My Sister Jean
Chapter 5 -- The Trip Home
The jazz group Four Play was playing softly over the
hum of the big 4X4's tires. Bob James and Lee Rittenour
were weaving their usual seamless and delightfully rich
acoustic fabric as the western slope of the Sierra foothills
fell away behind us. We'd fallen silent in the Scout after
loading up our backpacking gear and getting some more ice
for the chest near the exit of the National Forest. I was
driving and Jean was looking out the passenger's window as
we sat silently in our own thoughts. We were used to
periods of silence and it wasn't uncomfortable.
My mind was playing a tape of endless loop. My sister,
Jean -- the sometimes ice maiden -- had, when we were hiking
out from Fourth of July Lake, actually squatted in the
middle of the hiking trail and peed right in front of
me...in the most blatant fashion. It was not accidental and
not remotely innocent. Rather, it was considered and
extremely provocative. Most baffling, it had seemingly just
happened, out of nowhere. I was excited and stunned, for it
had been the realization of a longstanding, obsessive
fantasy of mine. Now, after that intense sexual peak of
halting interaction, we'd lapsed again into our usual quiet
space of uncertainty.
The grasses and flowers changed as we lost altitude. I
reflected on the events of the last little while. While, in
the preceding weeks, I'd made no secret that I was terribly
excited by her and more, that I was lightheaded with passion
for her, I'd never come right out and asked her if I could
look at her nude, much less watch her pee. Not that the
thought hadn't been foremost in my erotic mind for years, I
was simply reticent to disclose myself...to uncover my
secret kink, largely from embarrassment. Oh, I didn't mind
so much, particularly of late, that she knew I masturbated,
or that I smelled her panties, or even that I was crazy
about staring up her dress or down her shirt. Somehow, that
was all right...that was manly or at least okay boy stuff.
But peeing? Hmmmm. Sounds sick and perverted...or so my
judgmental mind spoke to me.
My mind spun on. Why had she done that? Why did she
suddenly expose herself to me in such a provocative way? A
fleeting glimpse of her panties or skinny dipping was one
thing, but letting me watch her pee a long stream into the
dust of a Sierra back trail...a scarce few feet from
me...that was quite another. Had she known about me . . .
about my kink? Or and I couldn't really believe this -- was
she kinky like me?
No, not the very proper and often prim ice queen. If I
had not been sneaking around for years, listening to her
when she was in the bathroom, I might have supposed that she
didn't even pee at all! Jean was the type who wouldn't say
shit if she had a mouth full. If pressed, she might, in
some clinical fashion, allude to micturition or to (ugh)
urine but she'd never utter the word "piss." I imagined
that she might allow, grudgingly, the expression pee-pee
if some little kid had no other way to express it. So how
was it, I wondered, had she moved from that moral high
ground to pulling her panties down and peeing in the middle
of the trail while staring into my eyes? Once again, I was
baffled. Girls!
On a long curve, Jean swung around toward me, tucking
her bare feet up on the seat and asked, "So, Billy. What
are you thinking?"
She always did that. Well, she did it a lot...opening
up her topic by asking me what *I'm* thinking. Or, if the
topic is established, she tries to get me to commit myself
to a position before she discloses her's.
Making a vague motion with my hand, I replied, "Oh,
nothing." Smiling to myself...If she only knew.
"Come ON, Billy. I know you better than that. You're
never thinking of nothing. What's going through that
pointed little head of yours?" The smile in her voice
belied the insult. She leaned back against the passenger's
door, pulling her left foot further onto the seat, pressing
her knee into the back rest. The leg of her shorts gaped a
little. I noted things like that.
I also knew this drill. I'd been through it a thousand
times. If I was stubborn enough, I could simply stonewall
it. I'd done that lot of times, heaven knows. But Jean
knows me, and most of the time I *wanted* to be drawn out.
I tried to maneuver it in such a way that the topic was
her's, not mine. This, of course, was old stuff, born of a
sibling's need for protection from being ratted on. The
fact of the matter was that neither Jean nor I had ratted on
the other in years. At root, we acted to protect each
other.
