Chapter 6

I think it freaked us out a little bit. I mean Bobby got up on his knees between my thighs and leaned on his left arm, while he whaled away on his penis with his other one. It was obvious he was beating off, and obvious he intended to shoot on me. When he did shoot, it was obvious he was aiming it at my pussy, which was shiny with my own juices. He was jerking so hard that his spend actually went all over the place, but he managed to put a good two fat dollops of it right on my shiny pussy lips.

I was just as helpless as he was. I reached and rubbed all that creamy white stuff into my pussy, fucking it with two fingers that were literally covered with his spunk.

It was like we might just as well have fucked.

And it freaked us both out a little.

He didn’t exactly flee, like Herb had, but he got off the bed and said, “I’m sorry.”

I said, “It’s okay!” without thinking that that’s exactly what Jennifer said to Herb.

Then we cleaned up and, by unspoken agreement, got dressed.

It was while I was putting my panties on that I realized I should have used at least one tampon by now.

And I hadn’t.

That freaked me out a lot more. I had gotten his sperm in me, after all, twice now, in fact. But both of those occasions were so close to when I should have started bleeding that I knew it was impossible that I was pregnant. I had missed periods before. The first time was when I went to music camp and was away from home for the first time. I was miserable. I hated my clarinet and I hated music camp. The second was after I fell off my bike and ended up in the hospital with a concussion.

I waited until Tuesday before I said something to Mom about it.

“Are you sexually active, Jennifer?” she asked, just as calmly as it was possible to be.

“I am not pregnant, Mom,” I said, just as calmly as it was possible for me to be.

“Maybe we should get you to the doctor,” she suggested.

“That’s fine with me,” I said.

She did get me an appointment with the doctor, who did a pregnancy test on me. He thought he was being sly, saying he needed a urine sample to run a standard battery of tests on me. But I knew Mom had asked him to do a pregnancy test. That was fine. I knew there was no way I was pregnant.

And I wasn’t. He didn’t tell me that, but I’m quite certain it would have come up later and it didn’t. The doctor asked me if I’d been under any extra stress lately. I couldn’t tell him I was under the stress of recently becoming very sexually active ... with my brother, so I just said I was having difficulties with some of my friends.

He said it was probably just teenage anxiousness and that things would be fine.

Mom was happier when we left. I was, too, to be honest. I knew I wasn’t pregnant, but it’s nice to have external validation for something like that.

It turns out that sometimes a woman just misses a period. There are lots of medical reasons for it, but none of the serious ones were what caused mine to do that. We don’t actually know why mine did that. What we know is that, for something I hated so much, and wished would go away so much, when it did go away, I missed it a heck of a lot. Of course, if I hadn’t been rubbing my brother’s sperm into my pussy, where it could actually make my period go away for a known reason, I might have felt differently.

I knew (believed) there was no way I was pregnant, but I never looked forward to a period as much as I did my next one. I had two weeks to wait, as it turned out. I hadn’t missed it, exactly. I was just really, really late. The doctor said it might be hormonal imbalances, or my hypothalamus might have reacted to changes in my routine or extra stress. Hypothalamuses are apparently what regulate periods in women. He said we’d keep an eye on it and for me not to be worried about it.

My mother was relieved I wasn’t pregnant, but didn’t want to admit it. I know this because I asked her if she was relieved I wasn’t pregnant and she said, “Jennifer, do not bust my chops for being your mother and caring about you!”

The doctor had mentioned birth control pills as one method of regulating my period if this happened again and, since I wanted to bust my mother’s chops a little bit, I asked, “So, are you going to put me on the pill to regulate my periods?”

“Do I need to put you on the pill?” she asked, throwing me a dark look.

“Ask the doctor, not me,” I said, innocently.

Bobby was wandering around the yard, talking to himself when we got home. I had told him, of course, about how my period was AWOL, I mean. And while I was quite sure I wasn’t pregnant, he was freaked out a lot. When Mom asked him what was wrong, and why he was talking to somebody none of the rest of us could see, he said he was just bored. He told me later he was practicing saying things when he would be called upon to explain why he got his only sister pregnant.

Mom went back to work and Bobby and I were finally alone.

“Are you ... you know?” he asked.

