Charlie and Mindy Bk. 03 Ch. 02

Seeing that I'd given up on catching her, she stopped fleeing, turned, and stuck her tongue out at me. I threw a snowball—ostensibly at her, but intentionally over her head and into the tree she'd stopped under, where it hit a large, snow-covered branch. When the snowball sailed high above her, she thought I'd muffed the throw; she laughed and thumbed her nose at me. And then she was appropriately shocked when several bushels of snow, knocked out of the tree, landed on her. We laughed heartily at the joke.

I suggested that we make a snowman, and I started rolling a big ball of snow for it.

"That's sexist, you male chauvinist pig! I'm going to make a snow-woman," she replied, and started work on her own project.

I was almost finished with my snowman when I looked over to see what she'd been up to. I saw her kneeling in front of her snow figure, deeply engaged in putting some finishing touch into her work. Her snow figure was much more imaginative than mine: She had sculpted it, providing it with an hourglass curve. She'd also, I saw, given it boobs—boobs that, in fact, outdid Steph's magnificent pair. And they displayed prominent nipples.

I looked more closely at what she was doing, and I saw that she'd shaped thighs and, at their juncture, a pussy. What had her so deeply engaged at the moment was her use of a sharp twig she'd found somewhere to carve out a vertical slit—completing that icy bit of anatomy. This wasn't just a snow-woman; it was a naked, anatomically correct snow-woman!

There was only one possible response. I fashioned balls and a cock for my snowman. I made his balls about the size of cantaloupe. And, naturally, I gave him a big boner—a nice fifteen-inch one, about three inches thick with a well-formed, mushroom-shaped knob.

When she turned and saw how her snow-woman had turned on my snowman, we hooted and laughed.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"Dick! What else?" I replied. "What's her name?"

"Titia," she answered. "But her friends call her Tits.

"Poor horny snow-people," she went on. "We should have made them closer together."

"Do you think we can leave them alone here in the backyard tonight?" I asked. "The place might be overrun with snow-children tomorrow."

"Hey!" she said. "I'm going to be in your bed—naked. If you want to stay out here in the cold and chaperone them, you're welcome to. But I think you have more sense than that." She was grinning.

I grinned back. "They're grown-ups," I said. "They can do whatever they want to with each other while we do what we want to."

"He is certainly grown up," she said, giving his giant cock a good look.

"And so is she," I replied, with an obvious look at the snow-woman's huge jugs.

We laughed. And then she stepped up close, into my arms. She stopped laughing and raised her smiling face to me. I squeezed her and kissed her, and she kissed me back.

"Lunch?" I asked, when the kiss ended.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After lunch (at the end of which I was finally allowed to have a piece of the second apple pie, complete with whipped cream), Mindy said that we'd forgotten to bring the salad implements home, so she was going to go over to Steph and Buck's to get them. Not having anything else to do, I allowed I'd go over with her.

There were snow angels and a pair of snowmen (but no women and no anatomically correct figures) in their front yard. And evidence of a snowball fight stuck here and there to the front of their house. They were home and had just finished their own lunch. Mindy explained why we'd come over, though Steph had guessed. We all trooped into the kitchen, where Steph had left our fork and spoon out on a counter. The four of us chatted a bit, and, as Mindy and I were about to leave, Mindy asked if she could use the bathroom. While she was gone, Buck and I arranged that the two of them should come over to our house that evening for a few glasses of wine or beer. Steph dove into the refrigerator and brought out a plastic bag stuffed with sliced leftover turkey—which she insisted was for us. There was plenty, she said, and they wanted us to have some of it.

When Mindy returned, we picked up our implements and the turkey, and we left for home. We were hardly more than twenty yards from their house when Mindy said, "We've got the goods on them! They're sleeping with each other for sure!"

"How can you know that?" I asked. "All we've got is conjuncture."

She gave me a good stiff elbow; I felt it even through my bomber jacket.

"We had a conjuncture in bed this morning, Bubba. We had one last night, too. And I sure did like them." She was laughing at my word choice again. I could see that I was going to have to work on that.

"But—until now—all we had about Steph and Buck was conjecture. Now I know they're sharing a bed."

