A Special Bond

A Special Bond

by

Tragudis

We lived in a suburban split-level that my parents, Martin and Janine Zlatin, bought around the time JFK was assassinated. My kid brother Danny and I (Jennifer Zlatin) were in our teens. There was nothing remarkable or out of the ordinary about our house, the neighborhood or my family. Mom worked in a beauty salon and dad was a collector for a local appliance business. We were what you'd call middle-class, but barely, because my parents were always talking about "stretching the dollar" to make ends meet. Danny and I attended public schools, unlike one of our rich relatives who lived in an upscale development and whose kids attended private school.

My teen years were a difficult time. Image-wise, I mean. I was interested in boys, but none of them seemed interested in me. I wasn't what you'd call a "looker" back then. I was kind of homely, if you want to know the truth. My features were too big for my narrow face. Kids made fun of me. They called me names like "clown" and made crude jokes: "If I had a dog with a face like yours, I'd shave his ass and walk him backwards." That experience gave me a complex that I never fully got over, even after my face "caught up" to my features, after I "prettied up," as one friend said when I reached my late teens.

Danny and I had always been close. At times, I got so down on myself that I cried, mostly in the solitude of my room. But one time, Danny heard me and came in. "Jennifer, what's wrong?" he asked.

Not wishing to burden him with my problems, I said I'd flunked a test in school. Knowing me the way he did, he didn't buy it. "You, a dean's list student? Come on, tell me what's really going on."

Finally, I broke down and told him that I made the mistake of telling a girl that I had a crush on Paul Burnett. Paul was a neighborhood heartthrob. Lots of girls liked him, including Sherri Hopkins, another neighbor, who said, "Jen, no offense, but Paul would never have the slightest interest in you. You're nowhere near pretty enough."

Danny put his arms around me, comforting me. "Don't pay any attention to people like that," he said. "They're either jealous or they feel so bad about themselves that they find the need to belittle other people. Besides, you're plenty pretty and way smarter than those people who put you down."

Still, I felt far from pretty. How could I after all those years of verbal bullying? Nevertheless, I felt so grateful to Danny for taking the time to comfort me.

We traded notes on our social life. We'd tell each other things we kept hidden from others, even close friends. By my sophomore year in college, I was gaining more confidence. My complexes lingered like unwanted company, yet I managed to land a boyfriend, and a handsome boyfriend at that. Tom Shields was his name. I can't say my girlfriends were jealous, but they sure made a fuss over his rugged good looks, boosting my ego that always seemed to need a boost. Tom and I were the same age, though we went to different colleges. He found it hard to believe that I was once known as an ugly duckling. At times, I still felt that way, even though he and even other girls complimented me on my "mile-long legs," "peaches and cream complexion" and "pretty little angel eyes," the latter in reference to an old doo-op song. As noted, my complexes never totally vanished. When I complained about my wide hips, wide butt, too high a waist and small tits, Tom would say, "Look, nobody's perfect. To me, you're adorable. Not to mention that you're funny and bright."

He took me to his college's home coming dance. We never talked about making a life together, though it did cross my mind. That is, until we drifted apart by the end of our sophomore year.

Meanwhile, I continued to live at home while attending college and working part time to help pay for school. I met and dated a few guys after the break with Tom. Nothing serious, though. Danny and I were still sharing our experiences. We'd go on walks and talk for hours in my room, holding our voices down when our parents were home.

Danny finally got a girlfriend when he turned eighteen. Louanne was her name. She was cute and petite, about five-foot-two, I'd say, half a foot shorter than Danny, who was skinny at the time, with a mop of brown curly hair. He still had not gone all the way with a girl. Louanne, nineteen, was also a virgin. "You're way more experienced than me," he said to me during one of our walks. "Maybe you can give me pointers on what to do and how to do it. We've only gone to second base."

Having limited experience myself, I wasn't sure what to tell him. Up until then, Tom had been the only guy I'd slept with. It wasn't too often. I lived at home, and he lived in a college dorm. Then we broke up, as I've said. "Just take things one step at a time," I advised Danny. "That's what Tom and I did."

