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Subject: INCEST "MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 4-5" 386352
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/theincest.html
MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 4-5
By Billy G
Chapter 4 -- The Hike (continued chapter 5)
Hiking up the switchback climbing from Fourth of July Lake, I watched
Jean in front of me. More correctly, I watched Jean's legs and the
movement of her buttocks. Sh was a few feet in front and above me on
the steep, dust trail.
We'd broken camp a few hours ago after having spent a couple of lazy
days in a remote part of the Sierras. It was our family's custom to
pack into remote areas at least once or twice a season and this was
the first time Jean and I had gone alone. With no agenda save a
couple of day trips and some reading, we'd had time to further our
connection. I suppose it's not unusual for siblings to know each
other very well on some levels while being almost strangers on other
levels. It was that way with Jean and me.
For as long as I can remember, she'd been my older sister... aloof,
superior and occasionally condescending. As with most of us, the
position of apparent superiority was assumed to cover the usual
teenaged feelings of insecurity, of being "less than."
I'd taken on a completely different persona in the family. I was the
joker, the hero and, deep in my own mind, the lecher...the closet
rake. A few months before, in an attempt to expand my licentious
sphere and engage Jean in some "dirty talk," I'd turned up the
intimacy current. Unexpectedly, we'd literally fallen into some
near-explosive sexuality. While our "fooling around" had had sudden
intensity, we'd not really "done the deed" and since then our
connection was clearly more tender, yet guarded.
In my loving moments, I'd welcomed the chance to continue our process
of a deepening relationship. In my horny moments, I'd looked forward
to escalating our previously ill-defined sexual connection. In short,
I was hot for my sister and hoped she was too. What an opportune
Jean, however, had reservations. Oh, she'd shown that she was capable
of intense sexual response once before when we'd been fooling around
on the couch and it'd progressed into a short-lived voyeuristic
masturbation. But since that time, as if frightened by the unplanned
and seemingly uncontrollable force of the experience, she'd drawn
back.
Her response to my plaintive entreaties of, "Oh, come ON, Jean . . .
why won't you let me..." (fill in the blanks) were met with a smile
and her reasonable position of wanting to go very slow.
"Billy, you *know* I love you. You're my kid brother and the sweetest
boy in the world. You're sexy and, most of the time, you're kind to
me. But...(damn, there's always a "but" that follows such a good
start)...but, this is scary stuff. I don't know what's right and
what's wrong. I know how I feel, but that doesn't make it right.
Won't you give me some space, please?"
When she said "please" to me with that certain sincere, loving tone of
voice, I was a goner. "Okay, okay. But don't blame *me* if I'm
limping around all the time." (As if there were blame or that I'd
really be limping. The major organ limping in me was not my dick...
it was my brain!)
We'd gone skinny dipping each day in the freezing high-Sierra,
snow-fed lake. It was so cold that my pecker had attempted to crawl
back into my abdomen. My cremasteric muscles - that thin sheet of
muscle that envelopes the spermatic cord and testes - had gone into
such intense spasm from the cold that each day, on dashing back out of
the water, I was doubled over with pain. It didn't help my sense of
dignity or my macho image when Jean'd point and laugh at me. (I've
since come to see the wisdom that warns: "It's okay to laugh in the
bed room, but not to laugh*and* point.")
Anyway, my unflagging desire to see Jean nude was answered, but I was
so blue and shivering that I could think only of jumping back into my
sleeping blanket. (My suggestion that Jean and I zip our mirror-image
sleeping bag together elicited no more than a twinkle and a smile
coupled with a mute shake of her head.) So the wish that I carried
with me on the backpacking trip that I see Jean naked had been filled
each morning...when my dick was a negative impression. The rest of
the time, she'd managed to change clothes out of my presence. While
we'd talked into the night, she wouldn't let me even cuddle her.
Rats! I was frustrated. Still, I was having a wonderful time. What
a collage of feelings.
Too, I thought I'd get a chance to spy on her peeing. Remember me?
I'm the horny little kid who presses his ear to the bathroom door to
listen to his sister take a leak? Yep. That's me. I'd almost come
in my pants from smelling her panties and once, when finding some of
her pale yellow urine and a used tissue in the toilet, I'd jacked off
right into the bowl...taking all of ten or fifteen seconds.
