grin on her face
when she said, "Oh, Billy! For a guy that's so darn smart
about so many things -- you really do impress me most of
the time -- for a guy that's so smart, sometimes you're
just out of it."
She touched my thigh with the toes of her right foot as
if to take the sting out of it.
Well, that did sting, but knowing the truth of it, I
said nothing. Instead I made an impatient motion with my
hands to urge her on with it.
"Billy, the afternoon sun shines in through the front
windows, doesn't it?"
Obtuse I thought and nodded, still not getting
it...aware more of her foot, now resting on my thigh.
"Remember when the carpet was taken out of the hall and
the tile was installed? Well, the place beneath the
bathroom door where the carpet used to be, now lets the sun
shine in." Then pausing for dramatic effect *now* I could
see it coming she added, "And it casts the shadow of you
standing right outside the bathroom door...it seems you're
always there." I was mortified! I felt the heat rise in my
face as I sought a way out, an excuse, some way in which I
might deny it.
Jean, sensing my acute discomfort, laughed softly and
added, "Billy, don't be embarrassed...I'm not...at least not
anymore. It's okay. Honest, it's really okay." Her toes
curled on my leg as she ran her foot up and down.
Then, as if to explain further, she went on, "At first
I wasn't sure *what* you were doing. I thought you were
pulling some kind of practical joke on me, but nothing ever
happened. I was puzzled and . . . I don't know why...I was
fascinated. So, I tested you. I'd wait until you were
around, and then I'd go into the bathroom, just waiting to
see your shadow under the door, then I'd pee. I...I didn't
mind that you were right outside the door. Actually, I
think I liked it . . . that you'd want to...that you were
interested in me...but I didn't want you to hear me do
the...uh...other. I'd really strain and try to make a loud
sound, but I was always scared to death I'd...you
know...make some other sound."
I glanced at Jean and her eyes slid away. Now she was
the one who was embarrassed. I didn't tell her that I had
heard her fart softly a few times. Her hand was still
inside her T-shirt, right under her breasts. Maybe the tips
of her fingers were touching the bottom swell of her tit?
It was unusual for Jean to talk so long in such a
vulnerable manner. I just smiled and said nothing, hoping
she'd continue.
"I have a to make," she continued, rushing
the words.
If this wasn't a confession, what the heck was it I
wondered? "Go ahead, Jean. There's nothing you can say
that would offend me... honest." I was so darn magnanimous.
"I snooped in your room."
That didn't surprise me; we all snooped on each other,
I was sure.
"And I found your dirty magazines."
Again, I was stunned. "How did you...I mean...shit,
Jean!" Now I was really embarrassed. The only magazines
I had weren't plain-vanilla girlie magazines. I'd found two
foreign magazines full of watersports pictures and
and secreted them where no one would ever find them. Or so I
thought.
"You probably think you're the only one who spies in
this house. Well you're not. I've listened to you in the
bath room too. You're really noisy when you masturbate.
You should be more careful... Anyway, I've heard you move
your dresser several times...before and after you disappear
into the bathroom. That puzzled me, so I moved it and found
the place in the back without a slat...the place where you
hid those magazines."
Her hand moved beneath her shirt. Now I was certain
she was teasing one of her nipples.
I was pissed...not so much that my secret was out, but
that I'd been so transparent...that my "dumb sister" had
ferreted out my hiding place so readily.
"Billy, reading those got me hot. And then I
could understand what you were doing outside the bathroom
when I was peeing. You were imagining *me* in there, weren't
you?"
I couldn't believe how smart my had become all
of sudden. Grasping her foot in my hand, I ran a finger
between her toes and said, "So?" At these moments of
stress, social repartee was not my strong suit.
"So, I became as interested as you in peeing. I
started watching myself when I peed. I tried looking when I
was sitting on the toilet, but I couldn't see much...except
the squirting. Then I got a mirror and I could see it
well, particularly when I pulled myself open with my
fingers. When I pulled my lips open, the came out in a
solid stream, just like I imagined a boy's did. That gave
me the idea to standing up."
I turned down the volume of the car stereo a little,
for she'd fallen into a soft, reflective tone and I didn't
want to miss a word. I squeezed her foot a moment to
encourage her to continue.
"I started in the shower. At first I peed down my
legs, but I got the hang of it quickly and in no time I
could stand with my legs apart and hips pushed forward to
a strong stream several feel in front of me."
Glancing at me she asked, "Can you that, Billy?
Isn't that crazy?"
"Yeah...delightfully crazy. Sexy crazy...and hot.
Tell me some more." Could I push this? Would she continue?
"Well, I saw a mare, a female (shit, I knew what
a mare was) - I saw a mare urinate in the field, so I tried
it that way. I mean, I bent way over at the waist and while
standing, tried to pee. At first I couldn't tell what
happened, what it looked like, but then I stood in the tub
and watched myself in the mirror. Billy, it squirted way
out behind me. I felt like a mare in heat!"
"Then I began thinking about you peeing. I wondered
how you did it what it looked like. What did your dick
look like and how far could you pee? Did you hard for
a short time, or did it last and last? How did you hold your
dick? . . things like that. I wanted to watch you pee, and
even more, I wanted you to watch me pee. But I couldn't
tell you this in a million years. All I could do was go to
the bathroom a lot. You would have thought that I had a
sudden case of diabetes."
She was openly cupping her and curling her toes
as I massaged her foot. She went on, "I *had* to watch you
pee. I knew that you peed outside the house a lot and I
kept my eye open for my chance. Once, I saw you head toward
the bathroom but because was in there, you cut out the
side door. I ran to the kitchen window and watched you take
a leak right on the deck. I got hot just watching you.
Actually, all I could see was your hitting the deck,
making a big puddle. I couldn't really see your dick...but
I wanted to...boy, I sure wanted to!"
She slid her foot higher on my thigh. She had turned
completely sideways in the front seat, still with her left
leg curled up and her right leg extended to me. Her toes
were close to my dick and I was getting harder and harder.
"Did you..." I started but she cut me off again.
"Then you went upstairs. was still in the
bathroom. I ran out on the deck and looked at the puddle
you'd made. I got so hot I could hardly stand it. I was
dying for a good pee. Now was my chance. Billy, I know this
is crazy but I lifted my dress and pulled the crotch of my
aside. I squatted over your puddle on the deck and I
pissed right on top of your piss! I forgot and was
straining so hard that my splattered all over my legs
and shoes. But I didn't care. I loved mixing our
together. It just got me hotter."
She added a little slutty emphasis to the word "piss,"
out the "sss" part as she looked into my eyes. Jean
was getting off on her own story. She slid down a little
further in the seat and the heel of her foot was sitting on
top of my crotch...right on top of my hard-on. When I
glanced at her, she pulled the bottom of her up for
about two seconds, flashing her bare at me, grinning.
The nipples were sticking out.
"So you see, Billy. *You* turned me onto this
thing, and you didn't even know it. Now, I think about it
all the time. I listen to the in school when they're
in the stall next to me and wonder what they look like.
Sometimes they hiss loudly when they pee. Sometimes they
just tinkle. When I'm feeling slutty, I try to really
hard into the water to make a lot of noise. Golly, I even
check the crotches of the and wonder how big their
dicks are and how they look when they pee. I wonder a lot
if other mess around with *their* brothers. What do
you think?"
"Whoa. I'm overloaded. Too much, too fast. Yes...I
mean no! I mean...shit, I don't know *what* I mean. But
wait...first, tell me. Why did you hide from me all
weekend? I tried and tried to get you to talk about sexy
things, but you kept changing the subject. And I was aware
of you the whole time and except for skinny dipping, you
never showed me anything. Why? And why did you then let me
watch you on the trail?"
"Oh, you know. I was scared. And I was embarrassed.
Even though I knew you'd listen to me...and even though I'd
seen your dirty magazines...I was afraid you'd think I was
really a nut case some kinda pervert." She again gave me
that radiant smile. "It's a kinda trust thing, I guess. You
were so sweet to me all weekend and you were so darn
provocative, I was creaming in my pants most of the time.
And then, when we were walking out on the trail, I just knew
after you peed so shamelessly that it was my chance. So I
did it! Was it okay? I mean, did you like it, Billy? Do
you think I'm terrible?"
I was holding her foot so tight my finger tips were
white. She was rocking her foot and I was pushing her heel
down into my crotch in slow, rhythmic motions.
Losing all restraint, I gushed out, "Jean, it was the
most *erotic* thing I've ever seen. It was better than any
story, any I've ever seen. Heck, it was better than
any fantasy I've ever had. Seeing you...seeing you so
close...and you watching me looking at you . . . I almost
came in my pants."
"I like to hear you tell me those things, Billy. It
makes me feel . . . well, sexy and desirable and like I want
to do *more* things."
"More? What more? Tell me, Jean."
She pulled her hand from under her shirt, leaving the
bottom part way up, exposing the bottom of her tit. I don't
know what it is, but I'm turned on to seeing the bottom
swell of a girl's breast, particularly my sister's. Dropping
her hand to her leg near her crotch, she rushed on, "Well,
I'd *really* like to uh...this is kinda hard to say but I'd
really like to...pee *on* you."
The road was nearly empty and I was driving slowly,
just moseying along so I could pay more attention to Jean.
When I glanced at her, she met my eyes defiantly for a
moment and then looked away, embarrassed, the color high in
her cheeks. Then she looked at me again and said loudly,
"Well, I *would*!"
This was incredibly exciting for both of us I thought,
and equally difficult at times. Sensing her near-shame, I
attempted to rescue her with the truth.
"Jean, the thought of you peeing...peeing on me is the
hottest thing I've ever heard! God! I'd love to feel your
pee."
"Really? Honest? Are you just *saying* that?" She'd
pulled her right leg back and with her heel on the seat and
her knee fallen out, she'd slipped her right hand under her
pant leg. Seeing my eyes on her motions, she laughed,
"Christ, Billy, I'm so hot I can't help it."
Taking a chance, I asked, "Can I tell you some of my
secrets... some of my fantasies?"
Abandoning the tight leg-band of her shorts, she opened
the front and slipped her hand under the waistband of her
and buried it in her crotch. "Yes-s-s-s, Billy.
Please tell me. I really wanna know."
"Sis, I'm *so* glad you told me all this. I'm so glad
you told me about peeing. We're just alike, you and me. I
wish I'd know before, we coulda...well we can now, can't
we?"
"Billy! Tell me. Don't tease me."
"Okay, okay. Let me collect my thoughts. I hardly
know where to start. There's so many thoughts runnin' around
in my head. I know, I'll just share the images with
you...then we can sort them out, okay?"
"Go for it, big guy!"
She now had both hands stuffed down the front of her
shorts and I could see her fingers slowly moving in the
tight crotch.
"Okay, but before I do, let me smell your fingers!"
Not put off for a minute, she pulled out her right hand
and leaning across to me, she ran her finger under my nose
saying, "You are *such* a horndog."
The pheromone musk of her was strong and
arousing.
"Jean, the smell of you is so sexy and it gets me hot."
She grinned and prompted, "Come ON, guy...tell me.
Tell me *your* secrets now."
"There's so many images I have. I think about 'em when
I jack off things like the feel of your in my hand...me
kneeling in front of the toilet...you with your legs
apart...and I've got my hand under you...and you just
right into my hand. That one always gets me going. I think
of that one all the time when I hear you in the bathroom."
"Oh, yes! I've had that one too...lots. Would you
really let me?"
"Let you?" I asked in an incredulous tone.
She laughed and asked, "Any more? Fantasies I mean?"
"Oh yes. I've thought of you right on my
cock...right on my chest. I've even thought of you
in my mouth!" The last statement startled me. Had I
really thought that? I'd gone too far.
I pulled into a Rest Stop and parked well away from the
other cars. I looked at her with a little apprehension. Had
I gone too far?
Seeing the question in my eyes, she gave me her sweet
smile and said, "Oh, yes, Billy. I'd love to do that...you
can't know how much that means to me. Please...please tell
me more. I've been waiting so long to hear this...don't
stop now."
Chapter 6 -- My
It's ironic. The things I want the most seem
never to go the way I want. I scheme and plan and try to
manipulate people, places and things to get my way. It
rarely works. Nevertheless, I keep trying. I think of it
as adding to the keenness of my anticipation. And it does.
I've learned not to take myself too seriously when I don't
get what I want. Most of the time, what I eventually get is
better than I might have planned and often better than what
I might have imagined.
That's the way it was working out with my
sister, Jean. Yet, I didn't really see it happening. I'd
become increasingly aware of her as a sexy girl. Actually
that's an understatement. What I should admit is that I'd
grown infatuated with her. I'd always cared for her deeply
and we were both aware of a spiritual connection. Neither
of us was completely at ease with our own sensuality. Sex
remained a titillating and excitingly naughty topic. That
discomfort, however, was rapidly changing.
Our sibling connection was tender and loving.
At base, that tender connection was always operative, even
when we were at odds. Clearly, we cared deeply for each
other, but because she was so proper and reserved, I'd
assumed that she had no sexual feelings at all. But in the
past weeks, I'd come to know that wasn't the case. Not even
close.
For example, not long previously, I'd humped
myself to orgasm on the edge of the laundry room table just
looking down the front of her shirt. While I had planned to
confront her with her soiled my "clever" way of
introducing the topic of sex I'd not planned on rubbing
myself of on the hard edge of the table. And despite the
fact that she *knew* what I was doing. Or was it *because*
she was knew that made it so exciting?
A little later, in a sexual heat, we'd exposed
ourselves to each other on the living room couch as we were
"talking dirty." We shared a mutual culpability for our
couch incident, but again, it was not my intention to
myself and her by slapping her clit with my hard
cock. It'd just happened in a spontaneous fashion, both of
us caught up in the compelling sexual heat both surprised,
turned-on and both, completely helpless. Swept along by a
current whose strength tossed us about in a sexual typhoon,
we had both come together. And again, frightened by the
ferocity of it all, we'd retreated to the familiar safety of
silence.
And most recently, this morning unexpected and
unplanned, out of nowhere she'd fulfilled a long fantasy of
mine by letting me watch her pee.
For months and months I'd been trying to get her
to "talk dirty" with me...to share her own sexual stuff with
me. Yet, I'd had limited success until today, until we were
riding home from our back-packing weekend. Now the
established reserves had been broached. To say the was
out of the bag hardly lent it sufficient impact. More
accurately, we both knew that barriers were down and
they'd not be erected again. Still, we were uncertain how to
move with comfort into this newly open intimacy.
From the silence of our mutual protection, we'd
broken out of years of restriction and restraint. This
wasn't the naughty, snickery type of
you-show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine conversation that
I'd angled for. This was dealing with real stuff. I was
dazzled.
Jean had shared with me some of her "deep dark
secrets" and I'd shared similarly...or started to. And she
wanted more. She knew of my and she'd
admitted she had one too. It was plain that we'd only
continue in a step-wise manner with each of us validating
the other with our honesty. If I wanted Jean's truth, I'd
have to give her mine.
"Jean, I love this. I love being able to be so
open with you."
"Yes. It's like when we were on the
couch...only more so...remember? Just talking with you like
that...I got so hot then I didn't know what I was doing."
When we'd parked at the Rest Stop, she'd taken
her hands out of her pants, looking around, surprised that
we had stopped. Seeing that no one was even close to us,
she relaxed again, leaning back.
"Where are we? Why'd we stop?"
I explained, "It was getting too difficult for
me to keep my eyes on the road. Between listening to you
talk about peeing, and watching your hands in your pants, I
had little attention for driving. We've got all the time we
want. I'd much rather stop and talk. This way I can give
you all my attention. I can see your eyes...and," I added
with a leer, "your hands."
"Then look at me, you lecher. I can't believe
my kid makes me so horny, just by talking to me.
You're doing the couch thing all over again, you little
devil."
"Are you complaining?" I asked, while laying my
left ankle over her right leg in front of the center
console.
"Nope. Just letting you know that you have that
effect on me. Hope you enjoy it, lecher."
"You know I do, you harlot. And speaking of
harlots, where were we? Oh, yes. We were talking about
and I was..."
Interrupting, "You were going to tell me your
most secret fantasies, Billy. You were saying you wanted me
to on you. Remember?"
"Jean, it's more than just that. I think of
other things situations...having to do with peeing...or
needing to pee... and you can't. That excites me. Know what
I mean?"
"No-o-o..." She *sounded* more uncertain than
she really was, I think. "No, I don't know. Tell me what
you mean."
Her right hand was slipping into the top of her open
shorts, the fingers under the waistband of her panties.
"Two can play that game," I countered, as I
slowly began to unbutton my jeans.
Impatiently, "Yeah, yeah, yeah...but I *still*
want to hear those secrets. 'Specially if they're about
peeing. And what do you mean 'needing to pee, and can't'?"
I loved it when she kept after me, *making* me
tell her my kinky stuff.
"Oh *you* remember, Sis...how could you forget?
Think back to the trip that you and me and made to the
Farm. Remember, we'd been driving for several hours after
downing a couple of Cokes . . . remember how hot it was?
You all kid me about my micro bladder, so I never gave it a
thought when I had to get out and take a leak and you all
didn't. along the road's no big deal for a guy."
With a throaty laugh, she said, "Sure I do.
and I just looked at each other when we heard you on
the road. We had to go then, but we couldn't say
anything...or at least I couldn't. I don't think it
embarrasses at all."
"I remember smiling back at when she said to
me, 'You lucky stiff.' It was about then that I caught on
that you two were starting to feel your full bladders.
And it was then that I decided to play a little game. I was
going to make you wait and wait to pee."
"I sure remember that trip, but I didn't know
you were playing a game. What'd you do?"
Smugly, "You never pay much attention to roads
or which way we go, or where things are. You just ride
along and enjoy yourself. Mom's the same way. So I decided
to not only take a longer way, but to take the route with no
rest stops or gas stations."
"Why you little shit, you! I just thought we
had bad luck. That you got to take a leak and we needed to
go, and there were just no places to go. I thought it was
an accident. You mean...?"
"Yep. That's what I mean, girl. I wanted to
see you two women squirm a little. You're always kidding
me that I can't wait so I wanted to see how well you could
wait. Besides, I think it's sexy... seeing you and
squirm around, and then cross your legs."
"Billy, I don't know whether to laugh or get
mad. At the time, I would have given anything to squat and
take a good pee. My back teeth were floating. And you kept
saying that it'd just be a little further. You rat!"
"I *loved* it, Sis. You were squirming around
in the front seat and was shifting back and forth right
behind us. At least she was able to ask me to look out for
a gas station, that she had to something bad. You just
pretended that everything was okay...at least for a little
while. Sis, you are *so* hip, slick and cool! Then it began
to really get to you, and I enjoyed thinking of you, needing
to pee. Don't understand it, my dear sister, but there's
something terribly erotic about that. I mean, I got hard
just thinking about you and Mom."
"More is coming back to me. I remember how *bad*
I had to go. I remember two things, actually. One was the
fear that I'd lose it, that I'd leak into my panties. The
second was the burning sensation in my...well, in my
pussy...kinda good actually. Actually, kinda erotic."
"Well, I guess I can confess now, Sis. My fantasy
was that you'd not be able to hold it. I could see you in
my mind's eye, dribbling a little into your panties,
whimpering, bent over, hugging yourself with your legs
crossed. You know how fantasies are...I was right there...I
mean my eyes were inches from your and I could see you
clench your cheeks trying to hold it in...and I could see
the dribble out, wetting your hair and your
panties."
You mean you *wanted* me to in my panties?"
She sounded incredulous, but she didn't look it, as she
smiled at me, one eyebrow arched.
"Not really...well, yes...really. My fantasies
don't always make sense, but the idea of you in your
panties, seeing it run down your legs, just jolts me. I'd
like to stand in front of you as you were losing it, and
then run my hand up under your dress and cup the crotch of
your and feel your hot running over my palm...
those kinds of images. Kinky, huh?"
"Kinky, yes. But now that I know...well, I like
it too. It sure got to and me that day. I don't know
how she feels about it, but do you recall what happened when
we finally got to the Farm?"
"Probably more than you know." I paused,
recalling the scene. "You and both jumped out of the car
and raced for the house. I knew there was only one bathroom
in that house and I didn't know what you were gonna
do...who'd have to wait. You two were too panicked to
notice, but I followed right behind you...right to the
bathroom."
"Oh, God. I remember. I'd beaten to the
toilet, but as I was pushing my shorts and down, she
said, 'I'm your mother! I go first,' and she just pushed me
right out of the way! There I was, dying to pee, standing
in front of like some little girl, waiting for her to
finish...and afraid I was going to lose it."
As she was recalling the memory, I'd slipped my
cock out of my jeans and was sitting back, holding it and
covering it at the same time as I slowly stroked it up and
down.
Nodding toward my hand, Jean said, "That gets me hot,
bro."
Not acknowledging her reference to my masturbation, I
continued, "When the two of you dashed in there, you slammed
the door, but it didn't shut all the way...musta bounced or
somthin'. I couldn't see you but I sure could hear you.
I heard Mom's hissing and you whimpering,
'Hurry...hurry...I gotta go too.'"
"God what a rat you are! I can't believe
you...you pervert. You sadist. And your own too!
They've got a name for like you, bro."
"You asked for it," I defended myself. "'Sides,
you're just as bad as me."
"I know. I *am* and it surprises me, but it feels
too good to stop." Then she added, "If you were right
outside the door, you must have known what happened, huh?"
"I think so. It sounded like finished and you
bumped into her or something like that...trying to get to
the toilet. And then I heard you cry out, 'Oh...I can't
hold it.' And laughed and then you almost cried, 'It's
not *funny*, Mom!' In my imagination, I thought that you'd
peed on yourself or something like that."
"That's exactly what happened. I was just dying.
took for-EVER. Why she even wanted to wipe herself!
The sound of her going just loosened me up. Like running
the faucet for a little kid. My muscles weren't working
anymore. I knew I was relaxing and that I was gonna on
myself and there wasn't anything I could do about it. I
kept bumping into trying to get to the toilet. Cripes,
it was a fire drill. She moved one way and I moved
the same way, back and forth, back and forth. My darn shorts
and were down around my knees and I couldn't take a
big step. bumped into me again by then she was laughing
at me and I just lost it. I started to right there,
bent over, stumbling for the john. Billy, it was awful . .
. and at the same time, it was wonderful. I peed all over
my and all over my legs and the floor and the
seat, frantically trying to plop my fanny down. Then it
really opened up. I think I peed a gallon. I remember
sitting there, knees together, looking at my wet and
legs and then looking at as I peed and peed. I was so
embarrassed. Did you hear her when she said something like,
'Feels good, huh?'"
"Yeah. I think she said, 'Jean, I *know* how good
that feels.'"
"Whatever...but I think she liked it too.
Although she never said anything."
"All this talk of peeing...and I haven't gone
since this morning. How about you?"
"I *knew* you were working up to this. Yeah, I
need to pee, now more than ever...but I'll hold it just a
little longer. How 'bout you?"
"Me too. Then when you *have* to go, I'll be
there to help you."
"Billy, I just know what kind of help you have in
mind... the same kind I do."
"Let me tell you what I'm thinking, girl. We
*could* go into the rest rooms, but what a waste. I've got
another idea."
Jean slipped her hand out of her shorts, leaned
over and ran her wet finger under my nose. She stared right
into my eyes and again ran the wet tip of her tongue over
her partially open lips. The same intoxicating odor of her
filled my senses. I closed my eyes and slowly sniffed
in, making a moaning sound of appreciation.
"Lecher!" she accused, and then asked, "What's
your idea... if I dare ask?"
"I was thinking. How about if we walk over to
those picnic benches and you straddle my lap? No one's
around. Don't tell me when you're gonna start, but surprise
me...just let it go...pee right through your and
through your shorts and into my lap? I really love that."
"Brother dear, you've just been reading my mind.
Right this minute I'm hotter than can be and I've got a full
bladder and the idea of my panties, right into your
lap actually all over your cock that just get's me wet.
Yes, let's do it...and right now!"
Jean, when suddenly moved to action, is nothing if
not decisive. Not waiting for further discussion, she
slipped out of the Scout, buttoning her pants and walking
off. I followed her out the other door, frantically trying
to jam my hard dick back into my tight jeans
"Don't start without me!" I shouted after her.
"Getcher buns over here, guy and sit right
down...right here," gesturing to a picnic bench facing away
from the parking area.
I sat with my butt on the edge of the picnic
bench. Jean looked around one more time before swinging her
leg over mine and squatted on my thighs, facing me. Her
eyes were sparkling as she gave me a wicked grin.
"There're some people right over there, Billy. Do
ya suppose they know what we're doin'?"
Without looking, I said, "Yes. They know
*exactly* what you're doing, Jean. They know you're a
naughty little with a full bladder who can't make it to
the and who's gonna on her brother's lap...don't
they?"
"Christ, you're a tease, guy. I pity your
friend... *when* you get one."
She hadn't waited long. I could see the change in
her eyes, the relaxation in her face. (Some surprise.) She
fell silent and looked into my eyes as long as she could,
then dropped her head into the corner of my neck and
shoulder. Her hips seemed to settle as she gave a soft moan.
I could feel the heat and the wetness spreading, at first
right in my crotch and then spreading. It was happening!
My was on me, right through her panties. I
held her ass around her hips as she peed.
My mind was dizzy...drunk with passion. My
wonderful, sweet Jean was sitting on my lap,
straddling me, in the open and all over herself and
all over me...all over my cock. I could feel my heart
pounding in my chest and, at the same time, my heart beat in
my turgid dick. It swelled and I felt a pulling passion
within the core of my being.
With a groan of passion, I pulled her crotch right into
my belly and said, "God, Sis, I really wanna fuck you."
Chapter 7 -- Jean's Backside
Holding her arms about my head, pulling me to her warm
breasts, she remained quiet for a little while and then
murmured softly, "Billy, I've never done it, and as much as
I think I want to right now...I'm not ready."
Her refusal didn't surprise me. My asking is what
surprised me. I didn't respond. She hadn't expected me to.
"And if I were ready, Billy...I'm not at all sure that
I should be thinking about doing it with *you*. Our fooling
around - the stuff we've done - that's enough for me now.
I love you a lot and I don't want to do anything I'll really
regret."
Then, as if to check-in with me, she leaned back and
looked into my eyes and asked, "Does that make sense?"
Embarrassed at my impetuous outbreak, I mumbled,
"Yeah...I guess so...sure." And then with a little more
feeling, I added, "I wasn't really *asking* you to...to do
it, Jean...I was just telling you how I felt, that's all."
That moment of discomfort - the fear of having gone
too far - passed quickly. Laughing, Jean climbed off my
lap and then stood there awkwardly, slightly bent, legs
apart and looking down at the wet patch than defined her
bottom and part way down her bare legs. Pinching the edge
of her shorts between her thumb and index finger, pinky out,
she pulled the material away from her hip and shook her leg
as she said, "Ech...doing it was a lot more fun than sitting
in it."
Then, pointing at my wet lap, she giggled. Jean
laughs, she chortles, she occasionally guffaws but she
doesn't giggle...or at least until now. A giggle, a little
girlish giggle is the best description of the sounds she
made as she pointed to my soaked jeans.
We both dug into our packs and slipped into some dry
shorts. Ever watchful, I noticed that Jean didn't bother
with underpants. I was acutely aware that my soft-spoken,
conservative was climbing into the 4X4 wearing only a
thin T-shirt and hip-hugger shorts...already pulled up into
the crack of her butt.
"Nice butt, Sis!"
Looking back at me she smiled, "Glad you like it, bro.
I got these shorts with you in mind, but I didn't think I'd
ever wear 'em."
She stood there, one foot inside the Scout, like
mounting a horse, the step-up was so high. The crotch of
her shorts were pulled into her ass cheeks. Posing for a
moment, looking over her shoulder at me, she grinned that
devilish grin that told me all was not-as-it-appeared on the
surface.
My head tilted, as if to appraise her better, I added,
"You know Sis, your hips and butt may be your best feature."
Pulling her foot back down, Jean stood up straight. Or
nearly straight - she'd stuck her behind out a little at my
provocative observation. Still looking over her shoulder,
she slowly bent her arms at the elbows and hooked her thumbs
into the tops of her shorts at the hips. She posed that way
for a long few seconds, palms toward me and fingers splayed.
She looked at me as if to say, "So, do you want to see
more?"
My obvious answer was a broad grin as I vigorously
nodded my head.
Jean slowly pushed the hip-huggers down, revealing by
inches the mounds of her ass cheeks. She continued until
her arms were straight and the waist of her shorts cut
across the mid part of her buttocks, displaying the top
part of her ass crack. With her thumbs still stuck into her
shorts and her fingers spread out - as if she were
signaling someone behind her - she remained posed...bent
over just slightly, her arms and hands framing her slim
waist and the womanly flair of her hips.
The sun was high and in front of her, making a soft
halo of her hair and casting deep shadows around her ass.
Two dimples I'd never seen before, accented the shadows.
Certainly, most delicious was her ass. I'd not really
noticed before, but she'd obviously been sun bathing wearing
a thong bikini, for there was a narrow, white band high
across her hips and buttocks, with an inverted triangle of
white ending in the top of her ass crack. Her cheeks were
tan as were her back and hips. The small, untanned belt of
white that ended as it dipped between her cheeks served to
accent the saucy prominence of her butt.
"I hoped you were an ass man, Billy. I kinda like my
own butt." Then, fishing for a compliment, she asked, "Do
you like it? Do you think it's sexy?"
Then, marching in place, she pulled the tight shorts
over her hips, wriggling to seat them properly before she
jumped into the Scout, yelling, "Hey, dude! Let's get
truckin'...let's haul *ass*!" She slid down in the seat,
dissolving in gales of laugher at her own pun. "Haul
ass...oh, I'm terrible." More laughter.
Jean's laughter is so infectious that I found myself
laughing along with her, thinking, "Boy, this is fun and I'm
not even sure what I'm laughing about."
Adjusting my own shorts, I settled again into the
driver's seat. I checked her shorts and found that she'd
buttoned only the lower buttons, leaving the soft curve of
her belly uncovered.
Back on the road, still relatively deserted, we sat
silently for a little while, making eye contact frequently
and smiling. We both knew that there had occurred yet
another major shift in our relationship and were content to
let things unfold.
Swinging onto a larger and busier highway, now out of
the mountains, I broke the silence this time and asked, "So,
woman, what're *you* thinking this time?" reminding her of
her own gambit.
"What'll you give me if I tell you?" she countered.
"Probably anything you want...but I ain't doin' the
dishes for another week, no matter what you're thinkin'."
Then I offered, "Twenty-five cents?"
"A quarter?! That's all my thoughts are worth to you?
Twenty-five cents! Forget it."
"Okay, okay. A half-dollar then, but you've got to do
my laundry for me when we get back."
"I'll clean *your* laundry," she threatened and then
added, "Fifty cents and *you* do the laundry."
Grudgingly and with a little whine I capitulated,
"Well-l-l, only if you hand me the you're
wearing...to wash of course."
"You jerk! You know I'm not wearing any...I watched
you watching me. But all right. I'll give you my dirty
underpants, you . . . you pervert!"
Ignoring the insult, I said, "Well, let's get back to
the topic."
"What topic?"
"Why, your butt. That's the topic. Remember?"
"Oh yeah. You were saying it's my best feature.
Really think so?"
Diplomatically, I responded, "I like *all* of you,
but...," and then I paused, waiting for her recognition of
my pun, "but".
With a teasing frown she asked, "What do you mean,
but'? Or is that butt'?" accenting the tt' of butt.
"In your case, Sis, it's butt' or, if you will,
ass,'" as I gave her my best Grouch Marx leer.
She continued to fish. "I can see why might like
a girl's breasts, or her legs, because...well you
know...but," and she laughed at herself, "but what's the big
deal with a girl's behind?"
Looking up to the heavens for guidance, I shrugged and
said, "Jean, I don't understand any of this sex-attraction
stuff. I've given up trying to understand it. It's just
there. I feel it. I experience it. That's all. I just
accept that I'm a horny guy and I don't even try to
understand it any more. I like your butt...No, I *love* your
butt . . . your ass. I like to watch your hips roll and
your cheeks move when you walk. I love the inverted heart
shape of your ass when you bend over. I adore the bottoms of
your ass checks when I see them below your short-shorts. I
try to run the back of my hand across your bottom when I
pass behind you, pretending it's accidental. The back of my
hand is acutely aware of the soft dip between your cheeks."
Following such a strong start, I finished lamely with,
"I don't know...I just like em...and it gets me horny."
A slight shift and lowering of her voice signaled a
serious question. I listened intently. Actually, I'd come
to listen to her with an intensity that was previously
reserved for those times when *I* was talking.
"I've heard that some girls...er, some people do it
that way . . . uh...in the...you know...back there. You
ever done it that way, Billy?"
Ass fucking? Was *my* talking about ass
fucking? I was thunderstruck.
"Me? Me? You gotta be kiddin'...I've never done it
*any* way!"
