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

prompting.

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.