A Picture Is Worth 1000 Words

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This story is about sibling sex and has nothing to do with the young girl who speaks in the first line. That opening occurred to me, knowing that the story would be about sibling incest. Then I found the idea of that starting with their looking at “The Joy of Sex.”

Most readers will know the book. Mine is a very early edition. I think my son took it with him when he moved out twenty years ago. Critical readers may grab their edition to see if I get the illustrations in the right order or if there are illustrations mentioned in the story. Don’t bother; I just used the idea to fit the story. The references to photos in Playboy date the story back to when I used to read the magazine, long before women shaved off all their pubic hair, and obviously long before internet let teenagers watch videos they were too young to watch. The siblings are both over eighteen before they do anything.

Some readers may wonder how this kind of story develops. I had the idea of its starting the ways it does, then with a flashback for the main part of the story. After that, it occurred to me to use the book as a catalyst, I really didn’t know what would evolve. Of course, brother and sister were going eventually to do it, but how were they going to get there? I just let them, discovering what could happen with siblings’ looking at that book. I was surprised what happened, how the arousal of one picture led to their arousing each other. Writing erotic stories this way is fun, hopefully also for readers.

“Hi! Good morning, Uncle Milt. Hope you don’t have to use the bathroom; I’m in there.”

I was awakened by my eleven year old niece. As usual, she had not knocked on the door to the small guest room in my sister’s apartment. She waited at the open door for me to reply:

“Good morning, Lynn. No.”

“Funny, the way it always smells when you spend a night here,” she remarked and shut the door.

I hadn’t noticed that it smelled different, but I knew why. Her mother had spent the night with me and only left a couple of hours before. We had woken up with my cock between her thighs. Sometimes we then just did the obvious, but that morning she had wanted to ride on my cock and then had wanted me to lick up her cream-pie and share it with her. I had, we had, like many times before. Did I still taste us? No question that it probably smelled funny in the small room; that wasn’t all we had done, also like many times before.

My sister, Vicky, was divorced. I could have been a corespondent to her divorce, but her husband’s had been unfaithful, the grounds for their separation. That is how it started again with us. I stayed with them when my business brought me to their town. Then one night he was on a business trip, or maybe it wasn’t a business trip. That first time, I assumed that it really was, and Vicky didn’t tell me different. Lynn had just started school. After she had gone to bed, I was surprised when Vicky suggested we have a drink, and then grinned and remarked:

“No reason why we shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what?”

“Still my innocent little brother? ‘That,’ of course.”

Then I understood; until she married, we had slept with each other. I was very surprised that she had immediately suggested that we do again, but if she wanted to? I was single, only wondering about her marriage. We did, and the next time I spent a night at their house, they were sleeping in separated bedrooms. I was again surprised when she came to the guest room. That happened a couple of times more, and then they were separated, she and Lynn living in the apartment. I looked forward to my visits more, wishing my business allowed me to spend a night or two with Vicky more often, and she certainly did too.

Still her “innocent little brother”? Vicky was just a little more than a year older than me. When our father took a professorship at another university, we ended up in the same grade in school. People often assumed that we were twins, but for me she was always my older sister, even when I grew taller than she was.

When we graduated from high school, our parents thought that we should have summer jobs before going to college to learn how it was for and with people who couldn’t get higher education.

I had a job with the town’s cleaning department and learned all about garbage collection and street cleaning, even getting to drive the sidewalk sweeping vehicle. Vicky had a job in the public library. Our parents planned a trip to Europe with a few days in New York, four weeks away, starting after they could see that we were settled in our jobs, admonishing us to be responsible.

Saturday at the end of June, we drove them to the airport, my sister driving, both of us being told to drive carefully, with Dad’s emphatic: “don’t drink and drive! We know kids your age drink, even if you shouldn’t.”

They were right, of course, and — of course — we promised that we wouldn’t.

Driving home, Vicky glanced over at me a couple of times, as though she were about to say something, but didn’t. Then staring ahead at the road, she asked: canlı bahis

“You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

“Not really. Why? And your boyfriend?”

“Not really, if you were thinking about that.”

I hadn’t been, but her “that” suggested that she was implying that I could have been thinking that she might have slept with him. Why had she said that? She took a deep breath and then murmured above the sound of the car:

“Then you haven’t slept with anyone either.”

