Charlie and Mindy B. 04

This is the second 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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In spite of our grief, my little sister Mindy and I found this period a happy interlude in many ways. We had a house to ourselves, and we had little in the way of responsibility. We could, and did, spend a great deal of time alone together, exploring our love for each other in ways we hadn't been able to do ever since we'd first realized, the previous summer in the Wind River Mountains, that we'd fallen in love with each other.

Much as we might've liked to, we couldn't spend all of our waking hours making love: I just wasn't physically capable of that. We could, and did, snuggle a lot—and we found great comfort in each other that way. But we generally managed both wakeup love-making and bedtime love-making. And we slipped in a lazy Sunday afternoon session of love, too.

That Friday, we awoke in the morning and realized that we'd fallen asleep in each other's arms after our bedtime exercises—and we hadn't needed any pills to do so. And we found that we continued, throughout this period, to be able to sleep unaided by modern medicine. So, in at least one sense, we were recovering.

We remembered that, after Dad and Mom had gotten married, Quent had been close to the four of us. We used to see him several times a week. So we called him almost every day. Amanda kept in touch with him, and reported that the Colombian authorities were proving to be much easier to work with than they'd been reputed to be. He took us out for dinner again after work on Friday—this time to a steakhouse he knew and liked. And, again, he saw to it that we could each have a glass or two of wine with dinner.

We did find things to keep us busy. That Thursday, we took Dad's car and went down to Stapleton Airport, in Denver. We spent the better part of an hour locating Mom's car in the parking structure that adjoined the terminal. We'd brought one of the spare keys with us, and when we found what we were looking for, Mindy gave me a lengthy kiss and hopped from Dad's car to Mom's. I waited until I saw her start it and begin to back out before I headed for the exit. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw that she wasn't far behind me.

We had just two difficulties then: Paying the outrageous parking fee Mom's car had accumulated, and the exorbitant parking fee they charged me for Dad's car. The latter pissed me off, because we hadn't even parked, but driven around the structure looking for Mom's car. But those were just pains in the ass, and not things of real consequence.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, we worked our way through a week or so of calculus and almost as much French. There were some mysteries we couldn't quite penetrate, but we wrote down the relevant questions that we needed to ask Munson and Pepin. And we were pleased to find that about half of those mysteries solved themselves once we figured out precisely what we needed to ask.

It proved more difficult for us to occupy ourselves during the rest of that period. Somehow, we made up some things to do, and we did manage to keep ourselves pretty busy. And snuggling with each other was always available, always comforting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On Monday morning, Quent called us from his office. Amanda would be returning the next day, around mid-afternoon, he told Mindy—who had answered the phone. And he wanted to take us to dinner again that evening. The latter was fine with us. We weren't as interested in the dinner—though we wouldn't turn one down—as we were in having something to occupy our attention.

Quent also wanted, he said, to talk a number of things over with both of us, and he didn't want to do it on the phone.

He picked us up at about six-thirty and asked if we had anyplace we wanted to go. Mindy suggested the Italian place he'd first taken us to. We knew he was a regular there, and we'd enjoyed it, too. Twenty minutes later, we were ordering again.

Quent said he wanted to avoid business until after we'd eaten—and, in fact would rather take us home after dinner and talk to us there, where we'd have plenty of privacy. So that was what we did.

We reached home around nine o'clock, and we all sat down in the living room. I remember giving Mindy a questioning look, wondering what he wanted to talk to us about, and I remember, too, that she returned the look—equally mystified.

"Charlie, Mindy," he began when we were all seated. "First, I want you to know how deeply sorry I am for the two of you."

We nodded our heads. "Thanks, Quent," I said. "But our loss is yours, too, and we know that."

Mindy stayed silent, but she continued to nod her head.

"Thank you," Quent said. "Brian was a superb lawyer and a wonderful partner, and we'll surely miss him. But your loss is much more intimate than mine. And there are some other things we need to talk about."

Mindy and I nodded our heads. We exchanged a glance, and Mindy said, "What're those?"

