My real first name is Jeanne (Je-Anne) but I go by Jeannie.
I’m 19 and going to college somewhere in the Midwest, as they say. (I don’t want to get too specific.) My teachers tell me I have a good mind. Physically, I’m 5 foot 6 in my shoes and a bit thin, with light brown hair that I hate to cut.
I have greenish eyes and fairly regular features.
I’ve been told by friends and by guys my own age that I’m good-looking, although my mirror tells me I’m not beautiful or stunning or anything like that. A boyfriend once said I look like a pixie, which he seemed to think was okay.
I play tennis and swim a lot, so I’m fairly strong and don’t have much body fat. My personal behavior for the most part falls within the norm.
I’m not a virgin but I’ve never been very active sexually, since AIDS scares me to death and I want to lead a good, reasonably long life.
I do masturbate fairly often, at least several times a week. When I do, I’m usually thinking about my brother Ricky. That’s what I need to write about. Ricky (who lately prefers to be called Rich) is still at home finishing high school, a few hundred miles away. He’s 17 now and a classic nice kid, the sort that other boys’ moms wish they had: stays out of trouble, plays sports, studies hard. He’ll probably make it to 21 without having to lie or answer Yes to any of those have you ever…? questions on application forms. He runs long-distance events in track and competes in school swimming and diving meets, so you can probably visualize the kind of long lean body he has. He would have no problem getting dates, but he’s on the shy side.
I hope someday he gets over that.
I also have a little sister Jody, 12, who wants to grow up like me for some reason. That’s it for the family. Mom has dates sometimes, mostly with men from where she works, but there’s nobody of the male persuasion steady in her life, at least not that I know of. Dad left our household years ago; he lives in California.
I spent my last summer vacation and last year’s school vacations with him and he wasn’t drinking for the first time I can remember. He did go to a lot of AA meetings, which made me happy. He said he got a lot of stuff worked out in his life by writing about it after he got sober, which is one reason I’m writing this.
I think I need to look at these memories. The events I’m writing about happened a couple of years ago in late Spring. Ricky had just turned 15 and I had been 17 for a couple of months. Since I skipped a grade in grammar school, I was about to graduate early from high school, and was feeling very grown-up and mature, thank you very much. A couple weeks before, Ricky had gotten into a losing argument with a car while riding his bicycle.
It wasn’t the driver’s fault, since Ricky had just barreled out into the street in front of him at full tilt. The bike was killed dead, a total wreck. Ricky, luckily for him, only had his arms broken in a couple of places, plus a couple of ribs cracked and a collar bone broken. Plus some internal injuries that healed fairly quickly, and assorted deep bruises. He got out of it alive and without serious head or spinal injuries, was the main thing. But he was hurting. When Ricky got home from the hospital he was all wrapped up in bandages across his chest and had immobilizing casts on both arms. They installed his poor injured carcass in a rented hospital bed in his room, all hooked up to ropes and pulleys that held his arms slightly elevated to accelerate healing, I guess. The poor kid was completely helpless and had to be taken care of by a nurse who came during the day, courtesy of the state government. She was a big, 50-ish, no-nonsense woman who looked like a prison guard. At night she went home to whoever loved her and Mom tended to Ricky’s needs.
I guess that’s a situation anyone can get used to in time, but I felt really sorry for Ricky, having to be fed and bathed and use a bedpan and everything.
I just couldn’t imagine having to use a bedpan.
In a hospital room, with nurses to handle the details, maybe; but right there at home? With my own MOM wiping my butt and pulling my pants back up and emptying the bedpan and everything? It boggled my mind to think about it. Still does. (Well, after the first week or so Ricky was strong enough to get out of bed and walk to the toilet if someone unhooked the ropes for him, but he still needed help because he couldn’t bend his arms. And he couldn’t stay on his feet for long. Poor kid.) Mom is tough, and smart too, and knew how to help Ricky feel better about it; or at least, he never complained. The nurse took care of the worst of the intimate details most of the time, so I guess it was workable. Mom pretty much kept me and Jody out of Ricky’s room at first because he felt miserable and also, I suppose, he didn’t feel like answering any embarrassing questions. By the second week we all sort of took everything for granted, and visited Ricky when he wasn’t otherwise occupied and stayed out of the way when he needed privacy with Mom or the nurse.
In the second week after the accident, on a Friday night after Ricky’s nurse had left, Mom got a panic night call from her job and had to go in to help fix problems with some sort of engineering proposal they were all excited about. She put me in charge of Ricky and Jody for the evening. We expected it wouldn’t be a problem, since they were both asleep.
I was watching TV when I heard Ricky holler out for Mom, so I ran up to his room to see what he needed. He asked where Mom was and I told him, and he asked if I would mind getting him some toast with honey since he was hungry.
I said sure, and went to get it. When I got back he explained I needed to put a towel on his chest in case of spills because crumbs and such could get uncomfortable. So I pulled the blanket down to his waist and put a hand towel over his chest, put another pillow under his head to bring his head closer to upright, sat down on the bed by him and held the toast up to his mouth so he could take a bite. He was smiling at me as I did all this, which made me feel good since I always really liked Ricky. He was a super kid and a good younger brother. We had a minor mishap when some honey dripped off the toast and started rolling down his cheek.
I jerked the toast away so I could dab at his cheek with the towel, but that just made things worse — the toast got away and landed the way Murphy’s Law says it must, with the honey side down, half on Ricky’s stomach and half on the blanket. Ricky started giggling out loud, so, since he wasn’t wearing a shirt (the casts on his arms made him too hot if he wore one) I started tickling his sides, not too hard. Pretty soon honey had gotten pretty much all over. Once we’d both calmed down a bit, I got a warm, wet washcloth and started washing him — laving, as the old word goes — from his chest bandage down to the top of his p.j. bottoms, wiping his stomach gently so as not to start him laughing again. Ricky had his eyes closed and was smiling, and I never felt so close to him as I did then.
I just loved him to pieces. There wasn’t any sexual component; it’s just that seeing him smile like that, with his eyes closed, as I washed his body, made my heart full. Like I said, I have always liked Ricky. When I pulled down the blanket in order to put a new (unhoneyed) one onto the bed, the sheet pulled down with it, so he was uncovered except by his pajama bottoms. When I glanced back up at him from where I was removing the sheet and blanket, something struck me as odd, and then I realized Ricky had an erection.
It was raising the front of his p.j.’s so that its outline showed rather clearly from his crotch down along his left leg.
I guess my mouth dropped open in surprise; I know my eyes widened and I just stared stupidly at the outline of his erect penis under the thin cloth of his pajamas.
It’s odd, but I remember an image flashed through my mind of his cute little thingie the last time I had seen it, when he was about 4 or 5 years old, and I thought how much bigger it was now. (Duh.) I don’t know how long I stared. Eventually he more or less cried out Jeannie! and raised up the knee nearest me.
I tore my eyes away and looked up at his face. Poor Ricky — he was mortified! His cheeks were bright red, and I think he might have given just about anything to be able to cover himself up at that point. But with his arms immobilized, of course all he could do was raise his knee and sort of point it away from me in order to hide himself. My heart went out to him.
I had never meant to embarrass him. Ricky, it’s okay, I told him.
I’ve seen pictures in sex-ed and you don’t have anything to be ashamed of.
I love you. Somewhere in there I started smiling at him. You’re beautiful.
It’s okay, you have a beautiful male body, and really it’s okay.
I can’t help it, he told me.
It felt so good when you were washing me, and I’ve been like stuck here. Forever.
I’m really sorry, Jeannie.
I’m so sorry.
I think he was about to cry. Remember I’m not a very sexually active person, and at that time I was technically still a virgin. So this was unknown territory for me. Not that I was completely ignorant.
I’d taken sex-ed (not much real knowledge there — I guess we got the Baptist version). Also, the year before, at 16, I had gotten too hot and heavy for comfort with my boyfriend Tom in the back of his father’s car a couple of times, me with my shirt unbuttoned and Tom groping me while I groped him back. One night I let him finger me between my legs until I had an orgasm. Then he told me he needed release also, or it would be physically painful for him, which was a new idea to me. But fair is fair, so I let him show me the right way to stroke his erection and I brought him to climax that way; he spurted semen all over himself and his shirt and the car seat.
It was astonishing and a bit scary, how much fluid came jetting out of him.
