Dying to Fuck My Sister

"But I can't physically do it," I said. "It makes my skin crawl to think about. It makes me want to gag."

"Thanks a lot!"

"Not because you aren't attractive. Because we're related! We have the same noses and ears. Our feet are the same shape... Why can't I buy you a sex doll?"

"Don't insult me," he said. "It's your body and you don't have to agree. But don't mock my desire to experience a basic pleasure before I die. Aged 19."

And there it was again, knifing me in the gut.

"God I'm sorry," I said. "I'm being a dick. It's just difficult for me to process this. I have a trigger-reaction to the idea. It goes against every instinct."

"I get it," he said. "I'm not pretending anything about the situation is ideal - especially not the part about me dying in the middle of next month. I'm just being raw and honest with you, and daring to ask for something you have every right to turn down. I promise I'll respect your decision, but do me one favor and sleep on it before you say no."

'I don't need to sleep on anything, James. The answer is no. I'm sorry."

"Give it some further thought..."

"How about you give further thought to why it's wrong to ask me?"

"Okay," he said. "I'll give further thought to that."

"Good. Then enjoy your further thinking, because I'm going to bed."

I stomped upstairs. I was more than a little drunk. I was angry too.

Or was I angry?

By the time I reached the top step, all I could feel was crushing sympathy again for my brother's plight.

Why had his request hurt me so deeply?

Was it tied up with my grief? I had only discovered I was going to lose him a few hours earlier. Maybe it was too much to process all at once.

I wished I could call Mom.

When I was a child, before I had been diagnosed with vertigo, I would sometimes feel an urge to jump from the balcony into the sea. We learned it wasn't a suicidal desire but a peculiar symptom of my condition; the vertigo would bring about an illusory sensation that I was about to do it.

My brother's request had triggered a similar feeling. It had made me feel like I'd lost the footing of who he was, or who I was to him.

I took a shower and as I ran my soapy hands over my naked body, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine they were my brother's hands.

It seemed incomprehensible.

I didn't feel repulsed by James physically, I never had. He was an attractive guy, and objectively gorgeous right now.

But he was my brother.

I felt an innate biological resistance to the idea. Much like I did to putting my hand in an open flame, or drinking my own vomit.

I brushed my teeth and made the old familiar retreat to my childhood bedroom. My parents had since converted it into a spare room, I had my own apartment in the city. It was strange because the spare room felt cold and neutral where my room had felt safe and inviting.

I climbed into bed and turned out the light. I felt oddly disoriented in the space that had once been my sanctuary.

Relentless rain continued to hit the ridge vent outside, creating a loud clatter that vibrated through the walls.

I had no chance of sleeping. The wine and the weirdness had wired me awake.

Was there any chance I might actually enjoy it?

I was beginning to realize my repulsion was for the idea, more than the actuality.

I enjoyed sex as much as the next person. Or so I thought. I wasn't very experienced and I'd never been that adventurous, I was only 22 after all. But I liked it.

I'd had two sexual partners, one of whom was a steady boyfriend for over a year. And I'd once given a hand job in a public bar at college as a dare. But that was about it.

I'm not sure I'd figured out what I liked yet.

If James was inexperienced too, maybe he would be a gentle, modest lover. Mom told me she thought he watched a lot of porn. Would he expect me to do the things those girls did?

I lay awake for what felt like hours, mulling it over; playing out the endless permutations of how it might go down (literally), interspersed with periods of grief and sobbing. It was a dark night of the soul if ever I had one.

And yet the more I thought about my brother's request, the more convinced I became that I had to help him.

I had told him I would give my life to save him if I could. And I'd meant it. What kind of sister makes an offer like that and then refuses to give her body for what, half an hour?

I had an opportunity to make one of his dying wishes come true, to provide him with an experience he longed for, and to do it lovingly. Didn't I owe him that?

I couldn't stop thinking about him alone in the house, and how I'd effectively abandoned him on the night he told me he was dying.

I got out of bed to see if he was still awake. His bedroom door was open with the light on, but he was missing.

I tiptoed downstairs, thinking he had probably fallen asleep on the couch.

He was there, but he wasn't sleeping. He was watching a war movie at low volume on TV.

