"Robbie, what are you doing in there? I have to pee."
"I'm in the shower."
"Hurry up. I have to pee badly."
"I just started."
That's how it began. My sister, Clarissa, had to pee and I had the only bathroom unavailable while I showered.
"I just got soaped up and I still have to wash my hair," I added.
"I don't know if I can hold it much longer," cried Clarissa.
"I'll hurry up but it will be at least two minutes."
Now, it is well known that the length of a minute depends on which side of the bathroom door you're on.
"I'm not going to make it."
"The door's unlocked. If you're that desperate, come in and pee for God's sake!"
"I can't do that. I can't pee in front of you."
"Pee out there or pee in here. Your choice and, besides, I'm in the shower. I can hardly watch you. You can pee behind me."
"You swear you won't look," she demanded.
"I won't look," I said but I did listen.
Clarissa rushed into the bathroom, closed the door and, in less than a second, I heard the sound of her pee splashing in the bowl water. She was right. She really did have to pee. I could have finished my shower before she finished peeing if I hadn't stopped to listen.
Eventually, she did finish. I heard the sound of paper being pulled off the roll. I assumed she wiped and pulled up her shorts before she flushed the toilet. I didn't look at her, but the light over the shower was on so I stroked my cock several times to enhance its limp shape and stood facing the front of the shower hoping she might see me in silhouette through the fogged glass shower door on the side.
"Thanks Robbie," she said. "You're a lifesaver."
"You're welcome," I responded.
Clarissa lingered for just a moment before she left and closed the door behind her.
Clarissa is my sister. She's just completed her junior year in high school and her eighteenth birthday was a few weeks ago. I'm Robert Allen, Robbie to my friends and family. I'm two years older than Clarissa and just finished my freshman year at the local community college. I'm working afternoons and evenings as a waiter at a local chain restaurant, thus the early afternoon shower before going to work.
Obviously, we're both living at home with Clarice, our mother. She's been divorced for almost eight years, something she rarely talks about unless someone mentions the "skinny bitch" my father married seven and a half years ago. About seven years ago, our mother insisted we call her Clarice, not ma, mom or mother. She said it would promote adult relationships between us and her and improve communication.
Our house is small by most of today's standards. It has three bedrooms but only one bathroom. It hasn't been a problem until Clarissa had to pee so badly.
So I live with Clarice and Clarissa. They are remarkably similar including their names. The story is that Clarice, our mother, wanted to name her daughter after herself but relented when dad pointed out the confusion that would cause for years. They compromised on Clarissa. It still causes confusion sometimes but that's the way it is.
Physically, Clarice and Clarissa could be sisters. They're both, adorable, innocent, gullible and small built, except for the size of their breasts. They both have breasts larger than you'd expect on women only five foot two inches tall. Not humongous, but larger than a handful. Actually, I don't know that for a fact. I look at my hand and then at either of their breasts, through shirts and bras, and can only estimate. Sometimes the estimate is all I need at night when I'm restless in my room trying to sleep.
Neither of us, Clarissa nor I, said anything about the bathroom incident.
Three days later, I was again taking a shower before going to work when there was a gentle knock on the door. "Robbie, can I come in. I have to pee."
No desperation this time. Just a calm request. I wondered if my sister wasn't as innocent as I thought.
"Sure," I answered.
"No looking."
"I won't look."
She came in and walked slowly to the toilet. I had my back to the room, using soapy hands to encourage my cock to attention. She took her time. By the sound of it, she wasn't close to an emergency situation. I had the thought she was deliberately trying to prolong the process. She finished, wiped, pulled up her shorts and flushed.
I turned in silhouette again and acted as if she wasn't in the room. I actually had the nerve to wash my slight erection as she lingered longer than necessary before remembering to leave. "Thanks," she said.
"Anytime," I responded.
A week later, she was there again. "Robbie, can I come in and pee?"
"No problem," I agreed.
She came in, closed the door and walked to the toilet as before. She didn't ask me not to look. I listened and I looked. I wiped a small circle in the steamed up shower door and watched as she lifted the seat cover, pulled down her shorts and panties together and sat down with her legs slightly spread. I listened as she peed and then reached for the toilet paper.
"Shit," she said. "We're out of paper."
Now that was a first. We're never out of paper in the bathroom. The unwritten rule is, "if you use the end of the roll, you replace it." No one has ever broken the rule in my memory. I hadn't noticed since I just pee in the shower and I don't need paper afterward. Clarissa had a problem, damp from peeing and out of paper.
She stood up with her pants around her ankles and tried to walk across the room to the cabinet under the sink where we keep the toilet paper. I rubbed a larger circle in the steamed shower glass and focused all my attention on the drama in the room in front of me.
Clarissa couldn't walk easily. She removed one leg from the bunched up pants and panties and kicked them off with the other foot. She walked easily to the cabinet and retrieved a roll of paper. It looked smaller than usual to me but I'm no expert on the correct size of a roll of toilet paper.
Clarissa walked casually back to the toilet, mounted the partial roll of paper, pulled off a couple of sheets, dried herself, threw the paper in the toilet and flushed everything. She bent over, picked up her knotted pants and panties, stood facing me as she separated them and put them on slowly, one at a time.
"Thanks," she said as she headed for the door.
"Don't be so shy next time," I said as she left.
I stood in the shower, hot water running down my chest as I held my cock in one hand and replayed the last several minutes. I rubbed my cock more firmly as I recalled the perfect triangle of dark curly hair pointing down toward my sister's pussy. I came forcefully into the air between the shower head and my erection. I noticed a lingering, sweet aroma as I climbed out of the shower. I cleaned up, dried, went to my room with the towel around my waist, dressed and headed to work.
Over the next few weeks, Clarissa's need to pee coincided with my need to shower more frequently. Each time Clarissa performed innocently and I stroked feverishly.
About four weeks later, I began to hang around the house when I had the evening off. My usual routine was to go to the neighborhood pub and shoot pool or darts with the other patrons. Instead, I stayed home in my room with the door ajar, reading or looking at porn on my computer. It took three days but eventually I was home when Clarissa decided to shower. Clarice was out with her girlfriends at a book club meeting or visiting a strip club. It could have been either since she was unusually open about her activities but I paid little attention.