I could see how it might be painful for a boy to have to hold all that in. When the spurting slowed down I let go of Tom’s penis, but even so his semen got all over my hand and I had to wipe it off — I used his jeans for that, hee hee. (Thank god for the sex-ed class, though — I knew in general terms what was going on with him physically, so I didn’t freak out. But I bet his poor old dad freaked the next day if he noticed the backseat in his car.) Anyhow, after the second date in which we got each other off manually, I told Tom it made me nervous because I didn’t want to go all the way with anyone yet, and I was afraid we would lose control. Tom respected my wishes, bless him. We still hugged and kissed, but we toned it down enough that such heavy petting (as they said in sex-ed) wasn’t needed by him, or by me, anymore. We were still friends the last time I saw him, quite awhile ago — platonic but intimate at the same time if you know what I mea n by that. The point is that I did know what the male of the species sometimes needs for physical release and I had learned (twice, with a good friend) how to provide it. Ricky looked so miserable, and I was feeling such love for him, and I so wanted for him to understand that his feelings and his body really were okay, and I didn’t think any the less of him. All these feelings just sort of came together in my mind all at once very strongly, and while I held his gaze I sat down next to him, reached over his bent leg and cupped my hand over his erection.
It had shrunk a bit in his embarrassment, I guess, but as I held it I felt it grow full again, and Ricky straightened out his knee. His cock sort of twitched irregularly, moving under my hand as I gently squeezed. Ricky was looking seriously shocked, so I smiled and went, Shhhh! God. After two years of keeping all this to myself it feels very strange to be writing it out in detail like this so others can read about it. Even more weird, it’s making me feel itchy. Horny. This can’t be normal, but I’m going to have to pull down my pants and relieve myself before I soak my clothes. Amazing. Anyhow, to get on with it. Ricky, I told him as softly as I could so Jody wouldn’t wake up, this is a normal thing for a boy to feel.
I know you need relief sometimes, and you can’t do it for yourself right now.
It must be very uncomfortable. But I know how to help you feel better. May I? Would you mind? While I babbled all that sex-ed-lecture type stuff he was watching me. His face looked very intense.
Are you sure you want to? he asked, and I smiled and nodded. Oh, Jeannie, it’s so great, I’m so frustrated, if you’d do that for me… are you sure? He was babbling too.
I looked down at where I was gently kneading his rigid cock through his p.j.’s, and I think I caught my breath. There was a small, wet spot in the cloth, where the end of his cock was located.
I looked up at him briefly — he was watching me from between his suspended arms — then hooked my hands over his p.j. bottoms at each side of his hips and pulled down on them. Ricky raised up slightly to help and I pulled his pajama bottoms down below his knees, leaning back to do so. Then I sat back up and reached over to touch him. His cock was standing up in the air, moving back and forth with his heartbeat, and I couldn’t take my eyes away from it. He was absolutely gorgeous. And compelling.
I was mesmerized. The thing is, this wasn’t a heavy grope session in the dark, in some boy’s father’s car at the end of a date. This was on top of a bed, with the light on, and no one else in the house but my sleeping little sister. Ricky’s cock just looked incredibly beautiful to me — longer than the width of my hand by a couple or three inches (I guess that made it about 6 inches long) and perfectly proportioned; maybe on the slim side compared to Tom, but that’s how Ricky’s whole body was built, so it seemed just right.
It had veins sticking out on its surface and a reddish head on the end with just a hint of moisture around the small opening slit.
It stood up there, waving around, and took my breath away.
I don’t know if guys have any idea what power they have over females with that member of theirs, or maybe it’s just me, but the effect of seeing Ricky’s fully engorged penis — his phallus — was electric.
It was as if all my circuits were suddenly running on double voltage. My breathing was out of control, my crotch was begging me to masturbate, and I was utterly enthralled.
I guess you can tell, the sight burned itself into my memory. When I reached over to grasp Ricky’s cock, my hand fit comfortably around it, overlapping a little.
As I squeezed, it jerked against my hand, and when I stroked my hand upward toward the head the way Tom had taught me, moisture appeared at the end and spread downward to my fingers.
I reached my left hand over to rub my finger around in it; it felt warm and slick. When I circled my fingertip around to the underside of his cock, where the head flared out slightly to the side and then swept up toward the slit at the end, Ricky groaned and hunched his hips up toward my hand.
I could tell it felt very good to him; lord knows it was making my own world intense. My hormones must have been in flood stage by then.
I could see and pay attention to everything I did to Ricky, I could see the physical details of how he was built, how his testicles hung down against his crotch and where his butt started down below that, and I could see a sort of hint of his anus hidden away down there. Most of all, I could clearly see what happened when I did certain things to him, and all this made me a bit crazy. One time I glanced up to his face and saw Ricky gazing back down with his eyes half shut, watching the action, but I didn’t look up long enough even to smile or anything.
I just looked right back down at his wonderful, full cock and at what I was doing to it and how Ricky was responding. Jeannie, I’m getting close, he said (his voice was even a bit hoarse!) so I stroked my right hand up and down faster. Then, pausing but not letting go of him, I moved over on the bed so my left knee rested outside of his right leg and my right knee was between his legs.
It gave me a more direct view of his cock and his testicle sack. Tim Allen says a guy’s ball sack — okay, his scrotum, but that’s such an ugly word — looks like leftover elbow skin, and it does, kind of, but it’s awfully sexy just the same.
Anyway, I reached over with my left hand to lift his balls while I stroked his erection with my right, and the tips of my left hand fingers, pressing lightly against the skin behind where his ball sack joined his body, could feel his muscles contract every now and then. From this and from his hip action I figured he was about to let loose with his semen, like Tom had done. When I scratched lightly at the skin behind his balls he moaned softly, so I stroked up and down faster with my right hand and kept scratching lightly, up and down behind his ball sack, with my other hand. This provoked a more intense moan, and he started hunching his hips up and down.
It was fascinating and wonderful to watch.
I guess it was too intense to last — Ricky started to spurt, and I could feel each jet of semen moving against my fingers inside his cock (!), just before it pulsed out of the little slit on the end. My left hand fingers, resting against Ricky’s crotch behind his balls, could feel the muscles there contract with each spurt.
I hadn’t noticed any of that with Tom, but then everything about this was different from anything before. By now I was moving my own hips back and forth, rubbing myself against Ricky’s leg; it was so compulsive that it still makes me blush to recall. But I needed the release and had a little orgasm myself as Ricky shot out his semen. He must have spurted strongly 4 or 5 times, not counting the little in-between spurtlets.
I can still see it clearly in my mind. His first really strong pulse was incredible — it went clear up to his face, landed on his right cheek next to his nose, and left a glistening string of semen down over his lips and chin onto his chest bandages and the towel. As I continued stroking he kept spurting with decreasing energy until finally his penis started getting softer and smaller in my hand. Unlike with Tom I didn’t want to let go right away, but Ricky sort of pulled away, murmuring: Too hard, Jeannie, take it easier, so I tried to make my hand motions less urgent. Guided by Ricky’s hip movements and soft vocal sounds, I moved my hand against him gently until finally he lowered his hips all the way back down and I knew he was finished. This is how I learned it hurts a boy to stroke his penis too hard when he is almost done ejaculating, but feels good to him if you rub gently at the underside, jus t below the head.
I guess the nerves there are concentrated but not oversensitive. Male physiology is very strange sometimes.
Interesting, but strange. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Ricky, I told him, and meant it.
I love you. Then on impulse (and I guess a bit lewdly) I leaned up to kiss him on the mouth briefly, with my mouth slightly open so I could wipe my tongue over his mouth where his semen had landed.
I just wanted to taste it for some reason.
It tasted interesting and okay, a bit like raw shellfish but more subtle, I thought.
I liked it. Or maybe what I liked was knowing where it came from and that I had caused it. Ricky-juice, courtesy of Jeannie.
Anyhow, after I kissed him I used the towel to wipe up the rest of his semen.
It had shot all over the place and had collected in little puddles here and there, mostly on his belly. Ricky, are you okay that I did that for you? I asked him.
I was a little worried and guilty, I mean incest is a strong taboo, but his eyes were wide open and steady, and he just gazed at me and nodded his head.
I have always loved his steady gaze.
I’ll come back and do it again if you want me to, until you get well, I told him. Jeannie, I love you.
I really do, he said.
I smiled at him and got up to warm the washcloth that had started all this, and washed him off again before pulling his p.j.’s back up.
I put the new sheet and blanket over him, kissed him on the mouth again quickly, and left. Did I mention this episode wasn’t entirely noble of me? I ran back to my room, dropped my pants, lay down and rubbed myself to another orgasm, a big one that felt like it lasted about 10 minutes. God it was intense. The sight of that beautiful cock spurting semen all the way up to Ricky’s face just wouldn’t leave my mind, and I had to release my own energies several times more before I could even get to sleep that night. The next morning was the same — I masturbated to images of Ricky’s erupting cock and memories of how his semen tasted as soon as I woke up, and since it was a Saturday, I repeated the process two or three times during the day, just about every time I went to the bathroom, in fact.
