Portia's Gift

Anyway, getting back to our story… That's how it was our first semester at university. Not that we were 'sex fiends' or even mildly obsessive about our intimacy. Quite the contrary, we were there to learn and to swim; well, maybe not in that order. The point is, we were focused on our respective academic goals: for Vivian, architectural design, and engineering and journalism for me. We also understood the value of maintaining high academic standards in light of our scholarship requirements. Unlike a lot of students who seemed to be majoring in getting drunk or finding their next hook-up, Vivian and I didn't have (or want) much of a social life. Of course, we didn't need much of a social life since we had one another.

We also had, as anyone who's ever played a team sport will tell you, our teammates. Some people find it hard to conceptualize swimming as a team sport. While it's true that as a swimmer or a diver you often perform as an individual, swim meets are won or lost on team effort. And that means getting to know everyone's strengths and weaknesses. It means trust and honesty and friendship. So even though as freshmen we were near the bottom of the pecking order, Vivian and I made our share of friends.

And it's at this point where the next very important tile in my life's mosaic was set. It turned out that while I had excellent working relationships with my male teammates, and enjoyed being around a few of the guys outside of swimming, I really liked being around Vivian and her friends from the women's team. In a way, I guess it was inevitable. For the last ten years, my best friend had been a girl. I simply found it much easier to relate to women than to men.

Frankly, most of the men I met at university were assholes who wouldn't know how to really love and care for women if you spelled it out for them in crayon! They were either in self-destruct mode or fixated on their future careers. Maybe because I'd been in a loving relationship for the last decade, I could see at age nineteen that what a person did in life was no more than a means to an end… a tool to provide a stable place for love to flourish and grow. I also knew from my father's demise that life should never be taken for granted.

Because of that outlook, my attitudes about women were very different than most guys. And thanks to years of practicing with my sister, I knew how to interact with girls without becoming distracted by their bodies. (That I was on the receiving end of so much sexual satisfaction also helped.) All in all, it added up to me getting accepted into their little clique as "just one of the girls" as Miranda said once. The phrase stuck immediately, but I didn't care. Suddenly, instead of having one sister, I had six slim, athletic and beautiful sisters around me at all hours of the day. And, yeah, I did notice their tight bodies. I just wasn't distracted.

That's another thing about swimmers you should know: we are heavily into our bodies. Most athletes are, but swimmers, like dancers, are unusually carnal. Not carnal in the lust sense, although that's sometimes the case, but in a more general sense. I guess what I really mean is that swimmers notice and appreciate things about a person's body in the same way that a lover of sports cars might notice and appreciate something about a Ferrari or a Pontiac GTO.

More because I was a fellow swimmer than I was "one of the girls", I could go up to any one of my female teammates and touch her on the leg or the back and comment about a tight muscle or a way to improve a particular technique. Far from being anything sexual, it was a very clinical gesture and was accepted in that vein. During that first year, it got to the point where I could be the giver or receiver of muscle rubs from any of the girls. From my point-of-view, anyway, such an act was never a prelude to sex. It was, however, an act of deep friendship. Miranda, however, wanted to be more than friends…

I remember like it was yesterday the time Vivian began talking with me about a conversation she had with Miranda earlier that day. We had just returned to campus from our Christmas break and were trying to settle back into our school routine. I noticed that Vivian was unusually quiet during our evening meal but hadn't a clue why.

"Miranda has the hots for you, Peter", Vivian said in the same way another person might note that tomorrow's weather called for rain.

"How do you know, Viv?"

"She asked me today if you were gay."

Well, at hearing that I just about swallowed my tongue instead of the last bite of my salad! After about ten seconds of me staring at my sister, I finally rediscovered my voice.

"My God, Viv, what did you tell her?"

"I said that I doubted you were considering that you had been 'plowing my field' for the last five years."

Sometimes I have a difficult time telling if my sister is pulling my leg or not. The blood must have drained away from my face because Vivian suddenly broke into a wide grin, tossed down her book, hopped up onto her feet and plopped herself down on my lap.

"Relax, stud, I was just joking. What I really told her was that back home I had heard you were a gentle lover who always treated his girlfriend with the utmost respect."

