Charlie And Mindy Bk 04 Ch 01 1

This is the first chapter (of eight) in the fourth and final book of the

Charlie and Mindy

tetralogy. The books detail a story of forbidden love between a brother and a sister.

You can read this book on its own, but it refers to events that took place in Books 1, 2, and 3. If you want a better understanding of what is going on, read Book 1, Book 2, and Book 3 before reading this book.

I value your comments and your feedback, and I will respond to non-anonymous comments-usually within a week.

-CarlusMagnus

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Mindy and I woke up together around seven-thirty that mid-March morning. We were both groggy from the effects of the sleeping pills we'd taken the night before. I found myself lying on my side, facing her. Aware that I was awake, Mindy rolled onto her own side and backed her naked body up against mine. I slid my left arm under her and threw my right arm around her little body. I held her; my right hand cupped her left boob. Neither of us spoke for several minutes.

"I love you so, Charlie," Mindy finally whispered, wiggling back against me.

"I love you back so, Mindy," I whispered to her. My morning boner had found its place between the cheeks of her ass, which were now clenching regularly around it. At each clench, I gently squeezed her tit.

"I love to feel your cock so hard against me while you squeeze my boob," she answered as she tried to wiggle back even closer.

"And I love to feel your ass grabbing my cock while I massage your boob," I replied. I tried to wiggle closer yet.

Mindy was my little sister, and we had shared forbidden love with each other since the previous August. The day before, we had learned of our parents' deaths, and the grief that news had brought us was still strong, though it was no longer as overwhelming as it had been.

"You're my rock, you know," Mindy whispered. She turned over in my arms. Her own little arms clasped me, and she found a resting place for her head against my neck and shoulder. Her wonderful little boobs rested against my lower chest and my boner was now trapped between our bellies.

"You're mine," I whispered back. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

We were silent for a few moments as we held each other.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?" she asked. "Mom and Dad are…" She halted, unable to finish the sentence.

"It wasn't," I confirmed. "We're on our own."

Her soft little body convulsed a bit as she emitted a gentle sob. "No," she said, and I heard conviction in her voice. "We still have Buck and Stephanie. They won't let us be on our own."

"You're right," I answered. "They're true friends."

As we lay there in silence, together, holding each other, I heard sounds from outside the bedroom—the sounds of Buck and Steph beginning the day. Muted sounds of dishes and pots and pans came from the kitchen: Someone was getting breakfast ready but trying to do so quietly.

At length, Mindy whispered, "I've got to pee," she said.

"Go ahead and get your bathroom chores done," I said. "I'll do mine when you're done."

She slipped out of the bed and prepared to get some clothes on. A tear trickled down her right cheek—but it didn't keep her from smiling at me when she saw that I was enjoying the view I had of her naked body as she found her clothes and began to put them on.

"I needed you last night, Charlie. I needed your love," she said softly. She stepped closer to the bed and reached out to stroke the side of my face. "I'm going to need you more in the next few days." Somewhere within herself, she found another smile and sent it to me. It was a small one, but the mood in the room changed dramatically. My beloved little sister's agony was lessening.

"I needed you, too, Mindy. I need you more than ever, now," I replied.

She leaned over and kissed me gently. She backed up a bit and looked into my eyes. Then she leaned forward and kissed me again, deeply and fervently. As she did, she brought her hand to my right cheek, to caress me again. My own hand found its way out from under the covers, clasped her neck, and held her lips tightly against my own. Our tongues played a bit before she broke off the kiss and stood up. My hand slid from her neck and dropped to the bed.

"If I didn't have to pee so bad, I'd rape you," she said with another smile—this one stronger than the last. Her deep blue eyes bored into my own eyes, captivating me once again.

"If I didn't have to pee so bad, you wouldn't be able to," I said. "You can't rape someone who wants it as much as I do."

"I'd better head for the bathroom," she said. "I can hear Steph in the kitchen. We shouldn't keep them waiting for us."

She leaned over again and gave me a quick, closed-lip kiss. As she straightened up again, she said, "I won't be long." And she vanished through the door, closing it again as she went.

I got myself out of bed and got my clothes on. I'd hardly finished when she was back, hairbrush in hand.