"James?" I said.

He turned his head.

"I want to say I'm sorry."

"Alright," he said.

"I have to get some sleep now, but I also want to say... All the stuff you've never done before?"

"Huh?"

"All the sex stuff you've never had a chance to do with anyone?"

"Yes?"

"You can do it with me."

3

The rain had stopped by the next morning but the clouds looked ominous over a green, restless sea.

I got up before James. His door was closed and he wasn't on the couch. I figured he must have retired to his room at some point during the night.

I made two pots of fresh coffee and thought he might appear in time for a cup of either one. But he still hadn't emerged by 11 AM.

I was struck by the nauseating thought he hadn't made it through the night.

I started to run up the stairs in a blind panic. By the time I reached the top step, I saw his door was ajar and heard the sound of running water in the bathroom. I breathed a sigh of relief and felt fragile and foolish.

I went downstairs to brew a third pot of coffee.

Eventually he appeared, in the same clothes from the night before. And Rogue greeted him with the enthusiasm as if he'd been missing for a lifetime.

"Hey sleepy," I said.

"I'm starving," he said, opening the fridge door.

"It's a good sign you haven't lost your appetite," I said.

"Is it?"

"Actually I don't know. Is it?"

"We're starting early today, are we?"

"Sorry. Let me make you some breakfast."

"You don't have to wait on me," he said.

"I don't mind."

"I don't want to be your new charity case."

"I was going to make you some eggs, not run a triathlon for you."

"Sorry," he said. "I would love some eggs. Thank you. You know I don't like the idea of people doing nice things because I'm sick."

"Mom and Dad did a good job of not treating like you were sick. They worked hard to gave you a chance at normality."

'I don't feel very normal," he said, putting two slices of bread into the same slot of the toaster.

I corrected his deliberate mistake.

"If it's not too charitable of me, there's some fresh coffee in the pot," I said. "Also, I got a missed call from Mom. Should we even say you're here? They're going to ask questions if we do."

"Don't say I'm here."

"Okay, I'm going to send her a text then," I said, "I'll slip up if I have to speak to her. Mom has an in-built radar for lies."

"She sure does," agreed James.

"I've thought a lot about what you asked me last night," I said, "and I feel like I need to establish some ground rules."

"Sexy," he said.

"I was upset because I think it's weird for brothers and sisters to be talking about this stuff, let alone doing it. But I realize you wouldn't have asked me this under normal circumstances."

"True," he said.

"And while I can't pretend I think of you in that way. And I don't know if my body will respond, I am prepared to give it a try. For you, James."

"The words every man wants to hear."

"I'm just being honest. I've already said yes. But I want to know about your previous experience. What have you done?"

"Sexual acts? With another human who is not myself? None."

"You must have done something. What about with Lydia Barnes in senior grade?"

"We held hands."

"That was it?"

"She once shooed a bug from my arm."

"I'm trying to be serious here."

"I told you. I'm a virgin! I'm not pretending to be vegan."

"I just wondered if you'd ever got beyond first base with anyone."

"No!"

"So you've never taken a girl's clothes off. Or..."

"I'm a greenhorn, sis. Trust me, I've done nothing."

"Ok. No judgment. Just needed to know. So I guess the next question is what do you want to do - is it just lose your virginity?"

"I'd like to try all the bases," he said. "If that's not too greedy."

"This brings me to the biggest question of all," I said. "I was envisaging this to be a one off thing. Not something we keep doing."

"How about a one-weekend thing?" he said. "Say, until Mom and Dad return on Monday?"

"Oh lord" I said. "That's like... now-ish."

"I don't know how long I've got left, Clare."

"I know. But shit. That's really sudden. I mean, I haven't shaved my legs..."

"I don't mean now this instant," he said. "I just mean this weekend, here with you."

I was trying so hard to fight the rising discomfort. I could feel a sweat breaking out on my neck.

"Well, Okay. I guess we could try," I said.

I didn't want to race into this. But then I didn't have an appetite for it at all, so maybe it wasn't a bad idea to tear the band aid off and get it out the way. It wasn't as though the weekend could get any more stressful or intense.

"Would we get dressed up?" I asked. "Do we have a candlelit dinner first? How does it go down? Is there something you'd like me to wear?"

