It Started with a Kiss Ch. 02

A look, a touch, or a simple gesture can often convey such a complex array of emotions that even the most articulate of writers couldn't script a prose worthy of describing it. Some things exist between human beings that can never be interpreted or explained, and often it's probably best not to try.

"I'm no longer a virgin," she sighed contentedly.

"Yup, consider yourself deflowered," he grinned.

She reached out and touched his cheek with light fingers, stroking it gently. "I can feel your cum deep inside me, all warm and gooey. It's a weird feeling but it's also very, very nice."

They just sat there for a little while, not speaking, with Monica leaning on her elbow and her eyes locked on his. She slipped her hand from his face and searched out his, grasping it tightly when their fingers met.

"Did you like me?" she asked softly.

"Mon, you were fantastic. You're sexy, exciting and so cute that I'm sure it's a crime in some countries."

"Stop it," she blushed, but it was clearly evident that she enjoyed his flattery. "How was I...compared to all the other girls you've been with?"

This was a no-brainer. "The best," he replied quickly. "You tackle sex with the same zest and enthusiasm as you do with everything else in life." He paused for a moment and then countered her question with his own. "What about me, did I meet your expectations?"

"Well, you were okay," she said matter-of-factly. She was grinning devilishly at him and her blush was beginning to dissipate.

"Just okay?"

"My only basis for comparison is Becky, and from what she tells me most guys are terrible in bed. You made me cum twice, which, I have to tell you, felt utterly amazing."

Rebecca Watson was Monica's best friend and they'd been through the highs and lows of adolescence together. Becky was a petite girl who wore wire-frame glasses, had a penchant for dyeing her hair insanely bright colors, and was smarter than the average bear. She was cute in a bookish way, but nowhere near as cute as Monica.

"So that means you liked it, right?"

She squeezed his hand and her eyes sparkled. "It means I loved it. I can see why some people become so addicted to sex, with the right person it's just so damn fun!"

"This bodes well for me," Frank grinned.

"It bodes well for the both of us," she shot back.

Frank laughed. "Touché."

For a little while they sat there and shared a comfortable silence. At times his gaze would drift away from her face and linger over every single detail of her gorgeous body. When he returned from these lengthy expeditions he would encounter Monica smiling at him in such a way that made his heart flutter in his chest. That look would usually jumpstart his libido as well, but the poor little fellow between his legs was tuckered out and seemed to be recharging his batteries.

"You know what I would absolutely love right now?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"What's that?"

"A freezing cold shower. Ooh, it makes me shiver just thinking about it."

"That does sound awfully good," he agreed.

"Care to escort a lady to the bathroom?"

"With pleasure," he said.

* * * * *

The cool spray from the shower hit their warm bodies and they both moaned with post-orgasmic pleasure. Considering the fact that his room had turned into a steamy sauna, the freezing cold water was a welcome relief that both Frank and Monica needed almost as much as quenching their need to satisfy their lust for one another.

Every millimeter of their naked flesh had been assaulted by the ice-cold water and the gooseflesh it left behind was a perfect tell-tale that their bodies had gone from being chickens roasting on a rotisserie, to polar bears being blasted by the sub-zero temperatures of the arctic.

Frank languished in front of the spray but Monica, shivering and rubbing at her pebbly skin, must've had enough because she decided to use his body as a barricade. He whirled on the balls of his feet and the spray slammed into his sweaty back. Once he'd performed his half-revolution he found himself staring at a drowned rat, known also by her other name as Monica Cassidy.

Her golden-blonde hair had been turned light brown due to the application of water, and it was slicked back against her skull. Thousands of glimmering beads of water were gliding down her pale face, while her lips trembled and her teeth chattered lightly.

"You're cold, maybe you should think about getting out," he offered.

Monica was having none of that. She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips. "Why don't you warm me up?" she whispered.

It took Frank about three seconds to place his hands on her body and begin caressing her. He let his hands travel the entire landscape of her wet body, gently kneading and stroking her cool skin, paying particular attention to her rising chest and the tender area between her thighs.

