Meimei Pt. 01

The rigidity of my erection, pure as heartwood, told me probably not.

An Shan adjusted herself, raising her ass as her knees and her tummy gave counter pressure. I gasped at the arch she briefly presented.

I paused.

What about inside the crease? I wondered. It isn't really washing an ass without hitting inside there, right?

I set the bar of soap on the tub's ledge. Gathering suds from each cheek onto my left hand, I tenderly knifed the side of my hand through the dark fissure, feeling the soft weight of each globe on either side as I passed it through. Using a sawing motion, I passed back and forth three times. On the final pass back and out, I couldn't resist it. I angled my pinky finger down; it dragged over the tenuous, puckered surface of An Shan's anus.

An Shan vented an airy whimper.

I rose and rinsed her, watching the flow of water clear away the white suds. I could not suppress a smile: her ass was sparkling clean.

"Your turn," I said.

She didn't react.

"Meimei! Soap's on the ledge here. Roll over and do your front."

She voiced a weak protest.

"Come on. You've got to do it. Roll over."

Right in front of me, she started rolling over.

"Shit!" I threw the curtain closed.

The outline of the soap bar was visible through the water-soaked curtain. I did not see her hand reach for it.

"Are you--Meimei, are you going to do it?"

"Don't make me move again," she pleaded.

Desire and brotherly duty gripped my guts, each pulling in the opposite directions. My mind searched for some way to appease both.

Washcloths, I decided. I'll cover her up.

Pivoting in place, I quickly found the small stack of washcloths and hand towels on a rack above the toilet. I took one of each. Then, I knelt down and drew the curtain aside, making every effort not to look, not even glance. I trained my eyes like the sights of a rifle on the shower drain.

Though I perceived no details, my peripheral vision took in the general outline of her new position in the tub. An Shan was flat on her back. Both forearms lay across her face. Her knees were slightly bent up. And they were spread, resting against the tub's sidewalls.

I first soaked the washcloth under the stream. Then, using two hands and still concentrating on the drain, I lightly tossed the washcloth at the place where An Shan's legs joined her body. I heard a wet slap.

I hazarded a peek, careful to avoid looking at her breasts.

Good. We're good.

I held the hand towel under the flow of water. As it grew heavy with saturation, it became clear to me that I could not toss it onto An Shan's body with any expectation that it would land fully unfurled, as the washcloth had, much less fall accurately enough to cover the required areas. I would need to drape it across her chest.

When the towel was soaked and ready, I side-stepped on my knees until I knew I was right level with An Shan's chest. I pinched two corners of the short end, swayed it out, and dropped it on her.

Then, I checked my work, whispering a swear of about eight really, really bad words. I stood up and took a step backward, more foul language spilling from me the entire time. I stepped to one side. The new vantage confirmed my eyes were not being lied to. I shook my head in disbelief.

The washcloth and hand towel were a success from the standpoint of masking from view certain parts of An Shan's flesh. As to cloaking the form and contours of her body, this was a spectacular failure.

I fought the urge to take out my cell phone and capture this moment--this glorious scenery--for posterity. Looking at her breasts, I imagined two tightly overfilled, grapefruit-sized water balloons hidden under that sopping cloth. They hung on her torso like they wanted each to roll off the side of her ribcage, but couldn't.

I took the showerhead in hand and directed the spray on the hand towel. More hushed curses followed because the additional saturation--either actually or in my imagination--endowed some translucency to the cloth, hinting at the color of the flesh underneath. With a touch of guilt in my heart, I let the stream soak An Shan's groin. Over several seconds, I watched in astonishment as the waterlogged cotton clung to her, creating a kind of mold--a bas-relief of her pussy.

The guilt, then, stung me, and I angled the stream to the drain.

I knelt, took the soap, and went to work on those parts of An Shan around the little towels. After rinsing, it occurred to me that, leaving her private parts for last may have inadvertently signaled my excitement for them. I ought, I realized, to have taken a more methodical--bottom to top or vice-versa--approach. Too late now.

I dared not reach under the towels. So, I did my work on top of them, rubbing the bar of soap over those massive breasts.

An Shan drew a breath, held it for a moment, and then her mouth fell open when she exhaled. The faintest of moans accompanied the air.

