My Sister Jean
Chapter 18 - The Trip to Little Cayman
The movie had started in the main cabin and the
American transcontinental flight from San Francisco to Miami
had quieted for the first time since Jean and I had boarded.
Quite often when we'd traveled with our parents, and
particularly with our status-conscious father, we had flown
first class, but this time we were paying for the trip from
our own meager savings and we were firmly planted in the
main cabin. Had there been a steerage class, we might have
been there, so strained was our budget.
Jean and I were on our way to Little Cayman, south of
Cuba, for a week of SCUBA diving. We'd been to The Wall at
Cayman before with Mom and Dad and as with most kids, we'd
paid no attention to the cost of anything. This time, our
parents had given us permission to go there alone, but only
if we paid our own way. Something about 'the value of the
dollar.' Boy, was that an education!
I was idly looking out the window, seeing nothing, and
Jean was sitting next to me. An older guy with a paunch and
earphones on was quietly snoring next to her. Glancing
around, most of the passengers were either sleeping or
caught up in the adventures of Mel Gibson. It seemed like a
safe time to talk. I put back the arm rest between us and
leaned over to Jean.
"Are you surprised Mom let us go?" I asked.
"Together, on this trip? Because of our talk you
mean?"
"Yeah, that," I said.
In a moment of mindless unburdening, Jean had confessed
to our mom that we'd been fooling around with each other,
but we hadn't 'gone all the way.' Cripes, our secret was
out! I thought the jig was up, but I'd underestimated our
mother.
Subsequently, she cornered me. What could I do? Partly
in fear and partly because I didn't know how to lie well, I
told her the truth, expecting the world to fall in on me.
'Your own SISTER?' Yet, she hadn't gone ballistic.
Actually, she remained warm and loving, reminding me of my
responsibility to Jean and to myself and not threatening us.
Oh, we'd spoken of the potential consequences of our acts
and the need to be mindful of our actions. But she never
once said, 'Don't do that.'"
"Not really," Jean said after a pause. "I mean, she
does trust us."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, we've been truthful with her...about us, I mean.
And she's always been out front with us. She as much as
told me that she can't really *make* us do anything...that
we'll do whatever it is we're going to do, no matter what.
And she trusts that we'll be responsible." After a pause,
she added, "Mom's always been good at that - making us
responsible for our actions, I mean."
"Yeah, I know that. At least intellectually. But
emotionally, I'm still a bit surprised. I guess I thought
we'd get grounded, say for the next ten years or so."
"Wanna hear another shocker? Try this one on for size.
Mom insisted that I start taking The Pill. 'Not that I
think you're going to do anything for sure, but you never
know, she said.'"
"You're on The Pill?" I asked, excited.
"I just said..."
"Then you couldn't get pregnant if we..."
"Billy! We're not going to DO anything! How many
times do I have to tell you that? This was Mom's idea, not
mine. And in any case, it's not for YOU!" Her tone was
uncharacteristically sharp.
I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Okay, okay. I
get it. Don't get mad."
Jean turned to stare at me, her eyes blazing and then
she softened. "I'm not mad. Not really. I just don't want
you to take me for granted, that's all."
The attendant offered each of us a blanket. We
accepted and Jean spread her's over her lap before
continuing. "When I asked Mom if we could go on this
vacation together, she never mentioned 'our situation.' She
never said we shouldn't be together or that we
shouldn't...well, you know."
"Make love?"
She glanced sharply at me. "Anyway, I told her we
wouldn't. She shouldn't worry, I said."
"What's that got to do with me taking you for granted?"
I asked.
"Oh, I don't know!" She sounded a little exasperated.
"Just don't!"
"Can I have your peanuts?"
I watched the corners of her mouth twitch, trying not
to smile. She recognized my paper-thin ploy to distract her,
to change the subject.
Handing me the small bag of peanuts, she said, "You owe
me."
"For the peanuts?"
"No, you jerk. For talking Mom and Dad into letting us
take this trip alone."
"Whatever your price, it's a bargain," I replied,
settling back in my seat.
Still, I thought it seemed a little unreal, almost too
good to be true. It just didn't fit my concept of how
things worked. After we'd confessed to Mom our sexual
desires, it didn't fit my preconceived notion of the usual
parental response. But then Mom's responses often didn't.
