At some point, we heard noises from the master bedroom down the hall. Morning ablutions – voices – yes, both Mom’s and Dad’s. I couldn’t tell what was being said, but at least it didn’t seem to be terribly loud or emotional. Finally, the door open and Dad strode out. He walked by the living room, saw Chrissy and me, and spoke pretty much the last words I was expecting: a perfectly normal, cheery “Hi, kids!” I simply could not comprehend his sang-froid. Neither Chrissy nor I managed to greet him back, but he didn’t seem to notice anything strange. Instead he went to the kitchen and noisily began preparing breakfast. We looked at each other in confusion and Chrissy murmured “do you think…?” I wasn’t sure what she wondered I was thinking. Did I think Dad knew? Of course. He hadn’t seen us, true, but surely he’d been close behind Mom, and surely she hadn’t been able to keep her shock and horror hidden from him.
When Mom came out a couple minutes later, she, too, stopped by the living room, but instead of a cheery greeting she said in a quiet, almost weary monotone: “You two should come for breakfast.” OK, so last night hadn’t been just a nightmare. Reluctantly, we crept back into the kitchen. The mood there, though, was implausibly bright. By now sunlight was streaming in, Dad had started frying up bacon, and a fresh pot of coffee was dripping. Mom, unexpectedly, addressed us in a resolutely everyday tone: “What are you two having?” I mumbled something about not being hungry, but Chrissy, surprising me, managed a normal-sounding “I’ll have some bacon.” Dad made his usual silly joke about there being “loads and loads of bacon” and appreciating all of our help eating it. So we all ended up sitting around kitchen table chowing down as if were a perfectly normal Saturday morning. I didn’t really know what to think. I was starting to suspect, though, that whatever had happened after Mom closed the bathroom door on us, it probably hadn’t involved Dad.
We sat down – I chose the seat next to Chrissy this time. We drank our coffee, ate our breakfast and discussed happy trivialities, though neither I nor Chrissy were really holding up our side of the conversation. I was still expecting Mom, at least, but maybe even Dad, to suddenly burst out with a furious “what the fuck were you doing last night?” at any moment – and neither of them was big on yelling or cursing, at least not en famille. But nothing in particular happened. We ate our bacon and bread, put our dishes in the dishwasher, and started talking about the day to come. Dad said he was going down to his workshop in the basement to finish a project. “I nearly got it finished last night – your mother even came down to take a look, right Ellie?” Ah, all was clear. It wasn’t the first time that Dad had stayed up late in the shop, even after coming home from a gig. He made weird stringed musical instruments, zithers and lutes and the like, and sometimes even played them live, although his main instrument was guitar. Mom was a singer, not an instrumentalist, but she always took interest in Dad’s projects, and it wouldn’t have been out of character for her to go down to the shop to take a look – and maybe to forestall him from going up and catching us before we got out of the compromising situation she’d caught us in.
After Dad left, it was as if a big, heavy, silence immediately descended on the kitchen. Mom sat there, staring down at her now-cold mug of coffee, and didn’t say a word for a few minutes. Finally, she took a deep breath, looked up, and said: “Well.” Chrissy instantly began to cry. I put my arm protectively around her shoulders and looked at my mother, who surprised me by exaggeratedly shrugging her shoulders. “Fine. I saw what I saw last night, I wish I hadn’t seen it, and I only want to say one thing. You. Must. Not. Let. Your. Father. Find. Out.” She enunciated every word separately, as if it were a matter of life or death, and I was absurdly tempted to ask “why not?” Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut. Chrissy stopped sobbing, pulled herself together, and mumbled “I promise.” I said “I do too.” Mom paused for a few seconds, and then said “Ok. Thanks.” This was about the most bizarre thing I could imagine – “thanks?” Thanks for what? For being caught taking a naked shower with my sister? But Mom elaborated: “He wouldn’t take it well. I… well, look. You’re…” She stopped, seemingly sure of how to continue, and Chrissy quietly began sobbing again. Mom finally seemed to figure out what she wanted to say and continued, “Actually, no. Never mind. I was going to say you’re both almost grown up and your sex lives are your own business. That is what I always imagined I’d say when you got girlfriends and boyfriends and wanted me to butt out of your lives. I’d be the liberal, cool mom.” She laughed, and it came out like a harsh bark. “I want you both to answer one thing, and then I will butt out.” She paused. “Do you both… want this? Alex, I can’t imagine you hurting Chrissy. It’s just not…” She suddenly looked like she was going to cry. Chrissy spoke up in an incredibly calm voice: “Mom, he didn’t hurt me. I started it.” I was startled. “No! She didn’t start it.” I couldn’t really get out the obvious implication: that I had started it, that I was at fault, that I was guilty. Had I? Was I? We’d been working up to this for such a long time. Who could say how it really started?
