Date: Thu, 10 May 2012 08:03:36 -0400
From: Jacob Schwann <cobschwann@gmail.com>
Subject: Story;'Cob 'n Pen #04'{Jacob Schwann}(bi inc bg cons)[4!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 #04

Summary: A brother and sister, Jacob (Cobby) and Penelope (Penny), recall
their first times in the 1930's, by way of a patchwork of letters to a kind
doctor who helped them out of a jam. Vignettes in this episode: Green
Grotto; Hate Flirting; Rocket Art.

>>>JACOB (Cobby)
*
*
*
***********
Dear Uncle Doctor
From JACOB

GREEN GROTTO
Re: August, 1930

When I think back to the secret safe places of our childhood, the quarry,
the climbing tree, the church ruins where my little sister Penny and I went
to be alone, the most exciting was our Green Grotto. We often visited
immense Cousin Max and Old Aunt Elsa's place down at Pike Lake Crossroads
in the southern end of Gray County near Mount Forest. Small tundra swans
nested and wintered over on their farm pond. We would explore down the
abandoned Saugeen railroad bed, the rails having been taken up for scrap
during the War, and we collected the occasional iron spike along the
stream. Old Aunt Elsa, 90 years old at least, a dark, thickset woman all in
black, squat like a toad with a lowering countenance, gave Penny and me
snacks and wonderful hugs and sent us off with a warning not to swim in the
deep pool, a neighborhood swimming hole.  We climbed trees and the like
until we got hot, then I figured we could just go wading in our shorts. But
my kid sister Penny was the voice of authority and said that we should take
them off to keep them dry.  She looked sideways at me with that dangerous
smile of hers.

"Oh, wait. Penny, what are you...?"

"You want to see me nekked, don't you Cobby?"

I was half again taller, but Penny was ahead of me in so many ways. So we
hung our clothes on a hickory limb and came to a shallow part with a sandy
area and we skinny dipped, Penny in just her long black hair and me with my
wild reddish mane. We ran along the sand beyond the big pine, the legendary
Hanging Tree, to the ruins of the old stone mill. There we explored the
high rock arches that had once held it up, and Penny discovered a sort of
hidden leafy cave where a wall had fallen away, completely sheltered by
trees and bushes. The foliage was thick green pines with a sinewy hornbeam
tree growing up in the middle, and of course we climbed in underneath to
hunker down in the dry leaves. What with the sunlight coming through all
dappled and the sand so soft, this was our perfect secret Green Grotto, as
we called it.  Since we were in this heavily shaded area, it wasn't long
before the 'I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours' thing came up.

"Hey, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Some part of me was going crazy seeing Penny nude, and she was never shy
about checking me out in turn. I wasn't even 11 yet and had not started
puberty, but my hormones had. The idea of me showing a girl what I had down
there plus me seeing a real girl's `kitty' place up close made my dick get
super hard.

"Okay."

I got behind one stone pillar and she got behind the hornbeam tree. I
remember her hands on the muscular trunk as she peeked out at me.

We both stood there for a minute and then I finally said, "So who's first?"

"I don't know," she said shyly

"Well, you saw mine earlier skinny dipping, so you have to show me yours,"
I said.

"Okay, but you have to show me again. I didn't get a good enough look."

I nodded. Penny stepped out and stood there facing me and gave me a good
look. I just stared. Penny now had these stunted breasts that barely rose
in slight bumps from her body, with miniature pink nipples. My eyes could
not leave her hairless, tight, little kitty mound with the split in the
center. Naturally neither of us had hair, and I had to look close to be
able to see her kitty lips. She covered back up and turned sideways.

"Okay, now's your turn," she said.

I crept out and took my hand away and my hard on popped out. She had no
problem seeing mine. It was as long and hard as it had ever been; even more
so. This made her smile, with just the tip of her tongue held between her
teeth. Her eyes were all over my hard dick, and she looked at it for a
minute before I hid it again.

"Ooh Cobby, you have a nice one. It's different from when we were little;
and much different from dad's."

Then I asked her, "Can I touch yours?"

