Chapter 2

Nothing got investigated or even discussed further, that morning. When Mom got back from looking at garage sales, it being one of her rare days off, she decided we needed to go get some culture. Hastings was forty-five miles away, and it had a bunch of museums in it, so we went there. I liked the train museum best. You could climb up on the trains and go inside them and it was really interesting.

We had lunch at Taco Bell, which was a treat, and then went back home so Mom could catch up on laundry while I vacuumed and Emma washed all the windows. Dad got home from his most recent trip around four-thirty and, of course, he and Mom disappeared into their bedroom.

Based on previous situations like this, Emma and I were pretty sure the parents wouldn’t surface until late that night (to get a snack) or the next morning (to get breakfast). It didn’t bother us that our parents were blatantly sexual around us. It wasn’t like Dad was groping Mom in front of us, or she was sitting on his lap without panties on or something. To Emma and me, it wasn’t gross that our parents wanted alone time to do ... that. It felt good to know our parents really loved each other.

“You wanna watch a kissing movie?” I asked Emma.

“We don’t need any more of those,” she said. “We’re already good at kissing.” She put one hand on her hip. “What I want to do is finish our conversation from this morning.”

“You mean the one about how you want to grope my junk,” I teased.

“You groped me. It’s only fair that I get to grope you back.”

“How romantic,” I said.

“There isn’t supposed to be any romance between brothers and sisters,” she said.

“I’m pretty sure there isn’t supposed to be any groping between brothers and sisters, either,” I shot back.

“That’s different,” she said. “All we’ve been doing is educational stuff.”

“Watching a TED talk doesn’t mean we can act like I’m your boyfriend and you’re my girlfriend,” I said.

“So you don’t want to touch me again,” she said. I heard suppressed anger in her voice.

“I didn’t say that,” I said. “I’m very interested in touching you.”

“Then why are we arguing about it?” she moaned.

“Because arguing about stuff is what brothers and sisters are supposed to do,” I said.

I grinned at her. I thought I was pretty clever.

I wasn’t very clever at all, because she walked up to me and put her face right up against mine.

“I wouldn’t touch your pathetic penis right now if you paid me to!” she hissed.

And with that she flounced off to her room.

I was watching the Conehead movie, about an hour later, when my sister plopped down on the couch beside me.

“This is a stupid movie,” she said.

“You don’t have to watch it,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean what I said, earlier.”

“You mean you would touch my pathetic penis if I paid you to?”

“Bobby!” The warning in her voice was clear.

“Okay, okay. I don’t know why we were arguing, either.”

“I don’t want to argue. We used to argue all the time. I like it better the way things are recently,” she said.

“You mean with us doing stuff?”

“It’s more than that. I feel closer to you than I did before. It’s like we’re sharing something, and we don’t have to fight over it.”

“So, do you want to go share something right now?” I asked. “Mom and Dad are home, you know.”

“Yes, I know, but they won’t come out of the bedroom for hours. Turn that stupid movie off and come with me.”

My science teacher told us a story about how if you put a frog in a pot of water at room temperature, and then put the pot on the stove, the frog doesn’t feel the temperature change as the water heats up. He could jump out any time, but he doesn’t, because he doesn’t realize the danger. If you keep heating the water, he’ll eventually boil to death.

That’s a really good lesson to learn, because I think teenagers are like the frog, and sex is the water. My example of this is that, once we got to my room that night, I ended up lying on my bed with my pants down around my thighs and my dick exposed, and it didn’t feel like the water was heating up at all. She looked at my junk curiously, from several directions, but didn’t touch it. The situation wasn’t conducive to giving me a raging hardon, so my little friend was just reclining, all relaxed like, on his little bed of curly brown hair. I couldn’t see my balls, but I could feel them sagging down against the top of my butt. In that situation, the penis can be this little lump, about two inches long, or it can be longer, maybe four inches. I have no idea why it chooses to be either one, but I know it’s common. That famous statue of David, from back in ancient times, has him with bunches of muscles and a two inch dick.

She actually noticed the balls first, or at least talked about them first.

“Your balls look like the sack is made of rubber,” she said. “It looks like somebody put two jaw breakers in a sheet of hairy spandex.”

“I’ve never seen hairy spandex,” I said. “It’s kind of chilly, and when it’s that way, they kind of tighten up.”

“How come it’s not stiff?” she asked, changing the subject without warning.

“Um ... I’m not turned on?” I suggested.

“I read somewhere that teenage boys think about sex seventy times per hour. I thought guys had hardons most of the day.”

“Nope.”

“How do we make it hard?”

I liked the fact that it was “we” who were going to make it hard. That “we”, in fact, started the process, though she couldn’t see it, yet.

“I think it would help if I could see your tits ... I mean your breasts,” I said.

The water got hotter as, without any argument, Emma took her shirt off, and then unclipped her bra.

I had felt them, but never seen them, and they looked ... delicious.

“Wow!” she said. “That was fast.”

I looked and my cock was full, not completely hard, but now it was long and lying partway off its nest.

“I really like your breasts,” I said.

“I don’t get that,” she opined. “They’re just breasts.”

“Do you need to get it?” I asked. “What I have is just a penis, but you’re interested in it.”

“That is true,” she said. She leaned closer.

