

     MY SISTER JEAN

     BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)

     _________________________________________________________________
     



     Chapter 7  --  Jean's Backside



          The long ride home from our camping trip - after Jean had
     peed in front of me on the hiking trail and then later had peed
     through her panties onto my lap - marked a major departure from
     our previous behaviors.  We'd both confessed our thoughts and
     previous sexual behavior, including those we secretly regarded as
     kinky if not downright bizarre  -  our fascination with peeing.

          How freeing it was to discover in her the same kinkiness.
     You see, I loved my sister as a warm and kind person who
     possessed those estimable traits of honesty and caring and living
     in the present.  Two years older than me, Jean had always been a
     role-model for the principles of living.  So, if she had the same
     sexual interests at me, I reasoned, it must be okay.  As it
     turned out, the external validation given to me then helped me in
     the more important internal validation I was to develop as a
     young man.

          The heat of the moment, coupled with our growing trust in
     each other, enabled us to surrender to our affection and our
     lust. Confessing, as I did - that I wanted her to pee on me  -
     Jean just laughed and went for it with her customary enthusiasm
     and verve.  Then, as she was straddling my lap, her body pressed
     against mine, my face between her breasts and her pee leaking
     into my lap . . . I blurted out a truth that surprised both of
     us.  I told her that I wanted to fuck her.


                           * * * * * * * * * * * *


          Holding her arms about my head, pulling me to her warm
     breasts, she remained quiet for a little while and then murmured
     softly, "Billy, I've never done it, and as much as I think I want
     to right now . . . I'm not ready."

          Her refusal didn't surprise me.  My asking is what surprised
     me.  I didn't respond.  She hadn't expected me to.

          "And if I were ready, Billy . . . I'm not at all sure that I
     should be thinking about doing it with *you*.  Our fooling around
     -  the stuff we've done - that's enough for me now.  I love you a
     lot and I don't want to do anything I'll really regret."

          Then, as if to check-in with me, she leaned back and looked
     into my eyes, "Does that make sense?"

          Embarrassed at my impetuous outbreak, I mumbled, "Yeah . . .
     I guess so . . . sure."  And then with a little more feeling, I
     added, "I wasn't really *asking* you to . . . to do it, Jean . .
     . I was just telling you how I felt, that's all."

          That moment of discomfort  -  the fear of having gone too
     far  - passed quickly.  Laughing, Jean climbed off my lap and
     then stood there awkwardly, slightly bent, legs apart and looking
     down at the wet patch than defined her bottom and part way down
     her bare legs.  Pinching the edge of her shorts between her thumb
     and index finger, pinky out, she pulled the material away from
     her hip and shook her leg as she said, "Ech . . . doing it was a
     lot more fun than sitting in it."

          Then, pointing at my wet lap, she giggled.  Jean laughs,
     she chortles, she occasionally guffaws but she doesn't giggle . .
     .  or at least until now. A giggle, a little girlish giggle is
     the best description of the sounds she made as she pointed to my
     soaked jeans.

          We both dug into our packs and slipped into some dry shorts.
     Ever watchful, I noticed that Jean didn't bother with underpants.
     I was acutely aware that my soft-spoken, conservative sister was
     climbing into the 4X4 wearing only a thin T-shirt and hip-hugger
     shorts . . . already pulled up into the crack of her butt.

          "Nice butt, Sis!"

          Looking back at me she smiled, "Glad you like it, bro.  I
     got these shorts with you in mind, but I didn't think I'd ever
     wear  em."

          She stood there, one foot inside the Scout, like mounting a
     horse, the step-up was so high.  The crotch of her shorts were
     pulled into her ass cheeks.  Posing for a moment, looking over
     her shoulder at me, she grinned that devilish grin that told me
     all was not-as-it-appeared on the surface.

          My head tilted, as if to appraise her better, I added, "You
     know Sis, your hips and butt may be your best feature."

          Pulling her foot back down, Jean stood up straight.  Or
     nearly straight  - she'd stuck her behind out a little at my
     provocative observation.  Still looking over her shoulder, she
     slowly bent her arms at the elbows and hooked her thumbs into the
     tops of her shorts at the hips.  She posed that way for a long
     few seconds, palms toward me and fingers splayed.  She looked at
     me as if to say, "So, do you want to see more?"

          My obvious answer was a broad grin as I vigorously nodded my
     head.

          Jean slowly pushed the hip-huggers down, revealing by inches
     the mounds of her ass cheeks.  She continued until her arms were
     straight and the waist of her shorts cut across the mid part of
     her buttocks, displaying the top part of the her ass crack.  With
     her thumbs, still stuck into her shorts and her fingers spread
     out  -  as if she were signaling someone behind her - she
     remained posed . . . bent over just slightly, her arms and hands
     framing her slim waist and the womanly flair of her hips.

