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Subject: {ASS} RP "Siblings" Ch. 1-6 by Michael K. Smith (mf, inc, cons)
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Author: Michael K. Smith <mksmith1@BELLSOUTH.net>
SIBLINGS -- Chapter Outline
[Birthdates: 6 Jan 1955 & 6 Jan 1956]
Prologue: Addressed to Grace.
Chapter 1: 1967 / me 12, her 11 -- [EARLY YEARS, part 1] General
background; street fight to rescue her.
Chapter 2: 1968 / me 13, her 12 -- [EARLY YEARS, part 2] She has her first
period.
Chapter 3: 1969 / me 14, her 13 -- [EARLY YEARS, part 3] First kiss &
realization of deep emotional commitment.
Chapter 4: 1970 / me 15, her 14 -- [EARLY YEARS, part 4 / OPENING MOVES]
First real sexual contact; mutual masturbation; oral sex.
Chapter 5: 1971 / me 16, her 15 -- [EARLY YEARS, part 5 / PATTY] Her bad
date & my revenge; her afternoon with Patty.
Chapter 6: 1972 / me 17, her 16 -- [FIRST TIME / DRIVE-IN / SHOWERS] Our
first fuck; sex shared with others; experimental water sports.
Chapter 7: 1973 / me 18, her 17 (my freshman year) -- [MARTA] Weekend with
Marta, Gary, & Alice.
Chapter 8: 1974 / me 19, her 18 (my sophomore year, her freshman year) --
[to be called *FAMILY*] We set up housekeeping for ourselves.
Chapter 9: 1975 / me 20, her 19 (my junior year, her sophomore year) -- [to
be called *TRANSITIONS*] Our parents are killed; we have only each other now.
Chapter 10: 1976 / me 21, her 20 (my senior year, her junior year) -- [to
be called *CRISIS*] Alex's personal crisis: She meets a guy and falls in
love; I decide to let her go if necessary, though the decision is very
painful. She discovers she'd rather have me than him. I graduate and we
decide I should do my M.A. the following year; perhaps my career is in
teaching.
Chapter 11: 1977 / me 22, her 21 (my graduate work, her senior year) --
[CONNIE] First fateful meeting with Connie, out of town.
Chapter 12: 1978 / me 23, her 22 -- [EXTENDED FAMILY {"Connie 2"}] We go
out into the world, sort of, working in Berkeley; Connie makes it a
permanent three-way arrangement.
Chapter 13: 1979 / me 24, her 23 -- [to be called *SPRING WEDDING*] Alex
and Connie sit me down to discuss the family situation; Connie explains
that she can't have children. They convince me that Connie and I should
marry, for the record and to cover ourselves with the world. And Alex and I
will have a child, to be explained publicly as an adopted niece; Connie
will be the "second mother." Grace is conceived mid-April 1979.
Chapter 14: 1980 / me 25, her 24 -- [to be called *AND THEN WE WERE FOUR*]
Grace is born, 10 Jan 1980.
[...segue...]
Chapter 15: 1991 / me 36, her 35, Grace 12 -- [...NO TITLE YET... {grace1}]
Background of Grace's upbringing.
Chapter 16: 1992 / me 37, her 36, Grace 13 -- [...NO TITLE YET... {grace2}]
Grace's first carefully considered sexual contact with us.
Chapter 17: 1993 / me 38, her 37, Grace 14 -- [to be called *CONSUMATION*]
Grace's first sex with us; similarities and differences between that and my
early experiences with Alex. Some sobering decisions.
That's it, folks. That's the plan. Bracketed all-caps are working chapter
(or section) titles, under which completed chunks have been posted. BUT NOT
ALL CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN COMPLETED! Anything listed as "to be called" exists
only in outline form or rough first draft! So *please* don't email me to
ask "where's the rest of the novel?" What you've seen posted is what I've
completed. Or, "when are you going to finish it?" This is *my* story and
I'm writing it as I get it worked out. It may not be finished in this
decade -- hell, maybe not in this lifetime! -- but I'll post each section
when I think it's ready to be taken out in public. Keep in mind that this
particular piece of work is as much therapy as anything; where the
slightly-fictionalized fact tapers off and the pure fantasy-wish
fulfillment takes over is up to you to determine, but I have my reasons for
doing it this way. (And yes, my sister approves completely....)
Michael K. Smith
From SIBLINGS -- a novel in progress
("The Early Days")
by Michael K. Smith
[NOTE: I've posted seven more or less complete sections (seldom complete
chapters) from this novel so far, under individual titles. Some readers
have gotten interested in the background of the main characters -- how
they came to be who they are and so on -- and have asked enough questions
to prompt me to post the following, which are key excerpts from the first
five chapters.
There are no sex scenes as such, but you'll find plenty of romance, a
dollop of amateur psychology,... and plenty of more subtle eroticism.
SIBLINGS is a full-dress novel and I've gone to some effort to make the
people and the situations four-dimensional, to provide motivation and
logical results, and to avoid 'deus ex machina' contrivances of the sort
that are rife in many of the stories posted in a.s.s. Comments,
criticism, and discussion are welcome,... but PLEASE post them in a.s.s.D!
If you haven't read the previously posted sections, please be aware that
the overriding theme throughout the novel is *consensual sibling incest*,
about which my basic feelings should be obvious by now. If the very idea
turns your stomach, you're more bent than most of the readers hereabouts,
and you should change the channel NOW....]
Chapter 1:
[...from chapter 1...]
My sister, Alexandra, and I had (and have) an unusual relationship, and
it was the direct result of birth order and our closeness in age. At
least, that's what I prefer to think -- that it was circumstances beyond
our control.
I was born in Mendocino County, California, at 3:45 a.m. on January 6,
1955. Alex was born at 3:52 a.m. on the same day in 1956. One year and
seven minutes difference. We looked very much alike: dark auburn hair,
gray-green eyes, lots of freckles, a certain sharp narrowness in the nose.
We were about the same size, too, especially as teenagers.
People frequently assumed we were twins, we were so similar. And
especially because there was only a single digit's difference when we had
to fill out bureaucratic forms that required a birth date. More than
once, some clerk increased Alex's age by a year or shaved a year off mine.
Before we were even in school, we had begun to think of ourselves as
twins, too, in all the important ways, identical twins who happened to be
of the opposite sex.
We weren't the only kids in our family. Jack was five years older than
me and Philip was eight years older -- post-World War II babies, both of
them. They had half a decade in which to become mutually supportive
before Alex and I showed up, and the difference in age between them and us
was large enough that we were almost like two separate families.
I don't mean they picked on either of us. I realized later that they
could have made our lives hell, but both of them behaved well enough
toward us. They were just too far ahead in age to have anything in common
with us. So they practiced benign neglect toward "the kids" and Alex and
I stuck more and more to each other's company.
More important, our parents naturally were more concerned with the
school activities and career plans of their two oldest boys. When I was
starting junior high, Philip was a year away from finishing his college
degree and was beginning to interview with company recruiters. Jack was
about to go off to a good college on a scholarship and had his own
ambitious plans. Nobody was much interested in what I was learning in
seventh grade. For whatever reason, I never developed any bitterness
about this casual disinterest. I didn't throw tantrums or break windows
to get my parents' attention. I was proud of my brothers and they did
give me their attention when I sought it out (which wasn't often). But
they could have been uncles instead of brothers.
Alex had it a little worse. She wasn't "planned," of course, being so
close to me in age, and she became aware early on that her conception had
been unexpected. When we were little, we both heard Dad making what had
obviously become a standard joke to friends and relatives -- that their
only daughter had arrived postage-due, "but we kept her anyway." And he
didn't mean it maliciously, which was almost worse. It was an
unconsciously hurtful thing to say, and Alex WAS hurt by it. That stupid
joke made me angry as well, and it bonded me even closer to my sister. I
was only eight or nine years old, so I could hardly say anything to my
father about his unfeeling jokes, but I comforted Alex when she cried in
her room. We began about that time to think of ourselves not even as
twins, but in some way as one person.
By the time I was twelve, Dad had reached a moderately successful level
as a regional sales manager in his company and he began to travel much
more extensively and frequently around his enlarged territory. He was
often gone two or three weeks at a time.
At about the same time, Mother's arthritis, from which she had first
begun to suffer at the age of 35, became increasingly severe in her legs.
Now, she was confined to walking only very short distances and was often
in a wheelchair. She chafed at the inactivity forced on her and
discovered new ways to do her shopping and cooking and laundry. She hated
it when people tried to do things for her that she could still manage to
do for herself, so she didn't demand our sympathy and constant attention.
Looking back, I admire her for that determination not to be a burden.
At the time, however, it had the principal benefit for us that she almost
never came Upstairs. It exhausted her and she showed up above the ground
floor less and less often. After Jack abandoned his room and went off to
college, Upstairs became *our* territory, Alex's and mine.
Dad usually came up for a few minutes when he returned from a trip, so
we kept our rooms as clean as anyone has a right to expect from active
adolescents. We hauled our laundry down to the washer and took turns
mopping out our bathroom once a week. We folded and put away our own
clothes and changed our own burned-out light bulbs. We made sure Dad was
satisfied with our attention to our living quarters and he pretty much
left us to manage the upper part of the house to suit ourselves, which
confirmed our territoriality. And it gave us an almost adult sense of
privacy.
Again, looking back, I realize Dad just wasn't much interested in the
two of us. Philip and Jack together formed the focus of his paternal
instinct. They were born in the lean years following Dad's discharge from
the Army, when he drove a cab and sold furniture while going to college on
the G.I. Bill. He and Mother lived in a tiny apartment and scraped along
through the tail end of the 1940s, first by themselves and then with a
son. In 1950, almost 30 years old, Dad finished college and landed a good
sales job with a company that wholesaled office machines. Jack was born a
few months later.
By the mid-1950s, when I showed up almost as an afterthought, my older
brothers were in school, riding the forward curl of the Baby Boom wave.
Apparently, Mother and Dad had intended to stop at two children but took a
chance on a third, and never expected a fourth at all. So our parents
weren't cruel or even deliberately unkind. Just not terribly involved
with their two youngest. As Alex and I outgrew clothes or toys, they
disappeared from the house, passed on or donated somewhere, with an air of
relief hanging over them.
When I went over to some friend's house to play, we usually did things
in his room -- especially if he also had brothers and sisters. Any
younger sibling who entered the room uninvited was pushed out and the door
shut behind him or her. I accepted this as natural and normal at the
time. It wasn't until I was entering adolescence that I realized that
very few of my friends or Alex's had ever seen the upper half of our
house. We had a large den and TV room downstairs where the family's
supply of games was stored (now used only by the two of us), and that was
where we usually played with our friends, whether separately or all in a
group. Since Alex and I were so close in age, we had several good friends
in common. Those few were the only ones ever invited Upstairs, and then
only rarely.
When children begin to enter puberty they become physically very
self-conscious. Bathroom doors are shut and even locked. Boys discovered
sorting their sisters' underwear out of the dryer are tongue-lashed by its
owner. One of my friends once playfully hid his younger sister's first
training bra, and she nearly had hysterics when she realized her brother
had actually touched it. Anyone who's not an "only" has had similar
experiences, I'm sure, especially in a brother/sister mix.
I mention these things only to say that Alex and I were different. When
Alex was standing in front of the hall linen closet in her first bra and
panties, digging out the fluffiest towel she could find, I didn't make
snide cracks. The first and only time I hooked a finger under the back
strap of her bra and snapped it (doesn't every brother do that?), she
ignored me ... until I turned and began to walk away. Then she snapped me
with a towel with such accuracy and finesse it felt like a needle had been
jabbed in my ass. I jumped, she giggled "Gotcha!," and that was all. We
were even-up and there was no escalation.
We usually helped each other make up both our beds simply because it
went much faster. The first time she noticed the stiff places on my
bottom sheet where I had had nocturnal emissions or had jerked off, and
asked me what *that* was, I flushed in embarrassment. She could have made
capital on that for weeks, but she chose discretion and shrugged.
So, we were normal kids in most respects. We simply never did anything
to hurt or upset each other. "I'm telling!" was not something either of
us ever said to the other. An enlightened and mature attitude, I suppose,
but I know neither of us ever reasoned it out. I can't remember a time we
weren't best friends. That was just the way it was between us.
We played pranks on each other, and we exchanged the usual teasing
insults, and we argued frequently. We even had occasional fights and got
angry at each other, but it was always over a serious and substantive
issue, not just because "siblings always fight." And we always made up in
a day or so and never carried grudges. It took us both awhile to realize,
from visiting friends' homes, that our relationship was not the norm.
* * * * *
We were protective of each other in the outside world, too. When Alex
was in fifth grade and I was in sixth, she chanced one spring week to get
on the wrong side on three boys in my class. For several days, they
pushed her around at recess and sabotaged her assignments in class. She
didn't know why they had singled her out but for awhile she was half in a
rage and half in tears most of the day. Typically, she kept her problem
to herself and when I finally asked her what was the matter she wouldn't
tell me.
I lagged behind her the next afternoon, however, and deliberately spied
on her. Our house was only four blocks from school, so we usually walked
home. The villainous sixth grade boys were on bikes, though, and they
charged out of an alley while she was crossing a street in the middle of a
residential block. They circled her like Mongol raiders, knocking the
books out of her hands and jeering at her tears. Several other homebound
students witnessed the raid but most kids learn early not to draw
attention to themselves when one of their number becomes the focus of
unwanted malevolent attention.
I was in a different situation regarding the victim, of course. I was
not a fighter, not in any way. I never picked fights, preferring to use
my already sharp tongue. And if my tongue caused someone to chase me, I
ran. I may not have been physically courageous but I wasn't stupid
either.
But this was something else altogether. I didn't stop to think about
it. I just dropped my book bag and my gym shoes on the sidewalk and ran
the fifty yards to the marauders, becoming more angry with every stride.
My profanity wasn't very developed anyway, so I kept my mouth shut. I
also knew instinctively that taking on three boys my own size required
surprise tactics. I was heading directly toward Alex, though I had no
idea what I was going to do when I reached her.
As it happened, one of the bastards nearly intercepted my course without
yet noticing me, and I jumped in the air knee-high and kicked his bike
with my feet as my body hurtled into his. He never knew what hit him.
His bike and his head bounced off the asphalt simultaneously, with a
satisfying double-crash.
I scrambled up and saw a hand reaching for me with an unbelieving face
behind it as the next rider missed hitting me by inches. I grabbed the
hand and the wrist and hung on, and the boy yanked himself off his bike by
his own momentum. He landed on his knees and tried to grab my leg with
his other hand, so I kicked him hard in the face and let go of him.
Instinct again. Had I stopped to think about what I was doing, he would
have beaten the crap out of me. But he shrieked, went over on his back,
and clapped both hands over his nose and mouth.
The third boy had slewed his bike sideways in a frantic attempt not to
run into his buddy, and now had gotten the cuff of his jeans caught in the
chain. He had his back turned as he tried to extricate himself from his
machine. I yelled wordlessly and jumped on his back, grabbed his hair,
and began knocking his face against the horizontal bar of the bike. Kids
don't fight "fair" when it's a serious contest; they take any advantage
they can get.
He reached behind him, managed to grab my ear, and tried hard to pull it
off. I yelped at the sudden pain and tried to disengage, but he hung on
and twisted himself around where he could get both hands on me. I wasn't
going to get out of this unbruised; some of my anger began to be replaced
by fear.
But all this time, all two or three minutes of it, I'd forgotten about
Alex. She was angry, too. As the third boy cocked his free arm,
preparing to bury his fist in my eye, my sweet sister let him have it from
behind with her history textbook -- the thick, heavy one. I was focused
on that fist and heard three separate thudding sounds before I realized
what was happening. The repeated concussions made the third Mongol forget
all about me. He was crying and yelling and trying to get away. He
finally escaped by tearing his jeans, leaving part of the cuff wedged in
the chain, and falling over his bike. The pointed front of the bicycle
seat caught him square in the nuts and then he was rolling around in the
street, clutching his crotch and moaning.
The first boy was trying not very successfully to sit up. Blood was
running down his neck and across his head and he had managed to smear it
across his face. At first glance, he appeared to have been scalped.
The second one was still covering his lower face with his hands and
there was blood all down his shirt front and one tooth lying in the
street. He saw it too, and picked it up and stared at it. The only blood
on me belonged to the other three, though I had managed to rip two buttons
off my shirt.
As I said, I'm not a fighter, and I suddenly began to shake, sitting
there in the street. The thrill of victory was whooping somewhere in the
back of my mind, but it was mostly obscured by growing fear. Mother and
Dad were going to kill me. I'd probably be expelled. Maybe the police
would come to the house. Alex was alternately sobbing and laughing as she
hung onto my arm. When she felt me shaking, though, she came to her
senses more quickly than I did.
"C'mon," she said urgently. "Let's get outta here."
She pulled and pushed me to my feet and quickly gathered up her
scattered school books. We both looked around. Perhaps a dozen other
students of varying ages were standing, frozen, up and down the block,
some in the street and some on the sidewalk. I saw only one adult -- a
man who had been parking in front of his house ten yards away and was now
standing and leaning over his open car door with his mouth open. I paid
attention to him especially. The other kids were just kids, but adults
were a different species.
The man finally found his voice. "I saw it all, kid, it wasn't your
fault. You two get on home and I'll take care of these bullies." He
looked disgustedly at the three losers and I felt some relief.
Alex and I hurried back to where I had dropped my own stuff, noting the
nervousness or fright of the smaller children we passed. Those our own
age mostly grinned, though. The boys in the street were not popular.
Probably nobody here was going to volunteer evidence against me. We
walked quickly down the block and around the corner, making a two-block
detour to get home; I didn't want to have to walk again past the boys I
had beaten up.
That's when I realized, for the first time, that I *had* beaten them.
Three-to-one odds, and I had won. A satisfying thing for an adolescent
boy to discover about himself. But there was also the sobering knowledge
that I couldn't get away with that kind of surprise attack more than once.
The story would be all over school by the end of tomorrow's classes. And
I'd have to be careful or I was going to get my own self beaten up by kids
who had decided I had stepped out of the pecking order. Not to mention
the revenge these three losers would undoubtedly plan against me.
As usual, Alex was reading my mind. "Michael, don't worry." We were
both out of breath from our attempt to escape the scene. "That man was
Charlene Huff's father. He's a cop, a lieutenant or something. I don't
think he's going to bother us or he'd already have done it. Besides, he
said he saw the whole thing. Maybe those creeps will be in more trouble
than us." It was typical that she said "us" and not "you." She'd only
gotten in three blows and her school dress wasn't even mussed -- never
mind that she was the victim -- but it was still "us."
Then she squeezed my arm and smiled and said "My hero," without a trace
of irony. She made it sound lighthearted but she meant it. I was no
knight in shining armor and we both knew it. She also knew, now, that I
was willing to risk serious trouble on her behalf. I don't think it came
as a surprise to either of us.
We found out later that her estimation of the situation was pretty much
correct. Detective Lieutenant Huff apparently displayed his badge of
office to the three Mongols, which frightened them into giving their true
names and addresses. Then he made a point of going around to each set of
parents to explain how their sons had ended up in such a sorry condition
and why they hadn't better "assault a little girl" again. Charlene knew
the three, of course, and presumably filled in her father on their
previous terrorist activities. Nobody I knew had ever *seen* the inside
of Juvenile Detention and nobody wanted to. So I was a minor hero for a
few days, mostly to earlier victims of the gang. And Alex, without
telling me, made sure through her girlfriend network that the word went
out: Don't start on me or my brother, or Charlene Huff's father will hear
about it.
Chapter 2:
[...from chapter 2...]
I remember very clearly when I realized Alex was growing up, because it
momentarily frightened me. I went into the bathroom one morning when I
was thirteen and found several fresh drops of dark blood on the tile floor
in front of the toilet, by the simple method of stepping in it. There was
more blood in the bowl itself.
I looked wildly at the backs of my arms and legs and checked quickly in
the mirror to see if I had a nosebleed. There wasn't a mark on me. It
had to be my sister, the only other person who ever used the Upstairs
bathroom. So I hurried into her room.
"Alex!" I said too loudly. "Are you all right? Where'd the blood come
from?" She was sleeping on her stomach, but she awoke with a start,
raised her head, and stared at me in alarm.
"What blood?! Where?"
"In the bathroom, on the floor! Did you hurt yourself?" She stared
blankly at me for a moment before her eyes registered comprehension. She
let her head fall back on the pillow.
"No, dummy. I just started my period during the night. Sorry I made a
mess. I'll clean it up when I get up...." She began to drowse off again.
Her period. Oh. Yes, that WAS pretty stupid of me. The boys' Health
classes in school covered the physical development of both sexes, so I
knew, in theory, what menstruation was. I just hadn't put my foot in it
before now. I slipped out of my sister's room, embarrassed and sheepish.
Then I returned to the bathroom and mopped up the blood, now smeared by my
foot, and then went back to lie, wide awake, in my own bed for the two
hours before we had to get up for school.
When the alarm went off, I climbed out of bed again and wandered back to
the bathroom. Alex was already there, in her ubiquitous sleeping
tee-shirt, brushing her teeth. She turned when I came in, her mouth full
of toothpaste.
"I said I'd clean it up, Michael."
"What? Oh. Well, I stepped in it and smeared it, and I didn't want it
to dry there. Besides, I woke you up at five o'clock." I was still
embarrassed, not because she had begun having periods but because she
hadn't mentioned it to me.
My sister could read my expressions as fluently as I could read hers.
"Michael? I didn't mean to embarrass you; I was still asleep. I started
having periods a couple months ago, and I'm just not used to it yet. It
makes me feel pretty weird." She continued to look at me.
I patted her on the back. "That's okay, Alex. You just caught me by
surprise. I thought you had hurt yourself somehow. This is a new
experience for me, too."
Now I was succumbing to curiosity. "Uh, are you using a-- a Kotex, or
what? I mean, I don't want to pry...."
She replied with her tinkly, high amusement laugh. "No, they're too
bulky, you can see the outline right through your slacks. I'm using a
tampon."
I must have looked blank this time. "Isn't that the same thing?"
She laughed again and raised the front of her tee-shirt above her
panties. "No, it's not! I'm using one now and it doesn't show at all."
She saw my puzzled expression. "In fact, I need to change it before we go
to school. You can watch if you want to...."
"Really? We didn't get this kind of detail in Health class.
Obviously." I had no idea what this was going to involve but I suspected
it might make me a little sick. Maybe I had better skip breakfast this
morning.
Alex motioned for me to sit on the closed toilet seat while she got down
a cardboard box from the bathroom closet and dug from it a paper-wrapped
cylinder. Then she pushed her panties down and put one foot up on the
seat of the old wooden chair we kept in the bathroom.
This was also something new. I noted with interest that she was
developing a sizable patch of auburn pubic hair, almost exactly the same
shade as the hair on her head,... and on my head, for that matter. Then I
saw a white string dangling from her crotch.
Holding a folded-over pad of toilet paper between her legs, she tugged
on the string and extracted a bright red something the size and shape of a
hot dog, which glistened wetly. She wrapped it up carefully in the toilet
paper and dropped it in the wastebasket. There was a strange new aroma
about her, very different but not exactly unpleasant. Just strange.
She dabbed between her legs with another wad of toilet paper, moistened
this time to clean off any blood that had trickled around the Tampax.
Then she quickly unwrapped the fresh pack, revealing two telescoped
cardboard tubes, like a large toy hypodermic. Spreading her labia with
the fingers of one hand, she pushed the tube up into herself with the
other, depressed the "plunger," and withdrew the tube, which was now
tinged with red. A new string dangled from her crotch.
"See?" she said calmly. "Nothing to worry about. And I just gave you a
free shot at my pussy, too," she added with a grin. She pulled her
panties up and turned back to the sink to wash her hands.
I sat there another few seconds, thinking about what I had just seen.
Neither of us was particularly body-conscious, so nudity was not a big
thing. I had seen my sister naked a number of times and vice versa. But
this was the first time I had actually been shown what lay hidden between
her legs ... and she had volunteered it. Was she just teasing me? Or was
there a message here I didn't yet understand? I was pretty sure none of
my friends at school who had sisters had had such an experience, or we all
would have heard about it. I, on the other hand, wouldn't tell them, or
anyone else, a thing. And Alex knew it.
Maybe that's why she did it, I thought. Starting her periods means
she's growing up and who else can she show that off to? And she knows she
can trust me not to gossip about it at school.
I reached over to my sister, now standing only a foot away at the sink,
and moved my hand lightly down the back of her thigh and the inside of her
knee. I knew she liked that caress, and she did indeed look over at me
with a wide smile.
"You have a very nice...," I began and then couldn't think of an
appropriate word.
"Pussy? I know. Thank you, Michael." Her smile was warm and candid.
We were an odd couple, even at that age.
Chapter 3:
[...from chapter 3...]
I was working on my third model Zero, being careful to use only the
minimum amount of plastic cement. The two halves of each wing were drying
in their network of rubber bands, and I was just about ready to insert the
wings into the slots in the fuselage. The first two models had come out
okay and were lined up on the shelf before me where I could visually check
the wing angles. I painted a thin bead of cement along the wing slots,
inserted the wings, checked the angles, and prepared to hold my hands
steady for five minutes. I intended to have a flight of three Japanese
fighters arranged in a diving formation over my study desk, properly
detailed and painted and each with its own individual markings.
Alex's head poked in the door, dark red ponytail askew. She watched in
silence for a few seconds as I sat unmoving.
"What are you doing?"
I looked at my sister, then back at the model, then patiently back at my
sister. She saw my expression and held up a hand. "Okay, I know: You're
working on a model. But what are you DOING?"
"I'm holding the wings steady until the cement dries, so they won't
sag."
She nodded as if her worst fears for my sanity had been realized. I
raised an eyebrow. "Hey, do I make fun of the stuffed animals on your
pillow?"
She smiled and continued into my room in cutoffs and a tee-shirt,
collapsing on my bed, arms out, with a loud, dramatic sigh. "I'm bored."
I didn't even look up. "It's 10:30 Saturday morning, Alex. How can you
be bored?" I kind of knew what she meant, though. I mean, here I was
with nothing better to do than build model planes.
"I bet you could think of something to do if you worked at it. What
about the Coven?" My name for the four or five girls she ran around with,
doing "girl things" together.
"Oh, they're all out of town for the weekend, or they have afternoon
dates, or something." She sounded faintly disgusted. "Michael, could WE
do something together?"
"Like what?" The wings were setting up perfectly.
"I dunno -- go to a show maybe? Just go downtown and walk around and
window-shop?"
I looked over at the bed and grinned. "Well, I could take you to the
playground and hold your hand while you go down the *big* slide...."
She stuck out her tongue and then grinned back. I liked the way her
nose wrinkled when she did that.
"I'm serious! It's a nice day -- we could just go out and do something
and have fun together, couldn't we? Unless you're embarrassed to be seen
with your little sister, of course."
"No, I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you, and you're not so little
anymore, anyway." I thought about discovering her menstruation a few
months before; I tried to think of her as a "woman" now, but it often
wasn't easy.
The Zero's wings had set enough that I could let go of them, but I
slipped a paperback book under each wing, just in case. I turned sideways
in my chair. Alex had her hands behind her head and was idly kicking one
bare foot over her cocked knee. I thought about things I needed to do,
projects I ought to work on. Nothing. I was caught up on my schoolwork
and so, probably, was Alex. No pressing errands. No place I really had
to be today. God, it WAS going to be a boring day! On the other hand,
though Alex and I teased each other without mercy, I really did like her
company and I knew the feeling was reciprocated. We had become very
comfortable just hanging out together.
"You know what we both need?" I said. "Exercise. EASY exercise. You
feel like hiking around Fremont Park for a couple of hours?"
Fremont was a large, semi-wild area on the eastern edge of town that
combined lawns and softball fields and cycling paths with rocky trails and
not-too-difficult ravines. High school students went there with their
steadies, to lie in the sun or to sit up amongst the boulder-strewn
hillsides and make out. Young mothers strolled their infants, older kids
climbed trees and tossed frisbees. In the summer, the park was pretty
busy on weekends, but this was a surprisingly mild day in March and most
families would be stoking up their charcoal for the first cook-out of the
year, or attacking the winter's accumulation of yard work.
Alex considered the suggestion for perhaps half a second before bouncing
up with a broad, sparkling smile. "That's a great idea! Wait'll I get my
Keds!" She hurried out, toes curled for traction as she angled across the
hall.
We frequently rode our bikes over to Fremont, but the idea today was to
hike, and if we parked the bikes someplace -- even locked -- the odds were
slim that they would be there when we came back. But it was only a
fifteen-minute bus ride from the end of our block to the park, so it was
still well before noon when we arrived. There were a few athletic types
around, but the families wouldn't begin to appear before late lunch.
"Wanna head for anyplace special?" Alex asked as we got off the bus.
"No place special," I replied. "In fact, let's just go wherever we
happen to go. There's no hurry; we can just stroll, okay?"
Alex nodded agreement and we set off at an easy pace along the
tree-edged path that separated the open, nearly empty lawns on our left
from the rolling, rocky hillsides on the right. We ambled along and I
hooked my thumbs in my front pockets. Alex looped her arm through mine.
She was only a inch or so shorter than me and we fit together quite well.
"This is nice," she said lazily and squeezed my arm.
A few minutes later, we witnessed one of those otherwise minor
incidents, those little public dramas, that can unexpectedly make a real
change in your life. Three boys about ten years old came tearing down the
path on their bikes and swerved around us. Several lengths behind them
was a girl a year or two younger, wearing jeans and a plaid blouse,
peddling as hard as she could.
"Keith!" she yelled angrily. "Mom said not to go off and leave me!
Wait up!"
One of the boys threw up his hands in dramatic frustration and coasted
to a stop while the girl hurried to catch up. The other two boys began
cruising in a circle on the grass off to one side, laughing at their
buddy's encumbrance. The girl skidded to a halt just behind her brother.
She was nearly in tears.
"Why don't you just go home, kid?" Keith looked very disgusted.
"Sisters aren't good for anything!" He glared a challenge at her.
"I just want to play...," the girl replied, looking down at her shoes.
"Well, we don't want you playing with us! Get away from me! Just leave
me alone!" And he did a wheelie on his bike as he raced off to join his
friends. They all headed for the beginning of one of the park's network
of hill trails.