"Who told you that!?"

"Mom," Vivian said with a calm, sure voice.

As I again looked at her with incredulity, I somehow knew that this time she was telling the truth.

"When…" I barely got out…

"Last August, right before we left for college. She pulled me aside and told me that she knew all about our lovemaking – that she had in fact known about it for years. I asked her why she never demanded that we stop and she told me she had stumbled into one of our sessions and was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of how we loved one another… She also said that it reminded her of how she and dad used to make love. Then she went on to say those nice things about you. The only worry she had was about me getting pregnant, you know, my being allergic to the pill… she wanted to know if we were using condoms."

"Did you tell her the truth, Viv?"

"What I told her was that you have excellent control of your ejaculations – which is the truth – and that I had been keeping very close track of my cycle since I was fifteen – which is also the truth."

I rolled my eyes and groaned in realization of what I was hearing. Now my mom's cold and somewhat brusque attitude toward me over Christmas made perfect sense.

"What I didn't tell her, " Vivian went on to say, "was that I love to feel you blast my cervix with your thick, warm sperm – which is the most important truth!" (At this she giggled and began to rub my thickening cock through my sweatpants.)

If you haven't already guessed it by now, my sister can be a tease. Not in the modern, blue-balls, sadistic sense, but a tease in the classic, prime your pump, "Lookie at what you're about to get, baby!" sense of that word. She uses teasing as foreplay rather than as a disingenuous ploy to avoid dealing with her own intimate desires. Vivian's verbal, sexual gymnastics came from a deep well of honest love for me. And believe me when I say that I wasn't blind to the great gift that this represented. I knew guys who were victims of the other kind of teasing designed to control, disrespect and, ultimately, castrate a man. I saw their situations and I knew what I had in Vivian: authentic love. I guess that's why I wasn't at all surprised when she abruptly shifted gears and got right to the truth of this situation.

"Peter, sweetheart," Vivian continued, "Miranda's gonna be here in about fifteen minutes to seduce you and get you to, 'fuck her to the moon', as I think she put it."

I could see the moisture begin to collect on Vivian's lower eyelids: not tears of sadness, but of fear. In fact, both of us had feared this day, knew it would come eventually: the day when one of our friends would confide in us, telling us just how sexually attracted they were to our sibling. None of my high school buddies ever tried it with me because they all knew I would have beaten the shit out of them if they had. But now we were collegians with a whole new crop of friends; friends like Miranda Lewis who was much bolder than any of Vivian's girlfriends back home. As her tears began to descend, and as I wiped them away with my thumbs, all I could think of was Vivian's most important truth between us: she loved for my sperm to be in her vagina. It epitomized exactly what we were to each other: husband and wife.

"Well, Viv, she's going to be greatly disappointed!"

Vivian smiled at me in the most loving way I think she had ever achieved up to that time, and then dropped her bombshell…

"No, she's not, Peter," Vivian said as she stared into my shocked face. "You are going to make love to Miranda the same way you make love to me. You're going to do this because she already suspects that there's something going on between us."

Now I could feel the tears begin to form in my own eyes; fear again the motivator. In my own case, it was fear of exposure; fear of arrest and eternal separation from my love. It took me about thirty seconds to translate a coherent thought into actual speech.

"How could she suspect anything, Viv?" I said with alarm, "We're too well-practiced in public. No one else has ever hinted at our living arrangement as being anything but platonic. Miranda's bluffing!"

"No, Peter, she really suspects that we are more than siblings to each other. And I'm afraid that it's my fault that she does."

"What happened?" I said, as she continued to lightly stroke my now limp member.

"In the shower this morning… after practice… we were by ourselves and Miranda asked me how I managed to keep my pussy completely bald. Peter, I'm so sorry. Her question caught me off guard and I didn't even think before I responded. Miranda said it in such a casual way, and we've gotten to be such good friends…"

"You told her I did it for you…"

Vivian just nodded and closed her eyes as the faucets began to flow in earnest. She hugged me tight and sobbed on my shoulder. I cried, too, and rubbed her back, and then taking her head gently in my hands I brought her back face-to-face.

