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Subject: [inc] story: "MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 18" 256164
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Date: Mon, 07 Jul 2008 14:36:03 +0000
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/taboo.html
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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