Covidiots Pt 04

Covidiots part 4

Another Covid Confession

By

de Vere

Women know when a guy wants to screw them.

Contrary to popular belief, it isn't all of us all the time. You know what I mean. Some have a voice like The Nanny. Some are so batshit crazy I wouldn't screw them with someone else's dick. I don't want to be mean about it, but, you know. "No chemistry" is what I usually tell the ones who just are not appealing.

No, the ones I'm talking about are the hot ones. They know.

We guys fit ourselves into 3 basic categories around hot women. Some guys know they have zero chance of fucking the hot girls, but they still like hanging out with them, if only to look. Maybe to torture themselves.

The second group are the guys who have zero shot, but convince themselves that they do. We've all been there.

The third category are the guys who think they have a shot, and the hot girl agrees.

Red and I are still in lockdown together, and I have no idea which category I fall into. Definitely not the first, but maybe in the third. More likely the second.

The thing most guys don't get is they have no choice if they are in category 2 or 3. That is the hot girl's decision, and there is not a damn thing they can do about it. Or is there?

I'll let you in on a secret I learned a long time ago. I'm frickin' old, so I had a lot of time for trial and error, and there were a lot of errors. I spent a lot of my life in CAT 2. Then I had this revelation, and damned if it didn't work. You can't change the hot girl's mind. Not if she's really hot. Then it usually won't work. But I learned hot chicks can sometimes be Jedi Mind Tricked. This IS the guy she is looking for. The key is, you can't chase them. Women want what they cannot have. Same as us, except the hot girls

can

have us. Just act like they can't, and sometimes you get bumped up to CAT 3.

In case you have not read my first few memoirs, Red is not her name. It is descriptive. Red has curly red hair. 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 who, for the last six weeks, I'd had all to myself.

Red is nature's warning color.

Pretending you don't want to screw the hot MILF when she is your sister and you are living under her roof is a lot easier said than done.

Where did I leave off last time? Oh, yeah. The Shower. After she walked in on my shower, I walked in while she was showering. And she took my offer of washing her, letting me shampoo her gorgeous red hair and to scrub her back and bum, as she washed mine. She didn't let me touch her milky white boobs, though. But she seemed to enjoy drying me, and me drying her, and did not stop me when I toweled off every part of her lovely, firm, MILF body. I knew she wanted more, because she would not tease me like that. But, after what happened when we kissed that one night, the amazing oral sex the next night, I think she was really conflicted.

But, hey—we are self-isolating in her house. This was back when everyone thought Florida was doing great and, from what we saw on the news, this pandemic might be over soon. They had it under control. Red thought differently. She believed this pandemic was going nowhere soon. Neither was I. It is only a matter of time...

This part happened around the end of April. Maybe May. I can't be sure. It is like

Groundhog Day

here, except hot. The weather is warmer, too.

Red might need to stay home because of her being in a high-risk group for Covid, but that did not mean she needed to stay inside. The rain ended for a few days, so she took advantage to do some yard work. Pulling weeds, trimming bushes, that sort of thing. She ordered a bunch of seeds online that she scattered around.

She came in for a glass of ice water and asked if I wanted to help her out. She had on an old, worn tee-shirt, oversized like it came from the 90s with its collar cut off, for some reason. It was so sweaty that it clung to her chest and, from the natural shape and the nipples poking out big around as the tip of my pinkie, I knew she didn't have a bra underneath. Under those circumstances, what brother would not help?

It does not get this hot in Atlanta, where I am from, until June, at least. She saved me the job of pushing her ancient mower over the full carpet of grass. Thanks. The exhaust made it a good 20 degrees hotter behind that mower, and I was covered with grass clippings before you knew it. She kept looking up at me and smiling while she worked on a trellis in the shade. She completely suckered me into this.

"Hose me," I said.

"What?"

"It is a thousand degrees. I am sweaty and covered with dirt and bits of grass. Turn that hose on me, will you? It will feel incredible!"

I was right—it did. Starting at my head, she held the handle for that wide, almost misty spray on my face, washing my neck. At my chest, she squeezed it into a powerful jet, which she washed down my nasty legs, washing off all the crap stuck to them. Then she hit me in the balls with that jet and cackled like a kid.

