Chapter 2

Brandy decided to approach her brother first. He was unlikely to throw her out of the house, and, if he threatened to tell her father, she could blackmail him into silence with her knowledge about his masturbation. She expected him to laugh at her and then call her a pervert.

Brandy was a very innocent young girl.

She found him in his room, reading a comic book.

"Aren't you a little old to be reading comic books?" she asked, as an ice breaker.

"No" he said shortly. He was almost eighteen and he knew good and well that he was older than most kids who still read the colorful magazines, but he wasn't about to admit it to his older sister. "What do you want?" His voice made it clear that she was intruding.

"I need your help with a project I'm doing for comparative anatomy at school." said Brandy, trying to sound like those researchers she heard lectures from.

"What kind of help?" he asked.

"I want to make molds of ... body parts ... of the men in this family. Then the molds can be compared to each other and the differences and similarities catalogued."

"Like my hand?" Bobby held up his hand. His fingers were thick and short. They looked immensely strong.

"Sort of like that, yes." said Brandy. "Except it isn't your hand."

Bobby had a lightning image of his sister putting clay or plaster of Paris or something over his face. He'd seen a TV show where they did that to make masks for actors who had to wear an alien mask or something like that. They had to poke straws up the actor's nose so he could breathe during the process and it had looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I don't think so," he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Brandy, incredulous. He'd shot her down before she even told him what she wanted to cast.

He told her about the program, and the actor's face being covered with strips of plaster soaked cloth.

Brandy heaved a sigh of relief. "It's not your face either, so don't worry about that."

"OK, then, so what is it?" He looked at her now.

"Well ... its ... um you see I want to compare ... uh ... sexual organs." she finished. She couldn't look at him.

Bobby couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He'd grown up under the same restrictions his sister had, and had been just as frustrated by their mother as anyone else. His natural urges had been forced into hiding. He'd discovered masturbation while taking a bath when he was twelve. He'd also known, instinctively, that his mother would not approve. So he had hidden his personal activities from his mother. But as close an eye as she kept on both kids made it very difficult to do anything outside the bathroom, and even then if he was in there too long his mother came knocking, demanding to know why he was taking so long and wanting to know what he was doing. His mother hadn't been gone from their lives an hour before he was masturbating. He had felt so free that he didn't even care if he had an orgasm or not. And, like all boys, he had gathered with his hunter brothers and talked about the gatherers and what the hunters wanted to do to and with the gatherers. He had a street education in sex, which meant he knew some dirty words, and the general idea of intercourse, but that's about all.

"You want to make a mold of my dick?" he asked.

"That's such a nasty word." said Brandy.

Bobby thought about exposing his penis to his sister. He found that idea almost wildly attractive. His sister was a knockout, and he spent hours trying to find magazines that had pictures of women who looked like her so that, when he lay on his bed and jacked off, he could pretend the women were her.

"OK," he said.

Brandy blinked. "What?"

"I said sure. You can make a mold of my dick. Who are you going to compare it to?"

Brandy couldn't believe he'd agreed so quickly. She was off balance. "Um ... Daddy and Uncle Bob," she said.

"Dad will never go for it." said Bobby. "Uncle Bob might. I've seen him look at you."

"What?" asked Brandy again. This was all going too fast for her to keep up with.

"I've seen Uncle Bob looking at you. He looks at you like I look at ... well never mind. All I'm saying is that Uncle Bob thinks you're sexy."

Brandy blushed. She already knew what Uncle Bob thought about her, but for Bobby to know too made her uncomfortable. She didn't want Bobby to know she already had one model made. She planned on using the same technique with her father too. That way each one would think they were the first of the three.

"So how do we do this?" asked Bobby.

Brandy explained the procedure, describing how the mold had to be made quickly once the two liquids were mixed, and that there might be some discomfort during the removal of the mold. "Um ... you might want to shave too, before we make the mold." suggested Brandy.

"Shave? Why would I need to shave? I couldn't grow a beard if I tried," he said.

"Down there." added Brandy.

"You've got to be shitting me," he said.

Brandy frowned. "You've gotten a horrible potty mouth since Mom left. And it doesn't sound attractive at all, little brother.

"OK, OK, you've got to be KIDDING me. I'm not shaving my crotch. Do you know what they'd say in the locker room if I did that? I'd be the laughing stock of the whole school!"

"Well, it's painful ... I mean I'm sure it would BE painful if the hair gets stuck in the silicone. It might even pull it out when we remove the mold."

"I'll take my chances," he said darkly. "Shave my balls!" he huffed. "You've been smoking too much dope up at that college. That's what I think."

"Well they're your ... balls." said Brandy. "But I don't want to hear any whining later."

"This is a 'No Whining' zone." Bobby said in a macho voice.

Bobby asked a couple more questions and they decided to make the mold the next day, which was Saturday. Their father went golfing on Saturday mornings if the weather was good. He'd been enjoying himself since his wife had run off.

Saturday morning Chuck said goodbye and hauled his clubs out the door.

Brandy had thought about making Bobby's mold almost constantly since he had agreed to do it, and had been agitated the whole time, at a low level of ... horniness. She had imagined going over the process a hundred times. After her father waved goodbye and left she got more nervous and, for some reason, wanted to look nice for her brother. She was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, still in her pajamas, brushing her hair, when Bobby appeared in the open doorway.

"So how do we start?" He'd been thinking about what they were going to do too. He hadn't been able to envision what she would do and had questioned her. But Brandy had just said she knew how to do it, and would explain it later. He was half hard and worried that she'd be upset if he developed a hardon.

