Chapter 7 -- Jean's Backside
The long ride home from our camping trip - after Jean had
peed in front of me on the hiking trail and then later had peed
through her onto my lap - marked a major departure from
our previous behaviors. We'd both confessed our thoughts and
previous sexual behavior, including those we secretly regarded as
kinky if not downright bizarre - our fascination with peeing.
How freeing it was to discover in her the same kinkiness.
You see, I loved my as a warm and kind person who
possessed those estimable traits of honesty and caring and living
in the present. Two years than me, Jean had always been a
role-model for the principles of living. So, if she had the same
sexual interests at me, I reasoned, it must be okay. As it
turned out, the external validation given to me then helped me in
the more important internal validation I was to develop as a
The heat of the moment, coupled with our growing trust in
each other, enabled us to surrender to our affection and our
lust. Confessing, as I did - that I wanted her to on me -
Jean just laughed and went for it with her customary enthusiasm
and verve. Then, as she was straddling my lap, her body pressed
against mine, my face between her and her leaking
into my lap . . . I blurted out a truth that surprised both of
us. I told her that I wanted to fuck her.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Holding her arms about my head, pulling me to her warm
breasts, she remained quiet for a little while and then murmured
softly, "Billy, I've never done it, and as much as I think I want
to right now . . . I'm not ready."
Her refusal didn't surprise me. My asking is what surprised
me. I didn't respond. She hadn't expected me to.
"And if I were ready, Billy . . . I'm not at all sure that I
should be thinking about doing it with *you*. Our fooling around
- the stuff we've done - that's enough for me now. I love you a
lot and I don't want to do anything I'll really regret."
Then, as if to check-in with me, she leaned back and looked
into my eyes, "Does that make sense?"
Embarrassed at my impetuous outbreak, I mumbled, "Yeah . . .
I guess so . . . sure." And then with a little more feeling, I
added, "I wasn't really *asking* you to . . . to do it, Jean . .
. I was just telling you how I felt, that's all."
That moment of discomfort - the fear of having gone too
far - passed quickly. Laughing, Jean climbed off my lap and
then stood there awkwardly, slightly bent, legs apart and looking
down at the wet patch than defined her bottom and part way down
her bare legs. Pinching the edge of her shorts between her thumb
and index finger, pinky out, she pulled the material away from
her hip and shook her leg as she said, "Ech . . . doing it was a
lot more fun than sitting in it."
Then, pointing at my wet lap, she giggled. Jean laughs,
she chortles, she occasionally guffaws but she doesn't giggle . .
. or at least until now. A giggle, a little girlish giggle is
the best description of the sounds she made as she pointed to my
We both dug into our packs and slipped into some dry shorts.
Ever watchful, I noticed that Jean didn't bother with underpants.
I was acutely aware that my soft-spoken, conservative was
climbing into the 4X4 wearing only a thin T-shirt and hip-hugger
shorts . . . already pulled up into the crack of her butt.
"Nice butt, Sis!"
Looking back at me she smiled, "Glad you like it, bro. I
got these shorts with you in mind, but I didn't think I'd ever
She stood there, one foot inside the Scout, like mounting a
horse, the step-up was so high. The crotch of her shorts were
pulled into her ass cheeks. Posing for a moment, looking over
her shoulder at me, she grinned that devilish grin that told me
all was not-as-it-appeared on the surface.
My head tilted, as if to appraise her better, I added, "You
know Sis, your hips and butt may be your best feature."
Pulling her foot back down, Jean stood up straight. Or
nearly straight - she'd stuck her behind out a little at my
provocative observation. Still looking over her shoulder, she
slowly bent her arms at the elbows and hooked her thumbs into the
tops of her shorts at the hips. She posed that way for a long
few seconds, palms toward me and fingers splayed. She looked at
me as if to say, "So, do you want to see more?"
My obvious answer was a broad grin as I vigorously nodded my
Jean slowly pushed the hip-huggers down, revealing by inches
the mounds of her ass cheeks. She continued until her arms were
straight and the waist of her shorts cut across the mid part of
her buttocks, displaying the top part of the her ass crack. With
her thumbs, still stuck into her shorts and her fingers spread
out - as if she were signaling someone behind her - she
remained posed . . . bent over just slightly, her arms and hands
framing her slim waist and the womanly flair of her hips.
