Chapter 4

Your average sixteen-year-old guy likes to think of himself as mature, manly, in control, capable ... stuff like that. Which is why I was somewhat concerned because, when Jennifer broached the idea of her jerking me off, I was panting, felt weak, wanted to bolt and that sort of thing. I suspect now that it was the fight or flight syndrome kicking in, but back then I was a bundle of mixed up teenager.

My prick, on the other hand, was mature, manly, in control and capable of being jerked off by the soft hand of my sister. Not a problem.

“So ... what do you think?” asked Jennifer.

I realized some time had passed. I had no idea how much, but it didn’t matter. She hadn’t gotten bored and wandered away.

“Wow,” I finally said.

I don’t know if she thought I was reluctant or what, but she laid out her reasoning for voting in favor of the motion on the table.

“I can’t date, and even if I could, I don’t want to encourage boys to get all wild and stuff. I do need to know how to do that, though, at least some day. And I trust you, and I know you love me and won’t do anything horrible or scary. And nobody will know.”

She sounded so hopeful. My brain interpreted all this as, distilled to its most simple content: “I really really want to do this, Bobby!”

I had some experience with trying to get girls to do things. Almost all of them had shut me down. That was okay. I didn’t actually mind. I always went on a date with hopes and dreams, but I had my magazines and mother palm and her five daughters and I could do anything I wanted to with a girl in my imagination. Then, lately, I had Jennifer’s shower episodes, which were better than anything I could reasonably expect to happen on any date I went on in probably the next ten years.

Suddenly I was with a girl who didn’t want to slam on the brakes and abandon the car. Suddenly I was with a girl who was willing to mess around ... even eager to mess around. At least with me. I didn’t give a single thought to doing anything to her at that moment. I was too centered on my one-eyed trouser snake, which was also willing and eager to be messed around with.

There’s a little bit of a blur in there, but the details I can’t remember probably aren’t important. What’s important is that my jockeys ended up down by my thighs and Jennifer’s warm, soft hand tentatively gripped Mr. Happy. She stroked like she’d seen me stroke it, except it was completely different, of course. Her grip was more gentle and she went at a pace I’d call the “Let’s get ready to rumble” speed of things. Not that I was complaining. Not at all. This was fantastic. I didn’t feel the urge to cum. I wanted this to go on for hours.

“Like that?” came her soft voice.

I was panting again.

“You’re doing fine,” I managed.

“I want to do it right,” she said, seriously. “When will it spurt?”

“Not for a while,” I huffed.

“It goes off really fast when you do it,” she countered.

“I don’t want it to go off really fast,” I said.

“Really? Me neither.”

“You don’t want it to go off fast?”

“No, I mean me. When I do it I like to make it last and last and last,” she sighed.

We didn’t talk, then, as she continued to slide her hand up and down my shaft. Eventually she spoke again.

“It’s so cool. I mean how the tip gets covered up and then gets all bare. But it looks like it would just have to hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” I assured her. “That skin is called my foreskin and it’s really stretchy.”

“I know that,” she snorted. “I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid,” I said.

“Sure you did. You’ve called me stupid hundreds of times.”

I’m telling you all this because it might help you understand how crazy this situation was. There I was, almost naked, with my sister’s hand wrapped around my dong. She was doing something incredibly intimate and yet she could also concentrate on my past transgressions. She was being my sister, but doing something sisters don’t do to their brothers. Well, at least most sisters don’t. It was like being in two alternate universes at the same time. That might be why I didn’t have anything to say about the fact that I had, in fact, called her stupid at least a hundred times. My silence didn’t seem to bother her, though.

“I like this,” she sighed.

“I do, too,” I panted.

She looked up at my face.

“Has any other girl ever done this to you?”

“I wish,” I panted.

“Not even Gloria Summers?”

“Gloria? She wouldn’t even let me touch her boobs,” I responded.

“That’s not what she told Evelyn Tattersby.”

I lifted my head.

I was speechless. Gloria Summers had only gone out with me twice. She set the agenda each time and we did only what she wanted to do. That meant bowling the first date and going to the Mall on the second. She’d been pretty avid about making out, which to her meant kissing until both of us were out of breath, but that was all she’d allow. My sister must have seen the look of incredulity on my face.

“She told Evelyn she had to jack you off to calm you down. Evelyn told me about it.”

“Well, she didn’t,” I said, somewhat explosively. “She lied. What I can’t figure out is why she lied.”

“She probably wanted to impress people.”

“It impresses people if you tell them you jacked off a guy?”

“I guess so,” said my sister, never missing a stroke. “At least some.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. She changed her stroke until she was only going far enough to get my foreskin to bunch up and then pull back. She was playing. I didn’t complain, though. Her hand felt so good on my cock that I didn’t care how she did it.

Suddenly I wanted to cum.

“Can you go faster?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. She sped up and went back to longer strokes. “Like that?”

“Ohhh yeah,” I moaned. “Grip it a little harder.”

She did and the tip of her tongue came out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated.

“Is it going to shoot?” she asked.

“Yes,” I panted. “Just keep going.”

She did and the tsunami arrived. I didn’t even warn her. She knew what was going to happen. I did get my hand ready to take over if she jerked away when the fountain went off.

But she didn’t.

When I came, I came hard. I bet I shot a record height with the first spurt. That was messy, because that spurt arced up in the air and landed right on my chest. It got even more messy because my hips jerked, which made my cock move and she kept jerking and it just went everywhere. I watched as some of it splatted on her forearm. Then it was over and I collapsed back on the bed.

Jennifer, bless her heart, kept stroking. She’d seen me milk it and had apparently paid closer attention to things than I thought, because she squeezed and moved her hand just a little, urging the last drops out of my cock. My foreskin bunched up and a puddle of white collected in the dip.

