My Sister Jean
Chapter 8 -- Victoria's Secret
"Look at the ass on that one, will you?"
That got my attention. I'd been reading the Sunday
paper over coffee and fruit with Jean at a street-side cafe�.
We'd ridden our bikes down from our home in the hills behind
the University in the cool of early morning and had stopped
for coffee.
Glancing up at Jean, I followed her gaze over my
shoulder and turned to look at "the ass" she was pointing
out. In our increasing comfort with each other, we'd come
to accept our growing sexuality and that, at root, we were
both voyeurs of a sort. Jean knew of my fascination with
girls' butts and delighted in pointing out to me those she
thought were of merit.
She, in turn, was an inveterate crotch watcher. The
day before at the mall she'd nodded toward a guy sprawled
out near a fountain. He was wearing jogging shorts that
were pulled up into his crotch, outlining an impressive
bulge. "Is that all cock," she asked, "or do you think he's
got huge balls?"
The girl Jean had pointed out to me was bending over a
nearby table, cleaning the glass top. I was peripherally
aware that she was wearing a loose tank top, but what
captured my interest was the shorts. They were white, very
short and very tight with the crotch pulled into the crack
of her ass and made still more taut by her exaggerated
bending. Checking immediately for panty lines, I noted she
was wearing high-cut panties.
I grinned at Jean, giving her a subtle thumbs-up sign
and whispered, "Boy, I'd love to sidle up behind her and
grab her hips."
She smiled and rolled her eyes as if to say, "Yeah,
yeah, yeah . . . we know."
Sensing she wanted to chat, I sat back in my chair and
sipped my coffee, looking at her over the rim of the cup.
Her hair was wind blown and her shirt was a little damp from
our last sprint. Looking at her breasts, I admired her
nipples. Despite wearing a sports bra - she'd flashed me
that morning before leaving home - her nipples, when erect,
were very evident. Pointedly staring at her prominent nips
for a moment, I looked in her eyes and said, "It's not
cold."
"Then I must be horny?" She finished.
"Jean, you're always horny!"
"Billy, I am not!" she retorted but with a smile that
gave the lie to her denial.
Glancing over my shoulder - the girl was gone - I
said, "Well *I* am." And, as if indignant, added, "Thanks
to you!"
Placing her spread hand flat on her chest she replied
in a surprised voice, "Moi?"
"You are a piece of work, woman...yes, you!"
Abruptly changing the subject, she dropped her hands to
her lap and asked, "Are you sweaty?"
"As a horse," I replied.
"You're so graphic, Billy. And you know what I think
of when you mentioned a sweating horse."
"A sweating mare?"
"A horse's cock!"
"Jean, I know we're both fairly kinky at times...but a
horse?"
Flipping her hand in an impatient gesture, she
answered, "Not *really* but there are times when my imagery
takes over. Like, the sexual power of a horse's cock comes
to mind, you know?"
"You mean like me slipping it into the ass of that
waitress? The one with the beautiful butt?"
Perhaps because Jean knew that I'd never "slipped" it
into anything, save my hand, she gave me a puzzled frown.
She replied, "I guess so...something like that...not real,
but sexy and powerful. Like, I don't really want a horse's
dick, but I like the thought of it...it gets me wet. Does
the thought of you doin' it to that girl's behind get you
wet...uh, hard?"
Answering with an exaggerated gesture, I "adjusted" my
cock in my riding shorts and smiled. Jean and I had come
out of the closet with each other...admitted our fascination
with sexual things, our masturbation, peeing fantasies and
anal eroticism. But we'd never actually "done it." We'd not
done the deed. More, I thought, because we enjoyed the
prolonged seduction, the tease, than we had any thought of
abhorrent incest. Jean, as it turned out, had reservations.
I was crazy about Jean. Because she was a little
older, I deferred to her in many ways, most of them
unthinking. She was later to tell me that because I was
assertive and appeared so self-confident, she'd started to
re-think the unquestioned assumed roles. We'd let down all
sorts of protective fences on our camping trip to Fourth of
July Lake. We'd always accepted our love for each other. It
was only in the last months that we'd come to accept our
sexual feelings for each other. Still, it remained mostly
verbal. And teasing.
Constrained by the outward conventional morality around
our house, we took some delight in an unconventional
exhibitionistic teasing. Jean, who was most enamored with
her own breasts, took delight in flashing me. Bending over
wearing a loose top, running from her room to the bathroom
wearing a skirt and bra, idly running her fingers inside the
edge her blouse into her cleavage...all these things were
done to entice and tease. And I loved it. Still, she knew
that my major interest was her beautiful full butt. She
professed ignorance. "Oh, come ON. Who's interested in
BUTTS?" she'd ask.
