Horsing Around Too

Once in a while there comes a story that has an unusual plot, irregular development, and events that unfold in unpredictable ways. Such a story stands out from the ocean of words that one comes across while browsing around sites like this one. At first the reader gets confused, then gets puzzled, and finally gets frustrated because the author(ess) is taking her or him on a rollercoaster ride. In the end, either the reader is distressed because he expected more from it, or joyously sad that there wasn't more of the thrill the story provided for her. One thing for sure, the story will stay in the reader's mind for a long time to come, and that is the art behind a good story.

This is such a story.

As you probably know, this is a continuation of my other storyHorsing Around, but before you run to read that story, I want you to read next few paragraphs first. Let me set the stage for you and then I'll tell you when it is appropriate to go. I didn't have the chance to do that for those readers who suffered through---or enjoyed---that submission, so I want to make sure you know what you are getting yourself into.

First a few warnings.

My story is not for the fainthearted. It requires stamina to read it and a lot of patience to live through the events. It requires, first and foremost, an affection for the author(ess) before having an affinity for the characters in the story. Since it is an autobiographical account of an extraordinary situation, which called for an unconventional solution, the author(ess) and the lead character are one and the same. So, you have to like me before you'll like the story. If you don't like me, then you'll find this story unbearable. Technically, then, this story is only for my admirers, and there are only three of you.

My story is not for those of you looking for instant gratification. You won't find the thrills associated with a quick physical romp under the sheets. You won't find action that your genitals need as one hand caresses your private parts and the other scrolls down to quickly get to the juicy parts. You premature ejaculators will be long asleep before my story even takes one piece of clothing off. If you want a dick in a pussy or a mouth like right about now, then you should exit from this story and read one of my other ones. Even though the build-up in the other ones takes a while, the ending is a lot more satisfying than this one.

My story is not for those who want to read on their computer screens. This story---specially the first part of it---only sinks in if you print it out and read it when you have plenty of time available to devote to it. You have to sit in a quiet place, with a cup of coffee or tea, and may be even some cake and biscuits, and let my words take over your senses. Don't prejudge the events. Don't judge the events, period. Just read. It doesn't matter how things go; you will read an enjoyable piece of writing, and that's all a person who loves to read, wants, isn't it?

I have taken a lot of flak for the first part because it was different from other stories that you read around these parts.Imagine that? I received criticism because I wrote something different, something unique, something that doesn't fit the normal mould of porno writing. I should be commended, which I was, by the three of you. The rest of you should know that I don't write porno. I write stories. I write literary stories that happen to involve sex, but porno they ain't. The basic premise is not sex, or animal sex, as some stories go. Basic premise is plausibility of the events. How characters come together is more important than their cumming together; although there is no such word ascum in the dictionary that implies ejaculation or orgasm, but you wouldn't know that would you, you illiterate piece of being, you.

Of course I am just kidding about the illiterate part. I know you are not that illiterate. After all, you logged into the Internet successfully and searched around until you found this story, so to call you illiterate is totally uncalled for, and I apologize for that.

That comment above is a test to see if you've got what it takes to read this story. I you were amused by that remark, then youare the one this story is written for. If you were offended, well, then fuck off. This story is too good for you. Don't read any further.

Speaking of flak, one person gave me 1 out of 5 marks for the originalHorsing Around because he didn't like the fact that I wrote part one of a multi-part story without adding 01 to the title. He wanted the title to readHorsing Around 01 or Chapter 1. I have read many stories where authors haven't done that, yet the stories have receivedhot rating. He did not care that the story was written well and it read well; that I spent weeks on polishing it up, looking for just the right words to convey my feelings and emotions, making sure that grammar was as error free as my little mind could make it. All he cared for was that I didn't put 01 in my title. For fuck's sake man, is that what you found important about my story? How many of you actually read stories that say 01 in the title, not knowing what the author is trying to do as a cliff hanger, how long you'll have to wait until the next part arrives, would you be able to remember part one when part two comes or will you have to re-read it, or for that matter, would you care if part two comes or not?

My story is a real story. It is told as it happened, by the person to whom it happened. The events proceeded the way they did. I poured myself into the words. I showed a side of myself that you haven't seen before. I bared myself for you to look at. I played a part of my private life to you because I thought you would like to view it. Yes, I acted cute, caring, thoughtful, even full of myself, but that's how it is in the story. Then why is it that some of you reacted negatively to it. You don't mind if a guy brags about his 10 inch long dick, but you have a problem with the fact that I thought so highly of myself. I am the heroin of that story; why the hell can't I think so much of myself.

One person wrote to me---and as a writer I can't help but admire the creativity of the statement---that someone should buy me for what Iam worth and sell me for what Ithink I am worth; will make a bundle. Beautifully put, even though it was hurtful.

Those of you, who are quick with the wheel on your mouse, give up right now. All the scrolling in the world won't get you the part you are looking for. It isn't in this story. Those of you, who don't appreciate the effort it takes to write a story like this one, spare yourselves the agony of reading this masterpiece. Those of you, who want to be surrounded by dick, pussy, tits, jism, cum, orgasm, etc. etc., do yourselves a favour and move on to something better, as you would see it.

