My Jesse, of all my girlfriends' brothers, always won the perfect guy award. Their brothers were mean most the time, cruel and conniving. Or just plain crude and stupid. Jesse was almost always really nice, in a smart way, and with an elegant air. All my girlfriends gushed over him; so did I, but in complete secrecy.

"Gross! guys! C'mon! That's my brother you're talking about."

"If Jesse was my brother," Lindsey swooned, "I'd be barefoot and pregnant and living in hillbilly heaven."

A fact exploded out of Alice's mouth. "And I've heard he's got a really big dick!"

"Shut up!" My idea of heaven didn't include a shack up some holler, bedding my brother and bearing his children, but even the idea of that made me moist. I didn't care what size his dick was; I'd gladly lay with him in the mud of any new spring.

It was shameful, but true. I had a huge crush on my big brother, but I did keep it very quiet.

I was happy when Jesse got his license, because then Mom delegated the drive of picking me up from the stable to him. I turned into quite the horse girl. We'd barely talk on the ride home, but just sitting next to him would have me exploding on the inside.

And then there was the one time when he showed up, and his girlfriend was in the passenger seat, so I had to climb in the back. I was so into horses even some of my own friends thought I was slipping into being a girl who liked girls. But the simple fact was I liked guys. There hadn't been too many occasions, just enough to make me glad I'd lost my virginity. And I'd naturally had a few dicks in my mouth. I'd done that a couple times in cars, so I knew the closed-in smell.

I got into the car reeking of horse. But even I could smell the sperm in the air. She'd given my brother a blow-job on the drive over, and was smug about it.

I barely said a word, sitting in the back like the ice princess they thought I was. What I was was just mad in ways I couldn't really articulate. Although of course I could. It shocked me to totally understand the feelings, but yes, I wanted to be the girl giving my brother that pleasure. And all the others in the catalogue.

I just couldn't help it. Even before my hormones kicked in, well before I had boobs, my body told me that Jesse was the boy for me. I had an ache for him I couldn't explain. It was a primal yearning--he was the one. When I saw him enter the room, I naturally smiled. And he'd smile back and give a little wave like a nice big brother.

I did do a great job of keeping all this deeply buried. At least to the outside world.

I was out at the stables and basically waiting for a ride home. And it would be just Mom picking me up. I'd finished currying Spirit, and given him a little splash down with the hose, which I knew he loved. I didn't own Spirit, though he'd been my horse for nearly three years. I rode him to ribbons and trophies in shows; we were buddies.

But then I got careless. Mom was driving up the hill to the barns and beeping her horn like a nut. I walked behind Spirit, patting his butt as I passed, and then out of nowhere he kicked and hit my leg. I heard my bone break, and then I fell down. Spirit aimed again, at my head, but I threw an arm up in time to break a wrist instead of my skull.

I remembered nothing else until I woke up in the hospital in casts. Jesse was right there in the room, Mom a few steps back, but then the drugs swept me back asleep.

Then I was in my own bed, in my own pajamas. There was an invalid potty in my own bedroom, and a bedpan and roll of toilet paper on my night stand. I demanded crutches. The focus of the first days was conserving the energy to manage to hobble the few feet from my bedroom down the hall to the real bathroom. I was seriously glad my period had ended a few days before I got crippled.

Otherwise, I just lay in my bed for days on end. The pills kept me happy and stupid. Someone brought the small t.v. into my room, but when it was on, none of it made much sense. Mom brought me in meals the three times a day; Jesse dropped in as often, bearing trays of conversation.

It was so nice. He'd sit on the edge of my bed and just yack. Or he'd bring in games. Sometimes if a goofy show we both liked was on, I'd scoot over and we'd both fluff the pillows behind us and watch my t.v. It was so nice to have company; it was especially nice to have his company. We'd sit there side by side goofing on the show, while I fantasized about his hand moving over to touch mine. Or at least the tips of my fingers poking out of the cast.

One day when Mom was at work, Jesse came in around noon with my lunch on a bed-table, a sick tray. "What is this?" my nose perked up. It was a genuine grilled swiss and bacon sandwich on real sourdough.

"It's your brother was inspired."

The sandwich was amazing enough, but it came with a side of fries obviously done in oil. To counteract the heart attack, there was a bed of crisp lettuce ringed with tomato slices. And a bowl of sliced bananas sprinkled with fresh blackberries.

Jesse left the room, and then came back with his own plate and bowl, settling into the chair beside my bed.

"This is awesome," I grinned.

In the end, he cleared our dishes, then came back in the room, standing like he had something to declare.

"Okay, you've been wallowing in this bed long enough. You're starting to become, well, a stinky girl. Time to get you in the shower."

