Sara's Car Tripbyyoubadboy©
Then I pressed further, "When have you last . . . held hands with a boy?"
She laughed, "Last night -- you!"
"I'm your brother."
She shrugged, "You asked."
"When's. . . the last time you been kissed."
A twinkle in her eye, turning her head at the other tables and back again, she licked her lips and smiled. Put her chin up, "I kissed Sue Niels last week."
"What?!" The surprise in my voice took her back. "You're kidding . . ."
She glared at me. "I should NOT have said that. You have to swear. Never. . ."
I nodded, "Wow!"
"I swear," I liked where this was going just then. "What did you . . .?" I was still nodding my head
"We were just practicing. It was stupid."
"With tongues?" I whispered. By her look I got my answer. Now it was Sara who was blushing crimson.
There was a pause. She pressed and pulled the straw out of the lid of the cup. She continued, "You meant, kissed a boy." Began thinking, "A boy. . . That would be. That would be Jack."
"He took me to a movie, he kissed me . . ."
"Pretty much. He was lame." She stretched, and shifted, "I didn't like him much, anyway." And she looked around, leaning in close to me.
I tried to press further, "Have you? Uh . . ."
"What?" Her head tilted to the side.
I tried to continue, "Have you, ummm," her eyes were playful. "You know. . ."
"Been, with a guy."
"Yeah, uh, you know. The last time."
"When did you become the Church Lady. God, Jason. I do not believe we are having this conversation." But she continued to sit there, leaning close to me with her hands laying flat on the table.
"Sex." She said the word almost as if to herself. "It's been two years." She said lifting her brows giving her a surprised look, listening to her own voice and then nodding her head up and down once. "Two fucking years. Not since Prom."
She let slip.
I breathed out, "Brad?! Not Brad!! I can't believe . . ."
She looked around. I had said that a little loud. She pointed her finger at me, "Swear that one too!"
I was chuckling. "You hated him. You treated him like shit."
"It was Prom."
"That's your excuse."
"I had a little that night," she lowered her voice, "Ok? He got to be not so bad, uh looking that is." She started to laugh. "God. Actually he WAS that bad." She held her hand over her face. "God, I am so fucking pathetic." She was going on. "Brad, Jack, holding hands -- with you!"
"AND What about you?"
I knew I had to over-share now too. "Well, not since I broke up with Laura."
"Well, that was at about the same time, when I graduated."
"Yeah. Last time was at the end of your party. We snuck upstairs."
"Are you shitting me."
The Third Silence, as we thought back to our respective relationships.
She took a deep breath and then, "So, you thought my bathing suit looked nice huh?"
"Yeah." I smiled.
She looked down at her body again. I know she was thinking about what I saw.
Repeating my answer, "Yeah." She looked right in my eyes, said matter of fact, "The bottoms look a lot like the panties I have on right now."
I was blushing again. I could feel heat rising up my whole body.
"Not the same as last night though. The ones you saw. THESE are a lot smaller," and she smiled wickedly at me.
I remained calm and croaked out. "You looked nice."
"Last night, OR when I modeled for you?"
I paused, "Both times."
She smiled. I saw her blush a little, "You're a good brother."
The next night we were in the exact same place, the exact same situation. The car had to wait for parts, so we could not even travel at all that day. We had lost a day.
This time as I slid under the covers, she readily took my hand. We looked over at our folks who were already dozing off.
I gave her a squeeze, she smiled at me, "Goodnight."
It was our secret.
I woke again at about 3 AM, and my mind immediately drifted to Sara, whom I could hear softly breathing next to me. Was her shirt lifted up again? I was so curious. She was not leaning against me tonight, I let my hand shift over toward her side of the bed, slid lightly to the middle. Touched her over the surface of the sheet and slid my hand softly over her body. The feel of her skin was unmistakable, bare skin beneath the fabric. I let my fingers drift lower, could feel just a string crossing her hip bone. The panties! The smaller pair she had told me about today. My heart was beating fast, I could not seem to catch my breath. I could feel the desire rising in me, I felt hot, already an erection pressing against my waistband as I tucked my arms beneath the sheet, and turning myself to her traced my hand lightly along her side, bare skin. What was I doing?