Chrissy corrected me – and herself. “We both started it. We both wanted it.” Mom looked intently at us for a minute, then flashed a wan smile. “Ok. I promised I’d butt out, and I will. We will not talk about this ever again. But. You. Will. Not. Let. Your. Father. Find. Out.” She didn’t wait for our reply, but walked out of the kitchen, leaving us to our thoughts.
Top of FormThings slowly returned to normal, or at least kind of normal. Mom kept true to her word and didn’t bring up what had happened. Chrissy and I stayed true to our word too: obviously, we didn’t let on anything to Dad (there was no risk of our bringing it up, of course: we both would have been horrified if he’d found out; Mom was bad enough). Sadly, though, we also, by unspoken mutual assent, immediately stopped all of our encounters. Cold turkey.
We even fell into the habit of locking the doors of our shared bathroom when we were using it, though we had never, ever done that before, not when we were kids, not even when we were early teenagers and found each other just a little annoying. I think I started it and Chrissy followed suit, but I don’t really know why I did it (we’d never accidentally or intentionally intruded on each other), and I worry that it badly hurt her feelings – and once or twice in the beginning I certainly must have annoyed her by inadvertently leaving her door locked, though she was very nice about it and just knocked on my bedroom door and asked me to open the bathroom. We didn’t stop interacting – we were far too close for that. But we stuck resolutely to an ordinary brother-sister relationship. When our parents went out, we’d watch TV on the couch like before, and even sit snuggled up to each other, but I kept my hands to myself and she did the same. Naturally, the showers together stopped. I switched took my showers in the morning again, before she even got up.
And I jerked off every night and most mornings, always thinking about Chrissy. How she would sit in my lap and look up at me with adoring eyes. How she looked as I masturbated her, how it felt as she caressed my penis with her butt. When I felt I deserved a special treat, I dug up the memory of how she had tasted and how she had gushed her sweet-sour juices into my mouth that one time, although I firmly believed I should leave that singular memory alone most of the time, as if overusing it would cause it to fade away and lose its effect. As for the other memory of that night – I wished fervently that it would fade away, never intrude into my memory again. But time, and time again, as I reached orgasm thinking about lovely Chrissy in my lap, out of nowhere I’d see the same scene, as if from above: Mom appearing at the door, Mom staring at Chrissy and me in the shower, oh God, Mom seeing Chrissy naked, Mom seeing me naked, Mom seeing my erection, Mom seeing Chrissy, Mom, oh God, Mommmm…. Chrissssyyyy….. Mommmmmmm!! And then I’d spill my seed all over my belly, trying to force the image of Mom out of my mind, forcing myself to visualize only Chrissy, her beautiful belly, her tiny breasts, her eyes looking up at me; but also, willy-nilly, seeing myself, seeing what Mom saw through her eyes: me sitting dumbly in the shower stall with my dick pointing straight up, Chrissy in all her lovely beauty standing right next to me, Mom just saw her getting up from sitting on my dick, Mom saw her two kids together, her two beautiful kids – did Mom like what she saw? Did Chrissy like it that Mom saw her? Did I like it? Then I’d lie there in the dark, hot, sweaty, covered in my own come, clutching my softening penis, and wanting to cry from self-hatred and loneliness.
Chrissy seemed sad and subdued a lot of the time. I didn’t feel so hot myself, of course, even though I’d get up extra-early every morning resolved to be cheerful and bright. I’d take a hot shower, wash off the dried semen and the shame, sniff Chrissy’s soap and her strawberry shampoo, then, aroused by sense-triggered memory, jerk off once again in the shower thinking about the time we first did it there and I nearly blacked out. The scene of getting caught never intruded when I masturbated in that shower. I’d come fast and hard, wash it off, and emerge refreshed to try to make the best of the day. I tried to concentrate on my schoolwork and Chrissy did too – I’d see her studying late into the night, and occasionally she’d come to my room and ask me to quiz her on something. We still did a lot of other things together – traded opinions about books, watched TV, even occasionally tickled each other, carefully avoiding the long-familiar progression. But it felt as if an unscalable wall had grown up between us.
