Gail's TailbyCal Y. Pygia©
The first time I saw my sister Gail naked--well, she wasn't naked, really, not quite; she was wearing a sheer, diaphanous gown sort of thing--was right during her senior year of high school, right after she'd turned eighteen. She must have had to go to the bathroom pretty bad, all of a sudden, because she hadn't bothered with the powder blue robe she usually wore whenever she left the sanctuary of her boudoir. The hallway light had been just right, and I, coming up the hall to raid the fridge, caught a glimpse of her perfect body through the thin, transparent material of her nightie.
I stopped in my tracks, my midnight snack forgotten, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Through the sheer fabric of the light nightgown, I could see the dark, shadowy silhouettes of my sister's tits and ass. I could see the shapes of her thighs. I could see the dark contour of her abdomen. Although I couldn't see the actual flesh of her breasts, buttocks, or thighs and I couldn't discern the soft fuzz of her pubic hair, if any were there (she might, I thought, an electric thrill flashing through my groin, shave down there, as she did her armpits and legs), only the complexion of these private parts was left to my imagination; the size and shape of her breasts and buttocks were no longer mysteries; the shadows under her nightie made their dimensions and contours quite clear, even from fifteen feet away.
From the corner of her eye, she must have caught a glimpse of me, standing there, in my white cotton briefs, staring, because her eyes widened, and she gasped, fleeing into her bedroom. The door shut behind her, not loudly--she had the presence of mind not to slam it, awakening Mom and Dad, whose bedroom was at the end of the hallway, opposite mine, but she lost no time escaping my gaze.
I returned to my bedroom, and, as I took off my underpants, I noticed, for the first time, that I was rock hard. A thick, rigid erection jutted from my groin. I wondered, in horror, whether I'd had a stiffy when Gail had seen me. I thought she'd gasped and scurried into her bedroom because she'd seen me ogling her, but maybe she'd done so because she'd seen her brother, who was but two years older than she, exhibiting a hard-on through his underpants. I looked down at the massive member. I have a big cock, just under nine inches, erect, as it was now, and as big around as a golf ball. When I played varsity baseball in high school--the same one that Gail attends--the guys always joked that I was the batboy, because I always bought the bat and balls to the game. Now, my sister had seen this equipment, or had seen the outline of it, at least, poking out at her through my briefs.
My horror deepened as I realized that she may have seen more of my cock and balls than just their protrusion. If the light had been right at my end of the hallway, as it had been at her end, she might have seen of me what I'd seen of her--she might have seen the shadowy outlines of my genitals--my stiff, standing cock and my balls, high inside the tight, risen pouch of my scrotum. I felt mortified. To think that Gail, my sister, my own flesh and blood, had glimpsed my manhood was unthinkable, it was--a smile stole over my frowning lips--delightful!
Unable to resist the overwhelming impulse to masturbate, I seized the framed photo of our family--Mom, Dad, Gail, and me--that had been taken, a few months ago, during a vacation, by an accommodating fellow tourist, as we'd stood before the Grand Canyon. Gripping my cock in my other hand and ignoring Mom and Dad, smiling out of the picture at me, I concentrated on Gail's beautiful, smiling face, pumping my fist up and down, fast and furiously, upon my prick, and, in mere moments, I reached the most intense orgasm I'd ever had, fighting the urge to moan or cry out as passion swept through me, and ejaculated, the thick streamers of my warm, white semen splattering my gorgeous sister's face, both in the photograph and in my imagination, where I saw her both as she'd been, standing, chaste and demure, before the Grand Canyon, and as she'd been in the hallway, the silhouettes of her breasts, buttocks, and thighs showing through her diaphanous gown.
My knees buckled and my thighs trembled violently. Panting, I watched another jet, and another, spurt from my convulsing cock, spewing against the glass that covered my sister's face. The thick fluid coated her brow; her nose; her cheeks; her mouth; her chin; her neck; the cleavage of her firm, round breasts; her blouse and her skirt, making it appear as if she'd been the centerpiece of a bukkake party mere seconds before joining the rest of her family for a Kodak Moment before one of the natural wonders of the modern world.
