A Sister's Lovebymintabal3239©
"Did your brother force you?" asked the doctor.
"No" she said, "I seduced him."
It was at a marriage reception that Dr. Gopika, gynaecologist in a local medical college hospital, who knew of my interest in human sexual behaviour, told me about a diary of a former young patient of hers that she thought may be of value to me. The next day itself I collected the roll of loose sheets tied up with string.
It was not a diary really; the girl had jotted down certain happenings in her life on paper cut out from her old school notebooks. The girl wrote in Tamil in her print like hand. I present my translation hoping that I have managed to preserve the tone of her writing. Apart from excluding matter of no relevance to the story I have not tampered with the text.
* * *
12 Sep. 2002
I once considered as unrealistic stories and movies in which lovers crazed by unfulfilled love hold hands and jump off cliffs. Not any more. I now know there is no limit to what lovers can do when in the frenzy of their passion. I am afflicted. No, I am not thinking of jumping off cliffs. I want to do something even more frightening than that. Movie story writers will not dare deal with the theme of my affliction. The person to whom I have lost my heart is my blood brother. Incest they say is against nature. Religions prohibit it, and it is against law of this land. All very good reasons to steer clear of it, but I have no control over my feelings.
My brother loves me too, which is natural enough; but I do not know if is it just the deep love a brother has for his only sister, or I am in his sexual fantasies. Most of the time when he looks at me it does not affect me, but at times there is something in the look that sends a thrill through my body. If he were to call me at those times he pronounces my name Mahesh with an intonation that quite blows me over. Deep down I am sure he has sexual thoughts about me at those times. My greatest worry is that he might develop interest in another girl. The very thought of his being with another girl gets me tensed up. I will not allow that to happen, I won't.
I do not know how it started. I always loved my only brother as any sister would. In my eighteenth year he became the object of my sexual fantasies. Maybe all sisters hold their older brothers as their fantasy objects at some phase in their lives. In my case however it became more intense till it is now all absorbing. His image is in my mind's eye all the time. When I see a man's face in a poster the face changes to that of my brother. At times young men who come to my counter in the department store where I am a sales person look so like my brother that I smile at them in an intimate way. Some of these men get excited; I have put on a stern face to shake them off. I think of him and him alone while masturbating which I seem to be doing very often these days.
My brother, who at 23 is two years older then me, is quite ordinary looking: medium height and medium build with a somewhat flat face. His eyes are not particularly large but they sparkle. May be only I see the sparkle for he has not been doing too well in job interviews. He is a clerk in a shop selling bicycles. Nothing much, but better than driving an auto that my father did almost till a few days before his death. My job is better too than my mother's; she has been a top servant woman for as long as I can remember.
My brother is a gentle person. He always wants to help others. Everyone in our street likes him. We live in a crowded by-lane in Purasawalkam. Even by Chennai standards it is dense with people. The children call him Mano anna (elder brother) and the grown ups call him Mano thambi (younger brother). There are two girls in the houses opposite ours who have an eye on my brother. One of them is quite pretty. They are very friendly with me because I am his sister. Little do they know that I consider them my rivals and hate them from the bottom of my heart.
7 October 2002
I love Mondays. It is my off day. His office time is ten. My mother leaves at seven after preparing rice cakes for our breakfast. My mother and I are up early. We take our bath before the brother who is a late riser. He needs hot water. When I ask my mother why I do not get hot water for my bath (except on very cold days in January) she says that women must do with cold water. Ours is a society in which men get everything. When we have chicken for dinner my brother gets the drum sticks, one for lunch and one for supper. My mother and I have to do with the wings.
