Bo and Me, Chapter 5 — Getting Wet (fg, mast, panties, nosex)

**Chapter 5 — Getting Wet**

I wake up when I feel Bo climbing into my bed. “Hey,” I say, a little groggy. Shuffling over a bit to make room, I turn onto my side to face her.

“Hey,” she replies. She’s lifted up the blanket and is now tucking herself in beside me. Rolling onto her side as well, she shines a smile in my direction.

“Back in your pyjamas?” I ask.

“Yeah. Why wear anything but your most comfy clothes on a Sunday morning?” she replies.

“You have a point,” I concede, pausing. “Why are we talking so quietly?”

“I don’t know,” she says, *still* talking quietly. We giggle.

Bo has a small towel wrapped around her hair. She’s emanating a warm glow and a mesmerizing scent of shampoo and soap.

“You look like a newly minted penny,” I tell her.

“Thanks,” she replies, beaming like one. She snuggles up closer until her face is just an inch from mine. I feel her hand touching my arm.

I really want to kiss her, but I’m too afraid to make the first move. I’m scared of how intense my feelings are when Bo is next to me. The thought forms in my mind for the first time, and I’m amazed how long it took me to figure it out: *I have a crush on her. I have a crush on my sister.*

“Are you okay?” Bo asks.

“Yeah,” I say. *Can she see it in my face?* I think, immediately feeling silly for thinking that. Gathering up as much courage as I can muster, I ask her, “Could I maybe get a kiss?” My own voice sounds strange to me.

“Hmmm,” Bo says, making a serious face. Then she smiles, saying, “Why, yes.” She leans in and gives me a soft little kiss on the lips, then draws away.

I say, “Wait, you forgot your change,” and kiss her back.

I let my lips linger on hers. They’re so warm, so soft. My heart is turning upside down in my chest. I think this is what they call butterflies in your stomach, but it feels heavier than that. It’s almost making me nauseous.

When I move away from her, it feels like minutes have passed.

Bo touches her forehead to mine. “It feels so cozy and nice lying next to you. I really enjoyed our bath, too.”

“Same here,” I respond.

Does she have a crush on me, too? Would that mean that I’ve corrupted her somehow? Or is this just the way Bo thinks sisters should normally be with each other? I don’t know which is worse.

A soft gurgling sound disrupts the quiet from underneath the blanket. Bo’s eyes widen.

I chuckle. “Was that your tummy?”

“Yeah. I think it’s hungry,” she says.

The sound repeats itself, but this time it’s *my* stomach. Bo and I look into each other’s eyes, trying to keep it together. “I think our tummies are having a conversation,” I say, laughter bubbling up beneath my words. Bo lets out a titter too, and that seals our fate.

We look at each other for another second, then the laughter just starts streaming out of us. We hold each other through a convulsive fit, spurred on by the grimaces we’re making as we laugh.

Bo puts on a low voice and says, “Why have these girls not fed us yet?” spurring us into another raucous fit of hilarity.

“Let’s eat breakfast, then,” I suggest once we’ve quieted down.

“Sounds good,” Bo says. “You get up first, though.”

I extricate myself from our hug, slipping out from underneath the blanket. As I’m getting up, Bo makes a sound behind me.

“You’re not wearing your pyjama pants,” she remarks.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, looking down at myself dumbly.

I’m shocked to see my panties are so damp that a small dark spot is showing on the outside. That’s never happened before. For a second, I even think I’ve peed myself during our laughter fit, but I would have noticed that. This is definitely a result of thinking about Bo. Thankfully, I’m facing away from her.

“I was all hot after the bath, so I didn’t bother putting them on before my nap,” I’m explaining casually as I bend to pick up my pyjama bottoms from the floor and slip into them.

Bo just says, “Oh.” I turn around to face her. She’s still snuggled up beneath the blanket. “I guess I’ll get up, too,” she says sadly.

“What, now you don’t want to?” I ask. “I thought your tummy was begging you to feed it.”

“Yeah, but the rest of me enjoys being all toasty and warm in here,” Bo replies, then shrugs. “Guess I gotta get up *some*time, though.” With that, she frees herself from the blanket and sits up, lazily stretching.

