Sweet Caroline
Chapter 1

“Oh, oh Caroline... , I’m, I’m cumming.”

Dammit to hell—Another wet dream about my sister Caroline. This has trouble written all over it. Let me explain exactly why to you.

I’m Richard O’Hara, 26, 6ft6, 185 lbs.

There are four of us O’Hara kids—Me, then 21-year-old twins, Jackson and Sharon and lastly, Sweet Caroline, 18, 5ft6, 100 lbs.

I see several problems ahead of me, First and foremost, we’re brother and sister. Next, I’m eight full years older than her, lastly, I may be in love with her. Yeah, you find the girl of your dreams and she’s your sister. Karma’s a bitch.

You’re probably wondering how a grown man of 26 could fall in love with his own 18-year-old sister?

Let me paint you a picture of her. Red hair, NO — beautiful red hair that goes to her knees. Brown eyes! What was I saying ... oh, yeah-brown eyes that see directly into your heart? A smile that makes me think of an angel. She isn’t just pretty — She’s a knockout.

She walks around humming, always with a smile on her face, and if you smile at her, her smile broadens into a magnificent grin that causes you to fall in love with her. Imagine, if you will, that young lady from GLEE, Jayma Mays, only 18 and short

I’m a Stanford graduate, with light brown collar-length hair, and I have brown eyes as well, but they’re not nearly as beautiful as Caroline’s.

I got it bad, don’t I?

At 6ft6, I am exactly one foot taller than her, but 183 lbs. of muscle. I was an All-American High School Basketball player and I got into Stanford University on a Basketball Scholarship and started all four years.

After graduating college, I took my BS in Business and my MRED and parlayed it into a nice real estate business, O’Hara Real Estate. I live on the same property as my folks, in my hometown of Palo Alto, which makes both my parents, Michael and Jennifer O’Hara, very happy — More on that later.

I look like my dad, while Caroline and my mom could pass for sisters both having beautiful red hair although my mom wears hers in a much shorter style than Caroline.

Now that I think about it I’m certain my mother must have turned heads during her school days, having gone to Michigan State, where she inevitably met Dad.

Back to my Sweet Caroline ... she’s very smart, she was her Class Valedictorian, and has recently graduated High School and has applied and gotten into Stanford on an Academic Scholarship.

Now, for those of you who don’t know, Stanford is in the middle of a community called Palo Alto about 30 miles south of San Francisco, so the whole time I went there, I lived at home, pleasing my parents to no end.

Caroline was planning on doing the same thing, so she could have the benefits of staying at home while traveling to school each day. She was also planning to go to Stanford in the fall.

With only Caroline and me at home, and Mom and dad going in to work every day, the dynamic between Caroline and me started to change.

Mom and dad were in the business of selling cruises, so they went off to work each day to work at their business, called ‘Cruise Control.’ When they filled up their allotment for any one cruise, they would temporarily close the place and go on the cruise themselves. They said they did that to get ‘feedback’ from their clients, but it really gave them “alone” time from us kids. Not that we were any trouble, Mom and dad just left us to our own volition.

It’s not like we were having crazy loud parties either ... on the contrary, we were quite tame in comparison to the kids each of us went to school with. We had no common friends due to our age difference.

The cruises were usually anything from 7 days, LA to Baja California and back, to 21 days, LA to Hawaii and back, sometimes longer. They sometimes left me in charge of the house and to ‘babysit’ Caroline. She didn’t mind — she and I communicated well enough and planned our time well. Of course, this contributed to my lust ... love for my sister.

I should also tell you that on the same property my folks house is, there is, what used to be called, a ‘Mother-in-Law’ complex on the back of the property. This is where I live. It has all its own amenities, along with direct gate access to the pool Caroline and I constantly use at our leisure. Our parents rarely use the pool because they’re so busy with whatever cruise they’re selling at any one time.

I pay all my own expenses, including rent, although my parents told me I didn’t have to, but I couldn’t and didn’t expect to get away with ‘being on their dole.’

I’ve got two bedrooms plus an office/dining/living room area in my place. I would often have business clients over, along with the occasional young lady. My Sweet Caroline has been up there to see what I do, and has actually helped me close a couple of real estate deals along the way.

Having graduated two weeks earlier, Caroline often ‘chillaxed’ by the pool our parents had installed. I told her that wasn’t a word, but she used it anyway, always flashing that million-dollar smile at me, not realizing just how bad I had it for her.

There’s a 6ft tall redwood slat fence all around the pool, making it a safe place to romp and sun herself. Caroline enjoyed having the pool to herself during the day since Mom, Dad and I were all usually all out doing our thing.

