Chelsea Rising

I moved my hand away reluctantly, exposing the shape of my erection pushing against the fabric of my swimmers. The head of my cock was straining upwards against the elastic, trying to break free. I could sense her eyes on it and I waited for her rejection, her shrill words telling me to stop being disgusting. The silence stretched out, long seconds measured by the frantic beat of my heart. Finally I could stand it no longer and I turned my head and looked at her.

She was staring at my groin, a slight look of surprise on her face, and I could detect the faint flush of colour in her cheeks.

"Wow. Did I really do that?"

I nodded, saying nothing, watching her eyes as they looked at the evidence of my excitement. There was no revulsion there...just interest. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips and I realised with surprise that she was nervous. She struggled for words, trying to be lighthearted.

"So it wasn't just my costume, then."

I shook my head, watching her face. She dragged her eyes off my groin and looked at me, and I saw her expression change as she read what my eyes were telling her.

"Ben....this is what I was talking about this morning. I don't -"

I leaned over and put my mouth on hers, gently, cutting off the denial of her words, feeling the incredible softness of her lips under mine. I could taste the tang of salt and the flavour of her mouth and I could feel the butterfly flutter of her breath as it left her body in a woosh of surprise. For a moment I could feel the muscles in her arms tense as she went to push me off, and then the resistance went out of her, and I felt her lips open a little and she tilted her face to meet mine. That first kiss was probably only for a few seconds, but my senses were seduced by her taste and smell, and time seemed to slow down. I could hear a roaring in my ears and I felt her hand come up behind me and hold my head, fingers in my hair. Her mouth opened a little and the tip of her tongue ventured out and brushed against my lips.

At length I pulled away and looked down at her face and her eyes were on mine. "You kiss with your eyes open," I said softly.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling. "So do you."

I brushed her lips with mine again, little butterfly kisses as sweet as warm honey. "You OK with this?"

She shook her head. "No. Not at all. We shouldn't be -"

I put my mouth over hers again, feeling her respond, her body rolling over towards me so that I could feel the press of her breasts against my chest. Her arms came up around my neck and her mouth opened like a flower, her lips crushing against mine. I moved my hand between us, slipping it under the fabric of her top and cupping one breast, feeling the firmness of her flesh and the nipple like a hot pebble against my fingers. She moaned into my mouth and leaned harder into me, one thigh moving forward to push against my crotch. I moved my hand to her left buttock and dipped my fingers downwards, brushing them lightly over the thin strip of material between her legs.

She pulled her face away. "Ben, we can't - people will see."

I looked around. We were alone, shielded by a low outcrop of rock on one side and the curve of a sand dune on the other. "No one can see us here, Chelsea."

She pulled my head down, her lips closing over mine, her tongue thrusting into my mouth, and she rolled a little more towards me, one leg lifting up, hooking over my waist to give my fingers better access. I pulled aside the thin gusset of her pants and my fingers dipped under it, feeling her heat, touching her. She was slippery, the lips of her sex open, and I slipped one finger into her.

Her body convulsed and she moaned deep into my mouth. She was grinding herself against me, my fingers trapped inside her, and I could feel the hard little nub of her clitoris against the ball of my thumb.

She pulled her mouth away from mine and her voice was gusty with desire. "God, Ben. Stop. No! Oh God, stop -"

And then suddenly she was coming, her back arching, head thrown back and eyes tightly closed, a guttural moan of pleasure bursting from her lips as she spasmed. I could feel her pussy clenching around my fingers, gripping me tightly as it contracted, and a flood of moisture spurted over my hand.

My cock was bursting, pushing out above the elastic of my shorts, desperate to be inside her. I jerked the material of her costume down, feeling it slide a few inches down her thighs and I rolled on top of her, pulling my own trunks aside so that my member bobbed free. For a few seconds I could feel the air on its exposed head and then the satin touch of her skin as it engaged against the wet, open lips of her pussy, ready to be thrust into her hot and willing body.

With a convulsive heave she pushed me off, and I fell sideways onto the sand. She rolled away, her hands scrabbling with her pants to pull them back up.

