Annie continues to help her brother around the bases.
A triple is the hardest hit to make in baseball; there are five times as many home runs hit as there are triples. That simple fact gave me, what, comfort? Anxiety? Calm reassurance? Because I knew I and my brother Paul knew what it meant to get to third base. As opposed to boxing and the Marquis of Queensbury rules, getting to third base meant going below the belt.
First base with my brother had been a bit of a lark, a dare after I discovered him and our neighbor Brittany in her basement…on a couch…lying down. Kissing. I watched long enough to see that Brittany intended to keep Paul on first base. I was amused by his frustrated efforts to get to second and that evening threatened to inform on him to our mother. Unless. Unless he was prepared to show me what first base was like. It turned out that my brother was as good a teacher (or coach, I suppose) as he was a ball player. Of course I had absolutely no intention of telling anyone, especially our mother, what I’d seen in Brittany’s basement.
Paul learned, as did I, on our very first evening of “lessons” that first base was a lot of fun. A LOT of fun for both of us and after a few minutes I realized that I didn’t need to hold my hollow threat over my brother to encourage him. Our kisses that evening very quickly became totally mutual, totally reciprocal. Our touches were an added pleasure, but I had to remind him that he wasn’t at second base until he actually hit a double. In a game. I rebuffed his gentle attempts to reach my breasts a couple of times, reminding him that they were out of bounds…until he hit a double.
Which he did the next day and Oh. My. God. How the pleasure shot through my whole body when he began to tentatively, gently explore my breasts. New territory, but still in our learning stage, so I showed him how a simple pinching of the clasp on my bra would free it, and within minutes he and I consigned it to the floor along with my blouse. That was an evening to remember. But I learned not just how pleasurable it was to be fondled, to have a man squeeze, cup, kiss, lick, and suck my nipples, but I learned how wonderful it was to have all that done by someone you love. Because I began to realize that I loved my brother in more than just a sisterly way and I knew, just knew by his gentle and affectionate touches and caresses, that he was beginning to love me the same way.
I could have called this chapter “The Talks” because, well, there were some talks. Mom and I had had “the talk” a few years before, when she judged (accurately, as it turned out) that my first period might be approaching so she gave me a birds and bees talk which was embarrassing for both of us; for Mom because she assumed I knew nothing about sex and for me because I already knew most of what she needed to tell me. Still, we got through it and sex-ed in schools filled in all the details. And I mean all the details, right down to putting the condom on the banana in a room full of giggling red-faced girls.
And by the time Mom gave me the talk I already knew the basics of sex, mainly from friends. I vividly recall one day watching a neighborhood dog chase, catch, mount, and hump another local dog and, fascinated, I asked my friend Amanda what it was doing. She laughed and said “making babies, silly.”
“What?”
“Don’t you know? The boy dog puts his thing inside the girl dog and that’s how girl dogs make babies.” And then came the shocker; “that’s how your Mom and Dad made you.” For a while I held this childish image of my Dad chasing my Mom up and down the boulevard in front of our house and then mounting her from behind until my street-wise self gained more and more sex intel. So by the time Mom sat me down for the talk, it had less to do with the mechanics of reproduction and more to do with vague allusions to the magnetism that sex held, especially for boys. Well, she certainly had that right.
But then late in my high school sophomore year she judged that it was time for a more important and, in her mind at least, relevant talk. Looking back, I’m sure she’d arranged things with Dad so that he and Paul were off for an afternoon on some pretext, leaving Mom and me undisturbed in the house. By now early summer days were pleasantly warm so that she casually asked “up for a cup of tea? and when I absently agreed, distracted by some other task, she added “ok, how about out on the patio in a few minutes?”
A couple of minutes later I heard her call from the patio that tea was ready, so I wandered out to find her sitting at our patio table with a tray of tea, milk, and cookies. Immediately my spidey sense began registering: when Mom brought out the cookies there was usually something else afoot. I sat, curious, and waited as Mom poured. It was a beautiful day, one that I will always remember for what came next. But in that moment I was more than content to sit, relax, breath in the scents floating from our early summer garden, and soak up the sun’s warmth.
We chatted over our tea and I suddenly felt, well, almost womanly; there we were, I thought, two women sharing tea as adults do. We talked idly of the neighborhood gossip, of what schoolmates were up to, laughed at some of their recent debacles. In retrospect I realize now how expert my Mom really was, how much better she handled the conversation that was to follow than she did our first “talk”.
