An Unethical Proposal Ch. 01

"I got you some crutches, a urinal, and a bedpan." Dad said as he brought the crutches over to me.

"The first thing we need to do is see if you can manage these crutches with your arms in those casts. Are you feeling up to trying now?"

I was still sore all over, but I'd be damned if I was going to be totally dependent on my sister for everything.

"Yeah, let's try it," I said.

My father helped me get out of the recliner and stand. He helped me hobble over to the wall and he had me lean against it. He took the crutches and sized them up to my arms. They needed adjusting, so he adjusted the length. He slipped the crutches under my arms and told me to remain leaning against the wall until he could see if I could grab the handles of the crutches. He moved the crutches into position as if I was about to take a step with them.

"Move your hands to the handles. Let's see if you can grab the handles firmly," he said holding me and the crutches steady.

My arms were permanently bent in those hard casts with just my fingers and thumbs exposed just up to my knuckles. My hands were immobile, and my fingers could grasp some things, but I could not grab the handles of the crutches firmly.

"This won't do," my father said. "You'll need a firm grasp on the crutches, or they can slip out from under you and you'll fall."

I was quickly getting discouraged. When my father brought home the crutches, it lifted my spirits. I started thinking I may be more independent while I healed than I had originally thought. This little experiment with fitting the crutches to my cast locked hands deflated me.

"I got an idea," my father said. Then he removed the crutches and helped me to the chair.

"I'll be in the workshop," he said as he disappeared with the crutches.

An hour later, my dad reappeared with the crutches. He had modified the handles. He made semicircle handles by cutting curved wood from some old wooden child sized snowshoes he had squirreled away in the shop. These new handles were screwed and epoxied to the crutches adjacent to the original handles, and they protruded out from the crutches so I could grab them with my fingers and thumb tips. He wrapped these new curved handles with leather so I could get a firm grip.

"Here, try these," my father said as he helped me to my feet, and once again steadied me against the wall so he could fit the crutches to me. With the new handles my father fashioned, I could grip the crutches firmly, and I took my first tentative steps with them. I was ecstatic. I could move on my own.

Walking with crutches with one leg in a cast wouldn't have been that big a deal, not even a challenge for me, if both my arms weren't broke and locked in those damn long arm casts, but with both my arms locked up, and only my finger tips exposed, it took a lot of practice to feel confident moving around on them.

My father had me practice getting up with the crutches from a seated position, and walking around the house. When I got tired or too sore to continue, we'd stop for while. When rested, I'd tell him I was ready, and we'd start again. I was determined to gain mobility, and we practiced until late into the night. I practiced walking sideways through narrow doors, like the bathroom. I practiced sitting on the toilet and getting up.

I was able to hobble to my own bed and crash. I was exhausted. I must have slept soundly because I didn't remember anything until the next morning.

When I awoke, I had this strange feeling that someone else was in my room with me, but I couldn't tell immediately since I was still groggy with sleep. It had been a warm summer night, so I slept with only a thin sheet over me. The tent pole at my crotch was unmistakable, I had a full on erection. I usually do, but this one was a piss hard-on, and not as the result of an erotic dream. I had to pee badly.

"That's some hard-on you got there, Little Brother."

Oh geez, there was someone in my room, and it was Clair. Wasn't yesterday's embarrassments enough for one person to endure? Now she catches me with morning wood. And, since I was forced to sleep on my back because my arms were in casts, my cock was standing straight up for all the word, or at least my sister, to see.

"Clair. What are you doing in here?" I asked, still in my early morning, half comatose, state.

"I came in to see if my patient needs anything. It looks like you need some relief. Yesterday wasn't enough for you?" She laughed.

"It's a piss hard-on."

"A what? What the hell is a piss hard-on?"

"I don't know... you wake up with a hard-on because you have to take a wicked piss, and the hard-on helps hold back the piss until you wake, I guess?"

"Where's that bedpan Dad bought?" she asked.

"Wait. I can get up and go into the bathroom myself," I said as I reached for my crutches. But I could hardly move. I must have over exerted myself the night before learning how to use the crutches. I was still sore and bruised from the accident, and after practicing with the crutches for hours the previous night I was physically shot.

