Charlie and Mindy Bk. 04 Ch. 08

My little sister sat there on me, her upper body now vertical, my turgid flesh embedded in her hot wet flesh. She locked her eyes on mine for a few moments. I throbbed within her, and I felt her contract in answer. I throbbed again, and she contracted again. We smiled again at each other.

I looked at her naked little body as she sat there with me embedded in her, and I saw the little boobs I loved so much. Farther down I saw the little brown triangle of her bush, pointing down toward the base of my cock. And I could look into her cleft, where I saw her clit and how her lips had spread wide to admit me into her body. The sights inflamed me even further.

"I can feel your semen applicator pulsating inside me," she said. "It feels so good."

"Your semen extraction apparatus keeps squeezing me," I replied. "That feels good, too."

"How does this feel?" she asked as she raised her body a couple of inches and immediately lowered it. She smiled at me.

"It feels wonderful," I answered smiling back. I bumped my own hips, driving myself momentarily deeper into her. And she bounced up a bit, drawing my cock partially out of her again. When her body returned to mine, it forced me back into her depths.

"You feel pretty wonderful yourself," she said softly, still smiling.

We took turns, then, bumping our hips into each other. But it was a game that couldn't last for long, because after only a few cycles, our bodies took over. Our motions grew more and more determined, and soon we were driving my semen applicator in and out of her semen extraction apparatus as hard and as fast as we could.

Her eyes closed and her jaws slackened as the pressure built up inside her. I managed to keep my own eyes open, so that I could enjoy the sight of her naked little body, bouncing up and down on me. Her arms flew this way and that way in her abandon, and our bodies slapped audibly against each other.

And, just as my orgasm hit me like a speeding eighteen-wheeler, she jammed herself down on me as tightly as she could. Deep, sobbing groans came out of her mouth, and her face twisted in her ecstasy.

Bursts of my cum sped repeatedly through the length of my cock, and the force of my orgasm exploded inside my head. Then my final paroxysm held me in its iron grip for an interminable period that was far too short. As my body subsided in limpness, I felt her little body fall loosely onto me. I felt her hands under my shoulders. They were the only part of her body that was not completely relaxed, and they held me close. I encircled her with my own arms.

We lay there together for a while—I have no idea exactly how long—in each other's arms, our bodies still connected. I lost myself in the rhythms of her body—her heartbeat, her breathing, her sheath's contractions around me—as we shared ourselves with each other. I felt no need to move. Neither, apparently, did she. I felt myself surrounded by her love, and I tried to project my own about her.

I had almost fallen asleep when, at last, I felt her move in my arms. She stretched up and brought her mouth to the left side of my neck, where her lips kissed and nibbled. In answer to her touch, I stroked and caressed her naked back and her sides. She hummed a happy little moan in response, and her lips continued their soft nuzzling.

At last, I spoke. "I'm going to miss you, Mindy. We haven't been so far apart for so long for over a year—since before I fell in love with you."

She raised her head; deep blue love peered at me from under her eyebrows. My own love, meager by comparison, and unworthy, flowed from my eyes toward her. Small and undeserving as my love was, she found it acceptable, and she smiled at me.

"Big Brother and Little Sister," she whispered.

I smiled broadly, and I whispered back the response. "Best friends and lovers."

And, together, we recited the chorus to each other. "Now and always."

"I love you so much," she whispered.

Holding her, squeezing her naked little body against me, I answered, "I love you even more."

"I'll miss you, too, Charlie," she offered when we'd completed our ritual. "But I'll be busy. It'll be harder for you."

"Well, there'll be times," I said, "when it will be harder. That's for sure."

Her smile broadened. "Every morning, if I understand the theory of morning boners correctly."

"You do. But there'll be other times, too. I'll be glad when you're back where I can love you properly again."

"You take such good care of me, Charlie."

"Always," I said. "You're a keeper. And that old boy didn't really have to tell me any of that stuff. I already knew." The "old boy" had been the cashier in a Wyoming steakhouse a year earlier; he'd told me that Mindy was "a keeper," and that I should "treat her good."

