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Subject: Title story: "MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 18" Author: INCEST MAN 43886316
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Date: Wed, 18 May 2005 03:18:45 +0000
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/
MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 18
By Billy G
Chapter 18 The Trip to Little Cayman (continued/Contd Part2)
The movie had started in the main cabin and the American transcontinental flight
from San Francisco to Miami had quieted for the first time since Jean and I had
boarded. Quite often when we'd traveled with our parents, and particularly with
our status-conscious father, we had flown first class, but this time we were
paying for the trip from our own meager savings and we were firmly planted in
the main cabin. Had there been a steerage class, we might have been there, so
strained was our budget.
Jean and I were on our way to Little Cayman, south of Cuba, for a week of SCUBA
diving. We'd been to The Wall at Cayman before with Mom and Dad and as with most
kids, we'd paid no attention to the cost of anything. This time, our parents had
given us permission to go there alone, but only if we paid our own way.
Something about 'the value of the dollar.' Boy, was that an education!
I was idly looking out the window, seeing nothing, and Jean was sitting next to
me. An older guy with a paunch and earphones on was quietly snoring next to her.
Glancing around, most of the passengers were either sleeping or caught up in the
adventures of Mel Gibson. It seemed like a safe time to talk. I put back the arm
rest between us and leaned over to Jean.
"Are you surprised Mom let us go?" I asked.
"Together, on this trip? Because of our talk you mean?"
"Yeah, that," I said.
In a moment of mindless unburdening, Jean had confessed to our mom that we'd
been fooling around with each other, but we hadn't 'gone all the way.' Cripes,
our secret was out! I thought the jig was up, but I'd underestimated our mother.
Subsequently, she cornered me. What could I do? Partly in fear and partly
because I didn't know how to lie well, I told her the truth, expecting the world
to fall in on me. 'Your own SISTER?' Yet, she hadn't gone ballistic. Actually,
she remained warm and loving, reminding me of my responsibility to Jean and to
myself and not threatening us. Oh, we'd spoken of the potential consequences of
our acts and the need to be mindful of our actions. But she never once said,
'Don't do that.'"
"Not really," Jean said after a pause. "I mean, she does trust us."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, we've been truthful with her...about us, I mean. And she's always been
out front with us. She as much as told me that she can't really *make* us do
anything...that we'll do whatever it is we're going to do, no matter what. And
she trusts that we'll be responsible." After a pause, she added, "Mom's always
been good at that - making us responsible for our actions, I mean."
"Yeah, I know that. At least intellectually. But emotionally, I'm still a
bit surprised. I guess I thought we'd get grounded, say for the next ten
years or so."
"Wanna hear another shocker? Try this one on for size. Mom insisted that I start
taking The Pill. 'Not that I think you're going to do anything for sure, but you
never know, she said.'"
"You're on The Pill?" I asked, excited.
"I just said..."
"Then you couldn't get pregnant if we..."
"Billy! We're not going to DO anything! How many times do I have to tell you
that? This was Mom's idea, not mine. And in any case, it's not for YOU!" Her
tone was uncharacteristically sharp.
I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Okay, okay. I get it. Don't get mad."
Jean turned to stare at me, her eyes blazing and then she softened. "I'm not
mad. Not really. I just don't want you to take me for granted, that's all."
The attendant offered each of us a blanket. We accepted and Jean spread her's
over her lap before continuing. "When I asked Mom if we could go on this
vacation together, she never mentioned 'our situation.' She never said we
shouldn't be together or that we shouldn't...well, you know."
"Make love?"
She glanced sharply at me. "Anyway, I told her we wouldn't. She shouldn't
worry, I said."
"What's that got to do with me taking you for granted?" I asked.
"Oh, I don't know!" She sounded a little exasperated. "Just don't!"
"Can I have your peanuts?"
I watched the corners of her mouth twitch, trying not to smile. She recognized
my paper-thin ploy to distract her, to change the subject.
Handing me the small bag of peanuts, she said, "You owe me."
"For the peanuts?"
"No, you jerk. For talking Mom and Dad into letting us take this trip alone."
"Whatever your price, it's a bargain," I replied, settling back in my seat.
