Charlie and Mindy B. 02

This is the second chapter of seven in Book 2 of the

Charlie and Mindy

tetralogy—which is a story of forbidden love between a brother and a sister.

While Book 2 stands on its own, it refers to events that took place in Book 1. Book 1 also contains some of Charlie and Mindy's family history that bears on the story. You may therefore want to read Book 1 before reading Book 2.

This is a rewrite of a series I posted in the past and removed for a while.

Please leave your comments. I try to respond to non-anonymous comments within a few days.

—CarlusMagnus

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

We had ten days until we were to leave for college. We passed those days in much the way we'd passed the first two days. Generally speaking, whoever awoke first after Mom and Dad left for work would slip, naked, into the other's bed for a morning snuggle—resulting in morning sex.

There were variations.

There was the morning I awoke from a dream in which I was Doing It with the Ice Queen to find a solidly frozen water balloon nestled against my cock. That one was pre-meditated! She had to have thought it up before—and probably well before—she went to bed the night before.

And there was the morning Mindy woke in a panic thinking that my old Daniel Boone coonskin hat was a live animal that had somehow found its way into her bed during the night. I have to admit it; that was premeditated, too. But still, it was really just payback for the ice balloon.

We spent our days, mostly together, doing different things. There was packing and shopping to do, but not nearly enough to fill the bulk of two weeks. We were planning on taking third-semester French and third-semester calculus together during the fall semester, so we spent a couple of hours every day reviewing the earlier courses. That was Mindy's doing, and she began to teach me something about the self-discipline one needs in order to study effectively.

That first Saturday, we went on a day-hike in the Indian Peaks Wilderness Area, just south of Rocky Mountain National Park. The hike itself was our motivation—mostly. But Mom and Dad were at home that day—which inhibited our customary morning exercises. And it didn't escape us that we might be able to find privacy in the backcountry. We did find it, and we did exercise—wildly and joyfully. One weekday, we drove into the big city and visited the Denver Zoo. The coonskin cap gave us that idea.

And so we passed the time, pranking each other, sharing ourselves with each other, loving each other as best we could, teaching each other how to love better, encouraging each other, strengthening each other, complementing each other. And, of course, making love with each other—enthusiastically, joyfully, tenderly, exuberantly, lovingly—whenever and wherever we could find, or make, an opportunity.

We had always loved each other, and more, we had always enjoyed each other's company. But, on our trip into the Wind River Range we had forged a tie of a new kind between us, and now we were strengthening that new tie.

I suppose that the early days of new love are idyllic for every couple. But I believe that our idyll was even more euphoric than most because it was founded on the old love we had shared from infancy. I look back fondly on those few days that August when we had little to do but enjoy each other, while the love between us—already strong—grew stronger and deeper as it continued its transmutation from a purely fraternal love to one that encompassed both fraternal and erotic.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The long-awaited day finally arrived, and Mom and Dad drove us to college. I was returning to that small liberal arts college as a sophomore; Mindy was to begin her freshman year. We arrived that evening, around suppertime, after a long day's drive in the station wagon that Dad had rented to haul all of the stuff Mindy and I thought we couldn't do without.

I knew the town, so I directed us to Randolph's, a decent restaurant not too far from the campus, where we had supper. Then, with the help of the whole family, I moved into my apartment, which was actually the upper floor of an old two-story house. It was decorated and furnished, so to speak, in what might be called "student ghetto classic," and it overlooked a busy street. But it was a lot better than some of the dumps we could have rented from the local slumlord. Our landlord owned only this place, and he kept it in fairly good shape. We knew, from the previous tenants, that he kept the furnace and hot-water heater in working condition; and that was more than you could say for some of the slumlord's properties. We also knew that he was pretty easygoing about getting his rent on time—as long as he eventually got it.

George Cochrane, the classmate I was going to share the apartment with, would not arrive until Sunday, the 30th—the day before classes were to begin. We had become good friends during our freshman year, and we'd found the house during the last few weeks of the spring semester.

