Shelly’s Secret Chapter 4

Shelly’s Secret

Chapter 4

(Incest, Voyeur)

By Greg

“This is the final chapter in the Shelly’s Secret series. All individuals were over 18 when this occurred.”



Readers of my story always seem interested in the first time I got to do my sister. In some ways, it is easy to write about because the memory is so vividly etched in my mind. It is also difficult because of the personal nature of it. I had never planned on sharing this, but due to the constant requests, here it is.



It had been almost a year since I started spying on Shelly. My own sex life was centered vicariously on enjoying her sex life. As I mentioned before, I had tried to have a go at her almost right off. I’m not sure I knew all of her reasons for not letting me do her, but I respected her decision and never pestered her about it. I felt darn lucky just to be a spectator to her wild antics.

This all happened during the following summer. My grandmother was still around then. She still lived on the farm where our mom had grown up. It was about thirty miles away. There was some problem with her drinking water well having gone bad. Even though I had a great-uncle who still ran livestock on the property, Mom felt we should all go up there for a few days.

Grandma’s farm was a split section of a larger farm that had been subdivided among family members. Grandpa had about 60 or so acres of it. The remainder was divided among two other brothers. One shared the property line and still farmed and ran cattle on Grandma’s portion. This worked well for all because he also maintained the barn, mowed the grass as needed, and checked in on Grandma.

We all went up for the weekend and were to stay a few days into the week. I had been helping my dad all weekend, doing odd jobs. On Monday, Mom and Dad were going to take Grandma into town. They had to arrange for some repairs to the water system. Shelly and I chose to stay at the farm. The small town had nothing of interest for youngsters anyway.

It was late June, and days were already hot by the afternoon. Shelly and I had planned to go fishing down at a small pond out past the barn. The pond was actually a dammed-up creek where cattle were watered during the driest times of the year. It was a picturesque setting. Tall marsh grasses surrounded the water’s edge. Mature birch trees lined the original creek bed. There always seemed to be a breeze there. White pieces of bark often fell onto the surface of the pond and sailed like little boats until they ended up stuck on the banks. There was a narrow path beginning just past the barn. I guess the cattle had worn this route. We had to pass through a small field and a couple gates to reach the pond.

Shelly and I had gotten a late start. It was probably past ten o’clock. We stopped at the barn along the way. I needed to find a shovel to dig for worms. It was a maze of rooms on the ground floor, but Grandpa’s tool room was just inside the door. The barn was still used as a shelter for the cattle my great uncle kept, and it bore the intense smell of manure and the musky odor of stored bedding and feed kept up in the lofts.

I located a suitable shovel and found a promising dig site back outside. Shelly was still nosing around in the barn and must have been checking out the youngest calves. I finished my dig and had a reasonable supply of thick worms. As I headed back in to return the shovel, I caught sight of Shelly over near the stalls. Several cows were nursing their young. I asked if she was still interested in fishing or not. She immediately jumped down off the gates and headed over towards me.

Near the door, we passed a large, striped animal blanket. It was hung over a stall rail. Shelly grabbed it. Just outside the door, she snapped it, shaking off the dust, then folded it a couple times and tucked it under her arm. I carried the poles, bait, and a metal bucket, and we headed off.

Shelly led the way to the pond. She was barefoot, which was her usual. She had on a red and white plaid sleeveless shirt and was wearing her favorite jean cut-offs. Mom would scowl each time Shelly tried to wear them. They were an old pair of faded-out jeans that Shelly had cut off herself. Of course, they were very short, and after repeated washings, the loose fringe at the bottom began creeping up to where the bottom of Shelly’s butt was just about visible. Mom had been threatening to throw them out for some time.