Still, I thought it seemed a little unreal, almost too good to be true. It just
didn't fit my concept of how things worked. After we'd confessed to Mom our
sexual desires, it didn't fit my preconceived notion of the usual parental
response. But then Mom's responses often didn't. I couldn't remember how many
times I'd screwed up, expecting to catch hell, only to have her give me one of
her calm talks. Inevitably, I'd end up taking more responsibility for my stuff
than I wanted to. Didn't she know? I just wanted to be totally irresponsible
and do the things I wanted to do and when I wanted to do 'em. That was usually
right NOW.
I suppose our taking this vacation together wasn't all that much different from
the times we'd spent home alone together, I reasoned. Yet, the sex addict in me
wanted to put some other spin on it. Like we'd been given permission or
something.
I looked over at Jean. She had her seat back partially reclined and was
quietly resting, eyes closed. I watched the rise and fall of her bulky
sweatshirt. To be truthful, I was really watching the rise and fall of her
breasts, seeing them in my mind's eye, full and heavy, yet extraordinarily
firm. Jean had told me that the women in our family all were blessed with
firm, youthful breasts. I could only speak for Jean, a peek once or twice at
Mom and oh yes, our Aunt Peg in the hot tub. Yeah, they'd all have been picked
out of titty line-up as being related.
Unconsciously, I made it my business to check out Jean. From long practice, I'd
come to accurately recognize when she was wearing a bra, as she was today. It
wasn't that her tits sagged or anything obvious like that. It was more I think
that her bra pushed the sides in a little, maybe so they didn't get in the way?
But more I noticed subdued movement. She was missing that subtle sway when she
walked. As we were carrying our shoulder bags toward the departure gate today,
she'd caught me checking her out. She flushed, smiled and then nodded in silent
confirmation at my unasked question. Jean had once admitted that she was pleased
that I always checked her out. I thrived on small encouragements like that.
Just a bit later, a young girl in a micro skirt dropped something in front of us
and as she bent over at the waist, I saw a flash of red. Jean nudged me and
smiled. Red panties. Were they thongs I wondered? And why red? Had her boyfriend
instructed her in how to dress when she met him at the airport? That and no bra,
I'll bet. My imagination ran on. He'd told her to trim her pubic hair, rouge her
nipples and leave the top buttons open. Man, I was just getting warmed up!
"Billy, come on back!"
"Uh...yes...my mind wandered for a moment." I said sheepishly.
She smiled and said in a low voice, "The whole airport could see that."
The trip to Miami was best described at tedious and we arrived almost on
schedule. Between planes, we called home and left a message that everything was
going all right. Jean bought a few post cards and I mostly looked at the dark-
skinned, good-looking girls gliding and swaying about the airport. I loved the
colors of all the people. Even the airport colors looked like something out of a
TV Program about Miami. Watching one particularly exotic girl jiggle past me - I
imagined from Havana - I had an image of dusky-skinned teenage girls rolling
large cigars on nubile firm thighs. I didn't know if they did it that way, but I
liked the image.
Jean nudged me in the ribs and whispered in my ear, "Lookit the ass on THAT
one!" It was one of those small-waisted, firm-cheeked honeys that wore jeans so
tight, it defied understanding. I mean, how in hell they get 'em on, anyway?
I turned and smiled at her, making a brief salivating look.
"Down, boy," she advised.
"If I could WILL it down, my life would be simpler."
"If you could only will it UP..." she countered, then looked away, blushing.
"It'd always be up...at least around you." I finished in a slightly
louder voice.
"You!" She pretended mock indignation.
The Cayman Air flight took off on schedule, an unusual occurrence, I thought.
The relatively brief flight over Cuba and down to the Caymans was uneventful,
the very best type of trip. When we landed in Grand Cayman, the air was sweet
and warm and the people friendly and colorful, but still, we thought of the
tourist part of that Caribbean island much as we thought of Miami Beach, which
is to say, not very much. We were anxious to move on to a more remote, less
developed part of the islands.