Inspiration strikes me. I take a quick step back towards the bed and bend down, thrusting one arm underneath Bo’s knees and wrapping the other one around her back. I pick her up in one fell swoop.

“Whoa!” Bo yells in surprise, slinging an arm around my shoulder for support. “What are you doing?” She’s already giggling.

“Picking you up,” I say, starting to lumber around the room with her as if I’m Frankenstein’s monster, carrying her away.

“Let me down, you goof!” she demands loudly in between squeals of laughter.

“Sure thing,” I say. Stomping back to my bed, I throw her onto the mattress.

Bo shrieks when she lands, then makes a face at me. “Hey! What was *that* for?” She tries to say it in a stern tone of voice, but can’t quite conceal her amusement.

“I thought you said, ‘Let me down!’” I shrug.

“Not like that!” she exclaims. And yet, scrambling back into a sitting position, she raises her arms up and says, “Again, again!”

“Okay,” I say, laughing. Like before, Bo wraps her arms around my shoulders as I pick her up. She’s a little heavier than I imagined, but I enjoy feeling her weight in my arms. I love knowing that I’m strong enough to carry her, thinking, *I can just pick her up any time I like.*

“Throw me on the bed again,” she insists.

“Nope. Got other plans,” I tell her. With my arms full of Bo, I walk out of my room into the little hallway that leads to the staircase, stopping in front of our parents’ room. “Can’t carry you down the stairs, though. C’mon, let’s go have breakfast,” I tell her, setting her down.

“Okay. Thanks for the ride, Lees,” she says, skipping downstairs ahead of me.

Going down the stairs, I’m very aware of the dampness between my legs. I’ve only come some twenty minutes ago, but I’m already feeling needy again.

Dad is in the kitchen, making himself some coffee. Next to him, Bo is putting a loaf of bread on the cutting board. She takes up a knife and starts sawing off a few slices. The clock says 9:30 now.

“Morning,” Dad says. He scratches the beard stubble on his neck. “You girls were making quite the ruckus up there.”

“Morning, Dad,” I say. “Did we wake you up?”

“Nah. I’ve been awake for half an hour or so, but I got up when I heard you guys. What were you up to?” he asks.

“Oh, just playing,” I say.

Bo looks up from her cutting board and gives Dad a smile. “We took a bath earlier. Then we cuddled. And then Lisa started carrying me around and dropped me on the bed and stuff,” she explains.

Dad looks at her for a second, confused. Then the water for his coffee begins to boil, and for a moment it’s too loud for conversation.

Bo puts away the big bread knife, gets a butter knife from the drawer and checks the fridge for spreads. I make myself busy too, thinking it might distract Dad. Opening the cupboard, I take out the Nutella and hand it to Bo who’s in the process of spreading butter on the bread slices.

Next to me, Dad pours the boiling water from the electric kettle into the ceramic coffee pot. I watch the water stream over the ground coffee, filling up the paper filter. I’ve tried coffee before and hated the taste, but oddly enough, the fresh smell of it is amazing.

When all the water has seeped through the filter, Dad pours some more over the grounds that have gathered on the sides. Observing this ritual never loses its fascination to me. Sometimes I perform it myself, making coffee for Mom and Dad just because I enjoy the process.

“Aren’t you a little old for taking baths with your sister?” Dad finally asks me.

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling nervous. “It was fun. I only stayed in with her for ten minutes or so.”

“She crowned me Princess Foamy,” Bo chimes in.

“And then you guys cuddled?” Dad asks.

“Yeah,” Bo replies dreamily. “We gave each other kisses.”

Dad looks alarmed. I feel my stomach contracting. He says, “Sisters don’t kiss each other.”

“No, Dad, like this,” I say quickly, turning around to Bo. I give her a kiss on the forehead, praying to any gods that still love me that she gets it and plays along. She looks at me for a few seconds; then she giggles, gets up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the forehead, too.

“Yeah, like that,” she says.

“Oh, okay,” Dad says, seemingly fine with it. He gets a mug from the cupboard, lifts the filter off the pot and pours himself some coffee.

