Chapter 10

When he crawled off of me, he looked like he’d aged ten years. He kind of stooped over, and he was still breathing deeply, like he’d just run a long way. I felt his sperm begin to seep out of me and reached to press my pussy lips together. What he had given me was precious, somehow, and I didn’t want to lose it. I let Brinn’s drain out of me routinely. Maybe that’s because I knew he was always ready to put more in. I know for certain that I thought, at that particular point in time, that what had just happened was an anomaly ... a one time thing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at me.

“I’m not,” I said.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he moaned.

“Yes, you should have!” I said firmly.

“Your mother will kill me,” he sighed.

“Nobody will kill you,” I said. “Anybody who wants to kill you has to go through me first.”

I know this sounds silly, but my mind was already adapting the new reality. And it was already mounting arguments against this being a one time thing. A whole lot of my mind wanted this to happen again ... frequently, if possible.

“Are you okay?” he asked. I could hear the concern in his voice. Whatever that thing was that squirted in my belly before, squirted again, and just like that, I was ready to go again.

“How soon before you can do that again?” I asked.

He blinked at me, and his jaw dropped. “What?” he gasped.

My brain, which is capable, on occasion, of coming up with something clever, did so at this point.

“I still can’t answer the question. I still don’t know if size matters or not. I think you’re going to have to do that again before I can tell for sure.”

Finally he laughed. It was explosive, and short-termed, but he laughed.

Then he stopped laughing, and we had a conversation about what to tell my mother. And my siblings.

In the end, I decided that my first decision as an adult, was that what had happened in the barn - what Uncle Bob had given me for my birthday - was none of their business.

Of course trying to keep such a huge secret from people who knew me that well was ridiculous. Mom was up and frying more eggs when we walked in. Apparently I was “glowing” and she knew right away. The guilty look on Uncle Bob’s face might have had something to do with it.

She didn’t drag him off to the bedroom this time. Instead, she sat us down and said, “Tell me about it.” Then she looked at me and said, “Are you okay?”

I nodded, realizing that I was busted. “Really good,” I added.

“I bet,” she said softly. She knew what this man was capable of in bed. She had luxuriated in it for years. “Well, I knew it would happen someday. I should have known it would be on your eighteenth. Happy birthday, Darling.” She got up and came around the table and leaned over to give me a hug and kiss.

“Leave a little for me, okay?” she whispered in my ear.

Like an idiot I nodded again. I had tears in my eyes, which was confusing.

She sat back down and Uncle Bob proved he was the kind of man who was willing to take responsibility for his actions.

“Are you okay?” he asked my mother.

She didn’t answer. She just stared at me. She told me later that what she was actually looking for were signs of discomfort on my part. Believe it or not, she was just then coming to grips with the fact that her little girl was sexually active. I know that sounds ridiculous, but when she was a girl, she and Uncle Bob only fooled around a little bit. She asked him to be her guinea pig when she wanted to learn how to kiss, for example. And she never thought of all the things they did as being serious sex until after us kids were born. So she didn’t think of what Brinn and Shannon and I did as serious sex either. Nor were the things Uncle Bob had “helped us explore.” She had always worried, as any mother does, that her daughter’s entry into the world of sex might not go so well. Her own hadn’t, and she’d always been scared that ours wouldn’t either.

But what she saw was just me, relieved that she wasn’t mad at me. I was relaxed. And she sat there examining me so long that I glanced over at Uncle Bob, because she still hadn’t answered his question. When she saw how I looked at him, her worries evaporated. It was clear to her that I was completely comfortable being around him.

“I’m not ready for my little girls to be all grown up,” she said. She smiled, but it was a thin, weak smile. “But I’ll survive.”

“I don’t want you to just survive,” I said. “I want you to be happy.”

Now there were tears in her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said. Her voice quavered a bit.

“For doing that?” I asked, astonished.

Her laugh was both automatic and cathartic. I think it was because my response was so completely off the mark that she realized maybe I wasn’t so completely grown up, and that maybe she still had a little girl after all. I didn’t even get it until Uncle Bob covered his eyes with the web of his right hand and groaned.

Brinn chose that moment to walk into the kitchen, stark naked, as usual. He was soft, of course, because Shannon never let him leave our bedroom with a hardon.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, looking at the cabinet that contained the breakfast cereal, instead of us.

Mom only laughed harder.

I kept that secret from my siblings too. Do not ask me why it was so obvious to my mother, but my brother and sister missed it. Maybe they were too busy scratching the same itch.

