Showering With Jennifer

by Lubrican

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Chapter One

The only thing I knew about Descartes and Nietzsche, by the time I was sixteen, was that they were philosophers. What I mean is I'm not a philosopher, myself. I've never had deep thoughts about what life is all about or any of that stuff. And I never thought about fate or karma or any of a number of other platforms that try to help one come to grips with things that happen in life that seem to make no sense.

At least not until I was sixteen.

I have since learned a word for what happened to my sister and me. That word is 'serendipity' but I had never heard of it back then. I don't know if Jennifer had ever heard of it then or not. And that's a good example of how much things have changed for me. Back then, if I'd learned a new word, it would never have even occurred to me to ask her if she knew what it meant.

Now I would. Now we share everything with each other.

Even things we aren't supposed to share.

I think you know what I mean already. I chose a place to tell our story that specializes in, shall we say, stories about things sexual. It was the accident - the serendipity - of finding that site that emboldened me enough to actually tell our story at all. This is not to say nobody else in the world knows about us. That's not true, as you'll find out. And really, as Jennifer reminded me pretty regularly while I wrote this, it isn't anybody else's business that we are closer as siblings than most people in the world would approve of.

But that's the point, actually. The point is that in a world where there seems to be so little love, what there is should be celebrated instead of reviled. Oh, I get it that incestuous pairings in the past have created terrible and sad situations in terms of birth defects. The record is perfectly clear in a murky kind of way about that. What I mean by "murky" is there are no scholarly papers out there on why these defects happen in some cases of incest and don't in others. There are theories galore, but no scientific studies to back them up. To me, that is like saying "There's this incredible, mystifying behavior that can both create or destroy life but why that happens is something we're not going to talk about."

Now maybe you think I'm getting worked up about something that really makes very little difference in the grand scheme of things. After all, incest is an aberration in human life, right? Very few people are involved in that behavior, right? At least that we know about. We don't need to talk about that perversion, right? It isn't common. Incest only touches a fraction of a fraction of a given population.


Well ... let's not even take up the discussion about Adam and Eve, or Noah and his minescule family, who repopulated the Earth after the flood. We'll pretend that we're not all the product of incest. At least if you ascribe to any number of religions that all pose an original pair that populated the Earth. But maybe you don't. Maybe you think all manner of different humans evolved all at the same time, from different organisms. If that's the way you think, we can go with the roughly 11,000 humans who survived the ice age (scattered hither and yon in tiny groups) and then repopulated the Earth. They had no choice but to inbreed to survive.

I know I said I wasn't a philosopher, and a lot of that up above looks and sounds like philosophical ramblings, but what can I say? Stuff happened and I couldn't help but think about it and wonder why it happened. I know how it happened ... sort of ... at least now in retrospect, but I sure had no idea what was going on while it was happening.

What all this rambling is supposed to be getting to is that maybe it happened to you, too. I have a sneaking suspicion that what happened between Jennifer and me has happened to a lot more people than anybody would admit. I use the words "would admit" intentionally, because of another sexual behavior that seems to happen a lot, but which very few people admit they engage in. Can you guess what it is?

Yup. Masturbation.

Think back on that. If you masturbate (and everybody says everybody does) then how many people have you admitted that to? I'm not talking about how many people know you do it, or believe you do it. I'm talking about you formally announcing, "You know what? I masturbate frequently. Do you?"

Everybody allegedly does it, but nobody admits it to anyone but maybe one or two very close friends.

Enough rambling. I'll just tell you what happened. Maybe you'll be able to explain it to me.

I'll start off by admitting to the whole world that I masturbate, and that I masturbated frequently before all this happened. I started when I was roughly twelve and I learned to do it completely by accident. I was in the shower and I was washing my penis, which was either already hard, or got that way while I was washing it. I don't remember. That wasn't a new thing, having an erection, I mean. It had been getting hard for a long time. But this was the first time I washed it with the now familiar stroking grip that every guy knows all about.

Or so I hear.

Anyway, it felt good so I just kept doing it. Then it felt great and I wouldn't have stopped even if somebody pounded on the door and told me to hurry up. Nobody did, though, and suddenly there was this pain in my penis that was scary as hell, but still felt fantastic, and I spurted. Just like that. I knew squat about sex back then. I knew all the words associated with it, particularly the dirty words one never uttered in the hearing of an adult, but that's kind of like all those kids in the spelling bee who can spell anything, but have no idea what it really means. After all, they always ask for the definition ... right?

By the time I was sixteen I was an expert at masturbation. I had my stash of pictures, most of them torn from girly mags I found in the trash. I found the first one by accident, in a dumpster. I was a confirmed dumpster diver after that. People throw away the coolest stuff, as it turns out. But never mind that. I was going to tell you how 'it' started, between my sister and me.

It started when I had to pee really bad and it was either go outside in the back yard, and hope that Mrs. Applebee wasn't looking out her window, or go in the bathroom, where my sister, Jennifer, was taking a shower. Maybe your neighbor doesn't stare out the window at your house, but Mrs. Applebee seemed to. She was always "just mentioning" things to my parents about stuff I did in the back yard. Like when I shot a bird with my BB gun, or when Roy Burke and I were throwing rocks at each other (we weren't actually trying to score a hit), or when I accidentally ran the mower into my mom's flower garden. There were a bunch of times she saw things and "bumped into" one of my parents and "just mentioned" what she'd seen, and I knew she'd have a conniption fit if I took a leak in the back yard. It was almost bedtime, but it was also summer, and it stayed light outside pretty late. Plus my dad wired in one of those motion sensor floodlights on the back wall of the house and didn't bother to put a switch on the thing. It would come on if I went out there and that was sure to draw Mrs. Applebee's attention.

So I opened the door to the bathroom and went in all ninja-like. Dad had renovated the shower and the new one had a frosted door so I was hoping Jennifer wouldn't be able to see me. I had it all planned out. I was going to sit down on the toilet so things wouldn't splash and make noise. When I was finished I'd put the lid down so she wouldn't see the tint in the water. I wasn't going to flush, of course, since that would be a dead giveaway. Besides, we use way too much water just to flush and it's not like my pee was going to sit there all day. Somebody else would use it.

