Date: Tue, 24 Apr 2012 07:52:31 -0400
From: Jacob Schwann <cobschwann@gmail.com>
Subject: 'Cob 'n Pen #01'{Jacob Schwann}(bi inc Fb Mb bg cons)[1!24]

Story;'Cob 'n Pen #01'{Jacob Schwann}(bi inc Fb Mb bg cons)[1!24]

This is a work of soft and slow erotic fiction (bisexual, incest), adapted
without attribution from personal, family, public, and other sources. It is
a pastiche of original material as well as revised versions of a number of
story fragments borrowed liberally from elsewhere. All of the characters in
this story are portrayed by adults 18 years of age or older. If reading
erotic fiction is illegal where you live, or if you are under age for
reading this type of material, or this is not what you wish to read, please
leave this page now.

Comments welcome
cobschwann@gmail.com

********************


Cob `n Pen #01

Summary: A brother and sister, Jacob (Cobby) and Penelope (Penny), recall
their first times in the 1930's by a patchwork of letters to a kind doctor
who helped them out of a jam.

Vignettes in this episode: Opening Remarks; Mom & Dad; And Sister Penny
Too; Washtub With Dad; Change the Baby Game.

>>> from JACOB (Cobby)
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OPENING REMARKS

Postmarked May 2, 1964, St. George's Eve
Dear Uncle Doctor
From JACOB

We have your kind letter in front of us, Uncle Doctor.

You saved our lives three decades ago in 1934, that night out at the
Hanging Tree near Mount Forest, when those Black Coat incest vigilantes
would have strung us up for sure.

You wrote and asked the two of us about our first times together back then,
all the dirty details. You must know that my sister Penny and I were always
really close; she was sweet toward me and I to her. She was my
body-and-soul girl. I called her my `guardian angel' as if she were the
oldest, although she was nearly 3 years younger than me. Even when we were
worst enemies I adored my sister. I liked to tease Penny and sometimes she
was a pain, but I always said someday I'd marry her. So we came to see and
touch, and I must say it, we loved. No fault, no choice, it just
happened. The real shock of it came later when we feared we might be
parted.

Uncle Doctor, you remember how mom and Old Aunt Elsa were forever chanting
from our Cainan Faith Community scriptures: "I charge you, O sons and
daughters of Mother Cainan, swear by the does of the field. Beware! Do not
arouse and awaken the searing love between sister and brother before its
proper time. Beware!" (Canticles of Cainan, 3: 5.)

Well, Penny and I got awakened and aroused pretty early on. Naturally, the
truth is that the sexual playfulness was always there. She and I started
doing things as kids and they just sort of spilled over into our teen
years. I was going crazy with puberty and was not popular at school, and
she had no taste for the rough and tumble social scene she was bound
for. So I first had sex with my own sister thirty years ago on this day,
May 2 in 1934, when she was 11 and I was 13. We did it a lot. It was a real
relief for us; it saved our sanity. I still ask, why isn't sex among
consenting family members legal?

Frankly, I don't know how best to tell what went on, how to spin the
yarn. Other writers have described it better than we can and I borrow from
them, cutting and piecing together to suit. So a lot of things that have
nothing to do with each other are put together here until they look like
something. Like a patchwork bedcover. These letters form a crazy quilt of
memories, akin to that old Schwann family quilt made of cast off
hand-me-down clothes that hung in our shared bedroom to keep my sister and
me apart – but didn't!  This is an assemblage of loving thefts –
stolen words about stolen moments – gradually piecing together our
original story. Yet this is all intensely personal; this is something we
surely know.

This is for you, Uncle Doctor.  Yours truly, JACOB SIGNET SCHWANN
**********

>>> from PENELOPE (Penny)

And here's my two cents, Uncle Doctor!

It wasn't that I started out trying to have a relationship with my brother
or anything. Sure I'd get into bed with him after our bath when we were
little. We were both naked, and played with each other for awhile. Jacob
was cute, there was no denying it; boyish and slender, with smooth skin,
blazing curly red hair, a charming smile.  I just liked him, like any girl
likes that special boy, if that helps explain it. Of course my brother
often infuriated me until I could kill him, but when it came down to it he
was all I had.