She answered, "If you'll let me touch yours. Here's my `pen'," she said
with enthusiasm, jutting her hips forward, "show me your `cob'!"

"Go ahead," I said boldly. "Touch!"

She squeezed my marble sized balls too hard and I yelled at her.  It seemed
dirty at the time, and we both snickered to each other. Then I stuck it out
and her hands were at my penis. She was running her finger tips along my
dick when my need-to-pee feeling urgently came once more and when I jumped
it got soft. It felt so good having her touch me there.

My sister coaxed me, "Cobby, touch me."

I was afraid. Here it was before me. I knew it. The image of it was etched
into me, from the times with mom and the Japanese `rocket art' book and the
change-the-baby games and exploring in the baths. Yet it was all so
different; here, now. Wonderful. I started feeling her kitty. It was warm
and pink, and so puffy on the sides, ripe or swollen, almost
bursting. Penny let me know when I was not doing it right. She took my
finger and told me to push harder.

"I've put things in there," she said in a whisper, "a little carrot and a
brush handle, but I like your fingers best."

I pushed at it. She seemed to like it when I touched her. It was like
pillows parting, and the tiny pee hole with its hood, I knew from the books
it was the urethra and prepuce. I touched the wet. It was moist and juicy,
like thick syrup from canned peaches.  We both were excited.  Penny wanted
to play house.

"As brother and sister?" I asked.

"No," she said. "As mother and father."

Of course we had seen mom and dad under the covers, and cows and bulls in
the meadow, and dogs and bitches in the barn, so we played at doing the
same, sort of. We took turns wriggling all bare on top of each other in our
Green Grotto, not having the details down. It was little more than nude
wrestling, but my hard on just got more so as we grappled. Then I felt that
exquisitely unpleasant fullness in my throat. I got terrified. The caption
from the old hometown newspaper picture came back to me, `Boy Lynched --
Commits Incest, Molests Own Sister.'  She was going to tell! They would cut
me down there! And hang me up in that tree with a rope! I could not
breathe.

Penny laughed nastily and said, "Let's do it some more!"

That was mainly to get me to go all pale and look scared again, which I
did. I pulled away. But to my surprise she said she had liked it and she
wanted to do it again. That was something I did not expect. But I did not
want to go home because I thought Penny would say what I did. I told her we
could not tell anyone. She did not understand why but she agreed to keep it
a secret. We then put our clothes on and headed back. Later, Old Aunt Elsa
seemed to know what she did not let on she knew. She was ancient and sat
with the two of us in the porch swing for a long time. She washed her long
braided hair with garden root, combing it with broom stalks. She always
smelled of the earth. She embodied the ancient village matron talking to
her grandchildren. There she was in her black woolen dress and old
fashioned bonnet; solid, placid and strong with her rounded rosy face well
fleshed and well boned, lit by her bright ox-eyes. Old Aunt Elsa used few
words.

She sat between us holding us in her arms and chanted a love song about
some ancient brother and sister fulfilling passion in a bed of green, "Take
me with you. Let us run away. Where shall we lie down at noon or midnight?
How right it is that your young sister loves you. Look at you! You are
handsome, my beloved brother, so pleasing to me! The leaf-scattered ground
will be our couch, our luxuriant bed of green. The cedars will be the walls
of our house. The firs and cypress will be our rafters." (Canticles of
Cainan: 1:4, 7, 16-17)

We watched the small tundra swans on the farm pond and fell asleep before
she got to any good parts. We kids were so close then. Nothing more
happened between Penny and me after the Green Grotto, and that was the last
time we played together, really. For a while.


******
******
HATE FLIRTING

Penny and I shared the chores and cooking and washing dishes of course; but
not without mortal battles. My kid sister was bossy, headstrong, pugnacious
and daring. She always organized our games, deciding what we should play,
and who had which character, judged our disputes and kept score. I was
fascinated by her and at the same time resented the way she dominated our
play. Of course I could spoil her games and make myself the center of
attention again simply by starting a fight. But that did not last long, and
she resumed control leaving me feeling baffled, defeated, angry, and yet
charmed.

