Charlie and Mindy Bk. 02 Ch. 02byCarlusMagnus©
This is the second chapter of seven in Book 2 of Charlie and Mindy, which is a story of forbidden love between a brother and a sister.
While this book stands on its own, it does make references to events that took place in Book 1. That book also contains some of Charlie and Mindy's family history that bears on the story. You may therefore want to read Book 1 before reading this book.
And please leave your comments. I try to respond to non-anonymous comments within a few days.
Thursday, August 13, 1987—Friday, August 21, 1987
We were to leave home for college on August 22. We passed the remaining days before then in much the way we'd passed the first two days. Generally speaking, whoever awoke first after Mom and Dad left for work would slip, naked, into the other's bed for a morning snuggle—resulting in a morning fuck.
There were variations.
There was the morning I awoke from a dream in which I was fucking the Ice Queen to find a solidly frozen water balloon nestled against my cock. That had to've been pre-meditated! She had to have thought it up before—and probably well before—she went to bed the night before.
And there was the morning Mindy woke in a panic thinking that my old Daniel Boone coonskin hat was a live animal that had somehow found its way into her bed during the night. I have to admit that that one was premeditated, too. But still, it was really just a fitting payback for the ice balloon.
We spent our days, mostly together, doing different things. There was packing and shopping to do, but not nearly enough to fill the bulk of two weeks. We were planning on taking third-semester French and third-semester calculus together during the fall semester, so we spent a couple of hours every day reviewing the earlier courses. That was Mindy's doing, and I began to learn from her something about the self-discipline one needs in order to study effectively.
That first Saturday, we went on a day-hike in the Indian Peaks Wilderness Area, just south of Rocky Mountain National Park. The hike itself was our main motivation. But Mom and Dad were both at home that day—which inhibited our customary morning exercises. And it didn't escape us that we might be able to find privacy in the backcountry. We did find it, and we did exercise—wildly and joyfully. One weekday, we drove into the big city and visited the Denver Zoo. The coonskin cap gave us that idea.
And so we passed the time, pranking each other, sharing ourselves with each other, loving each other as best we could, teaching each other how to love better, encouraging each other, strengthening each other, complementing each other. And, of course, fucking each other—enthusiastically, joyfully, exuberantly—whenever and wherever we could find, or make, an opportunity.
We had always loved each other, and more, we had always enjoyed each other's company. But, on our trip into the Wind River Range we had forged a tie of a new kind between us, and now we were strengthening that new tie.
I suppose that the early days of new love are idyllic for every couple. But I believe that our idyll was even more euphoric than most because it was founded on the old love we had shared from infancy. I look back fondly on those few days that August—when we had little to do but enjoy each other. And as we enjoyed each other, the love between us—already strong—grew stronger and deeper as it continued its transmutation from a purely fraternal love to one that encompassed both fraternal and erotic.
Saturday, August 22, 1987
The long-awaited day had arrived, and Mom and Dad drove us to college. I was returning as a sophomore; Mindy was to begin her freshman year at that small liberal arts college. We arrived that evening, around supper-time, after a long day's drive in the station wagon that Dad had rented to haul all of the stuff Mindy and I thought we couldn't do without.
I knew the town better than anyone else in the family, so I directed us to Randolph's, a decent restaurant not too far from the campus, where we had supper. Then, with the help of the whole family, I moved into my apartment, which was actually the upper floor of an old two-story house.
The house had been built some time around the turn of the century; it overlooked a busy street. It was decorated and furnished, so to speak, in what might be called "student ghetto classic," but it was a lot better than some of the dumps we could have rented from the local slumlord. Our landlord owned only this place, and he kept it in fairly good shape. We knew, from the previous tenants, that he kept the furnace and hot-water heater in working condition; and that was more than you could say for some of the slumlord's properties. We also knew that he was pretty easygoing about getting his rent on time—as long as he eventually got it.
