

     MY SISTER JEAN

     BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)

     _________________________________________________________________
     



     Chapter 14



          The frogs in the pond behind our house were giving up their
     last cacophony in the early morning light.  Dictated by my
     biologic clock I suppose, I was awake early even though Jean and
     I had spent an intense little while on the phone with each other
     late the night before.  As was my custom, I sleep in the nude and
     often awoke with an unconscious "tent pole" under the sheets.
     With my eyes closed and hands clasped behind my head, I was
     reviewing the latent imagery of the night before, of the phone
     sex I'd had with Jean, luxuriating in the deliciousness of it
     all.

          God, I loved that woman!  The feeling washed over me with an
     intensity that left me short of breath.  I loved her wit and her
     spontaneity, her seriousness and gravity, her daffiness and
     heaven knows, her sensuousness.  Yet I was uncertain.  We'd
     agreed not to "do it," but I wasn't at all clear just what that
     meant.  Jean spoke repeatedly of "the incest thing."  Just what
     *was* the incest thing anyway?  Was it talking about sex?  I
     thought not.  Then was it touching?  Well, we'd certainly touched
     on a couple of occasions and neither of us appeared to be
     troubled, much less traumatized by the experience, so I thought
     that wasn't it.

          If she sucked my dick once, was *that* incest?  How about
     when I fingered her pussy?  To climax?  Now, was that incest?
     Shit!  I didn't know and it bothered me, a niggling, unresolved
     burr of an issue.

          I don't know about you, but I've got several voices in my
     head that think they know everything.  And they're all loud, even
     strident. Usually they sit on the head of my bed and start up
     first thing in the morning.  "Oh good, you're awake.  Let me tell
     you a few things." They're rarely kind and understanding; mostly
     they're full of fear and negativity, except those that are lazy
     and just want to go to the beach. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a
     car pool when I'm all alone.  I can argue both sides of any given
     issue and worse, I lose nine times out of ten!

          Is it solely the emotional fallout of  putting my dick in
     Jean's pussy? Is that what she's fearful of?  Cripes, I've been
     *there* a hundred times in my mind.  I've screwed that girl so
     many times in my head, the emotional fallout is mostly that it's
     *only* been there . . . in my head!  Or is it that she's afraid
     she'll get pregnant?  Yeah, that'd be tough.  I mean, how many
     girls get knocked up by their brother?  I'll have to ask her
     about this, I thought.

          In the middle of this intellectual discussion I was having
     with myself, I was startled when something soft touched my face!
     My eyes snapped open and saw for a second only a hazy light until
     I scrabbled away a pair of panties that'd been dropped across my
     eyes and nose.

          Jean laughed, "Wake up, sleepy head.  I promised you these
     panties."  Then looking away in mock embarrassment, she added,
     "Geez, they're ripe!  Hope you *really* wanted  em."

          I inhaled deeply, pulling the aromatic essence of her into
     my head and simply said, "YES!"  She'd kept her promise.

          Nodding toward the tent pole, she asked, "Did I cause that?"

          Nodding, "Mostly.  I wake up with a woodie every morning,"
     and then looking down at myself in wonder, I added, "but this one
     is particularly urgent.  And yes, I *was* thinking of you . . .
     of last night . . . of what we did.  God, I loved it!  I just
     can't believe the power of phone sex for cryin' out loud!"

          Jean smiled and nodded, just looking sat me.  The least I
     could do was return the scrutiny.  The morning light was soft,
     filtering through the giant redwood behind the house, to the east
     of us and it cast a warm, luminous glow.  She was wearing a short
     wrap-around skirt and a T-shirt that didn't even begin to
     disguise her prominent nipples.  Once again, out of character,
     Jean wasn't wearing a bra.

          Her eyes dropped to the tented sheet and she gestured with
     an open palm as if to ask, "What, pray tell, is that?"

          Then, remembering a little ditty that Jean had read to me
     years before, I recited,

               "The tent pole's up, the canvas is spread. To hell with
            breakfast, come on back to bed."

          She giggled and continued,

               "Take the tent pole down, put the canvas away. Monkey
            had a hemorrhage; there'll be no circus today."

          Still chuckling, she said, "Just kidding, just kidding," and
     sat on the edge of the bed facing me, with one leg bent on the
     bed and the other on the floor, partly opening her thighs.  Of
     course, my eyes darted right to the darkened space under her
     short skirt,  hoping to see . . . well, anything.

