Storiesonline.net ------- Don't Ask, Don't Tell by Lubrican Copyright© 2010 by Lubrican ------- Description: Bobby's sister had been in a coma over 6 months. His mother told him to read to her. He read her this. He read her that. Then he read her something that woke her up. But that's just when things started. Codes: mf inc 1st oral mastrb pett preg slow ------- ------- Author comment: There is a reader who goes by the name Drunken Dwarf, and who consistently has good ideas. Luckily he passes some of them on to me. After reading Read Dirty To Me, he wrote me a note about an idea it gave him. It's a similar idea, but very different, if that makes sense. Anyway, it was a good idea and it recently popped up in the projects folder whining that it had been too long since its inception. So, thanks to Drunken Dwarf, here's the story. Bob ------- Chapter 1 "Bobby!" Remember when your mother's voice called your name and it had that special tone in it that meant something serious was happening, and that you were part of it, but you didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing yet? That's the tone of voice my mother called my name in. It's that tone that makes you wonder if maybe you should sneak out and pretend you didn't hear her. "Bobby!" she called again. There was an added note of impatience in her voice. I decided that bright and chipper might deflect any anger that was headed my way. "Yeah, Mom," I said happily. "What's up?" "I need you to read to Heather." I opened my mouth to complain, but she held up her hand to forestall me. "I know!" she barked. "You've established beyond question that participating in the care of your sister is an onerous task that will practically kill you, but your Aunt Betty is having her baby and I need to be there to help her for a week or two. Your father is working on a big project that could mean a promotion for him, so you're just going to have to step up and deal with things. She's your sister, Bobby. She would do this for you if it were necessary." "Yeah, right," I thought darkly, but I kept my mouth shut. My mother's tone of voice also suggested that this was not a negotiable situation. "It's not the end of the world, Dear," she said, already selecting things to take with her to her sister's house. "We're reading her Moby Dick, and if you finish that, there are any number of other classics you can start on. It's only an hour or two a day, and it's summer. You have plenty of time to give a little to your sister." ------- Heather, as is already clear, is my sister. She's a year and a half older than I am, and if you look up pushy, snotty, prima donna sister in the dictionary, her picture will be there as the ultimate representative of that concept. Well ... it would have been before the accident. When I was fourteen and she had just gotten her license, she went out and smashed up the family car. She was probably texting, eating a hamburger and putting on makeup at the same time she was driving breakneck speed somewhere she didn't really need to go. Whatever the cause, though, the result was that she was in a coma, and had been in that coma for over six months. Other than the coma she was perfectly fine. When it became clear after a couple of months in the hospital that she wasn't going to wake up, they'd brought her home and she was in her own room. There were tubes stuck in her to feed her and for other stuff I didn't even want to think about, but other than looking kind of pale she looked like she was only sleeping or something. I felt bad about all this, but not for the reasons you're probably thinking. That's because it had been kind of nice at first. I mean she wasn't screaming at me any more, or telling me ten times a day how stupid I was. There were no more slumber parties where she and her bitchy friends would throw open the bathroom door and run in screaming and giggling while I was in the shower, embarrassing me. Nobody called me 'pencil dick' any more. But after a while it felt all wrong. I mean nobody was screaming at me any more, or telling me ten times a day how stupid I was. And there were no more slumber parties where she and all those other wet dream babes would throw open the bathroom door and run in screaming and giggling while I was in the shower. It might have been embarrassing, but all those smiles could be turned into something else when I was in bed, in the dark. I had a lot of really good jerk off sessions because of Heather and those girls. After they brought her home I used to go in her room and look at her sometimes, but it was creepy, because no matter what I said, or called her, she never moved at all. I called her some pretty bad things too, because I knew I'd never get another chance. But it didn't make me feel better. In fact, it made me feel so bad that I quit going in there at all. My parents had done all the research after the doctors delivered the prognosis, which was basically "She might come out of it, and she might not." They had glommed onto the idea that someone in a coma might not be able to interact with the world, but could still be aware of what's going on around them. So they embarked on this whole thing where they got what would have been her assignments from school, and read her the text books and pages of class notes that the teachers sent home. They went over all the math problems, explaining them to her and read her the newspaper every day and stuff like that. My parents were the only people I knew who could routinely answer all ten questions on Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader? And they read her books. I didn't pay that much attention to them when they did all that stuff. I knew they had read her all sorts of books, from Tom Sawyer and Alice Through the Looking Glass, to books by Tom Clancy and John Grisham. As for me - I like comic books, and I had lots of time to read them because my big sister wasn't bothering me any more. Mom's job was on the computer, so she could do almost all of it from anywhere she could take her laptop. As such she was the one who spent the most time with Heather, often eight or nine hours a day. She even bought a special chair to put in Heather's bedroom so she'd be comfortable as she sat and read and talked for hours. Mom said Heather deserved to have summer vacation just like everybody else. Mom tried to believe that Heather would be okay, and that some day soon she'd just open her eyes, say "Where am I? What happened?" and then go back to being completely normal. Dad lasted about three months that way, but now I think he was just going through the motions to keep mom's dream alive. So, at least for a week, I was going to have to take Mom's place, and read to Heather. Luckily it was summer, so there were no classes going on. I had enough of my own homework during the school year to try to take hers on too, especially since she was a year ahead of me. And, thanks to the politicians who care so much about kids they don't know, it wasn't legal for me to work a real job yet. My lawn mowing business gave me minimal spending money, and didn't take all that much time. ------- I walked in her room for the first time in a long time. It was quiet ... too quiet ... and spooky somehow. Heather was lying there, like always, her brown hair fanned out on the pillow under her head. I thought of Sleeping Beauty for some reason, and studied her face. I was shocked to realize she was beautiful. I mean she'd always been the model of growing girl, morphing into teenage even-more-girl, if you know what I mean. I had gotten to see her develop bumps on her chest, and other growing up stuff. Just because I was younger than her didn't mean I was either blind or stupid. I'll never forget one day going in the bathroom and finding the water in the stool stained bright red, obviously by blood, and what seemed like a lot of it. I'd yelled for Mom, because it was pretty clear that somebody had gotten hurt bad. She came in, looking flustered, and when she saw what I was concerned about, she relaxed. "Your sister is having her first menstrual period," she said calmly. "I'll remind her not to leave the commode like that again." Then she flushed the stool and left. Just like that. Of course Heather found out I'd seen what I'd seen, and she apparently decided that was an unforgivable trespass, because she said that if I ever told anybody about what I'd seen she'd kill me in my sleep. She seemed to go out of her way to loathe me even more after that. Huh. It just occurred to me that I did tell somebody else about that - all of you, just now - and there isn't a thing Heather can do about it. She's still lying there, looking like something out of a fairy tale. What seems crazy is that, in a way, I wish she was screaming at me for telling that secret. Life's funny, huh? Moby Dick was lying on the chair, ready to go. There was a book mark near the beginning, where Mom or Dad had left off the night before. Besides reading during the day, they always read some kind of story to her at bedtime, and told her to have sweet dreams and all that kind of stuff. "Hey," I said in generic greeting to the comatose girl on the bed. I felt stupid immediately. She just laid there, of course. "I'm going to be reading to you for a week," I said. It was really uncomfortable, talking to somebody who looked kind of dead. It didn't seem like Heather somehow. And it was really quiet. "You need a radio in here or something," I muttered. I picked up the book. I sat down and opened it. I'd read the book in English class the year before, and I still remembered it. Whoever had been reading to her last had stopped at one of the places where Ishmael goes on and on about social justice or human nature or some crap like that. I read a few lines and all I could think of was that I was probably going to die of boredom. Right after my mom left Dad called and said he had to go on a trip, and wouldn't be back for three days. I thought about telling him about Mom going to Aunt Betty's, but I knew if I did, he'd cancel his trip and stay, and Mom had said what he was doing was important, so I kept it to myself. Still, I imagined him returning from his trip to find my dried out husk, holding this stupid book open. Heather would still be alive as all get out, but I'd be worm food, having expired for the lack of the will to live. I closed the book and looked at Heather. "Look, the deal is that this guy Ishmael signs on to this whaling ship. It's called the Perquat or something like that, and Captain Ahab is the captain. And he's got a hardon for this white whale named Moby Dick that sank his ship and bit his leg off, so he's out to kill this whale. And so they sail all over the ocean until they find Moby Dick and there's this big battle and they stick a dozen harpoons in him and he sinks two or three ships and in the end Captain Ahab puts the last harpoon in him, except the rope wraps around his neck and Moby Dick pulls him down into Davey Jones' Locker and the only one who survives is Ishmael." She just lay there. "So I'm not going to bore you with reading this crap," I said. I got up and went to my room and picked a comic book at random. It was a Fantastic Four, and I took it back to her room. Then, for the next hour, I described each panel, and the speech bubbles, and I made sound effects noises and stuff like that. I even acted out some of the scenes. Not that she'd notice that, but I was having fun getting into it. And the whole time she just laid there like a bump on a log. When that comic book was finished I sat there looking at her. Nothing had changed. She still lay there with her eyes closed and her pale face was calm. It was eerie and something made me reach out and touch her, just to make sure she wasn't cold and dead. I was startled, because her skin felt really warm. I brushed her cheek with the back of my fingers. "I wish you weren't like this," I said softly. "I mean you yell at me a lot and stuff ... but I kind of miss it. Not that I want you to yell at me again if you wake up." I touched her hair. Mom had this thing she could put under Heather's head that let her wash her hair every so often. She'd done that recently and the hair was soft. For some reason I leaned over and took in a deep breath with my nose right in her hair. It smelled wonderful. "So if you woke up it would be okay," I said into her hair. "I mean you could yell at me once in a while ... just not too much." She lay there, and I felt stupid. "Okay," I said, standing up. "I'm gonna go get something to eat, but I'll come back later. Maybe I'll read you a classic Aquaman I got at the comic shop last week. It's awesome." I looked at her and thought of Sleeping Beauty again, which was stupid, because she got thrown around in an accident, instead of eating a poisoned apple, and she was in a coma instead of a magical sleep. You know how you think about doing something, and you know it's stupid, but you do it anyway? I leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. Yeah. Then I took another deep breath of the smell of her hair. "Your hair smells good," I said softly. ------- Having demolished a quarter of a loaf of bread, and almost emptied the peanut butter jar, I cleaned up the smears of grape jam I'd gotten on the counter. I was rubbing in time with what was playing on the radio, and singing the lyrics. I whipped up the paper towel and rolled it into a tube and then sang into it like it was a microphone as the song ended, whirling in a circle. It occurred to me that Heather had missed a lot of top 40 hits. She'd always been singing and dancing around before the accident. It had been very distracting, because she had a nice body, really well developed, you know? Not that a brother is supposed to notice, but it was impossible not to when her boobs were shaking all over the place while she capered around in her PJs. I remember one time she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her hair with the hundred strokes she did every night. She could have done it in her bedroom, because she had this big mirror in there, but she always did it in the bathroom, and that meant I couldn't take a shower or pee or anything until she was done. So I was standing there, trying to be a pest to get her out and she was taking her sweet time. She had her chest stuck out and I realized I could see the bumps of her nipples pushing through the material of her PJs. Suddenly I wasn't in such a hurry any more. Of course I got a hardon, which horrified me. I mean she was my sister ... and a bitch to boot! But thinking of that made me think of her humming some song while she was brushing her hair, and how she'd missed all that music while she was unconscious. I went to my room and got my Ipod. I did regular downloads from I-tunes whenever I heard something I liked, and that way I didn't have to listen to commercials all the time. I thought about just putting the headphones on her, but I couldn't tell her about the songs or who was singing them if I did that. So instead I made up a CD of selected tunes and took it to her room and put it in her computer. I turned on the speakers and adjusted the volume. Then I commenced to act like what I thought a DJ would act like. I'd tell her what song was coming up, and who was singing it, and if I knew any tidbits about his or her life, like you sometimes see on the cover of The National Enquirer and like that. I didn't actually know if any of them had hit the charts, or what level they'd gone to, so I just made that part up, starting at "number forty on the hit parade." Around number thirty-five I realized I had a problem, because I could only get like 20 songs on the CD. That was stupid, because I put the things on it I liked the most, which meant when I made another one I'd be making the top 20 songs the ones I didn't like as much. But she was unconscious, and would never know the difference, so what the heck. I danced while the music played, and did my made up DJ patter and all that. I only felt stupid a few times, but I decided to take the road of being glad I wasn't in her place. That made me feel kind of bad somehow, and when the CD finished I sat down. "I know you probably can't hear me," I said, "but maybe the music helped. I'm sorry you're in a coma, Heather. I know we argue and bicker all the time, but I really don't hate you. I mean sometimes I get a little ticked off when your friends tease me and stuff. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so hot. And when they come into the bathroom ... I don't know ... I guess it's confusing. I mean you guys call me 'pencil dick' ... but you keep coming in there and looking at me. It doesn't make sense. So I get frustrated sometimes. I guess I don't really think you're a bitch, even if you act like one sometimes." She just lay there. "So this is really stupid," I groaned. "Here I am talking to somebody who can't hear me, about her hot friends. You're hot too, by the way, since you can't hear me. When I came in here this morning and looked at you I thought of Sleeping Beauty. Cause you're really kind of a babe. I've gotten boners over you more than once, even though you're my sister. But don't get a big head about it. It's only because you're gorgeous, not because of your winning personality. Okay, I'm going to stop talking to the sleeping fairy tale girl now, because this is getting weirder and weirder. So I'll see you later, okay?" I stared at her for a couple of minutes, and suddenly realized that she was lying there, on top of the covers in her PJs, which buttoned down the front on the top. And under those PJs were a pair of naked breasts. And inside those bottoms was a real, live ... well sort of ... pussy. She was asleep ... right? She'd never know the difference if I took a little peek ... right? But I couldn't do it. And I couldn't do it precisely because she'd never know the difference. I mean I knew it would feel like I was a necromancer, or whatever they call those perverts who get off on doing nasty things to dead bodies. I shuddered at the thought of touching her like that. Instead I turned and left the room. ------- Mom hadn't said I couldn't leave the house. As I thought about it, I knew there were times she'd gone off and left Heather alone. She'd never done that for more than a few hours, but it had happened. Talking to her had made me all weirded out, and thinking about peeking under her PJs had made me feel really terrible, so I went outside and ran around the house until I was gasping for air. I felt pretty stupid doing that too, wondering what anybody who saw me would think about it. I was still worked up when I went back in. I looked in on her, just in case, and she was exactly the same. I saw her chest rise and fall and my thoughts went back to those breasts. I suddenly realized I was a pervert! I wanted to see them, necromancia or not. I wandered over to her computer and pulled up an online dictionary. It wasn't "necromancy," though it was close. The dictionary said that was communication with the dead through sorcery. I didn't want to communicate with her ... just look. And she wasn't dead. At least I hoped not. "I hope you're not dead," I blurted. Suddenly I had this vision of being in her mind ... being in a coma and being able to hear people talk, like my mother was hoping Heather could hear. What would something like that sound like? I mean you're lying there, bored out of your mind because nothing is going on and suddenly a voice yells "I hope you're not dead!" I mean that would freak the shit out of me. "Sorry," I said, getting up and taking a step toward her bed. "I was just thinking about peeking at your boobs, but I feel perverted about that and I thought it was called necromancy, but the dictionary says that's communicating with the dead and that's why I said I hoped you weren't dead." I blinked. I was starting to feel like I was going to have an attack of some kind. "Sorry about wanting to see your boobs," I said. "I'll try not to think about that any more, okay? And if you ever wake up, and you remember all this, I know I'm acting weird, but it's only because I don't know what to do. I really wish you were okay again ... even if you yelled at me." The phone rang, and I ran to answer it, relieved to have an excuse to leave her room. It was my dad. "Hey Sport. Your mom around?" "No, she had to go help out Aunt Betty. I guess she went into labor." "Oh," said my dad. "So you're batching it? When did this happen? Why didn't your mother call me?" "I'm taking care of Heather," I said, feeling guilty. So far all I'd done was read her a comic book, play her some music and lust after her like a necro-whatever-it-was. "You okay with that?" he asked, sounding concerned. I got the feeling what he really meant was that he wasn't sure if he was okay with that or not. "It's no big deal," I said. "I'm just reading to her, like you guys do." "I'm proud of you," he said. "I'm going to be gone longer than I thought. Things are working out even better than we hoped, but it's going to result in longer negotiations as the contracts are written up." "Oh. Okay." "You going to be all right? I can come back if you need me to." "Oh, I'm fine," I said. "You have enough money?" I didn't understand at first, and told him about the twelve-fifty I had in the bowl on top of my dresser. "Didn't your mother leave you money for food?" he asked. I told him she hadn't said anything about it, wondering how I'd get any food anyway. Both cars were gone and I was only fifteen. I wouldn't get my license for another four months, which seemed like four years to me. I could ride my bike to the store, but I couldn't carry much back. He told me to get a pencil and paper and, when I had them, he gave me his credit card number and another number he called a security number I might have to have if I ordered pizza or anything. Then he gave me dire warnings about not using it for anything but emergencies. I wondered why he'd given it to me in the first place if I wasn't allowed to use it for anything. And was pizza an emergency? I mean he was the one who mentioned pizza, right? "Just use it if you get in a bind," he said. "And you have my cell number. Call me if you need anything, okay Sport?" "Got it," I said. Then, just in case, I added, "Use only for pizza and other emergencies." "Right!" he said in his hearty voice. "I'm proud of you, Bobby." "I'm proud of you too, Dad," I said, thinking of all the other pizza-like emergencies I might suddenly have. He was already gone, though, which was probably good, seeing as how what I'd said sounded pretty stupid. I looked at the paper with the numbers on it that represented many more choices than I'd had only five minutes ago. Things were looking up! ------- I couldn't get Heather's breasts out of my mind. I had no idea how to spell what I was looking for, so I just Googled "sex with the dead." Good old Google. And good old Wikipedia. After reading through that I felt a little better. At least I was sure I wasn't a necrophiliac. I didn't want to have sex with dead people at all, much less for any of the reasons listed. I did want to have a reunion with a loved one - Heather - but not that kind of reunion. I felt better, but I still wanted to see her boobs. I couldn't think of a name for that. I didn't think it was incest, because that's like a lot more than just looking, right? So finally I just typed "looking at your sister's boobs" into Google to see what happened. Well, it became clear right away that pretty much everybody says it's a no-no and not to do it. But there were some really interesting questions on that page that nobody ever answered. Like "Why do I want to see my sister's boobs?" I mean that's a legitimate question, and having ten people say "Just don't!" doesn't help explain the desire. So I went to page two of the responses, and followed some links, and pretty soon the tone of things changed drastically! Instead of the "Just say no" people I found a whole raft of sites where they not only encouraged you to look at your sister's boobs, they suggested sucking them and fondling them and... I realized I had a boner. But that was okay, because I was, for all intents and purposes, looking at porn on the computer, even though there were no pictures, and I always got a boner from looking at porn on the internet, so that was normal. Even if my sister was involved ... kind of. And it was interesting, because I never knew people like this existed. There were whole clubs of people who got off on incest and invited people to come to nude camps to engage in incest where nobody could screw with you about it and stuff like that. Except your relatives. They could screw with you. They were supposed to screw with you. Get it? Ha ha. I felt a lot better about myself after reading all that. I mean all I wanted to do was maybe take a little peek at this or that girly part, and that was nothing compared to what these people said they did. I was even proud of myself for only thinking maybe three times about using dad's credit card to see the pictures you had to pay to see on those sites. Of course I didn't. Still, it would have been pretty cool to see what a naked sister and brother looked like together. But I didn't, because there was pretty much no way I could think of to make that into an emergency. But then I had a boner to deal with which, while it wasn't an emergency, was very demanding about being dealt with. I looked over at Heather and went to my own room, to my own computer, where I had my favorite story site bookmarked. I did a search for cheerleader stories. I'd already read most of them, but there were two new ones, so I picked one of them and started stroking slowly. That story turned out to have been written by a third grader who spelled it "chearleader." The other one wasn't much better. I was looking over the titles of the ones I'd already read when it occurred to me that there might be stories about incest on this place too. So I did a search for "incest." There had been 18 titles listed in my search for "cheerleader." When the screen came up on my incest search, there were 25 titles listed on the first page and it said it was 25 of 1,934 listings. My jaw dropped. After looking at a few pages I realized there was a lot of different kinds of incest, some of which was pretty weird if you ask me. I mean I knew some eight-year-old girls, and none of them were even remotely like the little girls in some of those stories. And like ewwww, who'd even want to do that with some stupid little girl? Grandparents were out too. That was just too weird. And while I liked my mom, thinking about seeing her boobs just made me feel icky. So finally I refined the search to brother/sister incest stories, and culled out a lot of the other stuff. When I think about it now I can't believe I even did that. I mean I was like everybody else. I knew incest was wrong and horrible and perverted and all that. But reading about people who disagreed with that was really interesting or something. I'm not stupid. I know you can't believe everything you read on the net, but there was so much of it ... so many sites. At least a few of them had to be legit. I started looking through the new list and this time I looked at the scores, figuring that higher scores might mean that at least the story was written by a highschooler, like me, instead of somebody who couldn't spell necrophilia. There was one by this author who thought he (or she - how was I supposed to know?) was a lubricant of some kind. Maybe he was thinking about creams used to beat off with. My best friend Marty Coonce had to use something like that to beat off with because he was circumcised. I wasn't, and everything on me worked nice without having to have extra help. Anyway, I pulled up one of his stories, because it had a pretty high score. Wow. I realized my cock had been forgotten while I read. I solved that problem and went back to a couple of places that had gotten my heart pounding. I'd never had sex before with anything except my hand. If I ever did have sex I sure hoped it could happen like this oily guy had written it. I spurted on the second spot I re-read. Then I read the other spots, trying to get my cock to stiffen up again because I just wanted it to keep going. I clicked on the author's name and it took me to a bunch of pages of stories. His profile link was there too. He was a guy and his pen name was about leprechauns instead of lubricants. Who understands adults? And he was old too! He was even older than my dad! I couldn't believe some old guy had written what I just read. An hour later I had a new bookmark in my list. I didn't care if it was perverted any more. I had never gotten off so quick and so hard before. And the old dude had some stories that weren't about incest too, so I didn't feel like either he or I were quite as perverted as before. I mean I didn't really want to fuck Heather. I still wanted to see her boobs, but that was all. I wasn't ready to have sex. I wasn't as mature as most of the brothers Lubrican wrote about. And he said they were all made up anyway. But it was fun to read. I looked at my watch and about crapped. Three hours had gone by! I ran to check on Heather, but she was exactly like I'd left her. I knew how to change the bags on the machine she was hooked up to, so I did that, and then checked where the needle was in her arm, like mom had showed me how to do. It looked fine. She looked fine. I touched her face again and she felt warm. "I love you," I said. Then I felt guilty because I thought of loving her like the boys in Lubrican's stories loved their sisters. "Not like that, of course," I added. I realized I was blushing, and felt really stupid. "I'm going to get something to eat. Then maybe I'll read to you some more." I left her room. I ordered a pizza. Then I went back and pulled up the Lubrican bookmark again. It was still too soon to get hard again, though my cock was interested. Which was probably good, because it would have been awkward if I'd been whaling away at my stiff peter when the girl delivered the pizza. ------- Chapter 2 "Here's your pizza," said Cathy Robinson, one of my sister's hotter friends. I took the box from her. She stood there, like we weren't finished yet. But I'd already paid for the pizza on the phone, with the credit card. I couldn't think of anything to say. I cleverly came up with something. "I didn't know you delivered pizza." "Yeah, it's just for the summer," she said. "To get some spending money. The tips help." I realized then that what she was waiting for was a tip. "All I have is my dad's credit card," I said, holding out an empty hand. She looked disappointed. "Oh. How is Heather?" "She's good," I said. "Still in a coma, but good." Cathy looked uncomfortable. "You want to see her?" "God no!" she said, looking startled. "She's not contagious," I said, disturbed by her attitude. It suddenly occurred to me that none of Heather's friends had come to see her since we brought her home. "She's just sleeping." "Yeah, but she's like almost dead ... isn't she?" My opinion of Cathy Robinson sank like a stone. "No, she's only sleeping until her brain heals enough to let her wake up. She looks normal and she might even be able to hear people talk to her. I'm sure it would brighten her day if you said hi." She looked startled. "Really?" "Really. Come on in." "We're not supposed to go inside customer's houses," she said, looking nervous. "It's just me," I said. "Good, old, harmless Pencil Dick," I said, somehow feeling like I could needle her about all those times she'd barged into the bathroom with my sister and laughed at me. She had the grace to blush. Maybe it's because she felt some remorse about it. Then again, having just gone through a growth spurt, I was four inches taller than the last time she'd barged in while I was taking a shower. I grinned at the thought that maybe she wasn't so sure of herself any more. "Just pop in, tell her hello and what's happened to you recently. Then you can be on your way. I'll stay right here if it makes you feel better. "No!" she blurted. "I can't do it alone!" It actually took me ten more minutes to get her in Heather's room. She was amazed, of course, because Heather really did look quite normal, other than not waking up even if you lit a firecracker right next