Out here in the great outdoors with no bathrooms, no even an outhouse,
I'd surely get to peek at her...I thought. So far, no dice. Either
she's got a holding tank for a bladder, or she was adept at slipping
away. I, on the other hand, believed that the only bad publicity was
no publicity. I used every chance to casually take a whiz when I was
around her. Oh, I didn't come up and piss on her shoe, but I did
things like continue a conversation, turning just a little aside as I
took out my pecker and peed on a tree or a rock. She didn't comment
on my little exhibitionistic streak and I couldn't really tell if she
was watching or not.
No cuddle, no peeks, no peeing. Shit! I just wasn't getting what I
wanted and was feeling sorry for myself and not a little petulant. So
I employed the short form of the Serenity Prayer and said, "Fuck it."
It was, after all, all right. Here I was, in God's indescribably
beautiful mountains on a primo day with my dearest friend and best
buddy, and I was petulant. Boy, talk about an ungrateful wretch!
Knowing it was going to get very hot by midday, and that we had a
twelve-hundred-feet climb out of that basin, we'd packed and started
early after a good breakfast and tanking up on mountain water, both in
our bellies as well as our canteens.
Jean was a surprisingly strong hiker and often, on long, uphill
climbs, she'd naturally take the lead. So it was that I was watching
the roll of her hips from close behind as we were forced to take
occasional extra long step-ups on the trail. Her short-shorts,
already revealing, had climbed up on her ass, framing the white,
half-moons of her buttocks above her tan thighs. The crotch of the
shorts seemed to thin to a narrow band between her legs. I already
knew (from my snooping) that Jean had thong-type Bikini panties so I
didn't expect to see them as we trudged along, but they were a green
vision in my mind.
Except for the chatter of an occasional bird and the scrunch of our
boots on the trail, there were no sounds...if you ignored my panting.
We'd settled into that semi-comfortable, endorphin-enhanced pleasant
walk-climb. I was sweating lightly, feeling good, watching Jean's
sweet ass checks bunch and relax in front of me and thinking, I can't
believe how beautiful and sexy this girl is. And she's my sister!
How lucky can a guy get?
I am not the one with the cast-iron bladder in the family. It's
almost a joke that Billy has to take a leak more frequently than
anyone else. Jean was not surprised when I called out, "Pee break."
"Okay. I could use a breather anyway." She swung her pack to the
ground and turned back to look back down the mountain toward our camp
site, now barely perceivable.
In genuine relief, I moaned, "Ah," as I peed into the dust on the side
of the trail. Jean, this time, was clearly watching me so I made an
extra production of "shaking it" when I'd finished. "Hmmmm, that felt
good," I added in a redundant fashion.
To my surprise, she said, "I've gotta go too. Don't watch."
It might have been easier if she said, "Don't breathe." Was she
kidding?
"Okay," I answered, turning only my head away, still watching her
movements in my peripheral vision. Yet another surprise. She didn't
step off the trail; there was a bush ten or fifteen feet away, but she
didn't use it. And she didn't turn away from me.
My head pulled back to watch her, not even pretending to look away.
She unbuttoned the side of the short-shorts and, with her thumbs
hooked into the top, pulled the yellow shorts and white panties down
while squatting in the same continuous motion. My position, downhill
from her, afforded me a bore-sight view right between her thighs. Now
for the second time in my life, I had a clear view of her
closely-cropped, curly, auburn-haired pussy. After a weekend of horny
frustration, hard-ons and surreptitious masturbation, I was getting,
without guile, a look at Jean's treasures. Full on, up close...and
damn personal!
For a moment, nothing happened. Her smooth anus pushed out just a
little as she strained and then a trickle of pee dribbled out into the
dust. The dribble increased and then a stream, clearing her pussy
lips and arcing out several inches in front of her started that
familiar hissing. It was happening. I was getting a chance to watch
Jean pee for the first time in my life. Something that I'd fantasized
about, something that I'd failed to do with deception was happening
right in front of me. The erotic intensity of it was gut wrenching.
My cock, trapped in my Jockeys, had erected so fast that it suddenly
hurt.
Something caused me to look up. Jean was looking right at me! Her
clear, ice-blue eyes were looking into mine, into my soul. Her eyes
seemed to ask, "Is this what you wanted, Billy? Do you want to see me
pee, Billy?"
