Chapter 2

"Here's your pizza," said Cathy Robinson, one of my sister's hotter friends.

I took the box from her. She stood there, like we weren't finished yet. But I'd already paid for the pizza on the phone, with the credit card. I couldn't think of anything to say. I cleverly came up with something. "I didn't know you delivered pizza."

"Yeah, it's just for the summer," she said. "To get some spending money. The tips help."

I realized then that what she was waiting for was a tip.

"All I have is my dad's credit card," I said, holding out an empty hand. She looked disappointed.

"Oh. How is Heather?"

"She's good," I said. "Still in a coma, but good."

Cathy looked uncomfortable.

"You want to see her?"

"God no!" she said, looking startled.

"She's not contagious," I said, disturbed by her attitude. It suddenly occurred to me that none of Heather's friends had come to see her since we brought her home. "She's just sleeping."

"Yeah, but she's like almost dead ... isn't she?"

My opinion of Cathy Robinson sank like a stone.

"No, she's only sleeping until her brain heals enough to let her wake up. She looks normal and she might even be able to hear people talk to her. I'm sure it would brighten her day if you said hi."

She looked startled. "Really?"

"Really. Come on in."

"We're not supposed to go inside customer's houses," she said, looking nervous.

"It's just me," I said. "Good, old, harmless Pencil Dick," I said, somehow feeling like I could needle her about all those times she'd barged into the bathroom with my sister and laughed at me.

She had the grace to blush. Maybe it's because she felt some remorse about it. Then again, having just gone through a growth spurt, I was four inches taller than the last time she'd barged in while I was taking a shower. I grinned at the thought that maybe she wasn't so sure of herself any more.

"Just pop in, tell her hello and what's happened to you recently. Then you can be on your way. I'll stay right here if it makes you feel better.

"No!" she blurted. "I can't do it alone!"

It actually took me ten more minutes to get her in Heather's room. She was amazed, of course, because Heather really did look quite normal, other than not waking up even if you lit a firecracker right next to her. Then she got all maudlin about how much time had passed without her coming to see Heather and I told her nobody ever came to see her, which made her feel worse, which is what I was trying to do, even though I couldn't tell you why. I mean I already explained that barging in on me in the shower hadn't actually been all that traumatic or anything.

Anyway she promised to come back and see Heather again, and to bring some of Heather's other friends, and I said that maybe it would be better if they waited until my parents were home. I had visions of one of those out-of-control teenage parties erupting in the house, and my mother walking in on it and blaming me.

In any case, she left to go back to work and I went back to the computer, because now I could get stiff again because Cathy really was one of my sister's hotter friends. I pulled up a new Lubrican story about a brother and sister who got tangled up in the same photo shoot by accident, and it was photos to show examples of sexual positions. I tried to imagine Cathy and me as the characters. My cock was no problem ... stiff as a board and ready to go.

But for some reason Heather's face kept pushing Cathy's away. Eventually I gave in and thought of Heather, squatting over the boner I was stroking, saying: "Look, what if I just lodge it in there, just enough to hold it where we want it?" And then, as they took pictures, she "slipped" and sat down on me, getting a belly full of stiff prick.

I went off like a bomb. I spurted so hard that it got all over the keyboard and even on the screen. I felt like my head was going to explode. I never came that hard before. It was amazing.

The pizza was cold by the time I got back to it, but I didn't care. It tasted wonderful. I wandered into Heather's room while I was munching on a piece.

"Got pizza here," I announced. "You can't have any." That seemed awfully cruel. "I wish you could," I amended. "When you wake up I'll buy you one all for yourself."

It was quiet in the room. I thought about making another CD so there would at least be some music, but I didn't feel like being a DJ again. I sat down in the reading chair.

"I messed up," I said.

And then I confessed about wanting to see her boobs, and going to the incest web sites, and reading the Lubrican incest stories and trying to beat off to Cathy, but then changing it to her.

"I know I'm a pervert," I said sadly. "And it's good that you're in a coma so you don't have to deal with it. I mean I still want you to wake up, but I don't know what's happened to me, or why I got this way. And I promise not to look at your boobs or anything. I can't help my fantasies, but I promise you don't have to be scared of me or anything."