Flustered, she spoke rapidly, correcting herself, "Oh,
I didn't mean...I didn't think you had...I mean...have you
ever *thought* about it...about doin' it that way, I mean?
Back there?"
She squirmed in her seat, not looking at me. Had she
looked, she might have noticed *my* squirming. Whenever
Jean hits my emotional bull's eye, I start to squirm, and
she'd hit this one straight center. Nailed, as it were. Sure
I'd thought about it...a lot...but I didn't think I *should*
be thinking about such stuff. (I was pushed around by
those "shoulds" a lot in my life.)
"Uh...yeah...I've thought about it...I mean, I've
thought about a lot of things."
Uncharacteristically, Jean offered, "Me too. Tell me,
what did you think about...uh...when you thought about doing
it back there?"
Back in my court again. (Well, Billy, get honest.
She's making it easy for you...and *you* were the one trying
to get her to talk dirty'.)
"Gee, Sis...I don't know what to say...where to start...
but, yeah - I've thought about it ever since I saw one a
Dad's European dirty magazines. It had lots of pictures of
people doin' it...in the butt I mean. Since then, I've
thought about it a LOT."
"You have? I mean, you've actually *seen* pictures of
it? Wow! I've only heard about it...I've never seen a
of it. Can you show me? Gee, I'd give anything to
see some pictures."
Jean's enthusiasm once again put me at ease. I'd swung
from being hesitant about revealing one more kink and now
here she was, more open about it than I was...and now I was
swinging back to self revelation.
"I'll either find Dad's, or I'll get some from the
adult book store, Jean. Actually, I used to have a bunch,
but I traded them for the magazines that you
discovered," and added with chagrin, "... in my most secret
hiding place."
"Oh, bitte, bitte, bitte," Jean singsonged her Germanic
entreaty.
Plunging in again, I asked, "Is *your* ass erotic,
Jean? I mean, have you ever touched yourself there...uh,
does it feel good if you do touch yourself?" (If I could
ever learn to finish as strongly as I start...)
Jean stared at me for a long moment. He pale blue eyes
glinted. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips,
wetting them and, as always, my eyes were drawn to her
mouth. Did she have any notion how erotic her mouth was? I
thought not. But this was not some affected look, not some
pretend stance. Jean's interest was intense and real and
right now.
Licking her lips a second time, she started slowly,
"When I was a kid - (and that could be any age less than
she was that day) - when I was a little girl, I got sick
and had a tummy ache. decided I needed an (ugh)
enema."
" Phu-leeze, Mother. I don't need an enema,' I
cajoled." (She loved that word too.) "Well, you know
Mom. I was protesting all the way to the bathroom. God! I
thought I'd die of embarrassment. I knew no one was home
but me and and I was still dying. But showed me no
mercy. Over her knees, pajamas down and K-Y to the butt -
so fast I couldn't respond. Can you imagine that?" she
inquired as it were the most impossible image in the world.
My fertile - read dirty - mind didn't have any
difficulty at all in imagining that. "Yeah, Sis, I can
imagine that."
Not even pausing, she continued, "Mom slipped that hard
nozzle into my butt...burrr...it was cold...but you know, it
didn't at all! I just knew it was going to like
the dickens and it didn't at all. That really
surprised me."
Now, for the first time since starting this story, she
grinned at me and went on, "No, what really surprised me was
that it...it felt good!"
And again she asked the rhetorical question, "Can you
imagine that? I couldn't. I mean, sticking something up
your butt...how could *that* feel good...but it did, Billy,
it did."
"I remember..." I started to say but she continued,
interrupting me. (Oh, now I get it. *She* wants to talk.)
"Then, before I could even switch mental tracks,
started the warm water flowing. She had ran the hot water
tap in the bathroom until she got the temperature she wanted
and then filled that huge water bag. Then she added
something else from a bottle...I don't know what it
was...and that's what I got. I could feel the warmth
flowing through me. must have done this when she was a
nurse, 'cuz every time I started to get a cramp, she seemed
to know it and clamped the tube. I'd rest a few moments,
and she'd start it again. I was embarrassed and frightened
and mad...all mixed in with the confusing feelings of liking
the warmth and the fullness. I didn't know what was going
on."
Jean took a big breath and then through pursed lips,
blew it out slowly, looking out the window for a moment. I
knew enough to keep quiet.
Turning back to me, she continued, now a little slower.
"I don't know how much she gave me - felt like gallons -
but it probably wasn't . . . anyway...when I was all filled
up I thought I was going to lose it and must have whimpered.
said, 'Now hold it. Hold it in. I'm going to pull out
the tube and I want you to lie down on the rug for a
minute...just relax, okay?'"
"And I did...or at least, I didn't...you know, lose it
or anything. I'd forgotten how silly I must have looked,
lying on the floor with my pj's around my knees and my fanny
uncovered. All I could think of was how full I felt and
trying to keep myself clamped shut . . . so I
wouldn't...uh...dribble?" (She ended with her interrogative
inflection again.) "And behind all that, there was a funny,
sexy feeling."
The direction of this conversation was getting to me.
My dick was stiffening again. Just listening to Jean's
of her enema had me hot. Thinking of her cute butt and
her rosebud asshole, filled with water...well...I *told* you
I was kinky!
She continued, "The need to have a B.M. got stronger
and stronger, Billy. I told I was going to have an
accident if I couldn't go soon, so she let me get up and sit
on the toilet.
"Now, you must know that *no one* - since I was a baby
- had stayed in the room with me when I moved my bowels,
but I had to go so bad I probably wouldn't have stopped if
*you* had walked in." (As if I was the bathroom equivalent
of the Queen Mary cruising through.)
Running her hands up the inside of her thighs, she
opened and then closed her legs. She was clearly warming up
to this story.
She rushed on, "It was one of the most delicious
feelings in the world, Billy. Just letting myself go and
expelling all that water... whew...it was like pooping and
and even coming...all at the same time.
"I'm sure I got all in the face...from pleasure I
know now, but asked, You okay?' I just couldn't tell
her how okay I really was!"
Now she laughed. "Don't think I'm a closet enema
freak, dear. I've only had a few in my life...but
maybe not as many as I'd like. Anyway, that was the time
when I realized that my behind was sensitive...I mean, like
erotic, you know?"
Sensing that she had touched on the main part of the
story, I spoke again and asked, "Well, I can see that it
excited you. Did you then start thinking of...butt
fuckin'?"
"Billy, most of the time I don't like that
word...fuck... or fucking...but when I'm talking with
you...it has a juicy edge to it and it's okay. And yes,
that's when I started thinking that if a enema tube felt
good, then a finger or even...it's hard to say - even a dick
would feel good...or even better."
"We're just alike...we're two peas in a pod, Sis. We
both like and now we're finding out that we *both*
like anal things."
She looked at me, one eyebrow arched as if to say, "Oh,
is that right?"
Hurrying to explain, I added, "I haven't had an enema
or anything, but I've wondered about it." Then, not looking
at her, I went on, "Once I took Mom's enema nozzle - do you
think it was the same one she used on you? - I took her
nozzle and slipped into my own ass. I was sitting on the
toilet. I had just finished looking at one of Dad's dirty
magazine - I'd sneaked it out again - and I was wondering
how it would feel to me . . . having something up my butt.
So, I got the nozzle, put some K-Y on it and pushed it in my
behind...slowly. I don't know what it was . . . maybe just
the thought of it...but anyway...I got a boner right away. I
jacked off, and like always, I was thinking of you, Sis . .
. thinking of your ass while I was doin' it."
There! It was out. Now Jean knew her perverted kid
ass-fucked himself with a goddamn enema nozzle and
fantasized about her. My face felt warm and I couldn't look
at her.
"Oh, Billy...that's hot! That really gets me
wet...hearing what you did...and that you thought of me
while you were doin' it too. Wow! You are somethin'."
Emboldened again and ever pushing, I asked, "So, tell
me, my erotic sister...are we going to explore this new
wrinkle...anal sex...or what?"
I suppose it was idiotically tautological to add, " I'm
game. Are you?"
"God, who knows with you, Billy? Every time I think
I've gone just about as far as I'll ever go...with you or
anyone, you sorta nudge me along and before I know it, I'm
right in the middle of something I didn't plan on."
She placed her hand on my arm and added softly, "But
Billy, you *know* I not really going to do it with
*you*...still I'm open to talk about it with you."
Chapter Eight -- Victoria's Secret
"Look at the ass on that one, will you?"
That got my attention. I'd been reading the Sunday
paper over coffee and fruit with Jean at a street-side cafe‚.
We'd ridden our bikes down from our home in the hills behind
the University in the cool of early morning and had stopped
for coffee.
Glancing up at Jean, I followed her gaze over my
shoulder and turned to look at "the ass" she was pointing
out. In our increasing comfort with each other, we'd come
to accept our growing sexuality and that, at root, we were
both voyeurs of a sort. Jean knew of my fascination with
girls' butts and delighted in pointing out to me those she
thought were of merit.
She, in turn, was an inveterate crotch watcher. The
day before at the mall she'd nodded toward a guy sprawled
out near a fountain. He was wearing jogging shorts that
were pulled up into his crotch, outlining an impressive
bulge. "Is that all cock," she asked, "or do you think he's
got huge balls?"
The Jean had pointed out to me was bending over a
nearby table, cleaning the glass top. I was peripherally
aware that she was wearing a loose tank top, but what
captured my interest was the shorts. They were white, very
short and very tight with the crotch pulled into the crack
of her ass and made still more taut by her exaggerated
bending. Checking immediately for lines, I noted she
was wearing high-cut panties.
I grinned at Jean, giving her a subtle thumbs-up sign
and whispered, "Boy, I'd love to sidle up behind her and
grab her hips."
She smiled and rolled her eyes as if to say, "Yeah,
yeah, yeah . . . we know."
Sensing she wanted to chat, I sat back in my chair and
sipped my coffee, looking at her over the rim of the cup.
Her hair was wind blown and her was a little damp from
our last sprint. Looking at her breasts, I admired her
nipples. Despite wearing a sports bra - she'd flashed me
that morning before leaving home - her nipples, when erect,
were very evident. Pointedly staring at her prominent nips
for a moment, I looked in her eyes and said, "It's not
cold."
"Then I must be horny?" She finished.
"Jean, you're always horny!"
"Billy, I am not!" she retorted but with a smile that
gave the lie to her denial.
Glancing over my shoulder - the was gone - I
said, "Well *I* am." And, as if indignant, added, "Thanks
to you!"
Placing her spread hand flat on her chest she replied
in a surprised voice, "Moi?"
"You are a piece of work, woman...yes, you!"
Abruptly changing the subject, she dropped her hands to
her lap and asked, "Are you sweaty?"
"As a horse," I replied.
"You're so graphic, Billy. And you know what I think
of when you mentioned a sweating horse."
"A sweating mare?"
"A horse's cock!"
"Jean, I know we're both fairly kinky at times...but a
horse?"
Flipping her hand in an impatient gesture, she
answered, "Not *really* but there are times when my imagery
takes over. Like, the sexual power of a horse's cock comes
to mind, you know?"
"You mean like me slipping it into the ass of that
waitress? The one with the beautiful butt?"
Perhaps because Jean knew that I'd never "slipped" it
into anything, save my hand, she gave me a puzzled frown.
She replied, "I guess so...something like that...not real,
but sexy and powerful. Like, I don't really want a horse's
dick, but I like the thought of it...it gets me wet. Does
the thought of you doin' it to that girl's behind get you
wet...uh, hard?"
Answering with an exaggerated gesture, I "adjusted" my
cock in my riding shorts and smiled. Jean and I had come
out of the closet with each other...admitted our fascination
with sexual things, our masturbation, fantasies and
anal eroticism. But we'd never actually "done it." We'd not
done the deed. More, I thought, because we enjoyed the
prolonged seduction, the tease, than we had any thought of
abhorrent incest. Jean, as it turned out, had reservations.
I was crazy about Jean. Because she was a little
older, I deferred to her in many ways, most of them
unthinking. She was later to tell me that because I was
assertive and appeared so self-confident, she'd started to
re-think the unquestioned assumed roles. We'd let down all
sorts of protective fences on our camping trip to Fourth of
July Lake. We'd always accepted our love for each other. It
was only in the last months that we'd come to accept our
sexual feelings for each other. Still, it remained mostly
verbal. And teasing.
Constrained by the outward conventional morality around
our house, we took some delight in an unconventional
exhibitionistic teasing. Jean, who was most enamored with
her own breasts, took delight in flashing me. Bending over
wearing a loose top, running from her room to the bathroom
wearing a skirt and bra, idly running her fingers inside the
edge her blouse into her cleavage...all these things were
done to entice and tease. And I loved it. Still, she knew
that my major interest was her beautiful full butt. She
professed ignorance. "Oh, come ON. Who's interested in
BUTTS?" she'd ask.
She knew the answer. Me. Often it was evident that as
some reward or sign of affection, she'd honor my fetish.
She'd suddenly sit in my lap, squirm for a moment, and then
run away, laughing. Once, when running from the bathroom
wearing only her bra and panties, she met me (ever watchful)
in the hall. Before disappearing into her room, she
suddenly pointed her back side at me and bent way over. Her
already brief almost disappeared in the cleft of her
ass, and outlining the pooching bulge of her mons. I
retained the after image of that for a long time. Several
times, playing with myself on the toilet, stroking off, that
image came to mind and pushed me right over the edge. I'd
think to myself, "Jean, I'm coming for you."
So we'd progressed to that point in our honesty where
we admitted our masturbation and our kinks, but we appeared
to remain hesitant and a little fearful of actually "doin'
the deed." Oh, I knew I really wanted to be sexual with
Jean...to touch her, to play with her, but I was afraid she
would think it was "really sick." We circled the edges of
our desires, admitting some, denying others.
Jean broke into my brief reverie, "Let's stop at the
mall on our way home. I'd like to check out Victoria's
Secret."
"Oh, ugh. Where they have all that, uh...girl stuff?"
"Don't be a jerk. I've seen you checking out my
lingerie. Actually, maybe you're more interested in the
soiled ones!"
"Busted!" I grinned at her.
We rode our ten-speeds back to the shopping center, me
contriving to ride behind Jean, admiring her trim, firm ass
and thighs. Now, close to noon, the shops would be open,
but because it was Sunday, the hard-core shoppers wouldn't
be out in force yet.
Locking our bikes in the racks on the edge of the mall,
we walked slowly, staying in the cool shadow of Macys,
checking out the other morning people. I've always
maintained that the healthy, alive folks are out early.
This was no exception. Falling into our comfortable role of
people watching, we admired the bodies of many of the other
strollers. Some were young, and some were older. Most were
fit. I find particularly appealing the looks of healthy and
fit women. By older, I meant Mom's age...you know,
older.
Mesmerized by the firm, long legs of a woman with
streaks of gray in her hair, I was nudged out of my sexy
musings by Jean's voice: "Are you listening?"
Again, I gave her my grin of being caught and said, "I
guess I wasn't. Sorry. I'm listening now, sweet sister."
"I'll 'sweet sister' you, buster! I *said*, 'How about
these?'" She gestured toward a collection of frilly
in the window of Victoria's Secret.
"Hmmmm, hard to say. I'd have to see them ON to know
for sure."
Jean knew what I was implying and I knew I'd not get
the chance to see her for me...at least not in
*this* shop in *this* shopping center. I'd heard of a small
lingerie shop in San Francisco where modeling of lingerie
was permitted, even encouraged. I'd suggested once to Jean
recently that we "check this out" but she'd just snorted and
said, "Fat chance."
If nothing else, I'd come to appreciate the power of
planting a seed in Jean's mind. I'd make an observation or
a suggestion, even when I suspected that her first response
would be "no way" and then I'd let it go. Many times, she'd
return to it in oblique ways. Was this happening now, I
wondered?
"Let's look together," she offered.
In mock resignation, I replied, "Oh, all right...if I
*have* to."
Grabbing me by the hand, she pulled me inside. The
thought came to me that we probably looked like
boyfriend-girlfriend. I was secretly pleased.
There were perhaps a half-dozen other and women
in the store and I was acutely aware of them. They appeared
to not even see me.
Picking up a pair of lacy panties, I held them up to
her and asked, "Jean, what're these?" Her fierce blush told
me she'd remembered. She remembered our first sexual
awareness with each other, when I'd teased her about her
in the wash.
"Yes, I remember too, Billy," she replied. "I'm glad
that you do." (As if I could ever forget.)
Jean picked up an arm load of dainty things quickly and
before disappearing in the back, said to me, "Meet me by the
entrance to the changing rooms in a few minutes."
I gulped. The changing rooms? That's were all those
will be naked or near naked! As if they *all* could
read my mind, I became more and more apprehensive as I
ever-so-nonchalantly strolled to the back of the shop.
Self-centered as I am, I imagined that everyone in the shop
was watching me out of the corner of their eyes. They'd
chastise me any moment. "Young man, what *are* you doing
back here?" No one even looked.
After furtively looking around - no one was looking
at me - I looked into the hall at the row of bat-wing
doors. Beneath one I saw a pair of legs...Jean's! I
recognized her. She looked over the top of the swinging
doors and saw me. Suddenly, she opened both doors and
struck a pose. Wearing white and bra that contrasted
so well with her tan skin, she stood, one knee bent and
pulled into the other. She held the pose for perhaps five
seconds, but the image was burned into my mind.
I saw the swell of her breasts, pushed slightly up and
in by the half cups of her bra. The straps were positioned
well to the side, framing and enhancing the thrust of her
C-cup breasts. Over the top of the cup I could see much or
her areolae...dark and prominent against the whiteness.
The sides of the were cut high with the waist
riding up on the hips on the sides and dipping well down
below her belly button in the front. The darkness of her
public hair was clearly evident through the translucent
front of the panties. With her legs near crossed, I
couldn't see the object of my desire...which made it even
more tantalizing.
Again, over the closed bat-wing doors, Jean called to
me, "Why don't you pick out a few things for me to try on?"
Terribly conscious of my hard on, cramped and bent in
my shorts, I tried not to act as guilty as I felt. I picked
up a pair of thong panties...hardly more than a triangular
patch in the front. What I *really* wanted was to see the
cheeks of Jean's butt. Would this work? To minimize the
agony of choice, I picked nothing else and walked back to
the entrance door. Again, no one noticed or paid any
attention to me.
"Bring them back to me," Jean said.
With visions of jail in my head, I replied, "Not even
close. Come get 'em."
"Scaredy cat," she chided as she dashed out in some sort
of a mid-thigh sleep (which I never saw again. Didn't
do much for me either.)
When I handed her the slip-of-nothing she
gasped and said, "Is this *all*?"
"Quit whining, woman, and put 'em on, will you?"
Holding my eye for a moment, she made up her mind and
spun back into her booth. "Don't go 'way," she admonished
me.
Go away? She kidding? By this time, I was ready to
risk jail.
"Excuse me, please," said a woman as she brushed past
me walking into the changing area.
Oh shit! Jig's up, I thought. Game's over. And on
the heels of that thought, Jean's doors swung open and there
she was! Naked...or nearly naked. Wearing only the thong
panties! She stepped out into the hall, took a few steps
toward me, and when six or seven feet away, swung around and
posed with her back to me.
I could see the waistband of the thong and the vertical
strap disappearing into the cheeks of her ass. Standing
with one foot cocked, the asymmetry of her ass was so
incredibly unexpected, and sexy that I was struck numb. My
throat was dry and my chest was tight. Forgetting other
people, forgetting getting arrested and going to jail...I
stood there, entranced.
There was my beautiful sister, showing me her ass in
the most provocative way. While I'd seen her butt several
times, it was never with this sexual charge. Never so
blatant. I was transfixed.
Suddenly she bent over, pulled the thong strap out of
the crack of her ass, and showed her ass hole! I must be
dreaming. This couldn't be Jean! Jean's sexy certainly,
but she wouldn't show me her bung in a public store
like this.
Then she was gone. The entire thing took maybe fifteen
or twenty seconds. I was rooted there in the doorway, mouth
agape. The same woman emerged from her cubicle a few
moments later and saw me standing there, looking astonished
and dumb. She glanced over her shoulder to see what I was
looking at and then passed me, smiling. Did she know?
I had to go outside to breathe. I felt I was about to
burst. Jean continued to astonish me, to amaze me and
delight me. I felt so full of love for that girl, I
couldn't see straight.
A few minutes later, Jean emerged with a small bag and
said, "I thought you'd be out here. Wanna know what I
bought?"
Hoping it was the thong, I said, "The white bra?"
"Yes, that too, for me, but what I really bought was
for you."
Brightening, I said, "The thong!"
Nodding, she said, "The thong...and I might have a
chance to it for you again today...if and Dad go
the City as they thought they might."
That set my mind spinning. It sounded as if we were
making a date . . . a date to get nearly naked. We'd had
our little encounters and they'd all been spontaneous. I'd
wanted to "talk dirty" with Jean for a long time, and when
we did, it wasn't on my terms...it just happened. We'd
"fooled around" a little and again, it wasn't when *I*
wanted to. We'd never, ever talked about getting together.
The erotic possibilities were vivid.
"Well, do you *want* to or not?" Jean sounded a little
annoyed.
I realized that again I'd been thinking so intently
that I'd not answered, except in my head. Slipping an arm
around her shoulder, I pulled her tight to me as we walked
and said, "Jean, you must know that I'd *die* to have you
that bit of nothing again. The answer is YES!
Yessss, I really do want to."
Mollified, she grinned at me and said, "Well, let's get
going, It's a long pull home."
Chapter 9 -- Jean's Surrender
"Billy, would you like a tall glass of ice-cold
lemonade?" Jean gasped, leaning against the front door of
our home. The bicycle ride back up the hill from "the flat
lands" in mid day was markedly harder and hotter than the
downhill ride that cool, early morning. Each, unwilling to
be second best in our sibling rivalry, had pushed and pushed
on the way home. We'd arrived totally winded and drenched.
"Jean, babes (that was a secret term of endearment we
had for each other), that sounds wonderful...it just might
save my life...but let me serve you. You look beat and
after all, you're just a girl!" (I'll blame heat-stroke on
such a risky jibe.)
In a sugary-sweet tone she replied, "Oh, no-no...I'll
get it sweet brother. After all, you did win." And then in
a slightly more ominous voice, "I owe you!"
Oh shit, I thought...owe me what? But I was too winded
to argue or even attempt to be clever. Sinking into a deck
chair I waved imperiously to her and said in my most
superior voice, "While your up, won't you get me a
Grants...uh...I mean a lemonade?"
Looking out over the valley in front of me, I again
enjoyed that we lived in such a stunningly beautiful place
- a relatively isolated country spot but just fifteen
minutes' drive to the University. I was feeling smug and
very excited, for I was again reviewing the mind-boggling
experience of my Jean modeling some thong-style
for me just an hour ago. The image of her firm and
curvy butt was etched in my forebrain. I was still buzzing,
for she'd intimated that she would them again for me.
Hearing Jean's step behind me, I held up my hand for
the anticipated glass of ice-cold lemonade. My erotic
reverie was shattered by the chilling shock of ice cubes and
lemonade dumped down my front.
"Just a girl, huh!"
With a shriek, I bolted out of the deck chair, ice
cubes falling out of my clothes and clattering on the deck.
Momentarily frozen immobile, I stood there, bent over, arms
away from my sides, just shivering from the icy shock.
Peals of her laughter pulled my head around to watch Jean,
empty glass in hand, holding her side in mirth.
"Oh, Billy, you look like a drowned rat...what'sa
matter... your little thingie all cold?"
It *was* funny and yes, my "thingie" was cold.
Recalling those mornings of skinny dipping with Jean...the
mad dash into the frigid waters of Fourth of July Lake when
my penis tried to crawl back into my belly, I had a mental
of how I looked. I just gave up any hope of
maintaining my dignity.
Fishing a last ice cube from my shirt, I gently tossed
it to Jean and said, "You look much too comfortable. Two
can play this game you know."
We'd been together so long we both knew what was going
to happen. Jean wouldn't have stayed around laughing at me
had she not expected, even welcomed, my anticipated
retaliation. There was an almost languorous pace to this
game that had an edge of excitement, for I didn't really
know how deep it was...where we were going with it.
I thought of how close we'd grown in the last months.
How we'd come to share our truth about ourselves, about our
sexuality and our mutual horniness. There was no more games
about *that*. But what was yet uncertain was our physical
involvement. Oh, I knew deep down that I wanted to jump her
bones...to ravish my beautiful sister. I was in lust with
her, but those years of cultural conditioning straddled any
erotic path we might explore, standing as a repressive
centurion who might have worn a Gothic signboard
proclaiming, "Thou shalt not."
Jean had already told me that as much as she loved me
and was attracted to me...even sexually...she remained
totally uncertain and apprehensive about *us* fooling
around. "Billy," she had reminded me several times, "you're
my and that's incest. I can't do that. Know what I
mean?"
I did know and I didn't think she really meant it.
We'd skirted around this topic enough times that I'd come to
believe that she was just saying what she was *supposed* to
say...that deeper within her dwelled the same fascination
that gripped me.
I knew she wanted to play. We just had to work out the
rules... but without talking about it. Our play occurred by
multiple approximations...a type of relationship Braille.
So I wasn't surprised when she turned and ran inside,
shouting over her shoulder in her mocking, sing-song voice,
"Naa-naa, na-naa-naa!"
I didn't hurry; I knew where she'd be. Walking
upstairs and past my room, I turned the knob of the closed
door to Jean's room. She was standing in front of her
full-length mirror, arms crossed in front of her and elbows
up as she paused, pulling off her shirt. From the door I
could see the contrast of her white bra strap against her
tanned back and in the mirror's reflected image, the bottom
of the bra's cups pulled up, partially uncovering the under
swell of her breasts. The afternoon sun slanted through the
gauzy drapes, casting a soft pattern of muted colors in the
room, accenting the shadows of her body.
Suddenly, it was very quiet. I could see her eyes looking
between her crossed arms as she stood frozen. There was no
alarm, just a calm expectancy that silently asked, "What
now?"
"Don't move!" I whispered with a quiet assurance that
surprised me. "Just stay that way."
The side of her shorts was undone and partially open.
I could see a flash of her as I walked up behind
her. Then, looking into her eyes, I said softly, "Let me."
She nodded. I'm not sure either of us knew just what
it was that she was going to allow me to do. I gently
pulled the from her hands and finished tugging it over
her head, briefly hung up in her pony tail.
Still looking at me, she dropped her hands to her sides
and stood passively as I examined her...both the real and
the reflected images in the soft yellow light one sees just
before a rain storm.
"You have beautiful breasts, Jean."
She smiled and made no comment, even as I unhooked her
bra. Loosened, the cups fell an inch, just exposing the pink
areolae and nipples. As I pulled the straps off her
shoulders, I watched the crinkling of her areolae as the
nipples hardened. I slid a hand under her arm and cupped a
breast, catching her nipple between my thumb and index
finger, rolling it. Her was heavy in my hand.
She shuddered and whispered in a barely discernable
voice, "I can feel that down there."
Pulling off my damp shirt, I hugged her from behind,
holding both of her heavy in my palms and looking into
her eyes. "Down there?" I asked.
"Oh, God, yessss."
My vision narrowed to our reflection. In the blurred
half-light, half-shadow, I saw Jean, bared and held
by my hands. I was watching someone else...part of me was a
voyeur in a sepia vision. I knew this was uncharted waters
for us. We'd watched each other on a very few
occasions and we'd confessed our horniness to each other,
but I'd never held her in my arms. It had mostly been
near-arms'-length encounters.
I could feel her buttocks pushing back against me. My
hard-on was pushing into her butt as I slid my hands down
over her stomach and under the elastic of her panties. My
entire awareness was centered in the gentle curve of her
belly. The tips of my fingers were brushing the top edge of
her public hair and on each downward caress, I cupped more
of her mons.
"Ohhhhh...that's so..." and she didn't finish. Her
head rolled back and rested on my shoulder. Her eyes
fluttered closed. The room was quiet except for our
breathing. Nothing was said. She had surrendered.
Searching with the fingers of my right hand, I found
her slit, wet and pulpy. I'd slipped my fingers into her
only once before, the day on the trail out of Fourth
of July Lake. Now I was there again and half out of my mind
with excitement and desire.
I slid down her body and kneeling behind her, I beheld
her back and hips and buttocks. Through the almost
transparent panties, I looked at the deep shadow between the
cheeks of her ass. Slowly hooking my fingers in the elastic
of the waistband, I pulled her down over her
buttocks, and off her hips to her ankles. She lifted one,
then the other leg as she stepped out of her damp
underpants. I looked at them a moment and then held them to
my nose, taking in her odor...the sweat and the musk. The
power of it shook me.
Then, holding her hips in my hands, I looked at her
ass. I'd been admiring her butt forever it seemed. I'd
been brushing up against her every chance I could, letting
my hand fall from her waist to her buttocks, trailing my
fingers across her back side. Jean knew how I adored her
ass. I suspect it pleased her to be adored even though she
pretended it was "no big deal."
There was a gap between her thighs right below her
and I could see the soft hair of her between her
legs. I traced a pattern up from the inside of her knee to
a velvet inner thigh, pausing for a moment to say, "Open
your legs for me, Jean."
For a long moment, perhaps thirty or forty seconds, she
didn't move. And then she moved one foot away from the other
by no more than an inch or two...but it was enough. One
millimeter would have been enough. At this point, her
surrender need be no more than symbolic to be real.
"I loved it when you flashed your ass at me today in
the store."
Her only reply was a momentary tensing of the muscles
of her buttocks.
"Do it again, won't you?"
"Flash you?" she asked.
"Yes, bend over for me...way over...show me yourself.
Show me your secret places...now."
She slid her hands up her thighs and lightly cupping
the under curve of her ass, she slowly bent over. In the
half light, most of her bottom was in shadow, but the
posture of giving, of showing, was so erotic I could only
stare. Speechless.
"Let me look at you," she asked.
I was surprised. I had no idea she'd want to look at
my body. "N- naked?" I almost stuttered.
"Of course," she answered, still bent over.
Of course, I thought. What else? "All right. Sit in
that chair. We can watch each other."
Jean sat, bringing one heel up to the edge of the
chair, opening her crotch to my gaze and said again, "Let me
look at you."
I looked down and smiled, for the front of my shorts
were bulged out. My cock from the hardness and being
trapped, bent in my pants. Wanting to draw this out...the
sibling equivalent of a strip tease, I slowly unbuttoned the
cut-off 501's, exposing my pubic hair. I'd neglected to
wear underwear that day...a rare thing on those days when
I'm riding my bike.
With a soft chuckle she asked, "Can you get them off,
Billy?"
My answer was to slowly push down the shorts, bending
my cock until it sprang free, snapping against my belly.
"Oh!" she gasped as her hand slipped between her
thighs, driven by some unconscious need.
Turning obliquely away from her, I grasped my cock in
my fist, sliding it up and down slowly, moving the soft skin
over the hard shaft.
"Yessss...show me Billy. Show me how you masturbate.
I know you do it all the time, don't you? What do you think
of when you do it? Do you ever think of me?"
I recognized the change in her voice. She was running
on...a stream of conscience...as she traced a finger through
the wet, soft lips of her pussy. We'd been here
before...that place where we gave ourselves to the moment.
Turned on by the moment, the voice, the images.
Stepping closer to her, stroking my impossibly hard
cock, I stood straddle-legged and said something like, "I
think of nothing else. All I can see is your legs, your
breasts, your ass...all I can remember is jacking off with
you, seeing your naked body at the lake, watching you
pee...watching you touch yourself. I beat off every day,
often twice, thinking of you. I think I'm obsessed with
you."
I fell silent for a moment, still slowly stroking my
cock. The wet noises of her fingers in her suddenly
sounded loud. The musky odor of her rose to fill my
nose. It was heady. I was drunk with lust and the desire
to fall between her legs...to taste her.
"What do you want to do, Billy? I mean right
now...what can we do. I want you so much I hurt...but we
*can't* do it...you know we can't. What can we do?"
We'd lost our eye contact. When I glanced up from her
open pussy, I saw her leaning forward, eyes hooded, mouth a
little open, staring at my cock as I continued to fist it's
full length. She wet her lips and stared. Then, all I could
see was her lips.
Another step forward and I was pushing my knees between
hers. Slowly I hunched my hips toward her and the head of my
cock touched her wet lips. She glanced at me. I nodded.
Her lips opened and her mouth sank slowly over my
prick.
"Ouch...no teeth! Just your lips and your
tongue...that's it. Now let it slide in as far as you
can...breathe through you nose...yesss, just like that!"
Her hands slid up and cupped my balls for a moment and
then pushed my hand away. She slowly stroked the base of my
cock as she ran her tongue over the head and underside of my
shaft. My knees grew weaker. I felt faint. Watching her
my cock with her delicate hand, watching her lips
form an "O" around the head of my cock, her cheeks pulled in
with the suction...I couldn't last. I didn't want to last.
I couldn't think of anything. My entire waking
awareness was narrowed down to my sister's mouth on my cock.
