Games We Played

Her hand slipped from her panties and came to rest on the bed beside her. The pungent aroma of her arousal hit me, sending another painful wave of excitement to my rock hard cock. I desperately clawed at sanity from a free-fall. I mentally pictured myself brushing away the haunting images, trying to climb above them; fighting for air. They were images of her splaying her thighs open for me so I could taste her. Feeling her hot, wet flesh on my tongue.

So as not to let on that I was struggling, I slowly moved away from her, sliding back to my own side of the bed. It was the last thing on earth I wanted to do at that moment, but I did it. For her.

Chapter Two

I walked into the commons building on campus, relieved to be out of the humidity, but still bothered. Lack of sleep and drenching heat were working my last nerve. I'd replayed the whole thing in my mind over and over again, non-stop, in one continuous looping reel. I hate movies that leave you hanging.

I didn't know where we stood. Does this change things between us or not? I wanted to know what she was thinking about the whole incident. I didn't want her to feel bad about it; and I didn't think we needed to make a big deal out of it, either. Right? I mean, it's not like we did anything. I was doing a piss poor job of convincing myself.

I didn't feel guilty about the act, itself. It was what happened the next morning that weighed heavily on me.

Having to drive to campus for a morning class, I knew my day was going to start earlier than Rachel's. She flinched and shifted when my alarm went off, but she remained in bed as I headed off to the shower.

My raging hard-on had only barely receded, and I had to do some serious self-coaching to get it down enough to relieve my bladder. It was a short break, though. I'd laid in bed drifting in and out of sleep, suffering for the remainder of the night, with the single hope that I'd get relief in the shower. I was desperate to come. Fucking dying.

The shower door wasn't completely shut when my fist started pumping. Fuck, yes. This wasn't a novel occurrence for me. I'd been using the shower for this purpose for years. It wasn't my first choice of locations; but any morning when I'd been unable to do it in bed because Rachel was there, was a prime candidate for a shower jack.

I leaned against the tile wall, jets of warm water pelting my back. I consciously put the masturbation incident out of my mind and closed my eyes, summoning Beauty to my rescue. I had a thousand different scenes that I liked to play with my dark-haired vixen, most of them involved bondage of some sort. On this occasion, I chose something simple because I knew it would be a short session. Hell, I'm halfway there, already.

As I was brushing the hair from her face in my fantasy, I immediately noticed something different. Beauty had facial features. Bright blue eyes and a cute up-turned nose, just like...Oh, Fuck! My balls constricted and hot semen spurted from my cock with alarming force, at first sputtering across the shower tile, then flowing over my fingers like molten lava.

My face fell to my arm, now supporting my weight against the wall. For a few seconds the shower spun and the lights went dim. Shit. I'm about to pass out. I braced myself in the corner of the shower, panting, determined not to lose consciousness.

The fit of lightheadedness passed in a few short moments. The vision in my mind did not, however. Rachel. I'd somehow managed to combine Rachel's face with my fantasy beauty. Only then, did I realize, that they both had the same hair, the same height, figure, femininity. The realization washed over me. Beauty is Rachel. She always has been. All this time, I've been fantasizing about my own sister?!

I turned and allowed the water to hit me directly in the face. Wake up from this nightmare. Please. This is not right. I couldn't make sense of the betrayal. How my mind could have been hiding this from me. Is that even possible? I'm losin' it, I swear. This is fucked up.

Loud voices coming from the food court snapped me back to the commons, as the endless reel of thoughts and images was rewinding to play from the beginning again. Just like it had been doing all morning. I knew there was no point in going over it again. No magic solution was going to present itself on the fiftieth run of the exact same movie. I couldn't stop it, though.

A small group of female coeds walked toward me. I pretended to be studying the bulletin board so they wouldn't notice that I had obviously lost my ever lovin' mind. A business card and a flyer caught my eye. Rather, the word 'sex' on the flyer grabbed my attention.

Ryann Myers, LCSW

Clinical Social Worker / Counselor

Specializing in Anxiety, Depression and Sex Therapy

I noticed that his office was located on the second floor of the building I was in. I'd never before considered talking to a counselor. I've never needed to...'til now. I wonder what 'Sex Therapy' means. He's probably heard a lot freakier shit in his office than this. Suite 243. No appointment necessary.

