RISKY AND RISQUÉ

by Holly Rennick

Special Bonus: A Guide for Reading Groups, by Cindi Barton

AUTHOR'S NOTES

What makes a verbal image stick?  If I knew, I wouldn't need to keep writing.  The paragraph that follows was just a passing allusion in "Writers' Forum", a tale where I rambled rather too much, I fear.  But to me, the image lingers longer than its 42 words.

"Debbie was Miss Assurance.  'My folks don't even hear our double dates, side by side when they think we're playing Risk.  The boys like it when us girls hold hands, but we like it even more, right Heather?  We play my transistor.'"

The image wouldn't be the same if they were playing Parcheesi.

The genesis of the story you're about to read is two girls and their boyfriends playing a board game.  The game board illustrated at http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Risk_Board.jpg gives you some sense of the Parker Brothers 1959 world.

So is there a tie between "risky" and "risqué"?  They come from the same French.

The word "risk" you know.

   I dropped my pencil in front of his desk.  I'll need to bend way over to pick it up.  Damn!  I should have worn a bra today.  Or at least not this scoop neckline.  It's so loose.  Maybe he'll keep reading.

And "risqué"?

   Oh, my, my, my!  Excuse me.  I think I dropped my pencil.  I'll have to pick it up now.  I'm so sorry!

There's risk in most everything we do, especially anything risqué.  Something that satisfies is usually a balance between problematic possibilities and cautious alternatives.  Either extreme probably gets you nowhere.  If you did well and were offered a free replay from the same starting point with the same potential for surprises, you might fine-tune a few details, but overall you'd play it much the same.

So let's say you're a male teacher wanting female companionship.  They'll be risk involved if it gets risqué.  Consider these options.

   (1) Be chaste.  You'll have more time to bowl and maybe say hi to Ladies League foursome in the next lane.

   (2) Make yourself advisor to the school rally squad.  They're catty, pushy, insecure, half of them thinking it would be so cute to have a little baby.  OK, they do have great bodies and probably know more about sex than you do if you're a teacher.

   (3) Take out a female faculty member who's interesting, discreet and a quick study.  She wants to do it, but you'll need to coax.  Try flowers.  Read a book that you can discuss.  Not by John Grisham.  Compliment her on her dress.  If you get it off, don't wad it up.

Luck?  You might have bowled 300.  The cheerleader captain's folks might be out of town.  The teacher might have worn her risqué silk blouse to let you know.  But you still need to help things happen.  Eyes on the pins.  Tell the rally girl that you're not sure if she's passing.  Start with the buttons and see if she tenses up.

Risk isn't black or white.  Jargon like "exceedance probability" and such criteria as "maxi-min vs. mini-max-regret" help in the formalization, if you even care.  We have our individual preferences. (Honest, those last terms come out of "Decision Analysis", nothing at all to do with feminine products.)

Couldn't care less?  Here's a story.  Meet James.

THE BOARD GAME

For me and my sister, the board game was where we'd deal every backstab, assault and annihilation the other ever deserved.  Siblings have years of injustice to avenge.

As the game touts, "Risk.  Isn't it about time you ruled the world? In this combat classic, all you need to do is plan carefully, make decisions quickly and move boldly.  The object is to conquer all 42 territories on the board, thus eliminating your opponents.  You'll use dice and cards to shape the size, strength and locations of your troops, but it's up to you to make strategic decisions that'll keep you on the march.  You must launch daring attacks, defend yourself on all fronts, and sweep across vast continents with boldness and cunning.  But remember, the dangers, as well as the rewards, are high.  Just when the world is within your grasp, your opponent might strike and take it all away!  2-6 Players."

Being Claire's little brother posed many difficulties in my life's march, not the least being that every September I'd get her teacher from last year.  "Oh, James Cronan.  Claire's brother!  You look just like her, such a model student."

At least me being now fifteen, I was as big.  I could (as I freely informed her) sock her in the jaw.  But the real way to take a sister down a notch is to do it in her territory -- not by left hook, but by brain.  Take a few risks and level her!  And, heck, why'd I want to hit my sister?

The board game was our battlefield.  Watching her armies mass on my borders, I'd fortify and hit her from behind.  Here are a few pretty good strategies:

   The road to victory almost always starts in the Southern Hemisphere.  Take Australia and pile your power in Siam.  Or conquer South America and fortify its two gateways.