The girl watched them go, then slowly turned her bike around and headed
back the other way. She wasn't crying aloud, but the misery of rejection
was plain in her eyes. There were tears on her cheeks and she was biting
her lower lip. As she passed us, I realized that Alex was about to say
something to her.
Bad idea, I knew it instinctively. I trapped the hand that had begun to
slip off my arm and said, softly but firmly, "No."
Alex looked at me, startled, and then the girl had passed and so had the
opportunity to intervene.
"Why did you stop me?" She looked surprised. "I was just going to tell
her to keep her chin up -- that not all brothers are like that. Didn't
you see the way he treated that poor kid?"
I raised my eyebrows; she really didn't understand. "In other words,
you were going to point out to her how much luckier YOU were. And how
would that have made her feel?"
Alex opened her mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. She looked for a
moment at the snubbed girl, who was peddling slowly into the distance with
her head down, then looked back at me and nodded unhappily.
"You're right; I didn't think. Sorry." She took my arm again and we
went on. She was thinking, and I thought I knew what about, but I kept my
mouth shut.
My sister looked over and stared at my profile for several seconds
before asking, "Michael,... why aren't we like that?"
My thoughts had been running along the same lines. "You mean, why don't
we detest each other, the way everyone else we know does?" She smiled
slightly and nodded. "Alex, I don't know. But I'm glad it's different
with us."
"Me, too." She squeezed my arm, just a little.
"Maybe," I continued, "maybe we're just different from everyone else,
period. I mean, how many people do we know who would even be talking
about this? We've always gotten along pretty well -- haven't we? Is that
abnormal for brothers and sisters? Or maybe we just left that stuff
behind quicker than most people."
Alex was nodding her head. She looked at me again and smiled. "Maybe
we're emotional geniuses...."
I snorted and we went on. After awhile we found ourselves stepping from
ledge to ledge up a hillside trail. There was a series of broad slate
shelves to one side near the top of the hill, screened from above by scrub
and juniper, which had obviously been left as a bench for climbers. You
could see most of the park from there, as well as the trail we had
climbed. It seemed like a good place to sit and talk, which I think we
both unconsciously wanted to do.
I sat and stuck my legs out, flexing my knees. I needed to get this
kind of exercise more often; except for swimming, maybe I was becoming too
"bookish." My sister stepped up on the ledge just behind mine, sat down,
and leaned her chin on my shoulder. It was an affectionate gesture and I
liked it. But her question wasn't what I had expected.
"Michael, how do you feel about me?"
I considered for a moment, but I wasn't sure what she was really asking.
"You mean, do I like you more than that kid likes *his* sister? Sure."
"Well,... no -- not exactly."
Her voice had an odd tone. I started to turn to look at her but she
quickly laid her hand atop my head and prevented it.
"Don't look at me!" she added, so I didn't. "I mean, uh,... um,...
Michael, do you love me?" It came out in a rush.
I hadn't had a chance to thing of a good answer so I said the first
thing that came into my head. "Of course, I love you, Alex. You're my
sister and I care about you a lot."
Her cheek was next to my ear and I could feel her smile. Then she
surprised me again: She kissed me on the cheek and quickly sat back. She
had kissed me before, when I gave her a birthday present or did her some
kind of favor, but somehow this was different. I motioned for her to move
down beside me, which she did. Then I put my arm around her neck, my hand
dangling loose over her shoulder, and I studied her.
"So? Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"
She shrugged, a bit embarrassed, and reached up to lace her fingers
through mine. "I don't know,... I just wondered...." I continued to look
at her expectantly so she went on.
"Well, that girl looked so unhappy awhile ago, and I was thinking that
I'm usually *happy* around you, and,... well, I just wondered."
Then I surprised myself. I leaned over and kissed her at the corner of
her eye. She was startled and put her other hand up to touch the spot. I
knew that most guys my age would rather eat dirt than kiss their sisters,
but it felt like something I wanted to do, and I realized immediately that
I had enjoyed it.
Alex was my sister, yes -- but she was also a very pretty girl, and I
definitely liked girls. Also, she was my very best friend, barring no
one. I had warm feelings toward her on all accounts, and I had reason to
think she felt much the same way about me. How long had I felt this way?
For as long as I could remember. Looking back, I can see that we were
unusually mature emotionally, and I can offer no explanation for that.
Because Alex was right: We had never fought, the way most siblings did.
We argued, often heatedly, but we never sank to name-calling. If we
stomped off in opposite directions after a spat, we always felt guilty
soon afterward and sought each other out to be the first to apologize.
I'm not sure our parents were aware of any of this, either. As I've
said, we were the objects of benign neglect in most matters, and we made
up our own social and psychological norms. We played together when we
were little, we shared our toys with almost no arguments, we took each
other's part automatically in dealings with other kids (like the famous
incident with the Three Bullies) -- we cooperated to what was undoubtedly
an unnatural degree. It wasn't an attitude or a relationship we arrived
at by forethought; it just seemed to be a part of our emotional makeup.
All our lives we had been close, but now we were both growing up. I was
becoming acutely aware that there was a female body under the jeans and
sweatshirts and -- also unusual -- I didn't feel guilty or even strange
about the realization.
In retrospect, I believe my sister also had a crush on me. I was
beginning to catch her watching me unobtrusively with an expression of
vague longing. At the time, I just thought she was acting a little oddly.
Certainly, I had a matching crush on her; I simply didn't recognize it.
I know I wondered at the time if our relaxed companionability was a
"phase" that would end, if we would soon be at each other's throats like
everyone else. I hoped that wouldn't happen. I was really beginning to
consciously enjoy and appreciate my sister's friendly presence, taken so
long for granted. I liked living with someone so similar in appearance,
style, and tastes to myself, someone I could talk to about absolutely
anything without being jeered. Someone so cute, too. And I didn't think
of any of this as "wrong." It was just the way we were, and the fact that
we recognized so early that we were different seemed to isolate us even
more from our friends and classmates. It drew us more closely together.
I had my friends, Alex had her friends, and we shared a few friends.
But then there was "Alex-and-me," and that was like a third person in
which each of us shared half the responsibility.
We sat there on the rock ledge by the trail, thinking much the same
thoughts and reaching the same conclusions. Alex snuggled a little closer
and leaned against me, and I replied by putting my arm around her and
squeezing her in a soft hug.
"Michael," she said softly without looking up, "I'm lucky to have you
for a brother, aren't I?" She paused and the tenor of her voice saddened.
"This probably can't go on, you know that, don't you? What's going to
happen to us?"
"It'll go on as long as both of us want it to, Alex." It was what I
hoped, not what I knew. We were still very young and hope comes easy at
that age.
Alex turned sideways to face me. "Would it be too strange if I kissed
you? I mean, on the mouth?"
"Not to me it wouldn't be."
She reached up to my cheek as I spoke and I put my hand on the back of
her neck. I felt warm and tender toward her at that moment, but it wasn't
exactly "romantic." Neither was it consciously sexual. More like a
deliberate emotional bonding.
Our lips met hesitantly. Neither of us had really done this before with
anyone -- in cold blood, so to speak. But we gained confidence quickly.
That first real kiss between us lasted maybe thirty seconds and it was
careful and gentle and exploratory, and it felt so very, very nice. And
so entirely natural, as if it were destined. Neither of us had second
thoughts.
When our lips parted we simply sat and gazed at each other, our hands
still in place. It certainly felt like a "magic moment" but neither of us
was quite sure why.
I date my love for Alex, for my beautiful and perfect sister, from that
moment. I wasn't aware of any kind of emotional watershed at the time, of
course. But, looking back, that kiss was when our attitudes and feelings
toward each other began slowly to crystalize. When I told that to Alex,
years later, she simply nodded in agreement. Our first deliberate kiss,
she said, was like being thirsty and "taking a long drink from a cool
well." She felt the unexplainable difference, too. And things were never
the same for us again.
* * * * *
Without having to think about it, I knew I had more access to Alex's
body than was ordinarily the case. A guy in gym was bragging one day
about having caught a glimpse of his older sister's "snatch" (a word I
never cared for) and I remember disapproving of his leering description
and of the snickering reaction of his listeners.
I was as perpetually horny as any other adolescent male, and I was both
appreciative of and aroused by the large areas of skin Alex casually
revealed to me more and more frequently. But I certainly wasn't going to
describe my sister's many luscious attributes with these lowlifes. The
braggart had actually gone on recon, hanging out around his house at
locations where he would have the best opportunity to steal a peek at his
sister's naked body.
Alex showed me what she was willing for me to see -- which was virtually
all of her -- and there was no sneaking involved. She was proud of her
body and she enjoyed showing it off to an audience she could trust. She
never said "Don't tell anyone," nor did she even imply it, because she
knew it wasn't necessary. I had the usual doubts about my own developing
sexual equipment, but Alex watched with interest when I changed clothes or
took a leak -- and that never embarrassed me, either. How many penises
could she compare with mine at the age of thirteen?
After our walk in the park and our first real kiss, there was a subtle
change in our behavior toward each other, especially at home. Previously,
if my door was shut, Alex would knock and wait for me to invite her in. I
gave her the same courtesy. But now our personal privacy began to
disappear, entirely by mutual consent. I'd knock at her door and then go
in, without waiting for permission; Alex did the same. If she was in her
underwear, she didn't make a big deal of it, so neither did I. Then our
doors were only half-closed, not shut. Then only occasionally closed at
all.
The same was true of the bathroom: If one of us was on the toilet, the
other ignored the fact. We still were pretty private, but now it was a
*shared* privacy directed toward the outside world. It was as if that
kiss had sealed a pact of trust between us.
We also spent more and more time together, just occupying adjacent
space. Instead of each of us studying in our own rooms, Alex took to
occupying my bed, sprawled out with books and papers scattered around her,
while I studied at my desk (which was actually a large, old oak library
table).
We might not say a word for an hour or more, the silence broken only by
the rustle of paper and the scratching of pencils, but just being near
each other as we worked made the homework easier. And I discovered the
pleasures of reading a novel while lying on my back with my head cushioned
in a girl's lap. Sometimes I would look up from whatever I was doing to
find Alex simply watching me and smiling. Then I discovered I was doing
the same thing.
We began going for walks regularly, but almost always outside our own
part of town. We knew instinctively that our friends and acquaintances
would hassle us, and we didn't want to start any rumors, either. Because
when we went window-shopping downtown or climbing in the hills, we
frequently held hands. I'm sure strangers, if they noticed us at all,
assumed I was Alex's boyfriend, not her brother, even though we looked so
much alike.
We also went to the shows at the old-style theaters downtown, the ones
with balconies. We would find ourselves surrounded in an upper loge by a
dozen scattered couples passionately making out, and we would look around,
grin, and squeeze our clasped hands. I could put my arm around my sister
in a dark theater, too, and she could snuggle up against me unobserved. I
began to long for a driver's license, but that was still two years away.
Oddly enough, after that first experience on the hillside, we seldom
kissed, except for a perfunctory "thank you" on the cheek. Perhaps we
regarded it as too valuable and special an experience and we wanted to
preserve its rarity. Or maybe we were just fearful of the implications.
We recognized that out affection for each other was growing with every
passing month, but that didn't mean we understood it. There were
occasions, however....
* * * * *
Alex played flute in the junior high band for two years; it later became
one activity too many, and she dropped band so she could stay on the swim
team. And the flute section, as every band-survivor knows, is on the very
front row. When the Spring Concert -- the biggest musical event of the
year -- came around, my little sister discovered she had outgrown last
year's "special" dress; as slender as she was, she had still added an inch
or more around the bust. Had she been a couple of rows back, mostly
hidden from view, she might have tried to fake it by letting out a few
seams, but for the front row she knew she'd have to have a new dress.
The rule in our family had always been that Mother and Dad kept us
respectably clothed -- which they certainly did -- but that fancy
non-necessaries, like jewelry, and party dresses, and leather jackets,
either came at the usual gift times or were paid for with money we earned
ourselves.
Alex had a conference downstairs with Mother and came away from it with
a $20 contribution. She had another $15 stashed away from babysitting and
typing term papers, I knew, but from what I heard her say, the perfect
dress, the one she really, really wanted, cost $49.95.
Cokes were still a dime then and I could buy a new pair of Hush Puppies
for under $10, so what she had in mind was a significant target. And Alex
was $15 short. I asked her if she had actually counted up her savings and
she replied morosely that she *knew* how much was in the old stationary
box in her bottom drawer.
I thought about it for at least thirty minutes. I had my own savings,
of course, in a battered tobacco tin wedged up in my bed springs, and I
had vague plans for it. But it really made me unhappy to see my sister so
unhappy. I dug out the tin and counted nearly $40; I took out fifteen
singles and stuck them in my pocket. I could always mow more lawns.
While Alex was out on an errand later that afternoon, I opened her
bottom drawer and dug out her money box. She had twelve singles, the four
fives Mother had given her, and a double fistful of quarters. The bills
were neatly paperclipped together, and I smoothed out my contribution and
added it to the clip.
Alex wandered in and plopped down on my bed an hour later. When I asked
her if she had come up with any ideas for the dress she wanted, she shook
her head slowly and continued to stare at the ceiling.
"Look," I said, "why don't you go and actually count your savings? When
was the last time you did that? You probably don't have any idea how much
you have!"
"I counted it a month ago and it was less than $20, I know."
"Would you PLEASE just go and count it again?"
She was becoming a bit annoyed. "Okay, okay, I'll count it again! But
it's not enough!" And off she went. I heard her dresser drawer open and
shut. Her bed squeaked as she dumped the box out on her comforter. I
could barely make out her voice.
"...four, five, six,..."
When she finished, there was a pause of several seconds and then she
re-counted, a little louder. Another pause, and she went through the
bills a third time. Then there was a much longer pause and I grinned to
myself as I pictured her bewilderment. Then I heard her bed squeak again
and her bare feet slowly crossed the hall. I had to struggle to keep a
straight face as she came through the door, bills clutched in both hands,
and a look of mixed puzzlement and suspicion on her face.
"I *couldn't* have had this much!"
"I always knew you couldn't count above three," I replied, raising my
eyebrows.
"Michael -- did *you* put more money in there? From your savings?"
"Who, me?" I tried to look innocent. "Why would I do that?"
But I was like a pane of window glass to Alex. She walked over to my
desk chair. "I KNOW why you did it. Now, stand up."
I must have looked a bit puzzled myself as I pushed the chair back and
got up.
She put her arms around my neck and stared me square in the eye, her
nose an inch from mine. "You did it because you're absolutely wonderful,
and I don't deserve you for a brother," she said softly with tears in her
lashes. Then she kissed me, slowly, lingeringly, in a way that sent
muscle spasms through my toes. I held her by the shoulders because I was,
frankly, afraid to put my arms around her waist. I wasn't sure I would be
able to let go. That kiss seemed to go on and on, though it probably
lasted only a minute or two.
She hugged me, her cheek damp against mine. "Why do you do things like
this for me? I'll pay you back before school's out, I promise."
"You'll do no such thing," I replied firmly. I had already thought
about this, too, and I knew how I wanted it to be. "That's not a loan;
it's a gift. More than that: It's yours because you need it more right
now than I do. Alex, you're my sister and I want you to be happy.
Anything I have -- anything I *ever* have -- is yours. Always."
She pulled her head back and stared at me, and then her expression
shifted and the look on her face held such wonder and happiness that I got
tingly feelings in all my nerve endings. And there was something else in
her face that I couldn't identify at the time, and which she may not even
have realized was there.
But I've seen it many times since when she looks at me. It was the
first dawn of real love. It was more than just affection -- and it struck
me like the sun rising on a summer day. Then she hugged me again and her
arms trembled as she tried not to burst into tears. And this time I put
my arms around her and hugged back. Like Alex, I wasn't sure what had
just happened -- was still happening -- but I felt, again, as I had after
our very first kiss, an almost physical change in my feeling for my
sister, a change I was certain she had experienced, too.
Chapter 4:
[...from chapter 4...]
I began going out on real dates when I was fifteen. These days, I
suppose, kids of both sexes are old hands at dating by the time they're
twelve, but parents weren't so progressive in the middle America of my
adolescence. I was always perfectly at ease with Alex but I often seemed
to be afflicted with stupidity around other girls. Before and after
school and during gym, the boys would gather and pool their intelligence
on the girls, liberally salting their accounts with exaggeration, complete
lies, and inept psychological analysis.
It was a relief to discover, through Alex, that the girls were following
much the same procedure. For my sister was my secret weapon in that
first, tentative confrontation between the sexes, and I was hers.
"One of the guys claims Liz Nowotny almost never wears panties to
school," I might remark hopefully.
Alex would giggle in delight. "Well, she must change in her hall locker
then! She wears fake satin underwear in gym class!" Sometimes there
would be a bonus: "She also pads her bra with tissues!" Which I would
then report back to the trenches on the boys' side of the field, adopting
a knowing smirk if someone demanded documentation.
Within a few months, Alex was also enrolled in the dating game. If a
boy asked her out whom she was uncertain of, she often came to me for a
background check. I don't believe I was ever really jealous of the fact
that my little sister was out at night, holding hands in a movie or making
out in the back seat of a car. She was all mine at home, after all.
She seemed to have much the same attitude. We were unnatural allies in
the genetic competition. We teased each other remorselessly about our
dates, but we also were willing to betray our same-sex friends to spare
each other social disaster and personal humiliation.
"Tommy Thatcher?! Alex, don't you know that every girl he even manages
to hold hands with, three hours later he's bragging he screwed her or at
least felt her up? And he tells every guy in school!"
Or, "Why would you even *think* of asking Eileen Zimmer to a pool
party?! Nobody's ever even seen her knees in the locker room, she's such
a prude. If she even *owns* a swim suit, I'll bet it has long legs and
sleeves and a full skirt!"
And so we managed to save ourselves from most situations of potential
public embarrassment. There was a positive side to our information
exchange, too. If my sister told me that a girl I was planning to ask out
loved to collect hickeys in unusual places to show off to her friends,
then I would make an effort to be creative.
And when Alex went out on a tennis date with Brian, a reasonably
intelligent jock I knew from math class, I informed her in advance of his
admiration for girls who weren't afraid to compete with him; he abhorred
simpering "lil' ol' me" types. So she played the game hard and worked up
a real sweat, and although Brian won the match, it wasn't by much. He
stopped me in the hall the next day, grinning and shaking his head.
"That's some sister you got, man! Really a neat girl!" I could only
agree with him.
Since Alex and I had tacitly agreed long before that we could tell or
ask each other anything, our dating experiences led to more intimate
dialogue. We began to relate our discoveries and blunders to each other
in detail and to compare interpretations and perspectives.
* * * * *
One Sunday night when it was uncomfortably warm and humid, we spread a
comforter on the floor in my room and lay on our backs in front of the
laboring window air conditioning unit, I in my briefs, she in her red
rayon bikini panties -- a recent acquisition which demonstrated her
growing confidence about herself. We lay like starfish, limbs
outstretched and overlapping, trying to stay cool.
Alex was absently trailing her fingernails lightly over my chest and
shoulders, creating a delightfully shivery sensation. When we were alone
together these days, the need for physical contact was almost
overwhelming.
I needed to tell her about my date the night before, which had not been
a notable success; I wanted to understand why. And, as usual, Alex made
it easy for me.
"So, how was your date with Susie Ellis?"
"Awful! She'll never go out with me again."
I regretted it, too. Susie was not only a very cute little blonde, she
was also bright and articulate. I valued intelligent conversation on a
date, along with the kissing and groping.
"When I put my arm around her in the theater, she liked it; she even
leaned over toward me on the arm rest. But when I took her home and tried
to put my arm around her so I could kiss her goodnight, she went stiff as
a board and practically shoved me away! I see her in class every day, and
she's friendly enough then. What did I do?!"
Alex chuckled sympathetically. "I think in the movie she felt safe
because there were a lot of other people around; in the car, she was all
alone with you." Alex glanced over and saw that I wasn't getting her
point.
"You probably don't know this," she continued, "but last year Susie was
attacked by some creep, an older man, in the parking lot at Sears. He
pushed her into a car and started grabbing her tits and stuff before she
could scream. Artie and a couple other guys heard her and ran over to
help, but the creep took off and they couldn't catch him. Anyway, Susie's
still afraid of being alone with a guy, I think. So it wasn't anything
you did -- really, it wasn't."
The next Friday night, I ran into Susie at the football game and we sat
together in the stands and rah-rah'ed together and laughed together ...
and I was careful not to touch her.
Making our way slowly out of the packed stadium afterward, I invited her
for a coke and offered to include a ride home. She glanced over her
shoulder at me and hesitated a moment, but then she smiled and accepted.
We gossiped and chattered about inconsequential things over our fountain
drinks for half an hour, and Susie relaxed in my company. And I still
kept my hands to myself.
When we arrived in front of her house, though, her smile suddenly seemed
frozen with tension. I set the hand brake and immediately hopped out and
went around to open her door for her. She looked surprised and relieved,
and as I walked her slowly up the winding flagstones to her door I kept my
fingers hooked in my back belt loops.
"'Night, Susie; I really enjoyed it. See you in Math tomorrow, okay?"
I turned to go but she reached out and touched my arm.
"Michael, wait..." I turned to face her again. Now her eyes and her
lips said she thought she was willing to be kissed, but I still waited.
It had to be her own decision.
"You're really a nice guy..." She twisted her hands together and bit
her lip for a moment, undecided about how to proceed. Then she looked up
at me from under her lashes and said in a soft almost-whisper, "Would you
kiss me...?"
I smiled my most trustworthy smile and held her chin still with one
finger laid carefully along her jaw line. Do it slowly, don't grab, I
told myself. I leaned forward and pressed my lips firmly against hers.
No tongue, no nibbling. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed a little
as she leaned into the kiss.
She was basically a friendly person; she wanted to like people. I knew
she was relieved to discover she could overcome her lingering fright, to
find that she could again enjoy this wonderful human contact. And that
was what I intended her to feel. Susie was a very nice girl and it really
bothered me that the assault she had undergone also had separated her from
boys who liked her and who meant her no harm at all. We broke contact
slowly and before I straightened, I brushed away the tears shining on her
lower lashes.
"It's okay, Susie," I said softly. "I know you always have to be
careful, but not every guy is a son of a bitch."
She swallowed and nodded, quickly kissed me once more on the cheek,
squeezed my hand, and slipped through the door. I walked back to the car,
hands in my pockets, feeling pleased with myself and pleased for Susie.
It hadn't been a completely unselfish act, I knew that well enough, but it
was still the right thing to have done.
[NOTE: From Chap 4 of the "Siblings" novel; set 1970; he's 15, she's 14.
Some minor correcting and rewriting for continuity has been done since
this section was first posted....]
OPENING MOVES
by Michael K. Smith
Alex made the freshman swimming team when she was fourteen. So had I,
the previous year, and now I was on the 10th Grade boy's team; I was proud
of my little sister and pleased that we would both be on the "jock bus" to
out-of-town interscholastic meets.
I had discovered already that I simply wasn't designed physically or
mentally to be a participant in what nonswimmers regarded as "real"
sports, like football or basketball. You had to force yourself to become
a cog in a machine and that wasn't for me.
Swimming and track, though, where you did most of your practicing alone,
were a different kind of athletics. Competing against other individuals,
head-to-head, or against your own previous best effort, was much more
enjoyable. At least, it suited me and it seemed to suit Alex, and we both
became steady performers in both sports.
To our coaches, people like us were the "backbones of the team": not
many First Place ribbons, but always well up in the standings. Neither
Alex nor I would ever qualify for a college athletic scholarship -- I
think we simply lacked the bloodlust that level of competitiveness demands
-- but neither would we embarrass ourselves or our teams.
Rather than the bulging calves and linebacker's shoulders that many
young swimmers develop, my sister acquired instead long, sleek leg muscles
and flat, rippling surfaces across her upper back. I found the result
very appealing ... but I was hardly an unbiased observer. Many of the
other girls, when they made the team, cut their hair very short as a sort
of ritual of achievement, but Alex refused to give up her coppery mane.
Her body was developing in all the best places, too. Her hips widened
enough to hold up her jeans and her waist narrowed; the baby fat
disappeared quickly. Daily training at the pool kept her stomach flat and
taut, and her bottom quivered nicely rather than bouncing.
Some girls at school possessed breasts that practically exploded into
'boobs' -- double-A to C- or D-cup in a semester or less. They became
very popular dates with the more mammary-minded boys. I had several
opportunities myself to squeeze, suck, and wallow between pairs of
hyperdeveloped tits, and it was definitely a stimulating experience -- but
I suspected even then that such accessories would require mechanical
support before many more years passed. I also learned the truth of the
old wisecrack: "Any more than you can get in your mouth at one time is
wasted."
Like all the rest of her, I regarded my sister's breasts to be
near-perfect -- the standard beside which all others should be judged.
She had barely enough silhouette to be considered sexy by the
unimaginative, but even though her bust line was relatively small, it
remained firm as the result of regular exercise. Her breasts rode high
and proud on her torso and they never, ever sagged. Whether she lay on
her back or stood up straight with her shoulders braced, her tits hardly
changed their shallow conical shape. And each was crowned by a frequently
erect nipple, as prominent as a watchtower on a hilltop.
By today's social standards, my opinion of what constitutes physical
attractiveness in a woman may be considered sexist, but I claim a
neo-Platonic view of the aesthetic ideal -- and Alex at fourteen fit that
ideal as perfectly as I could wish.
Our physical relationship also began to change shortly after we turned
fifteen and fourteen. About the same time I was learning the techniques
of successful masturbation, I became aware that Alex had embarked on her
own journey of discovery. This came as a surprise, though I realized
immediately that it shouldn't have. It simply hadn't occurred to me that
a girl was perfectly capable of enjoying sex all by herself.
I'm amazed I was so blind. On several occasions I found my sister
sitting barefoot on the old kitchen chair in her room, one foot tucked
comfortably beneath her, the other swinging slowly to and fro. The nail
polish or emery board in her hand was forgotten and her slightly glazed
eyes had a faraway look. If I interrupted her, she blinked and that was
that, but on one occasion I stopped in the hall and watched in
fascination. The foot-rocking continued for several minutes and her gaze
became more and more unfocused until finally the foot stopped and she let
out a deep sigh. Then she blinked several times and licked her lips, and
seemed to return from wherever she had been. She looked up and saw me in
the hall, and ducked her head. Her ears turned pink but I somehow knew
not to ask, and she volunteered nothing.
Bladder pressure forced me out of bed early one Sunday morning, and as I
headed sleepily back from the bathroom I paused in the hallway at the
sound of my sister's bed creaking rhythmically. My own bed made the same
sound when I jerked off, so it certainly caught my attention. I edged
down the hall, keeping to the shadows of the far wall, until I could see
Alex's bed through the half-open door. And I stood silently and watched
her bring herself off, mesmerized by the sight, pounded by guilt for
peeking, and totally unable to move.
Her sleeping shirt was up around her midriff and her white cotton
panties were pushed down just far enough to allow a downy red curl to
escape. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was open, and her breathing was
becoming louder. One arm was thrust behind her pillow. Her other hand
was out of sight under the cotton and her fingers were moving in a
complicated pattern. Her long legs were stretched out, ankles crossed,
and her calf and thigh muscles flexed and fluttered. I imagined her
finger moving up and down her pussy, and I began to sweat.
Then her lovely legs bent at the knee and her feet rose slowly until her
curled toes were pointed at the ceiling. I could see the outline of her
finger moving jerkily beneath the now-exposed crotch of her panties. I
found the vision of her heated body being stoked even further incredibly
arousing.
After a few minutes, she lowered her legs again and this time spread her
bent knees. The cotton crotch was a vertical white band separating her
smooth thighs. Her hand continued to move, but now she pushed the cloth
aside and attacked her pussy with a cupped hand. Her breasts were rising
and falling rapidly as she sucked air in and hissed it out. Her lips
curled back slightly and her hand flashed ever faster, until she sighed
deeply and seemed to sink into her mattress. Her legs relaxed and a
satisfied smile crept over her face. She gradually extricated her hand
and flexed her fingers as if to remove a cramp. She hesitated and then
brought her fingers to her face and inhaled. The aroma was perceptible
even out in the hall. My cock had been pushing hard against the front of
my briefs for several minutes, and when Alex slipped her fingers into her
mouth and silently sucked them dry, I nearly came myself.
As she turned over on her side and pulled the covers back up, I moved
slowly and carefully back to my own bed. I lay there for an hour,
replaying the vision over and over. And when my sister finally wandered
into my room and ruffled my hair to awaken me, I felt a nearly
overwhelming desire to grab her hand and suck on her fingers myself.
Dad was gone on one of his trips just before Christmas and the winter
cold had exacerbated Mother's arthritis. She was holed up in the
downstairs bedroom and Alex and I had the Upstairs all to ourselves, as
usual. The heat wasn't working properly in Alex's room for some reason,
and she came into my room with a quilt gathered around her. I was sitting
up, half under the covers, reading.
"Can I stay in here with you tonight?" She was shivering. I was
comfortable, even a little too warm. My internal thermostat always was
set a little higher than hers.
"Why don't you wear your flannel thing?" She grimaced and shifted from
one bare foot to the other.
Under the quilt, I knew she was probably wearing only a tee-shirt; even
though she chilled easily at that age, she hated sleeping in anything that
twisted around her like a mummy's wrappings. There we agreed: I usually
slept in my briefs, not pajamas with a top.
"Sure, why not?" I scooted over a bit and hauled back the comforter.
She crossed the room in two quick, deer-like leaps, shedding the quilt
on the way, and slid quickly under the covers. I was right: One of my old
tee shirts clipped off at navel-length, and the standard cotton panties.
She immediately drew up her knees in a cannonball and hiked the comforter
up under her chin.
"Thanks! I was getting frost between my toes!"
I radiate a lot of body heat at night and she inched over a little at a
time until she was snugged up against my left side, her nose tickling my
ribs. She sighed contentedly. And a quarter of an hour passed.
We had cozied up in bed together dozens of times in the past, sometimes
when it was cold, or to swap giggling gossip from school, or sometimes
just for company. We enjoyed being together more than being alone most of
the time, even when we were each silently engrossed in our separate
thoughts. But now, for the first time that I can remember, I forgot the
book I was reading and my imagination suddenly snapped into focus on Alex.
I was still holding the book but on the movie screen in my head all I
saw was a still shot of her in mid-leap on her way to the bed, long legs
outstretched, tee shirt flipped up by the movement, already nicely-shaped
breasts in momentary free flight beneath the cotton. Jesus. My cock
twitched as I studied the picture.