Of course she just lay there, not doing anything but breathing.

I checked her waste bag because I'd been putting it off. Now I almost looked forward to it, because surely that would make me think of things other than sex with my sister. It needed to be emptied, so I went and did that. Mom hadn't said anything about checking that tube where it entered my sister's body, so I found some self control from somewhere and left it alone.

I went to the living room and tried to watch TV, but I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking "What if she really can hear things? I mean I just told her everything! She'll hate me when she wakes up. She'll scream how I'm a pervert and did perverted things and should be put in prison and everything!"

I had to explain it to her. I didn't really understand it all myself, but I had to figure out a way to explain it to her.

An hour later, just as it began to get dark outside, I decided I'd read her some of Lubrican's stories.

Then maybe she'd understand.

I had only read three or four of the leprechaun's stories, but they'd all been good and easy to read, and Heather was unconscious anyway, so I just used her computer to log onto the site. It was quiet in the room, so I didn't have to strain my voice. I could just read at normal volume. I looked through his pages. I was surprised to find that two of the cheerleader stories I'd already read were by him. One was a really stupid one about a busload of cheerleaders all getting knocked up during a storm one night, but the other one was pretty hot and I'd beat off to it several times before. I kept looking, wanting to find a story that would make Heather understand how powerful a fantasy can be, and why I couldn't help but have them once in a while.

The first one I tried was called The Making Of A Cocksman. I picked it because the synopsis said the sister had a bunch of friends, and that was like Heather and her friends. I glanced over the first couple of pages and found that the similarity ended there, though, because Heather wasn't like Claire, in the story. And her friends weren't like Claire's friends. But they did have a posse of sorts, though there wasn't a sheriff, really. I figured it might be a good one to explain why I had those thoughts about her.

It wasn't quite like the comic book I'd read to her. I'd used different voices then, and sound effects and stuff like that. But I knew I couldn't pull off sounding like a young girl getting her bell rung, so I read most of it in my normal voice, just using emphasis in places that seemed to need it.

"Okay," I said. "I said some weird things a while ago, and I know you think I'm a pervert, but it's not like that. Not really. I just think I'm a guy, and guys get confused about girls, and so I get confused about you too. But I found this guy who writes these stories and they get me excited and I really like reading them, and I thought that if I read a couple to you too you might understand why I said the things I said." I looked at her. Her face was smooth and untroubled, just like before. "And the way I think about you and your friends is sort of like how this guy writes his stories. They're all fiction, and just for fun ... to think about ... you know, day dream a little bit? And I did that and that's why it sounds like I'm a pervert, even though I'd never hurt you or do anything to make you feel bad or anything like that."

Then I read her the story. It was about a kid named Bobby, like me, and I had to tell Heather that it wasn't about me, but that I felt like that Bobby did sometimes. It was funny in places, and I laughed. I really understood how confused Bobby was sometimes. He got a lot of sex, and if all Heather's friends acted like that around me I'm sure I'd freak out. I just reminded myself it was all make believe.

I got hard in lots of places. I told Heather about each one, because I thought that would help her understand that I wasn't just an incest pervert, but got excited about regular sex too. I told her what parts I thought were really hot, and told her a couple of times that if she ever said or did anything like Claire was doing I'd freak completely out and stuff.

When I got done I was so horny that I knew I had to do something.

"I'll be back in a minute," I told her. I started to leave and the ridiculousness of the situation hit me. My sister was in a coma and I was going in the next room to beat off. I'd probably think about her and imagine her doing the stuff that Claire had done. While she was lying comatose in the next room ... where she couldn't see me ... or probably hear me ... whatever I was doing.

And if I did it there, where she was ... I could look at her instead of imagining her.

I felt weird, standing there, looking at my sister, thinking about dropping my shorts and whacking off right there beside her. But the urge was strong. I undid my belt and the button on my shorts and unzipped them, but I didn't let them fall.

"I have this problem," I said to her. "The stories ... and you ... have me so hot that I need to beat off. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's the way things are. And I was going to go do it in my room, but I can't help wanting to do it here ... with you. I know it's completely perverted, and I know you already hate me and this will just make you hate me more. I'm not telling you this to torture you. Actually, I don't really know why I'm telling you at all."