Then, one day, I was up well after midnight, uncharacteristically late for me. I’d been staying up the past few days studying for midterm exams and, once the exams were over, exhausted as I was I still found it hard to go to sleep at the ordinary time. I wandered to the kitchen, thinking perhaps to make myself a grilled cheese, and was surprised to find Mom there, sitting at the table having a beer. She looked tired. “Where’s Dad?” I asked, superfluously – I knew he was either in his workshop or, more likely this late on a Friday night, asleep. Mom confirmed: “He’s in bed. Sit down, kiddo.” She gestured at the stool across the kitchen table from her, and I obediently sat down. “How did the exams go?” Honestly, I was surprised she even knew I had had exams. Mom wasn’t really the type to pay attention to that sort of thing. But I told her I was pretty sure I’d done well, and it was a relief to be done with them, and so on. Sure enough, she didn’t probe further, but quickly dropped the subject. She seemed to be searching for the words to say what she was thinking. Finally, she just blurted it out. “I’m worried about Chrissy.”
“Chrissy?” I asked, stupidly. “Yes, Alex. Chrissy. Your sister. She’s changed.” I mumbled a non-committal reply, not knowing what to say. Mom sighed. “Look. I know. I know I promised I wouldn’t bring up… what happened.” She paused, as I froze to my seat. “What I saw. You and Chrissy. I know I said we’d never talk about it again. But I need to know what happened. I know you would never intentionally hurt Chrissy, but Chrissy has been hurt, and I need to you to tell me exactly what happened between you two. From the beginning.” I couldn’t begin to answer her. “Mom, …” I squeaked.
She spoke again, harshly. “OK. I’m just going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer. When did it start?” I croaked out the biggest lie of my life: “We just did it that one night…” Mom looked furious. “Don’t. Ever. Lie. To. Me. Alex. Do you think I don’t know that you two have been… getting together for years now?” I must have looked stricken, because she gave a short, barking laugh and continued, more gently. “You two have been playing… games for as long as I remember. I blame myself for not stopping it a long time ago. But you made each other happy. Chrissy adores you, Alex. Every minute you played those silly drama games together brought joy to her. And she brought joy to you. It was my fault – I let it go on. I pretended I didn’t see you… touching each other. I pretended I didn’t see where it was going. And then, when it was obvious it couldn’t be stopped and I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening any more, I decided to let you go on. My fault.” She looked like she was going to cry. I said, “Mom, it’s not like that…” She barked out, harshly again: “I know exactly what it is like, Alex. Uncle Rob, Aunt Thea and I used to play the same kind of games.”
I sat there, petrified. She continued in a softer tone: “The three of us. We were happy together – we only had each other, we were the only ones that could make each other happy. Grandma and grandpa were… well, they weren’t very good parents. The three of us kids got together. We took care of each other. Until I met Dad. Dad…” She paused, clearly gathering the strength to go on. “Dad knew. He found out. He nearly left me, and I promised him I wouldn’t see them anymore. I haven’t. But…” She was close to tears. “I miss them. Dad knows I miss them. He pretends he doesn’t know, but it makes him sad, so we don’t talk about it. That is one reason why he must never know about you and Chrissy.” I said something really stupid: “There’s nothing between me and Chrissy.”
Mom’s voice got harsh once again. She didn’t contradict me, but said “You need to take care of your sister. You need to show her that you’re still her brother, that you love her as much as you always loved her, that she can rely on you and you want to rely on her. Do. Not. Abandon. Her.” My head was spinning and I felt like I was going to faint. I opened my mouth to speak, but Mom gestured at me to keep quiet. “I am not telling you you should do what… what I caught you doing. I’m not telling you you should not do that. I am telling you that your sister loves you, that she needs you, and that you are not giving her what she needs, and she is hurting. I am telling you that you need to be a man and help her out. Please, Alex. I was wrong to ask you exactly what happened before. I don’t want to know. Please don’t tell me about it. Whatever you do, don’t tell Dad about it. But please, please go to Chrissy and help her be happy again.” She got up suddenly. “I’m going to bed. Good night.” I was still reeling and barely managed to get out a perfunctory “good night” before she disappeared into the darkened hallway.