By the time of my 11th birthday she declared me icky, and I considered her
a pain and wanted nothing to do with her. I yelled at her when she messed
up my room at the old parsonage, and she would tell our parents every one
of my many transgressions. So of course we had become typical brother and
sister, fighting, arguing, and eventually we became enemies. Penny and I
went our separate ways.  The only trouble with my sister Penny was, she was
still a bit too affectionate. There was usually some form of hate-flirting
going on.  For example, she always sat on my lap to listen to the radio
when we finely got one, and of course we always danced together when dad
sent new records from the asylum that he got from the nurses' aides.  Penny
was the world's best dancer.

When mom had breakfast ready, she would send Penny in to get me. She ran
into my room and jumped on my bottom bunk, bouncing around and teasing
me. In self-defense I grabbed her by the feet, pulling her onto the bed,
where I would get even by tickling her. We wrestled and rolled around
touching each other wherever. It was just a game. At some point, she
discovered the small tent rising where my thingy was. I seem to recall she
giggled, and then grabbed hold of it. I didn't think having some one grab
my dick could feel so good. This was some sort of naughty secret between
us. She understood it was a growing up thing. Girls got boobs. Boys got
stiffys. Usually it ended when I hopped out of bed to go pee.

On cold nights when our parents were out, she asked if she could get in bed
with me to stay warm. I thought nothing of it as she climbed under the big
down comforter. I kept my back to her and she shivered and pushed up to me
like we used to do spoons together. She was a real cuddler.

"Penny!" I'd yell, "Your feet are freezing!"

After a while she would ask me questions like what did I think of her and
what did the kids at school say about sex and did I remember our secret
Green Grotto. I asked her to stop at first, but she kept snuggling and
wanting to play. Stuff like that. We talked and we fell asleep. What can I
say? She was not like ordinary girls. Penny was somebody you always felt
like talking to.  She knew everything that was happening, and what she did
not know she made up. Sometimes she smiled or laughed out loud, mostly her
mouth just made a wondrous O. You should have seen her. Our Penny had this
impish face with a cute nose and shimmering dark hair like our
mom's. Sometimes she wore braids and sometimes she did not. In the
summertime she stuck it up behind her ears. She had nice pretty ears.

She was a great swimmer, a true baby otter, even when she was quite
young. Later she became the littlest one on the swim team at the Old Drill
Hall gymnasium pool when we had to move near Mount Forest. Under that pudgy
exterior she was actually kind of stringy and strong, not long and skinny
like me, but petite ice-skater or swimmer sturdy. She sprung cartwheels
with the best and wrestled me or anyone to the mat. She could do hand
springs. Of course I did those things too, but she was a girl. She was so
pretty and she was smart. She had all A's since she started school. That
was something I didn't do. I liked Penny. What I remember the most is that
everything changed when she walked in a room. The energy changed, the
atmosphere changed. She was `it'.

Like me, Penny did not have a whole lot of friends. It was sometime that
year that our Cainan Faith Community cousin Judith spent the night with
Penny, laughing and giggling together the entire time. The two girls fooled
around flashing their robes open to me. So I disgusted them by flashing
them the same way.  I grabbed Penny's bathrobe as a joke and she did not
have her nightie on under there, she was bare underneath, and I got a new
glimpse of her naked breasts which just had started to develop, sort of
puffy.  This completely aroused me and caused me to have a pretty obvious
erection.

"Oh, in love with your sister now?" Cousin Judith blurted.

"That's so hot...!" cried Penny. "Honestly, the idea of sleeping with
family is a bit more exciting since learning Greek myths and about Sigmund
and Sieglinde!"

Judith went on, "My mom and brother and me share a bath time. Just the
three of us take baths together and wash one other."

"Wash each other," I cried. "Like touch one another?"

"Yeah, they rub soap and hands all over me and wash me, then I do that to
them."

Penny smirked, sitting on the sofa not bothering to cover herself much with
her robe, "Does it feel good? Does your brother get hard?"

"Yeah, we love washing him. He says it feels really good."

"Does your brother make sperms?" Penny asked out of the blue.

I shook my head in confusion and got up to leave.