I just couldn’t seem to get over it. That night, Mom went to bed early and Jody stayed over at a friend’s house, so about a half hour after the house went dark I snuck into Ricky’s room again. Ricky, I whispered. Yeah, hi Jeannie, he whispered back. Would you like me to do it for you again? Would you mind? I really want to, I whispered, and sat down on the bed by him.
I guess I was past trying to be subtle or act noble about it — I just wanted a repeat of the night before! Jeannie, I was scared you wouldn’t want to anymore.
I was afraid you would hate yourself. Or hate me. Or wish it had never happened. He sounded very tense, so I smiled and rested my hand on his stomach, on top of the blanket.
I would do anything not to hurt you, he told me, but you can’t know how much it meant to me.
It felt so good and I’m so alone in here.
I love you so much. He was starting to babble again, but I didn’t mind.
I just moved my hand around in circles on his stomach and watched his face. He may be my brother, but at that moment, in the shadowy light from the street outside, he looked more beautiful to me than any human has a right to be, with eagerness and fear and a shy smile chasing each other across his face.
I simply loved him. Totally.
If you don’t really want to that’s alright. But if you’re okay with it, if you’re sure — I would love it, he whispered.
I love you, Jeannie he added, and I’m sure he meant it, because I loved him at that moment too, and I told him so. There was something wonderful about the trust and intimacy of it.
I got up and locked his door (we all got door locks as kids as soon as we could be trusted not to lock ourselves in by accident — it was Mom’s statement of respect for our privacy). Then I switched on his reading lamp so I could see him better. He was watching me, his eyes glistening.
I could hear him breathing faster, and I guess I was puffing a bit, too. Gazing at his face, I squatted down by the bed and reached my arm down under the blanket to his p.j. bottoms, then under the elastic and down to his penis.
It was already hard, so I reached under it and sort of flipped it over, so it lay up along his stomach, and stroked it gently up and down, putting light pressure on the underside of it. When he sighed, I leaned up under his elevated arm and kissed him on his mouth. His lips were open so I opened mine too, and his tongue strayed hesitantly into my mouth.
I played my own tongue against his, and it turned into a deep, lingering kiss as I rubbed his cock under the covers.
It was very intense. When we broke the kiss, I whispered, I want to see you, and moved to pull down the blanket and sheet.
I then pulled his pajamas down; as before, he raised his hips to help. Once again I was treated to the sight of his erect cock standing up, pulsing in time to his heartbeat. And again it was a powerful and beautiful sight.
I moved onto the bed and knelt below his crotch, this time with both knees between his legs. This forced his legs farther apart than they had been the previous night and I had a better view of his physiology as I stroked him. When he raised his knees a little and moved them farther apart, it was even better.
I was fascinated at the way his crotch pulsed just before I felt his cock move in my hand and a little bit of fluid would dribble out — but not really dribble, more like just moisture spreading from the end.
I reached over with my left hand to rub the liquid into his skin on the underside, where the head joined the main body of it, the upper shaft, where the night before I had learned he was sensitive. He moaned softly at that, and the sound felt so energizing and intense I could hardly stand it. On impulse, I leaned over and licked the underside of his cock, starting down by his balls and moving up to the head.
It tasted strongly of his semen up by the head, a bit less neutral than I remembered from the previous night, somewhat saltier. First drops, I suppose. Delicious. My god, Jeannie – oh my god, that feels good, he moaned. So I moved my right hand down to the base of his cock, lifted his balls with my left hand, and took his cock right into my mouth.
It was the first time I had ever done that. All I had ever heard about it was a few giggling remarks about eating from my girl friends and a mention or two of oral sex in sex-ed class.
I don’t even know why I did it. But I did do it, and I liked it. Boys can’t know the delicious, sinful sense of power a girl can get from running her mouth up and down on a hard cock, knowing she is in control, knowing that the tube of hard-but- soft flesh in her mouth is concentrating the boy’s every sensation into a final explosion, and she is the cause of it.
I doubt if even gay males can share that feeling since they have the same physiology as their partner. As a female I got a sense of control over powerful but dimly understood force s that made my blood race.
It was my first experience of that exhilaration. As Ricky’s cock throbbed in my mouth he started hunching his hips up at my face.
I removed my right hand from his cock and put it down on the bed by his hip so I could put my weight on it and move my head up and over his cock more. By raising my body and then lowering my head so my hair fell down on his stomach, I could take as much of him into my mouth as possible without physical discomfort.
I think I took most of him in, right into my throat, and it didn’t even choke me, I was so excited! Then he started to spurt, once again in a series of powerful jets that this time I felt against the back of my throat. There was a kind of vibration to it as the fluid spurted out against my tissues. As this happened, Ricky was hunching his cock up and down in my mouth so I kept my head still and just circled my tongue against the underside of his cock as he moved, to let him pace his own release.
I guess about a quarter cup of his semen must have gone down my throat as I kept swallowing while he gushed. He was groaning and saying my name over and over.
It was wonderful. As his ejaculation finished, his cock shrank and I had him entirely inside my mouth.
I moved my tongue around on the underside gently while I scratched around some more, lightly, behind his balls. This provoked more twitching inside my mouth as he hunched his hips up at me, though I don’t know if any more semen came out or if it was just residual feel-goods.
I never have figured that out. Anyhow, his cock finally stopped twitching.
I held him against the roof of my mouth with my tongue for awhile longer, until I was sure he had finished, then I removed his cute little soft penis from my mouth, kissed its head, pulled up his p.j.’s, covered him with a blanket, whispered, I have to go now, and hurried out of the room. Where I went was to my own room for a series of crashing orgasms while I fingered and manipulated and rubbed myself, sometimes in ways I had never tried before — I even put a finger up my own butt during one climax.
I was quite shameless.
It was terrific. For the next few weeks, until his casts came off, I went into Ricky’s room almost every night after everyone else was asleep. Sometimes I used my hands on him but more often I used my mouth; each time, I drained him of semen and then ran back to my room to, let’s say, watch an instant replay in my mind as I released my own pent-up energies. Some of those encounters were memorable. One time I got back late from a school dance and Ricky was already asleep when I went in.
I snuck my head and arms under the covers, carefully maneuvered his soft penis through the opening in the front of his pajamas, put it into my mouth and gently sucked on it. The sensation woke Ricky up, and it thrilled me to feel how quickly he went from soft to hard, right there inside my mouth. Maybe because of the surprise, he lasted longer than usual that night, building gradually to his climax without any wild hum ping or such; he just let me control the pace.
I loved it. There is no way I can fool myself into thinking I did that to Ricky as he slept in order to help him meet an immediate physical need. He was fast asleep.
I did it because I loved it, and I loved him, and he loved to have me do it.
I remember looking up at his face while I bobbed my head up and down on him and licked around the base of his balls and suckled at him — I did pretty much everything I could think of, in fact, while I watched his face — and he watched me back with his eyes half shut and a tender smile on his face. Since he was being so passive, I dragged things out as long as I could, until finally I was the one who couldn’t stand it anymore. Then I triggered his orgasm by moving my mouth up and down on him faster and scratching lightly between his legs from the base of his balls back to his anus. Touching his anus popped him off like a rocket, I remember: He made a strangled moaning sound and started humping wildly up at me and jetting his semen into my throat.
I drank him down and ran to my room for a mental replay. Another time, at his request, I got completely naked and let him look at my body. He said I was beautiful, and for that moment I did feel beautiful, but also shy for some reason. He liked my boobs a lot, although they are not very big.
I showed him how my nipples get hard when I stroke and pull on them, and then I straddled his chest, kneeling, and parted myself with my fingers so he could see how I’m built sexually. My clitoris was swelling right out there wanting attention, and when I pointed it out he said it looked like a little excited nubbin.
I put a finger up into my vagina so he could see how slick and wet it gets inside of me. (Yes, I was very turned on.) I let him lick and suck my finger after, which he was eager to do! Finally, I stroked myself to an intense orgasm while he watched. His eyes were wide, his head was up off the pillow, and I don’t think he blinked the whole time. Yow, did I erupt! With his arms up on ropes, watching was about all the participation he could manage — other than letting me take care of his physical needs afterwards.
It made him incredibly excited. After I stroked myself to climax right in front of his face, I scooted down on the bed to take him into my mouth, and he started spurting just about as soon as I closed my mouth around him.
It felt like he gushed half a cup of semen down my throat that time! I only got naked for him the one time, though, because I was afraid Mom might wake up and knock at the door, and also, like I said, it made me feel self conscious. After Ricky’s casts came off he invited me into his room again one night but I told him he could take care of his own needs now.
