Chapter 4

“I thought we weren’t going to do this,” I said.

We were lying together, our bodies touching. I wasn’t in her anymore and we were just kissing and cuddling.

“We weren’t,” she said. “Things change.”

“Things changed a lot, Emma,” I said.

“I know, but I love the changes.”

“Yes, until you miss a couple of periods and have to tell Mom and Dad you’re pregnant.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Famous last words,” I said. “How many girls in our school do you know who got pregnant and didn’t think that would happen to them?”

“All of them,” she said. “But they were stupid. I’m not.”

“Again, famous last words,” I sighed.

“So you’re saying you don’t want to make love with me again?”

“I think you know better, but I’m not the one who won’t fit into my clothes if things go wrong.”

“You worry too much. How long before you can get hard again?”

“They only went to lunch,” I said. “They won’t be gone for hours and hours.”

“I only want to do it one more time before they get back,” she said. She rolled on top of me and kissed me long and hard.

Turns out I got hard again a lot sooner than I thought I would. The problem was that our parents didn’t dilly dally at dinner.

Emma was, in fact, convulsing around my cock and I was thinking about sperming her again when we heard the garage door opener working.

She was in her room with a book open on her chest and I was in the shower when they came in the house. My sheets were unwashed and who knew what kind of stains were on them.

I was toweling off when I heard my dad say, “Bob’s taking a lot more showers, recently,” and my mother said, “Don’t complain. He needs to. This morning he was really rank.”

“I only pay the water bill,” said Dad. “Who am I to complain?”

“As I recall, I work, too,” said Mom.

“You do!” he said, cheerfully. “And my son needs those showers. What do you have planned for this afternoon?”

Their voices descended to murmuring. I had lost my boner in the shower, primarily from fear, I think, but I hadn’t had time to warm the water up, either, so that might have had something to do with it. I was a little grumpy. Emma had gotten her orgasm, or at least part of one.

Apparently it wasn’t enough, because later that night, around midnight, she crept into my room again. At least this time she had on her PJs.

Not for long, though.

I could not resist her. It’s just that simple. I had gone to bed wearing jockey shorts and she raked off two layers of skin ripping them off of me. She got on top of me and just plain used me until she got off. Then she lay down on me and whispered, “You can roll me over now. I want to feel you go off in me.”

I was trying to be quiet, and found out that, if I stayed deep in her and rolled my hips, the tip of my penis ran into something hard at the end of her tunnel that kind of massaged the head of my cock. I didn’t have to saw it in and out of her at all. I pushed my face into the pillow when I came, and hosed her down good. She gripped my ass cheeks and squeezed them as I came.

“I want to stay here all night,” she whispered, when I rolled off of her.

“You know that’s a crazy idea,” I whispered back.

“I know, but it’s how I feel. As I recall, you wanted me to stay here all night, not long ago.”

“If you ever want to do this with me again, you need to go,” I said.

“I can’t believe you’d blackmail me like that!” she objected.

“I’m not blackmailing anybody,” I said. “If they catch us, do you think we’ll ever get to do it again?”

“Oh,” she said.

She got up and put her PJs back on. She went to the door and opened it ... and ran right into Mom, who was standing in the hallway.

“What are you doing?” I heard Mom ask. I sat up and pulled my shorts back on, ripping off two more layers of skin. As I did that, I heard Emma say, “I needed to talk to Bobby about something.”

“At this hour? And why was the light off?”

“I turned it off before I left,” said Emma. I didn’t detect any tremor in her voice and was impressed. She had a future as an actress. “What’s the big deal, Mom? I had a question about why boys act the way they do and he’s the only boy around.”

“You could ask your father,” said Mom.

“Like he could remember what it was like to be a boy. He’s old, Mom!”

“Your father is not old. He’s handsome, and virile and young.”

“Too much information, Mother,” groaned Emma. “Ewww.”

“Go to bed,” ordered Mom.

My door opened and a silhouette much too tall to be Emma filled the doorway.

“Bob? Are you awake?”

“What now?” I groaned. “Won’t anybody in this house let me sleep?”

“Never mind,” she said. “Good night.”

The door closed. I tried to remember if I had heard sniffing noises. I was sure my room smelled like sex, but maybe she was too distracted to notice.

That had been even closer than earlier that day. I think my heart was still going a mile a minute, because I could feel it pounding in my chest.

We couldn’t call things that closely in the future.

We just couldn’t.

Emma felt the same way. While she had acted her role flawlessly, she, too had been scared shitless.

The result was, we cooled it completely, and went back to self pleasure. We even went so far as to sign up for extracurricular activities, so that we spent as little time alone at home as possible. I got my learner’s permit, which allowed me to drive to and from school, and Dad got me an old clunker to drive. One rule was that I could not have any other teenagers in the car with me. Emma was the exception, so I could bring her home from after school activities, when the buses were all parked back wherever they park them. She still had to ride the bus to school, but she didn’t complain about that.

We managed that for the rest of the semester. It was a little like a drug addict going cold turkey. It was hard in the beginning, but as time passed, it got easier. There finally came a time when it seemed like those hours, rolling around naked in bed, seemed like a dream.

Then school was over and we were undone. Suddenly, we had all day together alone at home. My learner’s permit was useless, and I couldn’t get my real license until July, which seemed like it was years away.

It was our third day of summer vacation when Emma wandered into the living room, where I was playing one of my older video games on the TV. It had been long enough since I played it that my skills had eroded, and it was actually challenging me.

“I’m bored,” she complained.

“What do you want to do?” I asked, distractedly.