Brandy turned and once again Bobby had to admire her. The pajamas she was wearing were flannel and loose, but still her young breasts pushed the soft fabric out from her chest. He felt his dick twitch again. She looked flushed and ... nervous.

"Well, I have all the stuff. We have to get some things arranged and then we can start," she said.

He followed her to the dining room, where she began to arrange chairs in a row. "You have to be ... um ... hanging down ... for this to work," she said. She explained how she'd have to raise the bottle containing the molding material up onto his body. Bobby got stiffer still.

"Uh ... Brandy?" He started to tell her about his problem.

She turned around. She looked happy for some reason and Bobby didn't want to make that smile go away. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said. But he immediately realized she'd find out sooner or later. "Um ... you understand about guys, right?"

Brandy hadn't a clue what he was talking about. She just looked at him, not even knowing what kind of question to ask to find out what he was talking about.

Bobby's cheeks got darker. "Um ... you know ... sometimes we get ... um ... hard." he finished, blushing more.

Brandy's face lit up. "That's PERFECT!" she said. "I NEED you to be hard for me."

There's an old saying that goes like this: I know you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you think you heard is not what I meant.

Memorize that, faithful readers, and learn to rattle it off without thinking, because it will make jaws drop.

But Brandy didn't know that saying, and didn't realize what she'd just said, and how a man ... particularly Bobby ... would hear it.

The words "I need you to be hard for me." settled into Bobby's brain like rain soaks into a cotton shirt. Bobby's bone sprang to instant attention. He too was still wearing his pajamas, which were thin cotton with a pattern of horses on them. His mother had bought them for his last birthday, and habit still forced him to wear them. There happened to be a horse face right over his crotch, and the face took on three dimensional attributes. The horse actually had a long nose.

And, of course, Brandy looked at what he had suggested might be happening.

"Excellent" she said happily.

Bobby's prick leaked precum. "You're not mad?" he asked.

"Of course not," she said, making the final arrangements to the chairs and stack of books she had placed under the gap between two of them. "How else would I be able to make the mold?"

"Oh." said Bobby, now a little confused. "So what do we do now?"

"Well, now we have to be naked." said Brandy. Things had been going so well that her shyness receded. She began unbuttoning her pajama top, exposing creamy white skin between the swell of her well developed breasts. She had just naturally assumed that, as with Uncle Bob, she would have to be naked too.

Bobby stood frozen as he watched the inner swells of his sister's breasts come into view. He'd dreamed of seeing them, but never thought he actually would. His prick strained painfully and he felt light headed. "Naked?" he sighed. "Both of us?"

Brandy stopped. She looked at him. "Isn't that OK?" She had a sudden terrible fear that her brother thought she was ugly and didn't want to see her. "Uncle B ... I mean I just thought it would help." Her face fell. "But if you don't want me to that's OK." She turned back around. "But you have to take your bottoms off at least."

Bobby suddenly realized she was buttoning her PJs back up.

"NO!" he shouted.

Brandy jumped and turned back around, her fingers at a button.

Bobby rushed on in a panic. "I mean it WOULD help. I was just surprised. You never told me what we were actually going to do. You can be naked too. Yes! That's a good idea!" He started tearing at his pajamas and a button flew across the room as he stripped naked in a little less than eight seconds. He started hopping around as he tried to get his feet clear of the legs of his PJ bottoms.

Brandy stood transfixed as her brother's penis came into view. As he danced it waved and bobbed. She was astonished that it looked almost completely different than her Uncle's. Uncle Bob's penis had been thick, with a lot of bulges and dips and uneven lines to it, with a large head moving to a thinner neck and then back out to a veined and bumpy shaft. Brandy had stared at it for an hour the night before, or at least the model of it, as she stroked the slick rubbery surface of the facsimile they had made. She'd tucked it under her pillow, her hand wrapped around it as she fell asleep.

But Bobby's was smoother, without all the variation in thickness. It didn't look quite as thick as her uncle's, and there was no bulge at the tip. There was a kind of collar of skin that went almost to the tip, which was shiny and had something wet looking forming a drip. Not having had any sex education, Brandy didn't know the difference between a man who had been cut, and one with a foreskin. She was seeing that difference now, and she was astonished. She'd thought they'd pretty much look the same, like breasts, with only minor variations in overall size.

Once naked Bobby had frozen again, hoping that Brandy would continue to expose more of her skin. "Really ... Brandy it would be good for you to be naked too," he said, somewhat breathlessly.

"Oh!" Brandy came unstuck and her hands automatically went to the buttons again. Within seconds the top was sliding down her arms and dropping to the floor.

Bobby gave a long sigh.

Brandy darted a look at his face and saw something there that made her feel just as good as she did when Uncle Bob stared at her. Her reservations vanished and she bent over to shuck her PJ bottoms. She stood back up naked, and still a little shy.

Bobby sighed again. "You're gorgeous Brandy," he said, awe in his voice. "I didn't know."

Brandy felt that tingle in between her legs that she liked so much. "Thank you," she said softly. "My being naked is supposed to help you stay ... hard. So the mold can set up before you get soft again."

"No problem there." said Bobby in a hushed tone. His hand automatically went to his prick and he stroked it a couple of times. He realized what he was doing and jerked his hand away, his face flaming red. "Sorry," he said.

Brandy had been watching, and she learned something. When he pulled backwards on the handsome thing, that collar of skin thinned and disappeared, exposing a knob just like Uncle Bob's. They weren't so different after all!.