My Sister Jean
Chapter 11 -- Dry Humpin'
Like so many of the good things in our lives, we take
them for granted. That was certainly true for me in my
family. I took them and their love for granted, for that is
the way it always was. I didn't think much about it, if at
all. It wasn't something I had to work for so I didn't give
it any conscious thought.
That taking-for-granted was particularly true with my
sister. Like my parents, there was never a time in my life
when she wasn't there, so I was hardly grateful for them or
her...at least not then. Because we had an active sibling
rivalry and because I was the younger, I often lost. So, if
you were to have asked me what I thought about Jean, I
suppose I might have answered that I didn't think about her
at all, except to wish she might immigrate to Saturn or some
equally distant and hostile place.
Yet the vagaries of my developing youth suddenly moved
me from a totally self-centered, largely insensitive and
unaware young man to some marginally more mature stance of
appreciation for the goodness and beauty in my life.
I had gone from being mostly unaware of Jean to that
tingling, hypersensitive consciousness where I thought of
little else. There was not a day that passed that I'd not
thought of her, of her kindness and her gentleness, and yes,
if the truth is known, of her erotic sexiness.
I frequently dreamed of her, usually erotic, and it
often waked me with an intense, near-painful hard-on. Add
to that my walking-around, day-dream state and you can see
how I was preoccupied with her. Dazed might be a better
description.
It was almost too much. I didn't know the first thing
about handling the intensity of these feelings, so I did
that which I'd always done so well when I was in doubt.
Emotionally bobbing and weaving, I tried not to show my
feelings -- those feelings that were bubbling and about to
overflow. Not that there were "downer" feelings...not at
all. They were just powerful and new. I was confused.
In the days and then weeks that followed our last
unplanned and largely uncontrolled sexual encounter, my
sister and I had *both* pulled back a little. There was no
emotional "badness" connected with this; we did it
comfortably, without conscious decision as we had done in
some reflexive manner several times in the past. There was
something almost moth-and-flame-like in our behaviors.
Perhaps governed more by our hind brains, we were pulled
toward each other, longing, and in some ill-defined way,
hungry for each other. Of late, we often fell, unplanned
and unanticipated, out-of-control, into a heightened sexual
awareness and more, into a sexual connection.
This frightened us. And it excited us. Neither found
the paradox puzzling. We were terribly attracted to each
other, emotionally, lovingly and now, with a sexual ferocity
that simply frightened us. So, in a silent acknowledgment
of that fear, we'd stepped back just a little. Oh, not so
you'd notice it around the house, for we continued our
open-for-business-as-usual banter and interaction. Yet, we
knew. Sometimes a word, a gesture would ring in our minds
and looking up, we'd see the other staring and we would
recognize that vulnerable, uncertain look.
We knew at base what it was about. I did anyway. I
loved my sister. The uncertainty wasn't about that. It
centered about our lust. We'd danced around it, slowly at
first, with a gradual opening and increasing intimacy. Some
time ago I'd confessed to her that I wanted to make love
with her. (Actually, I think I told her I wanted to "fuck"
her.) At once out, I wanted to bite my tongue. I'd have
given anything at that moment to take back those words. Not
that I didn't mean them. I did. But I knew I'd crossed the
Rubicon with those words and the felt a sinking feeling with
the irreversibility of it all.
Jean handled it well, at least on the surface of it;
she was an uncomplicated, up-front girl without guile. She
had simply said something like, "Me too, but we're not gonna
do that, Billy. That's incest." End of discussion. Or was
it?
Clearly it wasn't, for that was the nidus of our
emotional turmoil. That we both wanted to "do it" wasn't the
question. We'd confessed that. No, the tension arose from
the not knowing. The not knowing in view of the wanting and
that nagging voice coming up from the hind brain that
repeatedly urged, "Go ahead. Have a bite. It's just an
apple."
I smiled to myself and thought, "Lead me not into
temptation. I know the way myself."
