Jeanne and I Grow Up in Hawaii

Literotic asexstories – Jeanne and I Grow Up in Hawaii by barnabus,barnabus
WARNING:

This is an adult story, containing sensitive material of a sexual nature. If you find such material offensive or are underage, do not read further, but please bypass this story for one more suitable for you.

The characters in this story are fictional and belong to me. The story is written for enjoyment and entertainment purposes only, and no commercial profit is expected to be made from it.

Like most stories of this ilk, at the end of the story (unless there is a sequel) the characters are magically returned to their original condition, undamaged, unharmed, and unchanged in any way with no memory of the events that have taken place. . . It is as if the story had never happened, because, after all, it never really did.

Birth control is used in this story, and, of course in ‘real life’ every reasonable adult should know that he or she should behave responsibly when participating in sexual activities and he or she wishes to avoid unwanted conception and the spread of disease. (If you cannot behave like a reasonable adult, you’ve got no business participating in sexual activities anyhow!)

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Chapter 1 – Jeanne and I meet.

Jeanne was nine years old when I met her. I was ten.

Although they were located on opposite sides of the country, both of our fathers were in upper management of a large American corporation (you would recognize the name). The corporation arranged it’s annual planning meeting in Hawaii and booked rooms and flights for the executives who attended. Arrangements were also made for the executives to bring their family members, (at their own expense, of course, although reduced rates had been negotiated in advance). And it was accepted practice for meeting attendees to arrange for vacations before or after the meeting to stay on for a couple of weeks in the sun.

That year was the first time my dad was invited to the conference, and my first visit to Hawaii. My dad met Jeanne’s dad at the conference and they became friends. Ever since, they had planned their vacations to match, so in a way, Jeanne and I “grew up together”

Our families would go to meals together several times, spend evenings playing Monopoly and Scrabble, cards, etc. Jeanne and I would play together on the beach, take surfboard lessons, together, etc. When I was ten, I figured she was OK for a girl, and put up with her. We had our squabbles, but after a couple of years were acting pretty much like brother and sister.

When I was fifteen, something happened that changed our relationship. Our families had driven to the North Shore of the Big Island to surf the big waves. Jeanne and I were in the back seat of one car, chattering like kids do. Both of us were wearing our swimsuits under our regular clothes. Arriving at the beach, our parents went off to make inquiries from the ‘locals’ about where the best place was to surf, etc. Jeanne and I decided to get ready, so we both stepped out of the car and stripped down to our swimming gear. Together we moved to the back of the car to get our surfboards off of the car-rack.

It was like being hit by a thunderbolt when I rounded the car and saw her, reaching up for the surfboard. She was wearing a bikini, comprised of three small triangles of material held in place by some string. I could only stand there and stare as she was untying the cords on the surfboard.

What had happened to the little girl I had known for the past five years? The one I’d played in the sand with and splashed and teased? Where did this . . . . nymph . . . come from?

Her breasts under her bikini weren’t particularly large, but they were definite! Her nondescript middle had slimmed down to almost nothing and her hips, although narrow, still they flared out from her tiny waist. And her legs! Her legs seemed to run from her the sand to her chin!

Unable to loosen board from its bindings, she turned to me to demand my help. She froze in mid sentence as she saw me staring, open mouthed, at her breasts. Suddenly embarrassed, I think she was about to tell me off, but suddenly, her jaw dropped open as she saw the bulge that was growing inside my tight, racer swimsuit. Both of us stood mesmerized, staring, for what seemed an eternity. Jeanne came to her senses first and grabbed two towels. One, she draped in front of her and she tossed the other to me, which I quickly wrapped around my waist.

Now that both of us were ‘covered’, our eyes met and we both stared at the other. As if by mutual consent, our eyes dropped to the sand.

“I’m not sure I feel like swimming today,” she muttered.

“I don’t think I feel up to it either,” I agreed.