"Do you have those tiny red and white shorts you wore to sleep in at Christmas?"

"Jesus! You were perving at me in my shorts? How long have you been planning to screw me?"

"Not perving," he said, "and obviously not planning... I didn't know I was sick at Christmas. I just thought they suited you. And you have amazing legs!"

I couldn't help screaming a little.

"What? I'm not allowed to compliment your body?"

"I can't hear it from you," I said. "And no. I didn't bring my 'tiny' shorts. This is so beyond weird."

"So you're prepared to have sex with me but I should pretend you're not attractive?"

"I don't know," I said, and I really didn't. "The whole scenario is a head-fuck. I can't figure out my role. I don't want to be nurse. I definitely don't want to be a prostitute. And I don't much fancy being a robot. So where does that leave me? Who can I be?"

"Can't you be you?"

"That's the hardest one of all. And no. I can't be me because I wouldn't be fooling around with my brother."

"Maybe you'll enjoy it."

"I don't have to, James. This is about you having an experience you've never had. As long as you're happy, I will have done my job."

"Please don't call it a job. I want to feel like we're emotionally connected."

"We are emotionally connected," I said. "I spent most of the night crying with pain for you. And when I could finally sleep, I had twisted dreams in which you died over and over. Emotional connection is not our problem."

"Fair."

"So let me take a shower and shave my legs, and feel a bit less gross about myself. And then I promise we'll give it a go. I'll try. That's all I can promise. But you have to agree we never tell a soul for as long as we live, okay?"

"So about three weeks for me," he said, smiling.

"Do you agree?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die!"

"James!"

"I promise," he said.

***

I spent the next hour in a panic.

I took a shower and shaved my legs. I washed my hair and put on the only pair of frilly panties I could find. But I was almost hyperventilating.

I couldn't get my head around the idea I was dolling myself up to entice my own brother. But perhaps it was more like putting on a pair of clean underpants before going to see the doctor.

I wanted to feel clean and feminine. But I didn't feel any excitement. I felt a combination of dread and anxiety; like I was preparing to be operated upon and there was a better-than-average chance the surgery could go wrong.

It seemed impossible to comprehend I might be fucking my brother later that day. It made me feel sick and dizzy, and complicated the grief I was still attempting to process.

I had to keep reminding myself this was about James.

Maybe he wouldn't be able to last long - although this idea was near-impossible to grasp too; the idea that I might be able to make my younger brother cum quickly.

By the time I went back downstairs, I felt so unsexy and traumatized.

It was the worst state of mind in which to participate in physical intimacy. But I was determined. I wasn't in the habit of letting my brother down, even when he wasn't dying.

James was stood by the French windows, looking out over the balcony at the ink-colored sea with its turbulent, white-lipped waves.

The sky was growing darker by the minute, despite it being only 2 PM, and the gathering storm seemed imminent.

I walked up casually behind him, my heart beating like a majorette's drum. I tried to seem relaxed and collected, which was so false and forced that it only made my body language more stilted and awkward.

I stood behind him and placed my arms around his waist. I immediately felt absurd and wasn't sure how to normalize it.

James realized this was my first seduction attempt and his body relaxed into it, while mine only grew more uptight.

I spread my arms across his chest. I couldn't have felt less in the mood if I'd been at a gynecology appointment I had no idea what I was doing. It felt like a badly acted scene in a desperately un-hot movie.

He shocked me by turning around and placing his hands on my tits. He wasn't gentle about it either and simply began mauling them through my shirt.

"Maybe a bit softer?" I said, which I'm sure is what every guy wants to hear during his first experience with a girl.

He let go of my breasts and put his hands at his side.

I felt mortified.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm trying so hard not to break character but I keep having this recoil reaction."

"What do you mean break character?"

"I told you. I can't be your sister. It feels too sick."

"What if it's not sick at all?" he said, "what if it's just forbidden? What if it's hot?"

And he moved in to kiss me.

'Wait, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to kiss you."

"Oh. We're kissing too?"

"You thought we would bypass that part?"

"I'm not sure I thought about it" I said. "But I didn't know there would be kissing. That's a step too far."

