Late Lunch

This is a work of fiction. All characters are over the age of 18.

Special thanks to a terrific editor, neuroparenthetical.

Yes, I'm getting old. I've learned a lot in my 60-plus years; I've probably forgotten most of it, but there is one thing I know: sometimes a late lunch is best.

I was in college in 1980, and it was a different world back then. Personal computers were a new thing, there was no internet, and social media was an atrocity not yet born, so people still talked to each other. There was a snack bar in the University bookshop, and people would go there for a light lunch and conversation with friends.

1980 was a big year for our family. I was in my senior year at college, and I already had job prospects lined up. My older brother, Tim, had recently passed the bar exam and had hung out his shingle as an attorney-at-law. My younger sister, Cindy, had had her own interesting development: she'd left her husband.

At 18 years of age, Cindy had gotten married to an older guy whom I hadn't really liked. He'd been a divorced biker, and what she'd seen in him, I'd never understood. My best theory had been that he'd just had a really big dick. Eventually she'd seen it my way, though, and I couldn't have been happier. With the divorce pending, she'd needed a place to stay temporarily, and since I'd had a spare bedroom in my apartment, I'd extended an invitation.

Unfortunately, once she'd accepted, I'd realized that I hadn't really thought the whole thing through. It was nice to have someone to share the expenses, but living with one's sister did have a downside. I wasn't comfortable bringing dates home, and I had to be quiet when I was having "personal time." To make matters worse, Cindy was a very attractive young woman, and I wasn't that much older than her. She had nice tits, and her ass was that perfect shape that I regularly fantasized about, and was always excited to see in a 'self help' magazine. I couldn't help but lust after her, especially since she preferred to do housecleaning in just a t-shirt and panties. On more than one occasion, I had to excuse myself, go to my room, and rub one out.

There's only one way to describe how I felt about masturbation: I loved it. There was just something about the pure selfishness of it that turned me on. It was just me, doing me, for me. I had no angst about my performance and no worries about comparison to former lovers, and I certainly didn't have to worry about getting my fist pregnant. Don't get me wrong; I loved sex, too, but it's like comparing Saturday night to grape soda: two different things, both good.

School days usually started with a jerk off session in the shower. I always locked the bathroom door, but the way Cindy looked at me some mornings, I think she knew what I was up to. It wasn't long before I found out for sure. She had known - did know -- and liked knowing.

My course load was light, which meant I could hold a part time job in the University bookstore. I didn't mind the job. It wasn't difficult, mentally or physically. There was also one big perk: college girls. People were less uptight then, and the girls didn't mind being ogled. Well, okay, some did, but the ones who didn't mind really flaunted it: little white terrycloth shorts; tight t-shirts worn without bras; cutoff shorts that showed the little curve where leg becomes ass; petite little coeds with big tits, proudly displaying what the good Lord provided. There were times I had to stay behind the counter due to a "large problem."

The lunch counter was adjacent to my register at a ninety-degree angle. From my vantage point, I could watch all the students making purchases there. The girls at my counter were facing me, so although I got a good view of their upstairs, I didn't have the best view of their bottom half. Now, the other counter was a different story. Those girls were facing the other way, and I stared. I love a good early-twenties ass. I'd fantasize about pulling those shorts off and making love to what was underneath. I picked out the sexiest ass and daydreamed about bending its owner over and exploring her holes with my tongue - hence that problem I mentioned.

Back in the days before the internet, porn was either in glossy magazines or rented from video stores. Although those rental places existed in town, I didn't have a tape player, so instead I'd accrued a sizable pile of porn magazines. There was no actual sex, or anything entering anyone. I only recall one pictorial with a guy in it, and he was wearing black briefs. I remember that he was exploring his partner's vagina, and it was extremely edgy for the stuff I usually looked at. I just really love the naked female body - and especially their asses.

Necessity being the mother invention, it eventually occurred to me that I should be scheduling my "private time" during the day, when Cindy was still at work. With all the visual stimulation I was getting during my shifts, it made sense to me to take a "late lunch" and go home to my apartment. There, I'd open up a half dozen porn magazines to some of my favorite pictures, strip down to nothing, sit on the edge of my bed, and jerk off.

