Moans Veneris

The fourth of five chapters. If you want to know what's going on, you should read the first three, in order, before you undertake this one.

*

Things got a little tense between Jenny and me for a few days after that Columbus Day fuck. It wasn't at all like it had been back in September when we'd hated each other. This time, we still talked to each other, still squabbled about the TV and the dishes, still did homework together. But, once again, I was having trouble believing that Jenny could ever forgive me for blackmailing her and then coming inside her, and I was sure that she had trouble believing that I'd forgiven her for persuading me that she was a slut and then for playing the whore with me.

The additional baggage of the circumstances aside, the simple fact that we, brother and sister, twins, had fucked each other—not once or even twice, but three times, now—still lay between us, too. She'd taken advantage of me the first time, offering herself for money when she'd accidentally found me jacking off and in a terminally horny state. But then I'd taken advantage of her the second time by threatening to tell Mom and Dad about the Spanish test she'd flunked—if she wouldn't satisfy me again. Those two incidents, we'd agreed, had cancelled out the ways we'd used each other.

But there was no question in my mind that I'd instigated that Columbus Day fuck—our third fuck, that I'd pushed her into it, and that she'd agreed to it reluctantly. She'd made it clear that the Columbus Day fuck would be our last one.

It was near the end of that Columbus Day week that what Jenny had said, just before we'd Done the Dirty Deed for the third time, finally registered. She'd said that I could touch her boobs because she

wanted

to fuck me. In the heat of the moment, I'd been focusing on touching her boobs—not to mention fucking her—and not on the reason she'd given for allowing me to touch her there.

Understanding that she had wanted to fuck me that day changed everything in my mind. I no longer believed that I alone was responsible for what we'd done. Guilt over having engaged in such a sordid act remained with me, but now, I understood that it was

shared

guilt. We had

both

wanted to fuck, and we were

both

responsible for what we'd done. I no longer thought that I had to bear the blame all by myself, and so that act no longer needed to stand between us.

I'd long since forgiven Jenny for the way she'd treated me earlier. Now, knowing that she was as guilty as I for that third fuck, I could forgive myself for those other things. And I learned, almost immediately, that my inability to do so earlier had really been the source of the tension that remained between us. She was more mature than I; now that the scales had fallen from my eyes, I could see that she had forgiven both me and herself for what we'd done to, and with, each other.

That left me with only the guilt I felt from my habit of listening to, and jacking off to, the moans that came through our shared bedroom wall when she masturbated after we'd gone to bed. And, since Columbus Day, she'd made those noises every night. But, after a few minutes' reflection, I decided that this was guilt I could live with. After all, it was a very private kind of guilt. She had no idea of what I was up to (or even that I was

up

) on my side of our wall when she masturbated on her side, and so it didn't directly affect Jenny at all. And I wasn't doing anything more (or anything less), I rationalized, than she was doing. I even carried my self-serving vindication one step further: I was doing her a favor by not letting her know that her secret activities in her room weren't as secret as she thought they were.

I heard her moaning nearly every night through the month of October and well into November. Naturally, that meant that I continued with my parallel activities nearly every night through the month of October and well into November.

Once it had dawned on me that we were both responsible for what we'd done with each other, it wasn't very long before Jenny and I were treating each other pretty normally. The Veterans Day holiday rolled around. As with Columbus Day, it was a public school holiday but not a university holiday. So, once again, Jenny and I found ourselves at home together, Mom and Dad gone for the day.

No, that's not what happened. I took her seriously about that "one last time" thing, and—much as I might have liked to, I didn't try anything.

We spent an hour or two that afternoon talking things over with each other. Fucking each other, we thought, seemed to have been a big mistake. I'd found the first two times enjoyable, I confessed, and the third time had been wonderful.

Jenny had found the first time pleasant, though she had wanted to come but hadn't. The second time, she had mixed feelings about, because she'd been really pissed at the way I was treating her then. Nevertheless, she admitted that it had felt good—even though she hadn't come and she'd pretended not to like it.