"Well, actually I was thinking of our relationship,
Sis." There! That covered a multitude of sins.
"Hmmmm, what about our relationship?"
We both knew the dance so well that the opening steps
were done without effort or thought. Actually, we were both
thinking way ahead of this conversational chafe.
"Come on, dude. Open up. What about it...what about
our relationship?"
Looking pointedly at her, I asked, "Do you *really*
want to know?"
This was a well-established signal that one of us would
cut through the fog of protective words if we were serious
or impatient and wanted to get on with something pressing.
On the other hand, if it were the usual verbal game, we'd
parry that offer with some gratuitous insult or another.
"Uh, yeah, Billy. I really *do* wanna know. What're
ya thinkin'?" The last question was a little muffled as she
pulled her sweat shirt over her head, partially pulling up
her T-shirt and momentarily uncovering the bottom of her
bare breasts. Without hurry, she pulled her T-shirt back
down, molding the front against her nipples.
Jean almost never spoke in contractions or idiom. Her
diction was usually precise and her demeanor was
oh-so-correct. So when she said "Uh, yeah" and "I wanna,"
I recognized her I-want-to-be-one-of-the-guys gambits. She
was letting down her goody-two-shoes protective distance.
Jean was telling me it was okay to be frank and, in light of
our most recent adventure, it was clear that she wasn't
interested in my opinion of the men's basketball team... or
their locker room. She was letting me know that it was okay
to talk about what had happened on the trail.
You might think it strange, that "talking" about our
sexual connection, once done, wouldn't be difficult. The
reality was contrary to that, however. A lifetime of denial
had, in some paradoxical manner, permitted us strange
behaviors...as long as they weren't validated with
acknowledgment. That is, just don't talk about it.
This interaction, however, was moving at warp speed.
Jean usually took forever to circle up the wagons and
establish her perimeter of protection more often of the
barbed-wire variety. Cutting through the niceties this
rapidly let me know that she felt strongly about what had
happened. Usually, Jean dealt with uncomfortable topics by
ducking behind her long-practiced wall of denial. And I
know what that was like.
Glancing again at the gap in her shorts, I could see
the edge of her panties. I pointedly responded, "To be
perfectly frank, Sis, I was wondering about you."
Jean rolled her eyes in an exasperated fashion, knowing
that I was being anything but frank. She slipped her right
hand under the front of her T-shirt and absentmindedly,
scratched the area under her breasts. Cripes, how could I
watch the road, watch her scratch her tit and listen to
her...all at the same time?
I didn't ask her why she rolled her eyes. I knew. But
could I really enter into this forbidden area? By now we'd
had at least three intense but too-brief sexual encounters
and had yet to *talk* about them. A moment of uncertainty
washed through me.
She cleared her throat in a dramatic fashion and I
glanced at her. Maybe it was sibling communication, or the
soft smile, or the direct stare of her blue eyes...but
suddenly I knew that it was okay. She was lowering her
guard. There'd be no pretend ignorance or indignation in
this conversation. There'd be no frustrating
evasions...unless I slipped into them myself.
Taking a deep breath, I blurted, "I loved watching you
pee, Jean. I just LOVED it. But why did you do it? I mean,
how'd you know? Uh . . . we've never..." My strong start
trailed off. I didn't know how to give voice to my
thoughts.
I took another deep breath but before I could start up
again, she answered, "Billy, I've suspected for a long
time...I knew you listened outside the bathroom door
and..."
Interrupting, I asked, baffled and alarmed, "How did
you know?"
Glancing again at her, I saw the big grin on her face
when she said, "Oh, Billy! For a guy that's so darn smart
about so many things -- you really do impress me most of
the time -- for a guy that's so smart, sometimes you're
just out of it."
She touched my thigh with the toes of her right foot as
if to take the sting out of it.
Well, that did sting, but knowing the truth of it, I
said nothing. Instead I made an impatient motion with my
hands to urge her on with it.
"Billy, the afternoon sun shines in through the front
windows, doesn't it?"