For all I know, she'd been saving it for a long time. Her urine
continued to gain force and the hissing sound increased as the gusher
of pee ran over a rock and pooled at my feet. I was struck numb. Not
having the presence of mind I have now, I forgot to touch it, forgot
to dip my finger into the pool and taste it. I just stared,
dumfounded and struck terminally horny. It didn't last for minutes,
it just seemed that way. In comparison, mine was a piddle. Her's was
a production.
It slowed and stopped after one final, small squirt as she clenched
her bottom, making her little rose bud wrinkle. If I'd expected her
to stand suddenly, hiding herself, I was wrong. Rather, she squatted
there, uncovered, hovering over the trail of now-wet dust and rock.
"Well?" she asked. It sounded so loud in the sudden quiet of the
mountain, I was startled and looked at her dumbly. "Is that all
you've got to say," and you could hear the smile in her voice. "Do
you have a tissue?" she added.
Gaining my sodden wits, I said something cleaver like, "Sure... if
you let me help."
Pulling some Kleenex from a side pocket, I took the few steps to her.
She hadn't replied so I simply kneeled in front of her and extended
the tissue in my hand between her legs, watching her eyes. She nodded
only, with a little half smile.
Leaning forward, looking under her shorts bunched and pulled apart
above her knees, I softly patted her pussy slit, slowly, from front to
back. I was acutely aware of her warmth and her breathing, now
quickened. I was even more aware of her pubic hair brushing across
the tops of my fingers.
Unthinking, I dropped the tissue and traced a feather-light touch
along the inner lips of her cunt. Jean made a soft, sucking sound and
looking up, I noticed that she'd closed her eyes. I continued to
"pat" her.
The lips of her pussy were swollen and slick and they'd opened up a
kind of blossoming. Laying the pulp of my middle finger along the
length of her cunt, cupping her mons in my palm, I slowly pushed in.
It was like pushing my finger all they way into China...or a ripe
Papaya.
Now, years later, when I think of love, I think of this.
Chapter 5 -- The Trip Home
The jazz group Four Play was playing softly over the hum of the big
4X4's tires. Bob James and Lee Rittenour were weaving their usual
seamless and delightfully rich acoustic fabric as the western slope of
the Sierra foothills fell away behind us. We'd fallen silent in the
Scout after loading up our backpacking gear and getting some more ice
for the chest near the exit of the National Forest. I was driving and
Jean was looking out the passenger's window as we sat silently in our
own thoughts. We were used to periods of silence and it wasn't
uncomfortable.
My mind was playing a tape of endless loop. My sister, Jean -- the
sometimes ice maiden -- had, when we were hiking out from Fourth of
July Lake, actually squatted in the middle of the hiking trail and
peed right in front of me...in the most blatant fashion. It was not
accidental and not remotely innocent. Rather, it was considered and
extremely provocative. Most baffling, it had seemingly just happened,
out of nowhere. I was excited and stunned, for it had been the
realization of a longstanding, obsessive fantasy of mine. Now, after
that intense sexual peak of halting interaction, we'd lapsed again
into our usual quiet space of uncertainty.
The grasses and flowers changed as we lost altitude. I reflected on
the events of the last little while. While, in the preceding weeks,
I'd made no secret that I was terribly excited by her and more, that I
was lightheaded with passion for her, I'd never come right out and
asked her if I could look at her nude, much less watch her pee. Not
that the thought hadn't been foremost in my erotic mind for years, I
was simply reticent to disclose myself...to uncover my secret kink,
largely from embarrassment. Oh, I didn't mind so much, particularly
of late, that she knew I masturbated, or that I smelled her panties,
or even that I was crazy about staring up her dress or down her shirt.
Somehow, that was all right...that was manly or at least okay boy
stuff. But peeing? Hmmmm. Sounds sick and perverted...or so my
judgmental mind spoke to me.
My mind spun on. Why had she done that? Why did she suddenly expose
herself to me in such a provocative way? A fleeting glimpse of her
panties or skinny dipping was on thing, but letting me watch her pee a
long stream into the dust of a Sierra back trail...a scarce few feet
from me...that was quite another. Had she known about me . . .
about my kink? Or and I couldn't really believe this -- was she kinky
like me?