I take a deep breath, relieved that Bo has backed me up. *She didn’t give me away*, I think. *She knows Dad doesn’t approve of sisters kissing, but she saved my butt. And she probably doesn’t want to lose what we have, either… whatever that is.*

Bo is done preparing the bread. Some slices have Nutella on them, some have jam, some cheese. She puts them on plates for us while I fill two glasses with milk.

We take our breakfast to the living room and sit across from each other at the table. Dad sits down on the couch next to Mom, who’s still reading her book.

There’s a newspaper on the table next to me. I flip through it idly as I eat until I come across an item that gets me excited.

“You guys!” I say. “The outdoor pool opens next Saturday!”

“Ooh, *yeah*!” Bo says, turning to Mom and Dad. “Can we go?”

Mom smiles and nods. “Yeah, let’s go. Maybe we should get annual tickets this year?”

The outdoor pool is a large swimming facility located on a hill one town over. We started going there last summer, and all four of us loved it. Dad looks up from his coffee.

“Annual tickets, huh? How much are they?” he asks.

“I’ll call public services tomorrow and find out,” Mom replies.

“Nice!” Bo and I say in unison. We look at each other and high-five across the table.

Mom laughs. “Let’s just hope the weather’s good on Saturday,” she says.

A few minutes later Bo and I are back in the kitchen, putting our plates and glasses in the dishwasher when the phone rings. Bo goes into the study to pick it up and talks to someone for a moment, excited.

As I leave the kitchen, Bo is walking over to the living room door carrying the handset. She asks Mom and Dad, “Can I go visit Rebecca?”

Mom and Dad are fine with it, so Bo smiles brightly as she says into the phone, “Lemme just get dressed and I’ll come over… Okay, see you!”

I grin to myself as Bo skips upstairs. Rebecca’s her best friend; they’ll probably hang out together all day. That means alone time for me, and I have a pretty good idea what I’m about to do with it.

“I’m gonna be in my room,” I tell Mom and Dad.

“On the computer?” Dad asks without looking up, acting like he knows the answer already.

“Yep,” I respond, thrilled to be lying.

“Have fun,” he says, his mind elsewhere.

“Thanks,” I say, already turning towards the staircase.

In my room, I notice that Bo’s left her door open just a bit. From where I’m sitting on my bed I can see her take off her pyjama top. The bottoms are already gone so she’s only wearing panties.

Even from behind, the view sends a shiver down my spine. I cup the crotch of my pyjamas, pressing the front of my wet panties to my pussy. Absentmindedly, I slowly start to caress myself.

As Bo gets dressed she disappears from my view. Not wanting her to catch me spying, I pick up a CD from the shelf next to my bed and pretend to be looking at it. Seconds later, she comes into my room with a bag over her shoulder and closes the door behind her, looking rushed.

“See you later, Lisa,” Bo says.

“Bye bye,” I say, giving her a smile and a wave.

Off she skids, then I hear her stop halfway down the corridor and slowly walk back to my door. She stands in the doorway, gazing at me thoughtfully, like she has something important to say.

“Yeah?” I say.

After a few seconds, she shakes her head and says, “Never mind. I love you, Lees.”

“I love you, too, Bo,” I say. She grins and blows me a kiss. I touch my hand to my cheek, but she’s already gone.

I wait till I hear her reach the bottom of the stairs, then I languorously strip out of my PJ bottoms and sit down on my bed wearing only a t-shirt and panties. I lean against the pillow, my legs spread.

In awe, I study the wet spot on my panties which, by now, has grown considerably bigger. I touch my crotch with the tips of my fingers and watch in awe as even more wetness oozes into the fabric. My pussy feels hot and sensitive.

I massage the panties into my slit. They’re drenched already, but I love playing with my pussy this way. The sensations are dampened but it feels delicious all the same.

I slide the fingertips of both hands just inside the leg holes of my panties, carefully pulling my outer labia apart. My panties settle in place between them.