It probably lasted thirty seconds...perhaps less...yet it
seemed to go on and on.
"Gonna' come, Jean...can't hold it...JEAN...here it
comes!"
Now, in retrospect, I don't know if I were warning her
so she could get away or, more likely, that she might enjoy
it the more. In any case, she never slowed. She
masturbated me through spurts of my hot come, holding my
cock right inside her lips, stroking my shaft with her hand.
"The better to taste you," she explained to me later.
I wasn't aware that I'd slipped to my knees. I had a
gray out and came to kneeling between her legs, my face
resting on her thigh. Jean bent down and held my shoulders,
hugging me, murmuring, "Oh Billy... Billy...Billy...that was
so nice...that was beautiful... thank you, thank you."
Chapter 10 -- Tender Moments
In a soft, contralto voice Jean asked, "Billy, what are
you thinking? I mean, what do you think of us?"
"What?" I replied, almost stupidly. I'd heard the
words but I didn't understand them...they didn't make any
sense. None would have. I was still out there, dumb and
floating in some post orgasmic stupor, largely incapable of
rational thought.
With a low laugh, she nudged me with her toe. "Earth
to Billy . . . Earth to Billy."
Some small part of my brain knew where I was, but my
thinking sludged somewhere between languid and torpid.
Usually a linear, left-brain type of guy, I'd simply lost it
all and was hanging out in some emotional wallow, playing
and re-playing those vivid tapes of our erotic connection,
Jean and me. I was remembering the excitement of our sexual
discoveries in the past months, remembering the quickening
of fear when I'd dared acknowledge my desires to her. More
strongly, remembering the extraordinary energy we'd
generated when we surrendered to the moment.
"Back side of the moon...static...failing...failing
communications..." My voiced tailed off to a fake mumble.
"Billy, come out. I know you're in there!"
Momentarily lifting my head and squinting, I asked,
"Why...why do I have to come out...or down...or what ever?"
"Because this is important, that's why. We have to
talk... now!"
Eyes closed, I rolled over and pushed myself to one
elbow and paused, half sitting up. I was suddenly aware of
my dick. It felt cool. Looking down I saw my cock, soft
and lolling over my thigh. The air was drying the moisture
on my shaft, cooling it off. I stared at it a moment,
confused and with a start, embarrassed. My cock was wet
because Jean had it...had taken me in her mouth and
me off! I pulled my shorts over my loins in some
futile attempt to cover myself.
Looking up at Jean sitting in a chair, I stared at her
for a few moments. From my position on the floor where I'd
slumped in my gray out, I could see her nakedness in the
soft, diffused afternoon light. She sat, unashamed, one foot
on the seat of the chair, leaning forward. Mentally shaking
my head to clear the fog, I said something bright like,
"Uh...yes...talk. Sure. What about?"
"You remember...like I've told you a hundred times...we
weren't gonna do it?"
Nodding that yes, I remembered, I just stared at her
breasts. They were full and, I thought, remarkably firm
with a slight upturn to her pebbly areolae. How, I
wondered, could her nipples be so hard when my cock was so
soft? Going on as if it were the rhetorical question it
really was, she continued, "Like you're my and as
much as I love you...well, you know...it's the
thing."
Still nodding, I licked my lips. God I was dry! With
one foot on the chair that way, I could look right up
between her thighs and see how her was pulled slightly
open.
"And this is the part that scares me," she continued,
"Every time we go a little bit farther...farther than I
intended to go...and I LIKE it. I like it more than I
realized I would. I think *too* much . . . I mean, it
scares me, you know?"
My part of this conversation was easy. I nodded again.
Hell yes. I knew -- I loved it and it scared the shit outta
me. This was all new stuff, very deep and with a strong
current that was pulling us God knows where. Every time we'd
drifted into the tug of our mutual desires, we seemed to end
up someway we never planned. When we started something, we
had no idea where it would take us.
"Yesterday...yes, even as late as this morning, I would
never have thought I'd take your cock in my mouth." She
looked at me with a slight tilt of her head as if to ask, so
what do you think?
I smiled. My cock? Jean never called it my cock. It
was usually "my thing" or something like that.
"Don't you see? Taking your cock in my mouth is like
really close to really doin' it?"
I looked up to heaven, closed my eyes and just smiled.
"Oh you! Listen to me, you jerk. Be serious will
you?"
"Jean, I *am* listening to you. I just can't help
smiling. I love you and I'm all whacked out. Can't you
tell that?"
Jean looked startled for a moment. She stared at me as
she idly cupped her and rolled a nipple between her
fingers. I could barely hear her voice. "Yes, I *can* tell
that, Billy."
"Maybe we just have different definitions. When I just
touch you, I don't think of it as incest. So when you touch
me, I still don't think of it that way. Oh sure, it's
sexual, but *that's* not incest."
She smiled warmly at me as she retorted, "You are
*such* a lawyer."
I didn't want to get into an intellectual word game
with Jean. She was too smart for me. No, it was always
best for me to be honest with her. I didn't have to defend
my honesty. We accepted that while our views on things
might be different, neither of us need be wrong.
"I mean...uh, I think of as, you know...fucking.
We're just foolin' around and if I touch you, that's not
incest. And if you touch me, that's not incest. And if I
come..."
"Yeah, yeah...I know about that. But it's the feelings
that scare me. It makes me *want* to do it."
"Jean, when I wake up in the morning with a boner
because I've been dreaming about you, I want to do it. When
you flashed your butt at me this morning, I wanted to do it.
*Wanting* to do it and really doin' it are two different
things."
We'd been over this a dozen times. I was so hot and so
confused I didn't know anymore if I really meant it. Being
honest was very important to me, but I suspect that if I
thought I'd get in Jean's pants by telling a lie, I'd jump
into duplicity without a second thought. Jean knew this, for
I'd once admitted as much, but we continued to treat our
impetuous lust as the elephant in the living room.
As she had so many times before, perhaps wanting to be
reassured, Jean accepted my slip-shod thinking and faulty
reasoning again. "Okay," she sighed, "But you've got to
help me with this. Promise?"
"Promise." I intoned, crossing my heart, as I watched
her stand up and stretch, reaching toward the ceiling, hips
thrust forward, and then spin about and walk into the
bathroom, mumbling, "Gotta pee."
She'd left the door open and I could hear the
seat come down as she continued to speak to me in a louder
voice. "Do you still want me to those panties? I
mean, after all, you've seen me buck naked."
Interpreting the open door as an invitation, I got up
and wandered into the bathroom. Jean was sitting on the
toilet, knees together, hands folded between her thighs.
Leaning on the low partition right in front of the toilet, I
looked at her with a question in my eyes.
"What?" she asked.
"Let me watch," I answered.
"You *are* watching," she replied, knowing exactly what
I meant. We stared at each other for a long moment and then
she parted her legs, at first only inches. I made a rolling
gesture with my hand. Again she paused and then parted her
knees fully, opening herself to my stare.
"I don't know if I can go," she began, but that was
immediately interrupted by her peeing.
The bathroom has a bright, southern exposure and the
low afternoon sun streamed in, lighting the orange tile
floor and casting a red-orange tint on her skin. Her brown
pubic hair was tightly curled, pressed by her shorts.
Glancing down, she looked at herself for a moment and then
ran her fingers through her muff, ruffling her hair as she
peed. I could see her labia, pulled slightly open by her
spread thighs, and the strong stream of splashing
against the porcelain bowl, high up.
"I have to be careful, " she noted, and bent slightly
at the waist to direct her stream into the bowl. The
loud hissing of her was joined by the clatter of her
stream in the water.
"Let me..." I started to say, as I stepped in front of
her and sank to one knee, right between hers.
She looked at me with a questioning expression but
didn't stop peeing. As if to make the stream more strong, I
saw her stomach muscles bunch in a forced Valsalva. It
worked. Her stream again shot to a point near the edge and
at the same time, she gave off a little fart.
"Ohmygod," she whispered and put her finger tips
against her closed lips as if to signal her embarrassment.
Without thinking, I reached between her thighs and
cupped her stream with my palm. It splashed, some drops
hitting her and some hitting me. All at once, I was aware of
her wide-eyed stare of incredulity, the satin softness of
her thigh against my forearm and the heat of her in my
hand. I curled my fingers and cupped her sex as she
continued to pee.
"Billy! What are you *doing* for cryin' out loud?"
"Don't talk...just pee...keep for me, Jean."
Sitting up straight again, she murmured, "Crazy...this
is crazy," and continued to out the last dribbles.
"Why, Billy? Why did you do that?"
Leaning back, letting my pee-wet hand drip into the
bowl, I looked at her and grinned. "I don't know. Just
wanted to, I guess. It has something to do with intimacy.
I just love the intimacy of being with you when you . .
. of feeling your hot in my hand."
With a half smile, she shook her head slowly and pulled
off a length of tissue.
Taking it from her hand, I said, "Let me." Dabbing her
pussy, I asked, "Remember the last time you let me do this?"
"How could I forget...but I didn't think it would get
to be a habit," she chided me as she leaned back, legs
opened farther. And, as with the last time, I slipped a
finger into the wet and open slit of her pussy, pulling up
to the top and tracing small circles about her clit. "Oh,
God...that feels good."
"Let me touch you, Jean. Let me play with you. Come.
Let's lay on your bed."
Without further words, we got up and walked in slow
motion to her room, to her bed. Without prodding, she piled
two pillows and lay against them, half-reclining with her
legs splayed open. I kneeled in the "V" of her legs and
just looked. Her had flowered. The inner lips were
swollen, partially everted and very wet. The musky smell of
her juices wafted up to my nose and, as if on cue, she said,
"Jeez... do I smell raunchy."
The musky essence of her sex was driving my libido
while some other voice was telling me to slow down, to savor
the moment. Somehow I knew I wanted to get out of my own
head and the best way for me to escape the gadfly of self
was to think of someone else.
Once in a rare while I'm given some nugget of advice
that hits me. It's a two-pronged blessing...first, that I'm
offered it and second, that I *hear* it. The exhortation of
a good friend and advisor came to my mind. He said: "Bill,
where ever you are, *be* there!"
I sat back on my heels and closed my eyes. My inner
awareness grew and filled the room, taking in the sounds of
our breathing and the soft breeze, the scent of both of us
and mostly, the sweet, delicious tenderness of the moment.
I thought to myself that I must work at being an authentic
participant in my life, for Jean it comes naturally. Her
spiritual state rests easily with her, much as a
comfortable, loose garment. Opening my eyes, I looked into
hers. They were deep and lustrous and filled with
affection.
She smiled and asked, "What are you thinking, Billy?"
"How much I care for you...how much I love you, Jean.
I'm just filled with you."
She held out her hand to me and said, "Come, lie beside
me. I want to be close to you. I want to feel your skin on
mine. Hold me, please?"
Nestling her head against my neck, I asked, "But what
about...?"
"The sex?" she finished for me.
"Well, there is that."
"We'll do that...whatever it is we're going to do...but
first I want to savor this minute with you. The sex will
always be there. Moments like this are rare. Stay with me,
won't you?"
Chapter 11 -- Dry Humpin'
Like so many of the good things in our lives, we take
them for granted. That was certainly true for me in my
family. I took them and their love for granted, for that is
the way it always was. I didn't think much about it, if at
all. It wasn't something I had to work for so I didn't give
it any conscious thought.
That taking-for-granted was particularly true with my
sister. Like my parents, there was never a time in my life
when she wasn't there, so I was hardly grateful for them or
her...at least not then. Because we had an active sibling
rivalry and because I was the younger, I often lost. So, if
you were to have asked me what I thought about Jean, I
suppose I might have answered that I didn't think about her
at all, except to wish she might immigrate to Saturn or some
equally distant and hostile place.
Yet the vagaries of my developing youth suddenly moved
me from a totally self-centered, largely insensitive and
unaware to some marginally more stance of
appreciation for the goodness and beauty in my life.
I had gone from being mostly unaware of Jean to that
tingling, hypersensitive consciousness where I thought of
little else. There was not a day that passed that I'd not
thought of her, of her kindness and her gentleness, and yes,
if the truth is known, of her erotic sexiness.
I frequently dreamed of her, usually erotic, and it
often waked me with an intense, near-painful hard-on. Add
to that my walking-around, day-dream state and you can see
how I was preoccupied with her. Dazed might be a better
description.
It was almost too much. I didn't know the first thing
about handling the intensity of these feelings, so I did
that which I'd always done so well when I was in doubt.
Emotionally bobbing and weaving, I tried not to show my
feelings -- those feelings that were bubbling and about to
overflow. Not that there were "downer" feelings...not at
all. They were just powerful and new. I was confused.
In the days and then weeks that followed our last
unplanned and largely uncontrolled sexual encounter, my
and I had *both* pulled back a little. There was no
emotional "badness" connected with this; we did it
comfortably, without conscious decision as we had done in
some reflexive manner several times in the past. There was
something almost moth-and-flame-like in our behaviors.
Perhaps governed more by our hind brains, we were pulled
toward each other, longing, and in some ill-defined way,
hungry for each other. Of late, we often fell, unplanned
and unanticipated, out-of-control, into a heightened sexual
awareness and more, into a sexual connection.
This frightened us. And it excited us. Neither found
the paradox puzzling. We were terribly attracted to each
other, emotionally, lovingly and now, with a sexual ferocity
that simply frightened us. So, in a silent acknowledgment
of that fear, we'd stepped back just a little. Oh, not so
you'd notice it around the house, for we continued our
open-for-business-as-usual banter and interaction. Yet, we
knew. Sometimes a word, a gesture would ring in our minds
and looking up, we'd see the other staring and we would
recognize that vulnerable, uncertain look.
We knew at base what it was about. I did anyway. I
loved my sister. The uncertainty wasn't about that. It
centered about our lust. We'd danced around it, slowly at
first, with a gradual opening and increasing intimacy. Some
time ago I'd confessed to her that I wanted to make love
with her. (Actually, I think I told her I wanted to "fuck"
her.) At once out, I wanted to bite my tongue. I'd have
given anything at that moment to take back those words. Not
that I didn't mean them. I did. But I knew I'd crossed the
Rubicon with those words and the felt a sinking feeling with
the irreversibility of it all.
Jean handled it well, at least on the surface of it;
she was an uncomplicated, up-front without guile. She
had simply said something like, "Me too, but we're not gonna
do that, Billy. That's incest." End of discussion. Or was
it?
Clearly it wasn't, for that was the nidus of our
emotional turmoil. That we both wanted to "do it" wasn't the
question. We'd confessed that. No, the tension arose from
the not knowing. The not knowing in view of the wanting and
that nagging voice coming up from the hind brain that
repeatedly urged, "Go ahead. Have a bite. It's just an
apple."
I smiled to myself and thought, "Lead me not into
temptation. I know the way myself."
Despite that sometimes-delicious pull into the last
taboo, we continued to be comfortable about each other. As
long periods of silence are comfortable among close friends,
we had no feeling of malaise around our unresolved passions.
We were, both of us I think, content in following the thread
of our lives and our connection, not knowing where it would
take us.
There was a time, both before and again later, when I
practiced a studied imperturbability, a coolness on the
surface that frequently gave the lie to the cauldron
beneath. I certainly didn't suffer from alexithymia...that
failure to recognize feelings when I had them. To the
contrary, I was in heightened contact with my feelings. As
a safe cracker might have sanded his fingertips, my
emotional awareness was crackling with sensitivity. What I
didn't know was how to really talk about them...my feelings.
Jean always helped me out when I was stuck like that.
"What are you feeling right now, Billy?" she asked as
were walking in the hills behind our home.
I'd been aware that her were swaying inside her
sweatshirt and wondered if she had departed from her usual
conservative attire to pique interest or if she'd simply
grown accustomed to me.
Picking up a rock, I heaved it as far as I could into
the wooded canyon and muttered, "Oh, nothin'."
"I've seen you do that a thousand times," she observed,
looking in the direction of the thrown rock.
"Uh...throw a rock?" I asked.
"Yeah. Or it's equivalent. When you're uncomfortable,
you move. You just can't stay still. You leave. Heck, I've
seen you get up and leave the room without ever getting out
of your chair!"
There was no debate here and I knew it. We'd covered
this one before and she was concomitantly observant and
accurate.
"So. Tell me. What's goin' on? You've been silent
for more than a week."
"Jean, I'm sorry," I said. And then glancing at her to
make eye contact, I added, "I'm not trying to be an asshole
(as if it took much effort on my part) and I'm not trying to
punish you or anything like that. I'm just not sure what it
is that I'm feeling."
Jumping from stone to stone, we crossed the winter-rain
swollen creek and started up the other side before she spoke
again. "I thought that, but also know that if we don't talk
about what's going on, it'll go underground and ferment."
"Okay, okay," I sighed with resignation. I *knew* this
was going to happen. Then, taking the plunge, I stated the
obvious, "Lady, you *know* how moved I was when we...when
you..."
Laughing, Jean finished my stuttering sentence,
"...when I your cock?"
"You *do* have a way with words, you silver-tongued
devil you." I glanced down at the tight spot where her jeans
were drawn into her crotch and then up to her eyes. She'd
seen me looking.
"Yeah, and *you're* the one whose always telling me to
call a spade a spade," Jean countered.
I sat on a fallen tree and looked back into the ravine.
Jean sat beside me her elbows on her knees, cupping her
chin. For a few moments the noisy jays made the only sound
to be heard.
Not looking at her, I continued, "Well, whatever we
call this rose -- or this spade -- that fact is that I keep
thinking about you... about us."
"Cut to the chase, boy. You mean us *doin' it,* don't
you?"
back and placing my hand flat on my chest, I
replied, shocked, "Moi?"
"Yes, you! You horny jerk, you."
Then, in a moment of complete honesty, I admitted it.
"Yes. All the time. It's all that I think about." Then,
rushing on, "I'm not *asking* you to do it, you see...it's
just that it *is* on my mind all the time. You know?"
Nodding her head, Jean murmured, "I know." And then
placing one hand on my arm, she pulled my face around to
look into my eyes and said, "Let's not have this be the
elephant in the living room. We both feel it. We mustn't
pretend it's not there. We've got to talk about it."
"All right, woman. I'll tell you what I've been
thinking. How we feel about each other and about our selves
is no secret. Cripes, we're both horny and all we can think
about is screwing...at least that's the way I feel. We've
talked about it enough that we know, for the moment anyway,
that we're not prepared to actually *do* it. And it would
seem that we're not ready to enter the monastery or take
vows of chastity either. So..." I paused.
"Yeah-yeah...so?"
I've got her attention, I thought to myself. When in
doubt, tell the truth. "So...I propose that we continue as
we have. No rules . . . well, except one. For now, we
won't do it. As much as I'd love to really do it with you,
Jean, we won't. Whatever else we do, we do."
"Whew! I don't know whether to be relieved or
disappointed...I feel both."
"Me too."
"But what to you mean, whatever else'?"
"I guess I mean that I'll continue to act as I have. I
can't help but enjoy looking at you...or trying to get peeks
of your butt... you know, things like that."
"Touching?"
"Yes, touching...if you'll let me that is. I'll not
stop wanting to, but I won't try to force you to do anything
you don't want to do. If we can't agree that it's okay, that
neither of us is going to be hurt, then we won't do it.
How's that sound?"
"God, Billy...if we only could! If we could be open
enough with each other. I we could just say how we feel and
be able to talk about things, it'd be so-o cool."
"Tell you what, Sis. If we don't try, it sure won't
happen. Maybe we won't do it very good...maybe we'll mess
up from time to time . . . even a lot, but if we don't
*try,* we'll have given up, don't you see?"
"Billy, you sound just like Dad! 'You've got to try
your best and when you fall on your butt, pick yourself up
and try again.' You sound just like him."
"I hadn't thought of that, but yeah...I've heard that
mantra before." Then, touching her cheek, I asked, "Well?"
In a low voice, Jean said, "Billy, I've got that
deep-down feeling that this is a first step of a journey
that may take us a long, long way. Part of me is so excited
and another part of me is scared silly. But yes...I'll do
it. I'll do my best, that is. I have no idea what I can do
and what I can't, but I guess that's why we're starting
this, huh?"
"I don't know about that, Sis. Mostly I'm thinking
about getting in your pants."
She slugged me on the arm. "You ARE an asshole, you
know that?"
Laughing, I pulled her to the ground and we rolled and
tumbled over the soft cushion of pine needles, ending up in
that classic I-got-you position...me straddling her chest
and holding her forearms to the ground beside her head.
"Why didn't you wear a bra?" I asked in a teasing tone.
"What'ya think? To get your attention, jerky boy?"
"Remember Mardi Gras? Remember the beads and how the
would pull their shirts up, showing their tits? And
you wouldn't?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I remember that. So?"
"So, now you're gonna!"
"What!?" Bucking unsuccessfully, Jean quieted after a
moment, out of breath. "If you think I'm going to pull up my
shirt..." and then she shrieked.
I was holding both wrists above her head and was slowly
pulling the bottom of her up, tickling her ribs in the
process.
Suddenly she stopped struggling and looked at me,
unsmiling. In a small voice, she said, "Billy, let me."
I cocked one eyebrow and looked at her. She just
nodded. I let her go. She reached down and pulled the
bottom of her sweat up, slowly. The white under swell
of her were followed by the prominent nipples,
pulled upward by her elevated arms. With the pulled
up to her chin, she asked, "Is this what you wanted to see?"
Nodding, I tentatively extended the index finger of one
hand and, holding it right above her nipple, I looked at her
and asked, "Okay?"
"Yes. I *want* you to touch them. I want you to look
at me. I ache for you to touch me, Billy."
With a feather touch, I traced a line from her axilla
up across the swell of her and then around and around
the areola, not actually touch her nipple.
Jean arched her back, pushing her toward me and
with a half groan, whispered, "Ugh...that's so
good...please...more . . . touch it, Billy...please touch
it."
With the tips of my fingers, tenting the breast, I
slowly pulled up on her surprisingly firm tit, lightly
finger-milking her but just short of touching her engorged
areola and turgid nipple. Again and again, lightly, tracing
a feather-touch, up and down. Her hips began to stir, to
roll slightly under me. I became acutely aware of that
familiar stirring with myself.
"Harder! Billy, harder!" she groaned. "Touch me,
dammit."
"Jean, I love your tits! You've got the sexiest
I've ever seen." (I was relieved that she didn't remind me
that I'd not seen many and hadn't touched any...other than
hers.) I leaned down and with the tip of my tongue, I
touched her nipple. She jerked upward, mashing her
on my lips. Opening my lips, I began to suck on her nipple.
"Don't tease me, dammit. Bite me. Bite me a little."
Afraid to her, I placed her nipple against my
upper front teeth and with the tip of my tongue, pushed her
erect nip against the sharp edges of my teeth, alternately
soft and then firmer, never actually biting her.
"Oh, God, Billy. MORE. Harder. I can feel it down in
my . . . all the way down there...there's a connection
from my to my womb. Jesus, it's good! Oh God, oh
God, it's so good."
I slipped down and pushed my pelvis against hers, never
losing contact with her breast, continuing to nibble as we
slowly humped against each other. Her legs fell open and I
knee-walked between them, grinding my trouser-imprisoned
hard-on against her pubic symphysis through her jeans.
With both hands, I cupped her breast, continuing to
suck and nibble. She bent her knees and thrust up at me
repeatedly, grunting and in a barely audible voice,
chanting, "Oh shit...oh shit...oh shit."
The compelling vortex of our desire pulled us again,
out of control, into a headlong flight through the endless
limits of some inner space, spinning and falling into that
almost painful moment of intense pleasure where our
boundaries were blurred, then lost. I couldn't tell where I
ended and Jean began. We were one for a moment, in some
blinding light of fulfillment. Then, sometime later, we
tumbled out, dazed, lightheaded and confused onto to the
pine-needle bed of our "almost doing it."
Slowly I became aware of our ragged breathing, out of
sync and of the sweat trickling through my hair. I'd rolled
off Jean and was laying beside her, one leg still trapping
hers. For several minutes we didn't move, didn't talk, just
glided down the back side of that mind-bending emotional
peak.
Finally Jean spoke. "JE-SUS KEY-RIST!" Even the
mildest profanity carried an additional impact when it came
from Jean, for she rarely employed crude words much less
profanity.
With my usual post-orgasmic cleverness and wit I
answered stupidly, "Wha-a-t-t?"
"Boy! Am I glad I was dressed."
"I'm not glad, but why are you?"
Turning her head, she looked at me and with a warm
smile she said, "Once again we've charged into some
out-of-control place, you and me. I thought we *might* fool
around just a little, but I never imagined this. I can't
understand how these things happen to me, you know? "
Again, with catchy wit I asked, "What things?"
"Don't play dumb with my, guy. You fool lots of
people, but *I* know who you are. I'm talking about my
complete lack of control when we get together. I never
planned on what we did...that...what do you call it anyway?"
"Dry humping?"
"Yes, that. It just happened so fast. The next thing
I knew my body had taken over and I wanted you inside me. I
couldn't stop my hips. I didn't even *want* to stop. That's
what I mean...out of control. Who knows what would have
happened if we woulda been naked?"
"It's too wonderful...too sweet to even imagine, Jean."
"Yeah. Well, that's why I'm NEVER gonna get naked with
you alone. If you ever see me without any clothes on, don't
*even* come near me. Hear?"
I just smiled at her and looked down at her breasts,
still exposed.
She poked me in the ribs and repeated, "You hear me,
Billy?"
Laughing, "Sure, sure...yeah, um...I hear you. The
next time I see your bare butt I'll just grab my woody and
run in the opposite direction."
Quietly, seriously Jean added, "Billy, I don't want you
to run from me. You know that. Run TO me, but please don't
take advantage of me. I just know I won't be strong enough
when I should be."
Damn. I hated that. When she transferred
responsibility to me in asking that I help her, I was
screwed. I couldn't fall back on being a brainless kid and
not to blame for my actions. Shit! Who said growing up was
all that much fun?
Touching her cheek I whispered, "Jean, you know I'll be
there for you. I'll always honor you. My horniness is small
change when I compare it to my love for you. You can take
that one to the bank, girl."
Brushing the tell-tale pine needles from our clothes,
we started back, holding hands a little of the way. I can't
remember when I ever felt better.
Chapter 12 -- Surprise Under the Pillow
After our last near-hit-near-miss encounter, my
and I had almost no time to consider our lives much less our
sexual attraction. The demands of school and our otherwise
busy social lives grabbed all our energy and attention. The
glances and poignant smiles served to remind us frequently
of the pull we'd come to acknowledge but our natural
cautiousness coupled with our jam-packed lives served to
buffer our lusty appetites. Yet we had opened a door of
intimacy that was never to close for all the days of our
lives. In a dozen small ways, we were more affectionately
connected, open and trusting than we even knew.
Our mother, sensitive to the moods in our family, had
not failed to notice that our one-time sibling abrasiveness
and competitiveness had given way to a softer connection. I
suspect she was relieved. I wondered if she might see
anything beyond the surface. She did so often.
Pouring orange juice one morning at breakfast,
commented, "I want to tell you kids that it's so much more
peaceful around here since you two became friends. My
Jim and I did the same thing when we were about your
age."
The same thing. What'd she mean?
chatted on about her teenage life. Jean and I
looked at each other, then she glanced at and, looking
again at me, raised an eyebrow as if to ask, "Do you suppose
and...?"
For a moment I was shocked. Mom? Then remembering the
lusty sounds we sometimes heard coming from my parent's
bedroom, I smiled to myself. Jean and I had then decided
that our probably had done "it" more than twice.
Shrugging my mental shoulders, I thought, "Why not?"
Returning to the present, I became more aware of my
mother, of her dress. She was wearing a light robe and
several times as she was gesturing I'd seen her move
under it. I thought, "Christ, Billy, you are a real perv.
Your own mother!"
In a silent mime, Jean's eyes opened in astonishment
and she put her finger tips across the surprised "Oh" of her
open mouth...just as looked up.
"What?" asked.
Quick to recover, Jean replied, "Oh, I just remembered
that I forgot my French book at school."
Jumping in, attempting to divert Mom's attention, I
asked, "Did you and your fight a lot, Mom?" I
wasn't interested in their fighting as much as the
possibility of their connection. Not that I expected she'd
tell us much, but perhaps we could beat around the bushes a
little.
Laughing, she remembered, "Sure. Just like most
brothers and sisters I guess -- but you know, we really
loved each other."
Jean and I looked at each other again. You know, that
silent "look" that says, "Hmmmm." Then I looked at Mom's
breasts. Jean glanced at and then slowly shook her head
in silent remonstration.
Continuing, added, "You know your Uncle Jim. He's
a strong, take-charge kinda guy now, but he was a little
younger than me when we were kids. Still is for that
matter. Why, there was a time when I could beat him up."
Then, looking off into some unfocused middle distance, she
shook her head and added ruefully, "That didn't last long.
He grew up fast!"
Jean snorted her juice through her nose, remembering, I
supposed, the play on words we'd often used, about my
"growing UP." Picking up her napkin, she dabbed her face
and fake sneezed to cover her embarrassment. "And then what
happened?" she asked.
"Oh, you know. I used to bully him and then he grew
up, more than just physically. He matured and became a man,
like over night, and then he started to tease me, even
though he was younger."
"Did it bother you? That change I mean?" I asked,
thinking of how my relationship with Jean had changed in a
similar way and wondering just what *had* gone on in Mom's
younger life. The truth was, I'd ceased to think of her as
a chaste, puritanical person sometime ago. I *knew* she was
sexual with our Dad but I suppose I thought he had been the
first and the last, her only. That limited view of my
mother's humanness was slowly giving way to a more realistic
acceptance of her as she probably was. The thing was, I
didn't know how she *was*. I was more than casually
interested...more than I wanted to admit to myself.
continued, "Well, at the time I didn't want your
Uncle Jim to know, but secretly, I was pleased. I mean, he
was so strong and so smart. He could just *fix* things and
he began to take care of me. I liked that." She paused,
buttering her toast. "Once there was this guy -- a real
jerk, obnoxious and mean, who was always teasing the
-- saying dirty things about them. Well, this guy said
something about me once -- in front of a bunch of --
something dirty I think. Jim heard about it and walked
right up to the guy -- who was bigger than him by the way --
and said, Don't *ever* talk about my sister,' and without
another word, smashed him right in the nose."
Jean gasped, "Really, Mom? Uncle Jim?"
"Yep. I was there. Saw it all. The guy fell back.
He grabbed his nose. It was bleeding all over the place. He
was crying and saying he was going to kill my brother. Jim
walked up to him again and again, without another word,
punched him right in the stomach. Down he went. Stayed
there too, cryin', slobberin' and cursin'. But he didn't
get up. Your uncle said, Yeah, yeah. You'll *shit* too, if
you're well fed. Get up if you want some more, asshole.'"
Then hearing the words of her own account, reddened
and glancing at us, added, "Oops. Pardon my French."
"Far out," I said, even more impressed with my uncle.
"Oh, my...I never heard that story," said Jean.
"That's really something." And then turning to me with a
smile, she asked, "Would you fight for me, little brother?"
"I guess. I mean, I *might*," and then turning to
added, "If she wasn't so darn strong and mean already!"
Jean threw her napkin at me and yelled, "You shit! I
am not! MOM, make him stop!"
Covering my head with one arm, I held up the peace sign
with the other hand and quickly said, "Sor-ry. Didn't mean
it. Honest. Peace. Peace?" Then, turning to my mother, I
added in a stage whisper, "She's cute when she's mad, isn't
she?"
leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in
her lap. Her eyes and voice softened. "You two remind me
*so* much of me and Jim, I can't get over it." Her nipples
were poking through her robe. I tried not to stare. I
failed.
The voice in my head asked, "Did you and Uncle Jim fool
around, Mom?" But the voice that came *out* of my head
asked, "You ever double date, Mom?"
She smiled that special smile of remembrance. "Sure.
Lots. We'd share all our stuff with each other. He always
had an opinion of the who'd ask me out. Some were okay
and some were not. And he'd always ask me about the
*he* dated. Things like..." and then she suddenly stopped
talking, seemingly embarrassed.
Stepping into the embarrassed silence, I said, "That
hasn't changed. If it wasn't for *my* wise counsel, Jean'd
date some real weirdos, I can tell you that."
Jean surprised me, for she didn't argue. "Yeah, Billy
knows a lot about the that I don't...that don't
in general." Turning to me, she added, "I appreciate your
caring, Bro."
Jean was picking up on the direction this was taking.
We worked well together that way. But we knew was no
patsy and we didn't want to be too obvious. We just knew
she'd shut up like a if she picked up on what was in
our heads -- my head anyway.
"Mom, could you talk to Uncle Jim about...uh...about
your feelings and..." she finished lamely, "and...things?"
Mom, sensing Jean's discomfort, forgot her own and laid
a hand on her arm. "Sure, baby. We could talk about
everything. That's why it was so special."
Uncertainly, Jean asked, "Really? Everything?"
Glancing at me a moment, answered Jean, "Yep,
everything."