Now all this was unplanned, which is why it was a complete accident that, as I sat there feeling huge relief, I was facing the shower stall. I could see Jennifer's form through that frosted glass. Just her overall form, a kind of flesh-colored blob that was vaguely humanoid in shape. But I knew what was making that shape, so it wasn't hard to imagine I could sort of, kind of, almost see her breasts when she raised her arms to do something on top of her head.

And as my bladder got empty, my dick got hard.

Now I have to tell you this was a complete surprise. Jennifer was my younger, bratty sister. True, she was only a year younger, and true she got straight A's in school, whereas C was my favorite letter. And there was nothing exactly wrong with her, other than the fact she was a pest and always thought she should be able to do whatever I got to do. But I'd never even thought about getting a boner because of her.

Sure I'd seen her running around in her bra and panties, or maybe the short robe she wore sometimes that showed her legs almost up to her butt, but she was ... Jennifer. She was my sister. And she wasn't a raving beauty or anything. She had brown hair and brown eyes and wore glasses. She had contacts, but her allergies made them itch a lot so she only wore them about half the time. She had boobs, but they weren't huge or anything. She had a "boyfriend" every so often, but she was too hard-headed and independent to let a boy tell her what to do so those relationships always kind of faded to black sooner or later. Mostly sooner.

My point is I'd never thought of Jennifer as a sexual being before. But seeing her vague, naked form behind that frosted glass, it was impossible not to imagine what she might look like if I opened that door.

Suffice to say I was confused that I got a boner while looking at her amorphous form. And a little weirded out, to be honest.

I didn't just sit there and think about all this, by the way. I did what needed to be done and, pulling my pants back up as I stood, to get my boner covered, I snuck out as ninja-like as I had snuck in.

Things stayed confusing when I got back to my bedroom. When I got undressed that boner was still there, and it was throbbing. Always before I'd have happily jerked off and then read until I got sleepy. But this time I couldn't get Jennifer's cloudy form out of my mind. I needed to jerk off, to get some relief, but I knew if I did, I'd keep thinking about my sister and that would be just too weird.

I tried to read, but that damn boner wouldn't deflate.

I got out my pictures and locked the door. My mother was a fan of breezing in to give good night kisses on foreheads and she didn't know I abused myself. Nobody did. How could they? I'd never admitted it to anybody.

Anyway, Miss September saved the day because she was looking me right in the eye with that "You can have me if you want me" look that could get me to spurt within sixty seconds if I really wanted to hurry things along. And my eyes flitted from her eyes to her tits to her puffy pussy lips and I came and then I was able to read until I got sleepy.

Miss September, however, could not distract me the next morning when I went down to breakfast and Jennifer was sitting there, reading the comics in the morning paper. She was dressed like normal, in a tank top and shorts. She was barefoot and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. And damned if she didn't look ... I don't know ... interesting?

She looked up at me and her eyebrows formed a mild frown.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"You're staring at me," she said.

"Stop staring at your sister," my mother said, automatically. She was fussing with something in the skillet on the stove.

"I wasn't staring at her!" I complained.

"Yes ... you were," said Jennifer.

But the strangest thing was that she had this little smile on her face as she said it.

"I'll stop," I said, knowing this was the only way to get both of them off my case.

I got a bowl and a box of cereal from the cupboard, not wanting to wait for the more involved process of bacon and eggs. I was going to go shoot hoops with Dennis Green.

"I'm cooking, here," complained my mother.

"I love you," I said. Those are the magic words, especially when it comes to moms. "But I'm late to shoot hoops over at Dennis's house."

"How can you be late to shoot hoops?" asked Jennifer. "It's just shooting hoops."

I wanted to stick my tongue out at her, but I was sixteen and you can't get away with that much after you're ten, so I just inhaled my cereal (as my mother would have put it) and hurried out the back door.

I had a whole day planned of not thinking about my naked sister behind a shower door, and it would have come off that way too, had it not been Dennis Green I had decided to spend the day with. He had a thing for my sister. He'd had it since seventh grade, but he was too chicken to ask her out. He was too chicken to even talk to her, for that matter. But he'd talk to me about her. He was fond of saying, "She's so hot. It must drive you crazy, living with her." He was of the opinion that, since he thought she was a babe, all other males must think she was a babe, too, including her brother.

For years I'd happily pointed out why no man on the planet should be interested in Jennifer Chalmers, but all that bounced off him like water off a duck, so I'd given up a year or so past.

And of course, it was on this particular day that, as we played H.O.R.S.E, Dennis asked me if I'd ever seen Jennifer naked.

There was a conversation about that, but you don't want to hear about that. All you need to know is that, by the time I got home, all I could think about was whether Jennifer would take another shower that night.

Of course I knew she would. Jennifer took a shower every night. If she got sweaty she took one during the day, too. Jennifer and sweat did not get along. I, on the other hand, might go two or three days between showers. I didn't have a girlfriend, but I didn't associate those two facts as having anything to do with each other.

So, of course, she did take a shower.

And, of course I had to decide what to do.

I did not ninja in to get a peek, if that's what you're thinking. But I knew she was in there, and I knew she was naked, and I knew what it would look like if I did go in there for a peek.

And that's all it took to give me another boner.

Even Miss September couldn't do the trick that night. I went through the whole calendar, or at least the months I had, and none of them could keep me from imagining what my sister looked like behind that stupid door.

And that was the first night I just gave up and thought about Jennifer, rubbing her hands all over her slippery body ... across her breasts ... between her legs ... as she got all squeaky clean.

It was the first night that I suddenly wondered if she did, in the shower, the same thing I did, in the shower. Namely ... masturbate.

So it was the first night that I jerked off while thinking about my sister.

It was five days before I just couldn't take it anymore. You do stupid things when you're confused, like making sure you don't go to the bathroom so you'll have a "legitimate" excuse to ninja in and use the john while your sister is taking a shower. You're not planning on getting caught, but you make sure you have a valid excuse, just in case. And I changed into the cotton running shorts I sleep in every night, before I spied on my sister. I reasoned that I could pull them up faster than my regular pants. I knew I was going to have a boner. At least I was smart enough not to even think about beating off while I sat there. I figured the shorts would come up and cover said boner quickly and efficiently as I ninjaed back out of the bathroom.

I know this sounds stupid, particularly because I already mentioned that all you could see was the vague outline of a naked person behind the glass. I think maybe it was like some kind of drug. I tried it once, by accident, and it hooked me right away. So every so often I needed a fix, to keep me going.