From past experience, we reserved some trepidation for the connecting flight
from Grand Cayman to Cayman Brac and the short jump to Little Cayman. We
remembered it as a chancy and casually run affair. An unusually tall, former horse-
transportation aircraft converted for human use served as the Mexican bus
equivalent of the local island shuttle. Well, kinda converted as we remembered
and our memory served us well. I looked around large, stall-like interior of
that curious plane, half expecting to see an old, dried-up horse turd kicked
into a dusty corner but the only thing I saw was a crushed Coke can and some
candy wrappers.
After landing on Little Cayman, almost a grass strip carved out of the jungle,
we taxied to the terminal. That's an overstated name for the small wooden shack
sitting next to a weedy graveled area. With only twenty- some permanent
inhabitants on the island, there'd be no taxi cabs, but I needn't have worried.
A moderately rusted and beat-up old pickup that belonged to Pirate's Pub was
there to meet us.
Surprisingly, all our gear made it through the multiple plane changes. As
surprisingly, Jean traveled almost as light as I did, in marked contrast to our
aunt or our mother. "Casual clothes, that's all I packed," Jean assured me. Even
without tanks and weight belts, the rest of the gear was heavy, bulky and
clumsy. That was the price, we'd been taught, for the safety of taking your own
gear on a dive trip. I was pleased when several guys standing around swarmed
over our gear and loaded it into the truck and it appeared they were pleased
with the tip.
Pirate's Pub was run by a delightful, robust, full-of-life lady from Texas named
Gladys Howorth. She'd studied in several internationally known culinary
institutes and her meals at Pirate's Pub were justifiably famous. Still, for all
of that, I'd not have traveled so far just for the atmosphere and her cooking
alone. It was the Wall I was after. I've heard that there are three premiere
dive spots in the world, at least for wall diving. There's the. Red Sea for one,
then parts of the Great Barrier Reef were highly ranked and finally, in our
hemisphere, there's the Wall off Little Cayman.
I read that the Wall dropped off into the depths, falling 6,000 feet straight
down. That was academic, of course, but what made it so fantastic was the impossible-
blue water there with constant 100 feet plus viability. That together with the
rich and varied marine life in and around the pockets and caves on the Wall made
for some of the most spectacular diving anywhere. Happily, there was no drift
current as in Cozumel, so you could hang out anywhere without having to work
against the drift. If the Dive Master became confidant of your abilities, you
could dive alone with your buddy and return to the boat when you were ready.
Rarely did we have dive groups larger than six to eight people and often,
there'd be as little as four.
We'd been to the Caymans a couple of times before with our parents and friends.
Jean was a strong swimmer and a naturally talented diver. We'd been diving
buddies for years and were very comfortable with each other's abilities. We
just floated around effortlessly using so little air, often we were in the
water for fifteen or twenty minutes after other folks had depleted their tanks'
air supply.
"Think Margi's still here?" Jean asked on the ride through the jungle. She'd had
taken off her sweatshirt and was down to a skimpy sleeveless T- shirt. My arm
was over her shoulder and I had a good view of the top of her white bra as well
as a good portion of her cleavage. It never ceased to thrill me.
Margi? Margi had been a small, very attractive female Dive Master who came from
Colorado. We'd met her last year. I'd developed a crush on her then but aside
from recognizing me as an experienced diver, I don't think she even know I was
alive. She was a couple of years older than Jean, and that put me out of the
running. Some good-looking 'older guy' had monopolized much of her time when we
had been there the previous year. No, I hadn't forgotten Margi.
"I hope so, but doubt it. They've had a new Dive Master every time we've been
here. They're such a bunch of gypsies."
"Would you like to *see* her again?" she asked, grinning at me. We both
remembered the time Margi had been helping a sea-sick diver into the boat and
couldn't tend to a broken bikini bra strap. I couldn't see the diver, just
Margi's full breast. I remembered how tan she was, except her breast which was
startlingly white. Mostly, I remembered her nipple. It had been very large,
thick and meaty, jutting out from her pebbled areola.
I whispered in her ear, "Remember her nipple?" I may have been talking about
Margi's breast, but it was Jean's I was eyeing as I peered down her shirt.
"I KNEW that's what your were thinking, you hound dog!"
Jean loved to play the innocent, obliquely referring to something sexy and then
pretending moral outrage. We knew the game well.
