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by Charles E. Magness
Cover Artwork by Moira Nelligar
© 2014 Boruma Publishing, LLC
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Mindy and I woke up together around seven-thirty that mid-March morning. We were both groggy from the effects of the sleeping pills we'd taken the night before. I found myself lying on my side, facing her. Aware that I was awake, Mindy rolled onto her own side and backed her naked body up against mine. I slid my left arm under her and threw my right arm around her little body. I held her; my right hand cupped her left boob. Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
"I love you so, Charlie," Mindy finally whispered, wiggling back against me.
"I love you back so, Mindy," I whispered to her. My morning boner had found its place between the cheeks of her ass, which were now clenching regularly around it. At each clench, I gently squeezed her tit.
"I love to feel your cock so hard against me while you squeeze my boob," she answered as she tried to wiggle back even closer.
"And I love to feel your ass grabbing my cock while I massage your boob," I replied. I tried to wiggle closer yet.
Mindy was my little sister, and we had shared forbidden love with each other since the previous August. Only a day earlier, we had learned of our parents' deaths, and the grief that news had brought us was still strong, though it was no longer as overwhelming as it had been.
"You're my rock, you know," Mindy whispered. She turned over in my arms. Her own little arms clasped me, and her head found a resting place against my neck and shoulder. Her wonderful little boobs rested against my lower chest and my boner was now trapped between our bellies.
"You're mine," I whispered back. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
We were silent for a few moments as we held each other.
"It wasn't a dream, was it?" she asked. "Mom and Dad are…" She halted, unable to finish the sentence.
"It wasn't," I confirmed. "We're on our own."
I felt her soft little body convulse a bit as she emitted a gentle sob. "No," she said, and I heard conviction in her voice. "We still have Buck and Stephanie. They won't let us be on our own."
"You're right," I answered. "They're true friends."
As we lay there in silence, together, holding each other, for a while, I heard sounds from outside the bedroom—the sounds of Buck and Steph beginning the day. Muted sounds of dishes and pots and pans came from the kitchen: Someone was getting breakfast ready but trying to do so quietly.
At length, Mindy whispered, "I've got to pee," she said.
"Go ahead and get your bathroom chores done," I said. "I'll do mine when you're done."
She slipped out of the bed and prepared to get some clothes on. A tear trickled down her right cheek—but it didn't keep her from smiling at me when she saw that I was enjoying the view I had of her naked body as she found her clothes and began to put them on.
"I needed you last night, Charlie. I needed your love," she said softly. She stepped closer to the bed and reached out to stroke the side of my face. "I'm going to need you more in the next few days." Somewhere within herself, she found another smile and sent it to me. It was a small one, but the mood in the room changed dramatically. My beloved little sister's agony was lessening.
"I needed you, too, Mindy. I need you more than ever, now," I replied.
She leaned over and kissed me gently. She backed up a bit and looked into my eyes. Then she leaned forward and kissed me again, deeply and fervently. As she did, she brought her hand to my right cheek, to caress me again. My own hand found its way out from under the covers, clasped her neck, and held her lips tightly against my own. Our tongues played a bit before she broke off the kiss and stood up. My hand slid from her neck and dropped to the bed.
"If I didn't have to pee so bad, I'd rape you," she said with another smile—this one stronger than the last. Her deep blue eyes bored into my own eyes, captivating me once again.
"If I didn't have to pee so bad, you wouldn't be able to," I said. "You can't rape someone who wants it as much as I do.”
"I'd better head for the bathroom," she said. "I can hear Steph in the kitchen. We shouldn't keep them waiting for us."
She leaned over again and gave me a quick, closed-lip kiss. As she straightened up again, she said, "I won't be long." And she vanished through the door, closing it again as she went.
I got myself out of bed and got my clothes on. I'd hardly finished when she was back, hairbrush in hand.
"The bathroom's yours," she said. "I'll brush my hair in here."
I stepped up to her and towered over her little body. Her smallness didn't prevent me from taking her into my arms again and kissing her thoroughly. She pressed herself against me and we enjoyed the feel of our bodies against each other. She returned the kiss with fervor.
When the kiss ended, she gently pushed me away. "You know better," she said as she looked down at where my boner tented my jeans. "Not now," she said with another smile.
"A guy has to try," I said with a smile of my own.
She stretched up on her tiptoes and gave me a quick peck. It took me by surprise and, not quite being able to reach my lips, she landed it on my chin. Then she dodged quickly away before I could grab her.