Oddly, the way Uncle Bob and I treated each other didn’t change much. At least not “publicly,” which meant from the perspective of the others living in the house. Mom knew, of course, so maybe she saw the way I reached to touch Uncle Bob sometimes. It was just a touch, but she knew why that little touch was special. And the way they treated each other didn’t change much either, as far as I could see. She still regularly had that look that I now knew meant she was well and recently fucked. I saw her touch him too, just reaching to slide a fingertip along his arm, or whatever.

There were fewer public changes in the way we acted, of course. It was kind of weird, actually. We didn’t actually talk about what would, or would not happen. But whenever we found ourselves alone, under circumstances where we didn’t think we were going to be missed, or interrupted, it usually ended up with me under him, getting my bell rung and wishing it would never stop. I have to admit we checked a heck of a lot of fence in the next two months before us kids went off to college. And let me tell you, there is nothing that compares with making love out on the prairie, with the big, blue sky staring down at you, and the wind blowing in your ears.

I learned a lot that summer. What Uncle Bob did with me was like going to a symphony, where the music swelled and you wanted to close your eyes and let it take you to the clouds and beyond. Then, later, Brinn would bring out the hard core rock and roll, and it would be party time. I’m amazed we never broke our bed.

But summers always end, and we were also excited about going to college. Pretty soon it was time for us to start packing. Mom got all weepy again. Uncle Bob kept reminding us that the bed in the pickup was only four by six feet, and that we couldn’t take the whole house with us.

Then we were on the road. There wasn’t room for all of us in the pickup, of course. I volunteered to ride with Uncle Bob, and Mom convoyed with us in the car, taking Shannon and Brinn. I am not at all embarrassed that Uncle Bob wavered a bit (Mom said it looked like he’d been drinking) when I lay down and exposed his penis to get one last dose of his yummy semen in my belly. I’d much rather have gotten that load in my belly the other way, but you can’t have everything, you know?

The next four years were interesting. I’d have to put them in the category of things I’m really glad I did, but don’t ever want to do again. I admit I’m a mamma’s girl. I missed my mother. And I missed Uncle Bob. I met hundreds of interesting people, and living with Shannon and Brinn, I always felt “at home.” Brinn eventually learned how to have sex that wasn’t so energetic. I like to think I taught him how to make love. I know he learned patience. One of the things he had always complained about was when either of us girls got on top. We knew how to lean just so, and move just so, such that orgasms fairly popped into existence, like so much popping corn. He complained that we went forever, seeking “Just one more little one, Brinn!” and that he never got to cum. He stopped complaining about that while we were in college, and simply tried to help us get another one. He became the world expert at twiddling my nipples. Nobody else has ever done it as well as he does.

Speaking of which...

I had compared size, between Brinn and Uncle Bob. It was impossible not to be at least a little curious about what other “sizes” might be like. And I met a lot of handsome, interesting men. They were quite interested in me as well. And Shannon, of course. Apparently all men have a thing about twins. Or at least a fantasy about twins.

There was this one guy named Jeremy. We were lab partners for a semester. He was sweet, and I guess the curiosity overcame me, because I ended up in bed with him one night. It wasn’t awful, but my curiosity was assuaged. While I admit to still finding some men interesting on higher levels, I haven’t slept with any of them. Jeremy could tell too. We agreed to be friends after that. I still have a soft spot in my heart for him, but he’s married now and has two kids.

And yes, Shannon did him too, just as soon as she found out I had slept with him. She actually went to his fraternity house and knocked on his door. He told me later, “She said the two of you have to share everything ... that it’s a rule.” And then she started taking her clothes off and kissing him. What would any guy do in a situation like that? I’m pretty sure they did it again a week later, but neither of them has ever admitted it. But while Shannon was a slut, she still had the same set of values I did. She recognized the difference between being a slut for our brother, and just being a slut.

After the first year we roomed together in a tiny little house in the back yard of a much bigger house. Mrs. Henderson was our landlady, and she lived in the big house. She was in her seventies. The little house was what was built first, back in the early nineteen hundreds, so they had something to live in while they built the big house. It had two cramped bedrooms, and there was no way to get a queen or king into either of them. We didn’t have one anyway. So each of us girls had our own bedroom, and Brinn just slept wherever he felt like it. Actually, he slept where we told him to.

Anyway, it was while we were at college that we came up with the plan. Originally, I had thought about being a biologist. Shannon had decided to major in English, which I never understood. Brinn started his college life preparing to be a teacher. Within the first year, though, we’d had enough time to sit, quietly in our little house, and talk about the future. The idea of splitting apart, and letting the wind take us in different directions ... well, let’s just say it never got any real traction. So we began to re-examine how we should be preparing ourselves for the future ... a future we intended to spend in the same place. And that meant having the kind of skills that could support us in the same place.