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I’ll get back to the blonde but I think it’s important to understand the relationship my sister Jenny and I shared. It had changed once we crossed the line separating what is considered normal and what is not and now, after what had happened that night, I was totally preoccupied with figuring out how I was going to take this to the next level. Part of it was hormonal, I was at the age when I’d fuck anything in a skirt and the other part was my developing obsession with incest.
Playing doctor as kids and exploring each other’s privates in some dark cubbyhole or indulging in a show and tell is okay as long as the exploratory touching didn’t lead to masturbation or sex. Then it becomes taboo. I’m not sure how or who established these boundaries but we had officially crossed it the night of the storm.
The morning after the incident was the worst. At some point during the night my sister had left my bed and that was something she had never done before. This could only mean that she was upset and would rather deal with her innate fear of lightning and thunder than with my sexual advances. I felt certain that she would confide in my mother, they were closer than two peas in a pod, and though that would be unimaginably embarrassing, I could deal with it. It was my father that I was worried about.
Dad was a different animal altogether. He was an Army Ranger and had a temper which turned him into a fuckin’ Neanderthal. If she said something to him, I was dead, I mean, baseball bat to the head dead! But, I doubt Jen was comfortable enough to discuss anything sexual with him so at least for now my bones were intact. It would only be a matter of time before Mom got around to: ‘You know, dear, your son’s trying to fuck your daughter’ or something to that effect but I would deal with that when it happened. Right now, I needed to figure out what I was going to say to Mom and Jenny.
What the fuck was I going to say? I’m sorry but it wasn’t me! It was Mr. Mushroom-head … he made me do it? And, Jenny, you have to believe me, sis, the rubber rat will never again regurgitate on your panties. Never, never, never! Damn, I was dreading this.
I fussed around in my room waiting for my parents to leave for work but that wasn’t happening. I could hear them; they were still there. I glanced impatiently at my watch – what the fuck were they doing? Mom and Dad should have been gone by now! They had to be discussing what had happened. That could be the only reason why they were still at home. My mind raced and my heart felt like a jackhammer on speed. My father was going to kill me! And that’s when I realized it was a Saturday. Though that provided a much needed reprieve, guilt and paranoia make for conniving bedfellows and I still needed to be sure.
I left the door ajar, listening intently, hoping to get the gist of what was being said but except for a few words most of the conversation wafting up was garbled. And then I heard peals of laughter, it was Mom and Jen – I doubt they would have been laughing if Jenny had spilled the beans. I figured that unless I was planning to feign mortal illness, I had better get my ass down there and this was as good a time as any.
I made a quick stop in Jenny’s room and rummaged through her laundry hamper looking for the corroborative evidence of our little escapade. I found several other panties mixed in with her clothes but not the one I had spewed into. I was about to check her bathroom when I heard more laughter and footsteps coming towards the stairway. Returning everything to the way it was, and after one final look around her room, I trudged down to the kitchen.
“Hi, sleepy head,” my sister said, greeting me in her usual upbeat manner shocking the hell out of me.
Even if she hadn’t said anything to my parents I was certain she’d be embarrassed and would avoid me like the plague. But, here she was acting perfectly normal, as though nothing had happened. I can’t explain the relief I felt. It was simply overwhelming.
I gave her a quick look and grunted making my way to the cabinet above the fridge to get the cornflakes. I was floating on air feeling like a death-row inmate who had just been granted amnesty!
“Late night?” Dad asked, peering over the Wall Street Journal. It was something he did religiously; scouring the stocks and worrying about his investments. I swear the man should have been a stockbroker.
“Yeah, I have a couple of papers I need to submit,” I grunted in his direction and wondered what he’d think if he knew about the research I had done on his daughter.
I was about to get the milk when my mother came over and hugged me and took the cereal box away, “Sit down, baby, I’m making you an omelet. Here, drink this – fresh, squeezed orange juice.”
Mom was a health nut. She was tall and slender and looked a lot younger than she was. She was blessed with the paedomorphic trait found in Northern Europeans, an agelessness that would make the troglodytes at school go bostancı escort – Man, your mom’s hot! It used to make me want to stomp their nuts but what are you going to do? They were right, Mom was hot! I sometimes wonder how my parents got together – they were so different. Mom was a bleeding heart liberal, beautiful and gentle, and Dad was a rightwing hard-ass, the Great Santini himself. I guess opposites do attract.
