Don't Ask, Don't Tell
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"Here's your pizza," said Cathy Robinson, one of my sister's hotter
I took the box from her. She stood there, like we weren't
finished yet. But I'd already paid for the pizza on the
phone, with the credit card. I couldn't think of anything to
say. I cleverly came up with something. "I didn't
know you delivered pizza."
"Yeah, it's just for the summer," she said. "To get some
spending money. The tips help."
I realized then that what she was waiting for was a tip.
"All I have is my dad's credit card," I said, holding out an empty
hand. She looked disappointed.
"Oh. How is Heather?"
"She's good," I said. "Still in a coma, but good."
Cathy looked uncomfortable.
"You want to see her?"
"God no!" she said, looking startled.
"She's not contagious," I said, disturbed by her attitude. It
suddenly occurred to me that none of Heather's friends had come to see
her since we brought her home. "She's just sleeping."
"Yeah, but she's like almost dead ... isn't she?"
My opinion of Cathy Robinson sank like a stone.
"No, she's only sleeping until her brain heals enough to let her wake
up. She looks normal and she might even be able to hear
people talk to her. I'm sure it would brighten her day if you
She looked startled. "Really?"
"Really. Come on in."
"We're not supposed to go inside customer's houses," she said, looking
"It's just me," I said. "Good, old, harmless Pencil Dick," I
said, somehow feeling like I could needle her about all those times
she'd barged into the bathroom with my sister and laughed at me.
She had the grace to blush. Maybe it's because she felt some
remorse about it. Then again, having just gone through a
growth spurt, I was four inches taller than the last time she'd barged
in while I was taking a shower. I grinned at the thought that
maybe she wasn't so sure of herself any more.
"Just pop in, tell her hello and what's happened to you
recently. Then you can be on your way. I'll stay
right here if it makes you feel better.
"No!" she blurted. "I can't do it alone!"
It actually took me ten more minutes to get her in Heather's
room. She was amazed, of course, because Heather really did
look quite normal, other than not waking up even if you lit a
firecracker right next to her. Then she got all maudlin about
how much time had passed without her coming to see Heather and I told
her nobody ever came to see her, which made her feel worse, which is
what I was trying to do, even though I couldn't tell you why.
I mean I already explained that barging in on me in the shower hadn't
actually been all that traumatic or anything.
Anyway she promised to come back and see Heather again, and to bring
some of Heather's other friends, and I said that maybe it would be
better if they waited until my parents were home. I had
visions of one of those out-of-control teenage parties erupting in the
house, and my mother walking in on it and blaming me.
In any case, she left to go back to work and I went back to the
computer, because now I could get stiff again because Cathy really was
one of my sister's hotter friends. I pulled up a new Lubrican
story about a brother and sister who got tangled up in the same photo
shoot by accident, and it was photos to show examples of sexual
positions. I tried to imagine Cathy and me as the
characters. My cock was no problem ... stiff as a board and
ready to go.
But for some reason Heather's face kept pushing Cathy's away.
Eventually I gave in and thought of Heather, squatting over the boner I
was stroking, saying: "Look, what if I just lodge it in there, just
enough to hold it where we want it?" And then, as they took
pictures, she "slipped" and sat down on me, getting a belly full of
I went off like a bomb. I spurted so hard that it got all
over the keyboard and even on the screen. I felt like my head
was going to explode. I never came that hard
before. It was amazing.
The pizza was cold by the time I got back to it, but I didn't
care. It tasted wonderful. I wandered into
Heather's room while I was munching on a piece.
"Got pizza here," I announced. "You can't have
any." That seemed awfully cruel. "I wish you
could," I amended. "When you wake up I'll buy you one all for
It was quiet in the room. I thought about making another CD
so there would at least be some music, but I didn't feel like being a
DJ again. I sat down in the reading chair.
"I messed up," I said.
And then I confessed about wanting to see her boobs, and going to the
incest web sites, and reading the Lubrican incest stories and trying to
beat off to Cathy, but then changing it to her.
"I know I'm a pervert," I said sadly. "And it's good that
you're in a coma so you don't have to deal with it. I mean I
still want you to wake up, but I don't know what's happened to me, or
why I got this way. And I promise not to look at your boobs
or anything. I can't help my fantasies, but I promise you
don't have to be scared of me or anything."
Of course she just lay there, not doing anything but breathing.
