Chapter 3

I really couldn’t face Jennifer after my mini-melt down, so I hurried to my room and got dressed and took off on my bike. I suppose sixteen-year-olds don’t ride bikes in the city these days, but back then it was normal, especially in our little town.

I rode out to the old quarry, past the “DO NOT ENTER - DANGER” and “No Trespassing” signs, both of which had holes in them from bullets and shotgun pellets. What with all the warnings, you’d have thought somebody would have erected a fence between the flat part or “parking lot,” as I liked to call it, and the two acre tank of deep blue water that went down at least a hundred feet, but nobody had. These days there would be a fence, but back then there wasn’t. Very few people swam in the quarry, primarily because the water was a good thirty feet below the edge of the parking lot and there was no good or easy way to get down to it. If you jumped in it was easy to climb out because there were tons of hand and foot holds, but there was no easy way to get down and just swim.

Still, it was a good place to think. It was quiet and pretty in an industrial-mixed-with-nature kind of way.

It only took my mind maybe ten minutes to reflect on how all those noises she’d made had been happy ones, and not “I’m grossed out” kinds of sounds. She’d had fun. And I had, too. And nobody had gotten hurt.

I still knew that nobody would approve ... but I also knew that this was something that Jennifer and I could share secretly that would make our lives a lot more interesting. I knew we’d do this again, and that it would be just as fun ... maybe even more fun if I didn’t freak out again.

So I hopped on my bike and went back home, where I found Jennifer playing Sudoko on the couch.

“I’m going to go take my shower, now,” I said.

She looked up.

“Okay.”

She came in and watched, but she didn’t take her clothes off or masturbate. She just sat there and stared as I stroked my newly stiffened cock in the shower. When I leaned against the wall on one stiff arm and groaned piteously she knew what was happening, but of course she couldn’t see it like she had earlier. I wasn’t looking at her at that point so I didn’t see her get up. I did see her heading for the door, though. I didn’t say anything. It had been a strangely good cum, standing there looking at my little sister sitting on the toilet lid, fully clothed, watching me.

I got out and dried off. Jennifer was in her room, or at least her door was closed, so I went to my room and got dressed again.

This time, when I left, I went to John Dillon’s house and we hung out until it was time for me to go home for supper.

The next two times were pretty much carbon copies of the last one I described. I stood naked on the outside, jerking off, while Jenn stood naked on the inside, her hands moving over the blur of her body. She made the same noises again and I came in my hand each time. I did get closer to the shower door, but otherwise nothing new happened.

The one difference was that, when I reciprocated and told her I was going to go take a shower, she said, “Okay, but I’m not going to watch. It’s too frustrating not being able to see very well.”

Which might be why things escalated again a week later.

That morning, a Wednesday, I believe, things started out like usual, with her giving me the code and me going in there after she was already under the water. I was stroking away, but going a little slower because I wanted things to last longer. Suddenly the water went off and the door opened about a foot. Jennifer, looking wet and bedraggled, her hair plastered to her shoulders and the sides of her breasts, stood there with one hand covering her pussy. Her eyes were kind of big looking.

I stopped, mid-stroke and she immediately said, “Don’t stop. I just want to see better.”

With that she lifted her hands to wipe her eyes clear of water, which gave me my first unopposed view of her naked glory.

Now imagine, if you can, a girl ... who is obviously a girl and not a woman ... but whose body isn’t quite so sure about all that. Her breasts sloped downwards and then became round on the bottoms, but there was no sag in them. Her areolas were invisible, but she had two very nice, pert nipples that were bubblegum pink. My eyes flowed down to a waist that was distinctly smaller than her chest and hips, to hips that weren’t huge, but weren’t straight either. She was a natural blond, which was given proof by the fact that her pussy hair was only a shade darker than what was plastered to her shoulders. I had the errant thought that if she sunbathed naked, the sun would lighten that pussy hair like it had lightened her head hair. But what was most interesting of all was the fact that her pubic hair had been shaved into a landing strip. What was left was short and straight, not kinky like mine, and it did nothing whatsoever to hide her pussy. I learned later that was her idea of a bikini cut and that she’d seen that cut in a porn video at Megan Gustafson’s house. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I found that out.

