Ellen's Story

I hadn't realized why I was frequently attracted to younger men until my brother Roger visited us for three days last November. It had begun as a tragedy. Roger was just a year younger than me when we learned our parents were killed in an air accident; the incident was particularly newsworthy because of the spectacularly horrible way in which the airliner had plowed through a Southern California neighborhood. Television and newspaper coverage kept the awful circumstances before our eyes for days thereafter. We were alone in our home for three days, awaiting our aunt and uncle from Central Ohio to come for us. I would subsequently live with them only a year until I left to accept a job in another city; Roger stayed with them through college and R.O.T.C., after which he joined the Army. He's now a paratrooper. While we awaited my aunt and uncle who were driving cross country because they were afraid of flying, my brother and I were each emotionally vulnerable. Adult family friends visited daily, bringing us food and trying to keep our minds occupied with thoughts of the future, not the past or present.

The night before my aunt and uncle arrived, after Roger had showered, I heard him sobbing. He was still in the bathroom. I was nude, two rooms away in my closet, looking through a line of clothes for my pajamas. I gave up on the pj's, tugged my terry robe from a hanger, and tied it about me as I walked to the bath. The door was ajar. I pushed it open to find Roger, leaning over a sink as he splashed water in his face to clear his tears. Having just toweled off, his black hair was mussed and glistening. A dark blue towel was wrapped around his lower torso. His eyes were reddened as he looked up at my mirrored reflection and murmured, "I don't think I can take it anymore." Although he's now three inches taller, at that time Roger and I were the same height. I hugged him to me. Our bodies pressed together as I rocked his head on my shoulder. He seemed dazed by the emotional storm. He shuddered as he whimpered, "I don't want to stay in my room alone! Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

I led him by the hand to my room. Preoccupied with despair, he hadn't seemed to notice that his towel had fallen away as we entered my bedroom door. I averted my eyes from his smooth, nude body and invitingly patted the pillow alongside me on my small bed. I turned off the lamp, then billowed the thin white sheet over us as he crawled in beside me. He held me agonizingly like he was afraid he'd fall into some abyss as he lay quietly in the darkness. Like me, Roger was slender and long-limbed, his body as firm as mine from swimming and playing softball; we made a good fit, I'd thought as our arms twined around the other's neck. I smiled when he was finally slumbering, his cheek laying over mine. Just minutes later, I fell asleep. Sometime in the early morning hours, I awoke. My robe was open from the shoulders, exposing my warm nakedness. Roger, as always, snored lightly. My body was pressed to his nudity from our stomachs down to our legs. His body felt feverish. His hands were curled beneath his chin, his elbow resting between my breasts. Although I couldn't see his young penis which had swelled as he slept, I could feel its broad and lengthy firmness bulging between the vee of my legs. The pressure against my vagina had been what awakened me. Although I knew I shouldn't be feeling this way, I was electrified with the sexuality of my brother's naked flesh against mine.

I started to push him away until I remembered his crying. I didn't wish to awaken him. I lay that way for hours. Unmentionable images were running through my mind. His manhood burgeoned as his body twitched in sleep-induced dreams, causing me to shudder as it now and then slid ever so slightly through my legs and the furrows of my virgin womanhood. It was both torture and pleasure; I didn't want to remain in that agonizing position, yet didn't want to move. His head twisted to rest on my right breast, his lips brushing the nipple. He slept on. His mouth opened slightly to begin nursing my young breast as if his dreams had returned him to infancy. His tongue and lips worked over by breast with soft slurping sounds. His hips moved about, causing his penis to wriggle against my vagina. My hand, trapped beneath his head, cupped the back of his neck. I was fighting an urge to pull him even closer.

I was going out of my mind with desire; but the knowledge that to do so was wrong prevented me from responding. Eventually, the will power I'd mustered to pretend I was unaffected left me exhausted. I fell again into a deep slumber. For the rest of the night, I dreamed of a faceless man lying alongside me in the darkness as the two of us fondled the other. In the morning, we awoke to the jangling of the alarm clock perched on the headboard above me. I folded my arm behind me, afraid to touch him. Roger's face was pressing warmly into my tender breast. His lips enveloped the firmness of my excited nipple. His eyes fluttered open, rolling up to meet mine. Only slightly awakened, he glanced to the inviting breast before him and rolled back to the pillow. I couldn't have admitted that I didn't want him to stop nursing my pulsating nipple.