She kept kissing him lightly, flicking her tongue against his lips and licking them as if they were coated in some tasty, sugary substance. Her body melted into his like a snowman in the sun, every gentle curve and exposed area of flesh molding against his. The tips of her hard nipples pricked his chest and her soft, springy breasts meshed with his skin.

When his hands slipped to the small of her back she sighed against his lips and pressed her tongue into his mouth. His hands roamed as their tongues explored, and it suddenly dawned on Frank that she wasn't trembling against him anymore.

"I want to fuck you again," Monica moaned. "I want to feel your cock deep inside me again."

Their bodies broke apart slightly and she cupped his wilted penis in her hand. She squeezed and played with the soft flesh but Frank knew that it would be to no avail. It was spent for the time being, possibly even for the rest of the night.

"I'm sorry, Mon. You kind of killed it."

Her sweet laughter filled his ears, yet even with this admonishment she continued to tug and stroke him. If there was one thing he could say about his sister it was this: when she got an idea in her mind you couldn't sway her determination. But his anatomy said otherwise, much to their disappointment.

"Darn," she said, releasing him. "I don't suppose mouth-to-mouth resuscitation would revive him?"

"No, I'm afraid he's comatose for the time being. Can I take a raincheck on that?"

Monica kissed the tip of his nose and smiled at him. "Any time you can get it up I'll welcome you with open arms."

"Any time?"

"Any time."

"You should be careful how you phrase things; a guy could really misconstrue that."

She smiled and kissed him quickly on the lips, a peck. "I thought there was only one way you could take it," she said.

"And how's that?"

"That any time you get hard I'll take care of it for you. Of course, the condition being that you take care of me at the same time."

Could she be serious? Frank's heart slammed in his chest and he was sure that she could hear it. Every time it pumped he thought he could detect it echoing off the bathroom walls.

"What...what about when you get your period?"

"I don't get my period."

Frank blinked at her and his stroking hands drifted to a stop. He didn't get it. Every single female gets their period, don't they?

"I'm on the pill," she confessed, noticing his confusion. "You don't think I'd let you cum inside me if I wasn't? Being pregnant at my age is one thing, but being impregnated by my brother is another thing entirely. It wouldn't be a crash-hot idea."

"I'm glad one of us is smart," he said.

They finished up in the shower and took turns drying one another with the huge, fluffy towels that their mother had been given as Christmas presents. It seems that showers must saturate the genitalia more than any other body part, because both of them paid more attention to drying each other's privates than any other area.

Cool, dry and glowing, they both exited the bathroom with massive smiles on their faces.

"So I'll meet you back in the kitchen after we've gotten dressed?" she asked, walking backwards towards her room.

"That's right."

Frank changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a loose fitting top, then ambled his way down the passageway and entered the kitchen. Monica was nowhere to be seen so he decided to begin the preparation of their dinner.

At the refrigerator he retrieved a packet of foil containing pieces of roasted chicken, tomatoes, cheese, celery, lettuce and an assortment of other vegetables. Moving around the kitchen with ease – unlike most guys, Frank loved to cook – he grabbed a razor-sharp knife from the drawer and started chopping up everything into tiny pieces. He almost sliced his finger off when Monica stepped into the room, sauntering up to him with a sweet, oh-so-cute facial expression.

The sexiest lingerie in the world couldn't compete with what Monica was wearing. Clad in a pair of pale pink cotton panties and a Garfield t-shirt, she was prettier and cuter than any model that had ever graced the catwalk. Her damp hair was tucked behind her ears and her breasts bobbed invitingly as she strode towards him. When she slipped into his arms she kissed him firmly, and the musky scent of sex was still attached to her – as was the glow.

Even though they'd just had earth-shattering sex and bathed together, her perky innocence hadn't been lost. Nothing about her had changed in his eyes. She was still his beautiful, sweet younger sister, and no sexual act could ever twist his perception of her.

"What happened to Winnie," he asked when their lips parted.

"He got dirty, so he's in the wash. What? Don't you like Garfield?"

Frank stared at her t-shirt and grinned. The lovable fat cat was baring his teeth and covering a pan of lasagna with his paws, while Arlene, who was Garfield's pink girlfriend, was looking decidedly shocked seeing as how she'd been invited to dinner.