And, smiling at the memory, she told me that the third time had been wonderful for her, too. Nevertheless, she pointed out: What we'd done had been very wrong, and she was glad that we'd made our pact not to do it again. I didn't feel that way about our pact, but I didn't want to upset any apple carts, so I let her understand that I was glad, too.

She apologized again for the way she'd wanted me to think she was a slut who'd fucked every boy she could, and for suggesting that I might have gotten her pregnant when she knew I hadn't. She said she didn't have a current boyfriend, and, in fact, she'd turned down several guys who'd wanted to take her out, or, more likely, she was able to say with a rueful smile, wanted into her pants. She understood herself better, she said, after what we'd been through, and she was going to grow up and to make some changes.

I apologized again for the way I'd blackmailed her and for coming inside her without thinking about the potential consequences. I, too, needed to grow up and make some changes, I admitted.

After we'd talked it out, things really got back to normal. I hadn't noticed it earlier, but we'd stopped putting each other down, stopped taking advantage of each other, and we'd stopped touching each other. Now it was much as before, except, maybe, that we were each a little more inclined to invade the other's space—and to enjoy it when the other invaded our own space.

For example, before we'd fucked each other, if one of us had walked into the living room and found the other on the couch watching TV, we'd sit at the other end of the couch, or even take a chair. Now we were more likely to sit down next to the other, close, but not quite touching. When we got to school together, I found myself throwing an arm around her waist, squeezing her, and kissing her on the cheek as we parted. She was likely to do the same with me. I found that she now often stroked my hand or my arm when she spoke to me.

I didn't have the feeling that I was trying to make amends to her, nor the feeling that she was trying to placate me. We just seemed to be closer than we'd been for a number of years. In the long run, fucking each other had, maybe, had some good consequences.

Now, I didn't really believe that her conviction that we shouldn't ever fuck each other again was the way she would think about things in the best of all possible worlds. Nerdy as I was, though, I was still terrified of girls—girls other than Jenny, that is. So never getting laid was a condition I pretty much knew how to live (unhappily) with. After all, it had been my natural state for years.

Moreover, I couldn't find any flaw in her observation that fucking your sibling is generally thought to be unacceptable behavior. Even if I didn't think so, I had to admit that a lot of people did. And, fucking each other certainly had led us into an unacceptable and untenable relationship, at least in the short run. That was something I had absolutely no desire to live through again.

Her moans still came through our shared wall frequently, right after we'd gone to bed. As November wore on into December I heard them less often—every two or three nights. And, I figured, a fellow can still listen while his sister jills herself, can still dream about her body, can still remember what her pussy feels like when he puts his cock into it, and, most of all, can still jack off.

********************

We went along on an even keel, then, for a while. We liked each other again, and we'd grown up enough over the last few months that we could admit that we liked each other—and we could admit it not only to ourselves, but to each other, as well. Thanksgiving came and went. The winter deepened as we moved into December, and the holiday vacation loomed in the near future.

It was the middle of the first week of December, when—for no apparent reason—I had another of my sleepless nights. After I'd lain in bed, wide awake, tossing and turning, for an hour or so, I started wondering if I should swipe one of Dad's sleeping pills.

As I wondered, I looked at my clock. It was about two in the morning. And I heard a thump on the wall that Jenny and I shared. Jenny, I guessed, must have turned over in her sleep, and, in doing so, flung a hand against the wall.

A few minutes later, I'd made up my mind, and I was about to head for the bathroom medicine cabinet, when there was another thump, followed by a drawn-out sigh. My sister, it seemed, must be having the same kind of night I was having.

Rather than steal a sleeping pill, I decided, I'd see if Jenny wanted to yak for a bit. If she did, that might break the tossing-and-turning cycle and let us both get to sleep.

I pried myself out of bed, found my robe and put it on over the white cotton briefs I'd been (not) sleeping in. After belting it closed, I padded barefoot out of my room to Jenny's door. Almost sure that she was awake but not wanting to wake her if she wasn't, I rapped gently on it.

"Come on in, Jer," she said, tiredly and softly. As I opened the door and stepped in, she continued, "I thought I heard you come out of your room. You might as well turn on the light."