I was a very stinky girl, but I wailed against it. "It exhausts me just making it to the real toilet. I tried to take a shower once, but it was so scary. I was standing on one leg trying to keep my casts dry, and I nearly fell."

"Why don't you try a bath?"

"That would be so wonderful ... but... " I nearly wailed, "the banister is on my bad side ... I'd fall down the stairs and be dead before I hit bottom."

The way the house was built, our bedrooms were upstairs, and the bath up there had just a shower stall. The master bath downstairs off Mom's room had an awesome Jacuzzi tub. Even the guest bath, again downstairs, held a tub.

Jesse considered that. "How 'bout I bring one of the plastic deck chairs inside, so you could sit down in the shower?"

"Gross! I'm not sitting my bare butt down on one of those chairs."

I watched my brother thinking about that. About my bare butt. Maybe I could sit in his lap!

He got a resolved look on his face. "Are you okay by yourself for a little while?"

I nodded.

"Good. I'm going to go do some shopping. I'll be back in about an hour."

I spent that hour lying in bed feeling sort of feisty about my own brother. I kept wanting to touch myself, but I didn't dare. I was already enough of a stinky girl.

He called aloud when he got home, checking in with me briefly. Then he was gone, off in other rooms, bumping around and making noises doing stuff. Stuff I couldn't see.

"What are you doing?" I finally demanded.

"Oh, you know, stuff."

Finally Jesse came in my room. He stood and stopped, his hands on his hips, looking at me like a project. "Okay, first let's get you sitting up on the side of the bed." He swooped in with his strong arms and got me in position. "Don't you have that maroon bathing suit? The two piece with the extra modesty skirt? That would be perfect for the job."

I didn't want to dampen his enthusiasm, telling him my swimsuits shared the drawer with my undies. It was a wonder he remembered it, and a wonder I still had it--the suit was from the summer before last. Back when I didn't really fill out a swimsuit. I didn't want to say anything about his choice, because it would embarrass us both.

Jesse declared victory, and tossed the top and skirt at me. I looked at the little maroon cups. It wasn't that I grown big boobs, but I'd have to adjust things just right to stay modest. Jesse got a big smile on, like he'd figured out the logistics.

He strolled over and undid the top button of my jammy shirt. He began pulling the short sleeve up past my cast, then finished by pushing the last of my bad arm inside the hole. Once freed inside the top, my heavy arm dropped its hand into my lap. Jesse pushed the bottom hem up enough to thread the shoulder strap past the cast and over the catch of my elbow.

Then he leaned back. "I trust you can do the girl-trick in reverse from here. Put on a 'bra' without taking off your shirt. If you need help, just say so; I'll scoot around back and clasp the back when you're done with the fine-tuning."

"I think I can manage," I gave a demure smile. But the fact was I couldn't, which led to a bevy of unladylike language. I couldn't get my good arm loose.

Like a perfect gentleman, he held the sleeve taut while I slipped my arm free. And then he climbed onto the bed behind me, awaiting my very word.

I tried, but it was impossible to make myself decent. The problem wasn't my hand. "Jesse?" I whispered.

"Yea?"

"I need the tension of the back clasped before I can do the fine-tuning."

Without a word, my brother lifted the back of my top nearly to my neck. I had no idea whether he could see my breasts, though the thought made my nipples ache. He certainly didn't touch them as he trailed his hands trying to find the two chords that needed joining. He kept scrambling, with my shirt slipping back down.

"This is so funny," he exclaimed. "It's like Laurel and Hardy or something. The One Stooge. I need three hands. So, beg pardon how this is gonna feel pretty goofy."

My brother lifted the bottom of my top nearly to my neck again, this time holding it in place with his forehead. Leaving his hands to roam and find the two ends of the strap; brushing close, yet never quite managing to touch me. Just his fingertips glancing off my back as he hooked the straps gave me a body rash of goose bumps, accelerating my breathing.

Then off came my shirt: my unveiling.

With my top out of the way, my belly was bare to the skin. Jesse secured the waist of the wrap around my waist, slightly above the hem of my bottoms. Under such cover, he helped take down the bottoms. I felt skittish, so nearly naked. Then my big brother sat down on the bed beside me, put a strong arm around me, lifting me up to help walk me into the bathroom.

There was a brand new plastic chair in the stall, with no-slip strips on the seat. The showerhead had been replaced with a long hose ending in a hand-held unit that featured its own on/off knob, as he explained. Like condoms, he rolled on plastic bread bags and rubber bands to keep my casts dry.

I thought he was going to just leave me to my own devices, but then--be still, my heart!--he stayed. He turned the water on and got the sprayer going against his other hand, adjusting the temp. He demonstrated how the unit shut off with a click of the thumb. Then he clicked it back on and set to task.