“No. I told you I wasn’t.”

“So he tested you and it was negative.”

“I believe he tested me. He didn’t tell me he was doing a pregnancy test, but he wanted some urine.”

“So you might still be pregnant?” he groaned.

“Bobby, think about it. If the test had been positive, don’t you think I’d know?”

“What if they had to send it off to some lab, and they won’t know for a while?” he worried.

I took him to the computer and looked up information on pregnancy tests.

“All they have to do is put a stick in a cup of urine and look for a color change,” I said. “It’s just like the home pregnancy test. Would you please stop worrying?”

“Don’t give me a hard time for worrying about you,” he grumped.

“You are your mother’s son,” I sighed.

“What’s that mean?” Now he wasn’t anxious. Now he was just in a bad mood.

“Never mind,” I said. “I’m going to go read.”

“The diary?” He was back to anxious.

“No, not the diary,” I said, getting testy myself. “I have books, you know.”

“Don’t read the diary without me,” he ordered.

“Do you want to read the diary right now?” I asked.

“No. Just don’t read it without me.”

“When do you think you’ll be ready to read again, Master?” I prodded. It went right over his head.

“I don’t know. I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

Finally he listened to me.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Go away.”

“What did I do?” he complained.

“I can’t tell you, because in a second, you’re going to be here, but I will have gone away!” I snapped.

I stomped off to my room.

In the background I heard him again talk to someone who wasn’t there.

My father, bless his heart, was not as suspicious of my sexual behavior as my mother was. I know that sounds odd, since my mother’s suspicions were actually well grounded. Daddies never want to believe their little girls get naked and nasty with a boy, though. When Mom told him I wasn’t pregnant and that, apparently, she had falsely accused me of being less than pure (which she didn’t actually do) he was happy and didn’t think about it anymore. I wouldn’t find out until ten years later that my mother, when she was fourteen, did everything but get pregnant with the neighbor boy who lived beyond the fence in the back yard. She didn’t fess up about this when she gave me “the talk” because she was sure it would encourage me to go out and behave like she did. She was also embarrassed because the neighbor boy was a year younger than her, which made her the aggressor, in her mind. The fact is, though, that it all started when he changed the rules for sardines (the name they had for hide and seek) to where whoever was “it” got to abuse the “hostages” as he found them. This was his excuse for telling Mom she had to take her shirt off and show him her boobs. I guess they played a lot of sardines, back then, and he used every opportunity to move things along with her.

That conversation was a long one, and one of the best I’ve ever had with her, but I guess it isn’t really relevant to this story. Well, unless you want to hypothesize that the women of our blood line have a gene that craves sex, no matter who with or in what circumstances. I’ll admit, the similarities between what Bobby and I were doing and what Aunt Jennifer and Herb went through in 1942 are kind of eerie, but I don’t think it’s genetic. Now that I’ve had time to reflect on it all, I think we were just normal teens who were curious about sex, and who felt safe exploring it with someone we know loved us and wouldn’t go blabbing to the world at large. The diary simply gave us ideas of what could be done.

And yes, I get it that most brothers and sisters don’t do what we did. But there are lots of things a few people like doing, which the majority of other people avoid. Like wing suit flying, and underwater cave exploration. And eating Brussels Sprouts.

Anyway, Bobby’s hormones didn’t get back into adjustment for almost another week. Finally, he came to me and asked if I’d cheated on reading the diary.

“Bobby, I love you,” I said, patiently. “I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with me.”

“I think it’s simple,” I said. “You’re a brother, who thinks about his sister like a girlfriend, sometimes. That would make anybody a little discomposed.”

“Discomposed?”

“It’s a word Jennifer used in the diary,” I said.

“So you did cheat!” he said, dramatically.

“I did not!” I shot back.

“I don’t remember that word,” he said.

“It wasn’t on a page where she and Herb were doing something nasty, so I’m not surprised you didn’t see it!” I hissed.

His shoulders sagged.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I’m discombobulated.”

“Dis-composed,” I said.

“I’m discomposed,” he sighed.

I was tired of the strife and drama. I decided maybe we needed to talk about things, instead of just reacting to them.

“Sit down,” I said.

He looked around. We happened to be standing at one end of the living room, where there were no chairs.

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