I told him when we both got older and knew more, we might decide to make love again, but for now we had better stop. He never pushed me about it, though he always had a smile ready when I looked his way or smiled at him. At the end of that school year I graduated and went on to college early for Summer session. (I had to earn a scholarship to go to college, and I take it very seriously.) I’m on the pill now, and have gone all the way with several very nice guys; but for excitement I’m afraid they were nothing to write about, even though they were all built bigger than Ricky in the cock department. Of course, Ricky was barely 15, so who knows if he was finished growing yet, down there… Ultimately, and I know this is a cliche, but it’s true — I really don’t care whether Ricky’s cock has grown larger over the last few years. He was beautiful just the way he was, and that’s what I want to remember.
I don’t think I’d like it much if he grew a gargantuan, swollen, outlandish member like some kind of primitive carved potency fetish. To borrow a metaphor I saw used here, I’ll leave the horses to other horses. (Or is that a simile?) Anyhow, when I go home for Thanksgiving at the end of next week I guess I will offer to renew my physical acquaintance with Ricky — I mean with Rich; the name change will take some getting used to — if I can do it without damaging him emotionally.
I know the experience won’t hurt me. Reliving those early sexual contacts in this note has reminded me that I got as much out of it as he did, and I suspect getting physical again now that he can participate fully should either let us both achieve closure or give us something wonderful to guard and treasure and use carefully into the future. Wow.
I just realized how important that is, the fact that I trust him to be as careful with me as I will be with him.
I actually trust him completely.
I saw trust mentioned in someone else’s note on the subject of incest, but the importance of it just now sank in. Trust, and love, and acceptance. Now I really do want to find out if Ricky, I mean Rich, wants to give it another go.
I guess I’ll try to get him alone long enough to let it happen if it wants to. When I get back here to school after Thanksgiving I’ll write again to tell how it comes out. (Assuming I don’t lose my courage and wuss out.) Now I have to go relieve some physical stresses of my own while thinking about Ricky. About Rich. Wow.
I’m absolutely soaked again. Well, I’m back from Thanksgiving at home and I kept my promise to myself — I told my younger brother Rich (not Ricky anymore) I would like to make love to him again if he also wanted to. When I got back to school I found a couple of notes asking me to post how it all worked out, so here is a journal.
It’s long — everything’s so fresh in my memory that lots of words came out.
I hope no one minds. Here’s a little intro. Approaching Rich after more than two years turned out to be very scary.
It took time to find the right chance and I almost chickened out completely. My fear was rather extreme. For the record, I’m glad I did finally approach him and I’m glad I resisted my fears, which had me convinced it was all a huge mistake and I’d better rethink. What if he freaks and tells someone? What right do I have to put that kind of pressure on Rich? What if the whole idea turns his stomach because he’s become gay? What if I caused it by getting so oral with him before? Yada yada yada.
It turned out Rich wanted me as much as I did him and my fear just evaporated. No doubt we’ll run into complications eventually, but nothing’s free. We’ll just have to be careful.
In case you missed my last note, I’m a 19-year-old college student who had a series of sexual encounters with my younger brother two and a half years ago. He was barely 15 and was stuck at home in a hospital bed after a bicycle accident.
I was 17. One night I accidentally caught him with an erection and he got miserably embarrassed. Being all tied up in casts, ropes and pulleys, he couldn’t do anything about it, so I relieved him myself, by hand. He needed the release and I wanted him to know I loved him even if his male body made unreasonable demands; he didn’t have to curl up and die just because I had seen his erect penis.
It was a very rash, spur-of-the-moment thing, but I found I liked it and one thing quickly led to another. Until they took the rigid casts off his arms I used my hands or my mouth on him almost every night to give him sexual release. Once the casts came off and he could take care of his own needs, we stopped. That’s kind of a summary of my earlier note. While writing it I decided to ask Rich this Thanksgiving holiday if he wanted to make love. So I did, and he did, and we did, and I’m glad. So here’s What I Did for Thanksgiving Vacation, may it never fall into the delicate hands of Mrs. R., my fourth grade teacher. Then again Rich and I are widely considered to be good kids, so I guess you can never tell… Once I had made up my mind to actually approach Rich, I got so sunk into the idea I was useless at school, spending all my mental time in bed with him, going around dreamy, moonstruck, fantasizing about Rich loving me back instead of just being passive like he had to be the first time.
I guess writing about our incest made me obsessive or something. Whatever, I needed to deal with it and find closure one way or another.
I arranged to do some make-up work in my only two classes that aren’t near-automatic A’s and headed home the Thursday night before official T’giving break began. My kid brother was very much on my mind when I got home, but it was after 2 a.m. so I just snuck up to my old room (now a generic spare room) and fell asleep. The next morning when I saw Rich at breakfast I immediately chickened out. He may be my kid brother, but at 17 Rich stands a good 6 or 7 inches taller than I do (I’m 5’6 in my shoes) and he’s gained quite a bit of muscle around his shoulders. He still has the long, slim build of a runner and swimmer (I’m on the thin side too), but he’s not physically a kid anymore.
It didn’t feel like I had the advantage of being his older sibling. And he didn’t have his arms in casts either. How about that? In wussing out, I discovered one of the things I liked about our previous encounters was that he was helpless and younger than me. With Rich immobilized I could let myself go completely. Now I was afraid I couldn’t do that anymore. Not to mention, this time there would be absolutely nothing accidental about it. Frankly, Rich attracted me so strongly I didn’t feel secure about his being my brother instead of a love interest, if you see what I mean. Add to that a strong fear of rejection, betrayal or discovery, and I was ready to bolt. Scary. There it stood the first day of my visit and much of the next, with me afraid to say anything and wondering if even thinking about it meant I was sick in the head. As always, Rich had a smile ready whenever I glanced over or smiled at him, a complete gentleman.
I don’t think he had any idea of what I’d come home ready — or maybe unready — to do, or the insane levels my hormones were reaching as I watched him move around like some young athlete. On Saturday afternoon, Mom and my younger sister Jody, who turned 13 the week before, went to a double-feature movie.
I begged off on grounds of holiday homework. Rich said he didn’t feel like getting stuck at the mall with his mom and sister for hours after the movie. Jodie stuck out her tongue, Mom and Jody left, and we he had the house to ourselves for at least the next 4 or 5 hours, counting mall time.
I knew if I put off talking to Rich I probably never would find the courage. Maybe I was just scared of how I would feel if I let this chance slide by, but whatever the reason, I decided I’d better do something while I had some backbone. Rich was in the living room watching TV, so I went in and sat by him on the couch — a decent distance away, of course, not physically touching or anything crass like that. He smiled over at me, and I bit my lip and just looked at him. What, he said, frowning a little. He cocks his head when he’s puzzled, which I think is really cute even if it’s supposed to be a girl’s posture. Like playing with your hair. God he’s cute. This is wrong.
I can’t do this.
I have to do this. Yada yada. Take the plunge. Rich — remember when you were laid up in bed? My heart was racing — I’m not kidding about the fear. He let out a long breath. Jeannie, how could I forget? It was the only good thing that happened. (The quote is approximate, but close.) I remember he paused a moment, looking at me.
I always wondered if you had regrets for… what we did. No. No regrets ever. Not for myself, I told him. But I was afraid it might have hurt you. You know. Emotionally or something. Are you kidding? It just made me love you more. He leaned toward me with an intent look. Jeannie, I completely love you. All my heart. Nobody had better ever hurt you.
I mean that. (That is an accurate quote.
It’s tucked away in my memory, in the place where I keep my treasures.) He was watching me with that open, direct gaze of his and started to reach toward me, but pulled his hand back like he couldn’t make up his mind. Maybe I flinched when he moved his hand, I don’t know; certainly I felt jumpy.
I didn’t say anything, couldn’t even think, much less talk.
I just watched him and bit my lower lip some more. Rich tells me I usually do that when I’m feeling uncertain or scared. Finally he asked, Do you want to talk about it? Yes, I think I need to, I told him, and couldn’t help looking down at my lap.
I suppose my face was red.
It’d sure help if you would hug me. Just hold me for a second.
I need you to hold me. My voice kept getting smaller and I guess it was obvious I was scared.
It sure wasn’t the cheerful, fearless Wanna try it again, bubba? kind of approach that I’d fantasized pulling off. Bless him, Rich just stood up in front of me without another word and held out his hands.
I grabbed them and he pulled me to my feet, then put his arms around me and held me against his body.
I put my own arms around him and hugged back. Actually, it felt more like hanging on for dear life.
After a deep breath and a couple of still moments, it started to feel like I might melt into him.
I guess if someone had seen us we would have looked pretty glued together.
