Brotherly Love

Maggie's brother, Bob, learned he had cancer during his physical examination while retiring from the Army. He was 47 years old, a big, muscular, macho guy with a bluff manner and a confident air. Maggie was 42. Both had married young. Maggie had been divorced from her preacher husband for two years and was working in a refugee camp in Thailand.

As adults, their paths had rarely crossed and Maggie didn't see Bob for several months into his treatment and recovery. Their mother was staying with him in Los Angeles and asked if Maggie could visit for a week to give her a break. Maggie thought it was the least she could do.

Bob looked better than she had expected. He was bald from the chemotherapy, but he had always had his head shaved so that was not a shock. He had lost about twenty pounds and looked gaunt, but was in good spirits. "Chemo over," he said with a show of heartiness, "I'm on the road to recovery." She was less confident.

The first day they were together they talked as they never had as adults and walked in the park and went to a movie and she cooked a decent meal for him -- their mother being a terrible cook. He tired easily, but otherwise seems to feel good.

Bob lived in a small one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment. Their first night together, she took a shower. As she got out she wondered what she should wear. She mused to herself. Why did she feel inhibited facing her brother while less that fully clothed? She had boldly stepped out on nude and topless beaches in Europe and she had had sex with thirty men. Her brother likewise was no stranger to sex. Even back in high school he had been known for his sexual prowess.

"No reason to be overly modest," she said to herself. She stepped out of the bathroom with head held high wearing a nightshirt made out of t-shirt material, mid-thigh in length and with a scooped neck and narrow straps over her shoulders. Bob was sitting on the sofa. He had already showered and was in his boxer shorts.

"You look good, little sis," he said. "I'll sleep on the sofa bed. You can have the bedroom."

"No," she answered with a smile. "You're the invalid. You sleep in the bed."

"As you wish, nurse Maggie. Let me help you." Bob stood up and unfolded the sofa bed. "Sheets are in the closet."

She took two sheets off the shelf in the closet and they leaned over the mattress and spread and tucked the sheets. She was aware that the neckline of the nightshirt gapped and exposed her breasts as she leaned over the mattress. When he raised his head to look at her she put her hand to her chest, holding the cloth over her breasts.

"Oops," she said.

He shrugged and laughed. "You're my sister." He mused, "When I went away to the army you were barely more than a child. I remember coming home and realizing that little Maggie had grown up."

"I was such a shy and frightened thing back then -- and you were my big bold brother. I felt safe around you."

Bob walked around the bed and kissed her on the cheek. "Now, the shoe is on the other foot. You're keeping me safe," he said ruefully. "Thank you for being here with me."

He closed the door to the bedroom and she laid down on the sofa bed. It was not very comfortable, but she had slept on worse beds in the refugee camps around the world where she worked. She was asleep almost instantly.

She woke to the sound of her brother sobbing and talking in his sleep. She looked at her watch. It was 2:00 a.m. She rushed to the door of the bedroom. "Do you need help?" she asked. He was turning and twisting in bed and even from the door she could see the sweat running down his face.

"It's the pain killers. And the chemo," Bob said. "I have terrible dreams. I'm afraid of the dark." He was still trying to catch his breath between sobs and his cheeks were streaked with tears. "I'm glad you're here."

She wet a towel in the bathroom, sat down on the bed beside him and wiped away the sweat on his face and shoulders. He slowly relaxed.

Bob put his head on her lap and she was aware that nightshirt was pulled up around her thighs. When she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. One of her breasts rubbed against his chin. "I should have brought something a little more modest to wear to bed," she thought.

"This reminds me of when we were kids," he said. "Do you remember that time when you were in the ninth grade? I walked in on you in the bathroom and you were naked."

"Oh, yes, I was humiliated. I was a prude and I was ashamed of my breasts. They were little nubbins. My friends all had real tits." She looked down the front of her nightshirt with a laugh. "They're still little nubbins."

"They're more than that. I can feel them." he answered. His head was resting against her breasts. "You're not a prude anymore, are you?"

She laughed. "No, I've been -- how can I say it? -- around the block a few times. But you're the only boy who saw my breasts until I graduated from high school."

"Who was that lucky boy? Don?"

"Yes, poor pathetic Don. And poor pathetic me."

