The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is the sixth George and Lisa story. In order, the first five stories are: A Broken Vase, Hide and Seek, Games we Played, Playing House, and The Doctor is In.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
This is often where I get stuck writing my story. Perhaps a disclaimer would be in order. Something like: “No big brothers or little sisters-- or even first cousins-- were harmed in the writing or the decades of research required to write this story. A story that took place half a century ago when Lisa was ten and George was twelve. We are, in fact, all very, very happy today.”
--Lisa Ann
Told in the voice of George:
2021
I saw Lisa, my little sister, staring at the laptop’s screen as I poured myself some coffee from the pot in the kitchen. Sitting down in a chair at the table next to her, I softly kissed her shoulder, and then her neck in the process.
“Look at this,” she said, turning the laptop a little bit towards me as she raised one leg and pulled her heel up to her buttocks giving me a beautiful view of her sweet pussy.
“It’s about us,” I said, after reading a couple lines.
“Yeah,” said Lisa, “us, fifty years ago.”
“Or us, last night,” I said, as I lifted Lisa’s hair from her face, and kissed her lips, “you are a fine wine that only gets better with age.”
“I’m stuck, it’s not that I don’t have a lot to say about us. It's just that I want to say everything at the same time…”
“Yeah, there’s a whole lot to say.”
“Would you write a chapter or an outline for the next few chapters, sort of a guide to keep me on track.”
“Sure, can I have breakfast first?”
“What do you want?”
I closed her laptop and put it on the counter. Then I carefully lifted my little sister onto the oak table. As I sat back down she shimmied into position, and as I kissed her pussy-- her “prissy-deen” as mom called it-- she wrapped her legs around my neck.
***
Lisa wanted me to write these chapters of our story, in part to give it a little bit of a different viewpoint. I have loved my baby sister since the day that I first met her. Mom and dad always told us to stick together, that it was my job as the oldest to protect her and take care of her. Lisa says I’ve done a good job of that. We followed mom and dad’s teachings, although not in exactly the same way they intended for us to do. But there really isn’t any irony here, we just took the long view.
There's an old joke that goes: “Why don't Baptists have sex standing up?” The answer being: “Because somebody might think that they're dancing.” Of course it’s funny because it’s backwards. But it seems to me that most of our society is backwards. Our cousin Eva, an ordained minister, has forgotten more about scripture than I ever knew. She tells us that God is pure love and that families exist to take care of one another, to love one another.
She tells us that scripture isn’t anti-sexuality, how could it be? God-- being all-powerful-- could have easily made us reproduce in a non-sexual way like the aspen or amoeba. But instead each new member of our family is created in an act of love between two people. We exist to be loved by the people around us. We just need to be adults, meaning responsible, about it. So, when my baby sister says that I was created just for her two years before she was born, I see exactly what she's talking about.
Mom and dad made me feel really good by giving me increasing levels of responsibility, by showing us a good role model, and telling me that I was the responsible one. That, above all, I had to take care of my little sister-- take care of her needs. I just did that in bed last night and a couple of times on the breakfast table this morning. I love taking care of Lisa’s most intimate needs.
My little sister has always made me feel that I was the most important person in her life. She has always made me feel especially loved and cared for-- mostly because she genuinely loves me and truly cares for me. A feeling that is completely mutual, as evidenced from my sexually drained feeling last night.
Our parents didn’t know everything that was going on between us. But they knew the big things, that we loved each other and truly enjoyed each other’s company. That neither of us wanted to do anything the other was excluded from doing. They trusted us to do the right thing, to take care of one another when they weren't around. Years later, when we told our parents about the depth of our relationship, they were just a little bit surprised. They certainly were not appalled.
Dad said that I must always remember that “no matter what came we were always brother and sister.” That it would always be my primary job to take care of her. To always be her big brother first. I always have been. But really it was only logical, we were going to be sexual anyway. We just started out with people who knew us, loved us, and treated us as if we were people and not objects for their gratification. I don’t hold back. I love my little sister completely, in every way that I can.
1971
I was 12 years old, and in seventh grade when my voice began to crack. I began to grow hair on parts of my body where there was no hair heretofore when. There were other boys at school who were going through these changes at about the same time I was. One did it almost a year earlier. Because of that he was a real big-shot, he used to sit in the back of shop class drawing nudes. He was pretty good and we made decks of playing cards with his “pin-ups” on the school’s printing press.