Danny knew about Tom and me. In fact, I had made him privy to that first time we had sex, six months before we split. Nobody was home. We were nineteen, and it was during winter break of our sophomore year. We were watching TV on my parents' sofa. Then we began making out. We had already been to third base, so it wasn't a giant leap to bring it home. I even remember what we were wearing. He wore jeans, and I wore this dress he liked on me. It was called the Sizzler, a popular dress at the time. "You look sexy as all get-out in that," he'd say. Our make-out led to our hands and fingers touching our privates and finally to me slipping off my panties and then hopping on his lap. He knew I had been on the pill for weeks in anticipation. I was ready and uninhibited, and I climaxed right there on the sofa, right on his lap.

If there was a beginning to what my brother and I got into, it was on one of those walks. It wasn't like, hey bro, I'll give you some private lessons. No, nothing like that. I mean, the idea of seducing my brother never occurred to me. There was no plan, no method to what some would call our madness. Rather, it was spontaneous, almost impulsive.

It was on a Sunday afternoon when both our parents were out looking at houses for a possible move to another area. Danny and I had been hitting the books for upcoming finals, when we decided to take a break for some music listening. Danny had a miniature stereo in his room, so we went in there and put on The Best of Blondie album. We were dressed casually in shorts and short sleeves and barefoot. (no Sizzler for me that day although Danny also had told me how sexy I looked wearing it). We sat on his bed, making small talk that segued into Danny telling me how things were going with Louanne. "We finally went to third base," he said.

"Good for you," I said. "Just make sure you're protected when you slide into home." He then opened his sock drawer to show me a box of condoms. "That's my bro, always prepared," I said, giving him a thumbs up. Then I asked, "So how did that come about? I want details, little brother."

Danny didn't blanch. After all, we'd been sharing intimate details of our love life for a while. "It's nothing you haven't heard before," he said. "It was a matter of first gaining her trust and then getting her hot enough and loose enough to where she'd let me feel her below her waist."

"Did she go below YOUR waist?"

"No, but I'm working on it." He laughed.

For many boys (and girls), third base was routine by the time they reached eighteen. But for Danny, this was virgin territory (literally and figuratively), heady stuff for my inexperienced brother. It happened in her college dorm, when Louanne's roommate was out. He told me how he got her so hot, how he "sucked on her boobs" and then worked his hand inside the waistband of her panties. I couldn't help but chuckle when he asked, "Do all girls get that wet down there?"

"If they're turned on enough, they do," I revealed.

Meanwhile, I was getting aroused myself, not only listening to him describe it but also thinking back to the times I had with Tom. The longer Danny went on, the more aroused I became to the point where I couldn't sit still. I kept changing positions on the bed, folding my legs under me, then stretching out, then crossing and recrossing my legs, while taking deep breaths. Finally, I said, "Danny boy, if you don't stop now, I'll need to change my panties."

He understood. "Yeah, this is turning me on also." He clasped a hand over his crotch. "I've got a boner already. If Louanne were here, I'd run for home plate as fast as my legs will carry me."

On impulse, I said, "Well, I'm here." I shook my head and sighed. "Oh boy, I can't believe I just said that."

Danny stared at me as if to ask, 'Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?'

Then I said, "Really, Danny, I didn't mean to say that. It just came out."

He swallowed hard. Then I did, and for the next few moments, all we did was look at each other. My brown, 'pretty little angel eyes' bored into his big hazel eyes. We were both on the same wavelength, engaging in a telepathic eye-to-eye, waiting for what came next. No need to spell it out, we knew.

Finally, he asked, "What if we get caught?"

"We won't," I assured him. "We always hear when they pull into the driveway." I put my arm around him. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'm still on the pill, so no worries there. Think of it as your prep for Louanne."

He began to smile, the sort of smile we get when anticipating something good and exciting, something that's potentially life-enhancing, if not life-changing. "Okay, I'm all in," he said.

I ruffled his curly hair. "Well, not yet you're not." Then I lay on my back and told him to start kissing me.

