

     MY SISTER JEAN

     BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)

     _________________________________________________________________
     _______ __


     Chapter 13  --  Safety of the Telephone


          I never imagined that she would do something so blatantly
     provocative and sexual as placing her soiled panties under my
     pillow. Oh, I knew what an emotional charge her panties were and
     I supposed I thought she didn't. Yet, it had all started with her
     panties.  Our first steps of this erotic journey were taken when
     I'd teased her about her soiled underpants.  We'd treated it in a
     lighthearted, teasing way since, even when I thought to myself,
     "She has no notion what a sexually provocative symbol her panties
     are for me." And, not wanting to reveal too much, to become too
     vulnerable, I never told her.  I never confessed what a
     gut-wrenching response her intimate apparel produced in me.  Or
     at least I didn't think I had.  In fact, I was acutely aware that
     the carelessness with which she had previously shown with her
     soiled undergarments had changed.  She no longer carelessly left
     them in the bathroom as before.  I had been unable to get my
     daily pheromone fix in months.  I assumed she had a hamper in her
     room, but I'd made a promise to myself that I wouldn't violate
     her privacy again.  So far, I'd been able to keep that promise.

          Now, suddenly finding this silken thing under my pillow,
     delicious memories and feelings came flooding back.  That she had
     called a few minutes before to tell me to look under my pillow
     carried so many messages.  Chief among those was, 'Let's play,
     Billy.'

          We'd recently given ourselves permission to be more honest
     and open about our sexual feelings for each other and, at the
     same time, admitting our fears, had agreed not to have sex.
     'God, what does that mean?' I wondered.  'Not having sex.'  Just
     what is  'not having sex' anyway?  By my lights, we'd  'had sex'
     several times.  Oh, we hadn't done the dirty deed, but if what
     we'd experienced wasn't having sex, then what is?  We'd been
     thrown together several times, picked up and tossed about by
     forces whose strength awed us.  Each time that happened, we had
     withdrawn, shaken and dazed, wondering,  'Where is this going?'

          Touching the black silk of  Jean's "unmentionables"  I was
     thrilled. She'd worn these.  Recently.  They'd been on her body.
     On her butt. Between her legs!  My resolves were fading away.
     It's true, I thought, My dick has no conscious.'

          Flattening the crotch of her panties, I studied it.  They
     were slightly damp to the touch.  On the periphery of the damp
     spot was a faint whitish dry area.  I'd seen that before.  Her
     essence, right there.

          Looking closely, I found a few curly hairs.  Yes!  Pubic
     hair!  A thrill shot through me and another ratchet of my madness
     slipped.  I was teasing myself.  Delighting myself.  This slow,
     measured -- even controlled unfolding of a treasure -- heightened
     my arousal.

          I kept for last the real prize, the scent.  I was already
     dizzy with desire and hard with my lust.  Bringing the panties to
     my face, I slowly inhaled, allowing her intimate fragrance to
     titillate my olfactory senses.  The seductive power of her scent
     ripped through me, much like a whiff of ammonia.  I felt it climb
     up into my nose, seeming to pass through some impossible route,
     directly into my frontal cortex. I fell back, clutching her
     panties to my nose, unthinking, a mass of jangling, unstable
     sexual neurons, randomly discharging like some mad fireworks
     display.  I was gone.  I never had a chance.

          Then I opened the note.  There was only one line.  It said:
     "I want to do it with you . . . on the phone."

          I shoved my arms between my legs, humping against myself as
     I curled up in a fetal ball.  No question.  I was just gonna die!

          A little while later -- seemed like days -- the phone rang
     again. Almost in a stupor I answered, "Jean?"

          She laughed and then in that breathy voice characteristic of
     her excitement, she said, "You found them.  What do you think?"

          "That I've died and gone to heaven.  Besides that, I can't
     think at all. What're you *doing* to me?"

          "Remember we said we'd explore things with each other?"

          "Sure.  But we didn't."

          "Well, I don't know about you, big boy, but I've been
     afraid."

          "Of me?" I asked.

          "Partly that, I guess."  She paused, and then added, "But
     more of me."

          Not attempting to *act* dumb, I said, "I don't understand."