I just shook my head, blushing, hoping she didn’t notice. I certainly hadn’t, but I had been thinking about it — a lot. But why had my sister said that?!

“Not that girl who wore too tight blouses? She looked like she was sort of asking for it,” she added.

“Hmm? Maybe she was. Only dated her a couple of times, but we didn’t. Maybe why it was only a couple of dates.”

“Didn’t know what to do with her?”

“Something like that, I guess.”

Vicky nodded, and then replied:

“Yeah, about like me with one guy. Oh, I guess we would have found out – I would have. I think he had more experience, but, well, like with you, he stopped dating me.

I nodded, liking that she apparently hadn’t done more than I had. And it was pretty obvious what we were talking around. Of course, I had been thinking about it, really having sex. Some boys my age, now eighteen, had smirked about their dates, not saying anything, but looking like they wanted us to think that had done it.

In the spring at the public swimming pool, I had been looking at girls in bikinis and discovered that the most attractive ones all seemed to come with a friend or meet one there. Three or four girls together seemed open to having guys talk to them. I had even observed that when guys did talk to them, if the numbers didn’t match, sometimes the extra girl or guy would excuse themselves. And then there were single girls lying on their towels, maybe not so attractive, but any girl in a bikini is attractive, and they seemed to appreciate it when a guy spoke to them, but I had trouble thinking that I could just start a conversation with a girl I didn’t know, especially with my thoughts about doing more than I had with any other girl.

All that went through my head in a flash. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my sister nod. She drove on, while I continued to wonder why Vicky had started this conversation. After a minute or so, she murmured:

“I’ve got a book all about it.”

“About what?!”

“What we haven’t done.”

“About doing that?!”

She just nodded. This time I was staring at her, blushing and catching my breath, and asked:

“You’ve read it?!”

“More just looked at the pictures.”

“Pictures?! About that?”


“Where’d you get it?”

“Library. Someone returned it. I kept putting at the bottom of the pile of books to be returned to the shelves until I could check it out by myself.”

“What’s it called?”

“‘The Joy of Sex’.”

“And you want to read it? Why are you telling me?”

“Since we both haven’t yet, thought you would want to, too.”

“Both of us reading it? Together?!”

I was recalling how we had used to read comic books, which were forbidden in our house. She snorted, smirking, and replied:

“I hadn’t thought of that, but if you want to?”

“And the pictures really are …?”

“Explicit. Guess we both will be blushing.”

“Like that?! I am already. You really want to?”

“Me too, after saying that.”

She glanced over with a grin, but was blushing. I was too, murmuring:

“You really want to.”

“Why not? Hmm? I guess we wouldn’t be just blushing.”

What did she mean with that? My cock suggested what she could be implying in response to my idea of how “explicit” the pictures could be. My sister’s nipples aroused? I knew girls’ popped out when they were aroused. Did they feel aroused down there too? And she was suggesting that we both look at “explicit” pictures, together? Oh! Damn! Did she want to see that I would be? Shit! She probably could already, but she kept her eyes on the road. Were her nipples aroused? They probably had been; she had rubbed her forearm over them. Did she want me to have noticed? She had nice breasts, something I hadn’t really noticed before, never thought about my older sister’s; they were just there, always had been.

Again, that all flashed through my head, while she added:

“We don’t have to — you don’t have to. Just seemed that you would want to, too.”

“I don’t know.”

I wanted to massage my cock around so it could straighten out, but didn’t, suddenly realizing that I was thinking about seeing my sister’s breasts – bare breasts, the rest of her too?! Naked? Not just in her bikini. Why hadn’t I noticed that she had a good figure? What was she thinking? She had started all this. Did she want me to see her, want to see me?! All naked, like in those explicit pictures?! If they were like my cock was wanting to be, she wanted to see my cock like that?!

We bahis siteleri drove home in silence, but a lot of thoughts were rattling around in my head — in hers too? Did she expect that we would just sit somewhere together with the book on our knees and look at pictures like that, reading how-to text? She must know that would be arousing, her nipples, my cock. It sounded like the pictures were “better” than photos in Playboy, and I got an erection looking at them. Did she want that? Did she want to see if it did? It would, and it would be right there next to the book, impossible to hide.