Each of us returned to our side of the car and put on our ‘street clothes’. When our parents came back, they noticed there had been a change between us, but said nothing. Although our parents did some surfing, we simply enjoyed a picnic on the beach for the rest of the afternoon,

From that day on, Jeanne never wore a swimsuit in my presence. And I began to notice the pattern that she almost never wore shorts, preferring blouses and skirts or occasionally long pants. Soon, Jeanne stopped wearing sleeveless blouses, and generally wore long sleeve blouses. Soon, I began dressing more ‘modestly’. I avoided bathing suits, and shorts. Whenever I wore a tee shirt, I always wore a regular shirt over it, often open and not tucked in.

Over the next couple of years, we continued a somewhat self-conscious but correct friendship. We never dated each other, but we often went on double dates. Frequently, when she was asked out, she would ask me to come along, making it a ‘double date’. I think she took me along so I could protect her if she needed it.

At home, Jeanne’s dad decided it was time we learned to play poker with poker chips. Shortly after we learned the basics, Jeanne and I realized that he almost always won. When we asked him about this, he began explaining how people gave ‘signs’ when playing poker. When one learns to read the signs, it ceases to be a game of chance but rather becomes a game of skill of reading body language. For example: Jeanne’s mom would start playing with her necklace whenever she got a good hand. When my dad scratched his head, we knew he was bluffing.

One evening at dinner, our parents invited Fedor, a police lieutenant on the Hawaiian Police Department (the famous “Hawaii 50”). Fedor was a surprisingly small man, but very happy with a friendly smile. Toward the end of the evening, Jeanne shared with us that a boy at school was often taking hold of her arm or hand and she didn’t like it. She asked Fedor what she could do to keep him from ‘pawing’ her without reporting him to the school officials and making lots of trouble.

Fedor showed her how to give a karate chop and told her when he grabbed her arm, to give his wrist a karate chop, as hard as she could, and then to apologize profusely explaining that it was an accident and she didn’t mean to hit him so hard. Fedor guaranteed that the boy would think twice before he touched her again.

He went on to suggest that the two of us should take a ‘self defense’ course he taught at a local Judo academy. He carefully explained that there was a definite difference between “self defense” and Judo or Karate or any of the other standard martial arts.

Jeanne and I enrolled together for several months. Fedor taught that self defense tactics should never be used unless absolutely necessary. “It is not a game. Don’t use it unless you mean it,” Fedor stressed. “And if you use self defense tactics, that means you must incapacitate the other person as quickly as possible, never giving him a chance. If he can stand up after you’ve attached him, you have to expect he will be stronger than you and will defeat you.”

Toward the end of the course, Fedor brought in an associate who must have been the biggest man I have ever seen. This giant put on body armor and both Jeanne and I practiced our skills using full contact. Fedor made us repeat the exercises over and over because we weren’t putting our body into it and weren’t hitting hard enough. Finally, he was finally satisfied.

Chapter 2 = The Bar fight

When Jeanne was seventeen (I was eighteen), Jeanne met the Bruser brothers: Brad and Jim at a pizza counter in a shopping mall. They were local ‘delinquents’ and seemed to lead an exciting life, which attracted Jeanne to them. She should have known better, but when they invited her to a party, she accepted without thinking. Then, as she thought about it, she became uncomfortable, so she asked me to accompany her.

Once we walked in door, there were no adults present, kids were making out all over the place and alcohol and drugs were flowing like water. We took one look and decided to leave, but were blocked by Brad Bruser and some of his friends. Brad’s brother, Jim was VERY interested in Jeanne and wanted to dance with her. She tried to refuse, unsuccessfully and both Brusers kept insisting on a dance. I tried to intervene and Brad pushed me aside. I came back and Brad hit me squarely across the cheek and nose, causing nose to bleed. I was surprised that although I staggered, I kept on my feet. When I turned back, Brad was in a boxer’s position, ready to take me on.

Blood pouring from my nose, I raised both hands saying I didn’t want to fight; I just wanted to check with Jeanne to see if it was all right with her to stay and dance. Brad agreed and lowered his guard and stepping back, gesturing to me with a courtly bow and sweep of his hand. Jeanne was still struggling to get away from Jim’s pawing hands. I moved toward her and as I passed Brad, I raised my foot and slammed down scraping his shin and smashing against his instep HARD. He doubled over and I rotated to bring my other knee up smashing into his face, crushing his nose. Reacting he reared backward and as he reached his full height, I brought up the heel of my hand under his chin as hard as I could.