"Okay, Ms. Sherla Holmes. Spill it!" I said.

"Do you remember that I showed Steph how Mom makes gravy without getting any lumps in it yesterday?"

"Sure," I replied.

"Well, I 'accidentally' got my hands pretty well covered with flour when I was doing that. Then I told Steph that I needed to pee, and I asked if I could use their bathroom.

"When I went back there, I saw that they've got two bedrooms, which you'd expect—just to keep up appearances, if nothing else. You used their bathroom, too, and you must've seen those rooms."

I nodded my head. She went on.

"I snuck into those rooms, and I dusted some of that flour off of my hands and onto the floors around the beds. Just enough to be visible if you know it's there, but not enough to be obvious.

"Just to be really sure, I pulled out a little hair out of my head and planted some on each of the pillows. And I put little wrinkles in the bedspreads near the middle of the far sides of beds—where they're visible from the doors but don't jump out at you.

"And then I 'forgot' the salad spoon and fork on purpose so I'd need to go back today."

"You've been a busy lit—" I stopped myself in the nick of time, before I had completed the forbidden L-word.

"I mean, you've been busy."

I managed to keep my face straight as I corrected myself.

She glared at me, but I hadn't said it, so no complaint could lie.

In a moment, she softened and went on. "I checked the bedrooms when I went back to their bathroom a few minutes ago. The wrinkle was still there in one of the beds. So was my hair—right where I'd left it. And the flour dust hadn't been disturbed. Nobody used that bed last night! There's only one other bed in the place, and after what we've already seen, that seals it. They're sleeping with each other."

"Maybe they're just sleeping together. Maybe they aren't Doing It," I suggested.

She looked at me and smiled. It was an evil smile. "Tell me, Charlie. Would you sleep with a woman like Steph and not do It with her? Could you?"

I looked back at her. I'd just had some practice keeping a straight face, and so was prepared to do it again.

"I think it's time to for me to take the Fifth Amendment," I allowed.

She grinned at me—it was the evil grin I liked so much. "That, Mister, is a big, fat, 'No!' And you know it as well as I do."

She paused while I tried my best to look "not guilty as charged." She was still grinning, still evilly; apparently it didn't bother her as much as I had thought that I found another woman attractive.

She went on, "And, to tell you the truth, I don't think I could sleep with a guy like Buck without doing him. He's pretty hot."

"I'll take your word for it," I replied. "He's not my type." He was about five feet, nine inches, and so noticeably shorter than I. But he was wider, and very muscular; I'd guess about 180 pounds without an ounce of fat on him. I realized then, that his Mediterranean features—features he shared with Steph—probably did make him attractive to women. I really hadn't thought of him as "hot," but then, I'm not a girl…

"Men!" was the only reply I got. But she was smiling at me.

Her smile deepened when I told her that I'd arranged with Buck for the two of them to visit us that evening. "Good," she allowed. "It's definitely time we had a serious talk with them."

By then, we were back home. We spent a good bit of time that afternoon getting ready for our guests—not just cleaning up the place, but also talking about how we should approach them about what we now knew. We understood that if we were wrong, or if we mishandled things, we faced disaster. But we thought that the chance that we were wrong was vanishingly small, and we agreed that the potential good that could come out of this was well worth the risk. It was late afternoon by the time we came up with a plan.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Neither of us being in the mood to cook that evening, we had supper at Arlene's. I ordered a slice of apple pie for dessert. Mindy, recalling the apple pie at home, gave me a look that could have spelled trouble. "An experiment!" I said. "Purely in the Interest of Science!" while trying my best to emit a scientifically pious air.

Good as Arlene's pies were, they weren't as good as Mindy's. I had been sure of that, and simply wanted to confirm it. (And, I have to admit, I had wanted a piece of pie.) Knowing that I wouldn't lie to her, even in so small a matter, she was pleased when I told her that hers were better. I was forgiven.

We got back home around seven, in plenty of time for Buck and Steph's expected arrival a half-hour later. We had little to do until they got there, and, once we'd gotten our coats off, I sat down on the living room couch. Mindy sat down next to me, close. I put my arm around her, and, when she looked up at me, I smiled, looked into her eyes, and drew her closer. She smiled back, kissed me lightly, and then put her head on my shoulder. Her firm little body melted against me. Her arm dropped onto my thigh, and she sighed a happy little sigh. I squeezed her and sighed my own happy sigh.