          The sun was high and in front of her, making a soft halo of
     her hair and casting deep shadows around her ass.  Two dimples
     I'd never seen before, accented the shadows.

          Certainly, most delicious was her ass.  I'd not really
     noticed before, but she'd obviously been sun bathing wearing a
     thong bikini, for there was a narrow,  white band high across her
     hips and buttocks, with an inverted triangle of white ending in
     the top of her ass crack.  Her cheeks were tan as were her back
     and hips.  The small, untanned belt of white that ended as it
     dipped between her cheeks served to accent the saucy prominence
     of her butt.

          "I hoped you were an ass man, Billy.  I kinda like my own
     butt." Then, fishing for a compliment, she asked, "Do you like
     it?  Do you think it's sexy?"

          Then, marching in place, she pulled the tight shorts over
     her hips, wriggling to seat them properly before she jumped into
     the Scout, yelling, "Hey, dude!  Let's get truckin' . . . let's
     haul *ass*!"  She slid down in the seat, dissolving in gales of
     laugher at her own pun. "Haul ass . . . oh, I'm terrible."  More
     laughter.

          Jean's laughter is so infectious that I found myself
     laughing along with her, thinking, "Boy, this is fun and I'm not
     even sure what I'm laughing about."

          Adjusting my own shorts, I settled again into the driver's
     seat.  I checked her shorts and found that she'd buttoned only
     the lower buttons, leaving the soft curve of her belly uncovered.

          Back on the road, still relatively deserted, we sat silently
     for a little while, making eye contact frequently and smiling.
     We both knew that there had occurred yet another major shift in
     our relationship and were content to let things unfold.

          Swinging onto a larger and busier highway, now out of the
     mountains, I broke the silence this time and asked, "So, woman,
     what're *you* thinking this time?" reminding her of her own
     gambit.

          "What'll you give me if I tell you?" she countered.

          "Probably anything you want . . . but I ain't doin' the
     dishes for another week, no matter what you're thinkin'."  Then I
     offered, "Twenty-five cents?"

          "A quarter?!  That's all my thoughts are worth to you?
     Twenty-five cents!  Forget it."

          "Okay, okay.  A half dollar then, but you've got to do my
     laundry for me when we get back."

          "I'll clean *your* laundry," she threatened and then added,
     "Fifty cents and *you* do the laundry."

          Grudgingly and with a little whine I capitulated, "Well-l-l,
     only if you hand me the panties you're wearing . . . to wash of
     course."

          "You jerk!  You know I'm not wearing any . . . I watched you
     watching me.  But all right.  I'll give you my dirty underpants,
     you . . . you pervert!"

          Ignoring the insult, I said, "Well, let's get back to the
     topic."

          "What topic?"

          "Why, your butt.  That's the topic.  Remember?"

          "Oh yeah.  You were saying it's my best feature.  Really
     think so?"

          Diplomatically, I responded,  "I like *all* of you, but . .
     .," and then I paused, waiting for her recognition of my pun,
     "but".

          With a teasing frown she asked, "What do you mean, but'?  Or
     is that butt'?"  accenting the  'tt'' of butt.

          "In your case, Sis, it's  butt' or,  if you will,  ass,'"
     as I gave her my best Grouch Marx leer.

          She continued to fish.  "I can see why guys might like a
     girl's breasts, or her legs, because . . . well you know . . .
     but," and she laughed at herself, "but what's the big deal with a
     girl's behind?"

          Looking up to the heavens for guidance, I shrugged and said,
     "Jean, I don't understand any of this sex-attraction stuff.  I've
     given up trying to understand it.  It's just there.  I feel it.
     I experience it. That's all.  I just accept that I'm a horny guy
     and I don't even try to understand it any more. I like your butt
     . . .  No, I *love* your butt . . . your ass.  I like to watch
     your hips roll and your cheeks move when you walk.  I love the
     inverted heart shape of your ass when you bend over.  I adore the
     bottoms of your ass checks when I see them below your
     short-shorts.  I try to run the back of my hand across your
     bottom when I pass behind you, pretending it's accidental.  The
     back of my hand is acutely aware of the soft dip between your
     cheeks."

          Following such a strong start, I finished lamely with, "I
     don't know . . . I just like  em . . . and it gets me horny."

           A slight shift and lowering of her voice signaled a serious
     question.  I listened intently.  Actually, I'd come to listen to
     her with an intensity that was previously reserved for those
     times when *I* was talking.

          "I've heard that some girls . . . er, some people do it that
     way . . . uh . . . in the . . .you know . . . back there.  You
     ever done it that way, Billy?"

          Ass fucking?  Was *my* sister talking about ass fucking?  I
     was thunderstruck.

          "Me?  Me?  You gotta be kidin' . . . I've never done it
          *any* way!"