I watched with amazement as he was actually lifted off of the floor and flew backward over the punch table, spilling the punchbowl and smashing the hors d’oeuvre table as he fell to the floor. I turned to Jim Bruser who was still holding Jeanne’s arm, but stood with his mouth gaping at the way I had handled his brother. As my eyes met his, Jeanne pulled him around facing her and brought her knee up into his groin with a force I could hear across the room. Jim squealed like a pig and doubled over. Meanwhile, Jeanne raised both of her hands above him, clenched them together forming a double fist and smashed it down on the back of his head, just where the base of his head meats his spine. He dropped like a bag of potatoes.

I looked around and found two of the Bruser’s group facing me with switchblades pointed in my direction. I crouched, molding my hands into claw like positions and circled them in front of me, pointing toward the other two. “Okay!” I croaked out through the blood that was still running down my face from my nose. “Who’s next?”

The other two glanced at each other, and then moved both of their hands to the sides, allowing the switchblades to close as they backed away. Jeanne was at my side. Side by side, almost back to back, we moved to the door as a path opened for us. When we got to the car, Jeanne pulled a beach towel from back seat and told me to put it over my nose. She insisted on driving me to the Hospital. On the way to the hospital, she gave me a sideways glance.

“Exactly what was that bit with the claws and the ‘who’s next?’ I was scared to death when you said that. What on earth were you thinking?”

“That, my dear, was a bluff!” I said through nasal passages that were rapid constricting from the punishment they had received. “They had knives. I figured if we showed any fear, they would cut us up.”

“But . . . ‘who’s next?’ How did you ever come up with that?” she demanded.

I smiled as best I could through all the blood and pain I was experiencing.

“Would you believe, I saw it in a Bruce Lee movie?”

Of course, we had to call our parents who came and I was treated. My nose wasn’t broken, fortunately, but I ended up with two eyes that were very black and almost swollen shut. And the police were called and a statement taken. We were told not to leave Hawaii while they investigated.

A couple of days later, Fedor himself called and made an appointment to meet with Jeanne and me and our parents. When he knocked on our door. He looked at my eyes that were just beginning to open again and whistled.

I knew Fedor was a policeman, and even though he had said this was an informal visit, I couldn’t resist the usual response in this situation. “You should have seen the other guy!”

Fedor smiled. “I did,” was his simple response. Then he looked back and forth between Jeanne and me, and we both held our breath waiting to be handcuffed and taken off to jail. Fedor had been a friend of the family and somewhat of a mentor to both Jeanne and me. But he was still a policeman. And I had no doubts that regardless of what friendship we had, he wouldn’t hesitate to do his duty as an officer of the law.

Fedor gazed at us for what seemed a terribly long period of time. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Incredible!” Fedor said. Jeanne and I exchanged glances. “Absolutely incredible!” he repeated.

I was aware of both of our parents squirming as they waited for whatever Fedor was about to say.

“I just can’t believe that it was the two of you who stood up to the Bruser brothers and kicked the shit out of them! ” A broad smile crossed his face. “I wish I had been there to see it! It must have been magnificent!”

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More statements were taken. We had both acted in self-defense. Fedor suggested we not press assault charges against the Brusers. If we did, they would probably file counter-charges against us and we could easily end up in court. As it was, they both seemed content to crawl into a hole and say nothing since they, the two ‘toughest kids on the Island’ had been soundly trounced by a couple of wimps from the mainland. Fedor had enough on them from the other witnesses that he could bring them up charges without our involvement.

We agreed not to press charges.

For the rest of the time that summer, I had to avoid girls who were hitting on me: girls who had seen me take down Brad Bruser and wanted some of me for themselves.

Chapter 3 – picnic. >

The next summer, I was nineteen, she was eighteen. I had just graduated from high school, and Jeanne was entering her senior year.

The summer was passing uneventfully when Jeanne suggested we go on a picnic. It seems she had found “the perfect spot for a picnic” so the date was set.

