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Subject: Title story: "MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 8-10" Author: TABOO MAN 120860697
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Date: Fri, 26 Oct 2007 02:58:48 +0000
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MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 8-10 By Billy G Chapter 8 -- Victoria's Secret
(continues Here) "Look at the ass on that one, will you?" That got my attention.
I'd been reading the Sunday paper over coffee and fruit with Jean at a street-
side cafe. We'd ridden our bikes down from our home in the hills behind the
University in the cool of early morning and had stopped for coffee. Glancing up
at Jean, I followed her gaze over my shoulder and turned to look at "the ass"
she was pointing out. In our increasing comfort with each other, we'd come to
accept our growing sexuality and that, at root, we were both voyeurs of a sort.
Jean knew of my fascination with girls' butts and delighted in pointing out to
me those she thought were of merit. She, in turn, was an inveterate crotch
watcher. The day before at the mall she'd nodded toward a guy sprawled out near
a fountain. He was wearing jogging shorts that were pulled up into his crotch,
outlining an impressive bulge. "Is that all cock," she asked, "or do you think
he's got huge balls?" The girl Jean had pointed out to me was bending over a
nearby table, cleaning the glass top. I was peripherally aware that she was
wearing a loose tank top, but what captured my interest was the shorts. They
were white, very short and very tight with the crotch pulled into the crack of
her ass and made still more taut by her exaggerated bending. Checking
immediately for panty lines, I noted she was wearing high-cut panties. I grinned
at Jean, giving her a subtle thumbs-up sign and whispered, "Boy, I'd love to
sidle up behind her and grab her hips." She smiled and rolled her eyes as if to
say, "Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . we know." Sensing she wanted to chat, I sat back in
my chair and sipped my coffee, looking at her over the rim of the cup. Her hair
was wind blown and her shirt was a little damp from our last sprint. Looking at
her breasts, I admired her nipples. Despite wearing a sports bra - she'd flashed
me that morning before leaving home - her nipples, when erect, were very
evident. Pointedly staring at her prominent nips for a moment, I looked in her
eyes and said, "It's not cold." "Then I must be horny?" She finished. "Jean,
you're always horny!" "Billy, I am not!" she retorted but with a smile that gave
the lie to her denial. Glancing over my shoulder - the girl was gone - I said,
"Well *I* am." And, as if indignant, added, "Thanks to you!" Placing her spread
hand flat on her chest she replied in a surprised voice, "Moi?" "You are a piece
of work, woman...yes, you!" Abruptly changing the subject, she dropped her hands
to her lap and asked, "Are you sweaty?" "As a horse," I replied. "You're so
graphic, Billy. And you know what I think of when you mentioned a sweating
horse." "A sweating mare?" "A horse's cock!" "Jean, I know we're both fairly
kinky at times...but a horse?" Flipping her hand in an impatient gesture, she
answered, "Not *really* but there are times when my imagery takes over. Like,
the sexual power of a horse's cock comes to mind, you know?" "You mean like me
slipping it into the ass of that waitress? The one with the beautiful butt?"
Perhaps because Jean knew that I'd never "slipped" it into anything, save my
hand, she gave me a puzzled frown. She replied, "I guess so...something like
that...not real, but sexy and powerful. Like, I don't really want a horse's
dick, but I like the thought of it...it gets me wet. Does the thought of you
doin' it to that girl's behind get you wet...uh, hard?" Answering with an
exaggerated gesture, I "adjusted" my cock in my riding shorts and smiled. Jean
and I had come out of the closet with each other...admitted our fascination with
sexual things, our masturbation, peeing fantasies and anal eroticism. But we'd
never actually "done it." We'd not done the deed. More, I thought, because we
enjoyed the prolonged seduction, the tease, than we had any thought of abhorrent
incest. Jean, as it turned out, had reservations. I was crazy about Jean.
Because she was a little older, I deferred to her in many ways, most of them
unthinking. She was later to tell me that because I was assertive and appeared
so self-confident, she'd started to re-think the unquestioned assumed roles.
We'd let down all sorts of protective fences on our camping trip to Fourth of
July Lake. We'd always accepted our love for each other. It was only in the last
months that we'd come to accept our sexual feelings for each other. Still, it
remained mostly verbal. And teasing. Constrained by the outward conventional
morality around our house, we took some delight in an unconventional
exhibitionistic teasing. Jean, who was most enamored with her own breasts, took
delight in flashing me. Bending over wearing a loose top, running from her room
to the bathroom wearing a skirt and bra, idly running her fingers inside the
edge her blouse into her cleavage...all these things were done to entice and
tease. And I loved it. Still, she knew ...
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