Charlie and Mindy Bk. 04 Ch. 01

"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 60° and bring the daytime temperature up to 72°. 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 tempo 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—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 gotten 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, 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.