          "You never give up, do you?  What are expecting to see?"

          "Not expecting . . . just hoping."

          "Billy, you've seen my legs hundreds and hundreds of times.
     What's the attraction?"

          "Don't really understand it, girl, but it's strong.  You
     thrill me. More and more, you thrill me.  I'm just taken with
     you.  You know that!"

          Jean placed her hand on the sheet on top of my thigh and
     said softly, "Yes, Billy, I *do* know that and I want to tell you
     again, I feel the same way.  And I'll tell you this again . . .
     usually, it's very scary!"

          "I've been thinking about that.  About why it's scary for
     you, I mean," letting my hand fall to her left knee.  Her skirt
     had pulled up and open a little and I could see the fine, blond
     hairs on her thigh.

          She glanced at my hand, smiled and asked, "Tell me, buster.
     What do you know that I don't?  Most of my feelings are just that
     . . . feelings.  Not based on my intellect, just on my gut."

          Trailing my finger tips over the inside of her knee, I
     looked up at her and continued, "Well, I've been trying to define
     "incest" in the last little while -- an operational definition if
     you will -- and I've decided that for us, it's not "talking" and
     it's not "touching" and it's not "sucking." Know what I mean?"

          Jean, looking puzzled,  slid onto the side of the bed
     another few inches, opening up her thighs a little more.  I
     looked again.  Still too dark, but now more inner thigh visible..

          "If you mean that we've done those things and we're still
     OK, then I *do* know what you mean.  But I'm still afraid."

          Still trailing my fingertips on the inside of her thigh, I
     continued, "Yeah.  But I think it's not so much what we've done.
     I don't think it -- incest that is -- has a lot to do with
     putting my dick in your pussy."

          Jean's eyes widened and her pupils dilated with that phrase.
     She sucked in her breath but didn't speak.  For all her
     candidness, she remained unaccustomed to such specific and
     graphic talk.

          Again, nudging her thigh to keep her attention, I went on,
     "No. For us . . . for you . . . incest isn't about fucking."
     Again, the little gasp. In a softer voice I added, "I think your
     fear of incest is about getting pregnant,"  and then fell silent.

          She exploded, "Cripes, Billy!  Pregnant!  By you?  Where in
     heck did *that* notion come from?  That's silly.  That's goofy,
     you know that?"  She barked a nervous laugh and moved her leg
     again.  This time I caught a fleeting glimpse of the crotch of
     her dark panties.  The scent of her used panties was fresh in my
     mind and I again experienced a strong urge to bury my head
     between her legs.

          "OK, I know it's goofy, but stay with me a minute.  Tell me,
     IF we actually did it . . . if we actually, you know, fucked . .
     . how would you feel?  Inside, I mean.  How'd you feel?"

          "Scared.  I told you that," she answered, nervously plucking
     at her skirt, picking it up and then dropping it.  I kept my eyes
     on hers.

          "OK, sure," I agreed, "scared but not turned off.  Stay with
     me a little longer.  How'd you feel if you got pregnant?  By me?"
     I added pointlessly.

          "Devastated.   Just devastated . . . I'd simply just die."
     Then she added with a wry smile, "Aside from from that, fine.
     Where is this going, anyway?"

          "Wanna have kids someday, Jean?"

          "You know I do, Billy.  SOMEday."

          I wiggled down in the bed a little, both to give me a better
     view under her skirt and that I might be able to reach farther up
     on her thigh. "Well, that's what I think is going on.  It's not
     us screwing that scares you. It's getting pregnant.  One part of
     you wants to get pregnant . . . someday, and another part of you
     is frightened, scared witless that it would be ME that did it."

          "Let me get this straight . . . let me tell you what I think
     you've said. You think that it's not the actual, uh . . . doin'
     it, that I'm afraid of?"

          "Right," I assured her, touching the inside of her thigh,
     well up under her skirt.  I wondered if she, like me, had two
     thoughts running at the same time, one on the topic and the other
     on touching her?

          "That it's getting pregnant by you that I'm really afraid
          of?"

          "Yeah, exactly, Sis.  Hell, we've done almost everything and
     haven't suffered any psychological consequences.  Actually, we're
     closer than ever.  We really love and CARE for each other, more
     now than ever."

          Jean smiled and said, "Well, you *may* have something there.
     It "feels" all right.  At least it doesn't feel *bad*.  Not right
     now anyhow."