"Even sex?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager yet
knowing I was edging into new ground.
hesitated. I could tell that she felt she'd been
accidentally pulled into this self revelation but couldn't
cop out now. "Yes. Even that." Then, putting her napkin
on the table with a gesture of firmness, she leaned forward
a bit and added, "Sometimes, *especially* that. I mean, if
you can't talk to your own brother..." and then she made a
dismissive gesture with her hand and looked upward, as if
for confirmation from above.
"Yeah," I agreed.
"Yeah," Jean echoed, "Your own brother..." and then she
tailed off, not quite sure just what she was agreeing with.
She looked at me and wrinkled her nose as she cocked her
head...her sign language that asks, What are we talking
about, anyway?'
"Sex, Jean. We're talking about sex. Remember?"
Mom, suddenly seeing our discordant thinking, threw her
head back and laughed. "You two..." she began and then
wiped a laugh tear from her eye, "you two are like Abbot and
Costello."
"Who" I asked.
"Who's on first," Jean prompted.
"What's on second, " continued and they both
laughed at each other. At my expense, I was certain.
"Come on, ladies. What is this, geriatric week? We
were talking about sex, remember? How'd we start talkin'
about baseball of all things?"
Placing her hand on my arm, said, "I'm sorry,
Billy. You started it. You just got me giggling. I'm
a little embarrassed, you know. I'm not used to talking,
well...so frankly with you two." And then, as if to cope
with her uncomfortable position, she added quickly,
"Anyway...anyway, I must go down to the 'flatlands'." This
was our name for any part of the surrounding area not in the
foothills where we lived.
This conversation was over I knew, at least for now. I
was disappointed and relieved at the same time. On the one
hand, it was kind of thrilling to hear something of our
Mom's early life, but on the other, it was so foreign as to
be strange and a little uncomfortable. We were just becoming
comfortable with our own sexuality. Considering Mom's was
almost too great a stretch.
Dabbing her lips again, Jean started to get up and then
paused, looking at Mom. "Remember I said I was going to
stay with Aunt Peg sometime?" Without waiting for a reply,
she went on, "Well, she's invited me over for tonight. It's
okay for me to go over, isn't it?"
Moving toward the kitchen door and hardly pausing,
answered, almost absently, "Sure, baby. Say hello for me,
won't you?" And then she was gone.
"Oh crap!" I grumped with no little disappointment. "I
was looking forward to us watching a or something. We
haven't spent *any* time together. We never even talk any
more." My tone was almost petulant.
Jean was unmoved. Laughing, she said, "Oh Billy, don't
worry. We'll talk again...promise. In fact, I'll call you
tonight from Aunt Peg's house. About eleven?"
A phone call wasn't what I had in mind, but it was
clear that was all I was going to get, so I tried on a
little gracious acceptance. I tried, but it didn't fit
well.
Jean left a short while later and I moped around,
trying to stay busy. The late morning and afternoon were
taken up with self-appointed chores that helped me stay out
of a dangerous place, my mind. Years later someone was to
tell me, "Bill, *your* mind should be used for amusement
purposes only."
Still, I spent the early evening feeling sorry for
myself, convinced that I was unloved and largely unlovable.
I've always been struck by my capacity to move from joy one
moment to self-pity the next. When I'm in a good place,
those extremes amuse me, but when I'm in some self-centered
dark perched firmly on the pity pot, it seems decidedly
not funny. Moreover, I am quick to assume that not only is
it a bad situation, but that I'll be stuck there forever.
No half measures in my thinking!
Holing up in my room, I put on an Enya CD and sank into
the luxuriant and mystical sounds that reminded me so much
of Jean. Enya's lyrics, woven into the tapestry of her
sound, washed over me:
"If only I could stay with you, my train moves on,
you're gone from view,..."
Whatever loving and aesthetic side I might have had,
the side that loved the *spirit* of Jean, was simply pushed
aside by the power of my erotic imagery. Somehow, fueled
and driven by the haunting melodies of Enya, I sank into the
sensual torpor of my reminiscence.
If I had thought my images might somehow be visible to
others, I'd have been embarrassed. But safe within that
secret place in my mind, I reveled in the richness of my
erotic recall. As if etched in stone, the of Jean,
standing with her back to me, flashing her pantied butt,
came and went as a subliminal image. The curve of her back,
the soft roundness of her womanly hips, the dimples above
her gluteal muscles and the shadowed nether regions where
the thin strap of her cupped her mons...these mental
pictures rolled through the interstices of "Shepherd Moons."
The one time I'd had the opportunity to *really* look
at Jean's nude body, it had registered and imprinted in my
memory with extraordinary detail. The filtered afternoon
light in her bedroom had slanted across her torso, seeming
to pronounce and deepen the natural shadows. Her
were somehow fuller, heavier, the nipples even more
prominent. Refracting the already diffused light, the almost
invisible, downy hairs on her belly were highlighted and
became a penumbral shadow above the soft, curly down of her
pubic hair. Without the jutting prominence of a pubic
ledge, her belly curved smoothly in a soft arc to the
darkened region between her thighs. In my mind's eye, I
could see that her rich auburn pubic hair, while not
extensive, was and full and curly. I knew what was
there, between her long, slender thighs. I'd seen it
once, close up as she had urinated on a dusty Sierra trail,
facing me, in broad daylight. My mind's images flashed back
and forth as a lens snaps into near- and then far-focus.
First one. Then the other.
I was delighted and tormented and excited, all at once.
We'd agreed we would have a "limited sexual connection."
We'd abandoned any pretense that we weren't attracted to
each other, but under the lash of our own sense of propriety
and some nameless fear of doing wrong, we'd agreed that
whatever else we did, we wouldn't go all the way. Yet, that
remained so tantalizingly ill-defined. Hanging in that
ether of vague boundaries, I found myself almost agitated
with desire.
The hours passed, despite my intolerance for delayed
gratification. A few minutes before 11 P.M. Jean called.
"Hi, dude! Miss me?"
"Naw," I lied, "I forgot all about you. What's up,
woman?"
Her laughter picked me up. "You lyin' sack a'....Your
nose is growing!"
"That's not all that's growin'."
"Well, big boy," she began in her Mae West imitation,
"if you'll check under your pillow, we'll see if we can help
it grow a little more."
"What..." I began. But she interjected: "I left you a
little present. Check it out and I'll call you back in a
little while." Click. The line went dead.
Still holding the dead phone to my ear, I pushed up and
turned back, looking under my pillow. There was a pair of
Jean's panties. They'd been worn. Under them was a note.
Chapter 13 -- Safety of the Telephone
I never imagined that she would do something so
blatantly provocative and sexual as placing her soiled
under my pillow. Oh, I knew what an emotional charge
her were and I supposed I thought she didn't. Yet,
it had all started with her panties. Our first steps of
this erotic journey were taken when I'd teased her about her
soiled underpants. We'd treated it in a lighthearted,
teasing way since, even when I thought to myself, "She has
no notion what a sexually provocative symbol her are
for me." And, not wanting to reveal too much, to become too
vulnerable, I never told her. I never confessed what a
gut-wrenching response her intimate apparel produced in me.
Or at least I didn't think I had. In fact, I was acutely
aware that the carelessness with which she had previously
shown with her soiled undergarments had changed. She no
longer carelessly left them in the bathroom as before. I
had been unable to get my daily pheromones fix in months. I
assumed she had a hamper in her room, but I'd made a promise
to myself that I wouldn't violate her privacy again. So
far, I'd been able to keep that promise.
Now, suddenly finding this silken thing under my
pillow, delicious memories and feelings came flooding back.
That she had called a few minutes before to tell me to look
under my pillow carried so many messages. Chief among those
was, 'Let's play, Billy.'
We'd recently given ourselves permission to be more
honest and open about our sexual feelings for each other
and, at the same time, admitting our fears, had agreed not
to have sex. 'God, what does that mean?' I wondered. 'Not
having sex.' Just what is 'not having sex' anyway? By my
lights, we'd 'had sex' several times. Oh, we hadn't done
the dirty deed, but if what we'd experienced wasn't having
sex, then what is? We'd been thrown together several times,
picked up and tossed about by forces whose strength awed us.
Each time that happened, we had withdrawn, shaken and dazed,
wondering, 'Where is this going?'
Touching the black silk of Jean's "unmentionables" I
was thrilled. She'd worn these. Recently. They'd been on
her body. On her butt. Between her legs! My resolves were
fading away. It's true, I thought, My dick has no
conscience.'
Flattening the crotch of her panties, I studied it.
They were slightly damp to the touch. On the periphery of
the damp spot was a faint whitish dry area. I'd seen that
before. Her essence, right there.
Looking closely, I found a few curly hairs. Yes!
Pubic hair! A thrill shot through me and another ratchet of
my madness slipped. I was teasing myself. Delighting
myself. This slow, measured -- even controlled unfolding of
a treasure -- heightened my arousal.
I kept for last the real prize, the scent. I was
already dizzy with desire and hard with my lust. Bringing
the to my face, I slowly inhaled, allowing her
intimate fragrance to titillate my olfactory senses. The
seductive power of her scent ripped through me, much like a
whiff of ammonia. I felt it climb up into my nose, seeming
to pass through some impossible route, directly into my
frontal cortex. I fell back, clutching her to my
nose, unthinking, a mass of jangling, unstable sexual
neurons, randomly discharging like some mad fireworks
display. I was gone. I never had a chance.
Then I opened the note. There was only one line. It
said: "I want to do it with you...on the phone."
I shoved my arms between my legs, humping against
myself as I curled up in a fetal ball. No question. I was
just gonna die!
A little while later -- seemed like days -- the phone
rang again. Almost in a stupor I answered, "Jean?"
She laughed and then in that breathy voice
characteristic of her excitement, she said, "You found them.
What do you think?"
"That I've died and gone to heaven. Besides that, I
can't think at all. What're you *doing* to me?"
"Remember we said we'd explore things with each other?"
"Sure. But we didn't."
"Well, I don't know about you, big boy, but I've been
afraid."
"Of me?" I asked.
"Partly that, I guess." She paused, and then added,
"But more of me."
Not attempting to *act* dumb, I said, "I don't
understand."
"I didn't suppose you would. We think differently, you
and me. I suppose it may be a 'girl thing' but anyway...to
be honest, you have some power over me..."
I interrupted, "I have power over YOU? Come ON Jean.
You're the one with the power. You should see me right now.
I'm almost twitching!"
"Good," she laughed. "But it's true. Feel however you
want, when you turn on the current, I'm a goner, so this is
the only way I feel safe relating to you. Sexually, I
mean."
"Phone sex? Jean, you mean we live in the same house,
right next to each other and we're...we're reduced to phone
sex?"
"Pretty kinky, huh? I thought you'd like it. It *is*
all right, isn't it, Billy?"
"Jean, if it were the only way I could talk with you,
I'd get off on your smoke signals! Actually, it *is* kinky
and you're right, it appeals to me. Safe, isn't it?"
"That's it! That's the point of it, mine.
Because I've been afraid of you and more, afraid of myself,
I've been inhibited, even withdrawn around you. I've been
afraid to tell you what I'm feeling and particularly afraid
of allowing myself to get turned on around you. This way, I
figure we can open up with each other, do anything we want
and no matter how crazy we feel, how crazy we get, we're
safe."
"Jean, you're so cerebral. You're so well thought out.
What're you gonna be, a professor or somethin'?"
"I didn't leave my under your pillow and then
call you to talk about college, muffin. I want to know
this: Is it true that get really hot when they smell a
girl's...uh, underwear?"
I'd stripped for action -- whatever I thought that
might have been -- and was wearing only an sleeveless
sweat shirt. I had wrapped her around my erect
cock; just the dusky head of my dick was poking out. "If
you could see me now, Jean, it'd answer that question."
"Tell me. Tell me, Billy!"
"Jean, you must know. When I first saw them there, I
became excited. Right away. Touching them, feeling them,
got me more turned on. But what nudged me over was the
smell of you. I don't know what that is, but it just jolts
me. Anyway, I'm lying here, horny and hard and I've wrapped
your around my hard-on. It's all I can do to resist
stroking myself and coming right now!"
"I *thought* you liked me...that you liked the smell of
me, but I wasn't sure. You know what it's like, don't you?
I mean, we get all sorts of messages...like it's dirty down
there...things like that. And I *know* it's not dirty, but
still..."
I didn't want to talk about "messages." I wanted to
get sexy with this woman, so I told her what I was thinking.
"Jean," I began -- I often addressed her by name when I
wanted to make a point -- "right now, in my mind, I have a
fantasy about you."
She whispered, "Oh, yes! Tell me."
"You're standing on my bed. I'm looking up at you. We
don't talk. I ask you with my eyes. You slowly pull up your
full skirt. First I can see your thighs. Then your
panties. Your legs are apart. You step over me and I'm
looking right up into you."
"God! I love the thought of you looking at
me...looking under my dress...at my panties. I'm *such* an
exhibitionist! Geez, I'm getting wet."
Slowly stroking myself, I close my eyes and let the
imagery flow, giving voice to the cine' in my head. "You
squat a little, right over my head, closer and closer. Then
you pull the crotch of your up into your pussy, into
your slit. I can see your lips, Jean"
"Yes...yes...I can see it too. I've dreamed of doing
something like this...so slutty...I can't believe myself.
God, I'm getting hot!"
"I can see your hair, Jean...the curls, the wet
curls . . . you're wet, Jean!"
"No, I'm SOAKING! It's running out of me."
"Pulling your back and forth through your
slit, you slowly squat lower and lower. I can see the
stitching of your panties, you're so close. Now I can hear
you...smell you."
"Listen to this, Billy."
And then I could hear a wet, squishy sound. Jean was
masturbating and I guess, holding the phone by her crotch.
Farther away, I could hear her moaning. Then closer, she
added, "Can you hear that?" Do you know what that is?
That's me. That's how wet I am."
We were two trains running. Me with a monologue of my
imagery, she commenting on my words. Neither could be
derailed at this moment.
"You yank your aside and I can see into
you...right into your pink, swollen, wet cunt! You're
drooling. I can see juice running back into the crack
of your ass...down your thigh."
"Ungh...I love it...I love it. I'm so loose, so
open... keep talking to me, Billy. Please, please...don't
stop."
"You spread your lips apart and lower yourself
closer to me. All I can see is your hair, your open
cunt...wet and swollen and open for me."
"Ungh...ungh...I'm gonna come, Billy. Gonna come..."
"Your legs are weakening. You're sinking lower. Your
is right above my mouth. Your juice is dripping onto
my lips."
She had stopped talking. All I could hear was a
rhythmic grunting. "Ungh...ungh..." that I recognized at the
involuntary sounds Jean made approaching her orgasm. She
wasn't alone.
"I reach up with the tip of my tongue and run it up
through your slit. It's coated with your juices. I touch
your clit. You sink onto my mouth. I fuck my tongue into
your cunt...I smell your musty smell!"
Jeans' grunting ran into an explosive sound...then a
long breath followed by a protracted moan that tailed off to
a thin wail, "Come...coming, Billy...coming."
Then all I could hear was her breathing. I hadn't
come.
I was surprised. I was so excited and so hot. I
couldn't believe that I was still hanging there. Actually,
it wasn't the feeling of hanging at all. It was more like
drifting along on some sexual plateau of heightened
sensitivity, heightened awareness. I didn't feel frustrated
or unfulfilled. I just felt good.
I'd heard from Jean once that complained that
got their's and then just rolled off, leaving them
frustrated and not knowing how to ask for more. Well, I'm
so self-absorbed that I didn't want to be known as a
jackrabbit. I wanted to be viewed as the consummate lover.
(Never having even done it yet!) I'd started trying to hold
off my orgasm when I masturbated, to it out. It
went from impossible to difficult at first. But I was
willing to practice. Every day! I was dedicated that way.
After awhile, I came to enjoy those sexual plateaus. At
times, I could extend them so long, I'd just slide back down
the other side without having come.
I just did it again.
"You there, Billy?"
"Boy, am I!"
"Whew. That was something! That was *more* than I
imagined it might be. It was wonderful. I LOVED it!"
A bit late, I asked, "What're you wearing, Jean?"
She laughed and said, "I thought that's what you asked
me at the *beginning*."
"I'm just wearing a sweat shirt."
"Me too! One of your ones. But right now it's up
in my armpits. I'm holding my...myself. My fingers are all
wet. God, the smell in here. *You'd* love it!"
"You have there?" I asked.
"Uh, sure...oh, there they are. They're on the floor
where I threw them."
"Do me a favor?"
"God, anything." Then laughing, "Well, almost
anything."
"Use your panties. Wipe yourself. Wipe up your juices
with 'em . . . stuff em into your pussy. Then give them to
me tomorrow, okay?"
"God, you are *such* a horn dog, Billy!"
"Will you, Jean?"
"Of course I will. You must know it thrills me that
you want to smell me."
"That's not all that I want to do."
"Yeah, yeah. We both know about that. And so do I.
You know that too. But you also know how I feel about it.
As much as I want to do it with you, I'm not gonna. That's
why I'm here and you're there! I almost expect you to crawl
through the phone wire and come out through the receiver.
'Night, Billy. I love you."
"Good night, babes. Remember the panties!"
Chapter 14 Billy's Rationalization
The frogs in the pond behind our house were giving up
their last cacophony in the early morning light. Dictated
by my biologic clock I suppose, I was awake early even
though Jean and I had spent an intense little while on the
phone with each other late the night before. As was my
custom, I sleep in the nude and often awoke with an
unconscious "tent pole" under the sheets. With my eyes
closed and hands clasped behind my head, I was reviewing the
latent imagery of the night before, of the phone sex I'd had
with Jean, luxuriating in the deliciousness of it all.
God, I loved that woman! The feeling washed over me
with an intensity that left me short of breath. I loved her
wit and her spontaneity, her seriousness and gravity, her
daffiness and heaven knows, her sensuousness. Yet I was
uncertain. We'd agreed not to "do it," but I wasn't at all
clear just what that meant. Jean spoke repeatedly of "the
thing." Just what *was* the thing anyway?
Was it talking about sex? I thought not. Then was it
touching? Well, we'd certainly touched on a couple of
occasions and neither of us appeared to be troubled, much
less traumatized by the experience, so I thought that wasn't
it.
If she my dick once, was *that* incest? How
about when I fingered her pussy? To climax? Now, was that
incest? Shit! I didn't know and it bothered me, a
niggling, unresolved burr of an issue.
I don't know about you, but I've got several voices in
my head that think they know everything. And they're all
loud, even strident. Usually they sit on the head of my bed
and start up first thing in the morning. "Oh good, you're
awake. Let me tell you a few things." They're rarely kind
and understanding; mostly they're full of fear and
negativity, except those that are lazy and just want to go
to the beach. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a car pool when
I'm all alone. I can argue both sides of any given issue
and worse, I lose nine times out of ten!
Is it solely the emotional fallout of putting my dick
in Jean's pussy? Is that what she's fearful of? Cripes,
I've been *there* a hundred times in my mind. I've screwed
that so many times in my head, the emotional fallout is
mostly that it's *only* been there... in my head! Or is it
that she's afraid she'll get pregnant? Yeah, that'd be
tough. I mean, how many get knocked up by their
brother? I'll have to ask her about this, I thought.
In the middle of this intellectual discussion I was
having with myself, I was startled when something soft
touched my face! My eyes snapped open and saw for a second
only a hazy light until I scrabbled away a pair of
that'd been dropped across my eyes and nose.
Jean laughed, "Wake up, sleepy head. I promised you
these panties." Then looking away in mock embarrassment,
she added, "Geez, they're ripe! Hope you *really* wanted
em."
I inhaled deeply, pulling the aromatic essence of her
into my head and simply said, "YES!" She'd kept her
promise.
Nodding toward the tent pole, she asked, "Did I cause
that?"
Nodding, "Mostly. I wake up with a woody every
morning," and then looking down at myself in wonder, I
added, "but this one is particularly urgent. And yes, I
*was* thinking of you...of last night...of what we did.
God, I loved it! I just can't believe the power of phone
sex for cryin' out loud!"
Jean smiled and nodded, just looking at me. The least
I could do was return the scrutiny. The morning light was
soft, filtering through the giant redwood behind the house,
to the east of us and it cast a warm, luminous glow. She
was wearing a short wrap-around skirt and a T-shirt that
didn't even begin to disguise her prominent nipples. Once
again, out of character, Jean wasn't wearing a bra.
Her eyes dropped to the tented sheet and she gestured
with an open palm as if to ask, "What, pray tell, is that?"
Then, remembering a little ditty that Jean had read to
me years before, I recited,
"The tent pole's up, the canvas is spread. To hell
with breakfast, come on back to bed."
She giggled and continued,
"Take the tent pole down, put the canvas away.
Monkey had a hemorrhage; there'll be no circus today."
Still chuckling, she said, "Just kidding, just
kidding," and sat on the edge of the bed facing me, with one
leg bent on the bed and the other on the floor, partly
opening her thighs. Of course, my eyes darted right to the
darkened space under her short skirt, hoping to see . . .
well, anything.
"You never give up, do you? What are expecting to
see?"
"Not expecting...just hoping."
"Billy, you've seen my legs hundreds and hundreds of
times. What's the attraction?"
"Don't really understand it, girl, but it's strong.
You thrill me. More and more, you thrill me. I'm just taken
with you. You know that!"
Jean placed her hand on the sheet on top of my thigh
and said softly, "Yes, Billy, I *do* know that and I want to
tell you again, I feel the same way. And I'll tell you this
again...usually, it's very scary!"
"I've been thinking about that. About why it's scary
for you, I mean," letting my hand fall to her left knee.
Her skirt had pulled up and open a little and I could see
the fine, hairs on her thigh.
She glanced at my hand, smiled and asked, "Tell me,
buster. What do you know that I don't? Most of my feelings
are just that... feelings. Not based on my intellect, just
on my gut."
Trailing my fingertips over the inside of her knee, I
looked up at her and continued, "Well, I've been trying to
define "incest" in the last little while -- an operational
definition if you will -- and I've decided that for us, it's
not "talking" and it's not "touching" and it's not
"sucking." Know what I mean?"
Jean, looking puzzled, slid onto the side of the bed
another few inches, opening up her thighs a little more. I
looked again. Still too dark, but now more inner thigh
visible..
"If you mean that we've done those things and we're
still okay, then I *do* know what you mean. But I'm still
afraid."
Still trailing my fingertips on the inside of her
thigh, I continued, "Yeah. But I think it's not so much
what we've done. I don't think it -- that is -- has
a lot to do with putting my dick in your pussy."
Jean's eyes widened and her pupils dilated with that
phrase. She in her breath but didn't speak. For all
her candidness, she remained unaccustomed to such specific
and graphic talk.
Again, nudging her thigh to keep her attention, I went
on, "No. For us...for you...incest isn't about fucking."
Again, the little gasp. In a softer voice I added, "I think
your fear of is about getting pregnant," and then
fell silent.
She exploded, "Cripes, Billy! Pregnant! By you?
Where in heck did *that* notion come from? That's silly.
That's goofy, you know that?" She barked a nervous laugh
and moved her leg again. This time I caught a fleeting
glimpse of the crotch of her dark panties. The scent of her
used was fresh in my mind and I again experienced a
strong urge to bury my head between her legs.
"Okay, I know it's goofy, but stay with me a minute.
Tell me, IF we actually did it...if we actually, you know,
fucked...how would you feel? Inside, I mean. How'd you
feel?"
"Scared. I told you that," she answered, nervously
plucking at her skirt, picking it up and then dropping it.
I kept my eyes on hers.
"Okay, sure," I agreed, "scared but not turned off.
Stay with me a little longer. How'd you feel if you got
pregnant? By me?" I added pointlessly.
"Devastated. Just devastated...I'd simply just die."
Then she added with a wry smile, "Aside from that, fine.
Where is this going, anyway?"
"Wanna have kids someday, Jean?"
"You know I do, Billy. SOMEday."
I wiggled down in the bed a little, both to give me a
better view under her skirt and that I might be able to
reach farther up on her thigh. "Well, that's what I think is
going on. It's not us screwing that scares you. It's
getting pregnant. One part of you wants to get
pregnant...someday, and another part of you is frightened,
scared witless that it would be ME that did it."
"Let me get this straight...let me tell you what I
think you've said. You think that it's not the actual,
uh...doin' it, that I'm afraid of?"
"Right," I assured her, touching the inside of her
thigh, well up under her skirt. I wondered if she, like me,
had two thoughts running at the same time, one on the topic
and the other on touching her?
"That it's getting pregnant by you that I'm really
afraid of?"
"Yeah, exactly, Sis. Hell, we've done almost
everything and haven't suffered any psychological
consequences. Actually, we're closer than ever. We really
love and CARE for each other, more now than ever."
Jean smiled and said, "Well, you *may* have something
there. It "feels" all right. At least it doesn't feel
*bad*. Not right now anyhow."
"Just sit with it, Sis. You don't have to buy it right
now... or ever. Just let it percolate. We'll talk about it
later, okay?"
"Whew! Yes, later," she answered, visibly relaxing.
Then, as if noticing for the first time, she stared at the
lump of my hand beneath her skirt, creeping toward her body.
"Yes?" she asked, lifting one eye brow.
Reaching down with my free hand, I covered hers, still
on my thigh, almost touching my cock, and reasoned, "Your
fault," nodding to her hand so close to my hard-on.
Surprised, she yanked her hand back and exclaimed,
"Yikes!" And then, almost as quickly, laughed and ran the
palm of her hand up my thigh, again brushing against my
erect cock murmuring something like, "Geez, you are *always*
horny, aren't you?"
That rhetorical question didn't need an answer. The
lawyers have an expression for it, something like "res ipsa
loquitur" or "the thing speaks for itself." Instead, I
turned my body slightly into her leg, pushing my hard cock
to her hand and, at the same time, running my hand up to her
crotch. What? No panties! I touched the fur of her sex
between the warm softness of her inner thighs, not the
crotch of her as I'd anticipated. A thrill shot
through me.
Jean suddenly beamed, "That's right, big boy. No
panties. I gave them to you. Just *me* there," and she
leaned forward, laying her head on my chest, now blatantly
holding my cock through the sheet.
"Lie beside me for a moment, won't you Jean?" I asked,
making room for her on the bed. I smiled to myself,
thinking of the expression that promised, "I'll only put it
in a little way."
"Only a moment," she whispered, turning her body and
sliding down beside me, one leg thrown over my thigh,
opening her crotch to my hand.
I cupped her furry mons softly in one hand while
cradling her head with my other, whispering, "Jean, thanks
for last night. It was awesome. I can't believe how hot it
was, being sexual with you... even at long distance."
She ran her hand down my forearm, I thought perhaps to
pull my hand from her crotch, but she surprised me. She
curved her hand around mine and with her index finger,
pushed my middle finger into the pulpy wetness of her
slit, arching her pelvis into my hand. Her was
sopping and swollen and once again, I experienced the
extraordinary thrill of feeling my finger slide into the
heat of my sister's cunt.
"Yes, Billy...yes. Touch me. Feel me. Feel my
wetness." Wiggling closer to me, she continued, "I'm melting
inside. This is *so* sweet."
As I slid my finger slowly in and out of her pussy, she
rocked her hips against me, still pushing my hand against
her sex, now grunting a little with each thrust.
"I wanted this so much last night, Billy. After we
hung up, I masturbated...it seemed like hours. I came and
then came again. I kept coming until...I guess I just
passed out. God I was horny!"
"Was?"
"*Am*, you jerk! Am horny." And then she murmured
something so soft I couldn't make it out.
"What? What'd you say, girl? Can't hear you."
She murmured again, slightly louder but all I could
hear was "finger..." something or another.
Running my tongue into her ear, I again whispered,
"What babe? What'd you say? Tell me what you want. Say it
out loud."
Then, as if we were in a crowded room and she wanted
only me to hear, she put her hand to her cheek and whispered
in my ear, "Finger . . . finger fuck me, Billy. Please, I
need it."
"Yes-s-s," I hissed, cupping her sex in the palm of my
hand, my middle finger curling up under her pelvic bone,
searching for her G-spot.
As she grunted her pleasure, she began writhing on the
bed, hunching against my hand, rubbing her body against
mine. I could feel the fullness of her as her torso
twisted against me. Pulling back to free myself from her
leg, I threw my right leg over her body as she turned, first
into me and then prone, continuing to hunch against the
sheets.
I ran my hand down over her buttocks, catching the hem
of her skirt and pulling it up to her waist as she lifted
up, freeing the front of it. I palmed her butt in my hand
and whispered, "Christ Jean, I love feeling your ass."
"Oh, Billy! Don't stop touching me. I'm so itchy in
there. I *need* you there."
Pulling myself up a bit, I ran my hand between her legs
from the back, feeling the swollen and open lips. She
moaned and pushed her hips back to meet me as I slipped the
thumb of my right hand into her pussy, cupping her mons and
clit with my fingers, slowly rocking.
"Yes! Right there. Right *there*!" she exclaimed with
an explosive deep, grunting voice, with passion.
Pulling her elbows under her, she pushed her chest off
the bed as she pulled her knees under her pelvis, assuming a
stance of supplication. Now her backside was completely
bared, her skirt up over her back and her ass arched high in
the air. I kneeled beside her, still holding her in my
hand, still fucking her with my thumb.
Her head was down on the sheet, turned toward me but
mostly obscured by her hair. She was groaning and murmuring
incoherently. I enjoyed the power of making her voice her
desire out loud. "What Jean? What do you want? Say the
words."
Barely louder and still incoherent, she continued an
entreaty in a near sing-song voice, still rocking back
against my hand.
"Say it Jean. I want to hear the words."
Throwing her head to toss her hair out of her eyes, she
looked at me with eyes almost crazed in passion and said
quite distinctly and slowly, "Fuck - me - with - your -
hand. Fuck - me - Billy." Then, dropping her forehead to
the bed again, she groaned, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME."
Driven by my own lust and given approval by the force
of her thrusts back against my hand, I picked up the speed
and depth of my thumb fucking. With her knees pulled up
beside her chest and her back arched, her ass cheeks were
full open, exposing her pink bung to my stare.
God! Her ass hole, exposed, open and vulnerable to me!
The place I'd dreamed about and had glimpsed just a few
times before. I placed the tip of my left index finger
right below her anus and then as I continued to thrust my
right thumb into her cunt, I ran my left fingertip around
the edge of her ass with a feather-light touch,
teasing.
Again she groaned, "Billy...Billy...what are you
*doing*?"
Pushing the pulp of my finger tip against her puckered
anus, I said, "I'm fucking you, Jean. I'm fucking you and
touching your ass hole. Can you feel me?"
She gasped, "I can't believe this. I just can't
believe what's happening. I don't even know what I'm
feeling, but it's incredible, it's wonderful. Oh, I want
it, I *want* it!"
Dropping a dollop of my saliva on her ass hole, I again
pushed my finger tip against her sphincter muscle. It
resisted for just a little while and then began to soften.
My finger tip dilated her ass a fraction. Again, she
pushed back against my hand, against my finger.
"Yes, yes, yes...whatever you're doing...yes!" she
chanted into the bed as I fucked her with my fingers,
humping myself against her hip. I lost sense of time. The
sensations went on an on, building, cresting, overflowing
and then she shrieked. No words. Just an explosive shriek.
Then she suddenly became still save the shuddering of her
body and with another eruptive grunt, she screamed,
"Coming... coming...God, God, God...oh shit, shit,
shit...I'm coming!"
Jean had once told me how hypersensitive her
feels after she's had an orgasm, so I had presence of mind
to slow down, then stop, but leaving my thumb buried deep in
her with my fingertip just nudging into her ass hole.
We stayed frozen there, suddenly silent save our gasping for
long minutes.
I was aware. In *that* moment, right there, right
then, I was aware. I had a startling clarity of us and the
moment. I could feel our breathing and our sweaty bodies.
I could smell the heady scent of Jean filling the room and
my head with her essence. I felt my cock, still hard,
pressing against her thigh and the coolness of the morning
breeze drying the wetness of our bodies. Me naked, Jean
with her skirt pulled up, nude from the waist down and my
fingers in her.
Then, I slowly pulled my thumb from her and she gasped,
"Oh, no." Pulling her down with her back to me, I curled
around her, holding her tight against my chest, by hips
against her ass and my legs curled into the crook of her
legs. I petted her and I crooned into her hair, "Oh,
baby...that was...that was indescribable. I have no words.
I simply can't tell you...I was just blown away. I love
you, babes. I love you more than I can say...more than you
know."
Chapter 15 The Barber
The behavior that my and I exhibited after our
last erotic encounter was a Xerox copy of every other time
we'd come together with the energy of two freight trains in
the night. We had pulled back a little and our
approach-avoidance dance was played out one more time. Oh,
we didn't ignore each other and we certainly didn't engage
in the silent treatment, but there was a certain tender,
eggshells-tip-toeing around with us.
The morning after our last unplanned sexual tussle, I'd
awakened with a lightness and freshness of spirit, feeling
at ease with my self and the world and secure in the knowing
that I was, at base, an okay guy. I knew I was okay, but I
didn't know if Jean felt the same way about herself. I
worried about her psyche and wanted to touch base with her
as soon as possible.
