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Not to put too fine a point on it, let’s say that when it came to having sex with Lori, we didn’t just jump right in.
Things can be incomprehensible sometimes. Such as, say, when your sister confesses that, when she was fourteen, she had this fantasy about her big brother coming into her room in the middle of the night, and crawling into bed with her. I was naked in this fantasy, as was she, and I kept asking if she was awake. She was, but didn’t want to admit it for some reason. And when my hands started wandering where they shouldn’t, she didn’t react then, either. Things progressed in this fantasy to the point that I got on top of her and, as I slowly penetrated her, I kept shaking her and telling her to wake up. Basically, she fantasized that I raped her. Except she didn’t want to resist what was happening.
Things can be incomprehensible when, as she tells you this story, she removes your clothing, making you as naked as she is. She’s reliving this rape fantasy, but making herself vulnerable at the same time ... to her rapist!
Things can be incomprehensible when you let her get you naked while describing something you feel very uncomfortable about.
And then there’s the fact that, as she got to the last thing I had on and removed my briefs, I had a hardon. Her story had made me uncomfortable, but it had made me horny as well.
“Wow,” I said. “I’ve had some fantasies about you, too, but not like that.”
“When you were fourteen?” she asked.
“No,” I said, truthfully. “It was much later than that. You know I’d never force you,” I said.
“I know,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ve thought a lot about that. It was easy because that was always my favorite thing to think about while I masturbated. I think that whole scenario was about me wanting something, but feeling like it wasn’t allowed. So if I didn’t actively cooperate with it, then I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“You should major in psychology,” I said.
“I’m going to fix people’s brains some day,” she said. “It’s kind of similar, when you think about it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your brain, Lori,” I said.
“No, of course not,” she said. “I just want to have sex with my brother and let him knock me up. Nope, nothing unusual there. Move along, folks, nothing to see here.”
“Wanting is one thing,” I said. “Doing is another. And we don’t have to do anything.”
“Oh, yes we do,” she said. “If we don’t do this I’ll go stark raving mad.”
We were lying side by side on the bed, facing each other, maybe eight or ten inches apart. It was kind of odd, because I wasn’t thinking about us being naked. We were just talking. What made it feel odd was that we’d never talked like this, on a deep, interpersonal basis.
“How about we do this in stages,” I said. “Having the baby can be stage ten. That would be years from now.”
She laughed and I could actually see the transformation that came over her. It was almost instantaneous. Her face softened, her body relaxed. Her lips seemed to get slightly larger somehow, like they wanted to touch other lips and were getting ready to do that. Her insecurities were gone, replaced by something hungry.
“I love you more than you could possibly understand, Bobby,” she said.
“I know what you mean,” I said. “It’s been tough, loving a brat, but I pushed through. It was an ugly job, but somebody had to do it.”
“Don’t tease me now,” she said. “I want you to love me, not tease me.”
Suddenly she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. She just lay there, limp.
“Lori?” I said.
She started making artificial snoring noises. You know the kind, much too loud and rough. I understood immediately. She was pretending to be asleep.
I thought about her fantasy. Was she trying to play that out?
“Lori,” I said, reaching to jostle her shoulder.
“Are you asleep?” I asked, getting my arm straight and almost sitting up.
Now I was sure of what she wanted. Why she wanted it this way was what was up for grabs. Was this her way of letting something happen in a way she would feel didn’t mean she had chosen to do it?
“Looori,” I sang, reaching to run my hand from her belly up to her left breast. “Are you awake?”
I did it all, just like her fantasy had been. I touched her, and then sucked her nipples, doing the kind of foreplay that would ensure her pussy was slippery when it came time to intrude there. I even licked her quim.
She moved during this process, arching here, stretching there, but she never made any noises, other than the occasional fake snore.
Then it was time. The tip of my prick was actually dripping as I brought it to her portal.
“Lori, if you don’t wake up, I’m going to stick my cock in you,” I whispered. “I can’t help myself ... stop myself. It could make a baby in you, Lori. You better wake up.”
“Mmmm,” came from her closed lips. Her head rolled from one side to the other.
“Lori?” I asked, suddenly afraid she would open her eyes and tell me to stop.
My concern about that may have caused me to put a little more in her than I originally intended to.
Like maybe half?
“Mmmm.” This one was longer.
“I’m sorry, Lori,” I moaned, and pushed in, giving her every inch I had. I ground against her because I knew if I pulled out and pushed back in I’d spew.
Suddenly her eyes opened, staring into mine.
“Are you fucking me?” she asked, her voice high and young.
“Yes,” I gasped.
She closed her eyes again and let her head roll as if she’d fallen back asleep. Only then did she speak again.
“Okay. Just don’t stop.”
I didn’t stop. And she didn’t open her eyes and cooperate in any way. Her body moved, but I think those were uncontrollable reactions to what she was feeling. She had an orgasm. I’m convinced of it. There came a time when her breathing increased and became harsh, and her internal muscles spasmed, milking my prick as I used it to rub against every bit of her I could reach with it. She made a little sound in her voice, a whine of sorts, and then went limp again.
I tried to get her to do that again, but it didn’t happen. Finally I wanted to cum in her, to get my own rocks off.
I sped up, rocking on top of her, making her whole limp body move on top of the mattress.
“Lori, you have to wake up. If you don’t I’m going to cum in you, Lori,” I huffed. “I’m going to empty my sperm inside you.”