to her. Then she got all maudlin about how much time had passed without her coming to see Heather and I told her nobody ever came to see her, which made her feel worse, which is what I was trying to do, even though I couldn't tell you why. I mean I already explained that barging in on me in the shower hadn't actually been all that traumatic or anything. Anyway she promised to come back and see Heather again, and to bring some of Heather's other friends, and I said that maybe it would be better if they waited until my parents were home. I had visions of one of those out-of-control teenage parties erupting in the house, and my mother walking in on it and blaming me. In any case, she left to go back to work and I went back to the computer, because now I could get stiff again because Cathy really was one of my sister's hotter friends. I pulled up a new Lubrican story about a brother and sister who got tangled up in the same photo shoot by accident, and it was photos to show examples of sexual positions. I tried to imagine Cathy and me as the characters. My cock was no problem ... stiff as a board and ready to go. But for some reason Heather's face kept pushing Cathy's away. Eventually I gave in and thought of Heather, squatting over the boner I was stroking, saying: "Look, what if I just lodge it in there, just enough to hold it where we want it?" And then, as they took pictures, she "slipped" and sat down on me, getting a belly full of stiff prick. I went off like a bomb. I spurted so hard that it got all over the keyboard and even on the screen. I felt like my head was going to explode. I never came that hard before. It was amazing. ------- The pizza was cold by the time I got back to it, but I didn't care. It tasted wonderful. I wandered into Heather's room while I was munching on a piece. "Got pizza here," I announced. "You can't have any." That seemed awfully cruel. "I wish you could," I amended. "When you wake up I'll buy you one all for yourself." It was quiet in the room. I thought about making another CD so there would at least be some music, but I didn't feel like being a DJ again. I sat down in the reading chair. "I messed up," I said. And then I confessed about wanting to see her boobs, and going to the incest web sites, and reading the Lubrican incest stories and trying to beat off to Cathy, but then changing it to her. "I know I'm a pervert," I said sadly. "And it's good that you're in a coma so you don't have to deal with it. I mean I still want you to wake up, but I don't know what's happened to me, or why I got this way. And I promise not to look at your boobs or anything. I can't help my fantasies, but I promise you don't have to be scared of me or anything." Of course she just lay there, not doing anything but breathing. I checked her waste bag because I'd been putting it off. Now I almost looked forward to it, because surely that would make me think of things other than sex with my sister. It needed to be emptied, so I went and did that. Mom hadn't said anything about checking that tube where it entered my sister's body, so I found some self control from somewhere and left it alone. I went to the living room and tried to watch TV, but I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking "What if she really can hear things? I mean I just told her everything! She'll hate me when she wakes up. She'll scream how I'm a pervert and did perverted things and should be put in prison and everything!" I had to explain it to her. I didn't really understand it all myself, but I had to figure out a way to explain it to her. An hour later, just as it began to get dark outside, I decided I'd read her some of Lubrican's stories. Then maybe she'd understand. ------- I had only read three or four of the leprechaun's stories, but they'd all been good and easy to read, and Heather was unconscious anyway, so I just used her computer to log onto the site. It was quiet in the room, so I didn't have to strain my voice. I could just read at normal volume. I looked through his pages. I was surprised to find that two of the cheerleader stories I'd already read were by him. One was a really stupid one about a busload of cheerleaders all getting knocked up during a storm one night, but the other one was pretty hot and I'd beat off to it several times before. I kept looking, wanting to find a story that would make Heather understand how powerful a fantasy can be, and why I couldn't help but have them once in a while. The first one I tried was called The Making Of A Cocksman. I picked it because the synopsis said the sister had a bunch of friends, and that was like Heather and her friends. I glanced over the first couple of pages and found that the similarity ended there, though, because Heather wasn't like Claire, in the story. And her friends weren't like Claire's friends. But they did have a posse of sorts, though there wasn't a sheriff, really. I figured it might be a good one to explain why I had those thoughts about her. It wasn't quite like the comic book I'd read to her. I'd used different voices then, and sound effects and stuff like that. But I knew I couldn't pull off sounding like a young girl getting her bell rung, so I read most of it in my normal voice, just using emphasis in places that seemed to need it. "Okay," I said. "I said some weird things a while ago, and I know you think I'm a pervert, but it's not like that. Not really. I just think I'm a guy, and guys get confused about girls, and so I get confused about you too. But I found this guy who writes these stories and they get me excited and I really like reading them, and I thought that if I read a couple to you too you might understand why I said the things I said." I looked at her. Her face was smooth and untroubled, just like before. "And the way I think about you and your friends is sort of like how this guy writes his stories. They're all fiction, and just for fun ... to think about ... you know, day dream a little bit? And I did that and that's why it sounds like I'm a pervert, even though I'd never hurt you or do anything to make you feel bad or anything like that." Then I read her the story. It was about a kid named Bobby, like me, and I had to tell Heather that it wasn't about me, but that I felt like that Bobby did sometimes. It was funny in places, and I laughed. I really understood how confused Bobby was sometimes. He got a lot of sex, and if all Heather's friends acted like that around me I'm sure I'd freak out. I just reminded myself it was all make believe. I got hard in lots of places. I told Heather about each one, because I thought that would help her understand that I wasn't just an incest pervert, but got excited about regular sex too. I told her what parts I thought were really hot, and told her a couple of times that if she ever said or did anything like Claire was doing I'd freak completely out and stuff. When I got done I was so horny that I knew I had to do something. "I'll be back in a minute," I told her. I started to leave and the ridiculousness of the situation hit me. My sister was in a coma and I was going in the next room to beat off. I'd probably think about her and imagine her doing the stuff that Claire had done. While she was lying comatose in the next room ... where she couldn't see me ... or probably hear me ... whatever I was doing. And if I did it there, where she was ... I could look at her instead of imagining her. ------- I felt weird, standing there, looking at my sister, thinking about dropping my shorts and whacking off right there beside her. But the urge was strong. I undid my belt and the button on my shorts and unzipped them, but I didn't let them fall. "I have this problem," I said to her. "The stories ... and you ... have me so hot that I need to beat off. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's the way things are. And I was going to go do it in my room, but I can't help wanting to do it here ... with you. I know it's completely perverted, and I know you already hate me and this will just make you hate me more. I'm not telling you this to torture you. Actually, I don't really know why I'm telling you at all." I waited, but of course she didn't say anything. "Okay ... I'm going to do it now," I warned. I think I had some kind of twisted way of thinking about all this that said that if I told her I was going to, and she didn't complain, then it was okay to do it. I mean any idiot would see the problems with that way of thinking, under the circumstances, but I was really freaking out so maybe that's why I thought about things in a fucked up way. Then I dropped my pants ... only to find that my cock had wilted. "Well fuck me," I said softly. I looked up at her. "It got soft! I can't do it!" ------- A pain in my back woke me up. I was still sitting in the special reading chair in Heather's room, where I had sat down after my abortive attempt to beat off while looking at her, confused about things. Eventually I apologized to her again for being a pervert, and then just started talking about things in our past, kind of re-living our childhood in words. I told her things she had done that I laughed about, and things that had made me mad. I told her about things I'd done to her to make her mad. I talked about vacations we had taken, and stuff that had happened on them. One of my favorite memories was of her and me in the way-back of the station wagon on long trips, with stuff packed all around us while we were lying there supposed to be sleeping. Our parents traded off driving on long trips, and we went non stop so there wouldn't be motel bills. At night, lying back there, it was a magical world with the only lights coming from passing cars or the infrequent town. Towns were best, because the lights flashed by in reds and blues and greens from the neon signs, mixed with the white of street lights and other white lights. Then it would be dark again and a little spooky. If my dad was driving the radio was on to a country station. If it was my mom, there was rock and roll playing. And the only person to share these things with was my sister, lying next to me. They were really good memories, and I told her that. I got up. Nothing had changed with Heather, of course, but I told her I'd fallen asleep in the chair, and was going to bed. I leaned over and kissed her cheek and smelled her hair. "I really do love you," I said softly. Then I went to bed. ------- The next morning I remembered my mother's last exhortation: "Don't forget her exercises!" Heather was supposed to be rolled over once or twice a day and her skin massaged so she wouldn't get bed sores. Then my mom (usually) would work her arms and legs, bending them and flexing them so that the muscles got some use and movement and didn't shrink down. Mom called this "Heather's exercises" and I'd forgotten all about them. So I got something to eat and then went in and apologized to her for forgetting. I rolled her on her right side, which was awkward because her right arm got under her and she wanted to keep rolling, or fall back. She ended up on her stomach, with tubes stretched places. I turned her head sideways and messed up her hair in the process. There was some special lotion from the pharmacy on the night stand, so I got that. I'd never done this before or watched Mom do it. I'd seen the exercises, but not the massage. I soon realized that was because Heather's PJs had to be removed to do it properly. Naturally, my mother wouldn't do that in front of me. I thought about this for a while. I wanted to take her PJs off - there was no doubt about that. My cock was stiff as a board just from the thought. But I couldn't bring myself to do that either, even though I had an excuse and everything. So I just lifted the material of the top and slid my lotion-covered hand up inside, rubbing all over her back. She wasn't wearing a bra, of course. My hand slid all over her back, slippery with the lotion. Her back felt like it was on fire, it was so hot. I imagined her saying "Feels good," but of course it was only in my imagination. Then I contemplated the rest of her ... the back of her legs ... and her butt. Before I knew it I had the bottoms pulled down as far as I could make them go, and was watching my greasy hand slide all over her naked butt. I felt like I was going to explode and my cock actually hurt! "This is not good," I gasped. "Your butt is way too fine for me to be doing this!" I forced my hand to go down below those delicious globes and massage the backs of her thighs. I couldn't get to her calves from that direction, so I pulled her bottoms back up and pushed the legs up. It was even fun rubbing her calves! I knew she was supposed to lie on something other than her back for a few minutes, so I left her that way. My earlier guilt about beating off in front of her was miraculously gone and I had no trouble dropping trou this time. I grasped my hard prick and began stroking. "I'm sorry," I panted. "I bet there are a hundred guys who would kill to do what I just did. And I was supposed to do it, so you can't be mad. And don't be mad about me whacking off to you either. It's so hard that if I don't do this it might break off." I looked at my sister's face, still composed, her hair half hiding her mouth. "Sleeping Beauty ... you're so beautiful," I moaned. Then I spurted. I hadn't exactly planned this, so I didn't have a tissue or anything else to catch my spooge. It was yucky, but my other hand had to do. It felt really good to get that release, though, so I didn't care. I was groaning and making all manner of noises that probably made it sound like I was dying, so I gasped out what was happening so she wouldn't worry. Then, of course ... I felt stupid. There was a lot of that going around lately. I went and washed my hands and came back and rolled her back over. Then I faithfully worked her arms for five minutes. Working with her legs was different. I lifted each one and bent the knee, pushing it up to her chest and then straightening the leg again. I did that ten times with one leg before going to the next. I did three cycles of that, probably because I stared right at the crotch of her PJs the whole time. It wasn't exactly sexual thoughts on my mind - I had just cum, after all - but rather curiosity about what a girl's pussy might look like when her legs were moving and things were being stretched out of shape, so to speak. I mean did the slit get all crooked or something? I imagined it looking like a lightning bolt, but was pretty sure that was impossible. Then I thought of it being twisted sideways, like the old joke about what an Oriental woman's pussy looks like. In Sex Ed class they said that research showed that a teenage boy thinks about sex about seventy times an hour. I had never believed that before. Most of us thought that was a lie that was supposed to convince the girls to be careful. Now I wasn't so sure that was bogus. I finished up and straightened her all out again. Her boobs were right there under those PJs, and it was really tempting. Just in case she could hear, I told her about it, and that I was resisting. Instead I went and got her brush and brushed her hair. That didn't work very well. I wondered if it was okay to sit her up. I'd never seen anybody do that. I figured out why when I tried to get her to sit up. She was as limp as a wet dishrag, and tended to slump sideways like she was made of warm Jell-O. I ended up going to get all the pillows in the house and propping them around her to get her upper torso in a position where I could get to her hair from the back. The only way I could do that, though, was to climb up on the bed behind her. I did that and joked about how we were in bed together. Then I brushed her hair. I counted the strokes out loud, so she'd know I did a hundred. I got her all situated again, but left the pillows in her room so I could do that again later. All I could think about was her boobs, which I complained about. Then I went outside and ran around the house until I was sweating. I got something to eat, but was still thinking about her boobs. So I went and read her another story. ------- I chose Doctoring Brother this time, for the obvious reasons. The roles were reversed of course, and he was conscious and could react to things, but she was taking care of her brother, like I was taking care of my sister. There was even a massage in there. I read the whole thing through and, when I was done, was hard again. "You'd never do that," I said as I opened my pants, still sitting on the chair by her computer. "I mean climb on top of me and put me in you." I started jacking. "I wouldn't ask you to do that, but it might be nice if it was your hand doing this instead of mine." I stroked some more and it occurred to me that she couldn't see anything. "I'm beating off," I informed her. "It would be cool if that didn't make you mad." I started reading the part about her waking up in bed with him and wanting to suck his dick. "You wouldn't do that either," I panted. "I can't imagine what that must be like ... your lips ... those soft lips ... wrapped around my cock." I spurted, again unprepared for it. I was going to have to get a box of Kleenexes in there. Then I saw there was already a box on the nightstand, right beside her massage lotion, and felt stupid. ------- You know how they say video games can be addictive? Like you want to keep playing just a few minutes longer, or you aren't quite to a breaking point, so you just keep going? I think it got like that with me being around Heather. I know that sounds stupid, but every time I left her room all I thought about was what I was going to do the next time I went back in. It was insane, but I was trying to think of ways to entertain her, like she really could hear me. Don't get me wrong. I didn't think she could hear me. I didn't think all that stuff about people in a coma being trapped inside their mind was true at all. But she was alive, and she was my sister, and I knew if it was me I'd be bored out of my head. I thought briefly about how maybe that was the cure for comas. Bore them out of the heads they were trapped in. Then I realized that was stupid because most coma patients are left to be bored, and most of them don't recover. I made up more CDs and played them for her. Because I was afraid I'd turn into some kind of sex freak, I read her things other than Mr. Lubrican's erotica, like more comic books, and some Reader's Digests I found lying around the house. Those were actually kind of fascinating. They had good jokes in them too. But through it all, I kept getting turned on. It didn't help when Cathy Robinson actually did come back to visit, and brought three of Heather's other friends with her. That only lasted about ten minutes though, because it was too weird to stand there looking at Heather, trying to talk to her and getting nothing back. The reason it didn't help me was because Judy Green was wearing a halter top that showed a lot of cleavage, and Sherry Engles had on shorts with so many holes in them I knew she was either wearing a thong or no panties at all. I also learned she had a tattoo on her butt that I'd never heard about before. I don't know what it was, but it has green and blue in it. So when they left I read Heather Peeking At Sister's Tattoo, which turned out to be another story that had some things in common with me and my situation. First of all, there was a boy who liked to peek at his sister's hot friends during sleepovers. That was me and I admitted it to Heather for the first time. Then those girls wanted to see Joey's dick, which her friends did to me. Of course what happened after they saw his dick wasn't even in the same universe I was in, but it was hot to think about Sherry Engles dropping her shorts to show me her tattoo and me climbing on top of her naked body while she ooohed and ahhhhed about how good I was fucking her. And then doing Judy and Cathy and Regina too. Regina was the other girl who had come to visit Heather and she looked a lot like one of the girls in the story. And of course I hauled out my cock and jerked off, telling Heather I was fucking her friends, and then telling her I was turning to her and she was complaining that I couldn't because I was her brother, but let me climb on top of her anyway. I really got into it. "We're doing it," I gasped. "You and me, Heather ... right there on the bed ... and your arms are around me and I can feel your tits on my chest and I'm in you and you like it. You're telling me not to stop. Shit! Heather! I love this. I love you. Oh shit I'm gonna shoot! I'm shooting off in your pussy! Shooting in my sister's pussy!" ------- I felt bad afterwards, but not as bad as I thought I should feel. Still, I apologized to her and told her again I'd never hurt her and she didn't have to worry about me trying to rape her or anything while she was in a coma because it was all just a fantasy. I was in a pretty bad way, and I finished with what I hoped she'd remember if she could hear me, which I hoped she couldn't. "I promise!" I said. "I wouldn't really do it. Please don't hate me." I left her alone then, in peace. I washed a load of clothes, which included the pair of her PJs that my mother had apparently taken off of her just before she left. It never occurred to me that somebody would need to change Heather's clothes for her. I felt bad for not having paid more attention to my sister's situation. It was too easy to just forget about her. Or it had been. I was pretty sure I'd never forget about her from now on. She was all I could think of. I was obsessed. If she could hear me, she knew I was a hopeless pervert. If she couldn't it didn't matter, because I knew I was a hopeless pervert. So in that way kids try to do sometimes, I tried to cover all the bases, even though it didn't make sense. Sometimes I made sure to talk about anything except sex. I even watched the news on TV so I could tell her about the stories I heard. I thought about bringing the TV into her room and leaving it on, but decided if she could actually hear anything it would probably rot her brain. During the day there wasn't anything on that was even worth throwing a brick at. I brought my food into her room to eat it, and talked to her while I was doing that. I folded the clothes on the end of her bed. I even vacuumed the room. But the pull to think sexually about her was too strong, especially when I massaged her back to keep away the bed sores. And I always went back to reading her a dirty story about some brother porking his sister. By the third day I was pretty well convinced nothing could cure me. I was also convinced that, if Heather really could hear anything, and ever woke up, my life was over. So I kind of accepted that. I even told her about it. "Look," I said. "The deal is that I'm hot for my own sister. I'm hot for other women too. It's not like incest is the only thing I think about, but I do think about it. And if that makes you want to puke I understand. Actually, I wish you would puke, because that would mean you're awake, and it's killing me that you can't do anything. You're a cool sister, and you deserve to be able to have fun and talk to your friends, even if it means you never say anything to your pervert brother again in your whole life. And if you wake up and get a gun I won't blame you for shooting me, okay? But the fact is that's the way I am and I'm can't change it, so I'm not going to try to from now on, okay?" And then I sat down and read her a really long Lubrican story called A Haunting Love, and even though it had nothing to do with the situation Heather and I were in, there were places where it explained how Robby felt about his sister, Debbie, and I told Heather that was kind of how I felt about her, and that I loved her like Robby loved his sister. I didn't beat off during that story. I told her I wasn't going to. But when I went to my room I did. ------- On the fourth day I was putting away the laundry and I didn't know where to put her clean PJs, so I went through the drawers in her room. All her clothes were still in there. Mom hadn't gotten rid of anything, probably hoping that when Heather woke up she'd just get up and get dressed and be normal. Her panties and bras were interesting. There was also a thing she'd worn during sleepovers that was sexy and filmy and didn't cover much of her body. I don't think it was supposed to. She usually wore a robe over it when she was outside her room, but she'd had it on one night when they raided the bathroom while I was taking a shower. I thought about putting it on her for about five seconds. Then I wondered if maybe I should just change her PJs so she had clean ones on. I knew it was just an excuse to see her boobs, though, and I knew if Mom came home and found her in other PJs than she'd left her in, that she might start asking questions I didn't want her asking. I went over to Heather's bed and examined the collar of her PJs. It was kind of dark and oily looking, like my shirts got when I wore them two or three days in a row. So she really needed a change. I mean she'd be more comfortable if her PJs were clean ... right? But I knew if I did that I'd have to change her back into the original ones before Mom came home. As if my mother could hear what I was thinking, she chose that moment to call. "How's it going?" she asked. "Fine," I said. "No problems?" "I guess not," I said. "You are taking care of your sister, aren't you?" "Of course I am!" I was miffed that she didn't trust me. "Have you been giving her her exercises?" "Yes, Mom," I moaned. "I even turn her every day and put that lotion on her back." "You do?" My mother sounded suddenly interested. "Well you do ... don't you?" I was pretty sure she did. "Well ... yes," she admitted. "All over her back?" "Well of course," I said. "Isn't that the whole point?" "Yes, of course, Dear. I just didn't think you'd touch your sister's..." She didn't finish that. Instead she said "I'm proud of you, Bobby. You've ... I mean ... I'm just proud of you, that's all. You're taking this better than I thought you would." "She's my sister," I said, feeling guilty about all the things my mother wouldn't be proud of me for, if she knew about them. "She got a raw deal." "Well I'm proud of you," she said again. "I'm going to stay another two or three days for sure. Betty is doing fine, but she's still very tired. Do you need anything?" "No, Dad gave me his credit card number." "Why? I left you cash in the freezer," she said. "What?" That didn't make any sense at all. "I left you cash for food in the freezer," she said patiently. "In the freezer?" "Of course," she said. "That's the safest place to hide it. Even that congressman person knew that, Bobby." "The one who got caught with stacks of cash in his freezer?" I asked sarcastically. Maybe being crazy was genetic and I could blame everything on my mother. She ignored the sarcasm. "That's where it is, Bobby. Don't use your father's credit card. We're trying to pay that off." "Yes, Ma'am," I said, ready for the conversation to be over. "And be nice to your sister." "Yes, Ma'am," I parroted. "Give her good massages, Bobby. I know she likes those. I can just tell. They break up the monotony and they're good for her. And don't skimp on the exercises." "I love you, Mom," I said into the phone, "but you're breaking up." I started making scratchy static noises with my voice. "Yeah, right," she said. "Try and have some fun, Bobby. It sounds like you need it." She hung up and it sounded kind of fast, like she was trying to beat me to it. She was okay for a mom, but moms always worry too much. Well most moms. This one actually had something to worry about, even if she didn't know it. Her son was a pervert and she'd told him to give extra good massages to the girl he was perverted about. ------- I felt like something had changed after that phone call somehow. Maybe it was because my mother, who usually had eyes on all four sides of her head, hadn't magically known I was abusing her daughter. Well, not her daughter actually. I'm not counting mental abuse. But I hadn't actually touched Heather like I dreamed about touching her. It was myself I was touching and abusing. Anyway, the fact that she hadn't magically known about what I was doing, and the fact that she hadn't gone off like a skyrocket upon my admission that I had rubbed lotion into all of Heather's backside didn't lead me to be less concerned about getting caught for what I was doing. I just got more devious instead. Basically I came up with the convoluted plan that involved changing Heather's PJs (they really needed to be changed, after all) and, while doing that, giving her an extra good massage and coat of lotion (which my mother had actually told me to do). What made it convoluted was that I'd have to wash the old PJs and then change her back into them before Mom got home so she wouldn't know I'd changed them. Then I decided that not washing the old ones was the better idea, because then they'd still need washing, and it would look like she'd been wearing them all week. What really made it convoluted was that I convinced myself this was all to make Heather feel more comfortable. ------- "I'm not doing this just to see your boobs," I said to my sister. She didn't say anything back, of course, but I could imagine what she would say if she could. "Okay," I admitted. "Maybe that's a big part of it, but I really do care that you're comfortable. And I'm not going to perv out on you while I'm giving you a massage. I'm just going to give you a good massage." With that I unbuttoned the front of her PJ top. Bare, pale skin was revealed, lying between the still-covered breasts I wanted so desperately to see. I stood up. Other than talking to her, and telling her about my perverted fantasies, I hadn't really done anything to her. I felt pretty good about that, seeing as how she was helpless. I mean I wasn't a total jerk, you know? But now I was about to change all that, and it bothered me, because it was a line I couldn't step back across once I'd done it. At the same time I really believed that she'd be more comfortable in clean PJs. I knew I believed that because I wanted to believe it, but be that as it may, it felt genuine. "Maybe I can do this with my eyes closed," I said. "At least until you're lying on your front." So I closed my eyes and spread the sides of her top aside... And promptly peeked through slitted eyes. I was hopeless. "Wow," I said softly, opening my eyes wide as I stared at two mounds of rounded flesh, capped by nipples almost exactly the same color as the skin they were lying on. "Sorry," I said, still staring. "I wasn't too good at keeping my eyes closed." The breasts I was gazing at rose and fell slowly. "Damn, Heather," I sighed. "They're gorgeous! I had no idea! I mean I knew they'd be beautiful and that I'd like them, but they're perfect! They're better than anything I've seen online." I didn't touch them, of course. I mean just seeing them exceeded my former wildest dreams, and touching them would have ruined their perfection somehow. "I'm serious, girl," I said. "Some day you're going to own some guy because of those things." I sat her up, pulling her upper body upright by putting one of my hands behind her neck. The PJs practically fell off her slumped shoulders. That's when I realized the flaw in my plan. The feeding tube was stuck in her arm, and the left arm of the PJs was around it. How did Mom change them? Surely she didn't pull the needle out and then stick it back in. If she did that then I was screwed, because there was no way I was going to do that. I laid her back down so I could look at the PJs closer. When I let her down a little too quick her breasts wobbled a little bit. I realized my cock was iron hard. She looked so beautiful, lying there topless. I examined the arm of her PJs and found that Mom had cunningly separated the seam and sewn Velcro into it. All I had to do was pull the Velcro apart and the top was loose. That led me to think about removing her bottoms. I was pretty sure lighting would strike me if I did that, but I was going to do it anyway. "I promise to keep my eyes closed this time," I told her. I had to reach underneath her and grip the waistband to get the bottoms over her buns. I discovered a Velcro