Despite that sometimes-delicious pull into the last
taboo, we continued to be comfortable about each other. As
long periods of silence are comfortable among close friends,
we had no feeling of malaise around our unresolved passions.
We were, both of us I think, content in following the thread
of our lives and our connection, not knowing where it would
take us.
There was a time, both before and again later, when I
practiced a studied imperturbability, a coolness on the
surface that frequently gave the lie to the cauldron
beneath. I certainly didn't suffer from alexithymia...that
failure to recognize feelings when I had them. To the
contrary, I was in heightened contact with my feelings. As
a safe cracker might have sanded his fingertips, my
emotional awareness was crackling with sensitivity. What I
didn't know was how to really talk about them...my feelings.
Jean always helped me out when I was stuck like that.
"What are you feeling right now, Billy?" she asked as
were walking in the hills behind our home.
I'd been aware that her breasts were swaying inside her
sweatshirt and wondered if she had departed from her usual
conservative attire to pique interest or if she'd simply
grown accustomed to me.
Picking up a rock, I heaved it as far as I could into
the wooded canyon and muttered, "Oh, nothin'."
"I've seen you do that a thousand times," she observed,
looking in the direction of the thrown rock.
"Uh...throw a rock?" I asked.
"Yeah. Or it's equivalent. When you're uncomfortable,
you move. You just can't stay still. You leave. Heck, I've
seen you get up and leave the room without ever getting out
of your chair!"
There was no debate here and I knew it. We'd covered
this one before and she was concomitantly observant and
accurate.
"So. Tell me. What's goin' on? You've been silent
for more than a week."
"Jean, I'm sorry," I said. And then glancing at her to
make eye contact, I added, "I'm not trying to be an asshole
(as if it took much effort on my part) and I'm not trying to
punish you or anything like that. I'm just not sure what it
is that I'm feeling."
Jumping from stone to stone, we crossed the winter-rain
swollen creek and started up the other side before she spoke
again. "I thought that, but also know that if we don't talk
about what's going on, it'll go underground and ferment."
"Okay, okay," I sighed with resignation. I *knew* this
was going to happen. Then, taking the plunge, I stated the
obvious, "Lady, you *know* how moved I was when we...when
you..."
Laughing, Jean finished my stuttering sentence,
"...when I sucked your cock?"
"You *do* have a way with words, you silver-tongued
devil you." I glanced down at the tight spot where her jeans
were drawn into her crotch and then up to her eyes. She'd
seen me looking.
"Yeah, and *you're* the one whose always telling me to
call a spade a spade," Jean countered.
I sat on a fallen tree and looked back into the ravine.
Jean sat beside me her elbows on her knees, cupping her
chin. For a few moments the noisy jays made the only sound
to be heard.
Not looking at her, I continued, "Well, whatever we
call this rose -- or this spade -- that fact is that I keep
thinking about you... about us."
"Cut to the chase, boy. You mean us *doin' it,* don't
you?"
Drawing back and placing my hand flat on my chest, I
replied, shocked, "Moi?"
"Yes, you! You horny jerk, you."
Then, in a moment of complete honesty, I admitted it.
"Yes. All the time. It's all that I think about." Then,
rushing on, "I'm not *asking* you to do it, you see...it's
just that it *is* on my mind all the time. You know?"
Nodding her head, Jean murmured, "I know." And then
placing one hand on my arm, she pulled my face around to
look into my eyes and said, "Let's not have this be the
elephant in the living room. We both feel it. We mustn't
pretend it's not there. We've got to talk about it."
"All right, woman. I'll tell you what I've been
thinking. How we feel about each other and about our selves
is no secret. Cripes, we're both horny and all we can think
about is screwing...at least that's the way I feel. We've
talked about it enough that we know, for the moment anyway,
that we're not prepared to actually *do* it. And it would
seem that we're not ready to enter the monastery or take
vows of chastity either. So..." I paused.
"Yeah-yeah...so?"
I've got her attention, I thought to myself. When in
doubt, tell the truth. "So...I propose that we continue as
we have. No rules . . . well, except one. For now, we
won't do it. As much as I'd love to really do it with you,
Jean, we won't. Whatever else we do, we do."