George and I had decided that we'd share the rent between ourselves, even though there were three bedrooms, each containing—at least—a bed and a chest of drawers. Two of the bedrooms were good sized, but the third was very small, and we didn't think a sane person would pay a full third of the rent for it. We thought it was worth paying a little bit extra to share the floor with only one other person, instead of with two.

As we moved me in, we made little effort to arrange things to my satisfaction; I would take care of that myself, during the coming week. Mom and I made my bed while Dad and Mindy carried in the boxes of junk I had brought with me. I would spend the night here, while the three of them put up in a motel room not far away. They would pick me up in the morning and we would take Mindy to the college. After we moved her into her dormitory room, we would take her to her first orientation event, where the college president would address new students and their families.

As the three of them prepared to leave for the motel, Mindy stopped at the head of the stairway and told them to go on ahead, saying that she had to pee and would be out in a minute. I stood at the head of the stairs while she headed for the bathroom and they descended. But once the outside door closed, she turned and flew into my arms.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," she said. "But I don't know if we'll have another chance to really say good-bye."

"Well," I said, "a proper good-bye would take longer than we have, and Mom and Dad would think it was highly

im

proper. So this will have to do."

I kissed her gently, lingeringly, as I had that evening at Belford Lake; her firm little body melted against me. When our lips parted, I reached up and brushed aside a vagrant lock of her hair that had fallen over her eye. The motion turned into a caress, and my arm went back around her.

"I'm going to miss you," I said softly, holding her warm little body against myself.

She grinned, impishly. "You mean you're going to miss making love with me."

"Well, that, too."

"Me, too. Both. You, and making love with you." She ground her hips against me; I ground back. Her lovely little boobs, unconfined, as always, by a bra, pressed against me through our shirts—causing sensations we loved. The bulge in my pants grew a little and rubbed against her, confirming that I enjoyed those sensations.

"But my period started this morning. Being on The Pill makes it come right on time, every time, now. So we wouldn't be doing it for a while anyway. I'll see you on Saturday evening—a week from now. But I wish we could be together before then."

There was a hint—more than a hint—of sadness in her eyes, now. In mine, too, probably. This was the first time since we'd fallen in love that we would be separated from each other for more than a few hours. I would miss my little sister, who had so recently become my lover.

Almost all of Mindy's time during that first week on campus would be accounted for by her orientation activities. During the days there would be lectures addressing college history, what to expect in college courses, what professors would expect of students, how to be a good college student, and so forth. There would be placement tests she would have to take in order to enroll in some of the courses she wanted to take. Evenings, there would be social events for entering freshmen. She would be expected to attend those events in order to get to know other members of her class. (I can't say that such things weren't a good idea, but they meant that we would not see each other that week.) For her to spend nights with me would not be wise because it would raise questions—questions for which there was were no good answers—with her roommate and with the other women on her floor.

"Are you excited about starting college?" I asked her. I wanted to divert her attention from this parting and I wanted to prolong our hug.

She grinned again. "I sure am! Will I like it? Do you really think I'll do well?"

"Yes to both. I'm certain of it."

"Thanks! Now I have to live up to your expectations as well as my own!" But she was still grinning.

"I love you so much, Little Sister." I kissed her again, holding her trim little body tightly to myself.

We broke the kiss. Still holding me, she looked up at me with her deep blue eyes. "I love you even more, Big Brother," she said. "But Mom and Dad are waiting."

"Yes, you have to go. I'll see you in the morning."

I kissed her once more, gently and quickly, and let go of her. She turned, and I watched from the balcony as her tight little ass wiggled its way down the stairs. It was going to be a long week.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mom, Dad, and Mindy picked me up at half past seven that morning, and all four of us went to Arlene's, a local diner, for breakfast. We knew it would be our last meal together as a family until Mindy and I returned home for Christmas break.