I was quite a mess, as was the photo. Thank goodness it was in a frame, protected by a sheet of glass; otherwise, it would likely have been ruined. As it was, with a wet cloth, I was able to wipe away the thick gobs and rivulets of my semen. I sprayed the glass with some window cleaner, polished it with a dry cloth--a clean pair of my own underwear, actually--rubbing it over Gail's face and body with a strange sort of satisfaction that made my dick twitch and my balls ache, even though I'd just reached the climax of my life, shooting my load all over the picture of my beautiful sibling. As I set the photograph back on my desk, I noticed that my hand was trembling. I wiped the sperm off my chest and stomach and thighs and, not bothering with a shower, climbed into bed, visions of my sister's nearly naked tits, ass, and thighs in my mind.
I felt guilty, now that the lust had dissipated. I'd not only seen Gail almost nude, but I'd lusted after her--my own sister! More than that, I'd even masturbated over a picture of her, remembering how she'd looked in the hallway, light illuminating her breasts and buttocks through her see-through nightgown. I'd even enjoyed her startled, frantic look, the way she'd gasped, and her hasty escape into the sanctuary of her bedroom. I'd also enjoyed the thought--after I'd gotten past the horror--that my sister might have seen the outlines of my stiff, jutting prick and my balls, high and tight inside my elevated scrotum, through my briefs, the same way that I'd glimpsed her tits and ass through her nightie. I might have given her as much a show as she'd given me. Now, these thoughts and memories, devoid of lust, made me feel ashamed. How could I harbor such thoughts and feelings about my own sister? Was I some kind of pervert? Was I going to burn in hell for my unclean lusts?
I was all an accident, I told myself. I hadn't intended to catch my sister in such a state, nor had Gail meant for me to see her in her see-through nightie. She'd merely been answering a call of nature, and I'd merely been going to get a midnight snack. We'd simply crossed paths at an unlikely moment. There was nothing sinful or perverted about our encounter.
But what about afterward? I thought. The decision to masturbate, while looking at a photo of Gail and thinking of her as she'd appeared in the hallway, her tits and ass visible, if only as shadows, through the sheer fabric of her nightgown, hadn't been an accident, had it? That had been deliberate. That had been a choice. Splattering my cum all over my sister's face and body hadn't been a mistake, either. It had been deliberate and intentional. In fact, recalling the thick gobs of my seed, trailing over her face, down her neck, and past the cleavage of her breasts, made me hard again. My traitorous, wicked prick swelled, thickening, and stood upright against my belly, insistent and unrepentant, as rigid as it had been when I'd hastened back to my bedroom just moments after my fateful hallway encounter with my beautiful younger sister.
Maybe, I feared, I would burn in hell, after all; I was certainly burning, even now, with lust for my sister, dear, sweet, gorgeous Gail.
The next morning, Sunday, Gail didn't join Mom, Dad, and me for breakfast, nor did she attend church with the rest of us, saying she didn't feel well. No, she'd told Mom, it wasn't anything serious, just a stomachache--or a tummy ache, as she, even at eighteen, still called this malady. I knew that it wasn't her stomach--or her tummy--that was bothering her. It was last night. No doubt, she felt as bad as I did about what happened, even though, for her, nothing much had happened. Unlike me, Gail wouldn't have masturbated, thinking about our encounter in the hallway, and, although she had an identical copy of the photograph over which I'd masturbated, spilling my seed over her face and body, it was unlikely--no, it was unthinkable--that she'd used it to facilitate an orgasm of her own. I'm the family's demon child; she's an angel who, as such, wouldn't entertain such thoughts, even for a moment.
Pastor Lyndon's sermon was about the unfaithful Israelites who, even after God had delivered them from their centuries-long bondage to pharaoh, had rebelled against him, setting up a golden calf to worship in a riotous orgy while Moses was atop Mount Sinai, receiving the Ten Commandments. The unfaithful Israelites had returned to the evil ways of their former pagan masters, and they'd delighted again in all the sins of the flesh, brother lying with sister and sister with brother, as was the custom of the Egyptians. It was because of such behavior, Pastor Lyndon proclaimed, that God had had to forbid, specifically and expressly, the incestuous union of siblings.
It was such conduct, Pastor Lyndon declared, that had led God to warn his people that "If any man take his sister, the daughter of his father, or the daughter of his mother, and see her nakedness, and she behold her brother's shame: they have committed a crime. They shall be slain, in the sight of their people, because they have discovered one another's nakedness. And they shall bear their iniquity." Likewise, God had decreed, Pastor Lyndon assured his congregation, and me among them, "Cursed be he who lieth with his sister, the daughter of his father, or his mother: and all the people shall say: Amen." Around me, a chorus repeated the word, and, I found, my lips had moved as well as those of my parents and all the other members of the congregation, agreeing, "Amen," or so be it.