I knew my sister had an attractive body -- not that I thought of it that
way consciously, not yet. What experience of my own did I have to compare
her body to? Almost absolutely none. And here my penis was getting the
better of me. I had been masturbating for two years, usually to the throb
of my imagination, sometimes with the help of a smuggled PLAYBOY. I had
even been known, when desperate, to beat off to the lingerie section in
the Sears catalog. Recently, I had been replaying in my mind the vision
of her masturbating in the early morning ... but somehow, I thought of her
in that scene as "girl," not specifically as "Alex."
Part of my brain, the intelligent part, tried to get my attention. What
was I thinking about here? Was I going to try to put the make on my own
sister? I loved her, I really did. And I knew without a doubt that she
loved me, too. We had understood that, without actually saying it, since
the street fight when she was eleven. If I became a sister-rapist, I
thought wildly, I would have to commit suicide.
While I was thinking these sudden new thoughts, my left hand detached
itself from the book of its own accord and slipped under the covers,
heading straight for Alex's left breast, the only one accessible. She had
dozed off now, her breathing light and regular, almost hypnotic. My thumb
began to brush her nipple through the thin cloth of her shirt. After a
moment she shifted her arm slightly and sighed. I found I now had better
access to my target. She was asleep but her nipple sure wasn't. It
slowly rose an eighth of an inch to reach for my slowly moving thumb.
I saw a tree branch move in the cold wind outside the window and glanced
up. When I looked back a second later at what my thumb was doing, Alex's
eyes were half-open and a sleepy smile moved around the edges of her lips.
I froze. After an hour-long moment she moved a tiny bit, rubbing her
breast against my thumb this time.
"Don' stop ... 't feels good," she murmured.
Wow. She moved her breast again. She seemed to mean it, at least here
and now, but did she really know what she was doing? Maybe she just
thought she was dreaming. I remembered her embarrassment when I had
walked in on her masturbating a couple months before. She had joked about
it later. But did I really want to take a chance with this? Would she
scream at me for taking advantage of her after she awoke and remembered?
Was I analyzing too much and losing this opportunity?
Objectively and rationally, I knew I ought to stop (and if she ever
mentioned this evening I would lie, let her think she *had* dreamed it),
but my more basic drives beat that thought down and killed it. All
teenage boys have experiences with girls in which their gonads overrule
their better judgment, and they end up embarrassed, or ashamed, or even in
real trouble. I understood that even then, sitting there in bed trying
desperately to make out with my sister.
Subjectively? I had no choice but to continue, and I knew that, too. I
brought my first and second fingers into play and began tracing slow, easy
patterns around the base of the nipple, which was now hard and firm. I
plucked gently at it, trying to make it grow even more, and Alex drew a
deeper, more ragged breath. Her obvious arousal was also arousing me.
I adjusted my pillow with my unoccupied hand and scooted down under the
covers, face to face with Alex. She uncoiled and stretched out her legs,
which were as long as mine. (Girls grow faster, they said. Boy, did they
ever.) The bed was toasty warm by now from the body heat we were both
beginning to produce.
I looked into her lovely, heavy-lidded eyes and smiled what I hoped was
a seductive smile. I felt one leg move again and her kneecap touched
mine. My hand had begun to tremble a little so I moved it carefully down
between our torsos and then slowly up under her shirt, gliding my
fingertips up the rungs of her rib cage. Her breast was just the size of
my hand and I began to caress it, taking care to be gentle and slow. I
might be beyond control, but I wasn't going to just grab and squeeze, the
way I had seen guys do with girls under the stands at school. I don't
want to hurt her, I thought. I also don't want to scare her, because she
might make me stop.
And as I thought that, she brought her hands up flat on my chest and
firmly pushed herself back from me. Hell, I thought, I messed it up. Or
she's suddenly come awake and realized what's happening. But that wasn't
it at all.
Instead, she propped herself up on her elbow, her long hair falling
across her face, and tugged one arm out of the sleeve of her tee shirt.
Then it went over her head and she lay back, slipped out her other arm,
and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. She looked over at me and
smiled lazily again. She had to be fully awake she wanted to pretend she
wasn't. That way, she didn't have to take responsibility for what was
happening.
I didn't understand all this at the time, of course. I was up on my
elbow, gazing at her breasts and face and hair, and thinking in wonderment
how really beautiful and desirable my sister was. Neither of us ever
tanned much and there was an obvious flush spreading down her pale,
freckled collarbone. These aren't "tits" or "boobs," I remember thinking;
these are the genuine thing. Things.
I hesitated another moment. It was like a jerk-off fantasy. She took
my hand and carried it to her left breast. When she lay on her back, it
had flattened out some but her nipple stood up like a tiny missile. Her
breastbone moved slowly up and down. I covered her breast with my hand,
which began moving in circular motions, apparently knowing what it wanted
more clearly than the rest of me did. Except for my cock, which was
searching for the opening in the front of my briefs.
My propped-up arm was quivering with tension so I lay back down on my
side and continued rhythmically kneading and massaging one breast. But
there was another one that wanted attention, too, so I leaned over and put
out the flat of my tongue and dragged it across her other nipple. Out of
the corner of my eye I saw her eyelids flutter and her lips part. That
removed the last bit of guilt I felt; we were sharing this experience now.
I sucked at her nipple and tasted the texture of its resilience and Alex
made a sucking sound in reply. Her left hand was jammed behind her pillow
and her right hand had wrapped itself half around my neck and over the top
of my head. Her fingers tugged lightly at my hair in syncopation to what
my mouth was doing.
I loved Alex so much at that moment, in so many different ways, I knew I
had to kiss her immediately. That was what you did with someone you
loved. Or someone you were making out with. My motives were confused but
my feelings were real enough.
I gripped her arms and shoulders and pulled her off the pillow so we
could stare into each other's eyes. I had never seen passion or sexual
hunger in a girl's eyes before -- I had never seen it anywhere -- but I
recognized it instinctively. Her arms circled my neck and pulled me back
down, and she made that little noise in her throat again. When our lips
touched, there was an actual, physical shock, a spark. The emotional
pressure almost made our teeth click together. I put out my tongue a
little and hers attacked it. In ten seconds we were slobbering all over
each other's faces, both of us moaning together. I wasn't sixteen yet but
I was in love. That was all that mattered.
My left arm was under her shoulders while I stabbed kisses up and down
the front of her throat, but my other hand was feeling left out. I don't
think I knew where it was as it traveled confidently down Alex's diaphragm
and across her flat, trembling stomach. But the instant my fingers
reached her navel, her hand shot southward like lightning and grabbed
them.
"No, Michael. No further than that -- please."
I lifted my head and looked at her face, a little bewildered. No what?
Then I realized my hand was pinned firmly by hers, my middle finger
stroking her belly-button. Oh.
"Okay," I said hoarsely. What else was I going to say? I moved my hand
back up along her side, buried my face in her neck, and hugged her to me.
Looking back, I marvel at my restraint, my self-control. The animal was
loose, I knew that, and partly I didn't care -- but my better side managed
to keep it on a choke chain. If my hand had reached its objective
unobstructed, I'm not sure what I could have done about it, that night
anyway. Just as well it didn't happen. I loved Alex, I knew she loved
me, and I was happy.
A little while later we drifted off, our arms wrapped around each other.
We moved back to our own pillows during the night, still asleep, but I
believe we slept facing each other the entire night, and when we awoke in
the morning we were still holding hands. Alex smiled at me briefly but
intensely and gave me a lingering kiss on the lips before her practical
side took over.
"We'll be late for school!"
She scooted out of bed and bent quickly to pick up her tee shirt, which
had fallen to the floor. Gravity did a marvelous thing to her small
breasts as she bent. In profile, each formed a perfect shallow arc
punctuated by a nipple. Another astounding image for my mental projection
screen. Then she was out the door, headed for the bathroom, her bottom
moving tightly beneath the cotton, always in control. I lay there another
moment and replayed the marvel of the night just ended. This was the girl
I wanted to spend all my time with and she was already right here with me
... and now there were whole new dimensions to that thought. I grinned
idiotically at the ceiling.
One night a month or so later, I was lying in bed late, reading a book I
had to finish for a report. As I turned a page, beginning to drift off to
sleep, I heard a low, smothered moan from across the hall. My sister's
door was half-open, as usual (as was mine), but her light was out. I
heard the sound again and wondered vaguely what the matter was. Maybe
Alex was ill. Even after my previous voyeuristic experience, the obvious
conclusion escaped me completely (I could be incredibly thick at that
age).
Yawning and still thinking about the story I was reading, I got out of
bed and went across to check on her; I knew she had been experiencing
painful menstrual periods lately and I felt especially helpless about such
things. Leaving my door open to spill a little light, I opened her door
all the way and paused while my eyes adjusted. She seemed to be asleep,
or at least her eyes were closed. She made an odd whimpering sound and
moved her head from side to side. Her covers were wadded up around her
waist and her hands were out of sight. I stepped over to the bed where
she was tossing, and touched her shoulder. Still dense as I stone, I was.
"Alex?" I asked quietly. "Are you all right?"
Her eyes and her mouth both popped open, startled, and she pulled up the
covers a few inches. Then she lay very still.
"Uh, yeah, I'm okay. Why? What's the matter?" Even in the dim light,
I could see how flushed her face was.
"Well, I heard all these strange sounds..." It was beginning to dawn on
me that this was a repeat of my recent experience. I knew I should be
embarrassed, but instead I was very interested. Fascinated, in fact. I
took a chance and sat on the edge of her bed. My sister began to squirm.
"Alex, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were ... I mean, I thought
you...." Now *I* was becoming embarrassed.
There was a glow in her eyes that I was coming to recognize as sexual
arousal. And my sister, once aroused, was not to be denied. She licked
her lips several times and seemed to be making up her mind. Then she
stared straight into my eyes.
"I was... I was feeling myself up. Masturbating," she added slowly.
"Does that... does that make you horny?"
My God, did it ever! Just hearing her talk like that raised my
temperature. My mouth went dry and my tongue swelled up. I could only
nod slowly. Alex hesitated and licked her lips again. Then, still
keeping strong eye contact, she began moving her hand beneath the covers
again.
This wasn't like the casual exposure she had offered me the first time I
watched her change her tampon. It wasn't even like watching her from the
hall without her knowledge. This was sex. Nonparticipatory, but still
sex. I stared back with my jaw hanging loosely and watched her pupils
dilate. Finally, I could take no more of the mounting tension. Very
carefully, with both hands, I pulled Alex's covers down to her knees. She
knew it was going to happen and she didn't flinch.
Her panties were halfway down her slightly parted thighs and her T-shirt
was pushed up to her ribs. The blazing center of her body lay before me,
her pubic mound crowning it like a bonfire. I couldn't take my eyes off
her crotch. Her middle finger was lodged in the crevice below her silky
pubic hair, sliding deliberately up and down between the folds of inviting
flesh. Her other hand was stroking the edge of her labia. On each
upstroke her cunt opened just a bit and the dim light glistened on the
hidden moistness. I glanced at her face, expecting her eyes to be closed;
she was still staring at me, smokily, with a crooked smile.
Then her gaze moved down my body to my groin, and I looked down, too.
My engorged cock was visibly pulsing and it felt four feet long. I had no
idea what to do, but Alex did.
"I want to see it," she whispered hoarsely.
This time, I didn't hesitate. I reached under the elastic and carefully
lifted out my genitals, balls and all. I had to stretch the front of my
briefs to get the elastic down out of the way. I cradled my penis in my
open hand, so that it seemed to be staring back at her. Her hands paused
in their movement and, just for a second, I thought she was going to reach
out and touch it. Instead, she looked back into my eyes.
"Do it," she said quietly. "Do it with me." I must have looked blank.
"Lie down and jerk off with me," she repeated more insistently. "I know
you masturbate. I want to watch, and you can watch me. If we do it
together, it'll be almost... almost like...." She didn't have to finish.
She scooted over a few inches and rotated partway onto one hip,
spreading her thighs farther apart and pushing her pelvis forward. As I
quickly lay down next to her, she added urgently, "Don't touch, though --
not tonight. Okay?"
I nodded and squeezed the head of my cock. I wouldn't have to hurry to
catch up. In fact, I was afraid I'd shoot off the moment I touched the
unguided missile that loomed less than a foot from where her busy
fingertips were plucking lightly at her clit. Coming too quickly, I
thought, would make me look like an idiot. It also might cut short my
visit to Alex's bed.
I started out leaning on my elbow, but that quickly became uncomfortable
so I put my head on her pillow and slid my other arm under it. Alex
raised her head to allow my arm passage, and lay down again, closer to me
than she had been. I took that as an invitation, outside of the
admonition not to touch, and I moved my head closer to hers.
I began to stroke my cock like a piston and my movements were quickly
synchronized with hers. She gazed into my eyes for another moment, then
moved her head the last couple of inches and kissed my lightly on the
lips. I responded with a gentle pressure of my own, and her sweet-tasting
little tongue raced across my front teeth. Our lips barely touching, her
tongue sparred wetly with mine. When she exhaled, I inhaled, and vice
versa, sharing the same breath several times, back and forth, until all
the oxygen in it was gone. Our mouths were fulfilling the lust both of us
felt but were afraid to give in to.
As my right hand moved up and down my cock, trying desperately to
postpone my climax by a few more minutes, I was acutely aware of its
nearness to my sister's radiant cunt. I would have expected, in such a
position, an uncontrollable urge to sweep her hands out of the way and
push myself into her. But in the event, that wasn't a problem. I didn't
yet know quite how all that stuff was supposed to be done, but I did know
I would climax instantly if I tried such a thing. And, somehow, I knew it
was best that our bodies and our minds progress through each lesson in
turn, one at a time. There was no hurry and I didn't want to spoil
things. Besides, Alex had asked me not to, and we always played fair with
each other. There was gentle passion in her kiss, willingly given, and
that would be the limit for tonight. I only made this rational analysis
in later weeks, of course. At the time, my responses and self-imposed
limitations were instinctive.
We looked into each other's eyes and I could see what she really wanted,
deep inside, but was far too nervous to try yet. And she could see in my
eyes that this was all the fulfillment I needed, for now. The fact that
we could even *do* this was a result of the strong and implicit trust
between us.
Her hand speeded up and her breath was gasping. I just tried to match
her pace. A few moments later, she kissed me with greater force as her
orgasm rolled over her, and those two events set me off. At the last
instant, I realized I was going to make a mess of either her or her bed.
I was a little afraid that the former would put her off completely; the
latter would certainly be uncomfortable when she finally went to sleep.
So, a half-second before I came, I was able to yank my briefs back up and
drown my pubic hair in semen.
I don't think Alex was even aware of my actions, she was so transported
herself. When our kiss tapered off, she removed her fingers from her cunt
and, with a mischievous grin, slid them under my nose. The aroma was
enticing and I think I surprised her by fulfilling my earlier fantasy --
capturing her fingers in my mouth and sucking all the wetness from them.
The taste was exquisite. She put her legs down and readjusted her tee
shirt and her panties. Then we kissed again, both of us longing for more,
but held back by nervousness and perhaps a little common sense.
"Michael," she finally said huskily, "I think you'd better go back to
bed before I climb all over you!"
I regretfully climbed out of her bed and headed back to my room, but I
paused at her door and looked back to where she lay watching me. Her fond
smile stayed with me the rest of the night.
Five days after our mutual exhibition, I went to bed on Friday night by
myself. I normally slept in an extra hour or so on Saturdays, but that
night I had some strange and erotic dreams and woke at 5:30. I didn't
remember the details of the dreams, but I came to lying on my side with a
throbbing hard-on. I also had company: my sister was snuggled up to me, a
love spoon, and my engorged cock was prodding the back of her upper thigh
through my briefs. I wondered foggily what kind of dreams *she* must be
having.
I was still half asleep. I put one arm over Alex's warm body and she
wriggled closer against me without waking. It gradually dawned on me that
she wasn't wearing a top. In fact, she had unconsciously taken my hand in
hers and hugged it against her breast. That made me feel relaxed and
secure, at first, and I kissed her bare shoulder, which was all that
showed above the cover. But as she breathed, snoring very softly, the
movement rubbed her nipple against the palm of my hand. I began rubbing
gently in the opposite direction, and both nipples were soon erect. Mine,
too.
She shifted the position of her legs several times and murmured under
her breath. Finally, she rolled onto her back, tucked her left arm under
the pillow, and half-opened her eyes.
"'Lo..." was all she could manage, followed by a warm, drowsy smile. My
hand had traveled onto her stomach. Her free hand moved a few inches and
absently stroked my cheek and gave my arm a squeeze. Then it, too,
disappeared under the pillow behind her head. She seemed to doze off
again.
Stretched out at slender full length, arms above her head like that,
hair sprawled across my pillow, sleeping so peacefully -- she was a
striking image of young, feminine vulnerability. I turned back the cover
very carefully, trying not to disturb her further. My beautiful little
sister, I thought with longing. Shallow, mounded breasts, rising and
falling with her respiration. Her arms, curving smoothly and cleanly to
her rib cage and then to her small waist. Her flat stomach, punctuated by
her navel, hip bones flaring gracefully to either side of her brief white
panties. One leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee, the sole of
one foot braced neatly against the opposite calf. From above, she looked
like a ballerina performing a pirouette.
I reached out and stroked her thigh, the way I would pet a kitten or any
other small animal that looked like it wanted attention. When I came to
the top of her thigh, without conscious decision (though it had been in my
mind all week), my hand continued upward and hovered over the vee at the
crotch of her panties. I could stand it no longer. I cupped my hand
gently, lightly, over her resilient pubic mound, my first two fingers
sliding down between her legs where I felt the springy depression of her
vulva. I clutched her pussy a bit more firmly and began to move my
fingers up and down the crease in the white cotton. Her head moved
restlessly to one side and she made small smacking sounds with her lips.
I continued moving my fingers, searching for the little button I knew was
there. Alex's hip shifted closer to me and her eyes fluttered open again
for a few seconds as she stretch her legs out straight and gave a tiny
shiver.
"Take 'em off...," she muttered, and her eyelids slid shut again.
I moved carefully off the side of the bed, making as little disturbance
as possible, and hastily pushed off my briefs. My cock sprang up at a
steep angle. Then I leaned over and, with both hands, began slowly pulling
down my sister's panties. Her legs were a few inches apart, but otherwise
she made no move to help. I had to gradually work the rolled-up fabric
under her ass by sliding it down on one side and then on the other.
The program seemed to be the same as the week before. I didn't know
whether she was completely asleep, half-awake and aware of what I was
doing, or just faking. But it was clear that this next step on the ladder
of our physical relationship was to be *my* responsibility -- which I was
very willing to accept. I was also convinced, after the previous week,
that if I attempted to cross some invisible boundary, Alex would wake
immediately, so I didn't worry about it. I would peruse this marvel
before me until one of us decided to stop.
I slipped her panties over her feet and tossed them on the floor. My
sister lay naked before me, apparent willing for me to drink in her
loveliness, and also ready to take the next step in our sexual awakening.
I lay down again on my side next to her and caressed the curve of her hip
and the flatness of her abdomen. I threaded my fingers through her soft
red pubic thatch and gently cupped my hand again over the mound beneath
it.
I didn't know much about foreplay, but I knew there was no hurry and
that I should be ever gentle as I explored every inch of her with my
hands. I also knew instinctively that if I just yanked her legs wide
apart, climbed on, and tried to cram my cock into her, it would break our
unspoken agreement; it might even spoil it forever.
Her cunt was becoming more moist every second and I easily slid my
fingers along the sides of her clitoral sheath. Slowly, slowly. She
began to make humming, purring sounds and her legs twitched farther apart.
I rubbed one finger over the dewy tip of her clit and this time her whole
body twitched. So did my cock.
I slid my forefinger into her open vagina, trying to fathom the whole
length of that warm, tight tunnel. I reached her cervix without much
difficulty and added a second finger. It felt rubbery when I squeezed it
between my fingertips, different from what I had expected. I wasn't sure
she could feel anything there herself, except the finger pressure, but I
suppose it's something every guy tries. I would have put my whole arm
into her and climbed in after it, had it been possible.
I had groped blindly at a couple of other girls, but on those occasions
I could never see what I was doing and I had always felt rushed by the
circumstances. This time, I had a clear view and all the time I needed.
What was more, Alex understood that need. She was hesitant about our
increasing physical involvement, as I was, but she trusted me to proceed
slowly and to take care of her. And because she trusted me so completely,
I knew I would follow the same plan, taking my time, backing off if she
got nervous, and giving her anything and everything she needed in return.
This understanding between us was one of the things that brought us to
realize that we were in love.
We never "fell" in love, I think, even when we kissed that first time at
the park. It always existed, and it grew steadily as we explored it and
came to understand its nature.
I had been watching my fingers, but now I glanced at Alex's face. Her
long eyelashes were fluttering slowly like peacock fans and her moist lips
were parted. Her arms were still behind the pillow but now she clutched
at it with both hands. Either she was really waking up or she thought she
was having one hell of a dream.
My right hand returned to her clit, now glistening in the early morning
light. I began tracing slow circles around the little pink bullet head,
breaking rhythm every few seconds and flicking a finger across its tip.
As I increased the tempo, her thighs began making little jerky movements.
She was on the up-side of the roller coaster, but I didn't want her to
climax yet. I didn't want it to be over. So I slowed and then stopped,
moving the flat of my hand back over her stomach and across her ribs to
brush her stiffened nipple. She trembled at that and seemed about to tear
the pillow in two. My hand moved to the smooth hollow under her arm and
trailed over her bicep. She continued breathing heavily.
"God, don't stop! Why did you stop? Oh, God, that felt so wonderful!"
This was accompanied by a soft wailing moan of desperation. Her eyes
finally opened.
"Michael, I want your finger back in me! It felt so good -- I've never
felt like that, even doing it myself! And I didn't come yet!"
I leaned over her body on my elbows, trapping her arms in their extended
position, and cut off her protests with a smothering kiss. "Alex, I'm
selfish -- I don't *want* you to come yet. But I'm not ready to quit
either. Can I try something else...?
Her expression went instantly serious. "Michael,... please, I'm not
ready to do it yet. I *want* to -- oh, God, I want to! -- but not yet.
Please don't." Her voice was soft and calm but her face kept shifting
between adolescent lust and fear of the unknown. But she misunderstood my
intentions.
"I'm not going to push you beyond where you want to go. Don't you know
that by now? I love you, Alex. I would never -- COULD never -- hurt you
like that. You trust me, I know you do, and I will never do anything to
made you regret that -- I promise." I kissed her again, softly this time.
"No, I had something else in mind. And I think you'll like it, too...."
As I spoke, I was moving farther down the bed and farther down her
perfect body, leaving a trail of lip prints on her throat, between her
breasts, just below her rib cage, to her navel and past it. My hands kept
pace, gliding down her sides and her hips and coming to rest clasping her
flanks. Her stomach muscles fluttered and she inhaled deeply when I
buried my face in her pubic hair.
Her legs parted and as her knees bent, I wrapped my hands around her
thighs and pressed them open even farther. I had attempted muff-diving a
couple of times with other girls, but always under uncomfortable and
hurried circumstances. So I had a theoretical grasp of the subject, but I
was mostly making up my technique as I went along. But I was sure it was
Alex's first time, too, so I didn't think it would matter.
Her cunt was already humid with the aroma of sex. Her thigh muscles
were tensed; she didn't quite know what to expect. Experimentally, I
nuzzled her clit and pushed my tongue along the opening below it, where my
fingers had been shortly before.
I had been warned by the Boy's Gym Information Exchange to expect a
"fishy" taste, but I found nothing of the kind. The moisture I lapped up
smelled and tasted of heated honey and licorice, a heady flavor I enjoyed
enormously.
My tongue worked its way down to the bottom edge of her vagina, eased
between the silky smooth lips, and made the long, slow journey back to the
top. The juices I caught flooded my probing tongue and trickled down my
throat.
I heard a distant, sighing moan as Alex thrust her pelvis up toward my
mouth. I felt her fingers tentatively touch my head and then slide more
confidently through my hair. When I stabbed lightly at the tip of her
clitoris, it twitched and her fingers clutched at my scalp. I licked all
around the little red bullet, pushing back the sheath with my tongue, then
sucking hard at it, pressing its tip against my teeth.
Alex was trembling, from her hands on my head urging me on, to the
clenching of her ass, to the spreading and curling of her toes. Her
profound arousal, in fact, was having a similar effect on me. I was lying
flat on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, and my cock felt like a
length of iron pipe under me.
I paused, to shift my hands and wipe my lips, and Alex tugged nervously
at my hair. "God, Michael, don't stop! You're making me crazy!"
I laughed silently, opened my mouth wide, and covered as much of her
crotch as I could. Then I exhaled heavily, blanketing her cunt with warm
air. She shivered and moaned loudly, and then began to push her right
hand past my head so she could masturbate. I intercepted the hand and
moved it away.
"No, Alex, let me do this.... I love it, I love making you hot and
horny, and I love the taste of you! I'm going to do this all by myself."
I spread her dripping labia with my fingers and licked their inner
surfaces. My tongue stroked the creases at the top of her thighs and
lunged as far as it could reach into the depths of her. It swiped like a
brush up and down the smooth area between her cunt and her asshole. After
a moment's hesitation, I licked the corrugated surface around her anus and
tapped my tongue against the hole. I couldn't tell whether she actually
flinched or merely jerked in a uncontrollable spasm, but I decided to
return to known territory for now.
My sister was panting in a shallow, jerky rhythm and her hands were
holding her knees up and apart. Her knuckles were white from tension. I
settled in to work on her swollen clitoris, to push her over the top to
her climax. My tongue swirled around her sexual centerpoint and she began
uttering shrill little sounds at the end of each breath.
I sucked her clit into my mouth again and flicked my tongue against it,
faster and faster. Now her body was jerking continually. Finally,
without forethought, I very lightly nipped the end of her clit between my
teeth -- and that did it.
Alex went rigid for a few seconds, except for a hissing intake of
breath, and I felt her pelvis and thigh muscles tighten. The deep breath
paused a long moment and became an even deeper sigh. Her cunt quivered
and fresh vaginal juices, thick and sweet, dribbled down my chin. I
slowed my pace to a lazy swirl and Alex jerked a little each time I
touched her clit, which was now retreating into its sheath. Then I ceased
my exertions and closed her legs and lowered her knees.
I gripped her hips and planted a lingering kiss at the bottom of that
silky red triangle, and then laid my cheek on her thigh. I was worn out
and my neck and shoulders were stiff, but I felt wonderful about the
orgasm my sister had just experienced because of me.
Alex's hand stroked my temple and I swiveled my head to look up at her
face. Her lovely green eyes were glowing with soft starlight and her face
held both wonder and love.
"Michael...?" she whispered huskily. "C'mere...."
I got shakily to my knees and crawled the few feet to the pillow and let
my head fall back on its coolness. Alex turned on her side, levered
herself over to plant her elbows on either side of me, and slid her
forearms under my shoulders. Her face was suspended above mine -- my sun
and my moon, I thought -- and her trembling smile was so warm I felt like
melting butter. She came slowly closer and kissed me thoroughly, running
her tongue over my lips and eyelids, and finally fixing me with a steady
gaze from two inches away. I stroked her back lightly.
"That's the first time," she breathed.
Not it's not, I thought. She's had orgasms before, I know she has. But
she read my expression.
"It's the first time anyone but *me* has done that to me. And it was
wonderful! I want you to make love to me, Michael, I want to go all the
way with you. I thought I did before, and now I'm absolutely sure of it
-- and it will happen, I promise.
"You could have done it tonight, you know; I couldn't have stopped you.
I wouldn't have wanted you to stop, I was off on another world somewhere.
But you didn't, and I love you so much for that! I DO love you, Michael
-- do you understand? I know we're young and everything, but I also know
I'll never feel about anyone else the way I do about you. I don't even
have the words for it, except to just keep saying it over and over: I love
you, Michael, I love you with all my heart." She blinked back tears.
I was near tears myself. Her beautiful face was so filled with
fourteen-year-old conviction, I could only believe she meant what she
said. And I was only a year older and I felt the same absolute love for
her, so I *wanted* to believe it, desperately. I wrapped my arms about
her as she clutched my shoulders.
"Nothing and no one will ever separate us," I said softly. "We'll be
together forever, or as long as we both want to be. Alex, you know I love
you so much I can hardly stand it."
And each of us, I knew, was wondering what the future held, thinking how
we would have to struggle against a world that wouldn't understand. We
hugged each other more tightly.
It was Fourth of July weekend. We felt older, I think -- and we
certainly were maturing more rapidly than most teenagers, because we had
each other to practice with.
Some things had changed in the few months since our first sexual
contact. For one thing, I was sleeping naked these days and Alex wore
only bikini panties. Neither of us had any sense of modesty at all in
each other's presence. I could walk into the bathroom while she was
taking a bath and she wouldn't bat an eye; in fact, she watched with
interest while I took a leak. Then she would come into my room naked and
sit on the bed and talk while she dried her hair. At first, it was
constantly exciting and distracting. Now, the excitement hadn't gone, but
it remained at a comfortable level, even while we observed each other's
continuing physical development.
We were becoming physically used to each other, though never bored. And
while I often caressed her breasts and her upper body, and stroked her
thighs and her buttocks when she rolled over on her stomach, I never
attempted to get closer than a few inches from her pussy. Nor did she
ever reach for my cock.
My sister had cuddled up close to me and fallen asleep while I read late
again. I was beginning to doze off, too, and I turned my head sleepily to
look at her before I doused the reading lamp.
She lay on her side in the crook of my arm, her head on my shoulder and
her thick hair spread across the pillow. One arm and one leg were pressed
up close against my side while the others were flung across me, half
pinning my body to the bed. Her limbs were still as long as mine, though
more slender, and every time she twitched in her sleep or shifted position
slightly I felt the movement reverberate all through me.
I was acquainted with plenty of girls at school now, and had survived
crushes on several of them -- to Alex's amusement. All of them were
generally considered "cute" or "pretty," but none of them even came close
to my beautiful little sister, who was no longer so little.
