Chapter 4

We had the “I can’t believe we did that!” conversation. It was true. Neither of us had intended for anything even remotely like that to have happened. I think what made us feel better was that it was obvious that Aunt Jennifer hadn’t intended for anything to happen, either. Herb obviously did, but they’d been hit by a whirlwind just like Bobby and I had. Her diary was our whirlwind.

When our parents got home that night we were both dressed, trying to act normal, and I’m pretty sure we both thought that, somehow, they’d know what we’d done. I know Bobby was worried, because he was quiet. It was summer, so there was no school or homework. While we ate dinner they routinely asked, “What did you two do today?” Dinner that night was tuna and noodle casserole, which I had prepared. I did that a lot, feeling like Mom shouldn’t have to cook dinner after working all day. They’d asked that question a hundred times or more, but this time I panicked because all I could think of was, “Well, Bobby and I almost had sex, but didn’t.” Bobby responded with, “I goofed off most of the day,” and Daddy asked him if he’d mowed the lawn. He said he’d forgotten, but promised to do it the next day.

The long and short of it is that neither parent gave any sign that they were suspicious of anything at all. It was surreal. Then my mind went off on a tangent where I imagined that I’d gotten married and was back from the honeymoon, and my parents asked, “So how was the honeymoon?” They had to know I’d stayed in bed with my new husband as much as possible, having as much sex as possible, but neither would acknowledge that, or discuss it, or even mention it. Everybody would know I was sexually active, at that point, but nobody, with the exception of my closest female friends, would ask questions about the sexual part of things.

Of course I wasn’t newly married, and I hadn’t been on a honeymoon, and my parents had no clue that I’d gone and lost my virginity in the same way Great Aunt Jennifer had, so long ago.

I decided I needed to make sure my mother never read that diary.

Bobby confirmed my suspicions later that night, when he came to the bathroom as I did my nightly get-ready-for-bed routine. He opened the door without knocking, which was new, and then said, “I thought they’d know for sure.”

I didn’t berate him for intruding into a lady’s privacy. Or for staring at my boobs as I brushed my hair.

“Me, too,” I said.

“Are you sorry we did it?” he asked.

“No,” I said, immediately.

“Are we going to read tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Wow,” he said, softly.

“What?” My intuition knew there was a basis for that “Wow.”

“Just talking about it gave me a boner,” he said.

“Well, you’ll have to take care of it, yourself,” I replied.

“Okay,” he said, brightly.

He turned to leave and then leaned back into the doorway.

“I love you,” he whispered.

I went to him and gave him a peck on the lips. It seemed like the most normal thing in the world.

“I’m glad you do,” I said.

I thought about cheating, and reading ahead. I stared at the diary, sitting on my nightstand, and then took it and put it in my closet on the top shelf, under some winter clothes.

I had to rub before I could get to sleep.

While I did it, I imagined him jerking off in his room.

He waited until ten in the morning before he came looking for me. Or maybe he just slept until ten. I don’t know. I was still in bed, myself, awake, but not up, yet.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“You’re impatient,” I said.

“Did you cheat?” he asked.

“No!” I said, trying to sound injured.

“I would have,” he admitted.

“What are we going to do if they...” I couldn’t say it. The word that had come to my mind was “fuck” but I just couldn’t say that. I’d heard that word for years, and never thought a thing about it, other than that it was crude. I’d heard the term “make love” for years, too, but it had always seemed cheesy. It didn’t sound cheesy to me any longer, but I still couldn’t start using it, either, for some reason.

“Do it?” said Bobby, supplying a less crude reference.

“Yes,” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Really? So, you’re saying you wouldn’t want to do it, too?”

“Of course I’d want to do it,” he said. He blinked. “I mean with somebody. And I know any guy would want to do it with you. But thinking about that right now seems weird, you know?”

“I think it would be more than just weird,” I said.

There was a long pause before he spoke again.

“Would you let me?”

“I would have, yesterday,” I admitted.

“Really?”

“After you made me cum ... I’d have let you.”

“How about today?”

“Down boy,” I said. “We don’t even know that’s what they did. It was a hundred years ago. Things were different.”

“It wasn’t a hundred years ago,” he said. “It was seventy-three. And from what she writes, I don’t think things have changed much at all. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but maybe we should just stop reading,” he said.

“I can’t believe you said that, either,” I said.

“It’s just that I don’t want to hurt you, and things are already strange enough.”

“I don’t think you’d ever hurt me,” I said.

“Doing that could hurt us,” he said. “If anybody ever found out, they’d probably make me join the military. Or put me in jail. Even if they didn’t, there’s no way they’d let us be alone together again. That would kill me.”

“Kill you?” I goggled. “Really?”

“Things have changed,” he said. “I feel different about you than I did before.”

“Well, I get that,” I sighed.