"It's ok, Viv. I just wish I could have seen the look on Miranda's face at that moment!"

"Yeah," my sister responded with a smile, and now wiping away her own tears, "she was shocked! But, Peter, she was very excited, too. Her nipples got all erect, and I mean like right now! And I could smell her pussy. All that just from the thought that you get to see and handle my privates on a regular basis!"

"Ok, Viv, I can understand why anyone would be shocked. But, how did Miranda go from shocked to suspicious?"

"Well, naturally she asked if I, you know, returned the favor."

Now I looked at my sister as if to say 'No, you didn't!'

"What was I going to say, Peter? 'No, Miranda, Pete doesn't shave his pubes!' She sees you in a Speedo practically every morning, for Christ sake! She knows you shave… and, I don't think she would have believed me if I had lied."

I looked at Vivian and then did the only thing I could: I kissed my sister very passionately on the lips, making sure to use lots of tongue just the way she likes it. When we came up for air, Vivian again returned to her teasing ways.

"She asked me how big your cock was, Pete, and I told her!"

"You told her, huh?"

"Yeah, I told her all about your eight, thick inches," Vivian said as she reached into my sweats and grabbed hold of my manhood, "That's when she asked me if you were gay. I already told you what I said in response. But what I didn't tell you was the look in Miranda's eyes. Peter, it was like she was watching us make love in her mind! For a split second, I thought she was going to ask me straight out if you ever fucked me with it, but then the moment passed like she already knew the answer. So, instead, she asked me – like she needed my permission – she asked if she could come over tonight at eight o'clock and screw you silly."

"What did you say, Viv?"

"What could I say, Peter? 'No, bitch, that's my man you're talking about screwing! Back off!' I stumbled over my words but then said something to the effect that you were going to be home tonight and that I thought you liked her a lot. I think I also told her to go for it…"

"Is that what you really want, Viv?" I asked with great gentleness, "For me to make love to Miranda… for her to 'go for it'… for Miranda to feel my sperm in her pussy?"

I know what you're thinking… that last bit was really cold of me to say. But I needed to get Vivian focused on the real problem and it wasn't Miranda. It was us – our relationship. I have to give Vivian her chops, though… she easily could have lost it again, but it was almost eight and so she kept herself focused on my question.

"I'm your sister, Peter. What I want in this regard doesn't matter."

"That's just plain bullshit, Viv, and you know it." I said, with mild irritation.

Then I said something that I'd never before told her…

"You're my wife! Are you telling me that it doesn't matter to you that another woman wants what has been exclusively yours for the last five years?"

The look on Vivian's face was priceless… like she had suddenly figured out how to use advanced algebraic equations or the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle.

"Your wife? Peter, is that really how you see me?"

"Committed, remember? Yes, of course! And you're about to let your husband commit adultery with one of your friends… with your encouragement, no less! So, I'm asking you again; is that what you really want me to do?"

Vivian let go of my now turgid dick, brought her hand out of my sweats and rose to her feet. She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time, and I knew that I'd finally gotten through to her.

"No, not really. But if it means that we get to stay together, I'm willing to let Miranda 'borrow your services' as it were. Do you want to fuck her, Peter?"

"Viv, I'd be lying to you if I told you that I wasn't sexually attracted to Miranda. I am. She has a beautiful body and a bright mind. I think of her as a good friend, almost like she's another sister! But…"

"And we both know just how you love your sister, Peter!" Vivian said with a teasing sarcasm.

"Come on, Viv! For cryin' out loud… will you please be serious, here? If what you've told me is true, Miranda will be here any minute!"

"I sorry, Peter. But in my own way I am being serious. If your feelings for Miranda are in any way like your feelings for me, then you should make love to her, and I should let you. Peter, it makes me very happy to know that you see me as your wife. What that tells me is that you have the deepest love and respect for me and for what we have together. And even though we'll never have a wedding or even a marriage certificate, I also know there will never be another man in my life. You are the only husband I'm ever going to have, but maybe you can be someone else's husband, too."