          "Just sit with it, Sis.  You don't have to buy it right now
     . . . or ever.  Just let it percolate.  We'll talk about it
     later, OK?"

          "Whew!  Yes, later," she answered, visibly relaxing.  Then,
     as if noticing for the first time, she stared at the lump of my
     hand beneath her skirt, creeping toward her body.  "Yes?" she
     asked, lifting one eye brow.

          Reaching down with my free hand, I covered hers, still on my
     thigh, almost touching my cock, and reasoned, "Your fault,"
     nodding to her hand so close to my hardon.

          Surprised, she yanked her hand back and exclaimed, "Yikes!"
     And then, almost as quickly, laughed and ran the palm of her hand
     up my thigh, again brushing against my erect cock murmuring
     something like, "Geez, you are *always* horny, aren't you?"

          That rhetorical question didn't need an answer.  The lawyers
     have an expression for it, something like "res ipsa loquitur" or
     "the thing speaks for itself."  Instead, I turned my body
     slightly into her leg, pushing my hard cock to her hand and, at
     the same time, running my hand up to her crotch.  What?  No
     panties!  I touched the fur of her sex between the warm softness
     of her inner thighs, not the crotch of her panties as I'd
     anticipated. A thrill shot through me.

          Jean suddenly beamed, "That's right, big boy.  No panties.
     I gave them to you.  Just *me* there," and she leaned forward,
     laying her head on my chest, now blatantly holding my cock
     through the sheet.

          "Lie beside me for a moment, won't you Jean?" I asked,
     making room for her on the bed.  I smiled to myself, thinking of
     the expression that promised, "I'll only put it in a little way."

          "Only a moment," she whispered, turning her body and sliding
     down beside me, one leg thrown over my thigh, opening her crotch
     to my hand.

          I cupped her furry mons softly in one hand while cradling
     her head with my other, whispering, "Jean, thanks for last night.
     It was awesome.  I can't believe how hot it was, being sexual
     with you . . . even at long distance."

          She ran her hand down my forearm, I thought perhaps to pull
     my hand from her crotch, but she surprised me.  She curved her
     hand around mine and with her index finger, pushed my middle
     finger into the pulpy wetness of her pussy slit, arching her
     pelvis into my hand.  Her pussy was sopping and swollen and once
     again, I experienced the extraordinary thrill of feeling my
     finger slide into the heat of my sister's cunt.

          "Yes, Billy . . . yes.  Touch me.  Feel me.  Feel my
     wetness." Wiggling closer to me, she continued, "I'm melting
     inside.  This is *so* sweet."

          As I slid my finger slowly in and out of her pussy, she
     rocked her hips against me, still pushing my hand against her
     sex, now grunting a little with each thrust.

          "I wanted this so much last night, Billy.  After we hung up,
     I masturbated . . . it seemed like hours.  I came and then came
     again.  I kept coming until . . . I guess I just passed out. God
     I was horny!"

          "Was?"

          "*Am*, you jerk!  Am horny."  And then she murmured
     something so soft I couldn't make it out.

          "What?  What'd you say, girl?  Can't hear you."

          She murmured again, slightly louder but all I could hear was
     "finger . . . " something or another.

          Running my tongue into her ear, I again whispered, "What
     babe? What'd you say?  Tell me what you want.  Say it out loud."

          Then, as if we were in a crowded room and she wanted only me
     to hear, she put her hand to her cheek and whispered in my ear,
     "Finger . . . finger fuck me, Billy.  Please, I need it."

          "Yes-s-s," I hissed, cupping her sex in the palm of my hand,
     my middle finger curling up under her pelvic bone, searching for
     her G-spot.

          As she grunted her pleasure, she began writhing on the bed,
     hunching against my hand, rubbing her body against mine.  I could
     feel the fullness of her breasts as her torso twisted against me.
     Pulling back to free myself from her leg, I threw my right leg
     over her body as she turned, first into me and then prone,
     continuing to hunch against the sheets.

          I ran my hand down over her buttocks, catching the hem of
     her skirt and pulling it up to her waist as she lifted up,
     freeing the front of it.  I palmed her butt in my hand and
     whispered, "Christ Jean, I love feeling your ass."

          "Oh, Billy!  Don't stop touching me.  I'm so itchy in there.
     I *need* you there."