On Mondays I can watch my brother take his bath by peeping from an opening I have enlarged in the kitchen window. He takes his bath in the open. He wears a thin towel round his waist. When it gets wet it sticks to his genitals, and I watch with fascination. His scrotum is funny. Just before he pours water on himself I can see it hanging loose. As soon as he wets himself it becomes tight. The penis is a funny thing too. At times it is small and shrivelled, and at times it becomes thicker and longer. I believe the penis becomes thick and hard during sexual intercourse. I have not seen an erect one in man. I have seen it many times in the donkey of a dhobi who lives nearby. His donkey often strays into our area. Its cock becomes really long and thick. Once it was standing behind a female donkey and was nibbling its tail. Its cock was monstrous. I wanted to see how the cock goes into the female donkey's vagina. Then inexplicably the female donkey ran away. I was disappointed. It is funny isn't that the only two organs in the body that change visibly in shape are the parts of male's genitals. Does it mean that the male is more powerful than the female and is entitled to both the drum sticks?
12 Oct 2002
I can feel by the way a man looks at me whether he is just appreciating me as a woman or is eating me up with lust. I suppose all women get the feeling. With my brother I am not sure. At times I feel it is not quite brotherly appreciation of a sister. I wish he would look at me with lust that so many who come to my store do. I must be pretty for them to do so. My mother thinks I am the prettiest girl in the neighbourhood. I do not think so; the girl in the opposite house I have spoken about before is much prettier. I like to think that I resemble actress Snega. Her face I fancy is like mine, or rather the other way about. She is much taller though. All the girls I know think they resemble one actress or the other.
My brother likes actress Meera Jasmine. He has a picture of her stuck to the inside of his cupboard door. I approve of his choice. She is about my height and build. The actor I like is Vijay. My brother does not understand what I see in someone who looks like any young man in the street. I like him because he has a distant resemblance to my brother: size, body structure and shape of the head. The face is different. Like my brother Vijay is also slow to show emotion. I am able to relate to him. I cannot relate to a he-man like Vikram who is my brother's favourite actor.
Movies and movie songs are the only entertainment for most people in this country. We rarely visit theatres. It is too expensive for us. There are so many movies on TV each day in the many channels that one need not go to theatres to see them unless you want to see them fresh. I do not like TV serials. In an effort to end each episode on a high note the producers distort the stories. Moreover in serials most of the characters seem to be bad people. That is not so in movies, and certainly not so in real life.
I like love scenes. I used to think that only men want fight scenes. It is not so. Many women like it too. I close my eyes during the fight scenes, especially when Vijay is involved. I am disappointed with the way lover do their part in our movies. With all that paint on the face, and the lights and the heat, and the dozen technicians watching it is not easy to do love scenes realistically. I am not bothered if the actors are not doing it well. I imagine it is my brother and I who are making love and I do a very good job of it. At times I do it so well that I become very moist in my pussy and I have to wash myself.
25 Nov 2002
Today is to me a day that I have been dreading, but which most girls would be eagerly waiting for—a young man is visiting my home to 'view' me, an essential first step in arranging matches. It turned out to be the most memorable day in my life. The reason why it is memorable day has nothing to do with the man who visited. A week before I could sense that the day of 'bride viewing' was not far off. Mother was extra kind to me, and when our eyes met she smiled an oily smile. On Saturday we had chicken for lunch and surprise of surprises I got to eat one whole drum stick. Shortly after that she told me that the next day the boy with his parents and an uncle are visiting. I protested, but mother promised that nothing will happen without my consent. During the course of the day she told me about them apparently to get me into a receptive frame of mind. It seems the father and son are owners of a busy shop in nearby Tana Street, and that they own double storey brick house and not single storey partly thatched one like what we own, and so on and so forth.
"What harm is there in just allowing them a visit," said my brother. I had no choice but to agree.
They came an hour late. That was the custom. Later when we serve snacks and coffee the father or the uncle would say that they had coffee in a friend's house just before they came here. This was to give the impression that they had viewed another girl, and that we had competition.
I had to remain inside till called for. Of course I could see them from my hide. In this case there was only one young man in the party, but on occasions the girl will have the problem of decided which of the men was the hero of the day. My man was of medium height and lean. The mother did not seem formidable, and his only sister, a married woman, was not traditional sister-in-law material. Of the two older men I decided, for some unexplainable reason, that the fatter one was the uncle. It turned out to be so.