“Don’t forget, we are going for the play tonight,” Dad reminded, “it wasn’t easy getting tickets for the Phantom! And I’ve made reservations for dinner at Marco’s. Read up on Galicia; Northwestern Spain.”
This was something we did every month – catch a play, Broadway or Off-Broadway, and usually a dinner afterwards. It was family time and a tradition that none of us were permitted to break unless we were near death. Mom chose the plays and Dad, the restaurants. He wanted us to learn about different cuisines and cultures. We were expected to research the country and the region and come up with interesting facts to discuss over dinner. We also had to dress up – no jeans or tee shirts and definitely no sneakers. We had to look decent – his words not mine.
“I’m meeting Celia and Liz at ten and then we have Volleyball practice in the afternoon,” Jenny said grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, “so I’ll see you all in the evening. I know something about the Island of Cortegada we can talk about!”
She added the last part for my benefit with a ‘I know something you don’t’ look before hugging Dad, leaning over him from behind the chair, then Mom, giving her a peck on the cheek. Jenny was as tall as my mother now and they could’ve easily passed for sisters.
My mother held her at arms-length and cooed, “Just look at you! You’re growing up, honey, and so beautiful! Don’t you think so, dear?”
The last bit was aimed at my father who grunted without looking up. It must be a Salazar family trait, the grunting!
“Oh, Mom!” Jen protested and on her way out she stopped by the door and said, “What are you going to do, Cal? Isn’t Clay at his Uncle’s place?”
Ever since Karen, Clay’s sister, had died his parents were having problems and it wasn’t unusual for Clay to escape to Connecticut to stay with his uncle. Otherwise the two of us were inseparable.
“Yeah,” I replied nonchalantly, keeping my eyes averted. “I have some assignments I have to finish up … I’ll head for the library and then maybe hit the gym.”
“Are you okay, hon?” my mother quizzed a look of concern crossing her face, “You seem subdued.”
I gave Jenny a furtive glance before replying, trying to sound nonchalant but it was hard with images of last night tumbling in my head and Jenny standing there looking like a wet dream.
“I’m fine, Ma … just a bit stressed.”
“Tonight will be fun,” Mom said ruffling my hair on the way to the kitchen, “And why don’t you go watch your sister play?”
“Yeah, Cal, why don’t you come and watch us practice?” Jenny asked, “We have a new coach. She used to play for UCLA and she’s good. She thinks I’d make a perfect outside hitter!”
I looked at her wondering what she was up to, acting as though nothing had happened between us. It was unfair. She looked absolutely edible, dressed in a thin cotton top and a pair of jeans that was cut low exposing her little ‘inny’ belly button. It would have been a lot easier for me if I wasn’t so attracted to her.
But her attitude was bordering on the weird. It was messing with my head making me think that the whole thing was a figment of my imagination. Either she was a brilliant actress or she was suffering from RA, Retrograde Amnesia! Maybe the event so traumatized her that it caused a temporary loss of memory. However, no amount of amnesia was going to hide the reality of her panties. What did she do with those? I had drenched them with enough cum to starch those suckers for a lifetime! She had to know what had happened. I was so lost in thought I forgot about her standing there.
I looked at her, surprised, and said quickly, “Umm, I’ll see. What time?”
“Around one. We can go and get ice cream afterwards, so please try and come, pleaasssee!” she said, pleading, using her little girl voice.
“Okay, I’ll be there. It may be a bit after one but I’ll be there in time for the ice cream,” I relented, “How about that?”
“That works. You’re buying!” She beamed, stuck her tongue out at me and ran off.
So that was her ploy. She was going to talk to me after practice over ice cream. I was okay with that and was actually looking forward to it. We could clear the air and I could tell her how sorry I was and that would be that. Or, I could pretend that I suffered from retrograde amnesia too.