"Semen? Jiz? White stuff?" Judith nodded now, "Oh yeah, more than my dad
even, my mom says."

"How does she know?" Penny asked fascinated.

"When mom and I wash him," Judith answered truthfully with a smile, "he
cums a lot. A whole lot."

It was that night I can recall dry masturbating while thinking of all kinds
of sexual thoughts about my sister and cousin and her brother who was my
age and made boy juice already. As for me, I lived for the mail-order
catalog from Monkey Ward, the Christmas wish book. And boy, so to speak,
did I have wishes. I rubbed myself to pictures of boys my age, and younger,
and older. They posed quite suggestively in their underpants and
undershirts and pajamas. I thought how they'd moan if I took their penises
in my mouth and sucked a little, surprising them. Then their young bodies
would twitch and convulse with real orgasms and the older ones would have
sperms. Of course I knew from an early age that playing that way with boys
was wrong, even in fantasizing.


****** ****** ROCKET ART

I remember when Penny and I would sneak into dad's side of their bedroom
closet to get the book out. It was what we at first called `Japanese rocket
art', which was actually `erotic art'. There were old woodcut pictures of
strange people holding each other. You could see the women's breasts and
hairy privates all swollen. And the men's penises were like overgrown
summer zucchinis; huge and red with a grand gumdrop on top. One night I
slipped into the closet and was looking at it all by myself, having pulled
my pajama bottoms down to rub myself. Suddenly there was my kid sister
Penny crouched beside me in her nightie.

"Penny! What the...? Why don't you just turn away and let me get my pj's
back on! And as your big brother I don't think its right for you to see
this stuff anymore."

Penny positioned herself right next to me on piles of shoes and fallen
clothes in the bottom of the closet. I gulped when she stuck her hand under
her nightie to finger herself.  I felt the blood rushing to my cock again.

"Shh!," she said, ignoring me as if I were but an errant boy. "Go ahead. I
won't bother you. I'll be quiet. I just want to see the pictures."

So I propped the book on my belly to sort of hide my slow rubbing under the
pj's, and we studied the images together, noting this and that. One of them
was a creepy drawing of a fisherman's wife who was naked and dreaming
excitedly in her sleep as the tentacles of one octopus rubbed her breasts
and another octopus kissed her pee-place.  My sister pointed to a girl with
a big man behind her, his elephant dick rubbing between her legs along the
outside of her kitty-pen, as we called it. We giggled a lot. Penny turned
to the picture of a small boy, a very young nude monk, who was crouched on
the back of a really tiny naked girl on her hands and knees. You could see
his swollen penis up inside the girl, like they had been cut in half,
pushing at the womb and peeing white in her and she looked all surprised
and happy, but with tears in her eyes. A favorite page that Penny and I
often went back to showed a circle of boy-monks surrounding one little
girl. The boys had their penises out and were merrily sticking one another
in the bottom or sucking each other with their mouths. The smallest
boy-monk was in tears and being held by some others on top of the even
tinier girl who smiled. They were holding his little stiff penis in her
crack and laughing. The book was funny and it made us tingle and we kept
looking at it a long time without saying anything.


***

In the back of the Japanese rocket art book were those legendary news
clippings which I would look at every now and again. One had been torn out
of a magazine and summarized the story of our own Cainan Faith Community:

++++++++++

"CAINAN FAITH COMMUNITY"

"The odd folks of the strange Cainan Faith Community were originally
Nordik/Viking peoples who hailed from Scandinavia by way of Normandy,
France, (derived from "Northmen" or "Norsemen"). They drifted to the
Terre-Nova (Newfoundland) of what became Nouvelle-France (Canada) perhaps
as early as the 10th century, with another influx in the late 16th and
early 17th centuries. They were taken in by the paleo-Indian Norovum native
peoples (precursors of Mi'kmaq?) in l'Acadie (Nova Scotia, etc.) and along
the St. Lawrence River. They followed the traditional practices, believing
themselves to be the children of the biblical Cain and hence outcasts. They
were accused of being `eaters of their own blood', that is committing
incest and becoming life mates with the closest family members. Their
heathen ways and bizarre consanguineous rites led to The Great Persecutions
which drove them first south into the Green Mountains (present day Vermont)
in the 18th century, and then north again in the 19th to be dispersed in
vastly diminished numbers across the Niagara escarpment of Ontario. They
settled there in scattered households and clung to the old ways at their
peril. They continued to be stalked by the feared `Black Coat Moral
Society,' a self-proclaimed ultra conservative religious alliance dedicated
to eradicating the behaviors of the Cainan Faith Community peoples and
others."