She knew the answer. Me. Often it was evident that as
some reward or sign of affection, she'd honor my fetish.
She'd suddenly sit in my lap, squirm for a moment, and then
run away, laughing. Once, when running from the bathroom
wearing only her bra and panties, she met me (ever watchful)
in the hall. Before disappearing into her room, she
suddenly pointed her back side at me and bent way over. Her
already brief panties almost disappeared in the cleft of her
ass, and outlining the pooching bulge of her mons. I
retained the after image of that for a long time. Several
times, playing with myself on the toilet, stroking off, that
image came to mind and pushed me right over the edge. I'd
think to myself, "Jean, I'm coming for you."
So we'd progressed to that point in our honesty where
we admitted our masturbation and our kinks, but we appeared
to remain hesitant and a little fearful of actually "doin'
the deed." Oh, I knew I really wanted to be sexual with
Jean...to touch her, to play with her, but I was afraid she
would think it was "really sick." We circled the edges of
our desires, admitting some, denying others.
Jean broke into my brief reverie, "Let's stop at the
mall on our way home. I'd like to check out Victoria's
Secret."
"Oh, ugh. Where they have all that, uh...girl stuff?"
"Don't be a jerk. I've seen you checking out my
lingerie. Actually, maybe you're more interested in the
soiled ones!"
"Busted!" I grinned at her.
We rode our ten-speeds back to the shopping center, me
contriving to ride behind Jean, admiring her trim, firm ass
and thighs. Now, close to noon, the shops would be open,
but because it was Sunday, the hard-core shoppers wouldn't
be out in force yet.
Locking our bikes in the racks on the edge of the mall,
we walked slowly, staying in the cool shadow of Macys,
checking out the other morning people. I've always
maintained that the healthy, alive folks are out early.
This was no exception. Falling into our comfortable role of
people watching, we admired the bodies of many of the other
strollers. Some were young, and some were older. Most were
fit. I find particularly appealing the looks of healthy and
fit older women. By older, I meant Mom's age...you know,
older.
Mesmerized by the firm, long legs of a woman with
streaks of gray in her hair, I was nudged out of my sexy
musings by Jean's voice: "Are you listening?"
Again, I gave her my grin of being caught and said, "I
guess I wasn't. Sorry. I'm listening now, sweet sister."
"I'll 'sweet sister' you, buster! I *said*, 'How about
these?'" She gestured toward a collection of frilly panties
in the window of Victoria's Secret.
"Hmmmm, hard to say. I'd have to see them ON to know
for sure."
Jean knew what I was implying and I knew I'd not get
the chance to see her model panties for me...at least not in
*this* shop in *this* shopping center. I'd heard of a small
lingerie shop in San Francisco where modeling of lingerie
was permitted, even encouraged. I'd suggested once to Jean
recently that we "check this out" but she'd just snorted and
said, "Fat chance."
If nothing else, I'd come to appreciate the power of
planting a seed in Jean's mind. I'd make an observation or
a suggestion, even when I suspected that her first response
would be "no way" and then I'd let it go. Many times, she'd
return to it in oblique ways. Was this happening now, I
wondered?
"Let's look together," she offered.
In mock resignation, I replied, "Oh, all right...if I
*have* to."
Grabbing me by the hand, she pulled me inside. The
thought came to me that we probably looked like
boyfriend-girlfriend. I was secretly pleased.
There were perhaps a half-dozen other girls and women
in the store and I was acutely aware of them. They appeared
to not even see me.
Picking up a pair of lacy panties, I held them up to
her and asked, "Jean, what're these?" Her fierce blush told
me she'd remembered. She remembered our first sexual
awareness with each other, when I'd teased her about her
panties in the wash.
"Yes, I remember too, Billy," she replied. "I'm glad
that you do." (As if I could ever forget.)
Jean picked up an arm load of dainty things quickly and
before disappearing in the back, said to me, "Meet me by the
entrance to the changing rooms in a few minutes."
I gulped. The changing rooms? That's were all those
girls will be naked or near naked! As if they *all* could
read my mind, I became more and more apprehensive as I
ever-so-nonchalantly strolled to the back of the shop.
Self-centered as I am, I imagined that everyone in the shop
was watching me out of the corner of their eyes. They'd
chastise me any moment. "Young man, what *are* you doing
back here?" No one even looked.