Mindy was excited, ebullient, as she looked forward to the new experiences ahead of her. Mom and Dad were busting with pride at the lovely daughter they'd raised—though Mom, try as she might, couldn't hide an occasional tear or two. I thought that she was sorry to see her younger child leave home, but, in retrospect, I believe that she was also thinking of her own experiences on the same campus twenty-some years earlier, before either Mindy or I had been born.

The freshman dorms opened up at nine that morning, and the four of us arrived, about 15 minutes early, at Bussey Hall, the freshman women's dorm to which Mindy was assigned.

Mom, Dad, and I had been through moving into a dorm the previous year, when I began my freshman year, but we'd forgotten about the crowd. In spite of what we thought was an early arrival, there were only a couple of empty spots in the parking lot—at the wrong end, of course, and about as far from the building as possible. But the four of us had no trouble carrying Mindy's junk up to her second-floor room and installing her.

As we moved Mindy in, we met her new roommate, Carol Snyder. She was a cute—

very

cute—blonde with a really nice rack and an ass that rivaled Mindy's. Mindy caught me staring at Carol several times that morning and grinned knowingly at me.

"Don't get any ideas about Carol," she whispered to me when we were separated from the others. Then, knowing that I already had ideas, "At least, don't try to do anything about your ideas." But she was still grinning.

I saw Dad staring, too, a couple of times—and getting an elbow from Mom when she caught him once. He saw me looking, too, and he winked at me. But it all evened out, because I noticed that Carol's dad—who was the only member of her family there to help her move in—didn't seem to be able to keep himself from looking at Mindy. I looked at Mindy myself and thought,

I sure do have good taste.

The college president's welcoming speech was in the college auditorium just before lunch. Even though we'd underestimated the crowd, we'd been among the first to finish moving our freshman into her room, so we got good seats in the third row near the center. When he was done addressing families, Mom, Dad, and I found ourselves outside the auditorium with other families—all without our freshmen, and not knowing quite how he'd managed to separate us from them so easily.

Mom and Dad said good-bye shortly after that. They had to work the next day, and it was a long drive home. I waited in the auditorium lobby until the president released his captives. That way, I caught Mindy as she came out—chatting with new friends she had made as family members were leaving. I gave her a copy of my house key, and we made arrangements for her to come over around five on Saturday evening. Orientation week was tightly scheduled, and she would be busy until then. However, the planners had nothing arranged for that evening; we figured it must have been an oversight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There isn't much to tell about the rest of that week, because there wasn't really much of anything for me to do. The last three weeks with Mindy had spoiled me, and I missed her terribly. It wasn't just the sex I missed—though I won't try to deny that I did miss that. In those three short weeks, I had become accustomed to her loving glances, to her knowing smiles, to her gentle touches—to all the things, in other words, that I could not have when we weren't together.

When I wasn't pining for Mindy and feeling sorry for myself, I continued to review my French and my calculus. I read some trash science fiction. I made a point of buying only a day's food at a time, so that I would have to make a trip to a grocery store every day. I went for long walks, on campus and in town. Otherwise, I mostly just hung out.

Fortunately, Frank Sanders, one of the seniors who were to occupy the lower floor of our house for the coming year, had moved in a day or two before I did. He was 21 and could buy alcohol. So evenings, at least, didn't go to waste: The two of us sat on a couple of the old lawn chairs some former renter had left on the front porch, drinking beer and bullshitting late into the nights. We told each other the usual lies about our masculine prowess—at drinking, in sports, with cars, and, especially, with women. (And many of the stories I told about myself had actually happened—but they hadn't happened to me, so they were still lies.) That solved the problem of what to do with our mornings, too—mostly, we slept through them and didn't get up until ten or eleven.

Tuesday morning, shortly after I got up, it occurred to me to double-check some of the secret techniques and special knowledge of the campus that George and I had developed over the past year. I reckoned that they might actually be useful this year. So I spent that afternoon surreptitiously verifying that the tricks we'd invented still worked and that the things we'd learned were still correct. That involved trips to the football stadium, several of the buildings on campus, and the library. I was more than pleased to find that everything was as it had been the year before.