I enjoyed the pool at night, and on the weekends to keep in shape after I had torn my Achilles tendon during my final college basketball game. I had gone after a ball, but ended up in the stands and I heard a snap in my leg.

It hurt like hell at the time, but the surgery was completely successful, not even a limp, but that left me with no practical hope to be drafted by any professional team. I was considered ‘damaged goods.’ European b-ball wasn’t my style either, so to my families delight, I moved on.

I got my degree, had a place to live, and I get to see my Sweet Caroline all the time.

The ‘incident, ‘ as I like to call it, happened on a Thursday early afternoon. Caroline had on her newest chocolate brown bikini–a very small top and a thong bottom, and she had swum about a dozen laps of the pool, and then went to layout and get some sun. I love chocolate!

My storefront office, O’Hara Real Estate, in Northern Palo Alto, had an electrical problem that day that shut everything down, so I took the option of going home and working from there for the rest of the day.

I pulled up to the house, heard music playing in the pool area–not terribly loud, just loud enough to get my attention. I honked my car horn to let whoever was in the pool area know that someone was home.

Caroline heard the honk and was coming through the gate to see who it was.

My attention was focused on getting my stuff out of the car when I heard, “Hey Rich!”

I looked up and saw Caroline standing by the car in her bikini and before I realized it, I said “Wow — Looking good, Sis. That is a mighty tiny bikini, Sis.”

She looked down and suddenly remembered that no one had seen this particular bikini before, and blushed and said to me, “I bought it yesterday–How do you like it, Rich?” She turned around, as if to show it off.

I responded by saying “It’s a beautiful shade of brown, like your eyes–and just as stunning.”

She blushed at this remark, and giggled.

I really liked this bikini, and so did my dick. I put some of the stuff I was carrying, in front of my trousers, as I said, “I’m home because of a power problem at work. If you need anything, I’ll be working in my place.”

“You’re a big stick in the mud, Richie-poo. Change into a suit and join me in the pool,” she giggled and smiled, and I decided I had to join her.

If not, for any other reason, to look at her sweet face, tight ass, of course along with her red hair and brown doe eyes.

Caroline went on, “The water is perfect today, Richie-poo,” I heard pleading in her voice, or was that lust? Yeah, right.

“Not nearly as perfect as you are,” I said — did I say that out loud?

“What was that?” she responded.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, “Give me about ten minutes and I’ll join you in the pool,” realizing I may need more time than that to relieve myself from my reaction to seeing her itsy-bitsy bikini.

I went inside the main house, grabbed a soda and went back to my abode to put on a suit. All I own are a couple of Speedos and those might prove to be ‘ineffective’ for this situation.

Thinking about her as I was changing, I thought, ‘When did she get so damn beautiful?’

Caroline is not my usual type–not at all. My girlfriends have all been D cuppers with J-Lo butts. My sister doesn’t have any of those things, although her butt does look awfully good, now that I think about it ... and look at it.

Besides, I’m eight years older than her. Is being older than her add to the problem, or what? There’s the problem that she’s my sister, but that combination of things, her suit, her hair, and her eyes. Over half of the girls I’ve dated had red hair, maybe deep in my mind, I’ve been looking for someone like her. But, I’m supposed to be the responsible one.

“I wonder if she is still a virgin,” I thought out loud, as I was stuffing my hardening penis into the damn suit. I can’t let her see me like this. She’ll call me a pervert, which is exactly what I am.

A sweet voice fluttered through my window, “Richard–are you coming?”

I decided that all was good and went outside with a towel over my shoulder and hanging low enough to cover any problems that may ‘rise’ up.

I jumped in, and then came up and found myself looking directly up into her face-That beautiful face. “Whew–the water feels so good, Sis.” It seemed to help my ‘other’ problem, at least for now.

“I’ll jump back in,” she said. And, that she did.

“Yeah — show your brother what you got?”

She came up out of the water, looking like a water covered roman goddess, and she asked, “What did you say, Rich?”

Dare I repeat it? I might as well test the waters, so, “Show your big brother what you’ve got?”

She pursed her lips together, walking toward me and she said, “If I did that, I would be arrested for decent exposure.”

“You mean indecent exposure?” I suggested.

Using her little girl voice, which always works on Dad, she says, “Wichie, nobody who ‘knows me’ would say that what I’m packing is indecent.” She did that shake of her shoulders that girls with big boobs do, to show off. Hers weren’t very big, but ... they were very nice.

“You don’t look so decent to me, kiddo.”

She slapped at my chest, pretending to be upset over my remark.

She’s the only one who could get away with calling me ‘Wichie.’

Chapter 2 »