"The bathroom's yours," she said. "I'll brush my hair in here."

I stepped up to her and towered over her little body. Her smallness didn't prevent me from taking her into my arms again and kissing her thoroughly. She pressed herself against me and we enjoyed the feel of our bodies against each other. She returned the kiss with fervor.

When the kiss ended, she gently pushed me away. "You know better," she said as she looked down at where my boner tented my jeans. "Not now," she said with another smile.

"A guy has to try," I said with a smile of my own.

She stretched up on her tiptoes and gave me a quick peck. It took me by surprise and, not quite being able to reach my lips, she landed it on my chin. Then she dodged quickly away before I could grab her.

"A guy

better

try," she said. "And I'm glad this one does."

But her tone and those deep blue eyes, smiling though they were, told me not to get my hopes up.

I headed for the bathroom.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

About ten minutes later, Mindy and I made our way together, hand in hand, to the kitchen—from which the smell of bacon emanated. We found Buck—not Steph—beating eggs with a fork as he added some milk. A plate of cooked bacon sat on the counter near the stove. Hearing us enter, he looked up.

"Good morning," he said. "I hope you got some sleep."

"Yes," I answered. "Thanks to you and Steph. Those pills did the job. Where's Steph?"

"She slept in a bit this morning. She had a rough night. Memories, you know," he replied.

Stephanie and Buck were twins. Their parents had died a year and a half ago, and they'd been in love with each other, and sleeping with each other, since soon after that terrible time. They knew that my sister Mindy and I were lovers, too, and had been since August. They were our dear friends.

Months ago, knowing that we had trouble finding the privacy that lovers need, they'd told us that their spare bedroom was ours. When they heard that our parents had been killed in an airplane crash, they'd insisted we spend the night there.

He continued, "So I'm getting breakfast ready. I heard the two of you moving around, so I made enough for all of us. I'll go roust her in a minute or two. I need to get the eggs underway first."

So saying, he poured the beaten eggs into the pan he had cooked the bacon in. As he poured, he looked over at us. "How are you doing this morning?"

"A bit better," Mindy said. "I'm starting to feel human again. But I still feel like I'm in a bad dream."

"I'm about the same," I said.

"I'm so sorry," Buck said. "I wish we could do more for you." He stirred the eggs some more with the fork as he spoke.

"You two have been wonderful," Mindy said. "Thank you so much."

Buck looked fixedly into the frying pan and mumbled something that neither of us quite heard, pretty much as required by the Fundamental Code of Manly Behavior.

After a few moments, he looked up. And saying, "The eggs will be okay for a while, now. I'll go make Steph haul her pretty little ass out of bed," he disappeared in the direction of the bedroom they shared.

In another ten minutes, Steph stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep, hair disheveled, wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt that, in spite of its loose fit, didn't even come close to concealing the shape of her amazing rack—now unfettered by a bra. The four of us seated ourselves around their kitchen table, Buck and I across from each other, Mindy at my right, Steph at my left. We dug into four slices each of bacon, a mound of scrambled eggs, a seemingly unlimited supply of toast with butter and jam, and plenty of coffee. Conversation, already desultory owing to our circumstances and Steph's semi-consciousness, lagged as we ate.

As the meal progressed, so did Steph's consciousness. By the time she was well into her second cup of coffee, she turned to us and asked how we were doing and what was next.

"We're doing okay ," I answered. "Things could be a lot better, but we're going to make it. You and Buck have been a big help, and we thank you for all you've done for us."

And then Mindy broke in. "The Dean said," she set out to explain, "that Quent Miller, one of Dad's law partners, will be here this morning to take us back to Fort Collins for the…"

She fell silent, gulped a bit, and lowered her head. She couldn't bear to complete the sentence with the word "funeral." She looked up at me, tears brimming in her eyes again. My own heart lurched—both at her unexpressed thought and at her renewed pain. I reached for her thigh and squeezed her gently.

Steph pushed her chair back and got up. She walked around behind Buck to my little sister's chair and, leaning over, embraced Mindy. "I know, Mindy," she said. "It's very hard. I'm so sorry. Moments like this will come suddenly in the next few weeks. Just let it out."