"I don't know if I can move this morning," I said to Clair. "I might have overdone it last night. Is Dad here?"

"No. Its 8:00AM, and he's already left for work. I heard him leave around 7:00."

"Can you help me?"

Clair tried to help me get up from my bed with the crutches, but I was too weak and sore, and I collapsed back on the bed.

"Help me sit up against the headboard," I said. Clair helped me move so I was sitting up in bed against the headboard. She grabbed a couple more pillows and propped me up. I had to take a wicked piss and my hard-on was still at full mast.

"I'll need that bedpan after all. No, not the bedpan. Dad bought a hand held plastic urinal. I can pee in that much easier than a bedpan. I think it's still in the living room in it's box.

Clair left and returned with the urinal. She helped me pull down my gym shorts.

"How does this work?" she asked holding the urinal with a quizzical look on her face.

"I just hold it between my legs, put my dick in it and pee," I said.

"Can you manage?"

"I don't know. The nurses helped me while in the hospital. But let me try."

Clair helped me by moving the urinal bottle to my fingers protruding from my casts. I grabbed the urinal and positioned it between my legs. I tried to push my cock down to the entrance of the bottle. I was having a hard time pushing my erect cock into the opening. This time Clair was not reticent to touch my penis, she reached in and grabbed my cock and helped me aim and steady it at the bottles opening.

"Go ahead and pee," she said softly.

Again I was suddenly pee shy, and after a long minute Clair stroked my face with the back of her hand and said, "It's OK Billy. Take a deep breath. Just relax. Go ahead and pee. I'm here to help you."

Clair's soft demeanor did wonders to sooth my nerves. I relaxed and finally managed to pee. Clair took my cock and shook it to shake off the last drops as she pulled the urinal bottle away. My cock had deflated some as I peed, but it was still half hard. She then grabbed the head of my cock and gave it a loving squeeze. This made my cock jump and pulse hard as a rock again. I looked at her in shock, but all she did was smile and say, "There you go Little Brother. You're all set now."

I was flummoxed. I didn't know what to say about that extra squeeze Clair gave my cock, so I just said the first stupid thing that came to my mind.

"Just because you were born five minutes before me, doesn't make me your little brother."

"Five minutes and eleven seconds. Those eleven seconds make all the difference, Little Brother. If it was just five minutes, well, then you'd have a point," she said, while busting up laughing. "Besides, if I'm going to take care of you for the next six weeks, and seeing that you're in such a vulnerable state, I'll call you whatever I want, and Little Brother seems fitting, so...," she smirked and walked out of the room to empty the urinal.

I was left naked, and with my hard cock standing straight up.

Clair came back into my room and said, "When is that thing going to go down? I thought it was a piss hard-on, or whatever you called it? Now that you've pissed, shouldn't it be going soft? How long does it take?"

"So many questions! Will you just cover me up? Please!"

"Are you cold?"

"Not particularly. I'd just like a little privacy for my privates."

"No sense in being shy now, Little Brother. That ship has sailed. I've helped you pee, I've wiped up your cum, and I've handled your piss hard-on, or at least that's what you're calling it," she said, with a smirk.

"Besides, Little Brother, I think we should get to know one another better."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, feeling a little unsure of what exactly she meant by 'getting to know one another better.'

"We're twins, but we've never been particularly close. I mean, we're close enough as brothers and sisters go; but, I don't know... I think twins that shared the same womb should be closer. At least that's what I hear and read about with other twins."

"Well, yeah that sounds nice and all, but I'm still lying here naked," I said with a forced smile.

"That's the thing Little Brother, until recently I hadn't even seen you naked, let alone seen your hard cock. And, I don't know what makes you tick, I don't know your deep thoughts or feelings about anything. We've just not shared that much in the past."

"I'm not sure my hard cock is something my twin sister should see," I said, feeling embarrassed again.

"I've already seen it and held it. No sense in denying it. There's no putting the Genie back in the bottle now. And it looks like I'm going to be seeing a lot more of you, and your cock, over the next six weeks. Who do you think is going to give you a sponge bath? Dad?" Clair laughed.

My penis was half hard now and laying on my belly. Clair leaned over my bed and started petting my cock like she was petting a cat. She grabbed my balls with her other hand and massaged them.