"A guy better try," she said. "And I'm glad this one does."
But her tone and those deep blue eyes, smiling though they were, told me not to get my hopes up.
I headed for the bathroom.
About ten minutes later, Mindy and I made our way together, hand in hand, to the kitchen—from which the smell of bacon emanated. We found Buck—not Steph—beating eggs with a fork as he added some milk. A plate of cooked bacon sat on the counter near the stove. Hearing us enter, he looked up.
"Good morning," he said. "I hope you got some sleep."
"Yes," I answered. "Thanks to you and Steph. Those pills did the job. Where's Steph?"
"She slept in a bit this morning. She had a rough night. Memories, you know," he replied.
Stephanie and Buck were twins. Their parents had died a year and a half ago, and they'd been in love with each other, and sleeping with each other, since soon after that terrible time. They knew that my sister Mindy and I were lovers, too, and had been since August. They were our dearest friends.
Months ago, knowing that we had trouble finding the privacy that lovers need, they'd told us that their spare bedroom was ours. When they heard that our parents had been killed in an airplane crash, they'd insisted we spend the night there.
He continued, "So I'm getting breakfast ready. I heard the two of you moving around, so I made enough for all of us. I'll go roust her in a minute or two. I need to get the eggs underway first."
So saying, he poured the beaten eggs into the pan he had cooked the bacon in. As he poured, he looked over at us. "How are you doing this morning?"
"A bit better," Mindy said. "I'm starting to feel human again. But I still feel like I'm in a bad dream."
"I'm about the same," I said.
"I'm so sorry," Buck said. "I wish we could do more for you." He stirred the eggs some more with the fork as he spoke.
"You two have been wonderful," Mindy said. "Thank you so much."
Buck looked fixedly into the frying pan and mumbled something that neither of us quite heard, pretty much as required by the Fundamental Code of Manly Behavior.
After a few moments, he looked up. And saying, "The eggs will be okay for a while, now. I'll go make Steph haul her pretty little ass out of bed," he disappeared in the direction of the bedroom they shared.
In another ten minutes, Steph stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep, hair disheveled, wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt that, in spite of its loose fit, didn't even come close to concealing the shape of her amazing rack—now unfettered by a bra. The four of us were seated around their kitchen table, Buck and I across from each other, Mindy at my right, Steph at my left. We dug into four slices each of bacon, a mound of scrambled eggs, a seemingly unlimited supply of toast with butter and jam, and plenty of coffee. Conversation, already desultory owing to our circumstances and Steph's semi-consciousness, lagged as we ate.
As the meal progressed, so did Steph's consciousness. By the time she was well into her second cup of coffee, she turned to us and asked how we were doing and what was next.
"We're doing okay ," I answered. "Things could be a lot better, but we're going to make it. You and Buck have been a big help, and we thank you for all you've done for us."
And then Mindy broke in. "The Dean said," she set out to explain, "that Quent Miller, one of Dad's law partners, will be here this morning to take us back to Fort Collins for the…"
She fell silent, gulped a bit, and lowered her head. She couldn't bear to complete the sentence with the word "funeral.” She looked up at me, tears brimming in her eyes again. My own heart lurched—both at her unexpressed thought and at her renewed pain. I reached for her thigh and squeezed her gently.
Steph pushed her chair back and got up. She walked around behind Buck to my little sister's chair and, leaning over, embraced Mindy. "I know, Mindy," she said. "It's very hard. I'm so sorry. Moments like this will come suddenly in the next few weeks. Just let it out."
Mindy was crying now. "I'm so sorry," she gulped. "I'm a mess. I can't help it."
"It's okay ," Steph said, still holding Mindy and patting her on the back. "The more you let it out now, the sooner you'll start feeling like yourself again."
And, looking at me while she continued to try to comfort Mindy, she went on. "That goes for you, too, Charlie. I know that guys aren't supposed cry. But this is an exception. Isn't it, Steve?"
"Buck" was his nickname; his given name was "Steve." But only Steph called him "Steve"; his friends called him "Buck."
I glanced at Buck; he was wearing a guilty-looking expression. Uh-oh! I said to myself. I'm not gonna go there!
But then, with surprising grace and vigor, Buck replied, "She's right, Charlie. When our parents died a year and a half ago, I tried to hold it in when I shouldn't have. It just made things worse."
Mindy, now, was squeezing Steph back. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks, but they weren't being fed any more. She rescued me from the necessity of making a reply. "Thanks, Steph," she said. "Except for Charlie, you and Buck are the best people in the world. I don't know what we'd have done without you."