I checked her waste bag because I'd been putting it off. Now
I almost looked forward to it, because surely that would make me think
of things other than sex with my sister. It needed
to be emptied, so I went and did that. Mom hadn't said
anything about checking that tube where it entered my sister's body, so
I found some self control from somewhere and left it alone.
I went to the living room and tried to watch TV, but I couldn't
concentrate. I kept thinking "What if she really
can hear things? I mean I just told her everything!
She'll hate me when she wakes up. She'll scream how I'm a
pervert and did perverted things and should be put in prison and
I had to explain it to her. I didn't really understand it all
myself, but I had to figure out a way to explain it to her.
An hour later, just as it began to get dark outside, I decided I'd read
her some of Lubrican's stories.
Then maybe she'd understand.
I had only read three or four of the leprechaun's stories, but they'd
all been good and easy to read, and Heather was unconscious anyway, so
I just used her computer to log onto the site. It was quiet
in the room, so I didn't have to strain my voice. I could
just read at normal volume. I looked through his
pages. I was surprised to find that two of the cheerleader
stories I'd already read were by him. One was a really stupid
one about a busload of cheerleaders all getting knocked up during a
storm one night, but the other one was pretty hot and I'd beat off to
it several times before. I kept looking, wanting to find a
story that would make Heather understand how powerful a fantasy can be,
and why I couldn't help but have them once in a while.
The first one I tried was called The Making Of A Cocksman. I
picked it because the synopsis said the sister had a bunch of friends,
and that was like Heather and her friends. I glanced over the
first couple of pages and found that the similarity ended there,
though, because Heather wasn't like Claire, in the story. And
her friends weren't like Claire's friends. But they did have
a posse of sorts, though there wasn't a sheriff, really. I
figured it might be a good one to explain why I had those thoughts
It wasn't quite like the comic book I'd read to her. I'd used
different voices then, and sound effects and stuff like that.
But I knew I couldn't pull off sounding like a young girl getting her
bell rung, so I read most of it in my normal voice, just using emphasis
in places that seemed to need it.
"Okay," I said. "I said some weird things a while ago, and I
know you think I'm a pervert, but it's not like that. Not
really. I just think I'm a guy, and guys get confused about
girls, and so I get confused about you too. But I found this
guy who writes these stories and they get me excited and I really like
reading them, and I thought that if I read a couple to you too you
might understand why I said the things I said." I looked at
her. Her face was smooth and untroubled, just like
before. "And the way I think about you and your friends is
sort of like how this guy writes his stories. They're all
fiction, and just for fun ... to think about ... you know, day dream a
little bit? And I did that and that's why it sounds like I'm
a pervert, even though I'd never hurt you or do anything to make you
feel bad or anything like that."
Then I read her the story. It was about a kid named Bobby,
like me, and I had to tell Heather that it wasn't about me, but that I
felt like that Bobby did sometimes. It was funny in
places, and I laughed. I really understood how confused Bobby
was sometimes. He got a lot of sex, and if all Heather's
friends acted like that around me I'm sure I'd freak out. I
just reminded myself it was all make believe.
I got hard in lots of places. I told Heather about each one,
because I thought that would help her understand that I wasn't just an
incest pervert, but got excited about regular sex too. I told
her what parts I thought were really hot, and told her a couple of
times that if she ever said or did anything like Claire was doing I'd
freak completely out and stuff.
When I got done I was so horny that I knew I had to do something.
"I'll be back in a minute," I told her. I started to leave
and the ridiculousness of the situation hit me. My sister was
in a coma and I was going in the next room to beat off. I'd
probably think about her and imagine her doing the stuff that Claire
had done. While she was lying comatose in the next room ...
where she couldn't see me ... or probably hear me ... whatever I was
And if I did it there, where she was ... I could look at her instead of
I felt weird, standing there, looking at my sister, thinking about
dropping my shorts and whacking off right there beside her.
But the urge was strong. I undid my belt and the button on my
shorts and unzipped them, but I didn't let them fall.
"I have this problem," I said to her. "The stories ... and
you ... have me so hot that I need to beat off. I know you
don't want to hear that, but it's the way things are. And I
was going to go do it in my room, but I can't help wanting to do it
here ... with you. I know it's completely perverted, and I
know you already hate me and this will just make you hate me
more. I'm not telling you this to torture you.
Actually, I don't really know why I'm telling you at all."