"Okay," he stated, "sit up straight and tilt your neck back over the top of the chair. First off, we'll wash that beautiful head of hair of yours."

"Oh, please," I snorted. "You mean my hair that always looks like dirty straw?"

"But when you stand in the sun, it glitters like gold."

I just laughed, and he just laughed. "Made you laugh!" he glittered. "So nice to see your smile once again."

Jesse turned back to task, soaking down my filthy head of hair. My brother started to get me lathered, but way too soon he was rinsing me off. "Hey Jess, not to criticize, but all my hair needs more than that to get clean."

He leaned down and gave me a little upside down kiss on the forehead, while rubbing the tip of his nose against the tip of mine. Then he shifted so that we were eye-to-eye, except upside down. "I know what I'm doing," he said. "That was just the first wash, the one to get out all the birds nests and such."

I conked him on the temple with my cast. "Shut up and get back to work." I leaned my head back, and sort of arched my back, knowing what my brother could see, while getting very comfortable with the notion. I'd had the look down to see what he could see.

I knew my boobs weren't the size to make guys stop in the middle of the street and get run over by a bus. But they were a lot bigger than when I'd last worn the top.

I kept waiting for him to touch me, anticipating the moment. Wanting it, so bad. Maybe he looked--but he never touched. Until he did, but elsewhere.

Jesse soon had me worked into a huge lather. My head hung heavy as he worked the suds up my hair to the roots. It was then that my brother first starting touching me. He was finishing the shampoo by slowly massaging my scalp. He started doing that, while he kept on doing it forever it seemed.

I started to panic, because I was starting to get close to having the weirdest orgasm of my life. Weird not because of my brother, but because of my scalp. I could feel my nipples just poking out. If Jesse was looking, he certainly saw that.

But then he went to rinsing, and I practically screamed. Silently, of course. Soon enough, his fingers were back with globs of conditioner. It was just a reprise on my scalp. "Okay, we'll let that set."

Then he got a washcloth and soap. I smiled throughout as Jesse washed my face without once getting soap or water in my eyes or mouth or nose or ears. He traveled modestly down my neck past my collar bones. He moved back then pushed me into a lean, getting my entire back. The little strap of my top was no impediment, rubbed and rolled up and down by his hands. His washing stopped right at the top of my modesty skirt.

From there he moved up to my pits, spreading out, washing my good arm out to the very fingertips. He moved on to my full good leg. I thought he was going to kneel down and get a good look up my skirt. Instead he was the perfect gentleman--curse him!--bending at the waist to lift the leg up.

Jesse placed the cloth and soap in my lap. "I trust you can handle the rest. So let's finish with your hair. Maybe, for the short-term, you could consider switching to a no-rinse conditioner?"

After that, he left the showerhead in my lap, shut off, and began moving to leave. "I got this baby monitor system," he pointed to the unshut door. "No offense, baby," he gave the cutest little grimace. "But when you're done, or if you need help, I'll be able to hear you."

He had that settled. "Anything else before I go?"

I raised my arms in surrender. "My armpits are growing forests. Help me shave, please."

"Well," he looked taken aback, "I've only done cheeks before, and chins."

I was still showing him my pits. "It's easy, silly. Just rub a little soap on first. My razor's up in the shower caddy."

As promised, the job was easy and fast. Jesse rinsed me off, then held up the razor like a talking point. "Anywhere else you need shaved?"

I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I blushed. How did my brother know I shaved down there? Then I watched him blush back in response. "I meant, maybe you don't want your good leg to match the other when it comes out of the cast? Forest-wise," he explained.

"That would be very kind," I replied, raising my good leg. I half expected, and anticipated, that my brother would go down on his knees, and maybe sneak glances up my little cover wrap. Instead the gallant man bent and took my leg in one arm, steadying me as he made that leg silky smooth.

He left the washcloth and soap and shampoo and razor in my lap. "I'll leave you to the finishing touches. And I'll leave the door cracked. If you need help, just yell help. Or when you're done, just shout so."

I pushed my top up and washed my boobs. After rinsing, I pulled the little cups back into place. There were plenty of suds around my belly. After that, I flipped the wrap up above my waist. Seated in a chair, that was a challenge. But I wasn't about to ask anyone to scrub my butt. Again, I was just so glad my period had stopped the day before Spirit kicked me, so I didn't have to deal with any of that.

I was distracted, and sort of tingly from events, finding it hard to focus. It took awhile, but then I was all clean. I had the razor, and soap, so I did do the place that'd made me blush. I was rinsing it off when an errant jet made me jump.

It was right at the instance when I was about to shout out done, but suddenly I was not at all done. It surged upon me out of nowhere how horny I was. I mean, yea, my secret dreamboat shampooing my head and all. I just, I just ... I just focused the spray. I came so fast I didn't make a sound; I came so hard I nearly fell out of the chair.