I remember my cheek was pressed against his chest and I could hear his heart beating — it was going fast, like mine. His chest and stomach felt hard and solid against my front and I could feel him stirring against my lower stomach, where I was pressed against him. Where his legs began. Okay, his crotch.
I was pressed against his crotch and he was stirring there, and my own down there parts did some stirring of their own, so to speak. But I was still scared; I mean, this was far gone beyond the norm. Rich kissed the top of my head and said in a low voice, Jeannie, tell me. Just say it. Whatever it is. He was making my knees weak. Weird experience — it was like they wanted to buckle, and I was just hanging on tight.
I looked up to his face. Rich, can you forgive me? I don’t want to stop, I told him.
I want to make love to you again.
I want you to make love to me. You don’t have to.
It’s wrong I guess.
I don’t want you to get hurt. Or Mom. But I don’t want to leave things where they are.
I keep thinking about it. About you.
I need to know.
I was babbling and didn’t know how to stop. Rich solved my problem by leaning his head down to kiss me on the mouth, His lips were slightly open so I opened my own, and his tongue brushed lightly against my lips, then probed into my mouth where I met it with my own very willing tongue. He held me in a long, deep kiss and as we kissed I felt his hands stroking my back, up and down.
I pressed every inch of myself against him, tried to wriggle even closer. He felt lovely and solid — and safe. When we broke the kiss he held me for a moment, then said, Let’s go to my room, and led me up the stairs, holding my hand. At that moment I would have followed him anywhere, done anything. When we got to his room he paused to lock the door (we all got door locks as kids, out of respect for privacy), then turned and took my hands.
I guess we were about a foot apart, and I couldn’t stop looking into his eyes.
I was sinking in them. Jeannie, are you sure you want to do this? he asked. Oops. Wrong question.
I didn’t know what I wanted at that moment.
I wasn’t in charge anymore.
I didn’t want to decide anything. Damn. Don’t you? I asked.
I could barely hear my own voice.
Inwardly, I was cursing my recklessness and my cowardice at the same moment. More than anything, he said, and drew me toward him.
It was a wonderful moment but I don’t know how to describe the emotions that swirled around inside me. Relief, gladness… nothing sounds right.
I don’t know how to say it. Like something had whooshed out that I didn’t even know I had inside. (Sounds like gas.) Anyhow, when Rich leaned in to kiss me I expected him to put his arms around me but instead he let go of my hands and I felt him start to unbutton my shirt.
I was wearing an old chambray work shirt and realized I was not wearing a bra — my boobs aren’t big enough to really need the support so I often choose comfort. Now I was self-conscious. Like he might think I’d planned it all out. Jeannie the slut, bring on the track team. Damn. Stop that. Shut up. Let it happen. All this noise kept going through my head, but Rich just kept kissing me and unbuttoning my shirt. When we came up for air he glanced down at what he was doing and I could tell when he realized I had no bra because he took a quick little breath of his own, then looked back up at my face with his eyes kind of wide.
I smiled at him, or tried to, and realized I was biting my lip again.
I felt very awkward. He leaned forward to kiss me again gently, then ran one finger down my front, tracing a light path on my skin down between my boobs and on down my stomach to the last two buttons still holding my shirt closed, and quickly undid them. We hadn’t said a word and I don’t know why I remember that sequence so well. Maybe because Rich didn’t say anything? It felt like he accepted me the way I am and didn’t pass judgment.
It made me feel safe.
I shut my eyes and finally was able to totally sink into the moment. Have I mentioned how much I love this brother of mine? When my shirt fell open Rich raised his hands to my breasts and started stroking them, gently tugging and manipulating my nipples the way I had shown him just once before, the one time I had gotten completely naked for him when I was taking care of his needs, while he was laid up. My nipples popped out so hard I think they tried to jump right off my boobs. Not to mention that direct connection between my nips and my crotch. Phew! I don’t even remember where my hands were at that point — maybe just hanging down at my sides. Rich had all my attention elsewhere and was compounding my interest with another deep, lingering kiss. Then he leaned forward to whisper, I want to undress you.
I want to do you the way you used to do me.
I love you, Jeannie.
I didn’t need to hear the magic words, but they are always nice when you know the other person means them. All I could do was whisper back, Oh yesss… or something like that. Or maybe I just nodded; I’m not sure.
It didn’t matter.
I wasn’t in charge. Rich bent down and picked me up like I didn’t weigh anything, with one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back, right against my skin below where my shirt hung down from my shoulders. He was in a tee shirt and I can still feel his arm against me when I think about it. His left hand curved up against my side to hold me secure from falling and his fingers just touched the side of my breast.
It felt like a promise.
A psych professor of mine said when you vividly remember a touch or a movement, it means the memory goes bone-deep because those are the hardest senses to fool or to make hallucinate. Rich’s arm supporting my back, pressed against my naked skin, his hand curved up against my side, the cool air against my breasts and nipples — these memories are so vivid I can close my eyes and be there again. After picking me up Rich walked over to the bed with me; I dropped my shirt to the floor and he put me gently down. When I scooted over to make room, instead of lying down with me as I expected he sat next to me on the bed, looked at me a moment, and bent down to fasten his mouth to my boob. He cupped it with both hands while he sucked and licked my nipple, then moved one hand over to caress the other one too. He was making me a little dizzy. After a few moments he rested his cheek against my chest right below my breasts and looked up at me.
I dreamed about this, you know, he said.
I never stopped dreaming about you.
I keep that with my treasures too. Then he went back to my breasts, paying attention first to one and then the other, and I discovered how wonderful it feels to lie passively on a bed and just soak up the sensations given by a lover. None of the three boys I had bedded at college ever did this for me! But there was nothing inept or impatient about Rich. As he kissed and nibbled at me he stroked his right hand down onto my stomach, moving his hand in circular motions. The tops of his fingers went just under the top of my Levis at the bottom o f the circles and I hoped he would go further soon. But I let him take the lead and just closed my eyes and stroked his head and occasionally went Mmmmm or said his name at a sweet moment. Mmmmm. Still vivid. Then his mouth left my breast and I felt him moving down on the bed, so I opened my eyes to see. He was down there fumbling around with the top button on my Levis.
I reached down to help him, but he tilted his hand up to block me. No fair, he told me.
It’s my turn. You lie back. Let me try to give you the same magic you gave me. He moved my hands onto my stomach and went back to fumbling at my top button so I moved my hands up by my head, palms up, surrendering to him, and watched him work.
It struck me that Rich was still completely dressed — he even had his sneakers on. Not too romantic! But I figured he was in charge and if he wanted to — excuse me — fuck with his shoes on, so be it. But it would be hard to do that with his pants on.
I was curious about what he intended. Once he had my Levis unfastened, he hooked his hands over them at my hips and tugged downward.
I raised my hips to help him, as he had done for me more than once, and he slid my pants down below my knees. Then he moved farther down and took off my shoes — I was glad I was just wearing slip-ons — and pulled my pants the rest of the way off. So there I was, lying nude on the bed except for my panties, and I’m sure they were getting very soaked in the crotch. (Just as mine are now, from telling this! While writing my previous note I had to stop twice to masturbate, and now the urge is building again. Maybe that makes me an exhibitionist, or am I a voyeur on my own life? I don’t know.) Anyway, getting on with it… While I lay there almost naked, Rich moved back up to my middle and sat by my hips, and just looked down at me.
I still had my hands on the pillow by my head and was open to whatever he wanted.
I guess what he wanted was to sit and just look at me for awhile. He moved his eyes from my head down to my feet and back up to my face, stopping here and there in between to gaze at various parts of me.
It felt like a very intimate caress.
I couldn’t believe how stirred up I was getting. Rich, I finally said, aren’t you going to undress? Shhh, he said, and leaned over to kiss me again briefly, then bent to suck at my nipple again — yow! The connection to my crotch was getting electric.
I might have moaned that time. He broke off long enough to take off his shoes and socks, which for some absurd reason made me feel grateful, I’m not sure why. Of course once his shoes were off he stopped undressing and went back to kissing and sucking at my breasts.
I didn’t really mind; in fact I loved him doing that. He lingered, paying attention back and forth, and I’d not have complained if he’d kept it up for hours. God, you’re beautiful, Jeannie, he finally said, pressing his cheek against my upper stomach. When I opened my eyes to look down I realized I had lowered one of my hands to stroke his head as he suckled at me.
I had to smile, he looked so sweet. Since I was on my back my boobs only swelled up a little bit, but my nipples stood straight up! The whole area around my nips kind of glistened from the moisture of his kissing and licking. His gaze was roaming from my breasts to my face and back again, and he had his eyes half closed. He looked insanely sexy. How can you be so beautiful? he asked, and started kissing his way down my chest and stomach.