seam on the side, which opened up to deal with her catheter thing. Once that was open they started to slide pretty easy. I closed my eyes tightly and pulled until I felt the cloth reach her ankles. Getting it off her limp feet was easy. I dropped the bottoms on the floor. I felt my way up the bed and reached for her, peeking through slit eyes again, but no more than that. My right hand landed on her hip in such a way that my arm hid what I was trying not to look at. My left hand gripped her left shoulder. When I pulled, she rolled like she didn't weigh much. Her feeding tube was in her left arm, and the catheter was wrapped around and over the back of her left leg, but they weren't tight, so I left them alone. There, in front of me, was my naked sister, lying on her stomach, almost like she was sunbathing in the nude. I adjusted her head so her face wasn't half buried. "I didn't look," I said, feeling inordinately proud of myself. ------- I spent over an hour rubbing that lotion into the skin on my sister's back. I didn't stop until my hands started to hurt from all the squeezing and manipulating I did. I even worked on her feet. While she was like that I also brushed her hair. It was getting a little oily, but I wasn't up to trying to wash it. Even oily it smelled good to me. And I was pretty proud, because out of that hour I only spent maybe ten minutes on her butt. The temptation to slide my hands places they shouldn't be was there, but I overcame that pretty easily. I admit I did go down on her sides far enough that I now knew what the sides of a girl's breasts felt like. Just barely, though. And when I was doing her feet I didn't spread her legs and try to get a look down there either. I wanted to have some kind of argument that I wasn't a complete and total pervert. It wasn't until I got ready to turn her back over and put on her clean PJs that I realized the hard part was before me. There was no way I could do all that with my eyes closed. And I was going to see stuff. I figured I'd better warn her. If I had earned any good will, I wanted to keep it. "You ready to get your clean PJs on?" I asked brightly. "Um ... I guess when I help you with that ... I won't be able to avoid seeing you," I said. "I'm not doing this on purpose or anything. Just remember that." I rolled her onto her back and when her head flopped to her left, I left it there. That's because I was staring, and this time I was staring at everything. The hair where her legs met was exactly the same color as the hair I had just brushed. But the texture couldn't have been more different. She had fine, straight hair on her head, and had sometimes complained that she couldn't do anything with it because it was so limp and fine. Her pussy hair looked like somebody had rubbed a balloon on it, and static electricity had made it all stand up. It was wild and kinky and stuck up all over the place. It wasn't that there was so much of it ... but what there was all seemed to be trying to shoot off into space or something. "Wow," I said again. "You're killing me," I moaned. "Do you have time for a story? Because I need to read one and beat off or I'm going to explode. I imagined her voice saying "Go ahead, pervert," but it didn't sound quite as snotty as I would have expected. I hobbled over to her computer, bent over because my prick was caught in my underwear and it hurt a little bit. I undid everything and slid my shorts down before I sat down. The site was still active on her computer - all I'd done was minimize it - and I started looking through stories. I didn't want a long one this time. The first one I came to that was short was called Familiarity Breeds Sister, which sounded ominous, somehow. It was bad enough that I had ogled her and had fantasies about sucking those succulent nipples and fucking the slit below all that kinky hair. Dreaming about getting her pregnant was definitely a no-no. So I passed that one up and kept looking. I saw one that was titled It's Only Incest If... That didn't sound too bad. Maybe there were rules to this incest thing, and I hadn't actually broken them yet. I clicked on that story. I should have known better. This Lubrican guy liked to write about people named Bobby. It didn't help at all. In fact it made things worse, because it was clear that this Bobby's sister didn't care what incest was. Terri, the girl in the story, just wanted to feel things. Like me. Maybe like Heather. If she was conscious. My mind told me I was crazy, because if I tried any of the things Bobby did with Terri, I knew Heather would kill me. And yet I had done some of them. Looking, for instance. And a little touching. And the kisses I'd given her on the cheek weren't the kind I'd have given her on the cheek if she was awake. Hell, I would never kiss Heather on the cheek if she was awake. Or I wouldn't have before the accident. This was very confusing. And in the story that Bobby resisted, like I was trying to do, but there were "accidents" that caused things to happen. It was easy to think of Heather and me ... having ... accidents. I was jerking like crazy, slicking my hand up and down my hard cock almost as fast as I could, looking at the words on the screen and seeing Heather and me in my mind. "Oh damn," I groaned, as I felt it coming. "I'm sorry." I felt like crying, because I knew that when I came I'd look at my naked sister. I'd look at her breasts. I'd look at her pussy. And I'd imagine spunking her, like the other Bobby was spunking Terri in the story. And I knew it was wrong to want to do that. "Oh Heather," I cried out. I turned my body on the chair. I didn't have a tissue, so I was going to use my hand again, because I wasn't stopping to get one now. My eyes lit on that puff of hair, and slid up over her flat stomach to the mounds of her breasts. I was glad her head was turned away from me because... Wait. Her head wasn't turned away from me. I froze all over, which was excruciating, because I was right on the verge of spurting and when I froze I squeezed, and there was this terrible kind of strangely delicious pain in my prick. She had turned her head. I was sure of it, because I had been glad her face was away from mine while I looked at her. I was positive of it. Then her eyelids flicked upwards and green eyes were staring right at me. ------- Chapter 3 "Shit!" I gasped. Then "Fuck!" Then I'm not sure because I was babbling and a complete wreck. My sister was awake! After six months in a coma what they said might happen had happened! And she had opened her eyes to find her brother beating off, staring at her naked body. I almost passed out. Things got very dim, and I got dizzy. I leaned drunkenly to my right and, because my right hand was still locked firmly around my penis, I couldn't put it down to stop myself as I tipped past the balancing point. I crashed to the floor, which released the paralysis. My shoulder hurt where I'd landed on it, but that was the least of my worries. I jumped up, babbling apologies, and telling her she was awake and basically freaking out. In response she opened her mouth and croaked. She licked her lips and tried again, but it still came out as a croaking sound that wasn't at all like her voice. She lifted her right hand, and then let it drop again. "Water!" I screamed, realizing she hadn't had a drink in half a year, and that her throat must be like sandpaper. I realized I was hobbled by my shorts and, my face flaming, I reached for them and pulled them up. "Don't go anywhere!" I yelled. I took off like a shot to the kitchen. I got a glass and shoved it under the tap. I only filled it half full, which is good, because I'd have spilled half of a full glass on my way back. She had her arms up again, and was feeling around where her feeding tube went into her arm. "Water!" I said, a little more calmly. "Let me help you." I put a hand under her neck and lifted. There must have been some adrenaline at work, because she felt as light as a feather as she sat up. She leaned my way almost immediately and her right hand tried to come back and catch her, but it was too late. I moved the hand on her neck and she leaned her shoulder into it. Then she started to go backwards again and I spilled some of the water in the glass on her as I brought that hand into play. I pressed the glass against the front of her right shoulder and my left hand on her back and got her stabilized. Her hands came up and pulled weakly at the glass. Once I was sure she wasn't going to fall over immediately, I let her pull my hand to her face, and helped her tip the glass up carefully. She helped too much and I saw water pour into her mouth. She coughed, and water went everywhere, but her grip on my hand got firmer, if anything, and she took more water into her mouth. I heard her swallow. Her grip got even stronger and tried to tip the glass up higher. "Take it easy," I warned. "You'll choke. Little sips." Being Heather, she ignored me, gulping and fighting me until the glass was empty. She let out a gust of air after having held her breath for some time. Her face turned to look at me. Her eyes were so green. I'd never noticed how bright green they were. They looked empty somehow. I was suddenly aware that there had been some talk about possible brain damage. I felt something grip my heart and squeeze tightly. "Heather?" I asked, hopefully. She blinked and suddenly those eyes communicated that there was all kinds of intelligence behind them. "I'm going to lay you back down now," I said. "Okay." Just like that she spoke. It was only one word, but it made it obvious she wasn't brain damaged. At least not totally. I let her down. I just naturally tried to straighten her hair and one of her hands came up and batted at mine feebly. "What are you doing?" she asked, sounding irritated. Her voice had a raspy tone to it, but she still sounded irritated. "Nothing," I said. The enormity of the situation hit me. "Shit! I have to call Mom. I have to call Dad." "No!" Her voice was suddenly a lot more firm. She cleared her throat. "You don't understand," I said. "You were in an accident. You were in a coma. You just woke up! This is great!" "I know that," she said, sounding tired. She closed her eyes. "I know what you did." Shit. I suddenly wished she was back in a coma. That only lasted a couple of seconds, though. "Sorry," I mumbled. I meant about my thoughts. I'd been telling her my thoughts so much I guess I thought she could hear them or something. "Oh, you're forgiven," she said, her eyes still closed. "I'm hungry." "I don't know if I can give you anything to eat or not," I said doubtfully. "Let me call Mom and tell her and she'll tell me what to do." "No!" Her voice was much more firm now. Her eyes opened and she rolled her head to look at me. "We have some things to talk about first." That sounded kind of ominous. Actually, at that point, anything other than "Who am I? And who are you?" would have probably sounded ominous. "At least get me some more to drink," she said. I was back with half a glass of apple juice within a minute. She had rolled over on one elbow, and her shoulder and head were off the pillow, but she was still weaving. "I can't believe how weak I feel," she complained. "All I did was lie here and think and sleep. You'd think I'd be really rested, but I feel so tired." She sat up better, though, and she took the glass from me, pushing my hand away. She started to lean and I touched her shoulder. "Don't touch me," she said. I jerked my hand back. She looked at me with those green eyes again. "I want to try it myself." She actually sounded like she was explaining her earlier comment. I stepped back. I realized she was still stark naked. Surely she noticed that. I reached for her clean PJs, which were on the corner of the computer desk where I'd abandoned them while I read her an incest story and beat off. "Here's your clean PJs," I said weakly, holding them out. She had the glass up to her lips, but she was sipping this time. She seemed to savor every sip. She let go of the glass with her left hand and pointed at her feet. She took the glass from her lips just long enough to say "Put them down there." Confused, I placed the folded garment on the corner of the bed by her feet. I watched her sip the juice. She licked her lips several times. "This is freaking me out," I said, feeling like if I didn't move, or call somebody or do something I was going to explode into pieces. "You think you're freaked out," she said. She took another long sip and swallowed. "You have no idea." "I guess you're right," I said, feeling calmer for some reason. "How do you feel?" I realized that was a pretty stupid question to ask somebody who just woke up from a six month long coma. "Sorry, I guess that's kind of a stupid question." She finished the juice in a gulp, swallowed, smacked her lips, and rubbed her stomach while handing me the glass. "No it's not. You're not stupid. I have called you stupid lots of times, but I was wrong." My jaw dropped. I couldn't help asking, "Are you sure you're okay?" "I think so," she said carefully. "It's just now sinking in, I think. I tried so hard to find my way out, but I couldn't, and I wasn't sure all this wasn't just another dream." She reached out and took my hand. She brought it to her lips and kissed the finger nearest them. "Can you feel that?" she asked. "Yeah," I croaked. Suddenly it was my throat that was dry. "Me too," she said. She looked up at my face. "I'm back, Bobby. You helped me find my way out." ------- It took a while, but eventually she was able to explain it to me. I think she was explaining it to herself too, in a way. She kept touching herself, and touching me, like she wanted to be sure it wasn't a dream. She couldn't remember when she woke up. That was her words for when she became aware of things in the coma. She knew she'd been in an accident, but couldn't remember any of the details. She learned about all that from people talking to her after she woke up. She knew she was conscious, and she knew there was another way to be that was more awake than she was, but she couldn't figure out how to get there. Several times while she was describing this she reached and pointed. She'd felt like there were multiple places she could be, but she was stuck in only one of them because she couldn't remember how to move to any of the others. It turned out that she could hear people talking to her, but she couldn't see them. She said her eyes were open in her mind, but all she could see was a gray kind of mist all around her. When somebody talked to her it made the mist sparkle. She could remember what people looked like, if she knew them. She just couldn't see them. She didn't know her physical eyes were actually closed. When she woke up she was aware of her body, but it didn't seem real or substantial to her. She said it was as if her body was a shadow that she knew was there, but couldn't use. When I asked her if it frustrated her to be stuck there, she thought about that for a few seconds. "Not really," she said. "Not all the time. It's hard to explain. I wanted to get to the other place, where Mom and Dad's voices were, but it was too hard. And when I tried, and it didn't work, I just started thinking about things again. I did a lot of thinking. But it wasn't boring, because I was able to think about every facet of anything I decided to concentrate on. It was like having no distractions at all, which was kind of nice. But if Mom started talking to me, that was okay too, because I liked that too. I kind of liked everything. It didn't seem like there was any time where I was." "It would have frustrated me," I said. "I mean to have to lie there and not be able to do something." Her head swiveled toward me. "That's what it was like when you started talking to me," she said. "It wasn't like that with Mom and Dad. But when you started talking about sex ... I wanted to get to where you were." "Probably to kill me," I said, embarrassed. "At first, yes. But I couldn't get there. So I thought about things. And you talked to me so much more than anybody else did, and I could hear how embarrassed and confused you were and I wanted to help you, but I couldn't." "Help me?" "Yeah," she said. "I knew you were horny, and I wanted to help you." I stared at her. I cocked my head. "Where is my sister really?" I asked. She smiled for the first time since she opened her eyes. "I'm your sister," she said. "I don't think I'm the same sister you had before the accident, but that's because I've had so much time to think about things. It really makes a difference when you can just think as long as you need to about a problem." "Like what?" I asked, fascinated by this girl who looked so much like my sister, but didn't act very much like her at all. "Like how upset you were when you wanted to open my PJs and look at my breasts," she said. "You remember that?" "I remember everything you said or did for the last ... I don't know how long it was," she finished, sounding a little upset. "How long was I in the coma?" "Six months," I said. Her eyes widened. "You're shitting me!" she said. "No, really," I said. "And I started taking care of you three days ago when Mom had to go to Aunt Betty's-" "Because she went into labor," Heather finished for me. "I remember her telling me that, but it was just another memory. Your memories are different. I remember them better. You made me want to come to you really bad. I honestly think that's why I kept trying so hard instead of just relaxing again." "I don't get that," I said. "Why did you want to come to me so bad?" "Because you made me horny, Bobby!" she said, as if that was the most normal thing in the world to say. "I was so horny I could hardly stand it, and while you were reading me those stories I kept creeping closer and closer to where you were ... feeling my way through the mist ... and suddenly there you were and we were in my room and I was afraid it was another dream, and my throat wouldn't work, but it's real and it's all because of you!" "So you're not mad at me?" It wasn't possible. If she'd heard everything I said ... she had to want to kill me. "Mad?" Her voice sounded kind of dreamy somehow. Her eyes were sort of unfocused too. "I can't be mad about you loving me. I know I'm supposed to be, but I think that's pretty stupid. I think people have gotten off track with that idea." "You do?" I was astonished. She looked at me again, her eyes clear. "I had plenty of time to think about it, Bobby. I could hear how torn up and guilty you felt about it. But I could also hear how real your feelings were. You weren't being selfish about it, Bobby. You cared what I thought. You cared more about me than you did for your own desires. That's real love, Bobby. Most people can't do that ... or won't." "Wow," I sighed. I couldn't believe it. Not only wasn't she mad, but she actually understood what I had tried to tell her, even though I didn't know how to tell her. "That's why you can't call Mom or Dad yet," she said. "And that's because... ?" I said. "I'm still horny, Bobby. You made me horny. I couldn't do anything about it there. You made me crazy horny and it led me away from that place and to you. Now that I'm here I can do something about how horny I am. I want you to fix it. That's why I'm still naked." "I don't understand," I croaked. "Yes you do," she said. "You told me what you wanted to do to me. I thought about it ... a lot. Brad never came to see me, did he." It wasn't a question. Brad was her boyfriend before the accident. He had another girlfriend now, which was one reason I thought he was a turd. "No." "Because he didn't love me. He doesn't love me. The only boy who loves me is you, Bobby. I know that now." "But I'm your brother," I whined. "You love me. I love you. That's all that's important," she said. "But it's incest," I moaned. "Not if all you do is kiss me a little bit while you're getting me off. We don't have to have sex. I'm so horny it won't take much to get me off. I'm too weak to do it myself, Bobby. Help me. Please." She might have thought she was dreaming when she first woke up, but I knew I was dreaming now. This wasn't possible in any real universe. It was possible in comic books, and in Mr. Lubrican's imagination, but it couldn't be really happening to me. Then again, as a fantasy, I couldn't really complain ... now could I? Which is how I ended up with my lips pressed against my older sister Heather's lips, and felt her tongue slither into my mouth, while her hand pushed my hand across all that lightning-struck pussy hair and between legs where I felt the hottest, slipperiest cavity I could ever imagine. The thick tube, where it entered her body, was in the way, but it was instinctive to work around it. Her fingers taught me where her clitty was. I knew it existed, and I'd seen pictures on the net, but of course I'd never felt one. I was in shock, but within a minute I knew what it felt like to fingerfuck a girl. I couldn't breathe, so I stopped kissing her and she pushed my head toward the breasts I'd been afraid to soil with a mere touch. "Suck them," she panted. Then she guided me with her voice, telling me exactly what to do ... when to press hard and when to go slow or speed up, until she made a sobbing wretched sound that scared me because I thought I'd killed her. Her hands grabbed mine and communicated for me to stop. Two of my fingers were still in her, but I stopped. My head hovered over her chest. I was afraid to breathe. She was gasping for air. Finally she told me to take my fingers out of her ... slowly. My whole hand was wet. "Oh thank you," she sighed. "I needed that so much. It's why I came back. You got me so excited I had to have it." She rolled her head to look at me with those green eyes. "Don't get a big head, but you were perfect. Better than Brad was." "You did that with Brad?" I felt a surge of anger in my chest. "Only once," she said. "He thought if he could get that far that I'd give him a blow job." "Did you?" I asked, my voice tight. She laughed. "No. I jerked him off instead. He was a jerk and I knew it. I just wanted to find out what it felt like for somebody else to do that to me. And he was cute, and I was stupid. I'm not so stupid any more. At least I hope not." "I feel stupid a lot," I said. I was surprised I'd admit it to her, but somehow it didn't feel dangerous to do so. "You're not stupid," she said. "You're honest. You're honest with yourself, and you were honest with me. I like that. It was part of what got me so turned on. It makes me tingle right now. Aren't you horny? It seemed like you were horny most of the time when you talked to me." "I was," I admitted. "I didn't want to be ... or maybe I thought I shouldn't be. I don't know. I had all these feelings for you, but I knew you'd hate me for them, and I didn't want you to hate me." She smiled and then frowned. "I was a little disgusted at first. I remember that. But I could hear the yearning in your voice ... I could tell you really meant it. And as I thought about it, I realized you weren't like Brad, who would try to get as much as he could from any girl he was with. And with all the time to think about it, I realized I've always thought you were cute." I felt my eyes trying to pop out of my head. "Since when?" I gasped. She smiled. "Since I helped Mom change your diapers," she said. "Your little pecker was so cute, and when Mom tugged on it or flipped it, teasing you about how big a boy you were, you laughed and giggled. I've been fascinated with it ever since." "You have?" I was astonished. "Who do you think suggested to the girls that they could get a look at a real one? Why do you think I was always with them when we raided the bathroom?" "I thought you were torturing me," I said. "And you called them sluts for wanting to see me naked." "That's what I thought I was supposed to do," she said. "Remember how horrible you felt when you were jerking off to me? That's how I felt for wanting to see your cock. I just didn't want to admit it to myself that I wanted to see my brother's cock." "Man, this is so weird," I moaned. "You ain't seen nothing yet," she said. Just the way she said it made all the hairs on my body stand up on end. My imagination went wild. I automatically felt bad, but then things she'd said made that seem silly. It was very confusing. "Why?" I whispered. "Brad didn't love me. I know you do. So you're going to get some things Brad wanted ... but didn't get. "Oh shit," I sighed. She laughed. "Not that." "Not what?" I asked, suddenly terrified that I'd just blown it. "Not shit," she said, looking confused. "Oh," I said. "Okay. I agree. No shit." Her eyes took on this unfocused look again, and she said, "So are you horny or not?" "Yes!" I gulped. "Then take your pants off." I did, and then felt stupid, standing there in just a T shirt. I took it off too. "I thought you said you were horny," she complained. I looked down at my limp dick. I suspect it had been scared limp when she woke up. "I am," I insisted. "It doesn't look like it to me," she pouted. I looked at her body instead of her face. Her nipples were bumpier than they'd been while she was asleep. I glanced at her pussy hair and remembered the feel of her slick insides. I lifted my hand and sniffed at the fingers that had been in her. It didn't smell anything like fish. I'd always heard pussies smell like fish, but this wasn't anything like that at all. This smelled delicious. "That's better," she purred. "Come here." I walked to the bed and she rolled to face me. Which is how I ended up standing there, vibrating like a poplar tree in a tornado, with my cock inside Heather's mouth while she sucked on it lustily. Had there been anyone outside her bedroom door, listening, they'd have been sure someone was being strangled in that room ... strangled while being tickled, while someone was sticking pins into their body, which was also being water-boarded or something. Those are the kinds of sounds I made. Heather just hummed happily, playing with my balls with one hand and gripping my ass with the other to keep me from falling away from the bed. ------- Maybe if I'd have known what was going to happen things would have turned out differently. Things have turned out differently since then ... when I did have notice. But that particular time I couldn't cum. Don't get me wrong. It felt wonderful. It felt fantastic. The closest I got to complaining about anything at all was when she stopped. I don't know how long she went. I was in this swirling world of amazing feelings that filled my brain completely. But eventually she pulled off and rolled back onto her back. "My jaw hurts," she complained. "Don't you want to shoot off?" "Yes," I gasped. "But I can't." "Why not?" she sounded hurt. "Am I doing it wrong?" "No way!" I panted. "Nothing ever felt that good before." "So why didn't you cum?" "I don't know. Does your jaw still hurt?" I asked anxiously. She laughed, understanding that it wasn't concern for her jaw that had spurred the question. "There are other ways to make you cum," she said. "Ways I know I'm good at." Which is how I ended up standing beside the bed, leaning my upper torso backwards while my sister's hand flashed along my prick, jerking it better than even I could. I think I might have lasted a whole minute. Then she laughed delightedly as I gasped in shame while my prick painted long lines of white all over her arm, breasts and the bed spread as I came so hard I knew I was going to pass out. I only sat down hard instead, though, jerking my cock out of her hand. She rolled back onto her back, exhausted from that little exercise. When I saw her drag tired fingers through the mess I'd made on her skin, and bring them to her mouth, I held my breath. Her lips opened and she sucked the fingers clean of my spunk. I was sure I was going to fly into pieces as her tongue flicked out to lick her lips and she swallowed. Turns out holding your breath when you're already out of oxygen isn't the choice thing to do. I rolled drunkenly to my right and just barely managed to stiffen my neck muscles enough so that my head didn't bounce off the floor. Then I rolled onto my back and started dragging air into my lungs again. ------- Chapter 4 We lay there recovering for maybe ten minutes. I sat up and saw that her eyes were closed and she was breathing slowly. She looked too much like she had for the last six months, and it scared me. "Heather?" I asked in a whisper. Her head turned an inch and then came back. "Mmmmm?" she hummed. "You okay?" I asked, relief in my voice. "Tired," she muttered. "Okay," I responded. I didn't know what else to say. I got up quietly and tiptoed from the room. I was pretty frazzled. I looked at the clock in the kitchen and realized that it had only been about an hour and a half since she woke up from the coma. I sat down on a kitchen chair, which felt cold to my naked butt, but I didn't care. I looked down at my cock. It looked the same, but it wasn't. It had been in Heather's mouth. It had spurted in her hand. It would never be the same again. I don't know whether it was her talking about being able to think with no distractions, or just because I couldn't think of anything to distract myself with, but I sat there and thought about everything that had happened. Her waking hadn't turned out to be anything like what I'd envisioned. Truthfully, I hadn't envisioned her waking at all, and that bothered me now. It hadn't then. What had happened had happened, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. But now I knew that there had been something I could do about it. I just didn't know it then. I didn't even know it while I was doing it. It was very confusing, because what I had thought I was doing all wrong ... had turned out to be the right thing to do. I tried to wrap my mind around the concept of Heather wanting to do things with me ... like I wanted to do with her. It was impossible ... until I realized it had been impossible for me to feel that way about her until three or four days ago. So much had changed in such a short amount of time! I heard her voice and stood up so suddenly that my cock flopped up and down. I was suddenly embarrassed to go in to her room naked, but that seemed really stupid, so I went anyway. "There are all these tubes sticking in me," she complained. "Welcome back to the real world," I said. Based on what her life had been like, I didn't think she should be complaining all that much. "Take them out," she ordered. Now she was starting to sound like the old Heather. "I'm not jerking things out of your body that a doctor put there," I said. "We need to call Mom and Dad. They need to know you're awake." She sat up in bed. Her breasts wobbled and I felt my cock react. "As long as you understand about our new relationship," she said. I stood there staring at her. "Of course I don't understand it," I said, exasperated. "You just woke up two hours ago and instead of being mad at me for having incestuous thoughts about you, you sucked my..." I couldn't say it. It just sounded nasty and what she had done hadn't been nasty at all. It had been loving. "I love you." I said instead. "I know you do, and I love you too. Do you understand that?" "Yes." "And you understand that what happened is going to happen again? I mean I want it to happen again. This is all new to me too, but I want to be able to do things with you." "What kind of things?" I asked. Then I wondered why I'd been stupid enough to tie her down. "I don't know yet," she said. "I mean there are some things we probably shouldn't do ... you know?" I nodded because my throat was really dry all of a sudden. "I was afraid I wouldn't like sucking your cock, but I did, and I want to do it again. And I can think of other things too. The point is I don't know what's going to happen between us, but I have to know that you're in this with me, because when Mom and Dad get back it's going to be hard for us to do anything at all." "I get that," I croaked. "Kiss me again and then you can call Mom." I kissed her. Somehow I ended up lying on the bed, half on top of her while I kissed her. Her breast felt hot pushed against my chest. When I stopped kissing her I sort of couldn't help kissing my way down to the other breast and sucking on the nipple a little. "Shit," she