The erotic dreams had left me in a state of hyper-excitement. Except to reach and shut off the alarm, I hadn't moved. The room was dim, an hour away from sunrise. Roger's manhood was more aroused, its bulging base now throbbing against my clitoris. He looked shocked for a fleeting moment, then pretended nothing was wrong.

We stared at the other, both in a state of half-sleep. I could no longer control my frenzied body; my slender hips slowly rocked back and forth, massaging my clitoris over the lengthy curvature of his hardness. Our eyes closed. His elbow slid away from the young fullness of my breasts, his tremoring hands gently cupping and stroking the mounds. My nipples jutted out in excitation, bouncing beneath his touch.

I slowly became aware of my arm I'd folded behind me; my dangling hand was touching his penis that extended just beyond the back of my legs. My fingers were drawn to it, stroking the tip; my manipulations caused it to pulse and jitter, further arousing my stimulated body.

I rested my knee over Roger's hip, allowing my slender hand to reach for his member through the back of my legs. My fingers curled firmly around his young manhood. Cautiously, I pulled his penis' back and forth, afraid I might hurt him.

Although I'd had no such experience before, I knew just what to do. Just a month before, I had crawled to the backyard shed's roof to watch the stars; I was laying flat on my back, my hands folded beneath my neck; I glanced toward an almost imperceptible movement at Roger's lighted window. Roger was standing alongside his bed, his hand pumping against his groin. I'd sat up, bracing my elbows against the slant of the roof, and peered down to his window. And I KNEW immediately! He was MASTURBATING! Although the fascinating vision held no sensuality for me at the time, I was enthralled! I remember grinning as I watched; it was just all so INTERESTING!

And now, yes, in my sleepy turmoil, I knew just what to do. I was voluntarily masturbating him with my hand at my back! The skin seemed so thin against the pulsating muscle beneath. My fist was trembling like a leaf fluttering from our backyard maple tree. I shivered in the intoxication of the moment, feeling his manhood coated with my own heated vaginal oils. It was all so new to me! Our first sexual excitement was mounting in a tempestuous storm between the two of us! His eyes opened a moment, then closed again. He moved in and out of my legs, and all the time stroking my heaving breasts. We gasped together. His manhood pulled to and fro through my fingers. Gyrating my palpitating hips, I pressed my clitoris madly against his throbbing firmness.

He arched his back, his lips pulling on my nipple, and moaned. My breath hissed out like steam from a radiator. His body tensed, his arms tightening about me. He shuddered and groaned; then, my sensitive furrows felt his forceful jet thrust beneath me; his orgasmic fluid was rocketing through his manhood! The soft, warm liquid splashed through my hand, onto the back of my legs. I squealed, grasping his penis firmly. Our bodies shimmied as his teeth bit into my nipple, the pain causing tears to pool in my eyes. Our eyes snapped open in unison, the two of us beginning to fully awaken, realizing what we were doing! His face reddened. Each of us trembled, slowly pulling the sheet back. The robe was still open to my sides, my naked flesh pressed to his feverish and shuddering nude body. Roger puddled the sheet to the floor behind him.

He pulled away in a slow agonizing roll of his hips. His member seemed interminably long and unbelivably wet, gliding through my legs. An electric shock rippled through me. I didn't close my robe as he rose to a sitting position. He stood, turning to stare down at my breasts and my pulsing groin. My full lips parted in disbelief at what we'd done; yet, in my frenzied state, I kept pushing it to the back of my mind. I was breathless. My hips thrust out involuntarily as my tense, wet fingers combed frantically through the thick black curls over my mound. I spread my fingers, squeezing my groin as I gazed upon his awesome body in a way I had never seen it before. I was fascinated by his jutting length and the thickness of his black pubic hair. The purplish red tip glistened in the pale morning light; the bulging veins that ran the length of his excited rod throbbed, enhancing the erotic thunderstorm that was already rumbling through me. My lips trembled. My face glowed red. I was unable to tear my eyes away from his member, bobbing and pointing toward ME! I'd wanted to reach out and pull on it again; but now, fully awake, I restrained my almost overwhelming urge. His gaze roamed my quaking body.