"No, Ben, no. No. Stop." Her voice was frantic.

I rolled towards her to try and kiss her again and she pushed me back, harder, and sat up, one hand holding the top of her bikini where my groping had dislodged the strap. She looked at me, gasping for breath, then she spoke.

"Jesus, Ben. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you do that. But you can't -"

"Christ, Chelsea! You wanted it. It felt right."

"We can't -"

"But I feel something....different. You know...we're not the same as we were." I looked up at her. "I need you, Chelsea."

She spoke quickly, her voice like shards of glass. "Need, or want? Either way, you shouldn't - not in that way. It has to be both of us." She stood up and deftly fastened the strap to her bra. "Both of us," she repeated, emphasizing the words. "And if that isn't true it doesn't matter what you feel. Remember that."

She glared at me, her little face set hard, but something in my expression must have touched her and she relented a little, her words softer. "Ben - you don't want to know me that way...I've been - things happened that you don't know about. Don't go there."

And before I could respond she turned and walked away. Her shoulders were straight and her head was held high, and although I watched her until she disappeared from sight, she never looked back.

*******

When I think back on that time I often wonder why I didn't just shrug my shoulders and get on with the holiday without giving her further thought - after all, it wasn't that I was in love with her or anything. How could I be? Sure, she was button cute - but I knew that there would be a dozen other girls on holiday there who were just as attractive, and no doubt some would be happy to go a lot further than she had. It certainly would have been the smart thing for me to do, but I could not. I was mesmerized by her, intrigued the mystery of what had happened, and drawn by the magic she was weaving.

Whatever magic it was, she had it in spades. The warmer weather meant that each day she would be dressed in something skimpy - her little red bikini, or perhaps a pair of cut-off shorts and a tank top. The sun burnished her skin a rich mahogany brown and bleached her hair to the colour of ripe wheat, and she looked wonderful. But it wasn't just the way she looked - it was her. It was her presence, the way that she lit up the room when she walked in. It was the way she smiled, the sound of her laughter and the way that she held her head to one side when she was listening, as if you were the only person in the world. It was the deep crystal well of those inscrutable grey eyes that radiated her soul - hints of love and laughter and moments of inexplicable vulnerability.

And so I was hooked, and I followed her around like a love-sick pooch. After the beach episode I thought that she would be cool towards me, but she was not. She sought my company to the exclusion of everyone else, and she retained that impulsive happiness that made her such good fun to be with. Every day we swam and lay on the beach, wondered though the little shops in the town together, sipped coffee in the cafés, drank beer in the pubs and ate together in the restaurants. A casual observer might have mistaken us for two lovers, except that there was no intimacy. She had established an unspoken set of rules that took me a while to figure out: for example, touching her briefly to draw her attention to something was apparently acceptable, but holding hands was most definitely not. If I tested the boundaries she didn't rebuff me, but she would simply stop whatever it was that she was doing, look at me with mild reproach until I ceased, and then continue as if nothing at all had happened.

And so I lived those four duplicitous days, playing the game because the alternative was not to spend time with her, and I could not bear the thought of that. I enjoyed our time together, but like a man on death row I was aware that each day gone brought me closer to the end of the holiday, when we would almost certainly return to the way that we were before. On the one hand I was happy to share every waking moment with her, but at the same time I longed for more.

In my mind the time on the beach when she rejected me became the defining moment of the change between us, and I re-lived it a hundred times. I yearned to have that chance again, to do things differently, so that we could still be together that way...and then with a slide of despair I realised that it wasn't anything to do with me, or what I had done - it was because I was her brother and she couldn't move past that.

The hardest time was in our cottage, just before sleep. Each night she would wait until I had turned in, and then in the darkness of the room I would hear her creep into her little bed in the corner. Although I know she was uncomfortable she never complained - and she certainly made no effort to join me. I would lie in bed listening to the creaking of her bedsprings as she struggled to get comfortable, and then, after a while, the sound of her soft breathing as she slept; and I would ache for her until I finally fall into an exhausted sleep in the still, silent hours of the night.