I use two fingers of one hand to keep pushing the crotch of the panties into my wet cavity, which causes them to tighten and stretch all around me. It produces soft squishing noises that sound dirty and so very hot. With the other hand I’m drawing gentle circles over my clit. I savour how delicate the sensation feels with the damp cotton between my fingers and my flesh.

I need to smell myself.

Hooking both of my thumbs into the waistband, I lift my butt up from the bed and slowly tug my panties down. The crotch clings to my pussy and makes a squishing sound as it pulls free.

Once I’ve slipped my panties off, I bring the crotch to my face. It’s positively soaked, saturated with glistening fluids. I hold the gusset right beneath my nostrils, breathing in the scent. I almost faint.

In a way, the smell is reminiscent of pee, but it’s much wilder, sexier, dirtier. *This is what my lust smells like*, I ponder, *my horniness, my womanhood.* I inhale deeply. The aroma turns me on beyond belief. It’s as if my pussy is nearly touching my face. I picture myself extending my tongue to give myself a long, slow lick… and the image makes me quiver.

That gives me an idea. I take a look at the gusset again, drenched with my pussy juice, thinking, *I need to taste it.* I part my lips, and before I really know what I’m doing, I’m giving the crotch of my panties a broad lick from bottom to top like it’s an ice cream cone.

Right away, I realize that I’m addicted. My mouth is filled with the taste of my arousal. It’s filthy and wrong and I crave it.

Meanwhile, my pussy’s *crying* for attention. My pelvis feels as if a hot pool of magma is slowly bubbling and oozing out of me. I set my panties down on the bed and slide my middle finger through my juicy folds.

My labia are so slick they make awet sound as I trail my finger through them. Then I raise that finger up to face level and stare at it, wide-eyed. It’s completely coated with my juices.

Without conscious thought, I place the wet finger on my temple and daub a trail down my cheek, like an American Indian putting on war paint. Sliding that same finger through my slit once more, I repeat the pattern on the other side. The juice feels sticky and I can smell it on my face. I shudder with how erotic and forbidden this is, amazed at how wicked and filthy I’m being. *My face smells like pussy*, I think.

Sinking a fingertip into my opening, it sounds like I’m dipping it into a jar of jam. Pushing in a little further, I feel around for the thin membrane of my hymen, but it’s not there anymore.

It’s been awhile since I’ve stuck a finger inside to check. Online, I’ve read about girls losing their hymens from horse riding; maybe it happened three months ago when Bo and I were riding ponies at the fair the day after her birthday. If I remember right, I was on my period then, meaning that even if I bled a little from my hymen breaking, I wouldn’t have known that was the reason.

I feel my face flush with excitement. This broken-down barrier offers thrilling new possibilities.

Very slowly, I work my finger deeper into my pussy. At first I feel something that’s not quite pain, more like pressure; but eventually my vagina seems to open up, and then my finger is inside up to the second knuckle. I stare at my hand in awe.

I take a few deep breaths. My pussy is so tight around my finger that I can feel it contracting as I breathe. It feels like I’m touching my very core. I’m incredibly excited; still, the slow breathing helps me to relax somewhat.

*I’m about to finger myself*, I think. Some region deeper in my brain repeats this, only in a sultry whisper, and worded more dangerously: *I’m going to* fuck *myself*. I shiver again.

I feel like it’s a special moment that I should honour. If I’m really going to do this, I should be lying down. I look over towards my door, which is wide open. If I close it, my parents will knock before they come in, giving me at least a few seconds to cover up.

But first, I slowly withdraw my finger from my pussy. I feel a subdued sense of disappointment at the feeling of emptiness left behind, thinking, *It’s as if being filled is the more natural state*.

When my finger comes into view, it looks like I’ve stuck it into a jar of honey. It’s completely coated in a layer of sticky clear fluid. A glob has gathered on my fingertip, connecting to my pussy through a thin, wispy strand of juice.

Absolutely fascinated, I’m gazing wide-eyed as I move my finger farther and farther away from my opening, waiting for the glistening strand to break. It finally does so when my hand’s about halfway from my pussy to my face. Some of the fluid lands on my mons, some on my pyjama top.

