Chapter 3

What followed - well, to be honest, what followed was clumsy and inept. I didn’t really know what to do, she probably didn’t know what I should do. We were both discombobulated from the run-up, and also not positioned very well for me to accomplish what she evidently wanted, which was to masturbate her to orgasm. I instinctually sought and found the wetness and slipped my finger between her lips, but I was trying to penetrate when (as I eventually came to understand) I should have been using the wetness to advantage as a lubricant with which to rub her clitoris, the hard, pea-like nub that I initially paid almost no attention to in my eagerness to get inside. My initial fumbling wasn’t having much of an effect and I nearly panicked, but soon enough Chrissy shifted position again, ending up resting on my lap, looking up at me.

In this position, I almost couldn’t do anything else but the right thing. Chrissy is pretty short and my right hand was perfectly positioned to rub her clitoris, which, somehow getting the right idea without any further encouragement, I proceeded to do vigorously. I know now, with more sexual experience, that Chrissy’s somewhat unusual in that she can take — in fact requires — prolonged direct stimulation of her clit. Other women I’ve been with since have had very different tolerances for this (in fact my wife is on the other extreme; she can’t stand any direct stimulation). But this was my first time touching a girl down there. I just went at it, and fortunately that was exactly what Chrissy wanted: she sighed and relaxed into me, then, as I continued to rub, watching and almost drooling over her beautiful tits and her belly, she started to breathe faster and harder, and make those little squeaking noises that I absolutely adore. Finally, a pink flush suffused her chest, the squeaks deepened into moans, she began alternately to tense and relax her thighs, and then, all at once, she groaned and came, hard, trapping my hand between her thighs, jerking the top of her head repeatedly against chest.

At the moment of my sister’s orgasm, I suddenly became aware how strong the odor of her excitement was. It completely overpowered the strawberry shampoo smell, and her hair - like the rest of her - was damp now, not with residual water from her shower, but with her perspiration. She lay there now, wordless, looking adorable, gasping for the breath, my hand still on her vulva, her chest and face still flushed, her breasts poking straight up, her tummy looking flatter than usual as she leaned back. I had no idea what to do, so I said something pretty stupid: “I love you, Chrissy.” Stupid, because of course I loved her: she was my sister. Stupid, because it would have been a ridiculous thing to say after my first real sexual encounter, even if she had been merely a girlfriend. Stupid, because it almost demanded an answer like “I love you too” and that was too much to ask from my sister at that moment. Indeed, she didn’t say anything, but thank God, she didn’t look as horrified as I felt after the words slipped out of my mouth. In fact, she didn’t look horrified at all. She looked happy. Not deliriously so, not like someone who had fallen wildly in love, but like someone who felt comfortable and safe. That made me happy. I wanted her to feel comfortable and safe.

We lay there like that for a while, then Chrissy whispered “I guess I’d better take a shower.” I didn’t want the moment to end, but I knew it would have to. For one thing, it was probably late, and our parents were likely to come home from their evening out sometime in the next few hours. Also, I would probably go crazy if I didn’t get myself off soon. My hard-on had returned with a vengeance (curiously, I don’t think I was erect while I was masturbating my sister: I got hard afterwards, looking down on her and thinking about how I wanted her to feel comfortable and safe with me). I would probably have waited for Chrissy to get in the shower and then jerked myself off in seconds, but she walked into the bathroom (which was between our bedrooms - we would check for the light under the door to avoid barging in on each other) and didn’t close the door. Awkward! The bed was perfectly visible from the bathroom and would probably even be somewhat visible through the translucent shower curtain. No jerking off for me.