Sis and I – Part 5 – Summer Lovin’ by FamilyGuy66..,

Welcome back, or hello if you’re here for the first time. This story is part of a much longer storyline of a brother and sister who begin, and try to maintain, an incestuous relationship. If you haven’t already, I recommend you start at Pt. 01. While some of the stories could stand alone, this is a character-driven series, and I think it’s helpful to see how things developed to this point. Enjoy!

* * * * *

“You ok? You look tired,” Nancy asked.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Long day at work is all,” I shrugged.

“Are you sure?” she asked as she brushed my dirty-blonde hair back from my forehead, a habit she’d recently developed that I secretly loved.

“Hey, leave the hair alone!” I said, raising my arms protectively as I smiled.

“You really need a haircut, Jim,” my big sister replied.

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Oh, man. Is this the kind of nagging I can expect now that we’re living together?”

“Screw you,” Nancy said with a laugh. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“I know,” I said, smiling again. “I appreciate your attention, you know. I just don’t see what’s wrong with long hair.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she answered, “but not only do you have split ends that need to be trimmed, it’s hanging in your eyes. I like to see your pretty green eyes, baby brother.”

“Well, that’s pretty conceited of you, since we have both have dad’s eyes!” I said with a grin. “How about if I keep my hair long, and I’ll buy you a nice mirror? Then, you can gaze longingly into your own eyes.”

“Come on,” Nancy said, running her fingers through my hair appraisingly, “I could just trim it for you. You know I was doing cosmetology school in Washington before I got pregnant with Jenny. You’ll keep most of the length, but it’ll look so much better! I promise!”

I must’ve been a little tired. Not wanting to argue, I gave in and told Nancy she could cut my hair. She squealed excitedly and got up. “I’ll get my stuff!”

“What, now?!” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah, now. Why don’t you wash your hair real quick and we’ll set up in the kitchen?”

“Now, wait a minute, sister of mine. You know, the girl at Supercuts washes my hair for me, AND presses her tits against me while she does it – and that’s when I WANT a haircut! You talked me into this, so I think you should wash my hair for me.”

Nancy smiled. “It’s a good thing I love you, you brat! OK, I’ll wash your hair in the kitchen sink, like I used to when you were little.”

“Did you? I don’t remember that at all,” I said.

“Oh, yeah. Not as often as mom did, but I’m an expert at it, not to mention at bathing every part of you.” Nancy dropped a slow wink. “Really, though. You don’t remember my hair-washing song?”

“No, I sure don’t,” I said slowly. “I think you’re making shit up now.”

“I am so unappreciated,” Nancy laughed. “Meet me in the kitchen in two minutes.”

I went to my room to change into a pair of running shorts, not wanting to get cut hair all over my good clothes. When I got to the kitchen, Nancy had already set up a chair in the middle of the room. Her hair cutting gear was on the counter and a cape was neatly hung over the back of the chair. Nancy was at the sink, testing the water temperature from the detachable sprayer.

“This sprayer is cool!” she said. “I’m going to want one of these in my own kitchen. Now come on, bring that sexy, half-naked bod over here and let me get you wet.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” I said with a grin, stepping to the sink and leaning forward.

“You want the line, use it sometime. You’ll probably love the results!”

There was something truly decadent about standing there, warm water flowing over my head as my sister ran her fingers through my hair, thoroughly wetting it. But the sensations went to another level when she began massaging my scalp, her fingers thoroughly working the shampoo through my hair. The feeling of Nancy’s fingers briskly moving over my head caused me to get hard, tenting my shorts – and she wasn’t even pressing her tits against me!

I heard Nancy humming as she washed my hair, a sing-song tune that triggered some long-forgotten memories. “What’s that tune?” I asked.

“That’s the hair-washing song,” she replied. “You remember it now?”

“It does sound sort of familiar. Were there lyrics?”

Nancy began singing as she shampooed me.

“Rub-a, rub-a, rub-a, scrub-a, scrub-a, scrub-a, Jimmy’s hair is clean and sweet-smelling.”

I began laughing so hard, my body shook. “Wow, I can’t believe that didn’t top the charts!” I said, tears running down my face.

Nancy slapped me on the ass – hard! “Fuck you, baby brother. I made that up when I was like 9, because you used to cry like a baby when you got your hair washed. That song was the only thing that settled you down.”

“Oh, damn. Really? Nancy, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I felt really bad. Nancy had always taken care of me, and I had just mocked it. “I’m really sorry,” I repeated, reaching back to take her hand in mine. “Thank you for always loving me the way you do, even if I don’t deserve it.”

“It’s alright, you jerk!” Nancy said. “You may not remember things, but I have a head full memories of you as a little boy. I guess it’s always been in my nature to nurture you.”

Nancy then turned on the water, and thoroughly rinsed my hair. When she shut off the water, I began to stand upright, only to feel her push me back down.

“Hey, I haven’t conditioned it yet.”

“I don’t use that girly crap,” I said, feeling the need to assert my masculinity, “just shampoo.”

“Well, then this will be something new and good for you. You should condition at least every other day, especially if you’re going to wear your hair long.” Nancy said, pressing forward on my shoulder blades.

Again, I surrendered. Afterward, Nancy threw a towel over my shoulders, had me stand up and squeezed my hair through the towel to dry it enough to cut.

Nancy pulled the cape from the chair and I sat down. As she shook the cape to put it over me, she noticed the bulge in my shorts. “Hey, nice boner you have there. I don’t remember that happening when you were little.”

“Little help?” I asked playfully. Nancy reached down and squeezed my cock through my shorts.

“Mmmm. Nice. Maybe later. Haircut first.” Nancy threw the cape over me and smiling, grabbed a comb and a pair of scissors.

“Do NOT cut it short,” I said menacingly, “or there’ll be hell to pay!”

“Oooh, hell, I’m so afraid!” Nancy said mockingly. “I’ve been living with my mother, remember? What worse hell could there be?”

“I could make you move back in with her,” I said.

“How about I don’t cut it short?”

“Oh, that’d be great! Thank you very much.”

I closed my eyes, trusting my sister and wanting to luxuriate in this experience. Up until about a year ago, I’d always gotten my hair cut at a local barber shop – only men worked there, only guys got their hair cut there, there was a nice selection of old Playboys to “read” while waiting your turn. Unfortunately, the owner lost his lease after 10 years, and the next closest option was the chain salon. I didn’t pay too much attention to things like my hair, but I did think losing Playboy and gaining a pretty stylist with big tits had been a pretty good trade-off. Rather than just a task to get done, a haircut was now a sensual, tactile experience – one I’d come to really enjoy.