     "My Sister Jean" copyright (c) 1997 by BillyG - All rights
     reserved.

     MY SISTER JEAN

     BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)

     _________________________________________________________________
     _______



     Chapter 2  --  The Couch


          I really liked Jean.  Heck, I adored her.  She was a
     wonderful sister and I know she loved me as well.  So it wasn't
     an act when I set out to be her champion.  I stuck up for her.  I
     defended her from my mom's sometimes erratic sense of fair play
     and when my friends teased her, I'd only let it go so far.  I'd
     let those guys know that she was my sister and not to disrespect
     her.  Jean, at first, was uncertain, but her loving nature pushed
     right through.  She spoke to me with affection and began to
     engage me in conversation, at first about inconsequential things,
     but later about "boy-girl" things.  Our relationship had been
     changed.  It was growing more "real," never to go back to our old
     sibling rivalry.

          Oh, my behavior around her hadn't changed.  I was still
     trying to look down her blouse or up her dress.  I still listened
     at the bathroom door.  But now, we were closer buddies.  She
     really liked me, so it was both easier to accept my aggressive
     sexuality and harder for her to take offense at my shenanigans.
     Added to that, I began to accept myself a little more and was far
     less hesitant about letting her know that I was horny.

          One afternoon, alone in the house together, she asked, "Can
     we have a heart-to-heart?"

          Grinning and with a pointed look at her left breast, I said,
     "Sure, girl, I'd love to have a heart-to-heart with you.  Your
     place or mine?"

          "Come-ON, you nit.  Be serious.  I need to talk with you, so
     get your mind out of the gutter."

          Sprawling out on one end of a large sectional in the living
     room, I said, "Okay, okay, Sis.  Sit and talk to me.  What's
     happenin'?  What's on your mind?  Boys?  Yeah, I'll bet that's
     what it is . . . boys, huh?"

          Sitting opposite me and giving special attention to a button
     on her shirt, she didn't make eye contact, a sure sign of her
     embarrassment about something.  "Well . . . kinda . . . that is,
     I need to . . . well, I'd *like* to ask you some questions about
     what boys think okay?"   When Jean was uncertain of herself, she
     often placed an interrogatory inflection on the last part of her
     sentences as if to say, "You know?"

          "Only if you share with me . . . tit for tat, girl.  I'll
     tell you things what you wanna know     if you tell me what I
     wanna know . . .and no mincing around either.  Fair?"  It was
     always better to establish the rules of engagement with Jean.
     More often, she was willing to give a little before the fact.
     Before she became embarrassed and dug in, I wanted her tacit
     agreement that if I were to tell her "all about boys," I wanted
     reciprocity. I'd been pulling her in this direction for weeks and
     she was ever less reticent to  fess up.

          "Well . . . okay, but don't get too dirty again, will you .
     . . promise?"

          "Heck no.  I don't promise anything, except to be honest.
     Where can you get a better deal than a promise of honesty?  The
     truth can't hurt you, you know."  I was shamelessly playing on
     her sense of morality and fair play, trying to suggest that what
     she had to talk about was probably just as "dirty" as my stuff.
     (*I* didn't even believe that.)

          Still pulling on the button, "Okay, little brother."  Then
     smiling, "I do trust you."

          Mentally rubbing my hands, I thought, yes . . . trust me . .
     . to try to get into your pants, big sister.  Affecting a
     nonchalant indifference, I leaned back (and almost fell off the
     couch) and said, "Thanks.  Now, shoot. What's on your mind,
     woman?"  (She loved to be called "woman.")  Now that the general
     topic was out of the bag and we'd established the ground rules,
     she visibly relaxed a little more.

          Swinging around, she put her bare feet on the couch near
     mine and leaned her knees into the cushions, tugging her skirt
     down.  Out of my peripheral vision I noted that the hem of her
     skirt had fallen in such a fashion that I could see well up the
     back of her thighs.  This has potential I knew but I'd have to be
     careful not to be too openly leering at her legs, at least at
     first.

          Again, nervously tugging at the button on her shirt, she sat
     silently for a moment, I imagined composing her question.
     Whatever it was, she'd been thinking about it for days at least,
     but now she had to compose the words. If nothing else, I was
     patient.  I waited without further prompting.

          Finally, hesitantly, she stammered, "This is embarrassing,
     but . . . when you . . .  do you remember . . . uh, the time when
     you . . ."

          "The time when I came?" I offered.

          Blushing and tugging more on the button, she nodded.

          In a soft voice I admitted, "Yeah, well sure.  How can I
     forget? It was the neatest thing ever happened.  What about it?"

          "Uh . . . I've been wonderin', that ever happen before?  I
     mean, have you ever, uh, before . . . that is . . . oh shit!  I
     wanna know. Do guys, you know . . . jack . . . er,  masturbate?"

          Do guys . . . ?  I couldn't believe it.  It was too good to
     be true.  I'd been wondering for weeks how'd I'd get Jean to talk
     about masturbation and now here it was, right out there, and
     she'd asked me! Boy, was I going to have a good time with this
     one.  I thought it'd take a long time to get up to The Topic and
     now, wham, here it was.