   Leave Asia alone until you have enough troops to do real damage.  One large attack is better than several medium sized probes.

   It's no use conquering a continent you can't hold.

We'd set up in Claire's room and yell battle threats until Mom would call up to hush us.

Of course, Risk is better with more players.  Another player cripples the defense of a country you covet and you then sweep in to claim it.  You can form alliances, spoken or unspoken.  It's somewhat safer to be weak, even, when people gang up on the leader.

We'd recruit the McCarthy kids, Dorrie and Dennis.  Dorrie was in Claire's class and Dennis was a year older.  Being fifteen and having an acquaintance (brother of sister's friend, actually, but we were friends, too) with wheels was fairly cool.  The McCarthy's lived just two houses down and our families did lots together.  Both dads worked at the Ford plant and both moms drank coffee.

It's hard to be to social friends with a girl a year older, but Dorrie and I were at least good neighbors.  We'd talk when she'd come over to hang out with Claire.  I might even tag along with the two if they ventured where a little brother (who was as big, but that didn't count) wouldn't diminish their status.  I couldn't go with them to the drugstore, but could come along to pick apples.

Sometimes when the Cronan-McCarthy's played Risk, Dorrie and I would battle for the North American, South American, African half of the world while Claire and Dennis would vie for Europe, Asia and Australia.  The winners would face off globally.  But if Dorrie and I were thinking, one of us would swarm Europe from Iceland or North Africa while the other crossed the Bering Sea into Kamchatka.  Bye, bye, big sister and brother!

Actually, I always wanted to team up with Dorrie.  I knew every bra she owned by its back.  (Boys of my age find such things risqué, anyway.)   Plus I'd seen down her neck enough times to know most by their fronts.  One reason that I liked to play Risk with her was how much she'd lean over.

Fifteen-year-olds can get very horny about an older girl, especially one who plays you like a piano.

PIANO

If Dorrie came over and Claire was still in the bathroom, she might kill time with me in the living room.  My teacher had me working on "Duets from the Fabulous 50's", lame arrangements, but "Just Walkin' in the Rain" beat playing another sonata.  Dorrie was the better pianist and we could rock if we both knew the tune.

Kids, of course, like to complicate things.  Rather than Dorrie's two hands on the upper register and mine on the lower, how duets are arranged, we'd try it with alternate hands: my left pounding the bass notes, her left catching the next span, my right going for the lower high notes, and her right doing the musical fluff at the top.  Mistakes made it all the more fun.

The serendipitous part for a guy came in running my right hand up the keyboard while Dorrie's left ran downward.  By the time I was an octave above Middle C and she was an octave below, I'd be against her chest, not only touching, but bouncing her tit with the sixteenth notes.  Her breast reminded me of a half-apple.

The first time, I assumed that we'd promptly rearrange our parts or at least I'd have to make my right arm go over, not under, hers.  Less propensity for titillation.  But as it was only the edge of my arm perhaps, she let it go.  She knew what was happening, though, how I'd cock my elbow to best advantage.  Probably me being just her girlfriend's little brother helped out.  I was safe.

Lots of guys would chicken out, her being older.  But not me.  If I weren't good, she not have let me do it to her.

If Mom came in the room, Dorrie would disengage.  If it were just my sister, however, Dorrie would have us do the refrain again until I could see my boner, but couldn't cross my legs.  I'm sure she noticed.  If I gave Dorrie a good finale, both girls would be grinning.

She'd bet that I couldn't play a refrain by memory.  To test me, she'd stand behind the bench and cover my eyes, my hair touching her chest.  Or she'd have us try duets, me doing the bottom and top, her doing the middle hands.  She'd sit on my lap where I could hardly see the score.  I hoped her butt couldn't tell, especially when she'd be on me dead center.  Claire would kibitz that we still didn't have it right.

MADAGASCAR

I didn't even know that Claire and Dennis were dating.  He was just a neighbor and she was just my sister.  The fact that he'd pick her up in his jalopy didn't seem significant.  But looking down from my window one evening and watching them kiss told me otherwise.

