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Subject: My Sister Jean XIX "Margi" (f/m/f, cons, het, game, inc)
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                                My Sister Jean - Chapter 19

                                               Margi

                                                            BillyG


  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 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 sun glasses, 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 stuckup."

  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 it 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 woman, 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 man 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, OK?"

  "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, panties 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 boobs last year."

  "Margi, if it'd be an acceptable exchange - my being naked for the
chance to look at your boobs - 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 guys are so open and comfortable with
each other that you share a room this way.  I wish I had a brother 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 girl and I'm aware of what guys 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 gay 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 girl 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
panties 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 panties 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 red 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 panties she still held, perhaps wondering how's she'd get
out of this.  She was probably used to guys 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 breasts were pulled out of the towel a
tantalising 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 guys 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 stud muffin brother 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 panties
around her finger, blushed and nodded.

  "Well, so do I," Jean declared.  "Because he's my brother 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 breasts 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 red 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 girls 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 woodie 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 say 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 breast 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 panties 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
pussy 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 woodie.  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 breasts for a moment and then gave up in
laughter.  I was mesmerized by the two sets of tits 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 tits 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 tits 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 shirt 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.  Guys just know this, huh, Billy? 
Guys 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 shirt 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.

  "OK, 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?"

  "OK, smartass.  As I recall, you trimmed your pussy before coming
down here, right?"

  Jean gave me a wolffish grin and nodded eagerly.

  "Then, your dare, should you choose to accept it, is to pull the crotch
of your panties aside and show us!"

  I knew Jean'd 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 breasts 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 panties wet?  You
pee 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 old 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.  

  "OK," she said, "this goes against my better judgement, but here's my
trim job!"  With that, she pulled the crotch of her panties well to the side,
exposing all.  No cheap flash here.  I admired her bare pussy 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
panties snap back into her crotch.  She held the bottle in her lap, stoking
the neck idly as she grinned as us.

  Nodding to Jean's masturbation of the bottle neck, 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 pee
her name in the snow.  I wondered if there was 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 eye lashes 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 man 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, brother 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 sister down to her panties, almost
defenseless and now that you've maneuvered this guileless sweet girl 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 girl 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
old 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 woodie.

  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 sill struck with freight-train impact. 
Here's this girl we knew from last year, a girl 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 panty 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,
ah, 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 breasts 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 way.  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 OK 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."

End of Chapter 19

  

  

  

  

  


  

  


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