Clearly embarrassed at the compliment, Buck changed the subject. "How is this Miller person going to find you?"
I answered. "He planned to catch a red-eye from Denver to Chicago and then get a connecting flight. He knows the address of my house, and he'll be there a little before ten to take us to the airport and fly back with us. A flight leaves for Denver at half-past noon, and the plan is for the three of us to be on it. Mindy and I need to be at my place, ready to go, when he arrives."
"Spring Break is about two weeks away," I added as an afterthought, "and we probably won't be back until after it's over."
"It's about eight-thirty now," Buck observed. "You'll need to go and get packed."
"We won't need much," Mindy said, looking at me for confirmation. "We have a lot of clothes and stuff at home. I think we already have everything we need, either here or at Charlie's apartment."
I looked back at her and nodded my head.
"We have a couple of small suitcases. You can borrow whatever we have that you need," Steph offered. "We'll miss you terribly."
And so it was arranged. We had enough clothes and toilet articles at their house to supplement what we knew we had at home in Fort Collins. We packed the twins' suitcases with what we were going to take, including the books we'd had with us when we'd been called to the dean's office.
Mindy and Steph squeezed each other good-bye. Buck and I made an exception to the Fundamental Code and hugged each other—with restraint, of course. I really liked Buck, but there was such a thing as going too far. As we did so, I whispered "Thanks," into his ear.
He whispered back, "No problem," and patted me on the back as we hugged. Then Mindy stepped up to Buck and, taking each other into their arms, they pressed themselves against each other. I lost track of them as Steph, smiling, stepped up against me and flowed into my own arms. Her arms went around my neck and her magnificent bazooms, soft under her sweatshirt, un-contained by a bra, melted against me. At the feeling, I almost forgot to kiss her thank-you-and-good-bye-for-now. But her liquid brown eyes and her waiting smile reminded me before I could embarrass myself, and we shared a wonderful good-bye kiss. I presumed, rightly, that Buck and Mindy were doing the same.
Then, slowly, holding each other's hands, Mindy and I carried the suitcases to my house.
George wasn't home. I knew that he often spent time at the language lab during his free time on Tuesday morning, so I wasn't surprised. But it was a bit after nine, so Quent could show up at almost any time. And George might not be at the language lab, but headed for home after a delay following his German class. So Mindy and I put my French book and my calculus book in one of the suitcases. Then we snuggled, fully clothed, on the couch while we awaited Quent.
I still remember sitting there on that battered old couch, veteran of who-knows-how-many academic generations of students. I held my little sister close as she held me. We each were alone with our own thoughts and emotions, it seemed, and yet it also seemed we were together with those thoughts and emotions. I felt more deeply than I ever had before a sense of closeness, of sharing ourselves with each other—each loving and supporting the other in our shared nightmare.
She raised her head from my shoulder, looked at me, and smiled. I looked into her eyes and smiled back at her. She returned to my shoulder, with a little sigh. I sighed back, and we continued to hold each other silently and lovingly. Neither of us spoke a single word, but I felt strength and healing flow in both directions between us then. And the storm clouds began, slowly but surely, to clear. That brief time together marked a turning point for both of us; and in spite of our dreadful situation, that quiet half-hour I spent with my little sister, the woman I love—the two of us simply holding each other—is still one of the best of my memories.
The knock on the front door came at about a quarter to ten, while we were still communing silently with each other on the couch. Knowing that it was, in all probability, Quent, I squeezed my little sister and kissed her. Her lips parted in invitation, and our tongues again engaged each other—but briefly, briefly.
Then I went downstairs and opened the door; it was, indeed, Quent. His greeting was subdued, but Mindy heard it and came down the stairs, bringing our suitcases and our jackets. She greeted him somberly, with quiet dignity, hugging him briefly. He offered us both his condolences and asked us how we were doing.
We responded appropriately. Quent was dealing with his own grief at the loss of a twenty-some-years' partner, and—seasoned courtroom attorney though he was—he couldn't quite hide his gratification at finding us in reasonable control of ourselves. I can well imagine how glad he was to learn that he wasn't going to have to deal with one or two emotional basket cases during the trip back to Fort Collins.
Quickly, I ran upstairs and left a note for George, telling him that I would be gone—probably until classes started up again after Spring Break—and reassuring him that we would be all right. Then the three of us got into Quent's rental car, and he drove us to the airport.