Finally, she seemed to take a breath and said “Ann, your birthday is coming up; Sweet Sixteen. What would you like to do for it? Would you like a party? I’m happy to put on a party here for you and your friends. And what would you like for your gift? You’ll be wanting to get your driver’s license so we can begin that with lessons, but what else would you like?”
I was taken by surprise, although my approaching birthday was something I had definitely thought of. “How about I think about it, Mom, and let you know?” She was happy with that and we chatted briefly about when my lessons would commence. It was a month until my birthday, so the lessons would work well during the summer holidays. And we agreed it would be very useful for me to have my license by the fall.
Then, as I realized later, she came to the real point of our chat. “Ann, you’re going to be a young woman very soon. I know you aren’t dating much right now, but I know that’s going to change soon. I think it’s time that we talk about the pill.” I almost spat out my tea and barely avoided choking on my mouthful.
“Sorry, Mom; I didn’t see that coming,” I laughed as I recovered from my surprised. My laughter seemed to lighten the moment and Mom visibly relaxed as she settled into the topic. But then a sudden thought flashed on me: does she know? I asked myself, does she suspect what my brother and I had been doing the last few weeks? I felt a chill pass right through my body like an electric charge.
“I know, I couldn’t think of another way to start, Ann. But it’s really important that we talk about this. You’re a good girl, Ann, and your Dad and I don’t doubt your judgment for an instant. But sex is an incredibly powerful thing,” and at this she blushed slightly, “and things don’t always happen the way we plan them.”
My mind was working at warp speed and I thought that on the very off chance that she suspected about me and Paul I should deflect and replied “Mom, I understand, but there’s nothing on the horizon. You know that I don’t have a boyfriend and, well, I can wait. And besides, I wonder a bit about the effects of the pill on my body. You probably already know that a couple of my friends are on the pill and while they haven’t had any really significant side effects, I wonder about that.”
“Well, maybe we could think about an IUD,” she said. “They’re effective and don’t involve pharmaceuticals.”
“Mom, I’m a virgin.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m a virgin, Mom. I’m, well, you know, intact.”
“Oh. Right. Well, that’s something to think about, of course. If you decide on an IUD the gynaecologist will definitely have to cut your hymen to insert the IUD. That’s true,” and she stopped, contemplating the possibility before continuing “well, maybe that’s a good thing? Whenever it happens, and whomever it happens with, Ann, I hope your first sexual experience is wonderful. Sex is a beautiful thing when you’re ready for it and when it’s with someone you really care about, so maybe not having to worry about your hymen, your ‘maidenhead’ as the Victorians called it, is a good thing. It’s something only you can decide, Ann. But the bottom line is that I would be happier if you begin some kind of protection,” and with that she placed her hand on mine and, truthfully, I don’t think I’d ever felt closer to my Mom. As the significance of her message sank in and as I realized the trust and maturity she was now investing in me, I actually teared up. I gazed for a few seconds at my cup of tea and then leaned over and hugged my Mom.
We drank our tea and sat together companionably through a second cup. I could feel my Mom’s love and concern washing over me and was content to simply sit with her and absorb it. I told her that I would think about what she’d said and decide what to do very soon. And then, at the back of my mind, I realized “she doesn’t know about me and Paul; that’s not what this is about” and relaxed even more as my mind began to try and order up the possibilities of what my mother had just said and what Paul and I had been slowly - slowly? - heading toward.
And that triggered the other talk. Paul had made his double a couple of weeks earlier and had celebrated by getting to second base also with me. My nervousness and apprehension had vanished almost instantly under his touch. I was more than happy when he slipped his hand beneath my blouse and began fondling in earnest. In fact I took the initiative to remove my blouse and show him how to unclip and remove a girl’s - this girl’s - bra and the initiative paid dividends of a thousand per cent. My body was seized with almost convulsive pleasure when his lips finally found my nipples. I had never dreamed that a man’s lips and tongue could give me such pleasure and my giggling gossip with my girlfriends had not prepared me for it.
But he hadn’t hit a triple yet and I knew from our last session that he was getting frustrated, hoping for an exemption from the rules. We needed to talk. So I invented another excuse to ask for him to drive me somewhere. Once we were in the car I told him to drive us to the ballpark, my favorite venue for talking with my brother.
“Paul, Mom gave me the talk the other day.”
“What, about the birds and the bees?”
“No; about the pill and the IUDs” I rhymed in reply. “At first I thought maybe she suspected something but it’s clear she doesn’t; she just wants me to be careful and not get pregnant.”