“You know what I want to do,” she groaned.

By this time, we had gone without for long enough that we didn’t make any veiled references to the past, or even acknowledge the past at all.

“I do?” I died a horrible death and threw the controller on the couch.

“I want to get naked with you and have a dozen orgasms,” she moaned.

Chapter two of “Instant boners I’ll always remember” happened.

Just like that, we fell off the wagon.

I was amazed, because I lasted long enough on top of her to give her three orgasms before I blew my brains out through my penis. Dad was gone again, and Mom had already told us she was taking another double shift, so we had hours and hours before we needed to look innocent.

I fucked her four times that day. We were insatiable. It was like we were newlyweds on our honeymoon. My spunk was literally dripping down her leg between times.

That satisfied us for almost a week, primarily because that day was on the edge of her fertile time, and getting her bell rung that much gave her the strength to resist me until she was safe again.

I thought about going to town to buy some condoms. There were two problems with that. The local cop knew me and knew what kind of license I had. The town wasn’t that big and he knew everybody. That was also the root of the second problem. Anyplace I could buy condoms, they knew my mother. Half the town had been her patient at one time or another.

And driving all the way to Hopewell, which was the next town down the highway, was too dangerous.

So, for most of the rest of the summer, I fucked my sister well and often ... and bareback. The only concession we made (other than her timetable) was that she found out she liked the taste of my cum. There were a number of times that I pulled out of her and she scrambled down there to drink my spunk. She never sucked me from start to finish, though. If she sucked me when I was soft, it was to get me hard. She didn’t suck me anymore until she got her cookies. Then she’d empty me out with her mouth, particularly if it was on the cusp of her safe time.

I got my regular license in July, but Dad had gotten the kind of insurance on my car that was cheaper than normal, as long as I didn’t drive more than 7500 miles per year. If I used it for school every day, that got pretty close to 7500 miles just that way, so I couldn’t go riding around just for fun. I also had to buy my own gas, and I preferred using my allowance for other things.

I did make the trip to Hopewell, though, and bought a box of twelve condoms.

I didn’t realize condoms are a one-time-use kind of thing. I thought you could use them two or three times and then toss them. Trying to do that turned out to be both messy and frustrating, because even if you wash them out, you can’t roll the damn things back up.

So that box of condoms was gone in a week, and if we kept using them at that rate, I wouldn’t be able to put gas in the car to go get more.

Plus, Emma hated them. She said my dick didn’t feel warm in her anymore and she couldn’t feel me cum.

I’m still amazed that we got through that summer without making a baby in Emma’s womb, but somehow it happened. People said the rhythm method was dangerous, even worthless, but it worked pretty well for us.

My junior year was interesting, because the “All B average” rule kicked in and I had to actually study. Getting an A in math was easy for me. Other subjects were more challenging. Emma had boys following her in groups of four or five and she grinned all the time now, no longer embarrassed by her braces. I still think it was the self-confidence she built up because of all the things I groaned in her ear while I fucked her. That self-confidence got transmitted to all the guys. She was very sure of herself and strong women are attractive.

She started kissing boys under the stairwell a lot, which is why she got caught doing it and our mother got called. We went to a combined high school, that served three different small towns, so they had lots of rules to make sure kids from different places didn’t get into turf wars and stuff like that. I thought it was interesting that a kid who brought a homemade, wooden, rubber band gun to school got expelled for the rest of the year and Emma’s amorous behavior with a boy under the stairwell only got my mother a phone call. And the kid with the rubber band gun didn’t even have any rubber bands on him. All he had was a hand-sawn shape of a gun with a wooden clothes pin glued on top of it. Emma, on the other hand, could have ripped some poor boy’s lips to shreds, or given him some dreaded virus or something.

Can you tell I wasn’t pleased about her kissing all those guys?

Anyway, Mom took Emma into the bedroom that night and “gave her the talk”, as they say. She talked about how girls have urges and those urges need to be controlled, lest bad things happen that limit a girl’s options in the future. That’s code for “get pregnant”. Emma said she just wanted to see what kissing was like, and the boys were anxious to show her. Of course she had to try it with different boys, because obviously it would be different. Then Emma started asking questions about when Mom kissed Dad for the first time, and what that was like, and did they make out and Mom got uncomfortable (which was Emma’s plan) and said, “No more kissing boys!” in no uncertain terms and then let her daughter go.

She should not have let her daughter go. She should have recognized that she had passed the ‘horny gene’ on to her baby girl, and puberty had turned that gene ‘on’ in a big way.

Okay, I have to admit here, I did the same thing Emma did when Mom gave her “the talk.” Basically, Emma blamed it all on the boys she kissed, who were “eager to show her what kissing was like.” And I shifted the blame for what Emma was doing by blaming some gene that science can’t prove exists (yet).

But I was the one crawling between her legs and pushing my stiff prick into her horny, fifteen-year-old pussy on a regular basis. I like to tell myself that I’m a “good” big brother, because while I couldn’t resist her, I didn’t seek her out and initiate sex, either.

To be honest, she crept into my bed often enough late at night and (usually) rode me until she was satisfied, that I was satisfied most of the time, too. Whether I spurted in her pussy or in her mouth didn’t make that much difference to my penis. Of course it was always better if I didn’t have to pull out of her when the urge hit me, but I couldn’t complain. It beat the heck out of having to take matters in hand, so to speak.

Anyway, “the talk” didn’t slow Emma down at all.

And that’s why, just before the summer in which I would turn seventeen and she would turn sixteen, she missed a period.

I’m not blaming it on Emma. Not at all. I knew the risks, too.