Did girls’ – did my sister’s! – pussy get aroused when they/she looked at erotic pictures? She must know; she had already seen them. If she did or didn’t, …? Oh, she had been aroused just telling me about the book, wiping her arm over her nipples. Looking at the pictures must be even more arousing for her, and she did know it, wanted us both to be aroused. Did she want me to notice that she would be, let me see her nipples pop out? What were they like? Pink, beige? Hopefully not like the some of the big ones on Playmates with too large breasts. Jeez! I was imagining that I was actually going to see them!

I looked at the passing scenery and did massage my cock around with my right hand, hoping she didn’t notice, but rationalizing after all my thoughts that if she did, she shouldn’t be surprised or bothered. Maybe she even liked that I had to. Yeah, if she wanted us to look at the book together, I would. So what, if we were both aroused? It was her idea.

We arrived home and went in the house without saying anything. She then murmured that she had to go to the bathroom and disappeared. I wondered if she had been thinking that we would immediately start looking at the book, or thinking to save it for the evening. It seemed like something more appropriate to read at night, and then I could go to bed and do what I knew I would want to do, have to do, after looking at “explicit” pictures. Did she do the same thing? What did girls do?

It seemed that she took a minute or two longer than usual in the bathroom that we shared. She returned. I was still standing, waiting. She had the book in her hand and gave me a wry smile, shrugging, then asking:

“Do you want to?”

I did, despite my misgivings about what could happen, but replied:

“I guess so, if you do. Both of us?” and shrugged.

She shrugged again, this time with a slight smirk, and replied:

“If we both want to find out,” and nodded towards the sofa.

“This is going to be … well, “funny,” I murmured, as we moved towards the sofa.

“For me too,” she murmured as she sat down, obviously leaving space for me to sit next to her.

My cock was already anticipating what I had meant by “funny,” as I sat down next to her, thigh on thigh.

Better start at the beginning, less arousing,” she murmured, as she opened the book on both our thighs.

The first picture, a drawing, was arousing enough, especially with her suggesting that other pictures would be even more arousing. She glanced over at me and then turned to page. This wasn’t Playboy, not color photos, but the next tinted drawing didn’t leave much to the imagination, and the next couple certainly didn’t. I didn’t glance at her, but she did glance over at me, then murmuring:

“We can read after you’ve seen the pictures.”

“Hmm! A picture is worth a thousand words,” I replied, pleased that it had occurred to me to say that. The next picture was.

Suddenly the phone rang. It was usually for her, and she sprang up, leaving me holding the book, staring at the picture, as I heard her answer:

“Oh, hi Mom.”

I looked up from the book at her. She was blushing, her nipples sticking out, round bumps under her blouse. Her arm brushed over them, but they still stuck out. Pink or beige, I had to think, trying to repress a grin at her discomfort. Mom was still talking. When I thought Vicky wasn’t looking, I quickly helped my cock to a more comfortable position, thinking it might relax a little and not be too evident when she did look.

“Yes, Mom, of course, we won’t forget: lock doors and windows and be sure to turn off the stove. … And drive safely, no drinks. You both have a good trip. … We’ll be fine. … I’ll tell him. Love to Dad too.”

She gave me a very wry smirk as she hung up. Her nipples weren’t sticking out as much as before, but were still evident. My cock had relaxed a little. If her nipples had relaxed, why hadn’t I ever noticed them before? She returned to the sofa. Were her hips even closer than before to mine? It felt like it. She glanced down at the open book and then over at me and remarked:

“Love from them both. You heard the rest. Hm-hmm! Good thing that she didn’t ask what we’re doing.”

“You can say that again!” I replied, glancing down at the picture of a naked couple.

Since the book was now more on my thigh, I turned to the next page. We looked at it in silence for a moment, until she nodded slightly with an bahis şirketleri “um-hmm.” I turned to the next page, and the next page, after she nodded. My cock was more aroused again, of course, but I had stopped worrying about that. A page or two later, when she saw the picture, she immediately nodded slightly with an “um-hmm,” as though she was recalling having seen it before. His cock was aroused. She had liked seeing that? It didn’t look larger than mine — not the way it was now. I liked that, never having seen another guy’s erection, but always wondering if my cock was as big as other guys’.