No, not the very proper and often prim ice queen. If I had not been
sneaking around for years, listening to her when she was in the
bathroom, I might have supposed that she didn't even pee at all! Jean
was the type who wouldn't say shit if she had a mouth full. If
pressed, she might, in some clinical fashion, allude to micturition or
to (ugh) urine but she'd never utter the word "piss." I imagined that
she might allow, grudgingly, the expression pee-pee if some little kid
had no other way to express it. So how was it, I wondered, had she
moved from that moral high ground to pulling her panties down and
peeing in the middle of the trail while staring into my eyes? Once
again, I was baffled. Girls!
On a long curve, Jean swung around toward me, tucking her bare feet up
on the seat and asked, "So, Billy. What are you thinking?"
She always did that. Well, she did it a lot...opening up her topic by
asking me what *I'm* thinking. Or, if the topic is established, she
tries to get me to commit myself to a position before she discloses
her's.
Making a vague motion with my hand, I replied, "Oh, nothing." Smiling
to myself...If she only knew.
"Come ON, Billy. I know you better than that. You're never thinking
of nothing. What's going through that pointed little head of yours?"
The smile in her voice belied the insult. She leaned back against the
passenger's door, pulling her left foot further onto the seat,
pressing her knee into the back rest. The leg of her shorts gaped a
little. I noted things like that.
I also knew this drill. I'd been through it a thousand times. If I
was stubborn enough, I could simply stonewall it. I'd done that lot
of times, heaven knows. But Jean knows me, and most of the time I
*wanted* to be drawn out. I tried to maneuver it in such a way that
the topic was her's, not mine. This, of course, was old stuff, born
of a sibling's need for protection from being ratted on. The fact of
the matter was that neither Jean nor I had ratted on the other in
years. At root, we acted to protect each other.
"Well, actually I was thinking of our relationship, Sis." There!
That covered a multitude of sins.
"Hmmmm, what about our relationship?"
We both knew the dance so well that the opening steps were done
without effort or thought. Actually, we were both thinking way ahead
of this conversational chafe.
"Come on, dude. Open up. What about it...what about our
relationship?"
Looking pointedly at her, I asked, "Do you *really* want to know?"
This was a well-established signal that one of us would cut through
the fog of protective words if we were serious or impatient and wanted
to get on with something pressing. On the other hand, if it were the
usual verbal game, we'd parry that offer with some gratuitous insult
or another.
"Uh, yeah, Billy. I really *do* wanna know. What're ya thinkin'?"
The last question was a little muffled as she pulled her sweat shirt
over her head, partially pulling up her T-shirt and momentarily
uncovering the bottom of her bare breasts. Without hurry, she pulled
her T-shirt back down, molding the front against her nipples.
Jean almost never spoke in contractions or idiom. Her diction was
usually precise and her demeanor was oh-so-correct. So when she said
"Uh, yeah" and "I wanna," I recognized her
I-want-to-be-one-of-the-guys gambits. She was letting down her
goody-two-shoes protective distance. Jean was telling me it was okay
to be frank and, in light of our most recent adventure, it was clear
that she wasn't interested in my opinion of the men's basketball
team... or their locker room. She was letting me know that it was
okay to talk about what had happened on the trail.
You might think it strange, that "talking" about our sexual
connection, once done, wouldn't be difficult. The reality was
contrary to that, however. A lifetime of denial had, in some
paradoxical manner, permitted us strange behaviors...as long as they
weren't validated with acknowledgment. That is, just don't talk about
it.
This interaction, however, was moving at warp speed. Jean usually
took forever to circle up the wagons and establish her perimeter of
protection more often of the barbed-wire variety. Cutting through the
niceties this rapidly let me know that she felt strongly about what
had happened. Usually, Jean dealt with uncomfortable topics by
ducking behind her long-practiced wall of denial. And I know what
that was like.
Glancing again at the gap in her shorts, I could see the edge of her
panties. I pointedly responded, "To be perfectly frank, Sis, I was
wondering about you."
Jean rolled her eyes in an exasperated fashion, knowing that I was
being anything but frank. She slipped her right hand under the front
of her T-shirt and absentmindedly, scratched the area under her
breasts. Cripes, how could I watch the road, watch her scratch her
tit and listen to her...all at the same time?
I didn't ask her why she rolled her eyes. I knew. But could I really
enter into this forbidden area? By now we'd had at least three
intense but too-brief sexual encounters and had yet to *talk* about
them. A moment of uncertainty washed through me.
She cleared her throat in a dramatic fashion and I glanced at her.