          I almost fell off the couch again in an attempt to look
     casual.  My dick was already stirring.  Cripes, I could see the
     bulge and I know that if she looked, she could as well.  I was
     now the one who was almost tongue tied. "Well sure guys
     masturbate, Jean.  At least everyone I know does, and all the
     time, or at least that's what they say."

          Jean gets restless when she's approaching an
     emotionally-charged conversation and I was increasingly aware of
     her legs as she shifted them back and forth.  Abruptly, they
     parted as she crammed both hands, straight armed, between her
     thighs.  I saw a flash of white, the crotch of her panties.  It
     was more than a flash.  Actually, it was a several second look
     and the poochy bulge that formed the crotch of her panties was
     the sexiest thing in the world at that moment.  My mind went
     right back to the memory when my nose was smashed next to her
     crotch and the olfactory memory kicked in.  I could smell her, I
     thought.

          "And you?" she prompted.

          "Geez, Sis.  I'm a guy!  Sure.  That is, I mean, I have," I
     admitted in an evasive way.

          Tilting her head in way she had, she held out one hand, palm
     up and said,  "Oh, I supposed you did . . . I mean, the way
     you're always trying to look at me and all. But what I was really
     wondering was, uh . . . how?"

          "How?"  How what I wondered?

          Now, her voice more certain, "Yeah.  Just *how* do you do
     it.  I mean, the one time I saw you . . . you did it against the
     table.  Is that the way you *always* do it?  I just wanna know."

          Laughing, I replied, "That was the *only* time it happened
     that way, Sis.  That just happened.  I didn't plan it.  I don't
     normally get off on the table . . . I usually do it . . . uh, the
     usual way, you know."

          With a trace of irritation she countered, "No, I* don't*
     know. That's why I'm asking.  I mean, if I knew, do ya think I'd
     be asking?  I know how girls . . . I mean, I don't know how guys
     really do it."

          For a moment I couldn't believe that Jean was that naive.
     She *must* have known.  But, maybe she is as inexperienced as she
     says and I needed to give her support, not teasing.

          "Okay, I think I understand what you want to know.  It's
     like this. You know what a hard-on is, don't you . . . when a
     guy's dick swells and get hard . . . when he's all excited?
     Well, when my dick's hard, I just wrap my hand around it and then
     stroke it up and down.  I almost always think of something sexy .
     . .  you know, fantasize while I'm doing it . . . and before I
     know it, wham!  I come . . . and, well you saw what that's like."

          "You think of something sexy?  Like what? A movie star or a
     picture in Penthouse?"

          "Well, I have thought of girls I've seen in sexy magazines,
     but most of the time I think of someone I know, someone closer to
     me, someone who is real and very sexy."

          "Janey Pritchard?" she asked, naming the most outrageous
     flirt in high school.

          "Not Janey.  She's okay, I guess, but she doesn't get me
     off.  No, I think of someone who's far sexier than Janey when I
     jerk off . . . that's what guys call it, ya know . . . jerking
     off."

          Jean had succeed in pulling her shirt button all the way off
     and was absentmindedly working on the next one down.  As her
     shirt opened and closed, I caught repeated glimpses of the swell
     of her breasts above the lacy white bra she was wearing.  She
     continued to shift around as she became more excited and had
     dropped one foot off the couch while the other, still bent was up
     against the cushion giving me a completely wide-open look under
     her skirt.

          She was wearing bikini-style panties, very low cut in front
     and high on the sides.  The darkness of her pubic hair was
     plainly visible, for I'd picked the end of the couch with the
     light behind me.  Jean had to squint to look directly at me while
     I had a clearly lighted, unobstructed crotch shot.  The
     conversation and the sexy view were getting to me.  My pants were
     clearly bulging out and I'd seen my sister glance at my crotch
     several times and then quickly look away.

          She persisted, "Who, then?  Just who do you think of that
     gets you all . . . uh . . . hard and . . . and horny?"

          Was she fishing?  Dropping my right hand to bulge of my
     pecker and holding it pointedly, I said, "You."

          "WHAT?"   She gasped, her eyes wide in surprise, her hand
     frozen with the shirt pulled part way open.  "What do you mean,
     me?  Billy, I'm your sister for cryin' out loud!"

          Lowering my voice and looking hard at her, I rushed on,
     "Sis, I *am* your brother and I still find you attractive.  I
     still find you *very* attractive, beautiful even.  Why, you're
     the most attractive girl I know and by far, the sexiest girl I
     know.  I can't help that and I can't help the way I feel.  I care
     for you and I love you.  I'd do anything for you.  I can't help
     it you turn me on.  When I see you, I feel warm.  When I see your
     breasts or your butt, I get a thrill.  When I think of you naked,
     why I just get so darn horny . . . there's only one thing I can
     do."

          Jean sat, frozen, with one leg up which pulled the crotch of
     her panties into her pussy.  There was a natural silence.  We
     just sat and looked at each other.  Now I was no longer trying to
     sneak peeks at her panties; I was blatant about it.  I knew she
     could see me and yet, she didn't close her legs. I could plainly
     see the penumbra of soft hair high on her thigh, above where she
     shaved her legs.  Then, looking at the crotch of her white cotton
     bikinis, I could see a wet spot.  She was getting wet.  She was
     getting excited, I was sure.


     END 2