Working the underside of each breast, I applied some little force, lifting and giving myself a sense of their heft. What astonished me was not so much their weight, but their rigidity and fullness.

Satisfied that the hand towel had plenty of soap mixed in with the water, I risked one final pass over the center area on each. I made small circles with the bar on her left side. When I moved to the right, I saw a small raised hump in the cloth--her nipple had stiffened. I encircled it with the bar, and by the time I had finished, both nipples protruded.

I felt dizzy when I stood to rinse her chest. It took some time before all the soap had been washed out of the towel, and I knew I was no longer imagining it: I could see the darkness of her nipples through the wet white fabric.

Redirecting the stream toward the drain, I took a deep breath, knelt, and prepared myself to wash An Shan's crotch.

Earlier, I deliberately skipped the insides of her thighs. Now, I would begin there. An Shan remained open for me--knees wide. Access would not be an issue. I lathered up the tender skin of her inner thighs.

Finishing there, I blew out a breath and, as gently as I could, rubbed the bar of soap over the washcloth draped over her pussy. The hair underneath just showed through the wet towel--a small patch of wispy black pubic hairs, almost circular in shape. I rolled over the edge and down, across her labia. Then, I returned.

Using my left hand, I reached between An Shan's legs. With a light brushing motion, I tried to get the towel nice and soapy.

An Shan whimpered.

My head spun toward the sound, and my hand froze, the bar of soap pressed against her.

She didn't move or say anything.

I began making light circles.

An Shan voiced a sigh.

I applied the subtlest increase of pressure, and she pushed against me down there.

Her movement surprised me, and the soap slipped from my grasp.

Her hips grated again, and her pussy brushed against the back of my thumb.

An Shan moaned.

I didn't move.

Her feet pressed into the tub floor, lifting her bottom up. She lowered her groin until she found my thumb.

I let her.

With a gasp, An Shan began rocking her crotch against the back of my thumb. Her washcloth-covered labia clasped and rode the sides of the digit. When An Shan found the two knuckles, she drove her clitoris against them, up and down.

A high, airy moan echoed in the shower, and I saw her jaw fall open.

Too amazed to react, I held my thumb in place and watched An Shan pleasure herself against it. Soon, her enjoyment escalated, and it was so beautiful it hurt.

She was playing the piano again, in a way. At least, it seemed that way because she was lost in herself. An Shan undulated and moaned as if she didn't care who saw or how she looked. She was totally engulfed in the moment and inhibition-free.

When she peaked, I watched her slip her forearm into her mouth and bite down. Her legs fired, lifting her entire body from the bath floor except for her shoulders and feet. Her body trembled as she held her pussy against my thumb. She bawled into her wrist once, twice, three times.

Then, she relented, and her coming down was like the air rushing out of an inflatable. Gravity brought her down, but slowly. Her muscles didn't suddenly release; they exhausted. She panted, then breathed, and then sighed. When it ended, she was like the soaking towels on her body. Their water was her satisfaction, and she was so replete with it she slumped in the bottom of the bath almost lifelessly.

I swallowed and wiped the wetness from my brow. "Holy shit," I murmured.

Not long after, I took a fresh washcloth, and I soaked and soaped it. Lifting her arms from her face, I dabbed and glided over her cheeks, chin, and forehead. Rising, I rinsed her completely with the stream, and then I shut off the shower.

I swapped out the washcloth and the hand towel for a full-size towel as swiftly as I could. I rubbed her body dry. With another towel, I wrapped her hair and left for the bedroom.

I peeled back the covers on one side of the bed and returned to her. Then, I carried An Shan from the bath to the bed and covered her up.

It was my turn for a shower.

My erection--one so uncomfortably hard that I could have chiseled marble with it--finally ebbed.

***

I was good. My car was good. The motel room was good. Nasty clothes were bagged. We were clean. It was time to go.

An Shan remained asleep. I gently shook her shoulder.

"We should head home soon, Meimei."

Her eyes opened.

I avoided them. "I got you some fresh clothes. They're in the bathroom in a bag. Don't know about my style choices, but I think the sizes should be close."

That may not have been true. I probably underestimated the bra size.

She sat up, clutching the towel to her body, and rubbed her head.

"Cup of ice water on the nightstand for you," I pointed out. "I told Baba we decided to go to dinner and a movie to celebrate."