I said before, I’m not beautiful, just fairly fat-free. Not everyone is even attracted to that kind of body. Rich always makes me feel beautiful, though.
I guess beauty must really be in the eye of the beholder, dumb as that sounds. While he kissed his way down my front, he kept stroking my breasts, keeping my nipples erect, until he got to my lower stomach and the top of my panties.
I was ready to have him tear them right off me, but instead he skipped down to my legs and, when I moved my knees apart a little, he started licking and kissing toward the insides of my thighs by my crotch. This prompted me to move my legs apart still farther and then I felt his tongue insinuate itself under the loose elastic around my leg, not much, but enough that his tongue was actually on my crotch, inside my panties! You bet that earned a moan or two. Then he pulled aside my soaked panties and started kissing and licking my actual sexual parts and I couldn’t help it, I hunched up at his face, even though he hadn’t gotten anywhere near my clitoris.
I simply felt ready to explode. Maybe because my hips were off the bed, he finally tugged down at my panties.
I kept my hips up to help him and he moved down to the bottom of the bed again to pull my panties the rest of the way off.
I know I was soaked, because when I lowered my butt and lifted my knees and feet to help him finish getting me naked, the air felt cool against the moisture at my crotch. Once my panties were off, Rich moved my feet apart with his hands and got back onto the bed, kneeling between my legs just as I had once done with him. When he said he wanted to do me the way I had done him, he wasn’t kidding.
I was like my old Gumby toy: he could bend me any way he wanted. He slowly moved upwards, pushing my legs farther apart with his hands, stroking lightly upwards on my inner thighs, moving his eyes the whole time up and down my body, from between my legs to my face and back down to my thighs, with stops between.
It was absolutely a caress; it gave me goosebumps.
I remember feeling a drop of fluid roll from somewhere in my crotch down my butt about then.
It tickled a bit.
I guess I was gushing sexual fluids. Rich has that effect on me. When my legs were far enough apart to suit him, he leaned down and kissed and licked me all over the outside of my sex while he moved his hands up to my breasts and resumed playing with my nipples.
I lay there passively but my breathing was getting ragged. Still, incredibly, I hadn’t climaxed. His tongue on my sex felt good but didn’t especially heighten my senses, though of course I enjoyed the sensations. But then he moved his hands back down to spread my labia and probed his strong tongue directly inside, into my vagina.
I could hear myself going Unnnnhhh… — not very original, I know — as I hunched my center up at him again. God it was intense, his tongue moving around at the entrance to me like that. Then, slowly, still holding my labia apart, he moved his tongue up my sexual slit to wriggle against my clitoris, and I went off like a stick of dynamite. BOOM! Boom, boom! BOOM!! Oh god, Rich! I remember crying out, among other things, as the wave crested, subsided, rose and crested again. Still he didn’t stop but kept stroking the flat of his tongue lightly up and down and around on my clitoris and the areas around it. He just didn’t stop, and neither it seems could I. When I started to lower my hips at what I thought was the end, he put a finger up inside me (Unnnnnnhhh…) and up went my hips again as he licked and sucked and fluttered his tongue around my clitoris. To my surprise, I quickly built up toward yet another orgasm! Soon I was so hunched up toward his face that I suppose not too much of me touched the bed, and (Unngggg…!) here came another explosion. While it happened Rich was pushing his finger in and out of me, licking and fluttering his tongue at my sexual center, and I swear he turned my world upside down. Phew. And I hadn’t even touched him intimately yet. Touched him? I hadn’t caught my breath. He still had his clothes on, for god’s sake! At that point Rich took his hands away from my sex — okay, my cunt — I don’t like that word — anyway he stroked his hands up my stomach to my breasts. He was looking up my body at me, his mouth and chin and cheeks shining in the light where he’d gotten my fluids all over himself. At some point I remembered to breathe again. God, Rich, I said, no one ever did that to me.
I didn’t know it could feel like that.
It was true.
I’d never been so completely out of control with anyone.
I felt like whimpering. God you look sexy, I added.
It was an afterthought.
I’m glad, he said, and moved back up to lie next to me. He reached down to cup his hand over my crotch where I still tingled from what he had done.
I leaned over to kiss his darling wet mouth and got my first taste of my own juices. They didn’t taste like much, but knowing they were there made the kiss feel special.
I kept my legs slightly apart so he could squeeze and stroke and explore me down there with his hand.
It felt good, and I was quickly wet again. When we broke the kiss he bent to suck at my nipple again.
I stroked his head. Except for his shoes, he was still dressed. Rich, I asked him, please get undressed and hold me.
I want to hold you. Please.
Anything, he said, and smiled, and got up to undress. He took his time, which made it very sexy. As he unpeeled his clothes I realized his body was just as beautiful as I remembered, but more mature. He had a hint of hair trailing up his lower belly now, not just on his pubes, and his chest and shoulders were broader and more muscular, though he still has a swimmer’s body, more lean than bulky. He doesn’t have much body hair, which suits my personal tastes. His butt is a 10, as they say — small and round and muscular, just right for his slim hips.
It must be from running track events.
It can’t be normal or other guys would look that good too, and mostly they don’t. He had his profile to me, so when he unbent from taking off his underwear I could see his erect penis standing straight out from his body.
It had grown since our earlier encounters.
I said in my first note that I didn’t care if he grew larger down there, and I didn’t; but it was still nice to see that he had gotten somewhat thicker and longer than I remembered.
I guess it’s a bit under seven inches long, thicker in proportion to the new length, but still on the slim side like the rest of him.
It’s about the same length as other guys I’ve had intimate contact with (not that many — three, actually, in two years of college, plus my high school boyfriend Tom). Not a flagpole or a horse, as you people say here, but beautifully right for him.
I guess every guy is built differently in the cock department.
In my own rather limited experience, I think Rich’s is utterly the best. Believe me, at that moment I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
It. He must have noticed me staring when he turned to face me, because he put his hand around it — his fingers overlapped, I remember — and smiled when I looked back up his body to his face.
I guess I had roaming eyes, like his when he first undressed me.
Is it what you remember? he asked. Somewhat larger, actually, I told him. (Hmmm — I assumed he meant his penis — I wonder if he meant his whole body? Well, it was the right answer either way.) Still gorgeous. You are absolutely mind-bending. He smiled wider and I smiled back. Rich, come lie down with me.
I want to hold you. He did, and I rolled onto my side to put my arms around him. He rolled to meet me and I pressed my cheek against his chest, and his erection jabbed at my thighs. When I felt that, I reached down between us to hold him in my hand, squeezing gently like a veteran groper. My first impression was right — his erect penis is somewhat thicker than when he was barely 15. Not enough to make me nervous, but it does have a nice amount of extra, what would you call it? Heft, I guess. A bonus.
I loved how soft it felt for being so hard, and the way it responded when I squeezed. Rich, can it be my turn now? I asked him, and he smiled and nodded so I let go of his cock and scooted up to where I could plant another big, wet kiss on his mouth. He knew what I wanted right away, and we went into another deep, lingering kiss.
I don’t know if other women love to kiss like that, deep and long and with active tongue play, but I can’t get enough of it, provided it’s with someone I feel right about and he doesn’t try to rape my mouth with his tongue.
It might seem weird to want subtlety when playing tonsil hockey, but that’s what I’m trying to get at. Rich understood, and was thrilling to kiss. While we kissed, Rich stroked his hand down the small of my back to my butt, where he caressed and squeezed me. His other hand, the one by the bed, was between us, caressing my breast.
I was gently fondling his very erect cock, stroking and squeezing.
It was a perfect moment, loving and intimate and sexual all at once, and I don’t think the outside world existed. When Rich tightened his hand on my butt, his fingers spanned the cheek and spread out on the side of my crotch and against my inner thigh.
It made my sexual parts move around against each other, a terrific turn- on. Then he moved his fingers over and down between my legs from the rear; I arched my back to give him access, and he quickly found my vagina with his long, middle finger.
I could feel the other fingers moving on either side as he probed and moved his finger on the inside of me.
I heard myself making noises, and couldn’t arch my back enough. While Rich caressed me like that from the rear we kept kissing, and I started moving my hand up and down on his cock. He was quickly very moist at the tip, which I remembered meant he needed release soon. So I broke the kiss, whispered, My turn, and tasted my way down his long, flat, hard body. As I dropped lower he tried to keep his finger inside me but soon had to give up, and then I was face to face again (so to speak) with his erect cock. He was as gorgeous close-up as I remembered from before, perfectly proportioned, topped by a reddish head, with blue veins on the shaft. There was moisture around its little opening slit and more appeared as I stroked my hand up, but I didn’t want him to go off quite so soon.