When we arrived at Pirate's Pub, the efficient crew had us moved into our room
in a jiffy. We'd asked for two adjoining rooms, but knew we'd take whatever was
available. I was tickled when Gladys put us in a single large room with two
double beds. Our quarters was one half of an octagonal building in the palm
trees quite near the beach. I remembered how soothing the waves and the night
sounds were there.
"Well, babes, it looks like we're stuck together. Mind?"
"Of course not, but don't get any ideas," she replied, not looking at me as she
swung her luggage onto the bed.
"Jean, ideas are all I have." I protested, opening my large carry-on bag.
Filling the drawers and sorting out gear, I added, "You don't think I can really
stop *thinking*, do you?"
Jean held up some brief, sheer panties I'd never seen before, and studied them
for a moment. "It's not your *thinking* that concerns me, big guy."
"Where'd you get those?"
"Victoria's Secret. And you know what I'm talking about."
"Hot!" I paused and then continued, "And no, I don't know what you're talking
about. Sex, sure. And us. But what about it? I thought we had a deal?"
A little while back we'd agreed to explore our sexuality, out of the closet as
it were, just as long we honored each other's limits. That of course meant
mostly me respecting her limits. I'm not sure I had any. At least I hadn't
bumped into them yet.
Jean stopped unpacking and just looked out the screened window at the filtered
light reflected off the water. Periods of silence were common between us and I
didn't pay any attention until I saw her shoulders shake. When I walked in front
of her I saw her eyes were screwed tight and a couple of tears were running down
her cheeks.
When my shadow crossed her face, she opened her blue eyes that were shiny wet
and just looked at me as she brought her fingers up to her face. I gathered her
into my arms and held her without speaking. She sobbed silently for a few
minutes and then put her arms about my neck burying her head below my ear. I ran
a hand up and down her back, softly kissing her hair and making crooning sounds.
"I'm sorry, Billy. I know I'm being such a bitch. You don't deserve that. Thanks
for your patience with me." She hiccuped and then laughed. "And yes, we *do*
have a deal. That hasn't changed. Tell you what, I'm a little bit scared and my
period's about to start. I always get a little 'touchy' for a day or two this
time of the month. God, I *hate* to think I'm a PMS-er! Can you put up with me?"
I almost asked her what my choices were, but held off, thinking she didn't need
any of my sophomoric humor. Instead, I continued to hold her close and said,
"Jean, there's not a serious problem on the horizon. Think about it. We're alive
and well, we're together, and this is the first day of a to-die-for vacation. I
love you...you know that, but I want to say it anyway. There's no agenda. We can
dive or not dive. Sleep or not sleep. Wanna be with me? Cool. Wanna be alone a
little, that's cool too."
"Oh, Billy! I don't what to be alone! What ever I say... however I act, I came
here to be with you. Don't leave me, promise? I'm sorry I've been a shrew, but
I'm feeling better already. Maybe I just had to let the bitchiness out, huh?"
Nodding, I said, "All I really know is how I feel and that works for me, babe.
The letting it out, I mean. If I carry it around, stuffed, not letting go of
it...well, it
just festers. I can maybe hide it for a little while, but it'll erupt if I don't
own it. Know what I mean?"
She nuzzled my neck before letting me go and then spinning around, she said
something like, "Whew...I feel so much better. Thanks, Billy."
I sat on her bed and picked up a pair of her lacy panties. Holding them up to
the light - I could almost see through them - I commented, "This is how all this
started, what, a couple of years ago?"
Jean gave me a particularly wicked smile and said, "They're the *clean* ones.
I'm *wearing* the ones *you* want, you perv."
I was pleased to have the old Jean back and told her so on the way to the main
house to register and see if we could get a late snack. Gladys keeps an open bar
for her guests and while we didn't drink much on a dive vacation, we stopped by
to see who was there.
"Why, it's the two porpoises," sang out a woman's voice from back of the bar.
"Welcome back," yelled Margi, loud enough for everyone to hear. As often follows
a loud noise, it suddenly became quiet and I was aware of the curious stares of
several people.
