Ron Taylor - Hot for brother

And as he went obediently to the car, Amy thought, perhaps… But she'd have to think about it. An awful lot. Steve was taking her swimming tomorrow; he'd be horny again. Could she have a definite answer for him by then? And would it be the right answer?

Amy turned to her brother. "how come you're not going along to drive me car back from the airport, Alex?"

"They're driving to Vegas. They missed their plane."

"Oh, really? How did they manage that, pray tell?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Search me. All I know is that when I came in, they were both in the bathroom and I could hear some weird sounds, even with the door closed. Maybe they took a long bath."

"Mmmm-hmmm," Amy nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. She smiled coyly. Her parents screwed a lot, for such old people. Well, it was nice that they could still have urges, at their age. And they were so obviously in love with each other, even after – what was it? Eighteen years of marriage? Eighteen? It had better be at least eighteen, thought Amy, or that makes us bastards.

She'd been so busy with Steve that she'd almost forgotten about Dad's convention in Las Vegas, and she was glad she'd gotten home in time to kiss her parents goodbye. They'd be gone all weekend, living it up in Sin City, Nevada.

While she had to come to grips with a very fundamental decision. Steve kept getting more insistent about it. He wanted to fuck her. And Amy wondered if there was any real reason she shouldn't let him. A night of heavy soul-searching lay in store for her. No doubt about it.

Alex tapped her on the shoulder. He was a big strapping boy, as tall as Dad already, and just as good-looking. We're a good-looking family all around, thought Amy, without a shred of false modesty. Why should she be shy about the truth? They were all dark and sun-kissed, with good, strongly chiseled features, warm brown eyes, athletic trim bodies just eager average beautiful suburbanites, she thought. The epitome of the American dream.

She and Alex were twins, Amy the elder by about eleven minutes. They looked very much alike. His body was well arranged, with broad shoulders and narrow hips – very nicely masculine – but his face bore a deceptively sweet cast, and there was a gentle, almost feminine expression in his eyes and mouth. Amy was five and a half feet tall, the kind of lean, limber, leggy girl with rounded high breasts and provocative ass who seemed to be everywhere in California but especially on the beaches. She met her brother halfway, for her girlish features were strong, but they pleased Amy when she looked into a mirror – and that was very often.

Amy and Alex were emotionally close, though they'd been much closer when they were younger, before the family moved here from Bakersfield. Well, Alex was smart. No denying it. He'd taken some tests, and the school had allowed him to skip ninth grade altogether would she have gone to the woods with David Freeman after the ninth-grade party if Alex had been there? Amy didn't think so, somehow, so that when school started again this fall, he'd be a senior and his twin sister only a junior. Maybe it was better, for the twinnish bond had been severed to some degree and Amy and Alex had been compelled to operate as individuals, making new friends, adjusting separately to their new home.

She wished they were still close, as close as they had been, so that she could talk to him, about Steve, about herself. Maybe he could give her a man's point of view on the subject. More likely he'd just laugh at her. He loved pretending that he was so much more mature than Amy, now that he was a grade ahead of her in school. He called her "Peanut" all the fucking time, and he acted as if he were her big, wise brother instead of her eleven-minutes-younger twin, and sometimes it bothered the hell out of Amy.

"Listen," he said, "I'm going up to take a shower. Been helping Jay with his bike, and I'm grease from head to foot."

It was true. His t-shirt, stretched tightly by the spread of broad shoulders and chest, was splattered with dark oily patches, and he was smeared in the face too, like an Indian painted up for a burning at the stake, but on Alex it seemed cute and very masculine. She saw no need to bolster his growing ego by telling him that.

Instead Amy nodded and watched as he went up the stairs. She'd have to take a bath soon too, for the musky smell of sex was strong in her nostrils. Bathe in the warm spray from the adjustable shower head, rubbing her body with aromatic soap; towel herself dry with the fuzziest, plushest towel in the house, then dab all over with sweet-scented baby powder. Mmmmm!! The very thought was bewitching! She flopped down on the sofa, stretching her legs out to the coffee table, and she leafed idly through a magazine, not even noticing what it was. In a moment she'd put it down and taken a look around.

Upstairs Alex was busy in the shower. She could hear the water running, hear him singing too, in a rich thought slightly out of tune voice.

Her eyes fell upon a small family portrait on the coffee table, and she picked it up. The photo was several years old, taken before she'd started developing a figure, and the Amy who smiled from the glossy surface was a skinny-legged, flat-chested little nerd with pigtails. Yuck!! she grimaced. Well, Alex looked pretty nerdy in that shot too. Some consolation! Mom and Dad, though – just gorgeous people! She looked at their faces in the photo, noting as always just how much they'd grown to resemble one another. Wasn't that the way with married couples, though! Live with someone long enough and you even start looking like them. God, there was nearly a family resemblance between Mom and Dad – by the time they were old, they'd look more like twins than Amy and Alex! She made a mental note to herself. When she married or moved in with some guy, he'd better be damned good-looking. Amy had no intention of getting symbiotic with anybody ugly.

She put down the picture with a sigh. For a moment she'd forgotten about Steve, but here it was – flared up against inside her head. And she had no more idea now what her decision would be than she had out in the canyon.

"It's a big step," she said in a half whisper. "I mean, it can only happen to you once. Cherries aren't for just throwing to the winds. I mean, they don't grow on trees!"

She touched herself, giggling at the simile, and her fingers came to rest upon bare thigh, just below the short hem of the tennis dress that hadn't seen the courts today. Her skin was smooth, very warm, and there was a nerve in her thigh which seemed to lead directly to the hair-fluffed between Amy's legs. If she touched that nerve…

Her eyes enlarged and she said "Whoooo!" in a squeaky, almost embarrassed tone. Same reaction every time. It was a perfect test of her reflexes, and a lot more fun than getting banged on the knee or elbow with a rubber hammer. For good measure she stroked her thigh again, shivering as the response bubbled through.

Alex was still singing, and the water still running. Did she dare? Here? On the fucking sofa? Oh, hell! Amy thought impulsively. She lifted the hem of her tennis skirt, eyeing the little white strip of pantycrotch that attempted to cover her twat. A few auburn pussy hairs were sticking out on each side of the strip, and the panties fit so tightly that her puff of beaver and even the crease of her slit itself were outlined in the fabric. She put her fist on that outlined indentation and rubbed vigorously two or three times, sighing with delight as the good vibrations clung and maintained.

"God, there must be something better than diddling," she whispered, "but I'm afraid!" And as if to underline the word itself, Amy began to pummel harder with her fist, grinding the tender swell of her pussy until she bit her lip in response and muttered a soft, hoarse "ohhhh!"