I stopped stroking and instead put my hands on his thighs to move them farther apart.
I then moved over to kneel with both of my legs between his knees, as he had just done to me. God it was a compelling sight, his hard cock standing up in the air, leaning slightly toward his belly but moving in time to his heartbeat, and the moisture at the end signifying his readiness.
I lifted his balls and they felt heavy in my hand; I imagined them full of semen, though I believe the testicles are not where semen actually accumulates in a male. (I’ll have to look that up.) But it felt sexy to imagine it that way, and I leaned down to kiss and then lick the underside of the sack while I stroked and lightly scratched the area where I remembered he was sensitive, right behind his balls between his legs, and on back toward his anus. He rewarded me with a soft groan, so I kept it up. By now Rich was stroking my hair as I ministered to him. Finally I licked around his balls, up the side of his sack to the base of his cock, then slowly up the underside of the shaft to its head. The taste of his semen, which I remember well and like to conjure up in my mind when I masturbate, was strong there at the head.
It had a salty tang that I now associate with the first few drops (his flavor gets more neutral later during ejaculation).
I could feel his energies building and knew he would not last much longer, so I carefully put my mouth around his cock without actually closing it over him and breathed softly out around it as I scratched lightly between his legs with my fingernails.
I did not want to just set him off accidentally; I wanted him to build up to a finish he could never have just gone upstairs to do for himself, something as memorable as what he had just given me. Lewd? I certainly hoped so. So I drew it out as much as I could without being cruel. (The poor boy did need his release!) I scratched lightly, gradually back between his legs as I breathed out around his cock with each breath, and produced exactly the effect I’d hoped for. When my fingernail actually brushed his anus he went Oh god, Jeez, in a strangled voice and hunched his hips up, sending his cock right against the back of my throat. The contact started him spurting strongly so I closed my mouth around him, using my tongue to hold him gently against the roof of my mouth so he could hunch himself up and down, spurting into my mouth and throat as I swallowed his output.
I don’t know how much he gushed, but it came out in a series of strong spurts that I felt very clearly, plus a longish period of gradual subsiding.
I held him in my mouth the whole time, scratching lightly against his sensitive areas and moving my tongue around gently on the underside of his penis. His explosions felt absolutely glorious to me; he kept saying my name. Toward the end I reached down to touch myself between the legs and had a little orgasm of my own, nothing much, just a small energy release. My mind was really on Rich and what I was doing to him. Here’s something maybe other women can tell me. Do you find that taking your man orally to climax and drinking down his fluids is in some ways more intense than other sexual experiences? I do.
It has to do with being in control, and the lack of distractions (like orgasms) going on in my own body, and the complete and utter focus of my partner. Well, I haven’t actually done or felt like doing that with anyone else, but that’s how it feels with Rich.
In any case, I absolutely did not want Rich ever to stop, but of course he did finish, and his penis subsided.
I held him there in my mouth until he was completely still, though he did not shrink all the way down. When I was sure he was finished I took him back out of my mouth, all drained, and moved my body over to his side so I could rest my head on his stomach and just gaze at his penis as it rested there on my hand. With my mouth off it, his penis finished shrinking and I sort of studied it in its flaccid state. Memorized it. Male physiology is very strange and interesting.
I was in some kind of dreamy place where I just wanted to look and look, and maybe go to sleep there and wake up later and look some more. Not that his soft penis had the same power as when it was all hard and eager, but it just looked… nice. Comfortable.
I couldn’t help kissing the head, which made it stir a little in my hand, so I moved back up Rich’s body to rest my cheek on his chest and listen to his heart.
It sounded strong and steady.
I guess I dozed because the next thing I remember, Rich was whispering in my ear, Jeannie – they’re home! You’ve got to sneak out of here! I bolted off the bed and put on my pants and shirt while Rich put his own pants back on.
I’ll go downstairs and tell them you’re taking a nap, he schemed. You go into your room and come out later, when you feel like it. Then he stopped to look at me, got a funny, intense look on his face, and stepped over to cup my face in his hand and kiss me.
I wondered if he could taste his juices on my tongue, the way I had tasted myself on him before.
I didn’t ask. He whispered, Thank you, Jeannie.
I love you. All my heart.
I just put my arms around him and squeezed as hard as I could, pressing my cheek against his chest, loving him utterly.
I didn’t want to let go. After a moment he disengaged and left the room quietly, then I heard him clomping noisily downstairs, hollering, How was the movie? all cheerful and seeming like nothing much of interest had happened.
It was all I could do not to laugh as I snuck down the hall to my room.
I lay down on my bed to rest a minute, but before I knew it, I had my hand down my pants and was rubbing myself off again, thinking about the encounter with Rich.
I just couldn’t help it.
I’m not usually that horny — I’m really not! But Rich does something intense to me that I can’t and don’t want to resist. So it turned into a terrific visit home. Rich and I got together most nights and a couple times during the day for sex, though for some reason we kept it exclusively oral. We didn’t have normal sex (as if any of this could be called normal!) until just before I left for school again.
I had no complaints. There are lots of great variations on the oral theme and we experimented with most of them. For example, the second night after our reunion, once everyone else was safely tucked away in bed, I snuck into Rich’s room and we wound up in our first 69.
It was Rich’s idea; he wanted to give and get magic at the same time, as he puts it. But I’m sure I would have thought of it myself before long.
It makes everything so mutual, if you see what I mean.
It’s very appealing. Neither of us had tried this before.
I remember lying on our sides facing each other, exploring each other’s sexual centers with hands and lips and tongues. Up until our energies started to build, it felt unhurried and sensual and fine; then it got more hectic. Rich pushed my leg up to get better access so I rested my knee on his shoulder. He licked and sucked and nibbled and probed and stroked every part of me, and brought my temperature up to about 150. At the same time I was fondling him, licking him all over, nibbling at his sensitive areas, stroking and tasting and feeling and engulfing every part of him I could get access to, which was, well, pretty much everything.
It was wonderful. When orgasm overtook me I just had to roll over on top, bucking myself down against his face for all I was worth, with my knees drawn up under me.
As my senses raced, he put one finger into my vagina and another into my butt (Unnnngggggghh) while he kissed and licked and fluttered his tongue against my clitoris — ye gods did I go off! It’s a wonder no one woke up. (We did try not to make too much noise, of course.) Rich started spurting into my mouth while I was still bucking against him in my own rodeo, and I was so distracted by my sensory overload that I didn’t even catch all of his Ricky-juice. Once we both calmed down some, I cleaned him up by licking his cock and his stomach and his crotch down by his balls, where the spilled semen had gone. That seems kind of gross in the retelling, I guess, but at the time it seemed a natural extension of what we had been doing. Anyhow it got me all hot again, which aroused him again, and off we went to another rodeo. Another night when I brought him to climax orally, I played the same anal trick on him that he had played on me — just as he went off, I stuck my finger in his butt. Boy did that get a reaction! The next time I took it even further — I put my finger into his butt somewhat sooner in his build-up and probed inward to the music of his groans until I felt his sphincter.
I pushed in deeper, past the sphincter into his true insides, and Rich flipped. His groaning was very sensual and the energy build-up was intense. Way back there inside him I felt a swelling through his intestinal wall that had to be his prostate gland, if my sex ed books told the truth, and I stroked my finger against it as he spurted into my throat.
I was jolted by the strength of the smooth muscles he has in there, the ones that pump out his semen. He was spurting with incredible power.
I had an orgasm of my own, rubbing against his leg as I drank him down. Very intense.
I have to say that probing deep inside him was worth it, even though my finger smelled gross when I pulled it back out. (No, kids, there was no cork popping sound and his anus didn’t slam shut.) I put his bathrobe on and snuck across the hall to wash my hands so I could go back and feel comfortable with him in bed. Gross or not, I could tell it drove him up the wall, so I’ll do it again one of these times, assuming we continue our physical explorations. (I don’t want to stop anytime soon, but there’s always a chance Rich might.) Mostly we used Rich’s room because mine was too close to Mom’s. The one time we used mine instead, Mom and Jody had gone out shopping for feast-food stuff.
I was in my room napping so I didn’t know Rich and I had the house to ourselves. (I was getting very big on naps — having sex every night after lights out, then getting up early so no one will guess, does take a toll.) So there I was snoozing on top of my bed, wearing loose sweats and dreaming Rich was licking my stomach.
