Moans Veneris

The last of five chapters. You'll probably be lost if you don't read the others in order before you try to read this one.

*

Jenny and I seemed closer than ever after our early December, late-night "chat". I found that I really enjoyed her company, that I often thought about her when we weren't together, and that I actively tried to spend time with her. She seemed to enjoy our time with each other, and she gave me the impression that she also wanted to share her time with me. Three days a week, we had the same lunch hour at school, and we usually spent that time together, alone with each other, in the school cafeteria. We shared each other's chores and ran errands together. We even did most of our Christmas shopping together.

And, several nights a week, she unwittingly shared her moans with me—the moans that came through the common wall of our bedroom as she fingered herself to orgasm. Naturally, I jacked off, wrapped in thoughts of her naked body, of her tits, and of her pussy, when I heard those noises.

In the days that followed our nocturnal "chat", I found myself thinking deeply about Jenny and about the relationship between us. And I came to a conclusion that I thought she probably wouldn't like. But I needed to discuss it with her.

That discussion had to wait until we could be sure that our parents would both be gone long enough to give us the privacy the discussion required. That finally happened on the Monday before Christmas, when Mom and Dad spent most of the day together, out of the house, doing their Christmas shopping. Since Jenny and I had been little, they'd liked to have what they called "a medium fancy lunch" together and then spend the afternoon doing their shopping. But they always managed to put it off until pretty late in the season, because, during the first weeks of December, they were busy giving final exams, grading them, and figuring out what grades they were going to give their students.

School was out for the winter holidays, so neither Jenny nor I needed to be anywhere that day. I'd heard Mom and Dad moving around when they'd gotten up around eight that morning, but I'd managed to force myself back to sleep. And I hadn't awakened again until about ten. Maybe I didn't always sleep well at night, but I was at least as good as most teenagers at sleeping in when opportunity presented itself.

When I got up, Jenny's door was closed, and I assumed that meant that she was still asleep—even though she usually couldn't compete with me at sleeping in. So I went downstairs and got something to eat. As I was eating, I heard the toilet flush upstairs, and I knew that she was finally awake. But she didn't join me in the kitchen. When I finished eating, I went back upstairs to see what she was up to.

Her door was open, now, and she was sitting on her bed. Except for her bare feet, she was fully clothed, wearing a pair of jeans and a flannel pullover shirt. She had her back propped against the headboard, and she was reading a book. Hearing my tap on the doorpost, and she looked up at me. Smiling, she greeted me, "Hi, sleepyhead! Come on in and have a seat." And she moved over to make room for me.

I kicked off my shoes and joined her on the bed, remarking, "Your door was closed when I got up, and I thought you'd out-slept me."

"Nah," she replied. "I got up a little after Mom and Dad did, and I didn't want to deal with them this morning. After breakfast, I just felt like I wanted some private time. I heard you get up, but I was still happy by myself. I'm ready for some company now; I'm glad you're awake. What's up?"

"Not much," I answered. I paused, and then went on, "I've just been doing a little thinking."

She grinned at me. "Don't hurt yourself!" she offered.

"Awww…" I responded. I didn't have a good response; I was still thinking about the two of us. And I'd confirmed the conclusion I had reached earlier. I was even more certain, now, that she would find what I had to say unwelcome.

"That's it? 'Awww…'? Are you feeling well?" At least she was in a good mood; I wasn't sure that mood would survive what I had to say.

"No," I answered. "I've just been thinking about some of the…

stuff

we've been doing." Then, hastily, I added, "I know it's wrong—"

"Yeah. And not just wrong." As she interrupted me, her smile evaporated, to be replaced by a much more serious expression. "A lot of people would say that what we've been doing is… well…

sick!

"

I nodded in agreement. "I guess that's right. By most people's standards, I guess it's pretty sick for us to be fucking each other."

She smiled at me, gently this time, and said, "I know I told you we needed to quit doing that with each other—I knew we needed to stop. But then I decided I wanted to do it with you another time. So that one was my fault. But, when we did do it again, I sure did enjoy it."

I smiled back at her. "You made me glad we have insomnia," I answered.