I stare at my moist fingertip. I want to lick it and taste my deepest, most secret place, but I tell myself, *Not yet. You can reward yourself with that afterwards. Tease yourself first.*

It almost feels like a holy act when I open my mouth slightly and touch my finger to my lips instead, applying my pussy juice like makeup; first coating the bottom lip, then the top. I think, *This is how whores put on lipstick*, and shiver, wondering where that idea came from.

When I smack my lips, I notice I can just barely detect the tang of it if I breathe through my mouth; so of course that’s what I do, all the while fighting the temptation to just lick the juice off right then and there.

I see that my finger is still a little wet. Still feeling oddly spiritual, I use my other hand to lift up my bangs, then daub the last residue of pussy juice on my forehead like a bindi. Letting my bangs fall back to cover it, I feel less like an individual and more like an avatar of female lust. My forehead, temples, cheeks and mouth are painted with the invisible scented makeup of all naughty girls and sexy sluts. As I sniff my finger, the rich, musky scent fills my head like frankincense.

I have to shake my head to snap out of this trance. *If Jehovah is listening to these thoughts, there’s no way I’m ever getting into paradise*, I think; then surprise myself by chuckling at the notion. Somehow, this raw sexual heat feels much more profound than service at our congregation ever did.

Finally, I get up to close the door. Moving across my room, I feel the air caressing my dripping pussy and the damp spots where I’ve painted myself. I imagine someone saying, *Excuse me young lady, you’ve got pussy all over your face*. Shaking my head at myself for these crazy thoughts, I pull the door shut.

Before I lie back down, I ponder whether I should take off my pyjama top. I usually prefer to keep it on and fondle my boobs underneath; however, I feel like this moment merits complete nudity. *Like a virgin on the altar, ready to sacrifice herself*, I muse as I take my top off, still in disbelief at the bizarre ideas I’m having.

I lie down and gently place my wet panties beside my head on the pillow, turning my head to breathe in the scent. When I spread my legs I notice that even the insides of my thighs are sticky now, probably just from walking around. I run my fingers back and forth over my outer lips, spreading the wetness all over my mound and through my pubic hair, amazed at how slick my pussy is.

Before long, I’m trailing my finger through my slit again. I’m already so worked up that when I accidentally brush over my exposed clit, it gives me a huge jolt. I hear myself gasp.

Like before, I tentatively dip the tip of my finger beneath my folds, luxuriating in the sensation of swirling it through the juicy flesh. Then slowly, so slowly, I nestle it into my vagina until my palm is cupping my vulva. I don’t feel as much resistance this time, but my pussy is still snug around my finger. Once again, I bask in the feeling of being filled up.

Just as slowly, I withdraw my finger all the way, feeling my inner lips fold shut behind it like a curtain, but now I’m craving the fullness and slip it back inside.

The next time I withdraw, I don’t pull out all the way before I push back in. Very gradually I build up a rhythm. I can feel my vagina playing the counterpart to my finger; almost trying to suck my finger back in as I pull it out.

Whenever I touch the deepest spot I pause, reveling in the sensation for a few seconds before continuing my little game. I can sink my finger in up to the third knuckle without hitting a dead end, which I know from biology class would be my cervix. *And beyond that lies the womb*, I think.

Penetrating myself is getting easier with each stroke. My pussy is wetter than ever, producing delightful squishing sounds as I work it with my finger. I love fucking myself. *I’m an animal*, I think, *an animal taking care of her needs; a slut who fucks her own pussy.*

In the midst of masturbating, I start running my other hand all over my boobs. Occasionally I brush against my taut nipples, which intensifies the feelings in my pussy, as if there’s a direct connection between them.

The sensations I get from fingering myself are different from the ones I get when I rub my clit; it’s less pointed and intense but beautiful in its own way, deeper somehow and all-encompassing. I can hear myself moan, but I’m too far gone to quiet down.

I’m going pretty fast now. My cries are getting louder, as if my body’s trying to turn itself on even more. But although it feels amazing, I can tell that I can’t come just from fingering myself.

Leaving my finger nestled deep inside me, I start to rub my clit with the other hand, slathering it with the wetness from my pussy. This new sensation is indescribable. My clit feels more sensitive than normal, almost as if it extends straight into my vagina.