          Flustered, she spoke rapidly, correcting herself,  "Oh, I
     didn't mean . . . I didn't think you had . . . I mean . . . have
     you ever *thought* about it . . . about doin' it that way, I
     mean?   Back there?"

         She squirmed in her seat, not looking at me.  Had she looked,
     she might have noticed *my* squirming.  Whenever Jean hits my
     emotional bull's eye, I start to squirm, and she'd hit this one
     straight center. Nailed, as it were. Sure I'd thought about it .
     . . a lot . . . but I didn't think I *should* be thinking about
     such stuff.   (I was pushed around by those "shoulds" a lot in my
     young life.)

          "Uh . . . yeah . . . I've thought about it . . . I mean,
     I've thought about a lot of things."

          Uncharacteristically, Jean offered,  "Me too.  Tell me, what
     did you think about . . . uh . . . when you thought about doing
     it back there?"

          Back in my court again.   (Well, Billy, get honest.  She's
     making it easy for you . . . and *you* were the one trying to get
     her to talk dirty'.)

         "Gee, Sis . . . I don't know what to say . . . where to start
     . . . but, yeah - I've thought about it ever since I saw one a
     Dad's European dirty magazines.  It had lots of pictures of
     people doin' it . . . in the butt I mean. Since then, I've
     thought about it a LOT."

          "You have?  I mean, you've actually *seen* pictures of it?
     Wow! I've only heard about it . . . I've never seen a picture of
     it.  Can you show me? Gee, I'd give anything to see some
     pictures."

          Jean's enthusiasm once again put me at ease.  I'd swung from
     being hesitant about revealing one more kink and now here she
     was, more open about it than I was . . . and now I was swinging
     back to self revelation.

          "I'll either find Dad's, or I'll get some from the adult
     book store, Jean. Actually, I used to have a bunch, but I traded
     them for the peeing magazines that you discovered," and added
     with chagrin, " . . . in my most secret hiding place."

          "Oh, bitte, bitte, bitte," Jean sing-songed her Germanic
          entreaty.

          Plunging in again, I asked, "Is *your* ass erotic, Jean?  I
     mean, have you ever touched yourself there . . . er, does it feel
     good if you do touch yourself?"  (If I could ever learn to finish
     as strongly as I start . . .)

          Jean stared at me for a long moment.  He pale blue eyes
     glinted. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, wetting
     them and, as always, my eyes were drawn to her mouth.  Did she
     have any notion how erotic her mouth was?  I thought not.  But
     this was not some affected look, not some pretend stance.  Jean's
     interest was intense and real and right now.

         Licking her lips a second time, she started slowly, "When  I
     was a kid - (and that could be any age less than she was  that
     day) - when I was a little girl, I got sick and had a  tummy
     ache.  Mom decided I needed an (ugh) enema."

           "  Phu-leeze, Mother.  I don't need an enema,'  I cajoled."
     (She loved that word too.)   "Well, you know Mom.  I was
     protesting all the way to the bathroom. God!  I thought I'd die
     of embarrassment.  I knew no one was home but me and Mom and I
     was still dying. But Mom showed me no mercy.  Over her knees,
     pajamas down and K-Y to the butt - so fast I couldn't respond.
     Can you imagine that?" she inquired as it were the most
     impossible image in the world.

          My fertile - read dirty - mind didn't have any difficulty at
     all in imagining that.  "Yeah, Sis, I can imagine that."

          Not even pausing, she continued, "Mom slipped that hard
     nozzle into my butt . . . burrr . . . it was cold . . . but you
     know, it didn't hurt at all!  I just knew it was going to hurt
     like the dickens and it didn't hurt at all.  That really
     surprised me."

          Now, for the first time since starting this story, she
     grinned at me and went on, "No, what really surprised me was that
     it . . . it felt good!"

          And again she asked the rhetorical question, "Can you
     imagine that? I couldn't.  I mean, sticking something up your
     butt . . . how could *that* feel good . . . but it did, Billy, it
     did."

          "I remember . . ." I started to say but she continued,
     interrupting me. (Oh, now I get it. *She* wants to talk.)

          "Then, before I could even switch mental tracks, Mom started
     the warm water flowing.  She had ran the hot water tap in the
     bathroom until she got the temperature she wanted and then filled
     that huge water bag. Then she added something else from a bottle
     . . . I don't know what it was . . . and that's what I got.  I
     could feel the warmth flowing through me.  Mom must have done
     this when she was a nurse, cuz every time I started to get a
     cramp, she seemed to know it and clamped the tube.  I'd rest a
     few moments, and she'd start it again.  I was embarrassed and
     frightened and mad . . . all mixed in with the confusing feelings
     of liking the warmth and the fullness.  I didn't know what was
     going on."