I waited, but of course she didn't say anything.
"Okay ... I'm going to do it now," I warned.
I think I had some kind of twisted way of thinking about all this that
said that if I told her I was going to, and she didn't complain, then
it was okay to do it. I mean any idiot would see the problems
with that way of thinking, under the circumstances, but I was really
freaking out so maybe that's why I thought about things in a fucked up
Then I dropped my pants ... only to find that my cock had wilted.
"Well fuck me," I said softly. I looked up at her.
"It got soft! I can't do it!"
A pain in my back woke me up. I was still sitting in the
special reading chair in Heather's room, where I had sat down after my
abortive attempt to beat off while looking at her, confused about
things. Eventually I apologized to her again for being a pervert, and
then just started talking about things in our past, kind of re-living
our childhood in words. I told her things she had done that I
laughed about, and things that had made me mad. I told her
about things I'd done to her to make her mad. I talked about
vacations we had taken, and stuff that had happened on them.
One of my favorite memories was of her and me in the way-back of the
station wagon on long trips, with stuff packed all around us while we
were lying there supposed to be sleeping. Our parents traded
off driving on long trips, and we went non stop so there wouldn't be
motel bills. At night, lying back there, it was a magical
world with the only lights coming from passing cars or the infrequent
town. Towns were best, because the lights flashed by in reds
and blues and greens from the neon signs, mixed with the white of
street lights and other white lights. Then it would be dark
again and a little spooky. If my dad was driving the radio
was on to a country station. If it was my mom, there was rock
and roll playing. And the only person to share these things
with was my sister, lying next to me. They were really good memories,
and I told her that.
I got up. Nothing had changed with Heather, of course, but I
told her I'd fallen asleep in the chair, and was going to
bed. I leaned over and kissed her cheek and smelled her hair.
"I really do love you," I said softly.
Then I went to bed.
The next morning I remembered my mother's last exhortation: "Don't
forget her exercises!"
Heather was supposed to be rolled over once or twice a day and her skin
massaged so she wouldn't get bed sores. Then my mom (usually)
would work her arms and legs, bending them and flexing them so that the
muscles got some use and movement and didn't shrink down. Mom
called this "Heather's exercises" and I'd forgotten all about them.
So I got something to eat and then went in and apologized to her for
forgetting. I rolled her on her right side, which was awkward
because her right arm got under her and she wanted to keep rolling, or
fall back. She ended up on her stomach, with tubes stretched
places. I turned her head sideways and messed up her hair in
the process. There was some special lotion from the pharmacy
on the night stand, so I got that. I'd never done this before
or watched Mom do it. I'd seen the exercises, but not the massage.
I soon realized that was because Heather's PJs had to be removed to do
it properly. Naturally, my mother wouldn't do that in front
I thought about this for a while. I wanted to take her PJs
off - there was no doubt about that. My cock was stiff as a
board just from the thought. But I couldn't bring myself to
do that either, even though I had an excuse and everything.
So I just lifted the material of the top and slid my lotion-covered
hand up inside, rubbing all over her back.
She wasn't wearing a bra, of course. My hand slid all over
her back, slippery with the lotion. Her back felt like it was
on fire, it was so hot. I imagined her saying "Feels good,"
but of course it was only in my imagination.
Then I contemplated the rest of her ... the back of her legs ... and
Before I knew it I had the bottoms pulled down as far as I could make
them go, and was watching my greasy hand slide all over her naked
butt. I felt like I was going to explode and my cock actually
"This is not good," I gasped. "Your butt is way too fine for
me to be doing this!"
I forced my hand to go down below those delicious globes and massage
the backs of her thighs. I couldn't get to her calves from
that direction, so I pulled her bottoms back up and pushed the legs
up. It was even fun rubbing her calves!
I knew she was supposed to lie on something other than her back for a
few minutes, so I left her that way. My earlier guilt about
beating off in front of her was miraculously gone and I had no trouble
dropping trou this time. I grasped my hard prick and began
"I'm sorry," I panted. "I bet there are a hundred guys who
would kill to do what I just did. And I was supposed to do
it, so you can't be mad. And don't be mad about me whacking
off to you either. It's so hard that if I don't do this it
might break off." I looked at my sister's face, still
composed, her hair half hiding her mouth. "Sleeping Beauty
... you're so beautiful," I moaned.
Then I spurted.