I finally cut the light, settled the pillow behind my head, and fell
asleep thinking of Alex. And apparently those thoughts produced a
midnight erection. Alex awoke in the night, for whatever reason, and
discovered the tent that my cock had formed under the sheets. She told me
later that she was fascinated by my penis, had been for years, because it
seemed to have a life and a will of its own. And since I was asleep, she
felt at liberty to experiment and explore.
Her attentions brought me up out of the deeps into that fuzzy region
where sleep and wakefulness are confused, where you can imagine you're
awake while actually dreaming that you imagine you're awake. And in the
night, external stimuli in such a state can make you highly suggestible.
So I half-dreamed that a soft, slender hand was grasping the shaft of my
cock and moving slowly up and down. Then it paused and a thumb passed
curiously several times over its head, measuring its contours and the
opening at the tip. My cock twitched several times at the provocation; I
felt it and thought drowsily that this was a very sexy dream.
Then the hand moved to the base of the column and I felt her fingers
sliding through and untangling my pubic hair -- for my half-awake mind
knew whose hand it was, dream or no dream. Her touch was gentle but
determined. She worked her way around to my balls, and it is a measure of
my trust in my sister that I didn't even flinch. I needn't have worried
anyway. My scrotum was relaxed and loose in the warmth beneath the
covers, and she carefully scooped up the whole of it and seemed to weigh
it in her hand, manipulating my balls gently within their sac.
I heard her take a breath as she seemed to come to a decision, and I was
awake enough now to peer through my eyelashes. The touch of Alex's hand
disappeared for a few seconds and I saw it emerge from under the covers
and pause before her mouth. She cupped her palm and quietly filled it
with spit, and the hand disappeared again from sight. An instant later I
felt it, warm and wet now, curled again around the shaft of my cock. I
wondered absently if she knew anything at all about technique.
Her hand moved up and down, slowly and gently at first, and she
interrupted her rhythm every few strokes to rub her palm over the head of
my cock. The pace gradually increased and she squeezed a little more
tightly now and then. Maybe it was instinctive for her, too, but she
definitely knew what she was doing. It felt wonderful: When you
masturbate yourself it's difficult for your hand to come up with any
surprises.
I remained quiet but I was wide awake now and beginning to breath more
rapidly. No point pretending to be asleep. I heard a moan of pure
pleasure come from deep in my own throat and Alex glanced up quickly at my
face. My arm was still around her and I squeezed her shoulder and shifted
toward her a bit and onto my hip. My left hand slipped around and under
her armpit to stroke her breast. I smiled and nodded and she grinned back
at me.
Now that I was awake, my sister wanted to see what was happening, so she
halted her exertions for an instant and threw back the covers. My cock
reached even more resolutely toward the ceiling. It was just all too much
for me and within another minute I could feel my climax rapidly
approaching. From the expression of concentration on her face I knew she
didn't realize what was about to occur.
"I'm almost there," I murmured hoarsely.
Either she didn't hear or she didn't understand. I didn't want to
frighten or disgust her, but I sure didn't want her to stop, either. A
distant corner of my mind tried desperately to think how to have it both
ways, and then it was too late.
I gasped as I began to spasm and I would have rolled over flat on my
back, but Alex's grip on me prevented it. Several large gobs of semen
exploded in rapid succession from my cock as if from a machine gun. One
landed on her wrist, remaining connected to the tip of my cock by a long
white thread. Another hit her on the collarbone and began to ooze down
across her breast. A third shot spread in its trajectory and landed on
her chin and across her lower lip.
Christ, I thought in dismay, she'll be so repelled she won't ever touch
me again. When I hesitantly looked at her face, though, I saw no disgust
-- just startlement and surprise. She touched her little finger to the
milky blob on her chin and withdrew it, as though testing its sticky
consistency. Then she curled her tongue out and down and scooped most of
the semen off her lip and into her mouth, like a kitten lapping milk. For
a moment, she had a faraway look as she tasted my essence, and then
swallowed it.
I realized that was what I really *wanted* her to do. I wanted her to
swallow my come. And then: WHY would I want a girl to do something like
that? It's an old, old puzzle. Certainly, the great majority of men
enjoy being the subject of skillful oral sex (no surprise there). But
every guy with whom I've ever discussed this puzzle in the philosophy of
sex admits to even greater erotic pleasure when the woman not only allows
him to come in her mouth but swallows his load as well, and without making
a face or a fuss.
Alex just smiled and said "No taste! Just a little salty."
Then she leaned across my chest, smearing the wad on her breast across
me -- I could feel the stickiness -- and kissed me firmly on the mouth. I
welcomed her tongue when she poked it between my lips, as I had many times
before, but this time Alex was playing one of her erotic little jokes.
She hadn't swallowed it all, and I tasted the salty flavor of my own
semen.
Chapter 5:
[...from chapter 5...]
("The Early Days")
My sister and I always followed our own rules in our increasing physical
involvement -- which mostly meant my being patient and sticking to an
unwritten, probably unknown schedule that she could deal with.
Unfortunately, because she had become used to my gentle patience and my
willingness to work around her occasional nervousness, Alex seemed to
expect the same from all the boys she went out with.
It was her fifth or sixth date, I think, when her optimistic assumptions
got her into trouble. It was one of those rare Friday nights when Alex
had a date but I didn't. I'd had a bad head cold for several days,
missing school and staying home in bed to enjoy my misery. The cold was
about gone by Friday, but I was still recovering and not feeling great,
and my makeup homework was stacked up on my desk, so I stayed home.
Alex was out at a movie with Allen Somebody from one of her classes, a
guy I didn't know except that he played basketball on the junior varsity
squad. About 10:30 that night the phone rang and since I knew Mother was
already asleep I put down "Oliver Twist" and answered it. On the other
end was Alex, sounding very tense and upset.
"Michael? I'm so glad it's you! I'm in trouble. I mean, I'm not hurt
or anything -- but I'm stranded and could you *please* come and get me?
I'm by myself and it's pretty dark here and it's making me nervous."
She told me the intersection where her pay phone was located; I
recognized it and remembered that there was a convenience store nearby. I
told her to go into the store and stay there, and I'd come as soon as
possible.
I was still in my jeans, so I hauled on a tee-shirt, grabbed my loafers
and my wallet, and trotted quietly downstairs. I hopped on my moped,
coasted down the driveway, popped the starter, and took off.
What in the world could have happened? Alex sounded like she was on the
verge of tears, not so much from fright as from anger, and she had her
control clamped down tightly. She had said she wasn't hurt. Had she been
in a wreck? If so, where was her date? I would have been embarrassed for
myself had I slipped into a state of panic -- but I admitted that my
anxiety level was increasing.
Alex saw me pull up to the curb in front of the store and came out to
meet me. She looked all right, composed and smiling. But as she got
closer and saw the concern on my face, the smile crumpled and she threw
her arms around my neck and pressed her face against my shoulder, nearly
knocking me off the motorbike. She wasn't very coherent; all I could make
out was "That son of a bitch!"
I stroked her hair and held her for a few moments. "Alex, are you sure
you're okay? You're not hurt?"
"No, I'm NOT okay," she sniffed, "but I'm not hurt. Please, let's just
go home!" She climbed on the back of the bike, gathering her full skirt
between her knees so it wouldn't get caught in the chain and kill us both.
We buzzed off and she held me tightly around the waist and pressed her
cheek to my shoulder blade, which felt nice. She had calmed down on the
surface but she was still upset, and I wanted badly to know why.
I waited until we were back upstairs and Alex had kicked her shoes off
-- clear across the room -- and had sat down on her bed. Her head was
down and her hands were in her lap, fidgeting. I leaned against her
dresser, tried to assume a sympathetic expression, and said, "So...?"
My sister looked younger than usual; I thought it might be because she
was still a little scared. But why wasn't Allen Whoever in the picture
somewhere? She took a deep breath and looked up at me unhappily.
"I'm sorry I had to holler for help, Michael, but I'm glad you came and
got me. I thought about it on the way home, and I guess it was partly my
fault--"
I interrupted. "Alex, what are we talking about? Why don't you just
start at the beginning?"
"Yeah, okay. Allen Stone asked me out -- he's in my history class --
and he's nice-looking, and the girls I asked said he was okay, so I said
yes. We went to a show, and then for ice cream, and he *did* seem nice.
A little too full of himself, maybe, but a lot of the guys I know are like
that." She gave me a quick 'exception' smile.
"Then he asked if I'd like to go up and see the view from Pilot's Point
-- you know, where the kids with the expensive cars go to park. He was
driving his father's T-Bird. I thought 'why not?' I can take care of
myself. So we went up there and parked -- and then he kind of changed. I
just wanted to make out a little, you know? But he wanted a lot more than
that! Oh, God. He's too strong and I had to fight him off, and he scared
the hell out of me. I mean, we kissed, and I let him play with my tits a
little -- but I kept my clothes on. But then he pushed me down on the
seat and pulled my skirt up, and he got my panties part-way off, and I
couldn't struggle because he was on top of me, and I couldn't even yell or
anything because he kept kissing me so hard, and...." She ran out of
breath and the tears were coming and her voice was shaking.
I moved quickly to the bed and sat and held her, and stroked her back,
and she clung to me. Her tears were on my neck and her fingers were
squeezing my shoulder. I was angry, and getting angrier by the second.
When she calmed down again she continued her story, but she didn't let go
of me.
"I finally got one hand loose and held the horn button down, and he quit
because people were looking at us from the other cars. Then he called me
some terrible names and drove me back, and I was scared all the way! He
took me as far as that corner, which was the first pay phone he saw, and
told me to get out of the car."
I hugged her, meaning to comfort her, but she flinched and gasped
slightly. I sat back abruptly and looked more closely at her. "Alex, are
you *sure* you're all right? Did he hurt you?"
She snuffled a few times and stood up, silently unbuttoning her dress
and dropping it (and her half-slip) to the floor around her ankles. There
was a purple and green bruise across the upper part of one breast,
half-covered by her bra. Another bruise spread across the inside of her
thigh. And her panties were torn completely open across the front, held
up only by the elastic.
My fists clenched and I felt myself begin to shake. My sister was a
very sexy girl and she was correct in that she had had plenty of practice
looking out for herself. But no frustrated date had ever assaulted her
before. She was very adept at sending out the right signals, and most
teenage boys will accept that whether they like it or not. But this Allen
Stone wouldn't accept "No." And he was going to pay for it.
I took Alex in my arms again, carefully this time, and we stood and held
each other for a few minutes. It was almost midnight, but what I had to
do wouldn't wait until tomorrow. I led Alex into the bathroom and urged
her to run a hot tub and soak for awhile. I'd be back. She looked at me
with some apprehension as she undressed.
"Michael, don't do anything stupid -- please? He's a lot bigger than
you are."
I smiled reassuringly and went back to my room and looked up Allen Stone
in the school directory. Then I dug out my leather jacket. It was meant
to keep out the cold when I was out on my moped at night, but it was also
enough like the classic black motorcycle jacket to afford some physical
protection as well. I added the heavy, hard-toed shoes I used for hiking
and climbing.
Then I dug through my odds-and-ends drawer and located the thirty-inch
length of coaxial cable I had found on the side of the road a year or two
before, probably scrap dropped by some line crew. It was an inch of
spiral copper strands wrapped around a solid core, with a thick, hard,
black rubber covering, and it had a satisfying heft.
I slipped quietly out the back door and coasted my bike a short way down
the block before revving the motor. I hoped Alex hadn't heard me leave.
The Villain lived about half a mile away and all the way over there my
mind kept replaying images of Alex's bruises and torn underwear. I wasn't
shaking anymore; my anger had escalated to a cold, hard rage that planted
a dull throb behind my eyes. I was not yet sixteen and I was prepared to
commit murder, if necessary.
As I buzzed up the short street Stone lived on, I saw immediately which
house I wanted: There was a jazzed up Mustang parked in the drive next to
a white T-Bird. A bulky-looking character was leaning against the fender
of the Mustang, drinking out of a can. I stuck the cable/club into the
back of my jeans and coasted to a stop ten yards away from the guy, who
was watching me curiously. I could smell the beer and I noticed three
empties lined up on the trunk lid behind him. My sister seemed to be
losing her taste in dates.
I walked a few feet closer and stopped with my hands in my jacket
pockets. "You Allen Stone?" That coldness in the front of my brain was
making me foolhardy.
His eyes flicked up and down, measuring my height, which was a bit less
than his, and my weight, which was considerably less. He was about
seventeen -- two years older than me.
"Alex is my sister. You beat up on her, you son of a bitch!" I wished,
at that moment, that I owned a revolver.
The guy stared at me uncomprehendingly for a moment before my identity
clicked. Then he sneered.
"She's a fuckin' tease. I should have slugged her. And what are *you*
gonna do about it, kid?" He didn't know it, but he was at a psychological
disadvantage. This was just a game to him, but not to me.
"What's the matter, asshole? You can't beat up on anyone but little
girls?" I put one hand in my back pocket and took a grip on the club with
the other. Stone's eyebrows lowered and his face got red, and he took
several quick steps toward me, still holding the beer can.
"You little punk!"
Make him come to me, I thought -- especially when he isn't expecting a
fight. He reached for the front of my jacket but his hand was still a
foot away when I yanked out the length of cable and swung it overhand. I
brought it down as hard as I could on his wrist. He yelped in shock and
startlement and dropped his beer.
While he was still standing there clutching his numbed wrist, I brought
the cable around in a backhand and, by sheer luck, caught him high on the
side of the cheekbone. He stumbled back and held up both arms to protect
himself. From the way he favored his injured wrist, I thought I might
have broken it -- with any luck. That would keep him out of basketball
for awhile.
As he moved back, I stepped in. He hadn't expected this attack at all
and he certainly wasn't prepared for it; if he had been, he'd be pounding
me to a pulp right now. The beer was on my side, fortunately, because he
wasn't reacting intelligently.
I pretended I was kicking off in a football game and caught him solid
and hard in the crotch with my steel-capped toe. His mouth opened but no
sound came out, and the blood disappeared from his face. He fell heavily
to his knees, clutching his balls -- crushed, I hoped -- then hunched over
and vomited stale-smelling beer all over his driveway.
Since his head was already down, I switched from football to golf.
Getting a firm two-handed grip on my club, I swung it up into the creep's
face, hitting him squarely under the jaw just as he started to raise his
head. His teeth clacked together loudly and his head snapped back. All
my hours of swimming practice had made me stronger in the shoulders than I
looked. I stepped back as his eyes rolled up and he slumped sideways into
his own puddle of vomit. Very appropriate, I thought.
I prodded him a couple times in the Adam's apple with the rough end of
the cable and he gagged as he returned to partial consciousness. I poked
him again to get his attention.
"That was for Alex, creep. If you ever come within five feet of my
sister again, I'll kill you." I didn't scream or threaten; I spoke almost
conversationally. Perhaps it was the cold, calm tone of voice that made
him look at me as though he believed me.
"And if you decide to come after me to get even, or if you send your
friends to beat me up, you'd better make sure you kill ME. Because if you
don't, you're dead.
"Listen carefully: My sister is the most important thing in the world to
me. Where she's concerned, I really don't *care* what happens to me. You
might say I'm a little insane on the subject. I'm prepared to commit
murder, if necessary. Are you?" From his expression, I was sure he
believed me now, which was the first smart thing he'd done this evening.
"Just so you won't forget," I added, and suddenly raised the club and
smashed it down across the center of his face, flattening the cartilage in
his nose.
He'd have a splint on it for weeks; let him try to explain that to his
buddies. Beaten up by a kid two years younger and probably thirty pounds
lighter. But he was clutching his nose with both hands, retching from the
pain, and staring at me like I really was crazy. And I probably was, for
a while there.
The entire encounter had taken less than three minutes and made very
little noise, and the street was still quiet. And I had learned some
valuable lessons. Let them underestimate you and then take them by
surprise. Then, hit 'em first, hit 'em hard, and kick 'em while they're
down. When you're outnumbered or outsized, that's the only way you have a
chance of winning.
I quickly wiped the bloody end of the club on the grass and stuck it
behind my back again. Then I climbed on my moped, started it up, and
headed for home without looking back. Halfway there, though, I had to
pull over to the curb for a few minutes, to stop shaking. I had gone
through the entire incident on automatic, and now the adrenaline rush was
catching up with me.
I coasted silently into our driveway, parked by the back door, and
slipped inside as quietly as possible. Alex was dozing on her bed,
sprawled on top of the comforter. She was wearing one of my old sport
shirts, unbuttoned, and I gently opened one side. Her bruises had
deepened in color but they didn't seem to have swollen much; probably no
cracked ribs or anything. The blue on her breast had gone purple and it
made me angry all over again, that her body had been abused so. Alex
stirred and her eyes flickered open.
"I tried to stay awake," she yawned. "You went over to see Allen,
didn't you? What happened?" She struggled to sit up, grimaced, and
pulled me down beside her instead.
"Are you okay?" She searched my face anxiously for evidence of a fight.
But I didn't intend to tell her, in any detail, what had happened.
"We had a little talk. I think you and that creep are even, now. He's
not going to bother you anymore." Her expression was full of questions,
but she sensed that I wasn't going to talk about it, not yet.
"Why don't you pass the word around among your girlfriends about that
guy? Show them your bruises. His potential dates ought to be warned."
She looked solemnly into my eyes a little longer and when it became
obvious I wasn't going to say anything more, she took my head between her
hands and kissed me long and seriously.
Then she flashed that loving smile and murmured, "I usually *can* look
after myself, Michael. But when I can't, I'm glad you're there to take
care of me. I love you..." Then I settled her in bed and pulled the
covers over her, and by the time I switched off the light she was asleep
again.
And as I climbed into my own bed a little while later, I thought over
the incident and wondered if I really *would* have killed Allen Stone,
given a weapon and the opportunity. And I finally decided 'Yes' -- I
would have. It was a useful thing to know about myself, both good and
bad.
We almost always walked home from school together, so on Monday
afternoon I met Alex out in front of the main building, as usual. She was
wide-eyed and gave me a strange look.
"I saw Allen in the hall after Third Period -- and he saw me and turned
around and went the other way. He had a cast on his wrist, and a plastic
splint on his nose, and a very black eye! What *happened* the other
night?"
I didn't think she sounded displeased, but I felt uncomfortable under
her questioning stare. "Was he walking kind of funny?" I asked. "I
kicked him in the nuts, too."
She blinked at me and said slowly, "Are you telling me you beat up on
Allen Stone? Michael, he's a LOT bigger than you are -- you could've
gotten hurt bad!" This was becoming embarrassing.
"Well, he wasn't expecting it. Neither was I. And I don't have to
fight fair. Alex, it was partly luck, and yes, I could have gotten hurt
-- but I didn't."
I slung my book back over my shoulder and started across the street.
Alex found herself hurrying to catch up. I was trying to avoid further
discussion, but she wouldn't let go of it.
"Michael, wait a minute! Why would you DO something like that?" I
stopped and looked her in the eye.
"Did you look at yourself in the mirror the other night?" She nodded
slowly.
"Alex, when I saw the bruises he put on you, and the way he ripped your
clothes,... well, I got angry. I mean *really* angry. I couldn't stand
the thought that someone would do that to you." I lowered my voice. "I
went over there with a weapon. I was going to kill that geek if I had
to."
She couldn't decide if I was serious. "You would've *killed* somebody
because of ME?" Her voice had risen almost to a squeak. "Michael, I
can't believe that!"
I set down my book bag, took hold of her biceps, and gave her the most
serious expression I could muster. "Believe it! Alex, you have to
understand how I feel about you. Yes: I WOULD kill to protect you. Don't
ever doubt it. And if it were a choice between you and me, I'd die for
you, too. That's just the way it is, okay? I know it sounds
melodramatic, but it's the simple truth."
I picked up my books again and set off at a slower pace. Alex matched
my stride and glanced over at my face several times. Finally, she took my
arm and squeezed it possessively.
"I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't know. It scares me a little, that you
feel so intensely, but it feels good, too. It makes me feel secure."
I smiled back at her. Now she understood.
[NOTE: From Chap 5 of the "Siblings" novel; set 1971; he's 16, she's 15.
Some minor correcting and rewriting for continuity has been done since
this section was first posted....]
PATTY
by Michael K. Smith
One comfortably warm afternoon in October, I was taking a nap in my
room, having exhausted myself with several hours of freestyle practice.
There was no one else in the house, so the sound of the front door opening
and closing, followed by girlish giggles on the stair, half woke me. Then
some part of my brain registered that the giggling was a conversation
between two different voices and I came fully awake, though some instinct
kept me from moving.
I recognized the other voice as belonging to Patty Jensen, who was also
on the swim team and was one of Alex's best girl friends. Patty was a
cute little blonde with large, blue, innocent eyes, a snub nose, and a
wide, sensuous mouth filled with very white teeth. Her pale, wavy hair
swung against the nape of her neck in a ponytail and she tanned nicely.
She was shorter than Alex by a couple of inches but somewhat meatier (my
unconsidered opinion before that afternoon); she had been one of the first
girls in Alex's class to buy a bra because she actually needed it.
Yet she was both a popular date and well-liked by the other girls in her
group -- no small achievement. She seemed to be smitten with the idea of
love and sex but was still uneasy about the reality. She also exuded
pheromones uncontrollably and the reaction and attention of the boys who
wandered within range often bewildered her.
Alex ushered Patty into her room across the hall and gave her door a
halfhearted shove; it stood open a foot, but privacy was not something we
had ever taken seriously Upstairs. I lay on my bed in my cutoffs,
casually eavesdropping, until I picked up the words "bikini" and "sexy."
What in the world was going on?
I rose quietly, silently opened my own door, and slipped into the hall.
In ordinary circumstances, I wasn't the Peeping Tom type. I never joined
in when my gym class found new ways to intrude in the girls' locker room.
Why should I? I could see all the skin I wanted at home. But this was a
different situation and a different girl, and in most ways I was still no
different from any other fifteen-year-old boy.
I peered through Alex's doorjamb to see where the two were. I could
watch Alex openly at any time and she wouldn't mind, but Patty was
definitely an "outsider," even though she had been invited Upstairs. They
were sitting crosslegged, side by side on Alex's brass bed, dumping out
the contents of two small shopping bags labeled MALIBU BIKINI SHOP.
I knew that place; even the limbless manikins in the window were
exciting! In each bag was a small bundle wrapped in tissue, and each
bundle was unwrapped to reveal two remarkably tiny strips of brightly
colored cloth.
Patty was smoothing out her new neon-red bikini on the bedspread in
front of her. "My dad would kill me if he saw me wearing this at the
beach!"
She giggled and lifted the cups of the halter top so they looked like
two miniature tents. Without realizing it, she tugged a little at the
tips of her bra and compared the result.
Alex's suit was just as brilliant a shade of cerulean blue, which I knew
would contrast electrically with her hair and eyes.
"Well? Let's try 'em on!" said Alex, scrambling off the bed.
"Here?" Patty looked dubious.
"Of course, 'here'," Alex laughed. "You're going to wear that Do-It-Now
suit at the beach in front of thousands of ravenous boys, aren't you?
Don't you want to know what it really looks like on you first? Especially
since they wouldn't let us try them on at the store?" She was already
unzipping her jeans.
"I have a full-length mirror in my room at home," Patty pointed out.
"Uh-huh. And what was it you just said about your father? Besides, we
need to help each other adjust the fit, for maximum effect!" Her voice
was muffled by the knit top she was pulling off over her head, and then
she was standing there in bra and panties, a hand on one hip, waiting for
her friend to catch up.
Patty looked up a bit shyly and surveyed the sleekness of Alex's body.
I made a bet with myself that she admired my sister's trimness -- but that
she also thought her own breasts would even up the score. If she could
work up the nerve to strip.
"Well,..." Patty stood up slowly but then began rapidly shucking off
her jeans and sweatshirt before she lost momentum. Both girls were facing
generally in my direction and I was careful to stand back from the door
crack a few inches. Patty seemed momentarily shocked when Alex dropped
and stepped out of her panties. I was merely surprised; when had that
happened?
My sister's curly red-brown pubic thatch had been trimmed and
regimented. Her crotch was now shaved bare at the sides and she was
completely naked between her legs, obviously so she would only show at the
beach what she intended to show. The effect was to make her appear even
slimmer than she was, and a bit more vulnerable as well. I liked the
effect. Alex stood calmly naked, waiting for Patty to finish undressing
-- she was giving her encouragement by example, I thought.
Patty dropped her bra and bent over to push down her panties. Her
breasts swung out invitingly and I stored the image away as a mental
polaroid for the next time I needed a fantasy. She stood up and took a
breath.
Little Patty actually had a much nicer body than I had given her credit
for. She had some extra flesh but it was smooth and lightly tanned; she
was becoming voluptuous, not fat or flabby. I should have realized that
anyone who could make the swim team in the first place would be in top
physical condition.
The wider flair of her hips made her look like an
Earth-mother-in-training and her stomach was flat and muscular. Her legs
were proportioned to her lesser height. She wasn't a natural blonde,
though. Her pubic hair was a rich brown mat that entirely concealed her
crotch and much of her groin. Her shoulders were broader than Alex's, and
while her breasts were much fuller than my sister's, her small pink
nipples stood up right where they should. She might be a little
overbalanced, but there was no sag. I immediately revised my opinion of
her looks.
Alex gave her friend's breasts a grin and a nod of approval. "You have
really nice tits, Patty. Not like these...." She cupped and lifted her
own pair as Patty blushed at the intimate compliment and then lifted her
own breasts. They filled both hands. I knew quite well that my sister
was perfectly happy with the shape of her own body; she was just putting
Patty at ease.
I also noticed that Patty seemed to follow Alex's lead in many of her
physical movements. I began to suspect that she regarded my sister as a
model of gracefulness and poise. (I certainly did.)
Then both girls turned back to the bed and began sorting out their new
beach assault weapons. Patty had a rather larger ass than Alex, but it
fit right in with the rest of her equipment. Alex got her suit on first.
The bottom part was cut as low in front as she could get away with; if
she hadn't trimmed her pubic hair it would have curled over the hem. The
top of the suit was a simple elastic bandeau that went on over her head.
She didn't need straps for support -- but Patty certainly did.
Patty's suit had a halter top with one shoelace-sized string around the
back and another behind her neck. The bottom part had string ties at the
sides that could gather the suit in from a conservative three-inch-wide
band to a very narrow connecting strip. And the narrower the strip, I
saw, the lower the suit would ride on her hips.
They each examined themselves in the long mirror and then stepped back
and studied each other critically, measuring psychological effect and
searching for the smallest flaws. I had to admit it: They were different
types, but both girls were sexy and beautiful. I had personal
preferences, but I could also think of a dozen guys just in my home room
who would go to serious lengths for a chance to cuddle up with Patty at
the beach.
Patty put her hands out to her sides and shrugged helplessly. "What can
I say, Alex? You look terrific!" Alex blushed at her friend's honest
compliment but also managed to look pleased with herself.
"Hey, I just thought of something," Alex said, and reached up to the top
shelf of her closet to pull down a shoebox. When she stretched on tiptoe
like that, the bottom of her bikini seemed about to slither down to her
ankles. She was going to have to be careful in volleyball games, I
thought.
After a moment she dug out the pair of deep green satin shoes I had
bought her to go with her country club dress. "I got these as a gift last
summer to go with a party dress. I think you were on vacation with your
folks."
She slipped on the shoes and became instantly sexier. High heels are
undoubtedly bad for a woman's feet, but they can sure do wonders for the
long curves of her legs.
Alex put her hands on her hips and thrust out her chest. She began
strutting across the room, swinging her ass and pointing her toes with
each step. Patty was laughing in delight and clapping.
"That's great, Alex, really! You ought to enter a beauty contest some
day -- you got the moves down perfect!"
I was smiling, too. Alex could clown around but she was truly gorgeous
-- and she knew I thought so, and that made both of us feel good. But her
parade across the room had brought her close to her bedroom door before I
realized where she was headed. I made the mistake of stepping back from
the doorjamb too late and Alex's quick eye caught the movement.
In the second or two before she turned, her face showed surprise, then
amusement, then thoughtfulness -- and then mischievous delight as she
suddenly had an inspiration. Two steps back toward the bed, humming "The
Stripper," Alex paused and rotated in a slow, exaggerated bump and grind
while Patty crowed with laughter. And as she turned, she gave me a broad
wink. She had an audience now and she intended to take advantage of it.
I had no idea what her instant plan might entail, but I was sure it
would involve Patty. She wouldn't hurt Patty, I knew; she liked the other
girl too much as a friend. And if Patty was lucky, she would never know
she had been the victim of a prank. My sister and I had many, many
private jokes that the rest of the world was never let in on.
Alex was back at her friend's side, now. She smiled and kicked the
shoes under the bed, and then stepped back to look more closely at Patty.
She parked one open hand on a canted hip -- a calculated pose if I ever
saw one -- while Patty twisted her pearl pinky ring and waited a little
nervously for Alex's verdict.
"Patty, you look really nice in that suit -- in fact, you look great!
That kind of red means 'Stop, Look, and Listen,' and the boys are gonna do
just that." The little blonde beamed radiantly.
"But--" (Alex pointed a finger dramatically at the other girl's navel)
"--you're wearing that suit much too conservatively!"
"What?!" Patty squeaked. "I feel almost naked already!" She looked
down at the narrow red strips. "How can this possibly be 'conservative'?"
Alex knelt on one knee in front of her and said in a mock stern tone,
"They put these ties here for a reason, but you still have them let all
the way out. Haven't you seen those teeny little bikinis in action at the
beach?" She began cinching up the string on one side.
"But those girls are in college, or at least high school juniors and
seniors! I won't be fifteen for another month!"
"So? You're never too young to be sexy! Besides, think of the
fifteen-year- old boys. They watch the college girls with the grown-up
bodies, sure, but they know they'll never get within ten yards of any of
them. And then they'll turn around, and there you'll be, a dazzling
blonde their own age in a red bikini, and their eyes will fall out on the
sand. They'll stumble all over themselves, and get tongue-tied trying to
talk to you, and you'll have to hold them off with a beach umbrella! Now
that's POWER!"
She had cinched up the strings on both sides of Patty's suit while
Patty's expression said she was imagining the scene at the beach -- and
enjoying it. Now Alex pulled the front of the red suit two inches lower
so it marked a straight line across Patty's lower abdomen. Then she
turned her around quickly, before she could react, and tugged the back of
her suit lower as well, almost exposing the cleft between her cheeks.
Patty was spun to the front again.
"Have to make the most of those tits, too," Alex said as she stood up.