moaned. "Did I hurt you?" I asked. I'd been sucking kind of hard. "No. Maybe it's a good thing something is stuck up in me after all." "Why?" I asked. "Because if it wasn't I'd probably let you fuck me, and that's something we shouldn't do." She said it so easily that I was suddenly horrified that somebody else had fucked her. I reared up on one elbow. "Who fucked you?" I asked harshly. "I'll kill him!" She looked shocked, but then smiled. "Nobody fucked me," she said seriously. "I'm a virgin. I can't believe my little brother is jealous." "I'm not jealous," I said. I was relieved, not jealous, right? "Yes you are and it makes me want to let you fuck me even more. I know it will be fantastic when you do. And it will be you who takes my cherry, Bobby. I promise you that. But not now. Maybe in a few years. I owe you that." "You don't owe me anything," I said, not liking the idea that she might do anything out of a sense of obligation. Her wanting to do things with me was what made it so incredibly special. "I owe you everything," she said softly. "You don't know what it was like. It was so easy to just stay there, where nothing bothered me, and I could think about whatever I wanted to. I didn't want to leave very often, and when I did it was easy to give up when I couldn't find my way. I'd rather be here, Bobby, but I didn't know it until you made me want to be here." She grinned, like she was trying to break a mood that was too serious. "Oh looky! You're all stiff again!" She said she was too tired, so she had me beat off until I was close. Then she took over and pulled me towards her and clamped her lips over the head. She sucked at exactly the same time as my first spurt rocketed into her mouth and I thought my whole body was going to shrivel up and shoot out of my dick. She was still holding my cock when there wasn't anything left in me and she took her mouth off. She kind of munched on nothing and swallowed. "It's nothing like I thought it would be," she commented. "It's bitter in a funny, nice way. Do you like it when I suck it?" "Are you crazy?" I croaked. She smiled. "Well, I like doing it, so that's good. I want to cum again, but I'm sore down there. I hate that tube. It isn't fair." "I wish I could do something," I said, feeling helpless. "You could pull it out," she suggested. "I really don't think that's a good idea," I said. "Then call Mom and tell her I want you to pull it out. If she says it's okay then you can do it." We were both teenagers ... with a slightly flawed concept of reality. What can I say? I went to the phone. It didn't occur to me until my mother's voice said "Hello? Bobby? What's wrong?" that I was talking to my mother while I was stark naked. ------- I never got to convey Heather's request to be unburdened of her catheter to our mother. That's because Mom completely freaked out when I told her Heather was awake. There was screaming and I had to pull the phone away from my ear or be deafened, so when she calmed down I missed some of what she said, which made it confusing to both of us when I tried talking again. She asked me about a thousand questions, most of which I couldn't answer. I could have told her why Heather chose that particular time to come out of it, but decided that a little mystery was better than the truth. I kept asking what we should do and she kept saying "I don't know!" Then she'd usually ask "How is she?" Finally I suggested that she talk to her herself. There was a spate of "Can she do that?" and then "The phone won't reach in there." Rather foolishly I said Heather could come to the phone. Her legs were too weak, though, and I had to pick her up off the floor. She said nothing hurt, but I felt bad. When I got back to the phone and said Heather couldn't make it after all, Mom freaked again. "I'm leaving now!" she yelled. "Calm down, Mom," I said urgently. "We're fine. She's just a little weak. Don't get in a crash because you're trying to get home too fast." "I'm leaving now!" she yelled again. "Don't do anything! No! Call 911! I'm leaving now!" Her phone disconnected and I knew she'd closed it. If I called back I'd just get more of the same. She firmly believed that it was talking on a cell phone that had put Heather in the coma, and she refused to even turn hers on when she was in the car. I felt sorry for her, because I knew kind of how she felt. Kind of. I went back and told Heather what she'd said. "Maybe the paramedics will take the tubes out," she said. "Call them." We were both teenagers ... with a slightly flawed concept of reality. What can I say? ------- We were smart enough to clean her up and get her back into her PJs before calling 911. I got dressed too. We tried to clean my spooge off the comforter, but there were still some spots left. I hoped nobody would notice. "911, what is your emergency, please?" "My sister just woke up." "This is 911, young man. It's a crime to make prank calls to 911," said the woman in a stern voice. "No," I said hastily. "She was in a coma. She's been in a coma for six months, but she just woke up." "Where are you, young man?" asked the woman. "I'm at home," I said, confused. "Your sister was in a coma ... at home," she said sarcastically, "and she just woke up." "Exactly," I said. "It's a violation of civil criminal code to make prank calls to 911, young man," she said again. "I show your phone as being located at 2140 Elm Circle. What is your name, young man?" "My name is Bobby!" I shouted. "She wants me to pull the tubes out of her arm and pu..." I took a breath. "you know ... down there. So can I do that?" "What?" "She has a feeding tube in her arm," I said. "She's hungry and wants me to take her to the kitchen to get her something to eat. Can I pull her feeding tube out? And that catheter thing between her legs that goes to the bag?" "No!" shouted the woman. "We'll send somebody right over, but this better not be a prank!" The ambulance arrived in full glory, with lights and siren going full blast. A man and a woman got out. The woman opened the back and pulled this folding metal table thing out while the guy ran up towards the front door carrying two suitcases. I took him to Heather, who was sitting up on the edge of the bed, trying to look perky and fully recovered. They took her vitals and asked us what happened about a dozen times. We told them what had happened a dozen times too. They only asked us where our parents were three or four times. Heather asked them to take the tubes out, but of course they wouldn't. That would have been too easy. Instead they called somebody on their cell phone. It was decided that Heather needed to be seen by a doctor, and since doctors don't make house calls any more, they decided to take her to the hospital. Then there was the problem of who was going to authorize all this. They didn't even look at me. Heather wasn't old enough. We gave them Mom's cell phone number and they called it, but she didn't answer. I told them her phone was probably off. They didn't seem to think that was normal. So then they wanted to call Dad. "He doesn't know yet," I said. "Doesn't know what?" asked the guy. "That she's awake." "We'll tell him," the guy said. "What's his number?" So that's why Dad got a phone call from 911 asking if they could transport his no-longer comatose daughter to the hospital to be treated for who knows what, since there wasn't anything wrong with her any more except that she had things stuck in her that she didn't need any more. Dad, being the most stable person in our whole family, asked to speak to Heather. "Hi, Daddy," she said when they handed her the phone. "Uh huh. I'm awake." There was a pause while she listened, and then "OK, I'll tell you all about it when you get home." She handed the phone back to the paramedic and he talked to dad and then they unhooked her IV bag from the stand and got her catheter bag and her on the metal stretcher thing and wrapped her up in blankets, even though it was summer. "Can I come too?" I asked. "You're too young to ride in the ambulance," said the woman. "I'm only 18 months younger than she is," I pointed out. "She's a patient," said the woman. "That's different." "So what am I supposed to do?" I asked. "Wait here for your parents," said the man. "Your dad said he'd be here in a couple of hours. Whichever one of your parents gets home first, have them get in touch with the hospital." Which is how I ended up facing my completely out of control mother, without being able to take her to the daughter who was awake, but no longer in the house, becaue I didn't know what hospital they'd taken her to. Parents have no sense of humor about these things. ------- Mom solved the problem of where Heather was by the simple expedient of calling 911 back and asking them where they took Heather. I suspect that same snotty lady must have answered and told her it wasn't an emergency initially, because she said "Well, in that case I want to report that my daughter was kidnapped by persons pretending to be paramedics. Please send the police immediately." They must have run out of red tape, because Mom listened, said "Thank you," and hung up. Again I was told to stay home and wait for a parent to arrive. She took my word for it (the paramedic's word who kidnapped Heather, come to think of it) that Dad was on his way home. A cab dropped him off ten minutes after Mom drove away. His car was at the airport, in short term storage, but a cab was faster. Of course that left him without wheels when he found out the girl he'd come to see wasn't there. At least he didn't yell at me. He called Mom who, of course, had her phone off again. He waited ten minutes and tried again. The third time he tried she answered and he asked her to come back and get him, but she was in full lioness-protecting-her-cub mode. The jackals had her baby girl and she was going to go set things straight. She had no time for the mangy old lion at that point. She said she'd call him when she knew something and hung up. "You want to borrow the keys to my bike?" I asked. Parents definitely have no sense of humor about these things. ------- Dad dealt with stress by taking a nap. So he was asleep when Mom got home with Heather two hours later. I had the sense to wake him up so he wasn't asleep when they came into the house. Mom was helping Heather walk, but she was doing pretty well. When she flatly refused to use a wheel chair they shot her up with something that gave her enough energy to get home, where she was supposed to go to bed. Mom laughed about Heather blowing up at the doctor, saying she'd just spent six months in bed and wasn't excited about going back there. I guess the doctor was all amazed. All his tests showed that she was perfectly normal, other than her muscles being weak from six months of inactivity. I found out later that it was a good thing I didn't try to pull the catheter out. Turns out there's a little balloon on the end of it, to keep it from coming out accidentally. I still shudder when I think about what it would have felt like if I'd have given it a good, firm yank. The doctor wanted her to stay in the hospital, but when he couldn't explain what treatment they might give her Mom decided she wasn't going to do that. Heather told me she said "If she needs observation we can do that at home. We've been observing her for the last six months." So the doctor put her on what they called a soft foods diet for a week, but she was having none of that either, and bullied Mom into stopping at McDonalds on the way home. Then Mom had to stop again five blocks away while Heather puked her guts out. I almost wish I'd been there, except the competition I'd had with Heather wasn't there any more. Dad took a week off from his work and he and Mom basically drove Heather crazy "observing" her. They talked to her constantly, asking all the questions that somebody whose never been in a coma wants answered by someone who has been in a coma. Like they want to be prepared or something ... you know ... just in case they go into a coma themselves for some reason. And they were on her to exercise all the time, pushing her to stand up and then move around and then do laps in the house, and then walk up and down the sidewalk. It wasn't until the end of the week that she had her first appointment with the physical therapist from the wellness center, at which point the parents got scolded for making her do the wrong things. Turns out they should have taken her swimming every day instead of making her walk around. Which is how, after both parents had taken a week off from work to spend with the daughter they were afraid would never speak to them again, her little brother got tasked with taking her swimming every day for the rest of the summer. ------- Fortunately, Heather had recovered enough that she could drive again. Of course, considering what had happened the last time she drove, nobody was excited about that. But the city pool was open in the morning specifically for lessons and geriatric exercises, which included physical therapy, which meant that either Mom or Dad had to take us there (she had to have someone with her in the water) and then come back two hours later and pick us up ... or let her drive again. Dad said something about getting back up on the horse and that was that. On the way to the pool was the first time she and I had had any time alone together since our parents had found out she woke up. We'd had a couple of chances to whisper at each other and had exchanged some hasty sweet nothings a few times, which was weird, believe me, but pretty exciting too. I don't think either of us was used to the idea that our relationship had changed so much. That might be why neither of us said anything for the first couple of minutes after she drove away from the house. "Are you horny?" she asked me suddenly. The way she asked that made it kind of sound like there was a right and wrong answer. I didn't know whether "Not right now" was right or wrong. I opted for avoidance. "Why ... are you?" "I asked you first," she said, looking stolidly ahead. "I'll tell you what I am," I said, still in avoidance. "I'm really glad that I get to see you in your bikini." "I brought the one piece," she said. Did she sound grumpy? "Oh." I didn't have a quick comeback to that one. If it had been the old days, I could have said "Well you'll be just as ugly in that," but this wasn't the old days. "It seems like a dream," she said. That wasn't very specific, and she'd gone through a whole lot in the past half year that she could be talking about, but compared to a coma, her sucking me off was way more important, so I went with that being what she was referring to. "You mean about what we did after you woke up?" "Yeah," she said. "Well, it wasn't a dream," I said carefully. She looked over at me. "Are we weird, Bobby?" "You mean because we want to do stuff with each other?" She looked back at the road. "Yes. I know I said I thought people were wrong about that ... but I've been thinking about it more. It's harder to think about it now that I'm really awake. It feels like we're so ... I don't know ... alone, I guess." Which is how I ended up telling her about all those incest web sites I'd seen, where there were testimonials from girls who said they loved their brothers and fathers and uncles and what not. They were stories, sort of, though not like the stories Lubrican wrote, because they were supposedly true. Anyway, I said that there were hundreds of them, and that supposedly there were places where people went so they could have sex with their relatives among other people who felt like it was cool too. "Yeah, but how much of that is just crap?" she asked. "I have no idea," I said. "Some of it has to be true. I mean if it wasn't true then nobody would be interested in it at all, and nobody would hit those sites, and they'd shut down for lack of traffic. And there are hundreds of them, Heather." "You can show me some when we get home," she said. "So are you horny or not?" I decided I couldn't avoid the truth any longer. "If you mean did I think about us and beat off since Mom and Dad got home, then the answer is yes. If you mean am I horny right this instant, then not so much. Except that I really was looking forward to seeing you in your bikini." "Good," she said. "Good what?" I asked, confused. "You told me the truth," she said. "I was afraid it would hurt your feelings if I said no," I admitted. "When you tell me the truth it makes me feel good," she said. "Like when I was still in the coma. You kept telling me how you really felt about things, and it made me want to be there with you so I could tell you the truth too. I hate all the games everybody plays. All that crap I have to do in school, just to be popular ... it sucks." "What brought all this on?" I asked. "We're just going swimming." "Because Mom and Dad are so careful with me. They're so worried all the time that something else is going to happen. But you're just you and I love that, because I get to be just me when I'm with you." "Oh," I said. "Cool." "No," she said, staring straight ahead. "Cool is when we get home, and Mom and Dad aren't there, and we're alone ... and we can do things." I let a long minute slide by in silence. "Now I'm horny," I said quietly. "Good," she said with a tight smile. ------- Chapter 5 Our city pool had been redone a couple of years past, and they had bought into the whole expanded vision of a mini water park theme. They had the regular pool, just like always, but had added two big slides to that. There was a kiddy pool to one side, and a bubbling kind of hot tub sort of pool, except it was big enough for fifteen or twenty people in it and it wasn't hot. But the coolest thing was that where the main pool was four feet deep, they had built a winding trench that went out and curved back on itself until it came back to the main pool about five feet from where it started. It was like a small river that flowed in one direction and if you were floating, it would take you all the way around and bring you back to the main pool. If you wanted to, you could swim with the current and see how fast you could make the trip. Conversely in the mornings, you could swim or walk against the current. It was part of the physical therapy and geriatric exercise program. That's not where the physical therapist started her out, though. Cindy was her name, and if I hadn't been turned on by the thought of getting home with Heather, Cindy would have taken care of that. I was glad I was in the water, where she couldn't see the bump in the front of my suit. Cindy ran Heather through all the exercises she was supposed to do, some of which required a partner to push or pull against. That was Cindy the first time through, and then me the second time. Cindy did some adjusting of things, which required her to stand and bend over. She was wearing a bikini and while her tits weren't falling out of it, they sure wobbled around alarmingly. By the time she went to work with some of the other patients she had there, and left us alone to go through the exercises, I was hard as a rock. One of the exercises was for me to get behind Heather and support her with my hands and wrists stiff under her armpits. She was supposed to use her abdominal muscles to push her lower body away from us until she was lying flat on the water, and then use her muscles to pull her butt back down quickly. When she did that her butt ran right into my boner. She reached back and grabbed it. "Hey!" I said, backing my butt away. I couldn't get away from her because her arms were clamped down on my wrists. "I saw you ogling Cindy. Is any of that because of me?" "Well if you'd have worn your bikini it would all be for you," I tried. "Yeah, right. You were practically drooling over her. She noticed it too, and she didn't mind a bit." "What are you talking about," I scoffed. "She has to be like twenty-five or something. No way does she even know I exist." "Oh, you poor stupid boy," she said, doing her exercise again. She was ramming into my hard cock on purpose now. I could tell. "All women like to be appreciated," she said. "And you are cute, you know." "So if I go show it to her ... what will happen?" I asked. "She'll slap you and have you thrown out, of course," said Heather. She turned around and led me to the side, where she got into position for another exercise. "If you show it to me, however ... that's different." The new exercise had her with the back of her shoulders against the edge of the pool, with her holding on with both arms on the edge on either side of her. She drew her knees up against her chest and I was supposed to hold onto her feet with them pressed against my chest. Then she was supposed to push me away from her, and pull me back. My body, resisting the water, was what caused her to use her muscles. The first time she pulled me back I arched in the water and pushed right on her bottom with my hard cock. "Show you that?" I asked, grinning. "Don't be obvious about it, you turd," she hissed. "Sorry," I said, letting her shove me away again. She pulled me back. "I like it," she said softly. "It makes me feel good when you do that. Just don't be obvious about it, okay?" "Got it," I said. That river thing was fantastic. Not only was it fun, but it was long and convoluted. The lifeguard for that section was in a chair on the ground in the middle, so he could run and jump to any section he was needed at. Which meant he couldn't really see down into the water. And since it was so convoluted, as long as nobody else was in your particular section, they couldn't see down into the water either. And Heather knew that. When I was floating along with her she stuck her hand down in my trunks to play with my stiff peter. "I'm going to have so much fun with that when we get home," she whispered. I tried to get my hand inside her suit too, but she pushed it away. "Don't. You'll get me too horny and I'll do something stupid," she said. She squeezed my cock. "You're killing me," I groaned. "Good," she said. "It took me a long time to find my way to you when I woke up. It felt like I was horny for days." She jacked on it a couple of times. "This is payback for that." ------- I kept telling her it was time to go, but she insisted on staying the entire two hours and doing all the exercises more than she had to. They had time built into the process for just soaking, or doing something other than exercises. The only thing you couldn't do was the slides. I guess they didn't figure there was any physical therapy benefit to them, though I thought climbing up the ladders would be good. Finally we left. Heather insisted that I had to dry off and get back in my street clothes before we started for home. I tried to argue with her but even though she was the new Heather, she still had a lot of attributes of the old one left, and bossing me around was one of them. I found out why when she pulled in at the mall on the way home. "What are we doing?" I asked. "Going shopping, of course," she said. "Can you do that?" I asked. I could tell she was tired from the swimming. "Of course," she said flippantly. She took me into Nordstroms, dragged me to the fitting room and sat me on a bench. She told me to stay there and then disappeared. She came back with bikinis. "My old one is too small," she said, and disappeared into the fitting room. She tried three on. I loved them all, but that wasn't good enough. I had to pick one. Not only that I had to be able to explain why I liked that one better. I chose one and said it was because it went with her skin tones. "Liar," she said, trying to look behind her at the suit I'd chosen. "There's no way Mom would let me get this one," she said. "So why did you try it on?" I asked. "Because I knew you'd like it." She went back into the fitting room. When she came out she had the one I liked in one hand. She handed the woman at the booth the others and said "I'll take this one." On the way to the checkout counter I said "I thought you said Mom would never let you wear that." "She's not the one taking me to physical therapy," she said softly. ------- When we got home she said she "Change into your brown shorts and meet me in my room." "Stop bossing me around," I grumped. "Do you want to see me naked?" she asked sweetly. "Are you crazy?" I whispered. "What if Mom's here?" "She's not," said Heather. "I looked for the car." "Yeah, well, that's not good enough for me," I said. I turned, cupped my hands, and yelled "Mom!" Nobody answered and Heather stuck her tongue out at me. "See?" "Yes I want to see you naked," I said. "And I want to touch you and taste you too." She actually shuddered, and her eyes kind of bounced around. "I want you to read to me," she whispered. "Really?" "Like you did before." "Okay," I said. She was lying on her bed in the new bikini when I got there. That's why she told me to go change my own clothes, so she'd have time to change hers. She didn't want me to see her until she was ready for me to see her. She had her eyes closed. "You look like -" "I know," she said, keeping her eyes closed. "Read to me." I sat down at her computer and pulled up Lubrican's pages. Sifting through them I saw one I'd started reading that first week after she'd gotten home from the hospital. It was about a boy who had to make plaster casts of the breasts of the women in his family. It was good, but it was too long. I saw one called Double Dating With Brother. It was short, so I pulled it up and started reading. At first I thought I'd picked the wrong story, because the beginning seemed to be more about the father and daughter than about brother and sister. But Heather didn't complain. She just lay there like she was sleeping. Then it got to a place where the father almost walked in on brother and sister doing sixty-nine. "Mmmmmm," went Heather. I looked over to see her slide her hand inside her new bikini bottoms. I stood up and dropped my shorts. She heard the rustle of clothing (and the fact I wasn't reading any more) and looked over at me. "Naughty, naughty," she said softly. "I can't help it," I said, stroking my hard cock. I read again and she didn't interrupt me until almost the end. When it said the girl, named Cindy, crawled on the bed and wagged her naked ass at her brother, Heather said "Wait!" She got up and stood there. The bikini bra fastened in the front, and she made a big deal about opening it and spreading it apart slowly. Then she pushed the bottoms down and stood naked in front of me. She got on the bed on all fours, looking over her shoulder at me and wagged her ass. It would have been funny if I hadn't been so unbelievably horny. "Go on," she said. I read some more and she rolled over and spread her legs wide. I about came right then and there. "Do you want to lick my pussy?" she asked, her voice breathy. "Hell yes," I groaned. "Really?" Her voice was normal at that point. "You don't think that's gross?" "Not even," I said, stroking my cock. "Okay," she said, her voice high. "You mean it?" "Yes." I stood up and promptly fell flat on my face because of my shorts around my ankles. Thank goodness my cock flipped up and was lying against my stomach when I hit. My balls weren't so lucky. I assumed the fetal position and groaned piteously, which kind of ruined the mood, but then Heather was down there with me, cooing and feeling sorry for me. She didn't laugh, which was kind of nice. Then she wanted to kiss my balls to make them better, which was funny until she actually did it. She went from doing that to putting her mouth on my prick. She sucked once and then pulled off and asked if it still hurt. The ache in my balls was worth what she was doing so I lied and said no. So she sucked it some more and I laid out on the floor to be more comfortable. I wasn't about to remind her that she had been on the bed and break the mood again. She apparently remembered the story, though, about the sixty-nine part, because the next thing I knew her knees were on either side of my head, touching my shoulders. I looked up and there was her pussy, right in front of my face. Now I'd like to say I sucked her pussy and she had orgasms and went wild and all that, but I've told the truth so far, so I'll keep doing it. I didn't know what to do. She must have gotten tired of waiting for me to do something, because she spread her knees apart and sagged her stomach, which brought her pussy down and grazed my nose with it before hitting my chin. I stuck my tongue out at the last second and got a swipe between those pouting tight lips. She adjusted and the next thing I knew she was rubbing her pussy all over my face. It was astonishing. I didn't actually have to do much of anything except take advantage of the fact that my tongue and lips were in exactly the best place they could be in. I licked when I could and sucked when I could while I concentrated on how her mouth felt on my prick. Which was good. She knew what felt good to her too, and did all the work, going faster and faster until she started making all these sounds around my cock. She stopped sucking and took her mouth off, though she kept the grip she had on it with her right hand and squeezed the shit out of it while she came. There was no doubt she was cumming. Even a novice like me could tell. When she settled down, she started sucking me again. She didn't rub her pussy on my face this time, but it was hanging there, within reach, so I decided to lick at it. She brought it down almost gently and positioned what I now knew was her clitty right where my lips were. It was a no brainer to suck at that, and I could tell she liked that a lot. She took her mouth off my cock again, but kept jacking it. "I'm getting tired, Bobby. You need to cum now," I heard her say dimly. She was good at beating a guy off. She had that talent. But I loved sucking on her clit, and her hips were starting to move spastically again. She must have known something was up because she took her pussy away from me and got her ass around to the side. She was looking up at me now, jacking on my cock. "Come on, Bobby. Cum for me. I want to taste you." She was licking and sucking the tip on the downstroke, and moving her lips away on the upstroke. She started stroking only and whispered to me. "Cum for me, Bobby," she said. "I bet you wish this was in my pussy right now. I know you want to fuck me." I groaned. "Don't you?" she needled me. "Yes!" I gasped. "Cum in my pussy, Bobby," she hissed. That was all it took and I groaned as my aching balls finally gave up. Her mouth swooped down and captured the head. She sucked like it was a straw in a soda and she was dying of thirst. Man it was good! When there was no more for her to get, she wiggled up against me and laid her head on the skin between my shoulder and chest. "I'm tired," she sighed. "That's hard work." "It's worth it," I panted. "It is," she agreed. ------- She let us lie there for half an hour. I might have dozed, I'm not sure. But eventually she made me get up and get dressed. She said she was going to take a nap and for me to go do something and not bother her. I heard tones of the old Heather in that too, but I didn't care. The old Heather would never have let me do what I had just done to her. She ignored me for the rest of the day. Then Mom got home and I was ignored the rest of the night too. I didn't find out what the deal was until the next morning while we were on our way to the pool. "We have to be careful," said Heather, out of the blue. "What about?" I asked. She looked at me with the old Heather look that said "You are some kind of idiot!" "I liked that too much yesterday," she said. "How can you like something too much?" I asked. "Isn't that like having too much money?" "I wanted you to fuck me, Bobby," she said, her voice low. "Oh," I said, a little dazed. "Wow." "We can't do that," she said. "I know." "I can't go on the pill. I can't ask mom to take me to the doctor for that. Not just out of the blue. I'm not even dating anybody." "Maybe she'd feel better about it then," I suggested. "I mean if you're not dating anybody, then who is there to worry about?" "If I'm not dating anybody, why do I need to be on the pill?" she asked, acidly. "I guess you have a point." "Besides," she said. "Loving you is one thing. I don't get jealous about you because I know we're both