          Jean took a big breath and then through pursed lips, blew
     it out slowly, looking out the window for a moment.  I knew
     enough to keep quiet.

          Turning back to me, she continued, now a little slower.  "I
     don't know how much she gave me - felt like gallons - but it
     probably wasn't . . . anyway . . . when I was all filled up I
     thought I was going to lose it and must have whimpered.  Mom
     said,  Now hold it.  Hold it in. I'm going to pull out the tube
     and I want you to lie down on the rug for a minute . . . just
     relax, okay?'

          "And I did . . . or at least, I didn't . . . you know, lose
     it or anything.  I'd forgotten how silly I must have looked,
     lying on the floor with my pj's around my knees and my fanny
     uncovered.  All I could think of was how full I felt and trying
     to keep myself clamped shut . . . so I wouldn't . . . uh . . .
     dribble?"  (She ended with her interrogative inflection again.)
     "And behind all that, there was a funny, sexy feeling."

          The direction of this conversation was getting to me.  My
     dick was stiffening again.  Just listening to Jean's story of her
     enema had me hot. Thinking of her cute butt and her rosebud
     asshole, filled with water . . . well . . .  I *told* you I was
     kinky!

          She continued, "The need to have a B.M. got stronger and
     stronger, Billy.  I told Mom I was going to have an accident if I
     couldn't go soon, so she let me get up and sit on the toilet.

          "Now, you must know that *no one* -  since I was a baby  -
     had stayed in the room with me when I moved my bowels, but I had
     to go so bad I probably wouldn't have stopped if *you* had walked
     in."  (As if I were the bathroom equivalent of the Queen Mary
     cruising through.)

          Running her hands up the inside of her thighs, she opened
     and then closed her legs.  She was clearly warming up to this
     story.

          She rushed on,  "It was one of the most delicious feelings
     in the world, Billy. Just letting myself go and expelling all
     that water . . . whew . . . it was like pooping and peeing and
     even coming . . . all at the same time.

          "I'm sure I got all red in the face . . . from pleasure I
     know now, but Mom asked,  You okay?'  I just couldn't tell her
     how OK I really was!"

          Now she laughed.  "Don't think I'm a closet enema freak,
     brother dear. I've only had a few in my life . . . but maybe not
     as many as I'd like. Anyway, that was the time when I realized
     that my behind was sensitive . . . I mean, like erotic, you
     know?"

          Sensing that she had touched on the main part of the story,
     I spoke again and asked, "Well, I can see that it excited you.
     Did you then start thinking of . . . butt fuckin'?"

          "Billy, most of the time I don't like that word . . .  fuck
     . . . or fucking . . . but when I'm talking with you . . . it has
     a juicy edge to it and it's OK. And yes, that's when I started
     thinking that if a enema tube felt good, then a finger or even .
     . . it's hard to say - even a dick would feel good . . . or even
     better."

          "We're just alike . . .we're two peas in a pod, Sis.  We
     both like peeing and now we're finding out that we *both* like
     anal things."

          She looked at me, one eyebrow arched as if to say, "Oh, is
     that right?"

          Hurrying to explain, I added, "I haven't had an enema or
     anything, but I've wondered about it."  Then, not looking at her,
     I went on, "Once I took Mom's enema nozzle - do you think it was
     the same one she used on you? - I took her nozzle and slipped
     into my own ass.  I was sitting on the toilet. I had just
     finished looking at one of Dad's dirty magazine  -  I'd sneaked
     it out again  -  and I was wondering how it would feel to me . .
     . having something up my butt.  So, I got the nozzle, put some
     K-Y on it and pushed it in my behind . . .slowly.  I don't know
     what it was . . . maybe just the thought of it . . . but anyway .
     . . I got a boner right away.  I jacked off, and like always, I
     was thinking of you, Sis . . . thinking of your ass while I was
     doin' it."

          There!  It was out.  Now Jean knew her perverted kid brother
     ass-fucked himself with a goddamn enema nozzle and fantasized
     about her. My face felt warm and I couldn't look at her.

          "Oh, Billy . . . that's hot!  That really gets me wet . . .
     hearing what you did . . . and that you thought of me while you
     were doin' it too.  Wow! You are somethin'."

          Emboldened again and ever pushing,  I asked, "So, tell me,
     my erotic sister . . . are we going to explore this new wrinkle .
     . . anal sex . . . or what?"

          I suppose it was idiotically tautological to add, " I'm
     game.   Are you?"

          "God, who knows with you, Billy?   Every time I think I've
     gone just about as far as I'll ever go . . . with you or anyone,
     you sorta nudge me along and before I know it, I'm right in the
     middle of something I didn't plan on."

          She placed her hand on my arm and added softly, "But Billy,
     you *know* I not really going to do it with *you* . . .still I'm
     open to talk about it with you."


     END 7
