Covidiots Pt 03

Covidiots part 3

Another Covert Confession

By

de Vere

Red and I are still in lockdown together.

In case you have not read my first memoir, or part 2, Red is not her name, it is descriptive. Red has curly red hair. Almost orange. Like if Wendy was hot. It was about shoulder-length when the Covid quarantine began, but it is longer now. If you saw her, your first thought would be that she is 40, tops. A MILF. Cougar. Hot mom. What you would never guess is that she is over 50. But she is. A tight 123-pounds of red and white hotness.

Red is nature's warning color.

Think about it. Whether it is a snake or a spider or a mushroom, if it is red, that means it is dangerous. Probably deadly. Do not touch! Even more so when your sister is Red.

Red and I are in our fifties. Divorced. In quarantine at her house down in Florida during the pandemic. For the first 50+ years of our lives, we were pretty typical siblings, although she is sexier than most. Much sexier. That did not change during our first month self-isolating together. Red has a lung condition that puts her in a high-risk category for Covid, so she has not left her yard since early March. After I got laid off because they shut down the concerts I do lighting work for, she invited me to keep her company. And do errands for her from time to time.

A few nights ago, bored from being locked up together, my sister made out with me. That stoked us. The next night we gave each other oral sex. Pretty damn good oral sex. Amazingly good. Red says she hates giving blow jobs; I cannot imagine how incredible hers would be if she did enjoy it. On the other hand, I love carpet munching—particularly when that carpet is a stunning light red color on alabaster skin. A red carpet like the one Red has. It fucking haunted every waking minute in the days since, and I even had a dream about it one night.

While claiming to have no regrets over what we did, even a halfwit like me can see how much it freaked her out. A woman a few years older than my sister who I know had a one-night-stand with some dude and ended up going all religious—and she was not related by blood to that dude. At least Red had not taken the nun's vows, but she did start wearing bras regularly after that night. I missed that aspect of my home entertainment system, but the memory of those two freaky nights was enough to keep me going if I spent the next 200 years in solitary confinement.

"Look," I said to her one night, looking at the bra strap peeking out next to the strap of a wife-beater that looked suspiciously like the one she was wearing that night we made out like horny teenagers, "maybe we should talk about..."

"There's nothing to talk about. It was real, it was fun. It was

real

fun. And we needed to get it out of our system."

"Did that get it out of your system?"

"Why do you insist on talking about it? It is what it is. Talking about it won't change anything. And that does not mean I want to change anything! I just don't want to constantly discuss it. Okay?" If you have not ever been with a redhead, you know how fiery they are. Like I said, red is nature's warning color.

But I did miss seeing her pokies around the house those days. And on the rare days she decided to entertain me by leaving her bra in the lingerie drawer, I enjoyed the show immensely.

#

Red loves taking her baths. Years ago, I remember noticing splashing sounds while talking on the phone with her. It happened more times than I could count. Once I decided to ask. "Are you washing dishes or something?"

"No." Silence. Splashes. "I'm in the bathtub."

"Oh," I answered calmly as possible. Back then, I had to imagine what she might look like in the bath. To be honest, my imagination turned out surprisingly accurate. But I digress. "Should I let you go?"

"No, that's okay." And we stayed on the phone until I heard her splashing change, the unmistakable whooshing as she stood, the quiet as she toweled herself off. Damn, why hadn't I Skyped her? I remember wondering at the time if she had any idea what images were playing in my mind? Did she imagine my wood during the rest of that call? That was not the last time, either.

She even called me a few times then splashed around while we talked, but we never discussed it again. I did send her a crate of bubble bath bombs for Christmas last year. Giving is better than receiving. After that week, I wondered if those times we talked while she was naked and wet in the tub were some of those times she wished we were not siblings?

She has one of those old houses where you can hear water running from all over the house, and I learned the different sounds her bath and shower make. So, when I heard the distinctive squeal of the pipes as she ran a bath, I sat back and let my imagination take me there. For the first time, I relied on memory rather than my imagination. Sure, I had to imagine how buoyant her boobies are and whether her pubes darkened while wet the same as the hair on her head did, but the rest lived vividly inside my mind, where it would stay forever unless I suffered some terrible head injury.