She held the lower string of Patty's halter top with one hand and began
experimentally sliding the cups farther apart, exposing a much more
generous cleavage. Patty stood helplessly, caught up in Alex's
radicalization of what she obviously thought was already a very daring
bikini.
"Untie the bottom string." Patty did as she was told but clutched the
strings at her sides.
"We move the string farther up under your boobs to make 'em stand
out,... okay, tie it again." Patty's breasts looked larger now and more
nearly spherical. Alex stepped behind her.
"Now, we cheat gravity a little..." She untied the halter string behind
Patty's neck. "Lift your boobs, Patty; c'mon, use your hands!"
Alex retied the neck string and stepped back. "Now, go take a look in
the mirror, kid -- every boy you meet is going to have an instant hard-on.
You're going to have to wear a name tag: 'Hi, my name is Patty, and please
don't come in your trunks'!"
Patty's face suggested she had just survived a whirlwind, but when she
saw her quarter-profile in the long mirror her mouth fell open and she
stared.
Her bust looked to be a full cup size larger than it already was, and
the skinny little sides of the bottom of her suit emphasized the earthy
flair of her hips and made her legs look longer. In a word, she was
luscious. She unconsciously arched her back a little more and cocked one
hip. She looked speechlessly at Alex, who grinned and made an 'O' with
thumb and forefinger.
"What did I tell you? You believe me now?" She moved up close to
Patty.
"Now -- if you'll trust me with a sewing machine, I think we ought to
take in the sides of each of these about a half-inch...." She tucked
under the edges of each halter cup with her fingers and managed to stroke
the surfaces of Patty's breasts as she did so.
"I'm going to take in my top some, I think, and remove the lining so my
nipples will show through." She looked down at her bandeau as she pulled
down its top edge as far as her brown areolae.
"I do have great nipples, don't I?" Patty watched, somehow unaware that
right now their breasts, bellies, crotches, and thighs all were less than
two inches apart.
Alex moved her hands slightly and then she was casually, gently, lifting
the weight of Patty's breasts. The other girl seemed hypnotized; I knew
the feeling. Alex sighed.
"Gee, I wish I had boobs like these." No, she didn't, but I was
beginning to understand where Alex's game was going. At fourteen, my
sister was already an artist at seduction. She had a talent for it when
she chose to use it, and I was the proof; when she wanted something from
me she nearly always got it.
Alex withdrew her hands before her friend could think of anything to say
and casually removed her own suit. "If you'll leave that outfit with me
for a day or two, I'll brew you up some magic, okay?"
Patty was pulling off her suit, too -- mostly because Alex had done so,
but she didn't realize that. She nibbled at her lower lip for a second.
"Alex? I'm glad I have someone like you for a friend." She was sweet
and sincere, and still astonished by her transformation in the mirror.
"Why are you so much smarter about boys than I am?"
Alex gave her a surprised glance and then a genuinely warm smile. "I'm
glad we're friends, too, Patty. You're one of the very nicest people I
know. And I'm *not* smarter; maybe I just work at it harder." I'll bet
you've also had a *lot* more practice, I thought, and smiled.
Patty really was a nice girl, besides being sexier than I would have
expected. Then Alex put her arms around her in an affectionate girl-girl
hug and Patty responded in kind. It would have seemed the most innocent
embrace in the world, had they not both been naked.
Again, Alex quit first. She looked around the room for a moment while
one hand absently stroked her tiny tuft of pubic hair. Then she looked at
her crotch in apparent surprise.
"I almost forgot! There's something else you need to do before you can
wear that bikini."
"What?"
"This!" My sister spread her thighs slightly, bent her knees, and
pushed her crotch forward to display her cropped pubic patch.
"If you don't trim it back, your hair will stick out the sides of your
suit. Remember Mary Elizabeth's first dive in the tank suit she borrowed
from her older sister? It looked like her pussy was drowning and trying
to escape!" Both girls burst into peals of laughter. I wished I had been
present at *that* practice.
Patty fluffed her large bush thoughtfully. Without being aware of it,
she was becoming used to being naked around Alex, who always walked and
behaved exactly the same way whether she was dressed or not. Especially
when she knew she was safe at home, my sister had totally lost what other
people might regard as modesty, and her unconcerned attitude toward bare
skin sometimes rubbed off on other people.
"You really think I have too much hair down there?"
"Well, you don't have it shave it completely ... although that *would*
attract attention."
Patty looked momentarily alarmed before she realized that Alex was
teasing her, and then she smiled prettily. "Well, I can trim it down at
home."
"I thought you bought a Lady Something-or-Other electric because you
kept nicking your legs? And I don't think your dad would appreciate
finding pussy hairs in his shaving cream. Besides, an electric leaves a
stubble; it really itches."
Patty looked baffled. "Embroidery scissors?"
"It's not just the length," Alex explained. "It's the width. You need
a strip of bare skin on each side and underneath. Also, with that much
hair, when it gets wet, it soaks up water like a sponge and it expands.
Like in the shower?" She stroked her index fingers down her own
newly-mown crotch. Patty watched in fascination and continued to pluck at
her own bush.
Alex looked her solemnly in the eye. "I'd be happy to do it for you if
you'd trust me to, Patty. I'll be very careful not to nick you. And if
we do it here, your father won't ever know about it, right?" I held my
breath. This was the crucial point in what I suspected Alex was planning.
"Uh, nobody's ever touched me there, except my doctor." She was talking
mostly to herself.
"Patty, your gynecologist is a man and he practically shoves his whole
fist up in you, doesn't he? Most of 'em do." Patty looked a bit dazed,
but nodded.
"I'm a girl and I'm your friend, aren't I? Friends help each other out,
especially with things you can't really go to your folks about. And I'll
be very careful, I promise." Alex was speaking softly and soothingly,
now, and I could tell Patty was allowing herself to be talked into this
adventure.
"Well,.. I guess you're right. I guess I do have too much hair for a
bikini. Besides," she added with a self-deprecating twinkle, "I don't
think I could see what I was doing!" She spread her breasts apart with
both hands and peered down between them. Her subconscious had come up
with the perfect way of asserting her physical superiority to Alex in the
one department she was absolutely sure of. She had even turned it into a
sexy joke. Patty had definitely loosened up in the past hour.
"Okay, why don't you empty off that chair while I get the stuff?" Alex
was all business now. The chair she waved at was an old wooden kitchen
piece, straight-backed and armless, repainted bright yellow. It served as
a seat, stepping stool, clothes rack, and especially as a gathering place
for junk. Alex was keeping her friend occupied while she went next door
to the bathroom.
I stepped back against the wall as Alex came out of her bedroom. Thirty
seconds later she was back with her safety razor and a new blade, her
needlework scissors and a small comb, and two bath towels -- and my
shaving mug and brush (I had ambitions). I pointed at the brush and
nodded in approval. Alex pointed to her eye, which meant "Watch and see."
Patty was standing a bit nervously by the now-empty chair, fingering her
pubic hair protectively. Her body language always spoke volumes and yet
she remained unaware of it. Remaining naked herself, as another kind of
supportive body language, Alex folded a towel and draped it neatly over
the chair seat, and then adjusted the chair's angle so my view would be
unimpeded.
"Would milady care to park it?" She made a theatrical flourish and
Patty sat down with her knees and feet together and her hands in her lap.
Alex knelt before her.
"Umm. Patty, dear -- I have to be able to get to the work site," Alex
explained gently and laid one hand lightly on the other girl's knee.
With Alex's quiet prompting, Patty finally got settled. She found
herself scooted far forward on her coccyx with her pussy cantilevered over
the front of the chair. Her knees were spread as wide as for any
gynecologist and her heels were hooked over the rungs on the sides of the
chair. To keep herself from sliding off, she had a grip on the chair's
back slats above her shoulders, which also had the effect of lifting and
pressing her breasts together.
I had wondered why Alex didn't simply have her lie on a towel on the
bed. Now I knew why. The little blonde was vulnerable and wide open to
the world; she looked like a pose from HUSTLER.
Working slowly and carefully, Alex untangled Patty's pubic hair with the
comb and trimmed it down to shaving level. Then she quickly whipped up a
mug full of suds and twirled the brush in it as she had seen me do. She
slowly stropped the brush up and down between Patty's legs -- not only on
the sides of her crotch but vertically across her clit and downward below
her cunt, almost to her asshole. There was quite a bit of hair in front
of Patty's puckered little opening. Patty's eyes flickered closed and her
lips began to twitch; she was feeling something but she wasn't going to
admit it, not even to herself.
I watched in fascination as my sister slowly and carefully cleared a
bare area on each side of Patty's half-open cunt; I suspected she could
work a lot more rapidly if she cared to. She seemed to completely ignore
the protruding clit that emerged from its sheath of its own volition.
Alex did very neat work, squaring the thick tangle into a neat,
brush-like vertical hedge and shortening its length overall. She also
managed to lean her forearms frequently on Patty's splayed knees and to
drag her own nipples across the inner surfaces of Patty's thighs. Several
times she moved her head in close -- just being careful, you know -- and
opened her mouth wide, breathing warm air directly onto Patty's clit. She
continued, meticulously shaving clean the entire area toward the back of
Patty's crotch.
Finally, she wiped off the soap with the other towel, being sure the
coarse material traveled the whole length of her friend's gaping cunt.
She handed Patty a large hand mirror so she could view the result.
"Now we don't want you to get razor burn -- happens a lot the first time
you shave." She picked up a bottle of moisturizing cream from behind the
chair, uncapped it, and dribbled a stream of the pale cream down both
sides of Patty's crotch, and then down the sheath of her clit.
Patty gasped and her toes curled at the touch of the cool, thick liquid.
Alex slowly spread the cream up and down the creases of her crotch and her
exposed lips. She spread it evenly over the clitoral sheath. The
covering hand moved back and Patty's clit, pinkish red and twitching
involuntarily, emerged and grew.
Alex's forefinger lightly smoothed the cream down the center of the cunt
before her, touching but not penetrating the opening, and continued to the
satiny area between the bottom of her wide-open pussy and the darker,
ridged opening below. Patty was holding her breath, and so was I, but
Alex's finger stopped just short and lifted away.
The brush, Alex's careful but persistent manipulation of her labia, the
friction of the towel, and finally the soothing cream had all done their
work. Patty's breath was coming in erratic puffs as she gazed in
amazement through half-closed eyes at her newly revealed crotch.
She passed her own hand over the smooth, soft surfaces and curves, even
drawing one finger dazedly across the tip of her clit. It abruptly struck
me that Patty's general shyness, the apparent attitudes of her parents,
and the thick, rapid growth of her pubic thatch probably had prevented her
from ever getting a close look at her own genitals. ALL of this was a new
experience for her.
Alex apparently drew the same conclusion and added it to her plan.
Still kneeling on the floor between Patty's knees, she spread her own legs
and leaned back on her heels, her nipples visibly elongating. Her middle
finger glided down into her own slit and disappeared, and she sighed
lightly. "You know, trimming your pussy also makes it easier to get
yourself off," she said quietly.
Patty shook her head vigorously. "No, I don't do that! My dad caught
me ... uh, playing with myself when I was twelve and he beat the crap out
of me! Besides, it isn't good for you." What do you think has just been
happening? I wondered.
Alex continued stroking herself, mostly for Patty's visual benefit, but
she gave her friend a sympathetic look. "What do you do when you get
horny, then? And *don't* tell me you never get horny!"
It hadn't occurred to Patty that she could put her legs down; they were
still spread wide and her clit was twitching more frequently. One hand
held the mirror and the other began absently to stroke the neat pad of
hair that remained as she studied its reflection.
"I just get frustrated, I guess," she said softly. "Sometimes, though,
when I'm alone, I squeeze my legs together and I feel a sort of tingle."
She didn't notice that she had contradicted her earlier denial.
"Patty, it's called 'masturbation,' not 'playing with yourself,' and
it's a natural part of sex -- and sex is a natural part of life. *Not*
masturbating is what's abnormal! I'm still a virgin -- yes, I am! -- and
I had my first orgasm a year ago by masturbating myself. And it felt
wonderful!" Alex's fingers were beginning to move up and down like
slender pistons.
"You can't just go on being horny and frustrated! Doing yourself takes
the edge off. You can keep control of yourself with a boy when he gets
you hot because you know you can always finish it later. Otherwise, some
guy is going to get you so worked up you'll let him fuck you just to get
it over with, to release the pressure -- and it might not be the right guy
or the right time and place. Boys jerk off all the time, you know that,
and it's a lot harder for them to hide it! And if it's natural for them
to do it, why shouldn't girls do it, too? Look at your body, Patty! It's
ready for you to get pregnant and have a baby. But you can tell it to be
patient and still have all the fun part of sex."
Alex's fingers were acting independently of her mouth, caressing and
tugging at her clit and pressing its sheath back to expose more of it.
The tiny red shaft glistened moistly. Patty couldn't take her eyes off
that busy hand. She tried half-heartedly to conceal her own cunt by
cupping her hand over it, but her legs were still splayed out.
"I don't think I know how," she said in a small voice with a sudden low
sob at the end.
My sister wasn't close to orgasm yet, I could tell that, but her fingers
slowed and stopped. She could save herself up, remaining at a high sexual
pitch but picking her own moment for a climax. I had seen her do that
before, too, and it always astonished me. *I* certainly didn't have that
kind of control.
Alex stood and bent over Patty, her hands on the other girl's shoulders.
Her breasts moved in a shallow curve a few inches before Patty's face.
Her nipples were as erect and rigid as pencil erasers.
"Patty, I've never been a teacher before, and I'm sure no sex expert,
but my pussy is something I know real well. I admit it -- virgin or not,
I enjoy sex. And when I do pick out the guy I want to pop my cherry, I'm
going to be ready. No fumbling around, no confusion. I'm going to know
what I'm doing." She put a hand behind each of Patty's thighs, lifted her
legs from the chair rungs, and set her feet together on the floor. Then
she pulled her to her feet.
Patty clutched Alex's upper arms and put her forehead against her
shoulder. She canted one hip, which pressed what remained of her pubic
hair against Alex's thigh; my sister's crotch was in a similar situation.
Alex glided both her hands up and down the small of Patty's back and
murmured soothingly in her ear as the soft sobbing continued.
Patty made a strange picture, standing there: naked and sexy, but shy,
breasts trembling against Alex's as she tried to control her tears,
moisture reflecting from her eyelashes as she kept her head down in
embarrassment -- not because she was naked and nipple-to-nipple in another
girl's embrace, but because her clit was throbbing wetly and she didn't
know what to do about it. She was desirable and she knew it, but the very
lushness of her own body frightened her. It sounded like her father
wasn't being much help, either. Watching through the doorjamb, I felt a
surprising wave of sympathy for little Patty.
Alex had played her prank, exposing the most intimate parts of Patty's
body to me in great detail -- which had hurt no one but would provide us
with hours of conversation later -- and arousing her friend's untried
sensuality into the bargain.
But Alex truly liked Patty and now she obviously intended to try to help
her friend become less sexually helpless. The fact that she knew I was
still watching was irrelevant.
Alex sat both of them down on the side of the bed, thighs again pressed
side-to-side, and put her arm comfortingly around her friend's shoulder.
"Patty, sex is supposed to be fun," she began, "and I promise you it is,
if you know what you're doing. It's not something you should be afraid
of. I know -- there are guys you have to be careful of because they get
carried away, even if they're sorry afterwards. And some guys are just
selfish, unfeeling sons-of-bitches." Patty nodded in agreement; I had a
feeling she had run into a few of those, just as Alex had.
"But, Patty, that isn't your fault and it doesn't make sex bad. And
most guys are okay. You're a beautiful girl and they're more likely to be
afraid of *you*. That's why they get tongue-tied and act silly sometimes.
They just don't know what else to do."
Alex glanced for a moment at the crack in the door where I stood. "Let
me give you an example. The boy I know best is the one I live with, okay?
My brother, Michael. He and I get along -- in fact we're pretty good
friends. Now, let me ask you: Do you think he's good-looking?"
Patty looked up at her in surprise, as if it were a silly question.
"Sure, I think he's very good looking."
"Okay," Alex went on. "Is he sexy?" I wondered how many games she was
playing? Or had the identity of the contestant simply changed?
Patty hesitated. "Yeah, I guess he is. I mean, I've never gone out
with him, of course, but he smiles at me in school. But maybe that's
because he knows you and I are friends," she concluded doubtfully.
"That's negative thinking, Patty!" Alex smiled. "Anyway, I've seen a
lot more of him than you have, and *I* sure think he's sexy! If he
weren't my brother, he might even be the one I'd pick to give my virginity
to."
That got my attention. Patty looked a little startled but interested.
Alex was stroking the inside of her friend's thigh, but Patty seemed not
to notice.
"I've seen him naked a few times, like in the bathroom. He has swimmer-
muscles, too, remember. And a nice butt. And a very interesting looking
cock." She lowered her voice conspiratorially.
"Once, I watched him jerking off in the shower, because the shower door
wasn't fogged up too much to conceal it. His cock looked huge, and when
he shot off it really made me hot! So I came back in here and fantasized
about it and got myself off. You see what I'm saying? He came in the
shower, by himself, and I came in my bed, by myself, and we both enjoyed
it."
"But I don't know how to-- to get myself off. I've tried just rubbing
it -- I mean, I..." She was admitting to more than she had intended but
Alex laughed and squeezed her shoulder encouragingly.
"Well, I can take care of that! Scoot up here, Patty..." Alex pushed
herself backwards, against the brass headboard and put her legs straight
out in front of her. "Over here, next to me." She put her hand flat on
the bed beside her.
Patty hesitated again for a long second, then turned and crawled over
next to Alex -- who moved over an inch so the entire length of their
flanks were pressed warmly together. Alex brushed the instep of her right
foot against the sole of Patty's left. Patty's toes curled over.
"Now, follow me...." My sister arched her back slightly and cupped her
breasts in her hands, massaging and tugging at her nipples. She took a
deep breath of enjoyment. "Think of someone whose hands you want to
imagine on your body."
Patty followed her example, almost over-balancing when she arched her
back. Her nipples were pink little buttons, much smaller than Alex's, but
they also rose under the friction of her fingertips.
"I've done this before, too," Patty sighed, "but it feels different this
time. It must be because we're doing it together." They continued
stroking themselves almost in unison for several minutes, and their
breathing grew heavier.
"Alex,... this doesn't mean we're, uh, lesbians, does it?"
My sister threw her head back and laughed. "No, of course not! You're
a dear, sweet girl, Patty -- but you're not the person I'm daydreaming
about right now, I guarantee!" I hoped I knew who *was* in her daydream.
"Now, move your hands where you want your dream-lover to put his hands.
Remember, they aren't *your* hands right now -- they're his."
She moved her own hands smoothly down her sides, down her upper legs,
then back up the insides of her thighs. Her skin was beginning to flush
lightly wherever her hands passed. Patty copied her movements and her
eyelids fluttered as her imagination replaced the touch of her palms with
someone else's.
"Patty, you wouldn't believe whose hands I'm feeling on me right now..."
Alex shifted her gaze directly at me and smiled provocatively.
She spread her legs wide apart, sliding the left one under Patty's.
Patty bent her knees and took a similar position. Both girl's pussies
were open to me, though only one of them knew it, and the sight of two
such lovely bodies being systematically aroused was almost more than I
could stand.
My cock had grown thick and erect, but I couldn't jerk off or even unzip
my cutoffs, for fear Patty would hear the sound. I had to be content with
hiking up one leg of my shorts enough to expose the head of my cock, which
I squeezed and massaged as quietly as I could.
At Alex's lead, the girls had both hands in their crotches now, stroking
their labia between their fingers and reaching far back to tease their
assholes with an occasional light touch.
Alex nudged Patty to get her attention. "Getting juicy?" she breathed.
"Oh, yes...!" Patty's head was leaning partly on Alex's shoulder.
Alex thrust two fingers up into her vagina and brought them out dripping
with aromatic wetness. She began to slide her shining fingers slowly up
and down her clit, which already resembled a tiny red cock.
Patty took more time with her fingers, moving them in and out of her
cunt, experiencing probably for the first time the internal friction.
Then she also moved her attention to her clit. Her breath began to rasp,
as her fingers moved faster.
"No, Patty! Take your time -- stop for a moment if you have to! Make
it last and last... You've heard about boys who are virgins, who just
stick it in and come immediately? They don't know how to pace themselves
and it's over too quickly."
Patty obediently slowed her pace and even turned her head on Alex's
shoulder to watch my sister's technique. Alex was doing slow rings and
figure-eights with two fingertips around her clit, returning to her cunt
at intervals for additional lubricant. She had done this many times and
knew exactly how to sustain her own arousal.
Patty returned to her own rising passion, but using more control this
time. A few minutes later, Alex began making low animal sounds in her
throat and bent her head back. Her fingertips were racing around the tip
and shaft of her clit, now. Then she caught her breath, jerked slightly
several times, and then relaxed with a sigh. She stretched her legs out
without removing her hand and simply sat quietly for a few moments in the
afterglow of her climax.
My own legs were trembling so badly I had to go carefully down on one
knee to keep from falling.
But Patty had stopped her finger-work, engrossed in her friend's orgasm.
Alex looked down at her with a smile. She withdrew her hand from between
her legs; her fingers were wet and shiny. She raised her hand casually
and traced the moisture from her fingers across Patty's upper lip.
"You want to know what it's really all about, Patty? Inhale deeply.
That smell will drive a guy completely out of his mind."
Hell, I could identify that particular pungent aroma all the way out in
the hall. I had brought several girls to a climax by masturbating them,
and they all smelled different. And I knew my sister's scent best of all.
Then Alex became aware that Patty had stalled out. She was flushed with
sexual arousal but she'd lost her way and her fingers were moving almost
mechanically. Her lips were compressed in frustration; she'd climbed
almost to the top of the ladder but she couldn't quite make the last step.
Alex put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her down flat on her
back on the bed and propped herself on an elbow. "I'll help you, Patty,
you're almost there, you just need a boost to climb over the top...."
Alex covered Patty's motionless hand and her whole pubic mound with her
own hand and began moving the two in a pattern together. After a minute,
as Patty's respiration rate began to increase again, Alex slid her hand
under Patty's and took control of the blonde's pussy. Patty's eyes were
closed tightly; she may have thought it was her own fingers that were back
in action. Alex dipped her fingers into Patty's cunt for more lubrication
and went to work at the base of her shaft, gradually moving toward the
tip.
I don't believe she planned what happened next. It was just the
appropriate sexual thing to do, I think. My sister looked down at Patty's
head lying on her arm and smiled, and kissed her full on the lips.
Patty's mouth reached up eagerly and returned the kiss, and she made
little sounds of excitement. She was so far out of it, I think she
believed it was her daydream she was kissing. Her eyes never opened.
Alex raised her head as her friend's pelvis and legs jerked uncontrollably
several times. Then a brief spasm shook her whole body as she gasped and
opened her mouth and curled her tongue. A final extended moan escaped her
lips and then all her muscles seemed to relax at once and she lay loosely.
Alex combed Patty's hair back out of her eyes with her fingers. The
other girl had beads of sweat over her breasts and belly and she was still
panting. "God, I didn't know ... it could feel ... like that...."
She turned over on her side to face Alex, who was propped on her elbow
again. I knew my sister wasn't going to mention the kiss. Let Patty
think it was her imagination. I felt the wetness oozing down my leg; I
had climaxed uncontrollably during that kiss.
There were teardrops on Patty's lashes again, but this time for a very
different reason. Her first orgasm had opened up a whole new world for
her, a new self-image and new possibilities. And she realized it, too,
because she slid both arms around Alex, her face pressed between my
sister's breasts, and hugged her tightly.
Alex held her closely and stroked her back, then put one leg gently over
her hip. Patty's reaction was automatic. She slipped her thigh between
Alex's and pressed it snugly up against her crotch. They lay together
like that for perhaps five minutes, each floating back down to earth.
They finally unfolded themselves and sat up crosslegged on the bed,
laughing quietly. Patty's face seemed fundamentally changed, somehow, and
it took a moment to see that she looked truly happy for the first time
since I had known her. She was relaxed and excited at the same time,
filled with new confidence, eager to try out her new red bikini on the
male public. I was happy for her, too.
I turned and crawled back across the hall, being as quiet as possible.
I felt as drained as though I had been responsible for Patty's climax
myself, and I didn't even *attempt* to stand.
Chapter 6:
[NOTE: From Chap 6 of the "Siblings" novel; set 1972; he's 17, she's 16.
Some minor correcting and rewriting for continuity has been done since
this section was first posted....]
[ALSO NOTE: This chapter actually has some personal opinions included,
along with the sex and the romance. I'm perfectly willing to argue my
opinions about incest -- but PLEASE DO IT BY EMAIL. And if you're rigidly
and/or irrationally opposed to incest OF THE SORT DEPICTED IN THIS STORY
... well, feel free to flame me if it makes you feel better. But I *will*
ignore you!]
THE FIRST TIME
by Michael K. Smith
Alex and I went through a period of anxiety and self-doubt between
Christmas and the New Year. In barely a week, I would be sixteen and she
fifteen -- old enough to marry in some states with parental consent. Our
relationship had evolved so gradually that neither of us had felt any
pressure about it. It was like taking a slow stroll through rising hills
and coming abruptly to a halt at the brink of an unexpected chasm. We
suddenly were realizing just how high we had climbed. In less than a
single year, our physical relationship had progressed from separate
masturbation, to jerking off in company, to making out like any other
teenagers, to *really* making out, to mutual oral sex. And after Alex's
episode with Patty, the only thing it seemed we hadn't done was The Deed
itself.
As long as Alex was still technically a virgin, regardless of the
amount of sex play we indulged in, perhaps we thought we could continue to
pretend that this was all just fun and affectionate games. But we came to
understand that soon, very soon, we would no longer be able to restrain
ourselves. The sex play wouldn't be enough. Though we didn't discuss it
in so many words, we both wanted very badly to spend an entire night
fucking ourselves into exhaustion. Moreover, the opportunity was there
every day and the lingering fear of taking that final step was
dissipating. What were we going to do?
It all came to a head the third week in December. We were lying in her
bed, naked, our bodies pressed hungrily together. My hands were squeezing
and stroking her ass and her hands were manipulating my penis and my
balls. We both were breathing hard. My cock was an inch away from where
I knew it belonged, and I wanted so badly to slip it into that warm, moist
opening! And I was convinced that Alex wanted me inside her, too. I knew
I wasn't the only one torn by physical desire when I gradually became
aware that my sister's body was shaking from some emotion other than lust.
Her face was buried against my chest and I had to pull back to see that
she was sobbing in frustration. Her face was flushed and she looked
terribly unhappy. I pulled her close to me again and cuddled her head
beneath my chin and stroked her back.
Her fingers tried to kneed my chest. "I'm sorry, Michael. I just don't
think I can stand it any longer. I WANT YOU! Making love like this
without *really* making love is driving me crazy!"
God, I wanted her, too. But I was worrying about it a lot lately, just
as she was. I knew what "incest" was -- we both had read quite a lot
about its perils and traumas. But the cases we read about seemed to
involve mostly young girls trying to deal with forced relationships by
much older male relatives, whether father or brother, and that certainly
didn't apply to us.
Consenting sibling incest, if it was discussed at all, was seldom
analyzed or tracked for its social and psychological consequences. No one
approved of it, of course -- most of the books we had read through didn't
seem to approve of sex at all -- and again, there was always the
assumption of a forced relationship.
We had found one case study in a popular magazine and read it together
several times, trying to make sense of it. It concerned a couple in their
late 20s who had met through friends, begun dating, and fallen in love.
They had seemed almost magnetically drawn to each other from the first and
they planned to be married in due course.
Then the woman, who was an adoptee searching for her biological family,
finally uncovered explicit information about her long-lost siblings, all
of whom had been adopted out to different families at a very young age --
and there on the list of names was the man with whom she was in love.
Alex and I both thought this a terrible tragedy -- to gain a sibling at
the expense of losing a lover and spouse-to-be -- but the couple in the
magazine article had immediately shifted gears and romantic love seemed to
instantly transform itself into traditional filial devotion.
Neither of us could quite believe that the couple had been able to
undergo such a radical emotional transformation without severe
psychological disturbance. Or were most people really such slaves to a
primarily European tradition?
We didn't know, but it was frightening. And it was the most important
reason that we went to such lengths to keep our own relationship secret.
As brother and sister, we were utterly devoted to each other. But as
members of the opposite sex, we were deeply in love. And not puppy love,
either.
I had a couple of acquaintances who had gone through a "crush" phase
with an older brother or sister. They laughed about it later or
maintained an embarrassed silence.
We had also read the theories of psychologists who argued that siblings
went through a stage of infantile sexual attraction which they were
physically unable to fulfill, so that the attraction turned to active
rejection of each other as possible sex partners by the time they reached
puberty. That sounded like crap to us, and it certainly didn't fit our
own case.
We also knew the hoary old biological arguments -- that children born
of incestuous relationships were likely to be congenital idiots with two
heads, or worse. We knew *that* wouldn't wash. The human gene pool was
much too large for common parents in one generation to be statistically
significant.
So we weren't in a situation of child abuse, and there was no valid
biological argument that we could see. Incest was simply a taboo,
inherited from Neolithic ancestors with a different survival agenda. And
we lay there in bed, holding tightly to each other, both of us in tears
now, feeling conspired against by society. Our relationship, emotional
and otherwise, was certainly different -- we recognized that. But did
that make it "wrong"?
Maybe we were *ahead* of the pack in terms of evolution. Maybe many
other sibling couples felt as we did but were afraid of departing so far
from the norm -- or else thought themselves depraved. Perhaps we shared a
common insanity. Or was everybody *else* nuts?
After awhile, we found ourselves sprawled on Alex's bed in
conversational mode, still naked, but not feeling very sexually aroused at
the moment. The tears had gone but the depression hadn't.
"Michael, what it comes down to is whether we're going to listen to
ourselves or to the rest of the world. Do we want -- do we *need* -- each
other badly enough to tell everyone else to go to hell?"
"But we're still minors, Alex. Unless we ran away, the State would
keep us apart if they found out. We'd both probably end up in the nut
house, under shock treatment. Remember the ending of "Cuckoo's Nest"?
And you know we're not going to drop out of school and run away from home.
We'd make lousy hippies. I think all we can do is to keep The Secret and
wait until we're old enough that no one can stop us, until we can protect
ourselves."
