Facets of Love Ch. 10

April and I only did it once that night. In the missionary position. Under the covers of my bed. I'm fairly sure I could have talked her into round two, or three, maybe five, but we had plenty of time for that later. She wasn't a one-night stand... a girl I'd picked up in a bar to use once and then dispose of.

She also wasn't the one. As much as we loved each other, we knew our life partners were still out there, somewhere. But that was at least a few years in the future.

So, we spent the rest of the night in each other's arms as we transitioned from brother and sister to something entirely different. Lovers? Yes. But lovers with conditions.

-

Two nights after I shared ice cream, and my bed, with April, I did the same with Aunt Gloria's daughter. Except Julie didn't like ice cream. Or sharing. Or men.

Julie was the closest thing I had to a brother. As kids, April and June played with Barbie dolls. Julie stole and played with my toy trucks.

We often got together with other home-schooled kids in grade school. April and June cried when a boy their age picked on them. Julie gave him a bloody nose.

April and June both took dance lessons in middle school. Julie played basketball, on the same team as Jerry and me, with her mom as our coach.

All three sisters were smart and successful. In their senior year of high school, April was the head cheerleader, June got the leading female role in three school musicals, and Julie was captain of the girls' basketball team.

Earlier, when I said that Julie didn't like men, well that might have been a bit harsh. She adored our dad, thought of Uncle James as a doting grandfather, and often joined us when we watched sports on TV. But other than those two, she saw absolutely no need to associate with the rest of our gender.

Men in general were "spoiled, egotistical, insecure wastes of oxygen who's only contribution to society was an occasionally well-placed sperm cell." An opinion she obviously got from her mother who, as Dad once told me, "Was a lesbian on an extended sabbatical."

In other words, Julie was not a "cuddle in the truck and watch the moon rise" kind of girl. Sweet treats and rose pedals were not going to get her out of her blue jeans and into my bed.

Conversely, I didn't volunteer for this mission. For the last two years, I was perfectly content with the three women who snuck into my room every night and did wonderful things to my body. It wasn't my idea to swap out three mature, highly experienced bed partners for a trio of rookies. The sisters brought it up. All three of them. And Julie was most insistent that, since I got two years of hands-on sex training, justice demanded they received the same opportunity.

Was it possible that Julie was only doing this because she didn't want her sisters to get slighted? For all I knew, she had no intention of going through with it. She loved Dad and Uncle James. She tolerated me. Maybe that was what it was all about. My role in this play was to be the worthy adversary, the overconfident antagonist who is vanquished in the final scene. Would she be the heroine to feminists everywhere and lead me on until my cock resembled a moon rocket seconds from lift off and then abort the mission at T minus three seconds?

Or did Julie really want me to fuck her? There was only one way to find out.

Basketball was something Julie and I could always agree on. Even though I had four inches and fifty pounds on the girl, on a roundball court, we were evenly matched. I could out rebound her but her outside shots had the precision of laser guided bombs and, when I came up to block the long ball, she had this dribbling spin move that consistently left my jock strap lying flat on the court.

Our one-on-one game started a half hour after dinner. The entire family knew what we were supposed to be doing that night. To their credit, except for a questioning look from Mom, nobody commented on our unusual form of foreplay.

As usual, it was a fairly physical game. We didn't blatantly foul each other, neither of us ended up on the ground bleeding, but we also weren't hesitant to use a hand, hip, or elbow when necessary. We played for a little over an hour. Having long discarded my shirt, my shorts were soaked through with sweat. Julie's equally damp jersey was also lying on the pavement and her sports bra was nearly transparent.

"You had enough?" Julie asked.

"We're tied three games each. Don't you want to play one more?"

"Normally I would, but the skeeters are starting to bite. How about we find something to do in the cabana?"

The shortest route from our cul-de-sac basketball court to my cabana was in the front door, through the living room, and out the back sliders. We took the scenic route... up the driveway, by the left side of the house, through the side gate, and around the swimming pool. I considered pushing Julie into the pool and then jumping in after her but thought better of it. Not because taking her virginity in the hot tub would have been a bad thing, but she probably didn't want the entire family to witness her deflowering.