I went even faster.
“I’m going to make a baby in you,” I gasped.
Her lips opened one last time.
“Okay,” she said.
We never acted out that fantasy again. After that, if Lori wanted to make love, she just said she wanted to make love. She was a very active participant in those trysts.
Meanwhile, Cassie acted like we were already married. It was a little strange. In a lot of marriages the couple sleeps together for years and then something causes them to seek separate beds for sleep. It doesn’t mean they don’t love each other. Maybe one snores, or has restless leg syndrome. Maybe one’s a night owl and the other goes to bed early. They simply sleep better when they’re alone in bed. Our situation was a little like that, except we hadn’t been married for years and years.
Generally speaking, whatever girl was scheduled to sleep with me came to my room and slept there. This is not to say I had a willing girl in my bed every night. Not at all. In fact, the “schedule” was pretty much discarded after a few weeks. If someone wanted that kind of affection, a request might be made, something like, “Can I have him tonight?” and the other would say, “Sure, go for it.” Or she might say, “You had him last night. Don’t be a pig. I need him tonight.” One thing neither of them ever said was, “Bob, how do you feel about it?”
It took a month for them to find out how important study habits are. I helped by exhibiting good ones. While they never asked what I thought about how I was being bartered back and forth, there were times when I said something like, “Not tonight, sweet thing. I’m going to study group and won’t be home until late. And I need to get up early for class, so no hanky panky tonight.”
They resisted that, at first. I was firm, though. They also saw me studying at home, putting hours and hours into intense concentration as I probed the mysteries of spectroscopy as it relates to designing tools for extra-terrestrial use, or some such thing. By December they’d settled into college life and were doing splendidly, in my opinion.
I was, too. My grades thus far were better than usual and I visualized that light at the end of the tunnel everybody always talked about as something other than a train, maybe. Part of that might have been that the house was quieter than it had been when I had male roommates. Part might have been because both girls did develop good study skills. We all helped each other study, too.
But I’ll be honest. There’s something empowering about having a willing woman in your bed most nights, who loves getting naked for you, loves having your bare prick deep in her pussy, loves when you shoot her full of sperm, and doesn’t want to get up and leave your bed to go somewhere else after you’ve done that. There’s something calming when you can get up from a spate of heavy reading and when you go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee there’s a pretty girl in there who doesn’t mind one bit if you walk up behind her and reach around to fondle her breasts.
Basically, I had all the sex I wanted, any time I wanted it, with two lovers who also loved each other.
The only rough patch during all of this was that the pill isn’t a hundred percent effective and I got my little sister pregnant.
Luckily, that wasn’t until she was almost ready to receive her bachelor’s in biology and had already been accepted to medical school. I skipped a lot because it would be tedious to detail four years of college, but I can give you the highlights.
Cassie changed majors three times and finally settled in to pursue a nursing degree. I think helping Lori study had something to do with that, but also convinced her becoming a doctor was beyond her comfort zone.
I had to take certain courses that were required, but were also offered only every other year, so my five year program ended up taking six years. When they had a year left in their undergrad programs I finally graduated and got a job with a company that specialized in building microwave towers like the ones you see dotting the landscape. The job site I had to go to always changed, and pretty frequently, since my own specialty was inspection of other people’s work so that a certified engineer signed off on it.
What that meant was that I could live anywhere I wanted. The company gave me a car and if I needed to go more than three hundred miles they flew me there and I rented one for the job.
I also got paid really well. I stayed in the rental house with my lovers until they got their baccalaureate degrees and then bought a house in Kansas City, where the KU Medical Center is. That’s where Lori was going to pursue her doctorate and Cassie was going on to specialize in being a surgical nurse.
I no longer got to spend every night in bed, playing hide the sausage, which is probably why Lori wasn’t paying as much attention to taking her pills and may have skipped one or two.
Which brings us back to Lori and the day we were moving into the new house in K.C. We’d been unpacking the U-Haul and Cassie went out to find us something to eat. When she got back and walked in, the delicious odor of the takeout food permeated the kitchen. Lori looked startled, covered her mouth with both hands, and dashed for the bathroom. When she came back, she looked pale.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“You’re asking us?” I said. “If you were a beam that buckled I could give you answers, but you’re the one who’s going to be a doctor.”
“The key phrase there is ‘going to be’,” she said. “That was weird.”
“What happened?” asked Cassie, who had seen only Lori’s back as she made her run for the john.
“I smelled the food and suddenly had to throw up,” said Lori. “I don’t get it.”
She had what none of us knew was morning sickness two more times before she began to suspect. She checked her pill container, which had more in it than it should have. A home pregnancy test told the tale.
Cassie was dizzy with happiness that her best friend was with child, but it took Lori a while to get used to the idea. Not that she was morose about it. It didn’t even change the routine, but the next five or six times we made love she complained that it was that very activity that had undone her.
“Forgetting to take your pills was what undid you,” I reminded her. By this time her hypothesis was that it was the pill goof-up that had led to her becoming vulnerable. And, since she was getting a bellyful of sperm at least ten days a month (if not fifteen or twenty - there were episodes of afternoon delight in there that weren’t on the schedule) being vulnerable for any of her unsafe time could have done the trick.
“If you weren’t such a satyr, always hounding me, always slavering to climb on top of me and stick your nasty penis in my poor vagina, this never would have happened,” she rejoined.
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