“This is so cool!” she sighed.

“You got that right,” I panted.

She looked up at my face again.

“So I did it right?”

“You did it perfect,” I sighed.

Suddenly she let go. She didn’t wipe her arm off or anything, but scooted off the bed.

“I have to go now,” she said, breathing deeply. “Thanks.”

She ran to the door and I was amazed to see her butt cheeks bouncing inside her panties.

“You’re welcome,” I said as she went through the door and closed it quietly.

I didn’t know if she heard me or not.

There should be another saying: “Watch that second step, too. It puts doozey to shame!”

I lay there thinking about what had just happened. I realized this was no little step, like all the others had been. I think that’s when I reflected, with amazement, on where we were and tried to figure out how we’d gotten there. I mean I knew how we’d gotten there, of course, but I didn’t understand it. Not then. It’s a little like when I was older and drove home from work one night. I don’t know what I was thinking about, but when I got home I didn’t remember driving there. I only made it because my subconscious mind did the driving for me. If that’s ever happened to you, you know what I mean.

It was kind of overwhelming. I didn’t find out what Longarm did to Miss Savage that night. I just lay there with my mind whirling around. It’s a good thing I didn’t know Jennifer was next door fucking her pussy with that dildo. Again, I’m pretty sure it would have unhinged me.

I also didn’t know that she ran her fingers through the cum I’d shot on her arm ... or that she then used those fingers to rub her pussy lips, before she slid that dildo between them.

I know that would have unglued my brain from reality.

When I saw Jennifer at the kitchen table the next morning she smiled at me and said, “Hi!” It was obvious she wasn’t upset about what had happened and I felt the kind of relief you experience when a speeding car misses you by two inches and barrels off down the road without stopping.

She acted like everything was as normal as pie. Our mother, however, noticed things were ab-normal.

“It’s about time you two started being civil towards each other,” she commented, standing by the counter. She was drinking the fruit/avocado/milk/who-knows-what-else concoction she mixed up in the blender each morning.

“He’s not so bad, I guess,” said Jennifer.

Mom looked at me.

That she expected me to reply in kind was obvious.

All I could do was shrug.

“You could at least try,” scolded Mom.

“Okay,” I said, trying hard to think of something other than, “She jacks me off perfectly!” What I came up with was, “If I have to have a sister, I’m glad it’s her.”

“Bobby!” groaned our mother. Then she sighed. “I guess it’s a start.”

Jennifer just grinned at me.

Mom gulped down her health shake, hugged us both and told Jenn to put a roast, potatoes, and carrots in the crock pot by lunch, so it would be ready for all of us to eat for supper. Then she was gone. Dad always left earlier than Mom. He had a farther commute.

She wasn’t out of the door thirty seconds when Jennifer said, “You wanna take a shower?”

All that whirling my mind had done the night before kind of faded away. This went beyond having no regrets over what had happened. She wasn’t putting on the brakes at all. If anything she was polishing the car and filling the tank with gas. I think it made me a little bold.

“Together?” I asked.

I was joking.

Sort of. I mean the concept of taking a shower with my sister, which I had just thought of in the last two-point-five seconds, had me half hard in my shorts already, but I didn’t mean to suggest it on a serious level.

“Really?” Her eyes were wide open.

It occurred to me that she hadn’t run screaming from the room. Or dialed 911. Or even worse, dialed Mom.

“You’d do that?” I asked. My voice was all dry and cracked, like it had been when it changed a few years back.

“I never thought of that,” she said. Her head tilted sideways. It was obvious she was thinking about it then. What I’d half expected her to think about instead, was how off the rails this train was running.

I waited. I think I was frozen, like a statue. At least I don’t remember moving. That included breathing, by the way. Finally I had to, though, and the sound of that raspy breath sounded loud in the silent kitchen. It brought her out of her reverie.

“That sounds scary,” she said.

“Oh,” I said. I was about to tell her I had been joking but didn’t have the chance.

“It also sounds exciting,” she added.

Speechless. I was speechless.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.” She jumped up. “This is going to be so cool!” she yipped.

What I didn’t know then was that, every time we did something, she imagined telling her friends about it ... bragging ... impressing them with her worldliness. Of course she didn’t tell anybody about it. She couldn’t. She didn’t date and all her friends knew that, so she couldn’t come up with all this worldly behavior and attribute it to some boy she’d done it with.

But she could imagine telling them about it. For all I know she planned on telling them about it later, when she could go on dates.

The reason this is important is because her motive for doing the things we did was different from my own. We were on the same road, but in different cars, to use that analogy one more time. We were headed for the same place, but not for the same reasons.

My involvement in all this was on a basic, emotional level, spurred on by biology. I was being intimate with Jennifer. I felt a commitment. She, on the other hand, was just having fun, exploring with the only guy available. She didn’t have the depth of feeling about me that I had about her.

We figured all this out later, but the point is that this is an excellent example of how women move at a different pace than men when they get involved in an intimate relationship. For the guy (if he’s not just a horn dog trying to spread his seed far and wide) he wants to cement the relationship quickly, claim his woman, display to the world that she’s his. For the woman, she window shops, casually trying things on to see if she likes them. Maybe she’ll buy them. Maybe not. Later, when she does get that pair of shoes to die for, they become her favorite shoes and she’ll never get rid of them. Commitment comes later in the relationship for the woman than it does for the man.

At least that’s my experience, based on what happened between my sister and me.

And yes, I know that’s not the normal relationship. But it was the only one that went far enough for me to formulate any theories on how all this crap works.

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Showering With Sister

Lubrican

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