Charlie and Mindy Bk. 01 Ch. 02

This is the second chapter of seven in Book 1 of the Charlie and Mindy tetralogy—which is a story of forbidden love between a brother and a sister. It is the beginning of a rewrite of a series I first began posting about five years ago and removed over two years ago.

It takes time for the chaste love between a brother and a sister to become erotic love between a man and a woman. The first few chapters of this book chronicle that transformation, so the early chapters of this series may not be what you're looking for. While there is sexual activity in every chapter, the "good parts" of the story don't appear until later chapters.

You can follow Charlie and Mindy's hike on USGS topographical maps or on on-line versions of them. (There are a number of good ones on the Web.) The Meadow Lake Trailhead, which they used, is at 42° 53' 20" N, 109° 40' 53" W.  But maps—even USGS maps—often show it incorrectly as a pond, or even as a pair of ponds.

I value your comments and your feedback. When circumstances permit, I will try to respond to each.

—CarlusMagnus

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Tuesday

I awoke just before sunrise again. Aside from a few moments of fleeting consciousness when we'd shifted, I had slept soundly. I was on my side, with my sister's little body pressed tightly up against my back. Her breathing was deep and steady. My t-shirt had crept up to my chest during the night, and her arm hung over my naked waist. Spoons again, but the other way around. I lay there groggily, enjoying the warmth and the contact.

After a while, I think I moved a bit, and she stirred. Her arm tightened about my waist; she nuzzled my back softly; and, gently, she hummed a little moan.

I hummed a moan in answer, and we remained in that position for a minute or two. Much longer would have been impossible for me—and my bladder. As I prepared to extricate myself from her embrace, her little hand tracked down my belly, across the waistband of my boxers, to my cock—which, I noticed, was (and had been when I awoke) rock-hard and sticking out through the fly of my shorts.

"Dick check!" she announced as she fondled my cock.

"Nice!" I replied. "It's still there."

There was absolutely no possibility of smuggling this boner out of the sack and into the woods undetected. Not that I meant to try.

"But handling it now's kind of beside the point. I have to go so bad my teeth are floating."

"Me too."

We finished at about the same time. I saw her reach for a broadish leaf nearby, tear it from the plant, and wipe herself with it. Uh-oh, I said to myself, and made a mental note. I'd forgotten an important detail, and I needed to take care of it at the next opportunity.

We walked back to the campsite, shivering a bit in the morning chill. Our first thought was to get some clothes on and get warm, and that's what we did. The temptation to enjoy more physical interaction had succumbed to the laws of thermodynamics just as, a few minutes earlier, it had succumbed to hydraulic pressure.

After we'd layered up, we found our cups, still full of what could now only be called cold chocolate, sitting where we'd left them. We looked at each other.

"Are you still okay with what we did last night, Little Sister?"

"Big Brother, I loved touching your cock…jacking you off and making you come. And having you touch my pussy and make me come was the best thing I've ever felt. Why wouldn't I be okay? We've never been shy about touching each other anywhere. And the way you touched me last night felt great."

"I thought it was great, too. Touching your pussy and making you come really made me feel good. I guess I've been away from you so much, I've forgotten what it's like to be close to my best friend. I'm glad you haven't forgotten."

"I wondered why the 'tick check' bullshit. But you were having so much fun scamming me that I smiled to myself and went along with it." She was grinning at me. "And it was fun."

"I'm sorry, Mindy. I should've just said that I wanted to see you naked and touch you."

She smiled at me. "Charlie, I'm not just some girl you met while you were away from home. I'm your sister, and we've always thought of our bodies as mutual property—ever since I can remember. That shouldn't change just because you went off to college."

"It shouldn't. I won't forget again." I took her into my arms and squeezed her.

"But now let's get some breakfast," she said, squeezing me back after a quick kiss on the lips.

I couldn't have agreed more! We rinsed out the cups and put some water on the stove to boil. A few minutes later, we sipped our coffee while I prepared more oatmeal—which we munched on as I mixed up and cooked another batch of pancakes. That combination had been good the morning before, and we saw no reason not to do it again.

