Don't Ask, Don't Tell

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3-9 Available On

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Chapter Two

"Here's your pizza," said Cathy Robinson, one of my sister's hotter friends.

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 said hi."

She looked startled. "Really?"

"Really. Come on in."

"We're not supposed to go inside customer's houses," she said, looking nervous.

"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 stiff prick.

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 yourself."

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 everything!"

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 about her.

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 doing.

And if I did it there, where she was ... I could look at her instead of imagining her.

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 way.

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 of me.

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 her butt.

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 hurt!

"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 stroking.

"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 back.

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 stupid.

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 sense.

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 over.

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 on, okay?"

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 going to.

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 came home.

As if my mother could hear what I was thinking, she chose that moment to call.

"How's it going?" she asked.

"Fine," I said.

"No problems?"

"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 about.

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 anyway.

"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 them alone.

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 ...

Wait.

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 me.

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