Most people would think it was odd for a boy to be ramming his big hard prick into his little sister's sopping pussy until he fountained his sperm into her unprotected womb.

But I didn't.

You see, I was that sister. Let me tell you the story, and then maybe you'll understand.

In 1954, our parents lived on a small farm in Wyoming, and our closest neighbors were 40 miles away. Daddy raised horses and sheep. Momma kept some chickens and a huge garden that produced most of the food we ate all year long. We also had a milk cow and there were wild cattle around. Daddy said they were left over from the wild west days. Every once in a while he'd shoot one and drag it in with a team of horses and we'd butcher it. Our days were full of making that farm work.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that our family was the whole world to Bobby and me. We were home schooled and, other than visitors who came to the farm, we never saw another soul. I didn't even know such a thing as TV existed until I was seventeen and went on a trip to visit my Aunt Betty and Uncle Bob, who my brother was named after.

Anyway, Bobby and I were each other's playmates, friends, everything to each other as we grew up. He was a year older than me. My first memories were of him, holding me with his arms around me, up on top of a horse as we followed our father somewhere. It was bouncy and exciting, but warm and safe too at the same time. Most of my other memories of being young also include Bobby. We helped on the farm too. We didn't think of it as work. It was just our life, and we did everything together. We even slept together. Our bedroom was up in the attic of the little house we lived in, and there was a home-made bed in there. It was too small to put two regular beds in, so Daddy made a bed that was custom fit into one end of the room. It was smaller than what would be called a queen bed today, but bigger than a double. I know it seemed like acres big to us as we jumped and bounced on it when we were little. But when it came time to sleep we were invariably snuggled up together, like puppies, sharing each other's warmth and that nice feeling of being next to somebody.

Our parents weren't too shy about their lovemaking. In the evening, when all the work was done and we were all gathered in the main room, reading or playing games or whatever, mom and dad would start smooching, and pretty soon he'd have his hands all over her, and begin taking parts of her clothing off. Usually they would get up and go to their bedroom, telling us kids they were going to "have a conference" and for us not to bother them. Especially later, but when I was seven or eight I remember several times when daddy would get momma all naked and then get on top of her on the couch. The only reason I paid any real attention was because of the sounds they made. I mean Bobby and I lay in bed naked together all the time, right? Lying around naked was no real surprise. But momma would start moaning, and then they looked like they were wrestling or something. Eventually momma would scream and wrap her legs around daddy's waist while he yelled too.

I remember one night after this happened and Bobby and I sat there watching them and looking at each other like "What in the world are they doing?" I asked Bobby "Hey, why do you think daddy kept talking about coming somewhere? How can you come when you're already there?" He said he didn't know, and that he was tired and wanted to go to sleep so would I please shut up. Six months later when they did that again, on the couch, I saw, as poppa rolled on top of her that his penis was hard and sticking out from his body. That was different. I'd seen his and Bobby's penises plenty of times, but never looking like that. So I watched carefully and suddenly realized they were doing what the horses did every spring! They were mating! I got all excited and ran over to them yelling about how I wanted a little sister, or I was going to have a little sister or something like that. They started laughing and both of them put their arms around me and crushed me to them as daddy yelled some more about coming. Momma had big tears in her eyes and I asked her if she was OK and they laughed again.

It was after that that they pretty much went to their room every time poppa started taking her clothes off. They kept smooching in front of us though.

When I was twelve, I got into bed one night in the fall and Bobby and I started talking. We usually did that as we went to sleep - just talked about the day, or what we were going to do tomorrow, or about a book one of us was reading or something. But this night, Bobby said, "Rachel? Why do you suppose they kiss so much?" I knew what he meant. Poppa and Momma were always kissing and running their hands all over each other's bodies.

"I don't know," I said.

Then he put his arm over me and said, "You wanna try it? I mean the way they do? You know, see what it's like?"

I said, "Sure," and the next thing I knew his lips came up against mine and stayed there. It was OK, but our noses kept getting in the way. It was hard to breathe too. But we worked hard at it, trying to figure out why they did it so much. Then, when I couldn't breathe one time, I opened my mouth to tell him I couldn't breathe and my tongue touched his lips.

He jerked back from me as I gasped in air and said, "You licked me!" I said as how I had NOT licked him, but was just trying to breathe but he said "No, it felt good. Do it again." So we kissed and I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out and then he did too and ... oh my goodness. What a difference.

