In some ways, I feel like a real winner. Here I am, 88 years old, and still nearly in perfect health. Sometimes my shoulders get a bit sore due to a touch of arthritis, and I get winded if I walk long and hard. My prostate is enlarged, so the pee comes out more slowly. That’s it. My sister is 86, and she’s doing great also. When people ask, I tell them it’s due to clean living. And that’s the truth. She and I try to eat well, avoiding sugary foods, drink in moderation, and don’t smoke.
A couple of years ago, my sister sold her house and started driving an RV all over the country. During one of her extended stays with me she confessed she wasn’t liking the RV lifestyle. I told her to park it permanently in my driveway, and move in here. She was delighted. So was I. Since my wife died ten years ago, I’ve missed female company in the house.
My sister and I have always been close. When we were kids, we learned masturbation together. At first, we didn’t even know what it was. One day, we were playing with a small paintbrush. I rubbed it over her little bump, and she started shuddering. I stopped, and she practically yelled, “No, keep going.” That was her first orgasm. For weeks afterward, we did it the exact same way with the same paintbrush, not quite realizing how the magic was accomplished. She’d use the brush on me, and while it kept my little willie quite hard, and felt wonderful, it didn’t make me shudder like it did for her. On one of the many occasions that she was using the brush on me, she was rubbing it ever so gently on the underside of my hard little penis, and suddenly I felt something amazing. Of course, I know now it was a dry orgasm.
We had many more orgasms together. We learned that the magic wasn’t just in the paintbrush, and discovered many great mutually masturbatory techniques. Mostly, we’d trade back and forth. I’d have her lay down and I’d do her for a while, then she’d do me. It wasn’t long before I was squirting out a couple drips of clear fluid, and not long after that, I was fully cumming. She and I went on to grow hair in all the right places. She grew breasts, and I ended up being six-foot-one.
Somehow, we knew that penetrative sex was not an option. I don’t remember how or why we knew that. Our parents both had management jobs with the phone company, kept long hours, leaving us with babysitters, or sometimes just alone. It was those many alone times, when my sister and I were left unattended, that we masturbated each other. But as far as she and I can remember, our parents never gave us ‘the talk,’ and I don’t think any of the babysitters did either. So how did we know not to fuck? I really don’t know. We just didn’t do that.
Fast forward seventy plus years, and she and I find ourselves together again. One evening she brought up, “Hey, remember when we were kids, messing around?”
“Do I ever.”
“Those were great times, weren’t they?”
“My goodness, yes!”
“Do you ever, um… get the urge these days?”
“I wank all the time.”
Then after a long silence she asked, “Would it be immoral, or… I mean… would there be anything wrong with…”
I interrupted, “Heck no. I’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
And with that, we resumed where we left off 70-some years ago.