I couldn't remember how many times I'd screwed up, expecting
to catch hell, only to have her give me one of her calm
talks. Inevitably, I'd end up taking more responsibility
for my stuff than I wanted to. Didn't she know? I just
wanted to be totally irresponsible and do the things I
wanted to do and when I wanted to do 'em. That was usually
right NOW.
I suppose our taking this vacation together wasn't all
that much different from the times we'd spent home alone
together, I reasoned. Yet, the sex addict in me wanted to
put some other spin on it. Like we'd been given permission
or something.
I looked over at Jean. She had her seat back partially
reclined and was quietly resting, eyes closed. I watched
the rise and fall of her bulky sweatshirt. To be truthful,
I was really watching the rise and fall of her breasts,
seeing them in my mind's eye, full and heavy, yet
extraordinarily firm. Jean had told me that the women in
our family all were blessed with firm, youthful breasts. I
could only speak for Jean, a peek once or twice at Mom and
oh yes, our Aunt Peg in the hot tub. Yeah, they'd all have
been picked out of titty line-up as being related.
Unconsciously, I made it my business to check out Jean.
From long practice, I'd come to accurately recognize when
she was wearing a bra, as she was today. It wasn't that her
tits sagged or anything obvious like that. It was more I
think that her bra pushed the sides in a little, maybe so
they didn't get in the way? But more I noticed subdued
movement. She was missing that subtle sway when she walked.
As we were carrying our shoulder bags toward the departure
gate today, she'd caught me checking her out. She flushed,
smiled and then nodded in silent confirmation at my unasked
question. Jean had once admitted that she was pleased that
I always checked her out. I thrived on small encouragements
like that.
Just a bit later, a young girl in a micro skirt dropped
something in front of us and as she bent over at the waist,
I saw a flash of red. Jean nudged me and smiled. Red
panties. Were they thongs I wondered? And why red? Had her
boyfriend instructed her in how to dress when she met him at
the airport? That and no bra, I'll bet. My imagination ran
on. He'd told her to trim her pubic hair, rouge her nipples
and leave the top buttons open. Man, I was just getting
warmed up!
"Billy, come on back!"
"Uh...yes...my mind wandered for a moment." I said
sheepishly.
She smiled and said in a low voice, "The whole airport
could see that."
The trip to Miami was best described at tedious and we
arrived almost on schedule. Between planes, we called home
and left a message that everything was going all right.
Jean bought a few post cards and I mostly looked at the
dark-skinned, good-looking girls gliding and swaying about
the airport. I loved the colors of all the people. Even
the airport colors looked like something out of a TV Program
about Miami. Watching one particularly exotic girl jiggle
past me - I imagined from Havana - I had an image of
dusky-skinned teenage girls rolling large cigars on nubile
firm thighs. I didn't know if they did it that way, but I
liked the image.
Jean nudged me in the ribs and whispered in my ear,
"Lookit the ass on THAT one!" It was one of those
small-waisted, firm-cheeked honeys that wore jeans so tight,
it defied understanding. I mean, how in hell they get 'em
on, anyway?
I turned and smiled at her, making a brief salivating
look.
"Down, boy," she advised.
"If I could WILL it down, my life would be simpler."
"If you could only will it UP..." she countered, then
looked away, blushing.
"It'd always be up...at least around you." I finished
in a slightly louder voice.
"You!" She pretended mock indignation.
The Cayman Air flight took off on schedule, an unusual
occurrence, I thought. The relatively brief flight over
Cuba and down to the Caymans was uneventful, the very best
type of trip. When we landed in Grand Cayman, the air was
sweet and warm and the people friendly and colorful, but
still, we thought of the tourist part of that Caribbean
island much as we thought of Miami Beach, which is to say,
not very much. We were anxious to move on to a more remote,
less developed part of the islands.
From past experience, we reserved some trepidation for
the connecting flight from Grand Cayman to Cayman Brac and
the short jump to Little Cayman. We remembered it as a
chancy and casually run affair. An unusually tall, former
horse-transportation aircraft converted for human use served
as the Mexican bus equivalent of the local island shuttle.