I hadn't seen my sister's nakedness, I told myself, not quite, anyway. I had seen merely the outlines of her breasts, buttocks, and thighs through her nightgown, entirely by accident. Likewise, I had not lain with her, sexually or otherwise, so I was guiltless of that crime as well. I had lusted in my heart, though, for her, and Jesus had said that lusting in one's heart was the same as committing the act of fornication itself, so, perhaps, I was guilty of fucking my sister, after all. Masturbating hadn't been an accident. It had been a choice.
"One would think," Pastor Lyndon intoned from the pulpit, "that such acts of sin, hideous and abominable as they are, would be a thing of the past, but, sadly, as we know, they are not, and there are those among us, even now, who would succumb to the desires of the flesh, even when those desires involve his own flesh and blood, his own sister or mother or aunt. . . ."
Yes, there are, I thought, feeling condemned. I looked at the cross at the front of the sanctuary, a symbol of my faith, but I found no comfort in the sight of the empty cross which showed that Jesus had risen. If anything, I felt, rather, a sense of hopelessness and dread.
After the service, I joined my parents in the long, slow-moving line that led past the pastor, who waited patiently, to shake our hands and exchange a word or two with each of his congregants.
"Wonderful sermon, Pastor," my mother said, smiling, as if she were reviewing a staged performance.
"Thank you, Mrs. White," he said, returning her smile.
"Pastor," my father said, gripping the clergyman's hand.
"How are you, Howard?"
"Fine," Dad said, "fine."
I stepped up, taking the pastor's hand in mine, hoping that, by a miracle of God, he wouldn't be able to detect, just by the touch of my sinful hand, that I'd committed the very abomination which, just minutes ago, he'd publicly denounced. His eyes had a hard, piercing look, and I gulped, afraid he'd announce my sins to everyone within the range of his voice.
"Brad, it's nice to see you."
"Thanks," I croaked.
"Where's your sister, Gail?"
"Home," I muttered. "She's not feeling well today."
He looked concerned. "Nothing serious, I hope?"
"Just a stomachache," Mom volunteered, before I could reply.
On the way home, Mom asked, "What did you think of Pastor Lyndon's message today, Brad?"
Seated in the rear of the family car, I squirmed inwardly. For a moment, the way she'd hastened to interrupt Pastor Lyndon and me to assure the minister than Gail had "just a stomachache" and the way that, now, she queried me about his "message"--not "sermon," I noticed, but "message"--made me wonder whether she--whether she and Dad--knew about last night. But how would they? I asked myself. They hadn't seen Gail and me in the hallway, and, besides, nothing had happened between us. Remembering my sperm on my sister's face, as she peered out of the photograph taken at the Grand Canyon, I swallowed. What had happened had happened strictly with me, not between us. Feigning indifference, I shrugged. "It was okay."
"Just 'okay'?" Dad asked. I could see, by the reflection of his eyes in the rear-view mirror, that he was watching me.
I shrugged again. "Sure," I said. I hesitated, then blurted, "Why do you ask?"
"No reason," he said, after a slight pause.
I was beginning to know how Gail felt--or said she felt: I was getting an upset stomach myself.
It had been my own guilty conscience, I decided, not my parents' suspicions. They hadn't seen Gail and me in the hallway, my sister's boobs and buns on display inside her flimsy nightie and me naked but for my underpants, my cock stiff and swollen inside the front of my briefs. They hadn't known about me masturbating afterward, either, and spurting my sperm all over Gail's face in the photo of our vacationing family. I'd cleaned up the evidence last night, before going to sleep, and, this morning, I'd showered, eliminating even the hard, brittle flakes into which my semen had dried overnight.
Mom's manner and Dad's demeanor hadn't been suspicious. Mom had interrupted me before to answer questions others had asked of me, maybe fearing some asinine comment from her insolent son, and Dad frequently paused, considering his words, before replying to any question I asked. Probably, on a father's part, such a tactic was instinctive. One day I'd be asking questions, such as could I have a loan or could I borrow the car or what did he think of this girl or that, and he'd have to weigh his thoughts and calibrate his words before answering, as he'd done this morning, on the way home from church. There had been nothing mysterious to my parents' behavior, I decided--or, at least, nothing more mysterious than usual. My guilty conscience had given significance to innocent gestures, words, and mannerisms which were not, in themselves, significant at all.
