After we brought him home, he had visitors for the first week or so, but after that it died down to an occasional trickle. His friends simply lost interest, because Jonathan couldn't even talk to them. It's pretty boring, sitting there talking to a giant cast. All poor Jonathan could do was grunt occasionally.

I took over the responsibility of caring for him, feeding him, sponging him off, that sort of thing. Mom said that I didn't have to, that the nurse who came every day could do it, but I was happy to help out. It was summertime, I was bored, and I felt really bad for my big brother. He had always been athletic, and now he was stuck in a room, not even able to move, much less go hiking or camping or any of the other things he loved to do. I'm sure it was awful for him. And horribly boring, too.

I really didn't mind taking care of him, but it was a little embarrassing sometimes, sponging him off. Just a little, though. Honestly, I was glad for the lesson in boys' anatomy. I'd always been a little curious about what things looked like down there. Besides, he was my brother, it's not like anything would happen. At least, I didn't think so then.

Mostly, I'd just sit in his room and talk to him for hours about various stuff. I told him about movies I'd seen, concerts I'd gone too, what his friends were up to. I read books to him. He seemed to like it well enough. I'm sure it beat lying there staring at the wall, listening to KROK on the radio. Sometimes he'd grunt to agree with something I said or answer a yes or no question I'd asked, but mostly he just laid there and listened to me. I guess he was a captive audience, but like I said, he didn't seem to mind much.

Things went on that way for a week or two. I'd just started to settle into the routine, when it unexpectedly changed.

I was sponging Jonathan off. I was used to it by now, and I didn't get embarrassed anymore. I just undid the covering around his mid-section, got the sponge all wet and soapy, and cleaned him off, from his belly to his upper thighs (the area the cast didn't cover, in other words). Usually it took about ten minutes.

This one day, though, it was different than usual. I sponged all around his belly and back, just like usual, and then I dipped the sponge in the water again, and lifted his dick up out of the way so I could sponge under it too, then suddenly it stiffened in my hand. I don't mean that it got hard as a rock, but I felt it twitch and jerk and get a little bit stiff. I looked up at Jonathan's face, but I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or what. I thought his eyes were closed.

I just held his dick in my hand for the longest time, staring at it like it was some kind of strange animal. It kept twitching, and getting stiffer, the longer I touched it.

My friend Jenny told me once that boys our age like to touch themselves, a lot. Even more than girls do. And I knew that Jonathan had some magazines stashed underneath his mattress. So when I was standing there, holding his growing dick in my soapy hand, I realized that with him being in a cast like that, he couldn't touch himself anymore. And hadn't been able to do so for more than a month.

I don't know why I did what I did next. Partly I was curious what would happen, but partly I just had this urge to do it. I felt so bad for my brother, and he was so hurt, and I kept thinking about what Jenny had said, about how guys needed to touch themselves every so often.

So I soaped up a little more and started to rub his dick. I didn't really know what I was doing, but every time I did something that felt good, his dick would twitch and get stiffer.

After awhile, it was way longer than my hand. It was long and thick and sort of rhythmically throbbing, and Jonathan was starting to make sounds, sort of strangled grunting sounds, but I ignored him. I figured he either liked it or wanted me to stop, and either way it didn't matter. If I'd been hurting him, his dick wouldn't have been so big.

I got up on the bed and knelt across his body, sort of straddling him, to get better leverage. I just kept stroking him, up and down, up and down, because he seemed to really like that. After about five minutes, he shot his come all over the place. I was surprised, because I hadn't known what to expect. I liked it, though. It made it easy for me to know when to stop.

I cleaned him up (and me up too, he shot a little onto my belly) and pretended like nothing had happened. The next day I just brought his food and fed him and read stories to him just like always.

But it wasn't just like always. I'd been thinking about Jonathan and how hard his dick had been, and how much I'd liked what we had done. I'd been thinking about it a lot. So when it was time for his sponge bath, I spent a little extra time cleaning around his dick, and sure enough it started to get hard again.

See, I knew I liked sex, even at the age of 14. I hadn't actually HAD any yet, but I'd thought about it a lot. My problem wasn't finding someone to have sex with me-that's not really a problem when you're young, cute, and 14. The problem was that there was nobody I really wanted to have sex with. None of the boys that I went to school with were attractive to me at all. I had nothing in common with them and no feelings for them. For the most part, they thought of girls as another cool accessory to have in their cars as they drove around.

