Charlie And Mindy Bk 04 Ch 06 1

This is the sixth 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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It was a bit after nine when Mindy woke me up. The four of us—Steph, Mindy, Buck, and I—had put away of several bottles of wine the evening before. Not to mention the two bottles of prosecco that had vanished as well. So I'd probably have slept for another hour, or more, if I'd been left to myself. Steph and Mindy had left the bulk of the work of getting rid of the contents of all of those bottles to Buck and me—and, naturally, we had done our duty in workman-like fashion. But we're men, so we're used to having women call on us to do that kind of heavy lifting—and we don't mind.

I was on my back when I woke up, and the first thing I was aware of was my little sister's soft warm little body against my side. She lay naked against me, her shoulder slotted into my armpit, her head on my shoulder, her tits against my side, and her pussy against my hip. She was humming happy little moans and raising her head every now and then so that her lips could reach to nibble gently on my neck. My morning boner was doing its best to tent the heavy layer of blankets that lay over us, and had managed a partial success.

I announced my returning consciousness by raising my arm from the mattress behind her and pulling her a little closer. I hummed back my own happy little moans. As I became more aware of my surroundings, I brought my other arm over to join the one that was already around her, and I pulled her even more tightly against me.

"You feel really good against me," I muttered—still only half awake.

"I do feel good against you," she whispered back happily. She shifted her arm from where it lay across my chest so that her hand traveled across my belly—headed south.

"What's this big hard thing?" she asked, feigning—transparently—innocent ignorance as she wrapped her hand around my hard-on. She stroked it gently a few times.

"Stop," I begged. "I have to pee. Then I'll tell you, if you really want to know." My own innocence was just as bogus as hers.

"Do you need to go?" I asked her before I rolled out of bed. Our parents had taught me that ladies go first.

"I've been awake for a while," she said. "I went when I woke up, and then I came back to snuggle. Go ahead."

I got up and stumbled into the bathroom, where I coaxed my cock into softening so that I could get the necessary job done. Wider awake, then, I stumbled back into the bedroom and crawled back into the bed beside her. As soon as I was back, she rolled up against me again. And she reached for my cock again. It hadn't resumed its former glory yet.

"Oh!" she said, again in mock innocence. "Where'd that big hard thing go? And what's this soft little dingus?" She was stroking it, gently but firmly.

"Well," I said, "it'll probably be easier to answer your questions if I just show you."

"Do you think?" she said, now wearing her best look of wide-eyed wonder and purity.

The stroking continued; the "soft little dingus" was showing definite signs of resurrection.

"The demonstration," I answered her, "might be more effective if we do this first."

My lips found hers, and we shared the day's first deep kiss. As our tongues strove against each other, I cupped and kneaded one of her boobs. The firm round flesh filled my hand nicely, and her nipple—hardening rapidly—protruded between my thumb and my index finger, which rolled it gently between them.

She really liked having me touch her boobs, and she moaned another happy little moan—this one into my mouth. By the time we ended that kiss, I had another full-fledged hard-on.

The stroking had continued during our kissing and other touching. "Oooo," she said in her best five-year-old voice, "now it's big and hard again, just like it was before."

I continued to work on her tit while I brought my lips to her other nipple. I sucked it into my mouth and twirled my thumb around it.

She moaned again, and continued to stroke my cock. Then she said, in that same five-year-old voice, "The other girls say that boys are different from girls because they have a thingy between their legs—where girls' jynas are—and that boys like to put their thingies into the girls' jynas. Is this your thingy?"

Mom had always used the word "vagina" for her own and for Mindy's, but when Mindy was little she'd had trouble with the "v" sound—so she'd just eliminated the first syllable of the word and said "jyna" instead of "vagina." Mom had also used the word "penis" with us, and I wasn't sure where "thingy" came from—probably, as she'd just suggested, from her friends.

I relinquished her nipple. "Yes," I said. "That's my thingy." I used my best six-year-old voice.