On the way, he told us that Amanda Watson, the third partner in the law firm, had left that morning for Colombia, with the aim of obtaining our parent's remains from the Colombian authorities in order to accompany them home. I couldn't think of a better person for the job. At five feet, one inch, she was only an inch taller than Mindy. But she lived up to her first name, being a legal powerhouse. And she could be a terror when crossed. (Dad had had a few disagreements with her. We'd heard him talk to Mom about those incidents, and he'd seemed surprised that he'd survived them.)
We liked Amanda, but we'd never had occasion to cross her. Nevertheless, we were both glad that it was Quent, and not Amanda, who'd come to see us back. Moreover, we knew that if the Colombian authorities gave Amanda any trouble, they'd find out in short order who the real authority was.
Both flights were, for a change, on time—but we still had an hour and a half on the ground at O'Hare. Quent hadn't been able to get three seats together on either flight. The plane for the connecting flight was too small for that, and we had three aisle seats near the back of the plane—right in line, one behind another. He'd managed to get two seats together near the back of the plane on the flight from Chicago to Denver, and he kindly put Mindy and me together in them while he took a seat several rows to the front. So we were able to snuggle a bit on that flight. Even if Quent looked back, we figured, he wouldn't question our need to be close.
Quent's car was in the parking structure near the airport terminal, and he drove us to Fort Collins. It was well after dark—about half-past eight—by the time we got home. He offered to spend the night on our couch, thinking we might not want to be alone in the house. But we assured him we'd be all right. In fact, together without his company, we'd be more nearly all right than he guessed.
He didn't know when Amanda would be back, but he thought it shouldn't take too long—Amanda being, well, Amanda. He arranged to keep in touch with us so we'd know what was going on and what the status of things was. And then we let ourselves into the vacant house and turned to wave good-bye to him. Seeing that we were safely in, he drove away.
As soon as there was no chance that he—or any of the neighbors—would see us, Mindy and I dropped our suitcases and embraced. We shared a long, deep kiss. When we broke the kiss, we looked into each other's eyes for a moment, and then—as if by unspoken but mutual consent—turned to face into the house. We stood there a moment, Mindy at my right, each with an arm still about the other.
Mom had turned off the thermostat timer and set the heat down to 50º, so the house was chilly. A feeling of vacancy pervaded it, too. "It's so empty without them," Mindy muttered—almost to herself. She laid her head against my upper arm and sighed. It was nearly, but not quite, a sob.
I tightened the grip of my right arm around her, squeezing her gently. "It is," I answered as I held her tightly against my side. We knew that the house was, figuratively, ours; we hadn't yet realized that it was ours literally, too.
Mindy was a bit closer to that realization than I was, though. I felt her boob rub against my side as she turned a bit toward me. I turned my head toward her, and she looked up at me again.
"Can we sleep in your room?" she asked. "I'm not ready to use Mom and Dad's room."
The thought of their room and their bed hadn't even crossed my mind. At Mindy's question, I realized that I wasn't ready for that either; I felt then as though I might never be.
"Of course," I answered. "I don't want to use their room, either. But would you rather use your room?" It was a given that we would spend the night with each other, naked and in the same bed. We both remembered that Mom's last important instruction to us—shortly after she'd told us she knew that we were lovers—had been to tell us that lovers sleep together, naked, whenever they can.
Mindy reached up for another kiss, which I supplied. It was a short gentle one.
When our lips parted from each other, she looked up at me and smiled as she said, "I want to use your room tonight. Can we? It's so…masculine. I want to feel that around me tonight. And, last time we were here, Mom sent me to you in that room."
I turned toward her; we each put our free arm around the other and held tightly while we shared another, lengthier, kiss that silently affirmed her choice. We didn't part, even when the kiss ended. She rested her head on my chest, and we just stood there, together, each enjoying the other's closeness.
"Hmmm," she said after a moment. "Speaking of masculinity…"
She ground herself against my cock, which had begun to rise in response to her soft closeness. Her perfect little tits, bra-free as usual, pressed against me through our shirts, and my cock rose some more. Aromas of unadulterated femaleness rose from her body and assailed my nostrils.
"Can we?" she asked. "I need you again."
"Of course," I answered. "I need you, too."
And, again as if by unspoken but mutual consent, we broke our embrace, picked up our suitcases and, arm-in-arm, headed up the stairs to my room—stopping only to turn the thermostat timer back on. That would bring the nighttime temperature up to a more livable 60º and bring the daytime temperature up to 72º. We dropped the suitcases by my bedroom door, put the light on, and turned again to each other. Her warm little body molded itself against me, and my cock hardened in earnest. She rubbed herself against it even more enthusiastically than she had a minute earlier, and she caressed my cheek as our lips joined again. Her tongue entered my mouth, where it sought, and found, my own tongue. We lost ourselves in that embrace, each savoring the other's love, rejoicing in the other's body.