Dripping nozzle in her hand like a gunfighter holding a smoking gun, she asked, "Can I trust you? To hose me?"

"Is there anyone else you trust more to hose you?"

"Guess not," she said with a wink, handing over the nozzle. We were in her backyard, where only a couple of neighbors could see, acting like we had when we were six and nine.

I sprayed her face and hair with a fine mist, and she moaned like she might climax. Then I gave her a wet tee-shirt, making it cling better than the sweat had pasted it to her flesh earlier. A little stronger flow on her arms and more still on her legs. Then I shot her with a strong jet in the crotch, holding it much longer than necessary.

After that, I played the jet on one nipple, then the other. That wet tee-shirt looked awesome stuck to her like it did. Because her nipples are so light pink, almost translucent in the way redheads' pale skin sometimes does, no dark circles showed through the light blue fabric, but it didn't matter too much. Her pokies bulged out, and the thin, old material stuck to her so tightly I could even see the bumps on her enormous areola tighten up from the cool and stimulating blast.

"Do you think that's enough?" She giggled, so I kept hosing her.

"You tell me," I answered.

"You really are a perv," she said, so I zapped right on her left nipple and she squealed and pretended to protest, but I suspect if I kept at it for another minute or so she'd come right there in her backyard in the middle of the afternoon. She must have suspected as much, too, and turned around to avoid that public spectacle.

I hosed her ass down, too. Then her upper back and the backs of her legs. After that she disarmed me and shoved the nozzle down the back of my shorts and shot it full power. It felt surprisingly good.

Disappointed that I did not run away, she stuck it down the front. I didn't flinch, so she pulled the nozzle and a jet of water hit my half-erect dick full-force. It curiously hurt and felt good at the same time, and she stood there, those Heineken-bottle-green eyes locked onto mine from only a foot away waiting for me to run, or at least to flinch. A puzzled expression crept into those eyes. She said, "Is this getting you off?"

"Not sure," I answered. She must have given up, or didn't want her hose job to cause me to blow my wad in her yard, because suddenly the water was spraying in my face. I did run, then.

We were both soaked to the skin, dripping, her shirt pasted to her boobs and stomach, laughing loud enough to make any neighbors look to see what was going on. I wiped my face and she wring out the bottom of her shirt, and that annoyed me because it broke the seal gluing the wet tee-shirt to her skin. At least her nipples still poked out from that sopping fabric. Once I caught my breath, I asked, "Did you just sexually assault me?"

In an offended tone, she said, "Hey, you sexually assaulted me first!"

I walked past her, shaking my hands at her face to spray her with water dripping down, and she pointed the nozzle below my belt. Hands held up, palms out, to show I would not do anything, I leaned close enough for our cheeks to brush together and said, "We hosed each other."

"Probably not the way you hoped for." Then, taking a step back again pointing that nozzle at my balls, she said, "And I'll do it again."

"What are we supposed to do now?" Tugging on one leg of her shorts, she stated the obvious. "We are soaked to the skin. Should we take off these wet things in the garage, then go inside for something dry?"

"Hell, the sun will dry us out in ten minutes. Don't you have any other chores we can wrap up before we head in?"

"Ten minutes in the sun without sunscreen will put me in the burn unit," she said, and she wasn't exaggerating much. That alabaster skin redheads have burns only slightly slower in the sun than a vampire's. But I only misted her face and arms and neck, and when I pointed that out, she decided the sunscreen might hold. "The flower bed out by the road still needs weeding."

Red doesn't like chemicals, so she pulls all her weeds by hand. Well, sometimes she Tom Sawyers some dumb guy into doing the work for her the way she did that day. There we squatted out by the quiet road she lives on, using those pointy weeding tools to tug a million little sprouts out of the ground.

Her hair fascinated me, the way the sun lit it like a thousand gems. I remembered that from years before, but now I saw it differently. Like I had taken off some sunglasses or something. It shone like fire in the sun, flashes of reds and gold and orange. Just spectacular. No blonde or brunette will put on a light show like that.

It was lunchtime by then, already hot as hell, and I hoped these clothes took less than ten minutes to dry. They already had stopped dripping, so we could have gone in at any time.