Margi typically didn't wait for a reply. She ran on, "Everyone, I'd like you to
meet Billy and Jean, two of the nicest people, first rate divers and if anyone
needs help and I'm not around, ask either of them."
Margi rounded the bar and ran into my arms for a bear hug. As usual, she was
wearing a pair of shorts and a loose T-shirt sans bra. I wondered if she even
owned a bra?
I asked her, "Do we get paid for that?"
"What's your price?" she whispered in my ear.
"You and me to go diving alone some time this week." I returned in a
similar whisper.
"Did he ask you to go diving alone with him?" Jean sang out in a voice not heard
by more than half the room. "He was hoping you'd be here, Margi."
Margi smiled at me and with a broad wink said, "That right, big boy?"
Before I knew it, Margi took Jean aside and they immediately fell into a heads-
together conversation. Their body language suggested I talk with someone else so
I introduced myself to a bearded bear of a man who was sipping a drink and
chatting with a sun-bleached, tan woman I guessed in her thirties.
"Hi. I'm Ian and this's Jan." Turning to her, he added, "Sorry Jan, I don't know
your last name."
She extended her hand to me and gave me a dazzling smile. "Jan'll do. Margi told
us today that you and Jean were expected. She thinks highly of both of you and
your wife."
I laughed. "Jean's my sister."
Ian added, "Yes, there's a strong resemblance in your eyes and mouth. You've
much the same facial bone structure."
"That may be, but I don't see it. All I see are the differences."
We looked over at Jean and Margi. Jean was sitting back in her chair and her
skimpy T-shirt hugged her breasts and prominent nipples.
"Yes, there *are* some differences," observed Ian as he looked at Jan and me
with something approaching a leer.
"Ian doesn't miss much it would appear," said Jan with a wry smile.
Neither do I, I thought as I ran my eyes over her shirt front.
"And neither do you," Jan added.
I held my hand palms up and looked up to heaven for support. "Busted," I said.
We chatted for a few minutes until Jean returned and said, "Billy, we're all
checked in and I've got us some snacks. I'm really beat. Think I'll go back to
our room and nibble before crashing. You?"
"I'm tired too. I'll go with you." Turning back to Jan and Ian, I said good-
night and, "See you in the morning."
Walking back through the palm trees I could hear the electric generator chugging
away in the distance. I'd forgotten how isolated this place was. I wrapped my
arm around Jean's shoulder and asked, "What were you and Margi talking about
with such intensity?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Her smile underscored her teasing, yet there was
again a faint edge to her voice. I fell silent, oddly put off a little.
Just before entering our room, Jean stopped and asked, "Well, wouldn't you?"
"Like to know?"
"Yes, I thought you be dying to know what Margi said."
"Yeah, I suppose I am, but to tell the truth, I'm feeling a little disconnected.
You're my best friend and I'm picking up strange energy from you. I'm so used to
being on the same wavelength, I don't know how to behave when we're not." I
paused and then went on, "Shit! I don't know. Maybe it's me. Do you think it's
me? 'My being a jerk?"
I'd learned that no matter what the other guy said or did, anytime I was upset,
it was axiomatic that something was wrong with me, that I had a part in it
somewhere. Usually it meant I wasn't accepting life on life's terms. Things
weren't going my way and I was being petulant.
"You're right, Billy. Things *are* off kilter a little. I feel it too. You know
what I think it is?"
"No, I don't guess I do," I answered, a bit more interested, for Jean's ideas
were often right on.
"Think about it. Here we are, together...actually, sleeping in the same
room...with all this history behind us...that moth and the flame history.
We've been flirting with each other forever it seems. Mom knows. And we know
that she knows. I'm on the pill. Cripes, Billy! I'm scared witless. I think
you are too and that's what's wrong with us. That's the tension we're feeling,
don't you think?"
"It's certainly true that despite my resolve not to have expectations, they
creep into my mind. You know, I've told you about the sex addict guy that lives
in my head? Well, he's up there having a field day while the good guy, the
rational guy is frightened. Wanna call a time out?"
"Good idea! Mom always told us we could start our day over anytime we liked.
Let's start our vacation over, okay?"
"Deal! And Doctor Billy prescribes a good night's rest, starting right now."