For some time the talk was about friends and relatives in the hope of finding a common friend. Mother then offered snacks which after the usual protest they accepted. She served jangiri, a sweet, and muruku, a savoury. They will of course eat with their fingers. The important point in tradition is that the items served should be so dry that there would be no need to wash hands. Washing hands is bad omen.
It was my duty to serve coffee. I dressed in my best sari, replaced my trinket ear rings for real gold ones, and my gilded neck ornament for real gold chain. Like all girls, whether willing or not for the arrangement, I came out in my very best. Therein lay an important point in female psychology—no girl likes rejection. At a signal from my mother I stepped in rather like a circus animal entering the ring. I carried a tray with coffee in stainless steel tumblers. I offered coffee to the father and the uncle and then to the young man. To serve women before the senior men was unthinkable. I did not meet the eye of the young man when I offered him coffee. The mother smiled and so did the sister. I rather liked the sister. They seemed pleased.
I did not have to face pressure from my mother to say yes to the offer. It was true that the father owned a shop and that his business flourished, but it was a shop selling Indian made foreign liquor, namely brandy and whisky. Selling liquor is not respectable, especially with my mother who had enough problems with a husband was never missed his daily dose of arrack, an Indian made Indian liquor.
We gave the usual excuse that I wished to do 'further studies'.
"Please leave me alone," I told mother. Later when I was alone in the room with my brother I told him not to bother me with more offers unless it is someone so like him that there was no difference.
"I that case I must offer myself," he said.
"That is what I dream of," I said. I met his eye and smiled coquettishly. He smiled a very loving and tender smile.
"Mischievous imp," he said and catching me by the head he kissed me on the
cheek. Brothers and fathers kissing grown up sisters or daughters is not the practice in our culture. This first kiss sent a thrill down my spine.
"What about the other one," I said. My voice quavered for I was trembling. He kissed my other cheek.
"What about this," I said pointing to my pouting lips. We then hugged and kissed on the lips as if we were lovers. As far as I was concerned we were indeed lovers from that moment on.
This bride viewing episode brought me to crisis point. If I let it drift my life would go waste. Life without my brother was not possible. I wept my eyes out. Early that morning came the realisation that self pity would not solve my problem. I had to take the lead; my brother cannot do that. I have to show the nature of my love for him in a way that left no room for doubt. The burden was solely on my shoulders. I steeled myself to the resolve that I would not shed any tears on this score from now on. I had to device some plan to declare my love for him. I mulled over it and came out with a plan.
18 January 2003
Birthday celebrations are not part of Purasawalkam by-lane customs. My mother tells me that in the house where she does top work birthdays are important. Cake cutting, candle blowing, and singing the birthday song are routine, and when it is a child's birthday the parents organise games to which all the friends of the child are invited. In the corporation school I studied birthday babies did not come to school with a bag of sweets to distribute to her classmates. Neither was birthday considered at home. I wanted to break new ground.
"Saturday is your birthday Mano," I said one morning. "I am inviting you to a movie."
"Hey, thank you Mahesh, but why this new form of celebration."
"To brighten our dull lives," I said.
I rode side-saddle perched precariously on my brother's two wheeler's tiny back seat. I held him tight by the waist. It I not often that I get a chance to ride on the back of his two wheeler (I do not have a licence to drive). It was a thrilling ride embracing my brother by the waist. I got the tickets at Abirami complex of theatres. We got in and took our seats.
I had chosen a movie that was only a few days to go before change. The few patrons were mostly young couples. This was what I had planned for. The couples have not come to watch the movie but cuddle and kiss and fondle.
"What are you looking for," asked my brother.
"For better seats."
"Are these not good enough?"
"Not for a birthday boy," I said. I found what I wanted and we moved there.