"Oh, this is so weird," he said, laying diagonally across me. "We've kissed before but not the way I know you want me to kiss you."

"Try it, you'll like it," I said, spoofing a popular TV commercial.

He did try it. Then, after moments of awkward approach-avoidance, he got comfortable. When I told him he was a good kisser, he said, "I've had lots of practice with Louanne. That's practically all we did for a while."

Things progressed from there. When I pulled up my T-shirt (I was braless), he didn't hesitate to use his tongue on my titties. Yes, titties, because calling them boobs would dignify them more than they deserved. Not that he seemed to mind, and I sure didn't mind, because he knew what he was doing when it came to that also. He got my nipples good and hard, and the way he licked my tummy was amazingly sensual (even Tom didn't do that). "I love the way you do that," I said.

He then said, "And I love the way you smell, like you just took a shower."

This went on for quite a while, Danny kissing me from my lips to my belly button. We were still fully clothed, a not so minor detail that I thought was time to change. I sat up, then pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor. When I began to take down my shorts, Danny got the not-so-subtle hint and began to undress as well. We'd caught glimpses of each other naked, catching each other in the bathroom or our rooms when we hadn't bothered to shut the door. Of course, it was never like this, fully nude in the same bed.

On our knees on the bed, we hugged and kissed and caressed. He began playing with my long, dark brown hair, then told me he loved me. "I love you, too," I said, brushing a tear from my eye. Then I said, "If Louanne won't touch you below the waist, you can count on me."

I told him to lie down, and when he did, I stayed on my knees, got between his legs and then put my mouth around his cock. It wasn't the boner he had earlier, but that changed in just a few moments. I give good oral, if I do say so myself (I knew my full lips were good for something). And from the size of my handiwork and his moans, it appeared that he agreed. He couldn't get any harder and I wanted him to come inside me, so I sat up and asked, "Are you ready, bro?"

He raised his head. "Ohmygod, Jen, I'm beyond ready!"

Full intercourse with my brother! Can you imagine? It might be hard to believe, but I sure didn't until that Sunday. Guiding him inside me after I squatted on his cock felt close to an out of body experience, even though I was so wet and turned on, and he was so turned on, thrusting his pelvis into me, fucking me like it was something long overdue. "Holy crap, I'm fucking my own brother!" I cried.

"How does it feel?" he cried out.

"Weird but wonderful," I responded. "You know, for a guy who's never done this, you're doing pretty good. Louanne doesn't know what she's missing."

He smiled in gratification. "Thanks, I'm hoping she soon will."

I can't say that I felt totally guilt-free doing this. I always thought I was a moral kind of person, and for most people, incest is anything but moral. But any guilt I might have felt got submerged under the spectacular eroticism of the moment, of engaging in taboo sex with my heretofore virgin brother. Speaking of heretofore, my whole being was ablaze with a special sort of desire, one heretofore I had never come close to experiencing. I had enjoyed making love with Tom. He was good in bed, passionate and attuned to my needs. Conventional sex, I'd call it. Nothing kinky but still exciting. But doing this with Danny was something else, this crossing of barriers that weren't meant to be crossed. It was sinful, and sin can be fun, depending on the circumstances. Words alone are inadequate to explain how I felt that day. Try it, you'll like it? Yeah, that's for sure. Except for me, it was more like try it, you'll love it.

As with Tom, I didn't hold back when I climaxed. The expressive noises I made left no doubt what was happening. But I wasn't one of those girls who let out blood-curdling screams. Tom said I expressed myself in climax somewhere "between a soft moan and a shriek." Whatever, it was loud enough for Danny, newbie or not, to know what was going on, and within moments, he got there also, expressed in the way someone might after having a cold, refreshing drink on a hot and humid day.

While we sat on the edge of the bed, wiping ourselves off, Danny asked in jest, "Should I tell Louanne that I'm no longer a virgin?"

Playing along, I said, "Yep. And be sure to tell her with whom you did the honors."

Danny laughed, picturing that scenario. "Knowing her, she'd run for the hills in horror."