I also considered doing it in the shower. We were sweating like two puppy dogs pulling a choo-choo train and the idea of me washing hers while she washed mine certainly had appeal. She nixed that idea by saying,

"Do you mind if I shower first? I promise to leave you some hot water."

I probably should have suggested we save water by showering together, and would have, if she hadn't immediately pulled off her shorts and then slipped her panties down the best shaped pair of legs I'd ever seen. Which is a ridiculous thing to say. Because I'd been looking at those legs all my life. I grew up wrestling with those legs, holding them in the air as I tried to pin her to the carpet. I'd routinely swatted those legs with a dish towel in the kitchen. I'd tripped those legs when we played soccer against each other.

But this was the first time I realized that those fantastically toned appendages led to an equally exquisitely formed ass. And I never knew that a pair of cleanly shaven, pouty pussy lips resided at the apex of those breath-takingly long legs.

Even then. Even after realizing that I'd spent my entire life living with a set of legs that belonged on either a New York City fashion runway or Sports Illustrated's swimsuit cover, I still didn't say the obvious. I never said,

"Why don't we shower together,"

Because after she removed her shorts and panties, she took off her sports bra.

A little background information before I continue.

Previous to that night, I'd sucked, licked, groped, and fondled the best breasts in the SEC (the South-East athletic Conference, whose women were more numerous and several steps above those in the Security and Exchange Commission). When it came to boobs, nobody could top the quantity and quality of the Spencer girls... Grandma, Mom, and April. And Nurse Angela's chest mounted watermelons were two generous handfuls of wiggly delight that would satisfy even the most persnickety breast connoisseur.

But Julie was Aunt Gloria's daughter. Julie inherited her mother's tall, thin physique, her soul-searching brown eyes, and her often caustic, no-nonsense attitude about life. She also had her mother's miniature boobs which, while not near the size of the afore mentioned women, did have their advantages. Because Julie was blessed (maybe cursed) with her mother's abnormally large and sensitive nipples.

By the time all of those thoughts went through my admittedly slow central processor, Julie had already showered and was standing in front of me with a large towel wrapped around her boobs and butt.

"You mind if I turn on the game while you shower?" she asked.

"What game?"

"Florida State at Miami."

"College football on a Wednesday night?"

"It's the first game of the season. They play tonight, get a jump on the ratings, and then neither team has to play again until a week from Saturday."

I took a quick shower, toweled off, slipped on a pair of boxer shorts, and joined Julie in my living room. Sure enough, there was a live football game on the TV. As was the Brown family tradition, the sound was completely muted.

"I don't need two constantly jabbering so-called experts in a booth and a dizzy headed blonde on the sideline to figure out what's happening on the field," Dad always said. "And if I hear that same damn beer commercial one more time, I'll be tempted to throw a mug full of their product through the screen."

Uncle James felt the same way, so Julie and I grew up watching football while listening to our dad and uncle provide commentary with music playing softly in the background.

Julie's taste in music was clearly different from mine but, since it was her night, I didn't ask her to find a different playlist. I also didn't complain about her stealing a shirt out of my closet but did ask why she was sitting on the floor with her back against the couch.

"So you can dry my hair while we watch the game." She handed me a hairbrush and blow dryer, straightened her back to put it level with my chest, and continued to watch the game while I played hairdresser.

It didn't take long to dry Julie's brown, shoulder length locks. I probably could have stopped after five or ten minutes into the task, but our positioning... her back towards me... gave me an excellent view over her shoulder and down what used to be my extra-large V-neck, white cotton T-shirt. I wasn't ogling her cleavage; she didn't have any. However, I was checking out the two tiny bumps where her boobs should have been, trying to determine the state of her nipples.

Which was difficult. Because my shirt was so big on her, it barely contacted her chest. Not to be denied, I angled the hair dryer towards her chest, in an attempt to puff out the shirt and give me direct line of sight to her nips.

"I know what you're doing," Julie said. "The answer is yes. Thanks to you, my nipples have grown to twice their normal size and are harder than the boner that's pressing against my back.