That really does sound stupid, doesn't it? But it's all I got.

So I did it. I waited until she went in, and then stood by the door until the water had run long enough that I knew she'd be inside the shower. The door creaked as I opened it. I hadn't noticed that the last time. I made a mental note to oil the hinges.

See how bad things were already?! I'd already turned into a pervert!

I tiptoed over to the toilet and shoved my shorts down. I already had a hardon and I had to bend it to get it into the space between my thighs and the toilet seat.

Then I couldn't go. If you're a guy, you know how that works. Or doesn't work. If you have a great boner, you can't piss through it. I don't know why. It's just the way things are.

So there I was, my bladder screaming, and me unable to get a stream going. And all the while I'm staring at the shower door, where Jennifer is soaping herself up.

Now, if you're a guy, then you know the only way to coax piss out of a boner is to stroke it a little bit. For you ladies who haven't fled screaming already, I'll educate you. I'm not talking about a death grip, or choking the chicken, here. What you do is take your thumb and two fingertips and you just tease the shaft a little, kind of stroking it like you might pet a cat or something. It's sort of like you're milking your cock, except it's nothing like milking a cow. Anyway, that's what works. Somehow it relaxes things, at least for me, and within a minute I got things moving.

Of course I was in a mild panic while all this was going on, so I missed not hitting the water, at least at first. I looked down as I bent my cock to one side and the noise stopped. Then I looked back up at the shower door, to see if I was busted. I wasn't, or at least she didn't say anything, but she was standing still. It looked like her hand was in front of her, maybe covering her pussy? But she wasn't saying anything and her other hand was on the wall of the shower, and not covering her breasts. So then, suddenly, that question about whether she did in the shower what I did in the shower popped back in my head.

I squinted, trying to see better, and it looked like her hand was moving. Was it moving between her legs?

I suddenly realized I'd been in there for a lot longer than planned. In fact, I wasn't sure just how long I'd been in there. It could have been as much as three or four minutes, and there isn't a guy in the world who needs three or four minutes to piss. Maybe to piss and then wash up and dry his hands and comb his hair and look at how handsome he is in the mirror, but not just to take a leak.

Which is why I stood up somewhat precipitously, meaning I didn't have a boner management plan in place, which meant my rampant rod waved in the air in front of me like Harry Potter's wand doing an Alohomora unlocking spell. Then I had to bend over to pull up my shorts, and I guess all that getting up fast and then bending over and getting up fast again caused me to get light-headed, because I staggered to the door and exited in a decidedly un-ninja fashion.

Five minutes later I was lying in bed with my shorts down to my thighs, beating off in the dark and imagining my sister masturbating in the shower.

It bothered me. Maybe that sounds dumb, but it did. And the reason it bothered me was because when I came, imagining Jennifer with a finger plugged into her pussy, it was a really hard, really enjoyable cum. Really enjoyable. It was so enjoyable, in fact, that it kind of convinced me I really was a pervert. I didn't know how I'd become a pervert, but the fact was unavoidable as I found myself gripping my softening penis and discovered that the sock I'd planned to shoot on hadn't even come close to being up to the task.

I got up and cleaned up the stripe of cum on my floor, and tried to sop up what had gotten on the bedspread. I kept imagining my mother coming in the door and finding me cleaning up cum spots. I hadn't locked the door because I had the lights out.

Basically I was a mess. I suddenly had the hots for my sister, or at least for my sister when she was in the shower. The rest of the time she was the same old Jennifer, except that now I noticed the bulge of her breasts, and imagined what was packed into her shorts. Of course I couldn't look her in the eyes. If I did, she'd know instantly that her pervy brother was thinking forbidden thoughts. But I didn't think she'd notice. We tried to have as little to do with each other as possible, usually.

I felt so bad that I managed to wait an entire week before I just had to see that vague image again.

It was a repeat of the previous time, though things went much better, assuming you can call sneaking in to peek at your sister in the shower as being any kind of okay. But this time I was prepared for everything. Again I'd refrained from going to the john so I actually had to go in there. I knew I'd have to get the stream going, so I teased my cock right away. This time I kept an eye on the shower door while I did it, and this time it was aimed at the porcelain instead of the water when something started happening. I sat there, kind of hunched over, watching her indistinct, tantalizing form move around in the shower. I could see she was washing her breasts. She washed them a long time and it was impossible not to imagine her doing it for purposes other than getting them clean.

I was still rock hard when I finished peeing, and I honestly think it was unconscious that I kind of teased my cock some more. I mean I always milked it to get the last drops of pee out, whether it was hard or soft, but I milked it a lot more than was necessary. Anyway, I suddenly realized I was almost jerking off, watching her hands slide all over her chest like that. That kind of freaked me out. I mean it was one thing to lie on my bed and imagine seeing her, but it seemed like another thing to actually stare at her vague image while I did that.

So I got up and ninjaed back out of the bathroom. I didn't even make it to my bed before I was beating my meat like it owed me money and couldn't pay. I came so fast I wasn't prepared. I didn't have anything to shoot my spooge into. I gave about half a second to thinking about just cumming in my free hand, but that seemed gross, so I just squeezed it hard when I felt it coming.

Man! Have you ever done that? It's crazy! First it was painful. I know cumming is always painful ... in a happy kind of way ... but this was over the top. It didn't stop my orgasm. I mean I still had one, but without the soothing part. It was intense. It's hard to come up with a description of how it felt, but it wasn't on the bad side of things at all. I've done it a couple of times since then just because it feels so different. Good different.

Yeah, I know, it's crazy. But the whole situation was crazy. And it was making me a little crazy, too.

Which is why, the next time I peeked at her, I just sort of ... well ... jerked off while I did it.

It started weird. What I mean is that Jennifer and I were watching America's Got Talent in the family room, and when it was over, she stood up and stretched and said, "I'm going to go take a shower." That sounds pretty normal, except Jennifer wasn't in the habit of telling me much of anything about her life. I mean why did she care whether I knew what she was going to do in the next ten minutes? It was just out of character for her. Weird.

And of course I started getting a boner almost as soon as she said it.

"Okay," I said, like my approval mattered.

"Night," she said.

That was weird, too. She never wished me good night.