going to eventually meet other people and get married and all that. I mean we'll move on sooner or later. I'll always love you, but having sex ... going all the way ... that's more than we need to do." "Yeah," I said. "So why do I want to do it so much?" she asked. "How should I know?" I asked. "Do you want to do it too?" "In the beginning ... no," I said. "I felt too guilty about it. But since then ... now that you woke up? Yeah. I'm a guy, though. Don't all guys want to do it?" "Knowing you want to do it makes me want to do it right now," she said. "We're supposed to go swimming right now," I reminded her. She shot daggers at me with her eyes. "I mean it, Bobby. We have to be more careful. We can't mess around if it's going to make us do stupid things." "I get it," I said. I didn't know what we could do about it ... except stop. I didn't want to do that. Just the thought of stopping made me want to curl up and cry like a baby. When we got to the pool and she came out of the dressing room she got the attention of every guy there, including the old farts who were running in place in the water already. The lifeguards paid so much attention to her that if anybody had gone under they would have croaked for sure. She was wearing her new bikini and the reason Mom wouldn't have let her wear it was because of the bottoms. The whole design was triangles, and the front and back of the bottoms were each just a triangle of fabric. There were thick strings that went up and over her hips, leaving most of the side of her hips bare. The cloth was white with black concentric triangles on it, which meant there was a little tiny black triangle right where the good parts were, both front and back, if you know what I mean. The top was made up of two more triangles, held together with more of that thick cord and the concentric design up there managed to have a white triangle in the middle, right where her nipples were. You couldn't see through the fabric, but you could tell what was under it. Then, of course, swimming with her got weird. For a girl who wanted to put the brakes on, she sure seemed to go out of her way to rub up against me. She stuck her hand in my trunks again and groped my cock, which was only half hard. I was trying to be a good boy. "What the fuck?" I complained. "Just checking," she said. She pulled her hand out and we finished her exercises. This time she didn't make us stay the whole two hours, and this time she just picked up her towel and the bag her clothes were in and walked straight to the car instead of changing. She got a lot of attention from the men on her way out too. When we got home she said "Don't forget to shower. You're covered in chlorine." This was the old Heather, being all bossy again, and as I got in the shower I was thinking that it might be easier to resist her than I thought if she kept up her bossy attitude. Then she opened the shower door and stepped in with me. Of course she was naked. "I can't help it," she moaned, hugging me. Which is how I ended up with my extremely hard cock stuck between her legs while we kind of dry-fucked, except it was skin to skin and wet as hell, and we were kissing and rubbing our hands all over each other and I had no trouble at all cumming that time. I must have stiffened up or made some kind of noise because her lips broke from mine and she said "You're cumming, aren't you!" like I'd done something wrong, but her fingernails dug into my ass cheeks and she kissed me again and squeezed her legs tighter around my throbbing cock. She sank down and sucked on it a little bit, but it was already going soft. She didn't complain, though. Instead she turned off the water and threw me a towel. She grabbed one of her own, hastily dried herself and sat down on the toilet lid, scooting her butt forward and spreading her knees wide apart. "Suck my pussy," she demanded. It's confusing when one minute a girl is bossy and the next she's suggesting you do something you'd really like to do anyway. You know what I mean? So I settled down to eat at the Y, as Ricky Peters liked to call it. I liked it better this way because I could see what I was doing and sort of target my attack, as it were. I could also slide a couple of fingers in her and, now that that tube was gone, it was a lot easier. She grunted and grabbed my hair, but couldn't get a grip because it was still wet. "Oh yeah," she panted, moving her butt around on the seat. "Oh Bobby, that feels so good!" She whined and made a face. "Don't stop. Keep going." I was looking up at her face, and her breasts were jiggling around as she twisted and turned. I reached up and gave the nipples an experimental squeeze, pulling on them. Don't ask me why I did that. It just seemed like a good idea. Her head went back and she started gasping and would have slid off the toilet seat if my face hadn't stopped her. She moaned and groaned and I was afraid I'd accidentally hurt her nipples, so I let go of them and started probing her pussy again with my fingers. Then her hand came around and pushed on my forehead. "Keep your fingers there!" she gasped and she started strumming her clit so fast it looked like a hummingbird's wings. She started sobbing "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so close. I need to cum!" So I fingerfucked her with two fingers while she got herself off. For the first time I got to really watch her face while she came and it was incredible. It looked like it was killing her. I mean that. She made all these horrible gurgling sounds in her throat and was gasping for air and squealing all at the same time. Finally she fell forward and her left hand gripped my shoulder hard. Her right hand slid down and grabbed my other hand, stopping it and slowly pulling my fingers out of her pussy. It suddenly sounded like she was actually crying. "What are we gonna do, Bobby?" she whined. "I can't take much more of this." I didn't know what to say to her. But she was crying, so I said the same thing everybody always says when somebody is crying. "It'll be OK." ------- Chapter 6 Again I was ignored for the rest of the day, except for right after supper, when Dad was in the living room channel surfing and Mom was putting things in the dish washer. Heather pushed me up against the wall across from my bedroom door and kissed me. With tongue. "Fuck I love that," she whispered. Then she went into her room and closed the door. The next morning she looked tired. Mom noticed, and asked her if she was pushing herself too hard. She said she wasn't, and that she'd just had a rough night sleep wise. On the way to the pool she confided in me what was really wrong. "I had to masturbate like five times last night," she moaned. "I couldn't believe how horny I was. Every time I think about your stupid penis I want it in me." "Aren't my fingers good enough?" I asked. "Oh, they feel great," she barked. "But they make me want more. And you're good with your mouth, but not quite good enough to get me there every single time." "Everybody says it hurts the first time," I said. It was literally all I could think to say. "I have a dildo, you idiot," she snarled. "I gave Regina the money and she got it for me. She has her own credit card and can order things off the internet that I can't." "Oh," I said. "This is all your fault," she complained as she pulled into the parking lot of the pool. "If you hadn't read me those stupid stories I wouldn't feel like this." "I'm sorry," I said automatically. "No you're not," she said. "You're having the time of your life. I can tell." "I guess that's true," I admitted. "But honest, I wish you didn't feel like that. I mean I wish you could get satisfied." "You're bigger, longer and warmer than my dildo," she said. "All I can think about is how good that would feel up in me. But I'd get pregnant and our lives would be ruined. I came too close to that once." "You want me to get some condoms?" I asked. "Yes." Just like that. It was like I'd stuck my finger in an outlet. She would let me fuck her if I got some condoms. "But don't," she added. "Because if we start that, and sometime you don't have a condom, I'll let you do it anyway. The only solution is not to start, Bobby." "Yeah," I said. I felt ... I don't know ... not disappointed exactly. I mean I wanted to fuck her, but only if she wanted it too. And she didn't want it. Well she did, but not really. That was the first time I realized that, since I had opened Pandora's box (or Heather's box, as it were) that it might be up to me to close it. I didn't like that idea. But I would do my best. ------- Basically, what I did was stop playing. The next day, when I took her swimming, I made sure there was no rubbing up against each other during her therapy. When we went home I ducked out and went for a bike ride. She was mad when I got back, but I told her it was the way things had to be. I spent a lot of time at my friend Tim's house, and got Don to play tennis with me. I was thinking about going out for track the next year, so I went for long bike rides to ramp up my endurance. I started wearing a jock strap to the pool too. And, of course, I beat off like a fourteen year old boy hiding in the girl's locker room. Except that I was in my room, reading Lubrican's stories on my computer at times I knew Heather couldn't come wandering in. Heather lasted about a week before things got ugly. On Friday, after swimming, she tried to physically take me to her room. She was much stronger than she had been, but she was no match for me. I noticed for the first time that I was taller than her too, and managed to render her helpless without touching any of the good parts. That night I informed my parents that the Saturday session of physical therapy could be attended by one of them. They were both surprised. Normally I'm not all that assertive. But resisting Heather required a will of steel. OK, what it really required was jerking the spunk out of my balls at least three or four times a day, so that my desire for her when I was around her was muted a little. Of course I assumed she was using that dildo to handle her own desires. When she wasn't trying to drag me into her bedroom to have her way with me. In the middle of the second week, the old Heather resurfaced with a vengeance. She started calling me names again. When she wasn't verbally abusing me, she wouldn't talk to me at all. I complimented her, saying that was making it a lot easier to refrain from all this lust stuff, and she burst into tears and ran to her room. Of course Mom and Dad couldn't avoid noticing the deterioration in the relationship. It all came to a head at breakfast the following Saturday. "So which one of you is taking her to the pool?" I asked, just to make sure they remembered that on Saturday it was their job. "Yeah?" asked Heather with acid in her voice. "Since wimpy here can't get his wittoo toeseys wet, which one of my parents will be required to spend some of their few leisure hours doing their retarded son's chores?" "What is wrong with you two?" barked our mother. "You've been snapping at each other all week. You were both getting along so well since Heather woke up." "That's the problem!" yelled Heather. "I woke up!" She glared at me. All I was trying to do was what my sister needed me to do, and she didn't appreciate it. I don't get mad often, but when I do I have a quick fuse. "That is the problem!" I snapped. "You're grounded," said our father. "You're grounding me for telling the truth?" I wasn't over being mad yet. "You're both grounded," he amended. "Why am I grounded?" wailed Heather. "I didn't do anything wrong!" She pouted. "Neither of you is to leave the house until you patch things up," he said. "We almost lost our daughter, and somehow our son helped us get her back. I will not have the two of them, who should love each other, fighting and bickering and making life miserable for everyone." He looked at Mom. "Dear, you've been wanting to go to the museum for a while now. This morning would be good for that. And maybe we can take in a movie after lunch?" "I'd be delighted," said Mom, who didn't look very delighted. "Wear something sexy," said Dad. "I want to show you off today." "George!" gasped our mother. He just grinned. "That summer halter dress I like so much," he said. Then he mouthed the words, but nobody in the world could have missed them: "No panties." "George! You're awful!" she moaned. But she looked a lot more cheerful than she had a few minutes ago. Of course she was beet red. I was exceedingly disturbed that I noticed my own mother's nipples poking through her dressing gown as she got up. I glanced at Heather, who had a deer in the headlights look on her face. She blinked a couple of times and looked at me. Her eyes filled up with tears and I was afraid she was going to lose it right there. If she did, the parents would delay leaving and all it would do was drag things out and ruin everybody's day. "Okay," I said softly. "I give up. You win." ------- Our parents were gone. My sister and I were still sitting at the kitchen table. "I haven't won anything," she muttered. "What's that mean?" I asked. "You were right." "Say what?" I closed my mouth before a fly flew in it. "You were right to do what you were doing. It was the best thing to do," she said reluctantly. "Then why the hell did you torture me about it?" I groaned. "I just hated it, that's all. I can't help how I feel about that." "Well," I said, disgusted with her. "What do we do now?" Her eyes brightened. "One last time," she said. "Then we'll go by your rules." "I don't see what good that's going to do us," I groused. "It was hard enough to stop the first time. Now you want to remind me of what we're giving up." "Come on, Bobby," she pleaded. "Just one more time. Just let me feel good one last time and I swear I'll leave you alone and we'll get along. I'll get a boyfriend," she bargained. "Great," I said. "I can hardly wait to imagine some guy like Brad sucking your nipples and rubbing your clit." "Not Brad!" she said firmly. "Not like Brad. Somebody who cares about me ... the way you do. Please? Just make me feel good one last time?" "I think this is a bad idea," I said slowly. "Why?" "Because I'm mad at you," I said. "Why are you mad at me?" she squeaked. "I told you I was sorry. I said you were right." "I'm mad at you for wrecking the car," I complained. "What?" "If you hadn't wrecked the car, you wouldn't have been in a coma. I wouldn't have had to read to you. There wouldn't have been a sleeping princess in my sister's room. If you hadn't wrecked the car I'd still be trying to hide my stiff dick from you and your lame friends when you raided the bathroom to see it. You'd still be my boring, bitchy sister, going out with Brad and fighting him off. If you hadn't wrecked the car I wouldn't love you so much it hurts and I wouldn't want to fuck you!" She frowned and thought for a few seconds. "You know what?" she asked. "No," I said glumly. "You're absolutely right." "Great," I said listlessly. "Wrecking that car was the best thing that ever happened to me." I stared at her. "You said it all," she said calmly. "If I hadn't been in that coma, you'd never have told me the things you did. I thought I needed Brad, but I was wrong. I thought I needed to be popular, but I was wrong. I was a bitch, and it took all that time thinking about things for me to realize it. And if I never crashed the car you'd have never read dirty stories to me, and I wouldn't have also realized that I loved the way you made me feel. You make me cum so hard I wish it would never end and it's not because you're a stellar lover." I frowned, but she didn't notice. "It's because I love you, and I can't do without you, Bobby. I need you. It's not what you do to me that makes me feel so good. It's that you love me enough to do it." She whipped the T shirt she was wearing over her head. She was only wearing a pair of white panties with little blue bows on them. "And you think that after telling me all that ... we're only going to do this one more time," I said heavily. "Just once more, Bobby," she pleaded. "I promise I'll never ask you again." Then she took off the panties, spread her legs, and started sliding one finger in and out of her pussy. A guy can only take so much ... you know? ------- When I get mad I don't think too clearly. Like I said, it doesn't happen often, but when it does it's a lightning quick super hot flash that consumes my entire mind. I just react. Usually I say something. Sometimes I say something really wild or stupid, like the time my best friend, Don Hamner did something - I can't even remember what it was now - but it was the straw that broke the camel's back at the time, and I went off on him and threatened to stuff ice cream cones up his ass until milk came out his nose. Then I tried to de-pants him. Some of our other friends stopped me, but you get the idea. I don't know where the ice cream cone thing came from. What I do know is that there was no ice cream anywhere around us at that time, and even if I'd gotten his pants off there would have been nothing further I could do. That's what I mean by doing crazy things when I blow up. I remember very clearly thinking that Heather wasn't playing fair ... and it made me mad. I don't, however, remember very much else that happened for the next probably twenty or thirty seconds. What that means is that I don't remember standing up (I'm assuming I did) and taking my clothes off. I can't tell you if I said anything, or if Heather did either. I don't remember grabbing her and pulling her off the chair. I don't remember pushing her down on the floor and covering her with my body. And I for sure don't remember sticking my cock in her pussy. But that's apparently what I did. I say apparently because that's what Heather said I did, once things were all over. There was quite a bit of evidence in her favor, because when I did regain the capacity to think rationally, I was naked, on top of Heather, and my cock was firmly embedded in her pussy. By firmly, I mean all the way ... balls deep ... and her body was scooting along the floor as she wailed bloody murder, because my cock and the groin it was attached to was pushing her. I still remember hearing the skin on her back squeak on the linoleum, like tennis shoes on a basketball court. "Oh Bobeeeeeeeee," she wailed, as her left fist smacked into my shoulder. Oddly, her right hand was then sliding across my back. It dipped into the small of my back and pressed as her legs came up and wrapped around my calves. I stopped, frozen as I realized what I was doing ... had done ... couldn't remember doing. Heather sniffled and her left hand went to wipe her nose, which was right under my face. Then her hips bumped upwards, and her legs tightened. I had been staring at her hairline, and I moved my eyes down until her green orbs were staring accusingly into mine. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I tried to pull out of her, but her legs were too tight. "Let me go," I said, pushing against her heels. "Let you go?" she asked, clearly astonished. "You just raped me, Bobby!" "I'm sorry," I moaned. "I don't remember. I didn't do it on purpose." "You didn't do it on purpose." Her voice was steady and, if I'd been listening more closely instead of feeling terrified, I'd have recognized the "danger danger" tone in it. "You're sorry." "Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." "You just busted my cherry and you didn't mean it." The "danger danger" tone was impossible to miss now. "Please, Heather. I just blew up because what you did ... in front of me like that ... it wasn't fair." "So you decided that the only fit punishment was to take my virginity," she growled. Her left hand drifted down my arm and onto my lower back, to join her right one. "I didn't do it on purpose," I whined. "It was a mistake ... an accident." "I lost my virginity because of an accident," she said darkly. I felt something squeeze my cock, pushing it out of the heat. I realized I'd gone soft. "Did you squirt in me?" she asked, her eyes wide. "No! I swear!" "Then why are you getting soft?" "I didn't mean to rape you," I moaned. "I lost it. I didn't know what I was doing. I don't want to rape you. How could I possibly stay hard after what I did?" "Never mind that. Get hard again." "What?" My voice rose at least an octave, maybe two. "It was starting to feel good," she said much too calmly for a girl who had just been violated. "Get hard again." "I can't just get hard again," I moaned. "Bobby, you just took my cherry. You slithered your big old dick right inside my pussy before I could stop you. I couldn't stop you. But then about two seconds later I didn't want to stop you, because you were doing exactly what I wanted but was too chicken to ask you to do." "You're not mad?" "When you said it was an accident and that you didn't mean it, I started to get mad," she said. "But then I realized you were just being you and that you still love me. But if you love me right now, Bobby, you'll get hard and poke me really good, because I only got a tiny little taste but I think it's going to be even better than I hoped. Fuck me, Bobby. Get hard and fuck my pussy!" Then she kissed me, and it was one of those really good kisses ... the kind you know she means with all her heart. I don't know whether it was that, or her pushing her titties against my chest, or the way her hips writhed, pushing at me, but I felt the tingle and that got her cooing as she felt some growth down there. She started doing this thing of kissing me and then breaking the kiss to whisper "Fuck me, Bobby," followed by another kiss and another "Fuck me, Bobby." Then she threw in a "Make me feel good" as her pussy squeezed my re-awakened cock and the next thing I knew I was hard and I was moving it around in her and it felt soooo good. Of course I didn't know what I was doing. I wasn't actually paying much attention to her. We were both making noises and pushing this way and that way, not really working together. But it still felt amazingly, astonishingly wonderful. Then she bucked one way while I lurched another and I popped out of her. It was like an emergency, and we both stopped breathing as both of us tried to rectify the situation. She won the race to grabbing my cock and plugged me back in. She went "ooof!" as I slammed in hard and it felt so good to be in that I stayed in and just kind of pushed, like I had been doing when I regained my senses after going off on her. She made a strangled noise that penetrated my conscious mind and something told me it was a very, very good noise, and that it was that pushing that was causing that noise, and purely by accident I learned how to crush her clit with the bony part at the base of the top of my prick. Her breathing got all ragged and her eyes got wide and then rolled up under her eyelids and she let out an earsplitting scream that scared the shit out of me. I let off the pressure and her fingernails, which were lying on my ass cheeks, suddenly dug in like claws and pulled. In that split second I realized what I was seeing was a good thing ... that I had made her insanely happy, and that feeling was what was my own undoing. That's because I would never had dreamed of shooting off inside of her. I was fully aware of how bad an idea that was. But the explosion of joy in my chest that I had made her feel so good translated into an explosion of another kind. I felt that instant of pain along the inside of my prick, and then I coughed as I lost control of everything down there. On autopilot now, something clenched inside me and I felt that unbelievable soothing feel of spunk shooting through my cock. I shook like a dog coming out of the water and gave a little tug as some tiny part of my brain screamed at me to pull out. Heather's heels were still locked over my calves, though, and all I could do was pull halfway out. Then, when another shot rocketed through my cock, the autopilot that had taken over caused me to ram back into her as deep as I could go. That felt fucking amazing, so I just stayed there for three more spurts, at which point all the energy in my body just evaporated - poof!- and I collapsed on top of poor Heather. Her arms came free and flopped on the floor beside her. Her heels came unlocked then, and slid down my thighs to thump on the floor. I could have pulled out then, but I didn't have the strength to. I knew I was crushing her, and I leaned, but couldn't quite lean far enough to roll off of her. Her right hand came up off the floor anyway and pushed against my side, like she thought she was helping me stay up there instead of letting me fall off. The rasping of our breath was hot in each other's necks and her hair was sticking to the sweat on my forehead. "Wow," she panted. "Yeah," I huffed back. It was quiet for thirty seconds. "Am I too heavy?" I asked. "No." She didn't speak again until we were breathing more normally. She licked my ear, and then said, "How long before you can do that again?" ------- We were sitting, facing each other. Heather was sitting Indian style, completely unashamed that her pussy lips, still drooling my milky spend were exposed. I suppose I wasn't much better, sitting on my left butt cheek, leaning on my left arm with my white-streaked cock lying limply on my left thigh. She had complained when I got off of her, but had drawn in several deep, cleansing breaths, so I knew I'd been crushing her. Neither of us seemed to know what to say, and we darted looks at each other, without locking eyes. Finally she said "I should go sit on the pot and let this drain out of me, huh." "I guess so," I said. "Do you want me to?" she asked. "What kind of question is that?" "Ask me if I want to do that," she said. "Okay, do you want to go sit on the pot and let it drain?" "No." "What? Are you nuts?" "Probably," she sighed. "You want to tell me what's going on?" I asked. "What's going on is that you put that in me. It's your love. I don't want to wash it out. I want to keep it." "You want to get pregnant?" My voice made it clear I was sure she was insane. "No, I don't want to get pregnant," she said with a little heat in her voice. "Not now, anyway. But that doesn't mean I want to throw away the special thing you gave me." "Heather, the special things I gave you are called sperm cells. They're swimming around in you right this second, hunting for an egg like a cat hunts for a mouse. And if one of them finds that egg, all hell is going to break loose around here and being grounded until we're fifty will just be the first thing they do to us." "Then why did you spurt in me?" she asked, her voice cool. "Don't even try to make this all my fault," I snapped. "Who was it that wanted just one last time? Who took her clothes off and flaunted her sexy body at me until I couldn't take it any more? Who told me at least five or six times in the past that she wanted me to fuck her?" "Yes, but I also said we couldn't do that," she said primly. "You keep talking like that and you're going to get fucked again," I warned. "Really?" She perked up. "When? Soon?" I flopped on the floor and covered my face with my hands. I gave a long, drawn out "Geeeesh." She giggled and tipped forward to crawl over to me. "Come on, Bobby. It wasn't that bad. In fact it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Well, maybe waking up out of the coma was the best, but this is right up there banging on the door for things I'll never forget and want to do a lot more times." "You said one last time," I moaned. "Don't be silly," she said. "That was for fooling around. We went way beyond fooling around." "Oh really," I sighed. "Everything is different now. We're joined forever. Nothing can tear us apart now. I'm carrying your seed inside me." "And what if you're carrying my baby inside you?" I asked. "You think that will be all poetry and flowers too?" "No. Of course not. But I don't think you should be so worried. It was only one time, and my period is due in, like, two days. Why do you think I've been so cranky lately?" "How do you spell cranky?" I asked. "Because I spell it H-E-A-T-H-E-R." "Ha, ha," she said. "I can't believe I'm going to do this." "What?" "This!" she gasped, and dropped her head. I felt her mouth suck my limp penis in and she almost chewed it in her ardor. "Careful!" I yelped. She pulled off with a slurping suck. "Is that what I taste like?" she asked, licking her lips. "Probably," I said. "Not bad," she said. "I'm not nearly as grossed out as I thought I'd be." She moved to suck me back in and I rolled away from her. "Heather, this is serious." She sat back on her calves. "I know," she said, all trace of flippancy gone. "It was beautiful." "How can you say that?" I asked. "It was wild and violent and crazy!" "Yes," she said. "It was so perfect. It was better than I dreamed it could be." "You're shitting me," I sighed. "I wouldn't shit you ... you're my favorite turd," she said, and then giggled. I just rolled my eyes at her. "All I'm saying is I love you, and I loved what happened. Should you get some condoms? Of course. If there was any way I could get on the pill I'd do that too. But don't even try what you pulled these last couple of weeks, mister, because I'm not going without that. Not now ... not ever." I stared at her. The passion in her voice had made something stir in my balls. "Okay," I said. "But we have to do this smart. You getting knocked up would ruin everything ... for both of us." "I promise," she said. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," I sneered. "I've heard that before. Look where that got us." "I knew I could never keep those promises," she admitted. "And I really did respect you for trying so hard to do the right thing ... until it drove me crazy. But I understand how serious this is, Bobby, and I understand it could tear us apart. This is a different kind of promise." "We'll see," I said. "What time is it?" she asked suddenly. I looked at my watch. "Almost noon." "Good," she said, licking her lips. "They were going to eat lunch and then go to a movie. We have plenty of time." "Time for what?" I asked, but I was pretty sure I knew the answer. "Time to do that again!" she chirped. "In bed, where it won't hurt my back and you won't bruise my backside." Which is how I ended up on top of my sister, between her wide spread thighs, listening to her trying to boss me around by telling me what to do and how hard to do it as my prick slicked in and out of her wet, tight pussy, when our mother and father came back home before they went to lunch, to make sure we hadn't killed each other. ------- Chapter 7 I could go into all the noises they made, but I'm sure you have a pretty good imagination. I don't think I could spell most of them anyway. I guess they were probably pretty typical kinds of noises for parents to make in a situation like that. You know how I said I say some pretty weird things when I get mad? Maybe I get that from my mother, because one of the things she screeched - and that's not too strong a word - was that if we'd been getting along they were going to take us to lunch with them, and she ended up screaming "But after this, young man, I'll never feed you again!" I admit that I thought about pointing out that you couldn't get along any better than Heather and I had been, but for once I just kept my mouth shut. They calmed down eventually, primarily because neither Heather nor I defended our actions in any way. I mean we were busted, and we knew it. And trying to explain it with them foaming at the mouth wouldn't have done any good at all. We also stayed naked, sitting on the side of the bed, my hand gripped tightly in hers, between our hips. Eventually Dad told us to get dressed. Mom stopped talking suddenly, which was good, because she needed a breath or two. She was almost blue. Then she said "Yes. Get dressed," and frowned. Heather just put a T shirt and some panties on, while I went to the kitchen and retrieved my clothes, which had been abandoned on the floor. I didn't know where else to go so I went back to her room. Our parents had finally run out of things to say to us and now they were talking to each other. "Excuse me," said Heather, clearly and firmly. They looked at her. "When do you think you're going to want to hear what happened?" "We know what happened!" snapped Mom. "Do you?" asked Heather. I couldn't believe that the "danger danger" element was creeping into her voice. "Do you have any idea how this all came to be? Do you have any clue as to whether this is the first or hundredth time? Wouldn't you like to know how it is that two perfectly normal kids who used to fight like cats and dogs could end up like this?" Her voice had started to rise in register. "Don't you take that tone with me young lady!" Mom started, but Dad reached out and put his hand on her arm. "Yelling won't solve anything," he said softly. He looked at Heather. "You don't need to yell either." "I don't want to yell," she said. "I want to talk." "How can we just talk about his," wailed our mother. Heather wasn't shy at all. "Well unless you're going to get a gun and just shoot us, you have to do something else, and since we're going to be involved in whatever you decide to do, I'd like to talk about it before you decide. What I have to tell you might not make any difference, but I'd at least like to be able to say it." "I don't see how you can possibly justify what we just saw," said Dad. "I'm not going to try to justify it," said Heather. "I just want you to know how it happened." "How long has this been going on?" asked Dad. He winced when he asked it, like he was afraid of the answer. "Since about ten minutes after I woke up from the coma," she said softly. "You're blaming this on the coma?" Mom sounded insulted. "No, I'm not," said Heather. "But the coma had everything to do with it. Will you listen to us?" "Us?" I said. She was doing fine by herself. My life was already over. I was just waiting for the door to slam shut on my cell. "You have to explain your part too," she said. Which is how we ended up skipping lunch. ------- All that time to think had made Heather pretty good at it. I think that's why she decided on a course of action so quickly when we got caught. We could have just hung our heads and taken our licks, whatever form that might have taken. But she had fought her way to my side and while she'd tried to describe it to me, I couldn't really grasp how hard it had been for her to win her way home. That battle was being repeated now, though none of the rest of us knew it then. Basically, she didn't want to lose what she'd fought so hard to get to. It turned out that Heather had never actually described to our parents what it was like in the coma, where everything was misty and it was easy to just stay there. She had told them she could hear them speak to her and had liked it when they read to her, but she hadn't described my part in her recovery. Now she told them of her cocoon, and how after they stopped reading she just drifted ... sometimes forgetting what had just happened. Within minutes both she and Mom were crying and Dad kept clearing his throat and rubbing his nose. She made it sound like every time she took a step forward, she slid two steps back. At the same time she described how comfortable it had been to just stay there, even though she knew there was someplace else she needed to be. She painted a picture of a helpless girl ... lost ... but so close to home. Then she smoothly slid me into the picture. "I was there one day when I heard a new voice. I knew that I should recognize it, but it was hard at first. He was reading to me, and then he stopped and just told me the story in his own words. That's when I realized it was Bobby. It was like I'd forgotten about Bobby, and hadn't realized how much I missed him until he was there, talking to me. And suddenly I wasn't so sleepy any more and I wanted to talk to him." "But you two fought like the dickens before your accident," said Dad. She blushed and looked down. Now that I think about it she had to be acting, because what she was thinking about was old hat by then. But our parents didn't know that. "I was embarrassed because of how I felt about him," she said. "Embarrassed," my mother repeated. "One time when the girls were here for a sleepover they were ragging on me about what it must be like to live with such a cute brother. I didn't think he was cute, but I didn't say anything. Judy wanted to know what he looked like naked, and of course I said I didn't know." "You didn't," agreed Mom. "Did you?" "Remember when you used to let me help you change his diaper?" asked Heather. Mom nodded and smiled. "His little penis always fascinated me, and you played with it sometimes, remember?" Now it was Mom who blushed. "That's different, Dear," she said. "Oh I know that," said Heather, suddenly sounding about fourteen instead of almost seventeen. "But I always wondered what it looked like as he got bigger. But I didn't know. And then Regina said that when she'd come out of the bathroom he was going in to take a shower. And they came up with this idea to raid the bathroom - you guys were watching TV - and we all snuck down there and went into the bathroom, and Judy opened the shower door and they all laughed because he was embarrassed." "Of course he was," said Dad, frowning. "I'm disappointed in you for doing it." I decided that maybe she needed a little help, so I raised my hand. It would have been funny except my mother said "Yes, Bobby?" "The reason I was so embarrassed was because I was ... um ... excited?" "Excited." My mother sounded confused. "All her friends were so hot, and whenever they came over I got ... excited. So I went into the shower and I was ... um ... you know ... taking care of it." Mom got it and blushed. "Oh!" she said. Dad tried to hide a smile. "Anyway I was in there doing that when they opened the door." Heather came back in seamlessly. "And he had changed so much!" Our parents glanced at each other. Dad said "Well of course." "It was the first one I'd ever seen," said Heather. "And it made me feel all funny inside. And the girls were all giggling and pointing. And I knew I shouldn't be interested, but it was so ... interesting." "That's when she called me pencil dick," I said. It just came out, and I felt my face get hot for having said "dick" in front of my mom. Heather sat up straighter. "What else was I supposed to do?" she asked, sounding like she was the victim here. "I couldn't very well say 'Wow, move over, girls. I want to get a closer look!'" She looked at each of us in turn. "So I called him that and told the girls it was time to go, before we got caught." Heather went on to describe how, each time the girls came for a sleepover, Bobby was a hot topic of conversation. Most of the girls lamented that he was a year younger and she left the impression that it was because of these girls seeing me as a boy that made her think of me as a boy too ... who just happened to be her brother. Of course she covered the bases by saying that she felt guilty for thinking about me that way. I was her brother, after all, which was why she masked her true feelings by being cruel and bitchy to me. She actually used the word "bitchy" and my mother didn't even flinch. So that got us up to the point of the accident, and why, when she heard my voice in her coma, it meant so much to her. She glanced at me and I knew it was my turn. I wasn't as good at this as she was. I hoped the truth would work for us. Well... most of the truth. "I didn't know about all that," I said. "All I knew was that whenever she was going to have a sleepover I'd get to see a bunch of hot girls. But the funny thing was that when I saw them all together, Heather was just one of them. And I thought she was the cutest of them all. I thought that was pretty weird at first, but she was smart, and pretty and a lot easier to talk to than any of the rest of them. But I couldn't tell her that, because I knew she'd laugh at me and call me names. She always did." Heather nodded and looked sad. Boy she was good. "So anyway, when you said I had to read to her, I started to, but the book was boring, so I read her a comic book instead. And she just laid there. She looked like my sister, but the best part was missing." I looked at Heather. "So I guess I kind of told her how I felt about her. I didn't really think she could hear me." My mother, who had been staring right into my face, turned to look at Heather. "He talked about everything," said Heather. "He talked about how pretty he thought I was and he remembered things we did when we were little. He told me how he had fantasies about the girls, and he cried when he said he had them about me too. He wanted to undo my pajamas and see if I was as pretty as he was sure I must be." She'd launched right into that one! I thought she'd escalated things too quickly because my parents both jerked and looked at me. "But he didn't," said Heather. Both parental heads snapped back to her. "I could tell he wanted to, and he knew I couldn't do anything to stop him, but he said he loved me too much to do something like that. I could tell he felt awful. And I knew how he felt because I was curious about him too." She told them about all the things I did to avoid talking to her about sex and improper fantasies. She made it sound like I was an addict going cold turkey (which wasn't far off the mark) and then she told them about how I'd given her only very proper massages, and worried that if I changed her PJs that it would be like violating her privacy. She made me sound pretty good. "And then one day he came and apologized because he'd masturbated in the other room. Cathy had delivered a pizza and he brought her to see me and after she left he'd been excited. But while he was doing that, he said he kept thinking of me. He was crying and I felt so sorry for him. I wanted to talk to him ... to tell him it was okay ... that I wasn't mad at him. He kept saying I must hate him, but I didn't and I wanted so badly to tell him that that I kind of surged against the mist." Her eyes got wide and unfocused. "He kept talking, and I kept feeling like I'd gotten a little closer to him, until I felt like I was turning towards his voice. If he'd have stopped talking I'm sure I'd have just gone back, but I wanted to be there with him so badly that I tried harder than ever before." She blinked, and slowly her shoulders relaxed. "And suddenly I knew I was in the room with him. I opened my eyes and there he was." She looked intently at Mom and then Dad. "Bobby talked me back here. Because I loved Bobby so much, and because he was hurting so much ... I came out of the coma." Mom leaned against Dad. Her eyes were glistening. Dad's nose and throat were all itchy again, based on all the coughing and rubbing he did. Heather rushed the last part. "I told him he was wrong ... that I didn't hate him. I told him how I felt about him and somehow we kissed and it was so wonderful and it didn't feel wrong at all. He had saved me, and I didn't care what anybody else thought about it. He was my man." I thought she'd pushed it too far with the "my man" comment, but apparently adults have memories of their own that are close to what she was talking about, so they could empathize with her. Don't get me wrong here. It wasn't over, and everything wasn't sweetness and light from then on. It was still incest, and neither parent was suddenly willing to just toss aside a lifetime of attitude about that. But somehow Heather had managed to come as close to justifying what had happened as it was possible to get. Then what we call "The time of limbo" set in, as our parent digested all the information at their disposal ... and moved toward deciding what the hell to do about it. ------- The time of limbo lasted for about three weeks. Mom did all her work at home. She took Heather to the pool for physical therapy. They didn't demand that we avoid each other completely, but it was clear that if we got caught even so much as looking fondly at each other, there would be hell to pay. Heather had her period, to Mom's obvious relief. The 4th of July was a pivotal day because we all went to the city park that evening to listen to the town band play all the typical music, and watch the fireworks display put on by the local merchants. What made it pivotal was that Heather went to sit with her friends, and a bunch of boys came to hang out with them. One sat by Heather ... quite close ... which was observed by Dad, who pointed it out to Mom. I heard him say "I can't take it. Knowing that she's sexually active is going to drive me nuts." They whispered for a while and then the fireworks started and they watched. But in the days after that Mom did a lot of talking with Heather, and Dad did a lot of talking with me. They asked a lot of questions ... personal questions. Dad wanted to know who else I was sexually active with. I laughed, and he didn't take that well. He got over it, though when I convinced him I hadn't even kissed any other girl besides Heather. He wanted to know why, if we were so lovey dovey, there had been that week of screaming. I told him about our efforts to stop what we had been doing up to that point. He wanted to know what we had been doing up to that point. I learned a new term, trying to explain it to him: mutual masturbation. He learned why I had suddenly gotten so interested in my friends, and tennis, and riding my bike, and why Heather started acting like a bitch again and hibernating in her room. Eventually he got around to asking me how many times we'd had intercourse. I explained that the first time had been an accident, where things got out of control and stuff happened that neither of us planned. He had no problem accepting that. "To be honest, the second time ... the time you caught us ... was kind of an experiment because neither one of us could remember very much about what happened the first time." He laughed, and then looked horrified and threatened me with broken bones if I ever told my mother that he'd laughed at that. He wanted to know why I hadn't used a condom. I wasn't sure what Heather was telling Mom, so I stuck to the truth. I reminded him that we hadn't planned the first time. I told him we argued about it afterwards and that we'd agreed that nothing else could happen unless I had a condom. "Then why weren't you wearing a condom when we caught you?" he asked. And that is how our parents found out that we had only had sex two times ... on the same day ... the day that they grounded us until we could learn how to get along. ------- About two weeks before school started we were eating supper and Mom announced there would be a family conference afterwards. It had been easier to engage in abstinence, since getting caught screwing my sister's socks off. The same was true of Heather, though I bet her dildo got a workout. I know my hand did. But it wasn't as bad as stopping the first time had been. Mom and Dad sat together on the love seat, which Dad had pulled to face the couch. Mom told Heather and me to sit on the couch. We sat ... about a foot apart. "Your father and I have talked," said Mom. Then she looked at Dad and didn't say anything else. He looked a little stunned, like things had just gone way off plan. He looked at her, and then at us, and then at her again. Then he seemed to regroup and faced us again. "We thought about counseling. But the feelings you have for each other are genuine and, at least to some degree, understandable. That doesn't mean they are wise, and it doesn't mean they are acceptable. But all a counselor would do is try to get you to convince yourselves that you don't actually love each other in that way, and that's stupid, because you do." He looked at Mom again. "Besides, we'd rather nobody outside the family found out about this." Mom looked sharply at him. "That's not why we're doing this," she said. "Look," he said to her. "They've been remarkably honest with us. I think we should be honest with them too. They were a lot more adult about all this than most kids would be." "There is nothing adult about having promiscuous sex with your sibling!" snapped Mom. "You had your chance, and you passed it off to me," said Dad, sounding disgusted. "Now be quiet, woman, and let me finish." I expected Mom to blow up, but she didn't. She took a deep breath, and clamped her lips together. "The point is that every adult, including any professional we might seek help from, knows that once you become sexually active, that's it. You're sexually active. Nobody is going to stop being sexually active because somebody else wants them to. We can't make you stop, and neither can anybody else. Statistics suggest that if ... um ... pairs such as yourselves -" "They aren't a pair, George!" gasped Mom. "Don't call them a pair!" He just glared at her and she subsided again. It was pretty amazing. I always thought Mom wore the pants in the family more often than Dad did, but that wasn't turning out to be the case at present. "Statistics suggest that if any pairs are torn apart because of parental or social pressure, all they will do is re-direct their passions elsewhere." He looked at us with a distinctly hopeful visage. Heather, of course, dashed his hopes. "I don't understand," she said. He looked pained. "We did some research. There is a surprising amount of information available about relationships between close relatives. When such pairs are torn apart, they often become very promiscuous outside the family unit." "Oh," said Heather. "You mean they screw around like sluts." Both parents paled. Dad nodded. "Go on," said Heather. I glanced at her. She was amazing. She obviously knew something, which was good because I was clueless as to what was happening. Dad looked pained again. "We don't approve of what you did. But it's done. We don't want you to continue in that ... um ... vein. But we also realize that once passion is aroused, it must have an outlet. We're concerned that you might become sexually active ... um ... with others, and we don't approve of that either." "So..." said Heather. "You're going to send one of us away somewhere." She looked stricken, like she'd just thought of this possibility. "No!" Mom looked genuinely horrified. "Honey, we'd never do that." Heather's heartbreak vanished rather abruptly. "So what I hear you saying is that you don't approve of what Bobby and I did. I understand that. And you want us to stop. I understand that too. But you know we can't just stop having feelings, and you're afraid we're going to become sluts and you don't approve of that either. What I don't get is what we're supposed to do." The parents looked at each other in a distinctly helpless kind of way. Mom finally decided she could weigh in. "You have chosen to act in adult ways. With adult behavior goes the responsibility of behaving like adults, which means you are going to have to exert self control. Adults have to do that every day. It's really too bad that your childhood is being cut short like this, but both of you will be eighteen within a couple of years. In any case you've brought it on yourselves. You're just going to have to behave like responsible adults." And then my sister said the oddest thing. "I'm willing to try that." She looked at me. "Are you?" "Am I what?" I asked. "Are you willing to try to behave like a responsible adult?" She nodded meaningfully. "Uh ... yes!" I said. Just to cover the bases I added to it. "I might need some help occasionally." "Of course," said Mom and Dad together. Dad went on alone. "We're always here for you, of course." Mom got all perky. "Well! I don't know about anyone else, but I'm hungry for pie!" Dad got excited about pie too and the two adults fled. "What the hell just happened?" I asked. "You really don't know?" Heather sounded smug. "Do you, Miss Smarty Pants?" "I do," she said. "Well you want to explain it to me?" "Mom put me on the pill," she said. I blinked. "When?" "Right after the 4th of July." "Why?" "She said it was for my own good, since I sometimes made poor decisions." "Wow," I said, feeling sorry for her. "She also said she knew I wouldn't stop having sex just because she wanted me to." "That's what Dad said a few minutes ago," I said, proud that I could recall something important. "They know they can't stop us," she said. "Of course they can. They're our parents." "If I told you to stop masturbating, would you?" she asked. "Of course not," I said. "There you go." "Look, I'm not going anywhere until I understand what just happened," I complained. "They're going to look the other way," she said patiently. "They're going to pretend that their children aren't engaging in incest." "You're insane," I said. "In exchange, we are to conduct ourselves in a fashion such that they will not be reminded - ever - that their children have these kinds of feelings. In other words, they don't want to know what we do while they're looking the other way." "You're having a nervous breakdown, right?" I was astonished at her interpretation of what had been said. "They know they can't make us stop loving each other. If they tried there could be a backlash that would tear the family apart and drive us to act like sluts. So if they can avoid all that by pretending we don't do anything any more, while giving us enough space to keep loving each other, they're hoping things will work out until we're eighteen and out of the house." I frowned. "You made that sound like we get to keep..." I blinked, and I felt my eyes widen. "No way!" I gasped. She sighed dramatically. "Do not ask me how I can love a brother who is obviously so substandard in the brains department that he can't recognize this family's version of the Army's 'don't ask, don't tell' policy." "Wait a minute," I said. "Nobody is gay in this family." "You are so sad," she said. "Come on. I'll prove it to you." "How?" I asked. "What are the chances that they'll let us go somewhere together ... without them?" "Zero," I said firmly. "Watch and learn," she said, and kissed me lightly on the lips. I followed her to the kitchen, where two pieces of pie were waiting for us while Mom and Dad worked on theirs. "Do we have ice cream?" asked Heather. "Ice cream would be perfect with this." She went and looked in the freezer, announcing that there was no ice cream. "Bobby and I will go get some," she said. She went to the dish where Dad emptied his pockets every day when he got home and fished out the keys to the car. She asked what kind she should get, and then asked Mom for the money to get it. It was the same kind of thing she'd done a dozen times before - volunteering to go do an errand that would let her drive. And I worked really hard to keep my mouth closed as Mom gave her the money and Dad said "Drive carefully," but it was hard because my jaw kept wanting to hit the floor. ------- Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that, having gone without for almost a month, we had sex in the car on the way to the store. Well you're wrong. But then so was I, because it turned out Heather was right about our new family policy of don't ask, don't tell. I learned that when we got home with the ice cream, and sat down to eat our pie with it. Both parents had finished their pie by then, of course, but they came into the kitchen to get a spoonful of ice cream. Nobody asked any questions and neither parent mentioned our special relationship again for almost five years. I learned several things that night. I learned that trying to have sex you can actually enjoy in a car on the way to the store is, for all intents and purposes, impossible. What? I said we didn't have sex in the car on the way to the store ... not that we didn't try. And I learned that forcing yourself to have sex slowly and quietly, while your parents are hopefully sleeping in their bedroom downstairs, can be the most tender, exquisite and loving kind of sex you'll ever have. ------- I don't want to give you the impression that Heather and I lived like husband and wife. Far from it. Our parents may have pretended that we weren't having sex, but that didn't affect anything about their other attitudes about us as their offspring. We still had chores to do, rooms to clean, grades to keep up and all that. We still got yelled at and grounded when we screwed up. We just made sure that we didn't screw up about screwing around. Getting her back into school was harder than you'd think. She'd missed the whole spring semester of her junior year. She'd taken the SATs just before her accident, though, and had scored high. And it turned out that a lot of that homework that Mom had gone over with her had actually sunk in. So when they gave her a bunch of tests to see if she knew all the material she'd missed, she did pretty well. But Mom couldn't very well claim to have home schooled her, so they made Heather sign up with a tutor to make sure she was really up to snuff in math and science. They did let her start school as a senior, with the provision that all her teachers would have to approve it for her to be able to graduate. That depended on more tests. Funny ... I thought it had always been that way. The biggest problems we had were with our peers, rather than our parents. If you don't have a girlfriend, or boyfriend in Heather's case, your friends notice that. Neither of us had the excuse of being geeks or dweebs to fall back on. We were pretty inventive in dealing with the dilemma. Heather begged off most invitations for dates by saying her coma had put her behind the power curve and it was taking all her time and effort to catch up so she could graduate. I had track practice, and the need for sleep and extra running that prevented me from going out or spending a lot of time with any girls on school nights. Weekends were handled by inventing draconian parents who established a firm nine o'clock curfew. Additionally, we had to double date and take our car. Heather's favorite line when we picked up her date was to roll her eyes and say "I have to make sure my little brother doesn't knock some stupid girl up." That pretty well put the kibosh on any plans her own date had along those lines. It wasn't that we didn't notice the opposite sex. For instance, whenever Heather used that line, when we picked up my date I couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to knock her up. I knew Heather liked sex as much as I did, which was a lot, so I asked her about it one time after we had dropped off our dates and were on the way home. "Chris seemed nice," I said. "He's okay," she said, keeping her eyes on the road. "Your date was cute. She'd have kissed you if you'd have tried." "You think so?" I wasn't so sure about that. "Maybe. Do you ever get curious about what it would be like to do stuff with any of the guys?" "Of course," she said. "After making love with you I can't imagine having sex just to have sex. For me to have sex I would have to be able to think of the guy as a potential mate, and I know that the likelihood of me meeting my mate in high school is practically nil. When I get to college things may change. It depends on the boys there. You've set the bar pretty high." My mind was still trying to unravel that part about not having sex with anybody who wasn't a potential mate. She had sex with me, which made me a potential mate, right? But mating produced babies, right? I mean that was what mating was all about, right? And I knew she didn't want me to get her pregnant. Nobody wanted me to get her pregnant. Then I thought about the last part of her comment. "How can I possibly set the bar at all," I asked. "I'm your little brother. I have no idea what to do in social situations most of the time. I have no idea what I want to do after high school. I'm supposed to be applying to colleges this year and I don't even know what to tell anybody I'd be interested in. And in any case, I can't ever be your mate." "Sometimes you are my little brother, and a pain in the ass," she said. She never had any trouble being honest about things. "I know what your faults are, but I can live with them. Thinking about you as my lover is different. It used to feel really weird to think of you that way, but not any more. When we make love you're just Bobby, the man I love. You listen to me when it really matters. You love me. I have no doubt whatsoever about that. And when we make love I know there isn't anything else I'd rather be doing than that. If some other guy can make me feel that way, then I'll be willing to spend time with him. I don't know if I'll meet a guy like that or not, but I'm not in a big hurry about it. I like my life the way it is now. I know we can't go on like this forever, but I want to hold on to you as long as I can." That conversation got us both fired up. She drove to the school and parked over by where the shop class parked their project vehicles. Then we got the picnic blanket out of the trunk and went under the bleachers. We had a clear view of anyplace a car might appear from, like the police or something. The moonlight came through the gaps in the bleachers and made stripes on her skin as she got naked. When we had time and privacy like this, we took a long time. We had learned that she could get off half a dozen times before she was satisfied, so I usually gave her at least two and sometimes three orgasms before I went inside her. I tried to give her one with me in her, but sometimes I was too excited. And if she was already happy, she knew how to make me pop. She could play me like a violin. All she had to do was slide her hands up and down my back and whisper for me to cum in her, saying things like "Make my pussy wet, Bobby," or "Squirt in me, baby," or "I want to feel you go off in me." It didn't matter what she said. What mattered was that I could hear in her voice that she meant it, and that was what made me explode. Most times, though, we made love in either her bed or mine, after our parents went to bed. The only pain about that was that it would have been really nice to be able to just stay there and sleep together. Interestingly, in November, Mom and Dad announced that they were going to spend the weekend at a spa and "would we be all right on our own for the weekend?" Heather was better about keeping a straight face and said "We'll manage." We slept together Friday and Saturday nights. We couldn't get enough of each other. The only time I had a problem was once, while Heather was sitting, impaled on top of me, rubbing her clit against the base of my stiff cock. "Do you think this is what Mom and Dad are doing right now?" she asked. Thinking about my sister naked was one thing. Thinking about my mother doing this wasn't something I was ready for. I lost enough of my hard that Heather had to suck it back to life after I told her why it had gone soft. Whenever she wasn't in the mood after that, all she did was say "I wonder if Dad wants to do that with Mom right now." I might be in love with her, but she could still be a bitch. The only time I did anything that might have blown it was when Brad asked her out and she turned him down flat, right in front of his friends. He was expecting her to be all happy that he'd broken up with his latest conquest, and was ready to take her back now that she was awake and healthy. We had requested lockers right next to each other when school started, and that's where we were when Brad came by with his entourage and approached her. It was the end of the day and people were streaming by as they left the building. "Hey, Heath," he said, shortening her name in such a way that he sounded retarded. "Now that you're back on your feet you ready to hook back up?" "No thanks," she said in response. "What do you mean no thanks?" He grinned. "I know you're not going with anybody. How could you pass this up?" He went into a pose. "Easily," she said, turning back to dig into her locker. "Is that so?" He looked pissed. "Playing hard to get? Tell you what. I'll throw in twenty bucks. Your pussy should be worth that." I had punched him before I even realized I was going to do it. He called it a sucker punch later, but I was standing right beside Heather, which was right in front of him. It happened so fast that his friends couldn't even catch him and he ended up sprawled on the tile in the hallway. One of his buddies said "Fuck!" but nothing happened, except that they helped him up. Heather just turned to me and said "Thank you." I knew that if it went any farther we'd both get kicked out of school, but I said "That wasn't cool, Brad. Don't ever talk to my sister like that again." If