I looked over toward where she was working about ten feet away, about to mention that I was hungry when I noticed something else. Because she had cut the collar off that old shirt, it hung down as she bent over to pull those weeds. Maybe it started when it got wet, the added weight pulling it down. I don't have any other explanation how I had not caught wind of it before then. So, instead, I moved closer. Sure enough, from the right angle I got a full view of her boobs.

I cannot stress for you enough how spectacular her boobs are. They aren't particularly big; probably Bs. That reminded me, I should check one of her bras to confirm my estimate. I might have to volunteer to do laundry later that afternoon. But she is tiny, and those fit her so well, they look bigger on her than they are. Firm to the point that they look like they were stolen from a college co-ed, with big, pink, pointy erasers that, even at her age, pointed up.

There was too much shadow inside to see the nipples that are bigger than silver dollars because they are so pale, so light as to be nearly invisible even when staring at her in the shower under bright light.

Finding the right angle while squatting down in front of her turned out to be more challenging than I anticipated, but I refused to give up. After a couple of tries, I found out that standing and bending over gave me a wonderful view. If it meant I ended up in bed with a bad back, so be it. "Think you've got enough weeds here, Red?"

I called her Red to her face, but since she had no idea I had begun writing this story, she probably thought nothing of it. She grimaced. "Probably all that rain we had was good for them." If she had any idea of the show she was giving me, she hid it well.

"Does poison ivy ever grow in your yard?"

"I don't know. What does it look like?"

"You are pulling weeds with your bare hands and you have no idea what poison ivy looks like?"

"Pretty much." She reached for another weed and, bent forward like she was, her boobs swayed marvelously. By that time, I was staring down her shirt more than I was pulling weeds and, as much as I enjoyed the free show, I started feeling guilty. Each time she reached, they swayed and my eyes widened. Would a neighbor see me and suspect something? When would she catch me? She didn't mind me watching her shower—even invited me to join her that one time—nor did she have any problem with watching me.

That's pretty much all we did now. Covid turned us into a family of Peeping Toms.

"You've got pretty titties." It just seemed right to let her know, and ladies love a compliment, right?

"Is that any way to talk to your sister?"

"Sorry," I said, adjusting my voice to make it deeper, more formal. "Your breasts are magnificent."

"Pervert!"

"You're welcome."

"Is that why you are bent over like that?"

"Pretty much. Can't see a thing squatted down on the ground."

I expected her to pretend to be upset, but instead, she asked, "Are they really pretty, or is that the best entertainment you can find after six weeks locked up together?"

"Oh, take my word for it—they are pretty. Beautiful, really."

"Maybe we shouldn't be talking about my, um, hmm-hmms out here by my street."

"Never know who has super hearing."

"Exactly," she said, making no effort to hide her tits from me. In fact, she seemed to bend over more frequently to help a bro out.

My shorts were dry enough and my back was screaming now, and I really did not want to get anywhere near a hospital right then, even though the pandemic seemed pretty much under control at that point. "Is it lunchtime yet?" I stood and stretched my back.

"Poor baby, is your back hurt?"

"It was worth it." She knew I was not lying.

We had already begun sweating, so our clothes were probably not getting any drier, so we went in and made sandwiches and ate while sitting in the wooden chairs of her formal dining room, which would not stain like the fabric ones at her kitchen table. Soon as we finished, she said, "I'm going to take a long bath."

"Mind if I watch?" I meant it as a joke. Sort of.

But she answered, "Let's make a deal. You can shower in my bathroom at the same time. Did you notice you can see the shower from the bathtub, and vice versa? But first, you clean up the mess from lunch."

What do you know? From one end of the tub, facing away from the door, did give a decent view. She filled the tub with suds again and had submerged by the time I got there and stripped down in front of her. By the time I realized she had a full view of my bare ass with only her head sticking out of the foam, I knew I'd been gypped.

Standing under the warm water on my aching back, I said, "I can't see a thing from here."

"I can see you just fine," she answered with a smile.

"See anything you like?"

"A handsome pervert standing in my shower." For the warm massaging jets to hit my lumbar spine, I had to face her, so while she watched my schlong swinging, I saw only her head and her orange curls, leaving me to imagine her same as I did in my own shower—the times she did not come in to watch.