"But that's *years* yet -- and a year longer for me! Michael, I don't
want to wait that long -- I can't! I want to fuck you!" Her cheeks
colored a bit at her own vehemence and she took a deep breath.
"I want to make love to you, Michael. And I want you to make love to
me. *Love.* And I can't wait too much longer. I've been waiting for
months. I even started taking the Pill a few months ago -- Janie's father
is a doctor and she got them for me -- and I've just been waiting for the
right time." She gave me a look of such longing, I got flutters in my
stomach.
She shifted to a kneeling position, which -- even naked -- seemed
somehow more formal. Her expression became serious. "It all comes down
to one question, Michael: Do you love me?"
I just looked at her for a moment, then sat up facing her. This didn't
sound like a rhetorical question; did she really need an answer?
"You know how I feel about you, Alex."
She folded her hands together and tucked them between her knees, and
studied them. "Maybe I do, but I have to hear it. Please."
I leaned forward and covered her hands with mine. I looked into her
eyes and said slowly and clearly, "Alex, I love you with all my heart."
She blushed a little but her smile seemed relieved. She caught my hand
and squeezed.
"Michael, I love you more than anything. Anything. We *are* in love,
for real, and it's not fair that we can't share it physically, like any
other couple."
I guess that's what made up my mind. I was still nervous about taking
the final step, taking my sister's virginity, even though she was actively
pressing it on me.
"Incest," I decided at that moment, was just a word. An outmoded
concept that had no relevance to us. I'd had one semester of psychology,
though I was actually very widely read in that field already, and I
suspected Freud and his crowd would have all sorts of significant things
to say about us, but that simply didn't interest me. It didn't mean
anything.
My sister and I might be unusual in our relationship, but that was all
it was -- "unusual." If we had had two different sets of parents, we
would have been just like any other teenage couple, and no one would care.
So what was so perverted? What was so degenerate about us?
I realized that my conclusions had been coalescing for months. I knew
I loved a girl named Alexandra. And that it wasn't a crush, or puppy
love, or anything so trivial. Those things were all we were *supposed* to
be capable of feeling at our age, but I was convinced that our feelings
for each other were much, much deeper. Perhaps we were simply more mature
in certain ways than most of our peers ... or maybe it was our slowly
developing love and resulting closeness that had matured us. However
cause and effect worked, the result was the same.
These thoughts rushed in and piled atop one another in my mind as we
sat there in bed holding hands and gazing longingly at each other. It was
almost an epiphany. My nervousness about the resolution of our sexual
involvement was still there, of course, but now it was the natural
nervousness of any young male contemplating sex with a girl he cares for
deeply. That "I-word," the one we never used aloud, no longer entered
into it.
The few seconds' pause in our conversation seemed like an hour. I had
to think back to recall the last thing Alex had said. Ah. Yes.
"You're right," I replied. "It's not fair. And I think we've just
decided to do something about it, haven't we?" Alex looked faintly
surprised at the sudden resolution in my voice.
"But I think we should treat this as a special occasion -- special for
both of us. Why don't we give each other a very special, very private
birthday gift?" Her eyes were bright, now.
"I also think we should give up all this foreplay with no 'last act'
until then. Sweets taste a lot nicer when you haven't had any for
awhile."
"Yeah," she said with a smile. "I think you're right. Looking without
being able to touch will make us anticipate the Big Day all the more."
She hesitated. "We don't have to avoid each other, do we?"
"Alex, we're still brother and sister; what else have we been agonizing
about? We just won't be lovers for a week, not actively anyway. But I
still get a kiss in the morning, okay?"
My sister looked and seemed happier than she had in months. This was a
deep river for us to cross, but I thought things would be all right, now
that we had decided to blow up the log jam.
* * * * *
It was a long week ... like trudging across a desert, even though you
know when and where the waterhole is going to be. We continued the same
friendly affection we had developed over the years, and we still exchanged
quick kisses of greeting and departure. We held hands when we went
shopping out of our neighborhood.
But each of us adopted a careful modesty around the other. Clothing
changes were made with bedroom doors shut, and we knocked on the bathroom
door, just like other people. All showers were solo. We stopped our
intimate but casual sex play. In some ways, of course, it was godawful
frustrating, but it also heightened the sexual tension, like tightening a
guitar string. For some years, I had had regular dreams about Alex --
always very nice ones, too -- but now the dreams came every night.
She was still doing most of her studying on my bed, though she was
wearing more than just underwear these days. But neither of us was
getting a lot of studying done; we spent much of our time looking at each
other and smiling. The mounting anticipation became almost overwhelming.
The morning of January 6th, my -- our -- birthday, as I was putting my
keys and coins in my pockets, I discovered a neatly sealed square envelope
propped on top of my chest of drawers.
On the front was "An Invitation," lettered in my sister's precise
script. Inside was a folded sheet of her monogrammed notepaper which
read:
"The Joy of Your Presence Is Requested at a
Grand Opening to Be Entered Into at
Approximately 9:00 p.m. on the Evening of
January 6th and Ending Whenever the Revelers
Are Exhausted. No R.S.V.P. Required, No
Excuses Accepted. Dress: Optional."
I had a great deal of difficulty concentrating on school that Friday.
We had a leisurely supper with Mother and Dad, who wished us both Happy
Birthday and gave us our presents. Our family had never made a big deal
of birthdays, especially after we each passed the plastic toy stage.
That suited us, too. Each January, Alex and I gave each other small,
highly personalized gifts carefully selected or handmade. The more
unusual and unexpected, the better; no unimaginative boxes of candy or
bottles of cologne between us!
This year, our folks gave us each very nice new wristwatches in
matching style, relatively modest in price but a lot better than the old
Timexes we both were wearing. Our gifts to each other would come later.
Dad was working on weekends at least half the time these days, in
addition to his frequent business trips, but I was concerned that he might
be inconveniently present that night. Not *that* night, of all nights,
please!
As it turned out, he was taking Mother for a rare night out: They were
going to a show and then to visit some friends across town who had
recently returned from a winter vacation in the Caribbean. Mother
absolutely hated lugging her wheelchair to other people's homes, but these
friends had known her a very long time, long before her arthritis became
crippling. Anyway, they didn't expect to be home until well after
Midnight, which was fine with us.
We each took an hour in the bathroom, trying to make ourselves perfect
for the occasion. I had problems deciding what to wear. Or should I just
show up naked, wearing a bow tie? I finally settled on a pair of slacks
and a reasonably new dress shirt with the top few buttons undone. Then I
slipped on my loafers without socks. This was almost formal attire by
Upstairs standards, but it was nothing I couldn't get out of in a hurry.
As I was brushing my hair and wondering how to approach our rendezvous,
the question was answered by Alex's soft knock at my door.
"Michael? Don't open the door yet -- but it's ten to nine, and I'd
like you to come and open MY door at exactly nine o'clock. All right?" I
agreed and heard her bare feet hurry back down the hall. Whatever she was
preparing, it was going to be interesting.
At ten seconds before 9:00 by my new watch, I stepped across the hall.
Alex had taped a big red satin bow to the middle of her door, with a
printed note just above it: "ENTER WITHOUT KNOCKING."
I turned the knob and walked into the nearly dark room. Alex was
waiting across the room, but I was struck for a moment by how neat and
tidy the place was. No dirty laundry, bed newly made, closet door shut.
She had swept and dusted, too. This really WAS a special occasion. The
lights were off and the window shade was drawn, but a soft illumination
was provided by a dozen candles set at intervals around the room.
Alex stood by her dresser wearing a blue velveteen mini, dark blue
hose, and a pair of shiny black patent high heels that must have been
borrowed. She had beautiful legs in any outfit, but tonight the effect
was stunning. A gold-orange satin scoop-necked blouse provided an
electric contrast to her long, deep-red hair. She wore no jewelry -- the
colors did the work very nicely. And she certainly looked older than
just-turned-fifteen! I stood just inside her door, rooted to the spot in
amazement, tinged with awe. I had never seen my sister looking more
beautiful or more desirable. My face must have shown my reaction clearly
because she blushed and looked very pleased. Then she almost giggled but
managed to control herself.
She reached over to her dresser and switched on a Wollensak tape
recorder I hadn't noticed (also undoubtedly borrowed), and began walking
across the room, swaying her hips gracefully and provocatively. The music
was for slow-dancing and we slipped into each other's arms and moved
around the small, empty center of the room in no particular pattern or
step.
Rather than going into a clinch as we usually did during a slow number,
we found ourselves examining each other's faces minutely. Alex seldom
wore much makeup except lipstick; she simply didn't need it. Tonight, the
lipstick was absent; she knew it wasn't much good for serious kissing.
Her lips were covered only by a thin sheen of gloss which made her mouth
appear moist and inviting.
Her eyes had gotten much more attention, however. The shadowing was
faint but effective, making her brilliant green eyes appear even larger
and more magnetic. The effect was that I felt myself falling in love with
her all over again, as if I had just met her at a school dance. She was
looking at me a little differently, too, and I was glad I had shaved after
supper (though I'd had to search diligently for stubble).
After a few minutes, she sighed in contentment and slipped her arms
possessively around my neck. Her soft cheek brushed mine and she
whispered "I love you" close to my ear. I scattered slow kisses down her
cheek and along her jawline and she purred and shivered a little.
I popped open the little pearl buttons down the back of her blouse one
at a time as we continued to move in our unhurried dance. She wore no bra
and when the blouse fell open I smoothed my hands over her soft, sleek
skin, enjoying the shifting of muscles under my fingers. She stepped back
almost bashfully and let the blouse slide off her arms. As I covered her
breasts with my open hands, she unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it off my
shoulders. Both garments were tossed in a chair in the corner and we went
back to dancing, pressed breast to breast, four hands caressing two
bodies.
Alex took the initiative next, unhooking my slacks and sliding down the
zipper down far enough to allow them to fall to the floor. I pushed down
my briefs, stepped out of my loafers, and kicked the whole mass to one
side. We embraced and our hands continued to move over each other, as if
exploring for the first time.
Alex reached down and squeezed my penis, stretching it upward between
us. Because she was still wearing her heels, I was able to reach around,
push up her skirt, and grip her ass, one cheek in each hand. I think both
of us wanted badly to simply throw ourselves on the bed, but we had
tacitly agreed to spend a little time tormenting ourselves. Foreplay with
a vengeance.
Alex stepped away, turned her back to me, and pushed her mini and her
hose slowly to the floor, swinging her bottom as she did so. She stepped
out of her heels one at a time, to get rid of the hose, and then put them
back on. She turned back to face me, a beautiful, naked girl in heat and
heels. I was barely able to breath.
She paced the few steps back to me with smoke drifting out of her eyes.
I unconsciously backed up to the bed. "I'm not going to suck you this
time and you're not going to eat me," she said in a low, intense voice.
"We've had nothing BUT foreplay. Tonight, we're going to fuck!" Her
crooked smile seemed very determined.
She pushed me relentlessly onto my back on the bed and crawled
sinuously on top of me. My cock was erect and straining and she rubbed
her pubic mound against it as she covered my body with hers. She nudged
the inside of my calves with her feet and I spread my legs wide and
straight. She followed exactly, keeping her legs balanced atop mine.
Then she stretched my arms out to the sides and again followed my
movement, laying her palms flat against mine, fingers spread. Her loose
hair fell around my face as she touched the tip of her nose to mine and
began licking my lips with her tongue. I thought we must look like
wrestling starfish, with the curvy one pinning the larger one. I knew I
could slip my cock into her pussy easily in this position, but Alex
apparently had her own program and kept the instrument trapped between us.
She moved against me as we kissed deeply -- just an inch or so in
different directions, but the experience of *really* full body contact was
extraordinarily sensual.
Finally, with Alex's prompting, we brought our limbs back together and
intertwined our legs and held each other very tightly. Then we rolled
over, assuming the classic missionary position. Alex was flushed now --
so was I -- and I felt the moisture in her crotch filtering through her
pubic hair. She raised her knees and spread her legs.
Taking my head in her hands, she began kissing my eyes, my chin, my
mouth, and whispering over and over, "Fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me...."
She was so aroused in anticipation, her whole body was trembling
seismically.
I stroked my cock against her cleft, bringing little gasping noises
from her as it passed over her clit like a violin bow. Then I eased it
into her a little at a time, savoring the pauses. It was as if all my
nerve endings were concentrated in my cock, which felt a foot long and six
inches thick. Finally, I was all the way into her and my backbrain wanted
to climb in behind it. This was where both of us had wanted to be for
months, and now we were here and we almost couldn't believe it.
As I began stroking slowly in and out (I was determined not to come too
soon), Alex wrapped her legs high on my back and curled her pelvis hard
against me. She wanted me to fill her up completely and I tried hard to
comply. Her eyes fluttered open and shut and she made rhythmic moaning
sounds in the back of her throat.
My sister's leg-lock was so persistent, I found I could barely move. I
pushed her long legs up over my shoulders, with her ankles against my
ears, and took a more vertical position, like I was drilling a well. I
plunged into her at an increased pace, pulling out almost completely each
time so as to make the longest possible strokes. Each time I felt an
orgasm beginning to build, I slowed my pace to prolong the action. But it
still wasn't enough -- as if anything *could* be enough. But I wanted all
of this fantastic girl, and she wanted to give all of herself to me.
She spread her legs as far apart as she could, hands behind her knees.
As I continued to screw myself into her, I pressed her legs as flat
against the bed as I could, trying to increase the friction against her
clit. She made a little mew of discomfort, and I sure didn't want to hurt
her in any way. I was breathing too hard to talk, but I raised my
eyebrows in a question.
She gasped a reply. "No -- it's okay -- harder -- harder and deeper --
oh, God -- it feels so good -- I can't stand it."
So I really went to it, slamming into her like a piston in a steam
engine. Her head was jogged forward by two inches on each stroke, but if
she felt any strain it was lost in her sexual delirium. I hadn't even
touched her nipples, yet they stood up stiffly and seemed to pulsate.
My climax started as a tingling in the soles of my feet. I wanted very
much for us to share our first "official" orgasm, and the thin, wailing
moan coming from my sister's writhing mouth made me pretty sure we could
do it.
She suddenly wrapped her legs around my waist again and clung
frantically to my arms and shoulders, as if she were about to fall off a
cliff. Her shuttering, gasping climax might indeed have thrown her off
the bed, except that she triggered my own orgasm. My paroxysms continued
for half a minute and she jerked and trembled again with each new spasm.
As our hot-wired bodies slowly coasted to a halt, I rolled carefully
off Alex, who turned on her side to face me. Both of us ran with rivulets
of sweat. We kept touching each other's faces and bodies, gently,
hesitantly, awed by the intensity of what we had just experienced. Both
of us were bright red in the face and struggling to get our wind back.
I was finally able to speak. "I was afraid I might hurt you,
sweetheart -- I kind of lost control for awhile there...." I laid my hand
on her soft, damp cheek and she placed her hand over mine. "It felt a
little like I was killing you."
Alex kissed me softly and lovingly. "Michael," she murmured, "if I'm
dead then I've sure gone to heaven!" Then she got that look in her eye
again. "That was a beautiful birthday present -- just what I've always
wanted! But I have a present for you, too."
She scooted toward the foot of the bed until her face was level with my
crotch and slid her hands under my ass, squeezing and kneading. My cock
had shriveled considerably already, but when she began to lick at it and
suck the remaining white fluid from its tip, it recovered quickly enough.
My cock was covered with my semen and her own juices, but she seemed to
enjoy the combination of flavors, and I certainly enjoyed the attention.
I wasn't sure I could gobble her pussy under similar circumstances. It
was temporarily so soft, she was able to stuff my entire penis into her
mouth and both my balls as well. She swallowed a couple of times, and I
could sense my equipment edging down her throat.
Then she applied *real* suction and clamped her mouth around the base
of my genitals, without biting. Her eyes twinkled when she tugged her
head back, and the strain, physical and emotional, became exquisitely
erotic. In less than thirty seconds, Alex found she could no longer hold
all of me in her mouth.
She began to lick up and down the stem like a lollipop and I responded
with more sexual energy than I would have thought possible. The head of
my penis, especially, was still very sensitive from my first orgasm and
the flicking of her tongue gave me a restless twitch.
"Alex, if you don't sit on it quick, it's gonna leave without you!"
She grinned and bounced up to straddle my hips. Taking her cue from my
earlier method, she grasped my penis between her legs and rubbed the head
briskly against her pussy. I moaned from the electricity she generated.
She settled herself onto my cock and pressed her crotch down and
forward, pushing me into herself as far as she could. She moved up and
down experimentally, shifting her hips from side to side. My penetration
was greater than before, and since Alex was in control each movement and
change of pace was a surprise. It felt wonderful.
I took one perfect breast in each hand and massaged them, finally
tugging her down to me. She braced herself on locked arms, leaning
forward so I could suck on her swaying nipples. I chewed gently on the
little corks and she closed her eyes and hummed in the back of her throat.
My hands on her ass pressed her clit against my grinding cock, which
made her lips curl back. Her back was arched, her stomach flat against
mine, her breasts brushing my face. I urged her on and she flattened
herself against me, her hands squeezing my shoulders. Her ass swung up
and down as I moved down and up, both of us stretching to obtain the
longest stroke. Soon we were slamming together, both gasping for breath,
and then I felt the spasm of climax building rapidly in my groin. I
squeezed her ass tightly and shot off into her steaming cunt again. Alex
launched herself a few seconds behind me, gasping and shuddering. The
contraction of her vaginal muscles milked the last drop of semen from me.
She let herself collapse completely, her cunt still filled to capacity.
She gave a low moan that communicated pleasure, satisfaction, and
exhaustion. My cock was shrinking from overwork, too, and as it withdrew
itself from her, I felt my come oozing out with it. Alex finally let
herself roll off and lay beside me, her knees still slightly bent and her
legs apart. I slipped my arm behind her head and she leaned over and
kissed me and stroked my chest.
I squeezed my cock, coaxing the milky residue out, and gathered the
mixture of her juices and mine that had soaked into my pubic hair. Then I
carefully smeared it across her belly. She peered down when she felt the
stickiness and smiled benignly. Then she gathered a handful of the stuff
from between her legs and spread it just as carefully across my stomach.
I grinned back at her and put my arms around her, and held her close to
me. She folded her hands against my chest and nibbled at my throat.
After a few warm minutes catching our breath and basking in the heat we
had generated, Alex nuzzled me. "Michael, we need to get up and take a
shower, before we get stuck together ... as much as I hate to leave your
arms right now. God, I love you. But I can love you in the shower, too.
C'mon..."
She began sliding toward the side of the bed, trying to drag me after
her. I mumbled a protest as she rolled me over on the sweat-soaked
sheets. The clock read just after midnight. I knew Alex was right, but
she'd worn me out and I wanted to just lie there. She finally got my
attention by tugging firmly on my flaccid penis; she giggled and I moved.
We wandered the few yards down the hall to the bathroom, arms around
each other's waists, hips bumping together. I turned the shower up to
hot-as-hell while Alex dug out a stack of thick towels. The bathroom was
already filling up with steam as we climbed into the big shower stall and
closed the glass door.
We shared showers often in those days, soaping each other up and down
and sliding out bodies against each other. We always loved to handle each
other's bodies, tracing the curves and planes with our fingertips and the
palms of our hands.
I enjoyed kneeling behind my sister and shampooing her thick hair --
and I knew she enjoyed it, sitting cross-legged on the tile floor with her
head leaning against my chest. That position also made it easy for me to
cup her breasts in my soapy hands, to lift them and play with them,
pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She always enjoyed
that, too.
There was something particularly romantic and erotic about sharing a
lengthy deep kiss, naked under the hot cascade from the shower head, our
sweat mixing with the steam, the water splashing from her body to mine and
back to hers. We did that now, but there was the new, added element of
fulfilled sex. No more holding back, no more being careful to maintain
control. As long as both of us were willing at any given moment, we could
fuck all we wanted. It was a very liberating realization. And though we
were both a bit exhausted -- and very stiff -- we hadn't lost interest.
Alex flattened her body against mine under the spray, one arm tight
around my neck and her other hand tangled in my hair as her tongue tickled
my palette. Her thighs pressed against mine, her crotch grinding against
my cock (which was, unbelievably, already showing renewed interest), her
navel trying to form a suction with mine. Her breasts were mashed hard
against my chest, as if she were trying to get inside my skin with me.
Admittedly, I helped, massaging her beautiful ass and rubbing the base
of my cock against her clit. I backed her against the wall and shifted my
hands to her thighs. Her legs parted and, with a little squirming and
maneuvering, I was able to get my reinvigorated cock into a position where
it suddenly slid up the channel into her cunt.
She sighed and tried to hold me even closer. Her right foot hooked
behind my knee. I tried bending at the knees to get some friction
started, but my sister was too close to my own height and too heavy to
lift, especially in the slippery shower. I was only able to move an inch
or so in and out of her and both of us were becoming frustrated.
Finally, she reached down and squeezed my balls and slid off of me.
"Fuck me from behind, Michael," she said urgently.
She went quickly down on her hands and knees, facing away from the
shower head. I immediately knelt behind her and spread her upper thighs
with my hands. She angled her ass upward and her pussy showed itself
invitingly. I slid my hand between her legs and grasped her whole crotch.
She made a sound in the back of her throat and increased the angle of her
spine even more.
I moved up closer and slid my fully erect cock smoothly into her yet
again. Alex's head whipped back and a tremor traveled down her body. As
I began plunging away, she contracted the muscles in her vagina in
counterpoint. Soon, she was down on her elbows, bracing herself against
the tile as I slammed into her. Her body was being jolted so much, I was
afraid she might bang the top of her head against the wall. But when I
tried to ease off a little, Alex only insisted, "No! Fuck me harder!
Harder!"
I held onto her hips and when I squeezed, she moaned and gasped even
louder. But the floor of the shower was slippery and so were we, and
Alex's knees gradually slid out from under her. When it became obvious
that she was going to wind up on the floor of the shower, I pushed into
her as far as possible and settled her carefully, face down.
The hot water splashed off my back and my pubic hair was tickling her
asshole. She twitched her buttocks against my belly as a signal to
recommence our activities. I began fucking her again, hoping my cock
wouldn't slip out, but that turned out not to be a problem. In fact, when
she pressed her thighs together, with my legs on the outside, I discovered
that the friction had improved -- even with my sister's naturally snug
cunt. It also was obvious that the friction against her clit had
increased.
As I speeded up my strokes, shoving her whole body forward each time,
she emitted little sobs of passion. She stretched her arms back and
spread her hands along my sides, and I laid my full weight along her body,
pulling her shoulders and arms back.
Though I didn't really think about it until later, there was a certain
amount of domination/rape fantasy going on. I wouldn't have hurt Alex for
anything, and she trusted me absolutely, which allowed her to at least
pretend to give up some of her control, to be submissive in her fantasies.
Whatever the case, we both got off on it.
As we speeded up again, I definitely began to feel that I was "using"
her and my reaction to that was a bit uncertain, but Alex seemed to be
enjoying herself enormously -- this was our third time around this evening
-- and that knowledge kept me aroused.
Finally, as we began the climb to another orgasm, I moved one hand
between our bodies so that my thumb insinuated itself between her buttocks
and pressed against her rectum. I was taking a chance since I had no idea
how my sister would react to ass-play. I wrapped my other hand in her
hair and tugged back just enough to make her arch her neck.
My hesitancy was answered when she shivered under the hot shower and my
hot body and her ass trembled. I slammed into her the last two times and
ejaculated more heavily than I would have believed. At the same time, I
pressed my thumb a half-inch into her rectum and twitched it from side to
side. I pulled a little harder on her hair.
She stiffened and I thought I had gone too far. But then she took a
deep breath, sighed loudly, and let her whole body relax, almost seeming
to sink into the tile. Still lying on top of her, covering her body with
mine, I felt I was both dominating and protecting her. I stroked her arms
and flanks and kissed the back of her neck and her shoulders. I wanted to
wrap her up in my arms and just lie there.
Eventually, though, I levered my weight off her and climbed unsteadily
to my feet. Now the water was splashing on Alex and she moaned a little
and came back to the real world. She stood and we clung to each other
without speaking. There was nothing more to be said that we hadn't
already communicated with our bodies. My penis was sore and numb and her
vagina was filled to the brim with my sperm, and the world seemed perfect
to us.
We finished our shower -- or, rather, we started over again -- and
dried each other lovingly, pausing for kisses which were filled with love
and affection now, rather than raw passion. It was nearly 2:00 in the
morning when we finally slid wearily into bed, naked, me spooning in
behind her. One of my arms supported her head and the other wrapped
itself around her torso. Alex sighed happily and wiggled back against me.
I kissed the back of her head and murmured, "I love you..."
She stroked my arm a few times. "Oh, Michael, I love you, too...." We
drifted off to sleep, stiff and tired and a little dazed, but happier and
more content than we had ever been before.
[NOTE: From Chap 6 of the "Siblings" novel; set 1972; he's 17, she's 16.
Some minor correcting and rewriting for continuity has been done since
this section was first posted....]
AT THE DRIVE-IN
by Michael K. Smith
Neither Alex nor I dated much our last two years in high school --
except with each other. And though we often referred to going out
together as a "date," we knew we weren't using the word in the ordinary
way. This was precisely the period during which teenage hormones reach
their frantic peak (as we both could attest), and most students dated a
lot, whether they were going steady or playing the field.
When Alex was a junior, in 1972, she took a "special topics" course in
social psychology. Searching for a term paper topic in the area of
interpersonal relations, she naturally thought of our own relationship ...
but there wasn't much she could truthfully say about it without revealing
The Secret.
Then one of her girlfriends providentially began to encourage her to "go
out with boys" more often, and the dating process became her research
subject. And in the course of her research, my sister decided that we
really *weren't* dating other people enough. When she asked me what I
thought, I agreed that we dated much less often than most of the kids we
knew -- but so what? They were still looking, but we had found each
other.
Alex was perturbed at my complacency (her word). If we didn't date
other people, she insisted, we would inevitably become bored with each
other. We would be like "an old married couple" before we even got to
college. We were limiting ourselves physically, as well. When was the
last time I had gone out parking with a girl other than her? Well, she
had me there; I hadn't even kissed another girl in months. However, the
two of us had also shared many other wonderful experiences that were
beyond the dreams -- perhaps even the imaginations -- of most of our
friends.
I thought about it after Alex stomped off in exasperation. I understood
the point she was making (sort of) but I wasn't sure why she thought it
was important. Was she implying that she wanted to have sex with other
guys? She had always been free to make out with or fuck whomever she
pleased, and we both knew it. I was mercifully free of jealousy and
always had been. Perhaps it was conceit, or simply the conviction that
Alex loved me as I loved her. I was pretty adept at psychological
compartmentalization, too.
For myself, I certainly didn't object to a sweaty make-out session with
a nice- looking girl. What I objected to, or was impatient with, was all
the preliminary rituals -- the girl establishing her moral standards for
the record, the boy protesting the Platonic innocence of his motives, the
gradual ground-giving -- before you could both get down to the heavy
breathing and groping and fondling that you knew you were going to do
anyway. It seemed hypocritical to me then, and it still does. A
graceful, non-adversarial seduction, in which both parties participate but
neither knows the result in advance, is much more satisfying.
"Well, okay," I decided with some irritation, if Alex thought we should
date around, then I was going to beat her to it. I began making a mental
list of girls I knew whom I might even *want* to ask out. Girls who were
intelligent and pretty. I had no use for bimbos, nor would they probably
have put up with me. Several of my top possibilities were already going
with someone else.
The third girl I called was Marianne McKelvey. She was in my journalism
class and had just that semester begun writing for the school paper, on
which I was Assistant Features Editor. She was very attractive, with a
nicely proportioned body, large circular eyeglasses that made her wide
gray eyes seem perpetually startled, and long, chestnut hair which she
usually wore tucked into a practical knot on top of her head. She had a
musical laugh and an engaging habit of biting her lower lip when she was
concentrating over a typewriter. She was friendly to everyone, though not
a tease, and a couple of times I had noticed her giving me sidelong,
surreptitious glances in the newspaper office. I was curious about
Marianne both intellectually and physically.
When I called her that evening and invited her to a drive-in movie on
Saturday, I detected a moment's hesitation which I decided was just her
surprise at my asking her for a date. I had never made a pass at her.
She was probably wondering why I had called her up out of the blue. She
sounded pleased when she accepted, though, so I thought no more about it.
Then Alex returned to tell me, rather sheepishly, that she had called up
Bill Brumey, a senior on the swim team who had recently broken up with his
latest cheerleader girlfriend, and asked him out. Bill was a nice enough
guy, except for his apparent predilection for brainless blondes, and I
gathered that he was both surprised and flattered that a girl as pretty
and smart as Alex would take the initiative. But his family car was
unavailable, he said; he would *love* to go out with her, but he was
temporarily without wheels. Alex looked at me from under her lashes and
stroked my forearm with one finger. Would I be interested in
double-dating?
Her "poor little me with a problem" routine was so unsubtle, I knew she
was apologizing for our earlier spat and asking for a favor at the same
time. My sister always had me in the palm of her hand -- sometimes
literally -- when she wanted something. I called Marianne and cleared the
new arrangement with her; she had no objections, and even sounded a bit
relieved. I wondered if perhaps she didn't quite trust my motives.
The family vehicle was a Chevy station wagon, originally Mother's car,
but she seldom was able to drive it anymore. Alex and I shared it most of
the time and kept it in gas and oil and tuned up. We ran most of Mother's
household errands and, in return, we had almost unlimited use of the car.
And a station wagon is a great car for dates and for weekend jaunts with a
bunch of friends.
On Saturday afternoon, I found Alex standing in front of her closet,
pondering her wardrobe.
"Don't have a thing to wear, huh?" I laughed. She grinned and swatted
at me and I ducked.
"No -- I just don't know how to play this. Is this a "jeans" date or a
"frilly dress" date?"
I must have looked at her oddly. "This is only the drive-in, Alex. I
hope you don't think I'm gonna wear a coat and tie!"
She looked at me patiently. "Michael, if I think I might end up getting
cozy with Bill, if I want him to know it's okay to make a move, then I
probably want to wear something we can both deal with in the back seat.
But if I *don't* want to do that, I'll probably wear jeans and a
long-sleeved blouse that buttons up the back -- and my cast-iron bra!"