I sat there for a minute or an eternity. Then, finally, as if in a dream, I got up, turned off the light, and walked to Chrissy’s room. I knocked, as softly as I could, on her door. I assumed there would be no answer – surely she was asleep – but after just a few seconds I heard a soft “Mom?” “No, it’s me,” I answered, and then, superfluously, added “Alex.” “Oh.” There was a pause, and then a longer pause. “Chrissy,” I finally said, “can I come in for a sec?” “Of course,” she answered. I quietly opened the door, to find her standing right in front of the door, radiant in her nightgown, my favorite of all the ones she wore. I walked in and gently closed the door behind me, then turned back to her, and she fell into my arms sobbing.
Top of Form
I didn’t tell Chrissy I’d spoken to Mom. I didn’t say anything, actually; I just patted her awkwardly on the back as she sobbed into my shoulder. “Hey…”, I finally ventured. “Hey. I love you, Chrissy.” The last time I said that, it had felt like a terrible mistake that just slipped out of my mouth. This time, it felt like the right thing, the only thing I could say. And Chrissy stopped sobbing, sniffled a little, and answered: “I love you, Alex.” The words struck me like a 60-pound anvil falling from the sky in a Roadrunner cartoon – beep beep! and there I was walking on thin air, to mix images. I was sure I’d plummet to earth any minute. But no, nothing happened: there I was, holding the girl I loved in my arms, she was pressed up against me, I felt the heat of her body and her small but dense breasts through the translucently-thin nightgown. She must have acutely felt my erection against her soft belly. We needed to sit down. Or, really, lie down. I guided her over to her bed, trying to avoid stepping in the near-darkness on any stray items on the floor. We perched on the edge of the bed, feeling each other’s proximity. “Chrissy,” I said after a while, “can I stay here with you tonight?” Her answer was immediate and unspoken: she pulled me down onto the bed next to her.
The next few moments were an ecstasy of fumbling, to steal a line from a horrific war poem I remembered from school, totally inappropriate and yet describing perfectly what it felt like: she was trying to take off my t-shirt and sweats, I was trying to take off or at least lift up her nightgown, and we were both totally hindered by our tight embrace. Neither of us wanted to let the other go, but we finally got it sorted out somehow. My sweats and shirt were off and I lay there on my back in my tighty-whities, my hard-on forming an absurdly tall tent. Chrissy was fully nude – she’d worn nothing under her nightgown. I tried to prop myself up but she pushed me down. She all but ripped off my underwear, freeing my erection; then, wordlessly, she clambered up on top of me, her wet vulva smearing its juices on my leg. She squatted over me, her rounded belly and dense breasts visible more in shadow than anything else, and as I reached up to touch them she grabbed my penis and guided it into her wetness. I groaned as I felt myself enter her. She responded with an almost animalistic moan. Rocking back and forth, she rubbed her own clit frantically as my penis plumbed her depths. I could hear the squelching sound and smell her intense excitement. Indeed if she hadn’t been so wet I might have come immediately, from the excitement and the tightness, but I held off, rubbing my hands all over her belly and breasts. Finally, she began to emit the short squeaks that I knew meant her orgasm was approaching. As they always did, they started to push me over the edge. I watched her rub her clit and just as her exclamations deepened into moans, I grabbed her things and pushed her back as hard as I could onto my dick. She came, hard and long, her whole body spasming as I ejaculated what felt like gallons of semen into her. Then she collapsed, exhausted, onto my chest and held me as my softening penis slipped out of her. We fell asleep almost immediately.