It was evidence on her that I might need to nullify evidence she might have on me.  For example, let's suppose something like that she knew I jacked off.  Actually, why suppose?  She just seemed to know what I was doing in my bed and, loud as could be, once called through my door, "Hey, James, Madagascar's always fun."  I froze, cock straight out, and forgot to catch the mess in my sock.  Why Madagascar?  I don't know, but maybe because in Risk it sort of looks like my you-know-what.

When we resumed our Risk contest the next night after homework, Claire threw endless cavalry at my hardly-defended African island.  It made no sense strategically until she triumphed, "Surrender, Madagascar," when it fell.

She didn't say anything more through my door, but when I thought of her saying it, I'd shoot my sheet too often.  It being Claire's job to start the laundry, she'd check.  I knew it.  So then I'd look at my sheet and wonder what she'd think and need to do it again.  

I don't know what she told her friend, but next time we played four-way, Dorrie said the same "Surrender, Madagascar" to me and they laughed.  Dorrie and I were even working together, more or less, except for her sally.  What made it not a total loss was that in doing so, she'd leaned over Africa enough times that I'd seen both sides of her bra.  "Surrender, Western United States and Eastern United States," I'd wanted to respond.

I'd got somewhat adept at hearing Dennis drop off Claire after a school dance, or whatever.  I never went to those things.  If I got to my window in time, I'd catch their goodnight before hearing Claire thump up the stairs.  I guess she thumped to tell the folks that she was home within the allotted time.

It's not that I could see a lot when they said goodnight.  Being her brother, I'm not sure that I wanted to, though of course I tried.  It made sense that they'd like to kiss.  I was a little more surprised that she let him feel her up, but I'd doubt that he was getting in her sweater.   I'd seen the white of her bra.   Getting her bra off or reaching up her skirt didn't seem like what a neighbor would be doing, though.

But then one Saturday, not three minutes after thumping up, Claire tapped on my door.

"James?" just a whisper

"I'm sleeping."

"It's me," again hardly audible.

I secured my PJ fly and let her in.

"Here's the plan," as if I'd agreed to something.  "Follow me and hook the latch behind me, in case Dad checks.  Then at 1:30, come down again and undo it."

I looked at her, little-brother blankly.  Whatever for?

"You can stay awake that long, right?" she asked, as if my hesitation related to needing my sleep.

"What for?" I verbalized.

She looked at me and grinned.  "For the rest of my date, dummy!"

I must have still looked dumb.

"I'm sixteen," she justified.  Then my sister did the most surprising thing.  She pooched and nailed me with a kiss, not just a regular sister peck, but a smooch that ended with an extra tongue in my mouth.

"Hey, don't," I objected, but didn't reject her proof of being sixteen.

"Like it?" registering my compliance.  "Well you just make sure for shit the door's unlocked at 1:30."  She thought a minute.  "It's kinda like in Risk how you don't defend borders with your ally.  Want another kiss for good luck?"

I guess I did like it.

"Do me a Madagascar and tell me tomorrow," she giggled, after Frenching me for practice.

Anyway, I did take care of the door and heard neither Dennis' car nor Claire on the stairs.  Fortunately she never asked if I did a Madagascar for her.  Maybe that's why I didn't hear anything.

*****

After that Saturday, I more-or-less was door boy.  Sometimes I'd masturbate, just thinking about her and Dennis.  I had no idea how far they were going, but it was far enough to make risk-taking worthwhile.

Sometimes Claire would give me one of her kisses, not as practice, but just because she was in a good mood.  My tongue in her mouth seemed to make her mood even better.  For never having made out, I was pretty good, she agreed.  She didn't seem to mind if her breast would touch me.  I liked that part especially.

Not long thereafter, we were playing two-person Risk on her floor, her artillery in the process of rolling over the scant defense of my Asian overextension.  "You're cool, James," as Afghanistan fell.

"So at least leave me Africa," I suggested, knowing she disliked ending games too quickly.  Staged decimation in stages was her preference.

"You keep it," she agreed, ending her attack with the Middle East.  "Phoobah of Madagascar," she proclaimed, then dropping her voice to a whisper, "You knows about me; me knows about you."

She was sitting like Dorrie would, neckline showing what I knew to be an A cup from her underwear drawer.  Her bras and Dorrie's, I knew them all.  I even knew that they'd traded one time.