When I come, for a crazy moment I’m worried that my body might come apart at the seams. My pussy keeps trying to contract, but there isn’t much wiggle room so it just squeezes around my finger, which feels incredible. More juices are gushing out of me.

The plateau of the orgasm seems to last forever. Overwhelmed, I jerk my hand away from my clit, but I’m still coming.

When it’s finally over I lie there panting, wide-eyed. My chest is heaving, my body glazed with sweat. Eventually I manage to extract my finger from my pussy, feeling wistful about the emptiness that’s left behind.

I bring my hand up to my face. All of my fingers are wet, not just the one I’ve fucked myself with. Even my palm is a little moist.

I dutifully lick off the wetness; first from my palm, then from my outstretched fingers. All the while I’m telling myself, *If you fuck yourself like an animal, you’ve got to clean yourself like an animal.* Despite the glow I’m feeling from my second orgasm of the morning, the taste of my pussy is getting me turned on all over again.

Putting a finger into my mouth, I close my eyes as I suck off the residual wetness. *Like a baby nursing on her thumb*, I think as my own dirty taste fills me up. One by one, I suck all my other fingers clean, saving the middle one for last. *Such a treat.*

Even after I’m finished, my hand still smells like pussy. *I’m not gonna wash it*, I think to myself, *not yet.* *I want to smell it later when I’m a normal human again, to remind myself that I’m an animal too, an animal with a dirty paw*. My hand is still wet with saliva, so I wipe it on my cheek, thinking, *Dirty, dirty, dirty girl. How did you become so wicked?*

My face probably smells of pussy, too, but I’m pretty sure nobody will pick up on it unless I get too close to them. Only *I* know what makeup I’m wearing. I pick up my panties, holding the crotch to my nose to breathe in the scent once more. I’m about to toss my dirty panties into the hamper to be washed, then decide to put them back on instead of getting a clean pair.

When the damp crotch nestles against my pussy, it feels a little cold, but I think, *You have no one to blame but yourself. You’re a dirty girl who soaked her panties, now you have to deal with the consequences and wear them all day.*

I grab a pair of jeans, afraid that I might soak through my pyjama bottoms if I put them on again. The jeans feel tight on me. Cupping my crotch, I whimper a little, amazed how wet and sensitive I still am down there.

Still topless, I go over to my window and open it, thinking, *this whole room probably smells like pussy*, although I can’t be sure, considering that I’ve been immersed in the scent for the entire morning.

It’s a beautiful day. Birds are chirping. I scan the street for potential onlookers. When I don’t see any I lean out the window, closing my eyes and letting the sun shine on my bare chest. It feels glorious, not least because the weather is finally warming up.

I’m excited by the possibility that we might go to the pool on Saturday, hoping that the warm weather holds. I’m looking forward to swimming, playing volleyball with my family, going down the water slide, eating cheap fries from the kiosk… *And seeing Bo in her bikini*, I think, overcome once more by my wicked side. *How am I gonna make it through the week till then?*

Leaving the window open, I walk back to make my bed, where I discover a damp patch on the sheets. *Oh crap*, I think, *was I* that *wet?*

I sniff at it and yep, sure enough, it’s wetness that has oozed from my pussy. *Well, that’s how it is with bad girls*, I think, covering the spot with my blanket instead of attempting to clean it up.

As I fluff up my pillow, I hear someone running up the stairs and toward my room. Bo opens the door and comes bounding in with her friend Rebecca in tow. Unlike our parents, Bo never knocks on my door. I didn’t think she’d be back so soon.

When Bo sees me, naked from the waist up, she stops short in her tracks. I hold onto my pillow, but don’t have the presence of mind to use it to cover up my boobs right away. Only once I realize that both girls are staring at them do I finally raise the pillow up to my chest.

“Nothing to see here, folks,” I quip. “Keep on walking.”

Looking a little flustered, Bo shakes her head. “Sorry, Lisa,” she says and continues into her own room, looking a little dazed.

“Yeah, sorry,” Rebecca says as well, following my sister. The door to Bo’s room quietly closes behind them.