This story is for the brave souls who have read the fast build-ups and fast letdowns and have outgrown that shit. They crave substance and they want to read a good story, not just a repeat of the same formula over and over. One friend of mine calls them recipes for shampooing your hair---leather, rinse, repeat. I am not a beautician, or a makeup artist. I am a writer, and proud of it.

My story is for those whose minds can grasp concepts more advanced than just animal lust. If you are such a person, then go now to read my first part of this story and don't come back until you have read each and every word of it carefully. Don't be discouraged by the digressions and sidetracks. They are the decorations on this morsel. If you are not such a person, then bye, bye.

If you are planning to stick around then I assure you that you'll laugh, you'll cry, and fun will be had by all! This story is full of love, caring, surprises, heartaches, pain, pleasure, and above all reality. It is as real as it gets!

Unfortunately, this story was also the lowest rated of all of my submissions. I am hoping that this part will do better than the last one. You can help improve things by going back to the first part and rating it high. By the way, my highest rated story isThe Fortress. You can make it the highest rated story in its category, or highest rated story ever, by voting 5 on it as many times as you can. I have made you happy eight times so far, not including this one. Seven for those who didn't like the firstHorsing Around, but still, you owe it to me. :-)

Now on to my story.

It all started with a 2 foot cock and a lucky mare that was on the receiving end of such a mighty and magnificent piece of meat. Then there was that bowlful of mouth-watering cum (yes, I have no choice but to use that word or you wouldn't feel as excited). Then, of course, the discussion of how we are, that is my brother and I, in a situation where animals seem to be luckier than us because they can have unprotected sex with anyone while we have to worry about all kind of germs and viruses, well, one virus in particular.

He told me that he was looking for a likeminded girl, who was keeping herself safe as well, and he wanted to hook up with such a girl. That was the only way to find a solution to the dilemma he was in. I told him that I would do the same and look for a likeminded man. Then one night, a slow flame ignited that told me that we were basically looking for each other.

One day, we both were watching TV together, when I finally got to courage to suggest to him that maybe we should help each other out.

I don't know if he even heard me because his flipping of channels continued. I expected him to react with surprise if he did hear me but he didn't react at all.

I thought of repeating my words a little loudly but lost my courage and decided to just forget the whole thing, at least for the time being.

It must have been quite a few minutes before he looked at me and said, "You can't be serious."

I waited a short while and then asked, "Well, what if I was?"

He sat up quickly. "If you were serious then I would say you were crazy."

"Why am I crazy? Doesn't it make the most sense to help each other out?"

"No, it doesn't. You are my sister. I can't...I mean we can't."

"But think Steven. Think carefully. Here we are, looking for someone who is being safe, with whom we can then hook-up for mutual satisfaction. I mean we don't have to look any further. Here we are!"

"But...we are..."

I cut him short. "You know, Steven, we are in an extraordinary situation, which calls for an unconventional solution. If you are looking for a conformist way out of it, you'll be waiting for a long, long time."

He sat there stunned and bewildered. I said to him as I got up to leave, "Well, think about it, at least. What do you have to lose?"

That's where my last story ended. If you recognized some of the words to be from the lastHorsing Around, then you are my favourite person, because that means you did read the other one all the way through. Yes, I know it left you high and dry with that ending, but that's how I wanted it to end. Some of you did let me know exactly how you felt about my approach. In the e-mails that I received, I was called everything from an idiot to a moron. Okay, so there's not that much difference in between, but I did learn that some of you cared enough about the story to actually call me names because I didn't finish you off. I thank you for that kind of feedback. It made me feel good. At the same time I apologize for, say,Horsing Around, with you. LOL.

My brother didn't respond to my suggestion the way I thought he would or the way he should have, considering the specimen being presented to him. I thought he would jump on the opportunity, the opportunity to jump me. Instead he thought I was crazy.

It didn't hit me until I hit the bed that evening as to what exactly my proposal signified. I had suggested to my brother that we should have sex together;sex, as in his penis in my pussy. Once those words and images popped into my head, I realized that Iwas crazy. I couldn't believe that I had actually told my brother that the two of us should have sex with each other. I was, put crudely, proposing to my brother that we should fuck each other.

What is this world coming to when the only way to have safe sex is to have it with your sibling?

Well, for me, the world had come to that, but the implications of my suggestion were enormous. No wonder he responded so negatively. The two of us had spent a quarter of a century as brother and sister and all of sudden I was telling him that we should be man and woman. I pictured him inserting his penis into my vagina and frankly the thought wasn't that exciting. I mean, my own brother, mounting me and, gasp, coming inside of me. My own brother, his dick in my belly, his balls on my ass, and his body deriving sexual---SEXUAL---pleasure from me.

Well, yes, I was going to do the same. But with my brother!

Even then, he didn't take me up on my offer. It wasn't easy to come up with the courage to lay forward that he could lay me, but once I had presented the idea, he didn't even entertain it, let alone go through with it. I was sure that once he heard it, he would also see the logic behind it and agree with it. I mean, I had convinced myself that it was a good solution to our dilemma. He had to see it the same way and act on it the way I was going to act on it. He didn't. Instead he made it look like it was the worst thing he had ever heard. Well, that's how I saw it.