Breakfast over, I dug into my pack, and, carrying the trowel and the plastic sack where we kept a roll of toilet paper, I went into the woods a way to do my morning duty. Mindy cleaned up the breakfast dishes while I was gone. When I set down the trowel and sack upon my return, she picked them up and disappeared into the woods herself.

A bell went off inside my head. I looked around the campsite and found what I wanted. Then I started breaking camp. When she came back, I took her over to the plant I'd spotted a few minutes earlier, saying, "Mindy, I need to show you something. I saw you wiping yourself with a leaf a while ago, and it reminded me of a warning I forgot to give you. This is heartleaf arnica. Never use it for toilet paper. It's very astringent, and it'll make your tender parts itch like fury."

"God, I wouldn't want that." Grinning: "Even if you scratched my tender parts for me, I don't think I'd like it."

"Well," I replied with a matching grin. "Under other circumstances, I might enjoy being the designated tender-parts scratcher. But not these."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We needed to cover about eight miles that day. While this day's journey would be longer than the previous day's, it would be more nearly level. We would have to climb only a few hundred feet—though we'd need to climb some of it twice because the trail also descended in a few places. But, except for two short stretches, the trail was level enough that we might not even notice when we were climbing.

We walked the trail, mostly in silent companionship, enjoying each other's company but needing to say little—just as any brother and sister might walk a trail, heavily laden, eight miles through lake-dotted, pine-forested country.

We remained below timberline that day, so trees restricted our horizon most of the time. We'd been in the woods for a while when we entered an open basin, ringed by hills, and containing a few ponds. Mindy was leading. As she stepped out of the trees, she froze in her tracks and emitted a combination of a scream, a squeak, and a gulp. She turned back toward me and, in a panic-stricken voice, she asked, "Oh, my God! Charlie! What're we going to do?"

On the trail, about ten or twelve yards ahead of us, was a skunk. He (or she, for all I know—I didn't check) was moseying down the trail toward us, tail upright—in the danger position.

I looked at Mindy; her panic was deepening. I looked at the skunk; it was a couple of feet closer than when I had first seen it. "Scaring skunks," I whispered, "is not good wilderness behavior, so the first thing we're going to do is keep our voices low."

"Unh," she croaked/whispered. She nodded. "Yeah. Good idea."

The skunk was a few feet closer.

Still whispering, I went on: "And the second thing we're going to do—slowly and quietly, and especially without making any moves that Milord Skunk might think are threatening—is step carefully off the trail here, into this clearing."

I gently tugged her rightward as I spoke. We needed to move as quickly as we could without making the skunk think we were threatening it.

When we were about ten feet off the trail, I continued: "It says, on page 43, in Section 2 of Article VII of the Official Wilderness Code, that skunks always have the right-of-way. Violators have to walk home alone. Stinky."

She gave me a look that aimed to kill, or at least injure. She had figured out—finally—that I was pulling her leg until it was about to come off at the hip. And she wanted to punch me, but she knew that she couldn't, because the skunk might take the sudden motion amiss. I grinned at her, confirming her evaluation of the unfairness of her situation.

The skunk, flag lowered to half-mast, ambled on past us. I kept my eyes firmly on that flag. We were looking at the skunk's business end, and if that tail went back up, the only fallback plan I had was to dissolve in complete, unvarnished panic. But it didn't, and after a minute or so, the beast was out of sight, going about its lawful skunky business.

We returned to the trail, I took my lumps like a man (after pointing out, in mitigation, that she hadn't been sprayed—thanks to me), and we continued on our way. I think it only took her ten minutes to forgive me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Near the north end of the last of the Chain Lakes, the trail rises slightly and leads over a low pass. We took a short break on the shores of a little lake—really no more than a pond—near the summit of that pass.

We would have to cross Pole Creek three times on this trip; we came to the first of those crossings shortly after that break. These crossings were the part of the trip I worried most about; Mindy had never forded a sizeable wilderness stream, and, small and light as she was, I was a bit concerned for her safety.