She delivered a mock punch to my shoulder, and said, "You did that for me, too!"

"But I've gotta tell you…" I went on. I paused for a second and looked into her eyes. She returned the look. "Your body is so wonderful; it turns me on so. And…" I stopped.

Her smile deepened at the compliment, and she prompted me, "What? 'And…' what?"

"…and your pussy feels so good, I guess."

Now she was smiling broadly. "Your dick feels pretty good, too, you know."

I couldn't help myself; I grinned back. "I modestly admit that I knew you would say that," I cracked.

She grinned back. And the remark got me another mock punch—but not quite as mock as the previous one had been. "Dope!" she replied.

We paused for a moment; again we looked into each other's eyes, and I felt like our souls were communicating.

I sobered a bit, and I said, "There's more to it than that, Jen. I need to be serious with you."

Her expression changed; she could see, now, that I really did have something on my mind. "Okay, Jer," she said quietly. "What is it?"

"Jen," I began, "I can't figure out a good way to say this. So I'll just say it directly, and then I'll live with the consequences."

"It's okay, Jer," she encouraged me. "I can't think of anything you might say that would put me off. Just go ahead and say it."

"Jen…" I started. I paused for a couple of seconds, and then, hanging my head, unable to continue looking into her eyes, afraid that I might not get it out otherwise, I blurted out my confession: "…I'm in love with you."

Now that I'd gotten it out in the open, I found that I could look at her again. And I saw that her eyes had opened wide in astonishment. Her jaw worked up and down, several times, as though she was about to say something—but no words came out. For what was probably the first time in her life, my twin sister sat in stunned silence, unable to find words.

I thought I had nothing more to say, so I continued to look at her. Silently, shock still written on her face, she stared back at me. As her speechlessness extended, I saw that tears were forming in her eyes.

Oh, shit!

I thought.

Not the waterworks! Please, Jenny! Not the waterworks!

Tears were beginning to escape from the corners of her eyes to run down her cheeks when I decided that it was up to me to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Jen," I murmured. And then I pleaded, phrasing it almost as a question, "Please don't be mad at me?"

"I never dreamed…" she began weakly, and halted, unable to continue.

"I know, Jen. It's not what you expected from me, and I guess it's not what you want to hear from your twin brother. But I can't help myself!"

She closed her hands over her face, the palms facing each other, her fingers steepled along the sides of her nose, her middle fingers reaching up to the corner of her eyes. And with that motion, her verbal paralysis broke. "Oh, Jer!" she began. Her hands muffled her words, but she was intelligible. She went on, seemingly in a daze, "I don't know what to say!" She paused and I steeled myself for the tongue-lashing I knew she was about to give me.

And then she dropped her hands into her lap, revealing a dazzling smile that showed through her tears. "Jer," she began, "I'm in love with you, too!"

She turned and threw herself at me, putting her head against my shoulder and throwing her arms around me. My own arms automatically encircled her. Then, not knowing what else to do, in my own stunned silence, I held her tightly as she sobbed tears of joy.

When she regained some control over herself, she raised her head from my shoulder and looked again into my eyes. She smiled at me, her wonder and her happiness palpable as she spoke: "I've been in love with you since we were thirteen. All that time, I've adored you. I've worshipped you! I've wanted to make love with you since we were fourteen! But you're my twin brother, so I thought that was hopeless. I knew you would never…

could

never…" She paused to blink back her tears, and continued, now more in control of herself, "Well… Brothers can't fall in love with their sisters, can they? They aren't

allowed

to."

"Sisters aren't allowed to fall in love with their brothers, either, but you did," I observed.

"I did!" she admitted, nodding. "Before you were even interested in girls. And I think it's why I've had so much trouble with boys."

Her lips were red, ripe, luscious. I bent and kissed her; she kissed me back. The kiss extended as our tongues explored. I thought I had a pretty good idea where

this

line of discussion was going. But I was curious, and the things we were learning about each other trumped even sex, at least for the moment. "Loving me caused you boy trouble?" I asked. "How's that?"