At length, I took my arms from around her and stroked up and down her sides between her hips and her arms. Free now to do so, she backed up a little, smiled enticingly at me, and reached to undo her shirt buttons.
"What a good idea," I said, reaching for my own shirt buttons.
When her buttons were undone, she shrugged out of her shirt and reached down for her belt buckle. I did the same. Soon, we were both naked, except for our socks—which neither of us figured mattered much for what we both had in mind.
She came to my arms again, and I thrilled to the touch of her warm nakedness in contrast with the chill of the house. We kissed again, thoroughly and deeply. My stiff cock had slid up along her belly and gotten trapped between our bodies. She wiggled a bit, acknowledging its presence and its hardness, and she moaned a bit into my mouth. I returned her moan.
When she moved back, breaking our kiss, she looked up at me. "A real man," she said with a little smirk, "would warm up the cold sheets for his woman."
I smirked back. "I will," I answered. "But you're going to warm them up with me." I tugged her toward the bed as I spoke.
I threw back the covers and pulled her onto the bed with me. She came willingly enough, but she uttered a little shriek at the coldness of the sheets. I pulled the covers back over both of us. She emitted another little shriek and clung tightly to me with both arms. I turned to face her. Her little boobs pressed against me, and my boner slipped between her thighs—where its length came to rest along her warm wetness. We both moaned at that latter touch. I wiggled my hips back and forth a few times, stroking my cock along her furrow. We forgot about the coldness of the sheets.
"God, you turn me on," I said softly into her left ear. And then, gently, I nibbled that ear with my lips.
She shivered a bit, either from the chilliness or the touch of my lips—maybe from both. "Fair's fair," she replied. "You turn me on, too."
Something had turned her on. Her nipples were erect, her cleft hot and wet with her desire. She rolled onto her back, pulling the upper part of my body onto her, keeping her tits in contact with me. But my cock slipped from where it had been to rest on her thigh. I kissed her again, and my hand moved between us to cup her boob. I squeezed it gently and rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. She moaned in response and her hips began to rock.
When our mouths parted, she smiled again and looked into my eyes. "I think we'd better put him in me," she said.
"Another good idea!" I answered as I inserted my right knee between her legs and shifted part of my weight onto it in order to bring my hips over hers. She took my shaft into her little right hand and guided it into her entrance as I slowly lowered my hips. And, once again, the tight, warm, wet grasp of my little sister's sheath welcomed my cock home.
We both moaned at the feeling. She wrapped her legs around my thighs, one on each side, and she reached around me to hold me. I dropped my weight onto my elbows and brought my arms under her shoulders so that I could hold her against myself. We joined in another long, deep kiss. When our kiss was over, I raised my head to look at her. Her eyes were closed, and her face, half-smiling, wore an expression of pure pleasure.
I was about to kiss her again, when her eyes fluttered open. They focused immediately on my own eyes, and, suddenly, I was lost in their deep blue—which almost eclipsed the feeling her warm wet clasp was bringing to my cock.
"Having you put him in me is my third favorite thing," she said, reaching up for another kiss.
I tore my attention from her eyes, and I kissed her again. "And what're your first and second?" I asked. I smiled down at her as I said it.
"I can't decide which is which," she said, smiling back at me. "They're when you come in me and when you make me come while you're in me."
I hadn't told them to do so, but my hips were moving a bit now—gently drawing my cock in and out, in and out. Her smile deepened, her eyes closed again, and her own hips responded in opposition to mine. Her channel still clasped me; its slippery wet friction was about to rob me of my ability to think.
While I could still think, I pointed out, "I think I see a pattern here. You seem to like making love with your big brother." And as I spoke, I noticed that my hips were, of their own accord, increasing both frequency and amplitude.
She grinned salaciously. "How'd you…ever…guess?" she asked. Her hips were keeping pace, and she seemed to be having a little trouble thinking, too.
I could think no longer about anything but the growing turmoil in my groin and the commanding sensations that her hot, tight, slickness brought my cock. I pounded against her, and she pounded back—our speed increasing as our releases approached.