The two lower crossings are much alike—just big enough, and just dangerous enough, to be taken seriously. We would keep our boots and our wool socks on for these crossings—the first for protection against sharp rocks or branches; the second for warmth in the icy water. We undid our waist-belts and loosened our shoulder straps. (Finding yourself face-down in cold, knee-deep water with nearly a third of your own weight strapped firmly to your back is, I am told, a bracing experience. But I would rather not have the opportunity to enjoy that experience.) Hand-in-hand, we stepped into the creek. As the bigger and stronger, I placed myself upstream of her, to break the current a bit for her.

Each of us stumbled once or twice, but holding hands allowed us each to save the other from a dunking. After two or three minutes of careful stepping, we arrived at the far shore, no worse for the wear. Not for the last time, Mindy had proved my fears groundless. We tightened straps, fastened and tightened waist-belts, and moved onward.

After a few minutes, we reached the second crossing, where we repeated the performance. We might even have been a little bit more surefooted than the first time.

Several yards up the trail, we found a log to sit on for a brief rest. It was mid-afternoon. We were a little tired, but we had only about a mile left to go, with a 300-foot pass between us and the day's destination.

Piece of cake, we agreed. And so it was.

At the top of that little pass we had our first view, since we had started walking, of the Continental Divide. We stopped there for a few minutes and, hand in hand, we drank in the majesty of the range's serrated backbone.

Around midafternoon, we arrived at the campsite I'd chosen, a natural hollow screened from the trail by shrubs, trees, and a long rocky ridge. Lester Peak dominated the northern skyline.

Sunset was still a few hours away, so we set up camp before we climbed the ridge to enjoy the view. I'd chosen our spot well; we could see the adjoining basin, but no one would notice us. A party of six tramped south along the trail and passed within a hundred yards of us, but never knew we were there.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hunger drove us down from the ridge shortly after we saw that passing party. I fixed us a chicken-and-rice dish for the main course. We'd brought powdered chicken stock, freeze-dried chicken, and freeze-dried peas for just such meals.

Some fireweed grew in plain sight on a little rockslide not far from our camp, and it had reminded me that we'd brought some oil and vinegar. While the main dish was cooking, I took a plastic food bag over to the rockslide, and put a couple of small handfuls of fireweed leaves into it. They're edible, and have a peppery taste.

A brief search along the banks of the nearby stream yielded some brook saxifrage—also known as "miner's lettuce." I gathered several good-sized handfuls, and mixed them well with the fireweed in the bag. It would be nice to have a fresh salad with our supper.

After dessert, we cleaned the dishes, and heated water for hot chocolate. As the evening wore on, we lounged on the soft alpine turf, our backs against the rock ridge that hid our campsite from the view of hikers on the trail. Mindy was at my right as we sat there, hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder, sipping our chocolate and enjoying each other's company. The evening was young, still warm enough that we hadn't added layers to our shirts and hiking shorts.

I'm not sure how long we sat that way, chatting softly, working on our journals, or enjoying our surroundings. But the hot chocolate had been gone for a while when Mindy got up onto her knees, and faced me with her evil grin and a glint in her eyes.

"Tick check, buster!" she exclaimed, as she reached for the top button of my shirt. It wasn't long before she had my shirt off. She'd taken me by surprise, so it was a little longer before I had her shirt off. We got ourselves horizontal, and rolled together, chest-to-chest, into each other's arms. Our mouths found each other and we kissed, deeply and passionately. Once again she pressed her naked little titties against me; my cock responded vigorously.

The longer we lay that way, the more I thought about those boobs, and before long I brought my mouth from her lips down to one of her nipples. Taking it gently between my lips and teeth, I teased it with my tongue. She gasped, and arched her body against me, while I brought my hand to her other nipple and teased it with my fingers. Although I continued, she seemed to recover a bit of her composure and soon, to my own delight, her hands busily explored my back and my chest.

"No, ticks here," I mumbled around her nipple.

"Well, of course not!" she replied. "That's not my crotch. And, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a girl."

She'd pulled her hips back from me; her hands worked on my belt-buckle, clumsily but effectively.

"Hunh? Ticks land on girls, too."

"Who said anything about ticks?" was her reply. She'd gotten my zipper down now, and her dainty little hand pounced on my hard cock as it sprang out of confinement. The glint and the evil grin were back. "I said Dick check, not Tick check."