Her top was lifted all the way up to her breasts again. I lay my hand at her tummy, then sliding my hand down her abdomen I could feel the smallest of panties scooped low, tufts of hair right at the elastic. I lay my palm down on her abdomen again, and began to draw small soft circles on her skin, felt for her hip bone and traced its edge around her side and back again, just touching along the edge of her panties, feeling the thin string open to a small patch of fabric, felt the curve of her ass. Damn. She was right, and I rose my hand back up to her belly again, just below her navel. When, she took my hand in hers and lifting it off - back to her side.
When I glanced at her face, her eyes were open, she was still half asleep. She smiled at me lightly, whispering, "Our parents are right over there."
But she still held my hand in hers, and I played with her fingers again. We let our hands slide along one another, rhythmically stroking our hands together. I let my fingers trace the center of her palm and up her wrist. We were holding hands just like last night, my right hand and her left hand. We were inclined toward one another, both with our arms reaching across ourselves to the other. She let me stroke her hands, responding to my caresses, holding her palms up for me when I stroked her there, curling her fingers for me, yielding each finger as I touched, just laying there with her head above the sheets, eyes closed. She was falling asleep again.
"Mmmm," she was content.
I kept on touching her, stroking her wrists, tracing her arm to the elbow which crossed the center of her chest, between her breasts. Tracing my finger along her arms, across her collarbone and down her arm again, watching her lift her chin as I touched her there. I remembered that she slept with no bra. I could see her nipples through the T shirt beneath the sheet. I was feeling so close to her and for reasons I do not understand, other than it FELT right at the time, I let my hand which was tracing the path of her arm, drop onto her T shirt, onto the swell of her breast and opening my hand, squeezed my palms around her sweet soft breast. Squeezing her softly. I could just feel her nipple tighten beneath the fabric, pressing into my palm. Her eyes got wide, and I know she wanted to make a quick and sudden movement, perhaps get away. Perhaps say something. But wanting to maintain the silence, the stillness of the room, her only response was a widening of her eyes and a light stiffening along her length. But she did not move, she did not say anything.
For the littlest while longer, she did not move away from me, but while laying there and while letting me press and massage her soft round breasts through her T shirt, she was wide-eyed staring at me, and mouthing, "What are you . . .?"
I just mouthed back, "It feels nice."
"Hmmm, Stop." she whispered without moving.
And just as she began to move her hand toward mine, to 'move it away' I just let my hand settle back down onto her bare tummy as she lay her hand on top of mine. I didn't move then. Nor did she. I didn't look at her anymore. Just closed my eyes, feigning sleep. You could see my heart beating on the sheet which was pulled lightly across my chest, my arm reaching toward her, laying still once more on her tummy beneath, rising and falling to her rapid breaths.
And again we fell asleep like that. My hand, palm directly above her navel and her hand on mine. When I next woke, I could feel her hand on the back of mine, which was still laying on the bare skin of her tummy. She was stroking the length of my hand. I did not open my eyes. Tried to keep my breathing the same. It was so nice, felt so wonderful and warm. I desired her with every fiber of my being, I loved laying next to her, her smell, the warmth of her body, the feel of her hair. I loved holding hands in this silent room. It was no words, just touch, our senses together in the darkness, this odd blue light that filled the room.
I began to trace small circles on her tummy once again. I felt her pause with her hand on mine again holding me to herself. I know she was looking at me just then but I didn't open my eyes. I was Sleeping. As the circling touch of my fingers grew larger she lifted her hand away and let my strokes grow larger on her bare skin. I wanted this to continue, to go all night if it could, last until it could not any more. I stroked her warmth across the softness of her center, beneath her ribs, within her hip bones, pressing and kneading, caressing. She lay still, inclining herself slightly toward me. I traced the line of her panties feeling them dip low between her hips, the top of which was at the very line of her pussy mound, I could even just feel the rise of her mound right at her inner thigh. I could feel the soft hairs below her navel, coursening to pubic hairs splayed above the panty line. And then back up to her navel again, drawing an odd little circle there, and tracing a line along her rib cage. I could feel her breath quicken. I did not look at her, but I knew she was awake, enjoying this as I was. I creased my eyes open, trying to see if her face was turned toward mine. But her eyes were also closed. We were sleeping.