By now I was immersed in the deep, deep blue. And she answered, "What a coincidence. I knew that you're a keeper, too. But he must have known that I knew, because he didn't tell me."

"You've never admitted you knew before," I whispered.

"I didn't think I needed to," she answered. "I figured that if he knew, you'd know, too." She kissed me. It was a slow, lingering kiss.

She'd had to stretch to reach my mouth; the motion made my now-floppy cock plop out of her. A trickle of our juices followed, oozing onto my lower belly.

When the kiss ended, I looked at the bedside clock. It was half past six. "We've got about an hour," I said. "Do you want a quick shower before we go?"

"I think we should get one," she said. She got up, pulled me up, and dragged me into the bathroom.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We got her to the Moble with time to spare. We even had time to find out what room they'd assigned her, and then move her stuff to it before her meeting. Once that meeting started, she would belong to MOLS and her fellow students—not to me. So, there in her room, in the last few moments we had left together, we said good-bye to each other for the coming month.

I held her one last time before we parted, and I looked once more into those deep blue eyes. The bitterness of parting joined with the joy of what she was going to experience; both shone from her eyes. I think she didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, and so she did both. So did I.

I kissed her and said, "I'll pick you up here in the lobby at eight-thirty in the morning on the thirty-first of July. I'd tell you to enjoy the trip, but you'll do that without any instruction from me."

A shadow crossed her face. "But the course is over on the thirtieth!"

"You'll be busy that day. First, you'll clean up—with the greatest shower you'll ever have in your life. Except, maybe, for the ones you share with me. You'll do some debriefing that day, and most courses decide to have a picnic in the city park on the evening of that last day. Then they'll put you up here in the Moble again for the night. You won't be ready to leave until the next morning—the thirty-first."

I kissed her again. It was a slow and lingering kiss, and in it I could feel both her love and her anticipation. When we broke the kiss, I looked again into her eyes; the love that flowed between us was tangible. She held herself against me; deep blue eyes looked up into my own eyes.

"I'm going to tell everyone that my husband is coming to get me," she said. "Then when I see you again, I won't have to worry about squeezing you and kissing you in front of them."

"That's a plan!" I said.

It was seven-thirty. I unwrapped my arms and, taking her little hand, I led her out of the room to the stairs, and down to the lobby. A dozen other students, both men and women, all within a few years of Mindy's age, were gathering in the lobby.

There in the shadows at the edge of that cavernous space, I gave her a last kiss and a last caress. Then I aimed her in the direction of the gathering pack and let her go. She gave me a last smile, still mingling her sorrow and her excitement, and headed toward those other people.

I watched from the shadows for a few moments, and I saw that it didn't take long for her natural social instincts to take hold. She was deeply involved in a conversation with a couple of other women when I saw two men and a woman coming down the stairs from the third floor—which is reserved for instructors. Purposefully, those three approached the slowly growing knot of students. Knowing now that she was in good hands, I returned to the motel.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She had been gone for two days when the loneliness set in. I pined for her. That month was a long one for me, as we had foreseen. I returned, the day after I parted from her, to Buck and Steph. (She was, I knew, in the wilderness by the time I got back.)

I spent a few days with the twins, getting used to my temporary single status. And then, after I'd made a call to the property management company to warn them of my impending presence, Buck drove me to the airport for my flight to Chicago, and thence to Denver. From there, a commercial van took me back to Fort Collins.

I spent a few days in the house where Mindy and I had spent our middle childhood and our teenage years. Much of that time I devoted to digging more deeply into Mom's diary. There is enough material there for a book, but I'm not sure that I'll ever write it. Maybe, someday, Mindy will. Or maybe we two will together write Mom's story, and and that of her brother, David. Soon, I thought, we should move this diary to be with us where we live. But I wasn't ready to do that then—especially without talking it over with my little sister.