I glanced down the hall toward the stairway and made my decision. I'll just go up there and see if he's available. If not, no big deal, I'll figure this out.

A sign with instructions was propped up on an easel just inside one of the hallways. They were pretty simple. If the door was open, proceed. If not, try back later or leave your name and cell phone number on the back of the business card of the person you came to see. Alternatively, there was a list of other counselors to choose from. It wasn't necessary for me, however, because the door to suite 243 was open.

Sitting behind a desk was a woman in her early thirties, probably.

"I'm sorry to bother you, I'm looking for Ryan Myers."

"It's pronounced, Ree'Ann. Two n's. Can I help you?"

"Oh. Uh, I just, saw your card downstairs and..."

"Would you rather talk to a man than a woman?"

"Oh, uh, no. I mean, it doesn't matter."

"Okay. Come in, shut the door and have a seat. What part of my flyer downstairs drew you in?"

"What?"

"Was it anxiety, depression, or sex?"

"Feels like all three at the moment. But, um, the sex part is what got my attention."

"Okay. First off, what would you like me to call you?"

"Oh, shit! Oops, sorry. I'm Brian."

"Don't worry about it. I've heard much worse. You can call me Ryann. What brings you in today, Brian?"

"Uh, I, this is harder than I thought it would be. To talk about this, I mean."

"I understand. Just take it easy and start slow. What, in general, are we talking about?"

I couldn't get my brain to function.

"Performance issues with your girlfriend, cheating, inappropriate fantasies, fetishes, erectile dysfunction, transgender tendencies, sado-masochism, addiction to porn, bondage, role-playing, pedophilia, mommy issues?"

"Do people really come to you with all that?"

"And more. The possibilities are endless. I was just giving you a sample so you don't have to feel like you're alone or that you're going to scare me."

"I guess not. Okay." I took a deep breath, "Something happened last night with my sister that's bothering me."

"Okay. Something sexual?"

"Yeah. Well, not that sexual. She, Rachel, was masturbating in the bed next to me and I sort of helped. I mean, I didn't touch her or anything, except on the hand, but I was there urging her to, uh, finish and everything. And I sort of pressed on her fingers to, uh, you know, help her along a little."

"How old is Rachel?"

"Eighteen. She graduates High School in a couple of weeks."

"And what was she doing in your bed?"

"She's been climbing into my bed since she was 5 years old. Not every night or anything, but some nights. It started with an early childhood fear of storms."

"You guys close?"

"Yeah."

"Parents?"

"Uh, yeah. Still married and everything."

"What do they think about you guys sleeping in the same bed together?"

"Mom has never said anything but Dad hates it. Rachel does it anyway."

"What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You must like it, since you allow it to go on despite your father's disapproval?"

"I don't know. I guess. I never really thought about it."

Ryann sat in silent consideration for a couple of seconds.

I shrugged, "Okay, I, you know, it's nice sometimes."

"Have you and your sister ever experimented with sex before? Maybe when you were younger?"

"No. Never."

"So, why do you think she decided to masturbate with you lying right next to her?"

"I don't know. I was asleep. Maybe she thought she could do it without waking me up."

"But she has her own bed, right? Why wouldn't she just go there?"

I shrugged, "I don't know."

Ryann nodded, "What did she say in the morning?"

"She was in her room with the door shut when I came out of the shower this morning."

"You didn't talk with her at all?"

"No. That's part of what's buggin' me."

"I bet."

"I have no idea what she's thinking about this whole thing."

"Right. What else is bothering you?"

"Well, I wasn't exactly thinking innocent thoughts the whole time. You know what I mean?"

"Yes. Naturally. You are a guy, after all. But I can see why you're upset. Because it's your sister."

"Yeah. It's even worse. The next morning...in the shower...I jack-...masturbated to fantasies about her."

"Okay."

"I sort of have this fantasy girl that I've been imagining for years, and, I think it's Rachel. I mean, I think it's always been her but I didn't know it. Is that...Am I crazy or something?"

"No. It's fairly common for people to fantasize about the ones around them. Friends, classmates, teachers, their family members. Are you most bothered by the fact that it's your sister, or that you just put a name to the vision?"

