my sister jean chapter 2

my sister jean chapter 2

Chapter 2 — The Couch
I really liked Jean. Heck, I adored her. She was a
wonderful sister and I know she loved me as well. So it
wasn't an act when I set out to be her champion. I stuck up
for her. I defended her from my mom's sometimes erratic
sense of fair play and when my friends teased her, I'd only
let it go so far. I'd let those guys know that she was my
sister and not to disrespect her. Jean, at first, was
uncertain, but her loving nature pushed right through. She
spoke to me with affection and began to engage me in
conversation, at first about inconsequential things, but
later about "boy-girl" things. Our relationship had been
changed. It was growing more "real," never to go back to
our old sibling rivalry.

Oh, my behavior around her hadn't changed. I was still
trying to look down her blouse or up her dress. I still
listened at the bathroom door. But now, we were closer
buddies. She really liked me, so it was both easier to
accept my aggressive sexuality and harder for her to take
offense at my shenanigans. Added to that, I began to accept
myself a little more and was far less hesitant about letting
her know that I was horny.

One afternoon, alone in the house together, she asked,
"Can we have a heart-to-heart?"

Grinning and with a pointed look at her left breast, I
said, "Sure, girl, I'd love to have a heart-to-heart with
you. Your place or mine?"

"Come-ON, you nit. Be serious. I need to talk with
you, so get your mind out of the gutter."

Sprawling out on one end of a large sectional in the
living room, I said, "Okay, okay, Sis, sit and talk to me.
What's happenin'? What's on your mind? Boys? Yeah, I'll
bet that's what it is…boys, huh?"

Sitting opposite me and giving special attention to a
button on her shirt, she didn't make eye contact, a sure
sign of her embarrassment about something.
"Well…kinda…that is, I need to…well, I'd *like* to ask
you some questions about what boys think okay?" When Jean
was uncertain of herself, she often placed an interrogatory
inflection on the last part of her sentences as if to say,
"You know?"

"Only if you share with me…tit for tat, girl. I'll
tell you things what you wanna know — if you tell me what I
wanna know…and no mincing around either. Fair?" It was
always better to establish the rules of engagement with
Jean. More often, she was willing to give a little before
the fact. Before she became embarrassed and dug in, I
wanted her tacit agreement that if I were to tell her "all
about boys," I wanted reciprocity. I'd been pulling her in
this direction for weeks and she was ever less reticent to
'fess up.

"Well…okay, but don't get too dirty again, will
you… promise?"

"Heck no. I don't promise anything, except to be
honest. Where can you get a better deal than a promise of
honesty? The truth can't hurt you, you know." I was
shamelessly playing on her sense of morality and fair play,
trying to suggest that what she had to talk about was
probably just as "dirty" as my stuff. (*I* didn't even
believe that.)

Still pulling on the button, "Okay, little brother."
Then smiling, "I do trust you."

Mentally rubbing my hands, I thought, yes…trust
me…to try to get into your pants, big sister. Affecting a
nonchalant indifference, I leaned back (and almost fell off
the couch) and said, "Thanks. Now, shoot. What's on your
mind, woman?" (She loved to be called "woman.") Now that
the general topic was out of the bag and we'd established
the ground rules, she visibly relaxed a little more.

Swinging around, she put her bare feet on the couch
near mine and leaned her knees into the cushions, tugging
her skirt down. Out of my peripheral vision I noted that
the hem of her skirt had fallen in such a fashion that I
could see well up the back of her thighs. This has
potential I knew but I'd have to be careful not to be too
openly leering at her legs, at least at first.

Again, nervously tugging at the button on her shirt,
she sat silently for a moment, I imagined composing her
question. Whatever it was, she'd been thinking about it for
days at least, but now she had to compose the words. If
nothing else, I was patient. I waited without further

Finally, hesitantly, she stammered, "This is
embarrassing, but . . . when you…do you remember…uh, the
time when you…"

"The time when I came?" I offered.

Blushing and tugging more on the button, she nodded.

In a soft voice I admitted, "Yeah, well sure. How can
I forget? It was the neatest thing ever happened. What
about it?"

"Uh…I've been wonderin', that ever happen before? I
mean, have you ever, uh, before…that is…oh shit! I
wanna know. Do guys, you know…jack…uh, masturbate?"

Do guys…? I couldn't believe it. It was too good to
be true. I'd been wondering for weeks how'd I'd get Jean to
talk about masturbation and now here it was, right out
there, and she'd asked me! Boy, was I going to have a good
time with this one. I thought it'd take a long time to get
up to The Topic and now, wham, here it was.