++++++++++

There was also a copy of that infamous hometown newspaper photograph, brown
and brittle from 1906. Many years later I saw it reprinted in Life
Magazine, the image forever etched on my brain. It was a night picture
showing the old stone mill near Mount Forest lit by a bonfire with leering
vigilantes in black coats looking at the camera. There in the foreground
was the Hanging Tree, the great pine tree with a big branch. And up close a
naked boy hanging limp from it by a rope, his privates cut and mutilated,
the blood black down his legs. He had been hung by his neck until dead. I
was not a great reader, but this one always grabbed me.

The caption said: "Boy Lynched -- Commits Incest, Molests Own Sister."

We understood that the boy was Josiah Schwann, our very own grandfather who
had died young. What my sister and I did not yet know so intensely was the
hatred of some oh-so-proper and prudish townspeople in the escarpment
counties toward us Cainan Community wanderers. A hatred so deep that we
questioned if every righteous person in the county, when they planted a
tree, did not see one of us Cainan folks hanging from the branches. I was
to learn that these morality lynchings had been almost a way of life in our
region. Over the 50 years previous to our grandfather's execution, 11 had
been viciously put to death. Lynchings were not merely public hangings, but
community ceremonies where the Black Coats, frenzied men, women and
children, inflicted unspeakable cruelty on their helpless victims. Later I
was shown the manacles nailed into the bark where two handcuffed Cainan
community cousins had been chained to the Hanging Tree, mutilated with
burning sticks, doused with gasoline and set fire. It was a shabby
reversion to primitive brutality.

I got scared and we hid the book and ran. But I went back many times to
look at that picture, and another old postcard of the boy, hanging by the
neck, blackened from being burned. On the back the crude printing said, "He
dangled beneath a tall pine. He'd been stripped and bound and was swinging
slowly by the neck, naked as the day he was born. He'd fought, kicking and
struggling, as the noose tightened around his throat. We watched him
dangle, his pale skin turning dull red by the flames."

Once I went through a box of old letters, papers and stuff in the closet,
when I pulled out an envelope that had some bulky objects inside. I opened
it up and out slid a broken knife blade and a piece of rope. The rope, a
note said, was from Mount Forest's only lynching, kept as a grisly
souvenir. The knife, in faded black ink written on the blade, was labeled
`T. H. Davy, Sheriff' along with the date "September 1 -- 2, 1906." I
thought perhaps it was the knife used to cut Grandfather Josiah down. Or
used to cut him up. In another envelope there were some clippings, and the
words never left my mind once I read them.


++++++++++
"MOLESTER IS LYNCHED AT MOUNT FOREST"

"Brutally Attacked His Own Sister"

"Special to the Mount Forest Confederate, September 4, 1906:

"Josiah Schwann, the 15 year old boy who attacked and viciously raped his
younger sister near here last July, was found guilty by `Judge Lynch' and
therefore hanged by a mob outside of town after midnight on Saturday night,
once it was learned that a bastard child had been born of the unholy
union. About 40 men were in the party. The lynching was conducted in a
quiet fashion."

