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JEAN13 stretch out It went from


MY sister JEAN

BillyG (

_______ __
Chapter 13 -- Safety of the Telephone
I never imagined that she would do something so blatantly
provocative and sexual as placing her soiled panties under my
pillow. Oh, I knew what an emotional charge her panties were and
I supposed I thought she didn't. Yet, it had all started with her
panties. Our first steps of this erotic journey were taken when
I'd teased her about her soiled underpants. We'd treated it in a
lighthearted, teasing way since, even when I thought to myself,
"She has no notion what a sexually provocative symbol her panties are for me." And, not wanting to reveal too much, to become too
vulnerable, I never told her. I never confessed what a
gut-wrenching response her intimate apparel produced in me. Or
at least I didn't think I had. In fact, I was acutely aware that
the carelessness with which she had previously shown with her
soiled undergarments had changed. She no longer carelessly left
them in the bathroom as before. I had been unable to get my
daily pheromone fix in months. I assumed she had a hamper in her
room, but I'd made a promise to myself that I wouldn't violate
her privacy again. So far, I'd been able to keep that promise.

Now, suddenly finding this silken thing under my pillow,
delicious memories and feelings came flooding back. That she had
called a few minutes before to tell me to look under my pillow
carried so many messages. Chief among those was, 'Let's play,

We'd recently given ourselves permission to be more honest
and open about our sexual feelings for each other and, at the
same time, admitting our fears, had agreed not to have sex.
'God, what does that mean?' I wondered. 'Not having sex.' Just
what is 'not having sex' anyway? By my lights, we'd 'had sex'
several times. Oh, we hadn't done the dirty deed, but if what
we'd experienced wasn't having sex, then what is? We'd been
thrown together several times, picked up and tossed about by
forces whose strength awed us. Each time that happened, we had
withdrawn, shaken and dazed, wondering, 'Where is this going?'

Touching the black silk of Jean's "unmentionables" I was
thrilled. She'd worn these. Recently. They'd been on her body.
On her butt. Between her legs! My resolves were fading away.
It's true, I thought, My dick has no conscious.'

Flattening the crotch of her panties, I studied it. They
were slightly damp to the touch. On the periphery of the damp
spot was a faint whitish dry area. I'd seen that before. Her
essence, right there.

Looking closely, I found a few curly hairs. Yes! Pubic
hair! A thrill shot through me and another ratchet of my madness
slipped. I was teasing myself. Delighting myself. This slow,
measured -- even controlled unfolding of a treasure -- heightened
my arousal.

I kept for last the real prize, the scent. I was already
dizzy with desire and hard with my lust. Bringing the panties to
my face, I slowly inhaled, allowing her intimate fragrance to
titillate my olfactory senses. The seductive power of her scent
ripped through me, much like a whiff of ammonia. I felt it climb
up into my nose, seeming to pass through some impossible route,
directly into my frontal cortex. I fell back, clutching her
panties to my nose, unthinking, a mass of jangling, unstable
sexual neurons, randomly discharging like some mad fireworks
display. I was gone. I never had a chance.

Then I opened the note. There was only one line. It said:
"I want to do it with you . . . on the phone."

I shoved my arms between my legs, humping against myself as
I curled up in a fetal ball. No question. I was just gonna die!

A little while later -- seemed like days -- the phone rang
again. Almost in a stupor I answered, "Jean?"

She laughed and then in that breathy voice characteristic of
her excitement, she said, "You found them. What do you think?"

"That I've died and gone to heaven. Besides that, I can't
think at all. What're you *doing* to me?"

"Remember we said we'd explore things with each other?"

"Sure. But we didn't."

"Well, I don't know about you, big boy, but I've been

"Of me?" I asked.

"Partly that, I guess." She paused, and then added, "But
more of me."

Not attempting to *act* dumb, I said, "I don't understand."

"I didn't suppose you would. We think differently, you and
me. I suppose it may be a 'girl thing' but anyway . . . to be
honest, you have some power over me . . ."

I interrupted, "I have power over YOU? Come ON Jean.
You're the one with the power. You should see me right now. I'm
almost twitching!"

"Good," she laughed. But it's true. Feel however you want,
when you turn on the current, I'm a goner, so this is the only
way I feel safe relating to you. Sexually, I mean."

"Phone sex? Jean, you mean we live in the same house, right
next to each other and we're . . . we're reduced to phone sex?"

"Pretty kinky, huh? I thought you'd like it. It *is* all
right, isn't it, Billy?"

"Jean, if it were the only way I could talk with you, I'd
get off on your smoke signals! Actually, it *is* kinky and
you're right, it appeals to me. Safe, isn't it?"

"That's it! That's the point of it, brother mine. Because
I've been afraid of you and more, afraid of myself, I've been
inhibited, even withdrawn around you. I've been afraid to tell
you what I'm feeling and particularly afraid of allowing myself
to get turned on around you. This way, I figure we can open up
with each other, do anything we want and no matter how crazy we
feel, how crazy we get, we're safe."

"Jean, you're so cerebral. You're so well-thought-out.
What're you gonna be, a college professor or somethin'?"

"I didn't leave my panties under your pillow and then call
you to talk about college, stud muffin. I want to know this: Is
it true that boys get really hot when they smell a girl's . . .
uh, underwear?"

I'd stripped for action -- whatever I thought that might
have been -- and was wearing only an old sleeveless sweat shirt.
I had wrapped her panties around my erect cock; just the dusky
head of my dick was poking out. "If you could see me now, Jean,
it'd answer that question."

"Tell me. Tell me, Billy!"