I hadn't exactly planned this, so I didn't have a tissue or anything
else to catch my spooge. It was yucky, but my other hand had
to do. It felt really good to get that release, though, so I
didn't care. I was groaning and making all manner of noises
that probably made it sound like I was dying, so I gasped out what was
happening so she wouldn't worry.
Then, of course ... I felt stupid. There was a lot of that
going around lately.
I went and washed my hands and came back and rolled her back
over. Then I faithfully worked her arms for five
minutes. Working with her legs was different. I
lifted each one and bent the knee, pushing it up to her chest and then
straightening the leg again. I did that ten times with one
leg before going to the next. I did three cycles of that,
probably because I stared right at the crotch of her PJs the whole
time. It wasn't exactly sexual thoughts on my mind - I had
just cum, after all - but rather curiosity about what a girl's pussy
might look like when her legs were moving and things were being
stretched out of shape, so to speak. I mean did the slit get
all crooked or something? I imagined it looking like a
lightning bolt, but was pretty sure that was impossible. Then
I thought of it being twisted sideways, like the old joke about what an
Oriental woman's pussy looks like. In Sex Ed class they said
that research showed that a teenage boy thinks about sex about seventy
times an hour. I had never believed that before.
Most of us thought that was a lie that was supposed to convince the
girls to be careful.
Now I wasn't so sure that was bogus.
I finished up and straightened her all out again. Her boobs
were right there under those PJs, and it was really tempting.
Just in case she could hear, I told her about it, and that I was
resisting. Instead I went and got her brush and brushed her
hair. That didn't work very well. I wondered if it
was okay to sit her up. I'd never seen anybody do
that. I figured out why when I tried to get her to sit
up. She was as limp as a wet dishrag, and tended to slump
sideways like she was made of warm Jell-O. I ended up going
to get all the pillows in the house and propping them around her to get
her upper torso in a position where I could get to her hair from the
The only way I could do that, though, was to climb up on the bed behind
her. I did that and joked about how we were in bed
together. Then I brushed her hair. I counted the
strokes out loud, so she'd know I did a hundred.
I got her all situated again, but left the pillows in her room so I
could do that again later. All I could think about was her
boobs, which I complained about. Then I went outside and ran
around the house until I was sweating. I got something to
eat, but was still thinking about her boobs.
So I went and read her another story.
I chose Doctoring Brother this time, for the obvious reasons.
The roles were reversed of course, and he was conscious and could react
to things, but she was taking care of her brother, like I was taking
care of my sister. There was even a massage in
there. I read the whole thing through and, when I was done,
was hard again.
"You'd never do that," I said as I opened my pants, still sitting on
the chair by her computer. "I mean climb on top of me and put
me in you." I started jacking. "I wouldn't ask you to do
that, but it might be nice if it was your hand doing this instead of
mine." I stroked some more and it occurred to me that she
couldn't see anything. "I'm beating off," I informed
her. "It would be cool if that didn't make you
mad." I started reading the part about her waking up in bed
with him and wanting to suck his dick. "You wouldn't do that
either," I panted. "I can't imagine what that must be like
... your lips ... those soft lips ... wrapped around my cock."
I spurted, again unprepared for it. I was going to have to
get a box of Kleenexes in there. Then I saw there was already
a box on the nightstand, right beside her massage lotion, and felt
You know how they say video games can be addictive? Like you
want to keep playing just a few minutes longer, or you aren't quite to
a breaking point, so you just keep going? I think it got like
that with me being around Heather. I know that sounds stupid,
but every time I left her room all I thought about was what I was going
to do the next time I went back in. It was insane, but I was
trying to think of ways to entertain her, like she really could hear
me. Don't get me wrong. I didn't think she could
hear me. I didn't think all that stuff about people in a coma
being trapped inside their mind was true at all. But she was
alive, and she was my sister, and I knew if it was me I'd be bored out
of my head. I thought briefly about how maybe that was the
cure for comas. Bore them out of the heads they were trapped
in. Then I realized that was stupid because most coma
patients are left to be bored, and most of them don't recover.
I made up more CDs and played them for her. Because I was
afraid I'd turn into some kind of sex freak, I read her things other
than Mr. Lubrican's erotica, like more comic books, and some Reader's
Digests I found lying around the house. Those were actually
kind of fascinating. They had good jokes in them too.
