Part 1
My advent had been a big surprise to my parents. When five-year-old Sandra had learned that she was the proud owner of a brand spanking new baby brother, she was most enthusiastic. To all accounts, she played the role to the hilt. For years, that’s what she called me, “Baby Brother.” She said it and meant it with such obvious affection that I never took it any other way. Even now, I love to hear her call me by that name. My whole life has been in one way or another shaped by her attentions and genuine regard.
The summer that I was sixteen my sister Sandra turned twenty one. I think Sandra and I are as close as siblings ever get. I have never called her Sandy – Sis was as close to a nickname as she would allow.
At twenty one, Sandra was drop dead in the street gorgeous and I was in awe of her. Her smile alone could make grown men stupid and old men weep. It always turned me to jelly. Her piercing gaze can make anyone stammer. I’ve seen her do it to Traffic Cops and Nuns. If she had wished it, my father, and I both would have been her willing bond slaves.
I could not have articulated it then but, my affection and adulation for her amounted to a deep and abiding devotion. I worshiped at her feet. I still do. There is nothing I would not do for her. In fact, the previous summer, at risk to life and limb, I took on a young loud mouth stud her age who had impugned her honor. I was so enraged that I beat him senseless. That is, however, another story altogether.
We had never been overly casual about nudity in our house. That is not to say that we were prudish about it either. We simply regarded it as natural – nothing to blush or snicker about. But it was never flaunted or forced on anyone. Respect for person and personal privacy was highly re-garded.
Sandra was the image of our mother and her twin sis-ter, Aunt Patty. One of the best pictures I ever took is of the three of them as they stood facing the water at the deck rail of our boat. Their heads are turned into the wind, dark hair streaming and their left hands raised to shade their eyes. Sandra is in the middle. They are wearing only their bikini bottoms. Except for the fact that Sandra is half an inch shorter than Mom and Patty, you cannot tell them apart. The black and white print is the best.
Our Aunt Patty was in the hospital diagnosed with breast cancer and scheduled for surgery. Our parents had gone out of town to be with her. The prognosis was not promising and Mom was distraught. We did not expect them home until the following weekend, if all went well. So, San-dra was the duty responsible adult until then.
It was a Friday evening in mid August, I had done my chores, so I was reading and listening to music, Vivaldi, I think. Sandra was in her room up-stairs reading, or so I thought. I wanted to go out to Baskin Robin’s for some “No Sugar Added” ice cream (I have diabetes), so I went upstairs to see if Sandra could be bribed into going to Rally’s for dinner and then for ice cream.
When I reached her door, I heard her give a muffled, almost strangled cry of what I thought was serious pain. I didn’t wait to knock. I shoved her door open, terrified at what I might find.
She was lying naked on her bed with one hand on her breasts and the other buried deep in her snatch. I was stunned and my dick went instantly hard.
Flustered, I stammered, “Good God, Sis… are you… are you alright? I heard… You sounded… in pain…”
She lay there gasping and giggling, “My intrepid protector.”
That stung!
Red faced, I said, “I… I’m sorry, Sandra,” and closed the door.
I was very confused and embarrassed. To my surprise and chagrin, I was also extremely aroused. Sandra, on the other hand, seemed neither sorry nor embarrassed. She called me back into her room. With some trepidation, I went back. She had not covered herself and I could not help ogling her, but what stopped me was the expression on her face. It was languid to the point of being stuporous. To say the least, this aroused in me (no pun intended) a deep concern that she might be slipping into insulin shock. Sandra and I both have juvenile diabetes. We are both insu-lin dependent. A very large part of our lives is devoted to self-monitoring and some gentle nag-ging of each other to make sure we keep to the routine. I went right to her dresser and opened her kit, intending to test her blood sugar.
“No, Baby Brother, I’m OK – I don’t need that.”
Undeterred, I loaded a fresh blade into her auto-lancet, ripped open an alcohol swab, and stuck a new test strip into her blood glucose meter. I carried this stuff to her bedside.
Setting the meter on her night table, I asked, “Then, just what the hell is wrong with you?”
I lifted her hand from her breast. I could not help but notice that her nipples were erect and that she continued to stroke herself with her other hand. My dick throbbed and I swallowed hard. This was not lost on Sandra as I swabbed her ring finger.
“It’s Friday night, I have no date and he asks what’s wrong,” she announced to the ceiling. “Ouch!” I’d stuck her finger.
I collected the blood drop on the test strip and set the meter back on the night table. Impul-sively, I licked and sucked her finger, then swabbed it again with alcohol and returned her hand to her left breast.