          Pulling myself up a bit, I ran my hand between her legs from
     the back, feeling the swollen and open pussy lips.  She moaned
     and pushed her hips back to meet me as I slipped the thumb of my
     right hand into her pussy, cupping her mons and clit with my
     fingers, slowly rocking.

          "Yes!  Right there.  Right *there*!" she exclaimed with an
     explosive deep, grunting voice, thick with passion.

          Pulling her elbows under her, she pushed her chest off the
     bed as she pulled her knees under her pelvis, assuming a stance
     of supplication.  Now her backside was completely bared, her
     skirt up over her back and her ass arched high in the air.  I
     kneeled beside her, still holding her cunt in my hand, still
     fucking her with my thumb.

          Her head was down on the sheet, turned toward me but mostly
     obscured by her hair.  She was groaning and murmuring
     incoherently.  I enjoyed the power of making her voice her desire
     out loud.  "What Jean? What do you want?  Say the words."

          Barely louder and still incoherent, she continued an
     entreaty in a near sing-song voice, still rocking back against my
     hand.

          "Say it Jean.  I want to hear the words."

          Throwing her head to toss her hair out of her eyes, she
     looked at me with eyes almost crazed in passion and said quite
     distinctly and slowly, "Fuck - me - with - your - hand.    Fuck -
     me - Billy."  Then, dropping her forehead to the bed again, she
     groaned, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME."

          Driven by my own lust and given approval by the force of her
     thrusts back against my hand, I picked up the speed and depth of
     my thumb fucking.  With her knees pulled up beside her chest and
     her back arched, her ass cheeks were full open, exposing her pink
     bung hole to my stare.

          God!  Her ass hole, exposed, open and vulnerable to me!  The
     place I'd dreamed about and had glimpsed just a few times before.
     I placed the tip of my left index finger right below her anus and
     then as I continued to thrust my right thumb into her cunt, I ran
     my left fingertip around the edge of her ass hole with a
     feather-light touch, teasing.

          Again she groaned, "Billy . . . Billy . . . what are you
     *doing*?"

          Pushing the pulp of my finger tip against her puckered anus,
     I said, "I'm fucking you, Jean.  I'm fucking you and touching
     your ass hole.  Can you feel me?"

          She gasped, "I can't believe this.  I just can't believe
     what's happening.  I don't even know what I'm feeling, but it's
     incredible, it's wonderful.  Oh, I want it, I* want* it!"

          Dropping a dollop of my saliva on her ass hole, I again
     pushed my finger tip against her sphincter muscle.  It resisted
     for just a little while and then began to soften.  My finger tip
     dilated her ass hole a fraction.  Again, she pushed back against
     my hand, against my finger.

          "Yes, yes, yes . . . whatever you're doing . . . yes!" she
     chanted into the bed as I fucked her with my fingers, humping
     myself against her hip. I lost sense of time.  The sensations
     went on an on, building, cresting, overflowing and then she
     shrieked.  No words.  Just an explosive shriek. Then she suddenly
     became still save the shuddering of her body and with another
     eruptive grunt, she screamed, "Coming . . . coming . . . God,
     God, God . . . oh shit, shit, shit . . . I'm coming!"

          Jean had once told me how hypersensitive her pussy feels
     after she's had an orgasm, so I had presence of mind to slow
     down, then stop, but leaving my thumb buried deep in her cunt
     with my fingertip just nudging into her ass hole.  We stayed
     frozen there, suddenly silent save our gasping for long minutes.

          I was aware.  In *that* moment, right there, right then, I
     was aware.  I had a startling clarity of us and the moment.  I
     could feel our breathing and our sweaty bodies.  I could smell
     the heady scent of Jean filling the room and my head with her
     essence.  I felt my cock, still hard, pressing against her thigh
     and the coolness of the morning breeze drying the wetness of our
     bodies.  Me naked, Jean with her skirt pulled up, nude from the
     waist down and my fingers in her.

          Then, I slowly pulled my thumb from her and she gasped, "Oh,
     no." Pulling her down with her back to me, I curled around her,
     holding her tight against my chest, by hips against her ass and
     my legs curled into the crook of her legs.  I petted her and I
     crooned into her hair, Oh, baby . . . that was . . . that was
     indescribable.  I have no words.  I simply can't tell you . . . I
     was just blown away.  I love you, babes. I love you more than I
     can say . . . more than you know."


     END 14
