Chapter 9

There are good reasons why they don't let you have a driver's license until you're sixteen. Your judgment is flawed before that. Actually, they hope your judgment isn't still flawed, when you turn sixteen. There's more and more science that suggests young people should not be allowed to make serious decisions until they're in their early twenties.

But of course that would never do. There would be an uprising of all those young people if they were required to wait until they had a whole brain to do things like drive a car ... or have sex.

Of course, there's a big difference between driving a car and having sex. One is a privilege, granted by competent authority, which can be withdrawn. The other is nature's way of keeping the species alive and vibrant. And while the urge to drive is exceptionally strong in most young people ... the urge to procreate puts that to shame.

And all the issues of common sense, and responsibility, and lectures and warnings ... while they may be taken in and noted by the young participants ... they actually assert no more control than the knowledge that you're supposed to stop at a stop light at three in the morning when there's no other car in sight.

Maybe even less.

Now. Add in a years-long fantasy, something she loved the idea of, and was angry about because she couldn't have it, and you end up with a girl who makes foolish decisions.

I'm not saying it was all her fault. We could talk about the male's part in the whole thing. But with the vast majority of all biological, living creatures, procreation only takes place when the female welcomes it.

Why have I gone off on this tangent?

To explain why, after I fertilized my sister for the second time that evening, her kisses were even more ardent, and the way she clutched me, told me we weren't finished yet. Not that I wanted to be. We lay there like real lovers, and traded little kisses, and a few short confessions of love, and Phee said, "I want to stay like this forever," and eventually I got hard again - I had actually gone soft after I spurted the second time and she felt the change from soft to renewed vigor, and she whispered, "I want you again," and yes, I know this is a run-on sentence, but that's what this whole thing was like. It was like not being able to get a deep breath, but not caring because you hadn't passed out yet, and it was all too wonderful to bring to a halt.

Somehow we got rolled over, and in the writhing she did on top of me - which just about made me crazy, by the way - my penis went back inside her, where it was hot, and slippery from all that dangerous semen I had deposited there. She made this sound, deep in her throat when that happened, and I swear if I had found Aladdin's magic lamp at that moment, my very first wish would have been, "Let this never end!"

She sat up, impaled. Her hair was all messed up, and flying every which way. Her upper chest was dark red, and matched her hair. Her nipples were sticking out like they had been pumped up with air and might pop. I didn't know it, but I was seeing the quintessential image of a well-fucked, happy woman.

Without words, she experimented until she learned how to lean forward, just a little bit, supporting her upper body with her hands on my chest, and scoot forwards and backwards so her clit was massaged. At one point she hung her head and said, "Ohhh, Tut. This is so beautiful, Tut. I almost can't stand it!"

That was the first time in my life I wanted to cum ... and somehow made myself not do it.

It was magical. She went for a long time. Her orgasms were different this way. They weren't as strong or violent or something. She just whined, and her internal muscles turned into that hand that squeezed my cock. On impulse, I reached for those nipples and tenderly squeezed them, afraid they might burst, and she cried out, but in a way I knew meant I had done something good.

I watched her do that four times before she stopped and just sat there, her head hanging down. Her breath moderated, and she slowly lay down on top of me.

"I love you so much," she whispered.

I've used terms like "making love" here, most recently, because that's what it felt like. But at that moment something else reared its head. I don't quite know how to describe it, but it wasn't anywhere near making the kind of love we had been making. Suddenly, I felt the urge to be on top, and I rolled her over, spreading my legs first to squeeze them against hers as we rolled, so that my legs were on the outside now, and hers were together. And I left them that way as I powered forward, getting as deep as I could.

It felt completely different. When she'd been on top of me, I could feel the tip of my prick digging into something hard. Now there was just intense pressure on the shaft and head as it moved. And my only thought, at that moment, was to spurt. I wasn't trying to get her to make those sounds any more. Somehow, this was my time. I actually didn't care whether it felt good to her or not. I would agonize over that for days. And all she did was lie there and look up at me, but there was no recrimination in her eyes. I wasn't paying that much attention, but when I thought back on it, it seemed like she was just watching me because she was curious about what I would look like while I was thus engaged.

It didn't take long. The pressure was so strong that I could feel the pain swiftly approaching ... that pain that can only be assuaged in one way ... by the rush of semen through the over-sensitive urethra. And when it came, I growled, because I was no longer making love to my sister.

I was breeding her.

It sounds worse than it really was. I didn't mean to get Phee pregnant. Not in the sense that I thought about it and made a conscious decision to act in that way. But, effectively, that's what we were doing. We were obeying nature's demand to procreate. And nature doesn't give a quirly quip if you're brother and sister or not. The combination of undeveloped teenaged brains, and fully developed emotional bonds led to us doing things we shouldn't have done.