I did so; and, through my own wince, I saw her wincing, too, as our dark-adapted eyes complained about the sudden brilliance. I closed the door so neither the light nor our conversation would disturb Mom and Dad—though I was pretty sure that their pills would keep them asleep in their room at the other end of the hall.

"I heard you moving around, and I figured you must be having a bad night, too," I said.

"Yeah," she answered, with another sigh. "I guess insomnia runs in the family. I sure do wish that Mom and Dad didn't mind if we used their pills."

"Those pills make me kind of groggy in the morning. I was about to go swipe one anyway, when I heard you bonk the wall a couple of times," I replied. "I thought you were awake, too, and maybe it would be better if we just talked for a little while. Maybe that'll reset our sleeping circuits."

"Maybe it will," she agreed, pulling herself toward the head of the bed. She sat up and, throwing a pillow behind her back, leaned against her headboard. She was wearing a short, pastel green nightie; it had lots of girly ruffles. It was pretty skimpy, but it was opaque, and the ruffles went pretty far toward concealing her curves. As she'd sat up, she'd pulled her legs up out from under her covers; they were bare, but the matching panties that went with the nightie covered the part of her I wasn't supposed to think about—let alone see.

She handed me a pillow and, scooting herself up over toward our wall, she said, "You might as well sit here beside me." As I moved toward the bed, she added, as an afterthought, "You sneak their pills, too?"

I sat down beside her, leaning against her headboard, the pillow behind me, and answered her. "Yeah, I have. But I've only done it a couple of times. I kinda get it why they don't want us to use their pills. We're 18, and their doctor prescribed the pills for people in their forties. 'Who knows what might happen?' they're probably figuring. But I've never had a problem."

"I've only done it a couple of times, myself," she admitted. "And I've never had trouble, either. But you're right—they do make me kind of groggy in the morning. Maybe we should see our own docs and have them write scripts for us."

"Might be a good idea," I agreed. We sat there silently for a minute or two, enjoying each other's company. "How've you been doing since we talked in November?"

"I'm doing pretty good," she allowed. "At first I kind of missed having a boyfriend, but after a while I decided that I didn't enjoy having a guy I didn't even like very much pawing me and trying to get his dick into me."

I turned my head and looked at her. "I don't think all guys are like that," I pointed out. "Maybe you just haven't been setting your sights high enough."

She looked back at me, and, after a moment or two, said, "I think you're probably right. On both counts. I'm definitely raising my sights in the future." As she spoke, she graced me with one of her best smiles.

We talked randomly, desultorily for ten or fifteen minutes, with breaks in the conversation that lasted for up to a minute or two—pretty much what you'd expect from a couple of tired, but sleepless, people. I don't even remember most of what we talked about. Then a longer than usual period of silence ensued. We seemed to be out of things to talk about, so I decided I'd try to get some sleep. "I think I'll go back to bed, and see if I can sleep," I said. "I hope you can."

"Okay," she replied. "Thanks for the chat." I was beginning to get off of her bed when she continued, "You know…" She left it hanging.

I turned back to her and waited a bit, to see if she would finish. She didn't, so I prompted her, "I know what?"

"Nothing," she answered. "It was just a random thought. Don't worry about it."

"Oh, go ahead!" I said, looking at her. "Neither of us is sleeping, so we might as well talk about whatever comes to mind. I was only leaving because I thought neither of us had anything more to say."

She looked at me and said, "Well…" She paused for a few seconds, and then she continued, somewhat tentatively, "…the last time I had a really, really good night's sleep was the night of Columbus Day."

"Columbus Day?" I asked, a bit mystified. And then it dawned on me. Looking at her in surprise, I started to ask, "You mean…" It was my turn to leave a sentence hanging.

"Yeah," she said, sheepishly, hanging her head a bit. "The night after we fucked." Then she straightened and looked, frankly and directly, into my eyes. The lop-sided smile was on her face again. And there was that look in her eyes again—the same one I hadn't been able to read when she'd caught me spying on her and playing with myself.