"I guess I should start with funeral arrangements," Quent began. "Neither Brian nor Laurel would have wanted anything fancy. Now, Amanda and I are perfectly willing to make all of the necessary arrangements—with your consent, of course. Please understand: We aren't trying to take anything away from you. But we'd like to be of service. You're more than welcome to handle these things yourself, to get someone else to act for you, or to look over our shoulders as we do them."

I looked at Mindy; she looked at me. I could see in her face that she hadn't the least idea of what "arrangements" needed making—or with whom. And neither had I. "We'd be grateful for that, Quent," I said. "We're both pretty much at a loss for what we need to do."

As I began, I realized that Quent was apprehensive; the apprehension disappeared as I spoke. Evidently, this was something that he'd really wanted to do, and that he'd been afraid we wouldn't put up with.

"Thanks," he said. "I promise you, it isn't a rewarding task that you really want to get tied up in. Amanda and I will do it. We've done this before, professionally, so we know how to go about it. Of course, there's no fee this time—it's something we want to do for the two of you. And it's one of the last things we can do for Brian and Laurel. We'll run everything past you before we make any commitments. You'll absolutely have veto power over anything we propose."

"That's fine," Mindy said. "I'm sure you'll do a good job."

I nodded my head in agreement. There was now a lump in my throat; and when she looked at me, I could tell that there was one in Mindy's, too.

"And we also need to talk about their wills," Quent went on. "Brian wasn't like most attorneys—who don't seem to leave wills, in spite of the legal training that tells them how very necessary wills are. We have his will and Laurel's, and, sometime after the funeral, you'll need to come to our offices so that we can go over them with you.

"You should know now that their estate will meet all of the expenses brought about by their deaths, including the funeral. Beyond that, you're their only heirs, so everything they own passes to you—with the unpleasant exception of estate taxes. You'll need to know some other things about their estate and the arrangements they've made for you. But that can wait until later."

Mindy and I looked at each other again. It hadn't occurred to either of us that Mom and Dad had left an estate for us. I thought of Buck and Steph, living frugally and finishing their college educations with what their parents had left them. Dad had been a successful attorney, and I began to hope that Mindy and I would be able to finish our educations without undue strain. I was sure that Mindy and I could live as frugally as Buck and Steph were doing. And the thought crossed my mind that the four of us might be able to live together even more frugally.

But the annoying lump in my throat was getting bigger, and it drove thoughts of Buck, Steph, and frugality from my mind. Mindy's lump, I could see, had gotten large enough to force some tears out of her eyes; they were trickling down her cheeks.

Quent, too, could see the evidence of her grief. He told us that he didn't mean to upset us, but that it was needful to discuss these things. Then he stood up and began, uncomfortably, to bid us goodnight.

Mindy and I stood. She smiled weakly at him and stepped up to him. Taking him into her arms, she hugged him. "Oh, Quent," she said. "Don't be upset. You're right that we needed to talk about those things."

"Yes," I said, as Quent hugged her back. I could see an unaccustomed sparkle in his own eyes. I continued, "Please sit down for a moment. I'll be right back." And I went to the liquor cabinet in the kitchen, where I found three brandy glasses and a bottle, nearly full, of Dad's best brandy.

Returning with my finds, I said, "I think I've found what we need."

I placed the glasses on Mom's coffee table and, after uncorking the bottle, I poured a stiff drink into one of them, two stiffer drinks into the other two. I handed the short drink to Mindy and one of the others to Quent.

He cupped the glass in his hand, swirled it a bit as he stared into it. Then he smiled at us. It was a sad and pitiable smile, but it was a smile. "Thanks, Charlie," he said. "This is exactly what we need now."

He swirled it again and looked deeply into the amber liquid for a long moment. Then he raised his glass and looked at us. "Mindy, Charlie," he began, "please drink with me to the lives of Laurel and Brian. No man ever had a better partner than Brian; no man ever had a better wife than Laurel. And no young man or young woman ever had a better mother or stepfather."

