Chapter 15

The behavior that my sister and I exhibited after our last erotic encounter was a Xerox copy of every other time we'd come together with the energy of two freight trains in the night. We had pulled back a little and our old approach-avoidance dance was played out one more time. Oh, we didn't ignore each other and we certainly didn't engage in the silent treatment, but there was a certain tender, eggshells-tip-toeing around with us.

The morning after our last unplanned sexual tussle, I'd awakened with a lightness and freshness of spirit, feeling at ease with my self and the world and secure in the knowing that I was, at base, an OK guy. I knew I was OK, but I didn't know if Jean felt the same way about herself. I worried about her psyche and wanted to touch base with her as soon as possible.

That on my mind, I came down to breakfast just a little later than usual as Jean was telling our Mom that she had to drop off her car at the mechanic's and would she pick her up after?

"I will," I offered, hoping to have the chance to have some "plain talk" with Jean.

"You have an interview this afternoon you told me," Mom offered. "How're you going to handle that and pick up Jean?"

"Rats! I forgot," I said, slapping my forehead in dramatic overstatement. "Sorry, Sis. Guess I can't."

"That's cool, Billy." She smiled one of those exquisitely bright smiles and turning to Mom said, "You're playing tennis at the club today, aren't you? You could pick me up later, huh?"

"Sure, baby. Call me or leave a message at the club if your plans change, OK?" Mom said as they both threw me a warm smile and left at the same time.

And so it went for a couple of weeks. Little things like that - small hitches kept occurring that seemed to prevent us from spending anything more than a few minutes with each other. Yet, Jean's upbeat attitude and positive outlook on life, now even more evident, assured me that she wasn't stuck in some emotionally gray place and my need to reassure her gradually became less pressing.

In fact I'd almost forgotten it when one afternoon one of my labs at school was canceled and I found myself unexpectedly home early. As it turned out, Jean's writing seminar had also been canceled. Her Prof. had been called away and hadn't had time to get a sub.

I found her sitting, tilted back in a chair on the redwood deck, her long tanned legs braced against the railing, just looking off into the valley. She was wearing a pair of yellow shorts that I remembered from last summer. They were tight then. Atop that, she had on a sleeveless pull over and I was immediately aware she wasn't wearing a bra. For a long moment, I admired her prominent nipples indenting her thin cotton shirt. I seemed always to be aware of things like that. Then I looked at her lips, half-open, a little pouty it seemed.

It had occurred to me that I'd seen my sister naked, or nearly naked, in the past. That I'd touched her intimately... she'd even once sucked my cock. We'd shared our secrets with each other and knew we loved each other deeply. But I'd never kissed her. Oh, I'd given her a chaste peck on the cheek and once or twice on her lips, mine all puckered up. But I'd never really kissed her.

Coming up beside her chair, I leaned over and looked into her eyes and asked, "Would you mind if I kissed you?"

"On the lips, I hope?" She smiled up at me as I bent over slowly, trying to keep eye contact.

She tilted her head back and with her lips slightly open, offered her mouth to me. Trying to keep my own lips soft, I touched hers, feeling her mouth open a little more as we kissed softly. It was indescribably sweet. I felt as though I were sinking into her. Flicking the tip of my tongue between her lips, I felt hers brush mine and then retreat.

Feeling a bit heady, I pulled up a chair next to her and said, "Hi, kid. How's it goin'?" Last year she would have had a fit if I'd called her "kid" but it didn't seem to bother her today. Maybe it had something to do with the kiss.

"Billy! That was nice. You've never kissed me like that before!"

"Thanks. I liked it too. Before I settle, can I get you anything?"

"Yes, would you get us a couple of sodas? I'm feeling lazy and I'd love it if you'd wait on me. I'd like to be pampered."

"Sure... and I won't dump the ice down your shirt either."

She turned her head to smile at me and said, "Yes. I remember."

Holding the glasses under the ice dispenser, I listened to it grind away with its characteristic clunking noises and recalled that I'd not had the chance to talk with her intimately since the morning after our phone sex, the time when she'd dropped her scented panties on my face.

Handing her the tall, cold glass, I said, "Jean, I'd like to talk with you about something... "

She interrupted and said, "Yes. Yes we will... but first I want to ask you something and I'm too nervous to wait. Can I go first?"

With an exaggerated, longsuffering sigh, I said, "Oh... all right, I guess."

There appears to be several Billys that live in my head. One is the kid, spontaneous and genuine. Another is the adolescent who's very concerned about looking hip, slick and cool. He's the one who thinks constantly about getting laid and he's convinced that he's got to look good to score. It was that impatient teenager in me that was so ungracious and pouting.

"I'll try to be quick, Billy. This is right up your alley and I know you'll be glad I consulted with you."

It was as if Jean knew about the several personalities that resided in my head and knew just what to say. The adolescent brightened right up, thinking his manly knowledge was being sought. "Sure, kid. Take your time," I said, mentally slicking back my hair.

Even though no one else was home -- actually, no one was within a half mile of us -- Jean leaned over, cupping her hand at the corner of her mouth to whisper confidentially in my ear, "Billy, uh... remember the uh... the thong panties? The ones I bought at Victoria's Secret this summer?"