"I'm not sure. Both, I guess."

"Okay. So, you've told me what happened, and you've sort of mentioned that you're upset about your response to it...what do you think is going to happen next?"

"I don't know. I'm sort of afraid to find out. I mean, I don't want this to, I don't know, cause problems between us, or anything."

"Why do you think it would cause problems?"

I shrugged.

"Nothing has transpired between you that you haven't told me, right?"

"Right."

"And you didn't touch her without her permission or anything of that sort?"

"No. I wouldn't do that. Ever."

"What is it that you're afraid of?"

"Afraid?"

"You said that you were afraid to find out. Find out what?"

"I, uh..."

"Are you afraid of where this might lead?"

I nodded.

Ryann took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. "Okay. Tell me about one of the fantasies you've had with this girl. Not the one this morning; one from before you realized your fantasy girl was Rachel."

"Well, I don't know, they're mostly just images, really. Usually she's tied to something, the bed, usually, and you know, we have sex."

"Define sex, in this case. Oral, intercourse? Different positions? Just a general idea."

"We do everything; every way you can imagine, er, or, every way I can imagine, I guess."

"Are you in charge or is she?"

"I am. Always. That never changes. And she's always very willing. Always."

"So, why the restraints? You said she's almost always tied to something, right?"

"Yeah. I don't know. Because I like it, I guess. It is my fantasy."

"True enough. Have you and your sister always gotten along? I mean, did you play together a lot as children?"

"Some, yeah. We did what everyone else did, I guess. You know, board games, hide-and-seek, stuff like that."

"Did you ever play 'house' together?"

"No. Not that I can remember, anyway."

"What about any other type of role playing? Like animal farm, or dungeons and dragons, or something like that."

"OH! Yeah, weird. I totally forgot about it until you said dungeon. We used to pretend that my room was a castle and that she was my prisoner. Now that I think of it, it was Rachel's favorite game."

"Did you ever tie her up?"

"Oh, shit...sorry. Yeah. To my desk. We'd even convince Mom to let us eat in our rooms so I could feed her while she was tied-up. Oh, God. I'd forgotten about that completely. Think that's why I have those kinds of fantasies? Because of some stupid game we played when we were little?"

"Maybe. It could be why you've put Rachel in that role in your fantasies instead of just a random girl. You could be merely rehashing that game from when you were young. But fantasizing about bondage...you could have just as easily been drawn to it then, and that's why you did it when you were playing. There are documented cases of children at a very young age engaging in that type of play. For that reason, I have to believe it is based on an innate, rather than learned, behavior. I don't suppose you remember whose idea it was to begin with?"

"No. I know it's a huge part of my fantasies now."

"It doesn't matter when it started. There's nothing unusual about those kinds of fantasies. Pretty mainstream these days, anyway. Are you bothered by your tendency in that area?"

"No, not really."

"Have you ever explored it? In real life, with a girlfriend, maybe?"

"Not really. I tried to once, but she wasn't into it, so I just quit. Haven't tried it since."

"Do you have a girlfriend now?"

"No. I haven't had a steady girlfriend in over a year. I've had 'friends', you know, that I've hooked-up with, but nothing serious."

"What about Rachel? Does she have a boyfriend?"

"No, not at the moment. She just broke up with an asshole named Jason. What a prick!"

"Why didn't you like him?"

"He was a jerk. Treated Rachel like shit. He'd talk to her like dirt; forget they had a date and stand her up. Shit like that. I wanted to take him out back and beat the crap out of him."

"She must've seen something in him to keep dating him."

"I don't know. I guess. She's always been horrible at picking boyfriends, though. The worst."

"Are you sure that's the case? Or are you maybe a little biased?"

"No, I swear. It's not me."

"Okay, okay. I'm just yanking your chain, anyway. Have you talked to her about the guys she dates?"

"All the time. Not that I could avoid it. She talks to me about everything. I'd have to be a damn good liar for her not to notice my disgust."

"So, getting back to the reason you came in here...Have you thought about what you're going to say to Rachel about last night when you see her?"

"Some. I don't want her to feel bad, or weird about it, you know?"