Volleyball practice was interesting, not the game itself but the players. Watching them jump around in their tiny shorts made me realize that half the girls on Jenny’s team were hot; sweltering hot! büyükçekmece escort It was like a light being turned on. Those scrawny little twerps that used to hang out in her room and giggle each time I passed by were growing up and getting to be beautiful. Brought to mind that song: Thank God for little girls …
But for my money, Jenny was the thoroughbred, and yes, I am biased but damn, the girl was sweet! Long legs, tight round ass, small, firm tits and a full mouth that held a world of possibilities. And then there were the eyes, large, wide set, viridian pools that contrasted starkly with her silky, chestnut mane. I felt my cock lurch and had to tell myself to behave – I wasn’t going down that road again. I distracted myself by wondering about the other girls, what it would feel like to fuck them, one by one or all of them together in a mass orgy. There was this pretty, Asian gal that I could write a book on …
Jenny met me outside the gym hall after practice. It was a bit chilly and she had donned her track suit over her volleyball shorts and tee. Her face still glistened with remnants of a sweaty sheen, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled and no make-up and despite that she couldn’t have looked sexier. There as a wholesomeness about her, an all American sexiness that was hard to ignore and I wasn’t the only one, I noticed the guys, even the older men, giving her the once over.
“Hey, you looked great, sis,” I complimented.
“You just saying that,” she replied but I could tell that she enjoyed the attention.
I grabbed her gym bag and we decided to walk to the local ice cream parlor. The Waffle Shoppe was a small family owned eatery that served homemade ice cream and European style waffles. It was one of our favorite places to hangout. We were about halfway there when she took my hand in hers, fingers interlacing, and holding on tightly. She was humming softly to herself, gently swinging our arms in between us. She wasn’t one of those touchy people who displayed affection openly so it was apparent that the sexual machinations of the previous night hadn’t affected her as much as I thought or had it? This could be her way of sanctioning the direction our relationship was heading! I was thrilled.
When we got there, the place was unusually crowded; jam packed with families and kids and teenagers. It was almost impossible to hear yourself over the cacophony of the chatter and the synthesized sounds of kids screaming above shrieks of laughter. But the bustling raucous did provide us with a degree of anonymity.
We joined the serpentine queue along the counter literally jammed against each other.
“Do you want to go somewhere else?” I asked, leaning down and speaking into her ear.
“No. It’ll be okay … it’s moving!” she answered looking up and smiling.
She was leaning back against me; her head resting lightly in the crook of my neck and with her ass pressed against my crotch. I was holding her loosely around the waist, my fingers under her track suit, tracing lazy patterns on the flare of her hips. We were standing more like lovers than siblings and there was no way I could avoid getting hard. I wondered what she was going on in her head as my cock pulsed against her. I exploited the crush to pull her tightly against me and felt her wiggling her butt a few times returning the pressure. It was all I could do to resist dry-humping her right there. She remained glued to me until we ordered and I was hoping that no one would notice the blatant tenting of my khakis.
We were about to sit outside when Jenny found a table in the corner by the window.
“I told you … and with perfect timing!” she said happily grabbing the chair nearest her.
We sat eating our ice cream making small talk. She had gotten her usual dish, something called Raspberry Nut Orgy – it was essentially vanilla ice cream with a swirl of raspberry and chock full of walnuts.
“Here have some,” she said raising a spoonful towards me.
I had tasted it before but I obliged her. It was good but a bit too sweet for my liking. I was a pistachio addict.
“Try mine,” I reciprocated. She held my hand gently, guiding the spoon into her mouth.
“Mmmm, that is good!” she said, smiling and used her napkin to wipe a little bit that had somehow smudged the tip of her nose.
“Did I get it all?”
I shook my head, “No.”
I used my napkin to get what she had missed, “You’re a mess, sis! I can’t take you anywhere!”
She blushed and giggled, “You did that on purpose! I know you did!”
She was blessed with a long neck and her breasts were getting fuller, not big but pleasantly plump. She was at that stage of metamorphosis, the quintessential in-between phase, of a girl and a woman bursting with estrogen-induced radiance that made her glow.