Even Pastor Lyndon's sermon concerning sibling incest had been a mere coincidence. He planned his "messages," as Mom had called his preachments many times before this morning, weeks in advance of the particular Sundays upon which he delivered them. I smiled. Like lust, guilt was a powerful emotion, I thought. It could twist things into new shapes to suit itself.
I decided to check on Gail, to see how she felt, and, well, just to see her. Maybe, I hoped, she'd be wearing the same flimsy nightgown she'd worn last night, and I'd catch another glimpse of her full, firm tits and her shapely, round ass.
I knocked at her door.
"Who is it?"
"What do you want?" Was there a harsh tone to her voice? I wondered. She'd sounded irritated.
"Can I come in?"
"No. Go away."
"I just wanted to see how you're feeling."
"Awful. Now, go away."
"What's wrong?" I knew, of course, but I wanted to extend our "conversation" as long as I could. Even the sound of her voice was sexy, although, before last might, I'd have never thought so.
"I have a stomachache, if you must know. Now, go away. Please!"
Dad appeared at my side. He'd been coming down the hall, from his room, and, so intent had I been on the through-the-door dialogue that I was having--or trying to have--with Gail, that I hadn't heard or seen him until now. "Brad," he whispered, sharing a confidence, man to man, "she's on her period."
I gulped. "Oh," I said, "I thought she had a stomach--"
"That's just a euphemism that women use, sometimes, when they don't want us men to know what's really the problem."
Feeling foolish--and boyish--I nodded. "I see."
"Let your sister be," he advised me, "until she's feeling better."
Again, his words seemed to signify much more than they might have, had my chance encounter with Gail, last night, never occurred. I gave him a quizzical look.
"When her period's over," he whispered.
I nodded, going to my own bedroom and leaving my sister alone, until she felt better. Maybe her irritation had nothing to do with last night, I thought. Maybe she hadn't even noticed my erection. She'd seen me, all right, at the end of the hallway, which was why she'd gasped and retreated into her room, but she'd only seen me from the corner of her eye, at a distance, and it was doubtful that she'd seen much more than my overall figure, just her lame brother standing at the end of the hallway in his underwear, staring at her as if he were a moron. Most likely, she hadn't seen my dick making a tall tent out of the front of my underpants, and, most certainly, she had no idea that I'd masturbated, fantasizing about her naked.
Dad had given me good advice: "Let your sister be, until she's feeling better."
While Gail "recuperated," I decided to do a little Bible study. Visiting the local college library to consult an array of annotated Bibles, I discovered some interesting verses and some even more noteworthy speculations on the part of Bible commentators. Adam and Eve must have committed incest, one expert reasoned, because, with no other human beings available, they'd have had no choice but to do so, especially since they'd been commanded to "be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth." Their sons, Cain and Abel, and all the children who'd descended from them--the entire human race--were products of incest. God, it appeared, had had no problem with such an act, at least at that point in human history.
There were several other instances of acceptable incest in the Old Testament as well, I found. After the flood, with only Noah and his family left of the human race, upon whom could the offspring of Noah's own sons sire children except their sisters and cousins? No other women, except their own mother, would have been available to them. Surely, God would have known that such would be the case, even before he'd unleashed the flood upon the earth. Therefore, it seemed that he must have considered incest an acceptable means of replenishing the postdiluvian planet.
While they were dwelling in caves after fleeing Sodom, Lot's daughters got their father drunk and slept with him, believing that the rest of humanity had been destroyed along with Sodom and Gomorrah. Although their intercourse was not sanctioned by God, as had been that of Adam and Eve's family and of the descendents of Noah, it had occurred and was duly noted by the author of Genesis. Moreover, Abraham's son Isaac married his father's niece Rebecca, and Esau married not one, but two, of his first cousins, the sisters Mahalath and Basemath. Jacob, likewise, wed two of his first cousins, Rachel and Leah.
There were other instances of Biblical incest as well, several of them, and not until after Moses received the Ten Commandments and the priests had instituted the precepts recorded in the book of Leviticus and Deuteronomy did prohibitions against incest become law among the Israelites. Even then, these prohibitions were not binding on neighboring tribes. In fact, some scholars contend that the purpose of the Israelites' laws was not so much to condemn some actions as abominable in themselves as to separate the Israelites from the pagans by ensuring that God's chosen people did not do as the heathens did. Thus, incest, which had been all well and good only a generation before, suddenly became an "abomination" in God's sight.