The sun was high and in front of her, making a soft halo of
her hair and casting deep shadows around her ass. Two dimples
I'd never seen before, accented the shadows.
Certainly, most delicious was her ass. I'd not really
noticed before, but she'd obviously been sun bathing wearing a
thong bikini, for there was a narrow, white band high across her
hips and buttocks, with an inverted triangle of white ending in
the top of her ass crack. Her cheeks were tan as were her back
and hips. The small, untanned belt of white that ended as it
dipped between her cheeks served to accent the saucy prominence
of her butt.
"I hoped you were an ass man, Billy. I kinda like my own
butt." Then, fishing for a compliment, she asked, "Do you like
it? Do you think it's sexy?"
Then, marching in place, she pulled the tight shorts over
her hips, wriggling to seat them properly before she jumped into
the Scout, yelling, "Hey, dude! Let's get truckin' . . . let's
haul *ass*!" She slid down in the seat, dissolving in gales of
laugher at her own pun. "Haul ass . . . oh, I'm terrible." More
Jean's laughter is so infectious that I found myself
laughing along with her, thinking, "Boy, this is fun and I'm not
even sure what I'm laughing about."
Adjusting my own shorts, I settled again into the driver's
seat. I checked her shorts and found that she'd buttoned only
the lower buttons, leaving the soft curve of her belly uncovered.
Back on the road, still relatively deserted, we sat silently
for a little while, making eye contact frequently and smiling.
We both knew that there had occurred yet another major shift in
our relationship and were content to let things unfold.
Swinging onto a larger and busier highway, now out of the
mountains, I broke the silence this time and asked, "So, woman,
what're *you* thinking this time?" reminding her of her own
"What'll you give me if I tell you?" she countered.
"Probably anything you want . . . but I ain't doin' the
dishes for another week, no matter what you're thinkin'." Then I
offered, "Twenty-five cents?"
"A quarter?! That's all my thoughts are worth to you?
Twenty-five cents! Forget it."
"Okay, okay. A half dollar then, but you've got to do my
laundry for me when we get back."
"I'll clean *your* laundry," she threatened and then added,
"Fifty cents and *you* do the laundry."
Grudgingly and with a little whine I capitulated, "Well-l-l,
only if you hand me the you're wearing . . . to wash of
"You jerk! You know I'm not wearing any . . . I watched you
watching me. But all right. I'll give you my dirty underpants,
you . . . you pervert!"
Ignoring the insult, I said, "Well, let's get back to the
"Why, your butt. That's the topic. Remember?"
"Oh yeah. You were saying it's my best feature. Really
Diplomatically, I responded, "I like *all* of you, but . .
.," and then I paused, waiting for her recognition of my pun,
With a teasing frown she asked, "What do you mean, but'? Or
is that butt'?" accenting the 'tt'' of butt.
"In your case, Sis, it's butt' or, if you will, ass,'"
as I gave her my best Grouch Marx leer.
She continued to fish. "I can see why might like a
girl's breasts, or her legs, because . . . well you know . . .
but," and she laughed at herself, "but what's the big deal with a
Looking up to the heavens for guidance, I shrugged and said,
"Jean, I don't understand any of this sex-attraction stuff. I've
given up trying to understand it. It's just there. I feel it.
I experience it. That's all. I just accept that I'm a horny guy
and I don't even try to understand it any more. I like your butt
. . . No, I *love* your butt . . . your ass. I like to watch
your hips roll and your cheeks move when you walk. I love the
inverted heart shape of your ass when you bend over. I adore the
bottoms of your ass checks when I see them below your
short-shorts. I try to run the back of my hand across your
bottom when I pass behind you, pretending it's accidental. The
back of my hand is acutely aware of the soft dip between your
Following such a strong start, I finished lamely with, "I
don't know . . . I just like em . . . and it gets me horny."
A slight shift and lowering of her voice signaled a serious
question. I listened intently. Actually, I'd come to listen to
her with an intensity that was previously reserved for those
times when *I* was talking.
"I've heard that some . . . er, some people do it that
way . . . uh . . . in the . . .you know . . . back there. You
ever done it that way, Billy?"