“Wow. I guess that’s like the talk she gave me last year, about respecting women, not taking them for granted, and even talked about seeing past the sexual attraction. It was quite a talk and I realized it must have been hard for her.”
“Well, based on the way you’ve treated me the last couple of weeks I guess you must have listened.” I watched as the words landed and saw my brother’s blush rise as he glanced at me and then looked away. “We need to talk, Paul. Where are we really going with this? I don’t want to lead you on; it’s been fun so far and fantastically pleasurable, but where are we really going? Sooner or later you’re going to hit a home run and then what then?”
“Well, I’m certainly trying. By the rules, if I hit a home run in a game, then…well…I get to hit a home run with you, don’t I?” I could see by his eyes he wasn’t joking. In fact I could see a plea in his eyes.
“Well, before we even get there you know those rules, bro; you have to hit a triple first. You have to hit for the cycle and have to do it in order.”
“But a home run…”
“Never mind a home run if it comes before your triple; when was the last time you saw a player run home directly from second base? Never happened. No, you have to hit third before home.” Seeing the drop in my brother’s spirit I hated to add to it by returning to my subject. “But are we really going to do this?” I lowered my voice, although there was no one near for a hundred yards, as I continued "you know that I’ve never had sex, Paul, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t either,” and could see by his expression I’d hit on it. “We’re a couple of virgins, Paul; where does that leave us? Brother and sister: that makes it a crime in this state. Are we absolutely sure about this?”
Time passed. Neither of us said anything for long minutes. I watched birds skimming the outfield, studied the lines on the field, the state of the dugouts. Finally Paul began. “I’m sure, Annie, absolutely sure. I love you. I know, we never really talk about that in our family, but I really do love you. In the last couple of weeks I’ve, well, I’ve seen a whole other side to that love. I love being with you, I love kissing you, I love your body. I. Love. You. And I want to go further. I want to explore this with you, Annie, more than any other girl, because there’s no girl that I love as much as I love you. I’m like you; I have no idea where this might go. It might be a bad thing, or it might be a good thing, a very good thing. And I’m a little afraid that it might change how we feel about each other, maybe in a bad way. But I know I’ll be a lot more confident doing this together, with you. I’ve thought about it, Annie, and it seems like to go further, if I get to third base,” and at that we both laughed quietly, “with any other girl, even a girl I liked, it would be like an anatomy lesson, you know? Like sex ed all over again, but with a real person. I know with you there would be a lot more to it because I love you.” And almost unconsciously he took my hand and gently rubbed his thumb along it, his eyes never leaving mine.
I was perilously close to crying, hearing my brother’s words. It deserved an honest response. “I love you too, Paul, and I’ve been feeling pretty much the same thing for you. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know if that means you and I can’t have boyfriends or girlfriends, whether we can love anyone else, whether we’ll ever want to marry someone and have families. I have no idea. But I’ve felt so damned strongly about you and how you make me feel that I’m ready to take the risk. And damn it, hurry up and hit that triple!” With that we both laughed and he took me in a quick hug and gave me a quick, almost furtive, kiss; our first kiss in public.
“What about the taboo, Paul? We’re thinking about incest here and that’s a crime in this state. Hell, it’s a crime in most of the world. What about that?”
“What about it? No one, absolutely no one will ever know, Annie, and more importantly: who are we hurting? Maybe, if it goes badly, each other. But no one else that I can think of. I think in all kinds of ways people break the law every day. Seems to me that if this is a crime it has to be a victimless one, don’t you?” And now it was my turn to give my brother a quick kiss, a kiss of assent, a kiss of consent.
So that was the talk. How can words be so exhausting? When we returned home I had to nap but awoke refreshed and ready for our Saturday evening. Paul and I had each become vastly more attuned to our parents’ weekend plans, or plans on any weeknight, for that matter. But it was usually weekends when they planned for social events; movies, dinner with friends, an occasional live music performance, so typically by Wednesday or Thursday one of us would have inconspicuously discovered their plans. As often as not it began with one of them asking one of us what our weekend looked like so it was easy to turn that around and find out their weekend plans.