I must have looked too innocent, a look I was prone to affect if I feared that guilt might broadcast on my forehead like an RCA.  This was her bra with the lace trim, the one that she wore to the Autumn Skies Dance in the gym.

"Good ol' Madagascar," she giggled, calling my bluff and diving over the game board to topple me backwards.  The game description does mention, "making decisions quickly and moving boldly."

 "The pieces," I objected, forgetting bosom infatuation and unsuccessfully trying to stay on my elbows.  "We'll never..."

I hadn't time to finish.  Her tongue was already in my mouth and her breasts were pressing my chest.  "Come on, Jamsie, let's go.  You know how."

I struggled to get her off, but once she teased my mouth open, she'd all but conquered.  If I'd rolled her over, a reverse we'd call it in wrestling, I'd have had to decide what to do.  Maybe kiss her until she said uncle.  I let her pin me.

"Madagascar!" she triumphed, still on top, attacking my tongue until my boner was firm against her pedal pushers.  She knew exactly what she was doing with her leg.  And like the Phoobah of Madagascar, I let her.

Realizing that I was no longer pushing her off, "Wow!" she whispered, her voice secreted in the clamor of combatant lust.  It didn't occur to me that such might be a claim of victory.  If she felt "Wow" about me, why fight it?  I felt rather "Wow!" myself, pushing up, liking how she pushed down to help.

Her on me, we lay together, kissing so we didn't have to talk while we rubbed legs.

The next morning, "Wow!" she whispered in front of the bathroom.  Then she reverted to big sister.  "How'd Madagascaring go afterwards, Jamsie?"

She deserved the left hook I'd warned her about, but she pre-empted me with a kiss too quickly.  Both breasts as well and she was still in her pajamas.

RISK FOR FOUR

It was the middle of the week when the McCarthy two came over.  We'd convinced our respective parents that we'd completed our schoolwork, so they could stay till 9:30.  Dennis had the A&W and Claire had the popcorn when the four of us repaired to Claire's floor, Risk's established venue.

Being junior, life's fate, I had to set up the board and distribute thirty infantry to each player.  But, ha!  I won the die, selected red and put an army in Western Australia.  After we claimed our dominions, I shuffled, let Claire cut and took first draw.

World dominion, here we come!  Knowing that I'd have first move, Dorrie without hesitation gave Eastern Australia just a token army.  I picked off New Guinea from Dennis.  As Dorrie had next play, she came south from Siam and expelled Claire (ha! ha!) from Indonesia.

When Dorrie left her acquisition minimally defended, certain to my capture (and thus a continental bonus next round), the others called foul.  "You can't alliance before there's a reason," argued my sister, ineffectually dribbled across the Northern Hemisphere.

"There's already a reason," argued my benefactor.  "We play piano duets."

Claire gave Dorrie her you'd-even-shoot-your-best-friend look, but then laughed.  "Partners to the final stanza, right?"

Dorrie looked my way, "Right?"

I nodded as if we'd signed a nonbinding treaty.

"Well then," judged my sister, "me and Dennis have to stick together.  Right, Dennis?"

"Right."

"Really close together," Claire clarified, sliding beside him, and then, when he patted his knee, into his lap.  "Go shut the door, Jamsie," my sister's afterthought.

The rules say how you rotate turns, not how you sit.  Not who takes care of the door.

"So General Dennis, Sir," my sister's banter.  "We're doomed for Madagascar?"

Dennis looked at the board, trying to see the logic, the two girls already laughing far too much for tactical analysis.  The "Madagascar" only confused me for a moment and then I suppose I turned red.

"Well if you want to concede the rest, we'll leave you that place," agreed Dorrie.  "Maybe while you get yourself fortified, James and I should go play duets?  We can play some different ones, even."

"No, stay here," Dennis interrupted.  "Their folks would wonder why we didn't come down too."

"And play Risk with us?" asked Claire, locking Dennis' hands around her stomach.

"And play risky," ruled Dorrie, running her fingers over an imaginary keyboard.  The musical figment of her imagination wasn't that far above my folded leg.  "Riskmaninoff's between the Urals and Siberia, but it's hard to see on the board," tracing where she'd situate the country.  "That's our capital," now playing my knee.