He lifted his arms in despair. "Well, this is going well, isn't it?" he said.

He went to sit down on the couch and even picked up a magazine.

"James," I said. "Please forgive me. I don't know how to do this. I don't have a lot of experience with sex. I'm not a prude, but I'm not super-experienced. I always found it all a bit awkward."

"If you're repulsed by the idea of me, where does that leave us?"

"I'm not repulsed. But could we maybe just wait with the kissing? It's easier for me if it's more technical than romantic."

"Because every man dreams of having technical sex."

"Most men are happy to get any kind of sex."

I was upset now. I was having one hell of a weekend. First I'd been hit with the news my brother was going to die in 30 days, then I'd been guilted into agreeing to fuck him - despite it going against my instincts; and now I was being made to feel like the frigid dream-killer who couldn't see it through.

"James," I said, in near-despair. "I would give my life to save you. I would give you a kidney, an arm and a leg - all at once. But I can't make myself feel something I don't feel. All I can do is give you my body, for the next two days. Take it, do whatever you want with it... live out your fantasies. You have an open invitation til Mom and Dad get back. I can't make a fairer deal than that. But don't require me to be into it."

"All I ask is that you keep an open mind," he said. "Don't shut yourself off from the possibility you might like it."

"I'll do my best, I said, "but if we can hold off on the kissing for now, that's going to help a lot. I can't do the romance thing. But you can have my body. Take it."

I stretched my arms out for him, as if to say come and get it.

'It's super contrived now," he said. "Let's try again later."

He grabbed Rogue's leash from the counter.

"Come on girl," he said, taking her out the front door. "Let's go for a walk."

"You want some company?"

"Nah. Let's take five." And he closed the door behind him.

I felt ashamed of myself.

It did feel better that I might surrender to something he took from me, rather than having to make it happen of my own volition; I'm not sure how often I'd initiated physical intimacy with my own boyfriends. I was a rookie when it came to sexual matters.

But I shouldn't have promised to show him a home run, when I wasn't even prepared to dabble at first base. I had managed to forget about kissing. I had been so busy thinking about genitals and fluids, and inappropriately crossed boundaries...

In some ways, kissing was the hardest thing to imagine of all. To make out passionately with my brother, to French kiss him and not be joking, or wanting to barf afterwards. Why was I so averse to the notion?

Part of me felt like a spoiled child. It wasn't like I was being asked to play a game of Russian Roulette. It was an idea that was haunting me, not the prospect of any physical hardship.

I went upstairs to my room. I took off my jeans and lay on the bed in my t-shirt and frilly panties. I felt silly now for thinking I could be sexy for him in them.

I felt like I'd messed everything up. Tears formed in my eyes and before long, I was blubbering into my pillow.

At precisely the time I most yearned to feel close to my brother, I had pushed him away.

I felt impossibly alone.

I must have fallen asleep.

4

I was startled awake by a hand on my leg.

Face down on top of the bed, in my t-shirt and panties.

Distant thunder claps rattled the house, as wild wind and rain threw nails at the windows.

"Don't say a word," my brother whispered.

His hand grew more daring, rising up my thigh before retreating to the depression at the back of my knee. Each time it made the journey north, it reached farther, like the wave of an incoming tide; until its passage began to incorporate the whole of my ass.

At which point his left hand joined in too.

I was frozen in trepidation; grateful for the dim light and the fact my face was buried in a pillow. But I understood what was happening: my brother was taking me up on the offer to molest me.

I tried to breathe and relax, focusing on the physical sensation rather than the alarm bells ringing in my psyche.

It felt like he had a sea of hands upon me, and they were all over my ass and back. He was letting my shirt ride higher with each journey of his fingers up my sides. I tried to separate the not-unpleasant feeling from the unfathomable notion that my younger brother was freely exploring the flesh of his own sister's body.

The darkness helped, and not just because it concealed him from me; but because it provided symbolic cover for my shame. I didn't feel entirely comfortable, but I began to notice the birth of sensations loosely related to pleasure.

Then he began to peel away my underwear.

The room lit up for a split-second with a flash of sheet lightning, as if the act of my being stripped had triggered an explosion.

He seemed content simply to stare at my trembling naked body.