George Cochrane, the classmate I was going to share the apartment with, would not arrive until Sunday, the 30th—the day before classes were to begin. We had become good friends during our freshman year, and we'd found the house during the last few weeks of the spring semester.
George and I had decided that we'd share the rent between ourselves, even though there were three bedrooms, each containing—at least—a bed and a chest of drawers. Two of the bedrooms were good-sized, but the third was very small, and we didn't think a sane person would pay a full third of the rent for it. We each thought it was worth paying half the rent, instead of a third or more, to have to share the place with only one other person, instead of with two.
As the family moved me in, we made little effort to arrange things to my satisfaction; I would take care of that myself, during the coming week. Mom and I made my bed while Dad and Mindy carried in the boxes of junk I had brought with me. I would spend the night here, while the three of them put up in a motel room not far away. They would pick me up in the morning and we would take Mindy to the college. We would move her into her dormitory room and then take her to her first orientation event, where the college president would address new students and their families.
As the three of them prepared to leave for the motel, Mindy stopped at the head of the stairway and told them to go on ahead, saying that she had to pee and would be out in a minute. I stood at the head of the stairs while she headed for the bathroom and they descended. But once the outside door closed, she turned and flew into my arms.
"I'll see you tomorrow morning," she said. "But I don't know if we'll have another chance to really say good-bye."
"Well," I said, "a truly proper good-bye would take longer than we have, and Mom and Dad would think it was very improper, if you get my drift. So this will have to do."
I kissed her gently, lingeringly, as I had that evening at Belford Lake; her firm little body melted against me. When our lips parted, I reached up with my right hand and brushed aside a vagrant lock of her hair that had fallen over her left eye. The motion turned into a caress, and then my arm went back around her.
"I'm going to miss you."
She grinned, impishly. "You mean you're going to miss fucking me."
"Well, that, too."
"Me, too. Both. You, and fucking you." She ground her hips against me; I ground back. Her lovely little titties, unconfined, as always, by a bra, pressed firmly against me through our shirts—causing sensations we both loved. The bulge in my pants grew a little and rubbed against her, confirming that I enjoyed those sensations.
"But my period started this morning. Being on The Pill makes it come right on time, every time, now. So we wouldn't be doing it for a while anyway. I'll see you on Saturday evening—a week from now. But I wish we could be together before then."
There was a hint—more than a hint—of sadness in her eyes, now. In mine, too, probably. This was the first time since we'd fallen in love we would be separated from each other for more than a few hours. I would miss my little sister, who had so recently become my lover.
Almost all of Mindy's time during that first week on campus would be accounted for by her orientation activities. During the days there would be lectures addressing college history, what to expect in college courses, what professors would expect of students, how to be a good college student, and so forth. There would be placement tests she would have to take in order to enroll in some of the courses she wanted to take. Evenings, there would be social events for entering freshmen. She would be expected to attend those events in order to get to know other members of her class. (I can't say that such things weren't a good idea, but they meant that we would not see each other that week.) For Mindy to spend nights with me would not be wise because it would raise questions—questions for which there was were no good answers—with Mindy's roommate and with the other women on her floor.
"Are you excited about starting college?" I asked her, both because I wanted to divert her attention from this parting and because I wanted to prolong our hug.
She grinned again. "I sure am! Will I like it? Do you really think I'll do well?"
"Yes to both. I'm certain of it."
"Thanks! Now I have to live up to your expectations as well as my own!" But she was still grinning.
"I love you so much, Little Sister." I kissed her again, holding her trim little body tightly to myself.
We broke the kiss. Still holding me, she looked up at me with her deep blue eyes. "I love you even more, Big Brother," she said. "But Mom and Dad are waiting, and I have to go."
"Yes, you do. I'll see you in the morning."
I kissed her once more, gently and quickly, and let go of her. She turned, and I watched from the balcony as her tight little ass wiggled its way down the stairs. It was going to be a long week.