Mindy was crying now. "I'm so sorry," she gulped. "I'm a mess. I can't help it."

"It's okay ," Steph said, still holding Mindy and patting her on the back. "The more you let it out now, the sooner you'll start feeling like yourself again."

And, looking at me while she continued to try to comfort Mindy, she went on. "That goes for you, too, Charlie. I know that guys aren't supposed cry. But this is an exception. Isn't it, Steve?"

"Buck" was his nickname; his given name was "Steve." But only Steph called him "Steve"; his friends called him "Buck."

I glanced at Buck; he was wearing a guilty-looking expression.

Uh-oh!

I said to myself.

I'm not gonna go there!

But then, with surprising grace and vigor, Buck replied, "She's right, Charlie. When our parents died a year and a half ago, I tried to hold it in when I shouldn't have. It just made things worse."

Mindy, now, was squeezing Steph back. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks, but they weren't being fed any more. She rescued me from the necessity of making a reply. "Thanks, Steph," she said. "Except for Charlie, you and Buck are the best people in the world. I don't know what we'd have done without you."

Clearly embarrassed at the compliment, Buck changed the subject. "How is this Miller person going to find you?"

I answered. "He planned to catch a red-eye from Denver to Chicago and then get a connecting flight. He knows the address of my house, and he'll be there a little before ten to take us to the airport and fly back with us. A flight leaves here for Chicago at half-past noon, and the plan is for the three of us to be on it. Mindy and I need to be at my place, ready to go, when he arrives."

"Spring Break is about two weeks away," I added as an afterthought, "and we probably won't be back until after it's over."

"It's about eight-thirty now," Buck observed. "You'll need to go and get packed."

"We won't need much," Mindy said, looking at me for confirmation. "We have a lot of clothes and stuff at home. I think we already have everything we need, either here or at Charlie's apartment."

I looked back at her and nodded my head.

"We have a couple of small suitcases. You can borrow whatever we have that you need," Steph offered. "We'll miss you terribly."

And so it was arranged. We had enough clothes and toilet articles at their house to supplement what we knew we had at home in Fort Collins. We packed the twins' suitcases with what we were going to take, including the books we'd had with us when we'd been called to the dean's office.

Mindy and Steph squeezed each other good-bye. Buck and I made an exception to the Fundamental Code and hugged each other—with restraint, of course. I really liked Buck, but there was such a thing as going too far. As we did so, I whispered "Thanks," into his ear.

He whispered back, "No problem," and patted me on the back as we hugged.

Mindy stepped up to Buck and, taking each other into their arms, they pressed themselves against each other. I lost track of them as Steph, smiling, stepped up against me and flowed into my own arms. Her arms went around my neck and her magnificent bazooms, soft under her sweatshirt, un-contained by a bra, melted against me. At the feeling, I almost forgot to kiss her thank-you-and-good-bye-for-now. But her liquid brown eyes and her waiting smile reminded me before I could embarrass myself, and we shared a wonderful good-bye kiss. I presumed, rightly, that Buck and Mindy were doing the same.

Slowly, holding each other's hands, Mindy and I carried the suitcases to my house.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

George wasn't home. I knew that he often spent time at the language lab during his free time on Tuesday mornings, so I wasn't surprised. But it was a bit after nine, so Quent could show up at almost any time. And George might not be at the language lab, but headed for home after a delay following his German class. So Mindy and I put my French book and my calculus book in one of the suitcases. Then we snuggled, fully clothed, on the couch while we awaited Quent.

I still remember sitting there on that battered old couch, veteran of who-knows-how-many academic generations of students. I held my little sister close as she held me. We each were alone with our own thoughts and emotions, it seemed, and yet it also seemed we were together with those thoughts and emotions. I felt more deeply than I ever had before a sense of closeness, of sharing ourselves—each loving and supporting the other in our common nightmare.