Although I couldn't have admitted it, my hips were rolling and thrusting like I was inviting him back to the bed! My face burned in a shameless blush.

But Roger controlled himself, now feigning disinterest, as if it hadn't occurred. Lifting his towel from the floor at the doorway, he mumbled, "Want cornflakes for breakfast?"

Licking the fullness of my pale dry lips, I glanced to his pole pushing the towel out from his groin. I rolled on my back, feeling the puddle of his warm creamy liquid spreading beneath me. Closing and tying the robe, I went along with the charade, rose from the bed, and said, "Sure, I'll fix it." The image of his hardness, thrusting from the thick pubic hair, flitted through my mind the entire morning.

And the incident was never mentioned between us again. Until a month ago, when Roger visited us.

Bill's Story

The hairs now stand out on the back of my neck when I think where all this led to. I couldn't have known it early that night, but I was about to walk into a strange land of the mind that I couldn't have imagined if I hadn't been there.

I'd always liked Ellen's brother. He likes the Army, almost seeming to be married to it. He looks like he stepped from a recruiting poster - short black hair, athletic, and as handsome as Ellen is beautiful.

Having lived the first 18 years of my life in a military orphanage, I would have been expected to have cared as much for the Marines; but I didn't, even after nine years in the Corps before becoming a civilian engineer. Now, I think better of it in retrospect, tending to remember only the good parts. Roger, though, seems to live for nothing except the next jump from an airplane, the ten-mile runs, and all the unquestioned regimen that had once irritated the hell out of me. Like Ellen, he never swears, doesn't smoke, and drinks nothing alcoholic but a couple of glasses a wine a month, maybe even less. He laughs easily, never complains, and never runs out of jokes.

Ellen of course had told me about the incident with her brother, which fascinated me. During his second night of his three- day visit with us, we were swimming in our backyard pool while Roger was out jogging.

The moon's narrow sliver of gold hung in the black sky. The distant dining room's small window of light spilled across the trimmed lawn and onto the dark waters of the swimming pool, providing the only other illumination. Ellen swam to the pool ladder, grasped a rung, and said, "I think I know now why I'm often attracted to men a few years younger than me." It was out of the blue; we hadn't even been talking about Roger. I started to ask why but somehow knew exactly what she was thinking. I acknowledged, "Because of your brother." I raised my eyebrows questioningly. "Right?"

She nodded affirmatively and giggled, "Too weird for words, isn't it?" She clambered up the ladder, stripped off her swimsuit and lifted her hip-length beach robe from the pool deck. I paddled back a couple of feet from the pool's rim, looked up at her as she was toweling off, and suggested, "Why don't you tell him?"

She looked shocked, responding, "Oh, I couldn't!"

I crawled from the pool and reached for the towel. Draping my suit alongside hers on the lawn chair to dry in the night air, I picked up the other robe, pushing my arms through its sleeves as I walked behind her through the darkened hedges and into the house. I cinched my robe and said, "Who knows? He could've been disturbed over the memory. Talking it out could solve some problems." Looking back, I don't really think I believed what I was saying, that the memory bothered her brother. He was one of the most well adjusted men I'd known. But I added, "I'm sure he hasn't forgotten it." Perhaps if I'd thought more about my deeper motives, I wouldn't have pursued the conversation, but eventually Ellen agreed that just bringing the subject up would be harmless. We were sitting in nothing but our robes at the kitchen bar, drinking tea while awaiting Roger to return from his nightly jog. Ellen thought over my suggestion, then turned from the bar stool. She smiled with an agreeable nod.

As I watched her long, firm legs walk toward the hallway, I laughed, asking, "Where are you going?"

She returned a half minute later and said, "Just removed the towels from the bathroom." I was puzzled.

Just moments later, Roger knocked, opened the front door, and strode into the foyer. He was dressed in yellow running shorts and jogging shoes. A silver military chain dangled about his neck. He grinned, sweat running from his black hair down his face. He waved at us, and mumbled, "Going to the shower! Join you in a minute." When he closed the door, I turned to Ellen and grinned in realization at what she'd done, "O-kay. So he's going to have to ask for a towel, and you're going to take it to him."