Cobby and I took our drawn-out course over the years, through small talk,
suggestive remarks, and feeding each other love food like cherries and
cream.  After certain polite evasions we arrived at a state of intimacy
where we pleasantly admired our bodies – and enjoyed them. The first
time I went to heaven was waking up to Cobby beside me with that smile on
his face! We were kids. It just could not get any better than that. Our two
bodies, bodies which had sprung from the same womb, were hugging; united in
a mating that felt so right and so natural, but which was at the same time
so forbidden. We knew instinctively that once we had become one in body,
there could be no going back. We didn't want to go back.

So, when you finally asked for our story, I was glad to give it.

Hugs and kisses, PENELOPE SIGNET SCHWANN **********


****** ****** >>> from JACOB (Cobby)

MOM & DAD Re: Shallow Lake parsonage, 1920 – 1933

As part of our wandering Cainan Faith Community, mom and dad shifted from
place to place in the Niagara escarpment, renting or squatting here and
there. Before we had to move down the old Garafraxa Road to Pike Lake
Crossroads near Mount Forest in 1933, our longest stay in Grey County was
at the ramshackle parsonage next to the burned out church up in Shallow
Lake. It was like something from the dust bowl, abandoned, broken down,
cramped and dirty, but it was a golden home of light to us.

The old family pictures show our dad as a fine-looking young man, with the
long muscles of an athlete, engaging and likeable. In those early years he
was a screwy young preacher who did not preach. He had stage fright and was
afraid of crowds. So he'd sit in our faded red parlor with the cracked
stained glass windows writing lively homilies about concupiscence and
aberrant biblical sexuality. He sold these as sermons for other Cainan
Faith Community deacons to preach.

Our dad Jesse defined his masculinity with an eager sexuality. There were
always flocks of exceedingly young boy choristers and very pretty girl
parishioners patting him and fawning over him; choruses of them.  All those
little kids who stared at him, brushed against him, wanted him shamelessly
after choir practice. He loved that. If our mom, Magdalena, was not around
he was unrepentantly involved with those boys and girls, few as old as 12
or 13.

When dad was not in a rest home or asylum, he was playful and fun and loved
to cuddle with us and look after us. I got his pale freckly skin, his
dancing, his strength and his snuggling instincts, and also his
fears. Penny inherited his wit and his singing. Our mom was beautiful, with
long black hair and rich bronze skin; Penny was like her that way. Our dad
was used to all the attention that I and other boys paid to our lovely mom,
had always been rather unperturbed by it, even amused.

"If our Magdalena has a fancy for young schoolboys," dad would say, "let
her take `em!"

On her typical bad days our sour mom was cranky and short with us. She got
the meals on the table, but it was as though she was not really there. Yet
her few good days were like lightning strikes. Bright, garish, hot; with
lots of hugging and kissing and giggling. On those days I would listen for
the squeak squeak squeak of the bed frame as I eavesdropped outside mom and
dad's bedroom in the mornings, peeking in, since they would not let me be
with them anymore like they used to. I remember that bed real clearly, a
big wide bed that sagged in the middle. When they were together like that,
giggling and grunting, the rusty box springs counted the beats. Squeak,
squeak, squeak.

It pleased mom that our dad was so much younger and she cried, "Yes Jesse!
Yes my good boy! Yes! Oh, yes!"

I listened for that sudden wet squish squish squish when our boyish blond
dad moaned and called out mom's name, "...Magdalena! Magdalena! Ah...,
Magdalena..."

Then I knew he was finished and I could take his place. On those bright
days my mom welcomed me into her bed while it was still warm and a bit damp
from our dad's being there. I could smell each of their bodies on the
bedclothes, and that other musty smell that made me feel something I didn't
understand. I shared mom's lazy toast and tea in bed, brought in by dad who
was annoyed to find this slight red-headed boy lying next to her where a
moment before he had been.

"Great Mother! Magdalena, can't you cover yourself up when you're around
Cobby? You're nearly naked!"

"Oh, Jessie honey. Jacob is just about to help me get dressed."

When dad left, I leaned forward and put my puny arms around her neck. Mom
held my face in her hands to push my curly red hair back from my ears and
kissed me. She had me rub lotion on her skin and massage her feet. I often
helped my mother get her clothes on.

"It feels nice to have a man dress me. And undress me."

I loved the bodily show of my mother, the flesh appearing through gaps in
her clothing, the outline of her body seen against her skirt. In those
early years my mom treated me like a young admirer. She bent over me with
her bosoms hanging within her dress, patting my cheeks. Even today I
picture my mom like I did when I was really small. To me she was a woman
larger than other women – vast, abundant, with her motherly curves
spilling out of her loose clothing.  I would dump over her clothes hamper
just so I could swim in her soiled clothing, writhing naked among them,
feeling the wrinkled cloth and smelling her deep forbidden scent. I dressed
up in her under things and she laughed. She hugged me and pulled me close,
rubbing her hands up and down my back.