"Looks like I drew the short stick."

"Doesn't look short," she said, then laughed at her own joke. She lifted the leg farthest from me out of the water, straightened out her knee and pointed her toes at the ceiling. Globs of foam ran down the glistening, shiny skin on the inside of her thigh and a few white globs dropped off into the tub. Torture is what it was. "Did you know this is a spa tub?"

"Are you serious?" I never noticed. Never paid much attention to her tub when she wasn't in it; when she was, well, I was distracted.

Reaching up on the wall behind her head, she hit a toggle switch. "Mmm. That feels amazing!"

I turned off the water.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to the spa," I answered. "Looks like there is room in there for 2."

"Okay, but you must promise to behave."

"Behave like what?"

"Like a normal brother."

"Normal brothers don't take a bath with their MILF sisters," I said, lowering myself in at the far end from her. With all those suds, I had no idea where she was, and our legs rubbed all over each other as she struggled to make room. She scooched to one side, while I set out to straddle her with my feet, ending up all tangled up.

I finally gave in and moved both legs to one side, and when I did, my foot rubbed over both of her breasts. I swear it was a mistake, and she knew it was, but it brought my cock to life instantly under those suds. That's when I noticed she had a beer on the ledge near the shampoo bottles, which she handed over.

That spa felt amazing on my poor, aching back. The skin of her leg and hip against my leg felt even better. "When were you going to tell me about this?"

"Not long," she answered. "Just convincing myself I could trust you."

"Trust me to do what?"

"Not to fuck me."

"You've known me 52 years, and you still aren't sure you can trust me?"

"It's probably been 45 years since we took a bath together. It's dangerous."

"Did I fuck you in the tub when we were kids?"

"Come to mention it, I don't really remember."

"Well, I am older than you, so I probably remember better. I'm pretty sure I'd remember if we fucked in the tub when we were toddlers."

"You are probably right."

"Why are you so worried I am going to fuck you?"

"Because you want to," she answered, eyes smiling at me as she took a swig of beer then handed it to me. "And I want to."

"Then why are we driving each other nuts avoiding it?"

"Because we can't. Let's just leave it at that," she said. Then, before I could say anything, she added, "Did you know it's a crime?"

"I'm pretty sure we already broke the law," I said, remembering that night we gave each other amazing oral pleasure that has haunted me every day and night since.

"No!" She almost shouted. "That's totally legal in Florida. I looked it up."

"So, it's cool to give each other head?"

"Totally cool," she answered, still full of enthusiasm. The spa jets were keeping the bubbles alive way too long, and as much as I liked my foot resting against her hip like it was, I really wanted to see.

"Don't worry, I won't call 911 if you jump my bones."

"That's only part of it."

"What's the other part?"

"What if we like it?" I laughed, and she laughed too. "What? What's so funny?"

"Of course we'd enjoy it!"

"Exactly!"

"What's the problem with enjoying it?"

"You really don't get it, do you?"

"Apparently not. The whole point of doing it is to enjoy it." She seemed pissed that I could not read her mind, and the last thing you want when you are naked in a bathtub with your sister is to piss her off. Heck, that is a good rule to follow for almost any hot woman. So, I decided to throw an off-speed pitch. "Is screwing me on your bucket list?"

"I'm not going to talk about it."

Shit! So it is on her list. Maybe she thinks if I was to screw her, that will leave only visiting Rome on her list. And with how Covid was fucking up Italy right around then, that was not happening any time soon. And somehow I managed to again piss of the naked redhead in the bathtub with me. So, I switched gears again. "Let's start over. How would a foot rub feel?"

"Pretty darn good, I imagine."

"Let's find out." I lifted the closest one and dropped it on my thigh. Toes poked out of the suds which refused to die.

I dug my fingers deep into her arch, pressing hard enough for it to hurt the way great massages do. Her eyes closed and her lips parted. Her head fell back against the edge of the tub. Her other foot slid across my hip and her toes hooked around behind. Each time I dug a thumb into the soft, sensitive flesh at the center of her foot, she made a silent gasping motion.