"I want to know what my brother's balls feel like. I've only ever felt Mark's, so I don't have a lot of experience. Yours are warmer than Mark's, and your sack feels silkier. His pubic hair was rougher than yours."

My cock jumped rock hard again.

"Clair! Damn you. Now look what you've done. It'll never get it down if you keep playing with it."

"You want me to stop?" She said, smiling.

"Yes! No! Yes. I don't know. I don't want you to stop, but I don't think this is right. Jesus Clair, you're getting me in some horny state here."

Clair suddenly let go of my cock and stood up. The expression on her face changed from caring sister to impartial nurse's aide. "What do you want for breakfast?" She asked bluntly.

"Anything. Whatever you're having."

"I'll make you some eggs," she said, and then covered me with my sheet and left my bedroom.

After Clair left to make breakfast, my cock pulsed under the sheet, and I felt a surge of sexual energy course through my loins. My mind was reeling with thought. I wanted Clair to continue stroking me. I wanted her to make me cum; but she was my sister; it wasn't right. And, would she have continued if I said I wanted her to? Or was she just testing me? If I had said, ' Please don't stop petting my cock and massaging my balls', would she have continued? Would she have jerked me off? Or would she had chastised me for asking my own sister to masturbate me, and then called me a freak, a perv, or even told Dad? I was in uncharted waters.

I needed to get my hard-on to go down. I turned my thoughts to school, fishing, the accident, anything to take my mind off of sex, but it wasn't easy, the image of Clair playing with my balls kept repeating over again in my head.

I started thinking of my sister differently after that morning. As she moved in and out of my room to help me, I noticed her features as if I'd met her for the first time. Growing up together, I just took her for granted; she was just my sister, and I never gave her body much thought. I noticed for the first time that Clair really did have a pretty face, not drop dead gorgeous, but symmetrical with clear, smooth skin, and a cute nose. Her blue eyes contrasted with her pale white skin and her dark hair. She was thin waisted, but with a soft full bottom, and her breasts I'd estimate to be a C-cup in size. I'm a breast man. I'm always looking a girl's breasts, but in the past I tried not to look at my sister's. Maybe I wanted to, but I knew it was wrong to lust after my sister's breasts, or maybe just because she was, just Clair, my sister, biologically not someone I'd think of in a sexual way. Once I started examining her features, I couldn't stop. Every time she walked into a room I was in, I looked her up and down as if she was a stranger I'd just met, and that I was attracted to.

As that day wore on, I was getting hornier and hornier thinking of Clair touching my cock and balls that morning. I needed to jerk off. I had it bad. I contemplated asking Clair to give me a sponge bath. I knew I'd be hard as a rock and I'd get off while she washed my cock. What stopped me? I don't know. I just thought I'd be too obvious, and that it would be stepping over a line I was having a hard time finding.

I got up from my bed with my crutches and made my way to the bathroom. I stood by the toilet, and raised the seat as if I was going to take a piss. I worked my gym shorts down with my fingers tips and my cock sprang out straight and hard. I positioned the crutches so they were slightly back out of the way, but so that I could still lean on them. I moved my fingers of both hands to my cock and started stroking my cock with the tips of my fingers. It didn't take long before I came. I tried to aim my sperm into the toilet, but my jizm flew out forcefully and coated the bottom of the toilet seat, and shot through the hole in the seat and coated the back of the seat cover. I tried to clean it up, but I was unsteady on my crutches and feared falling, so I just did the best I could.

It was going to be a long six weeks if I had to jerk off like that, but at least I could manage. Oh how I missed taking my cock firmly in my hands and having my way with myself. I never realized how much I'd miss being able to properly cleanup after myself too; the things you take for granted.

The next morning I woke up again with morning wood. This time though, it wasn't a piss hard-on, it was a sexual hard-on. I don't usually remember my dreams, and that night was no exception, but I must have been dreaming of sex, I could always tell. I woke up with my cock head aching, purple, and ready to burst.

"What's up Little Bro," my sister said as she came charging in to my bedroom.

"Whahoe! Look at that thing! It's huge. Another piss hard-on?" She asked as she stared at the tent pole poking up my sheet.

"Geez, don't you knock?"

"I'm your nurse. There's no privacy, just like in the hospital, Little Brother. You need to pee? Where's that urinal bottle thing?"

