“What did I do?” Sandy asked.
“Oh, you made him wait on you like one of Cleopatra's body servants. You made him wash you and bathe you and-” she caught the flush on both our cheeks, and blushed slightly herself. “It was all very innocent, just brother and sister, you were both very young.”
“Sure, Grandma,” Sandy said. “What else.”
“Oh, he'd have to dress you and brush your hair and follow you around and carry all your things. And if he did anything the slightest bit wrong you'd take down his pants and give him a good spanking, sometimes with your hairbrush.”
“What did I do, Grandma,” I said, “did I like it?”
“You loved it. You loved her. I've never seen a brother and sister so close. That's why it's a shame you had to be separated for so long.”
Sandy and I exchanged a long look of longing, for each other and for our lost childhood. “We can make up for all these lost years this summer, though, can't we, Sandy?”
“We can try.”
“Well, I hope your parents decide to keep you together, I hope they don't split you up again. It would be a shame if either of you had to go with that drunken father of yours.”
“You don't think there's a chance of that, do you Granny,” I asked, slightly panicked. “You don't think they'll split us up?”
“I don't know, dear, but I wouldn't worry about it. Your mother will watch out for your interests.”
I wondered about that. “When will we know?”
“Probably not until after the summer. These things take a long time when they fight them out in court, which your father is determined to do.”
“Tell us more about when we were kids,” I said, offering her my glass to be refilled.
“Well,” she said, pouring the wine to the brim, “there was the summer you thought you were Tarzan.”
“Tarzan?”
“Tarzan, or his Boy, or someone like that. You'd seen a movie to that effect and you decided that's who you were. You paraded around in some kind of a loincloth you made out of old rags and you insisted on calling your sister 'Jane.' You built a tree hut out in the back-” she pointed out the window to an old cherry tree ”-and you kept on prodding your mother to let you sleep out there at night with Sandy. She got into the spirit of things herself and started walking around in old rags until your mother made her stop.' You rigged up some kind of a rope from the tree and you used to swing on it, shouting like Tarzan.”
“Gee, I think I remember that. How long did it go on?”
“About a week. The rope broke one day and you went bawling into your sister's arms. That was the end of Tarzan.”
“Too bad.” I finished the last my wine, offered my glass for more, but Granny wasn't giving. “What's for dessert?” I asked.
“I've got a special treat for you.”
“What?” Sandy asked.
“It's a special treat because you're such lovely children and you cleaned your plates.”
“Well what is it?” I pleaded.
“Close your eyes,” she said as she pulled herself up from the table, “and I'll bring it to you.”
We closed our eyes, and then I opened mine just before Sandy opened hers. I wiggled my tongue from side to side somewhat obscenely, and she stuck her tongue out at me like a little brat. Then Grandma started shuffling in and we went blind again.
I heard her set the two dishes down in front of us. Then she said, “Open your eyes!”
I looked down. “STRAWBERRIES AND WHIPPED CREAM! WOW!”
“Grandma,” Sandy squealed, “how did you know?”
“You always liked that. It was your favorite food.”
“I know I can never get enough of it,” I said.
“Me neither,” Sandy said.
“Look, Granny,” I went on, “you've been talking so much about us when we were kids, would you mind if we did something like that?”
“What do you mean,” both Grandma and Sandy said.
“I mean, would it look funny to you if Sandy fed me these? Like she used to when we were kids?”
“Well, you're only young once.”
“Come on, Sandy, sit in my lap.”
She brought her dish around while I manipulated my stiffening cock against my abdomen so she wouldn't crush it. She sat down in my lap and I laid my hand in hers. She scooped up a big spoonful 9f strawberries and cream, told me to shut my eyes, and placed it in my open mouth. I closed my mouth on the spoon and sucked as she pulled the spoon out.
I purred my pleasure as I chewed and swallowed the sweet pulpiness.
“You're dripping,” Sandy said, and darted her tongue across my chin.
She fed me the entire dish in this way, and then we shifted positions-I sat in her lap and fed her.
Grandma looked on dotingly and sighed. “You children are so lovely,” she said. “So many of our youngsters today grow up too quickly. It's so nice to see young people clinging to their innocence.”
Sandy, who had laid her hand in my lap, clung firmly to my innocence.
FIVE
When the meal was over, when we had licked the last of our dessert from the dishes-dishes drastically less interesting than the ones from which we had eaten before-Sandy and Grandma started to clean up and I took off for my room.
Away from Sandy for the first time since I had woken up, I realized how tired I was, how much energy I had expended in our uninhibited pursuit of the joys of love.
I stripped off my clothes. I smelled my body. It smelled of Sandy's aphrodisiac odor. The scent itself excited me. I thought that if you could bottle her body odor you could sell it for a million dollars an ounce.
I lay down. I played with myself casually and was amazed to feel how ready I was-after all the workouts I had had that morning. I felt more hard-up now than I did when I woke up. If only I could take my mind off Sandy, for just a few minutes!
The room, southern exposure, was hot as hell. I felt like getting up and closing the shutters to block off some of the sun, but I was too tired, and besides, that would have eliminated whatever little breeze was forthcoming.
I sweated. I stopped playing with myself, putting my hands under my ass. This served a second purpose of preventing my now sweaty ass from sticking to the sheets and letting a little air circulate down there.
I fell asleep.
The jungle was very hot, even though it seemed to be morning. A steamy mist rose from the thick panoply of jungle flowers and dense, boa-draped verdure. Monkeys were chattering, lions were screaming, elephants were trampling, hyenas were laughing, but Tarzan was serious.
“Boy,” he said to me. Tarzan had a face that looked something like my father's, but a body that looked like Nureyev's. He wore a loin patch held up by a shoestring. “I want you take care Jane for me today. She still asleep inside.” He pointed to the little shelter in our tree hut high above the primeval jungle. “I must go to U.N. conference in village. You take care Jane. OK Boy?”
“OK, Tarzan,” I said, and he swung off on his vine into the jungle.
I started to tremble. I was alone with Jane for the first time. I couldn't even remember what she looked like. What would she think of me? I'd never been alone with her, it seemed. Tarzan must have kept us apart, jealous of us both. Plus, I was practically naked-all I wore was a loincloth smaller than Tarzan's, and I was outgrowing it.
Dazzling Jane emerged from the hut without noticing me and strolled to the other side of the platform. She held her leopard skin g-string in her hand but wore nothing. Her body was Sandy's, but her face-whose was it? — was my mother's.
She stretched languidly to the morning mist, her hands on her head, sticking out her coral-tipped breasts and arching out her pelvis so that, from the side, her pink-lipped clitoris was fondly silhouetted against the morning sky through the peachy thatch of her pubic bush.
She turned and saw me and said, “Oh,” casually draping her g-string across her privvy parts. “Boy!” she said, “I didn't know you were here! I hope I wasn't too-too provocative when I-” she wiggled her breasts around ”-stretched.”