Obtuse I thought and nodded, still not getting
it...aware more of her foot, now resting on my thigh.
"Remember when the carpet was taken out of the hall and
the tile was installed? Well, the place beneath the
bathroom door where the carpet used to be, now lets the sun
shine in." Then pausing for dramatic effect *now* I could
see it coming she added, "And it casts the shadow of you
standing right outside the bathroom door...it seems you're
always there." I was mortified! I felt the heat rise in my
face as I sought a way out, an excuse, some way in which I
might deny it.
Jean, sensing my acute discomfort, laughed softly and
added, "Billy, don't be embarrassed...I'm not...at least not
anymore. It's okay. Honest, it's really okay." Her toes
curled on my leg as she ran her foot up and down.
Then, as if to explain further, she went on, "At first
I wasn't sure *what* you were doing. I thought you were
pulling some kind of practical joke on me, but nothing ever
happened. I was puzzled and . . . I don't know why...I was
fascinated. So, I tested you. I'd wait until you were
around, and then I'd go into the bathroom, just waiting to
see your shadow under the door, then I'd pee. I...I didn't
mind that you were right outside the door. Actually, I
think I liked it . . . that you'd want to...that you were
interested in me...but I didn't want you to hear me do
the...uh...other. I'd really strain and try to make a loud
peeing sound, but I was always scared to death I'd...you
know...make some other sound."
I glanced at Jean and her eyes slid away. Now she was
the one who was embarrassed. I didn't tell her that I had
heard her fart softly a few times. Her hand was still
inside her T-shirt, right under her breasts. Maybe the tips
of her fingers were touching the bottom swell of her tit?
It was unusual for Jean to talk so long in such a
vulnerable manner. I just smiled and said nothing, hoping
she'd continue.
"I have a confession to make," she continued, rushing
the words.
If this wasn't a confession, what the heck was it I
wondered? "Go ahead, Jean. There's nothing you can say
that would offend me... honest." I was so darn magnanimous.
"I snooped in your room."
That didn't surprise me; we all snooped on each other,
I was sure.
"And I found your dirty magazines."
Again, I was stunned. "How did you...I mean...shit,
Jean!" Now I was really embarrassed. The only magazines
I had weren't plain-vanilla girlie magazines. I'd found two
foreign magazines full of watersports pictures and stories
and secreted them where no one would ever find them. Or so I
thought.
"You probably think you're the only one who spies in
this house. Well you're not. I've listened to you in the
bath room too. You're really noisy when you masturbate.
You should be more careful... Anyway, I've heard you move
your dresser several times...before and after you disappear
into the bathroom. That puzzled me, so I moved it and found
the place in the back without a slat...the place where you
hid those magazines."
Her hand moved beneath her shirt. Now I was certain
she was teasing one of her nipples.
I was pissed...not so much that my secret was out, but
that I'd been so transparent...that my "dumb sister" had
ferreted out my hiding place so readily.
"Billy, reading those stories got me hot. And then I
could understand what you were doing outside the bathroom
when I was peeing. You were imagining *me* in there, weren't
you?"
I couldn't believe how smart my sister had become all
of sudden. Grasping her foot in my hand, I ran a finger
between her toes and said, "So?" At these moments of
stress, social repartee was not my strong suit.
"So, I became as interested as you in peeing. I
started watching myself when I peed. I tried looking when I
was sitting on the toilet, but I couldn't see much...except
the pee squirting. Then I got a mirror and I could see it
well, particularly when I pulled myself open with my
fingers. When I pulled my lips open, the pee came out in a
solid stream, just like I imagined a boy's did. That gave
me the idea to pee standing up."
I turned down the volume of the car stereo a little,
for she'd fallen into a soft, reflective tone and I didn't
want to miss a word. I squeezed her foot a moment to
encourage her to continue.
"I started in the shower. At first I peed down my
legs, but I got the hang of it quickly and in no time I
could stand with my legs apart and hips pushed forward to
pee a strong stream several feel in front of me."