Unlike the morning before, Clair had not bothered to get dressed; she was still in her nightgown. Her nightgown wasn't particularly sexy, but it was short, and the front buttons near the top were undone giving me a view of her cleavage.

I was in a pickle. I could probably pee, I had to every morning of course, but, when I woke up with a sexual hard-on, peeing was not of the immediate need. I needed to cum.

Clair pulled back my sheet and started yanking my gym shorts down.

"Wow, that's a monster this morning, and the head is all red."

"It's not a piss-hard on Clair."

"What do mean?"

"It's more of a sexual hard-on."

"You're horny?"

"I guess, I just woke up with it so...," I said, trying to sound vague, so as to soften the rawness of just telling my sister that 'yes, I was horny.' What I really wanted to say was, 'Yes, I'm horny, and by the way, I'd like you to grab my cock and jerk me off, if you wouldn't mind,' but I was nice, and kept my secret desires to my self.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember."

As Clair leaned over to examine my penis up close, the top of her gown opened and I could see her breasts, clear as day. The view of Clair's breasts was not helping my situation; my cock throbbed and pulsed.

"Wow, looks like you're ready to pop. What's it feel like?"

"What do mean?"

"I want to know what it feels like to have a penis that hard and throbbing."

"Isn't that something you should ask your boyfriend, not your brother?" I said, trying hard not to cross that line I so desperately wanted to cross.

"I don't have a boyfriend at the moment. And, besides, it's not something you ask a new boyfriend. It's better to know about these things before you get in bed with a guy. It's the kind of thing I need to ask a guy I'm not going to have a relationship with. If I can't ask my twin brother, then who can I ask?"

"Oh, alright. I'm not good at being this sexually open with you Clair, but I'll try."

"Well, yes, under the circumstances. I'm already staring at your hard cock, so you might as well play along," she said smiling.

I tried to explain to Clair what it felt like to have a raging hard-on. "It's hard and throbbing. There's a pulsing of blood, and I can feel the pressure at the head of my penis. There's a burning, but not a hot burn like if you've burnt yourself on a flame. It's a desire burn. It's somewhere between a burn and a severe itch. It's not really describable in terms of burning or itching, but it's as close as I can get. It's more like a pressure of desire, a yearning, that needs to be relieved. It feels like the head of my cock is about to explode into a million tiny pieces. It's like an intense thirst that needs to be quenched, or a hunger than needs to be satisfied."

"Can you do anything? I mean with those casts all the way from your upper arms to your hands, can you masturbate?"

"I did the other day, remember?"

"Yes, but I'm curious how? And, did you do something yesterday in the bathroom? There was some strange goo like substance on the inside of the seat cover."

"Busted!" I said with a blush.

"How often do you do it? You know, masturbate?"

I felt I was about to incriminate myself as a serial masturbator, but I was actually starting to enjoy talking to my sister about the intimate details of my penis.

"Usually once a day. Some days more than once, it all depends on what's going on, or how horny I'm feeling."

"Wow, that's some sex drive Little Brother."

"How often to you masturbate?" I asked Clair.

"Who says I do?"

"Oh come on... who are you kidding? I heard you the other day in your bedroom after you played the X-rated DVD. And, supposedly you put it away, back in my drawer, or did you?"

Clair turned scarlet red.

"I don't know why you're blushing. I'm the one lying here with no clothes on and whose sexual organs are being examined and talked about."

I guess Clair hadn't realized once she opened Pandora's box that she'd have to reciprocate.

"OK. Full disclosure... I do masturbate," she said softly.

"How often?"

"I don't know. I don't keep track. Maybe twice a week...OK maybe three or four times a week."

"How many times do you orgasm?" I asked her.

"How many times?"

"Yeah, you girls can cum more than once in a sitting. How many times?"

"That depends on how much time I have. If I have a lot of time, maybe three orgasms. If I'm in a hurry then just one," Clair answered biting her lower lip.

"But enough about me. What are we going to do with this? What did you call it, 'a raging hard-on'?" Clair asked as she focused on my straining penis.

"What would you like to do with it?" I asked her, hoping she would take it in her hands and help me out.

"I want to watch you masturbate," she said.