MY SISTER JEAN
Chapter 10 -- Tender Moments
In a soft, contralto voice Jean asked, "Billy, what are
you thinking? I mean, what do you think of us?"
"What?" I replied, almost stupidly. I'd heard the
words but I didn't understand them...they didn't make any
sense. None would have. I was still out there, dumb and
floating in some post orgasmic stupor, largely incapable of
rational thought.
With a low laugh, she nudged me with her toe. "Earth
to Billy . . . Earth to Billy."
Some small part of my brain knew where I was, but my
thinking sludged somewhere between languid and torpid.
Usually a linear, left-brain type of guy, I'd simply lost it
all and was hanging out in some emotional wallow, playing
and re-playing those vivid tapes of our erotic connection,
Jean and me. I was remembering the excitement of our sexual
discoveries in the past months, remembering the quickening
of fear when I'd dared acknowledge my desires to her. More
strongly, remembering the extraordinary energy we'd
generated when we surrendered to the moment.
"Back side of the moon...static...failing...failing
communications..." My voiced tailed off to a fake mumble.
"Billy, come out. I know you're in there!"
Momentarily lifting my head and squinting, I asked,
"Why...why do I have to come out...or down...or what ever?"
"Because this is important, that's why. We have to
talk... now!"
Eyes closed, I rolled over and pushed myself to one
elbow and paused, half sitting up. I was suddenly aware of
my dick. It felt cool. Looking down I saw my cock, soft
and lolling over my thigh. The air was drying the moisture
on my shaft, cooling it off. I stared at it a moment,
confused and with a start, embarrassed. My cock was wet
because Jean had sucked it...had taken me in her mouth and
sucked me off! I pulled my shorts over my loins in some
futile attempt to cover myself.
Looking up at Jean sitting in a chair, I stared at her
for a few moments. From my position on the floor where I'd
slumped in my gray out, I could see her nakedness in the
soft, diffused afternoon light. She sat, unashamed, one foot
on the seat of the chair, leaning forward. Mentally shaking
my head to clear the fog, I said something bright like,
"Uh...yes...talk. Sure. What about?"
"You remember...like I've told you a hundred times...we
weren't gonna do it?"
Nodding that yes, I remembered, I just stared at her
breasts. They were full and, I thought, remarkably firm
with a slight upturn to her pebbly areolae. How, I
wondered, could her nipples be so hard when my cock was so
soft? Going on as if it were the rhetorical question it
really was, she continued, "Like you're my brother and as
much as I love you...well, you know...it's the incest
thing."
Still nodding, I licked my lips. God I was dry! With
one foot on the chair that way, I could look right up
between her thighs and see how her pussy was pulled slightly
open.
"And this is the part that scares me," she continued,
"Every time we go a little bit farther...farther than I
intended to go...and I LIKE it. I like it more than I
realized I would. I think *too* much . . . I mean, it
scares me, you know?"
My part of this conversation was easy. I nodded again.
Hell yes. I knew -- I loved it and it scared the shit outta
me. This was all new stuff, very deep and with a strong
current that was pulling us God knows where. Every time we'd
drifted into the tug of our mutual desires, we seemed to end
up someway we never planned. When we started something, we
had no idea where it would take us.
"Yesterday...yes, even as late as this morning, I would
never have thought I'd take your cock in my mouth." She
looked at me with a slight tilt of her head as if to ask, so
what do you think?
I smiled. My cock? Jean never called it my cock. It
was usually "my thing" or something like that.
"Don't you see? Taking your cock in my mouth is like
really close to really doin' it?"
I looked up to heaven, closed my eyes and just smiled.
"Oh you! Listen to me, you jerk. Be serious will
you?"
"Jean, I *am* listening to you. I just can't help
smiling. I love you and I'm all whacked out. Can't you
tell that?"
Jean looked startled for a moment. She stared at me as
she idly cupped her breast and rolled a nipple between her
fingers. I could barely hear her voice. "Yes, I *can* tell
that, Billy."
"Maybe we just have different definitions. When I just
touch you, I don't think of it as incest. So when you touch
me, I still don't think of it that way. Oh sure, it's
sexual, but *that's* not incest."
She smiled warmly at me as she retorted, "You are
*such* a lawyer."
I didn't want to get into an intellectual word game
with Jean. She was too smart for me. No, it was always
best for me to be honest with her. I didn't have to defend
my honesty. We accepted that while our views on things
might be different, neither of us need be wrong.
"I mean...uh, I think of incest as, you know...fucking.
We're just foolin' around and if I touch you, that's not
incest. And if you touch me, that's not incest. And if I
come..."
"Yeah, yeah...I know about that. But it's the feelings
that scare me. It makes me *want* to do it."
"Jean, when I wake up in the morning with a boner
because I've been dreaming about you, I want to do it. When
you flashed your butt at me this morning, I wanted to do it.
*Wanting* to do it and really doin' it are two different
things."
We'd been over this a dozen times. I was so hot and so
confused I didn't know anymore if I really meant it. Being
honest was very important to me, but I suspect that if I
thought I'd get in Jean's pants by telling a lie, I'd jump
into duplicity without a second thought. Jean knew this, for
I'd once admitted as much, but we continued to treat our
impetuous lust as the elephant in the living room.