I came back alive fast, positively glowing, figuring fast I needed to soap up again. And I spilled some shampoo to quell my scent. I was ready to tell my brother done, but not before the shower stall quit smelling of me and my unbridled spirit.

When I did call out, Jesse quickly entered with this big new comfy fluffy white terrycloth bathrobe. With that and a large towel, he got me shed of my bathing attire and back in my room. Without a compromising moment.

I was back in bed, clean, and luxuriously swaddled. He'd stripped the bed and given me clean sheets. "Clean sheets," was indeed what I moaned. I was exhausted, and quite content to drift into a long nap. Jesse, meanwhile, was over at my dresser, rifling through drawers. "What the fuck are you doing?" I barked.

"Time to get you dressed and downstairs and out on the deck for some sun. So which pair of panties do you want?" He looked like a lame clown, my brother did, holding up this bevy of my panties like a sad clothes line. Like a smile collapsing.

"Maybe tomorrow or the next day," I shook my head, "but not today. I'm exhausted by this. You could check the bottom left drawer to get me fresh jams. But forget that," I curled away from him. "I want to take a nice long nap in this delicious robe."

Three days later he came in my room, but without the chess mat or the backgammon briefcase. He came bearing the laundered parts of my old bathing suit. "Time for my stinky girl to get another shower."

He led me there, and I liked the attention, the innocent but poignant lay of his hands. My brother got me mostly clean, and then I finished up again. After he left me alone for the finishing touches, I mostly didn't touch myself inappropriately. I thought it very appropriate that he made me want to do it. It was his fault. I was just an innocent girl. Damn my brother for getting me so hot. It really wasn't Jesse's fault; but then again it completely was. Why did boys have to be so dense about what girls wanted? When we always knew exactly what they wanted, down deep at heart.

Once I was back in my room, in the cocoon of the robe, I was ready to get back in bed. But Jesse made me stay seated on the edge of the bed. "No," he stated, "no getting out of it this time." He turned and went to my dresser, declaring, "You need ... it's time for you to get out of bed and get out of this room for awhile."

"But I just did."

"Shut up; taking a shower doesn't count." My brother went back to opening my drawers.

He turned around quickly enough, fanning a handful of my panties for my choice. This time, since I really didn't need to nap, I said, "Why don't you choose?" He held a grab bag in his hands. He'd snagged a slutty little black thong, but then Jesse surprised me by picking the same pair I had my eye on. They were lavender and lacy--patterned with tiny red crescents--and though more modest, easily a trillion times sexier than any thong.

"Oh," I chirped, "so you like the pretty ones, too!"

Handing them over, he was blushing so sweetly I totally fell in love.

I told Jesse the exact skirt I wanted him to find. While he was turned, I pulled the panties on. Then I told him to pick from the t-shirt drawer. That gave me plenty of time to yank my skirt up. I was so fast he tossed a shirt at me and stared in disbelief. "Are those casts fakes?"

I gave him a smug smile. "Girls know tricks. That's how we can take our bras off under our shirts. You're a guy, you know this by now: girls have all the magic."

Jesse chuckled. "I know all about that distribution of magic, it's just that you're the first girl I know who hasn't denied it."

I sparkled up at him, "Oops, I broke code!" And then I began to panic, thinking I'd pushed it too far. I thought maybe the conversation should cool down. But when I picked up the shirt, I remembered. Next up on the thought agenda: my boobs. The shirt was dark navy, which looked great with the cream skirt, but it had a deep vee neck. Almost plunging. With the color, at least you wouldn't be able to see my dark nipples. And the shirt was big instead of tight, which was a plus until I realized the minus of a neckline that much more billowy.

Jesse gazed at me unwaveringly. Then he moved into action. "Julie," he nodded, "it's really good to see you're feeling well enough to pull on a pair of your old smarty pants."

I stuck my tongue out at my brother, and he returned the gesture.

"Next," he continued, "is there like a matching bra, or one that looks good, or how do you decide that anyway? Not to make you break code again. But if I could be the first guy to get to see a girl do the 'bra-trick' backwards, I'd be regarded as a god among my kind."

"Well," I answered, hesitating with Jesse hanging on my next words. I stopped and shrugged. "Usually it's pretty much just grab-and-go, but if I was dressing for someone, I'd either go with the pastel violet one, or the maroon lacy one to hint at the little red crescents ... remember?" I pulled the hem of my skirt down off my hip just enough to show him.

Jesse folded his arms, waiting for what came next.

"It's not like I'm ever leaving the house; I barely get out of bed. So there's no need for me to even deal with wearing a bra. It's not like what I got really needs the restraining."