Ass fucking? Was *my* talking about ass fucking? I
"Me? Me? You gotta be kidin' . . . I've never done it
Flustered, she spoke rapidly, correcting herself, "Oh, I
didn't mean . . . I didn't think you had . . . I mean . . . have
you ever *thought* about it . . . about doin' it that way, I
mean? Back there?"
She squirmed in her seat, not looking at me. Had she looked,
she might have noticed *my* squirming. Whenever Jean hits my
emotional bull's eye, I start to squirm, and she'd hit this one
straight center. Nailed, as it were. Sure I'd thought about it .
. . a lot . . . but I didn't think I *should* be thinking about
such stuff. (I was pushed around by those "shoulds" a lot in my
"Uh . . . yeah . . . I've thought about it . . . I mean,
I've thought about a lot of things."
Uncharacteristically, Jean offered, "Me too. Tell me, what
did you think about . . . uh . . . when you thought about doing
it back there?"
Back in my court again. (Well, Billy, get honest. She's
making it easy for you . . . and *you* were the one trying to get
her to talk dirty'.)
"Gee, Sis . . . I don't know what to say . . . where to start
. . . but, yeah - I've thought about it ever since I saw one a
Dad's European dirty magazines. It had lots of pictures of
people doin' it . . . in the butt I mean. Since then, I've
thought about it a LOT."
"You have? I mean, you've actually *seen* pictures of it?
Wow! I've only heard about it . . . I've never seen a of
it. Can you show me? Gee, I'd give anything to see some
Jean's enthusiasm once again put me at ease. I'd swung from
being hesitant about revealing one more kink and now here she
was, more open about it than I was . . . and now I was swinging
back to self revelation.
"I'll either find Dad's, or I'll get some from the adult
book store, Jean. Actually, I used to have a bunch, but I traded
them for the magazines that you discovered," and added
with chagrin, " . . . in my most secret hiding place."
"Oh, bitte, bitte, bitte," Jean sing-songed her Germanic
Plunging in again, I asked, "Is *your* ass erotic, Jean? I
mean, have you ever touched yourself there . . . er, does it feel
good if you do touch yourself?" (If I could ever learn to finish
as strongly as I start . . .)
Jean stared at me for a long moment. He pale blue eyes
glinted. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, wetting
them and, as always, my eyes were drawn to her mouth. Did she
have any notion how erotic her mouth was? I thought not. But
this was not some affected look, not some pretend stance. Jean's
interest was intense and real and right now.
Licking her lips a second time, she started slowly, "When I
was a kid - (and that could be any age less than she was that
day) - when I was a little girl, I got sick and had a tummy
ache. decided I needed an (ugh) enema."
" Phu-leeze, Mother. I don't need an enema,' I cajoled."
(She loved that word too.) "Well, you know Mom. I was
protesting all the way to the bathroom. God! I thought I'd die
of embarrassment. I knew no one was home but me and and I
was still dying. But showed me no mercy. Over her knees,
pajamas down and K-Y to the butt - so fast I couldn't respond.
Can you imagine that?" she inquired as it were the most
impossible image in the world.
My fertile - read dirty - mind didn't have any difficulty at
all in imagining that. "Yeah, Sis, I can imagine that."
Not even pausing, she continued, "Mom slipped that hard
nozzle into my butt . . . burrr . . . it was cold . . . but you
know, it didn't at all! I just knew it was going to like the dickens and it didn't at all. That really
Now, for the first time since starting this story, she
grinned at me and went on, "No, what really surprised me was that
it . . . it felt good!"
And again she asked the rhetorical question, "Can you
imagine that? I couldn't. I mean, sticking something up your
butt . . . how could *that* feel good . . . but it did, Billy, it
"I remember . . ." I started to say but she continued,
interrupting me. (Oh, now I get it. *She* wants to talk.)
"Then, before I could even switch mental tracks, started
the warm water flowing. She had ran the hot water tap in the
bathroom until she got the temperature she wanted and then filled
that huge water bag. Then she added something else from a bottle
. . . I don't know what it was . . . and that's what I got. I
could feel the warmth flowing through me. must have done
this when she was a nurse, cuz every time I started to get a
cramp, she seemed to know it and clamped the tube. I'd rest a
few moments, and she'd start it again. I was embarrassed and
frightened and mad . . . all mixed in with the confusing feelings
of liking the warmth and the fullness. I didn't know what was
Jean took a big breath and then through pursed lips, blew
it out slowly, looking out the window for a moment. I knew
enough to keep quiet.