I’ll always remember the next morning as one of the most pleasant awakenings of my life. I’d slept like a baby, undisturbed by the strange, fretful dreams that had plagued me recently. I’d been up so late that my usual internal alarm clock hadn’t jolted me awake. As I came to out of my dreamless sleep, I kept my eyes closed for an indeterminate period. I knew I was lying in Chrissy’s bed – a bit frillier, a bit more comfortable than mine. More importantly, I could feel Chrissy next to me, could sense from her soft breath on my neck that she was facing me. She was holding my right hand tightly, down near her sex, her fingers intertwined with mine. I could feel the warmth emanating from down there. I opened my eyes just a little. Chrissy, lovely in the dawn light, indeed lay nude next to me, eyes closed, a contented look on her face. I shut my eyes again. I didn’t know exactly what time it was, and I was a little afraid to find out.
Well, it was Saturday morning, so there was no need to rush things. There was no way our parents would be up this early, especially not Mom – I thought back to our talk the previous night; it was probably 1AM or later when we’d gone to bed. But sooner or later I’d have to get up and go back to my room before our parents awoke. What a disaster if Mom found us like this, caught us once again! Then again… I thought about what she’d said the night before. I wasn’t sure if I’d really understood her right. She said that she and Uncle Rob… and Aunt Thea.. what? “Played games”? That didn’t necessarily mean that they had been like Chrissy and me. I wasn’t sure if that had been what Mom was implying. On the other hand, it at least sounded like they didn’t hate each other, which was news to me. I had fuzzy memories of visiting my aunt and uncle when Chrissy and I were really little, but we hadn’t seen them since then. I’d always assumed that they, like my grandparents, were bad, abusive people and that’s why Mom had cut off contact with them. Apparently that wasn’t quite what had happened. I thought about the rest of the conversation. Mom hadn’t exactly told me that she was OK with Chrissy and me… getting together, but she hadn’t told me that we shouldn’t be together, either. No, who was I kidding. She had all but urged me to come here to Chrissy last night. I had a sudden moment of panic: what if she’d meant something totally different when she said “go to Chrissy and help her be happy again”? What if she just meant, be a good brother to her? No. It couldn’t be. She had begged me to give Chrissy whatever she needed. She had reiterated that we shouldn’t let Dad find out. Oh, my God. She knew we would be getting together She actually expected it to happen.
I thought, crazily, of our mother thinking about Chrissy and me being together. Imagining it. She wouldn’t even have to leave that much to her imagination: she had seen us. She’d seen Chrissy standing drenched and naked in the shower. She’d seen me sitting with my dick standing up, yearning for Chrissy. I wondered suddenly if my Mom jerked off – well, not “jerked off,” I corrected myself – rubbed herself, the way Chrissy had. She must, doesn’t everyone? Had she imagined us, her children, naked together; had she excited herself that way? Or did she think about her “games,” whatever those were, with Uncle Rob and Aunt Thea? No, surely she thought about Dad when she stimulated herself, I thought, the same way I thought about Chrissy. I tried to forget the many orgasms I’d had with Mom’s face intruding into my visions of Chrissy, how turned on I’d been by the wrongness of being caught by her. Even now, thinking these disjointed thoughts, my penis, which had merely had morning wood when I woke up, was now hotly rampant, stretching out toward Chrissy’s belly next to me. Oh my God. Chrissy… next to me.
I opened my eyes wide. Chrissy was awake too – her eyes were open and she was looking up at me. I smiled. “Hi.” She giggled. “Hi yourself!” I reached over with my left hand and stroked her hair. “I love you, Chrissy,” I said. It bore repeating. “I love you, Alex,” she murmured. Just like last night. Not a reply, not a perfunctory “I love you too,” but a sentence that stood on its own. It still felt like the rightest thing in the world. I kissed her forehead and shifted closer to her, placing my left hand on her buttocks. My erection was bumping up against her belly. Oh, God, I wanted her so badly. Chrissy’s hand touched my penis and I let out an involuntary gasp, nearly jumping out of my skin. She was trying to guide it lower, down to her sex. I said, “Wait. Wait Chrissy. We shouldn’t. You could get pregnant.” Oh shit, what about last night? Couldn’t she already be pregnant? (I was a bit fuzzy on how much time it took.) “Don’t worry, Alex,” she said. “My period’s due in a few days. I don’t think I can get pregnant now.” I must have looked doubtful, because she grinned at me. “I bet you I won’t get pregnant. Not that I’d mind!” It hardly seemed possible that I could get harder, but I felt my dick straining against her hand. “Chrissy…” I mumbled. “I love you, Alex,” she said. “I love you, Chrissy.”