"Mmm, you're smooth, so smooth Jacob," she murmured in my ear.

When mom laughed it was like the sky lighting up with fireworks. But she
rarely laughed. Actually she rarely touched me. Except for her bright
times. I clearly remember that one time after the tub. She was angry, I
thought. But it was because I had something she wanted.

"I can't," I had said and she'd wept.


****** ****** AND SISTER PENNY TOO Re: November 2, 1922

Our dad Jesse was very young, certainly not yet 18 and mom was about 29
when my little sister Penny was born. Penny-pea, that was dad's name for
her, arrived November 2, 1922 over at Old Aunt Elsa's little brick
farmhouse by Pike Lake Crossroads. I was not quite 3 but I do remember her
cheesy smell and squirmy strong legs. Penelope had a thick shock of black
hair right at birth which, dad joked, tickled our mom during the pregnancy
and made her laugh. Penny suckled at mom's breasts and mom seemed excited
to have me climb into bed with the two of them.

Mom whispered, "Come Jacob."

I snuggled up close, tucking in naked behind Penny, making spoons so her
little bare bottom rubbed against my hips. I could not help but notice
mom's breasts being loose. They were huge with large dark areas in the
center. I ran my fingers around the outer edges just to watch them swell up
and puff out. I sensed mom was getting stirred up. Every time I touched her
she sighed, and quietly pushed her hips against me.

"Slow, soft touches, Jacob baby," she whispered to me. "It feels good,
sweetie, to be close to someone this way."

I watched Penny feed and I licked up the dribbles that ran down from mom's
leaking nipples, joining in the mystery of shared flesh. I had fed at them
myself, and I clung to them long after I needed to, as did Penny. Many
mornings I did not even wash my face so I could smell her milky breasts
under my nose most of the day.


****** ****** WASHTUB WITH DAD

When our parents broke up for a while and lived apart for those long years,
nearly three years actually, my sister and I saw little of each other. I
was lonely and played alone on the tire swing, closing my eyes and
fantasizing that magically Penny would see me there, eyes still closed. She
would walk out there to the tire swing, saying nothing, and she would kiss
me lightly. I waited, but this never happened.

While mom was away with Penelope staying with her Signet clan of the
Norovum native people back in Newfoundland, it was just dad and me at the
church house in Shallow Lake. Being with dad was a favorite of mine, always
thrilling and even scary. Dad called it `Our Game'. In the side yard of the
old parsonage there was a galvanized tin watering tub behind the evergreens
where we washed up in summer. We didn't have any clothes on of course. He
was so tall and big. I know now he was not much more than 22, practically a
kid himself. But he was an enormous grown up to me, strong, and he had hair
on his legs and arms, fine blond hair that you could see more when he was
tanned and the hair was almost white. I was 9 and I remember standing in
the tub, in the water warmed by the sun, with lots of soap suds. I hugged
his sturdy legs and arms and we kissed a lot, licked each other even.

"We'll take turns," he said.

He made his hand all soapy and washed my back and hair for me, and stroked
the suds over my butt and between my legs, pulling me against him all wet
and slippery until it was hard to breathe. He stroked me for a long time
saying I was still too young yet. I wriggled against his slippery broad
back and slithered down his front and his legs over and over. I prized the
feel of his body, his firm, sleek, giving limbs. I loved it when he picked
me up and threw me around so I'd land on top of him, sort of rubbing me
over his, to me, huge penis. I told him it was like when I slid up and down
the clothes pole. It felt good and made me want to pee.

I took a washcloth to wash his body too. He flexed his muscles for me when
I washed them, and he stood up so I could do him between his legs. My eyes
opened so wide when we got stiff ones, his big big one and my tiny one.

"Dad, you are giant!"

"And Jacob, that's quite a boy's bone you've got there," dad would say and
I'd blush.

He had me get my hands all soapy and rub him. I was fascinated with the
loose skin pulled back exposing the round smooth crown.

"Yes son, just so," dad grinned.

My little hands slid up and down him until he'd erupt and splatter against
the tin tub and all over me. That frightened me somehow. His white stuff
clung to the head of his cock, and when the foreskin covered his knob it
got frothy.

"My creamy love juice," dad called it. "It shows I love you."