Maybe it was sibling communication, or the soft smile, or the direct
stare of her blue eyes...but suddenly I knew that it was okay. She
was lowering her guard. There'd be no pretend ignorance or
indignation in this conversation. There'd be no frustrating
evasions...unless I slipped into them myself.
Taking a deep breath, I blurted, "I loved watching you pee, Jean. I
just LOVED it. But why did you do it? I mean, how'd you know? Uh .
. . we've never..." My strong start trailed off. I didn't know how
to give voice to my thoughts.
I took another deep breath but before I could start up again, she
answered, "Billy, I've suspected for a long time...I knew you listened
outside the bathroom door and..."
Interrupting, I asked, baffled and alarmed, "How did you know?"
Glancing again at her, I saw the big grin on her face when she said,
"Oh, Billy! For a guy that's so darn smart about so many things --
you really do impress me most of the time -- for a guy that's so
smart, sometimes you're just out of it."
She touched my thigh with the toes of her right foot as if to take the
sting out of it.
Well, that did sting, but knowing the truth of it, I said nothing.
Instead I made an impatient motion with my hands to urge her on with
it.
"Billy, the afternoon sun shines in through the front windows, doesn't
it?"
Obtuse I thought and nodded, still not getting it...aware more of her
foot, now resting on my thigh.
"Remember when the carpet was taken out of the hall and the tile was
installed? Well, the place beneath the bathroom door where the carpet
used to be, now lets the sun shine in." Then pausing for dramatic
effect *now* I could see it coming she added, "And it casts the shadow
of you standing right outside the bathroom door...it seems you're
always there." I was mortified! I felt the heat rise in my face as I
sought a way out, an excuse, some way in which I might deny it.
Jean, sensing my acute discomfort, laughed softly and added, "Billy,
don't be embarrassed...I'm not...at least not anymore. It's okay.
Honest, it's really okay." Her toes curled on my leg as she ran her
foot up and down.
Then, as if to explain further, she went on, "At first I wasn't sure
*what* you were doing. I thought you were pulling some kind of
practical joke on me, but nothing ever happened. I was puzzled and .
. . I don't know why...I was fascinated. So, I tested you. I'd
wait until you were around, and then I'd go into the bathroom, just
waiting to see your shadow under the door, then I'd pee. I...I didn't
mind that you were right outside the door. Actually, I think I liked
it . . . that you'd want to...that you were interested in me...but
I didn't want you to hear me dothe...uh...other. I'd really strain
and try to make a loud peeing sound, but I was always scared to death
I'd...you know...make some other sound."
I glanced at Jean and her eyes slid away. Now she was the one who was
embarrassed. I didn't tell her that I had heard her fart softly a few
times. Her hand was still inside her T-shirt, right under her
breasts. Maybe the tips of her fingers were touching the bottom swell
of her tit?
It was unusual for Jean to talk so long in such a vulnerable manner.
I just smiled and said nothing, hoping she'd continue.
"I have a confession to make," she continued, rushing the words.
If this wasn't a confession, what the heck was it I wondered? "Go
ahead, Jean. There's nothing you can say that would offend me...
honest." I was so darn magnanimous.
"I snooped in your room."
That didn't surprise me; we all snooped on each other, I was sure.
"And I found your dirty magazines."
Again, I was stunned. "How did you...I mean...shit, Jean!" Now I was
really embarrassed. The only magazines I had weren't plain-vanilla
girlie magazines. I'd found two foreign magazines full of watersports
pictures and stories and secreted them where no one would ever find
them. Or so I thought.
"You probably think you're the only one who spies in this house. Well
you're not. I've listened to you in the bath room too. You're really
noisy when you masturbate. You should be more careful... Anyway,
I've heard you move your dresser several times...before and after you
disappear into the bathroom. That puzzled me, so I moved it and found
the place in the back without a slat...the place where you hid those
magazines."
Her hand moved beneath her shirt. Now I was certain she was teasing
one of her nipples.
I was pissed...not so much that my secret was out, but that I'd been
so transparent...that my "dumb sister" had ferreted out my hiding
place so readily.
"Billy, reading those stories got me hot. And then I could understand
what you were doing outside the bathroom when I was peeing. You were
imagining *me* in there, weren't you?"
I couldn't believe how smart my sister had become all of sudden.
Grasping her foot in my hand, I ran a finger between her toes and
said, "So?" At these moments of stress, social repartee was not my
strong suit.
