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From: BillyG <hayden@mindless.com>
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Subject: My Sister Jean X (m/f, cons, inc, ws)
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                                      MY SISTER JEAN

                                                                    By BillyG


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 . . ."

     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 sucked
it . . . had taken me in her mouth and sucked me off!  Once I'd have been
embarrassed about my hard-on; now I was equally embarrassed because it
had softened and shrunk.  It looked pitiful, I thought.   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 orgasmic grey 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 brother and as much as I love you . . . well, you
know . . . it's the incest thing?"

     Still nodding, I liked my lips.  God I was dry!  Why did her sentences
sometimes end with a question mark? I mean, what the hell was the
question anyway?

     With one foot on the chair that way, I could look right up between her
thighs and see how her pussy 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 somewhere 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 wacked out.  Can't you tell that?"

     Jean looked startled for a moment.  She stared at me as she idly cupped
her breast 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 incest 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.  "OK," 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 toilet seat come down as
she continued to speak to me in a louder voice.  "Do you still want me to
model 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
urine 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 toilet bowl.  The loud hissing or her peeing 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 the 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 urine 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 peeing for me, Jean."

     Sitting up straight again, she murmured, "Crazy . . . this is crazy," and
continued to pee 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
pee .  . . of feeling your hot pee in my hand."

     With a half smile, she shook her head slowly and pulled off a length of
toilet 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 pussy 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, "Jeeze . . . do I smell
raunchy."

     The musky essence of her sex was driving my libido to go faster 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?"



                             * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

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