And we just sat together on the living room couch and snuggled. I took the opportunity, during that quiet time together, to tell my little sister, my lover and my beloved, how much I'd liked spending the day with her. I knew it would please her, and it did. I told her, not because I wanted to please her—although of course I did want that—but because being with her had pleased me, and I wanted her to know. She, too, had enjoyed our time together, and we looked forward to another day and a half of, mostly, private time with each other.

Buck and Steph arrived right on time. According to the plan we'd devised, we met them at the door with our own coats on. In my hand was a flashlight I'd borrowed from the downstairs apartment.

We'd invited them for drinks, and they hadn't expected this. To their mildly surprised looks, I said, "Mindy and I saw the snowmen you two had made outside your house, and we thought you might like to see our snow-people."

They looked at each other. They both picked up on the word I had used—dimwits they were not. "Snow-people?" they said to each other with one voice. One of Steph's eyebrows lifted; a grin formed on Buck's face.

"This," he said, "we've got to see."

And so the four of us trooped around to the backyard, where I shined the flashlight on Titia.

"Oh my God!" Steph snorted through her laughter. "Look at those boobs!"

Buck was laughing, too. I lowered the light a bit, so that it now shined directly on the junction of Titia's thighs.

"Look between her legs," Buck crowed. "She's fully equipped." He was laughing, too.

"She's very sexy, isn't she?" I added. "But I'm afraid she's frigid."

There was a chorus of groans.

Undaunted, I continued. "And, speaking of equipment, look over here at her admirer."

And I swung the light around to show Dick—and all fifteen inches of his masculine glory, cantilevered out from his body above his enormous balls.

They exploded with mirth, and Mindy and I couldn't help but join in.

When Buck had settled down a bit, he said, "Poor guy! I know exactly how he feels."

"Horny, you mean?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "Having one that size."

Mindy and Steph groaned in disgust.

Mindy added a contemptuous, "Masculine humor!"

"Damn!" I said. "I'm sorry, Buck. I wouldn't have shown you this guy if I'd known you're so small."

The girls moaned in chorus.

They looked at each other in sympathy—and rolled their eyes. Buck and I grinned.

This time it was Steph who continued: "You mean masculine so-called humor. Let's get these two inside where we won't have to listen to them being jealous of this snow-guy."

Grabbing me by the arm and pulling, Steph started for the front of the house, saying, "C'mon, you!"

Mindy grabbed Buck and began pulling him, saying, "You, too, Mister."

"Careful, Buck," I yelled back in his general direction. "Protect your honor! I think they've gotten turned on!"

Unfortunately for me, I turned away from Mindy and Buck after delivering that warning, and I didn't see retribution coming. Mindy tackled me from behind, blindsiding me and knocking me face forward into the snow. Steph, seeing her opportunity, put both hands on the back of my head and ground my face into the icy cold.

Buck's roaring laughter filled the yard behind me. And then, through my struggles to get free, I heard him say, "You're right, Charlie! Hang on to your clothes! They don't even want to wait until we're inside."

At this fresh calumny, two hundred twenty pounds of feminine fury abandoned me for a new target.

In a matter of seconds the four of us formed a heap of laughing, writhing, wrestling bodies, as, girls against boys, we tried to wash each other's faces with snow. In spite of our masculine strength, it was pretty much an even match, because Buck and I were too gentlemanly to use our hands freely on somebody else's sister—while the girls had no compunction about the way they mistreated us.

Eventually, we called it a stalemate and tramped inside, still snorting and laughing, to warm up and dry out. We were all red-faced, all breathing a little heavily—and not entirely, if the commotion in my pants was a fair test, from exertion. Mindy and I had hoped that our snow-people would help loosen things up a bit; that part of our plan had succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. The co-educational wrestling hadn't been part of our plan, but it couldn't, I figured, have hurt.