She gave me a high five and we walked into our room. Without lights, we turned
down the beds and I went into the john to take a leak. When I came out, I
could see Jean's shadow in bed. I wanted to hug her good-night, but was still
feeling a little tender and, afraid of rejection, I slipped into my own bed.
"'Night, Jean."
"I can't believe you're not curious about what Margi said about you." Jean
provoked me, assuring my night's sleep.
"About me? Did you guys talk about me?"
"Well, I didn't get to say much. Mostly Margi talked. I did tell her that we
didn't have secrets from each other and suggested that she not tell me things
she didn't want you to hear, but she said, 'Oh, what the hell,' or something
like that."
"Jean! You're gonna drive me batty at this rate."
"Well, she's definitely interested in you."
"Yeah, right. Last year I couldn't get her attention. She was always hanging
around with that other guy."
"You mean he was hanging around her! Oh, she was aware of you all right, but
because you're younger and a guest, she was afraid to let you know."
"Let me know what, for cryin' out loud?"
"That she was...uh, interested in you."
"I admit it. I'm dumb. What does 'interested' mean?"
"Maybe this'll help, my stud-muffin brother. She asked me if you were a virgin."
"Oh Jesus! You didn't tell her, did you?"
"You bet I did. Girls are worse than guys when they think they're getting
someone, some guy, for the first time."
"And you think she's gonna get me?"
"Only if you're willing, big boy...only if you're willing."
"And, making believe all of this is true - which I doubt - how do *you* feel
about this?"
"I'm jealous. I'm thrilled too, but I'm really jealous."
God, I'd *never* understand women!
"Jean, part of me is pleased. That you're jealous...I mean, that you care that
much. And another part is asking, about WHAT?"
"Don't ask me to explain this, Billy. I don't understand it either. I guess I'm
jealous that you're interested in her...that's part of it. But more, I'm jealous
that she can do things with you and I can't."
"Do things? Like in..."
"Yes! Like in!"
Jean fluffed up her pillow and then slammed it down, turning away from me. In
the dim light, I could see the sheet had pulled up and exposed her tan back side
and the her white panties. Or were those panties? No, that was Jean's pale ass I
was staring at. She was naked as a jay.
I'd worn my briefs to bed, more out of propriety. Or was it embarrassment? I
never wore underwear to bed and suddenly I was aware of my hardness, bent in my
shorts. I pulled them off slowly and dropped them by the side of the bed.
I spoke at her back in a low voice, "I've been trying to get into your pants for
half my life it seems. You're the sexiest woman in the world to me. I'd do
anything for you and you're jealous of some woman who's older than you even, who
asked a few questions about me. Talk about driving beyond your headlights!"
She flounced back, facing me. Darn, now I couldn't look at her butt. "Oh no I'm
not! Women *know* these things. She's hot for you. She's already asked if we
could get together tomorrow night." And then she mimicked Margi's deeper voice,
'. . . so we can get to know each other better.' I know what she wants to get to
know better!"
My dick, I hoped. I saw no inconsistencies in that. I knew I loved Jean and was
terminally hot for her, but my dick was interested in every good looking girl on
the horizon. That had nothing to do with love or anything like that. This was
all about my desire to penetrate some girl's soft, wet and itchy pussy. Fuckin'
in other words.
"That might be nice. Do you wanna?" I asked.
"Heck yes, I 'wanna'," she replied, now mimicking me. "I like Margi too. She's
fun and outrageous - braver than me and I know we'll enjoy her. But I'm still a
little jealous. Don't worry, it won't stop me from having a good time."
Then, turning away again, she concluded, "Now go to sleep, won't you? I'm
completely worn out and I'll get cranky if I don't get a night's rest."
The muted washing of waves on the beach drifted through the palms and I could
hear the soft night sounds as I lay back, hands behind my head, looking at the
ceiling fan slowly turning. Where was this going?
The only thing I knew with certainty was that it wasn't going the way I had
dreamed it up. But then, things rarely did. The upside of that disappointment
was grounded in the reality that when things didn't turn out the way I wanted
them, what I got was far better than what I wanted.
Grasping my hard-on through the sheet, I fell asleep.
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