A Shocking Discovery

She looked herself over, up and down. She turned to one side, then to the other, making a stern appraisal. Her red and white "GO RAMS!" T-shirt clung tight to her bust and waist (isn't elastic fabric the best?), and her black and blue jogging shorts certainly had no aims at disguising her hips. She had curves. She had shape. But I'm not pretty.

She peeled off her shirt and stepped out of her shorts. Her underwear was nothing special: a simple sports bra, red, mottled with neon yellow; orange panties, plain but for a little red bow in the middle of the black waistband. Nothing like what Jason saw. And, in two quick motions, those were gone, too.

Seeing herself naked... Rachel was never sure how she felt about it. Her ex-boyfriend had heaped praised upon her time and time again, and Jason had certainly been please by it. Still, she had her doubts.

Rachel turned away from the mirror—a little violence in the twist—and stepped into the tub.

The water was hotter than she expected, much hotter. She must have turned the hot water on full tilt, she realized with a little wince. It was good, though. It was a kind of soothing shock to her system. After a moment, she adjusted to the heat and nuzzled into its comforting embrace.

Jason's discovery and its ramifications had pushed Rachel off of her path in life—the comfortable, expected one—and onto one she had no idea existed, one that she could only, barely navigate one step at a time. It was at times like these—of confusion and loss—that she would normally have turned to her ex. She would call him over, and he'd find her on the couch, crying, maybe just sulking; and he'd go to her, wrap his arms around her, and hold onto her, tightly. She wouldn't speak, wouldn't even know where to begin, and he wouldn't press her. He'd stroke her hair, kiss the top of her head, run his fingers up and down her back in the romantic, scratching way that is one flick of a switch away from erotic.

In time, they'd talk. She'd explain as best she could, and he'd try his best to understand. The talking wouldn't help any; neither of them were good at it. But that time spent together in silent repose would be enough love to get her through the day, maybe even the next, if she held onto that feeling real tight.

Rachel leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, imagining that the whole world went dark along with her—

—like the flicking of a switch.

It's black. Everything's black. The power's out. It's just me, alone, in the tub, and the power's out. The world's gone away—room, apartment, Jason—and all my cares with it. So while the cat's away...

Rachel brought one hand up from where it lay at her side to trace circles lightly on her stomach. Like a fourteen-year-old making his way to 2^nd for the first time, she slid up her body, feigning innocence.

But it's not my hand. It's Yours. I don't know Your name, Your face, Your voice. You slipped in the door when the lights went out. But I don't care about that. All I care about is getting away from here. Take me away from here.

Her hand met the rise of her flesh and slowly ascended up and over it. Her fingers found her nipple and gently, gently—"Ah!"—teased it to life. She took her breast in her hand, pressing her palm down into it, kneading it, softly at first, then with more passion as she lost herself to the blissful darkness.

You know my body more intimately than even my closest lover. You play me like a harp—beautiful and sonorous. You place a kiss on my breast, feather light, then another and another and another, the intensity of Your desire growing with each. You part Your lips, and Your tongue reaches out for my nipple. Your touch is tentative, like a gourmand tasting his food before committing to the meal.

Imagining it was the mouth of her phantom lover, she made small circles, caressing her areola, and brought her finger tips together to pinch and twist her nipple, standing out loud and proud and demanding to be loved.

But that's not enough for me. And because of that, it's not enough for You. You love me, and all You want to do is make me feel that love, safe and secure in it. So You take the hand resting on my stomach and move it down, down to my most secret of places.

Had Rachel been dressed, her extraordinary arousal would have been apparent from the dark, wet spot that would have formed in her panties. But, as she was in the bath, the clearest sign was the intense sensitivity of her clitoris.

She had barely slid the tip of her finger over it, when a shock surged through her entire body. All in an instant, her legs clamped shut; her hand withdrew, as from a fire; and she let out a yip of stunned delight. For a moment she just sat there; the water slowly rocking its way back down to a calm; her heart beating a rapid staccato.

You spread my knees open and slide Your hand slowly down the inside of my thigh. I'm ready for You this time, and when you draw Your finger up my slit, dipping slightly inside me, up to rub small circles around my clit, I gasp for air and press myself into Your hand.

Rachel's hand took on a mind of its own—Your mind—and she lost herself in her self-love. It was all a blur of fingers, dancing in, out, around, and over; moans, deep and loud; breaths, ragged and desperate; nipples, pinched and pulled; and handfuls of her soft, firm breasts. She had no concept of time; it was all one great crescendo of bliss.

I'm on the edge. Oh! I'm so close to the edge. Please, push—push me over it. I want to come. I need to come!

She thrust one finger—two, three—deep inside her and began thrusting frantically. In a flash, she pounded her pussy, flicked her clit, and toyed with her tit. She had more sex pent up within her than she'd ever had before. It was demanding, screaming to be let out. She just needed a push; one little push—

"Come for me, Sis."

