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From: BillyG <hayden@mindless.com>
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Subject: My Sister Jean VII (m/f, inc, voy, ws)
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MY SISTER JEAN
By BillyG
Chapter 7 -- Jean's Backside
The long ride home from our camping trip - after Jean had peed in front
of me on the hiking trail and then later had peed through her panties onto
my lap - marked a major departure from our previous behaviors. We'd
both confessed our thoughts and previous sexual behavior, including those
we secretly regarded as kinky if not downright bizarre - our fascination
with peeing.
How freeing it was to discover in her the same kinkiness. You see, I
loved my sister as a warm and kind person who possessed those estimable
traits of honesty and caring and living in the present. Two years older than
me, Jean had always been a role-model for the principles of living. So, if
she had the same sexual interests at me, I reasoned, it must be okay. As it
turned out, the external validation given to me then helped me in the more
important internal validation I was to develop as a young man.
The heat of the moment, coupled with our growing trust in each other,
enabled us to surrender to our affection and our lust. Confessing, as I did -
that I wanted her to pee on me - Jean just laughed and went for it with her
customary enthusiasm and verve. Then, as she was straddling my lap, her
body pressed against mine, my face between her breasts and her pee
leaking into my lap . . . I blurted out a truth that surprised both of us. I
told her that I wanted to fuck her.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
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, "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 sister 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 the 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 panties 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 guys 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* sister talking about ass fucking? I was
thunderstruck.
"Me? Me? You gotta be kidin' . . . 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 young 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 picture 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 peeing
magazines that you discovered," and added with chagrin, " . . . in my most
secret hiding place."
"Oh, bitte, bitte, bitte," Jean sing-songed her Germanic entreaty.
Plunging in again, I asked, "Is *your* ass erotic, Jean? I mean, have
you ever touched yourself there . . . er, 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. Mom 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 Mom and I was still dying. But Mom 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 hurt at all! I
just knew it was going to hurt like the dickens and it didn't hurt 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, Mom 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. Mom 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. Mom 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 story 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 Mom 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 were 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 peeing and even coming . . . all at the same time.
"I'm sure I got all red in the face . . . from pleasure I know now, but
Mom asked, You okay?' I just couldn't tell her how OK I really was!"
Now she laughed. "Don't think I'm a closet enema freak, brother 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 OK.
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 peeing
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 brother
ass-fucked himself with a goddamn enema nozzle and fantasized about her.
My face felt warm and I couldn't look at her.
"Ohhh, 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."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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