Chapter 9: Jean's Surrender

"Billy, would you like a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade?" Jean gasped, leaning against the front door of our home. The bicycle ride back up the hill from "the flat lands" in mid day was markedly harder and hotter than the downhill ride that cool, early morning. Each, unwilling to be second best in our sibling rivalry, had pushed and pushed on the way home. We'd arrived totally winded and drenched.

"Jean, babes (that was a secret term of endearment we had for each other), that sounds wonderful... it just might save my life... but let me serve you. You look beat and after all, you're just a girl!" (I'll blame heat-stroke on such a risky jibe.)

In a sugary-sweet tone she replied, "Oh, no-no... I'll get it sweet brother. After all, you did win." And then in a slightly more ominous voice, "I owe you!"

Oh shit, I thought... owe me what? But I was too winded to argue or even attempt to be clever. Sinking into a deck chair I waved imperiously to her and said in my most superior voice, "While your up, won't you get me a Grants... uh... I mean a lemonade?"

Looking out over the valley in front of me, I again enjoyed that we lived in such a stunningly beautiful place - a relatively isolated country spot but just fifteen minutes' drive to the University. I was feeling smug and very excited, for I was again reviewing the mind-boggling experience of my sister Jean modeling some thong-style panties for me just an hour ago. The image of her firm and curvy butt was etched in my forebrain. I was still buzzing, for she'd intimated that she would model them again for me.

Hearing Jean's step behind me, I held up my hand for the anticipated glass of ice-cold lemonade. My erotic reverie was shattered by the chilling shock of ice cubes and lemonade dumped down my shirt front.

"Just a girl, huh!"

With a shriek, I bolted out of the deck chair, ice cubes falling out of my clothes and clattering on the deck. Momentarily frozen immobile, I stood there, bent over, arms away from my sides, just shivering from the icy shock. Peals of her laughter pulled my head around to watch Jean, empty glass in hand, holding her side in mirth.

"Oh, Billy, you look like a drowned rat... what'sa matter... your little thingie all cold?"

It was funny and yes, my "thingie" was cold. Recalling those mornings of skinny dipping with Jean... the mad dash into the frigid waters of Fourth of July Lake when my penis tried to crawl back into my belly, I had a mental picture of how I looked. I just gave up any hope of maintaining my dignity.

Fishing a last ice cube from my shirt, I gently tossed it to Jean and said, "You look much too comfortable. Two can play this game you know."

We'd been together so long we both knew what was going to happen. Jean wouldn't have stayed around laughing at me had she not expected, even welcomed, my anticipated retaliation. There was an almost languorous pace to this game that had an edge of excitement, for I didn't really know how deep it was... where we were going with it.

I thought of how close we'd grown in the last months. How we'd come to share our truth about ourselves, about our sexuality and our mutual horniness. There was no more games about that. But what was yet uncertain was our physical involvement. Oh, I knew deep down that I wanted to jump her bones... to ravish my beautiful sister. I was in lust with her, but those years of cultural conditioning straddled any erotic path we might explore, standing as a repressive centurion who might have worn a Gothic signboard proclaiming, "Thou shalt not."

Jean had already told me that as much as she loved me and was attracted to me... even sexually... she remained totally uncertain and apprehensive about us fooling around. "Billy," she had reminded me several times, "you're my brother and that's incest. I can't do that. Know what I mean?"

I did know and I didn't think she really meant it. We'd skirted around this topic enough times that I'd come to believe that she was just saying what she was supposed to say... that deeper within her dwelled the same fascination that gripped me.

I knew she wanted to play. We just had to work out the rules... but without talking about it. Our play occurred by multiple approximations... a type of relationship Braille. So I wasn't surprised when she turned and ran inside, shouting over her shoulder in her mocking, sing-song voice, "Naa-naa, na-naa-naa!"

I didn't hurry; I knew where she'd be. Walking upstairs and past my room, I turned the knob of the closed door to Jean's room. She was standing in front of her full-length mirror, arms crossed in front of her and elbows up as she paused, pulling off her shirt. From the door I could see the contrast of her white bra strap against her tanned back and in the mirror's reflected image, the bottom of the bra's cups pulled up, partially uncovering the under swell of her breasts. The afternoon sun slanted through the gauzy drapes, casting a soft pattern of muted colors in the room, accenting the shadows of her body.

Suddenly, it was very quiet. I could see her eyes looking between her crossed arms as she stood frozen. There was no alarm, just a calm expectancy that silently asked, "What now?"

"Don't move!" I whispered with a quiet assurance that surprised me. "Just stay that way."

The side of her shorts was undone and partially open. I could see a flash of her panties as I walked up behind her. Then, looking into her eyes, I said softly, "Let me."

She nodded. I'm not sure either of us knew just what it was that she was going to allow me to do. I gently pulled the shirt from her hands and finished tugging it over her head, briefly hung up in her pony tail.

Still looking at me, she dropped her hands to her sides and stood passively as I examined her... both the real and the reflected images in the soft yellow light one sees just before a rain storm.

"You have beautiful breasts, Jean."

She smiled and made no comment, even as I unhooked her bra. Loosened, the cups fell an inch, just exposing the pink areolae and nipples. As I pulled the straps off her shoulders, I watched the crinkling of her areolae as the nipples hardened. I slid a hand under her arm and cupped a breast, catching her nipple between my thumb and index finger, rolling it. Her breast was heavy in my hand.

She shuddered and whispered in a barely discernable voice, "I can feel that down there."

Pulling off my damp shirt, I hugged her from behind, holding both of her heavy tits in my palms and looking into her eyes. "Down there?" I asked.

"Oh, God, yessss."

My vision narrowed to our reflection. In the blurred half-light, half-shadow, I saw Jean, breasts bared and held by my hands. I was watching someone else... part of me was a voyeur in a sepia vision. I knew this was uncharted waters for us. We'd watched each other masturbate on a very few occasions and we'd confessed our horniness to each other, but I'd never held her in my arms. It had mostly been near-arms'-length encounters.

I could feel her buttocks pushing back against me. My hard-on was pushing into her butt as I slid my hands down over her stomach and under the elastic of her panties. My entire awareness was centered in the gentle curve of her belly. The tips of my fingers were brushing the top edge of her public hair and on each downward caress, I cupped more of her mons.