Well, kinda converted as we remembered and our memory served
us well. I looked around large, stall-like interior of that
curious plane, half expecting to see an old, dried-up horse
turd kicked into a dusty corner but the only thing I saw was
a crushed Coke can and some candy wrappers.
After landing on Little Cayman, almost a grass strip
carved out of the jungle, we taxied to the terminal. That's
an overstated name for the small wooden shack sitting next
to a weedy graveled area. With only twenty- some permanent
inhabitants on the island, there'd be no taxi cabs, but I
needn't have worried. A moderately rusted and beat-up old
pickup that belonged to Pirate's Pub was there to meet us.
Surprisingly, all our gear made it through the multiple
plane changes. As surprisingly, Jean traveled almost as
light as I did, in marked contrast to our aunt or our
mother. "Casual clothes, that's all I packed," Jean assured
me. Even without tanks and weight belts, the rest of the
gear was heavy, bulky and clumsy. That was the price, we'd
been taught, for the safety of taking your own gear on a
dive trip. I was pleased when several guys standing around
swarmed over our gear and loaded it into the truck and it
appeared they were pleased with the tip.
Pirate's Pub was run by a delightful, robust,
full-of-life lady from Texas named Gladys Howorth. She'd
studied in several internationally known culinary institutes
and her meals at Pirate's Pub were justifiably famous.
Still, for all of that, I'd not have traveled so far just
for the atmosphere and her cooking alone. It was the Wall I
was after. I've heard that there are three premiere dive
spots in the world, at least for wall diving. There's the
Red Sea for one, then parts of the Great Barrier Reef were
highly ranked and finally, in our hemisphere, there's the
Wall off Little Cayman.
I read that the Wall dropped off into the depths,
falling 6,000 feet straight down. That was academic, of
course, but what made it so fantastic was the
impossible-blue water there with constant 100 feet plus
viability. That together with the rich and varied marine
life in and around the pockets and caves on the Wall made
for some of the most spectacular diving anywhere. Happily,
there was no drift current as in Cozumel, so you could hang
out anywhere without having to work against the drift. If
the Dive Master became confidant of your abilities, you
could dive alone with your buddy and return to the boat when
you were ready. Rarely did we have dive groups larger than
six to eight people and often, there'd be as little as four.
We'd been to the Caymans a couple of times before with
our parents and friends. Jean was a strong swimmer and a
naturally talented diver. We'd been diving buddies for years
and were very comfortable with each other's abilities. We
just floated around effortlessly using so little air, often
we were in the water for fifteen or twenty minutes after
other folks had depleted their tanks' air supply.
"Think Margi's still here?" Jean asked on the ride
through the jungle. She'd had taken off her sweatshirt and
was down to a skimpy sleeveless T- shirt. My arm was over
her shoulder and I had a good view of the top of her white
bra as well as a good portion of her cleavage. It never
ceased to thrill me.
Margi? Margi had been a small, very attractive female
Dive Master who came from Colorado. We'd met her last year.
I'd developed a crush on her then but aside from recognizing
me as an experienced diver, I don't think she even know I
was alive. She was a couple of years older than Jean, and
that put me out of the running. Some good-looking 'older
guy' had monopolized much of her time when we had been there
the previous year. No, I hadn't forgotten Margi.
"I hope so, but doubt it. They've had a new Dive Master
every time we've been here. They're such a bunch of
gypsies."
"Would you like to *see* her again?" she asked,
grinning at me. We both remembered the time Margi had been
helping a sea-sick diver into the boat and couldn't tend to
a broken bikini bra strap. I couldn't see the diver, just
Margi's full breast. I remembered how tan she was, except
her breast which was startlingly white. Mostly, I
remembered her nipple. It had been very large, thick and
meaty, jutting out from her pebbled areola.
I whispered in her ear, "Remember her nipple?" I may
have been talking about Margi's breast, but it was Jean's I
was eyeing as I peered down her shirt.
"I KNEW that's what your were thinking, you hound dog!"
Jean loved to play the innocent, obliquely referring to
something sexy and then pretending moral outrage. We knew
the game well.