As if I could forget! The image of Jean, modeling those panties in the store, bending over... me, certain I was going to be grabbed by the scruff of my thick red neck and hauled off to jail -- hell, my thoughts alone could get me 50 years! -- did I remember? I've never forgotten. So, with my eyebrows a little knitted, I replied, "No, what panties?"

For as long as perhaps one, or at the most, two seconds, Jean looked at me with surprise and then seeing the twinkle in my eye, she laughed in relief and said, "You shit, you! Come ON, I'm serious."

"Jean, I might forget my name or where I live, but I'd never forget those panties. Besides, you never did model them for me," I added in a fake petulant tone.

Her eyes unfocused for a moment, as if remembering herself, and then she replied, "Yes, I owe you. But as I recall, something else came UP that day."

Palms up, I replied, "Am I an ungrateful wretch or what?" And then glancing at her yellow shorts -- they'd climbed even higher -- I asked, "Is that all you wanted to ask?"

"No, silly. There's something else... kinda embarrassing really." She was studying some invisible spot on her thigh.

The only topic Jean had ever mentioned being embarrassed over was something about sex. I loved it when she was tentative that way, for it always seemed to lead to sexy talk. I didn't try to bail her out. I just looked at her expectantly, one eyebrow elevated. I'd once seen Cary Grant do that in an old movie. Looked good on him.

She looked at me imploringly, as if I might read her mind and answer her question. I remained silent. Very uncharacteristic of me.

"OK, OK... here's the deal," Jean finally rushed on. "I remembered that I'd promised to model them for you, so I got em out and tried them on again this morning... " She hesitated.

"And?" I prompted, watching the color rise in her cheeks, looking at her full lips, wanting to kiss her again.

"And they stick out," she gushed, almost as one word and then again in a whisper, "I mean, my pubic hair sticks out on the sides. I'd forgotten that part." And she stopped as if the problem was now self evident.

"Yes?" I replied, making an impatient gesture with my hand as if to say, And then what?

"Well, can't you see?"

"Actually I can't. But I'd love to," I added hopefully, looking pointedly at her shorts pulled tightly into the prominent crease between her parted thighs.

"The problem, dummy, the problem," she corrected me in a vain attempt to guide my thinking.

At this point I was no longer thinking. My hind brain had taken over and the sex addict who lives up there was chortling, "Oh boy, here we go, Billy."

"Problem?" I asked. Now I wasn't pretending.

"Billy! For a bright guy, sometimes you are really dense. If I'm going to wear those obscenely brief panties, I can't wear them with a lot of pubic hair sticking out, can I?"

"Is that what you wanted to ask?"

"No! That isn't it. I wasn't asking your opinion about how good or bad it would look. I know that." Then as if explaining to a dull kid, she went on in a reasonable voice, "Sure, pubic hair is sexy, but not hanging out of panties, or a bikini. It needs to be trimmed."

The sex-addict suddenly clapped his hands with understanding and glee and said to me, "Oh boy, Billy! Oh boy, oh boy. You're gonna score!"

The cool teenager said to Jean, "So, how can I help you?"

Dropping her gaze, Jean murmured, "I've always done it myself, but... but I thought maybe you might want to help."

"You mean trim your pubic hair? Me? I get to trim your pubic hair?" I asked with unrestrained enthusiasm... a sudden and definite loss of being "cool".

"Well, yes... if you want to that is... but if you've got... " and her voice trailed off as she looked at me, a little apprehensive and looking incredibly vulnerable.

"God, Jean! I'm honored... I mean I'd be delighted to... to help you." I didn't have to fake any sincerity or enthusiasm with this affirmation.

She seemed almost to slump in her chair with relief. How frightening it must have been to take such a chance with her kid bother, to have stretched herself so much and how relieved she appeared to be when I jumped with joy at the opportunity.

"Oh, good! I've got everything upstairs in my room. The scissors, the comb, and the clippers... "

Interrupting, I asked, "The straight razor?"

Jamming her hands into her crotch, she doubled over and said, "Not a chance, Billy. Not even close. I saw you shaving with that damn thing and I saw the nicks... "

Throwing up my hands in surrender, I said, "Kidding, just kidding, Jean, honest."

Jean jumped up and ran into the house laughing and squealing, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

I came in behind her just in time to see her long legs disappearing up the stairs and by the time I got to her room, she was standing in front of an open dresser drawer, holding up a pair of panties... the thong panties in which I'd once seen her... for what, seconds? She glanced over her shoulder at me, still holding out the bit of fluff, and smiled.

"Ready?" she asked.

For a moment, I couldn't speak. I just looked at her, her spine arched, head thrown back, hips pushed forward and her old, faded yellow shorts pulled tight across her butt and into the crease of her butt. Her beauty and her sexiness just stunned me. How could I be so lucky, I wondered?

"Billy, you ready to do this?" she asked again.

Snapping out of it, I grinned that silly who-me-grin and said, "Am I ever!"

The next several seconds flew by so fast, I could barely see what was happening. Without another word, Jean unbuttoned her shorts and skinned out of them. Bare ass! No panties. I saw that much and then she stepped into the thong panties before any of this registered in my befuddled mind. Turning, she stood, one hand on her hip in some effortless model pose right out of some damn lingerie catalog and said, "Ta-Dah!"