Paul's heavy eyelids slowly fluttered open to a beautiful, quiet morning, clear mountain air slipped through thin curtains and he sluggishly took inventory. Where am I? He immediately felt the rush of security that his old bed, in his parents' cabin provided. What about that girl, with the short hair in the swimming pool and her bed? Just a dream and…Sherry? That was no dream…she was here last night! Paul smiled, wriggling naked under the sheet, leisurely stroking his morning erection.
He yawned loudly, stretching his rested limbs against the smallish bed and caught the faint whiff of coffee. Paul swung his legs out, bare feet touching the cool boards and reached for a pair of shorts, sliding into them carefully, his mammoth hardon screamed painfully to urinate.
Sidling down the narrow hallway, the coffee smell from the kitchen below was stronger and Paul dashed into the bathroom, hurriedly compelling the stiffy to subside. He sighed as the flow of piss began, staring at the knotty pine paneling, their old porcelain sink with original, archaic fixtures and the rectangular, beveled mirror fronting the medicine cabinet. The compact room was slightly humid from a recent showering and a relieved Paul jiggled off the last few drops.
Unscrewing the cap, he swished a mouthful of Scope and spat into the sink, sunlight glittered off an object lying near the edge and Paul noticed it was Sherry's bracelet. On the rim of the tub sat a bottle, Sherry's brand of body wash, Oil of Olay. The detective quickly deduced, it was she who had preceded Paul and his eyes darted to the wicker hamper.
Secretly, Paul's juvenile, mischievous fingers opened the lid and there they were…Sherry's light blue panties nesting upon a wrinkled bath towel. Without hesitation he plucked out the intimate pair of bikini underwear, adoring their soft touch and utter weightlessness, his penis stirred.
Girls are so lucky, Paul thought, to have such lovely, silky underthings covering their privates; his bulky, trembling fingers opened the lacy waistband and held them up, inviting his invisible sister to step in. Sherry's smooth derriere filled the backside, the curved front; with its white cotton lining had the pressed imprint of her pink nether lips, his hardon returned.
Like a magnet, Paul brought them closer and buried his nose against the inner crotch, immediately gratified with the musky, personal scent of Sherry. He inhaled deeply. Lightheaded in the erotic moment Paul's tongue eagerly lapped at the soiled fabric, attempting to extract a taste of her female sauce.
Cock throbbing, Paul's desire for sister Sherry's charms increased tenfold on this quiet morning but muffled voices from the downstairs brought him back to reality. Paul temporarily put the fantasy aside. Later, when privacy allowed, he'd masturbate, wrapping them around his cock and balls.
Stashing the undies, Paul dressed and made his way downstairs. The robust java revived his hunger and after the social good mornings dove into the leftover waffles. Mom lightly kissed his forehead, "Okay sleepyhead…we'll be back in a bit."
"Where you off to?"
"Your sister and I are going down to visit old Mrs. Benchley…she hasn't seen Sherry in quite awhile and… you know doesn't get out all that much…so…" Paul ogled the cute girl framed by the bright sunlight in their kitchen doorway. Wisps of red, clean hair sparkled and he unobtrusively scanned her haltered breasts, curvy hips within tight shorts and long tapered legs, Sherry wore simple but gorgeous brown leather moccasins, she noticed the sizing-up look in Paul's eyes and winked.
"See ya…bro…"
Sipping coffee on the front porch, Paul and his father comfortably sat in weathered wicker chairs admiring the glassy lake and caught up on the latest, even mundane news.
"Think I'll take the old canoe out…you know…clean her up and take in some fishing." Working as a tandem, they maneuvered the sturdy craft out of the barn and into the shallow water. Paul eagerly worked to get every cobweb and speck of dust from the polished woodwork and applied a special marine wax. From the house he grabbed his tackle box and rod, slipped off his sneakers and eased into the canoe.
"Honk! Honk!" The Chevy Tahoe's horn blared. Paul looked up at the faint cloud of dust hovering over the rough driveway and watched as Sherry sprinted down to the dock.
"Hey! Can I go with you? Please?" Captured by deep, friendly eyes, there wasn't any way Paul could say no. Smiling, he slipped into the thigh deep water near the dock and holding Sherry's hand gallantly guided her into the front seat. Retrieving the contoured paddle she turned and exuberantly waved to Mom.
With deep powerful strokes Paul eased the sleek canoe out into the shimmering lake. "Where're we going?" Sherry asked over her shoulder, knowing Paul had a favorite, sheltered cove that was good for rainbow trout.
"Ah…let's head for the sand bar." He veered them slightly to the left. Working in tandem, their paddles knifed through the smooth surface and gliding easily, the canoe picked up speed. Within the natural surrounding beauty of thick forests infringing upon the lake's circumference and clean, fresh water disturbed by only their subtle wake, Paul sensed an inner peace.
As the warm afternoon sun beat down, Paul absorbed the rippling muscles of Sherry's arm and shoulders striving to keep pace. He gazed at the thin bra strap's outline through her sheer blouse, a tiny band of perspiration blotted near the small of her back. Sherry's beltless shorts hugged wide hips and an inviting, fleshy bottom.
Halfway across the sizable lake Sherry laid her paddle lengthwise across the bow and leaned forward for a break. "Are you tired sis?" Paul ceased his paddling, their momentum carrying them ahead for several yards.
"Yeah. A little. Guess I'm not quite used to this. Out of shape…" she giggled.
"Hey, I like your shape." Paul smirked teasing and with the stoppage, stripped off his tee shirt.
"I brought water…here…" Sherry half turned to take the offered bottle of Aquafina and jealously noted his nakedness from the waist up.
"You're lucky. Wish I could go topless. Maybe next time I'll wear a sports bra or something…" and she quietly toyed with the idea, there were no other boats out and for that matter no-one was around for miles. Paul languidly paddled while Sherry sipped water and caught her breath.
They soon returned to paddling at their rhythmic pace, pushing the canoe over the wide lake, the bow sliced through the smooth waves, a faint wind at their backs. The larger body of water they crossed connected to a smaller pond aptly named: Little Pond. Paul steered towards the 30 foot wide opening and coming up fast was the shallow sand bar, it's yellow, clean sand gleamed in the sunlight.
Heading directly for the shoreline, Sherry took her paddle in; the canoe's momentum brought them onto land, the soft sand particles scraping harmlessly against the rugged bottom.
