Michael Smith - Siblings

Her surname was obviously Chinese, but she appeared to be a more exotic blend of Japanese, southeast Asian, Polynesian, and probably a little European. A typically Hawaiian background, in other words. We chatted over a couple of bottles of Harp and she told me she about the graduate work she was doing in social anthropology. She was also in San Diego to read a paper. From remarks she made I re-estimated her age upward; she had to be a year or two older than I was. Her voice was wonderfully musical and I resolved to attend her session, regardless of the subject, just to hear her read.

After a little while, I rose and peered out at the lobby. The line was down to almost no one now, so I paid the tab and we retrieved our bags and checked in. Connie was on the 10th Floor and I was on the 11th.

On the way up in the empty elevator, Connie mentioned with elaborate casualness that she thought she might just go down to the pool deck on the 5th Floor and "splash around a little." I caught her calculating sidelong glance and allowed as how I might just do the same thing. She flashed me what I hoped was a promising smile as she got off at her floor.

During the few seconds between the 10th and 11th Floors, all by myself in the car, I had an sudden, unnerving conviction that Alex was standing beside me. The feeling was so strong I actually turned my head to ask her how she had gotten there – and as I did, she vanished, leaving behind an amused chuckle, like the Cheshire Cat. Her voice whispered in the back of my skull. "Michael, don't worry about it… have fun, enjoy yourself! I won't be angry. Don't you know me any better than that?"

Yes, I did know her better than that. All the years we were growing up together, learning about love and sex together, we were nevertheless out there dating other people and sampling considerable sexual variety.

I learned early not to be jealous when my sister quietly slipped in from a late date radiating a lingering orgasmic flush, or when she rinsed some guy's semen out of her mouth with ginger ale. Nor was she anything but pleased when I came home with my zipper still half-open and my fingers smelling of another girl's cunt. Often she wound up in my bed or I in hers, sharing our experiences and still aroused and primed by the evening's adventures. I must be feeling guilty, I thought. Weird. Why should I feel I'm betraying my sister just because I'm attracted to such a terrific girl? Ridiculous. The elevator door slid open and I hurried down the hall to my room, trying to remember if I had packed my swimming trunks.

Thirty minutes later I was walking out on the pool deck in a polo shirt and my Hawaiian-print jams (good unintentional planning, I thought), with a hotel bath towel draped artfully about my neck. It was a half-hour till dusk, my favorite time for swimming and beach-strolling, and there were only eight or ten other people present, laughing and talking in two groups up at the shallow end. Everyone else would be at dinner. I glanced around but didn't see Connie. Either she'll come or she won't, I thought, and hung my towel and shirt over the back of a deck chair.

I sat down on the pool curbing next to the diving board and cautiously stuck one foot in the water. Great – the pool was heated! I glanced again at the glass doors; still no Connie. Ah, well. I took a breath and pushed off into the deep end, headed straight for the bottom.

When my feet touched the cement eight feet below, I crouched down with my knees bent. I paused a few seconds, enjoying the null gravity sensation. Then I uncoiled and shot myself back to the surface, arms at my sides, arching over backward to smack my shoulder blades against the water. My "humpback whale" trick, Alex called it. Childish, probably, but half the fun of a swimming pool is in not acting like an adult.

Then I heard that silvery laugh again, accompanied by a patter of applause, and I looked up. Connie had arrived while I was underwater. I splashed the few yards to the side of the pool and hooked my elbow over the edge. She was wearing a one-piece smooth silver suit (to go with the laugh, I thought inanely), cut in a deep V almost to her navel, that contrasted sharply with her light brown skin and black hair.

She knelt and tried not to giggle. "Tell me… did you do that on 'porpoise'?"

I rolled my eyes, groaned in the expected manner, and reached out as if to grab her ankle and fling her into the pool. She skipped back a few steps, grinning, and waved me farther away from the diving board. She stepped onto the board, adopted a serious expression, and shook out her fingers as if preparing for a difficult dive.

As she paced out to the end, looking every bit an Olympian, I saw that the back of her suit was scooped very wide and low; only the thinnest of straps crossed vertically over her shoulders and had the back been cut any lower she would have revealed a second cleavage. There were no tan marks, of course, to spoil the gently rippling surface of her upper body.

She took a precisely placed bounce on the end of the board and I expected to see a 2-1/2 twist or something equally spectacular. On the way up, she touched her pointed toes with her fingertips, arms and legs absolutely straight – a form obviously the result of many hours of practice. But at the peak of her arc, she suddenly tucked herself into a perfect, slowly spinning cannonball and hit the surface of the water with a splash that caused a small tsunami at the other end of the pool!

I pushed out to the end of the board and reached up for an ape-hang as she paddled back from her point of impact. "I can't think of a horrible pun just now," I grinned, "but I'll give that one a 9.9!"

She reached me and rested a hand on my shoulder for buoyancy, and I added in a softer voice, "And I have to give you a 10 just for looking the way you do."

She smiled more intimately and ran her other hand across my chest beneath the surface, pausing to trace a circle around each nipple with a fingertip. "You're not so bad yourself, big boy."

Where did she get this dialogue? Well, I'd seen quite a few old films myself. "I'll bet you say that to all the boys who are a foot taller than you."

She nodded slightly in approval as if I had just passed a test. "Speaking of 'taller', you might be standing on the bottom for all I know, but my legs are getting tired." I doubted it.

"Want to get out of the pool?" I hoped not, not yet.

"No, it's too warm in here and too cold out there. Just let me shift into my barnacle routine."

Her legs, which had been slowly scissor-kicking, slid up and wrapped themselves around my right thigh. At the same time, she twisted around to face me at an angle; now, one knee was pressed in a friendly fashion against my crotch. In the water, her clinging suit had become semi-transparent. I was very much aware of her dark nipples erect beneath the cloth, especially since one was being pressed firmly into my ribs. Even in the warm water, I could feel my cock stirring.

Her left arm slipped around my back and her thumb hooked itself casually over the waistband of my trunks. I steadied my grip on the end of the diving board. I didn't care if my arm developed a permanent cramp, I was attached to that board as long as Connie wanted to stay in the pool.

I put my free arm around her and stroked my palm up and down the smooth resiliency of her back, registering the subtle muscles that come with regular swimming. Other muscles were shifting slightly in her thighs and calves. There were other activities besides swimming that this well-maintained body was expert at, I was sure.

My hand slid downward across the small of her back, past the edge of her suit, and I paused and watched out of the corner of my eye for her reaction. She squeezed my thigh between hers, so I continued down over the curve of her small, firm ass. She brushed her nose across the top of my chest and leaned in closer. My chest was right at surface level and my nipples had hardened, both from being in the water and from her previous attention to them. She submerged a few more inches and fastened her lips around one nipple, sucking as if it were a soda straw, while her hand moved from my chest down to my abdomen. Connie's aggressive ideas of foreplay were a revelation even to me, and the experience was very arousing.