I didn't know what to do when Dorrie hopped into my lap, but had a reprieve when Claire told me to push the rug against the crack under the door.  "Unnecessary risk," she clarified.  "Mom and Dad aren't totally deaf."

I fixed the rug, just in case for whatever.

Claire wasted no time in leaning back into Dennis.  "So everybody's already felt everybody's boobs before," she declared, like this was some sort of camp stunt.

My sister said, "boobs"?  Everybody?  I presumed she meant hers and Dorrie's.  I guess I'd bumped them messing around, but wasn't sure that counted.  As nobody contradicted her, though, I guess it did.  I knew that Dennis had done Claire's in the car.  In fact, he was all but doing her right in front of us, just not over the points.  I had no idea about him and his own sister, but supposed they'd wrestled around like siblings tend to do.

"Everybody's already felt everybody's hard-ons too," Claire declared.

Shit!  Nobody had ever felt mine, unless you count Claire's leg when she tackled me or if Dorrie could feel when we'd played duets.  But it wasn't as if they really felt anything.  Dennis was grinning a bit sheepishly.  Was Claire saying this because she was sitting on his?  Dorrie feeling Dennis'?  I'd have said absolutely not, except when I thought of them wrestling.

Shit!  I'd never even heard a girl mention hard-ons.  It was more of a boy's brag on camping trips.

Claire was just warming up with her declarations.  I'd had a big sister too long not to anticipate her setting the tone.  "And everybody's seen everybody's bra."  Like the hard-ons, this one again seemed gender specific.  I'd seen her bra a thousand times, but that hardly counted.  What did count, I realized, was seeing hers and Dorrie's when we played Risk.

Claire looked at her friend who first looked away and then looked back blushing.  "OK, then," ruled big sister, "brassieres ho!"

Unwrapping Dennis from her torso, she pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing her cotton cones.

Dorrie on my own lap did the same.  Looking over her shoulder, I could the see the valley of her rib cage, the fabric stretched above.  It's really different to see two halves in open air than it is to just glimpse part of one under something.

Claire hushed when we heard could be steps on the stairs, but it was just Mom hanging a coat by the bottom landing.

Claire must have concurred with my assessment.  "Shirts off," to Dennis and me, puffing her chest to look stacked.  Dennis right away pulled his polo shirt off and Claire seemed rather pleased with his acquiescence.  He was, after all, older and a guy.

When I didn't follow suit, Dorrie turned enough to grab my Cubs tee shirt at the waist.  I guess I didn't have to let her, but interdiction would have looked babyish.  Raising my arms, I was topless.

She smiled at me and settled back, my arms wrapped around her bottom ribs.  I didn't want to do anything wrong, but really didn't have to do much to feel how pliant she was.

With just her strap, we had lots of skin touching.  Seeing what I was seeing, being part of it, gave me one big erection.

And Dorrie wiggled her butt to make it bigger.  So I poked the underside of her bra to get even and we both giggled.

"Hey!" Claire noticing our altercation.  "You two want a little privacy, a blanket or something?"

"We're not doing anything," lied Dorrie for form's sake.

"Good," decided Claire, "'Cause you can't play Risk under a blanket."  She turned to look over her shoulder.  "So Dennis, who's better, us or them?"

"No contest," Dennis smirked.  He was definitely on her pointed parts.

Claire turned back our way, "Race to conquer the world, you weaklings?"

I wasn't sure how to read her, but Dorrie sat up.  "Are you serious?  You know good and well that..."  Her thought trailed off.

"Oh, come on, Dorrie!" Clair answered whatever was unspoken.  "We're not going to with you two here.  Nobody said take your pants off."

Pants?  Claire and I had on Levis.  Dennis had cords and Dorrie was wearing shorts.  Sure, the four of us were fooling around, but it wasn't like we were really doing anything dangerous.

"Honest, girl," added my sister, obviously trying to retain her agenda.  "James is really speedy sometimes.  Thinking about you."

Whatever innuendo was intended wasn't lost to Dorrie.  "Really, Jamsie?  About me?" she asked in her best purr.

Claire's grin at her friend's co-conspiracy was to her ears.

Are they talking about masturbating, I wondered?  It's none of their business!

"So wanna race us," my sibling pursued.

"No," Dorrie and I answered together, she adding, "We're not practiced."