But through it all, I kept getting turned on. It didn't help
when Cathy Robinson actually did come back to visit, and brought three
of Heather's other friends with her. That only lasted about
ten minutes though, because it was too weird to stand there looking at
Heather, trying to talk to her and getting nothing back. The
reason it didn't help me was because Judy Green was wearing a halter
top that showed a lot of cleavage, and Sherry Engles had on shorts with
so many holes in them I knew she was either wearing a thong or no
panties at all. I also learned she had a tattoo on her butt
that I'd never heard about before. I don't know what it was,
but it has green and blue in it.
So when they left I read Heather Peeking At Sister's Tattoo, which
turned out to be another story that had some things in common with me
and my situation.
First of all, there was a boy who liked to peek at his sister's hot
friends during sleepovers. That was me and I admitted it to
Heather for the first time. Then those girls wanted to see
Joey's dick, which her friends did to me. Of course what
happened after they saw his dick wasn't even in the same universe I was
in, but it was hot to think about Sherry Engles dropping her shorts to
show me her tattoo and me climbing on top of her naked body while she
ooohed and ahhhhed about how good I was fucking her. And then
doing Judy and Cathy and Regina too. Regina was the other
girl who had come to visit Heather and she looked a lot like one of the
girls in the story.
And of course I hauled out my cock and jerked off, telling Heather I
was fucking her friends, and then telling her I was turning to her and
she was complaining that I couldn't because I was her brother, but let
me climb on top of her anyway. I really got into it.
"We're doing it," I gasped. "You and me, Heather ... right
there on the bed ... and your arms are around me and I can feel your
tits on my chest and I'm in you and you like it. You're
telling me not to stop. Shit! Heather! I
love this. I love you. Oh shit I'm gonna shoot! I'm
shooting off in your pussy! Shooting in my sister's pussy!"
I felt bad afterwards, but not as bad as I thought I should feel.
Still, I apologized to her and told her again I'd never hurt her and
she didn't have to worry about me trying to rape her or anything while
she was in a coma because it was all just a fantasy. I was in
a pretty bad way, and I finished with what I hoped she'd remember if
she could hear me, which I hoped she couldn't.
"I promise!" I said. "I wouldn't really do it.
Please don't hate me."
I left her alone then, in peace. I washed a load of clothes,
which included the pair of her PJs that my mother had apparently taken
off of her just before she left. It never occurred to me that
somebody would need to change Heather's clothes for her. I
felt bad for not having paid more attention to my sister's situation.
It was too easy to just forget about her.
Or it had been. I was pretty sure I'd never forget about her
from now on. She was all I could think of. I was
obsessed. If she could hear me, she knew I was a hopeless
pervert. If she couldn't it didn't matter, because I knew I
was a hopeless pervert. So in that way kids try to do
sometimes, I tried to cover all the bases, even though it didn't make
Sometimes I made sure to talk about anything except sex. I
even watched the news on TV so I could tell her about the stories I
heard. I thought about bringing the TV into her room and
leaving it on, but decided if she could actually hear anything it would
probably rot her brain. During the day there wasn't anything
on that was even worth throwing a brick at. I brought my food
into her room to eat it, and talked to her while I was doing
that. I folded the clothes on the end of her bed. I
even vacuumed the room.
But the pull to think sexually about her was too strong, especially
when I massaged her back to keep away the bed sores. And I
always went back to reading her a dirty story about some brother
porking his sister. By the third day I was pretty well
convinced nothing could cure me. I was also convinced that,
if Heather really could hear anything, and ever woke up, my life was
So I kind of accepted that. I even told her about it.
"Look," I said. "The deal is that I'm hot for my own
sister. I'm hot for other women too. It's not like
incest is the only thing I think about, but I do think about
it. And if that makes you want to puke I
understand. Actually, I wish you would puke, because that
would mean you're awake, and it's killing me that you can't do
anything. You're a cool sister, and you deserve to be able to
have fun and talk to your friends, even if it means you never say
anything to your pervert brother again in your whole
life. And if you wake up and get a gun I won't
blame you for shooting me, okay? But the fact is that's the
way I am and I'm can't change it, so I'm not going to try to from now
And then I sat down and read her a really long Lubrican story called A
Haunting Love, and even though it had nothing to do with the situation
Heather and I were in, there were places where it explained how Robby
felt about his sister, Debbie, and I told Heather that was kind of how
I felt about her, and that I loved her like Robby loved his sister.