I exploded. Fireballs burst inside my head, my body convulsed as I drove my cock one final time into her depths. White heat had built impossibly in my gut, and it shot repeatedly through my cock and into my little sister's body. I knew that uncontrollable sounds were coming from my mouth. Meaningless sounds came from her mouth, too. They mingled with my own sounds, and her little body writhed under me. And I knew, barely, that she, too…
I lost myself in the ecstasy of the final, gut-wrenching spasm that signaled the end of my orgasm and rendered me conscious only of my own body's cataclysm.
When I returned to myself, I found that I was where I had last been, my weight on my elbows, Mindy under me, my cock still deeply embedded in her body, my face on the pillow beside her head. Her thrashing and moaning were diminishing under me, but her little arms and her little legs still clasped me to her with all of their strength. I turned my face toward her and nibbled gently on her right earlobe as her motions slowly lost their force and urgency. Slowly, the strength of her embrace eased and she relaxed.
We lay there, still coupled, the bedcovers still over us, for a while, breathing deeply and regaining our composures. As mine returned, I nibbled on her neck with my lips. She moaned and said, "All three of my most favorite things, almost at once!"
"They're my favorite things, too," I replied. We kissed, gently. Her hands found my head as we did, and held my lips against her own.
I raised my body, disengaging my shriveling cock. I rolled over, onto my back, and she rolled toward me onto her side. Placing her shoulder into my armpit and her head on my shoulder, she brought her body up against my own. She drew up her leg so that it rested across my thighs. Her arm extended across my chest, encircled me, and held me . My own arm encircled her and held her gently. I felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed—still a little heavily. We lay there a little while, each enjoying the other's warm presence and the bliss that follows physical love.
"Big Brother and Little Sister," she muttered dreamily, beginning our private, childhood litany.
"Best friends and lovers," I gave the reply, dreamily myself, but not forgetting that we'd added those last two words shortly after we'd become lovers.
"Now and always," we said together, softly.
"I love you so much," she said, faintly.
That was an even more recent addition to our litany. I'm not sure if I finished our ritual by saying "I love you even more," or not, because sometime around then, I fell asleep. I suspect she doesn't know, either, because I think she'd fallen asleep, too.
It was around nine-thirty when we went to sleep in each other's arms. I woke at about eleven, to find that the light was still on. Mindy had rolled away from me onto her other side. Stealthily, I crept out of bed and put the light out. Just as stealthily, I crept back into bed.
I lay there, on my back, trying to recapture sleep. But memories of what was gone returned to torment me. Tears flowed slowly from the outer corners of my eyes. And then I heard a muffled sniffle from the motionless figure to my left.
I whispered, as softly as possible, "Are you awake, Mindy?"
"Yes," came back a teary voice. "I woke up crying a little while ago. I'm sorry I woke you. I should have turned off the light, shouldn't I?"
"I don't think either you or the light woke me," I said. "I'm having my own troubles. But you should wake me up when you need me."
She came into my arms again, and we held each other tightly.
"Pills?" I asked.
"Pills," she replied.
The sleeping pills that Steph and Buck had given us were in her suitcase. She got up, turned on a light, grabbed the suitcase from where she'd dropped it near the door, and dug in to find the pill bottle. When she found it, she tipped out three of the pills and went into the bathroom to fill a glass with water. When she got back, the glass was half full, and there were only two pills in her other hand. She handed pills and glass to me, and while I swallowed the pills, she turned the light out. She got back in bed and kissed me. Then she turned onto her side and backed up toward me. I accepted the unspoken, but unmistakable, invitation. I turned toward her and put an arm under her pillow, my other arm around her. Automatically, I cupped a tit and kneaded it a bit. At the embrace and the touch, I felt tension leave her little body, and she relaxed against me. My own tension evaporated, and I relaxed against her.
"You're so good to me," she whispered.
"You are so good to me," I whispered back.
Once again, I felt strength and healing flow from each of us into the other. She moaned a little bit, almost happily. We lay there, again, together. And soon, we were asleep—this time for the rest of the night.
Mom had practically emptied the refrigerator before she'd left, so we spent a good bit of time, that first Wednesday morning, shopping for food and other items we would need in order to live for a while. At first, we had thought that money would a problem. And then Mindy remembered: No one in our family had been a tea drinker, but Mom's set of kitchen canisters included one labeled "Tea." Ever since either of us could remember, it had seemed to her to be a natural place for petty cash. We checked it; there was nearly $150 in it.
Dad had left his car at home. We knew where to find all of the spare keys, and there were several for each car. So transportation wasn't an issue.