++++++++++

There was also an undated typewritten essay from a later time, a smudged
and faded carbon copy on crinkly paper:

++++++++++
"THE MEN OF OUR BLACK COAT SOCIETY HAVE WREAKED VENGEANCE"

"Words to describe the awful torture inflicted upon the deviant Josiah
Schwann cannot be found. One witness noted, `When he said many times that
he did no wrong, his clothes were torn off piecemeal and scattered in the
crowd, people catching the shreds and putting them away as mementos.' "

"Others at the scene provided a more detailed account, telling how: `The
pervert Schwann was stripped of his clothing and a rope placed around his
neck. He never denied the abominable deed, but shouted instead: --I did no
wrong! --We did no wrong!' "

"A sympathetic observer wrote that when the 15 year old was left nude, many
in the crowd suddenly craned their necks to see: 'This striking young man
drew the fixation of all. He stood defiant, not cowed by public nakedness
as he was to be by the cruel and extreme torture awaiting him. Tall for his
tender age with dark hair, high cheekbones, piercing eyes, a well-formed
youthful physique and a proud air -- he could have led the finest cavalry
charge. Surely our maidens and matrons may even now keep bits of his hair
or clothing or even his skin in a sacred envelope or pressed between the
pages of a small private bible. Perchance they lament the lack of their own
brotherly amours, and they may yet whisper in the privacy of their dressing
rooms that the affair was less an execution of a grotesque monster, and
more the martyrdom of a comely if lubricious paladin.' "

"The report goes on: `They brought up the defiled little girl, the sorry
lad's very own younger sister, a child herself, with the issue from that
perverted union, their infant swaddled in her arms.' A pious commentator
noted, 'The babe was truly her brother's seed, and the Black Coats might
better have put it to death along with Josiah, and few would have condemned
them. For bastards are common enough, but incest is a monstrous sin to both
old gods and new, and the children of such wickedness are named as
abominations in church and chapel alike.' "

"The sympathetic observer continued: 'Few saw the unfortunate brother look
at his sister and fewer heard his words murmured to her, --You are my girl,
are you not? You are my favorite girl in the whole world! --Yes, I am!, she
answered. We saw young Schwann's final salutation, a nod of his head, down
and then up, toward her. I had not known that any gesture could be so
eloquent of farewell. The girl and child were quickly led away into
hiding.' "

"Apparently she had been forced to attend the lynching, the observer noted:
`As a scare tactic to put all of her kind from the Cainan Faith Community
in their place. After this, the girl would not venture out for many many
months.' "

"Another attender told that: `Someone sent for an iron pincer and Schwann's
testicles were placed therein and mashed to a bloody pulp. As a knife was
applied his shrieks for mercy could be heard clearly by those present.
Some reported that he screamed, --Where the h*** are my b***s? What did you
do?' "

"Others said that: `the crowd piled all kinds of combustible stuff around
him, poured oil on it and set it afire. Many people turned away, but the
crowd still looked calmly on. People were there from every county around.'
"

"From another eyewitness account: `I watched a boy, Josiah Schwann, burned
at the Hanging Tree outside Mount Forest, Sunday afternoon,' he wrote. `I
stood in a crowd of 100 people as the flames gradually crept nearer and
nearer to the helpless boy. I watched the blaze climb higher and higher
encircling him without mercy. I heard his cry of agony as the flames
reached him and set him on fire. --Oh Great Mother, Oh Great Mother, he
shouted. --I did nothing wrong. We did no wrong. Have mercy.' "

" `Nowhere was there a sign of mercy among the members of the mob, nor did
they seem to regret the horrible thing they had done. Many of the Black
Coat men were shrouded in full black capes cut from a shiny oil cloth
fabric that reflected the flames. The young boy had supposedly sinned
against the morals of their society, and he died a death of torture. The
women thronged to look, and as the song said, --Nary a one showed sorrow in
her eyes of steely blue. And little lads, lynchers that were to be, danced
round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.' "

++++++++++


And the final clipping:


++++++++++
"MOLESTATION and a LYNCHING"

"A Mob In Mount Forest Lynch A Boy For Incest Rape -- `Suicide' is the
Coroner's Verdict

"Coroner's Report: The coroner's jury held an inquest today in the case of
Josiah Schwann, who was lynched last week for committing incest. The
verdict was that he came to his death by suicide." (The Mount Forest
Confederate, September 11, 1906)

++++++++++

In fear, I cried myself to sleep over all this for many, many nights. I had
nightmares about it. The idea of being cut up and hanged terrified me.

I must never ever touch my sister!
Yours truly, JACOB SCHWANN
**********
*
*
*

< to be continued >