Happens all the time, right?

Well not to me. And not to Phee either. It scared the crap out of us. We finally realized that we had been engaged in trying to make a baby for hours, and that our parents might show up any time, and there was a flurry of activity as both of us tried to expunge the evidence of our carnal no no. Phee jumped in the shower while I got the sheets off my bed and put them in the washer. When she came out, I went in and she made up my bed with new linens and changed the sheets over to the dryer. We actually only had fifteen minutes to calm down and act normal before our tired parents came in the door, hugged us, and went to bed.

The only problem was that square dancing, while it tires them out ... also fires them up, if you get my drift.

Phee and I could both hear Mom's approval of whatever Dad was doing to her in their bedroom. We'd heard it before, of course ... we just hadn't known what it had meant, all those years. We thought we had ... but we hadn't. Not really. Not until now.

And we did talk about our problem after that. It was no longer shoved in a closet. We both agreed that making a baby was a bad idea. I actually did buy some condoms, but we didn't use them. Not for a long time, actually. It wasn't that we didn't want to make love. It was more like we knew, now, how easily things like that could get out of control. And, thinking back on things, I think it occurred to both of us that we would have ended up using three condoms that night ... and that would have changed the whole atmosphere.

So we exerted some control and didn't do anything - not even kiss - for almost a month. Part of the reason we could last that long was because her period was late, and it scared the shit out of both of us. Only later would I learn that worry can make a woman start late. And she was worried.

Plus, on most Friday nights, which was when the parents went out square dancing, there was a sleepover at somebody else's house. So that made it easier for us.

Until, that is, the rotation brought the sleepover back at our house.

You might think that all these little side trips I've been taking, where I talk about brains and philosophy and emotions are all just a bunch of teenage hooey. But they're not. By the end of this story, if I hadn't told you all this ... if I hadn't explained what was happening ... you'd just think I'm some kind of amoral animal. But I'm not. It's more complicated than that.

Phee and I were trying hard not to make a baby. That's important to understand. But that didn't mean we didn't want to. And, because Phee was Phee, and the girls were the girls, what with all their history and their own emotional and sexual entanglements, there was no way she could keep it a secret from them. They already knew that both she and Danni had sucked my cock, and by the time they showed up for the sleepover, Danni knew Phee wasn't a virgin any more.

That Danni still came for the sleepover should tell you something. Something important.

Of course I didn't know all that, then.

So, after some rather intense discussion, and before the rest of them knew that Phee and I had done the nasty, the agenda for the evening was for the rest of the girls to get caught up with Phee and Danni in the mysterious world of oral sex.

Perhaps, you have an inkling of what that was like for Phee and Danni. There I was, naked again, lying on Phee's bed again, my erection straining up into the air as Beth held it with two fingers and stared at it. Phee was, no doubt, thinking about how good it would feel if it were buried in her belly, and Danni was wide-eyed, trying to imagine what it might feel like in a belly other than Phee's.

Denise and Frankie were breathlessly watching Beth's mouth, which had assumed an O shape, whether she knew it or not. Her fingers tried to make the foreskin slide down, but they were too close to the base. In the end, she grasped the shaft in the more familiar jack-off grip and did it that way.

She stared at it for a long time and then, without warning, her mouth just swooped and engulfed the head. There were multiple gasps and her hand moved and she choked the crap out of herself when her nose bounced off my pubic hair. She pulled back off, coughing, but her hand moved back to grip my cock again.

"I think that was too far," she said, probably to herself. She cleared her throat, moved her hand up and down a couple of times, and then, much more gently, tasted my penis. She gave a tentative little suck, and I made a noise of happiness. Her eyes darted to my face, and I didn't know what to do. Give her the thumbs up? I don't think so. Grin? Probably not good either. Say "Good girl" and pat her head? Definitely not.

I settled for "Please don't stop."

Apparently that was the right thing to say, because she didn't. She moved her lips onto the shaft, and then back. I could feel her tongue flirting with the head. She did that again and pulled off, still gripping the base. She looked at my face.

"I like it," she said softly.

"Me too," I said. My breathing was rough. I admit it.

"Okay. I'll try it," said Denise, as though she had just made a momentous, well thought out decision of immense importance.

She moved to the other side of the bed, and I deduced that Phee and Danni had shared rather intimate details about how this had been done when they did it together. Beth didn't seem to mind sharing, anyway. In fact, Beth held it for Denise, and said, "Just do the tip at first. It's really smooth and hard. The skin on the side feels weird, but not bad."

And then Denise was sucking my dick and I knew something that the other girls didn't know. Denise had done this before. There was no way this was her first time. She was much too good at it. Admittedly, she should have gotten an Oscar for the performance she put on, acting all hesitant and such, but when her mouth engulfed me, I knew she could draw the sap from me in no time.

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