I'd more or less resigned myself to waiting for college, when Jonathan changed those plans for me. I stood there, holding his stiff dick in my hand, for the longest time. I just thought about how much I loved my brother, how much I loved taking care of him, and how much he loved me. He was my big brother. He'd always helped me when I had problems; he'd always been there at my side when I needed him. I knew I could trust him. And I wanted to help him get better, help him to feel good...

I knew what I wanted to do.

When I put my mouth on his dick for the first time, he made this sound that was almost a strangled scream. I didn't pay any attention. I was too preoccupied with trying to figure out how to get his entire dick into my mouth. It just wouldn't fit at first, and then I figured out that you had to open up REALLY wide and let a little bit go down in your throat.

I gagged a lot at first, but pretty soon I got over it. Once I figured out how not to choke, I really started to like giving Jonathan blowjobs. He liked it too, or at least he stopped making those horrible sounds. I usually did it once during his sponge bath time and again at night, when I sneaked into his room.

I started thinking of what I was doing as "helping Jonathan out," and I started to like helping out my brother more and more, everyday. I liked taking his cock in my mouth while it was still limp and feeling it get hard against my tongue. I liked when Jonathan moaned as he spurted into my mouth. I liked the taste of his come. I wanted to help him more and more often, and before long I was making him come two or three times a day.

It was about then that they unwired his jaw.

The first time I came into his room after he could talk again, I shut and locked his bedroom door. I figured he'd have some things to say to me. And I was right.

His voice sounded really shaky and hoarse. I don't know if it was from not talking for weeks or from having a hard time with what I'd been doing. He said, "Amy, you know I love you because you're my sister, but it's wrong... what we're doing... you have to stop. Please."

I tried to muster up a "you must be crazy" look, but really I just wanted to cry. I didn't want to stop, I loved helping out my brother this way. I was crushed that he didn't feel the same.

"Jonathan," I said, trying my best, "do you know how long you'll have to go without touching yourself if I don't do it for you?"

He looked pale. "Amy... it's not right. You're my sister."

I knew that my eyes were welling up with tears, and I willed them to stop. It wasn't working. "Jonathan, I know you like it, I wouldn't be able to make you come so much if you didn't like it."

His face turned red. He didn't give up, though. Not yet.

"Amy, it's wrong. It's just wrong. We shouldn't."

I shrugged bravely. Tears were starting to trickle down my cheeks.

"You know I love you, and I know you love me, and there's no reason for you not to let me help you, Jonathan."

I know I shouldn't have done it, but I had to show him what he'd be giving up. I walked over to his bed and uncovered his body. I took his dick into my hands and started to stroke it, just like I'd done that first day, so many weeks ago.

"Amy, stop. Stop it. Don't... Amy, please, don't. Oh, God, Amy...

Amy...please...Amy, sweet Amy, oh God..."

I didn't stop. After the first few moments, he didn't even ask me to. He just groaned like that and called my name until he came, and then he started crying. I stroked his hair and kissed his forehead and told him it was OK.

"Don't you love me, Jonathan? I love you. I like making you happy this way. If you really really really want me to stop, I will. But you don't want me to stop, do you? Who could help you out this way except for me?"

I looked at him pleadingly.

Jonathan gave me a wan smile. "Amy, that's the same look you give me when you want me to buy you a milkshake on the way home from school."

He closed his eyes and sighed. I knew he was thinking about the way my hands and mouth felt on his dick. I knew he was thinking about how long he still had to be in the cast.

After a very long pause, he opened his eyes and looked at me.

"Amy, I love you. And I shouldn't let you do this, because I love you so much. But..." he trailed off.

I looked back hopefully. "But...?" I repeated.

He spoke in a soft voice, and he sounded quiet and resigned. "But it feels so good. I don't want you to stop. Please don't stop, Amy."

I carefully climbed back into the bed with him, snuggled up alongside, and whispered into his ear, "I promise I won't, Jonathan. I promise."

That night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, I crept back into his room. I closed the door and locked it again, as quietly as I could. I didn't know if Jonathan was awake, until he surprised me by speaking.

"I didn't know if you'd come tonight, Amy."

"Are you glad I did?"

He answered simply, "Yes."

I crawled into bed with him, as I sometimes did when I made my nightly visits. But this time was different. This time, instead of wrapping my hand around his dick or taking it into my mouth, I straddled his body, on my knees. I didn't have anything on under my nightie, I was determined.