That on my mind, I came down to breakfast just a little
later than usual as Jean was telling our that she had to
drop off her car at the mechanic's and would she pick her up
after?
"I will," I offered, hoping to have the chance to have
some "plain talk" with Jean.
"You have an interview this afternoon you told me,"
offered. "How're you going to handle that *and* pick up
Jean?"
"Rats! I forgot," I said, slapping my forehead in
dramatic overstatement. "Sorry, Sis. Guess I can't."
"That's cool, Billy." She smiled one of those
exquisitely bright smiles and turning to said, "You're
playing tennis at the club today, aren't you? You could
pick me up later, huh?"
"Sure, baby. Call me or leave a message at the club if
your plans change, okay?" said as they both threw me a
warm smile and left at the same time.
And so it went for a couple of weeks. Little things
like that - small hitches kept occurring that seemed to
prevent us from spending anything more than a few minutes
with each other. Yet, Jean's upbeat attitude and positive
outlook on life, now even more evident, assured me that she
wasn't stuck in some emotionally gray place and my need to
reassure her gradually became less pressing.
In fact I'd almost forgotten it when one afternoon one
of my labs at school was canceled and I found myself
unexpectedly home early. As it turned out, Jean's writing
seminar had also been canceled. Her Prof. had been called
away and hadn't had time to get a sub.
I found her sitting, tilted back in a chair on the
redwood deck, her long tanned legs braced against the
railing, just looking off into the valley. She was wearing
a pair of yellow shorts that I remembered from last summer.
They were tight then. Atop that, she had on a sleeveless
pull over and I was immediately aware she wasn't wearing a
bra. For a long moment, I admired her prominent nipples
indenting her thin cotton shirt. I seemed always to be
aware of things like that. Then I looked at her lips,
half-open, a little pouty it seemed.
It had occurred to me that I'd seen my naked, or
nearly naked, in the past. That I'd touched her
intimately...she'd even once my cock. We'd shared
our secrets with each other and knew we loved each other
deeply. But I'd never kissed her. Oh, I'd given her a
chaste peck on the cheek and once or twice on her lips, mine
all puckered up. But I'd never really kissed her.
Coming up beside her chair, I leaned over and looked
into her eyes and asked, "Would you mind if I kissed you?"
"On the lips, I hope?" She smiled up at me as I bent
over slowly, trying to keep eye contact.
She tilted her head back and with her lips slightly
open, offered her mouth to me. Trying to keep my own lips
soft, I touched hers, feeling her mouth open a little more
as we kissed softly. It was indescribably sweet. I felt as
though I were sinking into her. Flicking the tip of my
tongue between her lips, I felt hers brush mine and then
retreat.
Feeling a bit heady, I pulled up a chair next to her
and said, "Hi, kid. How's it goin'?" Last year she would
have had a fit if I'd called her "kid" but it didn't seem to
bother her today. Maybe it had something to do with the
kiss.
"Billy! That was *nice*. You've never kissed me like
that before!"
"Thanks. I liked it too. Before I settle, can I get
you anything?"
"Yes, would you get us a couple of sodas? I'm feeling
lazy and I'd love it if you'd wait on me. I'd like to be
pampered."
"Sure...and I won't dump the ice down your
either."
She turned her head to smile at me and said, "Yes. I
remember."
Holding the glasses under the ice dispenser, I listened
to it grind away with its characteristic clunking noises and
recalled that I'd not had the chance to talk with her
intimately since the morning after our phone sex, the time
when she'd dropped her scented on my face.
Handing her the tall, cold glass, I said, "Jean, I'd
like to talk with you about something..."
She interrupted and said, "Yes. Yes we will...but
first I want to ask you something and I'm too nervous to
wait. Can I go first?"
With an exaggerated, longsuffering sigh, I said,
"Oh...all right, I guess."
There appears to be several Billys that live in my
head. One is the kid, spontaneous and genuine. Another is
the adolescent who's very concerned about looking hip, slick
and cool. He's the one who thinks constantly about getting
laid and he's convinced that he's got to *look* good to
score. It was that impatient teenager in me that was so
ungracious and pouting.
"I'll try to be quick, Billy. This is right up your
alley and I know you'll be glad I consulted with *you*."
It was as if Jean knew about the several personalities
that resided in my head and knew just what to say. The
adolescent brightened right up, thinking his manly knowledge
was being sought. "Sure, kid. Take your time," I said,
mentally slicking back my hair.
Even though no one else was home -- actually, no one
was within a half mile of us -- Jean leaned over, cupping
her hand at the corner of her mouth to whisper
confidentially in my ear, "Billy, uh...remember the uh...the
thong panties? The ones I bought at Victoria's Secret this
summer?"
As if I could forget! The image of Jean, modeling
those in the store, bending over...me, certain I was
going to be grabbed by the scruff of my neck and
hauled off to jail -- hell, my thoughts alone could get me
50 years! -- did I remember? I've never forgotten. So, with
my eyebrows a little knitted, I replied, "No, what panties?"
For as long as perhaps one, or at the most, two
seconds, Jean looked at me with surprise and then seeing the
twinkle in my eye, she laughed in relief and said, "You
shit, you! Come ON, I'm serious."
"Jean, I might forget my name or where I live, but I'd
*never* forget those panties. Besides, you never *did*
them for me," I added in a fake petulant tone.
Her eyes unfocused for a moment, as if remembering
herself, and then she replied, "Yes, I owe you. But as I
recall, something else came UP that day."
Palms up, I replied, "Am I an ungrateful wretch or
what?" And then glancing at her yellow shorts -- they'd
climbed even higher -- I asked, "Is *that* all you wanted to
ask?"
"No, silly. There's something else...kinda
embarrassing really." She was studying some invisible spot
on her thigh.
The *only* topic Jean had ever mentioned being
embarrassed over was something about sex. I loved it when
she was tentative that way, for it always seemed to lead to
sexy talk. I didn't try to bail her out. I just looked at
her expectantly, one eyebrow elevated. I'd once seen Cary
Grant do that in an movie. Looked good on *him*.
She looked at me imploringly, as if I might read her
mind and answer her question. I remained silent. Very
uncharacteristic of me.
"Okay, okay...here's the deal," Jean finally rushed on.
"I remembered that I'd promised to them for you, so I
got em out and tried them on again this morning..." She
hesitated.
"And?" I prompted, watching the color rise in her
cheeks, looking at her full lips, wanting to kiss her again.
"And they stick out," she gushed, almost as one word
and then again in a whisper, "I mean, my pubic hair sticks
out on the sides. I'd forgotten that part." And she
stopped as if the problem was now self evident.
"Yes?" I replied, making an impatient gesture with my
hand as if to say, And then what?
"Well, can't you see?"
"Actually I can't. But I'd love to," I added
hopefully, looking pointedly at her shorts pulled tightly
into the prominent crease between her parted thighs.
"The problem, dummy, the problem," she corrected me in
a vain attempt to guide my thinking.
At this point I was no longer thinking. My hind brain
had taken over and the sex addict who lives up there was
chortling, "Oh boy, here we go, Billy."
"Problem?" I asked. Now I wasn't pretending.
"Billy! For a bright guy, sometimes you are really
*dense*. If I'm going to wear those obscenely brief
panties, I can't wear them with a lot of pubic hair sticking
out, can I?"
"Is *that* what you wanted to ask?"
"No! That isn't it. I wasn't asking your opinion
about how good or bad it would look. I *know* that." Then
as if explaining to a dull kid, she went on in a reasonable
voice, "Sure, pubic hair is sexy, but not hanging out of
panties, or a bikini. It needs to be trimmed."
The sex-addict suddenly clapped his hands with
understanding and glee and said to me, "Oh boy, Billy! Oh
boy, oh boy. You're gonna score!"
The cool teenager said to Jean, "So, how can I help
you?"
Dropping her gaze, Jean murmured, "I've always done it
myself, but . . . but I thought maybe you might want to
help."
"You mean trim your pubic hair? Me? I get to trim
your *pubic* hair?" I asked with unrestrained
enthusiasm...a sudden and definite loss of being "cool".
"Well, yes...if you want to that is...but if you've got
. . ." and her voice trailed off as she looked at me, a
little apprehensive and looking incredibly vulnerable.
"God, Jean! I'm honored...I mean I'd be delighted
to...to help you." I didn't have to fake any sincerity or
enthusiasm with this affirmation.
She seemed almost to slump in her chair with relief.
How frightening it must have been to take such a chance with
her kid bother, to have stretched herself so much and how
relieved she appeared to be when I jumped with joy at the
opportunity.
"Oh, good! I've got everything upstairs in my room.
The scissors, the comb, and the clippers..."
Interrupting, I asked, "The straight razor?"
Jamming her hands into her crotch, she doubled over and
said, "Not a chance, Billy. Not even close. I saw you
shaving with that damn thing and I saw the nicks..."
Throwing up my hands in surrender, I said, "Kidding,
just kidding, Jean, honest."
Jean jumped up and ran into the house laughing and
squealing, "I can't believe I'm doing this."
I came in behind her just in time to see her long legs
disappearing up the stairs and by the time I got to her
room, she was standing in front of an open dresser drawer,
holding up a pair of panties...the thong in which
I'd once seen her...for what, seconds? She glanced over her
shoulder at me, still holding out the bit of fluff, and
smiled.
"Ready?" she asked.
For a moment, I couldn't speak. I just looked at her,
her spine arched, head thrown back, hips pushed forward and
her old, faded yellow shorts pulled tight across her butt
and into the crease of her butt. Her beauty and her sexiness
just stunned me. How could I be so lucky, I wondered?
"Billy, you ready to do this?" she asked again.
Snapping out of it, I grinned that silly who-me-grin
and said, "Am I ever!"
The next several seconds flew by so fast, I could
barely see what was happening. Without another word, Jean
unbuttoned her shorts and skinned out of them. Bare ass!
No panties. I saw that much and then she stepped into the
thong before any of this registered in my befuddled
mind. Turning, she stood, one hand on her hip in some
effortless pose right out of some damn lingerie
catalog and said, "Ta-Dah!"
Then, turning en face, she placed the flat of her hands
on her lower belly and looking down at her self critically,
said, "See?"
Indeed I did! Her legs, already long, looked even
longer in those brief that climbed high on her hips.
The front panel, silk perhaps, was trimmed with a broad
border of lace, swooping in a low "U", ending just below the
top edge of her pubic hair. Through the lace and sticking
out the sides, I could see her auburn curls. The lacy
crotch was pooched out with the cushion of her
hair.
Gesturing toward the single straight-backed chair in
the room, I said, "Sit there and let me check you out."
Now, no longer embarrassed, caught up in the adventure,
Jean sat in the chair with her butt at the front edge and
sprawled back. She extended her legs straight out and
spread wide, displaying the all-too-thin crotch of the
that failed miserably in containing her luxuriant
bush.
"See?" she asked again. Had she glanced at me, at my
bugging eyes, it's likely she would not have asked.
"Yes..." I gasped, "I see."
Pulling together some last vestige of control, I leaned
over and gave her another brief kiss and then sank to my
knees between her thighs and looked at her for a moment, as
if to appraise the magnitude of the problem. The "problem"
of course, was jammed down my pant leg.
"As I see it," I said, "there are a couple of options
here. How much we trim from the sides is dictated by the
width of the front panel of these panties..."
"So, what *are* the options?"
"Well, in no particular order, we can shape the top
part...you know . . make it a narrow band or stay with the
natural look."
"I vote for natural," she interjected and I agreed.
"What other options?"
"You need to decide if you want the length of the
remaining hair shortened, you know, made less bulky, or left
long."
"Okay, what else?"
It was getting very warm and I suspect I had beads of
sweat on my forehead. "Well..." I started to say and then
stalled. This was tough.
"Yes? Well what, Billy?"
"Uh...we need, uh...that is, *you* need to decide if
you want the hair on your lips just trimmed short
or..." Then I paused again, took a breath and rushed on,
"...*shaved*." The "shaved" part came out in a rush and too
loud. I hadn't intended to give it such emphasis and I was
suddenly hotter. I knew my face was burning.
Jean relieved the tension by laughing and asking,
"Well, professor, what's your recommendation?"
"About?"
"About everything, guy. But let's start with the
shaving part."
With an audible exhale, I said something really cool...
something like, "Awesome, dude." Then, pulling my eyes away
from her crotch, just a foot away, I looked up at her. She
was smiling! Christ, *she* was relaxed and I was almost
hyperventilation!
"Yes, Billy. Go on."
I couldn't do it. I couldn't maintain eye contact with
her and keep my few meager thoughts organized. So I acted
out the best compromise I could put together. I looked up
at the ceiling as if contemplating a weighty topic, then
closed my eyes and said, "I'd trim the upper part back, but
maintaining its natural wedge shape but at the same time,
I'd shorten the length of the remaining hairs. De-bulk it a
little."
Then, taking another deep breath, I continued, still
without looking at her, "I'd first trim back all the public
hair on your labia, say below your clitoris, back to
your...uh...your back bottom."
"Back bottom? You mean my ass hole, Billy?" She
laughed that soft, tinkling laugh that assured me everything
was okay.
"Yeah, ass hole, that's what I mean. And then...I'd
shave the lips." I heaved a big breath and asked, "So there,
what'ya think?
"If that's the way you want it, Billy, then that's the
way I want it."
Once again, the complexities of life, largely perceived
by my mind, were reduced to a simple and uncomplicated
statement. "If that's the way you want it..." The need to
rationalize was passed. My desire to negotiate a scene the
way I wanted it was just put aside by her simple acceptance.
We didn't speak. She looked at me and I looked at her,
or more accurately, I stared at the junction of her long tan
thighs and the brief, lacy crotch of her panties, at her
rich auburn curls sticking out from the sides.
Finally, in a soft voice, I said, "Stand up, Jean."
Without replying or asking why, she stood up, hands at
her sides, looking down at me as I met her gaze over the
twin prominence of her breasts, nipples now sharply visible
through her pull over. I reached up and hooked my fingers
into the elastic waist band over her hips, paused, savoring
the moment, looking into her eyes. Here was my beautiful,
incredibly sexy sister, standing for me as I was about to
pull down the thong she'd purchased at my
suggestion. I'd spent half my life it seemed, trying to
catch a glimpse up her dress or up the pant leg of her
shorts...that I might see just for a moment, which was now
right here, mere inches away from my nose.
My fingers still hooked, I leaned forward and nuzzled
the prominent, cushy mound of Jean's hair, inhaling
her fragrance. My little sniff was the loudest thing in the
room at that moment and it jangled my memory of all the
times I'd attempted to snitch her from the
soiled-clothes hamper. It had come down to this...all my
fantasies and machinations had come down to this moment.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I pulled down her panties, down
past the top of her bush, now curling, uncovering her
sex as it curved back into her crotch, her labia barely
seen. The thong, caught in her ass cheeks, held up a
moment, and then fell with a little elastic snap. Down past
her knees, down to her ankles and then, one foot at a time,
she stepped out of them
The air was with her scent. More for the erotic
impact than the smell of her, I held them to my nose as I
looked at her. She smiled and wrinkled *her* nose and still
didn't say anything.
"Sit, " I said, again softly.
She sat, butt on the edge of the chair, back straight
and knees together. I looked at her with a quizzical frown
and made an opening gesture with my hands; she opened her
legs and then rested her hands on her parted thighs. I
looked between her legs again and remembered the first time
I'd seen her as she'd peed on the dusty trail out of
Fourth of July Lake. While I'd seen her a couple of
times after that, it was the first time that was so strong
in my mind, so sweet and so indelible.
Kneeling between her knees, I reached out and touched
the skin of her abdomen, just below her belly button and
then traced a soft line down through her curly pubic hair,
just missing her hooded clit, and then down the center,
barely touching the hairs that mostly obscured her labia,
now opened a bit by her spread legs.
She gasped but didn't speak and didn't move.
"Ready?" I asked the rhetorical question.
She just smiled so I asked again, "Ready, Jean?"
As always, I was trying to engage Jean in conversation
about some sexy topic. She wasn't buying. She just smiled
broader and nodded her assent.
I picked up a long comb that had both coarse and fine
teeth and then ran the coarse end through the hair on her
lower belly, slowly combing out the tight curls and tangles,
each stroke getting closer to her clit. She didn't speak
but said something like, "Hmmmm..." as she spread her legs
a little wider, opening more the lips of her pussy, now
swollen and wet.
Holding the comb vertically, I combed her labia's hair
away from center, toward her thighs, pulling her lips open
still more, making a moist, sound. This was
entirely new territory for me. I'd never seen Jean's
so close and so open before. I was excited and hard, yet
aware of our elevated plateau of awareness and didn't want
to rush anything. So, continuing my placing a "part" in the
middle of Jean's cunt, I combed and combed, watching the
further eversion of her lips, and the pooling of her
secretions at the bottom of her slit.
Her white secretions pooled, filled and spilled
over, running down into the crack of her ass and she moaned
again. As I combed the hair near her clit, she
shuddered, and then spoke for the first time in minutes,
"That's okay...I'm okay...keep going."
Jean's clit was poking out, a tiny hard-on,
peeking out from her clitoral hood. I was mesmerized and
moved closer yet, initially to inhale her fragrance, but
when my hot breath washed over her clit, she shuddered again
and moaned, "Yes."
I opened my mouth and slowly exhaled my hot breath on
her again and again. She began to sag, her back
falling against the chair and her hips sliding forward
another inch as her hands slipped between her thighs,
pushing them farther apart, opening herself to me.
All conscious thought gone, unplanned and unthinking, I
reached out with the tip of my tongue and licked her pool of
secretion at the bottom of her cunt. She jerked, her legs
hitting the sides of my head for a moment as she expelled a
whoosh of air, and then she snapped them opened again,
slouching still farther.
As if in a dream. I again reached out with my tongue
and slowly pulled it up one and then the other or her labia,
closer and closer to her clitty.
She hissed, "Yes-s-s-s!"
I leaned into her crotch and with partially an open
mouth, kissed her clit as softly as I could as she suddenly
hunched her pelvis into me, driving her into my mouth.
I softly her clit with my lips as she moaned and
moaned, "Ungh...ungh...ungh..."
I nursed on her, her lips, her clitty,
tonguing her slit, tasting her, pulling her copious
secretions up to her clit. I wasn't aware of another thing.
My world had narrowed down to this feminine trough in front
of me. I was drowning in her scent and her moans of
pleasure.
I thought she said something like, "In me," so I
slipped a finger into her as I continued to suck and
lick her pussy.
The correctness of my interpretation was given evidence
by her crying out, "Yes! Yes! Yes! More! In and out! Oh
God, oh God, oh God!"
Jean's ass had slid off the chair and she was
supporting her lower body with her widely splayed legs while
her upper torso was balanced rigidly on the seat. Grunting,
moaning, she repeatedly heaved her crotch into my face.
Holding her hips in my hands, as if holding a large slice of
watermelon, I mindlessly mouthed her pussy, licking her slit
and attempting to tongue fuck her as she repeatedly
thrust against me.
Jean started a low moan that built in intensity,
melding into a rising scream as she exhorted me, "Billy,
fuck me, fuck me, fuck me." She grabbed my head in her hands
and pulled my face tighter to her pussy, hunching against
me.
Air hunger began to build, forcing me to bob my head,
breaking the suction that I might gulp another lung full
before diving again into the center of her wet, swollen
desire.
As if a trip wire had been triggered, suddenly she
scissored her thighs about my head, trapping and squeezing
me, almost shutting off all sound. Perhaps more by
vibration, I heard her scream, "Billy, I'm cumming."
Moments later we crashed to the floor. I was gasping
for air, my face totally wet with Jean's juices, my head
still between her legs. For long minutes no one said
anything. I couldn't. I couldn't *think* much less speak.
I was stunned and overcome with the intensity of it all.
A little while later Jean said, "Billy?"
"I think I'm dead," I mumbled.
"Billy, are you going to trim my pubic hair or not?"
"Will you kiss me again, Jean?"
Chapter 16 Jean's
It was a warm morning, the type of warmth you know will
precede a hot day. I was aware of a vague malaise, a sense
of lethargy that was rooted in the sameness of the last week
of uncharacteristic heat. Normally the cooling breezes of
the Pacific, ten or fifteen miles over the coastal range,
held off the valley heat. Must be some kinda low trapped
right here, I concluded.
Still, I was feeling a bit restless and decided to take
a hike into the Open Space District contiguous with our
home. I wondered idly if Jean would like to go with me, but
she wasn't in her room and the downstairs was equally quiet.
Grabbing a hiking stick from the bamboo rack, I walked out
on the trellised deck in the back and found my and Jean
sitting in the half-shade, looking out over the pond. They
were leaning toward each other, apparently having a
whispered conversation.
Both were wearing white shorts and T-shirts, probably I
thought, to play tennis. It wasn't the first time I'd
observed just how much alike they looked. Both were tan and
fit, each with long, attractive legs. And that surprised me,
for I'd not really thought of my in any way but as my
mom.
"Hi, ladies. What's happenin'?"
hesitated a moment, finishing something she was
telling Jean and looked up. "Hi, yourself, dude. You look
like you're going to take a walk."
"Yeah. Anyone wanna walk with me?"
answered, "A little later perhaps? I'm too settled
right now."
Jean smiled and said, "Me too, Billy. A little later?"
It was never easy for me to hear "No" as an answer, but
I knew that's just the way it was this morning. I told
myself it didn't have anything to do with me; they just had
other things on their minds.
Looking up at the early morning sun over the Eucalyptus
trees to the east, I replied, "It's a little warm now. But
it's gonna be hotter'n the dickens in a few hours. You know
me and the heat. Think I'll go for it now. Catch you
later."
I loved the miles of Open Space above our house and I'd
rather walk with someone, but in the face of my
teenage-impaired tolerance for delayed gratification, I just
couldn't wait and took off up the hill into the redwood
grove. Even in the relative cool of the morning, I seemed
to seek out the shaded spots as I unconsciously choose to
walk down into the wooded ravine rather than up to the open
country.
I'd discovered this trail - I thought of it as mine -
my secret trail, until the Open Space people had widened it
and made it more attractive. At first I had a resentment.
I just knew that it'd be overrun with hikers now that it was
no longer a secret. I needn't have worried. In the years
since it'd been open up, I'd not seen a single person. So
it had again reverted to being "my trail."
The stream at the bottom was running full and on an
impulse, I pulled off my boots and dropped my feet into the
coolness of the runoff. As often happens around the sound of
running water, soon I had to take a leak. I smiled at
myself, standing knee-deep in the stream, my dick out,
watching the arc of my stream as it splashed into the water.
"How pleasant," I thought, and closed my eyes, feeling
the breeze and listening to the forest sounds. An image of
Jean and my mom, tanned legs stretched out, flashed and
without choosing, I fell into that reverie. They were both
very attractive women and I'd become fascinated, even
mesmerized, with my Jean in the past year. Actually,
fascination is not a strong enough term. Our natural
affection and apparent mutual horniness had led us into
"almost doin' it" several times but so far we'd restricted
ourselves, mostly just talking about it with an occasional
sexual foray into limited but very intimate touching.
Except for the time she gave me a blow job...or the time I
kissed her pussy. Yeah, I guess you could say that was a
tad more than intimate touching, huh?
I slowly became aware that I'd stopped and was
standing there, holding a now-erect cock in my hand.
"You're hopeless, Billy," I concluded, "a hopeless horndog."
Turning back to get my boots, I stepped on a round
river rock that suddenly turned, dumping me on my ass in the
stream. "Shit!" It was summer, but the runoff was cold!
I got up slowly, looking down at my soaked shorts,
water running out of my shorts, down my legs and thought,
"No way I'm going for a long walk this way. Guess I'll go
back and change."
Returning home, Jean and were no longer sitting on
the back deck, so I stripped off my wet clothes on the side
deck and before going in to change, I decided to take a soak
in the hot tub. "They must have gone to the tennis courts,"
I reasoned.
As I was folding back the cover of the tub, I heard the
back slider door open and then close followed by Mom's
voice. I was startled, not so much that I'd be caught bare
assed - that was no huge deal - although I don't think my
had seen my bare butt in a while. What startled me
was a word or two I'd overheard. Sounded like "something
horny." I couldn't imagine my and my having a
conversation that included the concept of horny. Shows how
much I knew.
I stepped into the tub, making no effort to be quiet,
but I guess the noises I made were masked by their own
conversation, for they didn't acknowledge my presence as
they settled into the lawn chairs, just around the corner of
the house from me.
The acoustics made no sense, but I was aware I could
hear them clearly, even the tinkle of ice in a glass. Just
as I was about to speak up to them, to let 'em know I was
there, I heard say, "So, how long has this been a
problem?"
"The horny thing?" Jean asked.
"That's the topic, I think," replied with a smile
in her voice.
A chair scraped and then it was quiet for a long ten
seconds. was patient, I knew. Finally Jean replied,
"Gee, I don't know, but I've been aware of these,
um...feelings for the last couple of years.
Another pause, briefer. "But now it's..." She
stopped.
"More intense?" offered.
"Yeah. Sure is. Sometimes it seems that's all I think
about."
"Some people would say that's not a
problem...that's a blessing!" laughed. Then asked, "So
then, what IS the problem?"
"Golly, Mom...you know. I'm, uh, itchy and restless
and I have these...you know, urges. And then I begin to
think I'm bad. That these thoughts are wrong. I just feel
bad and I'm all mixed up."
I heard the chair squeak and envisioned leaning
over to lay her hand on Jean's thigh. "Baby, we've talked a
little about this before, but I guess it's time to share in
more detail. Remember what I told you, girl? Those are
natural feelings. They're right and they're good. There's
nothing dirty or wrong about sexual feelings. It's your
humanness shining through. Most of the discomfort and
emotional pain people experience about sexual things arise
in their own heads. Keep it in the forefront of your mind,
baby. Sex is not a moral issue."
"Mom, I get that. Or at least I think I do. I accept
myself and I'm happy to be a woman and I'm really happy that
I have you for a mom. It's just that...well...it's not an
intellectual thing. Cripes, it's not even an emotional
thing!"
"What thing is it, baby?"
"It's a physical thing! You know. Horny!"
As if slapping her forehead, said, "Oh! I'm
beginning to get it. You're *horny*. I mean, *physically*
horny, and it's bothering you, right?"
Where was when I was suffering from an ingrown
hard-on? How come we never had this kinda talk? Probably
because I never told the truth, I thought as I sank deeper
into the hot tub. I *should* announce myself. This was
sneaky. Yet, it was probably too late to speak up now, I
reasoned, so I just sat there quietly and listened. My mind
can rationalize almost anything.
"*Bothering* me is an understatement. I'm a nervous
wreck and don't know what to do about it."
"Does masturbation help?" asked reasonably.
"Sometimes." Then Jean laughed and added, "And then
sometimes it seems to just feed the fires!"
gave a wry laugh and said, "I know what that's
like."
"You too?" Jean asked with a note of incredulity in her
voice.
"Well, it's not so bad now...but I remember..."
Jean interrupted, "So, what'd you DO? What do I do?"
"Baby, I've tried not to tell you how to live your
life. I've tried to give you principles by which to live.
That's still true. Just WHAT you do is up to you, but there
*are* guiding principles."
"Such as?"
"Remember I told you that among adults, sexual activity
is not a moral issue, that whatever they do is okay if they
follow a few rules. Remember the rules?"
"Uh...that we talk about it and not each other?"
"Yes, that's part of it. There must be mutual consent.
For that to happen, you've *got* to talk about it. When I
was young, it seems that the rule was something like it's
okay to do it, just don't talk about it. Kinda the Braille
approach to negotiation."
Interrupting again, Jean asked, "Are we talking about
*doing it*?"
laughed again, that throaty, sexy laugh, and said,
"Well, that's only *part* of it. We're talking about sexual
activity, whatever it is. Doing it - intercourse if you
will - is just one of the sexual activities to which I'm
referring. Actually, I'm talking in a broader sense.
Whatever it is we do with each other sexually, we need to
talk about it, to negotiate. We need to make sure it's okay
and that we're on the same page. Probably one of the
biggest mistakes we make in human relationships is to assume
we know what the other person is thinking, and then worse,
to *act* as if our assumptions were correct."
"Okay, I'm with you so far. What else?"
"Of course, we need not to each other, or allow
ourselves to be hurt."
"Hurt? Like in getting a disease? Or as in
physical hurt?" Jean giggled. "Like spanking?"
"Both. We'll return to things like spanking in a
minute, but it's clear, I hope, that you've got to be very,
very careful. Sexually transmitted diseases *are* a big
deal. You've got to be willing to talk to your potential
sexual partner about their sexual history as well as your
own. You have a right to ask for proof of a recent AIDS
test and, when you're sexually active, you've got to be
willing to show your own proof."
Then, signaled by her low laugh, I detected that
was switching mental gears.
"But what I was thinking about at the moment was sexual
*play*."
"Play?"
I knew what *I* thought of when sexual play came to
mind, but I couldn't imagine what my conservative was
alluding to.
I heard take a deep breath and then let it out
slowly, as if preparing to launch into a difficult topic.
"Baby, I always knew we'd have this conversation, but I
hadn't planned on it this soon. I kept putting it off, I
suppose waiting for the right moment. I guess this is it."
"What, mom?"
"I've always told you that we're only as sick as our
secrets, that honesty will set us free. Still, there are
parts about being an adult, and more, being a parent, that
seem to require some measure of restraint. I always thought
I'd tell you some things when you had a need to know."
"Mom! You're beating around the bush. That's not like
you. Like you always say to me, 'Spit it out.' You were
talking about sexual play. What do you mean?"
"Yes, play - as in erotic power exchange. You know,
your dad and I tease each other about this when we think you
two aren't around, but I know you've overheard us, haven't
you?
"Uh...I guess...maybe a couple of times."
"A couple of times per week would be more like it,"
suggested, laughing. Then, a little more seriously, she
went on, "Your dad is a very strong man, even a dominant
man. I consider myself a strong woman - and I am - but when
your dad and I play, he's the dominant partner, the Top if
you will."
"And?"
"I meant to have this talk with you someday. Now
appears like a good time. When we play - and we play a lot,
your Dad and I - I enjoy being the little girl. I like to
be told what to do. Perhaps it gives me permission to do
the naughty, the forbidden, things I'd really like to do
anyway. Then, I like to be tied up at times. I love the
feeling of helplessness. And - this is a little
embarrassing - I like to be spanked!"
"Really? Bare bottom? How embarrassing. Does it
hurt?"
"No, baby, that's the point. It's pleasure. I love
it. It's a huge turn-on. The whole thing works only if
there is trust and love and understanding, and most
important, communication. Without that, we're left to our
own imagination, and for me, that's a dangerous place to
hang out.
"Oh, if he struck me in anger, it would hurt. I'd
really hurt. But it's done with love and I love it...I love
the intense sensations. I once heard a woman describe
herself as a sensation slut and that gave me a shiver,
because...well, because I could relate."
"Wow. That's...uh, far out. I mean, that's really
neat, Mom! I had no idea. Tell me more."
"Baby, I'll tell you as much as you want to hear, but
first I want to get on with the principles of good sexual
behavior, okay?"
Rats! I thought my were so conservative that
they'd never done anything and now I was hearing of an
exciting side of their personalities of which I knew almost
nothing. I wanted to hear more.
"Okay. No hurting then. Of course, that seems only
right. What's so difficult about that?"
"Usually not much, but sometimes we really have to look
within ourselves and question our motives...to be careful
we're not hurting someone when we think our motives are
good. I don't know about you, but my ego often wears
blinders."
"Yeah, I can see how my ego gets in the way sometimes
too. What else?"
"Well, the next thing is a bit more abstract, but we've
got to be careful not to be exploitive."
"Mom, I know what "exploitive" means, but how's it
apply in this case?"
"Let me give you an example. Let's say you've agreed
to have sex with someone - and *having sex* doesn't
necessarily mean having intercourse. I regard all sexual
activity as "having sex." Okay? A sexy conversation can be
viewed as having sex. Mutual masturbation can be viewed as
having sex."
"Okay, I get it...it's a definitional thing."
"Yes, and for purposes of our conversation, that's how
we'll define it. Anyway, let's say you've talked this over
with someone, you both want it and you agree you're not
going to each other. Now here's the rub. You're 18 and
he's...let's say he's 12."
"Mother!"
"Get off your high horse, miss. It's happened. Lot's
of times. But that doesn't make it right. He's too young.
He might think he knows what he wants, but he can't really
know. If you had consensual sex with him, that'd be
exploitive."
Jean laughed and said, "All right. So I can't get it
on with Johnny."
Johnny was the next door. At 15 he was a year
younger than I. I held my breath.
"Johnny's a cute kid and he *looks* than he is.
Heck, he looks than Billy, but I know he's not as
mature. I'd put Johnny on the borderline...as least as far
as age was concerned. But I'd not pick someone like him for
different reasons. I think of him as a kiss-and-tell kind
of guy. You've got a reputation to take care of, girl."