Curiosity rose in me once more, or desire. I let my hand drift higher this time, above the edge of her ribs, along the sternum, and tipping my fingers under her nightshirt, risen up to just below her breasts, and began to trace the edges of her breasts, never rising beyond the soft beginnings of flesh, the foothills to her stiff little nipples. I could feel her heart beating madly, feel the heat which was rising off her body now. If the room were cooler she would be steaming. And then let my hand fall once again, down around her navel, laying my open hand across the plate of her hip, pressing down on her concave abdomen, and tracing, slipping down along the panty line. She was trembling, and I could hear her ragged breathing. Her eyes closed, she had let me, the allowance which had taken me this far. Why? I didn't know. Sharing this secret between us.
And again, curiosity, her yielding, the feel of her body. I let my trembling hand cross right over her panties, tracing the thin fabric, running my fingers over that thin cotton triangle, touching, pressing the down on that mound between her thighs, held lightly together. I could feel the tangle of trimmed hair beneath, and I pressed my fingers onto the mound a little harder, massaging into the top beginnings of her pussy, feeling her opening to my touch, holding my finger tips likely just above my sisters clitoris, only the thin fabric separating my fingers from her. That center of her erotic soul.
And I heard it, the faintest little "Mmmm," a lite growl. The little girl unable to control her senses. Felling into me. Letting me. Surrendering, if only a little. And I traced the fabric along her thigh, teasing, testing, the tips of my fingers sliding just beneath the edge of her panties, following the thin seam of fabric, laying my hand flat across her thighs and ever so lightly reaching in, into her panties. Feeling the bare skin of her abdomen, the mound of her pussy, that little patch of trimmed hair, touching bare skin to hair covered skin. Then sliding my fingers between her legs, touching directly over her bare puss, the folds of flesh, that line, just the other side of which would be wet. I knew because when I had briefly pulled my hand out and traced back along the fabric, pressing my hand still further between her legs, could feel the wetness on her panties.
Then laying my hand flat upon her abdomen glided softly lower and once more slipping beneath that fabric triangle, the tangles of hair rising through my fingers. To feel just once, her wetness. Curiosity, desire, and now obsession. Feeling her sex, feeling her open, her legs opening slightly to my touch. Her yielding. How far could I go? I pressed my fingers more firmly, plying and pressing her open until a wet ridge met my fingers tip, her opening was like a bursting of fruit. Instead of rubbing I was sliding into her. The juices within building along a dry line and now lubricated through her center, pulling her pussy open, feeling that hardening clit, sliding my finger along her slit, flesh wrapping around, and my finger touched into her pussy, the smell of sex rising. . .
And then . . . I knew that THIS had to end. She took my hand, lightly without opening her eyes, or warning or anything. Just took my hand. Wrapping her small fingers around my own wet fingers, and letting her hand slide along her own juces, letting our hands now slide together, wet and lubricated. It was electric.
Softly gliding along one another, and then settling me back upon the surface of her tummy. Safety! Back over her navel, centered beneath my palm. Holding it there like a treasure beneath both hands. A deep sigh rose from deep within Sara, she was smiling and turning herself to me leaning in, lay the lightest kiss upon my cheek, never opening her eyes. Her hair nuzzling around my neck and she lay there. My eyes opened wide in surprise, hers never did.
Again, the third time that night we fell asleep.
"Uh Jason. We need to talk."
I put my head down and looked up at her. Aprehensive.
I knew what it was about, "Uh, Sara, I'm sorry. Sorry about . . ."
"You were pretty out of . . .line last night." She was meeting my eyes and measuring her words.
"It was just. You. . .said you liked when we were holding hands."
"Yeah." A brief pause. "I said I liked that. We talked about that. We can DO that. But you were doing . . . a hell of a lot more than . . ."
I nodded. Looked down, "Ok. Well . . . You were playing with my fingers last night. And . . ."
She interrupted, "That was innocent, it felt nice. I liked that too."
"And . . . I started to massage your wrist, and arm."
"Yeah," she said less committal.
"Well, that was ok?" I made eye contact, watching her soften just a little. I was establishing some culpability on her part. It seemed to be working. I continued, "You liked that. I heard you."
She put her head down. "Yeah. It was . . . nice."
"So when? When exactly wasn't it nice?"