          "I didn't suppose you would.  We think differently, you and
     me.  I suppose it may be a 'girl thing' but anyway . . . to be
     honest, you have some power over me . . ."

          I interrupted, "I have power over YOU?  Come ON Jean.
     You're the one with the power.  You should see me right now.  I'm
     almost twitching!"

          "Good," she laughed.  But it's true.  Feel however you want,
     when you turn on the current, I'm a goner, so this is the only
     way I feel safe relating to you.  Sexually, I mean."

          "Phone sex?  Jean, you mean we live in the same house, right
     next to each other and we're . . . we're reduced to phone sex?"

          "Pretty kinky, huh?  I thought you'd like it.  It *is* all
     right, isn't it, Billy?"

          "Jean, if it were the only way I could talk with you, I'd
     get off on your smoke signals!  Actually, it *is* kinky and
     you're right, it appeals to me. Safe, isn't it?"

          "That's it!  That's the point of it, brother mine.  Because
     I've been afraid of you and more, afraid of myself, I've been
     inhibited, even withdrawn around you.  I've been afraid to tell
     you what I'm feeling and particularly afraid of allowing myself
     to get turned on around you. This way, I figure we can open up
     with each other, do anything we want and no matter how crazy we
     feel, how crazy we get, we're safe."

          "Jean, you're so cerebral.  You're so well-thought-out.
     What're you gonna be, a college professor or somethin'?"

          "I didn't leave my panties under your pillow and then call
     you to talk about college, stud muffin.  I want to know this: Is
     it true that boys get really hot when they smell a girl's . . .
     uh, underwear?"

          I'd stripped for action -- whatever I thought that might
     have been -- and was wearing only an old sleeveless sweat shirt.
     I had wrapped her panties around my erect cock; just the dusky
     head of my dick was poking out.  "If you could see me now, Jean,
     it'd answer that question."

          "Tell me.  Tell me, Billy!"

          "Jean, you must know.  When I first saw them there, I became
     excited. Right away.  Touching them, feeling them, got me more
     turned on.  But what nudged me over was the smell of you.  I
     don't know what that is, but it just jolts me.  Anyway, I'm
     laying here, horny and hard and I've wrapped your panties around
     my hardon.  It's all I can do to resist stroking myself and
     coming right now!"

          "I *thought* you liked me . . . that you liked the smell of
     me, but I wasn't sure.  You know what it's like, don't you?  I
     mean, we get all sorts of messages . . . like it's dirty down
     there . . . things like that.  And I *know* it's not dirty, but
     still . . ."

          I didn't want to talk about "messages."  I wanted to get
     sexy with this woman, so I told her what I was thinking.  "Jean,"
     I began -- I often addressed her by name when I wanted to make a
     point -- "right now, in my mind, I have a fantasy about you."

          She whispered, "Oh, yes!  Tell me."

          "You're standing on my bed.  I'm looking up at you.  We
     don't talk. I ask you with my eyes.  You slowly pull up your full
     skirt.  First I can see your thighs.  Then your panties.  Your
     legs are apart.  You step over me and I'm looking right up into
     you."

          "God!  I love the thought of you looking at me . . . looking
     under my dress . . . at my panties.  I'm *such* an exhibitionist!
     Geez, I'm getting wet."

          Slowly stroking myself, I close my eyes and let the imagery
     flow, giving voice to the cine in my head.  "You squat a little,
     right over my head, closer and closer.  Then you pull the crotch
     of your panties up into your pussy, into your slit.  I can see
     your pussy lips, Jean"

          "Yes . . . yes . . . I can see it too.  I've dreamed of
     doing something like this . . . so slutty . . . I can't believe
     myself.  God, I'm getting hot!"

          "I can see your pussy hair, Jean . . . the curls, the wet
     curls . . . you're wet, Jean!"

          "No, I'm SOAKING!  It's running out of me."

          "Pulling your panties back and forth through your pussy
     slit, you slowly squat lower and lower.  I can see the stitching
     of your panties, you're so close.  Now I can hear you . . . smell
     you."

          "Listen to this, Billy."