"So, I became as interested as you in peeing. I started watching
myself when I peed. I tried looking when I was sitting on the toilet,
but I couldn't see much...except the pee squirting. Then I got a
mirror and I could see it well, particularly when I pulled myself open
with my fingers. When I pulled my lips open, the pee came out in a
solid stream, just like I imagined a boy's did. That gave me the idea
to pee standing up."
I turned down the volume of the car stereo a little, for she'd fallen
into a soft, reflective tone and I didn't want to miss a word. I
squeezed her foot a moment to encourage her to continue.
"I started in the shower. At first I peed down my legs, but I got the
hang of it quickly and in no time I could stand with my legs apart and
hips pushed forward to pee a strong stream several feel in front of
me."
Glancing at me she asked, "Can you picture that, Billy? Isn't that
crazy?"
"Yeah...delightfully crazy. Sexy crazy...and hot. Tell me some
more." Could I push this? Would she continue?
"Well, I saw a mare, a female horse (shit, I knew what a mare was) - I
saw a mare urinate in the field, so I tried it that way. I mean, I
bent way over at the waist and while standing, tried to pee. At first
I couldn't tell what happened, what it looked like, but then I stood
in the tub and watched myself in the mirror. Billy, it squirted way
out behind me. I felt like a mare in heat!"
"Then I began thinking about you peeing. I wondered how you did it
what it looked like. What did your dick look like and how far could
you pee? Did you pee hard for a short time, or did it last and last?
How did you hold your dick? . . things like that. I wanted to
watch you pee, and even more, I wanted you to watch me pee. But I
couldn't tell you this in a million years. All I could do was go to
the bathroom a lot. You would have thought that I had a sudden case
of diabetes."
She was openly cupping her breast and curling her toes as I massaged
her foot. She went on, "I *had* to watch you pee. I knew that you
peed outside the house a lot and I kept my eye open for my chance.
Once, I saw you head toward the bathroom but because mom was in there,
you cut out the side door. I ran to the kitchen window and watched
you take a leak right on the deck. I got hot just watching you.
Actually, all I could see was your pee hitting the deck, making a big
puddle. I couldn't really see your dick...but I wanted to...boy, I
sure wanted to!"
She slid her foot higher on my thigh. She had turned completely
sideways in the front seat, still with her left leg curled up and her
right leg extended to me. Her toes were close to my dick and I was
getting harder and harder.
"Did you..." I started but she cut me off again.
"Then you went upstairs. Mom was still in the bathroom. I ran out on
the deck and looked at the puddle you'd made. I got so hot I could
hardly stand it. I was dying for a good pee. Now was my chance.
Billy, I know this is crazy but I lifted my dress and pulled the
crotch of my panties aside. I squatted over your puddle on the deck
and I pissed right on top of your piss! I forgot and was straining so
hard that my pee splattered all over my legs and shoes. But I didn't
care. I loved mixing our piss together. It just got me hotter."
She added a little slutty emphasis to the word "piss," drawing out the
"sss" part as she looked into my eyes. Jean was getting off on her
own story. She slid down a little further in the seat and the heel of
her foot was sitting on top of my crotch...right on top of my hard-on.
When I glanced at her, she pulled the bottom of her shirt up for about
two seconds, flashing her bare boobs at me, grinning. The nipples
were sticking out.
"So you see, Billy. *You* turned me onto this peeing thing, and you
didn't even know it. Now, I think about it all the time. I listen to
the girls in school when they're in the stall next to me and wonder
what they look like. Sometimes they hiss loudly when they pee.
Sometimes they just tinkle. When I'm feeling slutty, I try to pee
really hard into the water to make a lot of noise. Golly, I even
check the crotches of the guys and wonder how big their dicks are and
how they look when they pee. I wonder a lot if other girls mess
around with *their* brothers. What do you think?"
"Whoa. I'm overloaded. Too much, too fast. Yes...I mean no! I
mean...shit, I don't know *what* I mean. But wait...first, tell me.
Why did you hide from me all weekend? I tried and tried to get you to
talk about sexy things, but you kept changing the subject. And I was
aware of you the whole time and except for skinny dipping, you never
showed me anything. Why? And why did you then let me watch you on
the trail?"