Silently, as one, Mindy and I raised our glasses and touched them to his and each other's. We held the three glasses together for a moment, while Mindy and I both looked at each other and, in unison, said, "To Mom and Dad." And then the three of us brought, again as one, the glasses to our mouths and took a sip (even Mindy, who had learned from the experience of stiff-wristing Buck's scotch) of the fine old cognac.

We sat again and made small talk for a while as we finished those drinks. Smooth as it was, the fiery liquid tore at the lump in my throat. New tears welled in my eyes, but the other two had their own tears to deal with, and they understood mine.

Finally, the drinks gone, Quent stood again. "I'll make arrangements to have an undertaker meet Amanda's plane with me tomorrow. You're welcome to be there, but there's no need."

I looked again at Mindy; she looked at me and gave a slight shake of her head. I agreed fully with her: If Quent didn't need us there, I didn't particularly want to be there myself. I was beginning to understand that the funeral would be more difficult than anything we'd yet been through—save only, perhaps, those initial moments of shock in the Dean's office.

With that, Quent left us. When he was gone, Mindy came to my arms, crying openly. She kissed me, long, deeply, and lovingly, and then, silently, she rested her head on my chest. I held her close, kissing her lovely, sweet-smelling hair softly, loving the soft feminine warmth of her body, and hating the reason why she needed me at the moment. But I needed her, too, and for the same reason.

We stood there, embracing, sharing our love, for a while. Mindy broke the silence first. "Charlie," my sweet little sister said, raising her head from my chest and looking into my eyes, "can we to to bed and make love?"

I lifted her into my arms and carried her up the stairs and into her room. I smiled my love at her as I carried her. She smiled her own love back at me, and I deposited her softly on her own bed. As I released her, she pulled me into another long, deep kiss. "I love you so much," she whispered when the kiss ended.

I smiled down at her, then, and I whispered back "I love you even more." My left hand stroked her hair and the right side of her face, trying to communicate the depth of my love for her. I felt how her head moved as she used it to return the caress.

She smiled back up at me. "Let's get ready for bed," she said.

Ten minutes later, I returned to my little sister's room from the bathroom and found her already lying in bed, the covers over her. I was naked, and she smiled at me—invitingly, this time. I smiled my acceptance of her invitation—unnecessarily, because she'd seen my boner announce that acceptance as I'd stepped into the room—and I turned off the ceiling light. The room didn't go dark, because she'd turned on the light by the bed. As I walked around the foot of the bed to get to my side, she held the bedcovers up on my side of the bed—revealing her nakedness and emphasizing the invitation her smile had advanced. I smiled back, climbed in, and took her bare little body into my arms.

She sighed her welcome, took me into her own arms, and we kissed deeply again, and lovingly. Once again, her perfect little boobs pressed nakedly against the skin of my chest. Her feminine fragrances filled my nostrils again; my stiff cock slid between her thighs and came to rest against her furrow. The enticing warmth and wetness there brought me now-familiar sensations. But for all their familiarity, those sensations excited me again, and they caused my cock to pulsate against her. As we kissed, my hips began to rock, sliding my cock gently, back and forth, back and forth, against her slick groove; her hips answered me with a counter-motion of their own.

We broke the kiss and looked deeply into each other's eyes. Our hips continued to move, causing her slippery pussy and my hard cock to deliver mutually inciting strokes to each other.

"Are you ready?" I whispered to her.

My little sister's smile deepened. "More than ready," she answered with a dirty grin. Her thighs parted in welcome.

It was still fairly early that evening, and the automatic thermostat hadn't turned the house temperature down yet. So as I rose to my knees between her thighs, I threw the covers off of us. Her dirty grin got even dirtier: She knew I liked to look at her wonderful little body while we made love, and she liked to show it to me.

She wrapped her legs about me as she grasped my shaft. I leaned forward, and I let my hips descend slowly as she guided me into herself. The warm, wet tightness of her pussy enveloped my cock again. We both moaned as I lowered myself to my elbows above her and glided again into her slippery depths. Her legs, each now wrapped about one of my thighs, held our hips tightly together.