After rolling up the tissues into a ball, he said, "Jen, I'm looking forward to doing more of this. With you, I mean. Are you up for a few encores?"

I placed my hand over his thin leg and nodded. "You know it. Of course, we need to be careful." Just as I said that I noticed his cock on the rise again. "I didn't know you meant today."

"Ya think we have time?"

"Hard to say. And speaking of hard," I continued, "look at you!" I wrapped my hand around it. "Wow! I must really turn you on or you're horny as hell."

"All of the above," he said, running his hand along my thighs which were at least an inch bigger than his. "This time, I'll take top so you can wrap those long, luscious legs of yours around me."

His offer was one I couldn't refuse, didn't want to refuse. My only concern was being caught by our parents. Yes, I could hear them pull into our driveway, but when you're in the throes of passion, one's senses can tune out those sorts of mundane noises. Which is why I suggested that we get at least half-dressed, just in case. If we missed their car pulling up, we'd at least be able to hear the front door open.

He agreed, and so I slipped on a mini dress, and he slipped on his shorts up to his knees. Neither of us bothered with underwear. The first side of the Blondie album had played out, and we decided it was best to leave the stereo off, least the music drowned the noise of our parents' car.

Danny was a novice when it came to giving oral also. He had touched Louanne's pussy but "my head stayed above deck," as he had put it to me. "She thought it was too gross," he revealed.

"How about you?" I asked. "Any qualms about going below deck for me?"

"None. If nothing else, I need the experience," he said.

"Good, but if it's a problem, I can always lube-up with K-Y."

No qualms or not, Danny was hardly ready to dive into it. There were moments of approach-avoidance (couldn't blame him) before his tongue finally stayed where I wanted it. He got me wet enough to where I could take him in for another round. He got to experience my "long, luscious legs" wrapped around his waist, not to mention other things of a pleasurable nature that I was all too willing to give and receive. Because this was our second go-around, I figured we'd take longer, something I preferred and so looked forward to. Yes, we'd always been close, but this took sibling bonding to another level, a level that would have sent our parents (any parents, I suppose) into a tailspin had they caught us.

Well, guess what? They almost did catch us.

Our second round was cut short by the sound of our parents' car pulling into the driveway. Later, I joked that as they pulled in, Danny pulled out. A case of coitus interruptus. By the time they came through the front door, the stereo was back on, with side two of the Blondie album spinning on the turntable. Good thing we were dressed when they came to the door of Danny's bedroom. We were sitting on the bed, Danny in his T-shirt and shorts, me in my mini dress. However, in our haste, we forgot to pick up our underwear which lay on the carpeted floor by his bed.

"So, how did the house hunting go?" I asked, struggling to keep a straight face, while also eyeing my wet blue panties and Danny's green Hanes and praying that mom and dad wouldn't notice. Then something else popped into my head: those wet, cum-stained tissues crumpled up in Danny's wastebasket. Internally, I screamed, why the hell didn't we flush them down the toilet?!

My dad, slight of build like Danny and dressed in light chinos and a checked blue and white short-sleeve shirt, said, "It went okay, except for the prices. Still out of our range."

My mom, wearing yellow slacks and a blouse to match, said, "Yeah, our budget isn't quite there yet to afford what we looked at. No surprise, the houses were bigger and the area more upscale." She sighed. "Maybe in a few more years. But maybe not because you kids might have left the nest by then."

I almost whispered uh oh when she looked down and saw the underwear. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. Then she faced us and asked, "So, have you two been listening to music the whole time? You were studying when we left."

Danny threw his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a giggle, with little success. Then he said, "We took a break. You can only study for so long."

Then I started to giggle while the song One Way Or Another began to play. Our parents drew curious, what's so funny looks. Our mom looked once again at the underwear and then looked back at me. "Jennifer, I seem to remember you wearing shorts earlier."

Our dad then chimed in. "I guess listening to music requires a change in wardrobe. You know how girls are, Janine."