We knew that our parents were planning to see a movie that night, so after my nap my excitement began to build. I showered, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and headed down to Dad’s barbecue dinner. Paul and I had learned by now to act normal. It’s not as easy as people might think. It’s easy to look too normal, if you know what I mean, but we were getting pretty good at not giving the game away. Within ten minutes of our parents’ car leaving the driveway Paul and I were on the (by now very familiar) couch and were locked in our embrace, kisses following on kisses. Somehow our afternoon’s conversation made me feel closer to my brother than I had ever felt and I felt almost exalted as by brother quickly and adroitly lifted my shirt over my head and then just as quickly unclipped and released my bra. It was less than twenty minutes since our parents’ departure when his lips found my hardened nipples, when his tongue first licked, tasted, and then circled them. I was breathing very fast, very hard as he sucked on those nipples, the shock of pleasure so sudden and so startling. Then he slowed himself as he began exploring my breasts with his lips, my 34Cs registering every caress from his fingertips, his lips, every kiss. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it any more he broke off and, raising his face, met my eyes for a long moment before we kissed our deepest, most passionate kiss of the evening.
I needed a break. I doubted my body could withstand for long the pleasure my brother was giving me. Pushing lightly on him and ignoring the quizzical look on his face, I reached down and lifted his golf shirt over his head, exposing his chest before me. Quickly I took the initiative and, leaning down, began kissing his chest, tracing down across his ribs with my lips. I lifted my head and mimicked what he had done for me, smiling as my lips closed on each of my brother’s nipples. He laughed out loud, his fingers buried in my hair, pressing me to him. I continued my kisses, slowly tracing his chest bone up to that lovely hollow at the base of his neck, finally giving a quick kiss to his Adam’s apple.
We sat back then by unspoken agreement, recovering ourselves and content to rest in each other’s arms. Then I pushed him lightly down onto the couch, whispering “on your stomach”. Again I was met with a querulous look. But he complied uncomplaining and when he was fully reclined I began to trace his back lightly with my fingers. I was thrilled to see now what my caresses had only felt before, delighting to the hardness of his traps that defined his upper back, marveling at the dorsal muscles that created the two ridges bordering on each side the long swale of his spine. I leaned down and began kissing what my fingertips had caressed. Sitting back, my hands idly drifting up and down Paul’s back, my ears vaguely registering his signs and quiet moans at my touch, it suddenly struck me; his firm muscles, his broadened back…my brother had somehow become a young man without my having really noticed. I measured that broadness with my two hands, my palms drifting back and forth from his shoulders to his spine, thrilling to the sheer masculinity that they felt beneath his skin.
The rest of the evening continued. More touches, more caresses, but most of all more kisses. It was hard, very hard (no pun intended) to not simply give in, to not remove the rest of our clothes, to not pull each other upstairs to one of our beds, to skip third base and run directly from second base to home plate. But we didn’t. And looking back I’m very glad we didn’t.
Paul had one weeknight game that week that I couldn’t watch, owing to homework assignments, but I was on pins and needles to hear his report when he came home. I could see immediately as he lifted his equipment bag from the car that there’s been no triple in the game. The best he could do was to glance at me, shrug, and head to the shower. But the following Saturday was another game. This time I went and took my customary spot under my shade tree on the first base side. I liked that spot as it gave a good view of the entire park, but also because I could watch Paul carefully at bat, as he usually batted right. His team did well, taking a lead early in the game. Paul played very well, even was the pivot man on a short-to-second-to-first double play. He struck out at his first at bat and singled on his second, eventually scoring on a teammate’s double.
I was getting nervous. Even now I couldn’t say which of us wanted that triple more; my brother or me. As the home team, and leading, it was unlikely Paul’s team would need its last at bats, so when he went to the plate for the third time I was probably more anxious than he was. The other team had brought in a reliever and he was throwing heat, virtually every pitch was a fastball. I could see Paul studying the pitcher from the on deck circle and when he came to bat I saw him alter his stance slightly, ever so slightly, his left foot moving toward the plate and his right moving back. “He’s opening his stance,” I thought, “he’s trying to hit to the off field. He’s trying to hit to right.” Two pitches in the count was two balls and no strikes. Both Paul and I knew that the next pitch was predictable: very likely to be a fastball and very likely to be right over the plate. And it was.
It’s funny how you know, you just know, by the sound of the bat whether the ball is traveling or not. And it was gone. Paul’s plan worked. The contact was solid, the sound deep, and I reflexively jumped to my feet, shouting, as it sailed over the first baseman’s head into right field. But the right fielder hadn’t noticed Paul’s shifted stance and was playing him to hit closer to center field. Big mistake, as the ball landed in deep right field and rolled toward the corner of the field. The fielder ran fast, but Paul ran faster, glancing at his third base coach as he rounded second and the coach waved him on and then rapidly pushed his hands down, signalling a slide.