As she had so many times before, perhaps wanting to be
reassured, Jean accepted my slip-shod thinking and faulty
reasoning again. "Okay," she sighed, "But you've got to
help me with this. Promise?"
"Promise." I intoned, crossing my heart, as I watched
her stand up and stretch, reaching toward the ceiling, hips
thrust forward, and then spin about and walk into the
bathroom, mumbling, "Gotta pee."
She'd left the door open and I could hear the toilet
seat come down as she continued to speak to me in a louder
voice. "Do you still want me to model those panties? I
mean, after all, you've seen me buck naked."
Interpreting the open door as an invitation, I got up
and wandered into the bathroom. Jean was sitting on the
toilet, knees together, hands folded between her thighs.
Leaning on the low partition right in front of the toilet, I
looked at her with a question in my eyes.
"What?" she asked.
"Let me watch," I answered.
"You *are* watching," she replied, knowing exactly what
I meant. We stared at each other for a long moment and then
she parted her legs, at first only inches. I made a rolling
gesture with my hand. Again she paused and then parted her
knees fully, opening herself to my stare.
"I don't know if I can go," she began, but that was
immediately interrupted by her peeing.
The bathroom has a bright, southern exposure and the
low afternoon sun streamed in, lighting the orange tile
floor and casting a red-orange tint on her skin. Her brown
pubic hair was tightly curled, pressed by her shorts.
Glancing down, she looked at herself for a moment and then
ran her fingers through her muff, ruffling her hair as she
peed. I could see her labia, pulled slightly open by her
spread thighs, and the strong stream of urine splashing
against the porcelain bowl, high up.
"I have to be careful, " she noted, and bent slightly
at the waist to direct her stream into the toilet bowl. The
loud hissing of her peeing was joined by the clatter of her
stream in the water.
"Let me..." I started to say, as I stepped in front of
her and sank to one knee, right between hers.
She looked at me with a questioning expression but
didn't stop peeing. As if to make the stream more strong, I
saw her stomach muscles bunch in a forced Valsalva. It
worked. Her stream again shot to a point near the edge and
at the same time, she gave off a little fart.
"Ohmygod," she whispered and put her finger tips
against her closed lips as if to signal her embarrassment.
Without thinking, I reached between her thighs and
cupped her stream with my palm. It splashed, some drops
hitting her and some hitting me. All at once, I was aware of
her wide-eyed stare of incredulity, the satin softness of
her thigh against my forearm and the heat of her urine in my
hand. I curled my fingers and cupped her sex as she
continued to pee.
"Billy! What are you *doing* for cryin' out loud?"
"Don't talk...just pee...keep peeing for me, Jean."
Sitting up straight again, she murmured, "Crazy...this
is crazy," and continued to pee out the last dribbles.
"Why, Billy? Why did you do that?"
Leaning back, letting my pee-wet hand drip into the
bowl, I looked at her and grinned. "I don't know. Just
wanted to, I guess. It has something to do with intimacy.
I just love the intimacy of being with you when you pee . .
. of feeling your hot pee in my hand."
With a half smile, she shook her head slowly and pulled
off a length of toilet tissue.
Taking it from her hand, I said, "Let me." Dabbing her
pussy, I asked, "Remember the last time you let me do this?"
"How could I forget...but I didn't think it would get
to be a habit," she chided me as she leaned back, legs
opened farther. And, as with the last time, I slipped a
finger into the wet and open slit of her pussy, pulling up
to the top and tracing small circles about her clit. "Oh,
God...that feels good."
"Let me touch you, Jean. Let me play with you. Come.
Let's lay on your bed."
Without further words, we got up and walked in slow
motion to her room, to her bed. Without prodding, she piled
two pillows and lay against them, half-reclining with her
legs splayed open. I kneeled in the "V" of her legs and
just looked. Her pussy had flowered. The inner lips were
swollen, partially everted and very wet. The musky smell of
her juices wafted up to my nose and, as if on cue, she said,
"Jeez... do I smell raunchy."
The musky essence of her sex was driving my libido
while some other voice was telling me to slow down, to savor
the moment. Somehow I knew I wanted to get out of my own
head and the best way for me to escape the gadfly of self
was to think of someone else.
Once in a rare while I'm given some nugget of advice
that hits me. It's a two-pronged blessing...first, that I'm
offered it and second, that I *hear* it. The exhortation of
a good friend and advisor came to my mind. He said: "Bill,
where ever you are, *be* there!"
I sat back on my heels and closed my eyes. My inner
awareness grew and filled the room, taking in the sounds of
our breathing and the soft breeze, the scent of both of us
and mostly, the sweet, delicious tenderness of the moment.
I thought to myself that I must work at being an authentic
participant in my life, for Jean it comes naturally. Her
spiritual state rests easily with her, much as a
comfortable, loose garment. Opening my eyes, I looked into
hers. They were deep and lustrous and filled with
affection.
She smiled and asked, "What are you thinking, Billy?"
"How much I care for you...how much I love you, Jean.
I'm just filled with you."
She held out her hand to me and said, "Come, lie beside
me. I want to be close to you. I want to feel your skin on
mine. Hold me, please?"
Nestling her head against my neck, I asked, "But what
about...?"
"The sex?" she finished for me.
"Well, there is that."
"We'll do that...whatever it is we're going to do...but
first I want to savor this minute with you. The sex will
always be there. Moments like this are rare. Stay with me,
won't you?"