"Jason!"

The Coming Days

I woke up from my nap later that afternoon. I can't say I awoke feeling much better than I had that morning—deep, restful sleep had eluded me—but "not much" is better than "not at all". I put on clean clothes and, steeling myself, stepped out of my room.

In true anticlimactic fashion, Rachel wasn't there. She'd left me a note on the kitchen table saying that she'd gone for another run and was thinking about going to her friend, Cynthia's, afterwards. It was rare for her to go out running more than once in a day, and it usually meant that something was seriously bothering her. I decided that, rather than things having taken a left turn back to "not good", she was simply out trying to get her head around things.

I was right, of course, although I had no idea what she was actually thinking of.

I would go to bed that night without seeing Rachel again. She texted me that evening to let me know Cynthia had talked her into staying over for a movie marathon (all movies by some actor whose name I could never remember) and that she wouldn't be back until she-didn't-know-know-when.

She was there when I woke up the next day, though, and things were, well, decent. An awkward tension hung in the air, like neither one of us knew what boundaries were in place, if any, and we were afraid of kicking off a chain of disastrous events.

The next few days progressed in the same way, the two of us dancing around one another, but the tension eased slowly, until, one night, it broke altogether.

Double Climax

There was no getting around it; I'd had a long day, a crappy day. I was pretty sure I'd failed a test; my groupmates for my class project had been particularly imbecilic; and I was caught in a biblical downpour with no jacket. What kind of idiot doesn't carry a jacket during a Pacific Northwest winter? So, to state the obvious, I wasn't in a great mood when I got home.

Rachel wasn't there, which was fine with me. Even though I could have my room all to myself, there was something special about "me time" when it was "me time" throughout the entire apartment.

I went into my bedroom with the intention of doing homework, but that never made it from intent to action. Homework turned into video games, but it wasn't long before they could no longer hold my attention. Something was off with me, and I didn't know why or what to do about it. Finally, I decided to give it all up and take a nap.

In the space between waking and sleeping, I thought of Eden. I was Adam; God was a woman; and Eve was... Who was Eve?

* * * * *

I woke up violently, trying to bite the head off the snake that I dreamt was trying to kill me. Rachel was sitting on the side of the bed, trying to calm me as I thrashed around.

"Hey, hey, it's just me," she cooed. "There's no need for all that."

"Huh? Oh, uh, it's you. I was dreaming about a snake or... something."

"You're a real Indiana Jones, aren't you?" she said with a chuckle. "Hey, you all awake now? There's something I'd like to—well, something I need to ask you."

"Ya, shoot."

"Do you love me?"

"What? Of course I love you. What do you mean, do I—?"

"No, do you love me?" She asked so earnestly that it made me shiver.

"Rachel, I don't understand." My eyes were big as saucers, and my mouth was dry as toast. I knew exactly what she was asking me, but there was no way she could be asking me that, just no way.

"Yes, Jason, you do." And, to prove her point, when she bent down to kiss me—not on the cheek or lightly on the lips, but deeply, passionately, her mouth to mine—I met her pound for pound.

Her tongue probed forward, parting my lips, to tease mine into a response. My reaction was immediate and visceral. I opened my mouth wide to her; pulled her close to me; and intertwined my tongue with hers. It was like a dance, a feverish and poorly choreographed dance, but a beautiful one, nonetheless.

Our clothes came off in a flurry, and it struck me that the last time my sister and I were naked together, we were too young to understand the differences between our bodies. But as we writhed in bed together, as I fondled her soft breasts and she raked her nails across my back, I understood. I understood the depths of our lust as I gently pinched her nipple and she slid her tongue deftly up my neck to my ear. And as I teased her lower lips open with my head and felt her body tense with anticipation, I knew we truly loved each other.

I thought to go slowly at first, but she was ready and accepted me hungrily. My cock slipped easily into her wet pussy. When I could go no deeper, I pulled back just to the point of coming out before thrusting myself in again and again and again. The heat of her body, her moans in my ear, and the warmth of her sex drove me into a kind of frenzy, and I began pumping faster and faster, in constant rhythm with Rachel.

"Jason," she cried, "come for me, Jason!"

Hearing my sister, my sweet, twin sister, call out to me as my lover instantly pushed me over the edge. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly, as I rammed myself inside her as deeply as I could, letting my orgasm overwhelm me. It was the most intense pleasure I'd ever felt, and, feeling her pussy tighten around my cock, knowing that Rachel was coming with me, because of me, made it infinitely better.

Spent and elated, I reluctantly removed myself and collapsed on the bed beside her.

"I love you, Rachel, so much."

"I love you, too, more than you'll ever know."