"Whew! I don't know whether to be relieved or
disappointed...I feel both."
"Me too."
"But what to you mean, whatever else'?"
"I guess I mean that I'll continue to act as I have. I
can't help but enjoy looking at you...or trying to get peeks
of your butt... you know, things like that."
"Touching?"
"Yes, touching...if you'll let me that is. I'll not
stop wanting to, but I won't try to force you to do anything
you don't want to do. If we can't agree that it's okay, that
neither of us is going to be hurt, then we won't do it.
How's that sound?"
"God, Billy...if we only could! If we could be open
enough with each other. I we could just say how we feel and
be able to talk about things, it'd be so-o cool."
"Tell you what, Sis. If we don't try, it sure won't
happen. Maybe we won't do it very good...maybe we'll mess
up from time to time . . . even a lot, but if we don't
*try,* we'll have given up, don't you see?"
"Billy, you sound just like Dad! 'You've got to try
your best and when you fall on your butt, pick yourself up
and try again.' You sound just like him."
"I hadn't thought of that, but yeah...I've heard that
mantra before." Then, touching her cheek, I asked, "Well?"
In a low voice, Jean said, "Billy, I've got that
deep-down feeling that this is a first step of a journey
that may take us a long, long way. Part of me is so excited
and another part of me is scared silly. But yes...I'll do
it. I'll do my best, that is. I have no idea what I can do
and what I can't, but I guess that's why we're starting
this, huh?"
"I don't know about that, Sis. Mostly I'm thinking
about getting in your pants."
She slugged me on the arm. "You ARE an asshole, you
know that?"
Laughing, I pulled her to the ground and we rolled and
tumbled over the soft cushion of pine needles, ending up in
that classic I-got-you position...me straddling her chest
and holding her forearms to the ground beside her head.
"Why didn't you wear a bra?" I asked in a teasing tone.
"What'ya think? To get your attention, jerky boy?"
"Remember Mardi Gras? Remember the beads and how the
girls would pull their shirts up, showing their tits? And
you wouldn't?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I remember that. So?"
"So, now you're gonna!"
"What!?" Bucking unsuccessfully, Jean quieted after a
moment, out of breath. "If you think I'm going to pull up my
shirt..." and then she shrieked.
I was holding both wrists above her head and was slowly
pulling the bottom of her shirt up, tickling her ribs in the
process.
Suddenly she stopped struggling and looked at me,
unsmiling. In a small voice, she said, "Billy, let me."
I cocked one eyebrow and looked at her. She just
nodded. I let her go. She reached down and pulled the
bottom of her sweat shirt up, slowly. The white under swell
of her breasts were followed by the prominent nipples,
pulled upward by her elevated arms. With the shirt pulled
up to her chin, she asked, "Is this what you wanted to see?"
Nodding, I tentatively extended the index finger of one
hand and, holding it right above her nipple, I looked at her
and asked, "Okay?"
"Yes. I *want* you to touch them. I want you to look
at me. I ache for you to touch me, Billy."
With a feather touch, I traced a line from her axilla
up across the swell of her breast and then around and around
the areola, not actually touch her nipple.
Jean arched her back, pushing her breast toward me and
with a half groan, whispered, "Ugh...that's so
good...please...more . . . touch it, Billy...please touch
it."
With the tips of my fingers, tenting the breast, I
slowly pulled up on her surprisingly firm tit, lightly
finger-milking her but just short of touching her engorged
areola and turgid nipple. Again and again, lightly, tracing
a feather-touch, up and down. Her hips began to stir, to
roll slightly under me. I became acutely aware of that old
familiar stirring with myself.
"Harder! Billy, harder!" she groaned. "Touch me,
dammit."
"Jean, I love your tits! You've got the sexiest tits
I've ever seen." (I was relieved that she didn't remind me
that I'd not seen many and hadn't touched any...other than
hers.) I leaned down and with the tip of my tongue, I
touched her nipple. She jerked upward, mashing her breast
on my lips. Opening my lips, I began to suck on her nipple.