When we arrived at Pirate's Pub, the efficient crew had
us moved into our room in a jiffy. We'd asked for two
adjoining rooms, but knew we'd take whatever was available.
I was tickled when Gladys put us in a single large room with
two double beds. Our quarters was one half of an octagonal
building in the palm trees quite near the beach. I
remembered how soothing the waves and the night sounds were
there.
"Well, babes, it looks like we're stuck together.
Mind?"
"Of course not, but don't get any ideas," she replied,
not looking at me as she swung her luggage onto the bed.
"Jean, ideas are all I have." I protested, opening my
large carry-on bag. Filling the drawers and sorting out
gear, I added, "You don't think I can really stop
*thinking*, do you?"
Jean held up some brief, sheer panties I'd never seen
before, and studied them for a moment. "It's not your
*thinking* that concerns me, big guy."
"Where'd you get those?"
"Victoria's Secret. And you know what I'm talking
about."
"Hot!" I paused and then continued, "And no, I don't
know what you're talking about. Sex, sure. And us. But
what about it? I thought we had a deal?"
A little while back we'd agreed to explore our
sexuality, out of the closet as it were, just as long we
honored each other's limits. That of course meant mostly me
respecting her limits. I'm not sure I had any. At least I
hadn't bumped into them yet.
Jean stopped unpacking and just looked out the screened
window at the filtered light reflected off the water.
Periods of silence were common between us and I didn't pay
any attention until I saw her shoulders shake. When I walked
in front of her I saw her eyes were screwed tight and a
couple of tears were running down her cheeks.
When my shadow crossed her face, she opened her blue
eyes that were shiny wet and just looked at me as she
brought her fingers up to her face. I gathered her into my
arms and held her without speaking. She sobbed silently for
a few minutes and then put her arms about my neck burying
her head below my ear. I ran a hand up and down her back,
softly kissing her hair and making crooning sounds.
"I'm sorry, Billy. I know I'm being such a bitch. You
don't deserve that. Thanks for your patience with me." She
hiccuped and then laughed. "And yes, we *do* have a deal.
That hasn't changed. Tell you what, I'm a little bit scared
and my period's about to start. I always get a little
'touchy' for a day or two this time of the month. God, I
*hate* to think I'm a PMS-er! Can you put up with me?"
I almost asked her what my choices were, but held off,
thinking she didn't need any of my sophomoric humor.
Instead, I continued to hold her close and said, "Jean,
there's not a serious problem on the horizon. Think about
it. We're alive and well, we're together, and this is the
first day of a to-die-for vacation. I love you...you know
that, but I want to say it anyway. There's no agenda. We
can dive or not dive. Sleep or not sleep. Wanna be with me?
Cool. Wanna be alone a little, that's cool too."
"Oh, Billy! I don't what to be alone! What ever I
say... however I act, I came here to be with you. Don't
leave me, promise? I'm sorry I've been a shrew, but I'm
feeling better already. Maybe I just had to let the
bitchiness out, huh?"
Nodding, I said, "All I really know is how I feel and
that works for me, babe. The letting it out, I mean. If I
carry it around, stuffed, not letting go of it...well, it
just festers. I can maybe hide it for a little while, but
it'll erupt if I don't own it. Know what I mean?"
She nuzzled my neck before letting me go and then
spinning around, she said something like, "Whew...I feel so
much better. Thanks, Billy."
I sat on her bed and picked up a pair of her lacy
panties. Holding them up to the light - I could almost see
through them - I commented, "This is how all this started,
what, a couple of years ago?"
Jean gave me a particularly wicked smile and said,
"They're the *clean* ones. I'm *wearing* the ones *you*
want, you perv."
I was pleased to have the old Jean back and told her so
on the way to the main house to register and see if we could
get a late snack. Gladys keeps an open bar for her guests
and while we didn't drink much on a dive vacation, we
stopped by to see who was there.
"Why, it's the two porpoises," sang out a woman's voice
from back of the bar. "Welcome back," yelled Margi, loud
enough for everyone to hear. As often follows a loud noise,
it suddenly became quiet and I was aware of the curious
stares of several people.
Margi typically didn't wait for a reply. She ran on,
"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Billy and Jean, two of the
nicest people, first rate divers and if anyone needs help
and I'm not around, ask either of them."