"I also know what we're supposed to be doing. But before we do it, we need to talk."

"About?" I asked.

"About what happened when you were screwing April."

"Does that bother you? Me being with April before you?"

"No. We all agreed she'd go first. I was referring to me sleeping with your mom while you were with April."

"I... uh... I'm not sure what you mean?"

"Yeah. I figured as much. Let's start at the beginning. Do you know that your mom and mine had an affair shortly after you were born?"

"You mean like a lesbian affair?"

"Yes. That's what they call it when two women have illicit sex together."

"I knew they were close," I said. "But I didn't know they were that kind of lovers."

"Well, they were. And still are."

"Are you saying that our moms still..."

"Yes. They still lick each other's pussies once a month or so."

"I thought Mom only slept with Dad... and me. Shit. Does that mean Mom is bisexual."

"How could you not know this? You've been sleeping with your mom, my mom, and your grandmother for two years and you didn't realize that all three of them were Bi?"

"I guess... actually... I kinda thought that they all just loved each other."

"Which they do. Everybody in our family loves each other. But that's not what I'm trying to tell you. After your mother and I slept together, and now that we're supposed to do the same thing, I'm thinking maybe I'm not Bi."

"That's okay," I said. "There's nothing wrong with being a lesbian. If you don't want to do it with me, you don't have to."

"Holy crap. You may have a big dick and a killer smile, but sometimes you act like you've got shit for brains."

As if that didn't already confuse the bejesus out of me, she stripped off her (my) t-shirt, threw it across the room, and put my hands on her nipples.

"Can you feel those things? I know you don't have a shitload of experience, but have you ever felt nipples harder than these?"

Then she took my right hand and pressed it into the dripping wet spot between her legs.

"This didn't happen when I slept with your mom," she said. "Not for lack of trying. Aunt Mary caressed me and kissed me and did everything else she could to make my nips stand out and my pussy gushy. I'm not saying it didn't feel good. It was like the most relaxing massage a girl could ever want. But I didn't react sexually.

"Think about it. I slept naked with the most desirable woman within a thousand miles and yet my heart rate never got above normal, my nipples remained soft, and my pussy stayed dry. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it. It was one of the best nights of my life. I've always loved Aunt Mary. She's the one I go to when Mom and I get into a fight. And, two nights ago, when you were boning April, I was confessing my sins to your mother."

"What sins?" I asked. "Besides cheating every time we play basketball together, I can't think of a single thing you've ever done wrong."

"It's not what I've done, it's what I am. I'm a fucking hetero."

"A what?"

"A heterosexual. I'm physically attracted to men and have no burning desire to munch muff."

"That's a bad thing?"

"It is if your mom hates men."

"But..."

"No! No buts. It's time for you to quit talking, take your fingers out of my snatch, and fuck me. And you better make me come. Because the only thing worse than being heterosexual is being asexual."

I'm not quite sure when they got there, but sure enough, sometime during our strange conversation, two of my fingers found their way into Julie's virginal vagina and were absent mindedly stroking her inner wall. Even though I knew keeping them there and tweaking her nipples between the digits of my other hand would do the trick, I complied with her request. We assumed the forward-facing cowgirl position with my already leaking erection standing ready at the starting gates.

As much as Julie wanted to "rip the band aid off" and take me all in one thrust, I convinced her that a "slow and steady" approach would make her first time more memorable. Letting her set the pace, I watched as my once annoying sister transitioned into a strikingly beautiful girl as she gently descended into womanhood.

"Oh shit," she said as my swollen head breached her lower lubricated lips. "I didn't know it would be that tight of a fit."

"It's your first time. You'll eventually get used to it."

"Oh God, I hope not," she said as my circumcision rubbed against her G-spot. "I don't ever want to get used to this. This is fucking amazing."

After a short pause, she continued her downward journey, pausing every inch or so as if she was savoring each minute of her deflowering.

"How far," she asked. "How far into me will you go?"

"As far as your body will let me. The woman usually runs out of vagina before I run out of dick."

"Not too cocky, are you?"

"Better too cocky than not enough."

