Chapter 1

The only thing I knew about Descartes and Nietzsche, by the time I was sixteen, was that they were philosophers. What I mean is I’m not a philosopher, myself. I’ve never had deep thoughts about what life is all about or any of that stuff. And I never thought about fate or karma or any of a number of other platforms that try to help one come to grips with things that happen in life that seem to make no sense.

At least not until I was sixteen.

I have since learned a word for what happened to my sister and me. That word is ‘serendipity’ but I had never heard of it back then. I don’t know if Jennifer had ever heard of it then or not. And that’s a good example of how much things have changed for me. Back then, if I’d learned a new word, it would never have even occurred to me to ask her if she knew what it meant.

Now I would. Now we share everything with each other.

Even things we aren’t supposed to share.

I think you know what I mean already. I chose a place to tell our story that specializes in, shall we say, stories about things sexual. It was the accident - the serendipity - of finding that site that emboldened me enough to actually tell our story at all. This is not to say nobody else in the world knows about us. That’s not true, as you’ll find out. And really, as Jennifer reminded me pretty regularly while I wrote this, it isn’t anybody else’s business that we are closer as siblings than most people in the world would approve of.

But that’s the point, actually. The point is that in a world where there seems to be so little love, what there is should be celebrated instead of reviled. Oh, I get it that incestuous pairings in the past have created terrible and sad situations in terms of birth defects. The record is perfectly clear in a murky kind of way about that. What I mean by “murky” is there are no scholarly papers out there on why these defects happen in some cases of incest and don’t in others. There are theories galore, but no scientific studies to back them up. To me, that is like saying “There’s this incredible, mystifying behavior that can both create or destroy life but why that happens is something we’re not going to talk about.”

Now maybe you think I’m getting worked up about something that really makes very little difference in the grand scheme of things. After all, incest is an aberration in human life, right? Very few people are involved in that behavior, right? At least that we know about. We don’t need to talk about that perversion, right? It isn’t common. Incest only touches a fraction of a fraction of a given population.

Right?

Well ... let’s not even take up the discussion about Adam and Eve, or Noah and his minescule family, who repopulated the Earth after the flood. We’ll pretend that we’re not all the product of incest. At least if you ascribe to any number of religions that all pose an original pair that populated the Earth. But maybe you don’t. Maybe you think all manner of different humans evolved all at the same time, from different organisms. If that’s the way you think, we can go with the roughly 11,000 humans who survived the ice age (scattered hither and yon in tiny groups) and then repopulated the Earth. They had no choice but to inbreed to survive.

I know I said I wasn’t a philosopher, and a lot of that up above looks and sounds like philosophical ramblings, but what can I say? Stuff happened and I couldn’t help but think about it and wonder why it happened. I know how it happened ... sort of ... at least now in retrospect, but I sure had no idea what was going on while it was happening.

What all this rambling is supposed to be getting to is that maybe it happened to you, too. I have a sneaking suspicion that what happened between Jennifer and me has happened to a lot more people than anybody would admit. I use the words “would admit” intentionally, because of another sexual behavior that seems to happen a lot, but which very few people admit they engage in. Can you guess what it is?

Yup. Masturbation.

Think back on that. If you masturbate (and everybody says everybody does) then how many people have you admitted that to? I’m not talking about how many people know you do it, or believe you do it. I’m talking about you formally announcing, “You know what? I masturbate frequently. Do you?”

Everybody allegedly does it, but nobody admits it to anyone but maybe one or two very close friends.

Enough rambling.

I’ll just tell you what happened. Maybe you’ll be able to explain it to me.

I’ll start off by admitting to the whole world that I masturbate, and that I masturbated frequently before all this happened. I started when I was roughly twelve and I learned to do it completely by accident. I was in the shower and I was washing my penis, which was either already hard, or got that way while I was washing it. I don’t remember. That wasn’t a new thing, having an erection, I mean. It had been getting hard for a long time. But this was the first time I washed it with the now familiar stroking grip that every guy knows all about.

Or so I hear.

Anyway, it felt good so I just kept doing it. Then it felt great and I wouldn’t have stopped even if somebody pounded on the door and told me to hurry up. Nobody did, though, and suddenly there was this pain in my penis that was scary as hell, but still felt fantastic, and I spurted. Just like that. I knew squat about sex back then. I knew all the words associated with it, particularly the dirty words one never uttered in the hearing of an adult, but that’s kind of like all those kids in the spelling bee who can spell anything, but have no idea what it really means. After all, they always ask for the definition ... right?