I didn't beat off during that story. I told her I wasn't
But when I went to my room I did.
On the fourth day I was putting away the laundry and I didn't know
where to put her clean PJs, so I went through the drawers in her
room. All her clothes were still in there. Mom
hadn't gotten rid of anything, probably hoping that when Heather woke
up she'd just get up and get dressed and be normal.
Her panties and bras were interesting. There was also a thing
she'd worn during sleepovers that was sexy and filmy and didn't cover
much of her body. I don't think it was supposed to.
She usually wore a robe over it when she was outside her room, but
she'd had it on one night when they raided the bathroom while I was
taking a shower.
I thought about putting it on her for about five seconds.
Then I wondered if maybe I should just change her PJs so she had clean
ones on. I knew it was just an excuse to see her boobs,
though, and I knew if Mom came home and found her in other PJs than
she'd left her in, that she might start asking questions I didn't want
her asking. I went over to Heather's bed and examined the
collar of her PJs. It was kind of dark and oily looking, like
my shirts got when I wore them two or three days in a row. So
she really needed a change. I mean she'd be more comfortable
if her PJs were clean ... right? But I knew if I
did that I'd have to change her back into the original ones before Mom
As if my mother could hear what I was thinking, she chose that moment
"How's it going?" she asked.
"Fine," I said.
"I guess not," I said.
"You are taking care of your sister, aren't you?"
"Of course I am!" I was miffed that she didn't trust me.
"Have you been giving her her exercises?"
"Yes, Mom," I moaned. "I even turn her every day and put that
lotion on her back."
"You do?" My mother sounded suddenly interested.
"Well you do ... don't you?" I was pretty sure she did.
"Well ... yes," she admitted. "All over her back?"
"Well of course," I said. "Isn't that the whole point?"
"Yes, of course, Dear. I just didn't think you'd touch your
sister's ..." She didn't finish that. Instead she
said "I'm proud of you, Bobby. You've ... I mean ... I'm just
proud of you, that's all. You're taking this better than I
thought you would."
"She's my sister," I said, feeling guilty about all the things my
mother wouldn't be proud of me for, if she knew about them.
"She got a raw deal."
"Well I'm proud of you," she said again. "I'm going to stay
another two or three days for sure. Betty is doing fine, but
she's still very tired. Do you need anything?"
"No, Dad gave me his credit card number."
"Why? I left you cash in the freezer," she said.
"What?" That didn't make any sense at all.
"I left you cash for food in the freezer," she said patiently.
"In the freezer?"
"Of course," she said. "That's the safest place to hide
it. Even that congressman person knew that, Bobby."
"The one who got caught with stacks of cash in his freezer?" I asked
sarcastically. Maybe being crazy was genetic and I could
blame everything on my mother.
She ignored the sarcasm. "That's where it is,
Bobby. Don't use your father's credit card. We're
trying to pay that off."
"Yes, Ma'am," I said, ready for the conversation to be over.
"And be nice to your sister."
"Yes, Ma'am,” I parroted.
"Give her good massages, Bobby. I know she likes
those. I can just tell. They break up the monotony and
they're good for her. And don't skimp on the exercises."
"I love you, Mom," I said into the phone, "but you're breaking
up." I started making scratchy static noises with my voice.
"Yeah, right," she said. "Try and have some fun,
Bobby. It sounds like you need it."
She hung up and it sounded kind of fast, like she was trying to beat me
to it. She was okay for a mom, but moms always worry too much.
Well most moms. This one actually had something to worry
about, even if she didn't know it. Her son was a pervert and
she'd told him to give extra good massages to the girl he was perverted
I felt like something had changed after that phone call
somehow. Maybe it was because my mother, who usually had eyes
on all four sides of her head, hadn't magically known I was abusing her
daughter. Well, not her daughter actually. I'm not
counting mental abuse. But I hadn't actually touched Heather
like I dreamed about touching her. It was myself I was
touching and abusing.
Anyway, the fact that she hadn't magically known about what I was
doing, and the fact that she hadn't gone off like a skyrocket upon my
admission that I had rubbed lotion into all of Heather's backside
didn't lead me to be less concerned about getting caught for what I was
doing. I just got more devious instead.
