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From: BillyG <hayden@mindless.com>
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Subject: My Sister Jean II (teen sibling m/f sexual play)
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MY SISTER JEAN
By BillyG
Chapter 2 -- The Couch
I really liked Jean. Heck, I adored her. She was a wonderful sister 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 guys know that she was my sister 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 old 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 boys 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 hurt 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 . . . er, 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 guys 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 panties 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.
"Geeze, 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 guys 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 says 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 movie star or a picture in
Penthouse?"
"Well, I have thought of girls 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 guys
call it, ya know . . . jerking off."
Jean had succeed in pulling her shirt button all the way off and was
absentmindedly working on the next one down. As her shirt opened and
closed, I caught repeated glimpses of the swell of her breasts 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 sister 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 shirt pulled part way open. "What do you mean, me? Billy, I'm your
sister for cryin' out loud!"
Lowering my voice and looking hard at her, I rushed on, "Sis, I *am*
your brother and I still find you attractive. I still find you *very* attractive,
beautiful even. Why, you're the most attractive girl I know and by far, the
sexiest girl 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 breasts 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 panties
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.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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