"I knew that I had to find another guy to fall in love with. And when we were fourteen, I thought that all I had to do was fuck a guy, and that would make the two of us love each other," she answered, putting her head back down against my shoulder. "Why else would grown-ups call it 'making love'? But it didn't work that way. In fact, it was pretty dumb of me. It did make those guys think they liked me, but what they

really

liked was my pussy. They liked the way I was getting their rocks off, and they didn't care about anything else—not even

me.

That just made me like them even less. You know, I didn't even like their dicks very much! Even though they felt pretty good."

"I think I can see that," I agreed.

"I think that was why I wanted you to think I was slutty, too," she added. "If you thought I was easy, then maybe you would want me to fuck you. I would, and that would make you be love with me. It didn't work quite the way I thought it should, either."

After a few seconds of thinking about that, I remarked, "It kinda worked, though. You just had to get us to fuck. And that did make me like your pussy. But I fell in love with you, too."

"It makes me really happy that you're in love with me! And I want you to like my pussy!" she inserted, giving me that lop-sided smile I'd seen on other occasions, before going on. "But, really, I had all those boyfriends because I was trying to find a guy like

you.

But I couldn't. I don't think there are any others." She reached up for another kiss, but she kept it short, because she had more to say. "You're pretty special."

I put a finger on her lips to stop the flow of words for a second. "You're pretty special, too," I pointed out. She looked at me and grinned.

Putting her head back down, she continued, "I was pretty confused. Even back then, I think I knew I'd never find anyone like you. But I didn't really know that I'd been trying to find another

you

until the other night, when we had that early morning chat and you told me that I wasn't setting my sights high enough. That's when I realized that my sights belonged on

you.

But once I had them that high and thought about where they were, I knew that there wouldn't be any other guys I could even see to center them on. I'd already stopped going out with guys I didn't like, but it wasn't until after you told me to aim higher that I decided that it was you—or nobody! It made me sad to think I might never have anybody. But then I realized that I'd never have

anybody but the best!

And that made me feel better."

Her hands roamed over my body as we talked, and I felt my cock growing. "What are we gonna do about Mom and Dad?" I asked. "We can't tell them."

"Mom's known how I feel about you since we were fourteen," she answered, snuggling in close to me.

"

What?

Mom

knows

that you're…" I almost yelled it; it was her turn to put her finger over my lips to stop me.

"We were only fourteen," she murmured, "and I didn't know what to do about how I felt. I was so confused! I was in love with my brother, and I was having other boy trouble, too. I'd already fucked two boyfriends. That hadn't worked out the way I thought it was supposed to. But I was still hoping, and I was about to fuck number three. She figured out that I'd been fucking losers, and that I'd probably fuck more of them. She had a long talk with me about love and sex, and how they're connected. And she helped me start to understand that 'making love' doesn't mean 'manufacturing love,' but 'sharing love.' She was worried—because they were losers and, even more, because one of those losers might get me pregnant. So she got me to talk to her about boys. And then, suddenly, I was talking to her about

you.

"

"You talked to Mom about being in love with me? …with your twin brother?" I was incredulous; this was a tale whose like you don't hear every day. But my own hands were beginning to roam over her body—and I hadn't even been thinking about what she'd said about using my hands.

"It wasn't as bad as you think, Jer. For God's sake, she's a psychology professor, at the University of Colorado, here in 'The People's Republic of Boulder'. This is probably the most liberal town in the country, and she's somewhere to the left of most of the people here! She was okay with it. She said she needed to tell Dad about it, too, because he needed to know what was going on."

"Jesus! They both know you're…"

"Yeah. But you know Dad. He's a philosophy professor, and—"

"And he's just 'philosophical' about it!" I interrupted. "Yeah! That's Dad!"

She nodded in agreement before she continued. "Mom was sympathetic, and she tried to help me deal with it all. She said that telling you that I was in love with you wasn't a very good idea—that it wouldn't be fair to you. And she said fucking—except she called it 'having sexual intercourse with'—boyfriends before I really got to know them wasn't a good idea, either. In general, she thought, but especially because I was only fourteen. She wasn't mad about it, and she didn't scold me. She said she knew that it was my body and that she couldn't stop me. But she did make me go on the pill so I wouldn't get pregnant."