Jennifer took some of her showers in the morning. I didn't know why. I always took a shower when I got up, rather than when I went to bed. Most of that was because I stayed up until I was sleepy, and a shower kind of invigorates you, you know? So I chose to be invigorated in the morning, rather than just before I went to bed.

But Jenn had some secret system where she took some showers in the morning and some at night. And I was pretty sure she'd taken one that morning.

But I didn't stop to think about it then. I just thought about how I hadn't prepared, and didn't have to pee. Of course you can force yourself to pee just about anytime if it's been a little while since you did it last, but I had gone to the john during one of the commercials, so I didn't really have to go. Don't ask me why I had this twisted thought process, but I felt kind of nervous because if I went in there, I had no excuse at all except that I wanted to see Jenn's nakedness through that frosted glass.

I was too far gone, though. I knew I'd sneak in there anyway, and feeling bad about it didn't stop me from doing it.

So I gave her time to get in the shower and did my ninja thing, carefully opening the door and going in on tiptoes. I had, in fact, oiled the hinges but I always left the door a few inches open in case I had to make a fast escape. I sat down on the toilet, like usual, but since I didn't have to pee, all I did was stroke my cock. Jennifer was humming a tune, but I didn't pay any attention to what it was.

The next thing I knew I was jerking off, staring at Jenn's form through the glass. She'd been washing her breasts when I got in there. The fact that she was facing the door didn't make an impression on me. She usually turned and faced every direction sooner or later. And when I started doing it ... actually masturbating while I watched her ... both of her hands slid down and started washing between her legs. I convinced myself she was masturbating too, and it was so hot that I only lasted maybe two minutes. When it happened, since the toilet bowl was right there, I just aimed it down and let it blast.

Almost instantly I realized how stupid I'd been. I should have choked it off. Now there were strings of cum in the bowl, some of it floating on the water, and I couldn't flush the stool.

All I could do was put the lid down, which I did, and then fled. I figured I could go back in after she left and get rid of the evidence.

I'm telling you, it was like a drug. And, like a closet drug addict, I was living two lives. In one I acted as normal around my sister as I could. Nothing about that life was any different than before. We still barely spoke and never did anything together. She still complained about things I did, or didn't do, and I still called her a brat. And in that life she didn't complain to our parents that there was some stringy white stuff in the toilet after she took a shower. Or maybe she didn't see it. I don't know. Maybe she just dried off and left without lifting the lid and never saw it.

In my other life, though, our relationship was completely different. At least in my mind. In that life I resisted the drug as long as I could and then snuck in to jerk off, staring at her pale form through the glass, wondering what she'd look like if she stepped out and I could actually see the details. In my real life there was no way to assuage that desire - to see her naked. We weren't nudists, and didn't run around the house in nothing or even next to nothing.

That fantasy life intruded on my real one in other ways, too. She was popular and got invited to parties and sleepovers all the time. She wasn't allowed to date yet, but I knew that day would come and she'd go out with a lot of guys. Being a guy myself, I knew what guys tried to get away with when they got a girl alone.

Basically, I knew there were other guys out there who wanted to see her soft, creamy naked skin too, and her pink nipples. Were they pink? It didn't matter. I couldn't help but wonder how far she let them get. Would she let any of them between her legs? Would she give up her virginity to her prom date? That seemed to be the common plan, at least if you believed the rumors.

It made my blood boil.

Okay, well maybe not boil. But it did make me jealous and I realized I was jealous, which was crazy because none of it had even happened yet. It was just one more push to get me on my way to the loony bin.

I knew I'd get there some day. The loony bin, I mean. I had fantasies about that, too. In one of them I was at Burger King and some guy came in with a gun and said he was robbing the place. Then he demanded that all the girls kiss him and he started feeling them up. In this particular deluded imagining my sister wasn't even there, but I defended her anyway. I went all apeshit on the guy and went into ninja mode and almost killed him.

I know nothing about being a ninja, by the way. Just what I've seen in Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan movies. Which amounts to nothing. But I was unhinged so that didn't bother me.

It got so bad that I actually thought about going to my parents and telling them about this unhealthy fixation I had on my sister and asking them to get me to a shrink. And I might have done that, too, had not something even crazier happened.

It was on a Saturday morning. I'd slept late, after sneaking in on Jennifer and jacking off again, the night before. I'd almost gotten caught that time because she suddenly turned the water off. I had been right on the cusp of spurting, so my body didn't like the fact I just stopped and jumped up off the throne. I didn't have time to put the cover down and my shorts were only up to my thighs when I made it out the door. I just scooted before she could open the shower door and find me there.

I had gone to bed, then and I had a case of blue balls because what they'd been about to get rid of got all bottled up. Plus I was having a fantasy about how it could have happened if she did catch me. It was a really stupid fantasy. In it, she opened the door and found me with my dick in my hand, whaling away. Her eyes got all big and she squeaked, "Is that because of me?" And of course she got all warm and fuzzy that her brother, her most harsh critic, actually thought she was a babe and all that. And of course it went on from there, while I laid back and stroked and dreamed and finally shot a quart of spunk into a sock.

Yeah, I know it wasn't a quart. A quart wouldn't even fit in a sock. I was just using what Mrs. Tinsdale taught us about in English last year. It's called hyperbole.

Anyway, I slept late the next morning, maybe because of the stress of almost being caught or from a doozy of a cum. Then again, I slept late most Saturdays. I'm a teenager after all. Mr. Grinnel, in Social Studies, went into this whole thing about how evolution designed things that teenagers stay up late, tending the fire while the hunters have sex and sleep. Then the teens sleep until noon the next day while the women get the day going and the men go out to hunt again. He didn't say anything about the teens having sex while they stayed up late, but it makes sense to me. If the parents are asleep in the cave or stick shelter or whatever, and the teens are all up sitting around the campfire, what else are they going to do?

So I got up and went to the bathroom, to get rid of my morning wood, and I decided to get something to eat before I took my shower. Jennifer was sitting at the kitchen table leafing through a glamour magazine. She looked up when I came in the room.

"Hey," she said.

"Isn't that supposed to be 'Hey, dickhead?'" I quipped. Don't ask me why I did that. It was stupid. But I did and once something is out, you can't get it back in.

"Okay," she said, amiably. "Hey, dickhead."