Glancing at me she asked, "Can you picture that, Billy?
Isn't that crazy?"
"Yeah...delightfully crazy. Sexy crazy...and hot.
Tell me some more." Could I push this? Would she continue?
"Well, I saw a mare, a female horse (shit, I knew what
a mare was) - I saw a mare urinate in the field, so I tried
it that way. I mean, I bent way over at the waist and while
standing, tried to pee. At first I couldn't tell what
happened, what it looked like, but then I stood in the tub
and watched myself in the mirror. Billy, it squirted way
out behind me. I felt like a mare in heat!"
"Then I began thinking about you peeing. I wondered
how you did it what it looked like. What did your dick
look like and how far could you pee? Did you pee hard for
a short time, or did it last and last? How did you hold your
dick? . . things like that. I wanted to watch you pee, and
even more, I wanted you to watch me pee. But I couldn't
tell you this in a million years. All I could do was go to
the bathroom a lot. You would have thought that I had a
sudden case of diabetes."
She was openly cupping her breast and curling her toes
as I massaged her foot. She went on, "I *had* to watch you
pee. I knew that you peed outside the house a lot and I
kept my eye open for my chance. Once, I saw you head toward
the bathroom but because mom was in there, you cut out the
side door. I ran to the kitchen window and watched you take
a leak right on the deck. I got hot just watching you.
Actually, all I could see was your pee hitting the deck,
making a big puddle. I couldn't really see your dick...but
I wanted to...boy, I sure wanted to!"
She slid her foot higher on my thigh. She had turned
completely sideways in the front seat, still with her left
leg curled up and her right leg extended to me. Her toes
were close to my dick and I was getting harder and harder.
"Did you..." I started but she cut me off again.
"Then you went upstairs. Mom was still in the
bathroom. I ran out on the deck and looked at the puddle
you'd made. I got so hot I could hardly stand it. I was
dying for a good pee. Now was my chance. Billy, I know this
is crazy but I lifted my dress and pulled the crotch of my
panties aside. I squatted over your puddle on the deck and I
pissed right on top of your piss! I forgot and was
straining so hard that my pee splattered all over my legs
and shoes. But I didn't care. I loved mixing our piss
together. It just got me hotter."
She added a little slutty emphasis to the word "piss,"
drawing out the "sss" part as she looked into my eyes. Jean
was getting off on her own story. She slid down a little
further in the seat and the heel of her foot was sitting on
top of my crotch...right on top of my hard-on. When I
glanced at her, she pulled the bottom of her shirt up for
about two seconds, flashing her bare boobs at me, grinning.
The nipples were sticking out.
"So you see, Billy. *You* turned me onto this peeing
thing, and you didn't even know it. Now, I think about it
all the time. I listen to the girls in school when they're
in the stall next to me and wonder what they look like.
Sometimes they hiss loudly when they pee. Sometimes they
just tinkle. When I'm feeling slutty, I try to pee really
hard into the water to make a lot of noise. Golly, I even
check the crotches of the guys and wonder how big their
dicks are and how they look when they pee. I wonder a lot
if other girls mess around with *their* brothers. What do
you think?"
"Whoa. I'm overloaded. Too much, too fast. Yes...I
mean no! I mean...shit, I don't know *what* I mean. But
wait...first, tell me. Why did you hide from me all
weekend? I tried and tried to get you to talk about sexy
things, but you kept changing the subject. And I was aware
of you the whole time and except for skinny dipping, you
never showed me anything. Why? And why did you then let me
watch you on the trail?"
"Oh, you know. I was scared. And I was embarrassed.
Even though I knew you'd listen to me...and even though I'd
seen your dirty magazines...I was afraid you'd think I was
really a nut case some kinda pervert." She again gave me
that radiant smile. "It's a kinda trust thing, I guess. You
were so sweet to me all weekend and you were so darn
provocative, I was creaming in my pants most of the time.
And then, when we were walking out on the trail, I just knew
after you peed so shamelessly that it was my chance. So I
did it! Was it okay? I mean, did you like it, Billy? Do
you think I'm terrible?"