I waited, but of course she didn't say anything.

"Okay ... I'm going to do it now," I warned.

I think I had some kind of twisted way of thinking about all this that said that if I told her I was going to, and she didn't complain, then it was okay to do it. I mean any idiot would see the problems with that way of thinking, under the circumstances, but I was really freaking out so maybe that's why I thought about things in a fucked up way.

Then I dropped my pants ... only to find that my cock had wilted.

"Well fuck me," I said softly. I looked up at her. "It got soft! I can't do it!"

A pain in my back woke me up. I was still sitting in the special reading chair in Heather's room, where I had sat down after my abortive attempt to beat off while looking at her, confused about things. Eventually I apologized to her again for being a pervert, and then just started talking about things in our past, kind of re-living our childhood in words. I told her things she had done that I laughed about, and things that had made me mad. I told her about things I'd done to her to make her mad. I talked about vacations we had taken, and stuff that had happened on them. One of my favorite memories was of her and me in the way-back of the station wagon on long trips, with stuff packed all around us while we were lying there supposed to be sleeping. Our parents traded off driving on long trips, and we went non stop so there wouldn't be motel bills. At night, lying back there, it was a magical world with the only lights coming from passing cars or the infrequent town. Towns were best, because the lights flashed by in reds and blues and greens from the neon signs, mixed with the white of street lights and other white lights. Then it would be dark again and a little spooky. If my dad was driving the radio was on to a country station. If it was my mom, there was rock and roll playing. And the only person to share these things with was my sister, lying next to me. They were really good memories, and I told her that.

I got up. Nothing had changed with Heather, of course, but I told her I'd fallen asleep in the chair, and was going to bed. I leaned over and kissed her cheek and smelled her hair.

"I really do love you," I said softly.

Then I went to bed.

The next morning I remembered my mother's last exhortation: "Don't forget her exercises!"

Heather was supposed to be rolled over once or twice a day and her skin massaged so she wouldn't get bed sores. Then my mom (usually) would work her arms and legs, bending them and flexing them so that the muscles got some use and movement and didn't shrink down. Mom called this "Heather's exercises" and I'd forgotten all about them.

So I got something to eat and then went in and apologized to her for forgetting. I rolled her on her right side, which was awkward because her right arm got under her and she wanted to keep rolling, or fall back. She ended up on her stomach, with tubes stretched places. I turned her head sideways and messed up her hair in the process. There was some special lotion from the pharmacy on the night stand, so I got that. I'd never done this before or watched Mom do it. I'd seen the exercises, but not the massage.

I soon realized that was because Heather's PJs had to be removed to do it properly. Naturally, my mother wouldn't do that in front of me.

I thought about this for a while. I wanted to take her PJs off - there was no doubt about that. My cock was stiff as a board just from the thought. But I couldn't bring myself to do that either, even though I had an excuse and everything. So I just lifted the material of the top and slid my lotion-covered hand up inside, rubbing all over her back.

She wasn't wearing a bra, of course. My hand slid all over her back, slippery with the lotion. Her back felt like it was on fire, it was so hot. I imagined her saying "Feels good," but of course it was only in my imagination.

Then I contemplated the rest of her ... the back of her legs ... and her butt.

Before I knew it I had the bottoms pulled down as far as I could make them go, and was watching my greasy hand slide all over her naked butt. I felt like I was going to explode and my cock actually hurt!

"This is not good," I gasped. "Your butt is way too fine for me to be doing this!"

I forced my hand to go down below those delicious globes and massage the backs of her thighs. I couldn't get to her calves from that direction, so I pulled her bottoms back up and pushed the legs up. It was even fun rubbing her calves!

I knew she was supposed to lie on something other than her back for a few minutes, so I left her that way. My earlier guilt about beating off in front of her was miraculously gone and I had no trouble dropping trou this time. I grasped my hard prick and began stroking.

"I'm sorry," I panted. "I bet there are a hundred guys who would kill to do what I just did. And I was supposed to do it, so you can't be mad. And don't be mad about me whacking off to you either. It's so hard that if I don't do this it might break off." I looked at my sister's face, still composed, her hair half hiding her mouth. "Sleeping Beauty ... you're so beautiful," I moaned.