In that instant we both knew exactly why our parents did that so much. We did it for half an hour that night, and every night after that. We still talked, but we kissed a lot too. I don't know why we didn't do it in the daytime. I guess since we discovered it in bed we just saved it for bedtime.

We had taken baths together until I was maybe eight or nine. We didn't stop because of the boy/girl thing, but because we wouldn't fit into the tub together comfortably any more. After that one of us would sit on the commode while the other one bathed, and then we'd switch. One day, about a month after my thirteenth birthday, I took my bath and then sat on the commode, naked of course, running my hands through my long blonde hair, getting the snarls out while Bobby took his bath and we talked. Suddenly he said, "Hey! You're growing hair!" I looked at him and he was staring between my legs. My knees were maybe a foot apart. I spread them further and looked and said, "So? You have it too."

He said, "Yeah, but I never noticed it on you before. Then he looked at me sort of strange and said, "And your boobs are bigger too." I looked down at them. They had been growing pretty well for a couple of years and now they stood out six or eight inches from my chest. They didn't look like mamma's. Hers were all full and heavy looking, like the udder of Bessie, our milk cow. Mine didn't look anything like that. They were cones, with pointed tips. The nipples were kind of puffy and round looking, like somebody had cut a golf ball in half and pasted them to the tips of my breasts. I wasn't much impressed with them, but they were all I had.

"You think so?" I said. "I don't think they're growing very fast at all."

He allowed as how they were lots bigger than the last time he saw them, which was stupid, since he'd seen them the night before when we got in bed. I told him so. Then he smiled and said one was bigger than the other and that if that kept up pretty soon I'd be leaning over sideways all the time. He thought that was oh so clever and laughed, but it made me mad. We got in a yelling match. About the time I yelled that he was just plain stupid and to quit looking at me, momma came in and broke us up. She saw me there, comb in hand, naked, sitting on the toilet seat while my brother, wet and soapy yelled at me. She barked at us to break it up and we scowled at each other as he dried off and I finished my hair.

That night though, as we kissed each other good night, Bobby's hand wandered up and over one of my breasts. It tingled when he touched it, especially the nipple, and I was surprised. I mean we'd been touching each other for over a decade, but this felt different ... nicer somehow. It made me want to slide my hands all over his back. So I did. I discovered his butt is like ROCK!

The next night at supper my dad looked at my mom and then sort of cleared his throat and said, "Well, I guess I'd better be thinking about building on to the house." Just like that. Then he went back to eating.

Bobby and I were astonished. We looked at each other and shrugged.

"Why?" I finally asked.

Now HE looked surprised for some reason. "Well, you and Bobby are getting all grown up and I figured you might want your own room now." He looked at my mother like "What have you gotten me into here?"

I said, "Why would I need my own room?"

Momma said, "So you have some privacy, honey. Don't you want privacy?"

Now I was confused. I'd spent every day of my life in the presence of other people. The only time I'd ever been alone was when I was working on a job that didn't take more than one family member to complete. Alone was fine. It gave me time to think about things without being interrupted, but why would I want to be alone in a room of my own? All the time? At night? That would just be lonely, not alone. I said so.

Now my mother looked astonished. "You don't mind sleeping with your brother?"

I said, "Of course not. How else would I keep warm? And who would I talk to as I go to sleep?"

Bobby was sitting there, his head turning from side to side as he looked at whoever was speaking. His eyes were real big and he looked like he was holding his breath or something.

My daddy looked at momma and said, "What the hell am I supposed to do now, Molly?"

She looked stunned and said, "I guess I was wrong."

So, from then until I turned fifteen things went on as usual. Bobby and I would cuddle and kiss in bed and run our hands all over each other's bodies each night as we went to sleep.

In the summers, when it got warm, and the days were done. I usually just wore one of my poppa's old work shirts after dinner. All we did was sit around the main room. I didn't need shoes or anything, so that's all I wore. I found out later in life that other girls wore panties, but none of the women in our house did. I didn't even own a pair until my Aunt Betty took me shopping during a visit to her house when I was seventeen. Anyway, in the summer I was fifteen I was sitting on the couch, reading a book, dressed in one of poppa's old shirts. I had grown some, and this particular shirt, which was my favorite because it was so thin and soft, was getting a little small on me and my pussy was showing. Of course I didn't think a thing about it, but my daddy kept looking at me and he nudged my mother and whispered in her ear. She giggled and they started that kissing and fondling that Bobby and I knew would lead to a "conference" before long. But this time momma slapped his hands away from her and said, "Quit. You have no shame."

