To the reader: I hope you can tell by now that I love writing stories like this. I never intended this simple brother-sister one to turn into a saga, but your comments and private feedback have encouraged me to let it keep coming to me. It surprises me every time. Writing is the first joy, and your feedback is the second. Don't let any author try to tell you otherwise. Thank you. - Brandie
Emily was my best friend in high school. She had gone off to college in New York while I went to a small school in North Carolina. Today was one of those rare chances for the two of us to catch up, since I had the day off and her summer internship had just ended.
We were sitting around a table on the deck at my parents' house, under a big green umbrella, sipping some sangria that Emily had brought. My parents were both at work. My little brother, Jordan, was home, but he left us girls alone. In idle moments I wondered if he would want to play our game after Emily left. I had been enjoying our little game and it had been a few days now since the last time.
Emily had on a bright yellow summer dress with a tiny print. It had little strings on the shoulders and was ruffled across the breast, made to be worn with no bra. Unlike my small chest, hers filled out the dress properly.
I had on what I called boy-shorts: soft flannel things cut like oversized boxer shorts. They were pink, and above them I wore a loose white tank tee, also with no bra underneath. It was baggy enough that it revealed nothing about my chest, as I wanted it.
Along with the wine, Emily had also brought a copy of Penthouse magazine that she had "borrowed" from her younger brother.
We looked and giggled together and sometimes gasped at the girls who were splayed so obscenely across the well-used pages. But looking at "wide open beavers" – or "WOBs" as Kurt Vonnegut called them – had only so much interest for two college girls. Emily turned to the "letters" section and, reading to herself for a second, wiggled in her chair and grinned, "oh, listen to this!"
She proceeded to read me a story about a man who had been working as a nude model when the gorgeous, 36-24-36 blonde who was drawing him set down her pencils and had sex with him three different ways. Although I'd seen a boy start to get hard again not long after having one orgasm, it sure seemed to me that three in a row was a bit much.
"I never dreamt this would happen to me," indeed!
Although we both laughed, I felt a familiar warmth start to grow in my middle.
I grabbed the magazine from Emily and read the next letter to her. It was from a woman who really enjoyed sharing the magazine with her husband, and who took inspiration from the photos of some of the girls to let her husband enjoy her anally for the first time. I remember she described the feeling as "not unfamiliar," and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what that meant. In fact, I squirmed a little thinking about having a penis in there. I mean, I knew some people did that, but, ouch.
With a few glasses of sangria in me, and the pleasure of being with Emily, I was becoming nicely relaxed. The raunchy discussion of sex between us, even if it was just other peoples' crazy fantasies, kept a pleasant tension growing in my belly.
It was Emily's turn, and she read a story about a young man masturbating alone in his room, describing in some detail the way he touched his penis and cupped his balls to give himself pleasure. Then came a tap on his door and, too quickly, his mother had walked in with a stack of clean laundry. Confronted with his obvious predicament, she had frozen on the spot. Meanwhile, the sight of a woman observing his private business had pushed him over the top, and he described how he coated himself with "buckets of goo" right there in front of his mom.
"Buckets of goo." Honestly, who thinks of these phrases?
But you know, of course, what that story had brought to my mind. My own little brother, 19-year-old Jordan. This summer, I had discovered that he liked letting me watch him masturbate. And I discovered that I liked watching it, too. In fact, just a few days ago, we had each pulled off our bottoms and pleasured ourselves in our turn, right here on the deck.
Unaware of my thoughts, Emily let out a "whew" and made a show of wiping her brow as she passed the magazine back to me. There was one letter left.
"I've never seen a boy do that," she said, "but I just know my brother does it. What else would he be doing with this stuff?" She gestured at the magazine. I blushed as I fumbled to pick it up.
"Whoa, what are you blushing for? Don't tell me... Have you ... you know ... ever watched a guy doing that?" I avoided her eyes. Seeing me hesitate, she rushed on. "You have! Oh, no, girl, you have to tell me all about it. My God, that's so nasty! Really? Who was it? What was it like?"
I was embarrassed to the limit. I gave her a weak smile and held up one finger and stood, making like I had to go to the bathroom.
"I want to hear everything when you get back," she called after me.
I did not have to pee. Instead, I went quickly down into the family room, where my brother, Jordan, was alone playing bumper pool on the little table down there. I noticed that two windows high up on the wall of the converted basement were open.
"Jesus, Jordan! Were you listening? Could you hear us?" I asked in a low tone, unable to hold back a smile.
He laughed gently. "Yep. I heard. I know why you're here and the answer is 'no.'"
"Oh Jordan, come on. I think she would love it. Why not? You know I do!"
"Really? I think she'd just think I'm a loser."