"Were you on the pill when we fucked?"

"Not the first three times. I stopped taking it a couple of years ago, but I never told Mom. For a long time I wasn't fucking anybody, and I wasn't planning on fucking anybody, so I didn't need it. I kept getting my prescription filled every month, for when I found 'Mr. Just-Like-My-Twin-Brother,' and…" She paused and gave me a quick smile.

She continued, then, "…so that Mom wouldn't know I'd stopped. Then I started it again a couple of weeks before we did it the other night." She gave me an evil smile. "I wanted you so much that time I caught you spying on me and playing with yourself—especially after you ate my pussy! It made me guess that we might not be done fucking each other, even though I told you we were. I thought we needed to stop, because you weren't in love with me, and I didn't think I should keep doing a guy who didn't love me. But I knew that I wouldn't be able to say 'No' if you wanted to do it again. And I was still afraid you'd be disgusted if you knew why I wanted to fuck my brother so much."

She reached up for another kiss. When it was over, she had more to say: "Mom made me promise that I wouldn't tell you how I felt about you unless you told me that you were in love with me. I bet she thought that would never happen. I know I thought that." Her arms, still around me, delivered a squeeze, pressing her tits into my side. "But it just did!"

"It did happen. I am in love with you," I replied, full of wonder and happiness myself. I was pretty sure that she wanted to fuck me again, and my roving hand moved to cup one of her tits. She wasn't wearing a bra, and the soft, curved flesh filled my hand marvelously; I felt her nipple harden against my palm. She didn't complain, so I guessed that I must have been right.

"That makes me so happy! Both that you're in love with me, and the way you're touching me," she whispered before going on. "That day last fall when I caught you jacking off in your room, and I saw your dick all big and hard, I thought that maybe, then, at least I could get to fuck you, even if you didn't know how much I wanted to, and why."

"Wait," I said. I'd just remembered something that had bothered me that day, but that had gotten lost in my desire. "I don't get it. You said then that you'd never seen a hard cock before. If you'd already fucked some guys, how…"

Her hand now dropped to my cock, where it stroked my hard length through my pants. "I'd seen hard dicks before, but not very well. And not yours! What I said was that I'd never had

a good look

at one. I had sucked and fucked those five guys, but I'd never jacked a guy off. They wanted me to get right down to business, I guess. And when you do a guy that way, after dark, in the back seat of his car, you don't get a very good look at his dick."

"I think I'll take your word for that," I mused, my cock getting even harder from her touch.

She went on: "I was so afraid you'd be pissed off, or shocked, or even disgusted, if you knew I was in love with you and how much I wanted to fuck you. Seeing your dick hard made me horny! I was pretty sure that if you let me touch it I could make you really want to fuck. And then touching it, jacking it off, and even sucking on it, made me even hornier! But I thought that if I made you pay me, you wouldn't guess how I felt. It was another dumb thing I did, and I'm really sorry I treated you that way."

"I do wish I'd known," I answered. "But, now that I think about it, I might have been upset, then, like I expected you to be today; I hadn't fallen in love with you yet. And I'm really sorry about the way I treated you after that—especially about holding your Spanish test over your head to get you to fuck me again. I was being petty and childish… And dumb!"

"Yeah, you were." she agreed. But she smiled at me as she said it, and I accepted her judgment as gracefully as I could. She went on, then, "It really pissed me off when you did that—especially since I probably would have fucked you if you'd just told me you wanted me to. But you didn't know that, so maybe I deserved having you treat me like that."

She paused, clearly lost in thought for a moment, before continuing, "Later, I hated it that we were so angry with each other, but I couldn't stop being mad, and you couldn't either. So I was being pretty childish and petty, then, too. And dumb!"

"I wish I hadn't treated you that way," I added.

"I know you do," she said. "That's why I forgave you. But for a couple of days, I wondered if maybe you were no better than any of all those boyfriends I didn't like. If maybe all guys are losers." She squeezed me again and went on, "But now I know better! And I'm sure glad we got through that!"