"Don't tease me, dammit. Bite me. Bite me a little."
Afraid to hurt her, I placed her nipple against my
upper front teeth and with the tip of my tongue, pushed her
erect nip against the sharp edges of my teeth, alternately
soft and then firmer, never actually biting her.
"Oh, God, Billy. MORE. Harder. I can feel it down in
my pussy . . . all the way down there...there's a connection
from my breast to my womb. Jesus, it's good! Oh God, oh
God, it's so good."
I slipped down and pushed my pelvis against hers, never
losing contact with her breast, continuing to nibble as we
slowly humped against each other. Her legs fell open and I
knee-walked between them, grinding my trouser-imprisoned
hard-on against her pubic symphysis through her jeans.
With both hands, I cupped her breast, continuing to
suck and nibble. She bent her knees and thrust up at me
repeatedly, grunting and in a barely audible voice,
chanting, "Oh shit...oh shit...oh shit."
The compelling vortex of our desire pulled us again,
out of control, into a headlong flight through the endless
limits of some inner space, spinning and falling into that
almost painful moment of intense pleasure where our
boundaries were blurred, then lost. I couldn't tell where I
ended and Jean began. We were one for a moment, in some
blinding light of fulfillment. Then, sometime later, we
tumbled out, dazed, lightheaded and confused onto to the
pine-needle bed of our "almost doing it."
Slowly I became aware of our ragged breathing, out of
sync and of the sweat trickling through my hair. I'd rolled
off Jean and was laying beside her, one leg still trapping
hers. For several minutes we didn't move, didn't talk, just
glided down the back side of that mind-bending emotional
peak.
Finally Jean spoke. "JE-SUS KEY-RIST!" Even the
mildest profanity carried an additional impact when it came
from Jean, for she rarely employed crude words much less
profanity.
With my usual post-orgasmic cleverness and wit I
answered stupidly, "Wha-a-t-t?"
"Boy! Am I glad I was dressed."
"I'm not glad, but why are you?"
Turning her head, she looked at me and with a warm
smile she said, "Once again we've charged into some
out-of-control place, you and me. I thought we *might* fool
around just a little, but I never imagined this. I can't
understand how these things happen to me, you know? "
Again, with catchy wit I asked, "What things?"
"Don't play dumb with my, guy. You fool lots of
people, but *I* know who you are. I'm talking about my
complete lack of control when we get together. I never
planned on what we did...that...what do you call it anyway?"
"Dry humping?"
"Yes, that. It just happened so fast. The next thing
I knew my body had taken over and I wanted you inside me. I
couldn't stop my hips. I didn't even *want* to stop. That's
what I mean...out of control. Who knows what would have
happened if we woulda been naked?"
"It's too wonderful...too sweet to even imagine, Jean."
"Yeah. Well, that's why I'm NEVER gonna get naked with
you alone. If you ever see me without any clothes on, don't
*even* come near me. Hear?"
I just smiled at her and looked down at her breasts,
still exposed.
She poked me in the ribs and repeated, "You hear me,
Billy?"
Laughing, "Sure, sure...yeah, um...I hear you. The
next time I see your bare butt I'll just grab my woody and
run in the opposite direction."
Quietly, seriously Jean added, "Billy, I don't want you
to run from me. You know that. Run TO me, but please don't
take advantage of me. I just know I won't be strong enough
when I should be."
Damn. I hated that. When she transferred
responsibility to me in asking that I help her, I was
screwed. I couldn't fall back on being a brainless kid and
not to blame for my actions. Shit! Who said growing up was
all that much fun?
Touching her cheek I whispered, "Jean, you know I'll be
there for you. I'll always honor you. My horniness is small
change when I compare it to my love for you. You can take
that one to the bank, girl."
Brushing the tell-tale pine needles from our clothes,
we started back, holding hands a little of the way. I can't
remember when I ever felt better.