Basically I came up with the convoluted plan that involved changing
Heather's PJs (they really needed to be changed, after all) and, while
doing that, giving her an extra good massage and coat of lotion (which
my mother had actually told me to do). What made it
convoluted was that I'd have to wash the old PJs and then change her
back into them before Mom got home so she wouldn't know I'd changed
them. Then I decided that not washing the old ones was the
better idea, because then they'd still need washing, and it would look
like she'd been wearing them all week.
What really made it convoluted was that I convinced myself this was all
to make Heather feel more comfortable.
"I'm not doing this just to see your boobs," I said to my
sister. She didn't say anything back, of course, but I could
imagine what she would say if she could. "Okay," I
admitted. "Maybe that's a big part of it, but I really do
care that you're comfortable. And I'm not going to perv out
on you while I'm giving you a massage. I'm just going to give
you a good massage."
With that I unbuttoned the front of her PJ top. Bare, pale
skin was revealed, lying between the still-covered breasts I wanted so
desperately to see. I stood up. Other than talking
to her, and telling her about my perverted fantasies, I hadn't really
done anything to her. I felt pretty good about that, seeing
as how she was helpless. I mean I wasn't a total jerk, you
know? But now I was about to change all that, and it bothered
me, because it was a line I couldn't step back across once I'd done
it. At the same time I really believed that she'd be more
comfortable in clean PJs. I knew I believed that because I
wanted to believe it, but be that as it may, it felt genuine.
"Maybe I can do this with my eyes closed," I said. "At least
until you're lying on your front."
So I closed my eyes and spread the sides of her top aside ...
And promptly peeked through slitted eyes. I was hopeless.
"Wow," I said softly, opening my eyes wide as I stared at two mounds of
rounded flesh, capped by nipples almost exactly the same color as the
skin they were lying on. "Sorry," I said, still
staring. "I wasn't too good at keeping my eyes
closed." The breasts I was gazing at rose and fell
slowly. "Damn, Heather," I sighed. "They're
gorgeous! I had no idea! I mean I knew they'd be
beautiful and that I'd like them, but they're perfect!
They're better than anything I've seen online."
I didn't touch them, of course. I mean just seeing them
exceeded my former wildest dreams, and touching them would have ruined
their perfection somehow.
"I'm serious, girl," I said. "Some day you're going to own
some guy because of those things."
I sat her up, pulling her upper body upright by putting one of my hands
behind her neck. The PJs practically fell off her slumped
shoulders. That's when I realized the flaw in my
plan. The feeding tube was stuck in her arm, and the left arm
of the PJs was around it. How did Mom change
them? Surely she didn't pull the needle out and
then stick it back in. If she did that then I was screwed,
because there was no way I was going to do that. I laid her
back down so I could look at the PJs closer. When I let her
down a little too quick her breasts wobbled a little bit. I
realized my cock was iron hard. She looked so beautiful,
lying there topless.
I examined the arm of her PJs and found that Mom had cunningly
separated the seam and sewn Velcro into it. All I had to do
was pull the Velcro apart and the top was loose.
That led me to think about removing her bottoms. I was pretty
sure lighting would strike me if I did that, but I was going to do it
"I promise to keep my eyes closed this time," I told her.
I had to reach underneath her and grip the waistband to get the bottoms
over her buns. I discovered a Velcro seam on the side, which
opened up to deal with her catheter thing. Once that was open
they started to slide pretty easy. I closed my eyes tightly
and pulled until I felt the cloth reach her ankles. Getting
it off her limp feet was easy. I dropped the bottoms on the
floor. I felt my way up the bed and reached for her, peeking
through slit eyes again, but no more than that. My right hand
landed on her hip in such a way that my arm hid what I was trying not
to look at. My left hand gripped her left shoulder.
When I pulled, she rolled like she didn't weigh much. Her
feeding tube was in her left arm, and the catheter was wrapped around
and over the back of her left leg, but they weren't tight, so I left
There, in front of me, was my naked sister, lying on her stomach,
almost like she was sunbathing in the nude. I adjusted her
head so her face wasn't half buried.
"I didn't look," I said, feeling inordinately proud of myself.
