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Subject: Title story: "MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 18" Author: INCEST MAN 61375319
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Date: Tue, 06 Dec 2005 13:06:34 +0000
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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.
End
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