Paul literally flew through the air as he approached third, diving toward the base, hand outstretched touching it milliseconds before the ball hit the third baseman’s glove. “Safe” shouted the ump, waving his hands in the universal sign for “safe”. Paul lay there for a second, called for time, rose, and dusted his uniform off. Then, knowing exactly where to look, he looked to me and, probably imperceptible to everyone else watching, gave the slightest nod and smile. I was still jumping, then stopped as my hands involuntarily flew to my cheeks, the blush now profound, as I realized his meaning. And just in case I had missed it, he then performed the standard ball player’s gesture, reaching down and casually, quickly adjusting his athletic support. He and I were the only ones on the field that understood the real meaning of that.
As had become routine by now, Paul and I knew that our parents’ plans for that evening were dinner at friends’ and that that meant a late night for them. Perfect. I can’t speak for my brother, but by the end of the game, Paul’s team’s quick celebration and post-game coaching chat done, I came to him and gave him a quick hug, happily inhaling the manly scent of his sweat and dust. I declined his offer of a drive home, wanting to think and to let the import of Paul’s triple sink in. Even though we’d laid out the rules, even though Paul knew he had to hit for the cycle; first, second, third…in order, even though we knew what getting to third base meant, now it was real. And I wanted to let that sink in. The walk home helped, but I was still on pins and needles, still tingling in my now-familiar spot when I got home. I wasn’t sure I could act normal through dinner so I pleaded fatigue with Mom and told her I was heading to a shower and a nap. “I’ll eat later, if that’s ok.” She accepted that without pause as I headed upstairs and did exactly what I said I would; showered and then lay on my bed, even surprising myself by falling asleep. Maybe it was the weight of the afternoon’s events, the realization of what lay in store for my brother and me, but whatever it was…I slept.
When I awoke I could tell by the quiet house that our parents were off to their dinner date. I arose from the bed and examined my closet, choosing fresh panties, a simple, straight skirt that ended a couple of inches above my knees, and a light blue blouse. I don’t know why, but I wanted my blouse to have some color. It’s ironic that I might have spent more time choosing my few articles of clothing than the time I actually wore them once Paul and I entered the den. And I chose…no…bra. I brushed my hair quickly, brushed my teeth, and slowly made my way downstairs. How to describe my feelings; apprehension, knowing my brother and I were about to cross a line that was a hard line for our society, a harder line than any we’d already crossed, a true taboo. What we had done so far was, yes, against the rules, but nothing like where we were intending to go. Apprehension mixed with a thrilling anticipation. Wrong as it was, the taboo that it was, tempting a criminal act - incest - as it was, I wanted this very, very badly.
And when I found Paul quietly waiting in the den I could see the exact same emotions in his eyes. I marveled at my brother’s patience. I was amazed he hadn’t come upstairs the second our parents had left, amazed he hadn’t torn my clothes off to give himself the reward he’d earned with his triple. But that wasn’t my brother and I knew it. I quickly sat beside him, quickly kissed him, and quickly fell into his embrace. And now, almost perplexingly, despite our mutual passion, our need to do what we both knew was coming, we seemed in no hurry. We kissed slowly and deeply for endless minutes, our hands traveling, caressing along each other’s familiar curves. Finally Paul whispered in my ear “Annie, I love you. I really love you,” as he cupped my breast through the blouse, as he deftly unbuttoned and drew it off me, his eyes widening when he found no bra. He looked up, laughed, and accepted my implied invitation by bending down and taking each nipple in turn between his lips, caressing, sucking, licking, as my body, having waited hours for this, arched in its involuntary spasm, lifting me from the couch, shaking with the pleasure of it.
Paul’s kisses trailed quickly down from my breasts, traced my ribs quickly, drifted across my abdomen down to the top of my skirt. He lingered there as I heard him softly breathing in my scent. Then he slipped from the couch to kneel on the floor and, looking up, said simply “up”. I obeyed his command instantly, lifting myself slightly from the couch, understanding his reason. His fingers found the zipper at the side of my skirt (how did he know?), quickly drew it down, and, his fingers shaking slightly, drew my skirt down from my waist, across my thighs, my calves, and off me entirely. There was that moment then, that moment that both of us will remember all our our lives. I know because my brother has told me since. A moment when he rested there on his knees before me, seated on the couch. It was almost as if he was saying a prayer. Then he leaned in and pressed his face slowly against my mound, my mons.