I'd have porn in front of me and images of college girls in my head. I'd use my right hand to stroke my cock while I used my left to turn pages. When I'd come, I'd catch my jizz in my hand and then go to the bathroom to wash it down the drain. Then I'd get dressed and return my porn mags to their secret hiding place in the closet.

I think it must have been about a month after Cindy had moved in with me; the display of shorts and t-shirts at the bookstore had gotten me really worked up, and so I decided that it was a "late lunch" day for sure. As soon as I got home, I quickly stripped. Even the socks came off; I liked being one hundred percent naked. I got out my stack of one-handed reading material and spread eight or ten magazines across my bed. My right hand got busy immediately, stroking my shaft and rubbing the head. I spent extra time caressing the sensitive area on the underside, right at the tip.

When I wasn't turning pages, I was cupping my scrotum and fondling my balls. I kept looking at the naked girls, feeling the tightness in my crotch increase. I found the pictures that showed the best pussies, the best asses, and the best tits. I jerked my cock while gazing at those sexy women, and quickly came, shooting my load into my waiting hand.

That's when I would usually just go to the bathroom to clean up, but that particular day, for some reason, I decided it would be a good idea to throw a blanket over the magazines. I guess it was just in case Cindy came home, even though I couldn't recall her ever having left work early - or, at least, not having done so and come back to the apartment. Still, I was fairly paranoid. I didn't want her to see my pornography. I then went to the bathroom, got cleaned up and dressed, and left for the bookstore.

Yeah -- I forgot to put away the porn.

I was dating a girl from school off and on, and we had a date that night. I don't recall what we did or where we went, but I spent the night at her place. Obviously, it wasn't memorable sex, since I don't remember it.

The next day, I stopped by the apartment on my way to class. I went into my bedroom and found a nice, neat stack of dirty magazines on the floor at the foot of the bed. It took me a minute to register what had happened: Cindy had found my porn!

That was not good. My little sister had found my jerk off material, and it had been spread out on my bed. I was so incredibly embarrassed. In my mind, it was almost as bad as having been caught in the very act. She knew. She knew I liked looking at naked women while I masturbated. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

I thought about my options, which weren't many: I can say they're a friend's - the lady downstairs, maybe? Okay, no, that's bullshit. I could pretend it didn't happen, I suppose. If she asks, I can stonewall. But what if...?

I felt a brief surge of hope, then. I considered the possibility that my sister wouldn't be all that grossed out, and wouldn't out me to everyone as a huge pervert. I wondered if getting out in front of the situation and just talking to her might help nudge her in that general direction.

That became the plan, if you could even call it that: I would try to be rational about the whole situation. I went to class, but I didn't learn much. I was worried all day about how badly I had embarrassed myself with my sister. I skipped lunch. I had lost my appetite, for both food and my usual afternoon activities.

I was home before Cindy that evening. Before she got there, I was pacing the floor. My palms were sweaty. I was scared of what she might say. I didn't want her to think ill of me.

Then I heard the door open. I was at the kitchen sink. Cindy came in, almost skipping. She bounced up next to me and stood close beside me, grinning from ear to ear. There was no doubt she wanted to talk about something, and I was sure I knew what.

"Hi there" I said, trying to be nonchalant. "What's up?"

"I found something last night."

"You did?! What was it you found?"

"Well," she said, drawing out the big reveal, "I found a group of lovely young ladies who seem to have misplaced all their clothing!"

I felt my face turn bright red. Cindy noticed, of course, and quickly put her hand on my arm. "I'm sorry, I'm just teasing. Don't be embarrassed!"

I leaned against the counter, arms folded, and stood there silently.

"Look, this is a perfectly normal thing. You are a guy. Guys like to look at naked women." She put her hand on my shoulder. "Were you masturbating?"

I looked at her. I didn't know what to do or say.

"That's normal, too!" she said. "So you look at pictures of naked women and play with yourself, right?" Then she looked at straight into my eyes and uttered six words I would never forget. "I do it too, you know."

That was something I hadn't ever considered. "You do?" I asked dumbly.

"Yeah. Not the pictures of naked women part, but the other part -- the playing with yourself part. So don't think you're so special!" She chuckled and punched me in the arm.