She saw me studying her and blushed, fidgeting with the ends of her hair and began chattering nervously making small talk. She çapa escort was grown up in many ways but with the vulnerable naiveté of an ingénue. I couldn’t help myself – it elicited a sudden surge of protectiveness in me. We had always been close and she trusted me implicitly and for reasons I can’t explain, I felt like I was breaching that trust. I took her hand in mine and squeezed it, more to reassure myself than anything else. She smiled and squeezed back.
“You know, the girls here are all jealous … they think you’re my boyfriend!” she said, “A hunky, college guy!”
“What girls?” I said looking around. I was so focused on her that I hadn’t notice anyone else.
She rolled her eyes like ‘yeah, right!’ and then made a motion with her head towards the adjacent table, “Those girls!”
The table was crammed with a coterie of high school girls, chattering and giggling, and looking our way every now and then. Young and fresh with a little too much make-up on; wanting to grow up a little too fast.
“They would have to be blind! We resemble each other way too much, don’t you think? Well, except for our eyes.” Mine were murky blue.
“And hair,” she countered.
Mine was very dark, almost black like my father’s, and hers was a light brown.
“Okay, I’ll give you that!”
“And nose, and mouth, and …” she joked. But despite some differences the reality was that we did resemble one another.
“Okay, then let’s give them something to really talk about!” I said and lifted her hand to my face and brushed the back of it with my lips, kissing her gently.
I think it surprised her. She stared at me, at her hand being held against my lips, her mouth parted slightly and her eyes wide. I kissed her hand again and then, without thinking, ran the tip of my tongue lightly along the crack between her fore and middle fingers. There was no mistaking the slanted implication, not even by her.
I heard her breath catch and she flamed up, and in a moment of confusion, gently withdrew her hand from mine. It provided me with the perfect segue to press home the advantage and broach the subject of the previous night.
I looked into her eyes and began, “Jen, about last night, I …”
“Don’t say anything, Cal, please,” she interrupted, “please don’t ruin it. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Ruin it? Ruin what?
“Jen, we can’t just ignore -” I started again.
“Please. Can’t we just enjoy this?” she cut me off again.
She quickly looked away, staring down at her ice cream bowl, her hair cascading around her while she toyed with the spoon. She looked adorable in a helpless sort of way and I didn’t want to upset her any further.
“Okay, let’s just drop it.” I offered lamely reaching across and lifting her face up by her chin, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
She perked up instantly and we spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about mundane stuff, her volleyball season, my kick-boxing, the play we were going to see that evening and what she knew about Galicia that we could discuss over dinner. But, through it all I couldn’t subdue the incestuous longing that I felt for her or the memory of her moans as I spewed into her.
The play and dinner turned out to be uneventful. In fact, in the days that followed it seemed like Jenny was avoiding me which only added to my confusion. Then about a week later, just when I had resigned myself to the unthinkable, that is, nothing further happening between us, there was a knock on my door. It was late so I knew it had to be Jenny.
“Come in, it’s open,” I said from my bed on the far side of the room wondering what she wanted at this hour.
She slipped in silently and closed the door behind her. It could have been the light and the play of shadows or the fact that I was hornier than a Burmese Bandicoot but she looked absolutely ravishing. She was wearing an oversized, navy tee shirt that doubled as her jammies and I could tell from the outline of her nipples that she was braless. Her hair was damp and coiffed back off of her face, and her eyes glittered with excitement. She stood nervously by the foot of the bed, her skin glowing golden in the subdued lighting.
I was confused and elated, my senses filled with her. I caught the mild whiff of her perfume and shampoo and asked, “What’s up?”
“Coach had us working on spiking drills. I must have hit over a hundred balls at practice. My shoulders are killing me … umm …” she paused, and then added, “…umm, can you massage my shoulders, Cal, please?”
We used to give each other backrubs after working out but that was a while back. She didn’t have to ask twice – I would have killed to touch her again. I fell into an instant state of chaos, a frenetic synapsis of sexual possibilities.
“Okay,” I replied shifting over to give her room; my heart drumming in my ears and my voice sounding strangely strained, “lie down.”
I watched her scramble up onto the bed. Her thighs were thick and firm with calves that curved nicely before tapering gracefully down at the ankles. She had that desirable bubble-butt sculpted to perfection from years of volleyball.
“Great!” She exclaimed happily, lying face down in an obeisant crucifix.
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