Again he breathed in deeply and then, to himself, I heard him whisper “oh my god’. His hands seemed to act almost independently as for the first time they caressed my thighs, caressing each side and then drifting to my inner thighs. I reflexively moved my legs farther apart giving Paul better access. I could feel the wetness that by now must have shown itself in my panties. No matter; I was so far past embarrassment that all I wanted was my brother’s touch. I didn’t have to wait long as within a minute or so he whispered, now hoarsely, “up” again. I instantly complied as his fingertips found the band of my panties and gently pulled them down, following my skirt’s path. I was panting by now. Nothing that I had imagined about third base had included this. I had expected touches, yes, but this? No. No, this was much, much better than anything I’d imagined or hoped for as my hands found my brother’s head, my fingers burying themselves in his hair, gently encouraging him to touch me, really touch me, for the first time.
Paul kissed each thigh, his head drifting back and forth, driving me to insane levels of anticipation, my body now thrumming with expectation. I couldn’t wait, couldn’t stand it any more as my hips lifted from the couch, as my hands held my brother’s head in place, as he began to press his face toward me closer, closer, until his face met the fur covering my mound, until I felt his first kiss on my skin there. He nuzzled me…nuzzled me, driving me even crazier, glancing up with a smile until through gritted teeth I managed “do it, Paul, please…DO IT!” coming out more like a guttural growl than actual words. Paul leaned back to his task and now I felt that tongue, that tongue that by now I had tasted countless times, but for the first time now tasting me as he found my opening and began to explore it, lapping and licking my wetness, soaking up my juices that were increasing by the second. His teasing vanished as his hunger seized him and he began licking hard, pressing his tongue, finding my opening and pressing in. My entire body shook as I felt the very first entry into my body by a man. His probing, his licking was taking total control of me; I could no more control my reactions than I could control the weather. My body was shaking uncontrollably as my hands pressed him harder and harder to my vagina. I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t feel its approach. But suddenly my body exploded with the most powerful orgasm I’d ever felt, the very first given me by a man. My shaking had changed to convulsions, a virtual orgasmic seizure as my body lifted from the couch. I began laughing as the climax continued to rock through me, wave after wave with no end in sight. Finally, still laughing, I lifted my brother’s head, drawing his face up so that I could see his broad smile. He began laughing with me. “I can’t take it any more, Paul,” I panted, “you have to stop or you’re going to kill me. I’ve never felt anything like that, no, anything close to that, in my whole life. Jesus, that was amazing.” With that he rose, took his place again on the couch, and kissed me so that for the first time (another first) I tasted myself on his lips.
We rested, both of us exhausted by what we had just done. “Where did you learn that,” I asked, “how did you know?”
“Porn sites can be, ummm, instructive,” he smiled.
Finally I raised my head from my brother’s chest and said “this is wrong.”
“I know,” he replied, “I know. It’s probably against the law.”
“No, bro, I mean it’s wrong that I’m sitting here completely naked and you’ve still got some clothes on,” as we both laughed. He stood quickly so that, kneeling before him as he had knelt before me, I could unclasp his shorts. Gravity did the work as they fell to the floor leaving his tented underwear. Suddenly all laughing stopped as I gazed at the bulge, mere inches from my face. Tentatively I slowly reached up and lightly closed my thumb and forefinger on it, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of my first touch of a man’s penis, even through the thin fabric of his underwear. Even with all my senses focused on this one single thing in the world I was dimly aware of my brother’s low groans. Coming to my senses I took a deep breath and gently but quickly drew the band of his underwear down, reflexively drawing my head back in surprise as his fully erect cock sprung out at me.
Of course I’d seen my brother’s penis before…but not for over ten years. Of course I’d seen the male penis, but only in sex ed and - blush - in a few porno videos. But this was the real, real thing. Two inches from my face. It was the difference between seeing a picture of the Washington Monument and actually standing beside it. And in my eyes, my brother’s erect cock was the Washington Monument. What did I feel? Fear? Apprehension? No, absolutely not. My first reflex: “amazing”, I thought. My second reflex: I reached out with the same fingers and enclosed it lightly with those same fingertips as my brother’s groans became louder, as his hands fell to my head, fingers instinctively burying themselves in my hair. As my fingertips traced the length of his erection, feeling its heat for the first time, gliding over the corrugation of its veins I felt his legs trembling until he suddenly sat back on the couch. I had to shift myself, move my knees on the carpet to follow with my gentle grip. “Hello, you,” I said to my brother’s erect penis, “it’s good to meet you.” Glancing up at Paul I said “he needs a name. I’m going to call him Babe, because he’s the greatest.” My brother smiled his pride at my naming ceremony.