"Watch how then," retorted Claire, sliding off Dennis and flopping on her back, hands behind her head.  "Come on, Dennis, show them.  No, first James gets me my pillow."

Dennis didn't look our way as he spread himself to blanket his partner.  I could tell he was confident, though.  You'd have to be confident to lay bare-chested on top of a girl in a bra.

Dorrie and I watched them kiss, tonguing being a major component.  Claire's skill, while animated, wasn't anything that I couldn't have followed up on.  She already let me practice, though I presumed Dennis didn't know.

Actually, it seemed pretty natural when Dorrie pulled my hand up to hold her front.  I guess I was a little surprised to feel her nipples, hard within, but I tried to act like it was regular.

Clair turned her head enough to confirm our attention, flash us a smile, and return to Dennis.  Originally he'd had his legs around hers, but in their gyrations, he was now between her knees.

I forgot about Dorrie's breasts and maybe she forgot about my hand.  They weren't going to fuck, were they?

The other two clearly knew how to work together, Dennis now sliding up and down between my sister's legs, my sister pushing up vertically to meet his horizontal thrust.  They both looked determined.  I was glad for their sake I'd sealed under the door, as the physicality of their rubbing was regular and audible.  I wondered if they'd go faster with their pants off, but maybe not.

Dorrie and I made not a peep.  It was almost like I was holding Dorrie to me to protect her.  In any case, I could feel her heart.  My erection absolutely wedged into Dorrie's shorts, but neither of us was trying to emulate our siblings' friction.  I'd have come if she had.

In not more than a minute, it was over, Dennis red-faced, but seemingly at ease, Claire moaning just enough for us to hear her climax.  I suspected she vocalized it for our edification.  She then lay still under Dennis.

I'd seen guys come at Scout Camp, won a few contests myself, actually.  But I'd never watched a female, much less my sister.  It sort of looked the same -- lots of facial tension followed by total nothing.  It didn't occur to me to wonder what part of Claire worked like the underside of my cock.

I knew the term for what they'd done.  I'd seen a dry hump. Witnessing something so sexual is emotionally draining on you, too.

Claire lazed us a look, satiated to be sure, but a look that also conveyed, so that's-how, boys and girls.

Only two had risked it, but all four of us were partners.  Claire looked down to see if her bra was still proper.  It somehow was.  "That's the quick version," she volunteered.  "The real contest is to make it last the longest."

Dennis mumbled something I couldn't understand.

Dorrie settled back and pushed my hand up into her bra.  Her nipple was like a little grape.  When I pushed out the fabric with the back of my hand, I could see down.  It was pink.  Dorrie must have wanted to show her friend that she didn't need instruction in everything.

And I'd just come to play Risk.

We actually finished the board game to the point of Dorrie and me purging the globe of lesser empires.  When their doom irrefutable, Claire and Dennis just made suicidal marches to deprive us the joy of smashing their defenses.

Claire had regained her position in Dennis' lap and was letting inside him her bra too.  She wouldn't let him push it off where I could see, though.  I figured it was because I was her brother.

Dorrie and I decided to call our own showdown a draw.  The board was half her color, half mine.

RISK FOR TWO

It was a little awkward seeing Claire around the house.  She'd told the other two that I masturbated.  Worse, she'd said it to Dorrie where I could hear, so now I knew that Dorrie knew that I knew that she knew that I did it.  Knowing that Dorrie knew I was doing it made me want to jack off again.  That was one thing.

I'd seen Claire make out all the way to climax.  That was a different sort of thing -- the sort of thing not my fault that makes me masturbate.  So maybe it wasn't that different from the first thing.  Knowing that Claire showed me made me do it even more.  It sounds confusing, but when you're on your back, it all flows together.

Fortunately, Claire didn't hassle me, and actually, to my surprise, volunteered to explain a way to remember the quadratic formula for math.

I'd see Dorrie just in passing at school, and it would just be, "Hi."

It was days later when Claire flagged me into her room.  Risk was already set up.  "Ready to risk getting creamed, weakling?" shutting the door.  Nothing different from our standard blustering.  Or so I thought at the time.  But maybe I should have caught the, "creamed".

We traded a few countries not worth defending before we began to mass forces on the battle-lines.  I was going to end up the stronger.