Just as I sat down on the bed to rub one out, I changed my mind.

"What the hell are you doing?" She screamed furiously as I walked into her bathroom.

Damn it! Those bubbling bath bombs produce enormous quantities of foam. I sat down on the toilet, trying to hide my disappointment that I saw less of her IRL than in her imaginary baths inside my brain.

"I have a question for you."

"Well, you know where to find me 24/7. Can't it wait?"

"Good lord, there's more bubbles in there than Ariel had in

The Little Mermaid

."

"You are such a pervert!"

"That's what I wanted to talk about," I said.

She laughed. Really hard. Women love guys with big brass balls. "Okay, but you need to leave before these bubbles pop."

"Leave before the last bubble pops. Got it."

"How would you like it if I walked in on you while you are showering?"

"Good question. One way to find out."

"Pervert! What do you want? Let me rephrase that." We both laughed. "What is so important that you barged in while I am in the bathtub?"

"I know you think we made a mistake and all..."

She didn't let me finish. "Do you think it was a mistake?"

"No, but it's damn obvious you do."

"I don't think it was a mistake, okay?"

"Then what is it?"

"I can't believe we are having this discussion while I am naked and in the bathtub."

"Well, I figure you won't leave and we can finally clear the air." At that point, I'd have been happy with clear water. "If it wasn't a mistake, then why won't you even discuss what happened or how you are feeling about it?"

She sank into the bubbles until they reached her nose, giving me a side-glance. After a minute, she pushed herself back up. "I'm okay. I'm fine, if that's what you are worried about."

"Good," I said. I was a little worried, but I was more curious than anything.

"Look, it was all so...ARGH!" She splashed bubbles everywhere, a few landing on her face and in her hair. "I'm not like that. I'm not a pervert."

"Like me?"

"Exactly! We expect that of you." She laughed again, letting me know she meant no harm by that, nor did I take it that way. "We needed to do that.

I

needed to do it. And it was great. Really,

really

great."

I asked, "Really,

really

great?"

"Stop, I can't even give you a compliment."

"It was pretty great, wasn't it?"

"We've already established that. And as much as I needed it—and you obviously wanted it—this is just one of those things that you do, get it out of your system, enjoy it and get back to normal."

"Check it off your bucket list?"

"Something like that," her smile indicating it may actually have been on her bucket list.

"The last thing I wanted was for this to screw up us," I said, waving a hand back and forth towards her and my chest. "If I did, I am sorry."

"You didn't."

"Good." I sat there for a second. The bubbles were fading quickly, but I couldn't think of anything more to add so I could watch them thin out some more. I started to stand.

"How are you handling it?"

I answered, "Do you want to rephrase that?"

"Oh my god, you really are a pervert!" But she laughed again, then said, "How are you dealing with it?"

"I'm good. I mean, that was the last item on my fuckit list, so if I get Covid, at least I'm not leaving anything undone." We laughed for a while and the bubbles dissipated some more. "Look, I haven't had a relationship with a woman since Carla split," I said, my ex-wife. "Just flings. Sex. Nothing serious. Nothing that means anything here." My fist rapped over my heart.

"This was different for you?"

"Yeah. Remember, I said you didn't have to do that. Can you guess what was the best part?"

"Tell me."

"Kissing you. There, I said it. I like kissing my sister! Maybe we should have stopped there."

"Maybe so. But I have needs."

Present tense. I'm pretty sure I heard her correctly. "And it felt great to satisfy your needs. Really, really great." She smiled because I was riffing off her. The bubbles were fading fast now. Another minute or two and her right boob might float into view. "It felt great to have someone who I care about, and who cares about me. Not just, you know, someone to bust a nut in."

"That was sounding so sensitive right up until the end," she said.

"Went too far?"

She held up her hand, thumb and index finger an inch apart. "Just a little," she answered, and the last of the bubbles obscuring her boob washed away in the splash. She pushed herself up a little, her eyes so caring. Her boobs floated about halfway out of the water, and the bubbles were almost gone. "I love you—you know that."

"Yes, and I love you."

"It's just that I feel a kind of love for you that I should not."

"And it's messing with your head?"

"Yes! You, too?"