We lay there a moment, unmoving, loving the close contact of our bodies, and their intimate connection. My eyes closed; my lips searched for hers and found them. We kissed. I felt her lips part, and my own separated as my tongue penetrated her mouth—just as my cock was now penetrating her sheath. Her tongue met mine, and the two played with each other, wrestling and intertwining only to separate and then wrestle and intertwine again. Her tongue chased mine into my mouth, and then mine chased hers back where it had come from.

My hips had begun their dance, slowly at first and then more and more quickly as her hips responded. As the friction of her tight wet channel tormented me and the heat of my desire rose higher and higher, I tore my lips from hers. Opening my eyes, I rose up from my elbows onto my hands, driving myself incessantly into her and out, into her and out. Her eyes, too, were open now, and we each looked deeply into the other's. Even though I looked into the deep blue depths of her eyes, I was still aware of those wonderful little boobs, jiggling rhythmically now, from the efforts with which we drove our hips against each other. Her legs, still around my thighs, and her body, under me, helped me drive my rod, again and again, into her depths. The smiles were gone from our faces now as we both strove against each other, intently seeking release—the other's release almost as fervently as our own.

Her mouth fell open, and she groaned—it was almost a sob—from the force of her beginning climax. Her channel clasped me even more tightly as I drove my cock in and out of it. She thrashed under me, moaning and crying out repeatedly. And then I erupted, too. With a shouted groan of my own, I exploded inside of her, and I fountained great spurts of cum into her. My vision dimmed as light exploded in my brain; my consciousness contracted to a point inside my groin; and I collapsed onto my elbows, my body now trying, in the final, overwhelming, spasm of my orgasm, to embed me more deeply than possible in my little sister's body.

Some indeterminate time later, I found myself, weight still on my elbows, lying on top of her, my head on the mattress beside her head. We were both breathing deeply. My cock was still inside of her, her legs maintained their grip on my thighs, and her arms were still around me. Without lifting my head, I turned my face toward her, and I nibbled gently on her ear. She sighed. It was a happy, prolonged sigh, and while it continued, I brought my hand, elbow still on the bed bearing its share of my weight, up to cup and massage her tit.

Her nipple was still erect, and my thumb and forefinger found it, rolled it back and forth between them while my hand continued its kneading action. She sighed again, more deeply than before, and I felt her contract around me in response, trying to milk more cum out of me.

"Oooh! That feels so good," she whispered. She continued to contract around my cock, though it was now beginning to soften. She reached over to kiss my neck—pulling her ear away from my lips. I felt little spasms run through her body as my hand continued its action.

And then she began to rock her hips a bit, driving my cock again in and out of her. I raised my head and looked again into that ocean of deep blue. "Want another one?" I asked, smiling at her and beginning to wiggle my own hips a bit in response.

She smiled back. "Mmm-hmm," she hummed at me. It was a deeply interested hum.

My cock took a definite interest in the way our motions caused it to slide in and out of her hot, wet, slickness. It rapidly stiffened again. I rose, then, to my knees and pulled her toward myself. Flexing my legs fully, I extended my knees under her thighs. She closed her eyes in concentration again, and a little smile played on her lips as we rammed ourselves against each other. She rocked her hips and pumped her legs as she strove again for more of what she'd just experienced. She found my arms and clutched at them and held them tightly, which gave her more leverage to pound me in and out of herself.

My cock was certainly interested, as I said, but in a sort of abstract, general way. It knew, and I knew, that I wouldn't come again that evening. But that wasn't any reason not to enjoy the ride. Her passage was now wetter and slipperier than ever—not only from her own lubrication, but from my cum as well—so I slid easily in and out of her, with a sort of slurping sound that seemed to inflame her even more and drive her to even more strenuous efforts. Somehow, I kept up with her, enjoying all the while the sensations she brought me, the sounds she uttered, and the expressions of intense desire that fluttered across her face.