"Okay. Johnny's out." Jean then laughed and added,
"He doesn't blow my skirt up anyway."
By this time, I was almost frozen in my fascination. I
couldn't believe how open and candid my and Jean were
being with each other. I wished I could be that way with my
dad, but I thought of him as too stern, too busy, too
unavailable. I wondered if would ever let me chat with
her? Cripes, every time I thought I was so sophisticated,
so cool and knowledgeable, I discovered how little I knew.
There was probably a lesson in there somewhere, but I was
too caught up in the excitement of my eavesdropping.
continued, "Let's not get too abstract here. We're
talking about *your* problem. What I'm trying to tell you
is this. Being sexual is okay. More than okay, it's good.
You've just got to be careful in life. You've got to take
care of yourself as well as be respectful of those you care
for. This make sense?"
"Hmmmm...I guess, in the abstract. I mean, I'm so darn
horny and masturbating does help, but not for long. I
feeling a deep need for . . . well, I not really sure for
what, but I think I'm ready to start letting down my
defenses around the boys."
"Baby, it's been my experience that beyond some
emotional point, my well-considered intentions go out the
window. My, uh...my thinks for me. So you might
think you're *starting* to lower your defenses and suddenly
you'll find it's a done-deed, a fiat accompli. Now, I'm not
saying that there's anything really wrong about that, save
for a couple of big considerations. Like sexually
transmitted diseases - which can affect anyone - and the
really big one, pregnancy."
"God, Mom...I wasn't thinking..."
"That's just it, baby. You weren't thinking and when
*it* happens, it won't happen because you've given it a lot
of thought. Believe me, it happens! And our awareness is
largely after the fact. Our denial is nothing more than a
head-in-the-sand stance, a refusal to see life as it really
is."
"You sound like you've been there."
Jean said this with a provocative tone of voice, as if
daring to tell the truth. And then I wondered, "Had
*my* really experienced anything like this, or was
she preaching from some how-to book?"
paused, then replied, "I have. It's no big secret
and I'll share it with you, but not right now. It's tough
enough staying on the topic. And the topic is: Sex and
Birth Control! It may not be clear to you, but it is to me.
It's time for you to see a gynecologist - you can see mine
if you want - and get on the pill."
"Gee, that sounds like I'm admitting I'm planning on,
you know..."
"No, it's admitting that you're a sexual being, a human
being and it's just good sense. Jean, you're just like me
and sooner or later it's gonna happen."
And then, as if to honor the statistical unlikeliness
of such a possibility, added, "Even if it turns out you
don't need it."
"Mom, are you giving me permission to get sexual?"
"You're almost an adult, Jean. You don't need my
permission. I know that you're going to do what ever you
need to do, permission or not, and that's especially true
for sex. I just want you to be a responsible woman."
"You have this conversation with Billy, Mom?"
My ears shot up. How did *I* get into this topic?
laughed again, seemingly not shocked. "No, I
haven't, and I can tell from his sheets that it's time. I
had hoped that his dad would, but I don't think that's going
to happen. I know you and he are very close. You two ever
talk about sex?"
I held my breath.
Jean exhaled loudly. "Yeah. Quite a bit, Mom. I
trust Billy and I think he trusts me. He's my closest
friend."
I didn't think knew just how close.
"I understand that. My Jim was my closest
friend. Still is for that matter, except for your dad. We
shared all our secrets with each other. I'd expect no less
from you two."
"Mom, did you...well...did you ever have any *special*
feelings about your brother? I mean, any sexy thoughts?"
"Of course, baby. Anyone who would tell you that he's
not had thoughts about members is in denial or lying.
It's natural."
And then, as an afterthought, added, "Jean, I'm
baring my soul to you and I'm feeling a little uncertain
myself. I don't want to drift into revealing the
confidences of others. But I'll tell you about *me*. Yes,
I've had lots of sexy thoughts."
"I sometimes...." and she trailed off.
"Sometimes have thoughts about Billy?" asked Mom.
"Whew!" An explosive gust of air and then a long
pause.
"Uh...yeah...and even feelings, I mean sexy feelings."
And then Jean rushed on, "He's a neat guy. He good looking
and well built. He's kind and thoughtful and he knows my
moods better than anyone... and when he gives me a hug..."
"Get's your juices flowing, eh?"
"Mom!"
"Jean, Jean...remember, I've been there, done that.
It's natural, baby."
"You and Jim?"
"Sure. He still turns me on. Don't tell your dad,
though, okay? I mean don't tell *anybody*!"
"I won't tell if you won't tell."
Then after a another short pause, Jean added, "But
there *is* something I'd like to tell you, Mom. Actually
something I *have* to talk about and you're the only person
I can talk to."
I could hear the wind blowing in the oak trees. Where
was Jean going with this, I wondered?
"I have a to make. I just gotta share this
you or I'll bust. I feel so darn guilty, I can't stand it."
Mom's voice got softer. "What ever it is, Baby, it's
okay. I'll not judge you. My job is just to love you.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing under the sun you can
tell me that will change that."
Without pause, Jean blurted, "Billy and I have had sex,
Mom! I don't mean that we've *done* it...you know, had
intercourse or anything like that, but we have touched each
other."
Oh-shit-oh-dear! At this point I felt a leaden weight
in my stomach. Busted! Grounded! Probably forever, if I
wasn't run out of town on a rail first. Jig's up. I waited
for my to scream.
Instead, said, "I'm not surprised. In fact, I'd
have been surprised if you hadn't. You know, I live here
too. I'm aware. I've seen you two. I've seen how you act
around each other. I even told you that you remind me of
myself...especially when I found your in his bed."
Jesus! I thought I had those. I immediately
wondered, how might I lie my way out of this one? When I'm
confronted, blind-sided like this, the *last* thing I think
about is telling the truth. My first instinctual response,
after suppressing a survival desire to run, is to make up a
story, one that'll get me off the hook. Then later, I have
to spend so much energy backing out of the corner into which
I've firmly implanted myself.
"How do I remind you...you and Jim...your brother? You
mean . . you've had similar...?"
"Sure. Shocked?"
"Kinda...but not really. Actually, I'm pleased. Even
thrilled. I don't know...kind of makes *me* okay."
"You *are*...you are okay. And I love you, Jean."
Jean started to cry and I could hear making
comforting sounds. The next little bit was lost to my ears.
I envisioned Jean crying into Mom's shoulder...Mom patting
her.
Then Jean blubbered, "Oh, my...I don't know why I'm
doing this, but I'm so relieved and so happy. I feel so
loved."
"Want to tell me what you've done, Baby?"
"You won't get mad?"
"No, this isn't about getting mad and you're not being
grilled. What we all need are safe places. Places where we
can share our secrets. Believe me, the more you share with
me, the better you'll feel. Just keep in mind, I love you
and I'm not judging you. I don't so much need to hear this
as you need to share it."
I was feeling like a shriveled-up prune by now, wanting
to run and hide, disappear from the face of the Earth.
Glancing down I noticed my dick had disappeared!
Jean rushed on, "Well, it started off as an accident.
At least, I think it was an accident. Anyway, we were doing
the laundry and Billy got hard - he was looking down my
- and then he rubbed off on the table looking at me,
and then later we talked and he showed me his... and I
couldn't help it...I showed him mine, and..."
"Whoa. Slow down a little. Take your time. Breath."
Jean was on a confessional express and couldn't be
slowed.
"Mom, I'm so excited, I want to get it all out at once.
Anyway, Billy was always listening to me in the
downstairs bathroom - I knew that. I didn't understand it,
and I knew it was naughty, but I guess it thrilled me. He
said it turned him on. Sounds dumb but I guess that made it
exciting for me. Anyway, when we went to Fourth of July
Lake last year, I let him watch me one day. God! Is
that kinky or what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Sounds like a chip off the
block."
"Dad?"
"Yes, but we're not talking about your Dad. We're
talking about you. Again, I'll tell you things about me, but
your Dad's stuff is his stuff. I feel free to talk about
myself, but not your Dad and not my brother. Understand?
Now, anything else?"
"Yes. It get's a lot more intense. Like, I love
flashing Billy, you know? I flashed him wearing
next-to-nothing at Victoria's Secret. Wow, Mom. I felt all
squishy inside. I know it gets him hot and that gives me a
sense of power. Makes me hot too. Weird, huh?"
"No. Not at all weird. That's what exhibitionism is
for some folks, Jean. Just another sexual game. More and
more it seems, you're just like me!"
"Well - this is getting more intense, - one day I
took his thing in my mouth! I don't know how it happened.
It just did."
didn't gasp. She laughed. "You mean you
his *cock*, don't you?"
I gasped. Jean gasped.
"Yes...I guess that's what I really mean. It's just
that I'm not used to saying...things like that...and when I
hear *you* say it..."
"So, tell me, what's Billy's part in this? He the
victim or the perp?"
"Hah! Billy the victim? Hardly. He may act soft
sometimes, but he's tough as nails. I don't want you to
think that he took advantage of me. He didn't. I wanted
it. All the time, I wanted it just as much as him. Even
more I bet!"
"So did that stud-son of mine touch you, get you off?"
"Oh yes! Several times. We even had phone sex once.
What a hoot! And a couple of weeks ago I asked him to trim
my...my pussy...my fur. There! I said it. PUSSY!"
"Did he?"
"Trim my pussy?" Laughing. "No, we never got to it.
Once he got down between my legs...well, one thing led to
another and he... he sniffed around and..."
"He went down on you, right?"
"How'd you know?"
"He's his father's son."
"And that's pretty much it, Mom. I've *wanted* to do
it with him. All the time. But we haven't. I'm afraid to.
I want to and I'm afraid to. But I love getting sexual with
him. God, he thrills me! I wish there were some way we
could just play with each other, satisfy each other, and not
really, well, you know...not really do it."
By this time I didn't know whether to strut or flush
myself down the drain. I just shut my eyes and scrunched
down further.
"Baby, I'm glad for you - glad for your emerging
sexuality and mostly, for your willingness to tell the
truth. is *really* a loaded topic. We can talk
about the philosophical issues, and mostly, that's what they
are, philosophical issues. We can talk about the
practicality of your situation...or the lack of it.
"I'm not going to tell you that you're right or that
you're wrong. It's not about that. It's about feelings.
And, as I've often told you, feelings aren't right or wrong
either. They just are. The only intrinsic evil I see in
life is an incapacity to love. Still, I want you to promise
me something...that you'll go slow, really slow with this."
Jean cried some more. I got all choked up.
"Oh, God, Mom. I feel so much better. I still don't
know what to *do*, but I feel better, so much better.
Thanks."
"Good. Now the next thing we've got to do is drag
Billy out of the closet. If he's anything like you, he's
dying his own deaths."
Little did they know. Death sounded like a viable
option at that moment.
"What can we do? I mean I can talk with him. I *will*
talk with him. He's got to know that I told you our secret.
But then what? Will *you* talk with him, Mom? He has the
same fears and the same concerns I have. I know. We talk
about it. And I know you'd be *so* much better than Dad."
"I suppose I *could* - might even be fun - and Jim
might be better. Except he's away on a trip and won't be
back for too long. Let me think about this, okay?"
I could hear them pushing back the deck chairs as they
stood up, ready to leave. Suddenly, unplanned and completely
unbidden, I called out, "I'm in the hot tub. I've been here
all along. I heard the whole thing. I'm sorry."
Christ! What did I *do*?
Two heads looked around the corner at me scrunched down
in the tub, almost out of sight.
I ran on, "I'm sorry for eavesdropping. I didn't mean
to be a snoop. When I came back, you weren't here and I just
jumped into the tub . . . then you came out and began
talking about sexy things. I lost my head. I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to listen to your private conversation."
Jean and my looked at each other. Jean was red.
No more than me.
My broke the tension. She looked at Jean and
said, "Well, I guess this resolves *who* is going to talk
with Billy."
Then looking at me, one hand on her hip, she smiled and
asked, "Well, stud...ready to spill the beans?"
Chapter 17 Confronts Billy
My said something to Jean in a low voice, then
nodding her encouragement, gently pushed her away. Jean
glanced at me, eyebrows furrowed in a worried expression,
then back at Mom. Our mother, in a slightly louder voice,
said, "It's okay, Jean. It'll be okay. Now go on in and
let me talk to Billy."
I suppose one of the more dreaded expressions I might
hear from my would be, "I'd like to talk to you." I
immediately catastrophize, leaping far into the future,
thinking of what bridge I might live under and if I can
really stay alive selling pencils. If I sank any lower into
the hot tub, my head'd be under water.
walked over to the tub and said, "Well, this caught
us both by surprise, didn't it?"
I made a millisecond eye contact and numbly nodded.
"Billy, we have to talk and there'll never be a better
moment than this. Don't you agree?"
Again, the acquiescing nod, still not meeting her eyes.
"Tell you what...you get dressed - get warm - and we'll
also sit on the back deck. It'll be private."
And then she added with a chuckle, "Unless someone's
sitting in the hot tub."
After donning sweats, I walked the final mile to the
guillotine and waited for Mom. How could things have gone
so wrong, so fast, I wondered as I sat there, remembering
that a short while ago everything had been normal? Or had
it? I suppose not. My addict's mind wanted to think that
nothing was wrong, but the more-normal kid who lived in my
head suggested otherwise.
"For Christ's sake, Billy. You've been trying to get
into Jean's pants for months - your for cripes sake!
And you think that's normal? And then Jean tells and
*she's* gonna think it's normal? Yeah, right."
My impending suicide was thwarted by sitting next
to me and laying her hand on my arm, saying. "Try to calm
down, Billy. It's going to be all right. Believe me."
Do they tell you to be calm before your exiled? Gonna
be all right under the goddamn bridge?
I tried to talk and croaked instead. "Uh...I don't
know what to say...I didn't..."
"Didn't plan this?"
"Plan it? I couldn't have imagined it!" Then I looked
at her and added, "I don't know what to say."
"Try starting with the truth, why don't you?"
"The truth? You KNOW the truth. Jean told you the
truth. It's true, what she said. Except that she took too
much responsibility for what we did. I was the one that was
pushing it all the time."
"Billy, Billy...I'm not sorting out who did what. And
I'm *not* attempting to apportion blame. It's not a blame
thing...at least as far as I understand it. But I need to
know more. That's why we're talking."
I glanced at her. She gave me a soft smile and
squeezed my forearm. I still didn't know what to say so I
did what I did best. I just sat there like a lump.
"Son, I always knew I'd have these personal talks,
these talks about sexuality with Jean and I suppose I
assumed that your dad would do the same with you. I know
now that that's probably an erroneous assumption. Your dad
is very smart and he's well educated and quite articulate,
but as you know, there's an unapproachable emotional side
that shields him from things like this. I'm afraid he'll
never get it together to chat with you. So, like it or not,
you get me."
"Mom, you know I can't talk to dad about things like
this. Cripes, I don't know how I can talk to *you* about
it."
"We'll do okay, Billy. Let's start with general
things. I gather you don't disagree with Jean's story, at
least not in most ways."
I mumbled, "No, I agree...at least mostly."
"Do you have anything to add? Anything that might help
me see things better?"
I was about ready to admit I didn't have a thing more
to say, that there was nothing I could add to the story.
Instead I began talking. "Mom, I can't tell you how much I
care for Jean. I'd do anything for her and I never wanted
to her. Oh, there's a part of me that thinks of sex
all the time - and Jean's a sexy girl, I can't deny that -
but below that, I care for her too much to ever allow myself
to her."
"I know that, Billy. I never doubted that."
"You see, we just became really close, really good
friends. I needed someone to talk to about...about my own
feelings. I knew Jean would never make fun of me and that
when the chips were down, she'd support me. As I would
her."
"I know that, too."
"We talked about it and talked about it. We didn't fit
any mold of how a and oughta be, at least
about sex, but it just happened that way. We thought that
if we always told each other the truth and if we always
cared for each other, we'd be all right"
"Go on, Billy."
"Gee, Mom...the rest is about...you know...sex."
Smiling, she said, "Yes, I'm getting that."
"But, I feel funny. Talking about sex with you, I
mean."
"Billy, you heard me tell Jean that sex is not a dirty
subject. Private, certainly. And at times, very intimate.
It's true that we don't talk about it with just anyone, but
not because it's wrong, or bad or dirty. It's private.
Well, this conversation is private. What you say here will
stay here. No one else will hear what you tell me unless
you tell them. I know kids think that *they* invented sex,
that their got off the sexual boat yesterday...and
mostly that's not the case. At least not with me. I'm a
sexual woman. I was a sexual and not much has changed.
They still do it the same way last I heard."
I could feel my face burning. I didn't look at her and
mumbled, "Yeah, I guess so."
"Guess so, SHIT!"
My head shot up and I turned to look into her flashing
eyes.
"Don't patronize me, Billy...don't be so damn superior.
I don't know everything, but I'll bet a nickel I've seen
more, imagined more and done a darn sight more that you've
ever thought of. I'm an intensely erotic woman and proud of
it! You could do a damn sight worse than talking with me,
dude."
My mouth fell open. I stared at her, astonished, open
eyed. I stuttered.
"So let's start over, shall we? I'll respect you. I
expect no less from you. Okay?"
Finding me tongue, I stumbled over my words. "I'm
sorry Mom. I didn't mean that...I never thought...Cripes, I
don't know what I'm trying to say. But I AM sorry for my
attitude. Forgive me, please?"
"Forgiven. Now let's get down to plain talk. Don't
beat around the bush. Whatever words you'd use with your
buddies, with Jean, you can use with me. Don't give me any
of that penis-vagina crap. Say it like it is, okay?"
Wow. Where did this woman come from anyway? I've
never seen her like this.
How do I talk with her? I mean, how can I turn around a
life-time of behavior?
"Well...okay, I'll try...no...I'll DO it. What were we
talking about anyway. I forgot."
"I think you were trying to tell me that you wanted to
screw your sister."
Gulp. "I hadn't thought to say it in just those
words...but yes, I guess that's about it. But I didn't! We
never did it. Honest!"
Softer, "Yes, I believe you, Billy. You don't have to
convince me. What I'm more interested in is how you support
each other, about how caring you are for each other. I'm
far less concerned about conventional morality than I am
about our capacity to love and care for each other. No
matter what you two have done, if you've done it with
honesty and love, things will be all right. I just don't
want you to sweep it under the rug, that's all. So tell me,
where do you see this going?"
"In the long run? I've no idea, Mom. It's pretty
clear to me, all I can handle, the only thing I can control,
is my actions right now. I've been told over and over to do
the footwork and let go of the outcome, that there's no way
I can control the outcome of anything. So, I've no idea
where this is all going. But I do know this. I *can*
control who I am and what I do today."
"And what does that mean to you? In terms of you and
Jean?"
"Well, it means that I can show up each day and tell
the truth. That I can think of Jean's welfare more than I
think of my own. That I can be a today. Or at least
try to be."
"You know, kid, I think you may have a chance. A
chance in life that is. It may surprise you, but I've been
watching you a long time and I think you're a good guy at
heart. More, you're a good guy in your actions. So, tell
me, how do you see yourself...no, how do you FEEL about
yourself and your sexuality"
We'd been talking just long enough for the terror of
the moment to have abated in me. My mouth wasn't as dry and
I could breathe in and out, even unconsciously. I'd slipped
into that place where I wasn't considering what I was
saying. I was just letting it happen. Of course, had I
seen this, I'd have frozen.
"Mom, I know I've never received any judgmental stances
from you or from Dad. You never told me - us - that sex was
bad or a moral thing. Yet, I've received that message
repeatedly from lots of other places. You know...school, TV,
and especially church...places like that. I've never
attempted to weigh you against them, but I suppose I *have*
been influenced by those messages, those shalt nots."
"Yeah, it's impossible not to hear them. They're there
and on all levels. You okay with it now or are there still
demons to be reckoned with?"
"Mostly I think I'm okay. At least, I'm not aware of
any really deep issues. I suppose there are the
superficial, social-shame issues. You know, the fear of
ridicule or rejection if I break social taboos. I'd be
red-faced if I left my fly open, but I wouldn't be
emotionally crushed and wouldn't think I was a bad or evil
person."
"Boy, your mind floats away, doesn't it? At times,
you're so darn cerebral, Billy. Let me ask this. How do
you feel when you spring a woody around Jean? Or when you
have a wet dream?"
"It's still difficult to forget you're my mother. I
keep forming phrases in my mind that I hope won't be too
offensive. I'll try to be real, Mom. How do I feel about a
woody? When it's Jean? At first I was embarrassed. Then I
came to accept it. More, to enjoy it. I began to look
forward to the sexy feelings I'd get around Jean. I was
always trying to look up her dress or catch a glimpse of her
breasts...uh, tits."
"Sounds pretty normal to me."
"Anyway, whatever it is, I was stuck with it. Jean
told you. We sorta drifted into being more open and even a
little sexual with each other. I felt wonderful. For the
first time in my life I could be honest with another person
about my sexual feelings. I loved it."
"And you wanted to jump her bones?"
"Yeah. Something like that. I admitted to her right
away that I wanted to...you know."
"Fuck her?"
"I think that's the expression I used, yes."
"And she didn't want to?"
"No. She wanted to. And I wanted to. But both of us
were scared. She more than me. I told her that I supported
her all the way, but that I was so terminally horny, that if
she ever gave in, I'd give in. It was kinda a threat, huh?"
"Or a promise."
"Hmmmm, hadn't thought of it that way. Whatever. We've
played bathroom games. I love watching her. I know she
told you. We've had oral sex - once for her and once for
me. And, oh yes, we dry humped once in the grass on the
hill above the house. We both seem to enjoy the thrill of
seduction, of almost doing it. That make sense?"
"Billy, you don't have to tell me every little detail,
although I must admit that I enjoy hearing about it. Brings
back memories. Really what I wanted to do is gauge how open
and honest you kids were with each other. To get an idea if
you might yourselves or each other."
"And what do you think, Mom? We a danger?"
Laughing, "Probably are, but I must say, you're both
psychologically more healthy than most adults I know.
Certainly better adjusted that I was at your age. I'm
impressed with you. Still, I'm concerned for both of you.
This is dangerous stuff. You know that, don't you?"
"Intellectually I do, but emotionally somehow I think
I'm okay. I'm not trying to argue with you. Just trying to
tell you how I feel."
"Yeah, I can see that. So what I'm going to do for the
moment is nothing. I still think there's the potential for
harm here, but I'm not going to fall back on some
shame-based sanctions. I love you two and I trust you.
Trust that you'll try to act honorably. But please
understand, I'm not telling you that everything's all right,
that there's no problem, no worry. What I am telling you is
that I understand what you're feeling and what you're
facing. I want you to continue to show caring respect for
Jean, and she for you. I know you have no control over you
sexual feelings. They're just there."
She put her hand on my arm, I guess for emphasis.
"Around me, you two can be yourselves. You don't have
to hide your affection. My Jim is cool. I'll talk
to him. He'll understand. It's your dad I'm less certain
about. So prudent judgment would suggest that you stay
underground around him, at least about the sexual stuff
between you and Jean. Okay?"
I sat there, more dazed than not. I couldn't believe
how we'd gone from some place of utter fear to rational
communication. About sex. With my Mom!
"Mom, right now I'm so confused. It's clear, I need
help. I'll do whatever you tell me to do. I'll do it your
way."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, guy. How about a
compromise? Let's do it *our* way. And for that to happen,
we've got to keep avenues of communication open. You've got
to be able to talk to me and I've got to be able to talk to
you, each of us without apprehension. This can't be the last
talk we have on the subject. Do you agree with that?"
"Agreed, but I know if I wait until the moment *seems*
right, I may wait forever. Let's make a date. Right now,
for later. Tomorrow say? Even if it's just a brief check
in, I'll feel better if I know I have a date to talk with
you...about sex. Okay?"
"Boy, a date with my son!"
"I'm not gonna bring flowers or anything."
Chapter 18 The Trip to Little Cayman
The had started in the main cabin and the
American transcontinental flight from San Francisco to Miami
had quieted for the first time since Jean and I had boarded.
Quite often when we'd traveled with our parents, and
particularly with our status-conscious father, we had flown
first class, but this time we were paying for the trip from
our own meager savings and we were firmly planted in the
main cabin. Had there been a steerage class, we might have
been there, so strained was our budget.
Jean and I were on our way to Little Cayman, south of
Cuba, for a week of SCUBA diving. We'd been to The Wall at
Cayman before with and Dad and as with most kids, we'd
paid no attention to the cost of anything. This time, our
had given us permission to go there alone, but only
if we paid our own way. Something about 'the value of the
dollar.' Boy, was that an education!
I was idly looking out the window, seeing nothing, and
Jean was sitting next to me. An guy with a paunch and
earphones on was quietly snoring next to her. Glancing
around, most of the passengers were either sleeping or
caught up in the adventures of Mel Gibson. It seemed like a
safe time to talk. I put back the arm rest between us and
leaned over to Jean.
"Are you surprised let us go?" I asked.
"Together, on this trip? Because of our talk you
mean?"
"Yeah, that," I said.
In a moment of mindless unburdening, Jean had confessed
to our that we'd been fooling around with each other,
but we hadn't 'gone all the way.' Cripes, our secret was
out! I thought the jig was up, but I'd underestimated our
mother.
Subsequently, she cornered me. What could I do? Partly
in fear and partly because I didn't know how to lie well, I
told her the truth, expecting the world to fall in on me.
'Your own SISTER?' Yet, she hadn't gone ballistic.
Actually, she remained warm and loving, reminding me of my
responsibility to Jean and to myself and not threatening us.
Oh, we'd spoken of the potential consequences of our acts
and the need to be mindful of our actions. But she never
once said, 'Don't do that.'"
"Not really," Jean said after a pause. "I mean, she
does trust us."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, we've been truthful with her...about us, I mean.
And she's always been out front with us. She as much as
told me that she can't really *make* us do anything...that
we'll do whatever it is we're going to do, no matter what.
And she trusts that we'll be responsible." After a pause,
she added, "Mom's always been good at that - making us
responsible for our actions, I mean."
"Yeah, I know that. At least intellectually. But
emotionally, I'm still a bit surprised. I guess I thought
we'd get grounded, say for the next ten years or so."
"Wanna hear another shocker? Try this one on for size.
insisted that I start taking The Pill. 'Not that I
think you're going to do anything for sure, but you never
know, she said.'"
"You're on The Pill?" I asked, excited.
"I just said..."
"Then you couldn't get pregnant if we..."
"Billy! We're not going to DO anything! How many
times do I have to tell you that? This was Mom's idea, not
mine. And in any case, it's not for YOU!" Her tone was
uncharacteristically sharp.
I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Okay, okay. I
get it. Don't get mad."
Jean turned to stare at me, her eyes blazing and then
she softened. "I'm not mad. Not really. I just don't want
you to take me for granted, that's all."
The attendant offered each of us a blanket. We
accepted and Jean spread her's over her lap before
continuing. "When I asked if we could go on this
vacation together, she never mentioned 'our situation.' She
never said we shouldn't be together or that we
shouldn't...well, you know."
"Make love?"
She glanced sharply at me. "Anyway, I told her we
wouldn't. She shouldn't worry, I said."
"What's that got to do with me taking you for granted?"
I asked.
"Oh, I don't know!" She sounded a little exasperated.
"Just don't!"
"Can I have your peanuts?"
I watched the corners of her mouth twitch, trying not
to smile. She recognized my paper-thin ploy to distract her,
to change the subject.
Handing me the small bag of peanuts, she said, "You owe
me."
"For the peanuts?"
"No, you jerk. For talking and Dad into letting us
take this trip alone."
"Whatever your price, it's a bargain," I replied,
settling back in my seat.
Still, I thought it seemed a little unreal, almost too
good to be true. It just didn't fit my concept of how
things worked. After we'd confessed to our sexual
desires, it didn't fit my preconceived notion of the usual
parental response. But then Mom's responses often didn't.
I couldn't remember how many times I'd screwed up, expecting
to catch hell, only to have her give me one of her calm
talks. Inevitably, I'd end up taking more responsibility
for my stuff than I wanted to. Didn't she know? I just
wanted to be totally irresponsible and do the things I
wanted to do and when I wanted to do 'em. That was usually
right NOW.
I suppose our taking this vacation together wasn't all
that much different from the times we'd spent home alone
together, I reasoned. Yet, the sex addict in me wanted to
put some other spin on it. Like we'd been given permission
or something.
I looked over at Jean. She had her seat back partially
reclined and was quietly resting, eyes closed. I watched
the rise and fall of her bulky sweatshirt. To be truthful,
I was really watching the rise and fall of her breasts,
seeing them in my mind's eye, full and heavy, yet
extraordinarily firm. Jean had told me that the women in
our all were blessed with firm, youthful breasts. I
could only speak for Jean, a peek once or twice at and
oh yes, our Aunt Peg in the hot tub. Yeah, they'd all have
been picked out of titty line-up as being related.
Unconsciously, I made it my business to check out Jean.
From long practice, I'd come to accurately recognize when
she was wearing a bra, as she was today. It wasn't that her
sagged or anything obvious like that. It was more I
think that her bra pushed the sides in a little, maybe so
they didn't get in the way? But more I noticed subdued
movement. She was missing that subtle sway when she walked.
As we were carrying our shoulder bags toward the departure
gate today, she'd caught me checking her out. She flushed,
smiled and then nodded in silent confirmation at my unasked
question. Jean had once admitted that she was pleased that
I always checked her out. I thrived on small encouragements
like that.
Just a bit later, a in a micro skirt dropped
something in front of us and as she bent over at the waist,
I saw a flash of red. Jean nudged me and smiled.
panties. Were they thongs I wondered? And why red? Had her
boyfriend instructed her in how to dress when she met him at
the airport? That and no bra, I'll bet. My imagination ran
on. He'd told her to trim her pubic hair, rouge her nipples
and leave the top buttons open. Man, I was just getting
warmed up!
"Billy, come on back!"
"Uh...yes...my mind wandered for a moment." I said
sheepishly.
She smiled and said in a low voice, "The whole airport
could see that."
The trip to Miami was best described at tedious and we
arrived almost on schedule. Between planes, we called home
and left a message that everything was going all right.
Jean bought a few post cards and I mostly looked at the
dark-skinned, good-looking gliding and swaying about
the airport. I loved the colors of all the people. Even
the airport colors looked like something out of a Program
about Miami. Watching one particularly exotic jiggle
past me - I imagined from Havana - I had an image of
dusky-skinned teenage rolling large cigars on nubile
firm thighs. I didn't know if they did it that way, but I
liked the image.
Jean nudged me in the ribs and whispered in my ear,
"Lookit the ass on THAT one!" It was one of those
small-waisted, firm-cheeked honeys that wore jeans so tight,
it defied understanding. I mean, how in hell they get 'em
on, anyway?
I turned and smiled at her, making a brief salivating
look.
"Down, boy," she advised.
"If I could WILL it down, my life would be simpler."
"If you could only will it UP..." she countered, then
looked away, blushing.
"It'd always be up...at least around you." I finished
in a slightly louder voice.
"You!" She pretended mock indignation.
The Cayman Air flight took off on schedule, an unusual
occurrence, I thought. The relatively brief flight over
Cuba and down to the Caymans was uneventful, the very best
type of trip. When we landed in Grand Cayman, the air was
sweet and warm and the people friendly and colorful, but
still, we thought of the tourist part of that Caribbean
island much as we thought of Miami Beach, which is to say,
not very much. We were anxious to move on to a more remote,
less developed part of the islands.
From past experience, we reserved some trepidation for
the connecting flight from Grand Cayman to Cayman Brac and
the short jump to Little Cayman. We remembered it as a
chancy and casually run affair. An unusually tall, former
horse-transportation aircraft converted for human use served
as the Mexican bus equivalent of the local island shuttle.
Well, kinda converted as we remembered and our memory served
us well. I looked around large, stall-like interior of that
curious plane, half expecting to see an old, dried-up
turd kicked into a dusty corner but the only thing I saw was
a crushed Coke can and some candy wrappers.
After landing on Little Cayman, almost a grass strip
carved out of the jungle, we taxied to the terminal. That's
an overstated name for the small wooden shack sitting next
to a weedy graveled area. With only twenty- some permanent
inhabitants on the island, there'd be no taxi cabs, but I
needn't have worried. A moderately rusted and beat-up
pickup that belonged to Pirate's Pub was there to meet us.
Surprisingly, all our gear made it through the multiple
plane changes. As surprisingly, Jean traveled almost as
light as I did, in marked contrast to our aunt or our
mother. "Casual clothes, that's all I packed," Jean assured
me. Even without tanks and weight belts, the rest of the
gear was heavy, bulky and clumsy. That was the price, we'd
been taught, for the safety of taking your own gear on a
dive trip. I was pleased when several standing around
swarmed over our gear and loaded it into the truck and it
appeared they were pleased with the tip.
Pirate's Pub was run by a delightful, robust,
full-of-life lady from Texas named Gladys Howorth. She'd
studied in several internationally known culinary institutes
and her meals at Pirate's Pub were justifiably famous.