With that, Vivian helped me to my feet and wrapped her arms around me. She leaned in and gave me a long, slow kiss on the lips. When we broke away, we heard Miranda's knock on our apartment door.

"Showtime! I'll get it." Vivian said as she released me from our embrace.

I quickly grabbed my dirty dishes and put them in the sink. I remember being as nervous as a cohort of cats at a police dog convention. Here was the most important person in my life about to open up our apartment door – and our lives! – to a woman and a situation that I didn't think I was ready for. And, by that, I'm not referring to the potential sex with someone new. Miranda was, and still is, the most energetic banana in our crazy bunch. It's not just that she liked living on the edge; she had to let everyone know about it. And she was super-competitive to boot. It's what made her one of the best undergraduate swimmers in the Big Ten in our day. And that's also what made my stomach turn cartwheels.

Twenty years ago, Miranda had the kind body that most college guys lusted after. I was there myself, except that I was constantly satisfying my libido with Vivian. Frankly, my sister was more than enough woman for me; as I was just about to tell her before Miranda's arrival. Now it hit me that at least one girl other than my sister found me desirable. I'd never before been anyone's sex object, except for Vivian's.

To make matters worse (if that were even possible) Miranda was a sophomore. She was twenty; a little more than a year older than me. And I knew from listening in on her conversations with the others girls in our group that she had a lot more sexual experience than I had. Furthermore, Miranda didn't graciously suffer fools. She had a long list of idiot boyfriends and one-night-stands to prove it, too! How the hell was I going to be able to keep from being just another notch on her gym bag strap? I saw only one way to keep my head above water with her, and for a swimmer, that's a constant worry. If in fact we needed to be, Vivian and I were going to have to be completely honest with Miranda. And it would have to begin right now.

"Hi guys!" Miranda chirped as she swung herself through the doorway.

I'll never forget it. She had a backpack slung over one of her bare shoulders. Miranda was wearing a tie-dyed tank top (definitely no bra), a pair of acid-washed, hip-hugging jeans and no shoes (to this day, she doesn't like wearing footwear). I know, not the usual attire for early January in the Mid-west, but it was unseasonably warm that day. But if the weather was warm, Miranda was hot!

"Did you tell him, Viv?" she said, and then Miranda caught sight of my face. "Never mind, darlin'… I can see Peter's already sweating bullets." She tossed her bag to the floor and did a sexy little side-step over to where I was standing. "What's the matter, champ, nervous in the service?"

As she said this, Miranda took hold of my prominent erection through my sweatpants. I gasped and almost experienced premature ejaculation.

"What the fuck, Miranda!"

"That's exactly right, Peter. Does this mean you're ready for me?"

I looked over at my sister. She was frozen in place with her hand still holding open the door and her mouth just as open as our apartment. I crinkled my brow and gave my head a quick jerk. Vivian was clueless.

"Viv! Door! Please!"

"Oh, yeah… Sorry."

To this day, I'm not sure what she was apologizing for; for not closing the door or maybe for aiding and abetting the rape of her brother? Only Vivian knows. All I knew was that I had to say something to Miranda.

"Look, Andi," I began, using her nickname, "Vivian told me what you said earlier today." (I swallowed hard, because now was stroking me. Vivian moved over to where she could see what our friend was doing and seemed like she was about to scream.) "I like you a lot, but I'm already in a committed relationship."

"Yeah, I know Pete. Viv told me all about it."

Finally, and thankfully, my sister decided to join the conversation.

"I did not, Miranda!"

"Yes, you did, sweetie. You just didn't tell me with words."

"What is it you think you know, Miranda?" I asked as I pulled her hand away from my groin.

"You fuck your sister, Peter. And from what I can tell, you do a pretty good job of it, too."

The look on Miranda's face was one like she was daring me to deny it. The fact was, her statement was easy to deny. So I did. Then I turned around and boldly confirmed all her suspicions.

"Miranda, I have never fucked my sister!" I said, as forcefully as I could manage, "But we have been making love for about five years."

My gaze back at Miranda was one that dared her to believe me. Thinking back on it, I guess it wasn't much of a dare.

"Oh my God," Miranda screamed, over and over, "I just knew you were!"