"Oh, you know. I was scared. And I was embarrassed. Even though I
knew you'd listen to me...and even though I'd seen your dirty
magazines...I was afraid you'd think I wasreally a nut case some kinda
pervert." She again gave me that radiant smile. "It's a kinda trust
thing, I guess. You were so sweet to me all weekend and you were so
darn provocative, I was creaming in my pants most of the time. And
then, when we were walking out on the trail, I just knew after you
peed so shamelessly that it was my chance. So I did it! Was it okay?
I mean, did you like it, Billy? Do you think I'm terrible?"
I was holding her foot so tight my finger tips were white. She was
rocking her foot and I was pushing her heel down into my crotch in
slow, rhythmic motions.
Losing all restraint, I gushed out, "Jean, it was the most *erotic*
thing I've ever seen. It was better than any story, any picture I've
ever seen. Heck, it was better than any fantasy I've ever had.
Seeing you...seeing you so close...and you watching me looking at you
. . . I almost came in my pants."
"I like to hear you tell me those things, Billy. It makes me feel .
. . well, sexy and desirable and like I want to do *more* things."
"More? What more? Tell me, Jean."
She pulled her hand from under her shirt, leaving the bottom part way
up, exposing the bottom of her tit. I don't know what it is, but I'm
turned on to seeing the bottom swell of a girl's breast, particularly
my sister's. Dropping her hand to her leg near her crotch, she rushed
on, "Well, I'd *really* like to uh...this is kinda hard to say but I'd
really like to...pee *on* you."
The road was nearly empty and I was driving slowly, just moseying
along so I could pay more attention to Jean. When I glanced at her,
she met my eyes defiantly for a moment and then looked away,
embarrassed, the color high in her cheeks. Then she looked at me
again and said loudly, "Well, I *would*!"
This was incredibly exciting for both of us I thought, and equally
difficult at times. Sensing her near-shame, I attempted to rescue her
with the truth.
"Jean, the thought of you peeing...peeing on me is the hottest thing
I've ever heard! God! I'd love to feel your pee."
"Really? Honest? Are you just *saying* that?" She'd pulled her
right leg back and with her heel on the seat and her knee fallen out,
she'd slipped her right hand under her pant leg. Seeing my eyes on
her motions, she laughed, "Christ, Billy, I'm so hot I can't help it."
Taking a chance, I asked, "Can I tell you some of my secrets... some
of my fantasies?"
Abandoning the tight leg-band of her shorts, she opened the front and
slipped her hand under the waistband of her panties and buried it in
her crotch. "Yes-s-s-s, Billy. Please tell me. I really wanna
know."
"Sis, I'm *so* glad you told me all this. I'm so glad you told me
about peeing. We're just alike, you and me. I wish I'd know before,
we coulda...well we can now, can't we?"
"Billy! Tell me. Don't tease me."
"Okay, okay. Let me collect my thoughts. I hardly know where to
start. There's so many thoughts runnin' around in my head. I know,
I'll just share the images with you...then we can sort them out,
okay?"
"Go for it, big guy!"
She now had both hands stuffed down the front of her shorts and I
could see her fingers slowly moving in the tight crotch.
"Okay, but before I do, let me smell your fingers!"
Not put off for a minute, she pulled out her right hand and leaning
across to me, she ran her finger under my nose saying, "You are *such*
a horndog."
The pheromone musk of her pussy was strong and arousing.
"Jean, the smell of you is so sexy and it gets me hot."
She grinned and prompted, "Come ON, guy...tell me. Tell me *your*
secrets now."
"There's so many images I have. I think about 'em when I jack off
things like the feel of your pee in my hand...me kneeling in front of
the toilet...you with your legs apart...and I've got my hand under
you...and you just pee right into my hand. That one always gets me
going. I think of that one all the time when I hear you in the
bathroom."
"Oh, yes! I've had that one too...lots. Would you really let me?"
"Let you?" I asked in an incredulous tone.
She laughed and asked, "Any more? Fantasies I mean?"
"Oh yes. I've thought of you peeing right on my cock...right on my
chest. I've even thought of you peeing in my mouth!" The last
statement startled me. Had I really thought that? I'd gone too far.
I pulled into a Rest Stop and parked well away from the other cars. I
looked at her with a little apprehension. Had I gone too far?
Seeing the question in my eyes, she gave me her sweet smile and said,
"Oh, yes, Billy. I'd love to do that...you can't know how much that
means to me. Please...please tell me more. I've been waiting so long
to hear this...don't stop now."
Continued Tomorrow...
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