*At least I just aired the room*, I tell myself, although I doubt these eleven-year-olds would recognize the scent, anyway. Besides, the girls were clearly distracted by the unintentional peep show I gave them.

I put on a bra and T-shirt, thinking about how Bo is the reason I got so horny in the first place; taking a bath with her and the way we kissed each other. *It’s her own fault she saw me this way*, I think. *And earlier, we were naked in the bath together. Maybe she even liked the view.*

I turn on my stereo and put on a CD; not just to distract myself, but also for the sake of my sister and her friend who are keeping unusually quiet. I figure if there’s music playing, they’ll relax and talk normally knowing I can’t hear them through the door.

I pick an album I keep borrowing from the library because it’s become one of my absolute favourites, *Get Behind Me Satan* by the White Stripes. As it starts playing I turn on my computer.

So far I’ve been too shy to post any stories of my own on the masturbation forums I visit, but I feel like I have to share this one. I type it all up in a lengthy post, hoping that some of the girls who read it — and perhaps boys, too — will find themselves turned on, maybe even masturbate to it. Occasionally I sniff my hand, reminding myself of the heavenly dirty aroma of my pussy.

By the time I hit *Submit post*, “Instinct Blues” comes on on the CD, and I sing along as I do so often.

*Every worm that’s under your shoe,*

*and every bird and bug in the jungle, too,*

*and everything in the ocean blue,*

*they just happen to know exactly what to do!*

Then I start to laugh, the innuendo of the song clicking in my head for the first time. “*So why don’t you?*” Well, I certainly know what to do *now*.

I flop down on my freshly made bed, turning up the music and vibing along to the rest of the album. At some point the other two girls walk through my room again and I stop singing, feeling a little embarrassed. Rebecca doesn’t look at me while Bo just steals a quick glance. They leave and close the door behind them.

The last song on the album suddenly seems to carry a new layer of meaning as well.

*And I love my sister, lord knows how I’ve missed her;*

*she loves me and she knows I won’t forget…*

*Sometimes I get jealous of all her little pets*

*and I get lonely, but I ain’t that lonely yet.*

I can’t help but sigh, thinking, *Maybe* you’re *not that lonely, Jack, but* I *am.*

***

When bedtime rolls around, things still feel a little weird. It’s Sunday night, so Bo has to go to bed around nine. Usually I stay up later than that, but tonight I get ready for bed just after my sister does, keeping my soiled panties tucked underneath my pillow as a lucky charm — also so I can smell them again in the morning.

I want Bo to sleep over with me, but I’m afraid that our cuddle time might be over for good now that Dad has told her that sisters don’t kiss. Does she think that what we’ve done was wrong?

Bo has just gone to bed by the time I climb into mine. Her door is open.

“You wanna stay over with me?” I call over to her room, trying to sound casual about it.

It takes her a while before she replies, “When do you have to get up?”

“At 6:30,” I respond.

Another pause before she says, “My first class is at 8:20 tomorrow. I don’t have to get up till eight.”

Bo’s school is just a ten-minute walk away, whereas I have to take the train in the mornings to get to my own school one town over. Class starts at 7:30 for me and the train leaves at seven, meaning I have to set my alarm to 6:30 if I want to take a shower before I leave. I can sympathize with Bo not wanting to wake up that early.

So I say, “You wanna just come over and cuddle a little before you go to sleep?”

“I’m tired,” Bo replies. My heart sinks a little.

“Can I just come over and give you a goodnight kiss, then?” I ask.

“Okay,” she says.

I get out of my bed and walk over to hers. Bo is lying on her side, facing away from me. As I lean down to give her a kiss on the cheek, I see that her eyes are closed.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you too, Lees,” Bo mumbles, but she doesn’t move. I can’t tell if she’s really that tired or if she feels awkward around me now, but I *can* tell that I’m not going to get a physical reaction out of her.

We exchange good nights and I go back to bed. I don’t fall asleep for a long time, worrying that Bo won’t ever want to cuddle with me again.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/m0oah5/bo_and_me_chapter_5_getting_wet_fg_mast_panties