Then I spurted.

I hadn't exactly planned this, so I didn't have a tissue or anything else to catch my spooge. It was yucky, but my other hand had to do. It felt really good to get that release, though, so I didn't care. I was groaning and making all manner of noises that probably made it sound like I was dying, so I gasped out what was happening so she wouldn't worry.

Then, of course ... I felt stupid. There was a lot of that going around lately.

I went and washed my hands and came back and rolled her back over. Then I faithfully worked her arms for five minutes. Working with her legs was different. I lifted each one and bent the knee, pushing it up to her chest and then straightening the leg again. I did that ten times with one leg before going to the next. I did three cycles of that, probably because I stared right at the crotch of her PJs the whole time. It wasn't exactly sexual thoughts on my mind - I had just cum, after all - but rather curiosity about what a girl's pussy might look like when her legs were moving and things were being stretched out of shape, so to speak. I mean did the slit get all crooked or something? I imagined it looking like a lightning bolt, but was pretty sure that was impossible. Then I thought of it being twisted sideways, like the old joke about what an Oriental woman's pussy looks like. In Sex Ed class they said that research showed that a teenage boy thinks about sex about seventy times an hour. I had never believed that before. Most of us thought that was a lie that was supposed to convince the girls to be careful.

Now I wasn't so sure that was bogus.

I finished up and straightened her all out again. Her boobs were right there under those PJs, and it was really tempting. Just in case she could hear, I told her about it, and that I was resisting. Instead I went and got her brush and brushed her hair. That didn't work very well. I wondered if it was okay to sit her up. I'd never seen anybody do that. I figured out why when I tried to get her to sit up. She was as limp as a wet dishrag, and tended to slump sideways like she was made of warm Jell-O. I ended up going to get all the pillows in the house and propping them around her to get her upper torso in a position where I could get to her hair from the back.

The only way I could do that, though, was to climb up on the bed behind her. I did that and joked about how we were in bed together. Then I brushed her hair. I counted the strokes out loud, so she'd know I did a hundred.

I got her all situated again, but left the pillows in her room so I could do that again later. All I could think about was her boobs, which I complained about. Then I went outside and ran around the house until I was sweating. I got something to eat, but was still thinking about her boobs.

So I went and read her another story.

I chose Doctoring Brother this time, for the obvious reasons. The roles were reversed of course, and he was conscious and could react to things, but she was taking care of her brother, like I was taking care of my sister. There was even a massage in there. I read the whole thing through and, when I was done, was hard again.

"You'd never do that," I said as I opened my pants, still sitting on the chair by her computer. "I mean climb on top of me and put me in you." I started jacking. "I wouldn't ask you to do that, but it might be nice if it was your hand doing this instead of mine." I stroked some more and it occurred to me that she couldn't see anything. "I'm beating off," I informed her. "It would be cool if that didn't make you mad." I started reading the part about her waking up in bed with him and wanting to suck his dick. "You wouldn't do that either," I panted. "I can't imagine what that must be like ... your lips ... those soft lips ... wrapped around my cock."

I spurted, again unprepared for it. I was going to have to get a box of Kleenexes in there. Then I saw there was already a box on the nightstand, right beside her massage lotion, and felt stupid.

You know how they say video games can be addictive? Like you want to keep playing just a few minutes longer, or you aren't quite to a breaking point, so you just keep going? I think it got like that with me being around Heather. I know that sounds stupid, but every time I left her room all I thought about was what I was going to do the next time I went back in. It was insane, but I was trying to think of ways to entertain her, like she really could hear me. Don't get me wrong. I didn't think she could hear me. I didn't think all that stuff about people in a coma being trapped inside their mind was true at all. But she was alive, and she was my sister, and I knew if it was me I'd be bored out of my head. I thought briefly about how maybe that was the cure for comas. Bore them out of the heads they were trapped in. Then I realized that was stupid because most coma patients are left to be bored, and most of them don't recover.

I made up more CDs and played them for her. Because I was afraid I'd turn into some kind of sex freak, I read her things other than Mr. Lubrican's erotica, like more comic books, and some Reader's Digests I found lying around the house. Those were actually kind of fascinating. They had good jokes in them too.

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