My jaw hung open for a moment. I hadn't been thinking about this time together as an opportunity to fuck again. Now, I'm no exception to the principle that no straight, eighteen-year-old guy can sit for ten or fifteen minutes on a bed beside an attractive, barely clad girl without being well aware of her femininity. So I'd been very much aware that she was a girl.

But she'd convinced me that she wasn't available for what every straight young man thinks every young woman should be available for, and that conviction had put me firmly in brother mode.

I could see that it was time for me to say something. So I said "Umm…" I seemed to be repeating one of my favorite syllables, I realized. So I went on, "You want…" This seemed to be the night for leaving sentences hanging. I tried again. "You mean you want to…" I still couldn't get it out.

She rolled her hips toward me, and brought her hand across to my chin. Gently, she pulled me toward herself, raised her lips to meet mine, and kissed me. Her lips were soft, sweet, luscious, against mine, and when my tongue reached to touch them, they opened in invitation. Her tongue met mine, and the two played the hide-and-seek game for a long minute. My arm encircled her waist, and my other hand went to cup her chin. Then she broke from the kiss and backed up a bit; her hand dropped to my thigh, not very far from my quickly growing cock, and she looked into my eyes again. Free to breathe again, I inhaled, and the scent of her soft, female body—unwashed since her morning shower some twenty hours earlier, lightly covered by her nightie, still warm from her bedclothes—filled my nostrils.

"I know we agreed that we'd done it for the last time, Jer," she murmured. Somehow, I heard her through the internal commotion that rumbled through me. Her lop-sided smile was back. "But this is kind of an emergency."

Always the practical nerd, I had an objection. "What about Mom and Dad?" I asked. "What if they hear us?"

"Not a chance," she said. That lop-sided smile turned into a grin. "They always take their sleeping pills, remember?"

I thought about it, deeply—or, at least as deeply as I could in about three nanoseconds. I concluded that I was about to get lucky again. "Well," I said, "It

is

kind of an emergency. If it's to help you get to sleep…"

I got a pretend slap on the cheek for that. "Wipe that smirk off your face, Jer!" she whispered. But she was still looking into my eyes, still grinning.

Her lips reached for mine again, as her hand reached to undo the belt of my robe. As we kissed again, she opened my robe, shifted her weight, and threw her leg over me to straddle my hips. She sat on me, and my hands went to the narrow part of her waist. There they helped her grind her pussy against the swollen cock my briefs confined. What little clothing we were wearing was thin, and it made almost no difference in what we felt.

She broke that second kiss and put her head down on my shoulder. Her arms encircled my own body as she leaned the upper part of her body into me. And, suddenly, I was acutely aware of the way her tits now pressed warmly and softly against me, only the flimsy fabric of her nightie between my chest and hers. My own arms went around her and held her; she continued the rocking motion of her hips, rubbing her mound against my boner—now fully grown, but still restrained by my briefs.

I kissed her neck, where my lips could reach her as we held each other. Remembering my Columbus Day lessons in how to please girls (or, at any rate, this girl) I began stroking my hands up and down her sides. She raised her upper body a bit, breaking the contact between our upper bodies. Looking again into my eyes and smiling, she said, "You did remember to use your hands." Her smile deepened as she asked, "Do you remember what else I told you?"

"Is there something else I should be doing?" I asked, as innocently as I could manage. But I remembered what she'd said about the privileges a guy enjoys with a girl who thinks she might want to fuck him. I was pretty sure that she wanted to fuck me, so, as I asked, my hands found the bottom of her nightie, slipped under it, and skimmed gently up along the soft skin of her tummy until they cupped the firm weight of her boobs. I found her nipples and rolled them between thumbs and fingers.

She moaned gently in response and closed her eyes. "Never mind," she said. "I think you've figured it out." I was about to reach for another kiss when she opened her eyes, looked into mine again, and smiled. "I really like," she whispered, "to feel your hard dick against me this way."

I looked back into her eyes and whispered back to her, "You make it get hard. Your pussy feels really good against it, and I love to hold your tits like this."