But now his fingers were moving, pressing my head, asking me an unspoken question, inviting - no, pleading - for something. I glanced up at him as I gently stroked him but by now his head was back, resting on the couch’s back, his eyes closed, facing the ceiling. I didn’t have to ask. I knew what he was asking and I leaned forward, first lightly rubbing my lips across his glans, wetting my lips with his pre-cum. More, louder groans. More pressure from his fingers. I didn’t need the pressure. What was I feeling now? I wanted him in me. I wanted that cock inside me. But there was only one way that I could take him into me that night. Truth be told, somehow I wanted all of my brother in me; it was as if I wanted to absorb my brother, to somehow take all of him into me, kneeling before him. I leaned more into him, did as he had done with me, inhaling his scent for the very first time. Then, opening my mouth as I had weeks before parted my lips for his first kisses, I took his glans into my mouth. His body shook with his gasp and his tightening grip on my head. My tongue circled his head, spread the pre-cum, tasted a man’s juice for the very first time, judging its tangy saltiness as acceptable. As my tongue swirled his glans I felt his hips shifting, pushing him into my mouth. I understood, I began to move my lips down his rigid cock, tongue still active, until suddenly his head snapped down and through his groan he said “teeth!”
I pulled back, releasing his cock from my mouth. “Huh?”
“No teeth, Annie, no teeth,” was all he could manage, between gritted teeth of his own.
“Oh,” as understanding dawned. I drew my lips over my teeth to protect his cock and resumed my efforts. My arms were now wrapped around my brother’s hips, holding him as if he might pull away from me. There was no chance of that, of course, as his moans grew in volume and frequency, rising to one long groan. I pulled off him a second time and said, breathless, “tell me when you’re going to cum, Paul, tell me.”
“Ok,” again through gritted teeth.
I surprised myself with my eagerness, how quickly I took my brother into my mouth again and began to suck on his cock, to move my head and mouth up and down it as much as I could, pushing until I gagged on it, realizing at the back of my mind that he had at least two inches to go, wondering - for I knew this would be a new habit with us - if I could ever take his entire six inches. But suddenly, focussed entirely on the feeling of his hardness, his heat, the wet lubrication that helped me, as if from a long way off I heard him: “I’m…I’m…Annie I’m going to…” and just in time I pulled my lips from my brother’s cock as he began to pump his semen toward me, jet after jet it seemed, of his seed pumped with such power that the first jet hit my cheek and then jet after jet hit my neck, my breasts, my stomach as I drew back, my eyes widened in stunned amazement, until I broke into loud laughter at my feat. My first blow job. My brother’s first blow job. OUR first blow job. Instinctively I gripped his cock, stroking it, milking my brother of every drop of cum I could, smiling as I felt it slowly softening in my grip until it returned to its naturally flaccid state. I laughed one last time as I leaned down and kissed its head one last time.
I sat back on my haunches, only now daring to look up and meet my brother’s eyes. The gaze I met was new; my brother had never looked at me, never seen me the way he did then. So many emotions, so many feelings were flying across his face. Amazement. Joy. Shock. Happiness. Sheer, undeniable happiness. And I knew that his face only reflected mine. Regret? Fear? Guilt? There was none of that on either of our faces as our eyes continued, locked, our smiles wide and unending. Finally I rose and sat next to him, pulling our bodies together. Together we surveyed the coating of his seed on my body, slow rivulets of cum drifting down my breasts and chest. I should have felt like a slut, I suppose, like a girl in a cheap porno flick. But I didn’t. Instead I was consumed with the miracle that I had just created, that I had given my first blowjob and that it was to someone that I loved. It felt simply that the cum coating my skin was simple and clear evidence of that. Smiling coquettishly at Paul I reached down with my forefinger and traced it through one particular rivulet, gathering his semen on it and then slowly raised it to my tongue, tasting semen for the first time. Like a true gourmet, I whispered quietly to him “hmmmm…almost mushrooms, with just a bit of sweetness,” and then, leaning in to whisper into my brother’s ear, I said “and you know, I liiiiike mushrooms.” At that moment I had heard that a man’s cum can be salty, tangy, but that wasn’t my brother’s taste. No, it was a kind of sweet, mushroomy taste.
I couldn’t sit like that all night, feeling my brother’s cum drying on my skin, so I walked to the bathroom and quickly washed myself with a warm cloth, rinsed it, and quickly consigned it to the laundry. Walking back to the den naked was a liberating feeling. I don’t think I’d done that since being a toddler. On the way back to my brother I took care to note the time, did the math, and estimated that we had an hour before our parents returned home. Sitting again I was immediately thrilled at the feeling of our bodies pressed together, the warmth of skin to skin as we resumed our kisses. This was the first time, of course, that I had actually witnessed my brother’s orgasm, the softening that must follow, and was amazed that within twenty minutes, after about fifteen minutes’ kisses and fondles, he was hard again. This time there were no clothes masking his state. This time his rigid cock immediately offered itself to my touch.