"Time is it?" she muttered, and then, seeing a clock beside her, she faced it toward herself.

It was 9:33. She had been asleep in the motel for almost two hours.

She drank about half of the glass of water, and then, after cinching the towel around her chest, she rose and shuffled past me to the bathroom without a word or glance.

Five minutes later, she emerged.

Twelve minutes later, we were home.

She didn't say a word.

From a friend, I got a ride to her car at the party house and drove it home without Mama and Baba finding out.

I went downstairs and lifted. I do good thinking when I work out.

Did she remember much, if anything? The answer was uncertain.

I have had my share of drunken nights--even blacking out more than once--but I always had a broad sense, from images and flashes of moments, of what had happened.

My guess was she probably had a fairly clear notion of the main events while missing some of the smaller details. The sum of the evening's major occurrences, looked at from almost any perspective, did not amount to a wholesome, good time.

Her silence on the ride home, then, meant she either didn't quite know how to feel about the night or was mortified. Or both, I supposed.

How did I feel?

I had helped my sister when she was in need. This was a good thing.

But, from the moment I watched her dress rehearsal for Berklee, I had been torn in two. A part of me wished to remain a dutiful brother; another part desired her more than anything. The night had somehow managed to give satisfaction to both of those urges. And yet, I finally thought, what was the point of anything if it upset her or ruined our relationship?

When I finished my workout, I took my second shower of the evening. The door opened with a low creak.

"Meimei?"

"Yeah."

"Feeling any better?"

"Yeah."

She didn't speak again for some time. I finished the shower. She usually left at this point, but today, she stayed.

I grabbed a towel and dried myself off inside the shower. Cinching it around my waist, I pulled one of the panels open and stepped out.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes bloodshot and glassy.

"Don't be. I was glad to help."

"You got my car, too?"

"Yeah."

She nodded and sniffed. "Thank you."

"You sure you only had four beers?" I asked.

She nodded again.

"I only ask because it...it just seems like someone might have slipped you something."

Wiping her eyes, she said, "No, I knew to be careful about that kind of thing. I opened them myself."

"Good. Okay. Wow."

"What?" she asked.

"First time drinking?"

"Yes."

I put on deodorant and brushed my hair in the mirror.

"Want a rub down?" she offered.

"If you want your fingers workout, then okay."

"Come on."

"I should...."

She didn't let me finish. She took my hand, and we left the bathroom for the couch.

I had planned on telling her I needed to get dressed. I always put on clothes before the massage. She must've forgotten; we were out of our routine.

When I sat down, she asked which workout I had done.

"Legs," I said.

She rose and gestured for me to lay down.

I rose and hesitated.

She saw. Her eyes glanced toward the towel.

"I could get some clothes," I suggested.

There was a moment, but she shook her head and pointed at the couch. "It's fine."

I stretched out on my stomach.

As always with legs, she began on the backs of my calves, working up. When she reached the towel, she slid her hands underneath to rub my hamstrings. She pulled her hands out and kneaded my butt over the towel. Finally, she massaged my lower back because she knew I did deadlifts on legs days.

It felt wonderful, but never sexual. I was grateful for not getting hard.

When her hands rose from my body, I rolled over, careful to ensure the towel remained safely tucked into me.

Starting again at the shins, she slowly crept up. Her hands slid under the towel to massage my thighs.

In my mind's eye, I saw how close her fingers were approaching my penis and testicles. Six inches. Five. Three. Two.

I began to harden, and I closed my eyes.

Her thumbs slid between my thighs and pried my legs apart. She started low and moved up the insides of my thighs.

My budding erection rolled to my right side.

An Shan's thumbs pressed and glided. Her hands moved up. Press and glide. Up.

If she goes up again, I thought....

Press and glide. Up. Press, and as she slid, the tips of her thumbs brushed my scrotum, gently nudging each testicle.

She did it again.

It felt incredible. I didn't want to look. I didn't want to know what she thought.

Again.

Her hands slid over to the top of my thighs and down toward my knees.

Almost fully hard, my penis pointed up toward my right hip. I had wrapped the towel tight enough that it became uncomfortable.

I dared not look. As long as she continued, my erection was not a problem.

An Shan's hands slid up my thighs. Way up. Then down.