Sunday, August 23, 1987—Friday, August 28, 1987
Mom, Dad, and Mindy picked me up at 7:30 that morning, and all four of us went to Arlene's, a local diner, for breakfast. We knew it would be our last meal together as a family until Mindy and I returned home for Christmas break. Mindy was excited, ebullient, as she looked forward to the new experiences ahead of her. Mom and Dad were both busting with pride at the lovely daughter they'd raised—though Mom, try as she might, couldn't completely hide an occasional tear or two. I attributed it then to her sorrow at seeing her youngest child leave home, but now, in retrospect, I believe that she was also thinking of her own experiences on the same campus twenty-some years earlier, before either Mindy or I had been born.
The freshman dorms opened up at 9:00 that morning, and the four of us arrived, about 15 minutes early, at Bussey Hall, the freshman women's dorm to which Mindy was assigned. That name was supposed to be pronounced "BYEW-sie," but it was the freshman women's dorm, so, naturally, all the men on campus routinely called it "Pussy Hall"—at least when they didn't call it "Pussy Hole".
We'd been through this the previous year, when I began my freshman year, but we'd forgotten about the crowd. In spite of what we thought was an early arrival, there were only a couple of empty spots in the parking lot—at the wrong end, of course, and about as far from the building as possible. But the four of us had no trouble carrying Mindy's junk up to her second-floor room and installing her there in short order.
As we moved Mindy in, we met her new roommate, Carol Snyder, for the first time. She was a cute—very cute—blonde, about 5' 4" with a really nice rack and an ass that rivaled Mindy's. Mindy caught me staring at Carol several times that morning and grinned knowingly at me.
"Don't get any ideas about Carol," she whispered to me when we were separated from the others. And then, knowing that I already had ideas, "At least, don't try to do anything about your ideas." But she was still grinning.
I saw Dad staring, too, on a couple of occasions—and getting an elbow from Mom when she caught him once. He saw me looking, too, and he winked at me. But it all evened out, because I noticed that Carol's dad—who was the only member of her family there to help her move in—didn't seem to be able to keep himself from looking at Mindy. I looked at Mindy myself and thought I sure do have good taste.
The college president's welcoming speech was in the college auditorium at 11:00. We'd been among the first to finish moving our freshman into her room, so we got good seats in the third row near the center. Mom and Dad and I had heard him address new students only a year earlier (Mindy hadn't been with us last year), and we thought we knew what he would say. But he didn't repeat himself; it was an entirely different speech. Or, maybe, I was now in an entirely different place, being a returning student instead of a new one. When he was done addressing families, Mom, Dad, and I found ourselves outside the auditorium with other families—all without our freshmen, and not knowing quite how he'd managed to separate us from them so easily.
"Damn!" Dad said. "He did it again! Somehow he politely said 'OK, folks, squeeze your now-grown-up kid and get lost.' He did it last year, too, but in different words. I was watching for it this year, and I missed it again! That guy is sharp."
I remembered, then, that Mom and Dad had just sort of evaporated part way through the speech last year. This year, I was among the evaporated myself, and I couldn't figure out how it had happened, either. Dad was right; the college president was a clever man.
Mom and Dad said good-bye shortly after that. They had to work the next day, and it was a long drive home. I waited in the auditorium lobby until the President released his captives, and caught Mindy as she came out—chatting with new friends she had made as family members were leaving. I gave her one of the three copies of my house key that I had, and we made arrangements for her to come over around 5:00 on Saturday evening. Orientation week was tightly scheduled, and she would be busy until then. However, the planners had nothing arranged for that evening; we figured it must have been an oversight.
There isn't much to tell about the rest of that week, because there wasn't really much of anything for me to do. The last three weeks with Mindy had spoiled me, and I missed her terribly. It wasn't just the sex I missed—though I won't try to deny that I did miss that. In those three short weeks, I had become accustomed to her loving glances, to her knowing smiles, to her gentle touches—to all the things, in other words, that I could not have when we weren't in each other's company.