I don't know what made me feel worst, the suggestion coming from me being so inappropriate or the fact that he didn't take me up on it immediately. I mean, there I was, probably the sexiest woman in his life, and he said no. His reluctancewas a no. He should have his tongue hanging out with the thought of my legs wrapped around his waist. Instead, he wanted to know if I was crazy. If anyone was crazy, it had to be him. He had won the lottery and chose to lose the ticket.

Of course, I couldn't blame him either. I guess, despite my thoughts otherwise, he never really saw me as a solution the way I had seen him. I guess, to him opposite sex only meant non-blood related women. I was not a woman to him because I am his sister and a sister is not a thing to play with, it is someone to respect, specially an older sister.

But he rejected me, even though he could do nothing else. He could have been kinder, or more political. He could have softened the blow and not made me feel as bad as I did. I felt hurt at his rejection. I was hurt because he had rejected me.

What in the world was that about?

So my brother didn't want to fuck his own sister. I should have respected him for that. Instead I was feeling hurt. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to have sex with me; it was that he didn't want me. I had never had a man not want me. There he was, the only man that I actually approached myself and he had the nerve to hesitate and say it wasn't a good idea. I was upset; first hurt upset then pissed off upset.

But I fell asleep and the whole issue faded into the night. I did wake up feeling depressed though. I don't know if I was depressed because the one opportunity that had opened up for me to be screwed---alright, made love to---turned out to be a no-go, or that the opportunity I had given him to screw me, was not taken advantage of. The melon falling on the knife, or the knife falling on the melon, I was to be screwed and he was to do the screwing. But, it didn't seem like it was going to happen when I wanted it to happen. Well, I don't know if I wanted it to happen but I had suggested that it could happen. I actually told a man that he could screw me and he didn't take me up on that. Imagine the insult.

Yes I overreacted, but it was a natural result of the guilt and shame associated with what I had said to him. I felt guilty and shameful because of his telling me in no uncertain terms that I was his sister and it was wrong of me to think otherwise. I didn't think of any shame associated with the two of us having intimate relationship. After all, we weren't going to get married, or even tell anyone about what we were doing. We were simply going to give each other a lot of pleasure during the nights, and come daytime, we would be back to our normal, siblings, selves. What harm was in that? What shame was associated with that? I am sure he must have had dreams where he did things to me, as I think, I vaguely remember that I had about him. It was going to be just a dream, a wet dream, and then we would get up, shower and come back to reality. The dream would help deal with the reality of things.

I felt some loss of my self-respect. I was depressed that I had put myself in a situation that reduced his respect for me and as a consequence, my respect for myself. Things couldn't be as hunky-dory between us as before because I had changed something in our relationship with a mere suggestion. There was no way to take my words back and there was no way to rewind the situation. The only way for me to have the same self-respect as before was to pretend like nothing had happened. I decided to dislodge the memory from my mind and think nothing of it. If there was nothing to think about then there was nothing to feel ashamed of. I went through my daily routine as if that evening never existed.

That stupid brother of mine was a step ahead of me in pretending the same. It seemed like my words were lost on him. There was no acknowledgement of my offer, of the impossibility of it, or even of it actually happening. It was as if he and I never spoke of fulfilling each other's needs. I had asked him to think about it but the impression I got was that there was nothing to think about or he wasn't thinking about anything.

Wait, isn't that what I wanted to do. Apparently we both had decided to move forward and be nonchalant about the conversation. It never happened. There was nothing to reflect back upon.

But, how the fuck could he be that nonchalant? How the fuck couldhe be nonchalant when I wanted to be the nonchalant one? Okay, how the fuck could he ignore what I thought was so enormous in magnitude? I mean, the least he could have said to me was that Xyster, I know you had one too many to drink last night---I don't drink, but he could have just said that and given me an honourable way out. Instead he was mum about the whole issue.

His silence drove me crazy.

Yes, I see the connection between his calling me crazy and my being crazy. But he had called me crazy before I actually was going crazy, so it doesn't apply.

What could I do? I couldn't let him get away without acknowledging the suggestion and giving me a way out to save my dignity. I had to bring up the issue again.

I was in the kitchen drinking water, well, not really drinking it but sipping it. I was leaning against the sink with my butt on the edge and my left leg bent with my foot on the cabinet door. He came to the fridge to get something to snack on, as I knew he eventually would if I waited long enough. I asked him, "So, Steven, did you think about it?"

"About what...?" That was his fucking response. He not only chose to ignore our conversation but it seemed he really didn't remember it at all. That to me was even more frustrating.

"What what?" I was terse. Okay, so I didn't know when I wrote that word that "terse" could be used to describe my mood. But, I looked it up, and yes, I was terse. I was very annoyed. Then I realized that I had confused myself with myterseness, so I had to clarify myself, more to myself than to him.

I said, "What do you mean what? You know very well, what I mean by what." Okay, so maybe I didn't clarify that well, but he got the point.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Man, was he being a dick.