Still, for all of that, I'd not have traveled so far just
for the atmosphere and her cooking alone. It was the Wall I
was after. I've heard that there are three premiere dive
spots in the world, at least for wall diving. There's the
Sea for one, then parts of the Great Barrier Reef were
highly ranked and finally, in our hemisphere, there's the
Wall off Little Cayman.
I read that the Wall dropped off into the depths,
falling 6,000 feet straight down. That was academic, of
course, but what made it so fantastic was the
impossible-blue water there with constant 100 feet plus
viability. That together with the rich and varied marine
life in and around the pockets and caves on the Wall made
for some of the most spectacular diving anywhere. Happily,
there was no drift current as in Cozumel, so you could hang
out anywhere without having to work against the drift. If
the Dive Master became confidant of your abilities, you
could dive alone with your buddy and return to the boat when
you were ready. Rarely did we have dive groups larger than
six to eight people and often, there'd be as little as four.
We'd been to the Caymans a couple of times before with
our and friends. Jean was a strong swimmer and a
naturally talented diver. We'd been diving buddies for years
and were very comfortable with each other's abilities. We
just floated around effortlessly using so little air, often
we were in the water for fifteen or twenty minutes after
other folks had depleted their tanks' air supply.
"Think Margi's still here?" Jean asked on the ride
through the jungle. She'd had taken off her sweatshirt and
was down to a skimpy sleeveless T- shirt. My arm was over
her shoulder and I had a good view of the top of her white
bra as well as a good portion of her cleavage. It never
ceased to thrill me.
Margi? Margi had been a small, very attractive female
Dive Master who came from Colorado. We'd met her last year.
I'd developed a crush on her then but aside from recognizing
me as an experienced diver, I don't think she even know I
was alive. She was a couple of years than Jean, and
that put me out of the running. Some good-looking 'older
guy' had monopolized much of her time when we had been there
the previous year. No, I hadn't forgotten Margi.
"I hope so, but doubt it. They've had a new Dive Master
every time we've been here. They're such a bunch of
gypsies."
"Would you like to *see* her again?" she asked,
grinning at me. We both remembered the time Margi had been
helping a sea-sick diver into the boat and couldn't tend to
a broken bikini bra strap. I couldn't see the diver, just
Margi's full breast. I remembered how tan she was, except
her which was startlingly white. Mostly, I
remembered her nipple. It had been very large, and
meaty, jutting out from her pebbled areola.
I whispered in her ear, "Remember her nipple?" I may
have been talking about Margi's breast, but it was Jean's I
was eyeing as I peered down her shirt.
"I KNEW that's what your were thinking, you hound dog!"
Jean loved to play the innocent, obliquely referring to
something sexy and then pretending moral outrage. We knew
the game well.
When we arrived at Pirate's Pub, the efficient crew had
us moved into our room in a jiffy. We'd asked for two
adjoining rooms, but knew we'd take whatever was available.
I was tickled when Gladys put us in a single large room with
two double beds. Our quarters was one half of an octagonal
building in the palm trees quite near the beach. I
remembered how soothing the waves and the night sounds were
there.
"Well, babes, it looks like we're stuck together.
Mind?"
"Of course not, but don't get any ideas," she replied,
not looking at me as she swung her luggage onto the bed.
"Jean, ideas are all I have." I protested, opening my
large carry-on bag. Filling the drawers and sorting out
gear, I added, "You don't think I can really stop
*thinking*, do you?"
Jean held up some brief, sheer I'd never seen
before, and studied them for a moment. "It's not your
*thinking* that concerns me, big guy."
"Where'd you get those?"
"Victoria's Secret. And you know what I'm talking
about."
"Hot!" I paused and then continued, "And no, I don't
know what you're talking about. Sex, sure. And us. But
what about it? I thought we had a deal?"
A little while back we'd agreed to explore our
sexuality, out of the closet as it were, just as long we
honored each other's limits. That of course meant mostly me
respecting her limits. I'm not sure I had any. At least I
hadn't bumped into them yet.
Jean stopped unpacking and just looked out the screened
window at the filtered light reflected off the water.
Periods of silence were common between us and I didn't pay
any attention until I saw her shoulders shake. When I walked
in front of her I saw her eyes were screwed tight and a
couple of tears were running down her cheeks.
When my shadow crossed her face, she opened her blue
eyes that were shiny wet and just looked at me as she
brought her fingers up to her face. I gathered her into my
arms and held her without speaking. She sobbed silently for
a few minutes and then put her arms about my neck burying
her head below my ear. I ran a hand up and down her back,
softly kissing her hair and making crooning sounds.
"I'm sorry, Billy. I know I'm being such a bitch. You
don't deserve that. Thanks for your patience with me." She
hiccuped and then laughed. "And yes, we *do* have a deal.
That hasn't changed. Tell you what, I'm a little bit scared
and my period's about to start. I always get a little
'touchy' for a day or two this time of the month. God, I
*hate* to think I'm a PMS-er! Can you put up with me?"
I almost asked her what my choices were, but held off,
thinking she didn't need any of my sophomoric humor.
Instead, I continued to hold her close and said, "Jean,
there's not a serious problem on the horizon. Think about
it. We're alive and well, we're together, and this is the
first day of a to-die-for vacation. I love you...you know
that, but I want to say it anyway. There's no agenda. We
can dive or not dive. Sleep or not sleep. Wanna be with me?
Cool. Wanna be alone a little, that's cool too."
"Oh, Billy! I don't what to be alone! What ever I
say... however I act, I came here to be with you. Don't
leave me, promise? I'm sorry I've been a shrew, but I'm
feeling better already. Maybe I just had to let the
bitchiness out, huh?"
Nodding, I said, "All I really know is how I feel and
that works for me, babe. The letting it out, I mean. If I
carry it around, stuffed, not letting go of it...well, it
just festers. I can maybe hide it for a little while, but
it'll erupt if I don't own it. Know what I mean?"
She nuzzled my neck before letting me go and then
spinning around, she said something like, "Whew...I feel so
much better. Thanks, Billy."
I sat on her bed and picked up a pair of her lacy
panties. Holding them up to the light - I could almost see
through them - I commented, "This is how all this started,
what, a couple of years ago?"
Jean gave me a particularly wicked smile and said,
"They're the *clean* ones. I'm *wearing* the ones *you*
want, you perv."
I was pleased to have the Jean back and told her so
on the way to the main house to register and see if we could
get a late snack. Gladys keeps an open bar for her guests
and while we didn't drink much on a dive vacation, we
stopped by to see who was there.
"Why, it's the two porpoises," sang out a woman's voice
from back of the bar. "Welcome back," yelled Margi, loud
enough for everyone to hear. As often follows a loud noise,
it suddenly became quiet and I was aware of the curious
stares of several people.
Margi typically didn't wait for a reply. She ran on,
"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Billy and Jean, two of the
nicest people, first rate divers and if anyone needs help
and I'm not around, ask either of them."
Margi rounded the bar and ran into my arms for a bear
hug. As usual, she was wearing a pair of shorts and a loose
T-shirt sans bra. I wondered if she even owned a bra?
I asked her, "Do we get paid for that?"
"What's your price?" she whispered in my ear.
"You and me to go diving alone some time this week." I
returned in a similar whisper.
"Did he ask you to go diving alone with him?" Jean sang
out in a voice not heard by more than half the room. "He
was hoping you'd be here, Margi."
Margi smiled at me and with a broad wink said, "That
right, big boy?"
Before I knew it, Margi took Jean aside and they
immediately fell into a heads-together conversation. Their
body language suggested I talk with someone else so I
introduced myself to a bearded bear of a who was sipping
a drink and chatting with a sun-bleached, tan woman I
guessed in her thirties.
"Hi. I'm Ian and this's Jan." Turning to her, he
added, "Sorry Jan, I don't know your last name."
She extended her hand to me and gave me a dazzling
smile. "Jan'll do. Margi told us today that you and Jean
were expected. She thinks highly of both of you and your
wife."
I laughed. "Jean's my sister."
Ian added, "Yes, there's a strong resemblance in your
eyes and mouth. You've much the same facial bone structure."
"That may be, but I don't see it. All I see are the
differences."
We looked over at Jean and Margi. Jean was sitting
back in her chair and her skimpy T-shirt hugged her
and prominent nipples.
"Yes, there *are* some differences," observed Ian as he
looked at Jan and me with something approaching a leer.
"Ian doesn't miss much it would appear," said Jan with
a wry smile.
Neither do I, I thought as I ran my eyes over her
front.
"And neither do you," Jan added.
I held my hand palms up and looked up to heaven for
support. "Busted," I said.
We chatted for a few minutes until Jean returned and
said, "Billy, we're all checked in and I've got us some
snacks. I'm really beat. Think I'll go back to our room and
nibble before crashing. You?"
"I'm tired too. I'll go with you." Turning back to
Jan and Ian, I said good-night and, "See you in the
morning."
Walking back through the palm trees I could hear the
electric generator chugging away in the distance. I'd
forgotten how isolated this place was. I wrapped my arm
around Jean's shoulder and asked, "What were you and Margi
talking about with such intensity?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Her smile underscored her
teasing, yet there was again a faint edge to her voice. I
fell silent, oddly put off a little.
Just before entering our room, Jean stopped and asked,
"Well, wouldn't you?"
"Like to know?"
"Yes, I thought you be dying to know what Margi said."
"Yeah, I suppose I am, but to tell the truth, I'm
feeling a little disconnected. You're my best friend and
I'm picking up strange energy from you. I'm so used to
being on the same wavelength, I don't know how to behave
when we're not." I paused and then went on, "Shit! I don't
know. Maybe it's me. Do you think it's me? 'My being a
jerk?"
I'd learned that no matter what the other guy said or
did, anytime I was upset, it was axiomatic that something
was wrong with me, that I had a part in it somewhere.
Usually it meant I wasn't accepting life on life's terms.
Things weren't going my way and I was being petulant.
"You're right, Billy. Things *are* off kilter a
little. I feel it too. You know what I think it is?"
"No, I don't guess I do," I answered, a bit more
interested, for Jean's ideas were often right on.
"Think about it. Here we are, together...actually,
sleeping in the same room...with all this history behind
us...that moth and the flame history. We've been flirting
with each other forever it seems. knows. And we know
that she knows. I'm on the pill. Cripes, Billy! I'm scared
witless. I think you are too and that's what's wrong with
us. That's the tension we're feeling, don't you think?"
"It's certainly true that despite my resolve not to
have expectations, they creep into my mind. You know, I've
told you about the sex addict guy that lives in my head?
Well, he's up there having a field day while the good guy,
the rational guy is frightened. Wanna call a time out?"
"Good idea! always told us we could start our day
over anytime we liked. Let's start our vacation over,
okay?"
"Deal! And Doctor Billy prescribes a good night's
rest, starting right now."
She gave me a high five and we walked into our room.
Without lights, we turned down the beds and I went into the
john to take a leak. When I came out, I could see Jean's
shadow in bed. I wanted to hug her good-night, but was
still feeling a little tender and, afraid of rejection, I
slipped into my own bed. "'Night, Jean."
"I can't believe you're not curious about what Margi
said about you." Jean provoked me, assuring my night's
sleep.
"About me? Did you talk about me?"
"Well, I didn't get to say much. Mostly Margi talked.
I did tell her that we didn't have secrets from each other
and suggested that she not tell me things she didn't want
you to hear, but she said, 'Oh, what the hell,' or something
like that."
"Jean! You're gonna drive me batty at this rate."
"Well, she's definitely interested in you."
"Yeah, right. Last year I couldn't get her attention.
She was always hanging around with that other guy."
"You mean he was hanging around her! Oh, she was aware
of you all right, but because you're younger and a guest,
she was afraid to let you know."
"Let me know what, for cryin' out loud?"
"That she was...uh, interested in you."
"I admit it. I'm dumb. What does 'interested' mean?"
"Maybe this'll help, my stud-muffin brother. She asked
me if you were a virgin."
"Oh Jesus! You didn't tell her, did you?"
"You bet I did. are worse than when they
think they're getting someone, some guy, for the first
time."
"And you think she's gonna get me?"
"Only if you're willing, big boy...only if you're
willing."
"And, making believe all of this is true - which I
doubt - how do *you* feel about this?"
"I'm jealous. I'm thrilled too, but I'm really
jealous."
God, I'd *never* understand women!
"Jean, part of me is pleased. That you're jealous...I
mean, that you care that much. And another part is asking,
about WHAT?"
"Don't ask me to explain this, Billy. I don't
understand it either. I guess I'm jealous that you're
interested in her...that's part of it. But more, I'm
jealous that she can do things with you and I can't."
"Do things? Like in..."
"Yes! Like in!"
Jean fluffed up her pillow and then slammed it down,
turning away from me. In the dim light, I could see the
sheet had pulled up and exposed her tan back side and the
her white panties. Or were those panties? No, that was
Jean's pale ass I was staring at. She was naked as a jay.
I'd worn my briefs to bed, more out of propriety. Or
was it embarrassment? I never wore underwear to bed and
suddenly I was aware of my hardness, bent in my shorts. I
pulled them off slowly and dropped them by the side of the
bed.
I spoke at her back in a low voice, "I've been trying
to get into your pants for half my life it seems. You're
the sexiest woman in the world to me. I'd do anything for
you and you're jealous of some woman who's than you
even, who asked a few questions about me. Talk about
driving beyond your headlights!"
She flounced back, facing me. Darn, now I couldn't
look at her butt. "Oh no I'm not! Women *know* these
things. She's hot for you. She's already asked if we could
get together tomorrow night." And then she mimicked Margi's
deeper voice, '. . . so we can get to know each other
better.' I know what she wants to get to know better!"
My dick, I hoped. I saw no inconsistencies in that. I
knew I loved Jean and was terminally hot for her, but my
dick was interested in every good looking on the
horizon. That had nothing to do with love or anything like
that. This was all about my desire to penetrate some girl's
soft, wet and itchy pussy. Fuckin' in other words.
"That might be nice. Do you wanna?" I asked.
"Heck yes, I 'wanna'," she replied, now mimicking me.
"I like Margi too. She's fun and outrageous - braver than
me and I know we'll enjoy her. But I'm still a little
jealous. Don't worry, it won't stop me from having a good
time."
Then, turning away again, she concluded, "Now go to
sleep, won't you? I'm completely worn out and I'll get
cranky if I don't get a night's rest."
The muted washing of waves on the beach drifted through
the palms and I could hear the soft night sounds as I lay
back, hands behind my head, looking at the ceiling fan
slowly turning. Where was this going?
The only thing I knew with certainty was that it wasn't
going the way I had dreamed it up. But then, things rarely
did. The upside of that disappointment was grounded in the
reality that when things didn't turn out the way I wanted
them, what I got was far better than what I wanted.
Grasping my hard-on through the sheet, I fell asleep.
Chapter 19 Margi
Whatever tension there had been the previous day
between Jean and me was quickly dissipated in a day of
glorious diving on the Wall at Little Cayman. Our group was
uncharacteristically small. Margi, of course was our Dive
Master. Ian and Jan joined us and that was it, just us five
while Gladys' other guests choose to take the day off.
Margi said she'd like to dive with us and asked if we
might stay well within a safe profile, for she wanted Ian
and Jan to stay closer to her. My selfish desire to not be
encumbered with less experienced divers was far outweighed
by the fun of having Margi along to point out those
fascinating sights visible only to the knowledgeable. By
the end of the day, we returned in high spirits, laughing
and affectionately kidding each other.
"God! Don't you two BREATHE down there?" Jan asked on
the trip back.
Jean answered, "Sure we do, but not as often I guess."
Jan protested, "I don't see how you do it. I get a
little short of breath just with the excitement of it all.
And then there's the work of the sport..."
"If you're *working* at it, you're not doing it right.
It can be almost effortless and if you're not working hard,
then you're not using up a lot of air."
They fell into a conversation with Jean explaining that
they both carried far too much weight. Soon their
conversation had become a distant buzz. I'd tuned out.
A hand touched my shoulder and I turned to smile at
Margi.
"How's it feel to be back, Billy?"
"I can't tell you how alive I feel. It's somewhere
between wonderful and unbelievable"
"Jean told me that you thought I was a snot."
I was embarrassed. "Well, 'snot' wasn't exactly the
expression."
"Stuck up? Indifferent?"
I couldn't see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but that
she might see me better, I lifted my glasses as I spoke to
her. "First, I'm sorry. I apologize. I had no right to
expect anything special. You've always been friendly and
fair with me."
Margi reached out and touched my arm. "No, no...please
don't think of this as a complaint or a confrontation. It's
just that I want us to be friends and I don't wanna appear
stuck-up."
I still had a lot of questions about her last year's
behavior, but in the spirit of cooperation, I extended my
hand and said, "Let's do be friends." I wondered if I
sounded as stiff as I felt?
She ignored my hand and grabbed me behind the neck,
pulling us together for a quick kiss on the lips. "It's a
deal."
A deal? Now I had a deal with two women, I thought to
myself, but certainly different deals. The earlier deal
with Jean had to do with sexuality. This one with Margi had
to do only with being friends... or so I thought.
Back at Pirate's Pub as we were washing our gear, Margi
proposed getting together that night after dinner to listen
to a few new CD's she had recently purchased. "I know
you've heard "Enigma" but I've only caught a few cuts on the
radio back home. I'd love to hear all of it with you two
guys."
I'd been thinking how Jean and I might spend a little
time together but when she replied to Margi with warm
enthusiasm, I put that expectation aside for the moment.
And if I was entertaining any remote hopes of getting to
know Margi better - you know, as in making out - it'd have
to be another day. Oh well. <sigh>
Sure enough, right after an extraordinary meal from
Gladys, Margi came over to our table and said, "We still
on?"
Jean glanced at me and then without waiting, said, "You
bet! I'm looking forward to it. Aren't you, Billy?"
"Sure am," I replied with all the confidence of a
who has no idea just what he's looking forward to. If
nothing else, I was willing to let things unfold without my
direction.
"Cool! I'll get some CD's from my room and come right
over to yours, okay?"
"See you there," Jean called to Margi's retreating
back, then turned to me and asked, "Ready?"
"Uh...I'm ready to go *back*. Is there somethin' else
I should be ready for?"
Jean gave me a funny smile and said, "What do you
mean?"
"Nothin' I guess," I answered, getting up from the
table, still with the faint notion that there was something
I was missing. But then, that wasn't a new feeling. There
were times when I thought that if an instruction book had
been passed out on 'How to do Life,' I'd missed it.
It'd cooled off a little after sunset but the
oscillating fans still created a downdraft of sweet, cooling
air and I sprawled out under one, arms out thrown.
"I'm going to take another shower," said Jean. "If
Margi gets here before I'm done, entertain her, okay?"
I could hear her humming some tune in the bathroom
through the open door. A moment later, her clothes came
flying out the doorway, piece by piece, landing in a
disordered heap by her bed, last and on top of the
pile.
If I got up and peered around the corner, I'd likely
catch her nude, I thought and then smiled to myself. We'd
grown increasingly casual about dressing and undressing in
front of each other, but I still thought in terms of trying
to peek at her. There seemed to be something naughty and
delicious about peeking. If I called her, she'd probably
walk out nude, but it just wouldn't be the same. Maybe I
needed to get away with something. I was pondering that when
I heard Margi's voice outside the screen.
"Hi, Billy. Can I come in?"
"Sure, come on in, but I'm not dressed for company." I
suppose I offered that as an excuse for wearing nothing more
than the shorts I'd left on.
"You naked?" she asked with a little excitement in her
voice.
"Nope. Got shorts on."
"Darn," she said as she walked through the door.
"Thought I'd get even for you gawking at my last
year."
"Margi, if it'd be an acceptable exchange - my being
naked for the chance to look at your - why I'll take
'em off right now!"
She laughed but didn't reply to that. Instead, she
asked, "Where's Jean?"
I cocked my head toward the bathroom door and almost on
cue, the shower started. "She's freshening up."
"I think it's really neat that you are so open and
comfortable with each other that you share a room this way.
I wish I had a like you."
Gesturing toward the pile of discarded clothes on the
floor, I said, "Jean's not exactly a neat freak as you can
see."
"Wait'll you see my room," Margi replied, rolling her
eyes.
I caught that she didn't say, 'If you could see my
room.'
"Let me ask you something, Billy. I mean, it's kinda
personal. You mind?"
I shrugged. "Don't know. Guess you'll have to ask and
find out. If it is, I'll tell you, okay?"
"Well, it's like this. I'm a and I'm aware of
what do, especially around other girls. Good lookin'
girls, I mean."
I nodded. So far, I understood the words by not the
direction. "Yeah?"
She wasn't making eye contact with me and I thought her
cheeks were a bit pink. Was she embarrassed about
something?
"Uh...yeah. It's like they're always, uh...checkin'
'em out, you know?"
I shook my head to indicate that I didn't know.
"YOU know," she protested, "Like they're always looking
at their figures and all."
"So? I do that all the time."
"But your sister?"
"Why not?" I asked. "Don't you think she's good
lookin'? I sure do."
"Well...sure...but...I mean, doesn't it sometimes
bother you that she's so good lookin' and you two are so
close and all?"
"Margi, you think I'm or somethin'?"
"God, NO!" she almost shouted and then blushing, added
in a quieter voice, "No, not you. That's not what I mean.
I mean, you're all guy and she's a...a really sexy and
all. Don't that bother you?"
I was beginning to catch her drift. "I think I see
where you're going with this. You're wondering how I can
travel with Jean and be so physically close to her and not
be...excited? As that it?"
Nodding, she answered, "Yeah, somethin' like that."
In an unusual and unbidden action, I walked over and
picked up Jean's from the pile of clothes and held
them to my face a moment before chucking them into her lap.
"Things like this you mean?"
Margi gasped, literally gasped and stared at me with
round yes.
Jean's voice sang out from the bathroom over the sound
of the shower, "Margi, he trying to embarrass you with my
panties?" She laughed. Margi was holding Jean's and
looked confused.
Jean continued, "He did that with me a few years ago.
Don't let him get to you."
I jacked my thumb toward the bathroom and rolled my
eyes, then I said, "We tease each other a lot."
Holding up the panties, Margi asked, "Like this?"
"The first time he did it, he held them up to his nose
and smelled them!" Jean stood in the bathroom door, a towel
wrapped around her body and one on her head, her face shiny
and beaded with water as she smiled at us.
"Smelled them?" Margi asked, eyes wide with
astonishment. Then turning to me, she asked, "Did you
really?"
By this time my face was burning. Jean and I were
frank with each other and save our little talk with Mom,
we'd not come out of the closet about our mutual attraction
to each other. Where was Jean going with this?
Attempting to put on a bold face, I said, "Yes.
Really. I guess it's the pheromones."
"Fero...?"
Jean chimed in, "The scent of a woman's sex that
appeals to a man, that turns him on. You know, Margi.
You've smelled yourself, I'm sure."
By this time, Margi was as as I was and with Jean's
accusation that *she* had a sexy odor, she began to fidget,
looking back and forth between us and then at the
she still held, perhaps wondering how's she'd get out of
this. She was probably used to hitting on her, perhaps
even girls, but she hadn't ever encountered a situation
quite like this, I was sure.
"No...well...sure, doesn't everyone...but who...I mean
yuck, who *wants* to smell *that*?"
"Billy does," Jean offered, sitting on the bed and
drying her hair. With her arms up, the tops of her
were pulled out of the towel a tantalizing bit. I watched,
fascinated, wondering what the hell kept the towel up
anyway?
Margi looked at me as if to ask again, really?
"Sure he does. Most do, don't they Billy?"
Jean was dragging me into this loaded conversation,
like it or not.
"I can't talk for 'most guys,' but it's true. There's
something powerfully attractive about the feminine odor.
More than attractive, it's exciting. Maybe I'm a perv. I
don't give a shit. I love it." I finished that declaration
in a rush.
"I don't know...I mean, I was always so embarrassed..."
Margi started.
"Yeah, me too," Jean piped in, "but my muffin
here gave me a different view of it."
I was watching the towel slip by millimeters, hopefully
waiting and not certain whether to be proud or embarrassed
by Jean's disclosure.
"*That's* what we were talkin' about," Margi jumped in,
"I never knew anybody like you two...I mean...brother and
sister... and so close. You know?"
"Let me ask *you* something, Margi?"
Margi looked up at Jean and nodded. I thought I could
see Jean's areola peeking from the top of the bath towel.
"Do you think Billy's a sexy hunk?"
Christ, I wished they'd stop talking about me in the
third person . . . like I wasn't even there!
Margi slid a glance in my direction and then idly
wrapping Jean around her finger, blushed and nodded.
"Well, so do I," Jean declared. "Because he's my
doesn't change that." She hitched the towel up an
inch or so and continued, "He's also my best friend. I'd
trust him with my life and I think he feels the same way.
There's nothing...well, almost nothing... that I can't talk
with him about. We share are feelings, Margi... our deepest
feelings and I know he'll never judge me. We LIKE each
other. Does that make sense to you?"
Margi was looking unfocused at the window, seeming to
contemplate her thoughts. "Yeah...it makes sense...it's
just that..."
"Just what, Margi?"
"Well, I don't know...I mean, I never had a connection
with anyone like that. Someone I could trust, I mean.
Someone who wouldn't take advantage of me, I guess."
"We *are* lucky, aren't we, Billy?"
More at ease now, I could smile and say, "A professor
of mine often says, 'It's better to be lucky than good.'"
Jean rubbed her hair vigorously and the towel dropped
into her lap, her full bouncing, the nipples erect.
Margi gasped. I stared.
Jean looked down, laughed and said, "Oh screw it."
It was silent for a few moments as we all were acutely
aware of this fork in the road. Jean had upped the ante.
Now it was in our laps.
I ran with it. "Don't you think Jean has beautiful
tits, Margi?"
Margi appeared to be reeling from one emotional blow to
another, stunned, not knowing whether to run or stay. She
asked Jean, "Doesn't that bother you? Billy looking, I
mean?"
"It woulda a couple of years ago," she answered,
mimicking Margi's pronunciation a little, "but now it
doesn't. In fact, I like it!"
"But it seems so...so sexual, don't you think?"
"I hope so!" Jean replied with a chuckle. "That's some
of the fun of it. Oh, there's a real comfort in not being
tied up in false modesty, but above that, there's a sweet
charge that we admire each other."
"It sounds like...I mean, I've always been so shocked
at the idea of..."
"Incest?" Jean asked, cutting to the chase.
Margi again looked at the floor and made a ball of
Jean's panties. "I wasn't going to call it that," she
protested, "but SOMEthing like that I guess."
"Would it make you feel any better if I told you that
Billy and I don't fuck?"
Jean almost never used the "F" word with me. I was
startled to hear it come out so easily.
Margi became beet and sputtered in her confusion,
"I didn't think...I mean..."
"Bullshit!" Jean said with a large smile. "You see
Billy and I sharing a room, me half-naked in front of him,
admitting that he turns me on...you you're telling me you
didn't think...?"
It was getting too warm for me, despite the fact that
we were talking about my favorite subject, me. I fell back
on what I did so well. I ran. "You can continue this
chat. I'm going to take a shower." They hardly looked up.
Retreating into the bathroom, I stripped, and copying
Jean's actions, I threw my shorts and briefs out the door as
if to say, "Here's MY underpants, girls." Brave, huh?
I strained to hear what they might be saying, but their
voices were reduced to a muted murmur, so I gave up and
jumped into the shower. Starting out hot and then finishing
up with a cold shower, I felt physically renewed. As often
happened, I'd sprouted a woody in the shower, perhaps
because I so religiously washed it. So, drying off I took
my time, waiting for the boner to subside.
In the periphery of my vision, I saw motion out the
bathroom doorway. Looking that way, I saw that a dresser
mirror gave me a view into the room and the movement I'd
noted was Jean and Margi. Jean was holding up a bikini top,
apparently offering it to our guest. She'd lost the towel
and was wearing only a pair of panties, while Margi was
still wearing her shorts and a T-shirt.
I froze, aware that I'd walked into a scene. I
couldn't hear all the words, just a few here and there.
Margi, who's back was to the mirror, was facing away from me
while Jean offered a frontal view. Margi was shaking her
head and Jean said something like, ". . . he's in the
bathroom." She pushed the bikini top to Margi again who
apparently needed just that much coaxing, for she said
something and then pulled her T-shirt off. I was right. No
bra. I could see her bare back and the side of one
as she accepted the top from Jean.
As Margi was looking down, adjusting the front of the
bathing suit top, I glanced at Jean and found her looking
right into my eyes! She knew! Before I could move, she
looked back and Margi and made some minute adjustment and
then picked up the bottom of the suit and said, "Here, try
this."
Margi glanced at the bathroom door. Had she looked in
the mirror, she'd have seen me, but she didn't. I turned on
the faucet in the sink and began making noises as if I were
occupied, still watching the scene unfold in the mirror.
Again, making up her mind, Margi quickly skinned out of
her shorts and and for a moment, I saw her bare ass.
That might be her best feature, I thought. It was like
Jean's. She had a narrow waist and jutting buttocks that
were made more striking for their whiteness atop her tanned
thighs. As she stepped into the bikini bottom, I had a too
brief view of her through her legs. Her lips appeared
to be shaven and they were wonderfully prominent as she bent
over.
I looked again at Jean who surreptitiously motioned to
me to come out. Jean appeared to have a plan and was in
control. I didn't ponder the decision. Instead, I wrapped
a towel around my waist and stepped into the room. "Nice!"
I commented, staring at Margi.
They both faced me as one and Jean asked, "So, what do
you think, Billy? How's Margi look in something more
glamorous?" As she said this, Jean pulled the bikini
bottoms from the back as if to 'adjust' them but what it
really served was to pull them into Margi's crotch all the
snugger.
Pointedly staring at the outline of her feminine slit,
I leered and said, "Glamorous indeed."
To my surprise, Margi didn't protest Jean's blatant
actions. Instead, she pointed at my crotch and said, "No one
had to pull your towel tight, did they?"
In the excitement of the moment, I'd forgotten my
woody. I didn't have to look down to know it was making a
prominent and unmistakable tent in the towel. At this
point, I didn't care. Actually, I was feeling a bit proud
of myself and said something like, "Well, it's you guys'
fault!"
Jean, clearly the instigator in this play, kept things
alive by pulling the string tie of Margi's top with one hand
and snatching it off her body with the other, completely
baring her pert tits. "There! Now we're even." Jean
laughed and threw the bikini top to me.
Margi tried to cover her for a moment and then
gave up in laughter. I was mesmerized by the two sets of
in front of me. Jean's were larger and mostly tanned
while Margi's were a bit smaller but with larger nipples and
paradoxically, very white. It was clear that her and
her ass didn't see the sun very often.
"Truth or dare time," Jean announced.
"God, what else'we got to lose," asked Margi.
"Nothing much, 'cept our psychological defenses," I
suggested.
"Whadya mean, psychological...? Margi asked sitting on
the floor, legs crossed Indian style. I liked how it pulled
the crotch of her suit into her pussy.
"It's like this," Jean explained, "do you mind so much
right now that Billy can see your nipples?"
Margi glanced down at her turgid, erect nips and said,
"Well... not so much right now. I mean, YOU uncovered
me...and 'sides, your are showing too."
"That's just what I mean. You have a psychological
defense or even a justification for showing us your tits.
My being bare makes it all right and more, since I uncovered
you, it's not your fault."
Margi nodded. I could see where this was going and sat
down to watch with interest, mindful of the fact that the
towel was not covering much.
Jean sat, also Indian style. Her dark pubic hair was
clearly evident through the thin crotch of her panties.
"So, the end result is that we...Billy, actually...gets to
see your nipples. But . . ." then she paused for dramatic
effect, "what if..." another pause, "what if I said to you,
say as you were wearing a blouse or a T-shirt . . . what if
I said to you, 'Margi, pull up your and show Billy
your tits.'? Then how'd you feel?"
"Oh...that'd be different. I couldn't do that."
"Sure you could, and you'd love it. That's the
psychological part. It adds an edge. It makes it more
exciting. just know this, huh, Billy? just know
that the partially nude woman is far more exciting than the
completely nude one, huh?" She addressed the last part at
me, seeking confirmation.
I replied, "Sure. Why do you think Jean's just wearing
panties? She coulda put on shorts, even a if she
wanted. She knows how sexy casual undress can be. More,
it's the tease. The psychological game adds to the tease,
which, of course, adds a delicious edge to anything sexual."
Turning it back to Jean, I added, "Aren't I right?"
"Of course you're right, you horny lech," she laughed
and reached over to flip up a corner of my towel, exposing
part of my scrotum. "And if he wasn't sporting such a
boner, you'd be able to see it too."
"You said something about Truth or Dare?" I asked,
attempting to keep things rolling and turning the attention
away from me.
"Yes! This is no simple strip poker game. Heck, we
each have just one article of clothing on anyway, so getting
totally nude is no big deal, but if we do this right, we can
add several layers to the excitement by psychological Truth
or Dare."