"Did you have sex with Don?"

"No!" She paused, than added, "Although once he stuck his penis in me. I made him take it out. Does that count?"

"I don't know. I guess it doesn't count if you don't think it counted. Did you tell your husband you were a virgin?"

"Not exactly. I didn't want to lie. But I gave him no cause to doubt that I was pure as the driven snow."

"This is fun, talking to you. We've never talked like this before."

"No, we haven't. My turn to ask a question. Did you have sex with Dottie?

"Everybody fucked Dottie," he laughed. "I'm sorry. Does that word offend you?"

"No, of course not. Fucking is an honest word. It describes what I do most of the time. Making love is a euphemism. Most of the time." She continued, "You're yawning. Can you go back to sleep?"

"I think so, but...uh...could you stay here with me? I feel so alone. Maybe I'll sleep better."

"I'll stay. Roll over and let me lie beside you."

As he rolled over, he said, "This is nice. I feel secure now."

They laughed together and she curled against him, pressing her chest against his back, putting one arm over his shoulder. "Go to sleep now. I'm here. You have nothing to be afraid of."

***

The next morning she was standing at the stove cooking breakfast -- still wearing only her nightshirt -- when he came out of the bedroom and hugged her from behind. "Thanks for last night," he said.

She turned around and kissed him on the cheek. They hugged. She couldn't help but sense his penis pressing against her thigh. She mentally chastised myself for noticing.

That night, when it was time to go to bed, she asked, "Shall I sleep with you again tonight?"

He smiled. "I was afraid to ask you. But yes, please do. It's a big help to me."

He undressed first in the bathroom and came out wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. She took a quick shower and put her nightshirt on. She looked in the mirror. She could see the outline of her nipples through the thin cloth. Instinctively, she covered her breasts with a hand, then hurriedly took it away with a smile. He was her brother. She had shared a bed with him the previous night. No need for false modesty.

She turned off the light and lay down beside him. They were both uncomfortable. Sleeping together had been spontaneous the night before; this was planned. He turned over to face away from her, and she curled around him. They went to sleep without a word.

At three in the morning he woke up, thrashing about. She pulled him to her, wrapped her arms around him, and rested her cheek against his. Slowly, his shivering ceased.

"Will this never end?" he cried.

She clutched him tightly. He relaxed in her arms, their bodies locked in an embrace. She turned on the lamp beside the bed and turned over on her back. He rolled over to partially cover her body. She pulled his head down to cradle it against her breasts.

He pulled away from her, conscious of their intimacy.

"It's okay," she assured him, kissing his bald head and pulling him to her. "I'm here to help."

"It is so good to have you here," he said. "Mom tried to help, but I couldn't invite her into my bed." They both laughed.

They clutched each other. She became comfortable with his head on her breast, his leg lapped over hers, his penis softening against her leg.

"Do you have a man in your life?" he asked.

"Several," she answered with a smile. "But nobody special. I'm not a shy little girl any more. You may have noticed that."

"It's nice to sleep with you."

She looked down. His head rested on a breast nearly poking out of her nightshirt. Her nightshirt was hiked up around her hips.

He raised his head to look up at her. "I haven't had sex for eight months," he confessed. "I don't know whether I'll be able to do it again. I worry about that. "

"You'll get better. You're getting better. Do you know any women in L.A.?"

"No, and I don't think I have the energy to undertake a relationship -- and a seduction."

"Maybe we should find a woman for you? Or a man?" She suggested with a smile.

"Cruel! You know how to wound. No men, please." They both laughed.

"Don't go away," Bob said. "I need you. I'm sorry for all those years when we barely saw each other. You've turned out to be a sophisticated and worldly lady. Beautiful too." He snuggled in closer to her.

"You exaggerate, brother, but thank you. I'm proud of you too." She kissed him on the top of his bald head and pressed him to her breasts and held him tightly

Bob had his arm around her, his face pressed against hers. "I'm sorry. I can't sleep. Talk to me. What happened with your marriage?"

"My husband asked me for a divorce. It was my fault. I went off to Africa to work in a refugee camp and he found somebody else in my absence. I wasn't unhappy about the divorce. I had long since moved on from my husband."

"Did you have affairs?"