A mental image popped into my head: my little sister, lying in bed naked, masturbating. Wow. That immediately raised a question in my mind, which I artlessly blurted right out. "If you don't use pictures, what DO you use?"

It was Cindy's turn to blush. "I have a ummm ... a vibrator, and, um...."

The mental image kicked up into high gear, complete with that vibrator in her hand, working her clit, her back arching as she came. I felt something stirring in my crotch. As it turned out, it was all the blood that belonged in the parts of my brain responsible for both my good sense and my good behavior. "You saw my porn," I said, "so I should get to see your vibrator."

She just stood there and looked at me for several seconds. Then she said, "I guess fair is fair. But don't you go telling your friends about this!"

"Don't worry. As long as you promise to keep this conversation a secret between us, I won't tell a soul."

We went down the hall to her bedroom, where she opened her nightstand and pulled out a huge dildo.

"Whoa, sis!"

"Knock it off! Don't forget, I'm married! Or at least I WAS married. I'm used to getting some every day. And Fred is .... very.... large."

Well, suspicions confirmed. Honestly, I'm surprised I didn't say that out loud, too.

Cindy continued. "I didn't really look through your magazines. I think I want to see what you consider to be sexy. Are you a tit man or an ass man? Show me your favorites."

We crossed the hall into my room. "I'll show you my girls, but you behave. Don't laugh!" I got out my stack of beauties and picked out one that I knew had some great pictures.

I can't say for sure which month, but I think she was Miss November. She was lying on a sleeping bag by a campfire, naked. She was on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, prominently displaying her rear end.

There was just something about her ass. After all these years, I can still see it. It excites me even now.

"Ah!" Cindy said triumphantly. "So you're an ass man!"

I blushed a little, but she nudged me with her shoulder and chuckled. She seemed to be fine with the whole situation. "Well," she said, "now I'm wondering: what do you think about my ass? Do you look at it when I'm vacuuming? Do you like it?"

I stammered a bit. "Y-yeah, it's nice."

She paused for a minute.

"Do you ever think about me when you masturbate?"

The fact was that I had -- not frequently, but yes, I had thought about her when I'd jerked off. She saw the look on my face and read me like a book.

She smiled broadly. "You've been a bad boy!"

I got a little defensive. "What about you? What do you think about when you're using that giant dildo? Do you ever think about me?"

Cindy paused too long, and I knew what that meant.

"Oh my god, you do! You think about me when you're drilling yourself!"

She blushed and laughed. "So what? Take it as a compliment!"

"You must know I'm not that big."

"And your stack of girls have better asses than mine."

We both laughed and thumbed through a few more pages, looking at more of my girls.

It was turning me on sitting there with my sister, looking at images that I usually masturbated to. My cock was getting hard, straining against my jeans, creating a visible bulge. I didn't know when it happened, but that's when I noticed her hand was on my leg. I looked over at her, and she was staring at my crotch instead of at the magazines.

"Is it getting hard?" she asked.

"Well, yes, kinda. Would you like to see it?"

"Um, no. You're my brother. I shouldn't be looking at your naked erect cock."

"How about I just take off my jeans, but leave my briefs on? Then you wouldn't be looking at my naked dick, but just the shape through my underwear."

She paused, thinking about it, but she didn't have to think long. "Okay. But leave your underwear on."

I stood up, unbuckled my belt, unzipped my fly, and pulled my jeans down to my ankles. Then I sat down and finished the job, taking off one pant leg at a time. There I sat, with an ever-increasing erection, with my baby sister starting at my cock through my briefs. I heard her breath hitch in her throat.

Her hand went back to my leg, only higher up -- getting closer to the danger zone. The feel of her soft hand on my skin was wonderful. Wait... did she just caress my leg? My cock didn't care if I'd imagined it or not. It decided to go full speed ahead. The bulge in my underwear got suddenly bigger, doing so with a twitch. Her breath hitched again. Her gaze was locked on my cock.

"You can touch it if you want."

"No, I shouldn't do that."

"Just through my underwear. It's okay. You won't be touching my actual penis. Just my underwear."