He thought that I was a complete and total loser. Which to me was both terribly funny and educational. He, “the expert,” had dreamt of women but had never touched one sexually. I was the “loser” actually sleeping with the most wonderful and beautiful woman on Earth. Often touching her most sensitive spots and making her feel the most wonderful feelings. Something I would do on average fifteen thousand times before I typed this. Who’s laughing-- on the inside to be polite-- now?
Sometimes we really were sleeping together. Mom and dad trusted us, and that isn’t really ironic. We would often fall asleep together doing something. We were wearing pajamas and in the living room or in the car and they never made any effort to separate us or to wake us.
Our parents didn't make a big deal about there being physical contact between us. To a degree-- not quite the degree we took it to-- it was encouraged. Kissing one another on the head or cheek, holding hands, sitting close together with my arm around her, her head on my shoulder or on my chest, it was all considered to be perfectly normal-- we loved each other.
Seeing each other in our pajamas or underwear, even partly nude wasn't a big deal. We weren't exhibitionists or anything like that when our parents were around. But we caught casual glimpses of each other and sometimes our parents in their bathroom or when their bedroom door-- both being right off the kitchen-- was opened. It wasn't considered to be a big deal unless you were standing there staring.
Casual nudity when we were younger playing in the hose, kiddy pool, or the slip and slide. We swam naked in the pond and played together with our cousins naked before other people decided we should probably be wearing swimsuits. Back when mom and dad were kids nobody wasted money on swimsuits. Even when they were teenagers, it got hot and people took all or most of their clothes off to deal with the heat-- no big deal.
They raised us to be responsible and respectful, to take care of each other, family, and others in descending order. They taught us to be ethical people. Sometimes in our early teens we thought that mom and dad were rather foolish to trust us completely. But, while we were generally in each other's pants-- or where our pants would be if we weren't naked-- most of the time, they were right.
Because they instilled in us the imperative to always protect the other person. Everything that I did sexually with Lisa was meant to make her feel good. In the act of making her feel great, I felt great. Everything that she did with me was done to make me feel good. Doing it made her feel great as well. We’ve done some intense things together, and there has never been any meanness, coercion, or inequity involved.* How could I ever look at her again if I hurt her?
* Maybe a little spanking, but spanking doesn’t count, everyone enjoys a little spanking now and again.
Many of our games end up with her-- well, really any and sometimes all, of the girls-- being tied up. It's all fun, part of the game. The girls encouraged us “to take advantage of them" while they were “all tied up.” Of course we all knew the rules of the game, and no real advantage was ever taken. Nobody ever did anything that they didn’t want to do.
I can't even guess when the first time I masturbated was. But since I remember mom saying that it was something private, to be done in my room with the door closed, not something one ever did in front of other people. I assume that I was pretty young. Of course my sister is correct when she says that: ”As much fun as it is to masturbate, it's even more fun to have somebody else-- someone who cares about you-- having their hands on you bringing you off.”
Then it's both a physical pleasure and gift of love from somebody who truly cares about you.
Lisa got really good at masturbating me-- and our little brother, and our boy cousins. I got really good at playing with her, and our girl cousins. We both got really good at using our mouths. My fingers learned their way across her, the way to her happiness. My lips learned her divine taste and my nose her beautiful smell. My sister’s essence on my fingers, tongue, lips, or face was simply the world’s greatest aphrodisiac. The best substance that I've ever experienced.
During all of those years at school when we were learning in the classroom we were also learning in my bedroom upstairs. Up at the top of those stairs that mom didn't like to travel because they were steep and narrow. We had predictable times that we could be naked together. Usually in my bed at night, because of the arrangement of the two bedrooms and bathroom to the stairs.
The manner in which the attic with it’s sharply sloping roof had been finished into sleeping space put a double closet right in the middle where the ceiling was high. I arranged my bed so that if we heard the floorboards outside my door creak Lisa could roll off the bed onto some blankets we placed there for the purpose and move through the closet back to her room while I delayed mom or dad.
The flat plate latches on the warped wood doors, especially hers, required a certain touch to open from the outside. Lisa and I did it several times a day and had no difficulty. Mom and dad did it far less often and they both often had some difficulty-- almost as if the door was locked from the inside…
For the next story in this series, go to The George and Lisa Story, Part 7 of 8: George's Bed.