"I had been fucking around -- frequently -- for about seven years before the divorce. I was careful not to humiliate my husband by having an affair near home -- but when I was out of town...well, let's just say I didn't behave like a proper wife of a small-town, fundamentalist preacher. And I was traveling a lot on my job."

"I fucked around on my wife also. She finally got tired of it. Maybe a divorce was for the best. I'm a little surprised at you, however. You were -- how do I say this? -- not a flamboyant young lady."

"I had no confidence; I thought I was ugly; I had dinky little tits; I wore glasses and I was good at math. I didn't believe that any man could be interested in me. So, I made a virtue out of my insecurity, and became self-righteous." She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "I am so glad that I finally learned to enjoy sex without guilt. I didn't fuck a man other than my husband until I was 33 years old. What a waste!" She laughed.

Her brother responded. "I've always had an easy time with women. But, I'm worried about the future." She could feel his breath on her face and his hardening penis pressing against her thigh. She checked a desire to look down and ensure that her pubic area was covered by her nightshirt and the sheet over them.

"Worried? About sex?"

"Yes. About sex and about romance. I really like sex. And love. And maybe I'm...uh...incapable."

She moved her leg to touch against his penis, now hardening again. They both dissolved in laughter. "Have you tried -- I mean -- to ejaculate? Oh, shit, enough with the euphemisms! Can you cum?"

"I haven't been able too. It gets hard, but it goes away quickly. I want to, but I'm not sure it will work." He paused. "I need to talk about it."

"Okay, let's talk about it. Let's attack the problem obliquely. By talking about sexy things." She thought a moment then continued. "When I was in high school and just beginning to feel sexual, I fantasized about you. I had no boyfriends and you were the only boy I could conjure up to be with. In bed. Like this."

"I fantasized about you too. After I saw your boobs. I masturbated thinking about those perky little tits."

"You masturbated thinking about me? And you were fucking every girl in high school? I'm flattered." She laughed. His legs were wrapped around one of hers, the strap on her nightshirt off her shoulder, and her breast mostly exposed to his lips. She patted his buttocks and he hunched forward.

"I'm not trying to seduce you or anything, baby sister, but this feels good. Your warm, soft body against mine. This talk is making me feel like a teenager again, if you know what I mean?"

"I do. I can feel that you're feeling." His penis was hard against her thigh, and, despite herself, she was breathing quickly as if she was out of breath.

He continued. "I think I would like to try to see if I can do it. It. Maybe you should go back to the couch?"

She thought a long moment. "I'll stay if it will help you. I've seen men masturbate, big brother. First, however, I have to pee." She shook herself loose from him and sat up in bed, pulling an errant strap on her nightshirt over her shoulder. "I'll be back. Soon." She stood up and walked to the bathroom. In the dim light of the lamp she stumbled over a chair.

"Oh, shit!" she said. "That hurt! I think I broke my fucking toe!" She sat down in the chair holding her toe in her hands, her legs crossed.

He laughed from the bed. "Such language, sis. Come back and I'll suck on your toe. Like I used to suck on your hurt fingers."

"You could always make me stop crying. Damn! I am so sorry that we haven't known each other better as adults."

"I love you, Maggie. I'm beating this cancer -- and we'll rekindle that relationship we used to have."

"I want to be close to you. But, first, I'm desperate to pee." she said with a giggle. She got up from the chair and walked into the bathroom, limping because of her painful toe. She turned on the light and closed the door behind her. Urine gushed out of her as she sat on the toilet. In the thin walls of the apartment, she knew her brother could hear it. She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Her long, light-brown hair, streaked with a little gray, was disheveled with strands of hair over her face; her nightshirt was stained with her brother's sweat; the darkness of her nipples and the outline of her firm, small breasts were visible in the harsh light of the bathroom.

"I cannot believe that I am thinking about watching my brother masturbate. Or try to masturbate," she said to herself. "Does he want to fuck me? Do I want to fuck him? This is new territory, Maggie girl. Would he go on a guilt trip afterwards? Men have done that to me before. Shitheads -- I wish I hadn't fucked them."

She contemplated. "It's not really fucking that's important. It's what it might do to our relationship." She threw up her hands in confusion. She turned the light off in the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom. Bob was sitting up in bed; light filtered into the bedroom from the window. Night was almost over.