Seeing the extra keys to Mom's car reminded us that we would have to drive to the airport in Denver soon, and reclaim her car at the terminal parking lot there.
When we got back home from our shopping trip, just before lunch, the phone was ringing. I got to it in time; it was Quent. Amanda had called him at the office to report that things were going better than expected, and that she expected to return at the beginning of the next week. He asked how we were doing, and what we needed.
I told him we were doing fine, and that we'd gotten just about everything we would need for the near future. He said he'd stop by after work, to check on us. I didn't think we needed that, but I agreed. I thought we would not mind seeing him, and I knew that he was dealing with his own grief. He was long divorced, he had no children, and he lived alone. So a get-together that Mindy and I would probably enjoy would surely do him some good. And, I figured, grown-ups like to think that they're in charge of those who're merely almost grown up.
Mindy and I hung out together that first afternoon, continuing to come to grips with our sorrow. We snuggled a bit on the living room couch after lunch. It wasn't long before we had each other's clothes off and found ourselves doing That right there on the living room floor. It wasn't until much later that it occurred to me that the time we'd chosen was just the time when the mailman usually arrived. Fortunately, Mom had stopped the mail before leaving, and we were spared the humiliation of having him see us through the front window. But it did remind us that we needed to take care of the mail service.
Then, when I couldn't get it up any more, the rest of that day turned into a long, sad, boring afternoon. So we were glad—much gladder, in fact, than we'd expected—to see Quent at the end of it. And we came to the conclusion that, even when we were together, it would be a good idea to have things to keep us busy during the next few weeks.
We mentioned the problem to Quent, leaving out our most enjoyable—although limited by Nature—activity as a pair, and he agreed. He told us that he couldn't guess what would become of him if he didn't have work to keep him busy, and that our situation was quite beyond his imagination. Partly to distract us, and, I suspect, just as much to distract himself, he offered to take us out for dinner. He assured us that he knew a "nice little place" that was neither too expensive nor too up-scale for our mood.
So we wound up at a small hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant not too far from the university. Shortly after we were seated, Quent excused himself and had a short, private talk with the manager. But it wasn't quite as private as Quent thought it was, because I saw him surreptitiously fish a couple of bills out of his wallet and hand them to the fellow.
When he returned to the table, he told us that he came here often and that he'd had a little chat with the manager. He'd arranged, he said, that we wouldn't be carded if we wanted to order some wine with dinner.
We spent about an hour and a half over a dinner that was much better than Mindy and I would have done for ourselves. And the two of us both took advantage of his arrangement with the manager.
It was nearly nine when Quent got us back to our house after what had turned into a pleasant evening. Once we'd gotten there, he said he'd like to come in for a few minutes to talk to us. Once we were inside, Mindy and I removed our jackets. I offered to take his, but he refused, saying that he would only be a minute. And then he got out his wallet again and counted out half-a-dozen one-hundred-dollar bills.
"You're going to need some money to get by for a while," he said. "I want you to accept a loan. I'm not worried about getting it back, because I know that you'll repay me."
And he took my hand and put the money in it.
Mindy and I were flabbergasted. Six hundred dollars seemed like an awful lot to a pair of poor students. But I had been a bit worried about how far our hundred-fifty dollars would go—especially after a noticeable fraction of it had disappeared as we'd shopped earlier in the day—both for the staples we'd gotten and for the gas we'd needed. Mindy and I stuttered out our thanks for his generosity. And, I admit, I was mystified by what he'd said about how we'd repay him; I couldn't see how we'd be able to do so in the foreseeable future.
"Not to worry," he said in response to our thanks. "If you should need more, please ask me. And I won't want to know what you're using it for. That's your business." He paused. And then he continued, a bit huskily, "If things had gone differently and then something had happened to me, Brian would certainly have done at least as much for any children of mine."
And then he hugged us both, told us he'd keep in touch, and said good night. When I last saw his face that evening, I thought I saw tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
I had barely closed the door and turned around after his departure, when Mindy came to my arms. She wrapped her own little arms around me and pressed her little body against me. I was intensely aware of her soft warmth, of her little tits against me, of the other curves of her body, and of her fragrances.
She looked up into my eyes; the blue fire of her eyes engulfed me. And then she reached up for a kiss. It was a long, delicious one, our tongues chasing each other about, intertwining, wrestling. By the time the kiss was over and our mouths separated, she was rubbing herself suggestively against the bulge in my pants—a bulge that was making its own suggestion.
I looked again into her eyes, smiling. They smiled back at me.