When I wasn't pining for Mindy and feeling sorry for myself, I continued to review my French and my calculus. I read some trash science fiction. I made a point of buying only a day's food at a time, so that I would have to make a trip to a grocery store every day. I went for long walks, both on campus and in town. Otherwise, I mostly just hung out.
Fortunately, Frank Sanders, one of the seniors who were to occupy the lower floor of our house for the coming year, had moved in a day or two before I did. He was 21 and could buy alcohol. So evenings, at least, didn't go to waste: The two of us sat on a couple of the old lawn chairs some former renter had left on the front porch, drinking beer and bullshitting late into the nights. We told each other the usual lies about our masculine prowess—at drinking, in sports, with cars, and, especially, with women. (And many of the stories I told about myself had actually happened—but they hadn't happened to me, so they were still lies.) That solved the problem of what to do with our mornings, too—mostly, we slept through them and didn't get up until 10:00 or 11:00.
Tuesday morning, shortly after I got up, it occurred to me to double-check some of the secret techniques and special knowledge of the campus that George and I, along with Lou Christy, who would be a junior this year, had developed over the past year. I reckoned that they might actually be useful this year. So I spent that afternoon surreptitiously verifying that the tricks we'd invented still worked and that the things we'd learned were still correct. That involved trips to the football stadium, several of the buildings on campus, and the library. I was more than pleased to find that everything was as it had been the year before.
On Wednesday afternoon, I walked downtown. It was a little over a mile from the campus, but a little less from my house. I found a Salvation Army store there that I hadn't noticed before, and I checked it out. I found three old quilts, all in pretty decent shape, all for next to nothing. I knew I wanted a couple of them to use on my bed during the coming winter, and I figured that another one wouldn't hurt. So I bought all three of them. I also found a half a dozen small hand-towels, some kitchen stuff, some wastebaskets, and a couple of table lamps that we could use in the house. They were priced right, too, so I bought them.
But the prize was an old, beaten-up, leather bomber jacket for only $20. It fit me perfectly, and it was in much better shape than it seemed at first glance. The leather was still sound and flexible, in spite of its shabby appearance, and the faux fur lining looked almost new. The cold of winter was still some months off, but I knew that if I didn't buy it then and there I wouldn't get another chance, and I just couldn't resist it.
Then I had to lug my booty back home. There was a little too much for one trip, so I left the quilts at the store, made a trip home and came back for the quilts. When I got back home with the quilts, I put two of them on the shelf in my closet and, inspiration having come suddenly upon me, I stuffed the third into one of my daypacks—the red one—along with a couple of the hand-towels. I found then that I had used up a good half of the afternoon.
On Friday afternoon, the depth of my boredom reached bottom. It was so deep that I found myself actually getting my junk out of the boxes we'd moved it in. I spent an hour or two arranging it in my room. Still bored when I finished, I found myself playing with an eight-foot length of climber's half-inch tubular webbing, practicing all of the climber's knots I'd learned a couple of years earlier. Frank was about as bored, and we started in on the beer a couple of hours early that evening. But we didn't quit any earlier than we had other nights. So, at least, it was an entertaining evening.
Saturday, August 29, 1987
I got up around 10:30 am, as had become usual during the preceding week. Frank was going to be gone for the weekend. George, my apartment mate, and Earl Abbot, the other senior occupying the first floor, would both arrive during the early afternoon on Sunday. My little sister Mindy was due at 5:00, and it looked like we would have the whole house to ourselves for the whole night.
I puttered around the apartment for an hour or two and fixed myself a couple of sandwiches for lunch/breakfast. Then I walked to the store and got myself some supplies for the first part of the coming week. In addition, I picked up a couple of steaks, a couple of good-sized baking potatoes, some salad-fixings, and the other trappings I would need for a steak dinner. I wanted to fix a nice meal for Mindy that evening; I figured she'd welcome it after a week of dormitory food.