By the time we rinsed off dad had a hush-up talk with me, about how we had
to keep what we were doing secret. It was years before I understood that
our dad was the most desperate of closet pedophiles. He was obsessed with
his fantasies of sex with little boys and girls and equally obsessed with
public disgrace. He lived with the terror in his mouth, naked to every
stranger's glance.  When he heard a newsboy in the street yelling `Extra',
he shuddered with horror, imagining himself to have been recognized and
denounced. We never knew if he kept getting sent off to the insane asylum
because he was crazy, or he drank too much, or he got caught, or he was
simply scared.


****** ****** CHANGE THE BABY GAME Re: 1928 - 1929

Our little family finally got back together again at the Shallow Lake
parsonage. Penny and I hadn't time to develop that usual icky response
between sisters and brothers where familiarity breeds contempt, so it was
love at first sight for us. It was only then I truly realized that she was
a female. She was not like ordinary girls. Instead she spoke to frogs and
was the first to swim across the swimming hole, and climbed trees and moved
from limb to limb as easily as a squirrel. Penny looked out for me as if
she were the oldest, and spoke up for me when I got into trouble. When mom
went to look for Penny she always found me, and when she went to look for
me she always found Penny. We could not stay away from each other,
including crawling into each other's beds for sleep. We always took baths
together, until mom said I was getting `too big'.

I took care of Penny when dad got committed one summer and mom called on
him during visiting hours. We were playing tag in the side yard of the
parsonage. Penny had her long dark hair and scampered about in her undies,
not fat, even though I called her `pudge', more like round and sleek. And
of course I was all knobby knees and elbows, running around in just my boy
under pants and wild red hair. I swung endlessly on the clothes pole with
my legs wrapped around, sliding up and down. I kept telling her how it
tickled and made me want to pee, and when was she going to try? Finally she
stopped running and shinnied up and down the smooth wooden rod like I
showed her, and when she wanted to pee she said okay to our
`change-the-baby' game.

She flopped back on the mossy grass with her legs apart, giggling, with
just the tip of her tongue held between her teeth. I got the talcum powder
and dropped to my knees, pretending she was a baby and I was changing her
diapers, like before she and mom had moved away.  I pulled her undies clean
off so she was all bare. She was fresh and silky and giggled when I touched
her. I picked her legs up in the air and sucked on her toes like
piggy-goes-to-market. She laughed when I blew a puff of air over her
rose-bud butt hole. Sucking hard on her thumb, Penny threw her legs far
apart and watched while I got close to her kitty-pen. Her mysterious secret
creases opened like a flower, revealing a pink smooth space where the tip
of my finger could rock back and forth. My need-to-pee sense that I felt
rubbing against the pole nearly overwhelmed me then. I blew air from my
lips tight against Penny's tummy, my unruly reddish hair tickling her when
I did so. We collapsed in laughter as my mouth made the farting noises on
her, burbling her nipples and neck and forehead, moving over her body like
a hound dog humping a leg, or me polishing the clothes pole. Her skin was
cool and smooth and soft yet springy; it made me want to rub against her
even more.

"Burble me again, Cobby," she squealed.

I pressed my lips on her thigh and then against her gaping little `kitty'
place, her `pen' as we called it. It was warm and moist and textured just
inside, with a slightly salty smell and a taste of pee and seashore. I
puffed and blew. After a bit Penny let out a shriek of joy, as my gentle
playing with her kitty brought her to her pleasure, her `surprise' she
named it later. We did not know then that we could orgasm pretty much from
birth; that it only got stronger and more defined with puberty, but that
was what we were doing. Penny clung to me as the unfamiliar sensations
swept her away. Then she pushed me back and sat up to squat in the grass,
her pee welling up it seemed, spraying onto the ground.  She looked up at
me, highly pleased. I got my bullet-like penis out of my underpants, my
`cob' we named it, and let the pee go in an arc over the grass. Penny was
entranced. She tried blowing on my belly which tickled, but made scant
noise. I got the baby powder and sprinkled more on her. Then she played at
giving me a bath. The first order of business was to `clean' my face, then
my chest and belly, and gradually work down to my cob, my `king tinkler',
which by that time was stiff again. It felt good when she rubbed powder all
over me, and I mean all over me too. Even to this day I get excited by the
smell of baby powder.

So my sister and I learned a lot about our `sordid parts', our privates, my
cob and her pen, or our `blessed jewels' as elderly Cousin Max called them.

Yours truly, JACOB
**********
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<to be continued>