This is the fourth 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
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Classes began the morning after my foray into crime prevention in the library's hidden lowest level. (A foray, it must be said, that my little sister Mindy and I had both thoroughly enjoyed.) And, of course, when classes began, so did homework. Most professors seemed to take seriously the rule of thumb that requires two hours' outside work for every hour spent in class. There were some exceptions: a few professors thought there should be three hours' outside work for each hour inside.
I hadn't taken that rule seriously during my freshman year; I had done only the homework I couldn't avoid—the homework that was to be handed in for a grade. In addition to reading from the assigned textbook, the part that wasn't to be submitted consisted of problems to be worked outside of class in calculus, of work in the language lab in French, and of outside reading in other courses. Mindy suggested that the presence of
B
's and
C
's on my first-year transcript reflected first, my conviction that such work was optional, and, second, that I rarely (if ever) undertook optional work on the ground that it was, well,
work
.
She wasn't judgmental about it. She didn't scold, she didn't dictate, and she didn't pressure me. She simply pointed out what she thought I was doing wrong. And then she asked, altogether too reasonably, if I thought my methods were compatible with the promises I'd made to her and to our parents. I say "altogether too reasonably" because I knew (at least as well as she did) that I didn't have a leg to stand on, and because she didn't even give me an opportunity to have a childish fit about how she was forcing me to change my wicked ways. She was a grown-up about it, and, it seemed, I would have to be, too—even if I didn't want to.
So on that first Monday of classes, she came to my house, immediately after our PE classes, for the first of what would be many study sessions together in my room. And George was in his own room that afternoon, doing his own studying, so Mindy and I really did study—school work, and not each other's bodies. We even left the door wide open, just as any brother and sister, studying together with nothing to hide, would have done.
We concentrated, that afternoon, on our calculus. I'd always been talented at mathematics, and I was thinking about doing my major in that subject. But we hadn't been working together for very long before Mindy was, gently but firmly, pointing out how sloppy and inefficient my study methods were. She showed me how she worked, and by the time we had finished, it was about suppertime, and I was surprised to find that it hadn't taken us much longer than I would have spent doing things according to my old habits; and, I realized, my understanding of what we had covered was even better than I would have accomplished that old way.
With that realization, a candle began to flicker in one of the unexplored back rooms of my mind. Shadows of things—fascinating things I had not known were there—appeared in its light, dim though it still was. But, despite the inefficiency of my old methods, we still found that I had deeper insights that she often found helpful in her own efforts to understand what we were studying.
Mindy lived in the dorm; her meals were already paid for in the dining hall there. George and I hadn't stocked up on groceries, yet, so there wasn't much to eat in our refrigerator. He was hungry, too, so the three of us walked to Mindy's dorm for supper. George and I had to pay cash for our meals, but that was okay. He was, however, still trying to impress Mindy—with whom I traded some knowing glances. She was going to be spending a good bit of time in the house, and we'd have to figure out something that would settle him—and Frank—down for good. Cutting their dicks off would probably work, but that didn't strike me as being a good plan.
After supper, we walked back to the house. George retired to his own room, and Mindy and I returned to my room—all to continue studying. The two of us worked on our French for about an hour-and-a-half. Again, she'd taken good notes,
in French.
That they were in French made a weird kind of sense to me: The class was conducted in French. And now our roles were reversed. She had a gift for language, and she helped me to better understanding of some tricky grammar. There was a language lab assignment, but we weren't expected to have it completed for a week—so we figured we could let that slide for another day or two.
It was nearly half-past eight when we decided that we could call it a day. It wasn't very dark yet, but I wasn't comfortable letting Mindy walk back to her dorm by herself. During the previous year there had been several evening incidents involving unaccompanied women, on the campus and in its neighborhood. No one had been raped, or even hurt, but some women had gotten some pretty good scares.
I mentioned that George and I would probably go out for a beer or three, and she was welcome to come. But she said that she didn't particularly want a beer, and that it sounded like "guy-time" she didn't need to share. And, when I thought about it, I decided that she was right about the "guy-time."
So we walked together to her dorm. And, naturally, in the gathering gloom, we found some dark corners where we could make out a little on the way.
In one of those dark corners, I held her close to me, my hands on her butt cheeks, and looked down at her lovely face. She smiled up at me, evidently enjoying the feel of my body against hers.
"Thanks for studying with me," I said. "You were a big help."
"So were you, lover," she replied, rubbing herself against me, still smiling. "And it's not like I don't have a stake in how you do."
"Wanna do It?" I asked.
"I do," she replied with a grin. She rubbed herself against me a little harder, making sure I felt her most interesting parts. "But we can't, here and now."
"You're right. We can't do the library trick too often, either, or we'll be asking for trouble. I have other tricks we can use. But George is a chemistry major, so he'll have a lot of afternoon labs. I'll find out when they are, and maybe…"
"Good idea, Bub. That should work. But now you'd better kiss me."
And so I did. Thoroughly.
And then I walked her home. As we walked, I had a thought. "George and Frank could be problems. If we don't head them off, one or both of them will try to hit on you," I pointed out.
"You're my big brother. Can't you just tell them I'm off-limits."
"I suppose I could, but that wouldn't be me. And George, at least, knows me well enough to pick up on that. You're a grown-up, and you can make your own decisions. If you hadn't already picked me, I'd tell them to go for it, but if they did anything to you that wasn't coincidental I'd kill them. Slowly and painfully." I was a good bit bigger than either of them, so I probably could kill either of them slowly and painfully. Possibly even both at the same time.
She looked at me with a strange expression on her face. "
Coincidental?
Oh. You meant
consensual
. Do you plan these things? Or do you really say the wrong words?"