I could feel his dick brush against my legs and I knew that he was already hard. It was so dark in his room that I couldn't see his face, but I knew he had to be startled. I felt his body tense up.

He spoke in a quiet voice. "Amy, what are you doing?"

I didn't want to have another long discussion. I just wanted to show my brother how much I loved him. I answered him shortly, "You know what I'm doing."

His cock twitched. I knew then that he wanted it as much as I did. His mind, or maybe his conscience, fought against it, but he desired it. His body didn't lie to me.

I moved lower, kneeling over him, until the head of his cock was poised at the entrance to my vagina. He let out a sharp breath.

"No, Amy, no, this is too far. You can't."

"Jonathan, I love you, and there's no other man in the world I'd rather do this with. I want it to be you. Please. Please, Jonathan."

I reached between my legs to guide him with my hand, and he groaned but didn't protest again. I had a hard time guiding his dick inside me. It kept slipping out or pushing against my pelvic bone. But eventually I got it into the right position, and when the first little bit of it was inside me, I pushed down and felt it thrust all the way up inside.

Jonathan gasped, loudly, and I did too. I'd felt something tear, which hurt, but then I didn't notice that pain because I felt too good, way too good. I couldn't even move for a little bit, because I had to get used to the feeling of having Jonathan pushed way up inside me like that.

I wish I could describe how good it felt, making love to my brother, who I loved more than anyone in the world. I wish I could really describe the feeling when his dick first pressed into me. I'm not that good with words, but it was ... it was unbelievable. It was indescribable.

Out of this haze of pleasure I was lost in, I noticed that Jonathan was trying to thrust up into me with his hips, and I knew he'd hurt himself if he kept doing that, so I started moving instead. I couldn't move much without losing my balance, but I guess it was enough, because Jonathan settled back and let me take over.

At first I tried to move slowly so that I wouldn't hurt him, but I couldn't help myself before long, and I just started bouncing up and down on his cock without even thinking of his casts. The next day I'd have pulled muscles in both my thighs, but all I could feel at that moment was intense, blissful pleasure.

My whole body started to tingle, and I knew what was going to happen from the few times I'd touched myself. Without ceasing my rapid up-and-down rhythm, I hissed to Jonathan, "I'm about to come and after I come I can't keep this up so if you want to come, big brother, you better do it now."

He groaned and I felt him start to thrust up into me again. Before, I'd been scared he'd hurt himself, but now I didn't care. It felt so good, so overwhelmingly good. I heard him start to moan something and after a moment I realized it was my name.

"Amy, Amy, oh God, beautiful Amy, sweet Amy, my Amy, precious, beautiful Amy, Amy, oh Amy..."

Over and over again. After a few moments, I stopped hearing him, because my orgasm was sweeping over me, a fiery burst of pleasure that caused me to arch my back and rock my hips violently forward. At the same time, Jonathan arched upward into me with a long, loud moan.

Afterward, I collapsed forward onto him and we both lay there, dripping with sweat, regaining our breath, for a long time.

--

Two weeks later, Jonathan's casts were removed. I was terrified that now that he wasn't captive to my ministrations, he wouldn't to even talk to me, much less make love to me. I sat in my room while the physical therapist talked to him and my parents, scared, nearly crying from anxiety. Jonathan was now more than my brother, he was my lover, and I did love him, fiercely, passionately. I didn't know what to do, so I sat and waited.

After the physical therapist had gone, and I'd become convinced that Jonathan would never speak to me again- it had only been a few hours, but those hours stretched to weeks and months in my 14-year-old mind- there was a tap at the door.

It was him. He came in, on crutches because his muscles were so weak, and submitted to the violent hug I gave him. Pressed tightly against him, I whispered into his ear, "I thought you wouldn't want me anymore. I thought you wouldn't even want to look at me."

He whispered back, "Amy, sweet Amy, how could you think that? You're beautiful and I love you. I would never do that to you."

It was the promise of a headstrong teenager, made to a girl hardly old enough to be considered a woman. But he kept it. We grew up, and found other lovers. We found others to satisfy our wants and needs, others to love. I eventually married; he hasn't yet, but hasn't wanted for steady girlfriends through the years. But he kept his promise to me. Whenever I need help, my brother is there. When I need a shoulder to cry on, he's there. He is there for me, constantly and without fail.

And every so often, when I need him the most, we find a quiet room of the house when no one else is home, and he shows me again how much he loves me.

The End