Suddenly she let go of my penis and unclasped her other hand from mine. “Wait.” She got up on her knees, then lay down again, with her thick, naked buttocks aligned with my erection. “Put your arms around me.” I obeyed, sliding my right under her waist and placing my left over her chest. She sighed contentedly and pushed her butt up against my hard-on. My fingers found her clitoris and I began to massage the hard little button slowly, lubricating them periodically in her vulva. With my left hand I cupped her breast. Chrissy pushed back against me, rhythmically. Then, somewhat breathlessly, she said: “Put it in me, Alex.” She opened her legs a little. I could see the dense hairs around her vulva from behind. I reached down and guided myself into her from behind. It was a perfect fit, no awkward repositioning – it felt like we were made to go together this way. As wonderful as it had always felt when I had thrust my penis between her butt cheeks, as wonderful as it had felt last night, being in her for the first time – this was something else entirely. We were closer to each other than I could imagine, my penis deep inside her vagina, the small of her back against my belly, my right hand on her clitoris, my left on her lovely breasts. I began to move, deeper and shallower, deeper and shallower, as I rubbed her hard little pea and stroked her swollen nipples. It was, without question, the best feeling I had ever had in my life. Chrissy began to make little gasping noises with each thrust. I picked up the pace, rubbing her clit even harder. Then, all of a sudden, almost unexpectedly, she groaned loud and hard and I felt her vagina pulsing around my penis. Liquid was flooding from her; I could feel it with my hand, soaking her clit, her pubic hair, and the sheets below us. She pulled my hand away from the wetness and her clit. “Chrissy…” I moaned. “Come in me,” she murmured. I gently rolled her onto her tummy, without pulling out, and clambered on top. Like a crazy man, I had no goal but to push through to the orgasm that was hanging still, just out of reach. I thrust into her darkness, again and again, her buttocks swinging back and forth with each thrust, but, though I felt I would explode any second, her sheer wetness wasn’t supplying quite enough stimulation to push me over the edge, and because she herself had come already, I felt as if I had to hurry up, which wasn’t making it easier. Finally, I closed my eyes tight and thought the shameful, crazy thought: “What if Mom could see us now!” That did it: I groaned, once, loudly, and then emptied myself into my sister from behind, the orgasm crashing over me like a rogue wave at the beach.
We lay there languidly for an hour or more, talking mostly about trivial things – my midterm exams, her school project, books we had read, carefully avoiding the subject of us – or of our parents. I had no intention of telling Chrissy about my conversation with our mother or the questions it had stirred up in my brain. I had to process things myself, and besides, I didn’t want to talk about weighty, fraught questions right now. I felt light as a feather, lying unclothed next to the girl I loved, discussing meaningless nonsense. I didn’t want it to end. But when, reluctantly, I glanced over at Chrissy’s clock radio, I saw it was almost 9. Mom and Dad would be getting up soon, if they weren’t already up. I sighed. “Chrissy, I should probably go back to my room.” “No, I want you to stay here with me!” she protested. “Chrissy, you know what we promised Mom. Dad can’t find out about… about us. And we don’t want Mom barging in on us either.” Chrissy giggled. “It’s not like she hasn’t seen everything already. But, Alex – Mom and Dad aren’t going to come in here. Not without knocking first, anyway.” She was right, of course. Our parents were pretty respectful of our privacy; they would never just come in to our rooms without warning. Still… “I don’t know, Chrissy. What if they knocked on my door and I didn’t answer and they came in and realized I was over here?” “You’re worrying too much,” she answered. “We can just lock both the doors. You’d hear someone knocking on your door even from here, and you’d be able to make it over before they got suspicious.” She was right: our doors were catty-corner to each other. In my head, I cursed myself for an idiot. We could have been sleeping together every night this whole time! How could I not have thought about the locks? But of course neither of us had ever really gotten into the habit of locking our doors; I hadn’t done so even when I first reached puberty and was jerking off all the time. Mom and Dad had always knocked and for that matter so had Chrissy.