It was a moment or two longer than before, when she nodded for me to turn the page. A pussy! That’s what one looked like, at least, the drawing of one?! Did they all look alike? Was the illustration showing an average one, like the cock? Cocks weren’t all the same size. Vicky gave a soft questioning “Hmm?” She seemed to be as fascinated by it as I was, staring at it for as long as she had at the cock. Did hers look like that?

“Like yours?” I murmured unconsciously to myself. Her thighs squeezed together, but she only murmured in reply:

“I don’t know,” without glancing at me to suggested that she had been surprised by my question.

Then it occurred to me that, of course, girls couldn’t see their own pussy from the viewpoint of the illustration, looking up the woman’s naked body. Vicky’s thighs twitched together again, and she began to giggle. I didn’t know why she was, but I also giggled; this was just too strange, too wildly improbable, our sitting in the living room looking at “explicit” pictures. I noticed her head move slightly. Shit! She was looking at the bulge in my pants, probably could have seen that my cock had surged. Her thighs twitched again. Was that to squeeze her pussy in response to its doing whatever a pussy did, when a guy’s cock surged?! She giggled again. This was just too, too strange!

Her giggle changed to a chuckle, and she glance up at my face with funny expression and repeated:

“I don’t know,” this time not murmuring, and added:

“Guys all know what theirs look like.”

I nodded with a grin, and we both burst out laughing. Her eyes dropped down to my bulge. This time, I wanted to make it move, but couldn’t while laughing, but I saw her breasts jiggling. Wasn’t she wearing a bra? I couldn’t remember them jiggling like that. When we caught our breath, she noticed that I was staring at them, and her nipples became more obvious through her blouse. She murmured:

“I know, sort of like you,” and smiled wryly with a shrug that made them move again.

“Yeah,” I agreed, adding: “You’re not wearing one.”

“Hmm! Hm-umm. Maybe I should be. I hadn’t thought how this would be, when I took it off.”

“Nice. They’re nicer than I thought. Well, I never really thought about them until we were talking in the car.”

“You didn’t? I thought all little brothers tried to see their big sisters’, at least, from what a couple of girls said.”

“Hm-hmm! Their brothers too, from what a couple said,” I agreed.

We almost laughed again, and then I asked:

“Did they let them, the girls?”

“Hmm!? I was too surprised to ask them.

I was enjoying our talking and feeling a lot more comfortable with the idea of looking at “explicit” pictures with her. If we could talk about her breasts and that she had recognized that I had had an erection — hardly one now — this was going to be fun; nothing to be embarrassed about if she saw I had one again. Maybe she wanted to? Feeling fresh, I grinned at her and replied:

“Surprised that I also hadn’t tried to look? Hm-hmm! Disappointed that I hadn’t?”

Vicky chuckled, returning my grin, and said:

“Well, I did wonder if you had tried.”

“Innocent me, guess I should have. Hmm? I hope you didn’t tell them that your little brother hadn’t.”

“Oh no, just wondered. … Hmm? … I guess all girls kind of want someone to see them, when they have enough to really wear a bra.”

“And no one tells brothers that they do,” I replied with scowl.”

She chuckled again with a grin. Encouraged by her response, I chuckled and asked:

“And has anyone seen yours?”

She looked surprised with wide eyes, and her nipples popped out again. This time, she did rub her arm over them, taking a longer moment to reply:

“Not see them. Hmm? That one guy did have his hand under my sweater.”

“Hm-hmm! Maybe I should have done that with that girl, if I had dared to.”


I shrugged but then grinned and asked:

“And your bra, if you were wearing one?”

“I let him shove it up.”

“Oooh! Really holding them? That feels good?”

“Hmm! You need to read the book. Yes.”

Her nipples had popped out again, but she just glanced down at them with a wry expression.

“And it feels good; girls like them to be held,” I murmured to myself, then surprised when she murmured:

“Feels arousing when they’re rubbed … there.”

I didn’t have to ask where “there” was; her nipples were making that obvious. What did it feel like to rub them? Hers must be really stiff. When she saw me looking at them, she just nodded with a soft “um-hmm.” My cock was stiffening again. I murmured:

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