Then she got up and said, "Rachel? It's about time I taught you to sew." That was OK with me. Momma did most all her sewing during the day while the rest of us were out doing chores. So I'd never been there to watch as she did amazing things with needle and thread. She made most of our clothes. So I said, "Great, I need a new pair of britches, with built in chaps."

My father started laughing so hard he rolled off the couch and onto the floor. He was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. My mother just looked disgusted. "First, dear, we're going to make you a nightgown."

A nightgown! Now why in the world would I want a nightgown? Momma had one. She wore it when the weather got cool. When it was really cold we all wore pants and sweaters until it was time for bed. But momma liked to wear that nightgown around after supper. It looked nice, I supposed, and it would keep you warm if it wasn't too cold, but now? In summer? I thought that was goofy. I said so.

My mother just said, "Well, we're going to make you one young lady, so get used to the idea."

So we made me a nightgown. Mamma rooted around in her stash of cloth and started muttering about nothing being big enough. Finally she came out with some old curtains that she thought she could make work. They were dark brown, but I didn't care what color the thing would be anyway. We cut and measured and she showed me how to sew a seam on the old treadle machine she had and pretty soon we had what looked like a dress to me. When I slipped it over my head it hung down clear to my ankles. It was warm, all right. Inside of ten minutes I was dragging it back off, sweating. My mom threw up her hands and the nightgown got hung on a hook for the rest of the summer. I did use it in the fall though, and it was nice.

Bobby had been real interested in how well the hair was growing on my pussy since that night in the bathroom. He liked to examine me when we bathed... "to see how you're coming along". He had a lot of hair around his penis and sometimes I was a little jealous. Anyway, I got thrown from a horse we were gentling and had sprained my shoulder. So that night, in the bathroom, I asked him to wash my body for me, so I didn't have to move around too much. I got up on my knees in the tub and he started splashing water on me. Then he got his hands all soapy and washed me all over. When he got to my butt he slipped his hand between my legs and washed there too.

Wow! That felt different.

Then he moved to the front and slid his soapy hand between my legs again. It sure felt different than when I washed there. I mean, when I did it, it felt good. I'd sort of gotten in the habit of washing there really, really good. I might wash there for ten minutes while I talked to Bobby. But when he did it, it made a strange tightness in my stomach, and then heat. I felt something happen inside my body and that heat started moving! It was like something had spilled inside me and was going to seep out from between my legs. I was in the bath, though, so I couldn't tell what happened.

Sometimes, when we got into bed he'd look me over real good. It made me feel all warm inside, because he usually said something about how I was pretty. Then we'd settle down to some serious kissing and rubbing. He'd never rubbed my pussy before. So that night, when we were kissing, I told him about how nice it had felt when his hand was between my legs and asked him to rub there again. His hand slipped between my legs. "Your hair is soft," he murmured in my ear. I spread my legs. He rubbed some more and I felt that strange heat inside me again. I told him about it and he gasped. "You're getting wet down there!" he said. "Are you peeing?!" he asked incredulously.

"Of course not," I said crossly. "Why would I pee on your hand, you idiot?"

"Well it's wet," he said. He moved his fingers around and now they slipped back and forth like when his hands were all soapy. "And slick too." He rubbed some more and one of his fingers just naturally fell inside the furrow I had down there. It rubbed over a bump at the top of my slit and I felt a little electric tingle shoot through me.

"Oooo wait!" I said.

His hand stopped.

"No, I don't mean stop!" I barked. "I mean wait, right there." My hand went down to his and I pressed on that finger. Then I guided his hand back and forth, making that finger rub the bump. I started panting. This felt REALLY good. "Feel that bump? It feels REALLY good when you rub that."

So he started rubbing it some more. Pretty soon I was flopped on my back, spread eagle, whimpering and thrashing as he finger-fucked me but good. I don't remember too much about that first orgasm. Except that Bobby was making me feel so good, so special, I knew I would love him forever. I told him so. And my shoulder didn't even hurt!