"I do not see anything special in these seats," said my brother. To our left two seats away there was a couple, and another couple directly in the row in front of us. This was what I was looking for. One or the other, or maybe both are sure to put on a show. That was what I was after. I of course did not explain that to my brother. I waited and hoped.
How long the couple two seats away in our row were waiting for this opportunity one knows not, but they commenced action even before the titles display was over. The girl leaned back and rested her head on his shoulders. His hand slid under her pallav. She must have undone the blouse buttons and was not using bra. From where we sat I could see his hand fondling her bare breasts, big ones. It was clearly a well practised routine. Mano was darting glances in their direction too, and I could see a bulge forming over the front of his pants. I was already wet.
I folded the arm rest dividing my seat from Mano's and slid towards him till our thighs and bodies were in contact. I folded my hands round his arm and rested by head on his shoulders. He tenderly brought his other hand round and rubbed my cheek and then my forehead and then swiped his palms across my face down to my neck. I moaned and nestled closer to him.
"Can you see the couple next to us Mano?" I said in a whisper.
"I can Magesh."
"Do you think it is proper?"
"Why not? Do you think it is improper? If so we can move to another seat."
"I like to see them that way. It is lovely. Do you think it is lovely too?"
"Yes I do."
"Would you like to do the same?"
"What a funny question."
"I would, of course. Which young man would not?"
"Then what prevents you."
"The girl is missing."
"What am I? A boy?"
"You are my sister."
"It's not done."
"Who said it?"
"It is generally known to be wrong."
"Suppose the sister wants it?"
"Desperately; passionately, please Mano darling do." I did not wait for his response. I had already undone the blouse hooks when I was sliding towards him. I was not wearing bra that evening. I turned my body partly away from him just as the other girl was doing, and taking hold of his right hand which was nearest to me I took it round my back and placed it on my bare right breast. I prayed that he would not be shocked and withdraw his hands and chide me. He did not. His soft hand on my breast produced a sensation that can only be described as delicious. His first touch was hesitant, but then he gained confidence and he gently played with my breast. My breasts, though not quite up to the level of our neighbour's, were quite an impressive pair. I pushed myself closer to him, so close that there was no more to go.
My blouse was open but covered by my loosely drawn pallav which I had left long for the occasion. I turned a little more to my right and reached for and took hold of his other hand and placed it on the other breast. Now he was fondling both breasts. Then his hand on my left breast wandered to my abdomen and went on to explore the space below the sari pleats at the waist. I had tied the sari somewhat loosely and when I tucked in my abdomen he was able to insert his hand under my sari. A brought my hips closer to him and soon he was on my pussy mound. I could feel his hand playing over the closely trimmed hair. And then he went further till a finger was on the clitoris. A thrill passed through me. I lifted one foot and then the other and spread my thighs. He played with my clitoris and went further down the slit, and then he took out his hand. I could see that his fingers were wet.
"It's heavenly." I said.
His hand was back on the breast. He pinched the tits, and then he kneaded the breasts. I moaned gently. I placed one hand on his thigh and pinched a large bunch of flesh. This went on for some time.
"Darling brother, you are doing so much for me should I not reciprocate?"
"See that girl." That girl was leaning back as if viewing the screen intensely but her hand as on her partner's crotch, and she was moving her hand up and down."
My brother must have been thinking on the same lines for he lent forwards and I threw my sari pallav over his thighs and unzipped him. With some assistance from him I got his cock out. I was monstrous. I held the shaft and then passed my hand over the expanded tip and then finally I grasped it close to the rose and started pumping. He meanwhile played with my breasts. In the excited state we were in it did not take much time for my brother to ejaculate.
"Magesh, take away your hand, I may spill."
"I want you to spill."
"Your hand will get all dirty."
"I do not consider it dirty. It is holy. Spill on me my darling brother, please, please." He did just that. It came in massive spurts and the warm fluid filled my fist and flowed on my hand. I soaked it all in my pallav. He did a bit of wiping with his handkerchief. He zipped and I lent back. I licked what was sticking to my hand. He turned to see me do that.