She raised her head from my shoulder, looked at me, and smiled. I looked into her eyes and smiled back at her. She returned to my shoulder, with a little sigh. I sighed back, and we continued to hold each other silently and lovingly. Neither of us spoke a single word, but I felt strength and healing flow in both directions between us. And the storm clouds began, slowly but surely, to clear. That brief time together marked a turning point for both of us; and in spite of our dreadful situation, that quiet half-hour I spent with my little sister, the woman I love—the two of us simply holding each other—is still one of the best of my memories.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The knock on the front door came at about a quarter to ten, while we were still communing silently with each other on the couch. Knowing that it was, in all probability, Quent, I squeezed my little sister and kissed her. Her lips parted in invitation, and our tongues again engaged each other—but briefly, briefly.

I went downstairs and opened the door; it was, indeed, Quent. His greeting was subdued, but Mindy heard it and came down the stairs, bringing our suitcases and our jackets. She greeted him somberly, with quiet dignity, hugging him briefly. He offered us his condolences and asked us how we were doing.

We responded appropriately. Quent was dealing with his own grief at the loss of a twenty-some-years' partner, and—seasoned courtroom attorney though he was—he couldn't quite hide his gratification at finding us in reasonable control of ourselves. I can well imagine how glad he was to learn that he wasn't going to have to deal with one or two emotional basket cases during the trip back to Fort Collins.

Quickly, I ran upstairs and left a note for George, telling him that I would be gone—probably until classes started up again after Spring Break—and reassuring him that we would be all right. Then the three of us got into Quent's rental car, and he drove us to the airport.

On the way, he told us that Amanda Watson, the third partner in the law firm, had left that morning for Colombia, with the aim of obtaining our parent's remains from the Colombian authorities in order to accompany them home. I couldn't think of a better person for the job. At five feet, one inch, she was only a bit taller than Mindy. But she lived up to her first name, being a legal powerhouse. And she could be a terror when crossed. (Dad had had a few disagreements with her. We'd heard him talk to Mom about those incidents, and he'd seemed surprised that he'd survived them.)

We liked Amanda, but we'd never had occasion to cross her. Nevertheless, we were both glad that it was Quent, and not Amanda, who'd come to see us back. Moreover, we knew that if the Colombian authorities gave Amanda any trouble, they'd find out in short order who the real authority was.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Both flights were, for a change, on time—but we still had an hour and a half on the ground at O'Hare. Quent hadn't been able to get three seats together on either flight. The plane for the connecting flight was too small for that, and we had three aisle seats near the back of the plane—right in line, one behind another. He'd managed to get two seats together near the back of the plane on the flight from Chicago to Denver, and he kindly put Mindy and me together in them while he took a seat several rows to the front. So we were able to snuggle a bit on that flight. Even if Quent looked back, we figured, he wouldn't question our need to be close.

Quent's car was in the parking structure near the airport terminal, and he drove us to Fort Collins. It was well after dark—about half-past eight—by the time we got home. He offered to spend the night on our couch, thinking we might not want to be alone in the house. But we assured him we'd be all right. In fact, together without his company, we'd be more nearly all right than he guessed.

He didn't know when Amanda would be back, but he thought it shouldn't take too long—Amanda being, well, Amanda. He arranged to keep in touch with us so we'd know what was going on and what the status of things was. And then we let ourselves into the vacant house and turned to wave good-bye to him. Seeing that we were safely in, he drove away.

As soon as there was no chance that he—or any of the neighbors—would see us, Mindy and I dropped our suitcases and embraced. We shared a long, deep kiss. When we broke the kiss, we looked into each other's eyes for a moment, and then—as if by unspoken but mutual consent—turned to face into the house. We stood there a moment, Mindy at my right, each with an arm still about the other.

Mom had turned off the thermostat timer and set the heat down to 50°, so the house was chilly. A feeling of vacancy pervaded it, too. "It's so empty without them," Mindy muttered—almost to herself. She laid her head against my upper arm and sighed. It was nearly, but not quite, a sob.

I tightened the grip of my right arm around her, squeezing her gently. "It is," I answered as I held her tightly against my side. We knew that the house was, figuratively, ours; we hadn't yet realized that it was ours literally, too.

Mindy was a bit closer to that realization than I was, though. I felt her boob rub against my side as she turned a bit toward me. I turned my head toward her, and she looked up at me again.