“So ... we won’t read, then?”

“Oh no,” I said. “I have to know what happened.”

“But what if they do it?” he groaned.

“Just because they did something doesn’t mean we have to do it, too,” I said.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned.

“We could do other things,” I suggested.

He brightened.

“Like what?”

“Well, I never wanted to give a guy a blow job before. I still don’t ... unless maybe it’s you.”

“Oh man, I just got such a boner,” he moaned.

“Really? Just like that?”

“It can happen really fast,” he sighed, rubbing at the front of his pants.

“Maybe that’s the next thing they do,” I said.

“Maybe they do that, but she doesn’t write about it,” he said. “She didn’t write about him sucking her pussy.”

“Yet,” I said. “Maybe we went off script, yesterday. The last thing we know for sure is that he was embarrassed about shooting on her and ran away.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He frowned. “How did you feel when I shot on you, yesterday?”

“I was unhappy, but it wasn’t because you shot on me. It was because the water washed it away so fast I couldn’t examine it.”

“You wanted to examine it?”

“Of course. It was something special. I helped it happen.”

“I could shoot on you again,” he said, helpfully.

“How about now?” I suggested.

“Really?” He was excited instantly.

In answer I took off my pajamas. I should say I took off my dad’s T shirt, and then my panties. That’s what I routinely slept in. It wasn’t strange, getting naked in front of him, unless you define being able to strip for your brother as automatically strange. I lay on my bed with my legs closed.

“Go for it,” I encouraged him.

“My life is so strange,” he said, but he was getting out of his clothes as he said it.

He stood naked, beside my bed, and started stroking his cock. I watched as his foreskin covered the tip, turning it into a wrinkled up, Chinese Shar-Pei-looking thing, and then magically just disappeared as his hand moved back. His eyes ranged over my body, lingering on the fur that I knew only partially obscured my nether lips. I pinched my nipples, but didn’t rub.

It didn’t take long, especially when, purely by instinct, I teased him.

“You hope they do it, don’t you,” I said.

“Fuck!” he gasped. His hand went faster.

“Admit it. You hope he gets on top of her and pushes it into her!”

“Here it comes,” he gasped.

I lifted my head and watched a stream of white jet from the tip of his cock. It landed on my belly button and I felt the heat of it instantly. Then a shorter stream landed between my belly button and mons. He stepped sideways and leaned over the bed, and two short jets got all over my fur. I will never know why I just had to reach and rub the slippery mess all over my fur.

And between my legs.

It always took at least ten minutes for me to get off, rubbing.

This was a first, though, because as I pushed my middle finger up inside me, knowing that my brother’s cum was on that finger pressed some kind of button, and almost instantly, I had an orgasm.

Bobby stood there, wobbling and breathing hard, as he stared down at his naked sister masturbating herself with his issue. His eyes were already wild. They’d gotten that way just before he spurted on me. But now his whole face was wild.

“Jenn!” he gasped. “You’re getting my stuff in you!”

“I know,” I said, lazily. I wasn’t actually masturbating any longer. Now I was just petting my kitty while my blood pressure returned to normal.

“You can’t do that!”

“Too late,” I sighed.

“Why did you do that?” he moaned.

I’m sure he thought I was now pregnant, pregnant with an incest baby who nobody would understand or love. It would languish, alone, and probably starve to death because nobody would be willing to touch such a nasty, perverted thing. Oh, and it would probably have six fingers on each hand. At least that’s what I imagined he would think. I knew all that was horse pucky. First off, nobody would know it was an incest baby. I certainly wouldn’t tell anybody it was Bobby’s and I was pretty sure Bobby wouldn’t, either. Second, people just love babies, and nobody would knowingly let a baby languish, alone, or starve to death. Thirdly, I could already feel the onset of changes in my body that signaled I was about to start my period. The calendar had already warned me, but I knew the signs, and the signs said his sperm were a day late and a dollar short.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It felt good?”

“Jennifer,” he groaned. “You can’t get pregnant. Not by me. Not by anybody!”

“I’m not pregnant,” I said, finally letting him off the hook. “Stop worrying. I’m about to start my period. By tomorrow I’ll probably have used two tampons.”

“Eww. Too much information,” said my big, strong, football-playing brother.

“It’s not eww. I should make you put a tampon in me,” I said. “I’ve done it a few hundred times. The least you could do is do it once.”

“Ewwww,” he squealed, like a little girl.

“Why not?” I challenged him. “It’s part of what makes me a girl. You like that I’m a girl. I can tell.” I pushed a finger up in me. “See?”

He left the room at a run, and in a déjà vu kind of way I realized he was mimicking Herb, running away after performing a sexual act with/on his sister. Of course Bobby was running for a different reason, but it was kind of the same thing, right?

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The Summer of '42

Lubrican

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