One of those days, I hiked alone up onto Buchanan Pass and back down, after making sure that Quent knew where I was going and when to expect me back. It's not far from Fort Collins, being just south of Rocky Mountain National Park, but it's a fairly long hike involving quite a climb—to nearly 12000 feet from somewhere around 9000 feet. So I was too tired to keep feeling sorry for myself when I returned. A case of Dad's beer had survived my earlier depredations, and I had put several cans in the refrigerator. They provided a lot of help sleeping that night.

Then I drove Dad's car back and spent a few more days with Buck and Steph. They wanted to make me welcome in my own home, and they tried to do so, but I felt discomfort in the air. I knew that they were people who would give and give and give until they had nothing left. And then they'd find ways to give more. And I was afraid that I was taking advantage of them.

I knew that they didn't need an unattached man in their love nest—not even when the lack of attachment was temporary. They didn't, I was certain, even need me upstairs by myself, where I still felt like I was a wet blanket on the fire of their love.

So I gave them keys to Dad's car, and over the next few days, I took Mom's car repeatedly into the hills surrounding the little town. I took a gear-filled daypack with me, and I told them, at least in general, where I planned to be and when I'd be back, so I didn't worry too much about being alone in the woods.

I had the topos now, so I didn't have to worry about getting lost, either. Every day, I stopped several times to explore a mile or so of trail. Eventually, I found a trail whose beginning looked promising, and, which appeared on the map to bear out that promise. I outlined a trip, copied it onto a spare map, and pinned a loose schedule to the copy. A day or two later, after getting the supplies I needed and giving the copy and the timetable to Buck, I returned to that trailhead with a full pack.

And I went, solo, into the backcountry.

Just idea of doing solo hikes like this sets many people's teeth on edge. And, in fact, Mindy is one of those people. She gave me one of the worst scoldings she's ever given me when she learned about this solo trip.

It wasn't my last such trip, nor my last scolding. For many years, my propensity for taking multi-day hikes by myself has been our major bone of contention. She doesn't like it a bit, and I can't say that I blame her. But that doesn't mean that I'm ready to stop doing it.

I was lonely, even in the company of my best friends after Mindy. And I could see no reason to inflict that loneliness on them. In the woods, I'd have reason to be lonely—and I wouldn't bother anybody else.

I took some good books with me, and I kept a detailed journal. The trip kept me busy for eight days, during which I saw some lovely country and explored some interesting back trails. Mindy and I had surely enjoyed being alone with each other in the wilderness. Now, I had discovered the siren call of solitude—real solitude, without even Mindy's welcome company—in the wilderness.

Of course, she was in the wilderness. But it was far from where I was, and she was far from alone. (And, it occurred to me that, because I have such good taste in women, there were probably several young men taking that self-same course who hoped to get into her pants during that last night in Lander.)

Out there alone in the wild, I looked up at the stars at night, and I could feel her love. I transmitted mine and hoped against hope that she would feel it. Slowly, I came to understand why so many people call their mates their "better halves." My little sister was surely my better half.

I got back to what we were now calling "The House" on a Friday late in July, to find that all was well—as I'd fully expected—with the twins. And I arrived as scheduled—a full day before they were to call the sheriff's office and send the troops out to find me.

Somehow, the eight days I'd spent with no company but my own had changed my outlook. Steph and Buck seemed no different, but I no longer felt like a tit on a boar. Now I was able to enjoy their company, though I couldn't see any difference in the way they treated me then as opposed to the way they had treated me earlier that month. I concluded that my earlier discomfort had been a manifestation of the loneliness I felt without Mindy.

I stayed at home with Buck and Steph, then, for the last week of Mindy's absence. As before, they said they were glad to have me around. This time, I believed them. I should have believed them the first time.

It was almost month's end, the day before I planned to drive to Lander, when Buck and Steph invited me to dinner. After a great lasagna, accompanied by a couple of bottles of Chianti, they looked me in the eye. "Charlie," Buck began weightily, "we have a big favor to ask—"

"Oh, for shit's sake!" Steph said, interrupting. "You don't have to do it that way, Steve! Just ask him!"

And, turning to me, she went on, "Can we come along to Lander with you to pick up Mindy? We don't miss her as much as you do, but we can't wait to see her, either."