She rolled over onto her back. I reached down with my right hand and inserted a finger into her furrow. It was hot—hot, wet, and slippery. Almost automatically, my finger began delivering caresses.

"Is this your jyna?" I asked. "It's right between your legs, where my thingy is on me."

"It is. It is my jyna," she said. "Why are you touching me there? I don't think boys are allowed to touch girls' jynas. It's naughty for boys to do that."

"You're touching my thingy," I said. "Isn't it naughty for girls to touch boys' thingies?"

"Well, yes it is. But you know what?"

"What?" I asked. My finger stroked her inner lips and then gently caressed her clit.

"I like touching your thingy. And it feels really good when you touch my jyna. You can touch my jyna whenever you want to. If I can touch your thingy." she said with a little shudder and a moan of delight.

I said, "You can touch my thingy." After a moment, I asked, "Can I put my thingy into your jyna?" I sucked her nipple back into my mouth while she thought about the matter.

She moaned again. And then she allowed, "Gee, I don't know. The other girls say that's a

very

naughty thing for girls and boys to do with each other." In spite of the little girl voice she was using, she was breathing raggedly now.

So was I.

"I don't want to do something naughty," I said. "Can I put my finger in your bellybutton?"

"Sure," she said, "That's not naughty at all!"

I rolled over on top of her. As I rolled, she spread her thighs and brought her knees up. I reached down and guided my cock into her hot, tight, wetness. She wrapped each of her legs about one of mine and pulled me into herself.

"Hey!" the five-year-old voice said, through my little sister's most evil grin. "That's not my bellybutton!"

"That's not my finger," my six-year-old voice answered—with my own evil grin.

My hips had already begun to move, and hers answered me. Together we drove my thingy in and out of her jyna repeatedly. We pumped ourselves against each other—every stroke winding a coil spring within each of us tighter and tighter, until, together, our orgasms released them. The blinding force of that release overwhelmed me and I drove myself into her to my full length. My cum flooded again and again and again through the length of my cock and into my little sister's depths, as she convulsed under me in the grasp of her own orgasm.

And then we lay there together in the bliss of

after,

arms and legs entangled, naked bodies against each other, as we regained our senses. I found my head resting on the pillow beside hers, and I raised it enough to allow my lips to reach her ear—which I nibbled gently. At the touch, a shudder went through her, and she clasped me more tightly.

I raised my head and looked at her. She met my gaze; the deep blue fire of her love looked back at me.

"Know what?" her five-year-old voice asked?

"What?" my six-year-old voice asked.

My little sister's nineteen-year-old voice replied, "I like having your thingy in my jyna! Even if it is naughty."

My twenty-year-old voice answered. "Me, too."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was about ten-thirty when, showered and breakfasted—we both thought that a piece of the (wonderful) chocolate cake Steph had baked for Mindy's birthday made an excellent breakfast—we went downstairs to see what the twins had in mind for the day. They'd been up an hour longer than we, but they were just sitting around, pretty much in a daze. We spent an hour or two sitting with them and chatting.

Nobody felt like putting lunch together, so Mindy and I took them to Arlene's for her excellent bacon-cheeseburgers and fries. And when we got back home, we had them upstairs for dessert—which made short work of the chocolate cake.

An hour or so after lunch, the twins went back downstairs, and Mindy and I started figuring out what we'd need to take back to Fort Collins. One of the things we'd need, we decided, was a trip to the laundromat. So we gathered our dirty laundry and went. When we got back a couple of hours later, we threw some of that clean clothing into our suitcases.

We still had clothing—as well as other things—in Fort Collins, but we had no idea how long we'd be there or when we might return. Mindy had to be in Lander, Wyoming, just before the end of June. So there was a deadline for how long we could stay, albeit a generous one. We hadn't really talked about what we had to do in Fort Collins, although both of us knew that we had to go back soon. I knew that we had to make arrangements to have someone take care of the house when we weren't there. Quent had been more than happy to do so while we finished the spring semester, but I didn't think it right to dump that on him for the foreseeable future. And we needed to do something about Dad's car.