Margi rounded the bar and ran into my arms for a bear
hug. As usual, she was wearing a pair of shorts and a loose
T-shirt sans bra. I wondered if she even owned a bra?
I asked her, "Do we get paid for that?"
"What's your price?" she whispered in my ear.
"You and me to go diving alone some time this week." I
returned in a similar whisper.
"Did he ask you to go diving alone with him?" Jean sang
out in a voice not heard by more than half the room. "He
was hoping you'd be here, Margi."
Margi smiled at me and with a broad wink said, "That
right, big boy?"
Before I knew it, Margi took Jean aside and they
immediately fell into a heads-together conversation. Their
body language suggested I talk with someone else so I
introduced myself to a bearded bear of a man who was sipping
a drink and chatting with a sun-bleached, tan woman I
guessed in her thirties.
"Hi. I'm Ian and this's Jan." Turning to her, he
added, "Sorry Jan, I don't know your last name."
She extended her hand to me and gave me a dazzling
smile. "Jan'll do. Margi told us today that you and Jean
were expected. She thinks highly of both of you and your
wife."
I laughed. "Jean's my sister."
Ian added, "Yes, there's a strong resemblance in your
eyes and mouth. You've much the same facial bone structure."
"That may be, but I don't see it. All I see are the
differences."
We looked over at Jean and Margi. Jean was sitting
back in her chair and her skimpy T-shirt hugged her breasts
and prominent nipples.
"Yes, there *are* some differences," observed Ian as he
looked at Jan and me with something approaching a leer.
"Ian doesn't miss much it would appear," said Jan with
a wry smile.
Neither do I, I thought as I ran my eyes over her shirt
front.
"And neither do you," Jan added.
I held my hand palms up and looked up to heaven for
support. "Busted," I said.
We chatted for a few minutes until Jean returned and
said, "Billy, we're all checked in and I've got us some
snacks. I'm really beat. Think I'll go back to our room and
nibble before crashing. You?"
"I'm tired too. I'll go with you." Turning back to
Jan and Ian, I said good-night and, "See you in the
morning."
Walking back through the palm trees I could hear the
electric generator chugging away in the distance. I'd
forgotten how isolated this place was. I wrapped my arm
around Jean's shoulder and asked, "What were you and Margi
talking about with such intensity?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Her smile underscored her
teasing, yet there was again a faint edge to her voice. I
fell silent, oddly put off a little.
Just before entering our room, Jean stopped and asked,
"Well, wouldn't you?"
"Like to know?"
"Yes, I thought you be dying to know what Margi said."
"Yeah, I suppose I am, but to tell the truth, I'm
feeling a little disconnected. You're my best friend and
I'm picking up strange energy from you. I'm so used to
being on the same wavelength, I don't know how to behave
when we're not." I paused and then went on, "Shit! I don't
know. Maybe it's me. Do you think it's me? 'My being a
jerk?"
I'd learned that no matter what the other guy said or
did, anytime I was upset, it was axiomatic that something
was wrong with me, that I had a part in it somewhere.
Usually it meant I wasn't accepting life on life's terms.
Things weren't going my way and I was being petulant.
"You're right, Billy. Things *are* off kilter a
little. I feel it too. You know what I think it is?"
"No, I don't guess I do," I answered, a bit more
interested, for Jean's ideas were often right on.
"Think about it. Here we are, together...actually,
sleeping in the same room...with all this history behind
us...that moth and the flame history. We've been flirting
with each other forever it seems. Mom knows. And we know
that she knows. I'm on the pill. Cripes, Billy! I'm scared
witless. I think you are too and that's what's wrong with
us. That's the tension we're feeling, don't you think?"
"It's certainly true that despite my resolve not to
have expectations, they creep into my mind. You know, I've
told you about the sex addict guy that lives in my head?
Well, he's up there having a field day while the good guy,
the rational guy is frightened. Wanna call a time out?"
"Good idea! Mom always told us we could start our day
over anytime we liked. Let's start our vacation over,
okay?"
"Deal! And Doctor Billy prescribes a good night's
rest, starting right now."
She gave me a high five and we walked into our room.