Once in my apartment, we sat in the living room. There were two easy chairs and a couch there, and Buck and Steph each took one of the chairs—leaving the couch for Mindy to share with me. Mindy sat down at one end of the couch, leaving plenty of space for me at her left. But I remained standing—somebody had to get the drinks. The girls chose white wine, while Buck wanted beer.

After a quick trip to the refrigerator, I brought back two glasses, two bottles of beer, a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and a bottle opener. After I had discharged the host's duties (including opening a bottle of beer for myself), I took a seat next to Mindy—almost, but not quite, with our bodies touching. If either Buck or Steph was surprised at how close to her I'd placed myself, it didn't show.

We sat and chatted for a while. I don't recall just what we talked about—probably schoolwork and such matters. After a half an hour, or so, the girls' wineglasses were nearly empty—as were both bottles of beer. I got up, refilled the wineglasses, and brought a couple more bottles of beer from the kitchen. I sat down again—this time so that Mindy and I were just touching. I saw a fleeting bit of surprise, quickly concealed, cross Steph's face. Buck seemed oblivious.

Casually, I dropped my hand onto Mindy's thigh; she placed her hand on top of it—welcoming my touch. Steph stiffened a bit—and then relaxed. Buck seemed completely. It occurred to me that if he was not totally unconscious, he was somebody that I did not, under any circumstances, want to play poker with—although that was, in a sense, just what we were about to do.

Mindy and I had agreed that we wanted to turn the conversation to the main topic after the first round of drinks had loosened them up. She downed a good slug of her wine, took a deep breath, and bent forward. I felt her hand tighten on mine, and, with my other hand, I downed about half the beer in the bottle I'd just opened. Dutch courage, I reckoned, was better than no courage at all.

"Steph, Buck," she began. "Charlie and I have been talking, and we've agreed that the two of you could be very good friends for us to have. We'd like that."

She took another deep breath and another mouthful of wine. As she opened the betting, she was already preparing herself for the moment when we'd have to raise—a moment that was now not far off. I caught myself taking a deep breath, too.

My little sister went on, "But we want to be open with you. There's something about us, something very important, and very personal, about the two of us, that we think we need to tell you before our relationship goes any further."

Steph and Buck looked at each other, neither sure just what was happening. Then they turned toward us.

Steph said, a question in her voice, "We think the two of you can be good friends, too."

They'd called our bet, pretty much as we had expected they would.

Things hung there for a moment. And Mindy raised, but not as we had planned. She got to her feet. Pulling me to mine, she said, "I was going to just tell you—in words. But it's so hard to say it, and I'm so nervous now that I think that we'll show you."

She turned to me, wrapped her arms around my neck, pulled me close, and said, "Charlie, this is harder than I thought it would be. I need you."

I put my arms around her, pulled her closer, and brought my lips to hers. Her firm little body, now tightly against me, worked its magic; our mouths opened and our tongues danced, as we shared a long, deep kiss right there in front of Steve and Buck. That kiss made it clear to them that the love we shared was not the kind of love that the world expects a brother and sister to share with each other.

Our kiss ended, but still we held ourselves close, each taking what comfort we could from the other's touch during the most difficult moment yet of our young lives together. Our deepest secret was now open to these two—whom we knew so little about and yet who we hoped would become our friends. We looked into each other's eyes, confirming, if embrace and kiss had left any doubt, to ourselves, as well as to Steph and Buck, that we were very much in love—erotic love.

We smiled at each other before we turned back to face them, still holding each other close. I saw that Steph had turned slightly pale, in spite of the fact that she'd just half-emptied her wineglass in a single gulp. I think she had guessed that we must know—though she couldn't see how we might have penetrated their secret—or we would not be revealing ours.

Mindy summed up. "My brother and I are very much in love with each other, and we've shared that love as a man and a woman who are in love should share it."

Buck, who didn't know that we'd seen his cards and that we knew he held only a full house to our royal flush, spoke up. But his nerves were giving him more trouble than his face would admit; I saw that half of his beer had vanished while Mindy and I were thinking only about each other. "Ummm. I see. Why us? Why now? You don't really know us very well yet."

No—I didn't want to face Buck across a poker table. His face gave nothing away, showed only mild interest in what we had displayed. But his last word—"yet"—was encouraging.