We also needed to outfit Mindy for her MOLS course. Having spent a week in the backcountry with me the previous August, she already had some of what she would need—though we had borrowed some of the things she'd used then. She could rent some equipment from MOLS—saving wear and tear on her own things. But we still needed to get some items for her—clothing, in particular, because her upcoming trip would be much longer than the last summer's trip, and she would need things she hadn't needed before. It would be easiest to outfit her from Fort Collins—where we'd be only an hour's drive from the Big City. And, I was sure, other things that needed to be done would come to mind once we were there.

Around mid-afternoon, I went back downstairs and told the twins that they didn't need to cook dinner because we wanted them to come upstairs for it. Then I made a quick trip to Krojer, where I got a couple of pounds of hamburger and some other fixings. On the way home, I stopped at a little bakery I knew and bought a loaf of good French bread. When I got home, I made a large pot of chili—considerably more than I thought that the four of us would eat that evening.

So we had the two of them up for chili that evening. We supplemented it with the bread and a couple of bottles of wine. When everyone was full, I pulled a face about how much was left over and the bad judgment I'd employed in making so much. Then I asked them if they thought they could get a meal out of it. They could, so I'd accomplished what I'd had in mind—a couple of free meals for them.

We spent the rest of the evening in our living room, chatting and polishing off a few more bottles of wine. All four of us were fairly tired—probably from the celebration the night before. So at about ten, they said goodnight and went back downstairs. By then, Steph was sitting on Buck's lap, and the two were snuggling. And Mindy and I were snuggling on the couch. So—just maybe—fatigue didn't have a great deal to do with their departure.

They'd hardly set foot on the stairs when Mindy, who was sitting close at my side, pulled me down for a long, deep kiss. When it broke, she looked up at me. Smiling dirtily, she said, "I think I'd like to get naked and go to bed. With a man."

One of my hands had found a boob, cupped it, and begun kneading it. I returned her dirty smile. "Anybody I know?" I asked, and kissed her again. I continued to massage her little tit, and she moaned into our kiss.

The kiss ended and we looked into each other's eyes for a long moment. "I think you'll do," she replied. Our smiles broadened, and we got up. Together, each with an arm around the other, we walked back to the bed we shared.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We'd gotten to bed early the previous evening, so, even after our morning exercises, we were up early and soon ready to leave. It was well before Steph's customary summer rising time, but she had managed to get out of bed in time to see us off—though she was still disheveled and dressed in her bathrobe (and whatever may or may not have been under it). And I still remember that armful of warm sleepy woman (and the feel of her splendid bra-less boobs) against me as she said good-bye with a hug, a kiss, and the usual dirty smile as she rubbed against the boner that grew in my pants while I held her.

The drive back to Colorado was long but uneventful. It was about suppertime when we got back to Fort Collins. We stopped at a burger joint when we reached Fort Collins, so we wouldn't have to worry about going out to get supper.

A note from Quent, dated that morning, awaited us on the kitchen table; beside it was a stack of mail that had accumulated while we'd been gone. There was little of importance in it, other than a welcome and a request that, if we had the time, we should drop by his office at ten the following morning. We certainly had nothing pressing, so seeing Quent became the first item on the agenda of things we needed to do.

We went through the stack of mail. Quent had evidently weeded out, and dealt with, utility bills, etc. But our grades were there, along with several pieces of mail from MOLS for Mindy.

We opened our grades first, and we found that we'd both gotten all

A

's. She looked at my grade report with even more interest than at her own, and, when she saw what it contained, she looked up at me. I looked back at her, and I saw tears forming in her eyes.

"You kept your promise, Charlie," she whispered. "Thank you."

And she came into my arms. We stood there, close to each other, each holding the other, as a wave of remembrance passed through me—and, I imagine, through her.

And she whispered again, "Thank you so much."