He said it as a joke, but only Danny and I laughed, a forced laugh to break the tension. Mom just stood there, leaning against the doorpost, arms folded against her chest, with one leg slightly bent, eyeing the underwear with suspicion, if not concern. She began to pat down the back of her short, dirty blond hair, while her tongue moved inside her mouth as if she was thinking what to say next. She then looked at dad and said, "I guess I do know how girls are, Martin, though I find it strange that their underwear is lying next to each other in Danny's bedroom."

Had she stepped into the room, she might have noticed the paper in the wastebasket. Worse, she might have smelled it, smelled that unmistakable pungent scent. My heart was beating a mile a minute picturing all the hell that would break lose then. I felt dizzy, almost to the verge of passing out.

Dad continued to smile, though it looked forced after mom's comment. "Well, I'm sure there's an explanation," he said. "Nothing to worry about."

Just as the song Call Me came on, I said, "Yeah mom, nothing to worry about. Danny wasn't here when I brought my dress into his room and changed clothes."

"And my underwear is where I left it last night," Danny said. "You know me, Mr. Slobo." He flashed a grin.

Just then, mom started tapping her foot and singing the words. "I've liked this song, ever since I first heard it on the radio," she said. "'Call me, call me on the line, call me, call me, call me any anytime... you can call me any day or night, call me...'"

You've heard of saved by the bell? We were saved by the music. I held up the album. Mom nodded, then she and dad left us alone. Right away, I retrieved the tissues, ran into the bathroom and flushed those potentially incriminating things down the toilet.

*****

That should have been the end of our sibling sex life. But it wasn't. Rational behavior often gets thrown under the bus when it comes to pleasure and bad habits. So it was with Danny and me. We couldn't keep our hands off one another. I knew that too much of a good thing might not be such a good thing. Regardless, when our folks went out, we played and played hard (no pun intended). We made love in every room in the house, save the kitchen and our parents' bedroom. We fucked in bed, on chairs, on the floor. We fucked fully naked and half-dressed like before. Danny loved me in those sexy outfits from Victoria's Secret. He called it his "special treat," even though my figure was far from the traditional, Barbie Doll, model-perfect ideal.

We were extra careful not to leave anything incriminating lying around, i. e., underwear and cum-stained tissues. Dad, if he suspected anything, appeared content to let it go. Mom never said anything directly, though at times she questioned what we did when they returned home from some place they'd been. It's the "funny" way she looked at me that told me she wasn't about to forget that Sunday afternoon, that her suspicions lingered. It was a look that said, 'I know what you did, and you know that I know what you did, and probably continue to do.'

Danny never did go all the way with Louanne. They broke up over something, I forget what, and he met another girl who'd been around the block a few times and had her own place. He didn't have to run the bases incrementally. Home runs? No problem.

After college, I got a secure government job and moved out. Not long after that, I fell in love and got married. By then, Danny was out of the "nest" also, working at an automobile dealership. He eventually married and had two kids, unlike my husband and I who chose a childless marriage.

*****

So, gentle reader, you might be wondering if my brother and I continued to carry on through the years. As a matter of fact, yes. Not like we did when we were living at home, of course, but yeah, we indulged when we had the opportunity. We didn't plan ahead. Rather, it was more spontaneous, mostly over my house. Having kids at home made it almost impossible for us to tryst at Danny's place. Periodically, my husband Glenn, a commercial airline pilot, was away on business. Danny's wife Cindy knew we were close and therefore she didn't suspect anything improper when he'd come to visit. It was only a few times a year. But what times they were! My middle-aged body no longer fit into those Victoria's Secret outfits, and Danny wasn't the skinny kid he was in his twenties with a mop of curly hair. In fact, he was half-bald by the time he entered his forties. No matter, the years had not dimmed the desire and passion we still felt for each other. We didn't feel like adulterers. Okay, technically we were, but we had been doing this since way before we married, and neither one of us had "cheated" with anyone else. We felt entitled, you might say.