"That lump in your pants tells me that you're thinking what I'm thinking," she said, running her hands up and down my sides as I held her against me.
"Who's thinking?" I said. "And, now that you mention it, what's 'thinking'?"
She grinned her naughtiest grin, saying, "Your bed or mine tonight?"
"Fair's fair," I offered. "Yours."
I bent over for another of those sublime kisses. Evidently she at least found them entertaining, because she responded with enthusiasm. And she continued to rub her body against me, concentrating most of her attention on my cock.
"Okay," she answered when the kiss ended. "But first let's put that money in the tea canister where we'll be able to find it when we need it."
"Good idea!" I said, and we headed into the kitchen, each with an arm around the other. When we got there, I unwrapped my arm from around her, opened the little canister, put the money in, put the lid back on, and put the canister back in its place at the right end of the line that it and its larger mates formed.
Mindy asked, "What do you suppose he meant when he said he knew we'd pay him back?"
"I don't know," I said. "I wondered about that, too. I'm not sure what we'll do for money. I might have to drop out of school and find a job."
That alarmed her. She looked up at me. "You're not dropping out of school, Buster! Not even if I have to go to work full-time to keep you there."
This was serious. I looked back at her. "You've got that backwards, little girl. I'll be the one—"
"I am not little!" she fumed. In point of fact, she was little—only five feet tall and weighing barely a hundred pounds, in contrast to my six feet and hundred-ninety pounds. She was also touchy about it. I'd cheated, using the forbidden L-word on purpose in the hope that it would distract her from what had promised to be our first real argument in a long time—since well before we'd become lovers, in fact. But I wasn't going to compromise—though I thought both time and place wrong for that particular fight.
I placed my arm around her again. My other hand was now empty, so I turned her toward me and put that arm around her, too. Blue lightening flashed from her eyes. I cheated again: I used my strength to draw her close. And I bent over and kissed her again, holding her tightly. She squirmed for a few seconds, and beat her little fists against my shoulders. Then the kiss took effect. She gave up on the argument we'd almost started and, instead, melted in my arms as she returned my kiss.
Eventually, we ran out of air and broke that kiss. Remembering where we'd been going and what we'd been going there for when we'd made the detour into the kitchen, we headed together, each with an arm around the other, up the stairs and into her bedroom.
Once there, she found my shirt buttons and undid them. I returned the favor. Having shed our shirts, we kissed again, while I stroked the firm little boobs I adored so much. She moaned into my mouth at the touch.
While she returned my kiss, she found my belt buckle and undid it. As she unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, I kicked off my shoes. She placed her thumbs under the elastic waistband of my boxers and, kneeling as she did so, drew jeans and boxers down so that I could step out of them. My stiff cock leapt joyfully out of its confinement to bob up and down in front of her.
Still on her knees, she took my shaft into her hand. She looked up at me and gave me her dirtiest grin. Bending forward a little, but still looking up into my eyes, she guided the head of my cock into her mouth.
I've never figured out the mechanics, because I'm always too distracted when she does whatever it is that she does. But I think she tries repeatedly to swallow my whole body, cock first. At least, that's what it feels like. Whatever it is, it has a remarkable effect on me: I go almost catatonic. I stood there for an indeterminate time, semi-conscious, incapable of any motion other than breathing, moaning, and rocking my hips in the rhythm she set, aware only of the unbelievable sensations she brought me.
It was altogether too soon when she had to breathe again, and when she did, I found that I'd thrown my head back and was staring at the ceiling. She released my cock, and I heard her gasp as she took in much-needed air. Suddenly capable of willful motion again, I stepped to her side as she knelt before me, and I scooped her up, cradling her in my arms. Her own arms went around my neck, and, smiling at me again, she pulled up for another kiss. As I returned the kiss, I carried her to her bed and bent to lay her on it.
Without breaking the kiss, I set her on her back and reached for her belt buckle. It came undone easily, even though I couldn't see it. Her arms remained around my neck as I unzipped her jeans. Once I'd finished that, I brought both hands to her boobs and cupped them. My thumbs and forefingers twirled her nipples between them, and she moaned her pleasure into my mouth.
I had to break the kiss to shuck her out of those jeans. That left her in her panties, but, arms no longer around my neck, she beat me to the task of removing them. When her panties were out of the way, she rolled off the other side of the bed, lifted the covers, and got under them—lying down on the bed again. I got under the covers on my side and rolled immediately toward her. She rolled, too, and we met, front-to-front, in the middle of the bed.