I thought I understood her calculations now -- and I began to wonder
what Marianne would wear. Did she also subscribe to this body-language
code of dressing for dates?
By the time we left the house, Alex had carefully shaved her legs so she
wouldn't have to wear hose, and she had settled on a particularly short
black mini with a matching velour pullover top. And no bra. It all
looked very nice above her long, creamy legs. By her own explanation, I
assumed she was dressed for action.
We went by Bill's house first and found him waiting on the front steps.
He jumped up and walked quickly to the car, obviously embarrassed at
having to be picked up by his date and her brother. Alex hopped out of
the front seat and he held the back door and climbed in after her. It
dawned on me that Alex could have sat in the back to begin with, but that
she wanted to give Bill's ego the opportunity to escort her from the front
to the back. She always was a good applied psychologist.
Bill's hand squeezed my shoulder briefly as he leaned forward. "Hey, I
really appreciate this doubling, Mike! I've thought about asking Alex for
a date but she doesn't seem to go out much; I thought maybe she had a
steady I didn't know about. And then she calls *me* and I don't have a
car!"
"Hey, yourself," Alex chimed in. "Don't tell him, tell me! What do you
mean you were 'going to call me'? Why didn't you? I think I've been
insulted!" She snagged his sleeve and tugged him back beside her. "You
aren't shy, are you?"
I glanced in the rear view mirror and noted that my sister had crossed
her legs and allowed her skirt to ride up even farther. Then I saw Bill
blush, and I suddenly realized he *was* shy! A good-looking, reasonably
intelligent jock, who could have any fluffy little cheerleader he wanted!
I glanced at the mirror again. Alex had hooked her arm through Bill's and
was chattering away about inconsequential things to put him at ease; he
looked quite happy with his situation.
I thought about it all the way to Marianne's house and concluded that
Bill usually dated bimbos because he knew they were no competition for
him. An attractive girl who was also very intelligent, quick-witted, and
athletic -- like my sister -- was another matter. He wanted Alex to like
him and he was a little nervous around her. I filed away that insight for
further study.
Marianne met me at the door when I rang the bell. She called over her
shoulder that she was leaving now, and slipped outside with a bright
smile. She was wearing khaki shorts -- not "short shorts" but short
enough -- and a cropped yellow T-shirt that ended just at the waistband,
giving me brief flashes of bare midriff. Not the sort of outfit I would
have expected from Marianne, somehow, but it definitely suited her.
Her thick, rich hair was uncoiled for a change; it spilled far past her
shoulders and it swayed and bounced when she turned her head. The effect
was astonishing and enticing. And if the way a girl dressed for a date
was a guide to her mind-set, as my sister seemed to think, then this could
turn out to be an interesting evening.
I casually took her hand as we walked back to the car, which also seemed
to surprise her. "Thanks for agreeing to double-date," I said. "Alex and
Bill would have been stuck, otherwise."
"Oh, I don't mind." She squeezed my hand. "I'm just glad you asked me
out, Michael. I really never expected it."
We weren't early enough to the drive-in to get a good spot in one of the
front rows, so we got the next best thing -- a spot in one of the back
rows. The picture was sufficiently uninteresting that we could watch for
alternate five-minute segments and still follow the plot-line.
An unspoken agreement had existed between high school students and the
drive-in management for as long as anyone could remember: As long as there
was no screaming, drunkenness, rapine, or parent complaints, the back row
was regarded as a "free fire zone."
After the first thirty minutes, with everyone in the car relaxed, I saw
in the mirror that Bill was leaning back against the side window with his
feet propped up and his loafers off. Alex was stretched out half on top
of him, one leg hooked over his, talking almost nose to nose in a low
voice. He had one arm around her shoulders and she was stroking his chest
with her free hand.
I asked Marianne in a whisper if she would mind switching sides in the
front seat so I could get out from behind the wheel; she pulled her knees
up out of the way before I could even finish the question. I made sure to
steady myself with a hand on her knee as I eased past her. I had barely
resettled myself when Marianne's shoes were off and she had tucked her
bare feet under her and pressed her thigh against mine.
I put my arm around her and she snuggled up happily with her head on my
collarbone. She even reached up and stroked the hand that was dangling
over her shoulder. She was sending a blizzard of signals, but I wanted to
take things slowly. I was content for the moment to enjoy her warm body
curled up against mine and to comb my fingers through her luxuriant hair.
She felt so different from Alex -- a novelty. I didn't know her, not in
these circumstances, so anything she said or did would be pretty much
unexpected. I discovered that made her even more interesting. Marianne
would never hold a candle to Alex -- I doubted anyone ever could -- but
perhaps my sister was right about our need for social variety.
After a few minutes, Marianne leaned her head back so she could speak
softly in my ear. "Michael,... if I ask you something, will you promise
not to think I'm being dumb?" I nodded. "We've known each other for more
than a year, and we've worked in Journalism together for months now. And
you've always been very polite and nice to me. But why did you call me up
now, all of a sudden? I mean, I'm really glad you did, but you've never
said anything to make me think...." She'd run out of explanation.
I thought again about Bill's reaction to Alex's call. Marianne wasn't
particularly shy, but she wasn't a flirt, either. My fingertips lightly
traced a line down her throat and she swallowed, as if my answer was
important to her.
"I knew you were there all the time, you know. You're very pretty: How
could I not know?" And as I said it, I knew it was true. "I know I don't
date much, but that doesn't mean I don't notice girls. You're pretty, and
you're smart, and you can spell -- now."
She snorted a laugh. I had corrected the spelling in her articles until
she caught on and began looking up words before submitting her stories.
"And I like you, Marianne. I wanted to get to know you better; I
thought there were sides to you I didn't know about. Looking at you
tonight, I'm sure of it! Besides," I added, burying my fingers in her
hair, "I've wanted to do THIS for months!"
She smiled at me over her shoulder and reached up and kissed me lightly
on the cheek. "Michael, you're sweet." She took off her glasses, folded
them, and set them carefully on the dash. Her eyes were light brown and
gold, but they seemed much darker there in the car.
With one finger on her cheek, I guided her head around, bent down, and
kissed her firmly on the lips. It took only a split-second for her to
make up her mind to kiss me back. It only lasted a few seconds, though,
and I was disappointed -- until she swung around the other way so she
could fit more comfortably in my lap and in my arms. Then she hooked
herself around my neck and fastened her mouth to mine.
I responded to this delightful assault by putting my hands on her waist,
where her shorts and shirt didn't quite meet. I slowly stroked her lower
back, letting her call the shots and decide the pace. In fact, I was
contemptuous of "grabbers"; such behavior was unsubtle, unfriendly,
unromantic, and sometimes dangerous. I much preferred mutual seduction.
But with Marianne, I needn't have doubted. She surprised me again:
Without losing her grip on my tongue, she reached smoothly under the back
of her shirt, unhooked her bandeau bra, and tossed it on the floor. I
realized just how carefully she, like Alex, had planned for contingencies.
The bra was a barrier to balance the cropped shirt if she decided to keep
our date merely on a friendly basis -- but it also could be removed with a
minimum of hassle if she decided otherwise. She had made her decision;
she wanted my hands on her body, and I was certainly willing.
But still I restrained myself. We had plenty of time. I slid her shirt
up as I ran my palms over her shoulderblades. She shivered and pressed
her body against my chest and nibbled at my earlobe. She was relaxed and
obviously felt secure and in control, which was what I wanted.
I peeked over Marianne's shoulder at the mirror again in curiosity.
Alex and Bill had slumped down on the back seat. I could see Alex's hand
clutching at the window ledge and the top of Bill's head was barely
visible. From the sound effects, I guessed that his mouth was busy with
her tits and that she was enjoying it. Couldn't let my sister get too far
ahead of me, I thought.
I let Marianne lean back, moved my mouth down to her waist, and began
kissing my way upward, pushing her shirt up out of the way as I
progressed. She was moaning quietly under her breath and holding onto the
back of my head, and when my mouth fastened on her nipples she dug her
fingers into my hair. I knew intuitively that she wasn't very experienced
at this, but I also understood that she wanted to be. She had decided it
was time to jump off the cliff and I was the one she had selected to catch
her. I was flattered, and I had sufficient ego to think she wouldn't be
disappointed.
I reached up and tapped on the ceiling panel. "Bill? Alex? Why don't
we fold down the back seat?"
Bill looked to Alex for confirmation and she nodded with a lustful
twinkle. She already had her top off and her breasts jiggled invitingly;
her skirt was hiked up to her crotch. Bill had already lost his shirt and
had obviously entered into the spirit of the evening.
Marianne, still sitting in my lap, had begun to pull her tee shirt over
her head, but when she saw the other two moving around she hurriedly
pulled it back down again. I stopped her and smiled.
"Take it easy, Marianne. We're all friends here; no one's going to mind
and no one's going to stare at you." My hands slipped under her shirt and
I cupped her full breasts and rubbed my thumbs over her erect nipples.
She closed her eyes and arched her back. Then she swallowed, smiled
broadly, and removed her shirt.
While the two in the back were rearranging the car, I simply sat back
and admired Marianne. She folded her hands behind her and perched there
with her shoulders back and her lovely breasts outthrust, hair scattered
in all directions. She smiled seductively from beneath her lashes. She
knew it was an erotic pose. This sort of thing was so unlike her school
persona, I almost wondered if she had a twin.
She got up on her knees straddling me, hand on the back of the seat for
balance, and slowly and deliberately swung her breasts just above my face.
The sounds in the back ceased for a moment. Alex said "Go get 'em, you
guys!" and there was a throaty chuckle I knew well.
Marianne was not at all over-built, but her breasts were much larger
than Alex's. Also unlike Alex, she had large soft areolae with small,
hard button-like nipples in the center of each. I could not easily suck
on her nipples, but I could take much more of her breast into my mouth. A
very different experience. And those beautiful, conical masses swaying
before me were very alluring -- as was the fact that she was offering
herself to me this way.
She didn't seem nervous or unsure of herself, but somehow I knew I was
the first guy ever she had ever trusted like this. And I did my part,
too. I practically inhaled her tits, chewing very gently and curling my
tongue around her little nipples while squeezing the soft flesh I couldn't
fit into my mouth. Marianne's body was trembling and her pelvis was
grinding slowly against my groin. My shirt had somehow become unbuttoned.
I shrugged it off as Marianne sat back on my knees again, running her
hands slowly across my chest and looking at me with those dark, glowing
eyes.
Bill and Alex had converted the back of the station wagon into a playpen
now, and had spread out the two or three thick blankets we always kept in
the car. I wasn't sure exactly what they were doing back there, but
Marianne was staring entranced past my shoulder and a deep flush was
creeping down her torso -- partly lingering shyness and her own lively
imagination working on what she was watching, but mostly her own sexual
arousal, the flames being fanned in her by whatever activity my sister and
her date were engaged in.
I hooked a thumb over my shoulder and raised a questioning eyebrow.
Marianne scrambled off my lap, tits bouncing, and climbed over the seat
into the back, being careful not to step on anyone. She sat waiting with
her legs crossed as I followed her.
Bill and Alex were in a '69' position with her on the bottom. My sister
had her mini up around her waist, and her panties, if she had worn any,
were not to be seen. Her face was framed by his pubic hair and she
obviously had his entire cock in her mouth. Bill's head was buried
between Alex's widespread thighs and he was industriously pushing his
tongue up her cunt. They were oblivious to us and everything else except
themselves. Marianne was trying not to watch them -- out of misplaced
modesty, I suppose -- but I gently turned her head toward the undulating
bodies eighteen inches away.
"Don't be embarrassed, Marianne -- it sure doesn't bother THEM that
we're here! Don't you see how much fun they're having? How much pleasure
they're giving each other? Nobody gets hurt and everybody gets off. What
could be better than that?"
She seemed to think about it as she watched -- apparently forgetting
that she was already half-naked herself. Alex was now concentrating on
sucking the head of Bill's cock, and I massaged Marianne's breasts as she
continued to watch them, fascinated now. Her hand strayed to my crotch
and began stroking my cock though the denim. I'm not sure she was even
conscious of what she was doing. I stifled a groan. Watching my sister
suck a cock while I was being fondled by my date was having its effect.
I stroked Marianne's inner thigh and her attention flicked back to me.
She realized where her hand was and smiled as she squeezed my cock. Then
she popped open the top button of her shorts and lay back invitingly. I
quickly unzipped her shorts and slid them and her panties down her legs
and off her feet. Another surprise: Marianne, with her electric body,
full breasts and hips, and lush hair, had shaved her crotch completely
bare!
I was more aroused by the sight of the utterly exposed crevice leading
to her cunt than I would have been by a mat of pubic hair. I looked back
at her flushed face and dilated eyes and grinned my pleasure; she blushed
even more. I was certain, then, that she had done this especially for me,
hoping we would get this far, and letting me know at the same time how
vulnerable she was willing to let herself be with me. She slowly spread
her legs and pulled her knees back, and her moist clitoris reflected the
light from the movie screen; her dazzling body showed not a single hair
below her eyelashes.
It took me less than a second to bury my face in her smooth, sweet
pussy. I was peripherally aware that Bill and Alex paused for a moment in
their exertions to watch us; they both grinned and returned their
attentions to each other. My tongue was busily probing Marianne's pussy
and her hands clutched at my hair, pushing my head closer. I knew this
was her first time for any kind of oral sex, too, and she was obviously
enjoying it. Intermittent tremors coursed through her thighs and across
her stomach and her feet pressed against the sides of my ribcage.
After a few minutes with my tongue inside her, she tried breathlessly to
reach under my body. "I want to-- to hold you-- your cock! C'mon...!
I had already undone my belt and lowered my zipper, and now I pushed my
jeans off. I tipped Marianne on her side and curled my body around so she
could reach what she wanted. I was erect now, and she had no difficulty
getting her hands on my cock. She started rubbing it vigorously up and
down, but I quickly stopped her. Many girls make that mistake; they seem
not to believe a guy could, or would want to, build up to a climax step by
slow, calculating step.
"Just touch it, stroke it, all over -- not so hard, okay? Don't be
afraid to use your tongue and your mouth, Marianne, please? Close your
eyes and pretend it's a stick of candy."
She obviously was eager to return to me the experience my mouth was
giving her, but was unsure how to manage it. She began by holding my cock
like a dagger and kissing the head and touching the tip of her tongue to
it, but after a minute or two she grew more courageous and took the head
into her mouth. I held my hips still while she figured out what she was
doing, but at my end of our world things were a lot more active. My head
was pushed up between her thighs and my mouth was playing catfish on every
bit of flesh within reach. Her aroma and the taste of her was different
from Alex, more pungent and spicy, but just as exciting. My hands
squeezed her ass and stroked the small of her back, and my fingertips,
gliding lightly between her cheeks and across her asshole, made the
surrounding muscles quiver reflexively.
"You like that, huh?" I mumbled.
"Oh, God..." she moaned. "You have no idea!" Oh, yes, I did. Her
tongue moved up and down the shaft of my penis and she licked and sucked
lightly at my balls. She seemed to have shed the last of her nervousness
and embarrassment in the heat of her growing passion. The juices were
flowing in her cunt and the aroma of sex within her was much stronger.
I wondered briefly what her reaction would be if I could time-travel
back to yesterday and tell her that she would soon be naked in the
presence of three other people, with a guy's testicles in her mouth.
But there was something I had to know. I managed to partly sit up with
one arm wrapped around her hips. She came up to the same position, so
that we were wrapped in a ball together, hands busy with each other's
bodies, our faces only a few inches apart. She had a kind of wild look in
her eyes, like she had put all her inhibitions on the shelf for the
evening.
"Marianne," I said in a low voice, "I don't want you to take this the
wrong way, but... are you a virgin? I mean, you're absolutely beautiful,
and I *really* want to have sex with you, but I don't want to push you
farther than you really want to go -- I don't want you to have regrets
later...."
I was stroking her clit as I said this, but I still meant it. I was
pretty sure this gorgeous girl, whom I had stupidly overlooked, had no
illusions about what we were doing being "love," and I wanted to make sure
we would remain friends, at least, whatever else might happen. If she was
simply temporarily out of control, I had to offer her an escape hatch, out
of respect for her and myself.
She squeezed my cock and stretched it toward her. "Michael, do you know
how many other guys would ask a question like that at a time like this?
None! I can't believe you'd even think about it -- but, no: I'm not a
virgin, just barely, and tonight I want you to fuck me stupid! And I
won't have any regrets tomorrow. This is what I want, and I'm ready for
it -- right now! Mostly because it's you I'm with. Even if I *were*
still a virgin, I'd pick you to pop my cherry -- do you understand that?
You're a very sweet guy, Michael, and I really do like you, and I trust
you, too. What more could I ask for in a lover? Now, can we please stop
talking and go on with what we were doing? Please?!"
She pressed her mouth hard against mine and wiped her tongue across the
front of my teeth. She was radiating more heat than a homecoming bonfire.
How could I have worked next to this girl all these months and never
suspected the dammed up sensuality within her? Well, that dam was about
to burst!
I hadn't thought about it in advance, but since I was almost leaning
against the back of the front seat, it seemed easier to lie on my back and
let Marianne get on top. I thought for a moment that it might leave her
feeling too exposed to the rest of the world, but in her present state of
mind she would probably have gone out for popcorn naked.
So I slid down onto my back and watched my cock go rigidly vertical; I
was already imagining what Marianne's cunt would feel like. I loved Alex
unreservedly, but this was a matter of pure lust. She knelt between my
legs and let her long hair curtain my groin as she took my cock in her
mouth once more. She was a fast learner, but she didn't try to
deep-throat me either.
"Enough, enough!" I said, and reached for her arms to draw her up to me.
She smiled and moved up to straddle my hips. Reaching between her legs,
she opened her cunt and guided herself carefully onto my waiting cock.
That was a detail I enjoyed: Instead of grasping my penis and steering it
into her, she accepted it as a target and impaled herself on it. The
difference was minor and the result was the same, but it was *nice* ...
almost a compliment.
Her lips parted and her eyes closed as she settled herself. I held onto
her flanks as she moved up and down slowly and experimentally. I moved
then to her swaying breasts and covered them with my hands, squeezing them
slowly in rhythm with her own movements. I tugged forward and she opened
her eyes and bent from the waist, resting her open hands on my shoulders.
Now my cock was rubbing strongly against her clit and her eyes had gone
smokey. Her tits were pressed against my collarbone and I nibbled at her
neck and the underside of her chin, and squeezed her ass. As I picked up
the tempo, she rasped "Oh, God...."
Bill and Alex had moved on to the next stage as well. Both had shed the
remainder of their clothes and Alex was on her back on the blanket beside
me, only a few inches away. She was filled by his cock and thoroughly
enjoying it. Her long legs were wrapped around his waist and her head was
arched back.
She raised her hips to meet each thrust -- a maneuver I knew well -- and
sucked in between her teeth at each stroke. Bill looked completely
transported by Alex's aggressive sexuality; I knew exactly what he was
feeling at that moment and I was pleased for both of them. Bill was to my
sister what Marianne was to me: An enthusiastic and capable sex partner,
and heretofore casual friend, who would be a much closer friend after
tonight.
Neither of them was a threat to either of us and this change of bodies
was exciting and exhilarating. Alex had been more accurate about our need
for variety than even she had realized.
I unconsciously matched my rhythm to Bill's and soon Alex and I were
lifting our lower bodies almost in tandem in our pursuit of orgasm. I
felt it building in me and so did Marianne; she was making little moaning
sounds and her face was almost agonized with abandon. Without really
paying attention, I knew Bill was approaching his climax as well. His
eyes were shut as tightly as Marianne's as his sensory input concentrated
in his cock.
Unexpectedly, Alex's hand crossed the few inches between our bodies and
touched my leg. I took her hand and she twined her fingers between mine
and squeezed. I glanced sideways and found her smiling crookedly at me
with sparks in her eyes.
I knew immediately what she intended and I laughed silently with her.
For the next minute we held hands and squeezed in unison. And we
gradually slid our bodies together until our shoulders were just touching.
Alex even planted one foot lightly against Marianne's hip and Marianne
grasped Alex's kneecap to brace her wild gyrations. Neither of our
partners were aware that we were holding hands, of course, but it was like
a telepathic link.
My cock was about to explode and Marianne's cunt got the message; my
orgasm triggered hers and we tipped over the edge together. Bill could
not have been unaware of what was happening next to him, especially when
Marianne tried unsuccessful to smother an ecstatic squeal. Bill came ten
seconds after I did, and he was followed instantly by my sister's arching
climax. She squeezed my hand until my knuckles were white.
It was close to an indescribable experience. Alex and I, each fucking
other people, but also sharing our separate orgasms as if we were fucking
each other -- a doubled climax. Bill shooting off inside Alex while I
fountained into Marianne's steaming vagina, and Alex and I coming together
as well, which intensified the experience for both of us. It was almost
an out-of-the-body feeling.
Our four overheated bodies slumped in a heap for several minutes while
everyone gasped for breath. It finally occurred to me that this must be a
very strange situation for Bill and Marianne.
It certainly wasn't the first time two couples had foregone privacy in
favor of fucking space, especially at the drive-in, but this was a little
different. A brother and sister, pressed side by side, naked, in the back
of a car, banging away with their dates. Nobody had exactly planned it
that way, and on another occasion it might have struck our companions as
extremely weird, but the enthusiastic lust all four of us felt had
overcome any inhibitions.
But it was in the back of my mind -- and Alex's, I was sure -- that we
still had to be very careful how we behaved toward each other. I wanted
very badly to lean over and kiss Alex, but that wouldn't do at all. It
would have betrayed The Secret. But as we began slowly to untangle
ourselves, I managed to stroke Alex's short ribs for an instant, and she
surreptitiously caressed the back of my calf.
Nor, surprisingly, was there no great rush by anyone to cover themselves
as the sexual fog began to dissipate. We laughed and make bawdy puns as
we casually sorted out our clothing. I glanced quickly at Bills's cock
out of male curiosity; it had shrunk considerably, of course, but it was
still longer and somewhat bigger around than mine. I made a mental note
to ask Alex whether or not his size had really made a difference in how
her cunt felt.
Alex had worn black bikini panties under her black mini and Marianne had
opted for blazing red under her shorts -- though I hadn't noticed at the
time, I was so anxious to get her out of them.
Alex held up the red satin panties and said "Wow!" in mock awe.
"Marianne, I like these! How about a swap?"
Marianne actually blushed a little -- after all that had just happened!
-- and laughed. She shook out the very brief black lace panties and
raised her eyebrows.
"Are you sure, Alex? These are much sexier!" More expensive, too,
probably, I thought, but I was reading my sister's mind again. Each girl
slipped on the other's panties and they knelt facing each other for a
moment, comparing the results.
Alex reached out and minutely adjusted the pair Marianne was wearing.
"Hey, those look nice on you; you look good in black!"
Bill and I exchanged glances as we avidly watched the girls. We were
both thinking what a turn-on it was, knowing each girl's crotch was
cradled in the spot where the other's had been a short while before. And
both pairs were "used," which made Alex's apparent whim even more erotic.
But I already knew that this was a little gift from Alex to me. She
wouldn't be wearing Marianne's underwear for very long.
The movie had another five or ten minutes to run when Marianne and I
climbed back into the front seat while Bill and Alex reconstructed the
back seat. Marianne picked up her bra, wadded in into a ball, and stuffed
it down into the very bottom of her purse. Then she went back to her
earlier position, straddling my lap, with her arms around my neck and her
nose nuzzling my ear. I stroked her thighs and gave her an affectionate
hug. We might do this again, or it might be something we could only do
once, but I could live with that too. Either way, I knew Marianne and I
would always be more than just Journalism office buddies. She was sweet,
sexy, pretty, and smart. Just the kind of close friend I wanted. By
choice, I didn't have many.
I knew she wanted to say something because I could hear her hesitate.
When she did speak, it was very softly and close to my ear.
"Michael,... I don't know what to say. This has been such a wonderful
evening! I *love* you...." I froze instinctively and she felt it, and
laughed under her breath.
"Don't worry, I didn't mean it that way! I'm not 'IN love', Michael --
though it wouldn't take much...." Her hand moved softly across my cheek.
"I love you for being *you*, here, tonight.
"See,... I said I wasn't a virgin, and that's true, but...." She took a
deep breath and it all spilled out in a rush. "I've never really had sex
before, not really. There was this guy when I was fourteen. A girlfriend
-- EX-girlfriend -- set me up with a blind date to double with her, and
then she and her boyfriend went off and left us, and he was nineteen and
he got me... he got me all excited. Horny. I had no idea what I was
doing. But he... he got my pants off and just ... he just stuck it in,
and pushed a few times, and then he came, I guess. It didn't hurt, but he
was finished so fast, and I didn't really feel it, and I was scared when
I... when I saw his cock, it looked so big, and...."
She swallowed and her voice quavered. She was holding tight to my
shoulder with her cheek against mine. "And then he took me home and I
never saw him again. I wasn't even sure about his name. And I worried
for weeks that I might be pregnant." She kissed my ear and her body
relaxed. "I've never told anyone about that, not even my mother, but I
wanted you to understand." Her confession, if that's what she meant it to
be, was complete and she sounded very relieved.
"I've been out with other boys lots of times, but most of them only
wanted to grab at me, and I never let them do *anything*. They usually
didn't ask me out again," she added sadly. Her head had rested itself on
my shoulder and her hand was moving aimlessly around my shirt front. I
gently stroked the small of her back and let my other hand rest
motionlessly on her knee, comforting her, I hoped.
"I like you a lot, Michael. I guess I have sort of a crush on you --
have had for months. I was surprised when you asked me out, though. I
thought at first you'd picked up some vibes from me or something -- that
you knew I liked you. And then I worried that you might use that to...
to... I'm sorry, I know you aren't like that, now. I'm just suspicious
of boys, most of them anyway. And then I started thinking about you, and
that maybe I could, well,... seduce you. I wanted you to like me more.
You don't hate me, do you?"
She wasn't faking or exaggerating; she really felt guilty, and I wasn't
sure why. I kissed her cheek.
"Marianne, if you were trying to seduce me, I'd say you did a pretty
good job; I thought I was seducing you! But didn't you think maybe I'd
like it? Doesn't happen that often, not to me, anyway." I stroked her
hair and hugged her again.
"Now, listen to me. I'm not afraid of love. You just caught me by
surprise. I must be blind, because it never occurred to me that we could
be more than just friends. I apologize for that. I *do* like you -- I
like you a lot -- and I sure don't want to hurt you. You're sweet, and
you're smart, and you're very sexy! But every guy trying to make it with
a girl tells her he loves her, and it's a lie. That's not love, that's
lust -- and lust is great, but it isn't 'love', Marianne. I asked you out
because I thought you'd be fun to be with -- and I was right, in more ways
than I expected. I didn't ask you out just to get into your pants, I
really didn't."
She hugged me back. "No, you don't understand -- I *adore* having sex
with you!" She lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. "I WANTED you to
fuck me tonight, and I got what I wanted, and it was fantastic! It was a
little strange -- four of us back there, including your sister ... but I
wasn't embarrassed, and that was even stranger, ya' know? I felt sexy,
and happy, and relaxed afterward. You were so good for me, don't you see?
All I had was half a memory of half a minute of that other guy, whose name
I don't even remember. But now, I have this wonderful memory of tonight.
You're the first guy I've ever deliberately given myself to, and I'm so
glad I picked you. Michael, as far as I'm concerned, you're my 'first'.
You're the guy who popped my cherry, and it was beautiful!"
That sounded a little odd to both of us after she said it, and she
giggled. But we both understood what she meant. I felt a lot of
tenderness toward this girl -- and my ego was pleased with itself, that
was for certain. I felt a little guilty that I had been holding Alex's
hand and dividing my attention between the two of them at our mutual
moment of climax. But Marianne hadn't noticed, I was sure, and it didn't
affect her experience at all.
She sat back and stroked my cock through my jeans; there was a twinkle
in her eye and a pleased smile on her lips. I smiled back and cupped her
breasts in my hands, and drew her back to me. She sighed with pleasure
and leaned her warm body against mine and kissed me slowly and thoroughly.
My hands moved just as slowly under her shirt, up and down her bare back.
Her skin felt so nice. It was a warm, sentimental kiss, not a heavy,
passionate one, though we both were aware of the ever-present sexual
content as well. We felt very close at that moment.
"Please tell me we'll do this again, okay?" she murmured. "Not any
particular time, but 'again'. I don't want this to be the only time we
make it together...."
"I promise, we'll do this again," I replied. "I guarantee it. But
let's just let it happen when it happens. We see each other every day and
we're very special friends now. I want you to stay my friend, and too
much pressure by either of us could spoil that. Besides, I think you're
going to be dating a lot more now, with a lot of other guys, and I *don't*
want you feeling guilty about us when you do, okay? Can we be close,
special friends, and occasional, part-time lovers?"
She hugged me gratefully. "That's exactly what I want us to be,
Michael. I knew you'd understand me. You're terrific!"
All those few minutes, Alex and Bill had been having their own quiet
talk, and kissing, and cuddling. But now Bill said, "Is the movie over?"
I noticed the cars around us pulling out a few at a time, and the
projection screen had dimmed. "Anyone remember what we saw?" he inquired.
"Just in case someone asks?" That cracked all of us up and comfortably
broke the spell.
"Who's for hamburgers?" I asked over my shoulder. "I don't know about
you two, but *we've* worked up an appetite!" Marianne laughingly growled
and pretended to bite my arm as I started the car.
It took a little while to get Marianne dropped off, because we had to
say goodnight several times in her driveway, and again on her porch. Her
mother finally opened the front door from curiosity: She had heard the car
door and our footsteps five or ten minutes before. Marianne suddenly
turned shy and we ended our embrace. As she stepped inside I saw her
mother smile at her indulgently.
Bill and Alex didn't take as long. They'd been saying goodnight at
Marianne's house, and all the way to his place, and I think Bill got a bit
shy, too, about me sitting in the front seat by myself while he was in the
back seat deep-kissing my sister. He seemed to have momentarily forgotten
all that had happened earlier in the evening. He was obviously very
impressed by Alex, and not just as a sex partner, either.
In fact, they dated several more times that year and Bill had the good
sense not to become possessive -- nor did they have sex on every occasion.
Alex developed a lot of respect for Bill and spoke highly of him. And he
was delighted to find someone equally athletic who valued him for his
intelligence and wit; he was tired of being regarded as "just a jock."