Anyway, her body didn’t look girlish in any way, shape, or form - literally. The final thing that made it impossible to think of her as a “girl” was that, as she stood there with her feet maybe fourteen inches apart, I could clearly see flushed, dark pussy lips that, of course, I knew had very recently been parted by one of her slim fingers as it probed up inside her.

She was as sexy as it is possible for a woman to be, even though she wasn’t classically beautiful in the normal social sense.

Her hands fell and the same one went back to obscure my view of those pussy lips. Suddenly she was a girl again, a girl who was embarrassed about being naked in front of a man ... her brother ... and who was trying to cover up like any girl would have done.

“Don’t stop,” she said again. She was stiff. It obviously didn’t bother her to expose her breasts to me, because she didn’t use the other arm to cover them. I realized she was conflicted. That was normal. I was conflicted, too.

“I won’t hurt you,” I blurted. I have no idea where that came from. I guess it just seemed like the right thing to say.

“Of course not!” she barked. “I know that!”

“You just look ... scared,” I said.

“I’m standing here dripping wet, naked as the day I was born, in front of my brother,” she observed. “I’m not scared. I’m just cold. And now you broke the mood.”

I couldn’t imagine how putting one hand in front of her pussy could make her less cold, but instead of saying that I reached for a towel and held it out for her. I realized I still had a death grip on my cock, but didn’t let go. Maybe I was cold, too. I don’t know.

She dried off efficiently and stepped toward me, obviously intending to exit the shower stall. I backed up and stood there holding my cock, apparently so it wouldn’t take off.

Jennifer got another towel and went to work on her hair. I now had a clear view of her womanly body again. It was delightful and, with no conscious thought, I started stroking again.

It took her fifteen or twenty seconds to notice what I was doing and she stopped, frozen. She stared at me and, of course, I stopped.

“Would you please not stop!” she almost yelled.

The towel, when she’d frozen, had been over her breasts, hanging down just enough to obscure her landing strip. She was naked, but the good parts were not visible. I started stroking again, slowly.

“Can you move the towel?” I whispered.

She looked down and came unfrozen. She held the towel away from her body with one hand and, for some reason, the other arm went out at the same angle. It looked like she thought she was a super hero who could fly and was about to bend her knees and jump, to do exactly that. But then all she did was stand there and look at me.

“Like this?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I groaned. I found out later that when I groaned that out, her pussy started to get wet.

“Keep going,” she said, her voice low.

I did and the next thing she said was, “This is so hot, Bobby.”

I agreed, but didn’t voice that. I was concentrating on breathing and the feel of my penis getting ready to shoot.

“Jennifer!” I said, in warning.

She dropped the towel and her fingers went to her nipples, to pinch them and pull them so hard that her breasts turned into cones.

That was it. I held my free hand out, but missed it completely as I shot a cord of spooge at least two feet, straight towards her. Thankfully she was standing three feet away from me. Her head dipped to look down at a stripe of white on the floor, like a string trying to connect the two of us. Two more lines landed next to it, both shorter than the first and then she looked back at my dick to watch as I milked every last drop out of it. This residue got all over the back of my fingers as I stood there gasping for air.

Maybe it was my semen running down my hand. Or maybe that stink that sometimes appeared from nowhere when I jerked off, a stink that came from my armpits, was sensed by her delicate nose. For whatever reason she reached to turn me toward the open shower door and manhandled me into the stall. She closed the door and I had enough sense to turn on the water. It had been on recently enough that I could adjust the temperature quickly and I stood there with the spray hitting the top of my head and leaned against the wall to recover.

I found out when I finally got out that Jennifer had cleaned up the mess before she left.