"I love your t-shirt...and what it's covering."

"Behave," she said, running her tongue along his lips. "Anyway, what's for dinner? You know, sex must make you hungry, because I'm absolutely starving."

"I know," he grinned. "Dinner is a chicken salad, served with a glass of Diet Coke for a certain young lady."

Monica beamed at him. "Good boy."

"Why don't you go into the lounge room and select a movie while I finish up here."

"What happened to renting one from the video store?"

He turned from Monica and continued to cut up a stick of celery into bite-sized pieces. "I'm too lazy to be bothered," he said with a sheepish grin.

"So what do you want to watch?"

"Lady's choice, whatever your little heart desires."

"Hmm, okay."

She pranced away from him with a sexy shake of her ass and disappeared into the lounge room.

Once everything had been sliced and diced he piled all the pieces of chicken and vegetables onto a large opaque platter. Then he removed two frosted glasses from the refrigerator and filled one with Coke and the other with Diet Coke, laying a conscious tag on which was which.

Frank managed to juggle the large platter with one hand and the two ice-cold glasses with the other, fumbling his way into the semi-darkened lounge room without dropping the contents of either. The drapes were drawn and Monica lay sprawled on the couch with one arm dangling from the side. There was a silver remote gripped loosely in her hand.

The room was illuminated by the aquatic glow emanating from the television screen. A large DVD symbol lay frozen in time and was surrounded by a brilliant blue background, which was the typical logo that was displayed when the DVD player was turned on but not playing a disc.

"Thanks for helping me bring dinner in," Frank huffed. He placed the two glasses of black liquid on the floor and laid the platter next to them.

Monica grinned at him and arched her back, which did nothing more than stretch her t-shirt material taut against her breasts and push them out at him. "A big strong boy like you shouldn't need a girl to help you with something like that," she said.

"Is that so?" he asked, parking his butt on the edge of a cushion and gently cupping her face in his hand.

"Yeah, that's how it should work. I lay here while you prepare and bring me dinner."

She kissed the palm of his hand and gave him the most innocent smile she could muster. It was the kind of smile that could reduce the strongest of men to jelly and make hearts beat so fast that a cardiac arrest results. There was a playfulness in Monica that was so sweetly saccharine that Frank couldn't help but smile in kind.

For the longest of moments he sat there and gazed into her eyes, unable to look away. His fingertips traced the curve of her cheek and the warmth of her milky skin sent an array of tingles up and down the course of his spine.

"See anything you like?" she asked softly.

"You have no idea."

They both blinked and snapped out of their reverie.

"Okay," Frank said quickly. "How are we going to do this?"

"Hmm, good question. I kind of want to cuddle up to you, but there's not enough room on the couch to do thatand eat dinner."

Frank played it over in his mind for a few seconds and then said, "I have an idea."

For the next few minutes he set everything out. He moved Monica's Diet Coke across the floor and to the left of the middle cushion, while the platter and his own glass remained situated to the right. Then he sat down on the carpet and wiggled his way backwards until his spine met the couch and his neck was supported by the cushion. After he'd made sure he was comfortable, he splayed his legs apart and instructed Monica to sit down between them.

"This isn't the first time today that I've climbed between your legs," Monica joked as her rump collided with his crotch.

Her cheek brushed against his as she leaned against him and pressed the back of her head to his left shoulder. Showing her own ingenuity, she let her arms slap against his thighs and used them as armrests. The deal was sealed when he wrapped his left arm around her waist and hugged her body tight to his, savoring the fact that he was lucky enough to be afforded such a luxury.

"Comfy?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes Franky," she said with a pretty sigh.

The screen suddenly changed from the DVD logo to the opening credits of a movie. The Warner Bros. symbol spiraled (indicating 75 years in the motion picture business) and then there was a momentary voice-over, until a figure emerged, sitting in a chair overlooking a little girl's bed. It was Nicolas Cage, looking morose and pensive.

"City of Angels?" he whispered.

"Yup."

Monica had a long-running crush on Nicolas Cage. Ever since she'd seen him in It Could Happen to You she'd become hooked on his movies. Most critics believed Cage should restrict himself to films that don't involve romance, but Frank thought he could hold his own in the genre.