"And what about you? What do you feel about it?"

"I still can't get over that I got so frickin', you know, excited over the whole thing. I was kind of hoping that you would lecture me on how wrong it is to lust after my sister and all that."

"That's not what I do, Brian. It's not my place to sit here and impose a particular morality on you. I'm sure your dad could do that for you, though, if you survive the conversation."

"Oh, no shit! He'd fr-eak if he knew."

"What good do you think lecturing would do? I mean, you're going to feel how you feel, anyway. The only difference is how bad you feel about yourself afterward. I'm of the opinion that guilt is highly overrated. So far, I haven't heard a single thing you should feel remorse over. And I don't think you do, really. I think you're more afraid of what she's thinking and feeling right now. And you're afraid of losing the relationship you have with her. Subconsciously, you decided years ago how you felt about incest. You may not have acted on the sexual aspects of it, but you sure didn't mind playing house with her; allowing her to sleep in your bed.

"I can't say anything that will fix the turmoil you're experiencing. Talk to Rachel. That's the only way I see for you to work it out."

I heard the words but I wasn't ready to accept the truth of them. I had convinced myself that our relationship was normal as long as we didn't bring sex into it. And now... We were standing on a slippery slope. All those years of imparting every thought, sharing a house, a bathroom, a bed, had been building a relationship that was both intimate and platonic at the same time.

Part of me was relieved but the other part was sad. It'll never be like it was before with us. We're turning a corner. We have to choose. We've outgrown it, or we just need more now. At least I do. Aw, fuck! I don't know. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe Rache didn't do it on purpose like the counselor suggested.

Well, she didn't stop it, either. At any point, she could've just slapped my hand, rolled off the bed and headed to her own room, and that would've been the end of it. She wanted me to wake up. And she got off to it. I know that much.

I began to realize that the arguing that went on in my mind was the key to what was bothering me. I recognized that we were at a crossroad and I was afraid we were going to choose different paths. I also wasn't sure I was ready to admit which path I wanted to go down.

I left that office knowing that everything she said was right. More importantly, I knew what I had to do. I need to talk to Rache.

Chapter Three

By the time I got to work, I was downright pissed-off. At myself. Feeling vulnerable will do that to a person. I didn't like how much I wanted her; how much I needed her. I felt out of control, like the tables had totally turned with us. She held the answer; she was in charge of where this was headed. Fuck that shit!

I texted her when I took my first break.

> Hey, how was school?

I was getting even more pissed off that I was staring at my cell screen, holding my breath, and waiting for her response.

>> Good

That's it?!

> Are you at home?

>> N

Well, where the fuck are you? I nearly chucked the damn phone into the trash.

> I get off at 10. We need to talk.

>> At chelis. Spending the nite

Cheli was short for Michele. She was her best friend. Best girl friend, that is.

> I work early shift tomorrow. I'll be home between 3 & 4. Be in my room waiting.

I felt a twinge of guilt after I hit send but I couldn't take it back. It was a bold command and I was intensely curious about her response. Part of me was expecting her to push back.

>> K

I released the breath I was holding. Then I tried not to focus on my swelling cock.

The store was slammed on Saturday, and the hands on the clock sped mercifully 'round until it was time. I didn't waste a second chatting with my co-workers at 3:00. I could get home as early as 3:15, if I rushed. I didn't rush, though. Keeping my mind occupied on work the previous 8 hours had made me bolder. Or maybe it was the fact that I knew she was already waiting for me. I could visualize the scene vividly.

She probably started out by wandering around my room, checking out the papers on my desk, reading the pathetic scribbles I made in my notebook in class on Friday. Then, when she'd had enough of that, she probably paced a bit, fighting boredom and trying to stay awake. She'll be tired from staying up all night at Cheli's house. I glanced at my watch. 3:20. By now, she's lying on my bed, checking her phone for texts, playing a round or two of Angry Birds. In another 5 minutes she'll be out like a light.

I stopped and filled my gas tank, and then sat in the driveway for a few minutes, just for good measure. 3:45. It's time.

I made it an artform, choosing just the right cadence; not too fast to appear over-anxious, but not dragging every step, either. I wanted her to know I was in control. If she's even awake.