I was holding her foot so tight my finger tips were
white. She was rocking her foot and I was pushing her heel
down into my crotch in slow, rhythmic motions.
Losing all restraint, I gushed out, "Jean, it was the
most *erotic* thing I've ever seen. It was better than any
story, any picture I've ever seen. Heck, it was better than
any fantasy I've ever had. Seeing you...seeing you so
close...and you watching me looking at you . . . I almost
came in my pants."
"I like to hear you tell me those things, Billy. It
makes me feel . . . well, sexy and desirable and like I want
to do *more* things."
"More? What more? Tell me, Jean."
She pulled her hand from under her shirt, leaving the
bottom part way up, exposing the bottom of her tit. I don't
know what it is, but I'm turned on to seeing the bottom
swell of a girl's breast, particularly my sister's. Dropping
her hand to her leg near her crotch, she rushed on, "Well,
I'd *really* like to uh...this is kinda hard to say but I'd
really like to...pee *on* you."
The road was nearly empty and I was driving slowly,
just moseying along so I could pay more attention to Jean.
When I glanced at her, she met my eyes defiantly for a
moment and then looked away, embarrassed, the color high in
her cheeks. Then she looked at me again and said loudly,
"Well, I *would*!"
This was incredibly exciting for both of us I thought,
and equally difficult at times. Sensing her near-shame, I
attempted to rescue her with the truth.
"Jean, the thought of you peeing...peeing on me is the
hottest thing I've ever heard! God! I'd love to feel your
pee."
"Really? Honest? Are you just *saying* that?" She'd
pulled her right leg back and with her heel on the seat and
her knee fallen out, she'd slipped her right hand under her
pant leg. Seeing my eyes on her motions, she laughed,
"Christ, Billy, I'm so hot I can't help it."
Taking a chance, I asked, "Can I tell you some of my
secrets... some of my fantasies?"
Abandoning the tight leg-band of her shorts, she opened
the front and slipped her hand under the waistband of her
panties and buried it in her crotch. "Yes-s-s-s, Billy.
Please tell me. I really wanna know."
"Sis, I'm *so* glad you told me all this. I'm so glad
you told me about peeing. We're just alike, you and me. I
wish I'd know before, we coulda...well we can now, can't
we?"
"Billy! Tell me. Don't tease me."
"Okay, okay. Let me collect my thoughts. I hardly
know where to start. There's so many thoughts runnin' around
in my head. I know, I'll just share the images with
you...then we can sort them out, okay?"
"Go for it, big guy!"
She now had both hands stuffed down the front of her
shorts and I could see her fingers slowly moving in the
tight crotch.
"Okay, but before I do, let me smell your fingers!"
Not put off for a minute, she pulled out her right hand
and leaning across to me, she ran her finger under my nose
saying, "You are *such* a horndog."
The pheromone musk of her pussy was strong and
arousing.
"Jean, the smell of you is so sexy and it gets me hot."
She grinned and prompted, "Come ON, guy...tell me.
Tell me *your* secrets now."
"There's so many images I have. I think about 'em when
I jack off things like the feel of your pee in my hand...me
kneeling in front of the toilet...you with your legs
apart...and I've got my hand under you...and you just pee
right into my hand. That one always gets me going. I think
of that one all the time when I hear you in the bathroom."
"Oh, yes! I've had that one too...lots. Would you
really let me?"
"Let you?" I asked in an incredulous tone.
She laughed and asked, "Any more? Fantasies I mean?"
"Oh yes. I've thought of you peeing right on my
cock...right on my chest. I've even thought of you peeing
in my mouth!" The last statement startled me. Had I
really thought that? I'd gone too far.
I pulled into a Rest Stop and parked well away from the
other cars. I looked at her with a little apprehension. Had
I gone too far?
Seeing the question in my eyes, she gave me her sweet
smile and said, "Oh, yes, Billy. I'd love to do that...you
can't know how much that means to me. Please...please tell
me more. I've been waiting so long to hear this...don't
stop now."