"Me? I'm the perv, remember?" Her left nipple, the one closest to me, was pretty much out of the water, waves constantly rising over it and then off again. "Listen, I'm the one who doesn't think there is a problem with it. With us. But if you do, that's cool. I'll respect your boundaries."

Carla always used that word. Gave me a book on it once. I read the title, at least. Don't think I ever used the word before unless discussing where my backyard ended.

"You might be the best brother in the world," she said.

"Might be?"

"Oh, right. For a second there, I forgot about those orgasms. Definitely the best brother in the world."

"You

forgot

?"

"Just for a second. Won't happen again."

I stood. "Look, you're down to just a few bubbles, and I am starting to get aroused, so I probably should go." Red looked down, saw how few bubbles remained, and waved her hands through the water a couple of times to move the remaining foam around, but made no effort to hide her nakedness from me. That part about getting aroused was true, and I figured pitching a tent after a serious talk like that might not be my best move.

"Thanks for—you know—barging in on me while I am in the tub."

"No problem. Any time." I hadn't even shut the door behind me when I heard the whooshing splash of her standing in the tub, so I decided to press my luck. Turning around, she had a towel halfway across her, covering most of her left side but giving a great view of her right side. "Was it because I came in your mouth after you warned me how much you hated BJs?"

That made her laugh again as she wiped herself dry. Realizing one wet breast was visible, she decided it needed drying and covered herself. "No. I must have a little pervert in me, too, because I liked that."

I didn't say that I unloaded more than

a little

into her. Too easy. Instead, I smiled and reluctantly closed the door so she could finish drying her sexy body without her brother watching. After that talk, we went back to our pre-kiss normal. Her bras went back into the drawer and I tried not to stare as she bounced around the house. I fished in light rain one day while she worked, and she insisted on cooking it herself. She got out another bottle of her rosé.

After dinner I sat at one end of the couch and she stretched out on the other with her feet on my lap watching

Money Heist

on Netflix. We liked how they were locked up inside the building like we were. I massaged her feet, and neither one of us freaked out.

I did peek at her nipples several times, though.

#

It was either the next day, or maybe two days later. It was sunny and hot again—finally!—and I spent the day sweating and soaking up the sun on the beach with a few beers in my cooler. Hardly anyone was there, but enough hot girls came out in bikinis to keep it from being a total waste. Most of the beaches around were closed because of the pandemic, but I think they forgot about Honeymoon Island and left it open.

I got home while she was still working, so I stuck my head inside the bedroom she used as an office and waved. She was talking into her headset to someone, but she nodded and smiled. Then I hit the shower to wash a day's worth of salt, sweat and sand off. I don't know how some people fuck on the beach, because I had my bathing suit on all day and there was still sand up my crack. A woman would have to be pretty damn hot for me to enjoy screwing her with this much sandpaper in her snatch. I really dug in there to dig the last grain out of my crack, then turned to let the shower hit my front.

That's when I saw her standing outside the glass door. "How was the beach?"

"Nice," I said. "Felt great after all this rain."

"Did you social-distance?"

"Of course. Hardly anyone was there. Less than I expected."

"Good. Just wanted to make sure you weren't flirting with any women and forgot about Covid."

Really? Was she more worried about me bringing back a virus or a phone number? As if she read my thoughts, she looked down blatantly at my noodle. "Can't be too careful," I said.

"No, you sure can't." She smiled innocently and her eyes glowed like a traffic light. Green means go. "So, how does it feel?"

"What, do I have sunburn?"

"No. The other day I asked how it would feel if I violated your privacy by barging in while you were in the shower."

"Oh, right. It feels..." I paused, deciding to answer honestly, "surprisingly comfortable."

"Figures. Pervert."

"You are standing there looking at your naked brother in the shower, and you call

me

a pervert?"

"I am making a point."

"How did you feel when all your bubbles popped and I was looking at you?"

"It's not like you hadn't seen it all before."

I continued washing. "No, I suppose not. You either."

"Right." She just stood there watching. Finally, she said, "Well, I should probably go get dinner on the stove."

"Sure you don't want to join me?"

"Pervert."

It took 2 days. I waited patiently, biding my time. Lockdown with only your brother the pervert meant relaxed personal hygiene. Or else I missed it while out fishing. Eventually, though, I heard that screeching sound again.