I hugged her tight. “You’re right, Chrissy. I’m being silly. So… can… can I stay with you every night from now on?” Chrissy smiled and nodded her assent. “But, Chrissy, we need to be careful. I’m serious. We can’t get pregnant. And Dad, you know. He can’t find out about this, remember?” She nodded again. “We can get some protection.” I was thinking about condoms – I’d never used one, of course; Chrissy was my first lover. But years ago, in a temporary fit of early-teen bravado, I’d bought a box at the local drugstore. The box, unopened, was still in my top dresser drawer. Then again, they were probably too old to use – did condoms expire? I wasn’t sure. Oh well, we’d figure it out.
(Now, of course, I realize that Chrissy and I got very lucky. Any number of times she could have gotten pregnant – perhaps not that time, just before her period, but all the times she had sat on me in the shower, caressing me with her butt cheeks – while I was careful not to enter her, I would spray my sperm all over her back and undoubtedly some of it could have ended up in the vicinity of her opening. Probably just dumb luck, or perhaps the hot water had helped wash the semen off before it could cause trouble.)
“Let’s take a shower,” Chrissy finally suggested, and giggled a little. Great idea! I bounced out of the bed and reached out my arms; Chrissy got up and, laughing, let herself fall into my embrace. We started towards the bathroom door and turned on the shower. I suddenly realized we hadn’t yet locked the bedroom doors – oh well, might as well live dangerously, I thought. We got into the shower and faced each other. I could never get enough of looking at her: her brown eyes, slightly crinkly at the corner, her full face, the freckles on her cheek, her pert nose, the unruly ringlets of her hair, her perfect little breasts and the hard brown nuts that were her nipples, her delicate hands and faintly hairy forearms, her thicker upper arms and the sparse little tufts of hair in the armpits, the adorable little pudgy rolls above her rounded belly, her dark triangle framed by thick pale thighs and backed by her big round butt, her lovely legs ending in cute little feet. I tried not to think about what she saw when she saw me – I didn’t think I was bad-looking, exactly, but at the same time I figured I wasn’t any great prize with my big hands and feet, my residual chubbiness (it looked adorable on her, not so much on me, I thought), and my only moderately-sized penis. However, whatever my physical flaws, they didn’t seem to bother Chrissy much. She was gazing at me with what I hoped was adoration.
I reached for her favorite soap, the dark green round one, and began to lather up her body, starting with her chest, luxuriating in the soft slipperiness of her soapy breasts interrupted by the hard nipples. Then I reached around, half-hugging her, lathering her back as she giggled. She gave a fake yelp as my hand went into her butt crack. I was especially thorough with the soap there, lathering all the way up to her anus – which I had never really felt in detail before, though the shaft of my penis had certainly rubbed up against it enough. She fell quiet and closed her eyes, relaxing into my arms. My penis hardened against her belly button. “Chrissy… Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy…” I murmured, like a mantra. I put the soap back in the dish and held her tight. She was still slippery from the soap, and as she began to move up and down against me, it almost felt like she might slip out of my embrace if I weren’t careful. I bent my knees a bit and pushed my hard-on down. She stretched up and slipped it between her legs where it pushed up against her labia. She began to move back and forth, sliding my hard penis against her vulva and between her thighs, breathing hard. “Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy…” My hand ventured back between her butt cheeks and I placed my finger against the tight hole. As we slid back and forth, I pushed tentatively, then harder, and all of a sudden she relaxed her hole and the tip of my finger slid in. “Oh… God… Alex… Kiss me!” I bent down and kissed her lips passionately, and she opened her mouth to receive my tongue just as her anus had received my finger. As our tongues fought wildly, my finger slid in and out into her butthole, my dick slid back and forth between her thighs and against her vulva, and together we galloped towards our third titanic orgasms in perhaps 8 hours. This time, thank God, I saw and felt only Chrissy, only her incredibly real presence, her mouth and her anus and her sex and all the rest, and while I didn’t have much semen left to ejaculate, my orgasm was no less intense for the lack of emission. Afterwards, dizzy, gasping for air, we washed and rinsed one another one last time, then stepped out to dry off. By now, Mom and Dad would surely be making breakfast and wondering where we were, but at least, despite my fears, they hadn’t intruded on us. It was time to pretend everything was normal and make our appearances in the kitchen. One last hug and we opened the bathroom doors to our separate rooms and split up to get dressed.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/mh8z7v/yes_we_did_get_caught_part_2_str8mfinc
Very hot.