he'd have lit into me I'd probably have lost, because he had at least twenty pounds on me, but he just said "I wouldn't touch the skanky bitch if she paid me!" Things were tense for a few seconds while he waited for me to react, but Heather touched my arm. "Bye, Brad," she said, and then pulled me away from him. "You want to go somewhere?" she asked quietly as we walked away. "What?" "I want you so bad right now I'm dripping," she whispered. "What?" I was still mad and, to be honest, I wasn't thinking too clearly. "Mom might be home when we get there," she said. "Let's walk. Maybe we can sneak up into your old tree house for a quickie before we go in." "My hand hurts," I said, looking at it. "I'm offering you twenty dollars worth of pussy and all you can think of is your hand hurting?" I blinked. "You're horny?" "You fought for my honor," she said. "If I had never let you fuck me before, I would now." Which is how I found out that, when the floor of your old tree house is too dirty to lie down on, you can still actually have pretty good sex with the guy sitting on the floor without his pants, and the girl sitting on his lap, facing him. It made her taller than me, but that was fine, because it also put her nipples right where I could get to them easily with my lips. Still, while it was definitely fun, when we'd caught our breath, I couldn't help but think there had to be a better way to have this relationship. ------- Chapter 8 I know it sounds exotic. I mean two kids in high school, who got enough sex to be quite happy about it most of the time ... sounds pretty out of the ordinary, right? But the fact is that our lives were very ordinary, with the exception of the fact that we got as much sex as we could manage. With Heather on the pill it was very relaxed sex too. We did get a reputation as having draconian parents, but that was good, as far as we were concerned. Then Heather got an acceptance letter from the University of Missouri at Kansas City, where she had applied to their registered nursing program. The letter said there was a possibility of scholarships, based on her final GPA, as well as corporate scholarships, whatever that meant. She was invited to come tour the campus and talk to a guidance counselor. Which was how, for the first time, I contemplated the surety that, sooner or later, what I had with my sister would be taken away from me. I didn't do too well with that. Heather was all excited, of course, and Mom was practically delirious. I got the feeling that Dad would be happy with whatever she did as long as she was happy with it. So Mom and Heather took off one Friday to make the two hour trip to Kansas City. We didn't have school that day because of parent teacher conferences. Dad went to talk to my teachers. They didn't worry too much about Heather because all of her teachers and my parents were already on a first name basis. Everybody liked Heather and wanted her to succeed. I spent the day lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, basically. I figured if this was a broken heart I was feeling then I wasn't going to be interested in ever falling in love again, because it wasn't worth this kind of pain if it fell apart. I knew that couples at school came together and broke up with astonishing speed and regularity. I was amazed that teenagers weren't jumping off of bridges right and left. Not that I actually contemplated killing myself. I was just the most miserable I'd ever been in my life. Now that I'm older, I understand the value of all those flirtatious, tenuous and fragile temporary pairings that go on during your school years. They teach you how to survive unhappiness. They toughen you up a little bit. And, of course, when they got back, Heather had stars in her eyes, which only made me feel expendable. She came to my bed that night, horny and excited. We almost got in a fight because I was pouting. When she figured that out, though, she knew what to say to bring me out of it. "Bobby, baby, I'll always love you. I'll always come to you like this. Maybe not as often as we do now, but you're my man and you'll always be my man. I couldn't live without this. And it's almost a year away. We have lots of time to get used to the idea. I need you, Bobby. I have to have you to be complete." Then I felt guilty for thinking the things I'd been thinking all day, but she overcame that by sucking my cock until it was rock hard. She pulled me on top of her and, as I slid in, she said "Yessssss. That's what I need. That's what I'll always need." She almost didn't get to cum herself before I lost it. ------- As I said before, Mom and Dad never mentioned our relationship after that family conference. Not for years, anyway. But there were signs that they were still aware of it. The don't ask, don't tell policy worked pretty well and Heather and I went to great pains not to flaunt anything in front of anybody. At the same time, anybody could tell we were close, and the fact that we argued so rarely must have been noticeable to some, especially our parents. Eventually, their repeated "renewal trips" out of town for the weekend took on a different meaning to Heather and me. They hadn't talked much about that first one, except to say it was wonderful and well worth the expense. Then, a couple of months later they did it again. After that, it seemed like they needed "renewing" every two months. Of course that gave Heather and me a chance to have a weekend together too, and we loved those weekends. It wasn't until the third or fourth time it had happened that we contemplated the idea that they were doing it on purpose, just to give us some quality time together. We never asked them about it, though. It would have violated the policy. I wonder about that to this day. By the time the end of school got close I had learned to deal with the idea of Heather going off to college. I wasn't happy about it, but I was no longer debilitated by it either. Most kids look forward to their senior year, and I didn't, but that was just part of the price of being in love with a woman I wasn't supposed to be in love with. Heather graduated with honors and there was a big party with aunts and uncles there, and graduation gifts and what Mom called "punch and lunch." Heather raked in over five hundred bucks. It was amazing. She also qualified for enough scholarships to pay for everything for her first year of college except lodging and meals. They offered her a work study job to pay for that, though, so her first year was worry free, financially speaking. Depending on how she did, her guidance counselor said succeeding years could also be mostly paid for. I guess nurses are in short supply and lots scholarships are available because of that. That summer was full of pain and pleasure. Now that I was sixteen I could get a job at Buddy's Food Barn, stocking shelves. Heather worked at a pizza place as a waitress. To take the load off of Mom and Dad's renewal budget, Heather and I took up camping, going out twice a month, rain or shine. Mom and Dad never said a word. We brought back fish for the table, though, and that may have helped. Those nights in the tent, with our sleeping bags zipped together and lying under us like a thin mattress, were wonderful. Some nights were hot, but we didn't care, reveling in the sweat dripping from one of us to the other as we lunged and writhed against each other, seeking sweet release. We experienced the kind of life the pioneers had, intentionally not lighting the lantern, and going to bed with the sun, doing the kinds of things our ancestors had done, there in the dark. If she hadn't been on the pill it would have been impossible for her not to get pregnant that summer. Twice we went skinny dipping in the lake after dark, and made love there in the water. It was glorious. But each weekend also brought us closer to the time when they would pack the car and my lover would disappear off to college. She promised she'd come home to visit, and said I could come visit her too, though the logistics of that weren't clear. Until, at last, that time was there, and I watched them drive away. ------- I had been invited to go along, of course. And I probably should have, to support Heather, if nothing else. Instead I went for a run and ran until I had to sit down. I redirected my frustration into running and it helped. That year I made the varsity track team. I came in most races in second or third place, but the competition was fierce and my times were good. Email kept us in touch. She got into the habit of signing off "Nothing has changed," and I learned to interpret that as "I love you." Girls were more interested in me that year too, particularly Sophomore and Junior girls. The irony of that was that they all seemed immature and I perceived them more as little sisters than girls. It was bizarre. I saw my real sister as a woman, and other women as my little sisters. I'm sure a psychologist would have been able to explain it, but I never went to one to get that information. Suffice it to say that my senior year was a mixture of more pain, with the occasional pleasure of Heather coming home to visit. The parents must have been less sympathetic, though, because they didn't disappear off somewhere on the holidays while Heather was there. Maybe they hoped she'd grown out of it. Maybe they just thought we were both adult enough to deal with the adversity, if it was there. Maybe they just hoped we had stopped. But we were experts by then at either finding places where we could let loose, or going the slower, quieter route of making love in one of our beds. The only pain in that was that we couldn't sleep together, and wake up in the same bed. The year dragged on. I won't go into a bunch of boring details, but I got through it. Heather loved her courses and got more and more excited about her career choice. Her work study job was in the library, so she could chat with me on the computer while I did homework. I still had no idea what to do with my life. I had applied to a couple of colleges using the "general studies" major, which basically meant "I don't have a clue," but which made everybody feel better because I was in a box, rather than floating aimlessly. Then during senior week somebody pulled a prank that got out of control. What was supposed to be a small fire that would make enough smoke to set all the alarms off, melted the trash can and set some cardboard boxes ablaze. That caught something else and the next thing anybody knew the whole room was involved. I was standing with the crowd, watching the firemen do their thing, when I realized I wanted to do that kind of work too. So while Heather completed years two and three of her four year program in Kansas City, I went to Hutchinson Community College and got an associates degree in fire science. Which is how I ended up as a firefighter on the fire department in Lenexa, a suburb of Kansas City on the Kansas side of town. I got an apartment in another suburb where the cost of living wasn't quite as high, but was still within the 30 minute response time. Then I called Heather, told her I was in town, and asked if she was hungry. I picked her up and she took me to this little hole in the wall place that served Texmex that was wonderful. "I hate this," she said while we were eating. "Then why did you bring me here?" I asked. "No, I mean not having someplace to go. My roommates all know you, so I can't just take you back to my room and fuck you blind." "I wouldn't want to be blind anyway. You're too beautiful for that," I said. She glowered at me, which told me just how frustrated she really was. "After sleeping on the couch last time I decided to get my own place to stay this time," I said. She brightened. "Really? You got a motel room? Hurry up and finish!" It was almost dark by the time we got out of the restaurant. She knew something was up when I turned into a residential area and down a poorly lit street that had a dead end sign at the opening. "What's going on, Bobby?" she asked. "It's a surprise," I said. "Be patient." "I don't want a surprise," she said. "Surprise me later. Right now I want your beautiful hard penis deep inside me, spurting me full of Bobby goo." "Bobby goo?" I laughed. "They teach you such arcane and interesting things in nursing school." "Don't laugh," she said, pouting. "It's my favorite liquid." I pulled into the driveway, which led to a separate single car garage that looked even older than the sixty year old clapboard house I was renting. It was in good shape on the inside, though. I had contracted with the landlord to give the exterior a couple of badly needed coats of paint in exchange for the first month's rent. I turned the car off. "Let's go inside. There's something I want you to see." "I didn't know you knew anybody in Kansas City," she said, staring at me. Then, when I used a key on my key chain to open the front door, she stopped. "Bobby! What's going on?" "Women are so impatient," I complained. "Do you want to see your surprise or not?" Women are also curious. She followed me in and I turned on lights. She saw my stuff lying around, only partly unpacked. I took her to the bigger bedroom, with the queen bed in it. It was the only piece of furniture I had purchased thus far. "The Lenexa fire department offered me a job, so I decided to give it a try. This is my room." Her jaw dropped open and her eyes went wide. I pushed her toward the open door five feet away that went to the smaller bedroom. Four or five boxes of my stuff were piled in the middle. "This is my roommate's bedroom. Except I don't have a roommate yet. You know anybody who might be interested? Maybe Charlene or Janet?" Charlene and Janet were her current roommates. They were sisters and shared one of the two bedrooms at Heather's apartment. ------- Heather hadn't risen to the bait when I suggested that one of her roommates might want to move in with me. Instead she pulled out her cell phone and punched buttons. "Jan? Heather. My brother is in town. He brought a friend with him. Don't wait up for me." She listened. "Sorry. It turns out he knows a girl from the area and is hooking up with her. I'll tell him you're interested, though." She listened again. "Would you get off my back? I know I don't get out enough. I know I don't have enough fun. What do you think I'm doing tonight? OK. See you in the morning ... unless I get even luckier than I think I'm going to get. Bye bye." "Janet would probably jump at the chance to move in here with you," she said, putting her cell phone and purse down. "But if you let her, I'll cut your balls off." I covered my crotch with both hands. "Ooooo. I wouldn't want that. What do you suggest I do instead? I really need a roommate. The starting pay for a firefighter sucks." She pulled her T shirt over her head. Reaching behind her, she loosened the bra and shrugged it off. Her breasts wobbled, and I was reminded of the first time I saw them, when I let her down on the bed too hard and they wobbled. It felt like my eyeballs were wobbling in my sockets while I watched them. "I don't think anybody's going to be interested in moving in with you if there's no air conditioning," she said, fanning her face with her hand. "It's awfully hot in here." She unbuttoned her jeans and slid the zipper down. Looking into my eyes she pushed them down, taking her panties with her. Since there was no furniture, she simply sat down on the floor and pulled them off. Then she bent her knees, spread her legs and leaned back on one arm. With her free hand she reached and used two fingers to separate her pussy lips. "My pussy is so hot, Bobby," she complained. "There's no breeze to cool it off." "There's a ceiling fan above the bed in my room," I said softly. "You could lie under that and get cooled off." "Really?" She stood up with fluid grace. Three years hadn't put more than five pounds on her. If anything her stomach seemed slightly concave. When she got into the bedroom she dove onto the bed and flipped onto her back during her first bounce. She went spread eagle on the bed. "Turn the fan on, Bobby," she demanded. "I'm so hot! Aren't you hot? You look hot." "I'm used to it," I said. "We firemen work in the heat routinely." "Ooooo, can I see your fire hose?" she asked, her voice high and young sounding. "Are you Smokey The Bear?" "My fire hose is nothing to play with, little girl," I said, gravely. "It is for serious business." "I want to see it," she pouted. "All right," I said. "But no touching." I was out of my shirt and pants within twenty seconds. I was rock hard, of course, and my prick was straining upwards at a fifty degree angle. "It's full of liquid under extreme pressure." "That's so it can squirt and put a fire out," she said, sounding awed. "I want to see it squirt!" "Can't waste water," I said, shaking my head. "Water is a precious resource." "So there's water in there?" she asked, licking her lips. "It's a kind of foam, with lots of ingredients," I said, straining to think of ways to keep this going. I was having a blast, but only because I knew we had all night. That was a rare and precious thing in our history. "What kind of fires does it put out?" she asked. "Cause it's so hot inside me there might be a fire in there." She pointed at her gaping pussy lips and slid the finger deep inside her. "Up in there," she gasped. "It's so hot. I need a fireman to put it out." "I have to examine the fire first," I said. "Different fires take different techniques to extinguish." I crawled on the bed and between her feet. They dug into the bedspread and she lifted her hips off the bed, supporting her weight on her heels and shoulders. "Hurry," she panted. "I'm burning up inside." I sniffed, and grazed her pussy lips with my nose. I licked her cleft and she moaned. I ran the tip of my tongue around her clit in a couple of circles. Then I blew. It was hard enough to make one of her pussy lips flap in the wind. "Does that help?" I asked. "Did I blow the fire out?" "Nooooo," she whined. "I need the fire hose. I need the special foam. I need lots of it. I'm on fire, Smokey. You have to help meeeee." I stood up on my knees and started jacking off. "I'm going to try spraying some foam on the outside first," I said. "Maybe that will put the fire out." "You bastard!" she growled. "If you don't start fighting my fire immediately I'm going to go find me another fireman who will!" I fell forward and covered her upper torso with mine. She was quick, though, because her hand flashed between us before it was trapped and she fished for my cock, bringing it to her sexual portal. I humped forward and her groan of satisfaction almost made me cum. I had to stop for a few seconds. I used the time to crush her clitty and rub it with my pubic bone. "Sometimes firemen work in teams," I whispered into her ear. "Is that what you want?" "Only if you can't put this fire out by yourself," she gasped. Then it was as if we were dancing horizontally on a trampoline as I pounded at her. We rolled and she sat up straight, to wiggle, trying to get me as deep as possible. She fell forward to get her nipples sucked and then I rolled her over again and pounded her some more. We performed another supine pirouette, during which her legs closed to keep me in her and my knees landed outside her thighs. Suddenly she was tighter than she'd ever been before. I lunged and rubbed. "Oh fuck," she groaned. "That's fantastic!" "Still on fire?" I gasped. "Put it out, Bobby. Squirt my fire out, baby. Make your hose gush." "Oh sweet Heather," I moaned, pushing hard and staying there. Her pussy muscles worked and I felt the first long rope of spunk force its way through my tightly compressed prick. "That's it," she groaned. "More. Give me more." Three strong jets followed the first one as our lips met and we basically slobbered all over each others' mouths. It was intense in a special way that we'd try to recapture many times in the future. Her squeal told me she had reached completion just as I finished, so I rubbed her through that orgasm as I took in deep rasping breaths. Eventually she went limp. I rolled us so she was sprawled on top of me and I wouldn't crush her. Her weight didn't bother me in the slightest. Her hair covered my face and tickled, though, so I reached to rearrange it. "So ... do I need to call for backup?" I asked. "No," she sighed. "I'll have to check later to make sure all smoldering embers are out," I said. "Yes," she said. "Good." I did check later ... three more times during the night, in fact. And damned if that fire hadn't sprung back up every time! By morning my hose was empty and the reservoir was drained. "What's wrong with it?" asked Heather, sitting Indian style beside me and flipping my limp penis back and forth. "A hose wears out with use," I said. "Well that's no good," she said. "Maybe I do need a whole team of firemen." "Maybe you need to stop playing with fire," I countered. "If I had Smokey The Bear around all the time I wouldn't have to worry," she said. Within a week Charlene and Janet had convinced Heather that moving in with her brother would be a good move. They insisted that since she had decided to start dating, it would be a safer place to bring men, because her brother could keep an eye on her. Of course Heather knew the real reason was that Janet and Charlene wanted their own bedrooms, because their style had been cramped all along. It's possible that explained their eagerness to help her get moved. ------- Living together ... how can I describe how wonderful it was? We did go down to the Goodwill and get another bed for her room, for appearances sake, and there was a dresser in there. Basically we used that room for the off season clothing. We still had to keep up appearances outside the house, but in there we were in our nest, where everything was comfortable and we could be ourselves. Sleeping together was so beautiful. Of course life went on. Her school work was grueling, but I wasn't too much of a distraction because I had four days on and three days off. So I wasn't home for four twenty-four hour days, during which she had all the quiet necessary to study. Then she could unwind with me on my three days off. We usually spent a lot of those three days in bed. I came home on such a break one day about a month after she'd moved in and found her unpacking boxes I'd ignored. She had just finished setting up my old computer, which I'd taken to school with me to use for studying. She'd arranged for broad band to the house, because she used the net intensively to study and communicate with her instructors. She pushed the on button as I walked into the room. "Hi. We need to get a new computer," she said. "Why?" I asked. "Because this one is so old," she said. "It's as slow as a turtle." "We may have to live with the turtle for a while," I said. She was still a poor, starving student and I was getting a little over thirty grand a year to start. I hadn't gotten any scholarships, and was going to have to start paying back student loans soon. The desktop finally settled and she clicked on Firefox. It came up and she went a couple of places experimentally. "Well at least the internet goes fast," she said. She clicked on my favorites bar and surveyed the list. "Awwww," she said. "I'd forgotten all about that." "What?" "You've got that place bookmarked where you read me the stories from." She turned to face me. I saw that her button up shirt wasn't buttoned. She had waited for me naked before, but it was getting on towards winter and it was cooler in the house. I gazed at the skin revealed and imagined the breasts I would soon be playing with and sucking on. She slowly pulled the shirt open, exposing them to me. "Read me a story?" she purred. "I'd rather do what the story is about," I said, unbuttoning my uniform shirt. "Let's act one out," she suggested. She turned back around and started clicking the mouse. Lubrican's home page was bookmarked, but she had to sign in so I told her my user name and password. "Boy!" she said. "He's written a lot of stories!" "Pick any one of them," I said. "I bet you'll be happy playacting what's in it." "I want one that's about people like us," she said. She eventually picked one called Horsing Around For Halloween, because that holiday was only a few weeks away. She started reading. "Hey," I said. "I thought I was supposed to read to you." "Just get naked," she ordered. She started shucking her own clothing while she read. I interrupted her when she got to the part about the brother liking to see his sister's tits jiggle. I told her that was one of my favorite things. She turned around and did a quick shimmy, but then went back to reading. When she got to the costume she laughed and looked over her shoulder. "You have to be the horse's ass." "Naturally," I said, but it didn't bother me. I was going to get laid out of this deal, and I was going to get to lay the woman of my dreams. If I had to put up with a little teasing to do it ... that was just fine. She got to the part where they were in the suit and he smelled his sister's pussy for the first time. I listened in amazement, because it was like Lubrican had written that about me, based on my own experience. I interrupted her again and told her about it. That distracted us, because I wanted to smell her pussy then and there, and of course after I did that I wanted to lick it. So we took a break and sixty-nined for a while. Now that we lived together, and since we knew we would have all kinds of time to make love, I didn't mind if she sucked me off. I much preferred to shoot in her pussy, because it seemed so much more intimate or something. I could hold her while I did that, or kiss her. But if her head was down there sucking me dry, all I could do was flop like a fish. Anyway, she ended up sucking me off and that was that for a while. I sucked her clit and she expressed her appreciation by almost smothering me. Then we took a break and started supper together. We did most things together, like cooking or cleaning. We just liked to spend time together. It was so nice to be able to talk without guarding our speech and things like that. Occasionally we went out together, but usually only on my third day off, when we'd had enough sex to satisfy us for more than a couple of hours. After supper she worked on a paper she was writing and then announced that the story she'd been reading was still minimized. She pulled it up and started reading again, where she left off. Within minutes we were acting it out again as I was behind her, like the boy in the horse costume was behind his sister. His hands were on his sister's breasts, and mine were on Heather's. He played with her nipples and I tugged and mauled Heather's. "I'd forgotten how hot his stories are," she sighed, standing up and kicking the chair sideways with her foot. She presented her naked ass to me. Soon, as Larry slid his cock into his sister for the first time, I slid mine into Heather for some count in the hundreds. It felt just as exciting as the first time, though, as she read me Sandy's reactions to their incestuous coupling. It was a good thing we were playing while she read, because she got to the point where we could just imagine this baggy horse, capering all over the place while the young couple inside lost their cherries to each other, and it was so funny that I couldn't keep it in her. She complained, of course, and demanded to be filled and threatened to stop reading if I didn't. So I slid back into her heat and pulled her against me with my hands gripping her hips. Then it got to a serious part, where the two teens had to deal with what had happened, and their feelings for each other. I stopped thrusting and just let my prick soak in Heather's pussy. I cupped her breasts and just held them gently. "It's amazing," she said at one point. "It's a lot like we were." "Yeah." And then it was more like we were, when they started making love. She stopped after their session and pulled away from me as she stood up and turned around. "I know how she feels," she said. "I want to feel that way right now." So we went to bed and left Larry and Sandy abandoned on the computer screen. It wouldn't be until later that night that Heather would call out to me again, amazed at what happened to Sandy and Larry in that story. "It's eerie," she said. "After they graduated Larry was in a medically oriented program in college and they lived together in an apartment, like us." "Except I bet he knocked her up," I said. "He did! How did you know that?" "It's a Lubrican story," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "The guy has got it bad for getting his women knocked up." "It makes me..." She didn't finish. "Makes you what?" I asked. "Makes me think," she said. "Never mind. I like acting his stuff out." "Me too," I said. "Want to do another one right now?" "We don't need a story every time," she said. She was right. ------- Thus started the period of our life where, maybe once a week, we'd pick a new Lubrican story and read it to each other, acting things out until we weren't interested in reading any more. I picked Lucky Sister, and got ragged on for thinking I was so special that she was lucky. Then during our lovemaking after the story, she convinced me she was. A week later she picked Scoring With Sis and got all irate at a high school culture that would require girls to reward boys with sex for sports success. "It's just a story," I said. "If you don't like it, pick another one." "I want to see what kind of brother she has," she said, and read on. It turned out she liked the brother. "Remember when you knocked Brad down after he called me a whore?" she asked. "Of course," I said. "I was scared to death I'd get expelled." "Just remembering that makes me want to have your baby," she said. There was thunderous silence for about fifteen seconds. We looked at each other and didn't blink. "Sorry," she said. "It just popped out." "Wow," I said. "I don't mean I actually want to have your baby, Bobby," she said, dragging it out. "It's like a saying. You know. Like I'm so hungry I could eat a horse? Nobody really means they could actually eat a horse." "Oh," I said. "Anyway, I felt really strong about that. I'll never ever forget it." "Me either," I said. Our lovemaking that night started out almost as if we hadn't done it before. There was some fumbling and things were less than polished. Then it suddenly turned almost violent. She liked to have wild, violent sex sometimes. I'm not talking about where anybody gets hurt, but with my prick slamming into her hard, and a lot of growling and head tossing and stuff like that. I didn't care for it so much because it was hard for me to cum like that. The times I came almost prematurely were when she whispered that she wanted me to come in her... asked me to cum in her ... begged for my seed. I couldn't resist that. I don't remember when it was, or who picked the story, but John Deere Green was another one that seemed to affect the way we thought about things. In that story a brother and sister who get accused of incest via the prank of painting that on a water tower. He was Billy Bob and his sister was Charlene. And people wouldn't let it rest and it caused so much trouble that Charlene decided if they were going to get blamed for it, they were going to get the benefits. And they ended up like Heather and me. Except of course, Billy Bob got Charlene pregnant, because it was a Lubrican story. And of course while everybody in town was quite willing to tease the young couple, nobody really believed they committed incest, so nobody believed it was Billy Bob's baby. Except their parents. While we were making love after reading that story, I was at a point where I was deep in her, just rubbing her clit in circles. "What would happen to us if I got pregnant?" she asked suddenly. I stopped rubbing. Her hands automatically came and got me going again. "You're on the pill," I said. "It's not a hundred percent effective. Just come to the hospital OB ward on any given day and I can show you one or two women who were on the pill when they got pregnant." "Shit," I said, and stopped again. "So you'd hate it," she said. She didn't start me up again. Not only did she not start me up again, but that old "danger danger" tone was just barely audible in her