I spent over an hour rubbing that lotion into the skin on my sister's
back. I didn't stop until my hands started to hurt from all
the squeezing and manipulating I did. I even worked on her
feet. While she was like that I also brushed her
hair. It was getting a little oily, but I wasn't up to trying
to wash it. Even oily it smelled good to me. And I
was pretty proud, because out of that hour I only spent maybe ten
minutes on her butt. The temptation to slide my hands places
they shouldn't be was there, but I overcame that pretty
easily. I admit I did go down on her sides far enough that I
now knew what the sides of a girl's breasts felt like. Just
barely, though. And when I was doing her feet I didn't spread
her legs and try to get a look down there either. I wanted to
have some kind of argument that I wasn't a complete and total pervert.
It wasn't until I got ready to turn her back over and put on her clean
PJs that I realized the hard part was before me. There was no
way I could do all that with my eyes closed. And I was going
to see stuff. I figured I'd better warn her. If I
had earned any good will, I wanted to keep it.
"You ready to get your clean PJs on?" I asked brightly. "Um
... I guess when I help you with that ... I won't be able to avoid
seeing you," I said. "I'm not doing this on purpose or
anything. Just remember that."
I rolled her onto her back and when her head flopped to her left, I
left it there. That's because I was staring, and this time I
was staring at everything. The hair where her legs met was
exactly the same color as the hair I had just brushed. But
the texture couldn't have been more different. She had fine,
straight hair on her head, and had sometimes complained that she
couldn't do anything with it because it was so limp and fine.
Her pussy hair looked like somebody had rubbed a balloon on it, and
static electricity had made it all stand up. It was wild and
kinky and stuck up all over the place. It wasn't that there
was so much of it ... but what there was all seemed to be trying to
shoot off into space or something.
"Wow," I said again. "You're killing me," I moaned.
"Do you have time for a story? Because I need to read one and
beat off or I'm going to explode.
I imagined her voice saying "Go ahead, pervert," but it didn't sound
quite as snotty as I would have expected. I hobbled over to
her computer, bent over because my prick was caught in my underwear and
it hurt a little bit. I undid everything and slid my shorts
down before I sat down. The site was still active on her
computer - all I'd done was minimize it - and I started looking through
stories. I didn't want a long one this time. The
first one I came to that was short was called Familiarity Breeds
Sister, which sounded ominous, somehow. It was bad enough
that I had ogled her and had fantasies about sucking those succulent
nipples and fucking the slit below all that kinky hair.
Dreaming about getting her pregnant was definitely a no-no.
So I passed that one up and kept looking.
I saw one that was titled It's Only Incest If ...
That didn't sound too bad. Maybe there were rules to this
incest thing, and I hadn't actually broken them yet. I
clicked on that story.
I should have known better. This Lubrican guy liked to write
about people named Bobby. It didn't help at all. In
fact it made things worse, because it was clear that this Bobby's
sister didn't care what incest was. Terri, the girl in the
story, just wanted to feel things. Like me. Maybe
like Heather. If she was conscious. My mind told me
I was crazy, because if I tried any of the things Bobby did with Terri,
I knew Heather would kill me. And yet I had done some of
them. Looking, for instance. And a little
touching. And the kisses I'd given her on the cheek weren't
the kind I'd have given her on the cheek if she was awake.
Hell, I would never kiss Heather on the cheek if she was
awake. Or I wouldn't have before the accident. This
was very confusing.
And in the story that Bobby resisted, like I was trying to do, but
there were "accidents" that caused things to happen. It was
easy to think of Heather and me ... having ... accidents.
I was jerking like crazy, slicking my hand up and down my hard cock
almost as fast as I could, looking at the words on the screen and
seeing Heather and me in my mind.
"Oh damn," I groaned, as I felt it coming. "I'm
sorry." I felt like crying, because I knew that when I came
I'd look at my naked sister. I'd look at her
breasts. I'd look at her pussy. And I'd imagine
spunking her, like the other Bobby was spunking Terri in the
story. And I knew it was wrong to want to do that.
"Oh Heather," I cried out.
I turned my body on the chair. I didn't have a tissue, so I
was going to use my hand again, because I wasn't stopping to get one
now. My eyes lit on that puff of hair, and slid up over her
flat stomach to the mounds of her breasts. I was glad her
head was turned away from me because ...
Her head wasn't turned away from me.
I froze all over, which was excruciating, because I was right on the
verge of spurting and when I froze I squeezed, and there was this
terrible kind of strangely delicious pain in my prick.
She had turned her head. I was sure of it, because I had been
glad her face was away from mine while I looked at her. I was
positive of it.
Then her eyelids flicked upwards and green eyes were staring right at
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