Her door was closed again.

I wouldn’t know until a few weeks later that she was in there masturbating with a clear glass dildo Megan had ordered for her online.

It was good I didn’t know that, then. I’m pretty sure it would have unhinged me.

This was to be the new normal for us for the next week. I’d stand there jerking off while she masturbated in the shower. She didn’t try to cum. I’ll tell you more about that in a second, but all she did was get good and worked up and then open the door to watch me, our view unobstructed, while I finished. Then she’d go to her room and spend half an hour fucking that fifteen-year-old pussy to a mind-blowing orgasm.

If you’re a guy with any experience at all, you know that guys can cum almost on command. It doesn’t take long at all to get the purple-headed dragon to blow chunks. But women are different. They don’t “try” to cum as much as they play until that happens.

I don’t think that’s just a sexual thing, either. For example, if there are containers of potato salad, cottage cheese, or macaroni and cheese, or ham slices and that kind of thing in the fridge, when lunch gets there I’ll graze directly from those containers, eating a few bites of whatever and then going on my way. In and out, two or three minutes, tops, and I’m done.

Jennifer, on the other hand, will spend half an hour just assembling a fruit salad, lovingly cutting up grapes and strawberries and whatever, and then adding in whatever dressing she wants, and sprinkling crushed nuts over the whole thing. Then she takes another half hour savoring each bite.

It would drive me nuts to do that, but it’s a good example of how women think about things differently than men. And it’s that way with sex, too. The best thing a man can learn, if he wants to make his woman happy, is how to make sex last a heck of a lot longer than he would under “normal” conditions.

I did learn that, but only later. All I knew at that point was that this was working out pretty well. She was obviously having fun (she did keep coming to tell me she was going to take a shower) and I was most assuredly having fun. And, again, nobody was getting hurt.

When something happens like happened to us, it’s shocking to everybody concerned. It’s shocking because there comes a time when it hits you all at once and you can’t believe what’s happening or how it got to be the way it is. What happens is that little steps are taken that lead you down a path you didn’t plan on taking. It’s a little like growing up. You don’t realize it’s happening at the time, but suddenly there you are in sixth grade and you have homework to get done before you can go outside, and a bully named Steve Grossman who hates you for some reason, and your bike has a flat and all this other stuff to deal with that suddenly seems to weigh you down. You didn’t plan to be where you are and you didn’t try to be where you are but ... there you are.

And that’s what happened to Jennifer and me. We didn’t plan to go where we went and didn’t try to go where we went but ... somehow, there we were.

The next little step was a really small one but it impacted me a heck of a lot.

It was when Jennifer opened the shower door to watch me jerk off and this time, instead of just rubbing her fingers over her pussy lips real fast (like she’d started doing the third or fourth time she watched me with the shower door open), she stuck her middle and ring fingers up in her pussy and fucked herself with them.

See? It was just a tiny, little change, and yet all I could think of at that instant in time was trying to imagine what it would feel like if my penis was where her fingers were going, instead of wrapped firmly in my hand.

It was that small step that changed my thought processes from being a vague desire to see my sister naked to actually thinking about fucking her.

I know, I know, I’d already spent probably hours jerking off while I was thinking about her naked, just like I’d spent even more hours staring at this or that model in a magazine, also jerking off. But it’s more complicated than that. As an adult you naturally think about sex from the viewpoint of having done it a few hundred times. When you’re a virgin, you think about sex as this hazy ball of happiness that ends with an orgasm. And that orgasm is brought about by your fingers, which becomes the “normal” for what happens during “sex” at that point in your life. Sure you imagine sticking your dong in a pussy, but that’s all it is, imagination. You imagine sucking on a nipple, but that’s all it is, imagination.

But actually seeing something sliding in and out of a pussy brings things to a level where less imagination is needed. Or maybe it’s just easier to recognize the potential there is for something more to happen.

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Showering With Sister

Lubrican

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