The movie continued to play and Frank plucked a piece of chicken from the platter and delivered it to Monica's parted lips. For the next ten minutes she munched happily on whatever sliver of chicken or vegetable he fed her. He ate as well, but she was always the number one priority when it came time to choose whose stomach should be filled first.

"A girl could really get used to this sort of treatment," she said. "You better watch out Frank, I might start demanding this attention all the time."

He kissed her cheek and popped another piece of celery into her mouth. "I don't mind if you get used to it, because I'm going to pamper the hell out of you."

It was true. With every single girlfriend he'd gone above and beyond the regular call of duty as a suitor. He would cook for them, buy them things on a whim just to show his affection, take them to a romantic movie, cuddle up with them on a winter's morning and talk about everything and nothing, and a hundred other little things that displayed his undying love for the opposite sex. He loved women, it was a fact. Like his father – who obviously passed on his own romantic inclinations to Frank – he adored showing them how much he cared.

It was no surprise then, after four years of dating, that he'd never been dumped by a girl.

They finished up their healthy dinner and Frank took this opportunity to slide his other arm around her waist. Monica snuggled further into him and she breathed a lengthy, contented sigh, having sated both her growling stomach and the urge to be touched and held.

On-screen Nicolas Cage was making puppy eyes at Meg Ryan. The movie was good but he'd already seen it three times, therefore his attention waned and he began to focus his senses on the sexy blonde he was hugging. Frank began to get restless and his hands started caressing her stomach in slow, deliberate circles. Her breathing became heavier and a couple of giggles escaped her throat.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"Nothing," she answered.

"Didn't sound like 'nothing' to me. C'mon, tell me."

"You just have to know everything, don't you?"

"Yup, now tell me or I'll tickle you to death," he replied. Both sets of fingers raced over her stomach and her entire body jerked in his arms. An onslaught of giggles followed as he continued to tickle her, and with them they brought a tirade of bucks and grinds that were almost powerful enough to bump her from his grasp.

"Frank!" she squealed, still laughing. "Stop, please, okay, I surrender. I surrender!"

His digging fingers swung to a halt and he wrapped his forearms around her waist again, nestling her body firmly against his own. After a few moments she stopped squirming and settled down, though soft, barely perceptible giggles still remained.

"Meanie," she laughed.

"So what was funny?"

"The fact that you can't keep your hands off me," she relented.

"Does it bother you?"

"Of course not," she gushed. "Hell no, I love it. The way your hands feel on my body...I can't get enough of it. I don't mean it how it sounds, I mean..."

"I think I know what you mean," he whispered. "Even when I'm touching you innocently, it feels unbelievable. I'm a touchy-feely guy, so if it ever gets too much just let me know, okay?"

"Frank, you can touch me anywhere you like, anytime you like."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"Even here?" he asked, slowly slipping his right hand down her stomach and over the elastic band of her panties. His fingers had no trouble locating her slit and he began to rub her through the damp material.

"Especially there, oh god yes, especially there."

"Feel good?"

"Yes," she moaned in a soft and throaty voice. She squirmed as his petting became heavier, unashamedly reveling in the fact that she was the primary focus of attention.

The movie took the back seat as his hands explored her svelte body, one hand massaging her beautiful breasts while the other continued its vigil between her legs. He could have asked her to strip out of her clothes (what little there was of them), but Frank found it sexier to touch her through the cotton fabric that covered her respective privates.

Frank could spend hours sitting there with his hands roaming every glorious curve, because he simply loved pleasing women. He wasn't hard, either, which made the process that much sweeter for Monica because he harnessed all his energy into arousing her – instead of himself.

After an extended period of time teasing and caressing her, he finally upped the ante and asked her if she would like to remove her panties. In two seconds they were gliding down her thighs and subsequently kicked away with the tips of her toes. To say she was mustard keen would be an understatement.

"Easy access," he said, returning his hand to her bare pussy.

She laughed and spread her legs even wider, until her toes touched his ankles and their legs were running parallel. "Now you have even easier access," she giggled.