"Where's Mom?" I asked. Some Saturdays Mom got up and made pancakes. I had hoped this was such a Saturday.

"She and Daddy went over to Porter's Landing to visit some sick person," she said. "They're also going to go shopping and go to a movie while they're there."

"Oh," I said. "I was hoping for pancakes."

"Make them yourself," she said.

"I don't know how," I admitted.

"It's not rocket science," she snorted.

You have to understand that this was probably the longest conversation we'd had in a long time. We didn't just chat about stuff.

I opted not to engage in any science at all, rocket or otherwise, and got down a box of Fruity Pebbles. I poured a bowl and got the milk and sat down.

"Gee," said Jennifer. "Did you get enough? Why not just eat straight out of the box?"

This was the more normal Jennifer. I ignored her.

Later, while I was eating, she noted, "Don't be such a pig when you eat. Ewww. You're so gross."

"Takes one to know one," I mumbled through a mouthful of colorful puffed cereal. I know, it was lame, but it was all I could come up with on the spur of the moment.

She sat there and ignored me, going back to her magazine. I ate, put the dishes in the sink and then left.

After an aberrant probably-one-time-only spurt of actual conversation, we had stopped talking to each other again.

Things were back to normal.

Chapter Two

I said at the end of the last chapter that everything was back to normal again between my sister and me, but this the part which, if it were in a movie, there would be tense music playing and you'd know that everything was not back to normal. You wouldn't know what was coming, but you'd know something was going to happen that was going to scare the shit out of you.

Me? I was fat, dumb, and happy, clueless in every sense of the word. Just like the character in that movie, who blithely goes forward to his doom while you out there in audience land yell at the screen, telling him not to open that door, or turn that corner or whatever. Well ... your girlfriend yells like that. Not you. Us guys are too cool to talk to TV and movie screens.

And it was exactly like that scene in the Hitchcock thriller where the woman is in the shower and the guy whips the curtain back and sticks a knife in her. Okay, maybe it wasn't exactly like that. I mean there was a glass door, not a shower curtain, and nobody had a knife. Nobody even ripped the door open. But it felt like somebody had stuck a knife in me.

That's because while I was taking my shower, Jennifer walked in, put the lid to the toilet down, and sat on it, facing me. She just sat there, waiting.

And I could see her clear as day.

It turns out that water running down the glass of a frosted shower door does something to the optical quality of the glass that turns it clear. At least from the inside out. And that meant from the first time I snuck in to take a leak, to the last time I masturbated while staring at the same door she was staring at ... my sister had seen everything I did as if there were no door there at all.

She didn't do anything. She just sat there, looking at me through the door. I didn't know what to do. I'd had the beginnings of a boner when I got in, anticipating maybe jerking off while I took my shower, but there was no bone in the boner now. No, sir. Not a splinter of a bone. In fact, my dick shrank and got like maybe an inch and a half long. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it with the hands I'd put over it when I realized how busted I was.

It was a long shower, but it couldn't go on endlessly. Eventually the hot water ran out and it got really cold, so I had to turn the water off. Still, she just sat there.

Even in a situation like that you can't just stay in there forever. The towels were all on racks outside the shower. You couldn't reach over the door to get one. You had to at least open the door and reach through that opening. So that's what I did.

I found out she'd removed all the towels and that they were on the floor next to her feet. I hadn't noticed that, before.

"Need a towel?" she asked, her voice full of false innocence.

"What if Mom caught you in here?" I asked, gruffly, playing the big brother card.

Yeah, you can imagine how effective that was.

She tossed her head and her lip curled into an almost sneer as I remembered that our mother was forty miles away enjoying the day with our father.

I looked down at the neatly stacked towels on the floor by her right foot. I wanted to get one, but to do that I'd have to come out where my one-inch-long penis would be on full display. Even my balls were sucking up into my body at the moment.

"What do you want?" I asked.

Now I'll tell you I was prepared to be blackmailed. Well, not exactly prepared, but you know that I mean. I probably should have said I expected her to blackmail me. I anticipated all sorts of dire threats to tell not only our parents, but all my friends, and all her friends and maybe even people at church all about how I was a pervert and a wanker who got off on watching his sister in the shower. She could ruin me pretty much forever if she wanted to. So the sky was the limit, in terms of what she could demand. I didn't have a lot of money. In our little town the only jobs I could get were temporary odd jobs. I did, in theory, have a part time job at MacDuff's Hardware Emporium, but I only worked five or six hours a week, usually sorting through the nuts and bolts that customers had mixed up, or restocking bags of feed for various animals, both farm and domesticated, stuff like that. I envisioned, briefly, having to do all her chores until I was in my thirties.

What I was not prepared for - and I now use that word in a more appropriate fashion - was for what she said.

"I figured if you get to watch me, then it's only fair that I get to watch you," she said.

My brilliant rejoinder was, "Uh ... what?" My voice sounded like I was maybe twelve.

"What part of 'I get to watch you' didn't you understand?" she asked. There was an edge to her voice. I found out later her expectations were for me to dance for joy. You know ... go all pervy happy on her.

"Why?" I asked. I was truly mystified.

"Oh come on, Bobby," she snorted. "You know why."

"No I don't," I insisted, quite honestly.

"Why do you like watching me?" she asked.

I was rattled, which is probably why the first thing that popped into my head was what I said.

"Because you're a frickin' babe," I said.

Now I know I said in the beginning of all this that Jennifer was very normal looking and all that. But my perception of her had morphed as my desires concerning her had morphed. She hadn't gotten any better looking or anything. I just perceived her differently. That's not odd. It doesn't matter if you're a guy or a girl, as you look around there are some people of the opposite sex who you are attracted to, and others you aren't. But the ones you aren't attracted to are attractive to somebody else, so it all works out in the end. No matter what you look like, somebody out there thinks you're hot.

I don't know whether that's what happened to me, or whether she just grew on me. Well, mostly she grew on me in the area of my groin. But how I thought about her had changed in my brain, too. I don't know. All I know is that's what popped into my mind, so that's what I said. I met a professor since then who told me that when you are asked a question, the very first thing that pops into your mind is the truth. It might not be what you say, but it's probably the truth.

This announcement was met with surprise. That's probably no surprise to you, but it was to her. Her mouth opened and then closed again. I saw the blush that came from inside her T shirt and came up her neck to her cheeks.