“The tip doesn’t look like the ones in pictures,” she said.

This was something I knew a little about.

“I still have a foreskin,” I said. I reached and tugged, and the wrinkled mass at the tip thinned and disappeared as it became part of the shaft.

“Circumcision,” she said. Apparently she knew a little about things, too.

“Yeah. Mom and Dad didn’t have me circumcised when I was a baby.”

“Ewww,” she said. “I can’t believe people would do that to a little baby!”

She leaned closer.

“I want to touch it,” she said.

“Go ahead,” I said.

The second her slim fingers tentatively gripped the shaft, I felt things stiffen up completely.

“This is amazing,” she said. She adjusted her grip and squeezed. “It’s warm!”

“Your breast was really warm when I felt it,” I said, looking at both of hers.

“It feels hard, but soft at the same time,” she said.

I reached for her hand, and made it glide up and down my stiff cock.

“Is that how you do it?” she asked.

I nodded.

“So it’s like my hand acts like a pussy, kind of,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“When will it spit?” she asked.

“Not for a long time if you do it slow. If I want to cum really bad, I speed up.”

“Show me,” she ordered.

The frog happily started stroking his cock as the water got hotter.

It was easy. All I had to do was stare at her breasts, and in no time I was ready to pop.

“Get ready,” I said. “It’s going to happen soon.”

Normally, I would have aimed it at a sock, or towel or something. This time I wanted to show off, so I made a mess. When it started, I aimed it straight up and it fountained into the air a good ten inches. There were three spurts in a row before it slowed to an ooze as I milked it.

She had backed up when it went off, her eyes wide.

“That’s what it does inside a girl?” she gasped.

“I hope so,” I groaned.

She reached between her thighs and rubbed the front of her jeans.

“Can I watch you do it, now?” I panted.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“Why?”

“I never wanted to get naked with a boy, before,” she said.

“Well, it’s not like I’ll hurt you,” I said.

“I know that,” she said, dismissively. “It’s just that I feel all wiggly inside. I have all these new feelings and they make me feel like I have no control.”

“What kind of new feelings?” I asked.

“Like, I always thought that blow jobs were stupid. I mean who’d want to put their mouth on what a boy pees through. But watching that made me feel like maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible.”

“You’re kidding. You’d give me a blow job?” I was astonished.

“No!” she said. “I wouldn’t. But how I feel about it changed, somehow.”

I arched my back and reached to pull my pants back up. Emma stood there and watched, and then looked around like she was waking up from a dream. She picked up her shirt and shrugged into it. She didn’t put her bra back on, though, and left it on the bed.

“That was pretty intense,” I said.

“You’re telling me,” she sighed.

“Want to kiss for a little while?” I suggested.

“I think I need some alone time,” she said. “To think about all this.”

I was afraid she’d decide the water was too hot, and jump out of it, like Connie had, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

She went to her room and I was left to clean up the mess I’d made. I got up and took my shirt off, wadding it up and putting it in the hamper. My pants had escaped the carnage. I put on a new shirt and cleaned up the spots of cum on the bedspread with a tissue. I put her bra under my pillow.

Then I went back to the living room and finished watching the Coneheads.

Just like you’re not supposed to lust after your sister, when your Mom comes out of the bedroom after your Dad comes home from a long trip, and her hair is kind of messed up and she has this goofy smile on her face, and she looks like what, later in life, you learn to call “well fucked”, you aren’t supposed to notice how sexy she looks, either.

But she acted like “Mom” and so I stopped looking at her chest and went back to ignoring her like a regular teen would. She asked if I had eaten, and when I said I had not, she said she was going to make a pot of chili. It was about seven-thirty, but chili sounded good, so I said I was in.

My father appeared, and he looked tired. It was better to think he was tired from the long trip, than it was to imagine his recent energy output in their bedroom, so I tried to ignore him, too.

“I remember the Coneheads,” he said, sitting down beside me on the couch.

“That’s because you’re old,” I said.

“I can still take you, so don’t get feisty,” he teased.

Emma came out of her room when the scent of the chili permeated the whole house.

We ate together and the rest of the night was completely normal.

Well, I spent a good deal of time watching the nipples of Emma’s braless breasts make dents in her shirt, and then disappear, and then come back, but other than that everything was normal.

Dad said he had three weeks before the next project started. What that actually meant was that he’d be home for three weeks before he had to go on another trip. During those three weeks he spent a lot of time in his home office, doing prep work on his computer, and Mom always had a long honey-do list for him. That old farmhouse needed a lot of maintenance. Sometimes she even helped him. Mom had been pulling double shifts at the hospital, because they were short of staff, but when he was home she turned down the overtime.

When you’re a horny teenage boy, you don’t really pay a lot of attention to external things. You have to go to school, and externalize there, but when you’re home, and not having to do chores or whatever, most of your thoughts are on internal things. Like how horny you are, and how you wish your sister would get finished “thinking about things” and get back to touching your cock again.

What we’d been doing, however, had somehow caused me to pay more attention to what was going on around me. And what I noticed most of all was that my mother and father slipped away to their bedroom a lot. By “a lot” I mean every day. And that didn’t count the nighttime hours. I was quite sure they’d been doing this for years, and I just hadn’t noticed it.