When I picked her up, I was a little surprised by the way she was dressed. It’s not that she was wearing anything that was unusual for a picnic. But what she was wearing was unusual for her. She had on shorts and a sleeveless blouse that was tied in a knot just below her bust, leaving her with a bare midriff. I drove to the spot she had found, and it was an impressively beautiful location! There was a gorgeous waterfall with a small pond around its base. The place was somewhat secluded with trees and bushes blocking the road.

Together, we had prepared a good picnic lunch, which we enjoyed heartily. Of course, swimming together was out of the question since we had this unspoken ban on wearing swimsuits when in each other’s company. But after lunch was completed, Jeanne brought out a deck of cards.

She sat on the blanket, leaning back against a tree absently shuffling the cards. She kept her eyes on me as I relaxed, enjoying the warmth and the sound of falling water.

Suddenly she asked, “Do you love me?”

I was jarred back into the present century.

“Well sure! What brought that on?”

“We’ve known each other for nine years,” She said. “Next year, you’re going to be going to college. You’ll meet new people there, new girls. You and I, we’ve done a lot of things together. Our families get along well, and I’ve shared secrets with you that I wouldn’t tell my best girlfriend back home.” She paused and smiled. “Together, we even beat up the Bruser brothers!” We both smiled at this one. “But do you love me? I mean really love me?”

I stared at her for a long time. It wasn’t very often that we got into a conversation this deep. And almost never did this kind of conversation just start out of nowhere. But I had been thinking about her and about love ever since we both arrived in Hawaii this summer. We had been practically brother and sister for these past nine years. I would greet her with a hug, and we gave each other brotherly/sisterly kisses. But this year, my thoughts had taken me beyond that kind of relationship. Did I dare say what I had been thinking? Even though we had a history of brutal honesty between us about almost everything, I was nervous. But she was asking!

“Total, honest, brutal truth?” I asked. It was our way of promising each other that we would be completely honest and forthright with each other, pulling no punches, letting it all hang out. It also was a promise that we wouldn’t get mad at the other person for what he said, because that would keep this kind of honesty from happening again.

Jeanne nodded. “Total, honest, brutal truth!” She was agreeing to the terms of our understanding.

“Yes, I love you!” I began. “But our relation has been and still is essentially a brother-sister relationship. And I’m starting to think that I love you more than a sister.

“In the fall, I’ll be going to college. Next year, so will you. And yes! We will meet other people. We may even fall in love with other people . . .” I saw a flash of disappointment cross her face. I continued. “And that’s the way it should be! But . . .” This was truly a ‘moment of truth’ for me. “But . . .” (Total, honest, brutal truth flashed through my mind. I had to continue.) “But, when we’ve both finished college, if neither of us had fallen in love and gotten married, and if I feel about you then the way I feel now . . .” I could see that she was holding her breath waiting for the end of the sentence. “. . . if I feel the same then as I do now, I expect I will date you, not as a brother, but . . . but as a man who will want you to be his wife.”

Jeanne released her breath and her shoulders softened. She came over to me and put her arms around my neck and gave me a deeper kiss than I expected. She spoke with a smile. “I’ll say the same thing without so many words. I love you, too! And for the sake of the record, I think you’re a great prospective husband.” We kissed again. We had never kissed like that before. It wasn’t a French kiss by any means, but it really began stirring feelings in me that were more than I felt I could really handle.

We leaned against a tree, gazing at the waterfall, my arm draped over her shoulder and spoke about insignificant things for a while. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision as she moved away from me and picked up the cards, straightening the blanket that we were sitting on.

Since she had the cards, as dealer she named the game.

She wanted to play poker: five-card draw, playing only the five cards you draw, one hand at a time. That way your wins or losses would be the luck of the draw, no bluffing. No betting except the ante.

I was confused. There were no chips, not even matchsticks. There wouldn’t be any real game if we just played without stakes of any kind. Would we keep score on a piece of paper? I offered to see if I could find some paper in the car so we could keep score, but she refused, shuffling the cards.

We had both been trained to read body language in a poker game. The thought occurred to me that perhaps the game had already begun. I cut the cards, and studied the girl sitting across the blanket from me. There was tension in her body, fear in her eyes but determination also. I knew she was playing with me. But there was something else in her eyes. Resolve? Conviction, to be sure! Desire?