Shortly thereafter, I proved my point by bottoming out against her cervix.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Completely."

"Then now we fuck. You set the pace; I'll follow your lead."

It didn't take long.

We started with slow, long, meaningful strokes of affection. Her beautiful brown eyes remained glued to mine as we cemented our newly found bond.

Transitioning to shorter, quicker lunges of desire, she closed her eyes, scrunched up her nose and reveled in the moment.

In the end, when our pounding pistons of passion broke through the barrier between lust and love, Julie let out a primal scream which confirmed, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was not asexual.

I have no idea who won the football game.

-

June was easy.

Yeah, not a very nice thing to say about a girl, especially my sister, but, by the time her first turn in my bed rolled around, she'd already lost both of her cherries. The night April and I watched the moon rise in Dad's truck; June's virginity fell in Dad's bed. And two nights later, when Julie discovered she wasn't asexual, Aunt Gloria proved that June was.

So, when June walked into my cabana for her inaugural taste of "Robbie meat", there was no doubt that it would happen. The only questions were what, where, and how. What would we do (everything imaginable). Where would we do it (in every room of the cabana and the hot tub). And how long would we do it (until I begged for mercy).

June was also a drama queen.

I mean that in all senses of the term. She was last year's homecoming queen. She was the president of her high school drama club. And, if you looked up the definition of the phrase "overly dramatic" in Wikipedia, June's bio would immediately pop up. In "June world", a hang nail was akin to getting your appendix removed, a two-day cold was on par with double pneumonia, and if anybody dared to tell her "No, you can't do that", well, I really have nothing to compare that to, because very few had the guts to refuse her.

More than anything else, June was Martha Spencer's daughter.

June looked like her sister April, who was the spitting image of her mother Mary, who was a clone of her mother Martha... my grandmother. Which meant that June was absolutely gorgeous. A walking wet dream. A five-car pile-up just waiting to happen. But, unlike Mary and April, June also inherited my grandmother's desire to succeed. In all things. At all times.

Case in point.

Grandma was a sex therapist. There was very little she wouldn't do to help her clients. If she thought it would help, Grandma would strip naked and let a man do her doggy while she ate out his wife.

June was a gifted actress. Despite her strikingly beautiful face, an eye-turning figure, and a voice only an angel's harp could rival, the secret to her success was her work ethic. Because of her age, she had obviously not done any nude or sex scenes (yet), but, short of undressing on stage, she completely researched and owned her character.

When playing Lady Macbeth, she spoke with a 1600's British accent. All the time. On and off stage. For the duration of the run.

Throughout her time as Maria in "West Side Story", she dressed in the fashions of the 1960's and spoke with a Puerto Rican accent.

During the days preceding and following June's eighteenth birthday, the local theatre company was doing their version of a very unlikely but extremely successful Broadway stage-play loosely based on the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.

That night, my first night with June, I was initially confused when, at the appointed hour, my TV magically turned itself on revealing a video of the entire Dallas Cowboy cheerleader squad dancing to Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger".

My confusion turned into delight when my half-sister marched into my cabana wearing white boots, tight white shorts, and a thin blue piece of fabric that, while extending down the length of her arms, exposed the entirety of her flat belly and a good portion of her generous boobs.

The white vest with blue stars was the first article of clothing she removed during her dance routine. With the vest removed, the only thing keeping her boobs inside what was nothing more than a long-sleeved bikini top was a large knot of fabric at the base of her cleavage. Knowing exactly what she was doing, June partially untied the knot and then, ever so slowly, wriggled the shorts off her hips. Which forced me to divide my attention between two shows... the action thriller above her belly button, wondering if and when her boobs would fall out into the open... and the story below her navel, which would hopefully solve the mystery of whether or not she shaved.

Like nearly everything June did, her timing was flawless. Just as the music was reaching a crescendo, she turned her back to me, dropped the tiny shorts down to the floor and, with a practiced flare, performed a classic turn-and-a-half pirouette, landing with her legs spread and her hands clasped behind her back... giving me a clear view of her completely bald puss and bouncing braless breasts.