She bit her lip, smiled, and acknowledged, "Uh-huh." My nostrils flared slightly at the fresh smell of a cologne she'd splashed on while she'd been in the hallway.

Just two minutes later, Roger was calling from the half opened door. Ellen pulled a couple of rose colored towels from the closet and walked in, holding out a towel, draping the other over her arm. I glanced down the hall to the bath mirror's reflection through the open door. He didn't cover himself as he dried off; Ellen was leaning against the sink and chatting with him as he ran an electric razor over his late-evening stubble. He wrapped the towel around his hips.

They joined me at the kitchen bar. As they talked, they seemed detached and unconcerned with the out-of-place occurrence. She'd been casually talking to him while he was nude! I was amazed. I reached to the liquor cabinet and retrieved a spectacular potion I'd intermixed for special occasions, a third-quart of grain alcohol with white wine, the taste disguised by a few drops of tobo oil as I'd learned while stationed in Turkey.

I pulled 3 wine glasses from our cupboard and poured; and although they kept insisting they'd drunk enough, I kept pouring their glasses full. And when we were later sitting in the floor and talking, my back to a wall and their backs against the couch, I rested my elbow on the coffee table and filled their glasses again. Although Ellen drinks very little, she knew that wine mixed with pure alcohol has a lightening-like, numbing effect; I found it interesting that she wasn't offering any comments other than just calling it "wine."

They'd lost count of the drinks. Roger stared blankly at the glass I'd just refilled and laughed, "No more! I'm drunk." I knew he wasn't kidding; I'd been sipping only a single glass of the potent potion and was more adept than either of them at holding liquor; yet I could feel electrical currents racing through me. The tobo oil would make it worse; it's like eating butter before drinking; you don't really know you're drunk when your stomach's coated with butter; then as the oil's absorbed, the full effect hits at once. "Me too," Ellen giggled; but she took one more swallow, set the glass on the table, and waved toward the bottle negatively. She added, "That's IT for ME! My head will be the size of a basketball by morning." They thought about the image of a basketball balancing on Ellen's shoulders an instant, then burst out laughing in unison, drunk for the first time in their lives.

I walked to the far side of the kitchen bar where I was just able to see their shadowed images in the mirrored wall. Folding my arms, I leaned my back against the refrigerator, watched, and listened.

Ellen sighed, patting his hand across her bare legs that were jutting from her hip-length terry robe. She reminisced, "Being in my robe, while a towel's wrapped around your waist, reminds me of something that once happened between us."

Her brother's eyes were glazed. He was having trouble comprehending their simple conversation and mumbled, "What's that?" She told him. He hesitated before answering, then nodded, saying, "I think about that night every once in a while."

Although Ellen hadn't noticed, her white beach robe had fallen open as she leaned forward, exposing generous proportions of her breasts and her slim stomach. Roger stole occasional glances at her semi-bared breasts as she breathed softly and at the brownish circle of a nipple that he could see from where he sat.

She flattened the palm of his hand against her thigh; the tips of her fingers brushed his muscular arm. She asked, "What do you think about?"

He described the incident just as Ellen had told me, stopping now and then in his recollection as if he kept forgetting his train of thought. And eventually he'd recalled it in great detail. The effect of the alcohol and the sensuality of the remembrance were having a noticeable effect on him.

Her senses dazed, Ellen hadn't noticed his engorged member pushing the soft towel around his hips toward the ceiling. She smiled softly, "That incident didn't bother me. I just wanted to know if it had a lasting effect on you."

He looked sheepish, his forehead wrinkled slightly as the corners of his eyes sought hers. "I think of it in a fond way." Cautiously, he reached for another sip of wine and went on, "I probably shouldn't say this." He gulped the wine. "I'd wanted it to happen again."

They were still chatting when I strolled back in the room but stopped talking as they looked up at my intrusion. Turning to Roger, Ellen said, "Oh, don't worry. Bill knows all about it. He gets excited every time I tell him the details." She could never have admitted that if she had been as cold sober as I was. They laughed when I nodded and said, grinning, "Most exciting thing I'd ever heard."

I rolled my tongue thoughtfully against the inside of my cheek and said, "I didn't really think of it as incest. I mean you didn't have intercourse."