After furtively looking around - no one was looking
at me - I looked into the hall at the row of bat-wing
doors. Beneath one I saw a pair of legs...Jean's! I
recognized her. She looked over the top of the swinging
doors and saw me. Suddenly, she opened both doors and
struck a pose. Wearing white panties and bra that contrasted
so well with her tan skin, she stood, one knee bent and
pulled into the other. She held the pose for perhaps five
seconds, but the image was burned into my mind.
I saw the swell of her breasts, pushed slightly up and
in by the half cups of her bra. The straps were positioned
well to the side, framing and enhancing the thrust of her
C-cup breasts. Over the top of the cup I could see much or
her areolae...dark and prominent against the whiteness.
The sides of the panties were cut high with the waist
riding up on the hips on the sides and dipping well down
below her belly button in the front. The darkness of her
public hair was clearly evident through the translucent
front of the panties. With her legs near crossed, I
couldn't see the object of my desire...which made it even
more tantalizing.
Again, over the closed bat-wing doors, Jean called to
me, "Why don't you pick out a few things for me to try on?"
Terribly conscious of my hard on, cramped and bent in
my shorts, I tried not to act as guilty as I felt. I picked
up a pair of thong panties...hardly more than a triangular
patch in the front. What I *really* wanted was to see the
cheeks of Jean's butt. Would this work? To minimize the
agony of choice, I picked nothing else and walked back to
the entrance door. Again, no one noticed or paid any
attention to me.
"Bring them back to me," Jean said.
With visions of jail in my head, I replied, "Not even
close. Come get 'em."
"Scaredy cat," she chided as she dashed out in some sort
of a mid-thigh sleep shirt (which I never saw again. Didn't
do much for me either.)
When I handed her the slip-of-nothing panties she
gasped and said, "Is this *all*?"
"Quit whining, woman, and put 'em on, will you?"
Holding my eye for a moment, she made up her mind and
spun back into her booth. "Don't go 'way," she admonished
me.
Go away? She kidding? By this time, I was ready to
risk jail.
"Excuse me, please," said a woman as she brushed past
me walking into the changing area.
Oh shit! Jig's up, I thought. Game's over. And on
the heels of that thought, Jean's doors swung open and there
she was! Naked...or nearly naked. Wearing only the thong
panties! She stepped out into the hall, took a few steps
toward me, and when six or seven feet away, swung around and
posed with her back to me.
I could see the waistband of the thong and the vertical
strap disappearing into the cheeks of her ass. Standing
with one foot cocked, the asymmetry of her ass was so
incredibly unexpected, and sexy that I was struck numb. My
throat was dry and my chest was tight. Forgetting other
people, forgetting getting arrested and going to jail...I
stood there, entranced.
There was my beautiful sister, showing me her ass in
the most provocative way. While I'd seen her butt several
times, it was never with this sexual charge. Never so
blatant. I was transfixed.
Suddenly she bent over, pulled the thong strap out of
the crack of her ass, and showed her ass hole! I must be
dreaming. This couldn't be Jean! Jean's sexy certainly,
but she wouldn't show me her bung hole in a public store
like this.
Then she was gone. The entire thing took maybe fifteen
or twenty seconds. I was rooted there in the doorway, mouth
agape. The same woman emerged from her cubicle a few
moments later and saw me standing there, looking astonished
and dumb. She glanced over her shoulder to see what I was
looking at and then passed me, smiling. Did she know?
I had to go outside to breathe. I felt I was about to
burst. Jean continued to astonish me, to amaze me and
delight me. I felt so full of love for that girl, I
couldn't see straight.
A few minutes later, Jean emerged with a small bag and
said, "I thought you'd be out here. Wanna know what I
bought?"
Hoping it was the thong, I said, "The white bra?"
"Yes, that too, for me, but what I really bought was
for you."
Brightening, I said, "The thong!"
Nodding, she said, "The thong...and I might have a
chance to model it for you again today...if Mom and Dad go
the City as they thought they might."
That set my mind spinning. It sounded as if we were
making a date . . . a date to get nearly naked. We'd had
our little encounters and they'd all been spontaneous. I'd
wanted to "talk dirty" with Jean for a long time, and when
we did, it wasn't on my terms...it just happened. We'd
"fooled around" a little and again, it wasn't when *I*
wanted to. We'd never, ever talked about getting together.
The erotic possibilities were vivid.
"Well, do you *want* to or not?" Jean sounded a little
annoyed.
I realized that again I'd been thinking so intently
that I'd not answered, except in my head. Slipping an arm
around her shoulder, I pulled her tight to me as we walked
and said, "Jean, you must know that I'd *die* to have you
model that bit of nothing again. The answer is YES!
Yessss, I really do want to."
Mollified, she grinned at me and said, "Well, let's get
going, It's a long pull home."