          And then I could hear a wet, squishy sound.  Jean was
     masturbating and I guess, holding the phone by her crotch.
     Farther away, I could hear her moaning.  Then closer, she added,
     "Can you hear that?"  Do you know what that is?  That's me.
     That's how wet I am."

          We were two trains running.  Me with a monologue of my
     imagery, she commenting on my words.  Neither could be derailed
     at this moment.

          "You yank your panties aside and I can see into you . . .
     right into your pink, swollen, wet cunt!  You're drooling.  I can
     see pussy juice running back into the crack of your ass . . .
     down your thigh."

          "Ungh . . . I love it . . . I love it.  I'm so loose, so
     open . . . keep talking to me, Billy.  Please, please . . . don't
     stop."

          "You spread your pussy lips apart and lower yourself closer
     to me. All I can see is your pussy hair, your open cunt . . . wet
     and swollen and open for me."

          "Ungh . . . ungh . . . I'm gonna come, Billy.  Gonna come .
     . ."

          "Your legs are weakening.  You're sinking lower.  Your pussy
     is right above my mouth.  Your juice is dripping onto my lips."

          She had stopped talking.  All I could hear was a rhythmic
     grunting. "Ungh . . . ungh . . ." that I recognized at the
     involuntary sounds Jean made approaching her orgasm.  She wasn't
     alone.

          "I reach up with the tip of my tongue and run it up through
     your slit. It's coated with your juices.  I touch your clit.  You
     sink onto my mouth.  I fuck my tongue into your cunt . . . I
     smell your musty smell!"

          Jeans' grunting ran into an explosive sound . . . then a
     long breath followed by a protracted moan that tailed off to a
     thin wail, "Come . . . coming, Billy . . . coming."

          Then all I could hear was her breathing.  I hadn't come.

          I was surprised.  I was so excited and so hot.  I couldn't
     believe that I was still hanging there.  Actually, it wasn't the
     feeling of hanging at all.  It was more like drifting along on
     some sexual plateau of heightened sensitivity, heightened
     awareness.  I didn't feel frustrated or unfulfilled.  I just felt
     good.

          I'd heard from Jean once that girls complained that guys got
     their's and then just rolled off, leaving them frustrated and not
     knowing how to ask for more.  Well, I'm so self-absorbed that I
     didn't want to be known as a jack rabbit.  I wanted to be viewed
     as the consummate lover. (Never having even done it yet!)  I'd
     started trying to hold off my orgasm when I masturbated, to
     stretch it out.  It went from impossible to difficult at first.
     But I was willing to practice. Every day!  I was dedicated that
     way.  After awhile, I came to enjoy those sexual plateaus.  At
     times, I could extend them so long, I'd just slide back down the
     other side without having come.

          I just did it again.

          "You there, Billy?"

          "Boy, am I!"

          "Whew.  That was something!  That was *more* than I imagined
     it might be.  It was wonderful.  I LOVED it!"

          A bit late, I asked, "What're you wearing, Jean?"

          She laughed and said, "I thought that's what you asked me at
     the *beginning*."

          "I'm just wearing a sweat shirt."

          "Me too!  One of your old ones.  But right now it's up in my
     armpits. I'm holding my . . . myself.  My fingers are all wet.
     God, the smell in here. *You'd* love it!"

          "You have panties there?" I asked.

          "Uh, sure . . . oh, there they are.  They're on the floor
     where I threw them."

          "Do me a favor?"

          "God, anything."  Then laughing, "Well, almost anything."

          "Use your panties.  Wipe yourself.  Wipe up your juices with
     em . . . stuff  em into your pussy.  Then give them to me
     tomorrow, okay?"

          "God, you are *such* a horn dog, Billy!"

          "Will you, Jean?"

          "Of course I will.  You must know it thrills me that you
     want to smell me."

          "That's not all that I want to do."

          "Yeah, yeah.  We both know about that.  And so do I.  You
     know that too.  But you also know how I feel about it.  As much
     as I want to do it with you, I'm not gonna.  That's why I'm here
     and you're there!  I almost expect you to crawl through the phone
     wire and come out through the receiver. 'Night, Billy.  I love
     you."

          "Good night, babes.  Remember the panties!"


     END 13