Back in the 1960s, when this house was built, they typically built Florida homes with tiny bathrooms. A prior owner built an addition onto her house during the 90s that included her master bathroom. And what a bathroom it is! As big as the guest room I was staying in, and with all the bells and whistles from that time.

In addition to the tub I watched her soaking in, it has a walk-in shower that I always found cool. It has no door; instead, there is a tile-lined hallway a bit like you see in a locker-room shower, apparently long enough that water cannot splash out onto the main floor. From the shower head on the far wall you get a view of the door and much of the room. Norman Bates would hate this shower. I, OTOH, loved it.

Water darkens Red's hair to an almost auburn tint. When I walked in, she was turned toward the spigot letting the water spray on her face and pushing her hair back over the top of her head, giving me an excellent view of her exquisite ass. I said it before and I'll say it again: most college girls would kill to have a tail as round, tiny and smooth as my sister's. Water glistened on skin nearly as white as the tile. That water spraying her face must have muffled the slight squeak of the door. She kept that water spraying on her front, shifting weight from one leg to the other, giving quite a show. I started to feel like a real pervert, watching her quietly like that.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Her head spun toward me, hair spraying an arc of water flung out behind her, and she covered her boobs defensively. Not that it mattered, because they were still facing the wall and I was enjoying my view of her bottom. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

"I think I am looking at your ass. But I do have a question for you."

"Can it wait?"

"Not really."

"And to think, just when I made it even, you came in to spy on me again."

"Sorry. I guess I owe you another show now," I said. She had turned a little, but her handbra gave only a peek of side-boob.

"You had a question?"

"Oh yeah. That. How does baked sweet potato sound for dinner?"

"That's what was so important you came in while I am in the shower?"

"Did I say the question was important? At least I didn't refer to your bottom as a sweet potato."

"Thank god! Alright, go ahead—take a good look." Red turned and dropped her handbra. For a second, I nearly freaked out, because it looked like she'd shaved her snatch bare, but then I realized her pubes behaved differently from her head hair. When wet, her bush turned almost the same color as her pallid skin. With her pale nipples, she looked almost like one of those alabaster Greek sculptures, except she moved and rivers of water followed the curve of her boobs. She pushed her hair back with both hands, and the effect that had on her tits mesmerized me, lifting them so those pink erasers pointed straight at my head. "Enjoying the show?"

"Very much," I said. "Don't let me disturb you."

"I was just about to shampoo my hair."

"That sounds great. Need any help?"

"No, I've got it," she said.

It was a marvelous performance. She lathered up vigorously enough to jiggle her boobies, keeping that up for an obscenely long time. I should have worn looser shorts. Foam ran down her shoulders to her breasts, then down her stomach, the curve of her hip. Some even made it down the front of her thigh before they were washed away.

She kept her eyes on me until some suds got in, and then she had to close them. For a moment I considered pulling out my throbbing knob to rub one out, but figured if she washed the shampoo out of her eyes to see that, she might kick me out, so I stored everything for future reference. Her nipples tightened up, still pale as her skin save for those hot pink points, and the water still steamed so I knew it was not from cold.

Head tilted back, she washed the suds from her hair, and they caressed her body down to her ankles. A few wipes back to smooth the hair from her face, and then she said, "Sweet potato sounds awesome."

"Aren't you supposed to wash, rinse, repeat?"

"I already did that before you came in." She shut off the water. I handed her a towel before taking my wood and leaving.

Red attended my next shower. I guess the plumbing gave her a similar alert. I asked if she wanted to scrub my back, but she just leaned back against the counter smiling, so I washed. Somehow, no wood appeared; I must have been getting used to having an audience of one. She also handed me a towel, staying to watch me dry myself. Damn it! I should have stuck around for the encore! When dry, I held the towel over my junk and asked, "Enjoy the show?"

"Very much."

It left me wondering whether she would shower or take a bath next. Not that it mattered. Either one, I wood be there. Pun intended. I must have already missed that day's matinee, and had to wait until the following night when the shower noise kicked in after dinner. Not her usual showtime, so I realized she planned a special showing. I showed up before she even wet her hair.