On Wednesday afternoon, I walked downtown. It was a little over a mile from the campus, but somewhat less from my house. There was a Salvation Army store that I hadn't noticed before, and I checked it out. I found three old quilts, all in pretty decent shape, all for next to nothing. I knew I wanted a couple of them to use on my bed during the coming winter, and I figured that another one wouldn't hurt. So I bought all three of them. I also found a half a dozen small hand-towels, some kitchen stuff, some wastebaskets, and a couple of table lamps that we could use in the house. They were priced right, too, so I bought them.

But the prize was an old, beaten-up, leather bomber jacket for only $20. It fit me perfectly, and it was in much better shape than it seemed at first glance. The leather was still sound and flexible, in spite of its shabby appearance. And the faux fur lining looked almost new. The cold of winter was still some months off, but I knew that if I didn't buy it right then and there I wouldn't get another chance. It was a deal I just couldn't resist.

Then I had to lug my booty back home. There was too much for one trip, so I left the quilts at the store, made a trip home and came back for them. When I got back home with the quilts, I put two on the shelf in my closet and, inspiration having come suddenly upon me, I stuffed the third into one of my daypacks—the red one—along with a couple of the hand-towels. I found that I had used up a good half of the afternoon.

On Friday afternoon, the depth of my boredom reached bottom. It was so deep that I found myself actually getting my junk out of the boxes we'd moved it in. I spent an hour or two arranging it in my room. Still bored when I finished, I found myself playing with an eight-foot length of climber's half-inch tubular webbing, practicing all of the climber's knots I'd learned a couple of years earlier. Frank was about as bored, and we started drinking beer a couple of hours early that evening. But we didn't quit any earlier than we had other nights. So, at least, it was an entertaining evening.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I got up sometime between ten and eleven that Saturday morning, as had become usual during the preceding week. Frank was going to be gone for the weekend. George, my apartment mate, and Earl Abbot, the other first-floor senior, would arrive during the early afternoon on Sunday. Mindy was due at five, and it looked like we would have the house to ourselves for the whole night.

I puttered around the apartment for an hour or two and fixed myself a couple of sandwiches for lunch/breakfast. After lunch, I walked to the store and got a couple of steaks, a couple of good-sized baking potatoes, some salad-fixings, and the other trappings I would need for a steak dinner. I wanted to fix a nice meal for Mindy that evening; I figured she'd welcome it after a week of dormitory food.

When I got back to the apartment, I spent an hour or so washing a week's worth of dishes, mopping and sweeping, cleaning up the bathroom, etc. I knew that girls—even sisters—like clean apartments. I even put clean sheets on the double bed in my room. I still had a couple of hours to wait, so I read for a while—more trash sci-fi. Around four, I got a shower. Girls—even sisters—like clean guys, too.

After my shower, I crushed some peppercorns and pressed them into both sides of the steaks. When I'd finished, I left the steaks out on the kitchen counter to come to room temperature. Just before five o'clock, I put the potatoes in the oven to bake and opened one of a pair of bottles of pinot noir I'd had Frank buy for me the day before. I set it on the kitchen table to breathe and went into the living room to wait for my little sister.

It was a few minutes after the hour when Mindy let herself in and shouted, "It's me! I'm here!" She came up to the stairs and walked into the living room, dropping her backpack near the living room door.

"Charlie! Are you he—" she began, and, looking up, stopped mid-word. "What's the matter? Are you sick?"

I was lying on my back on the couch, moaning, wrapped in a blanket, with a cold wet rag on my forehead.

I groaned dramatically and added, "I feel awful, Little Sister."

"What is it? Do we need to get you to the hospital?" She walked across the room to get closer to me. Concern spread a shadow across her face.

"I've got DSB," I said. "It's very deliberating!"

"Do you mean 'debilitating'?" She was mystified. "And what's DSB?"