Chapter 4

Summer dragged on painfully. We wrote letters. Rowan got back into archery, and she sent me some photos, which I then sketched. Then school started. She asked if I had a date for Homecoming. I told her I was going to ask Kit.

I found myself thinking of Rowan as my girlfriend sometimes, and then swiftly chastised myself. Some kissing and a little touching, I told myself, was merely bending the boundaries of decency. That much was okay, as long as we were careful, but we could never do more than that. We could never “date”. And we certainly could never do the things that teenage boys and girls do when they’re dating. We would exercise restraint.

Dad convinced Rowan’s mom to let us have her for Thanksgiving. Uncle Patrick and his roommate Hugh - whom we also had called uncle for as long as I could remember - were given my bedroom, so I was on the couch in the living room. Rowan was sharing her bedroom with Aunt Barb. It seemed like we would never get a moment alone.

Thanksgiving night I woke up to the sound of the kitchen faucet. When Rowan saw that I was awake she sat down next to me with a glass of water in hand. “So...,” she said without a plan. “Did Kit put out?”

“Nah, not even a kiss,” I answered. “I must be unlucky. I hear she’ll go to second base with someone she likes enough.”

“Oh, you heard that did you?” She accused playfully. If she hadn’t had a glass in her hands I’m sure she would have tickled me.

Her hair was down but she had her glasses. She was wearing a nightshirt that ended tantalizingly high on her thighs, and I couldn’t stop wondering whether there was anything underneath. Her foot nudged and then caressed mine.

I looked around like a spy, assessing all of the ways we could be observed. “Have you seen the garage?” I asked with hammy cunning.

She spoke in the stiff parody of espionage cliches: “Why no, Jamie, I have not seen the garage. I am very interested to see this garage of which you speak.”

Once inside the garage, I positioned a variety of brooms and buckets in the way of the door to give us a warning if anyone approached. “Getting caught would be really bad,” I remarked while I worked.

Rowan giggled. “Oh, do you think so?”

We ended up in the jump seat of the station wagon, her straddling my legs and facing me. “So, kiss number three?” She asked, but she was already grinding into my junk. I was getting hard and she was feeling it.

“Yeah,” I said, getting lost in the feeling.

“Yeah,” she echoed, mocking me with her dopy male-voice affectation. But then pure affection flashed on her face, and she pounced on my lips.

She pulled up the front of her nightshirt so that it was just her panties rubbing against my sweatpants. She kept wiggling and grinding, looking for the perfect fit, and she found it, gnashing my hard dick between her folds to escalate our feelings. We both moaned into each other’s mouths. I hoped she would come.

Her nightshirt’s buttons only went halfway down from her collar. After opening them up and pulling on one shoulder, I managed to free Rowan’s right breast - my sister’s tit, a respectable handful of sweater meat. I squeezed it and she cried with need. I inched my thumb close to her nipple, moving in little circles and she went mad. Her hips were smashing into mine furiously, desperately fighting for that little bit more she needed for release. She stopped kissing me; she looked at me with a sort of open-mouthed amazement. Then she closed her eyes, bit her lip, and whined, dry-humping me like a beast.

I couldn’t help it. I was too turned on and she had been rubbing me too vigorously. I made a sticky wet mess inside my sweatpants, and I started to go soft.

“No...,” she muttered forlornly, with suddenly less substance to grind on.

“I’m sorry,” I begged her.

She kept mashing her groin against mine, but it wouldn’t work anymore - the magical fit was gone. I couldn’t leave it like that. I moved her, laying her on her back on the seat while I knelt beside her. I put my hand on her panties. They were as wet as if she’d been swimming. I moved my hand ignorantly, trying to reignite her spark.

“Show me,” I asked. She put her hand on mine and taught me what she needed: light vigorous tugs near the top, sometimes circles, sometimes back and forth. She began to moan again.

I approached her breast with my mouth. She could feel my breath and it excited her. I kissed it, just outside the areola. Her legs were no longer under her command: they wobbled and flexed, clenching and kicking at the wagon windows.

“Harder,” she commanded. I dug my fingers into her soaked panties, shaking my hand as violently as I could. Her needy whine returned. When I sucked her nipple into my mouth she exploded. Her glasses fell off and she twitched with orgasm. Eventually, she put her hand on mine to stop it and nudged my head away from her breast.

We sat there, holding each other’s hands, not saying anything for minutes. Even as we returned to the house we stayed silent. We just lobbed goofy grins at each other over and over until we parted ways on the steps, risking one quick inside-the-house kiss.

On the day after Thanksgiving, we tried to convince the family to go off on their day of errands and sales without us, but they wouldn’t have it. Aunt Barb insisted on spoiling Rowan with some new clothes, and Dad was going to need my help loading some home renovation supplies. We did, however, stop at the movie theater. Rowan and I chose a different movie than the rest of the family, of course, and there, anonymous in the crowded theater, we had our first “date”. It was just a little kissing during the dark parts of the previews, and hand-holding the rest of the time, but it was special to us.

Aunt Barb left that evening,, so Rowan had a bedroom to herself. “Sneak in when it’s safe,” she told me. “Wake me if I’m asleep.”

So late at night, long after everyone had gone to bed, I crept into my sister’s bedroom, not daring to knock or turn on a light. Luckily, there was some moonlight shining through the window.

She was curled up on her side under a blanket, sleeping. My first thought was to shake her shoulder, but the shape of her butt and legs under the covers put wicked thoughts in my mind. I wasn’t sure if she would actually enjoy being awakened the way I planned, but I was confident that she’d respect the attempt.

The blanket came off, but she didn’t stir. I peeled her panties all the way down the lengths of her smooth legs. No reaction. When I rotated her hips to open her legs, she fought me a little, ending in a compromise where her hips were flat on the bed but her upper body was still tilted to the side, hugging a pillow.