Back up. Higher even. The tips of her left fingers stopped just fractions from my penis. Down again.

Then, she slid up, and her hands glided over the sensitive skin of my hip all the way to where the towel clung to my waist. The tops of her fingers snaked under my erection. I could feel each knuckle on the shaft.

It took my every effort not to react in any way--draw breath, gasp, groan, shudder, or lurch. The one part of me I couldn't control betrayed me. I felt my erection flex at her touch.

Her hands slid down.

My penis had surged against the towel. I knew I was fully erect, and I felt the towel giving way, the tucked knot slipping free.

An Shan's hands flipped over.

Her palms face up, those hands cruised up each thigh. At my hip, I felt the tips of her fingers touch my penis, and rather than gliding across it, they adjusted ever so slightly. Those fingertips traced the length of my penis to the tip, hovering momentarily, and then gliding back down my legs.

My erection contracted again, and the towel split apart. With the constriction released, my penis angled up, pointing to some spot on the ceiling behind my head. Before the sides of the towel fell away, I seized them and kept myself covered.

My sister's hands slipped out from under.

I finally opened my eyes.

An Shan rose and sat on the big chair next to the couch. She picked up a novel and began to read.

I got up.

"Did you like it?" she asked without taking her eyes from the book.

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, it felt great. Thank you."

"Remember, silly? You don't thank me; I thank you. This is my workout."

"Yeah."

I changed in the bathroom.

***

On Thursday night, after a long day of work and classes, I returned home to a big family dinner. Afterward, we listened to An Shan play. When she finished, I went to exercise in the basement.

My sister came into the bathroom while I showered, per usual. This time, however, instead of sitting on the toilet or against the far wall, she sat on the floor beside the tub, leaning against the wall.

I was rinsing my face when I heard her ask about my classes. The community college had a shortened May term, and I was taking two classes.

Something was different about her voice. It sounded much clearer.

I turned and saw her--not through the glass. She had pushed the panel about eight inches in.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"Why do you use a bar?" she asked, pointing to the soap in my hand.

I shrugged. "Used to it."

"I like my squishy and body wash."

I didn't say anything. Setting aside the soap, I grabbed the shampoo bottle.

"Will you tell me about your classes?" she asked.

I told her about Statistics and Composition 2 as I washed my hair.

Needing to rinse, I simply turned around, presenting my front side to her with complete trust.

She told me she had to go to the Honors Night at school tomorrow. "So don't work out until after I get home," she added.

"You're getting an award?"

"Yup."

"That's awesome, Meimei. I'll come."

"You will?"

"Yeah, I want to see."

I heard her stand up. Finished rinsing, I opened my eyes.

She reached out, put her hand on the back of my neck, drew me close, and kissed me on the cheek.

I was dressed for the massage, but An Shan took off my shirt. First, she rubbed my left arm. When she moved to my chest and stomach, she drew close, and one of her breasts came to rest against my arm.

I grew hard in my underwear and shorts, and the erection was obvious.

Switching to the right side, the same thing happened. Once she reached my chest and abs, her breast pushed into my arm, but this time, it moved. Instead of simply using her hand, An Shan's body moved, and I felt her nipple harden against me. I felt it glide up and down.

Massaging my stomach, her hand slid under the elastic of both my shorts and underwear. At first, it was just the tips of her fingers. She dipped in and out. The next time, all of her fingers went under, and they swept across my pubic hairs before slipping out of my pants and up my stomach. Then, she made another pass. Reaching the same depth, this time her fingers rubbed little circles against the flesh under my hairs for a few seconds.

She withdrew her hand, caressing my stomach, and then my chest. Then, her hand spun and dove down, undulating the entire way. It snaked into my pants--her entire hand--and came to a stop against my erection. Her fingers to the right, her thumb to the left, and the base of my penis nestled in the soft pocket of flesh between her index finger and thumb. Her hand and fingers made little waves there for a few seconds--never on my penis, always on the flesh around it--and then drew out.

"Better?"

"Yeah. That was perfect," I responded.

"I liked it, too."

***

An Shan won the Mowatt Award--basically the award for the best girl in the school for academics, citizenship, and leadership. We all went out to dinner afterward. Baba splurged; we went to a chain Italian joint.