"Really?" Her voice kind of squeaked.

I was beginning to realize that my life might not be over and that feeling made me so giddy that I had a hard time thinking rationally. I sort of nodded and I'm quite sure I had a goofy smile on my face.

"I just thought it was because the girls you went out with shut you down all the time," she said.

That cut through my giddiness like a hot knife and the typical teenage male in me popped out.

"What?" I was injured! "I don't get shut down!"

"Yes you do," she snorted. "I talk to most of them. You have a reputation, Bobby."


"Yes. Believe it or not, all the girls around here think you're a really nice guy."

"What?" My voice rose. I was confused again. I wasn't nice! I was manly! I was in shape, and had a twinkle in my eye. My mother said I reminded her of Tony Curtis. I didn't know who he was, but I could tell by the way she said it that it meant I was good looking.

But the fact of it was that I did get shut down on dates pretty regularly. The farthest I had ever gotten was when Rhonda Tompkins let me feel her breasts through her shirt (and bra) but that was about it. I got lots of kisses, had made out for hours, in fact, but when my hands roamed, they got pushed away.

"And that you don't have a future," added Jennifer.

You know that sound they use in the movies of a phonograph needle being scraped across the grooves of one of those old-timey records? I actually heard that in my head.

"What? What do you mean I don't have a future? What kind of shit is that?"

My sister frowned. She didn't like curse words and made no bones about expressing her distaste - with anybody! Including complete strangers.

"You haven't applied to any colleges," she said. "You don't have any plans. To all the girls around here that means you're going to stay here and work at MacDuff's for the rest of your life. They, on the other hand, have lots of plans, all of which involve getting them out of this town forever."

I had no defense for that. I did not, in fact, have any idea what I was going to do when I graduated. The thought of four more years of books and tests and studying just didn't have a lot of appeal to me. I had given some vague thought to the military, but even that hadn't boiled down to which of the services I thought I might like. There was plenty of time for that. I had a whole year of high school left, after all.

"Let's get back to this 'nice' business," I said.

"Oh, that?" She shrugged. "All that means is that most of the girls who go out with you are afraid they'll like you too much."

"What?" Now I was beyond mystified. I was astonished! "What the heck does that mean?" I was so agitated that I actually stepped out of the shower. Jennifer's eyes shot straight to my less than impressive (at the moment) equipment. Then, to my surprise ... and maybe just a little disappointment ... her eyes came back up to my face.

"If a girl likes a boy ... really likes him ... she's tempted to do things that aren't wise. And if she does those things, then she usually falls in love with him. So if you don't want to fall in love with a boy, you just don't do those things. It's simple, really. It's actually kind of like what Mom says about saving yourself for that special person. You don't want to lose control and do something stupid, like falling in love with somebody who has no future. That's why you never get very far on your dates."

"I have a future," I said, defensively.

"Oh yeah? What is it?"

There we were, back to an area I didn't really want to discuss. Well ... couldn't discuss, actually.

"Never mind that. Why are you here?"

"To watch you take a shower," she said, simply.

"I know that part," I groaned. "But why do you want to watch me take a shower?"

"Didn't we already have this conversation?" she asked. "Why did you want to watch me?"

I was distracted by her use of "conversation" in the sentence. That's because I realized I was actually having an extended conversation with my sister! And it seemed completely normal. Well, other than the fact that I was standing there naked and dripping. Actually, I wasn't dripping all that much anymore. I looked down and saw the bath mat was pretty damp. I took a step and leaned down to get a towel. It covered my groin when I stood up, which I admit was intentional, but that didn't last because I needed to dry my hair. But this situation was strange enough that I felt okay doing that. When I pulled the towel off my head, Jennifer's eyes were on my dick again.

"It looks really small," she observed. She looked up and must have seen something in my face (what would be on your face if some girl said that to you?) and she amended her comment. "Compared to what it's like when you watch me in the shower," she added. Then she went on some more. "From what I could see, anyway. It's harder to see through the glass from the outside than I expected. It was easy to see it from the inside, but I thought you could see me that well, too, so I had to pretend I wasn't looking at you. It definitely looks smaller now, though."

I couldn't very well tell her it was smaller because I was scared to death, so I went with something else. "This is weirding me out," I said.

"Why? I'd think you were used to it after watching me all those times."

"I didn't know you could see me," I said. "The glass is different from the outside. All I could see was a kind of blurry outline."

"I know," she said. "I figured that out when I came in here to watch you."

"Yeah," I said.

Neither of us said anything and it started to get uncomfortable. She broke the silence.

"So you got all excited over just my blurry outline?"

I still wasn't home free on the blackmail front. And even though there had been nothing said about perverts or anything like that, I suddenly didn't want my sister to think I was one.

"I didn't actually mean for that to happen," I said. "Not at first, anyway. It was sort of an accident. I had to pee really bad and I didn't think you'd notice if I slipped in and did that and then left."

"Yeah," she said. "That was the first time. I saw you right away, but you did your business and left. I was mortified of course. I almost told Mom about it. But I thought about it and decided you were just being a jerk instead of a douche bag."

The distinction was lost on me, but I didn't particularly care for her to expound on that, so I moved on.

"The problem was that I did see your outline that time, and it was ... sexy?"

I got the blush again.

"And it excited me," I admitted.

"Who did you think about?" she asked.


"What girl did you think about when you saw my form and got excited?"

"Nobody," I said. "I thought about you."

"No you didn't. Guys don't think about their sisters like that."

"Well I did," I admitted. "I thought, 'That's Jennifer in there, and she looks pretty good.'"

"Oh," she said, going pink for a third time.

"But I felt bad about it," I said. "When I got back to my bedroom I thought of other things."

"You mean you looked at your dirty pictures," she said.

The only way she could know about those was if she'd been snooping. I got mad but she held up a hand, facing me like a stop sign.

"I'm sorry. I found them last year. I haven't violated your privacy since then."

And that brought us up to the present.

"I'm sorry I violated yours," I said. I meant it, too.

"I felt violated at first," she admitted. "But not anymore."

"I don't understand," I said.

"Something strange happened," she said.

"You can say that again," I said. "This whole thing has been strange. What was the strangest part to you?"