Turning back to me, she continued, now a little slower. "I
don't know how much she gave me - felt like gallons - but it
probably wasn't . . . anyway . . . when I was all filled up I
thought I was going to lose it and must have whimpered. said, Now hold it. Hold it in. I'm going to pull out the tube
and I want you to lie down on the rug for a minute . . . just
"And I did . . . or at least, I didn't . . . you know, lose
it or anything. I'd forgotten how silly I must have looked,
lying on the floor with my pj's around my knees and my fanny
uncovered. All I could think of was how full I felt and trying
to keep myself clamped shut . . . so I wouldn't . . . uh . . .
dribble?" (She ended with her interrogative inflection again.)
"And behind all that, there was a funny, sexy feeling."
The direction of this conversation was getting to me. My
dick was stiffening again. Just listening to Jean's of her
enema had me hot. Thinking of her cute butt and her rosebud
asshole, filled with water . . . well . . . I *told* you I was
She continued, "The need to have a B.M. got stronger and
stronger, Billy. I told I was going to have an accident if I
couldn't go soon, so she let me get up and sit on the toilet.
"Now, you must know that *no one* - since I was a baby -
had stayed in the room with me when I moved my bowels, but I had
to go so bad I probably wouldn't have stopped if *you* had walked
in." (As if I were the bathroom equivalent of the Queen Mary
Running her hands up the inside of her thighs, she opened
and then closed her legs. She was clearly warming up to this
She rushed on, "It was one of the most delicious feelings
in the world, Billy. Just letting myself go and expelling all
that water . . . whew . . . it was like pooping and and
even coming . . . all at the same time.
"I'm sure I got all in the face . . . from pleasure I
know now, but asked, You okay?' I just couldn't tell her
how OK I really was!"
Now she laughed. "Don't think I'm a closet enema freak,
dear. I've only had a few in my life . . . but maybe not
as many as I'd like. Anyway, that was the time when I realized
that my behind was sensitive . . . I mean, like erotic, you
Sensing that she had touched on the main part of the story,
I spoke again and asked, "Well, I can see that it excited you.
Did you then start thinking of . . . butt fuckin'?"
"Billy, most of the time I don't like that word . . . fuck
. . . or fucking . . . but when I'm talking with you . . . it has
a juicy edge to it and it's OK. And yes, that's when I started
thinking that if a enema tube felt good, then a finger or even .
. . it's hard to say - even a dick would feel good . . . or even
"We're just alike . . .we're two peas in a pod, Sis. We
both like and now we're finding out that we *both* like
She looked at me, one eyebrow arched as if to say, "Oh, is
Hurrying to explain, I added, "I haven't had an enema or
anything, but I've wondered about it." Then, not looking at her,
I went on, "Once I took Mom's enema nozzle - do you think it was
the same one she used on you? - I took her nozzle and slipped
into my own ass. I was sitting on the toilet. I had just
finished looking at one of Dad's dirty magazine - I'd sneaked
it out again - and I was wondering how it would feel to me . .
. having something up my butt. So, I got the nozzle, put some
K-Y on it and pushed it in my behind . . .slowly. I don't know
what it was . . . maybe just the thought of it . . . but anyway .
. . I got a boner right away. I jacked off, and like always, I
was thinking of you, Sis . . . thinking of your ass while I was
There! It was out. Now Jean knew her perverted kid ass-fucked himself with a goddamn enema nozzle and fantasized
about her. My face felt warm and I couldn't look at her.
"Oh, Billy . . . that's hot! That really gets me wet . . .
hearing what you did . . . and that you thought of me while you
were doin' it too. Wow! You are somethin'."
Emboldened again and ever pushing, I asked, "So, tell me,
my erotic . . . are we going to explore this new wrinkle .
. . anal sex . . . or what?"
I suppose it was idiotically tautological to add, " I'm
game. Are you?"
"God, who knows with you, Billy? Every time I think I've
gone just about as far as I'll ever go . . . with you or anyone,
you sorta nudge me along and before I know it, I'm right in the
middle of something I didn't plan on."
She placed her hand on my arm and added softly, "But Billy,
you *know* I not really going to do it with *you* . . .still I'm
open to talk about it with you."