My brother's wife, Janice, succumbed to an unexpected, brief illness two years ago. My sisters attended her funeral, but only my husband and I seemed to fully grasp the depth of my brother's despair. We had spent a week in his home helping with the funeral arrangements and his grief. My brother, Doug, and I sat up late into the evenings reliving the highs and lows of our lives, the joy of marriage, and the sorrow of losing one's best friend and partner.
Doug and I grew close during that week we spent with him despite my being seven years his junior. We have since talked on the phone for hours at least once a week or more over the past two years. My husband Frank understood Doug's depression and encouraged our close relationship.
"Your brother lost his best friend and lover and he needs your female love understanding, and companionship."
"You aren't worried we are getting too close?"
"No, you're family. The intimacy does you both good. In fact, it might be good for you to spend some time with him. It would do him good to have a woman in his life to help him climb out of his self pity."
My husband always surprised me by understanding my feelings often better than I did myself. I had been thinking of visiting my brother, but I didn't know how to raise it as a possibility.
I had moved to the West Coast not long after graduating from high school. At twenty, I had found work as a secretary in an academic department in a university. It was a new world for me; educated, good looking men my age and distinguished, sexy faculty that I held in awe. I was young, inexperienced, and a virgin. But the university academic social life changed all that, and I led a wild and maybe slutty lifestyle for the next ten years as I shed my Midwestern naïveté. I had never been close with my brother and we rarely talked as I relished my sexual freedom that I thought would be scandalous to those back home.
I had settled down to think about what I wanted when I met Frank. He knew nothing about my life in my twenties and never asked. I left it at that and only thought about those years in my dreams. Frank sometimes asked what I was dreaming about as I writhed and moaned beside him as I slept, but I always begged off as not being able to remember.
I should describe myself. Frank likes my long, wavy blond hair that drapes over my shoulders and down my back. He loves it as I brush it over his face and chest when I sit astride his hips when we make love. My breasts are round and full with small areola and hard, pointy nipples engorged and erect out most of the time, even more exaggerated when I am aroused. I don't need a bra for support. My breasts have sagged very little as I have aged.
Frank loves my pokies when I wear the thin cotton tees and tops that I prefer. He tries hard to suppress his own pokie when we shop downtown or at the mall and men stare. And yes, it turns me on knowing my razor sharp nipples turn men's heads. It is the one pleasure I still allow myself to enjoy from my slutty days, and it turns Frank on without my having to share my secrets.
So what does this have to do with Doug? I wear padded bras when I need to hide my nipples in more formal, staid settings. Our trip to the funeral was one such occasion, so my brother had never seen me free and perky.
Frank hinted that I should change my planned wardrobe as I packed to visit my brother. He pulled out the bras I had packed, my pjs, and my chaste clothing. Instead, he handed me my cotton tops, short skirts, silk dresses, sundresses, my negligees, and my skimpy bikinis.
"I'm not going to seduce my brother," I protested.
"No, you want to rekindle his lust for life. You want to help him realize what he is missing, fan the ember of lust smoldering under his depression. Besides, it's time he learns that his little sister is neither a little girl nor an elderly matron. You want to be close with him, you need to be honest with him."
"I can't wear these negligees."
"Yes, you can. But, if you want be more reserved; add your black, shortie sleeping tee and some black panties. Then you have options depending on how it goes."
And that is how I came to greet my brother at the airport wearing my favorite pink, low cut cotton top, mid thigh white skirt, and three inch strappy heals.
Doug stopped short and just stared as I exited security.
"Damn little sister. When did you grow up?"
He pulled me into a tight hug and then held me at arms length as he scanned my body from head to toe.
"Let's get your bags and head home. I've got a nice bottle of wine and some steaks to grill. And you, little sister, need to start explaining your change. Did you just come out of your shell, or have you been hiding something from me?"
My brother's house sits on a lake with a patio, large green lawn, and a dock on the lake. The edges of his property are heavily wooded affording complete privacy from the neighbors. As we reacquainted ourselves in person without the intimacy barrier of the phone, we opened up about our past lives.
I shared how I lived with someone twenty years older than me after I started working at the university and then moved in with five male graduate students for a few years. I shared the moment I discovered I was pregnant before miscarrying and how that led me to moving out on my own before meeting Frank. I also hinted that I had not shared everything.
We spent our afternoons in the backyard enjoying the 90-degree weather and the cool lake waters. Doug really liked my skimpy sundresses, but he appreciated my small bikinis even more. I told him Frank had packed my bags figuring that I needed to restart his libido. That drew a laugh and a kiss as he expressed his sincere thank you to my husband.
But, when the evening eventually came and the sun retreated for the day, Doug would fall back into his depression talking about how much he missed his wife and her companionship. After the third night, I finally asked what they would be doing if she were here instead of me.
I suppose I had been naive about life in the Midwest. Doug explained they enjoyed being naked in the backyard and skinny-dipping. At night, they would retire to the bedroom and watch soft and hardcore porn before making love. They even made their own porn tape, making out and making love while a neighbor videotaped their activities. Janice then fucked their neighbor while Doug filmed the action. Over the years, Doug had videoed Janice with other lovers when the itch and opportunity presented itself. I was astonished, but I now knew what my brother needed to pull himself out of his funk.
"Why don't we retire to your bedroom and watch one of your tapes?"
"Really?"
"Yes really. But don't wait too long. I might chicken out if you give me a chance to think about."
"Okay."
"Let me get ready for bed and I will meet you in your room."
I had been sleeping in the nude because of the heat. That wouldn't work, but I remembered my black sleeping tee. It came to just below my crotch, but with the black panties I was better covered than in my bikinis. Still, my nipples betrayed my arousal as they threatened to poke through the thin cotton.
Doug was in his pjs, sitting up against gigantic lounging pillows. I laughed at the sight.
"Really, in this heat? Is that how the two of you prepared to watch porn?"
"No, usually we were naked and cuddling."
"Okay, I see your point, but what about just your boxers?"
Doug had them on under his pajamas. Lying back in just his boxers, he invited me to lie next to him. I moved close and then pulled his arm around me as I laid my head on his shoulder.
"Start the movie."
Doug selected a cheating wife theme that opened with a well-endowed blond writhing beneath two men playing with her naked tits, alternating between pulling and sucking her nipples as she stroked their cocks. Boring if you think about it, but her moans eventually stirred something within me. Without thinking, I guided Doug's hand to my breast.
I let out a soft, involuntary sigh when his fingers brushed over my nipple. I nestled deeper into his shoulder as he rolled my nipple between his fingers, occasionally pulling on it softly. An electric jolt shot through my clit with each tug. Doug either felt or sensed my reaction because he pinched harder with each tug. Soon I had forgotten the movie and concentrated on the pleasure pulsing from my breast.