voice. I pulled out of her and sat down beside her. "This is bothering you," I said. "Of course it's bothering me, if the man who might get me pregnant hates the idea," she said. I thought about arguing with her, but I knew that wouldn't solve anything for anybody. "What do you want me to do?" I asked. "You want me to get a vasectomy?" "No!" She looked shocked. "Of course not, Bobby." "Well I won't let you get fixed either," I said. "I'm not talking about that either. I want to have children some day!" "So the only alternative is for us to stop again," I said. I did not like where this was going. "Bobby, sweetie, I'm not saying anything like that. I don't think there's a problem. I don't' think I'm going to get pregnant. It's just that it could happen, and I can't help but wonder how that would turn out." "It would turn out like every other pregnancy turns out," I said. "You'd have a baby." "And you'd hate that," she said. "I did not say I'd hate it!" I said, finally asserting myself. "If I recall, I said 'shit'." "Isn't that the same thing?" She sounded injured. "No," I said patiently. "Shit means 'wow, that came out of nowhere' or 'I wonder what brought that on?' or maybe 'there could be some complications with that scenario.' What it does not mean is if I got my sister pregnant I'd hate her or the baby or want to run away. After all, it would be my baby too!" "Well you don't have to yell at me," she pouted. "I'm not yelling at you," I said. I admit I said it loudly, but I still don't believe I was yelling. "I'm trying to convince you that you're wrong when you think that you having a baby would be the worst thing in the world." "I didn't say having your baby would be the worst thing in the world," she said. I noticed the difference. I had said "a" baby. She had said "your" baby. That was when I realized it was very, very serious. "Heather," I said softly. "I thought you were saving babies for the man you can marry." "I am," she said, still not upset. "But he's taking his sweet freaking time finding me." "The fact that you live with your brother might have some impact on that," I said. "Of course it does, and no, I'm not going to move out so I can find a husband and father for my children." "Do you want to get pregnant right now?" "No!" she yelled. "I just want to talk about what would happen if I did!" Which is when I learned that you should listen first and ask a lot of questions before you give any opinion ... or even reaction to any question a woman might happen to toss out there during sex. ------- Chapter 9 We did talk about it what would happen if she got pregnant. It was odd for two reasons. First off we were having a serious conversation about things and were sitting there buck naked. But it was also odd because neither of us had really thought about planning for such an eventuality. I think it all boiled down to the idea that she wanted to know that I wouldn't abandon her if it happened, and that I'd try to make the best of things. That she even contemplated I might react negatively hurt my feelings, but I didn't tell her that. I just said that I'd never leave her until she told me to go and left it at that. It about blew my mind when she said we were finished talking and would I please come back and finish what I had started. ------- UMKC had a placement office at the college, and part of Heather's last year of school involved visiting that office to see if she could already have a job waiting when she graduated. She described it as being a little like a real estate office, where there were pictures of hospitals and clinics on the bulletin board and notices of job openings. The vast majority of them were time sensitive, meaning that there were specific hiring dates. Before her last semester, all those job openings seemed pretty superfluous by virtue of the fact that whoever was hiring needed a RN on such and such a date, which was always before her graduation date. But in her last semester that all changed. She brought home copies of the ones that looked interesting to her. She did that for two reasons. First, it was fun for her to dream about having a job in her chosen field. She'd look up information about the city on the net. She always started with cultural offerings, and ended with cost of living, prices on housing and all that sort of thing. But the other reason she brought them home was so that I could make enquiries about job openings on fire departments in the same location. From January to March we looked at possibilities that always seemed to fall through for one reason or another. With the economy on the skids, a lot of fire departments were under hiring freezes. Heather was fine, because the medical field was booming. We had a near miss in Philadelphia, where both of us could seek a job, but the cost of living was prohibitive. She started talking about staying in Kansas City. She could probably get employment, but with all the competition from all the recent graduates, that wasn't a sure thing. I told her not to worry about it. We were comfortable and could live on my salary until she found something. Then, only three weeks from graduation, she walked in the door one night with a paper in her hand and a strange look on her face. I knew her so well now that I knew something was up. "Good or bad?" I asked. "Good ... I think," she said. Her voice quivered. "Hit me," I said, opening my arms to give her a hug and kiss. The kiss I got was full of passion. Not that she ever skimped on feeling when we exchanged love, but this was a little more passionate than usual. It lasted a long time and I could feel the yearning in her body as she crushed it to mine. There was all the time in the world to get her naked and impaled, so I reminded myself to be patient and listen. When she was finished with the kiss she pushed me to the kitchen table and sat me down. She sat across from me and slid the paper across the table. There were RN positions available in Anchorage, Alaska. The starting pay was astonishing. Underneath that announcement was a copy of another job announcement from the U.S. Forest Service in Anchorage, listing more than twenty jobs associated with wilderness fire fighting operations. The salary for most of them wasn't very impressive - barely more than I was now getting from the Lenexa department. Then I read the part about how the position was only active for eight months out of the year, with a four month break during the winter. The employee was still on the payroll, but inactive, and was free to pursue other types of employment for those four months. That meant if I was working there, I'd make more than what I was making all year here in just eight months. "Alaska?" I said, looking up at her. "I thought of something while I was reading over the RN announcements," she said. "That's why I did a search for positions for you." "What?" I asked. She licked her lips. I couldn't imagine what she could be nervous about. "If we showed up in Alaska ... where nobody knows us ... with the same last name ... how could anybody know we weren't married?" I thought about that. I tried to think about it critically, but that was really hard. "I guess they could ask us for a marriage license," I said. "How often does somebody ask for a marriage license?" she asked. "I have no idea," I said. "I think we should try to find out," was her reply. I was a little stunned by the possibility she was suggesting. "Okay," I said. "You don't think I'm insane?" she asked. "I've known you were insane ever since you woke up from your coma," I said, grinning weakly. "But who cares whether people think we're married or not? It doesn't make any difference here." "Yes, it does," she said. "I can't kiss you in public. I can't talk about my husband, and how he makes me feel. We have to hide our love." "I guess you're right," I said. "And..." she added softly, licking her lips again, "if people know we're brother and sister ... I can't let you get me pregnant." ------- I'd like to say that, after my sister suggested she wanted to get pregnant with my baby, I took it calmly and was not ruffled. You know ... like maybe I said "Well, I'm honored!" It wasn't anything like that. Jangled was a better word. I was jangled. Every nerve ending in my body lit up like Fourth of July fireworks in the night sky. I think I actually vibrated all over for ten or fifteen seconds. I had very conflicting thoughts about this. The primary one was familiar, because I'd had it before, back when Heather and I first started living together. I was quite sure that we could never pull it off, and that people would know something was going on between us. I mean a brother and sister living together isn't really any big deal, but I was sure people would be able to see how we felt about each other. Actually, nobody paid any attention to it. The guys I worked with all wanted me to get them dates with her, but when I told them she already had a boyfriend, they let it go. A few of her friends were interested in me, but the same tactic produced the same result. Nobody paid any attention to our status. And, over the next few weeks, as we both made quiet and discreet inquiries about what marriage licenses were used for, we found out that, basically, other than the minister who's going to perform the ceremony and some agencies involved in effecting the bride's name change, such as the Social Security Administration ... nobody ever asked to see a marriage license. Nobody. I talked to at least ten or fifteen guys who not only had never been asked to prove they were married, but weren't even sure they still had their original marriage license or could prove they were married. And with each day of research, Heather got more and more excited. On the night when we sat, staring into each other's eyes over a single candle on the table, we sipped wine and held hands, I finally said "Do you really want to do this?" "Yes." She said it softly, but firmly. "So ... if you could ... you'd marry me?" I asked. "Yes." It was an instant response, and her eyes welled up. "Me too," I said. "We'll start the application process tomorrow," she said. Now it was my turn to give a one word response. "Yes." ------- The Alaska/Canada highway, or ALCAN, as it is known, was built during World War II with a gravel surface, to enable the Army to get supplies and equipment to Alaska to repel the Japanese invasion in the Aleutian Islands. It is still the primary (and only) means of getting goods to The North Star State by land transportation. Since 1943, when it was finished, parts of it have been paved and straightened, but it is still basically a drive through "the country" of fourteen hundred miles. That's from Dawson Creek, British Columbia to Delta Junction, AK. By a drive through "the country" I mean you can expect the same kind and amount of services you'd find on two lane county roads in the continental United States. Except the county roads are probably in better shape, and will definitely have more services available. Of course Dawson Creek is in Canada. It's about a thousand miles north of Seattle as the crow flies, and you have to get there first before you can even contemplate driving the ALCAN. From Kansas City to Dawson Creek is about almost 1,500 miles, through North Dakota, Saskatchewan, and Alberta, Canada. I don't know what the population of Canada is, but they're not crowded. I can tell you that. We chose to drive for a couple of reasons. First off, it costs an arm and both legs to ship a car up there. According to our research, if you buy a new car up there, the shipping is just as bad. So we got us a Subaru 4WD in Kansas City, hooked a small trailer up to it, and tent camped all the way to Delta Junction. We originally planned on taking twelve days, but more research suggested that if we wanted to enjoy the trip to allow for more. Twenty days seemed like an awfully long time, but turned out to be too short. There were a dozen places along the way I wish we could have stayed for a week or more. I can't even begin to do the scenery justice. We made the trip in July, which was a recommended time to travel based on the book Milepost which is a sort of guide book for the trip. If you ever decide to make that trip - and you should - you must have a copy of that book. It tells you everything you could ever want or need to know to make the trip a success. And considering there are places where gas stations are 350 miles apart, sometimes the listing of where they are can prevent trials and tribulation. This road is so remote after you leave Dawson Creek that automobile wrecks are often just left where they lay. It's neither cost effective nor even intelligent to recover them, sometimes. Alberta was the last province where the heat was oppressive, and after that, every night was spent cuddled together in our double sleeping bag, which up to that point had just been a mattress upon which we made love and slept. Part of the reason we took our time was because Heather had this silly notion that she wanted to make love in every state or province we went through. That meant we had to stop and find places to have sex outdoors, because we went through three states the first day to get to our first KOA campsite. The first stop was River Bluffs State Park in St. Joseph, Missouri, where we took a blanket into the middle of a copse of trees and rutted like animals in the woods. It was exhilarating, because we knew people were just outside the screen of leaves. Just before Council Bluffs, Iowa, we stopped at Manawa State Park, where we got under a foot bridge over a rushing stream and I sat with my butt perched on a rock while she straddled me and rode us both to orgasm. Then it was back in the car for a 45 minute drive to Fort Calhoun, Nebraska, where we took a tour and managed to slip away from the tour group. Standing up in a closet, with her impaled on my rampant prick and her toes barely touching the ground, she asked if I thought some soldier had taken a girl in this closet a hundred years ago and done what we were doing. It was odd to think of the ghosts of past lovers floating above us, watching something being recreated. We stopped for our first night of camping in Sioux Falls and, of course, she wanted to be pinned to the ground of that state that night, with my weight on her and my cock filling her pussy. "I'm so glad we're doing this," she moaned as I slid into her in the dark tent. There were other tents around, but we couldn't hear them, so we hoped they couldn't hear us. "Me too," I groaned, going in deep and rotating. "I can't wait to get there," she gasped, bucking her hips up at me. "I can't wait to tell someone you're my husband." "What about the bald guy who checked us in?" I said, starting to move in her. "We registered as husband and wife." "But we didn't say we were married," she panted. "He just assumed it." ------- North Dakota was beautiful, but there were very few places for a couple of perverts to pull off the road and fuck up a storm. There was private property, of course, but nothing to screen what we would be doing. At one point I suggested that we just park where we could see a mile or so in each direction and do it standing up against the car. She told me to be patient and selected Arrowwood National Wildlife Refuge as the site of our next tryst. We had to leave I-29 to get there, but it wasn't that far. We parked in a picnic area near the river and went through a screen of trees to the bank. I couldn't believe it when Heather started stripping down right there in the open. She laughed at me. We ended up on the blanket with the sun shining down on our naked bodies as we mated. Anyone who happened to come along would have been able to see us easily. It was ecstatic. Once we got into Canada we were a bit more circumspect about making love out in the open. There was one exception. As we went through Alberta, and drove literally for hours through nothing but wheat fields, we stopped once to trample a small area of some poor farmer's wheat. With a wall of wheat hiding us from the road, we got naked and coupled. "Cum in me," she whispered into my ear as she hugged me tightly. "We just started," I said, thrusting gently. "I don't care. I want to feel you spurting in me." "I can wait for you," I said. "I'll cum tonight," she said. "Bobby, honey, just give me your seed. That's what I want right now. I want to feel you filling my belly with your love." "What's this all about?" I asked. She'd been voraciously horny since we left Kansas City. I had chalked it up to the novelty of what we were doing. And taken advantage of it, of course. I was always horny for Heather. "You'll be mad if I tell you," she said, humping up at me. "I will not." "You might be, and I don't want to argue on this trip." "Try me." "I'll tell you tonight," she countered. "Just love me now." "I'll always love you," I whispered. "Then cum in me, Bobby," she moaned. It's pretty hard to resist an invitation like that. It tends to push the buttons that are associated with a man's balls. ------- That night we camped in Dawson Creek, along a waterway of some kind that was swarming with clouds of mosquitoes so dense that we had to stay in the tent as much as possible. We got in fairly late, around eight-thirty, but even so it stayed light outside the tent for another two hours. We were far enough north to begin experiencing the longer days. The night was mild, so we lay on top of the sleeping bags, on our stomachs, side by side, reading the Milepost book together by the light of a Coleman lantern. We would start climbing tomorrow and the unknown of the ALCAN made us both a little excited. Quite suddenly she turned her head to me and said, "I stopped taking my pills on graduation day." Caught off guard, I said "What pills?" and then realized what she was talking about. "It's been two months," she said. Two months of me climbing between her welcoming legs routinely, behaving like the last man on Earth, with the last woman on Earth, trying to save the species. At least that's how I thought of it in those few seconds. "Wow," I said. "Are you mad?" "Is that what this morning was all about?" She nodded, her eyes wide. "Have you thought this out?" I asked. "Hundreds of times," she said. "There's a lot of research that's been done that they don't exactly flaunt in front of the public." "Why?" I asked. "Because it suggests that offspring produced between close relatives are only rarely a problem." "What does rarely mean?" I asked. "That part is complicated. They found a gene that explains what they believe is over ninety-five percent of the cause of problems and birth defects in incestuous couplings. It makes the egg too receptive to the sperm of a close relative and allows multiple sperm to fertilize the same egg. That gives the egg too many chromosomes, which cause the defects." She blinked. "That gene is found in less than three percent of the population." "How do you know this?" I asked. "It was in the Journal of the American Medical Association. They even developed a test for it. Some of the research was done at the University of Missouri at Columbia." "When was this?" I asked, my mind still reeling from the obvious direction this was going. "Three years ago," she said. "You'd only been in school a year?" I said. "Yes," she said softly. "A bunch of the nursing students volunteered to be tested as part of data base." I felt my eyes widen. "And did you?" She blinked just once. "Yes." ------- I stared at my sister, who was naked and lying beside me in the middle of nowhere in Canada. She had done much more in the way of research into the ins and outs (no pun intended) of incest than I had. She had thought about it much more as well. "I thought you were going to look for a husband," I said. "I had three years to experience other men," she said. "Some of them were interesting. A few even got me horny. But every time I felt those feelings ... I thought of you. And then you showed up and my dream came true. I got to live with you. I got to be with you every day. Bobby, there's no way any man can compete with you. We're connected in ways that I don't even think most legally married couples are. I don't want to look for a husband, because I already have one. I don't want to look for a father for my children. I already know who he is." "And this test?" I finally asked. She hadn't volunteered. My heart was thumping hard in my chest. "I don't have the gene," she said. "They told you that?" I was amazed. "Not exactly. I saw the results for the test group that had our designator. None of us in my group had it." I thought back to what she'd said in that wheat field earlier in the day. "You're trying to get pregnant on this trip," I said. I even sounded surprised to myself. "Please don't be mad at me, Bobby," she moaned. "I've wanted this ever since I found out it would be safe. But I couldn't have it. Not back there in Kansas City. When I saw the things in Alaska ... and it worked out for us ... I couldn't stand it. I love you so much, baby. I want a whole family." She rolled away from me. I honestly don't think it was to reveal her naked body to me. She was just trying to give me some space to react. Of course by doing that she did reveal her nakedness to me, including that flat, almost concave stomach she wanted me so desperately to make bulge. "Mom and Dad are going to be so pissed at us," I said. ------- We renamed Dawson Creek "Broke Dick Creek" that night, because she wrung everything possible out of me before she finally gave up and just hugged me and kissed me for an hour or two. She was in heat when she found out I was willing to go along with her admittedly bold plan. As I once said, once she got used to an idea and wanted something, she went for it full bore. Which is how, when we finally arrived in Anchorage Alaska, we looked as bedraggled as most people did after driving the ALCAN. In our case, though, it was more sexual exhaustion, than the long trip. One thing is for sure. All the wildlife in the Yukon and Northern Alaska had plenty of opportunity to find out what it looks like when humans mate. It is also how it turned out that I introduced my wife to Chip Donahugh, the Supervisor of the Chugach Wildlands Fire Authority, headquartered in Willow, Alaska, during which she beamed and said "We're expecting." ------- Alaska is an odd place, for a number of reasons. Putting aside the obvious differences between the state and the lower 48 states, and the distance it is from most Americans, what makes it odd to most people not born there is that it is pretty much like a nation in and of itself. There are three time zones in Alaska. The terrain goes from rain forests in the south, to permanently frozen tundra in the north. It really is a frontier in many ways. You can go for a walk in the woods just outside a major city and never been seen again. Moose wander through your yard. Grizzly bears meander across golf greens. It's just different. Which is why we were so surprised to find that Willow, Alaska, a tiny town on the map, looks like any suburb of Kansas City. Part of the reason is because there are a couple of big military bases in Anchorage and another in Fairbanks, and the military folks who end up in Alaska when it's time to retire often just stay there. It's complicated, but suffice it to say that all that money the government gives the soldiers to rent a house doesn't actually have to be spent renting a house. A lot of them buy houses and then either stay there, or sell them when they leave for another assignment. And that means there is a vigorous and competitive real estate market around Anchorage, particularly once you get past twenty or so miles away. Houses aren't cheap, of course. Nothing in Alaska is cheap, with the possible exception of fresh moose meat. So it wasn't easy in the beginning. One of the things we hadn't thought about was the fact that we might both need transportation to work, and that one car might not cut it. Initially that problem was solved when we found out that several of the nurses who worked where Heather had gotten a job also lived in or around Willow. She carpooled with them until we found a deal on a car that a soldier didn't want to have to pay for to ship back to the lower 48 when his tour was over. And, once we'd been there a while, we found out that there were benefits that were earned by tenure, including COLA or cost of living additions to our regular salaries. Not to mention all that fresh moose meat that was floating around. It's better than beef, by the way, at least in my opinion. I think it was because getting used to Alaska was so odd, that it made getting used to thinking of Heather and me as being married was easier. Practically everything in our lives changed in that first few months after we left Kansas City. Except the fact that we still had parents. We had told them we were going to Alaska, of course. We weren't going to just disappear off the face of the Earth. But naturally the fact that we were going to be common law husband and wife, for all intents and purposes, was something that wasn't mentioned to them. They were also not part of Heather's plan to get great with child. Her decision to do that was one of the few things she didn't think through in a very organized manner. Chalk it up to passion, maybe. For six months everything was fine. Heather loved her job and I couldn't believe my own luck at landing the job I got. I spent all day in the great outdoors, preparing for disaster by trying to ensure it could never take place. I learned all the best places to hunt and fish. After the first eight months in state I think the only meat we ever bought at the store were hot dogs for a party. Otherwise we dined regularly on moose and salmon, with occasional bear thrown in. Then Mom and Dad started talking about how nice it would be to come visit us and see Alaska. They had been saving their money, and hadn't taken a real vacation in years. The negotiations were stymied by winter, during which I entered my time of layoff. It turned out that most of us just worked for the department of transportation during the off season, battling snow instead of fire. And breakup, or the melting of that snow, wasn't complete until May. Which is how, when Mom and Dad got off the plane in Anchorage, and I picked them up alone, they still had no idea that Heather was now the proud mother of a two month old baby girl named Analise. Mom ... or should I say Grandma ... was not amused. ------- There was some shouting, during which I took Analise from her mother under the auspices of changing her diaper. She was crying and it wasn't likely she'd stop with all that yelling going on. She didn't actually need a diaper change and Dad held his hands out for her. He went through what was obviously a close physical examination of her. He wasn't stupid. Mom's main complaints were that she had missed her only daughter's entire first pregnancy, was a grandmother and didn't even know it, and would have planned for the trip completely differently had she known. Dad and I stayed in the kitchen, letting the two women duke it out. "So..." he said, rocking Analise in his arms. She had calmed a lot since he took her. "How could we tell you something like this?" I asked, unable to look at him. "Folks around here know?" he asked. "They think we're married," I admitted. "Well ain't this the shits," he mused, staring down at his granddaughter. He looked at me. "Should'a busted you two up years ago." I didn't say anything. What was there to say? He bounced Analise in his arms and she gurgled. "Thought about sending you to your Uncle Leonard's, to have him raise you," he said to the baby. He glanced up at me. "Would'a tore my heart out to do it, though. Your mom's too. She about took my head off when I offered it as an option." "We didn't plan for any of this to happen," I said weakly. "I know," he said. "I know shit happens. And I know you two are good kids. That's what made it hard. If you'd have been an asshole or something maybe it would have been different." Analise reached and grabbed his chin. "Hi there, sweetcakes," he said, making a face at her. There came a sound from her groin area that I knew well. "Give her to me and I'll change her," I said. "Not on your life," he said, looking up. "I remember how to do it." ------- The yelling started up again when Mom found out her husband was so thoughtless as to change her granddaughter's diaper first, instead of bestowing that honor on Grandma. At some point Dad asked if she was going to yell the entire time they were there and she went silent. She tried to be mad for the rest of the day, but was having trouble keeping herself on edge. Once she got Analise in her arms she melted. She did the same examination Dad did, counting fingers and toes and peering into little eyes. Analise was as normal as pie, though, and Grandma was in love with her instantly. The only thing she said after that that indicated her own torment was, "I won't lie for you. I won't tell people you're my daughter-in-law!" We hadn't been working long enough to have vacation days to take while our parents were there. As it turned out Mom was completely happy taking care of Analise while Heather was at work. I had arranged for Dad to go on a tourist type boat down in Seward to do some deep sea fishing. He also did some recreational gold panning while he was there and the first weekend I took him salmon fishing not five miles from the house. He caught forty pounds of salmon in the first half hour we were there. I thought he was going to have a heart attack. We smoked some of it over night and had it for dinner the next day. Then I thought he was going to eat himself into a coma. The women, including Analise, went shopping and came back happy. In fact the rest of their stay was happy. Of course what happened then happens a lot up there. Mom and Dad liked it so much, and in our conversation it became clear that Heather and I had no plans to leave Alaska, that they started talking about what it would take to retire up there. Most times that doesn't pan out. The expense and logistics are prohibitive. And then there is the separation from other family. But we had relatively little extended family, and we'd never been all that close to them. It actually took them four years to make the plans and then make the move. It almost killed Dad because he had to leave behind most of his tools. Mom managed to bring her wedding china and crystal, which was all she was adamant about, other than her sewing machine. I think she wanted to make sure it ended up with Heather, since we didn't have anything like that. It was worth it, though. Grandpa got to teach his two grandsons to fish and hunt, aided by their father, of course. Grandma babysat through the years until she was able to teach her granddaughters to sew and knit and needlepoint. I don't know how many times my mother was put in a position where she had to make a decision on her vow never to lie about our relationship. I only saw it happen once. It was about two years after they'd moved up there and we were at a big 4th of July celebration that the Forest Service was throwing. My new boss was there, and I was pointing out my family, who were in the process of going through the food line. Grandpa was helping carry plates for little ones, while their mother doled out carefully estimated amounts of food on the plates. My mother came to get me. "And this is my mother," I said, introducing her to my boss. "Pleased to meet you ma'am," he said. "You up here for a visit?" That was the usual assumption with non-native employees. "No, we decided to retire up here, to be with the kids," she said. "You got yourself a nice collection of them," said my boss. "I suppose they'll do," she said, gazing fondly at the controlled chaos that was our family. "I always wanted a bunch of grandbabies." "You're lucky your son found you a daughter-in-law who was willing to have them," he said. "Most women these days won't go past two." "She's a good woman," said Mom. She glanced at me, but only for a split second, and then beamed at my boss. "I've thought of her as my daughter ever since I first laid eyes on her." ------- The End ------- Posted: 2010-08-02 Last Modified: 2011-02-07 / 03:56:27 pm ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------