She shot her head back up, recovering herself. And she put her head low looking up at me, was she angry? "Hello! When you put your hand on my" -- and she leaned in whispering, her ear tips were red peaking through her long hair, "Boobs!" She leaned still closer and continued, "Or how about when you slid your hands into my panties and started to rub my pussy . . ."
Did she say that! The tone of her voice aroused me immediately. I was hard, trying to adjust myself without her noticing.
She looked around, "Mom and Dad were IN the next bed. They could have seen us Jason."
I nodded. "I lost it. I'm sorry. I said I was sorry. I won't . . ." and I added, "Your arm was across your chest and I was rubbing your arm and . . . I couldn't help it."
She listened a little, looking around, her cheeks were red. We were both blushing, aroused.
I kept going, "You. YOU let me do it."
She was silent
"For a little while. You did."
"I shouldn't have."
"I said I'm Sorry."
Silence. I was looking away, unhappy. I was ready to end the conversation and began to turn away, when her hand was on my wrist.
"Jason, we can hold hands. We can . . ." her voice trailed off. "That's it!"
I noticed the pause and quietly asked, "What were you going to say?"
"It's just that . . . I'm trying to decide. . . If rubbing fingers, the massaging is . . . was . . ."
I was curious now, she was clearly conflicted. "How about. Your tummy? I was touching you there?" She looked up. "You held my hand right to your tummy. After . . . everything. And you even kissed me."
Her mouth was a straight line. And she said, "I did."
"Why?" I looked back at her, deep into her eyes. We were in this silent pause of connection.
She sighed, "It's why we can just hold hands." She started playing with her food, throwing her French fries at the plate.
"How about my looking? You knew I wasn't asleep. I was looking at you, you know. You thought it was funny -- yesterday."
She laughed again, put her hair to the table briefly. "When did you become such a little perv. Because I don't ever," and she turned toward me at the table, met my eyes again and immediately stopped. We were connected, her and I, just then.
"Yeah, your hand on my tummy was nice. That's why I kissed you . . . just on the cheek. Nothing more."
I lifted in my seat and reaching out took her hand.
"It's one of. . . one of my favorite spots to be touched. Makes me feel secure. Safe, I don't' know. It's . . . we had a hard day. It was," she paused, "Perfect, alone together in the dark. I've been feeling pretty isolated lately and being held that way is so . . .safe."
"Is that all?" I interrupted.
"Holding hands. Playing with our fingers, laying my hand on your tummy. . ."
"We can't be doing this. You shouldn't even know what I like (she whispered)."
"But it's harmless. You said so yourself. Harmless Sara."
"Its just that . . .it led to more. Way more, more than we should be doing. You and I."
"Is that what we were last night? I mean, it seemed like something else."
She just looked at me. "I don't know what you meean."
"I didn't feel like anybody. In fact I had no thoughts. It was dark, warm. We were holding one another, it was light years away. No sound, only touch and smell and . . .no thoughts. It just was."
And she said matter of fact, "It's been two years. We talked about that. For both of us and you know that. I feel things too, you know, when you're doing that stuff. That harmless stuff. Things we shouldn't."
"But what did you FEEL?" I was curious.
"I'm not answering."
"I felt your hip press up into my hand when I . . ."
"Stop it." I could see her heart beating harder, causing her blouse to quiver. She was trembling.
"When did you FEEL it Sara? When we were holding hands. When I was rubbing your arm?"
"This is not a conversation."
"When my hand was on your breast? Your . . ." I mouthed the word pussy. She looked away. "Sara?" I was trying to get eye contact again.
"Well answer me this. Sara, tell me, where is your favorite spot to be touched?"
"Well, your not touching me there again!" She was glowing now.
"No. No. No. That's not what I meant. Safe I mean. Your tummy like you said before? You said 'One' of."
She shook her head no.
"Tell me. I like this too. It is nice. Like you said it's been two years for me too. The last two nights will never happen again. But Sara, I liked holding your hand," and I squeezed her fingers, felt her respond. "It was all innocent." She softly rubbed her thumb along the back of my hand, a little smile emerging as her eyes looked at our hands.
I repeated, "Holding hands," I looked down at her thumb rubbing on me, "Rubbing fingers, your arms, your tummy, your . ." .
She looked at me.
I laughed, "NOT your breasts."