With my hand resting on top of hers, I said, “But you never date. You’re always telling me that the guys you know are pin heads and cretins.”
I stroked her hand with my fingers. She stared at the obvious bulge in my khaki shorts. She was no longer smiling as she drew her hand from under mine then placed my hand on her breast and pressed my trembling fingers into her hot flesh.
Then, looking directly into my eyes, she whispered, “I’m horny and frustrated. Don’t you ever get horny, Baby Brother?”
My brains scrambled at the feel of her under my hand. I dared not even let my fingers twitch. I tried to keep eye contact but I couldn’t, partly because I found the circumstances so embarrassing. I also found them disturbingly arousing and that was even more embarrassing. My throat had gone Mojave dry. It took several tries to answer her.
I finally croaked out, “Yes, Sandra. I do get horny. I am horny right now and I’m very sorry about that. But, I’m sixteen, looking at linoleum makes me horny.”
“Oops!”
Yeah, she actually said that. She released my hand and very reluctantly, I removed it from her acheingly lovely breast. Sandra coyly pulled a corner of her sheet over one breast. My dick throbbed in response to this provocative little act. I seriously thought that my zipper would loose the battle to keep the little monster at bay. I also thought that if this funny business continued much longer, it could only end badly.
The scent of her sweat and her sex was very heady and I desperately wanted to help her stroke her womanhood in tandem with her. I wanted to shower her breasts with my kisses. The urge to touch her again was so strong that I had to close my eyes, step back, and shove my hands into my pockets. At that moment, her meter beeped. Saved by the bell.
I took her meter back to the dresser. When I could get my hands to stop shaking, I wrote the reading in her Logbook. It was 72 mg/dl, a little low but normal. It did not account for her bizarre behavior. So I turned to her closet. Her old terry robe was hanging on a hook. I grabbed it then put it back in favor of her black silk kimono with the scarlet trim. My thought was that something pretty might make her feel better.
I opened her undies drawer and picked up the first pair of panties I saw. I covered her with the kimono. The soft folds of black silk hugged her form. Her breasts and nipples were clearly visible. I took her unoccupied hand, placed the panties against her palm, and then I gently folded her fingers over them. On impulse, I kissed her fingers and caressed her cheek. She sat up, holding the robe more or less in place with the hand that had been busy between her legs.
She looked at the panties. Then the weirdest thing happened. Sandra started laughing and crying at the same time. I was thoroughly spooked. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. My traitor dick gave my zipper another hard nudge.
She tried to say something but the tears and laughter garbled it. I thought for a second that she was choking. She held out the panties for me to see but I didn’t get it. Sandra held them to her breasts and the laughter lost. She sobbed uncontrollably.
Now, I felt completely helpless. I put my arms around her and just held her against me with shaking hands. I let her cry it out with my stupid dick pocking her in the side. When she started to run down, I handed her some tissues. She dabbed at her eyes then turned toward me and stood up.
I took the kimono and held it for her. Sandra turned and shrugged into it. When she turned to face me again, I closed the kimono and tied the sash for her. She was a bit unsteady on her feet so I held onto her elbow. She sat back down on her bed with the panties still in her hand. She sat looking down at them turning them over in her hand then shrugged and let out what might have been a chuckle. Without looking up Sandra handed them back to me.
With a husky catch in her voice, she whispered, “Don’t these look familiar to you, Kev?”
Hesitantly, I took them from her hand. I was unsure why any of her intimate things should look familiar to me. They were pearl gray, mostly lace and incredibly soft. But, as I unfolded them, they did seem somehow familiar. I suddenly realized that Sandra was tautly alert and watching my face very attentively.
Spooked again!
I glanced back down at the bit of gray silk lace in my hand. Then I felt Sandra’s hand under mine, gently pushing the panties closer to my face. I let her.
When they were only a few inches from my face, Sandra said, “Close your eyes and sniff.”
My eyes flicked to hers. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I thought you didn’t want me to become a pervert. Didn’t you lecture me about that once?”
The words were barely out of my mouth when I had a full-blown, living color memory of Sandra smiling shyly and wearing little more than these very panties. For about thirty seconds I just stood there, my mouth agape. Then, as Sandra had instructed, I closed my eyes and sniffed – lavender – her signature scent.
“Aunt Pat… She gave these to you.”
“You remember.” She whispered.
“These are your famous birthday undies. Patty also gave you the lavender. You wore these for me that day when you… when you… it was the day I fell…”
When I realized what I was about to say – out loud – I broke off, in a sudden panic and cold sweat. I tried to recover by changing tack. “How is it that they still look brand new?”
“Because, my darling Baby Brother, I only ever wore them for you. I never wore them again.