"Jean, you must know. When I first saw them there, I became
excited. Right away. Touching them, feeling them, got me more
turned on. But what nudged me over was the smell of you. I
don't know what that is, but it just jolts me. Anyway, I'm
laying here, horny and hard and I've wrapped your panties around
my hardon. It's all I can do to resist stroking myself and
coming right now!"

"I *thought* you liked me . . . that you liked the smell of
me, but I wasn't sure. You know what it's like, don't you? I
mean, we get all sorts of messages . . . like it's dirty down
there . . . things like that. And I *know* it's not dirty, but
still . . ."

I didn't want to talk about "messages." I wanted to get
sexy with this woman, so I told her what I was thinking. "Jean,"
I began -- I often addressed her by name when I wanted to make a
point -- "right now, in my mind, I have a fantasy about you."

She whispered, "Oh, yes! Tell me."

"You're standing on my bed. I'm looking up at you. We
don't talk. I ask you with my eyes. You slowly pull up your full
skirt. First I can see your thighs. Then your panties. Your
legs are apart. You step over me and I'm looking right up into

"God! I love the thought of you looking at me . . . looking
under my dress . . . at my panties. I'm *such* an exhibitionist!
Geez, I'm getting wet."

Slowly stroking myself, I close my eyes and let the imagery
flow, giving voice to the cine in my head. "You squat a little,
right over my head, closer and closer. Then you pull the crotch
of your panties up into your pussy, into your slit. I can see
your pussy lips, Jean"

"Yes . . . yes . . . I can see it too. I've dreamed of
doing something like this . . . so slutty . . . I can't believe
myself. God, I'm getting hot!"

"I can see your pussy hair, Jean . . . the curls, the wet
curls . . . you're wet, Jean!"

"No, I'm SOAKING! It's running out of me."

"Pulling your panties back and forth through your pussy slit, you slowly squat lower and lower. I can see the stitching
of your panties, you're so close. Now I can hear you . . . smell

"Listen to this, Billy."

And then I could hear a wet, squishy sound. Jean was
masturbating and I guess, holding the phone by her crotch.
Farther away, I could hear her moaning. Then closer, she added,
"Can you hear that?" Do you know what that is? That's me.
That's how wet I am."

We were two trains running. Me with a monologue of my
imagery, she commenting on my words. Neither could be derailed
at this moment.

"You yank your panties aside and I can see into you . . .
right into your pink, swollen, wet cunt! You're drooling. I can
see pussy juice running back into the crack of your ass . . .
down your thigh."

"Ungh . . . I love it . . . I love it. I'm so loose, so
open . . . keep talking to me, Billy. Please, please . . . don't

"You spread your pussy lips apart and lower yourself closer
to me. All I can see is your pussy hair, your open cunt . . . wet
and swollen and open for me."

"Ungh . . . ungh . . . I'm gonna come, Billy. Gonna come .
. ."

"Your legs are weakening. You're sinking lower. Your pussy is right above my mouth. Your juice is dripping onto my lips."

She had stopped talking. All I could hear was a rhythmic
grunting. "Ungh . . . ungh . . ." that I recognized at the
involuntary sounds Jean made approaching her orgasm. She wasn't

"I reach up with the tip of my tongue and run it up through
your slit. It's coated with your juices. I touch your clit. You
sink onto my mouth. I fuck my tongue into your cunt . . . I
smell your musty smell!"

Jeans' grunting ran into an explosive sound . . . then a
long breath followed by a protracted moan that tailed off to a
thin wail, "Come . . . coming, Billy . . . coming."

Then all I could hear was her breathing. I hadn't come.

I was surprised. I was so excited and so hot. I couldn't
believe that I was still hanging there. Actually, it wasn't the
feeling of hanging at all. It was more like drifting along on
some sexual plateau of heightened sensitivity, heightened
awareness. I didn't feel frustrated or unfulfilled. I just felt

I'd heard from Jean once that girls complained that guys got
their's and then just rolled off, leaving them frustrated and not
knowing how to ask for more. Well, I'm so self-absorbed that I
didn't want to be known as a jack rabbit. I wanted to be viewed
as the consummate lover. (Never having even done it yet!) I'd
started trying to hold off my orgasm when I masturbated, to
stretch it out. It went from impossible to difficult at first.
But I was willing to practice. Every day! I was dedicated that
way. After awhile, I came to enjoy those sexual plateaus. At
times, I could extend them so long, I'd just slide back down the
other side without having come.

I just did it again.

"You there, Billy?"

"Boy, am I!"

"Whew. That was something! That was *more* than I imagined
it might be. It was wonderful. I LOVED it!"

A bit late, I asked, "What're you wearing, Jean?"

She laughed and said, "I thought that's what you asked me at
the *beginning*."

"I'm just wearing a sweat shirt."

"Me too! One of your old ones. But right now it's up in my
armpits. I'm holding my . . . myself. My fingers are all wet.
God, the smell in here. *You'd* love it!"

"You have panties there?" I asked.

"Uh, sure . . . oh, there they are. They're on the floor
where I threw them."

"Do me a favor?"

"God, anything." Then laughing, "Well, almost anything."

"Use your panties. Wipe yourself. Wipe up your juices with
em . . . stuff em into your pussy. Then give them to me
tomorrow, okay?"

"God, you are *such* a horn dog, Billy!"

"Will you, Jean?"

"Of course I will. You must know it thrills me that you
want to smell me."

"That's not all that I want to do."

"Yeah, yeah. We both know about that. And so do I. You
know that too. But you also know how I feel about it. As much
as I want to do it with you, I'm not gonna. That's why I'm here
and you're there! I almost expect you to crawl through the phone
wire and come out through the receiver. 'Night, Billy. I love

"Good night, babes. Remember the panties!"
END 13


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