She hesitated for a few seconds. Then she reached over and stroked the penis-shaped bulge in my briefs. Up and down the length, her fingers raked over my cock. A small wet spot from my pre cum appeared on my briefs, right where my tip was hiding. Cindy saw the wet spot and worked her finger into it. She rubbed tiny circles around my frenulum, causing my dick to try to escape from the waistband of my underwear.

"Cindy, you're driving me crazy. Will you jerk me off? Please, jerk my cock!"

"No way. But, umm... I'll watch you do it."

"You want to watch me masturbate? Really?"

"I've always wanted to know how you jerked off in the shower every morning," she said with a smirk. "I'm about to find out."

I didn't need any further encouragement. I pulled my socks and shirt off, leaving just my briefs, complete with a wet spot. I laid on the bed on my back. A thought flashed through my mind: I could still stop. I was about to let Cindy watch me whack myself off. Do I really want to do this?

Fuck yes!

I raised my ass up enough to get my underpants pulled down. Then I pulled my knees up to my chest so I could get them off. Cindy was watching me intently. I straightened out my legs, my cock fully erect, pointing up at my chest. I spread my legs a little and took a firm hold. I started stroking myself, up and down the entire length of my shaft. I looked at Cindy, and our eyes met. For several seconds, we looked at each other as I pulled on my cock.

Cindy reached down and picked something up off the floor. It was the magazine we had been looking at.

"I want you to look at naked girls while you masturbate."

Oh man, I thought to myself. She's kinky!

I took the magazine -- the one with Miss November -- and laid it next to me. I looked at the glossy girl and stroked my cock. I turned the page to the girl with perky tits, and rubbed my dick head. I looked at the girl with the trimmed bush, and played with my pee hole. I glanced at Cindy and she had her hand between her legs. She was rubbing herself.

I watched her rubbing her snatch through her pants. My hand kept stroking up and down on my cock. I felt the pressure building in my balls. I spread my legs wide to give her a good view. Her mouth was partially open, her hand moving deliberately on her crotch. I looked at my magazine again and fondled my balls. Then I felt another set of fingers on my scrotum.

Cindy had reached forward and was cupping my balls in her hand. I pumped my dick while she massaged my testicles, rubbing them and pulling on my scrotum. I looked into Cindy's eyes as my orgasm swept through me. Thick ropes of semen shot out of my cock. My orgasm was one of the most intense ones I'd ever had. Semen shot everywhere -- mostly on my chest, but some landed on my arm, on Cindy's hand, on the sheets, and even on my chin.

Cindy raised her hand to her mouth and sucked it clean. All she said was a quiet little, "Wow."

I laid there naked, cum all over me, my cock slowly deflating. "How about we trade places now?" I asked.

"I was thinking the same thing. But you must not touch. This is for your viewing pleasure only. Clear? You can watch, but no touching. Okay?"

"That works for me!" I jumped up and trotted to the bathroom. Her stipulation of no touching seemed odd, since she had just massaged my balls, but I wasn't about to complain. I grabbed a towel to wipe off all the semen and then went back to my bedroom. When I got there, Cindy was sitting on the edge of the bed, her giant dildo beside her.

She looked at me with a little grin. "Are you ready?"

"Hell yes!"

She stood up and started unbuttoning her blouse. She did it slowly, deliberately, teasing me as she stripped. She pulled the blouse off her shoulders and let it slide down her arms onto the floor.

She was wearing a black bra with white lace trim and a tiny pink bow at her cleavage. It's one of those memories that is burned into my brain. She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. The rear straps fell down to her sides, the shoulder straps slid down her arms, and the cups fell away from her breasts. She let her bra fall down her arms onto the floor.

I just stood there admiring her tits. She blushed and asked, "Well? Do you like them?"

"Cindy, they are absolutely amazing!"

Her nipples were sticking out from her dark pink areolae. She took one in each hand and massaged them, starting at the place where they met her torso, then in a circular motion, into her cleavage, and up towards the firm little tit.

The skirt she was wearing had a zipper on the side; she pulled it down and unceremoniously let the skirt drop to the floor, leaving her in only her translucent white thong. I could see a little patch of dark hair through the fabric.

She turned slowly, keeping eye contact with me as she did. When she stopped turning, she was looking over her shoulder at me, her hands on her hips, her ass toward me. She looked like a pinup girl.