On the fourth night I waited until she had climbed into bed and I called her in the darkness.

"Chelsea?"

"Yes."

"You can move over here if you want."

"You know I can't."

"I won't try anything."

She was silent for a while and I wondered if she had heard me. "Its not just you, Ben. It's me, too." Her words were soft. "Don't you think - "

I waited, the silence drawing out, and eventually she spoke again, her voice stronger. "Don't think that I don't want to, Ben. It would be so easy, but we both know what might happen."

"We wouldn't let it."

"Don't be silly. You took it to the brink last time, and I don't think we could stop it again - and then we could never go back. It would always be between us. Better that we live with the promise of what might have been, than with regret about what did."

"But -"

The springs of her bed squeaked loudly as she sat up, and I sensed that she was leaning forward, speaking intently into the dark in a fierce whisper. "No! Mum and Dad are right next door? Can you imagine what it would do to them if they heard us fucking? And what about you and me - it would forever change the way that we felt about each other. Is that what you want?"

"There must be others like us. This must happen all the time."

Her voice turned scornful. "Oh, yes, Ben! How many brothers and sisters do you know who are screwing each other? One? Ten? I'll tell you how many - none! And if there are any, they are hiding it, like we would have to. Hiding it like dogs slinking in the night! I know how-"

She stopped suddenly, and the silence stretched out, and then she continued, her voice more gentle. "I want you too, Ben. I wanted you on the beach and I want you now. But it just can't happen that way."

Her words skewered my heart like a hot blade. I thought it had been hard when I was the only one pursuing a hopeless dream, but the revelation that she still wanted me was infinitely harder.

"I just want to hold you, Chelsea. I love you."

"Don't, " she whispered, "please don't." The springs in her bed protested as she turned to face the wall, and I was left with thoughts that were even blacker than our dark, stuffy little room.

*****

When I woke up Chelsea had already gone, her bedclothes flung back, her mattress cold to my touch. The weather changed during the night, bringing a spiteful little wind that promised rain.

Mum was fussing over breakfast. "Chelsea said she was going into town" she said, in answer to my question. "I don't know what she'll find to do there at this time in the morning," She rattled the cutlery with a disapproving expression. "I must say, she seemed a bit out of sorts." A thought occurred to her. "You haven't upset her, have you Ben? You two seemed to be getting on so well."

"No Mum. We're fine. I heard her being sick this morning, though...and yesterday, come to think of it..." I let my voice tail off, the hook dangling.

She looked at me in horror. "You don't think -"

"Maybe. Perhaps it was that Greek guy." Chelsea had brought a guy home a few weeks ago who the entire family had taken an instant dislike to as he was wearing more perfume than she was. "I reckon he'd marry her, though, Mum, so you don't have to worry." I looked at her, trying to keep a straight face but couldn't hold it and I laughed at her expression.

She looked at me reproachfully. "That's not funny, Ben. You had me worried for a moment." She sighed. "I do wish she'd find someone to settle down with."

"She's only young, Mum. She needs to have some fun first."

She looked at me, clearly unconvinced. "She's is quite old enough to settle down. When I was that age -"

"- you had lived a full and rich life and were ready to settle down. Chelsea's different, Mum. She's an independent girl and she's doing OK. Let her alone."

"Well, you stay close to her Ben. I don't want her getting pregnant."

I was struck by the irony of her words. If she hadn't stopped me on the beach the other day she might well have been pregnant right now, but I suspected that Mum might not want to hear that. "Chelsea's pretty switched on, Mum, I don't think she needs me as a chaperone - but I will keep an eye on her."

"Good." She picked up my plate and moved to the kitchenette, still talking. "Your father and I are going into the city today. There's an exhibition on at the National Gallery that we're keen to see. You are welcome to come with us, if you'd like to."

"No thanks. You two go and have some fun. Are you driving?"

"We'll catch the ten-thirty train, if you wouldn't mind driving us to the station."

"No problem."

"We expect to be back by six thirty. Do you fancy eating out tonight?"

"Chelsea and I were thinking of doing that anyway. I'll ring you and let you know once I've had a chance to speak to her."