She was lying through her teeth, and we both knew it. But no one was complaining. Certainly not me, as her hand explored my cock and my balls, touching, feeling, pinching, caressing, nipping, stroking.

In spite of the distraction, my own hands found her belt-buckle, unfastened it, and undid her zipper. Through the fly of her boxers, I found first her pubes, then her furrow—which was as hot and wet as I was hard. I explored her pussy for a while, first stroking her outer lips, then her inner ones. At length, I penetrated between her inner lips, to stroke the entrance to her body. Before long, I gently pushed a finger through the entrance and into her. I stroked in and out of that hot wetness for a while, as she continued her own exploration of my cock.

After a moment or two, she withdrew her hand, pulled back from my finger, and quickly shucked her shoes and pants. Seeing this, I did the same. Then we returned to the positions we'd occupied a few seconds earlier—except that as we laid ourselves down together face to face, I worked an arm under her head and she raised her mouth to mine for another long, deep soul kiss.

As our hands continued their renewed explorations, our mouths also explored, not only the other mouth but the other body as well. We took turns (as Mom had taught us to do when playing), sometimes kissing, sometimes exploring the other's ears, neck, chest with face and mouth, sometimes being explored—ears, neck, chest. Our breath came raggedly as we drank deeply of the wine we each found in the other's body. We hummed and moaned and whimpered in the drunkenness that resulted.

And I moved my finger to her little button, and I started to play with it the way she had liked so much the night before.

"Oooohh! Shit! Yessss!" she responded. So intense was the feeling my finger produced that she couldn't continue what she'd been doing with her own hand, which limply held my cock. Then that hand left me altogether as she rolled away from me onto her back, brought her knees up, and spread her thighs wide, making it even easier for me to reach the heart of her femininity.

I stroked and tickled, now and again dipping into her warm wetness for lubrication, and I felt her passion rise. Her back arched; her hips danced, grinding up and down in the demanding rhythm that gave me the cues I needed to bring her higher. Her coordination began to fail, and I knew she was reaching her ecstatic peak.

When her orgasm began and I knew that nothing could stop it, I slid a finger down along her cleft, where it would pick up lubrication from the heated wetness there. I brought that finger farther down beyond her pussy to her tight little rear orifice. I gently but firmly pushed it, up to the second knuckle, through her spasmodically clenching little sphincter. I wiggled that intruding finger. And while doing this, I kept rubbing the area around her clit with my wrist and the heel of my hand.

Her whole body quivered as her muscles locked; her sphincter clamped onto my finger, tightly, tightly. She emitted incoherent yelps, frantic groans, muffled screams. I had, I thought, fully avenged last night's surprise invasion of my own rectum by invading hers. And I'd chosen the moment when it would do the most good…

Slowly, and with sporadic jerks, her climax ended and her body softened. The knotted grasp on my invading finger loosened somewhat. Reachinf down and removinf my hand from the places it occupied, she rolled toward me. She clasped herself against me, shuddering and sobbing.

I didn't understand.

"Mindy! What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

The thought that I might have injured her was overwhelming. I didn't know what I'd done to her, what to do about it, how to fix it. Not knowing what else to do, I held her tightly.

Between sobs and gasps for breath, she squeezed out the truth:

"Oh, Charlie! No, no, no, no! You…didn't hurt me. It was so good! So…right. But I never felt…anything like that before. It scared me, is all. But I'm not scared anymore. Big Brother, I could never stay scared while you hold me and I'm so close to you."

As she talked, she calmed. Her sobs quieted and her shuddering subsided. She looked into my eyes, smiling. I saw the trails her tears had made on her cheeks—and I could see that they were no longer being fed. With her last sentence, she'd made me feel ten feet tall—though seconds earlier I'd felt like a moral midget for hurting her. I kissed her gently and stroked her hair. She clasped me more tightly to herself.

And then…

She wriggled out of my arms, and came to her knees beside me. As she did so, she pushed me over onto my back and reached for my cock. I noticed that it had softened when I'd thought I'd hurt her.

"Now," she said, "we're going to see if you can take it as well as you can dish it out."