"Cheater!" Claire accused.  "You can't roll three dice with just three armies!"

Without waiting for my explanation (I'd had four, but one was standing near another border.) she jumped me, just like before, once more messing up the board.

"I had four," but by then she was on top, laughing, "Double date practice, sucker!"

Once I was down, her intent was manifest.  "Come on, Jamsie.  Kissie?"  She'd figured me out from before and I pretty much knew how her tongue would find mine.  I didn't counterattack any more than to make it obvious that it was all her doing.  If I squeezed her breast a little, it was her fault.

But as Claire-flippant as was her "Kissie?" prelude, behind it I recognized stone-faced want.  Part of it, of course, was pure-and-simple sexuality  I knew from before that she liked to orgasm.  The other part, though, was something about me.  She wanted to see me capitulate, to ally, to climax with her.

I was already hard when she straddled me, grinding me the way that Dennis had ground her on the same floor.  If I could have broken away from her mouth, I'd have made her stop.  But she had the back of my head cradled with her hand.  And actually, by the time I was enough together to know that's what I should have done, I knew that she'd make me come.  Had I not seen her climax before, I'd not have realized the outcome so far in advance.  Realization, though, made it destined.  She knew the instant that I started to cooperate.

"Let me be on top," she asked, and I think it was a request, not demand, what I'd normally expect of her.  "We'll do it really nice."

In case of a tie in the board game, the defender wins.  As the defender now, I'd settle for less than a draw.  Don't risk messing up an orgasm.

I let my sister hump me so very slowly for the longest time, not at all like the frenetic shoving I'd seen with Dennis.  Maybe the way she'd showed me her bra told me she knew what I'd like, when to back off so I'd not fire, but at the same time, when to attack so I'd resist.  I suppose that she was measuring her own instincts the same way.  In any case, when I did come in my pants, I was tingling.

When she followed suit, she puffed little puffs of air on my neck.

"Don't tell the other two," ending it not romantically, but then, I was just her brother.  "And just so you'll know I'm listening, I can always hear you through the wall when you jerk off."

Before, I'd have seen her revelation as another way of getting one up on me, letting me know who's the older.  But having just shared orgasms, it didn't seem an affront; it seemed like something that I didn't mind her knowing.

"Think of me listening, doing it quieter than you, and it will be more fun," she added as afterthought.

In getting the game board picked up, I saw how she'd blocked the door bottom with her rug.

RISK THEREAFTER

Like the game's advertisement says, "Just when the world is within your grasp, your opponent might strike and take it all away!"  But Claire didn't take anything away.

So did the two of us become lovers?  Carnal sex on her floor, then on her mattress?  Sibling besting fanned by the thought that Mom might hear.

No we didn't.  Coming in our pants was right for us.  I didn't get in her panties and she didn't get hand around my boner.

Sometimes, though, in my own bed I'd hear the faintest of taps on the wall.  Semaphored signals telling me to tease myself harder.  Maybe sisters just know stuff.  Claire might as well have had her fingers around me and done the stroking.

Her tap-tap-tap just consolidated her hold on Africa, so to speak, me paroled from captivity in Madagascar when we played four-player Risk.  The rulebook never says you can't rule the world sweetly.

I always see Clair's breasts and usually her pubic hair, reddish like mine, while Dennis fucks her.  I'm busy fucking Dorrie, though Dorrie knows I'm looking at my sister too.  I'm really good at fucking.

We try to slide the game board aside so as not to lose track of our countries while we fuck.  Should Mom or Dad ever come upstairs, we'd have had the board in place, though maybe not our underwear.

Dennis and I don't talk about sex, probably because I'm younger and he has friends his own age.  We just do it to our girlfriends in the same room.

I expect that Dorrie and Claire keep each other informed, though.  Since Dorrie and I don't actually date or anything, it's really rare that we're alone, other than sometimes at the piano.

The reason that I think that the two might talk is that on a day after Claire taps on the wall, Dorrie will goose me while I'm trying to get the bass line.  "So what'd you think of last night, Madagascar boy?  Our duets?"  I'll keep working on the bottom notes as long as her left hand takes her.  If Mom rustles in, of course, I'm left aching.  In Claire comes in, she sits on the sofa or even stands behind me, probably hoping that I'll make a big wet spot.  One more thing she'd have on me.  I guess I'm just wondering how much evidence she wants.