And I accepted the offer. Drifting my hand lightly down his chest, across his navel, and down to his penis, grasping it lightly, I asked him quietly “show me.” I was uncertain of how he did it, how he stroked himself. I knew the sounds, of course, muted by our common bedroom wall as they were, but that’s all I knew. His hand covered mine, wrapped my fingers around his cock, satisfied itself that I was holding it with just the right pressure, and then began to slide our hands together up and down. A few seconds later he removed his hand, reached down and grasped the couch cushion with both hands, and slammed his body back into the couch as I continued to stroke him. As his breathing grew faster and faster, as it changed to gasps his hands released the cushion as his arms flung themselves around me and pulled me to him leaving barely enough room for my hand to continue its work.
“Oh god,” he gasped, “oh Jesus…that’s amazing, Annie, it’s never felt so…uuunnhhh…so fantastic…” His head flung back against the couch almost as if in a fit. I could hear the deep, prolonged groan as his hands began to feverishly race up and down my back, always holding me tight against him until “UUUNNNHHH…Annie, I’m cuming.” And with that I suddenly felt the pulsing of his cock, felt his seed beginning to course its length before erupting, shooting jet after jet onto both him and me. He continued to hold me to him almost convulsively as I continued to stroke him, for the second time that evening pumping and milking my brother’s cock of every drop of his seed until I finally felt him again softening. I kissed him lightly as I whispered my disappointment in his ear, how sad I was to feel him getting soft. Finally his eyes opened and when he could finally speak said “are you crazy, Annie? That was absolutely the greatest orgasm I’ve ever had. I’ve never cum like that, ever, in my whole life.”
Probably twenty minutes now spent, so I reminded him of the time. Things seemed to speed up then as he kissed me several times, deeply, tongues dancing their familiar dance as his hands quickly caressed and fondled me, moving quickly to my mons. His hand cupped and fondled me as my body began to shiver and then shudder to his touch. One finger quickly found my vaginal labia and separated them, wetting itself in my ample juices. His tongue, yes, had been there, but nothing else other than my own fingers had visited my opening. But this new visitor seemed to know his way around as his finger drifted up and down, wetting itself more and more, stopping and gently noting my opening, then drifting up until it found my clitoris. Now my body was shaking as his finger tip circled my clit over and over. “How does he know to do that?” I wondered before all thoughts, all rational questions evaporated as his finger drifted back to my entry and began its gentle exploration. I gasped. My breathing stopped. I heard myself utter a deep, feral groan as the finger pressed inward as my vaginal muscles welcomed and squeezed it. But it wasn’t alone for long as a second finger soon joined it. My body was beginning to spasm as Paul began to move his two fingers in and out of me, pressing more deeply each time until he met my virginal obstruction and pressed against my hymen. He stopped his pleasuring then briefly as the confirmation of my virginity sunk in. I managed one single sentence; “don’t stop, Paul, please don’t stop” so that he resumed his gentle thrusts until my body suddenly stopped its shaking, its spasm, and seized entirely with an orgasmic rigour for that instant before my climax shot through me, over and over again it seemed as wave after wave and peak after peak of orgasm struck and shook my entire body until, exhausted, I reached down and gently withdrew my brother’s fingers from my body. I fell against him panting, unable to speak. As I lifted my face from Paul’s chest I was surprised to find both my cheek and his chest wet with my tears. Answering the question in his eyes I laughed, the tears still streaming, and said “joy, Paul, they’re tears of pure joy. That was unbelievable. I hope yours was anywhere near as good as mine was.” And then resting against him again, feeling his heartbeat against that damp cheek, I said “and I can’t wait until it’s our orgasm.”
But the time was close. We rose quickly, gathered our clothes, aired the room out quickly after a quick survey for any telltale evidence, and rushed to our rooms. I had another coating of my brother’s sperm to deal with, so rushed into a quick shower. Paul was quick to follow. Barely back into our respective rooms we heard our parents’ car drive up. I rushed to my brother’s room, stuck my head in and said “I can see why triples are the hardest to hit; they give the greatest pleasure. So far, that is, so far. Paul…I loved being on third base with you,” and left my smiling brother to his bed.
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