I've never figured out whether her tears were of sorrow or of joy. But, if you want to know, I believe they were a mixture of both.

And, as I held her close to me, I whispered back, "A promise is a promise." I owed Mom and Dad, I reckoned, much that I would never be able to repay. But this had been one debt I could discharge; now I had paid it, in full. And, I realized, I had gained much, myself, from doing so. Among other things, I now knew that there was no good reason for me to accept from myself anything less than the best I was capable of. And the knowledge that I had kept my promise filled my heart with joy—not just for Mindy.

She opened the letters from MOLS in the order they'd been sent. The first acknowledged their receipt of the payment of tuition and equipment deposit that her trust had made on her behalf. Another pointed out that MOLS still didn't have the results of her physical exam. That one was postmarked the day after she'd visited the college infirmary to have Dr. Baire perform the exam. I got an elbow in the ribs for pointing out (for about the thirtieth time) that I'd have been more than happy to give her a physical exam, myself. A later letter acknowledged receipt of the physical, declared her admission complete, and told her where and when to present herself to begin her course. And, it went on, the evening before the course was to begin officially, there would be an optional meeting of students with their instructors, in the lobby of the school's headquarters building, the old Moble Hotel. Students who were in Lander that evening would be put up free for the night in the Moble.

We spent most of the evening, then, snuggling with each other on the living room couch while we watched some mindless television. It was about half past nine when we went to bed that night—naked, of course, and in the master bedroom we now shared.

At about a quarter past ten, after we'd satisfied—temporarily—our bodies' needs for each other, we lay together in bed. We had the covers over us, and we relaxed in each other's arms—enjoying the quiet closeness that follows making love.

Something strange happened then. I've never believed in ghosts, and I'm sure that what we felt was entirely in our own minds. Nevertheless, it was something that we shared, and something I've always wondered about. Mindy feels the same way.

I remember feeling distinctly as though we weren't alone. And as that feeling came upon me, I also felt her little body stiffen—not with alarm, but with awareness—in my arms.

"Mom and Dad! They're still here, aren't they?" Mindy whispered to me.

We could both feel their presence. But those presences were altogether benevolent; they didn't haunt us as their memory had when we'd last been here.

"Yes," I answered. "I can feel them. I think that they approve of us—of what we made of the year at school, and of what we just did with each other."

She wiggled closer to me. "I think you're right. They're glad that you kept your promise. And they're even happier that we love each other so. I'm still so sad that they're gone, but I can live with that now. It isn't overwhelming, like it was when we were here before."

She kissed me; I kissed her back. It was a gentle kiss, a closed-mouth kiss, but for all that, a lovers' kiss—like the kiss at Belford Lake in which we'd first shared our growing realizations of what we had come to mean to each other.

When our kiss ended, she put her head back on my shoulder and took a deep breath. Softly, joyfully, her words came to me: "Big Brother and Little Sister."

As softly, as joyfully, I answered: "Best friends and lovers."

Together, louder, we said together: "Now and always."

And she said, "I love you so much."

I answered her: "I love you even more."

Both of us breathed deeply, and the presences we felt receded. The scents of her hair, of her body, and of the physical love we had shared filled my nostrils; and I felt her relax completely against me. Shortly, I knew that she was fast asleep. And it wasn't long before I, too, was fast asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was about seven that morning when a big wet kiss right below the base of my neck woke me up. I was on my side, and my little sister's naked body rested warmly and softly up against my back. She'd draped an arm around my waist; her other arm was under my pillow. I could feel her boobs pressed against me; her hard little nipples made dents in my flesh. I reached back, and my hand came to rest on her hip. Gently, lovingly, I stroked her. She wiggled against me and moaned lightly.

"Are you awake, Big Brother?" she asked softly.

I moaned a reply—which, properly interpreted, meant "Almost." She was expert, by now, in understanding my morning language. She translated it properly, and she helped me wake up some more by first planting another big wet kiss on my spine and then moving her hand downward to grasp and stroke my morning wood. I moaned again.