Shawna and I were born about ten minutes apart. While we were twins, most people thought we wouldn't be as close as fraternal twins often are, what with being different genders and all.
They were wrong, though, because we were inseparable as we grew up. Even when most twins of opposite sex were separated - say around seven or eight - we insisted that we had to share the same room, if not the same bed any more. So my dad installed a thick privacy curtain between our halves of the room instead. That curtain had no door, and you had to lift it up to go from one side to the other. That was okay, though, because we could still talk and see each other if we wanted to. We slept together almost every night until we were sixteen. Then the only reason we went to separate beds was because we both had learned to masturbate, and for that we wanted a little privacy.
We did everything together. Which meant that when Shawna started learning to wear makeup and do her hair, I learned it too. I didn't ever apply that knowledge to myself. I was a guy and guys don't do all that crap, right? But Shawna did, and I helped her. I did her nails, and critiqued her make up, helping her with eye liner and things like that that were harder to do for yourself.
But I excelled at doing her hair. By the time we were getting ready for our senior prom I could have worked in any salon anywhere. I could cut, color, style, shampoo, just about anything. I had practiced on Shawna for years and she always looked great.
I think one reason I liked doing her hair was because we invariably did it after she took a shower. We weren't shy around each other, so she'd come into the room naked and sit down in front of her vanity. I'd come over and start doing her hair.
Picture in your mind standing behind a good looking teenage girl, with well developed breasts and midnight black hair. You can see almost all of her in the mirror.
That's what I did for years. Quite often I sported a hardon. I still remember the first time she saw it. I was in my PJs, which was a pair of loose gym shorts. We were fifteen or something and I was staring at her breasts while I braided her hair. My dick got hard and poked the front of my shorts out. I didn't even notice it right away, but it poked into her neck and she turned around to see what it was.
She gawked. "What's that?" she said.
"What do you mean - what's that?" I said. "What does it look like?"
"Oh," she said "You know what I mean. How come it's doing that?"
"Hmmmm" I said. "Well, now, let me think ... beautiful girl ... naked ... great boobs ... I'm playing with her hair ... Gee Shawna, I can't imagine why it's doing that."
"No! Really, how come ... you think I'm beautiful?"
"Come on Shawn" I said huffily "You know you're good looking. Guys slobber all over you. Don't play coy. You aren't any good at it."
She stared up at me. "Look, you jerk, I know what those boys want and that's why they tell me how hot I am. But you're the first real person who's ever said that to me like they meant it."
She was serious! "Okay, okay, don't get your panties in a bind. Oh yeah, you don't have on any panties." She started to get that look on her face that meant I'd have to pay.
I tried to mollify her. "Yes. I think you're beautiful. If you weren't my sister I'd be trying to get in the panties you aren't wearing too. But I really do think you're sexy too."
Now who would think that saying something like that to your sister would turn her on?
But it did.
She stared up at me, her hair half braided and said "If I wanted to give you a blow job ... would you let me?"
About ten million things flashed through my mind. Right, wrong, good, bad, what if someone finds out, all kinds of things. What came out of my mouth was "Yes."
That began the portion of our lives where we masturbated, but didn't need any privacy to do so.
And we slept together again after that night.
But we never fucked. That was a line we didn't want to cross. Well, she didn't. And seeing as how it was her belly that would swell if the wrong thing happened, I suppose I didn't either. But we did everything else that didn't involve sticking something in her pussy other than my tongue.
Then high school was over and it was off to college. It was the first time we had ever been separated for more than a week. I thought I'd actually die for the first month. But eventually I made some friends and I got on with my life. She came to visit me a couple of times and all my male friends fell all over themselves trying to get her attention. I could see why. She had matured even more and was now centerfold material. She had a steady, though, and it was serious, so none of my friends ever had a chance.
I talked to her about her intended. She was studying computer science and the guy was a physics major. He'd already published three papers and wasn't even out of undergraduate school. She said he was "steady" and "dependable" and would be a good provider for their children.
It sounded bogus to me. "Do you love him?" I said.
She grimaced. "The only male I've ever loved was you, and I couldn't ever love anyone else that way. I'm happy with him. I like being around him. I respect him. I think he's sexy. What else can I say?"
I thought about all that. "What's he like in bed?"
She bristled. "That is none of your business. What we do or don't do behind closed doors is private."
Now that was interesting. What they do or don't do. Why would she put it that way? I had a hunch.
"So you don't actually know what he's like in bed. Okay, does he know how to fiddle your strings? You know, like I used to do?"
Now she was beet red. "You are insufferable. I don't think I like you any more. And besides, being a virgin isn't a bad thing. He respects me. That's all."
This was obviously a tender subject. I decided maybe I was being too nosy. I changed the subject, took her to dinner, fended off another ardent suitor and she left.
The next time I heard from her it was so she could tell me they'd set a date for the wedding. It was soon. And she wanted me to do her hair for the wedding.
I met Roger, her intended, who was curious about why his fiancee wanted me to do her hair. I told him it was an old family tradition. He said that what with all his fraternity brothers wanting to be in his wedding he didn't really need me to be a groomsman. That was fine with me. I didn't like him much. He seemed distant, somehow, and at the same time I didn't like the way he looked at me. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was like he was evaluating me ... seeing if I was good enough to be his brother-in-law or something.
But Shawna insisted that I was the only person who could touch her hair for the big day.
So, on the appointed day I showed up with my kit of combs, brushes and other accouterments of hairstyling. I brought a suit, but wore shorts and a T shirt to work on Shawna in. I arrived at her dressing room to find it full of giggling girls. Well, women really. They were all doing their nails and cackling like a gaggle of hens does. Shawna shooed them all out. "I'm going to relax while my brother does my hair" she said. "I need some peace and quiet please."
One of them, I later found out her name was Kim, looked me up and down and said "When he's done with you I DEFINITELY want him to play with me ... er my hair, I mean." That set them all off again and they left giggling and chattering like magpies.
.... There is more of this story ...