After we all went off to college, he sent Alex a dozen red roses every
Valentine's day, until she graduated.
My sister tumbled over the front seat before I was out of Bill's
driveway and had Marianne's red panties off by the time we reached the end
of the block. She sniffed the crotch delicately.
"Yep. She's still there! So am I. There's a gift for you, Michael --
two girls in one!" She rubbed the satin laughingly beneath my nose.
"Very nice," I agreed. "What do you suppose she'll do with your black
ones?"
"She'll probably wash them," Alex replied, stuffing the trophy in her
purse. "She's not as kinky as I am," she added with a straight face.
* * * * *
That night, as I was reading in bed, waiting for my hormones to calm
down, Alex strolled into my room and stretched out on the bed beside me,
clad only in her comfortable old tee-shirt. She propped herself up on one
elbow and her foot slid over and stroked my shin. I smiled and kept
reading my book.
"Well? How was she?" She sounded a touch impatient.
"What do you mean, 'How was she?' What kind of question is that?" This
wasn't like Alex. We told each other everything, but in our own time.
"I mean, what kind of fuck was she?" She traced designs on the quilt
with her finger. "Was she-- was she better than me?"
I closed my book and looked at my sister in some consternation. This
*really* wasn't like her! She always had the self-confidence of a
wolverine. And she knew quite well how I felt about her. Moreover, her
present mood was inconsistent with her behavior at the drive-in and on the
way home. I began to wonder if I should worry.
"Alex, what's the matter?" I covered her hand with mine. "You aren't
jealous, are you? Because that would be really stupid. Don't you know
yet that *I love you*? More than anything else in the world, Alex, more
than myself -- I love you. And wasn't it you who decided we weren't
seeing other people enough?"
She glanced up and then looked back at the quilt. Her shoulders seemed
to hunch. "She *was* better than me, wasn't she? At sex." This was
bewildering. I took her face in the palms of my hands and made her look
at me.
"Alex," I said softly, staring into her eyes as hard as I could, "she
was terrific! And she was a virgin, for all practical purposes. Marianne
is sweet, and loving, and passionate, and charming, and she has a really
great body, and I really enjoyed--" (I almost said "making love" but
changed my mind) "--having sex with her tonight. And NONE of that has
ANYTHING to do with you and me. You're my darling, the center of my life,
Alex. How could you ever doubt that?
"Marianne is a really nice girl, and I think we're going to be very good
friends. So what? You certainly enjoyed your evening with Bill, didn't
you? I *know* you did, you came like the San Francisco Earthquake! I
think that's great. And I think our coming simultaneously is the sexiest
thing you and I have done in a long time. Sex is usually part of love,
but love doesn't have to be part of sex. You know that; I *know* you know
that. Having sex with Marianne was terrific fun, sure. Having sex with
you is *making love*, Alex. I could never be jealous of Bill, because I
know you love me." I stroked her cheek and kissed her lightly.
"You hold my heart in your hands, Alexandra." I spoke slowly,
emphasizing each word. "Don't ever doubt that. Not ever."
I don't know what brought on that spasm of self-doubt, but I must have
become nearly telepathic in my earnestness to make her believe what I was
saying. She *had* to believe it, I thought. It was all *true*. And she
did believe me because she threw her arms around my neck and pulled me
down into a fierce kiss. After a few minutes, she put her cheek against
mine and spoke softly into my ear.
"Michael, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to doubt you.
You *are* my darling and my love. I *do* know you love me. And I love
you so much, so much. God, I love you!"
We finally fell asleep there with her head snuggled up on my shoulder
and my arm around her. She slept peacefully, smiling, all doubts erased.
And when I awoke too early in the morning, I lay there for half an hour,
unwilling to move and disturb her. I wanted only to absorb her beauty and
her love, and to reflect on how fortunate I was. How lucky we *both*
were, for that matter, each to have found our hearts' desire so early in
life.
[NOTE: From Chap 6 of the "Siblings" novel; set 1972; he's 17, she's 16.
Some minor correcting and rewriting for continuity has been done since
this section was first posted....]
SHOWERS
by Michael K. Smith
In July following my junior year in high school, my sister and I reached
a new plateau in our physical relationship. I bought or borrowed porno
magazines on occasion, from curiosity or for jacking off to, and I knew
Alex studied them too. Not that she made a secret of it -- we had no
secrets -- but sometimes I saw her stare at a photo more intensely than
usual and then turn the page hurriedly. When she wasn't around, I'd leaf
through the magazine and try to identify the picture that had startled
even her. I knew about "regular" sex by now, so I usually bought
magazines that featured the most perverse or perverted acts I could
imagine. And I soon discovered that the most graphically explicit photos
were the ones that mesmerized Alex.
That summer, I was on a secondhand anal sex binge. Those photos seemed
to arouse me even more than the pictures of oral sex in which I had
submerged myself the year before. What I found definitely unappealing,
however -- in addition to the often bored expressions of the professional
models -- was the fact that their presumed long experience with anal sex
left them with gaping assholes that rivaled their cunts. Not very sexy, I
thought.
One afternoon, when Dad had driven Mother over to her sister's house and
we had the place to ourselves, Alex came in from playing tennis. I was
sitting on the edge of my bed, studying again one of the ass-fucking
magazines. The humidity was high and she was running with sweat. Her
knit shirt was stuck to her back and even her white socks looked soggy.
She clumped into my room, sat down heavily in my desk chair, and blew out
her cheeks. Her coppery hair was tied back in a damp ponytail and her
freckled face was red from exertion. A definite locker room aroma
surrounded her but I found it somehow erotic.
I studied her over the top of my magazine. "Just a guess, sis, but I
think you need a shower. A *long* one."
"Boy, do I ever!" She pushed off her shoes without untying the laces
and wrinkled her nose. "I smell like the animal tent at the circus." She
stood and pulled the shirt over her head; there were also sweat marks on
her bra and rivulets running down between her breasts. As she pushed her
shorts down and stepped out of them, she saw what I had been reading and
grinned.
"Interesting pictures, aren't they? Have you ever done that? Screwed a
girl in the ass?" She knew perfectly well I hadn't. For that matter,
except for each other, we were both still virgins.
"I wonder what it really feels like...." She unhooked her bra and
dropped it with her shorts and socks on the floor. We were so casual now
about undressing in front of each other, I was aware of her increasing
nudity only peripherally.
"Wanna join me?" I looked up as she pushed down her panties, managing
to wiggle twice as much as necessary to get out of them. At sixteen, she
was already becoming wise in the ways of seducing a man. But she'd had
more practice with a more appreciative audience than most of her
girlfriends. Why not? I thought. We were sharing showers pretty
regularly, now; it was nice to have someone scrub your back for you and to
do it for them. And wet, slippery bodies were fun for other reasons.
"Yeah, okay." I stood and shucked off the jams I usually wore around
the house in hot weather. Alex was already headed out the door and I
noticed that the sweat coursing down her back was now continuing over the
swell of her ass.
When I arrived in the bathroom a few seconds later she was already
filling it up with steam. Alex loved very hot showers -- she claimed it
opened up her pores so she could scrub off the dirt easier. She swung
open the door and looked over her shoulder expectantly. I was right
behind her and I stood back out of the spray while she rotated under the
shower head, arms upstretched, the water ricocheting off her head.
It was a big shower stall, completely tiled in white; it had been
installed by the previous owner for reasons we didn't know. It was almost
the size of an elevator car and could probably hold six or eight adults if
they knew each other real well. (Who knew? Maybe it had.) But it was
certainly large enough for two people and for most activities they might
invent, as we had long since discovered. The shower head was set high up
on one wall and was the kind that provided a variety of pulsations and
fineness of spray. That could be fun, too.
Alex backed up to me and flipped her wet hair back over her head. She
always did that, but I knew enough to close my eyes in time so I no longer
got whipped across the eyeballs.
"Do me?" This was the comfortable routine we had settled into. I
soaped her back (and often her front) and then she soaped mine (and
ditto). Often, that was all that occurred -- just a companionable shower
together. Since we were nearly always available to each other, the sexual
pressure had become controllable. But it was always there, waiting, when
we wanted it to emerge.
I squirted the bottle of her favorite decadent bath soap across the top
of her shoulder blades and began rubbing my hands briskly over her smooth,
muscular back. Up over her shoulders, a pause to massage her neck muscles
(she purred when I did that), up and down her sides as she raised her
arms. I liked the feel of her rib cage under my soapy fingers. Up under
the angle of her shaved armpits, back down her arms, which she now held
out behind her. She stretched and arched her back a little and sighed
with pleasure. This was often almost as good as sex to her.
Another squirt of soap across her lower back, then my hands were spread
out over her ass, squeezing a little (she expected it), then moving around
the sides of her hips to run my fingers over her pelvic bones. Then she
turned around and I saw the glow in her eyes that meant she didn't want
this to be a quick shower, just to get clean.
More soap across her collarbone while she stood with her head tilted
back, neck arched, breasts out-thrust. Her nipples were erect. My hands
moved across her shoulders again. Her eyes were shut against the soap but
she smiled as I took her by the throat and slid my hand up and down
beneath her chin. An old joke: I had once pretended to strangle her in
the shower while doing sound effects from PSYCHO. I ran my hands across
her flat, tight diaphragm and stomach and then down her sides again to her
hips. My cock was half-erect as I pulled her closer to me.
She clasped her hands behind my neck and we kissed quietly for a few
seconds before she disengaged.
"Not yet," she whispered.
Now it was my turn. She turned me around and rubbed soap across my
shoulders and my back, down my sides, and across my ass -- which she also
squeezed (because I also expected it). Then she did something different.
Running her finger slowly down the crack between my cheeks, which by
itself made me shiver, she pressed her middle finger against my anus.
It startled me for a moment but my cock instantly sprang to full
attention. Her nails were forever breaking off and at the moment that
particular fingernail was trimmed back short. She pressed her body
against my back and pushed her finger about one joint deep into my ass,
and wiggled it back and forth. The sensation was incredibly sexy. I knew
I had no homosexual urges, but I wondered if this was what it felt like to
be fucked.
"Like it?" she whispered over my shoulder.
"Umm-hmmm! When you do it," I qualified.
"You know those magazines? The ass-fucking? I want to try that!" She
wiggled her finger again and then eased it out.
"Are you sure?" I wasn't sure I wanted to do this, not to my sister. I
certainly didn't want to hurt her and anal sex looked like it could be
pretty painful, especially the first time. I told her that in a hesitant
tone.
"If it hurts too much, we'll stop. Besides, I know you wouldn't hurt me
on purpose." One of her hands had wrapped itself around my cock and was
squeezing a little and stroking a little. Her other hand clutched her own
crotch and I could see one finger busily stroking her clit. She was
determined to push us both into this.
"C'mon, please? Haven't you wondered what it would feel like to fuck a
girl up the ass? Especially me? Don't you want to fuck your sister in
the ass?" Well, she was right about that. And when such blunt language
came out of that sweet little face it usually had the effect she desired.
I turned her around to face the wall that had a porcelain rod in it and
lifted her hands toward it.
Alex bent forward, breathing a little heavily in anticipation, and
gripped the rod with both hands. I knew my sister. She had really gotten
herself worked up thinking about this. She bent her back even more as she
spread her feet a little apart on the slick tile and cocked her ass
upward.
"Put it... in! I want to feel it going up my ass -- I really do! I can
imagine it, but I want to *feel* it! Please -- put it in!" Her head was
swinging from side to side and her wet, cascading hair swished.
I reached up to the shelf above the shower head and grabbed a jar of
skin- moisturizer. I had used it occasionally to masturbate with, for
extra lubrication. Scooping out a handful of the cream, I slathered it up
and down my cock, which twitched in anticipation. Then I pushed my
slippery middle finger up into her rectum as far as I could reach -- three
inches or more. It was snug, tight, but I could fit. Alex gasped once
and sucked in through her teeth. Her ass trembled and her sphincter
tightened around my finger, trying to pull it out of joint. My god, what
was this going to be like?!
I slid my finger out and maneuvered the head of my cock into position,
pressing against her puckered anus. Slowly, carefully, I began pushing
into her. She gasped louder and her knuckles on the wall rod tightened.
I paused; I didn't want to hurt her, no matter how much we both wanted to
do this.
"No-- It's all right! Go on, go on!" She shivered in the steamy shower
and I could feel the motion in my cock. I held her hips and pushed
forward harder. My cock slid upward, inward without stopping. In another
moment it was completely buried. My pubic hair seemed to sprout from
between her cheeks and my balls were pressed against the space between her
cunt and her asshole.
I moved my cock in and out a fraction of an inch, just to see if I
could. So tight! It felt like I was being swallowed by a suction pump.
Alex was breathing rapidly and moaning.
"Does it hurt?" I asked anxiously.
"A little -- no -- it feels so good -- oh -- shit -- oh -- it feels
huge! Bigger than it ever did the other way! Oh, God-- Fuck me, fuck
me!"
As I began pulling it out halfway and pushing it back up into her, I
felt myself come just a little. No, not yet! I wanted all of this first!
But the small amount of cum just increased the lubrication in the depths
of her ass and made it easier for me to pump back and forth.
Alex was gasping and breathing loudly in rhythm with my pumping, just as
she did when my cock was ramming in and out of her cunt. Her pussy was
always nice and tight, but her ass was fantastic! The inner surface of
her was smooth and soft but those shit-pushing muscles were strong. When
I pushed into her, she, without thinking about it, pushed back; when I
pulled back for the next stroke, her muscles tried to grasp my cock even
more tightly. It was the most erotic sensation I had ever felt.
I couldn't see them, but I knew her breasts were swaying tightly back
and forth. I wanted badly to reach around and squeeze them, but if I gave
up my pelvic clutch we'd land on the hard tile floor. I interrupted my
pace, pulling out almost all the way and then cramming my cock back into
her as hard as I could. My balls slapped against her ass. She gave a
louder cry and arched her head backward.
"Oh -- ah -- I love your cock up in me -- it's so big I feel like I'm
popping! Oh -- it's good, it's good -- oh, shit -- keep -- fucking me --
don't -- stop!"
Sweat was running off my forehead and my hair, the soap was getting in
my eyes, and I didn't care. I could feel the pressure building and there
was no way now I could stop, even if either of us wanted to. I squeezed
my sister's hips to signal her that my climax was on its way.
"Yes -- me, too -- I'm there! -- oh, shit -- that's -- so good!"
I increased speed, gasping as loudly as she did. And then I came, in
great, shuddering, shocking contractions. I tried unconsciously to push
into her even farther as I ejected millions of sperm into her lower
intestine. I almost laughed at that unbidden thought, but I was
lightheaded and gasping for breath. Now her sphincter was rapidly
dilating and tightening, and that helped the ejaculations to go on and on,
longer than ever before. From the hoarse, throaty sounds Alex was making
I knew she was climaxing with me. God, was there ever a feeling like
this?
Alex's grip on the wall rod was loosening. She was so out of it from
her own multiple climaxes, I was afraid she might smash her face on the
tile wall. I got my arms around her hips as she began to slide downward,
and I slid with her, both of us panting loudly. Her ass was pressed
against my groin and she was still impaled on my cock. We somehow landed
on the bottom of the shower stall without hurting ourselves. She was
face-down with her cheek cushioned on her wrist, gulping the hot, steamy
air. I was lying on top of her, also struggling to get my heart rate
down, supporting most of my weight on my shaking arms. If my elbows
unlocked, we'd both crash. My cock was still buried to its root in her
rectum. The passage was still so snug it had no room to contract. And I
was content to leave it there awhile longer.
What finally brought us around, rousing us out of our half-swoon, was
the water. It was getting colder and the steam was disappearing. I had
no idea how long we had fucked or how long we had lain on the floor, but
it was long enough to use up all the hot water. I had sunk down on my
elbows -- my arms could never have lasted that long -- and slowly withdrew
from Alex's fantastic asshole.
"Ohhhhh...." She moaned softly, perhaps feeling the loss. I leaned
over and kissed her lingeringly at the base of her spine. So beautiful,
my sister, so filled with me for however long it had been. It's your
decision, but I think we'll do it again.
I sat back on my heels so the now icy water splashed off her back. My
reaction to the change had been gradual; her's was electric. She gasped
at the shock, her green eyes snapped open, and she struggled to get to her
knees and then to her feet. I stood up, still a bit shaky myself, and
helped her. It took a minute, but then she deliberately stepped back
under the water and rinsed the sweat out of her hair. She turned slowly
in position, combing her fingers through the dark red strands, while I
stood and watched. God, I loved her.
She saw my expression and her peculiar sense of humor got the better of
her. She smiled and stepped back to me, hooking one arm around my neck.
With her other hand, she took my hand and slipped it, palm up, between her
slightly parted thighs. She can't possibly want to screw again, I
thought.
She brought my mouth down to hers and kissed me. I stroked my hand back
between her legs, delighting still in the smooth, wet flesh and the curly
hair brushing my wrist. And then she tapped the tip of her little red
tongue against my front teeth, pressed her thighs closer together, and
pissed in my hand!
That's how well we understood each other -- that she could do something
that crude at such an emotional moment and know that I would be amused.
The cold shower splashed off my shoulders while my cupped hand filled with
her warm urine, and I cackled at the joke. Here, now, under these
circumstances, it was funny!
I extricated my hand, trying to hold on to some of the pale yellow
liquid, while she grinned mischievously. I squeezed her cheeks -- not
roughly -- to force her mouth open while she squealed and tried to bat my
hand away.
"I ought to dribble this down your throat, you know. But I'm a nice guy
so I won't." Instead, I trickled it across her breasts. "You can have it
back," I added. "You might run out!"
* * * * *
I had to stay late at school one day in September of that year, working
on a project for journalism, so I was in a hurry to get home. I didn't
stop at the restroom before I left, and by the time I reached the house, I
had to take a piss so badly I was walking knock-kneed. I got halfway down
the downstairs hall and saw that the bathroom door was closed -- Mother
must be in there -- made a U-turn and hurried upstairs. I dropped my
books in the hall and charged into the upstairs bathroom, already
struggling with my zipper.
Alex looked up startled from the toilet seat, her jeans around her
ankles and her shirt rucked up around her waist. I moaned. "What's your
problem?" she wanted to know.
"I can't wait!" I was fishing out my cock. "I'll have to use the
shower stall!"
"Hey, wait! There's room here...." She spread her legs wider and slid
back a little on the toilet seat. "Just aim between my legs, for
chrissake."
I didn't hesitate. I stepped in front of her, trying not to get my feet
tangled in her pants, pointed my cock at the front slope of the bowl, and
let go. In my effort to control the high-pressure yellow stream, I aimed
too far forward and managed to splash both myself and my sister's legs.
She threw up her hands in surprise. "Watch it, Michael! Here, gimme
that...." She reached forward, took my cock in hand like she was milking
a cow, and pulled me forward. I had to let go of it and quickly support
myself on her shoulders to keep from falling on her. She used both hands
to pull me to within a few inches of her pussy and grinned up at me. My
cock was engorged with internal pressure and completely filled both her
hands. "You can lead a horse to water," she laughed.
The golden stream just went on and on. She watched speculatively and
then aimed closer to her crotch. The spray was now wetting the outer part
of her bush.
"What are you doing, Alex? Do you *want* me to piss on you?"
"I dunno, I've never tried it. Might be fun as an experiment,
though...." Alex would try almost anything at least once, and, these
days, the more unusual the better. She hadn't bitten off some guy's penis
or fucked a Great Dane (as far as I knew), but otherwise I suspected her
taboo list was pretty short. I finally finished draining the tank and
took my cock back so I could make sure it got the customary final shake,
and tucked in back in my slacks. Alex looked pleased at the strange look
I gave her as I left the bathroom.
What I didn't know was that one of Alex's girl friends had a brother in
college who belonged to a fraternity that claimed to own the largest
lending library of pornographic books and magazines in the state.
The brother was presently interested in fringe erotica, having
apparently become bored with standard fuck-and-suck scenes, and Alex and
her friend had been spending some time in his absence evaluating photos of
bestiality, bondage, spanking, enemas, ass-fucking, and erotic urination
-- "golden showers." Why my sister was turned on by this particular
sexual variation I had no idea. Her interest soon waned -- rather, it
found new outlets, some of them equally bizarre -- but it sure led us to
some interesting experiences.
I should probably add that I had no theoretical objection to any of
this. I was as fascinated by some types of sexual experimentation as Alex
was. I drew the line at anything involving shit, however. Happily, she
agreed with me. But some of our water games during that few weeks had
very erotic overtones.
Perhaps some of this started because, as I've said, Alex and I enjoyed
sharing a hot shower. Hot water, steam, soap, shampoo, and two slippery
bodies in a relatively confined space can be a very big turn-on, as we had
discovered at an early age.
Occasionally, the sight of running water would have its effect on me
when I closed the shower door, and instead of getting out again, wet, to
use the toilet, I would simply piss down the shower drain. Alex began to
do the same thing, squatting over the drain. Then she learned to do it
standing up -- bending her knees, jutting out her crotch, and holding her
labia open while raising her aim by pushing upward at the base of her
clit.
On another evening, she came into the bathroom in her tee-shirt and
panties while I was on the toilet preparing to take a shit. She quickly
dropped her pants, pushed my knees apart, and sat on my lap facing me, a
leg on each side. Then she leaned backward, pulled me forward, wrapped
her arms around my neck, and stuck her long tongue in my mouth while her
urine hissed between my thighs into the bowl below. She had decided it
wasn't the act of urination she found sexy, but performing in front of
someone else. It was crude, and that was erotic sometimes.
Boys and men are used to lining up at urinals in public rest rooms and
exposing their genitals, even though social custom prohibits eye contact,
much less staring. But women's rest rooms come equipped with private
stalls. The same is generally true of most school locker rooms and
showers. I had even witnessed a jerk-off "duel" between two well-endowed
jocks.
On Alex's report, the girls in the locker room at school were usually
pretty modest -- or nervous, or embarrassed -- about their bodies. They
didn't often stroll around naked ... with a few outstanding exceptions who
flaunted their assets (puns intended).
From the beginning of puberty, Alex was unusually casual about nudity,
at least in my presence. She knew I found her extremely desirable -- I
made no secret of it -- and she never even considered the possibility that
she could be raped by her brother. In that she was fortunate, because I
never considered it either. I could and would seduce her, but I could
never force her beyond her current limit. Physically, I probably could
have, though my sister was no weakling -- but psychologically, it was
never a possibility.
When it came to water sports,... well, I doubt I would ever have
suggested it myself, but as it turned out, I was willing to play along.
The fact that she seduced me in this case made the experience more erotic
for both of us. And she knew what she wanted.
About a week after our second encounter at the toilet, she came in hot
and sweaty from mowing the lawn. I had spent the afternoon laboring over
a term paper (and I've always loathed yard work). I was drinking glass
after glass of iced tea, and my bladder was filling up rapidly, but I kept
putting off a needed break to go to the bathroom. The thoughts and the
words were flowing, I was on a creative roll, and I didn't want to break
my train of thought for even the two or three minutes a bathroom break
would require. Alex puffed into the room just as I finished a page and
paused to drain another glass of tea.
My sister has always had a special talent for sizing up a person, a
problem, or a situation almost instantly. She knew where I was headed the
moment I finally stood up from the typewriter. I turned toward the door
but Alex, shoes and socks already off, was on me in an instant --
literally. She clasped her fingers behind my head and kissed me, hard. I
tasted the salt sweat on her lips and I felt her soaked shirt pressing her
sweat through my own tee shirt. She stuck her tongue in my ear -- always
a guaranteed turn-on for me -- and whispered, "No, don't go to the
bathroom! I need a shower, and I need you full of piss!"
She quickly unsnapped my cutoffs and pushed them to the floor before I
registered what she was saying. She gripped my still limp cock like a
pump handle and squeezed it hard enough to make me aware of it. I trusted
my sister not to injure me, but I had no idea what was happening. With
her other hand she almost frantically pushed her running shorts and
panties to the floor, stepped out of them, and then moved even closer to
me.
My cock was beginning to throb again as she stood on tiptoe and thrust
it between her legs -- not into her cunt, but across it, clasped between
her steaming thighs so that the tip of my penis poked out behind, below
her ass. Her thigh muscles flexed and the sensation turned my cock into a
pulsating, quivering column of lust. She put her arms around my waist,
pressing her groin more tightly against mine, and leaned back a little so
she could look directly into my eyes.
She was aroused, as well, and her voice came out husky and demanding.
"Come with me, you goddam, beautiful, sister-fucker! I want you! Now!"
She stepped up on the tops of my feet and tried to grip the front of my
ankles with her toes, like thong sandals. I reached down over her hips
and her extra elevation allowed me to grip her ass cheeks in both hands
without bending over. I could barely reach the tip of my penis with one
hand, behind her, but I took hold of the glans and pulled it up more
snugly against her hot, damp cunt.
Then we carefully made our way out the bedroom door and down the hall
the few yards to the bathroom in that peculiar but exciting position, both
of us naked below the waist, clamped together by her thigh-grip on my
penis.
When we arrived, we pulled off each other's shirts and Alex ripped off
her sports bra. She opened her thighs then, but immediately grasped my
cock tightly in her strong, slender hand and tugged me toward the shower,
eyes dilated with open lust. Being led around by your cock by a
beautiful, sexually aroused teenage girl is one of those experiences that
burns into your memory for life.
But there was another internal pressure competing with my gonads. I had
drunk a lot of iced tea and when Alex turned on the shower it reminded me
immediately that I really had to take a piss. I was beginning to develop
a cramp in my groin, but when I protested to Alex she said "Not yet!" and
squeezed a little harder, drawing me closer and rubbing the tip of my cock
against her flat stomach.
In a few seconds, when the water had gotten hot and the steam was
raising new sweat on both of us, she angled the shower head away and knelt
in front of me. She sat back on her heels, spread her thighs, and arched
her back -- her most provocative pose, and she knew I loved it.
"Michael, I want you to pee on me. Piss all over me, head to foot! I
want to feel it running down my tits, I want you to splash it on my back
and my ass! Go slow, don't just squirt it all at once. I'm getting even
hornier just talking about it!"
I had read enough by now to suspect that water sports were a kind of
erotic punishment game, like bondage. Well, this wasn't going to hurt
anyone and if Alex was going through a weird stage -- weird even for us --
I could accommodate her. "Better close your eyes," I suggested.
She squeezed her eyes shut, closed her lips tightly, and tilted her head
far back. I let go with a bright yellow stream that hit the center of her
breast bone; it splashed all over her torso, running down her breasts and
trickling off her rigid nipples. She gasped at the first warm shock and
then began rubbing the urine over her body, under her arms, down her
thighs. I controlled the stream as best I could, to make the experience
last as long as possible. She inhaled the acrid aroma and whimpered
huskily in her throat. She was obviously enjoying this. God help me, I
was enjoying it, too -- and what did that say about my own psychological
state?
I circled slowly around her, holding my penis squeezed shut to regulate
the flow. I drew a piss line down her spine, neck to ass, and she
shivered as it flowed down between her cheeks. "In my hair,... my
face...," she murmured.
My bladder was finally running low, so -- still playing the punishment
game -- I took two fistfuls of her wet, tangled hair and tugged her head
further back. Not enough to hurt her, of course, but enough to create the
illusion of threat and control. Her throaty whimper had a strong sensual
edge and she didn't resist. As the last of my urine flowed through her
dark red hair she shampooed it in, piling her hair up and wrapping it
around my cock. A Freudian image if I ever saw one. The golden liquid
ran in a sheet across her forehead and trickled off her tightly shut
eyelids and the end of her nose and the tip of her chin.
When my supply ran out and I stepped back, she stood shakily, still
rubbing my body fluids into her smooth skin. She picked up a washcloth
and wiped only the area around her eyes and nose; from her lips down, she
still glistened aromatically.
She pressed her body close to mine and rubbed herself against me. She
pulled my mouth down and fastened hers to it in a long, slow lip-sucking
kiss. The smell of my own fresh urine filled my nostrils; it was
surprisingly erotic, at least under these circumstances. I found myself
being pushed firmly to my knees and I slid my hands down her back, over
the swell of her ass, and down the backs of her thighs.
When my head reached the level of her waist, she suddenly moved her
hands to her pussy and spread and lifted its lips -- and before I realized
what she intended, a strong stream of her warm, fragrant piss splashed
against my chest, ran down my body, and dribbled off my cock and my balls.
I sat back on my heels and looked up at my sister's grinning face ...
and began to laugh. We loved each other more than anything else in the
world, and here we were, urinating on each other. Erotic it might be, but
it was also pretty silly.
Alex began to laugh, too, and quickly ended on the floor of the shower,
engulfed in a fit of uncontrollable giggles. The more we thought about
what we were doing, the funnier it became, and the more we laughed. It
took us a few minutes to run down, and then we were both under the hot
shower, soaping and shampooing each other -- but a glance at each other's
faces and we were again whooping helplessly with laughter.
Soaping each other's bodies in the shower always made us feel close,
physically and mentally, even when neither of us was really in need of a
fuck. Many times, we simply held each other, took turns massaging
shoulder and neck muscles, and cuddled. And that's how it turned out this
afternoon. Neither of us was embarrassed by our earlier activities.
Amused, yes, but we had long ago accepted each other in all things. So we
kissed affectionately, and Alex nuzzled my throat with her nose, and I
nibbled her earlobe.
Finally, I was leaning against the tile, my sister's arms linked loosely
around my waist, her head resting on my collarbone. She sighed
contentedly as I untangled her wet hair by combing my fingers through it.
My cock was almost completely limp -- that's how relaxed and happy and
unhurried I felt. She looked up at me with a glowing smile.
"You put with a lot from me, don't you?"
I looked back into her green eyes and thought about how lucky I was. I
combed her hair back behind her ears.
"Sometimes..." I hugged her again. "And I intend to continue putting
up with you for many, many years. I wouldn't be worth a bucket of piss
without you, Alex...." I had to work hard to keep my voice level as I
said it.
Alex instantly cracked up with laughter and slapped the flat of her hand
not too gently against my chest. Then she reached up and kissed me again,
still laughing behind her lips.
"Michael -- I love you so much! What would I have done if I were an
only child? Life would be so lonely and boring,... especially in the
shower!" she added.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted elsewhere
for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author: Michael K. Smith <mksmith1@BELLSOUTH.net>
-- CJ
I don't write any stories. I'm just a reader, and sometimes a reposter.
--
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