"We'll pay for half of the gas and for a motel room for ourselves in Lander," Buck said. They didn't just want to see her, it seemed. If they were willing to part with that much money, they really wanted to see her.

I smiled. "Of course," I said. "I'd like that. I'd really like that. And she'll be almost as happy to see you two as to see me. Four of us coming home will be much more entertaining than just two. But you have to promise that you two won't get together in the back seat and make out while we're on the way to Lander."

Steph grinned—naughtily. "Okay," she said. "We'll make Steve drive, while you and I sit in the back seat and fool around. All the way from here to Lander."

We didn't do that, but I've always suspected that she really meant it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was eight-thirty on the dot when I stepped into the lobby of the old Moble Hotel. Steph and Buck were right behind me. A dozen people were sitting about. I scanned the room, and there, almost concealed by the two suitcases she sat between, was my little sister. We saw each other at the same instant. Her face lit up, and I expect that mine did, too.

She flew toward me, and I toward her. We met halfway, with what should've been a resounding crash—but bodies don't make much noise when they meet other bodies, even suddenly and moving quickly. It was a long, satisfying kiss.

Our mouths parted from each other, and we stood in each other's arms, surrounded by others but completely alone, for the moment, with each other. I looked into her eyes; their deep blue looked back at me—and I could see that the fire of her love still burned for me, as mine burned for her.

She seemed smaller in my arms; she'd lost a few pounds. Now I could accuse her of being a ninety-five pound weakling—the next time I had a suicide urge. For she certainly wasn't a weakling; I felt hard new muscle in her lithe little body. Her skin now carried a lovely bronze tone from the month she'd spent in sun and weather.

She smiled up at me, naughtily, and wriggled her hips against the bulge that was growing in my pants. "Do I feel what I think I feel?" she asked.

In answer, I kissed her again. Then I looked again into those deep blue wells. "I've missed you," I said.

"I've missed you, too," she answered—with another wiggle. "But I'm really, really glad that I did this. It was even better than I thought it would be!"

"I'm glad you did it, too," I answered her. "But did you see who's with me?"

I rolled my head back over my shoulder. She stood on tiptoe, so that she could look. There were the twins, grinning for all they were worth.

"Oh, my God!" she breathed. "They came with you."

She tore herself from my arms to run and embrace them, "I think they like you," I said to her back. "Almost as much as I do."

Epilogue

It's been hard for me to decide where to end the story of the love I share with my little sister. The beginning—our trip together into the Wind River Range during that summer before Mindy joined me in college—has always been clear to me. That was, after all, where we first learned that we are lovers.

But upon the deeper thought that came with writing our story, I find that even that's not so clear. After all, I can't remember a time when my little sister was anything less to me than the most precious thing in my life, and she tells me that she can't remember a time when she didn't adore me.

So the seeds of our love were surely sown much earlier than that week we spent with each other in the mountains. Is the tendency to fall in love with your sibling inherited? If so, it may be that those seeds were sown by Mom and her brother David, our father, in their love for each other. However they might have been planted, it was because of the happy circumstance of finding ourselves together in mountain solitude that we came to discover what those seeds could sprout into.

By the same token, our love continued—and deepened—after Mindy's return from her second trip into the Winds. But, eventually, I decided that my little sister's return from her course with MOLS marks, if not the end of our story, then at least a place to end this account.

For the next year-and-a-half, Mindy and I fretted about how to share our resources with the twins—who had so little but gave so much. Steph, who didn't then even know that Mindy and I had a problem, gave us the answer. One evening in January, a few months before Buck, Steph, and I were to be graduated, she looked at me during a shared dinner I'd fixed for the four of us and said, "This is so good that I think I'm going to marry you!"

Of course she'd meant it as a joke—a compliment on the dinner. (And, coming from a cook as good as Steph, it was a wonderful compliment.) But it started the wheels turning in my head.

Thus, Mindy and I brought the idea up again a few days later, as the four of us sat around sharing two bottles of wine—white for the women and red for the men, as usual. By then, the two of us had already talked about my idea, and she, too, thought that the four of us should explore it.