By the time I was sixteen I was an expert at masturbation. I had my stash of pictures, most of them torn from girly mags I found in the trash. I found the first one by accident, in a dumpster. I was a confirmed dumpster diver after that. People throw away the coolest stuff, as it turns out. But never mind that. I was going to tell you how ‘it’ started, between my sister and me.

It started when I had to pee really bad and it was either go outside in the back yard, and hope that Mrs. Applebee wasn’t looking out her window, or go in the bathroom, where my sister, Jennifer, was taking a shower. Maybe your neighbor doesn’t stare out the window at your house, but Mrs. Applebee seemed to. She was always “just mentioning” things to my parents about stuff I did in the back yard. Like when I shot a bird with my BB gun, or when Roy Burke and I were throwing rocks at each other (we weren’t actually trying to score a hit), or when I accidentally ran the mower into my mom’s flower garden. There were a bunch of times she saw things and “bumped into” one of my parents and “just mentioned” what she’d seen, and I knew she’d have a conniption fit if I took a leak in the back yard. It was almost bedtime, but it was also summer, and it stayed light outside pretty late. Plus my dad wired in one of those motion sensor floodlights on the back wall of the house and didn’t bother to put a switch on the thing. It would come on if I went out there and that was sure to draw Mrs. Applebee’s attention.

So I opened the door to the bathroom and went in all ninja-like. Dad had renovated the shower and the new one had a frosted door so I was hoping Jennifer wouldn’t be able to see me. I had it all planned out. I was going to sit down on the toilet so things wouldn’t splash and make noise. When I was finished I’d put the lid down so she wouldn’t see the tint in the water. I wasn’t going to flush, of course, since that would be a dead giveaway. Besides, we use way too much water just to flush and it’s not like my pee was going to sit there all day. Somebody else would use it.

Now all this was unplanned, which is why it was a complete accident that, as I sat there feeling huge relief, I was facing the shower stall. I could see Jennifer’s form through that frosted glass. Just her overall form, a kind of flesh-colored blob that was vaguely humanoid in shape. But I knew what was making that shape, so it wasn’t hard to imagine I could sort of, kind of, almost see her breasts when she raised her arms to do something on top of her head.

And as my bladder got empty, my dick got hard.

Now I have to tell you this was a complete surprise. Jennifer was my younger, bratty sister. True, she was only a year younger, and true she got straight A’s in school, whereas C was my favorite letter. And there was nothing exactly wrong with her, other than the fact she was a pest and always thought she should be able to do whatever I got to do. But I’d never even thought about getting a boner because of her.

Sure I’d seen her running around in her bra and panties, or maybe the short robe she wore sometimes that showed her legs almost up to her butt, but she was ... Jennifer. She was my sister. And she wasn’t a raving beauty or anything. She had brown hair and brown eyes and wore glasses. She had contacts, but her allergies made them itch a lot so she only wore them about half the time. She had boobs, but they weren’t huge or anything. She had a “boyfriend” every so often, but she was too hard-headed and independent to let a boy tell her what to do so those relationships always kind of faded to black sooner or later. Mostly sooner.

My point is I’d never thought of Jennifer as a sexual being before. But seeing her vague, naked form behind that frosted glass, it was impossible not to imagine what she might look like if I opened that door.

Suffice to say I was confused that I got a boner while looking at her amorphous form. And a little weirded out, to be honest.

I didn’t just sit there and think about all this, by the way. I did what needed to be done and, pulling my pants back up as I stood, to get my boner covered, I snuck out as ninja-like as I had snuck in.

Things stayed confusing when I got back to my bedroom. When I got undressed that boner was still there, and it was throbbing. Always before I’d have happily jerked off and then read until I got sleepy. But this time I couldn’t get Jennifer’s cloudy form out of my mind. I needed to jerk off, to get some relief, but I knew if I did, I’d keep thinking about my sister and that would be just too weird.

I tried to read, but that damn boner wouldn’t deflate.

I got out my pictures and locked the door. My mother was a fan of breezing in to give good night kisses on foreheads and she didn’t know I abused myself. Nobody did. How could they? I’d never admitted it to anybody.

Anyway, Miss September saved the day because she was looking me right in the eye with that “You can have me if you want me” look that could get me to spurt within sixty seconds if I really wanted to hurry things along. And my eyes flitted from her eyes to her tits to her puffy pussy lips and I came and then I was able to read until I got sleepy.