I really liked the dream, especially when he moved downward toward my sexual regions. When I dreamed the velvet tongue was stroking my skin below the top of my pajama bottoms I put my hand down by reflex, and bolted up when it encountered someone’s head! It was Rich, of course, trying to pay me back for one time when I snuck under his covers while he slept and took his soft penis into my mouth, just to wake him up and feel him grow hard there against my tongue. Yow! That episode has long been one of my favorite lascivious memories when I masturbate. But it’s hard to pull off that stunt with a girl, especially since my sweats (not the p.j.’s of my dream) had no front opening for access. And of course there was nothing in there for him to fish out even if my pants did have an opening in front. Females are tidier that way than males. When I jolted upright Rich looked up with such a worried face that I had to giggle.
It seems he thought I was awake all along because I had been murmuring his name while he licked his way down my tummy. Well, why wouldn’t I? I certainly had zilch interest in anyone else at the moment.
I told him he had gotten me very turned on in my dream, which was true, and I lifted my hips so he could pull my pants down and have his oral way with me.
It was a wonderful way to wake up! After I climaxed against his tongue I pulled up my sweats and told him to get up and lean back against the door. When he did, I went over and kissed him (his face was glistening again, so I got another sample of my own juices), then I dropped down on my knees, undid his fly, and discovered I couldn’t fish his hard cock out of his jeans without being unkind and bending it. So I yanked his pants down and took him into my mouth for the most lingering, most sensual oral sex I knew how to give. When he finally spurted, I pumped my mouth up and down on his cock, swallowing his output as fast as he gushed, while I scratched lightly under and behind his balls.
I think his knees almost buckled.
I love bending his reality that way. The only tiresome thing about my visit was the fear of discovery. We had to hide everything from Mom and Jody, not easy when you’re busy falling in love. (It does seem that’s what we were doing.) We took some silly chances. On T’giving day we were sitting together on the couch watching TV while Mom and Jody messed around in the kitchen right behind us. Since we both had loose sweats on, I reached inside Rich’s pants to grope him, for no very good reason. To bother him I guess, or maybe just because I could. Anyway Rich reciprocated my mischief, and the combination of risk and Rich’s growing expertise with my body brought me quickly to orgasm. My face must have been bright red from holding in the noises that normally escape me when Rich pulls my trigger. So I’m sitting there all red-faced, jerking my hips and clamping my thighs on his hand when Rich joins in, just pops right off in his pants against my hand. He got semen all over his shorts and had to run up to his room to change before anyone noticed the wetness or the smell.
I couldn’t help laughing. That was stupid, because my own hand was wet now with Rich’s eruptions and I didn’t dare run upstairs on his heels.
I mean, I was sitting there reeking as strongly of semen as he would have been.
I do like Rich’s smell when he comes, it’s part of his taste, but it’s hard to miss the odor if you know what it is, and Mom would know for sure. Maybe Jody, too; at 13 she’s getting cute in a swimsuit and I bet the boys have noticed. Jody did hear me laughing and came out to ask what was so funny; I told her it was the TV show. She looked at me weird so I checked, and it seems what Rich and I weren’t watching was a news report on some gruesome fire someplace. Meanwhile I had my arms crossed so I could hide my wet hand in my armpit, which made my shirt wet, so just as Rich came back downstairs I was rushing up to change.
If Jody or Mom noticed our change of clothes they said nothing, but it brought home to me how important privacy is in an incestuous relationship — and how difficult to find. The sex we were having was so good I didn’t really wonder about why we never seemed to screw in the normal manner. Finally, on Friday, before I left for college again, I asked and Rich told me he thought I might get pregnant and wasn’t willing to risk it. The only condom he had was a permanent resident of his wallet, the way high school boys do; I think they like the ring shape it makes in the leather or something. Anyway, he didn’t trust it.
I told him I was on the pill now, so if he hadn’t been doing any risky behaviors I would love to have plain old ungarnished sex with him.
I really did want to feel him thrusting into me, feel him build to a climax and fill me with his semen. The thought gave me shivers and I told him so. The next day we borrowed Mom’s car and took off for an overnight visit to friends, went to a motel down the freeway a few miles and spent Saturday evening and most of Sunday morning in each other’s arms. That’s when we added real love — coitus — fucking — to our repertoire. To my surprise, considering his inventiveness, it turned out to be Rich’s first time; as I said before, he’s on the shy side.
It was glorious, utterly enthralling, and maybe I’ll tell about it in another note. Or maybe not. Right now it feels like it might betray my darling brother in some way, so I won’t.
It’s his milestone, not mine, and I ought not to steal it.
I will say this — I would give anything to take back the few unmemorable experiences I had in bed with other guys at college so Rich’s first time could also have been my own. But at least I was able to be there for Rich and I would not trade that, not for the world. During our side trip to the motel, once we got comfortable going all the way with each other, we tried just about everything but anal sex. That, and bringing someone else to the party. As for anal sex, Rich never asked to put his cock into my butt and I didn’t suggest it. Don’t get me wrong, I would be willing to try it with him if he wanted.
I will never turn down a sensual request from Rich, any more than he has ever turned me down. But I’m glad the subject didn’t come up. Not that we ignored each other’ s anuses (anii?), with all those sensitive nerve endings. Rich licked my anus sometimes (Unnhhhhhhh…) when we were in a 69 position and I licked his too. Usually I did that as part of nibbling and licking the sensitive areas under his testicles and farther back.
I discovered that going oral back there, including licking his anus, is a good way to keep him on the edge without actually triggering an orgasm.
I can make him really build up pressure behind the dam when I want to draw things out, hee hee. But I will only do his anus when he smells sweet and clean there, like right after a shower. Well, I did try it once during a let’s wash each other bath at the motel.
It took some serious squirming around and didn’t work very well.
I’d fooled around with him until he got all excited and ready to pop but I didn’t want to contend with his semen floating around in the bath water, so I had this bright idea to keep him at the edge orally for awhile (what power!), then make him buck after we dried off. Things don’t always work as planned. Rich says he now keeps a picture in his mental photo album of my face rising up from under his crotch with a bubble bath beard while he struggles to keep his butt out of the water without flipping upside down and drowning. Now there’s an image to make the lunch milk come out of your nose. For his part, Rich likes to put a finger into my butt when we’re screwing; he says it’s exciting to feel his cock through my tissues as he thrusts in and out of me.
I’ll admit the practice has a kind of double your fun feel that turns me on a lot — especially when I have my legs hooked over his waist or just doubled up with my knees next to his sides.
In that last position, whether I’m on top or underneath him, I always feel like I’m so stuffed with Rich that any more would make me pop. When I’m underneath I can feel his balls slap and move around against my butt when he plunges down into me.
At such a moment if I’m close to exploding and he reaches down to stick in his finger (Unnhhh…’), it’s off I go to the rodeo.
I’m glad he’s careful to be gentle when he does that, though.
It keeps it erotic, not painful. As for bringing in third parties or starting orgies with others, I’m just not interested and hope he isn’t either.
I only want to be with Rich. Once we got past our initial fears, we were — well, I was — able to accept our incestuous sex as something we both want to do with and for each other.
I love Rich very much, more than I can find words to express.
I know absolutely that Rich loves me back.
I feel no shame around him. He can do whatever he wants with me sexually, and I will do whatever he asks.
I only wish we didn’t need to be so secretive, that we could share what we have someplace other than anonymously on the Internet.
I think Rich and I have discovered something joyful that we can take with us into the future.
I am very glad.
I do believe we’ll probably both end up with spouses and children, and probably we’ll get less physical over the years.
I hope we never completely stop. The experience has simply been too beautiful. My only reservations have to do with a remark someone made in one of the incest digests — there’s a big difference between loving and falling in love.
I’ve loved Rich my whole life. He’s been a terrific kid brother and we never fought much. But right now I am absolutely, deeply, and joyfully in love with him, sunk happily into some sort of forbidden delirium that those who have been there would no doubt recognize.
I have a strong sense that Rich is in love with me too, though we haven’t discussed it in those explicit terms.
I suspect Rich is being careful not to lay claims on me, just as I am trying to do with him. We can’t afford to own each other.
If there weren’t other important family members to consider I could see us moving somewhere far away to magically become married as far as outsiders were concerned. Someone in this newsgroup mentioned doing that with his mother! Rich and I look dissimilar enough (different complexions, for one thing) that we could probably pull it off. But we do have other important family. Also, I want to have kids of my own eventually, and I can’t safely do that with Rich. Some people, especially those who launched into incest as children or early adolescents, seem to take it in stride as merely one more aspect of childhood exploration. But I’m way past that now with Rich. Most of all, I want to love Rich with all my heart, and if we let this get too intense or if we get much more obvious, I’m afraid things will become complicated. Someone immediately outside our little circle of two could get hurt. That fear kind of smudges the clarity of everything else I’ve been feeling. For now I guess I will just take it as it comes.
I will enjoy Rich when I see him, love him as hard as I can, hope he loves me back for a long, long time, and let the future take care of itself.