She nodded, and wondered off to her room to get herself ready.

I dropped the parents off at the station and drove into town, parking on the main street. The temperature had dropped even further and it had started to rain, a steady drizzle falling from a dark sky. I cruised the cafes that we used but couldn't find Chelsea, so I dropped into the Video Ezy store and chose a couple of DVDs to watch, then I headed back to the cottage. I was worried about her.

She was huddled on the little verandah to the cottage. Sheets of water were pouring over the eaves and there was little shelter for her. She was soaking wet and shivering in the cold wind. I unlocked the door and she moved into the lounge, looking pale and tired.

I put my hand on her forehead but she was not hot. "Where have you been, Chelsea? I was worried about you."

"Just walking...thinking." She gave a little smile. "I was worried about me, too." She looked around. "Where are Mum and Dad?"

I moved into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. "They've gone into the city to see an art exhibition. Back around six. You look exhausted. Why don't you slip into bed and have a kip? I don't think you're going to miss much today."

She nodded. "I didn't sleep much last night. Is that tea you're making?"

"Absolutely. Do you want anything to eat?"

She shook her head. "No thanks, just a cuppa. I'll just dry off first. I won't be long."

"I'll bring it through to the bedroom."

She was snug in my bed when I went through with the tray, lying on her side looking at the rain streams on the window. The room was filled with the sound of water drumming on the metal roof.

"I hope you don't mind if I borrow your bed...I don't think my back could stand another minute in mine."

I smiled and shook my head. "Here's your tea." I sat down on the edge of the mattress and smoothed back her damp hair with my fingers. "I was worried about you," I repeated. "How do you feel?"

She shrugged. "Just tired - and a little confused."

"Anything you want to tell me about? I can help, you know."

"I doubt it." She smiled to rob her words of any offence. "You're the problem in this one, Ben, not the solution."

"I don't mean to be a problem."

"I know." She reached up and held my fingers. "Would you mind very much if we don't talk about it now - I'm...really not sure I've resolved anything - you know how it is when things just go round and round in your mind and you get nowhere?"

"I guess. I'm here if you want me."

She looked at me, her eyes huge in her face. "I know that. What time is it?"

I glanced at my watch. "Nearly twelve."

"Could you wake me at two, please, if I'm not up by then?"

"Sure. Don't forget your tea." I touched her lightly on the side of her face and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind me.

*****

At two o'clock I slipped quietly into her room. Despite the sound of the rain she was asleep, lying on her left side with one hand near her face. The dark rings had faded from beneath her eyes and she was breathing lightly, her lips slightly parted. I sat and watched her for a while and then I moved around to the other side of the bed and quickly shed my jeans and top, before sliding in beside her.

She stirred slightly as I spooned up against her, but she did not wake up. I carefully put my arm over her and held her close, hearing her murmuring softly in contentment, aware of her pushing back gently against me so that we were moulded together. One of my hands rested lightly against the warm skin of her throat, and I could feel the pulse of her heartbeat under my fingertips and I could smell the warm puppy aroma of her skin against mine.

I don't know how long we lay together like that, spooned together in the warmth of my bed, her asleep and me listening to the roar of the rain against the metal roof above our heads. The room was quite dark, with only a small square of grey diffused light stealing in through the rain-splattered window. The noise and the darkness conspired to shut out the rest of the world, so that my horizon shrank to only the confines of that room and the bed in it, and the girl in my arms. And as I lay there the uncertainty and problems of the past few days lifted, and I knew for certain that I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with her.

Chelsea stirred in my arms, and I could sense her rising consciousness as she emerged from sleep. Although I could not see her face I knew that she had opened her eyes and that she was awake. At length she spoke.

"What time is it?"

"About three."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm lying here with you."

"Why?"

"Because it's my bed, and I was cold."

She digested this information, and then after a few moments rolled over on her right side so that she was facing me. Her hair fell like a curtain across her face and I gently pushed it aside, tucking it behind her ear, my fingers light on her face. She regarded me with her grey eyes, still unfocussed from sleep.