I almost fell off the couch again in an attempt to look
casual. My dick was already stirring. Cripes, I could see
the bulge and I know that if she looked, she could as well.
I was now the one who was almost tongue tied. "Well sure
guys masturbate, Jean. At least everyone I know does, and
all the time, or at least that's what they say."

Jean gets restless when she's approaching an
emotionally-charged conversation and I was increasingly
aware of her legs as she shifted them back and forth.
Abruptly, they parted as she crammed both hands, straight
armed, between her thighs. I saw a flash of white, the
crotch of her panties. It was more than a flash. Actually,
it was a several second look and the poochy bulge that
formed the crotch of her panties was the sexiest thing in
the world at that moment. My mind went right back to the
memory when my nose was smashed next to her crotch and the
olfactory memory kicked in. I could smell her, I thought.

"And you?" she prompted.

"Geez, Sis. I'm a guy! Sure. That is, I mean, I
have," I admitted in an evasive way.

Tilting her head in way she had, she held out one hand,
palm up and said, "Oh, I supposed you did…I mean, the way
you're always trying to look at me and all. But what I was
really wondering was, uh . . . how?"

"How?" How what I wondered?

Now, her voice more certain, "Yeah. Just *how* do you
do it. I mean, the one time I saw you…you did it against
the table. Is that the way you *always* do it? I just
wanna know."

Laughing, I replied, "That was the *only* time it
happened that way, Sis. That just happened. I didn't plan
it. I don't normally get off on the table…I usually do
it…uh, the usual way, you know."

With a trace of irritation she countered, "No, I*
don't* know. That's why I'm asking. I mean, if I knew, do
ya think I'd be asking? I know how girls…I mean, I don't
know how guys really do it."

For a moment I couldn't believe that Jean was that
naive. She *must* have known. But, maybe she is as
inexperienced as she said and I needed to give her support,
not teasing.

"Okay, I think I understand what you want to know.
It's like this. You know what a hard-on is, don't you…when
a guy's dick swells and get hard…when he's all excited?
Well, when my dick's hard, I just wrap my hand around it and
then stroke it up and down. I almost always think of
something sexy…you know, fantasize while I'm doing it . .
. and before I know it, wham! I come…and, well you saw
what that's like."

"You think of something sexy? Like what? A movie star
or a picture in Penthouse?"

"Well, I have thought of girls I've seen in sexy
magazines, but most of the time I think of someone I know,
someone closer to me, someone who is real and very sexy."

"Janey Pritchard?" she asked, naming the most
outrageous flirt in high school.

"Not Janey. She's okay, I guess, but she doesn't get
me off. No, I think of someone who's far sexier than Janey
when I jerk off… that's what guys call it, ya
know…jerking off."

Jean had succeed in pulling her shirt button all the
way off and was absentmindedly working on the next one down.
As her shirt opened and closed, I caught repeated glimpses
of the swell of her breasts above the lacy white bra she was
wearing. She continued to shift around as she became more
excited and had dropped one foot off the couch while the
other, still bent, was up against the cushion giving me a
completely wide-open look under her skirt.

She was wearing bikini-style panties, very low cut in
front and high on the sides. The darkness of her pubic hair
was plainly visible, for I'd picked the end of the couch
with the light behind me. Jean had to squint to look
directly at me while I had a clearly lighted, unobstructed
crotch shot. The conversation and the sexy view were
getting to me. My pants were clearly bulging out and I'd
seen my sister glance at my crotch several times and then
quickly look away.

She persisted, "Who, then? Just who do you think of
that gets you all…uh…hard and…and horny?"

Was she fishing? Dropping my right hand to bulge of my
pecker and holding it pointedly, I said, "You."

"WHAT?" She gasped, her eyes wide in surprise, her
hand frozen with the shirt pulled part way open. "What do
you mean, me? Billy, I'm your sister for cryin' out loud!"

Lowering my voice and looking hard at her, I rushed on,
"Sis, I *am* your brother and I still find you attractive.
I still find you *very* attractive, beautiful even. Why,
you're the most attractive girl I know and by far, the
sexiest girl I know. I can't help that and I can't help the
way I feel. I care for you and I love you. I'd do anything
for you. I can't help it you turn me on. When I see you, I
feel warm. When I see your breasts or your butt, I get a
thrill. When I think of you naked, why I just get so darn
horny…there's only one thing I can do."

Jean sat, frozen, with one leg up which pulled the
crotch of her panties into her pussy. There was a natural
silence. We just sat and looked at each other. Now I was
no longer trying to sneak peeks at her panties; I was
blatant about it. I knew she could see me and yet, she
didn't close her legs. I could plainly see the penumbra of
soft hair high on her thigh, above where she shaved her
legs. Then, looking at the crotch of her white cotton
bikinis, I could see a wet spot. She was getting wet. She
was getting excited, I was sure.

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