I was being sarcastic, but she didn't take it that way. In fact, she just answered the question.

"I realized I ... um ... kind of liked it," she said, softly.

She'd knocked me for another loop. Instead of thinking about that, though, I decided that the setting was getting on my nerves. I suggested that she let me dry off and that I'd get dressed, and then we could keep talking.

You don't understand how groundbreaking this was in our relationship. Prior to this we were strangers who lived in the same house. Roommates who had separate rooms, and who lived with the landlord. When she said, "I kind of liked it," and I thought, "I did too," our relationship underwent a seminal change. No pun intended there, but we weren't the same people we had been.

Oh sure, we were probably closer than I characterize it. You have to be when you're family. But that closeness wasn't intentional. It was more closeness by osmosis. This was the first time we were really interested in talking about something.

But the strangeness wasn't over quite yet. As I dried off, I guess I felt more comfortable about things, because my penis quit trying to hide up inside my body and lengthened to its normal soft length of maybe four inches.

"How do you do that?" she asked, genuinely curious. She was staring at my Johnson. "There isn't a single thing on my body I can make get bigger like that." She glanced up. "Not without Kleenexes, anyway." She actually grinned at me! It was astounding!

"You don't need to do that," I said, reflexively.

"Oh? And why is that?" she asked.

"Cause your boobs are just fine," I said.

"They're too small," she said.

"Not even," I replied. "If they were any bigger you'd look top-heavy."

"I thought boys liked big boobs," she said.

"Some do," I admitted. "For me, it's more important that a girl looks balanced."

"You usually have good taste in girls," she offered.

"Because I think you're hot?" I asked, grinning.

"No, because you just do," she said, not smiling. "Except for Elizabeth Wright. She's a bitch."

"I agree," I said.

"And maybe Suzie Price. She thinks she's special."

"Let's not go through the whole list," I said. We were at the kitchen table again by then. I was eating one of Dad's Ding Dongs, which he bought especially for himself each week. I'd apologize to him later. He counted them religiously, but he never got all that upset when somebody purloined one or two. Jennifer was nibbling on raw baby carrots. She'd go running later. She was in really good shape. I lifted heavy stuff a lot, and had bigger muscles, but she was in better shape than I was.

"I think that's why I'm so surprised you think I'm hot," she said.

"I didn't start out thinking that," I said. "It just sort of happened."

"Well, it happened pretty quickly," she said. "You were playing with your ... um ... thing ... the second or third time you came in there."

"Thing?" I grinned. I couldn't help it.

"I'm not used to talking about things like this with my brother, Bobby," she said, darkly. "You were playing with your cock the second or third time you came in there. Okay?"

"No I wasn't. I didn't do that until maybe the third or fourth time."

"You had a boner, Bobby. And you rubbed it."

"Yes, I got a boner," I admitted. "And that's part of the problem. It's hard to go when you have one, and you have to kind of encourage things to get started."

"So it only looked like you were jacking off," she said, skeptically.

"Exactly," I said, feeling like I'd explained away something.

"What about those other times?" she asked.

Busted. But I figured I might as well admit it.

"Yeah. But that was after things got all mixed up in my mind. I thought you were ..." Suddenly I lost my courage. One does not just toss off accusations to one's sister that one thinks she masturbates in the shower.

"You thought I was what?" she asked. No break for me.

"I imagined you were ... um ... touching yourself in the shower," I said, weakly. "I mean I know you weren't, but it was kind of a fantasy that you were. That's what got me so excited."

"Actually, I was touching myself," she admitted, without a blush. "When you started coming in there and staring at me, even though I thought you were thinking about some other girl, it made me feel ... special? Pretty? I don't know the right word. It just made me excited. I had to rub."

"You do that?" I croaked.

"Of course I do," she said, easily. "You do. Why would it be so odd for me to do it, too?"

Remember that monologue in the beginning of this story, when I said nobody admits masturbating? She was one of the few who would admit it, and I was one of the few she'd admit it to. But she did it so easily!

"How long have you been doing it?" It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. What can I say? It was the perv in me.

"Since I was eleven or twelve," she said. "I didn't realize how far it could go for a few months. At first it just felt good, but then I learned if you go long enough it's better than good."

"Me too!" I said, enormously surprised.

"Mom says it's normal," she said.

"You told Mom?" I gasped.

"I was worried I might hurt myself," she said. "Only a year before that, Grandma told me that if I played with myself or washed too long I could go blind."

"Oh, good grief," I groaned.

"Mom said Gram's heart was in the right place, and that she was raised in different times."

And, just like that, we ran out of things to talk about. Things suddenly felt strained again. At least to me. There was so much left unsaid, but I had no idea what else to say, so I just sat there and licked the chocolate from my fingers where they had melted into the frosting on the Ding Dong. Eventually she stood up.

"I'm going to go run," she said.

"Okay," I replied.

She got to the doorway that led out of the kitchen and turned.

"Bobby? I'm glad we had this talk."

"Me too," I said.

She went off to her room. I had some thinking to do, and the kitchen was as good a place as any. She came back by the doorway ten minutes later. Her hair was in a ponytail and she had on her running togs. She looked good. She paused in the doorway.


"Yeah?" I was nervous for some reason.

"You can come in and watch me take a shower from now on. Any time you want to. Just flush the toilet if you use it, instead of leaving it."

And then she was gone, leaving me sitting there wondering how the world had suddenly got turned on its side.

Now I know what kind of genre this story fits into. And I've read a few of the other stories in this 'erotica' genre, so I know what you're expecting. You're expecting that things escalated right away and I got busy with my sister. But that's not what happened. Sorry.

What did happen was that, over the next week I went in and watched Jennifer through the glass four more times. Mom and Dad both worked, but Mom only worked part time. She did a lot of volunteer work, but you never knew when that would be, so there were times when there was a parent around. Both of us knew this new little game we'd found would not be appreciated by our parents.

But ... and this was an important but ... it was also obvious that Jenn did, in fact, want me to watch her in the shower. This was made clear by the fact that, those four times I got to watch her, she waited to take a shower until after Mom and Dad went to work ... and she came to find me and tell me she was going to take a shower.

The first time it was strange, knowing that she could see me and that she wanted me to see her. I was kind of tense. I didn't have to pee, so I had no legitimate purpose in sitting on the john. But that's what I did. I dropped my drawers and sat down. I had a boner, of course, but I didn't play with it that first time. The weirdness continued as she turned off the water and spoke to me.