Perhaps the most exciting sex we had was one summer when we vacationed in Ocean City. Danny was with Cindy, and I was with Glenn. It was totally spontaneous--not even thought about until one early morning when Danny and I found ourselves alone in the small laundry room of the hotel where we stayed. We were there by coincidence, just the two of us down there to do a mundane chore. I wore a short dress, with no bra or panties and flip-flops. Danny started feeling me up. He put his hand under my dress and said, "Oh, what do we have here?"

Then I said, "A horny woman wearing no panties, standing with her horny brother in a laundry room while their spouses are still in bed. And if that's not a fait accompli, I don't know what is. Agreed?"

Danny showed he agreed by shutting and locking the door. Then we began to kiss and fondle. Danny dropped his shorts and underwear (he still wore Hanes, I believe). There followed a mutual hand job, me running my hand over his cock and him stabbing his finger into my pussy. It didn't take long before his cock rose to the occasion and my juices flowed. A good thing, too, because we realized it might not be long before someone else wanted to use the laundry room. Dispensing with the usual long preliminaries, Danny lifted me on top of a ledge attached to the wall. About two and a half feet off the floor, it proved to be an ideal height for making love in such a tight space under those circumstances.

There's something to be said for fucking under the risk of getting caught. Those that have done it will tell you that it makes the act more exciting, gives it more pizzaz. We knew that from doing it at home, and we sure knew it in that hotel laundry room. Danny's wicked thrusts sent my body thumping against the wall, producing the kind of noise that you normally don't hear when doing laundry. In that position, I could wrap my thickening thighs around him as he stood and pumped. Just above a whisper, I said, "Give it to me, Danny boy. Slam that big, hard dick of yours into my wet, hungry cunt."

He did. Oh, how he did, with the sort of reckless abandon that we really couldn't afford in that situation. But it had been a while since we had done this and we kind of went nuts. The intensity was amazing--amazingly naughty and stupid, perhaps, but there we were. To paraphrase an old Cole Porter song, we were all alone, no chaperone could get our number, the world was in slumber, so we misbehaved. It took less than five minutes before we climaxed. A good thing, too, because shortly after I climbed down from that ledge, someone was at the door. After I unlocked it, we began to throw our laundry into the machines as if nothing happened.

Now all I had to do was look "normal" when I went back upstairs to face Glenn--whatever normal looked like after making love with my own brother in a laundry room. My pussy was still wet with his cum because there were no tissues down there. Glenn, still in his underwear, was sitting up in bed, watching TV when I came into the room. Setting the laundry basket down, I then made a beeline for the bathroom, plopped on the toilet and grabbed a handful of tissues. After wiping off, I took a long leak.

"You must have been holding out for a while," Glenn said, when I came back into the room.

A chill shot down my back. "Holding out? What do you mean?" I asked, struggling not to show the sudden panic that enveloped me.

"The way you rushed in there to take a piss."

"Oh, yeah, right," I said, breathing a sigh of relief. "You know how it is. When ya gotta go, ya gotta go."

Just as I laughed it off, he said, "Jen, do you feel okay? Your face is flushed like it gets when you're excited about something. Don't hold back, you can tell me." His cautious grin told me that he couldn't decide if my flushed face was the result of something funny or not so funny.

Back to panic mode, I had to think fast. "I feel fine, Glenn. It must be a hundred degrees in that laundry room. Hot hot hot." In more ways than one, I thought, stifling a giggle. He let it go at that.

Later, when we had some privacy, Danny told me that Cindy didn't suspect a thing. "Same here," I said.

I wasn't surprised that neither Cindy nor Glenn got suspicious. Believe it or not, we both had loving, rock-solid marriages. Glenn and I made love several times on that trip. No, it didn't have the excitement or intensity of that laundry room tryst. But that was okay. I mean, how could it? Danny and I shared this special bond that we couldn't share with anyone else, a bond that began years ago and continued through middle-age. I once spent time rooting through psychology books to gain insight into why we did what we did and found a host of reasons, plus a host of hifalutin theories. Finally, I decided that it didn't matter, and I quit my "research" in favor of simply enjoying those times with my brother. And boy, did I ever!