Chapter 2: The Couch

I really liked Jean. Heck, I adored her. She was a wonderful sister and I know she loved me as well. So it wasn't an act when I set out to be her champion. I stuck up for her. I defended her from my mom's sometimes erratic sense of fair play and when my friends teased her, I'd only let it go so far. I'd let those guys know that she was my sister and not to disrespect her. Jean, at first, was uncertain, but her loving nature pushed right through. She spoke to me with affection and began to engage me in conversation, at first about inconsequential things, but later about "boy-girl" things. Our relationship had been changed. It was growing more "real," never to go back to our old sibling rivalry.

Oh, my behavior around her hadn't changed. I was still trying to look down her blouse or up her dress. I still listened at the bathroom door. But now, we were closer buddies. She really liked me, so it was both easier to accept my aggressive sexuality and harder for her to take offense at my shenanigans. Added to that, I began to accept myself a little more and was far less hesitant about letting her know that I was horny.

One afternoon, alone in the house together, she asked, "Can we have a heart-to-heart?"

Grinning and with a pointed look at her left breast, I said, "Sure, girl, I'd love to have a heart-to-heart with you. Your place or mine?"

"Come-ON, you nit. Be serious. I need to talk with you, so get your mind out of the gutter."

Sprawling out on one end of a large sectional in the living room, I said, "Okay, okay, Sis, sit and talk to me. What's happenin'? What's on your mind? Boys? Yeah, I'll bet that's what it is... boys, huh?"

Sitting opposite me and giving special attention to a button on her shirt, she didn't make eye contact, a sure sign of her embarrassment about something. "Well... kinda... that is, I need to... well, I'd like to ask you some questions about what boys think okay?" When Jean was uncertain of herself, she often placed an interrogatory inflection on the last part of her sentences as if to say, "You know?"

"Only if you share with me... tit for tat, girl. I'll tell you things what you wanna know -- if you tell me what I wanna know... and no mincing around either. Fair?" It was always better to establish the rules of engagement with Jean. More often, she was willing to give a little before the fact. Before she became embarrassed and dug in, I wanted her tacit agreement that if I were to tell her "all about boys," I wanted reciprocity. I'd been pulling her in this direction for weeks and she was ever less reticent to 'fess up.

"Well... okay, but don't get too dirty again, will you... promise?"

"Heck no. I don't promise anything, except to be honest. Where can you get a better deal than a promise of honesty? The truth can't hurt you, you know." I was shamelessly playing on her sense of morality and fair play, trying to suggest that what she had to talk about was probably just as "dirty" as my stuff. (I didn't even believe that.)

Still pulling on the button, "Okay, little brother." Then smiling, "I do trust you."

Mentally rubbing my hands, I thought, yes... trust me... to try to get into your pants, big sister. Affecting a nonchalant indifference, I leaned back (and almost fell off the couch) and said, "Thanks. Now, shoot. What's on your mind, woman?" (She loved to be called "woman.") Now that the general topic was out of the bag and we'd established the ground rules, she visibly relaxed a little more.

Swinging around, she put her bare feet on the couch near mine and leaned her knees into the cushions, tugging her skirt down. Out of my peripheral vision I noted that the hem of her skirt had fallen in such a fashion that I could see well up the back of her thighs. This has potential I knew but I'd have to be careful not to be too openly leering at her legs, at least at first.

Again, nervously tugging at the button on her shirt, she sat silently for a moment, I imagined composing her question. Whatever it was, she'd been thinking about it for days at least, but now she had to compose the words. If nothing else, I was patient. I waited without further prompting.

Finally, hesitantly, she stammered, "This is embarrassing, but... when you... do you remember... uh, the time when you... "

"The time when I came?" I offered.

Blushing and tugging more on the button, she nodded.

In a soft voice I admitted, "Yeah, well sure. How can I forget? It was the neatest thing ever happened. What about it?"

"Uh... I've been wonderin', that ever happen before? I mean, have you ever, uh, before... that is... oh shit! I wanna know. Do guys, you know... jack... uh, masturbate?"

Do guys... ? I couldn't believe it. It was too good to be true. I'd been wondering for weeks how'd I'd get Jean to talk about masturbation and now here it was, right out there, and she'd asked me! Boy, was I going to have a good time with this one. I thought it'd take a long time to get up to The Topic and now, wham, here it was.

I almost fell off the couch again in an attempt to look casual. My dick was already stirring. Cripes, I could see the bulge and I know that if she looked, she could as well. I was now the one who was almost tongue tied. "Well sure guys masturbate, Jean. At least everyone I know does, and all the time, or at least that's what they say."