"Let me see that toe," Bob said.

"It's okay now" she said.

"I want to make it well." She sat down on the bed beside him. He took her foot in his hand and laid down alongside her, his head pointed toward her feet. "Which toe is it?"

"The big one. The other big one." His lips were moving over her feet, kissing and caressing them. She laid back on the pillows as he put her large toe into his mouth and gently sucked on it. Her nightshirt was around her waist, her thighs and public area uncovered.

"Does that feel good?"

"Wonderful." She wasn't lying. "I recall once dating a Chinese guy. He wanted to cum on my feet. So, he did. He never fucked me."

"Did you cum?"

"Yeah, I did. I kind of rubbed on his leg and got off. I was easy, Brother." After a pause, she continued with a laugh, "Well, I'm still easy."

"A delicate question for you, Sis. Can I cum on your feet?"

She tried to be decisive, although doubts raged through her mind. "Of course, you can." She made a joke. "You're a wounded warrior. It's all in the name of recovery and rehabilitation, isn't it?" He was hunching now, his penis hard, rubbing against her thigh, his mouth, hot as he kissed her toes in turn.

Bob raised his hand and found his penis and pulled it out of his boxer shorts and resumed sucking on her toes and hunching rhythmically against her thigh, and she could feel his bare penis now, skin on skin, the hardened penis coming perilously close to her vagina.

"Tell me another story about your sex life," he said. "I want to know everything about you."

"Hmm, well, I'll tell you a story first -- and then you can tell me who you fucked while we were in high school."

"You have a deal."

"The last man I fucked was a month ago. It was a Marine. We were in the airport in Hong Kong and our flight had been cancelled. To make a long story short, I rented a hotel room while we waited for another flight, and we spent a day together."

"How old was he?"

"Nineteen."

Bob took his mouth off her toe and stopped hunching. "Nineteen! I'm shocked!"

"It was shocking to me also. I am so evil. He was my youngest man. Ever." She giggled.

"Was he good?"

"What he lacked in technique, he made up for in endurance. He fucked me about six times in the twelve hours we spent together. I could barely walk when it was all over."

"That's hot. Now, I know I can cum. I can feel it coming." He had stepped up his stroking against her thigh and was now biting into her toes, creating a pleasurable pain and she responded with a soft moan and rolled her hips toward him, feeling his penis, about one-half hard, now against her bare stomach

"Fuck me," she said, and then tentatively added, "If you want to."

"I do. I love you, Maggie."

She had a moment of doubt, then pulled up her nightshirt to expose her breasts to him and turned on her side to meet him face to face. They kissed -- a long, passionate kiss as his penis probed her crotch.

"Now," he said, "Please. I'm afraid I'll go soft if I don't fuck you now. I'm afraid that even if I stop to take my shorts off I'll go soft."

"I'm ready." He mounted her, missionary style, and while he rested on his elbows, she reached down and took his penis in her hand and massaged it. It was almost fully hard. It was long and thick. She inserted it into her vagina.

He began to stroke, but his penis softened and slipped out of her. She lowered her hand and reinserted it. When he began to stroke again, it slipped out again.

"God damn it," he said with despair in his voice. "It's not going to work." The rays of the rising sun came through the bedroom window. She could see him now, his face contorted in shame.

"Roll over," she said. "I'll do you with my mouth. I'll make you well, big brother."

He rolled over on his back. "You don't have to do this, you know," he said.

"I want to do it. And I want to do it naked." She took his boxer shorts in her hands and slipped them over his feet. Then she pulled her nightshirt over her head and tossed it aside. "All those men, all that experience," she said to herself, "God, let me do this right."

They kissed again, she lying on top of him, and then she moved her lips to his ears, his cheeks, his throat, and down to his chest, pulling at the nipples with her hands as she flicked at them with her tongue. He was hairless. "The chemotherapy," she thought. His breasts hardened into little marbles. She moved her head down to his navel and slowly, tantalizingly, to his penis. She caressed it with her mouth, breathing on it, flicking it with her tongue, her hand on his testicles, weighing them, bouncing them up and down, and then she took the tip of his penis into her mouth, and slowly took it deeper and deeper into her throat, stroking back and forth.