Duets?  Not really, other than as hyperbole, a term I learned in English.

No, what I think about is playing Risk.  The girls are almost always side-by-side, close enough to hold hands.  Claire always turns her head our way. My sister watches my boner more than Dennis' some times.  If I'm kneeling between Dorrie's knees still, it really sticks out

Even if they're not holding hands, the girls usually come at the same time.

Someday when where playing a two-person game on her floor, she'll start to capture me and I'll say no at first.  It's too risky.

But you know what?  In Madagascar they still speak French.  What's "risky" to us is "risqué" to them.  Parker Brothers bought the game from a Frenchman in 1957.

I'll need to push the rug against the door, since I'm the younger.

A GUIDE FOR READING GROUPS

Hi!  Cindi here.  Holly has sent James to learn the ways of the world with Dorrie, the neighbor girl that guys wish they'd had.  Sorry, fellas, those were the good ol' days.

It is very current for women to discuss readings relevant to our lives and unrealized potential.  The gatherings are typically designated as "Women's Circles", dispelling any suggestion of hierarchy.  Generally the works discussed are recommended by Oprah or are in the vein of "The Red Tent".  If "Risky and Risqué" should be so utilized, the following may promote discussion.

   (1)  Should we associate risk with sexual activities other than those involving transmission of bodily fluids?  Is the concept of risk not a product of linear thinking, perceived dominion over nature, litigation?

   (2)  Chart you own Life Line ©, indicating risks you've overcome. Rank them from 1 (minor inconvenience if unthwarted) to 10 (pregnancy stretch-marks or sagging breasts).

   (3)  Was Clair's tapping intentional or was it perhaps her headboard?  Do we as women have the right to self-actualize?

   (4)  Envision a risk you'd like to explore to enhance your self-esteem.  Role-play asking a woman to help you.

   (5)  The game of Risk's designer was Albert Lamorisse, director of "The Red Balloon".  What do you think ultimately happened to that little French boy in that Academy Award classic?

   (6)  In "Risky and Risqué", James takes risks.  Without angst, he risks friendship with his sister's girlfriend for the lure of sex.  Boys!  Rarely would they do that, right?  List other risks he may have taken.  List ten males whose judgment appears to be driven by their penises.  Start with Justin Timberlake.

   (7)  In the story, Claire takes risks.  Had her parents wandered upstairs, holy shit!  Why did Claire risk goading her brother?  Some brothers you'd not tackle and French kiss.  Should she have told her friend that her brother jacks off?  OK, Girls!  List other risks she may have taken.  List two females whose judgment appears to be driven by their breasts.  Start with Britney Spears.

   (8)  The author leaves unconsummated the relationship between James and Claire.  Do you think they should do it?  If so, how might this affect their sibling bond.  How might agreements worked out in advance minimize their risks?

   (9)  Draw upon your own creativity to write a chapter in which Claire is impregnated by her brother.  Discuss the pros and cons.

   (10)  Isn't risk what erotica's usually about?  Sex without risk is biology.  That's not so say that erotica has to be exotica.  Even legitimate sexual union can hold our attention if characters put themselves on the line.  Discuss exotica.

   (11)  Why did the "Writers' Forum" paragraph leading to this story stick, unlike most of Holly's dream world?  Because doing it on the floor's so imaginative?  Or does it draw the reader to sense some of the risk herself?  James' tale isn't about high-voltage risk taking; it's about a kid's getting older, the riskiest thing we do.  Share thoughts that occurred your first time.

   (12) Authors of erotic fiction tend to live dual lives, hot and seductive with their pen, risk-averse and mousy with their bodies.  They tend to wear full slips.  List one such author.  If unsure, visit Holly Rennick's web page and then try to Google our workplace, Compton Springs Middle School.  Why does she lie?

HOLLY ON THE WEB

Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As literary errors (or just poor word usages) are made known to me, I'll repair that which is salvageable on http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/.  My website's not much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native language.

You can contact me via the site's message form, that HTML code by the smart people at ASSTR.

I won't be changing the story significantly, so if you didn't like it before, that much will remain the same.  But if you did like it, an update may read a bit more cleanly.

Holly