Without lights, we turned down the beds and I went into the
john to take a leak. When I came out, I could see Jean's
shadow in bed. I wanted to hug her good-night, but was
still feeling a little tender and, afraid of rejection, I
slipped into my own bed. "'Night, Jean."
"I can't believe you're not curious about what Margi
said about you." Jean provoked me, assuring my night's
sleep.
"About me? Did you guys talk about me?"
"Well, I didn't get to say much. Mostly Margi talked.
I did tell her that we didn't have secrets from each other
and suggested that she not tell me things she didn't want
you to hear, but she said, 'Oh, what the hell,' or something
like that."
"Jean! You're gonna drive me batty at this rate."
"Well, she's definitely interested in you."
"Yeah, right. Last year I couldn't get her attention.
She was always hanging around with that other guy."
"You mean he was hanging around her! Oh, she was aware
of you all right, but because you're younger and a guest,
she was afraid to let you know."
"Let me know what, for cryin' out loud?"
"That she was...uh, interested in you."
"I admit it. I'm dumb. What does 'interested' mean?"
"Maybe this'll help, my stud-muffin brother. She asked
me if you were a virgin."
"Oh Jesus! You didn't tell her, did you?"
"You bet I did. Girls are worse than guys when they
think they're getting someone, some guy, for the first
time."
"And you think she's gonna get me?"
"Only if you're willing, big boy...only if you're
willing."
"And, making believe all of this is true - which I
doubt - how do *you* feel about this?"
"I'm jealous. I'm thrilled too, but I'm really
jealous."
God, I'd *never* understand women!
"Jean, part of me is pleased. That you're jealous...I
mean, that you care that much. And another part is asking,
about WHAT?"
"Don't ask me to explain this, Billy. I don't
understand it either. I guess I'm jealous that you're
interested in her...that's part of it. But more, I'm
jealous that she can do things with you and I can't."
"Do things? Like in..."
"Yes! Like in!"
Jean fluffed up her pillow and then slammed it down,
turning away from me. In the dim light, I could see the
sheet had pulled up and exposed her tan back side and the
her white panties. Or were those panties? No, that was
Jean's pale ass I was staring at. She was naked as a jay.
I'd worn my briefs to bed, more out of propriety. Or
was it embarrassment? I never wore underwear to bed and
suddenly I was aware of my hardness, bent in my shorts. I
pulled them off slowly and dropped them by the side of the
bed.
I spoke at her back in a low voice, "I've been trying
to get into your pants for half my life it seems. You're
the sexiest woman in the world to me. I'd do anything for
you and you're jealous of some woman who's older than you
even, who asked a few questions about me. Talk about
driving beyond your headlights!"
She flounced back, facing me. Darn, now I couldn't
look at her butt. "Oh no I'm not! Women *know* these
things. She's hot for you. She's already asked if we could
get together tomorrow night." And then she mimicked Margi's
deeper voice, '. . . so we can get to know each other
better.' I know what she wants to get to know better!"
My dick, I hoped. I saw no inconsistencies in that. I
knew I loved Jean and was terminally hot for her, but my
dick was interested in every good looking girl on the
horizon. That had nothing to do with love or anything like
that. This was all about my desire to penetrate some girl's
soft, wet and itchy pussy. Fuckin' in other words.
"That might be nice. Do you wanna?" I asked.
"Heck yes, I 'wanna'," she replied, now mimicking me.
"I like Margi too. She's fun and outrageous - braver than
me and I know we'll enjoy her. But I'm still a little
jealous. Don't worry, it won't stop me from having a good
time."
Then, turning away again, she concluded, "Now go to
sleep, won't you? I'm completely worn out and I'll get
cranky if I don't get a night's rest."
The muted washing of waves on the beach drifted through
the palms and I could hear the soft night sounds as I lay
back, hands behind my head, looking at the ceiling fan
slowly turning. Where was this going?
The only thing I knew with certainty was that it wasn't
going the way I had dreamed it up. But then, things rarely
did. The upside of that disappointment was grounded in the
reality that when things didn't turn out the way I wanted
them, what I got was far better than what I wanted.
Grasping my hard-on through the sheet, I fell asleep.