"Bobby?" she called.

"Um ... yeah?"

"You're not doing anything."

That seemed really stupid to me, because I was most assuredly doing something. I was sitting there staring at the blur of her body behind the glass, imagining being able to run my hands over her wet body.

"I thought you'd ... you know ... be touching yourself," she explained.

"Oh," I said.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked.

It was so strange having this conversation with this wall of wavy glass between us. In one sense it seemed normal, in that I was just having a conversation with my sister. In another it seemed very ab-normal. I mean the fact of where we were and what she was doing makes that obvious, I guess, but it was also strange because we were having a conversation. Honestly, that was the more atypical part of this whole new relationship. She'd always run around in her underwear from time to time, and she had a bikini just like every other girl in town. True I didn't get to see her naked or anything, but modesty wasn't king in our house. No, the odd part was that ever since she'd told me I could watch her in the shower, we'd gotten along really well, and talked to each other a lot more. I know now that all that meant was that we were acting more like normal brothers and sisters, who do actually talk to each other and interact routinely.

Of course I'm aware that most sisters don't invite their brothers to watch them take a shower, or like watching their brother jerk off, but those weren't the things we talked about on a day to day basis. I can't even remember what we did talk about, but it was what I now know was just normal sibling chit chat.

Except for now, of course. Right now, we were chit chatting about sexual things in a way I'm pretty sure most brothers and sisters don't.

"No," I answered her. "It just seems weird, I guess."

"After all the times you snuck in here to stare at me, suddenly it seems weird?"

"I guess it's different now that I know you can see me," I said.

"Did you steal all the towels?" she asked.

"No. Why?"

"I thought you might do that because I did it to you," she said.


"I'm ready to dry off," she said.

I interpreted that to mean it was time for me to leave, so I stood up. I didn't even think about the fact that I was still rock hard, and my cock jutted out proudly. I scurried out and went to my room to jack off and get some relief.

Fifteen minutes after I groaned and unloaded my balls in a pair of dirty underwear we were sitting across the table from each other again.

"Why'd you run out like that?" she asked, without preamble.

"You told me to leave," I said.

"No, I didn't."

"You said you were ready to dry off," I reminded her.

"I was asking you to hand me a towel, you dope," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh. Sorry. Guess I didn't understand."

"You're the older brother. You're supposed to be smart," she said.

That felt more normal.

"I'll remember next time," I said. I had a thought. "Is there going to be a next time?" I asked.

"Of course. I like doing this. It's exciting."

"You can say that again," I said.

"But next time you have to play with yourself, okay?"

"Sure," I said. "I have to tell you this doesn't make a lot of sense to me, though."

"Of course it does. I'm fifteen. I'm not allowed to date yet. How else am I supposed to learn about boys? Who else would I learn about boys from?"

"Your friends?" I suggested.

She snorted. "I may not be all that old and sophisticated, but everybody knows the average kid is full of shit when it comes to knowing about sex."

I had never heard the word "shit" issue from her lips. The limits of her "bad" language, in fact, had always been related to things she called me. Dork, turd, loser, retard, and a host of other pretty normal things girls call their brothers in a moment of disgust or anger. She'd even gotten creative on two occasions, once calling me an abortion, though that one didn't make any sense, and another time calling me an asshole. She'd whispered that one, though, and the ease with which "shit" rolled off her lips was kind of astonishing.

"I guess," I said.

"So being able to actually see things is really important," she said.

"I guess that makes sense," I admitted. I knew I wished I could see a naked girl up close and personal. I suspect that's why I peeked at Jennifer in the first place. "So ... if I do that, does that mean you'll be ... um ... doing it inside there at the same time?"

"Of course," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I decided not to point out that while she was "seeing" things through her side of the glass, all I was going to get to observe was her indistinct form through my side.

So this all sounds pretty simple, right? I mean our conversation was right out in the open and very forthcoming. So you'd expect the rest of it to be that way too, right?

Except it wasn't. Maybe it's because this was all too new to us both.

What I mean is that instead of being that open about it the next morning, after Mom had left for work, Jennifer appeared in my bedroom door and said, "I'm going to go take a shower."

I was reading and I looked up from the book and said, "Okay."

I know that sounds pretty open, but by "open" I mean someone might have expected it to go this way:

"I'm going to get naked in the shower and push my finger up in my cunny. Wanna watch?"

"Fuckin' A, I do! Let me strip down and coax a load of spooge out of my prick while I do that!"

But we didn't do that. We talked in code.

Again I waited until she was in the shower before I went in. I was still in my sleepwear, which was just a pair of jockey shorts, and I pushed them down to reveal the fact I was very excited already. I sat down, but then thought about the fact that it's pretty hard to beat off while sitting on the toilet unless you can lean back and straighten your body a bit. Jacking off while sitting upright just doesn't feel like the optimum position in which to pursue this form of recreation.

So I stood back up and started stroking my meat while I looked at the shower door.

She made noises this time.

They were just little hums and soft moans, but I knew what they meant, or at least my imagination accepted that they meant she was, in fact, masturbating in the spray. It made me get there really quickly, probably within two minutes or less. I thought about turning to aim at the bowl, but something deep in my brain demanded that I show her what she was doing to me ... what she was responsible for.

So I just leaned back a little when I felt it get there, and shot in my hand, right there, two feet from the shower door. I guess by then the "ewww" factor of spunking in my hand seemed less important than showing her what she was doing to me.

"Fuck!" yipped my sister. She was turning into a regular little potty mouth.

Then I got all freaked out that I'd just done what I'd just done and ran out of the bathroom. I had a handful of spooge, so I couldn't pull up my shorts. I just stepped out of them and fled. I had to clean my hand off in the kitchen sink. Then I freaked again at the thought that if I left even one spot of it there, my mother would recognize it the second she saw it. And that led to a mind-bending few seconds in which I contemplated how familiar my mother was with semen, which just grossed me the fuck out. It should be instructive that all this was more important in my mind than the possibility that my mother might walk into the house and find me naked at the kitchen sink.

It was one thing to lust after my sister. It was another to imagine my mother being a sexual being.

So, I suppose, I was only half fucked up.


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