Jean didn't ask Margi if she wanted to play, she just
continued to set out the rules. I'd seen Jean's daring and
strong side before, but never so pronounced. I was usually
the aggressive one but now I was quite content to see this
assertive side of Jean express itself.
She finished, "So you see, it's nothing more than a
form of spin-the- bottle."
"Can I watch someone else go first?" asked Margi, a
little skeptically.
"Okay, I'll go first," I offered. I'm so magnanimous
at times. I spun the bottle and it ended up pointing at me.
"Nothing there," I said as I spun it again. This time it
ended up between Margi and Jean, but closer to Jean. "It's
you, kid. Truth or Dare?"
"Oh goody," cried Jean. "I want a dare!"
"How'd I know you'd say that?" I smiled at Margi.
"She's such an exhibitionist!"
"Come on, come on, big boy...what's your dare?"
"Okay, smart ass. As I recall, you trimmed your
before coming down here, right?"
Jean gave me a wolfish grin and nodded eagerly.
"Then, your dare, should you choose to accept it, is to
pull the crotch of your aside and show us!"
I knew Jean would milk this one. She'd do it. Hell,
she *wanted* to do it, but more, she wanted to make a
production of it. She wanted to add some psychological
tension to it. I'd counted on that.
"Billy!" she exclaimed in mock indignation, "My
are one thing. Even my panties. But you want me to uncover
my...my sex and SHOW myself to you and Margi?"
I nodded gravely. "If you dare,"
"But...but that's private! I mean, that's so intimate,
looking right at my..." and then she added in a very small
voice, "my pussy."
Margi's eyes were bouncing back and forth between me
and Jean, first my eyes, then her crotch. She squirmed a
bit.
"Would you tell anybody?" Jean asked.
"Not me," I answered in my best sincere voice. "But
Margi, she might. How about it, would you, Margi?"
Margi looked at us with wide, round eyes and slowly
shook her head, "Not me neither," she intoned.
"There, see, you're safe with us. Now show us, wimp!"
Jean looked dubious as her hand fell to her lap.
Curling a finger into the crotch of her panties, she paused.
Jean was giving me an opportunity to crank up the current, I
knew.
Pointing, I said, "Say, Jean. Is the crotch of your
wet? You or somethin'?"
She flushed. Perhaps she hadn't wanted me to turn up
the intimacy current so high after all. But her finger
stayed there, pulling the material a few millimeters, enough
to see the outside of one lip. Margi stared, hypnotized.
Jean turned to Margi and explained, "He's up to his
tricks again. He'd embarrassed me with that one before.
You'd think I'd get used to it, wouldn't you?"
I went for another notch on the intimacy rheostat. "Is
that you I smell, Jean?"
"See what I mean?" Jean said to Margi, who looked like
she was ready to fall through the floor.
Turning to me, she announced, "Yes, they are wet and
I'll let you figure out with what. And for all you know,
that's Margi you're smelling."
At that point, Margi reddened again and cupped her
crotch as if she might stem the flow of odoriferous
pheromones.
I sensed that Jean had taken this as far as it would go
on our first Truth or Dare.
"Okay," she said, "this goes against my better
judgment, but here's my trim job!" With that, she pulled
the crotch of her well to the side, exposing all.
No cheap flash here. I admired her bare lips slightly
parted by her position as well as the lush dark curls atop
her mons for the full twenty or thirty seconds she gave us.
Shaking my head in admiration, I passed the bottle to
Jean who let her snap back into her crotch. She
held the bottle in her lap, stroking the neck idly as she
grinned as us.
Nodding to Jean's masturbation of the bottleneck, I
said to Margi, "She always had a serious case of penis
envy."
"You're darn right!" Jean agreed. "I always wanted to
be able to write my name in the snow." Then she turned to
Margi, holding the neck of the bottle in her fist and
pointing it at her, she asked, "You ever write *your* name
in the snow?"
Margi surprised both of us by saying, "Yeah, several
times," and then she laughed, "but I could never dot the i."
"See!" Jean said to me.
See what, I wondered? Yet, I liked the image of Margi
trying to her name in the snow. I wondered if there
were some way I could work that into Truth or Dare...even
without the snow? Keep 'em off balance, Jean had once
advised me.
"Now *I* get to spin the bottle." She emphasized the
"I" part, as if that had special portent.
I knew she'd somehow manage to skip Margi and that I'd
be the next 'volunteer.' Sure enough, when the bottle
looked like it was going to stop near Margi, Jean grabbed it
and said, "And that was one of my allowed practice spins."
Practice spins? I never knew anyone who could make up
Truth or Dare rules faster than Jean.
The next spin pointed at her and the third spin pointed
roughly in my sector.
"Another practice spin?" I asked, already knowing the
answer.
"Nope, big boy. That was for real. You're IT! Truth
or Dare?"
I already knew that no matter what I picked, it'd be
embarrassing. So I'd leave it up to fate, in this case, the
second hand of my watch. I'd occasionally employed this
scientific technique when I'd narrowed a multiple choice
down to two equally attractive answers. The second hand
between twelve and six was Truth and between six and twelve
was Dare. The random chance of my watch's second hand
decided my fate. "Truth," I declared with far more
confidence than I felt.
Jean commented to Margi, "I know most of Billy's
secrets already, so I need to ask a question in an area he
and I haven't explored before."
That's all she needed to say. I could see it coming.
The 'new' element here was Margi. The bottle hadn't pointed
at her, yet she'd be pulled into Jean's web, I just knew it.
Trying to fend it off, I attempted a first strike.
"She's gonna ask me something embarrassing about you,
Margi."
Syrupy sweet, Jean agreed, "Of course I am. We all
know that."
I wasn't sure Margi knew, but I sure as hell did.
Turning to our hapless guest, Jean started, "Can you
imagine, Margi?" and then she pointedly looked me up and
down, "that this overgrown kid, this lunk, once told me he'd
like to put his nose in my CROTCH! Is that sick or what?"
By this time, Margi was getting the picture. She could
see Jean's flair for the dramatic, for overstatement, for
hyperbole. She glanced at me through lowered eyelashes and
smiled. Probably a smile of sympathy.
Her voice raising, Jean went on, "I mean, my own
BROTHER! In my *crotch*!"
I looked at that crotch. Now it was definitely wet. I
checked Margi's and I think it was as well, but the color of
the bikini bottom made it difficult to say with certainty.
So, Jean's gambit had something to do with me and Margi's
crotch. I mean, how many possibilities can you come up
with?
"So, here's my Truth question, Billy! Ready?"
As if my readiness made any difference. I rubbed my
eyes with my fingers and nodded. Hell, it was like asking
the on the gallows if he was ready. Everyone knew what
was going to happen.
Being sure to include Margi in this, she asked, "And
you Margi . . . you ready?"
Margi was still holding her crotch, I imagined more to
keep my nose out than her scent in. She nodded dumbly. Her
areolae were puckered and pebbled. So were Jean's.
"Now Billy, I know you had the hots for Margi last
year. You told me so, remember?"
Grasping at straws, I asked, "Is *that* my Truth
question?"
"Hell no! We're just setting the stage here and if you
don't admit it, I'll tell her right now everything you told
me last year!"
I couldn't remember the details of what I'd said last
year and afraid I might have been more lurid than I'd be
comfortable admitting, I caved in, just as Jean knew I
would. "Yes, that's true."
"What's true?" Jean goaded me.
"That I had the...uh...'hots' for Margi last year," I
mumbled.
"You hear that, Margi?"
I heard a breathy yes in reply. Jean knew darn well
that Margi had heard me.
"So tell me, dear...and this is just a
hypothetical question you understand...IF I'd asked you last
year if you wanted to put your nose in *Margi's* crotch...if
I'd asked you that, what would you have replied?"
My mind raced for an out here, partly for the fun of
it, and partly because I was getting increasingly excited
and increasingly sheepish.
"Nothing hypothetical about that question," I began.
Jean, in her best debating style, cut me off and said,
"Answer the question please."
"Yes, you know I would. I even said that last year."
Actually, I don't think I ever said that, but what the
hell...
Embellishing the lie, Jean picked up on it and said,
"Yes, I remember that well. You went on for the longest
time how you'd like to sniff in her crotch and that you'd
give anything to kiss her there." Turning to Margi, she
added, "My brother's such a horn dog. You'd better be
careful of him, I tell you!"
Before Margi could reply, Jean picked it up again. "So
tell me, Billy. Now that you've got your poor innocent
down to her panties, almost defenseless and now that
you've maneuvered this guileless sweet here," gesturing
to Margi, "into sitting in front of you in nothing but the
skimpy bottom of my bathing suit...are you going to tell us
that you've reformed? That you're no longer interested in
our...our places? Do you expect us to believe that for
a minute?"
"Of course I do," I remonstrated. "I mean, think about
it. A guy as pure as me...as pure as the new-driven
snow...a guy who helps little ladies across the street
and gives quarters to panhandlers . . . surely you can't
believe that I entertain any thoughts other than chaste
ones!"
Jean leaned over and ripped my towel aside, baring my
hard-on. It was almost quivering, so chaste were my
thoughts.
"Now *there's* purity," Jean announced, pointing at my
woody.
I hung my head, still looking at Margi's crotch through
my lashes.
Adjusting the crotch of her own panties, Jean said, "So
there! Now we're ready for my question. You ready?"
"No," I answered truthfully.
"Good," she replied. "Here's the question..." and she
paused.
"You ever see a Truth or Dare game last so long on one
spin of the bottle?" I asked no one in particular. Margi
shook her head.
As if I hadn't interrupted her, Jean continued, "...and
the question is: Do you wanna go down on Margi tonight?"
Even though I saw it coming a long time ago, even
though I had time to put on my emotional armor, it still
struck with freight-train impact. Here's this we knew
from last year, a we'd been diving with one day this
trip, and we're near nude, sitting in a circle, me with an
erection pointing to the ceiling and we're talking about my
going down on her! This wasn't going the way I imagined it
al all. I was much better!
"Before I answer that - and I will - I'd like to ask
Margi a few questions." I knew Jean wouldn't object to this
deviation of whatever loose set of rules pretended to govern
this game.
"Of course. You have that right." Jean pronounced with
authority.
Cripes, the only "rights" we had were those we made up,
I thought.
"Before I answer, there's a couple of things I'd like
to know... so I can frame my answer better you understand."
"I understand," Jean said solemnly, again adjusting her
crotch, flashing us in the process.
"Well, for starters, before I can speak to uh...'going
down' on Margi..." I paused and she flushed, adjusting her
own crotch, "I need to know, uh, Margi...have you had
someone go down on you?" I left it sexless on purpose. I'm
not sure why.
Margi looked at Jean as if to ask, do I have to answer?
Jean nodded and made a get-on-with-it motion with her hands.
Margi looked at me a moment and then looked down,
nodding her head.
"Is that a 'yes'?" I asked.
She nodded again.
"Margi, I can't hear you," I protested.
"Yes!" she whispered, almost in a hiss.
Pushing it, I asked, "Many times?"
"Yes!" Louder.
"And now, most important, Margi, did you LIKE it?"
She pulled her legs up and leaned on her knees, her
smashed against her thighs. She opened her mouth as
if to speak, but nothing came out.
"Margi, I need to know. My answer depends on what you
say. Did you LIKE it?"
She mumbled something. I couldn't make it out. "I
couldn't hear that, Margi."
She looked up and almost shouted, "I LOVED IT!"
The tension in the room was thick. I looked at Jean
and she gave me a thumbs up sign. Margi wasn't looking at
anything, except perhaps that same spot on the floor. I
wonder if she had it memorized?
"Now I'm ready to answer your question, Jean. But just
in case I've disremembered it, would you ask it again?"
"I'll be glad to. Do you remember what I asked,
Margi?"
Head down, she nodded vigorously.
"Good. Then I think it'd have more erotic impact if
you told Billy what my question was. Why don't you do that,
girl?"
Still speaking to the carpet, Margi said, "You asked
him if he wanted to uh...go down on me."
"Tonight," Jean prompted.
"Uh...tonight," Margi added.
"Is that a question or a proposal?" I asked.
Jean smiled. No one said anything for a moment.
"Margi?" I prompted.
Turning to Jean, Margi asked, "Do I hafta?"
"Margi, Margi. You don't 'hafta' do anything. This is
a game. We can say or do anything we want." She paused and
then added, "Just as long as its consensual and safe."
"Margi, it's okay to say no." I said, "Remember, it's
just a fun game and we're all playing together. No one's
the victim here."
"Proposal," Margi mumbled. And then without prodding,
she said in a louder voice, "It's a proposal!"
"That Billy go down on you tonight?" Jean asked.
"Oh shit!" Margi cried, "I don't know what you guys're
gonna think of me, but I'm so on edge, I'm so damn horny I'm
about ready to bust. I really DO want Billy to go down on
me. Like now."
"And you, Billy?" Jean asked. "You still haven't
answered my question or even Margi's question. Do YOU wanna
bury your head between her thighs? Do you want to tongue
her pussy, Billy?"
By way of answering, I stood and pulled Margi to her
feet, turning her back to Jean and held her by her
shoulders. I pointed to Margi's swimsuit bottom and without
further prompting, Jean reached up and pulled them off her
hips, letting the bikini puddle about her ankles.
Margi looked a question at me and I nodded. She
stepped out of them and now stood before me, totally nude.
I held her by the shoulders at arm's length and looked her
up and down. Her dark-haired bush stood out in marked
contrast to her white belly. A thin line of hair pointed to
her belly button.
Glancing down, I saw Jean pick up the swimsuit bottom
and hold it to her nose. "Ripe," she declared and threw
them up at me.
I pulled them to my face as Margi squirmed before me.
"Yes, quite ripe," I agreed. "Now I know who I was smelling
a little while ago."
Margi flushed again.
"Do you want me to leave?" Jean asked.
If she really wanted to leave, she wouldn't have asked.
I knew that. But more, I *wanted* her to say. She was a
part of this seduction and I wanted her to stay with me, to
stay with us.
"No, don't leave," I asked. "After all, we've just
spun the bottle twice."
Chapter 20 Conclusion, A Resolution - Of Sorts
A sudden knock on the loose-fitting screen door sounded
like a gun shot, loud and jarringly unexpected.
With a faintly British accent, a man's voice
called out, "There's a phone call for Billy or Jean." And
in another moment, "Anyone there?"
Jean and I looked at each other. I lifted an eyebrow
that asked, 'Do you know?' She shrugged her shoulders as if
to say, 'Beat's me.'
A naked Margi had slumped to her knees, one hand
thrust between her thighs and the other unsuccessfully
trying to cover her breasts. We were all uncomfortably
aware that whoever it was had only to step off the walk to
look through the unshuttered screens to see the three of us,
mostly naked. We remained frozen.
"Anyone home?" the disembodied voice asked again, and
again knocked.
Suddenly jarred from my inaction, I called out, "Okay.
Be right there." Turning to my and our friend,
Margi, I held my hands out, palms up and whispered, "Stay
here. I'll be right back."
Jean placed her hand on my arm and asked in a
surprisingly loud voice, "Where'd you think we were going to
go?"
"Shit, I don't know...but wait anyway, okay?"
Jean smiled and nodded. "Hurry back."
I slipped into some sailing shorts and a fresh T-shirt.
As I was leaving, I glanced back to see Jean kneeling beside
the cowering Margi. It occurred to me that if Margi wasn't
concerned about her nudity, she might understandably be
concerned about her job at this remote and high-priced dive
resort.
Whoever had brought the message was gone when I went
outside. Threading the darkened paths that connected our
octagonal beach house with the larger central building, I
reflected that only our knew where we were. Entering the
main structure, I walked into the bar where our hostess,
Gladys, glanced up and nodded her head toward a phone
receiver off the hook. "Your mom," she offered.
"Hello?"
"Billy? How are you? You and Jean okay?" It was Mom.
Damn, I should have called to let her know. "I'm
sorry, Mom..." I began but she cut me off.
"Don't worry about it. That's okay. Gladys already
told me that everything's fine; I just wanted to hear your
voice. Or Jean's."
"We're fine." And then searching for something to say,
I asked, "Remember Margi, the Dive Master from last year?"
"Oh, yes. I remember Margi. I'm sure *you* do!"
It amazed me how my could put so much suggestive
meaning into her voice.
Before I could frame an answer, she went on, "Gladys
said that the three of you had gone to listen to CD's after
dinner. Having fun?"
Cripes. Half a world away. Did we have any privacy? I
looked at Gladys and she smiled a conspiratorial, almost
wolfish grin.
"Uh...yes. We were..." and I didn't know just what to
say. "We were...uh, playing a game."
"Truth or Dare?" asked.
What the hell is this, I wondered?
"How'd you know?" I asked, perplexed once again by my
mother's seeming omniscience.
"I didn't, but it's what came to mind. Probably
because that's what I'd do in the same situation." She
paused and then went on, "You and Jean explore 'your
situation' anymore?"
Our 'situation.' I was embarrassed. Even though we'd
had an open, heart-to-heart conversation about sex, and
me, I still found it difficult to be comfortably candid.
"Uh...nothing new, Mom. We're okay, honest."
"Baby, I'm not checking up on you two. I love you both
and have confidence that whatever you do, it'll be all
right. Now get back to your party, tell Jean I love her and
say hello to Margi. And oh yes. Tell Margi not to do
anything I wouldn't do...and that leaves her a lot of
latitude. Bye." she ended up laughing.
"Bye, Mom."
I turned to leave and Gladys said, "Tell Margi to
relax."
"What?"
"Just relax, have a good time...that's all."
Once again I had the feeling that I wasn't completely
in the know about what was going on. Were we that
transparent?
I was mulling that over in my mind as I walked the
darkened path back to our room. I noticed that the blinds
were drawn and the room apparently dark as I let myself in.
There was a yellow, dim light, a candle flickering on the
night stand. One of Margi's CDs was playing, a soft,
melodic sound that I didn't recognize, but I liked.
"Hi, Billy," two voices intoned, almost in unison.
"Welcome back," added Jean.
"Margi, Gladys says, 'relax'."
"What?"
"Relax. She says to relax. That's all. You know what
that's a about?"
"Uh, I'm not quite sure. But she thinks I'm too
tense."
As I dark adapted, I saw Jean was sitting on the floor,
legs outstretched, her back against the foot of the bed and
Margi was leaning back against Jean in turn, between her
legs. Jean was holding Margi loosely, one hand over a full
breast. Both were naked as best I could see in the
flickering light.
"We've been talking," Jean added, in response to the
question unasked. "Margi's been telling me about her sex
life."
Margi squirmed, I thought uncomfortably, and looked
down, not saying anything.
"Isn't that so, Margi?" Jean asked, nudging her breast.
"Oh, Jean...don't," she murmured so softly I almost
missed it.
"Oh, Jean, yes. Billy would be pleased to hear what
you've been telling me." And then turning to me, she added,
"Our little Margi's really quite experienced, Billy. Shy,
but experienced. Right, Margi?"
She murmured something. I couldn't hear her, so I
kneeled between her splayed legs and said, "What was that,
sweet girl? What'd you say?"
"She'll tell you, Billy, but first she's got to be
relaxed. That phone call scared her. Is everything all
right?"
I nodded and offered no further explanation.
"Tell you what, Billy. Pull up the ottoman there
behind you and sit facing us. Put your legs over Billy's,
Margi so he can move in and be close. Okay?"
Perhaps it was because of the dim, flickering candle
light or perhaps Jean and Margi had come to some trust or
understanding while I'd been talking with our because
she didn't demur at all. Sliding up toward them, my own legs
splayed, Margi lifted hers and dropped her thighs over mine.
In turn, my legs were draped over Jean's. My dark
adaptation and the candle light enabled me to appreciate the
furry core of Margi's pelvis in the process.
"Hmmmm, nice, Margi."
"Are you commenting on Margi's pussy, Billy?"
Margi gasped and I felt her trying to close her legs,
but she was stuck in an open and exposed position.
Not waiting for a reply, Jean went on, "Tell Billy what
you told me a few minutes ago, Margi."
"Oh, I couldn't..." she began but was cut off by Jean
immediately.
"Sure you can, girl." Jean cupped both her in
her hands and rolled her nipples between thumb and
forefinger. She then turned her attention to me. "I'll
start." she began. "Margi has always wanted to acknowledge
her body as well as her sexuality. She told me that making
out in the dark is fun certainly, but not exciting. She's
attracted to the excitement. Aren't you, girl?"
Margi glanced at me and then tried to look up at Jean
but couldn't manage fully. Jean nudged her again and she
nodded.
"Aren't you?" prompted Jean.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I love the excitement."
"And?"
"And...I'm too embarrassed to ask for it."
Patiently, "For what, Margi?"
"For someone to tell me what to do." she said softly
and then gaining some confidence, added in a louder voice,
"I want to do things. All sorts of things, you know - sexy
things - but I'm too shy. It's not that I don't want to try
things, everything, it's that I'm so embarrassed. If
someone, you, *makes* me do things...well, then I can't
refuse. It's like it's not my fault. Then it's okay. Know
what I mean?"
"Good, Margi. Now let me ask you this. Are you
willing to tell Billy what our deal is?"
Margi nodded, studying the rug in front of her, not
looking up.
"ARE you, girl?" Jean nudged her again.
Margi suddenly looked up at me and stared for a long
moment before saying, "Yes, I am."
I touched her for the first time. I placed my hands on
the tops of her thighs and slowly stroked up and down.
"Then tell me, Margi. What's the "deal' - the one you've
made with Jean. I'd like to hear you tell me."
She took a deep breath and blew it out. Then another
before beginning. "I told Jean that I was so excited, so
hot a little while ago - when we were playing Truth or Dare
- that I would have done anything, and Jean asked,
'Anything?'"
She took another breath and continued. "When she asked
me that, I was excited and afraid at the same time, but I
guess I was more excited then frightened so I said, 'Yes,
anything.'"
Jean continued to roll Margi's nipples in her fingers.
They were swollen and dusky. I hunched a little closer and
ran my fingers over the tops of her thighs, ending just an
inch away from her public thatch. "Go on," I urged.
"She asked me if I'd be your slave for the night, the
two of you's slave. I wasn't sure what that meant, but
somehow it made me wetter."
She looked at me again and asked, "Know what I mean?"
"The slave part or the wetter part?" I asked.
"Uh...I figure you know about the wetter part. I'm
horny. But do you know about the slave part? What does that
mean to you?"
"No, Margi. The real question is: What does that mean
to *you*?"
She looked down, nibbling on her lower lip and brushed
the top of her pubic hair with her fingers. "Well, I
*think* it means that I have to do what you tell me to do,
that I have no choice."
I traced a line across the top of her pubic bush,
meeting her hand in the process. She started to pull away
but I grabbed her hand and pulled it back to the top of her
and held it there.
"Margi, it's important to know that you *do* have a
choice. You always do. This is a game. That's all it is.
And in this game, we play that you're a slave, our slave,
and that you have to do the things we say. Keep in mind, if
you agree, we'll expect you to keep your bargain. We'd
never you, but we might embarrass you and we just might
make you even hornier. But you do have a choice. Do you
understand that?"
After I removed my hand from hers, she resumed touching
the area around the top of her slit, idly moving her fingers
through her bush.
Oddly stronger, she went on. "Oh, I know that. And
I've already made the decision. That's the "deal" I made
with Jean. I'm yours for the evening and I have to do what
I'm told." Glancing back, she added, "Isn't this right?"
Jean answered promptly, "That's right, and the
first thing I want you to do is play with yourself. I'll
play with your tits. You play with your little cunny. Yes,
show Billy your pussy."
Jean has assumed a firm, directing voice and I took my
clue from that. "While you're playing with yourself, Margi,
tell us...when did you start masturbating?"
She ran the index finger of her right hand up through
her slit. In the yellow light, I could see her finger
glistening with her wetness.
"Um...I'm not really sure. A long time ago. I was
young. I mean, very young. Maybe eight. Even seven. I
don't remember. All I knew was that it felt really good and
I knew I wasn't supposed to be doing that. I didn't know
why. I don't remember anyone telling me not to touch
myself, but I knew. Maybe my girlfriend told me. I knew it
was naughty, but it felt too good to stop."
"Ever get caught?" Jean asked.
Margi slipped two fingers into her slit and then rubbed
her juice on my hand as I toyed with her pubic hair. When I
looked at her, her eyes were glistening, intense and wide
open. She smiled a little.
"Several times. It was embarrassing, but it also was
exciting. I think I *wanted* to get caught."
"Did you then?" I asked, holding my hand up to my
nose.
Her eyes glittered as she watched me. I smelled her
and then touched my tongue to my fingers. She jerked.
Now a little more breathless, she answered, "I could
as long as I can remember. Just some were more powerful
than others."
I wondered what she was trying to tell us, but before I
could frame another question, Jean asked, "Tell us about the
powerful ones, girl. Can you remember what made them that
way?"
"Yes, I can...but I'm a little embarrassed to talk
about it."
Bending forward, I used my finger tips to pull open the
lips of her pussy, watching her finger roll her clit.
"Then all the more reason to tell us," I interjected.
"It's the stuff about which we are most embarrassed that's
often behind the greatest erotic charge."
"Exactly," chimed Jean. "Remember, you're our slave,
so tell us everything girlfriend."
I presented the wet tips of my fingers to Jean. She
sniffed them and said, "I'm beginning to understand why you
keep snitching my panties, Billy."
Margi looked back and forth between us, straining her
neck trying to see Jean behind her. I nodded to her. "Go
on."
"You make me forget what I'm saying..."
"The most powerful cums," I prompted.
"Oh yeah! Well, it had something to do with the fear
of getting found out. That some one would catch me. The
closer I got to discovery, the more powerful my cums got. A
couple a times I got caught with my hand in my as I
was about to and it shot me over the edge. I just
doubled up and groaned, it was so strong."
I scrunched a little closer again. Margi had to lift
her thighs even higher as I moved in. She looked down and
saw my cock, inches from her. She tentatively reached out
to touch me and I said, "In a moment. But right now, I want
to look at you. I want to touch you. Have you ever been
this open for anyone?"
She shook her head and continued to look at my cock,
now bobbing. I ran my finger through her slit. It was
swampy and the musky scent of her was filling the room.
"And have you *wanted* to show yourself this way? "
She nodded her head vigorously. "All the time! I
don't understand it, but I *want* to be seen. I put myself
in positions where I'll be exposed and then almost die of
embarrassment when I am. And I keep doing it. I get so hot
sometimes I have to..."
"Masturbate?" Jean prompted.
"Yes. I *have* to get off. I even stick things up
inside of me." She paused and then added, "God, I can't
believe I said that!"
Turning her back to the moment, I asked, "Can you feel
it in your when Jean pinches your nipples?"
I nodded to Jean. Margi gasped with the intensity of
Jean's pinch. "Can you feel that in your little cunny,
Margi?" Jean asked, tugging on her swollen nipples.
Margi bobbed her head and groaned, as she slid down a
bit, pushing her at my fisted cock. I slid the head of
my dick up and down through her wet slit and said to her,
"Margi, bring yourself off for us. Show us how you cum. We
want to watch you, your pussy, your sweet cunt. Watch it
drool. Make it foam, girl. Jill off for us."
She looked wildly at me for a moment and then
surrendering, she threw her head back, her neck arched,
thrust forward and slipped the fingers of her right hand
into her as she began rolling her clitoral hood with
her left hand.
I began to tap on the engorged and jutting tip of her
clit with the head of my cock, much as I'd done with Jean
once a few years before. And like Jean had done, she began a
grunting moan that sounded like, "Mmmm, uh, uh, uh," over
and over, thrusting her hips at me, plunging her fingers
into her swampy core. My desire was surging.
As she slid forward again, I noted that Jean had pulled
her hands away from Margi and into her own crotch. At least
it looked that way. I made eye contact with her and she
looked almost pained. Her brows were knitted and she was
biting her lip. Her eyes were open and wild with passion,
unfocused.
Margi had slid almost flat with her legs wrapped around
me. My cock had been pulled down into the crack of her ass
as I mindlessly began humping at her sexy, wet warmth.
Jean pulled away and shifted position, now kneeling
over Margi's head, her hand buried in her own cunt, frigging
away, almost frantically. Margi's unsupported head was
thrown way back, neck hyper-extended, mouth open. When I
caught Jean's eye again, I nodded toward Margi's open mouth
and Jean threw her leg over and lowered her to Margi.
Margi immediately opened her mouth and started to suck
on my sister's as she continued to frig her own cunt,
now with three fingers jammed in and still blindly humping
the air.
Jean was moaning and grunting as she fingered her clit
and Margi mouthed her slit. No less intense, Margi
continued to moan incoherently as she fucked her self with
her bunched fingers, my hard cock rubbing the crevasse of
her ass cheeks. I wondered if she'd ever taken it up the
ass.
I wrenched myself back, pulling away from Margi.
Without looking, she pulled her mouth away from Jean long
enough to moan, "No, please no."
I kneeled between Margi's legs and pulled them up,
pushing her knees toward her shoulders, baring her open and
swollen sex as she crammed her fingers into herself. Just
below was her ass hole, fringed with dark hair. I was
desperate to sink my cock into something.
"Margi, I'm going to fuck you. You okay with that?
Want me to sink my hard cock into you soft cunt, girl?"
She pulled back, took a breath and almost screamed,
"YES! Yes. FUCK me--I want it--I need it. Fuck me, please!"
Unthinking, I leaned over her, pushing the head of my
cock below her fingers. She pulled out and grabbed my cock,
guiding it into her core as I slowly sank into her, no more
than a head's depth.
"Want more than the head in there, girl?" I asked,
trying to drive her crazy."
Jean's voice entwined itself in our reverie, "Fuck her,
Billy! Fuck her while I watch. Yes, fuck her while she eats
me. Oh, God. Oh, shit. This is so hot. Put it in.
More!"
"More, Margi?"
"Oh GOD, don't tease me. I'm gonna die. Push it in,
Please!"
I eased in another inch, maybe two.
"Yesss," she hissed and humped at me.
"Yes," echoed Jean. "Oh Christ, Billy. I've wanted
this and I've been afraid of this for so long. Fuck HER,
Billy and think about fucking me!"
Bending forward and thrusting her hips out that she
might see Margi better, Jean added, "Come on, girl. Suck
me. Eat me while my fucks into your cunt. Give me
the fuck energy he's giving you. Fuck me with your tongue."
I lost all restraint as I pulled back and then slammed
into her as hard as I could. I touched something back
there, in the back of her cunt. She grunted and bucked
under me as I began a trip-hammer pounding, kneeling between
her splayed thighs, my eyes locked with Jean's as we climbed
higher and higher onto some impossible pinnacle. I lost
track of time. I lost track of Margi. It came down to just
the two of us.
There was just me and there was just Jean, eyes locked,
fucking and fucking, lost in the moment, lost in each other.
She started first, as her head fell back and she
grabbed her own breasts, humping Margi's mouth, her moan
drawn out to a rising crescendo. I remember thinking for a
brief moment that I'd watch this erotic sight, but my own
runaway orgasm caught me by surprise.
I couldn't remember what we'd decided about her risk.
I pulled out and fisting my cock, I stroked it once, twice
and a third time when I exploded. The first white
rope of landed on Jean's thigh. The next on Margi's chin
and throat and the last on her chest and belly. A few more
dribbles ended up in my hand. I looked at the warm white
puddle in my hand and then reached out and wiped it across
Jean's breast. Her nipple was pebble hard.
We fell silent. Frozen in the tableau, Jean sat back
on her heels, freeing Margi's face. I fell back on my heels
and looked at the wreckage. The only sound was our panting.
I couldn't really tell which was mine.
Margi slowly lifted her head and make eye contact. We
looked at each other but didn't talk. Couldn't talk. We
were drained.
Margi ran her finger through a glob of my on her
chest and looked at it. She looked back at me and then
placed the tip of her finger in her mouth, tasting me.
Jean watched silently and then similarly picked up a
clot of my with her finger and tasted it as well.
The CD was still playing, but I'd not heard it in the
past while. Gradually I heard again the waves on the beach
as I reentered reality.
I looked down. I was still holding my cock, now soft
and shriveled. It looked almost pathetic, that once proud
weapon now reduced to a soft, wet noodle.
Jean cupped her and held it for a moment before
asking in a whisper, "Well, stud, how do you feel now?"
"There are no words."
"We finally got to 'do it' Billy."
"Yeah. I wonder if we'll ever get any closer, Jean?"
"I don't know, Billy. Maybe not. Maybe this is it. I
just don't know. But I am sure of one thing..."
"What's that?"
"We'll never be able to go back. You can't go home
again."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue
Because we're still very much alive, Jean and I,
there's no real ending to this story. Still, for now, it
needs to end somewhere and this is it.
I've taken the remembering, the reliving, the healing
of it all as far as I needed to. I have other things to
write, things aside and away from Jean.
More, I have a jazzy life to live and the vibrancy of
the moment, the here and now, is more vital than the sweet
memories of what once was. Given then and given now, it's a
no-brainer. I'll go with the moment any day.
BillyG