Miss September, however, could not distract me the next morning when I went down to breakfast and Jennifer was sitting there, reading the comics in the morning paper. She was dressed like normal, in a tank top and shorts. She was barefoot and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. And damned if she didn’t look ... I don’t know ... interesting?

She looked up at me and her eyebrows formed a mild frown.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“You’re staring at me,” she said.

“Stop staring at your sister,” my mother said, automatically. She was fussing with something in the skillet on the stove.

“I wasn’t staring at her!” I complained.

“Yes ... you were,” said Jennifer.

But the strangest thing was that she had this little smile on her face as she said it.

“I’ll stop,” I said, knowing this was the only way to get both of them off my case.

I got a bowl and a box of cereal from the cupboard, not wanting to wait for the more involved process of bacon and eggs. I was going to go shoot hoops with Dennis Green.

“I’m cooking, here,” complained my mother.

“I love you,” I said. Those are the magic words, especially when it comes to moms. “But I’m late to shoot hoops over at Dennis’s house.”

“How can you be late to shoot hoops?” asked Jennifer. “It’s just shooting hoops.”

I wanted to stick my tongue out at her, but I was sixteen and you can’t get away with that much after you’re ten, so I just inhaled my cereal (as my mother would have put it) and hurried out the back door.

I had a whole day planned of not thinking about my naked sister behind a shower door, and it would have come off that way too, had it not been Dennis Green I had decided to spend the day with. He had a thing for my sister. He’d had it since seventh grade, but he was too chicken to ask her out. He was too chicken to even talk to her, for that matter. But he’d talk to me about her. He was fond of saying, “She’s so hot. It must drive you crazy, living with her.” He was of the opinion that, since he thought she was a babe, all other males must think she was a babe, too, including her brother.

For years I’d happily pointed out why no man on the planet should be interested in Jennifer Chalmers, but all that bounced off him like water off a duck, so I’d given up a year or so past.

And of course, it was on this particular day that, as we played H.O.R.S.E, Dennis asked me if I’d ever seen Jennifer naked.

There was a conversation about that, but you don’t want to hear about that. All you need to know is that, by the time I got home, all I could think about was whether Jennifer would take another shower that night.

Of course I knew she would. Jennifer took a shower every night. If she got sweaty she took one during the day, too. Jennifer and sweat did not get along. I, on the other hand, might go two or three days between showers. I didn’t have a girlfriend, but I didn’t associate those two facts as having anything to do with each other.

So, of course, she did take a shower.

And, of course I had to decide what to do.

I did not ninja in to get a peek, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I knew she was in there, and I knew she was naked, and I knew what it would look like if I did go in there for a peek.

And that’s all it took to give me another boner.

Even Miss September couldn’t do the trick that night. I went through the whole calendar, or at least the months I had, and none of them could keep me from imagining what my sister looked like behind that stupid door.

And that was the first night I just gave up and thought about Jennifer, rubbing her hands all over her slippery body ... across her breasts ... between her legs ... as she got all squeaky clean.

It was the first night that I suddenly wondered if she did, in the shower, the same thing I did, in the shower. Namely ... masturbate.

So it was the first night that I jerked off while thinking about my sister.

It was five days before I just couldn’t take it anymore. You do stupid things when you’re confused, like making sure you don’t go to the bathroom so you’ll have a “legitimate” excuse to ninja in and use the john while your sister is taking a shower. You’re not planning on getting caught, but you make sure you have a valid excuse, just in case.

And I changed into the cotton running shorts I sleep in every night, before I spied on my sister. I reasoned that I could pull them up faster than my regular pants. I knew I was going to have a boner. At least I was smart enough not to even think about beating off while I sat there. I figured the shorts would come up and cover said boner quickly and efficiently as I ninjaed back out of the bathroom.

I know this sounds stupid, particularly because I already mentioned that all you could see was the vague outline of a naked person behind the glass. I think maybe it was like some kind of drug. I tried it once, by accident, and it hooked me right away. So every so often I needed a fix, to keep me going.

That really does sound stupid, doesn’t it? But it’s all I got.

So I did it. I waited until she went in, and then stood by the door until the water had run long enough that I knew she’d be inside the shower. The door creaked as I opened it. I hadn’t noticed that the last time. I made a mental note to oil the hinges.

See how bad things were already?! I’d already turned into a pervert!

I tiptoed over to the toilet and shoved my shorts down. I already had a hardon and I had to bend it to get it into the space between my thighs and the toilet seat.

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Showering With Sister

Lubrican

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