tagIncest/TabooHow I Gave Birth to My Sisters

How I Gave Birth to My Sisters



I dropped my handbag carelessly onto the kitchen counter when I arrived home from work.

"How did the interview go?" Mom asked.

I didn't slow down on my way past her towards the refrigerator, wishing I could completely ignore her question as I bent over to retrieve a beer from the back where they sat behind the salads I had prepared the night before. Diet wasn't going well, I thought to myself as I twisted off a bottle top.

"How did you do?" she asked again.

"Great," I said with a forced tone of accomplishment. "I think they liked me."

"Well they should," said Mom. "You already work for them. They should all know what a pleasant and responsible young woman you are, Deana."

I took a few swigs of my favorite brew and then twirled the bottom of my beer bottle around and grinned.

"I don't think I'm a likely candidate," I said.

"Not likely? Well, you're aware of what's happening at the store. You've kept a sharp eye on the developments in the company, how things are changing," said Abigail (my mother's name.) "And you're a girl who acts responsibly. You drink responsibly."

"I'm thinking more along the lines of my diet that I'm cheating on. Not very committed."

"Well, just don't eat as much of that salad for dinner tonight," she said. "Cut out some of the cheese, croutons, sunflower seeds, and ranch dressing you smother it with, and you'll be back on track."

"Ha," I said. "Cut down on the ranch. Not sure my bosses are keeping track of my salad dressing choices."

"Did they tell you when they might call you back in for a follow-up interview?"

"Mom, there were lots of other candidates," I said. "A couple that even bothered with business college. Another two or three that bothered working there two or three or ten years longer than I have. Hard to compete with that."

"You went to community college," she said.

"And before that I went to high school. I was never employed during that time in anything related to this. I worked at a car wash my junior and senior years. Work in retail probably trumps being in the chess club."

"And the Glee Club."

"All I got was a General Studies Associate," I said. "That's not a real degree, you know." I didn't want to let Mother know just how badly I had bombed the interview. It wasn't that she would be disappointed in me. Mother and I never fought, never argued with each other. Our house was a peaceful place, and we both went to great lengths to keep it that way, choosing instead to show the highest tolerance for each other's failings. Mother couldn't keep my father from leaving us, and I couldn't convert my high academic standing into a lucrative job. If an argument was about to erupt, Mom would go to the fridge and pop off the top of a beer and hand in to me — even when I was sixteen. I wouldn't drink it of course, being underage and thinking that alcohol was of the devil at the time. And I would do the same for her if she was getting out of hand; she would drink down the beer gratefully.

As for the interview, I didn't know any of the business-sounding questions I was asked. I apparently needed to know at least the very basics of accounting if I wanted to fill a position. Me and accounting, no. I didn't get credits and debits and balance sheets or any of the strangely named money related documents the interviewer slid across the table to test my knowledge. It was apparent that I'd have to go to business school to understand them: at least take a few business classes to make a decent impression.

Still, I applied for the job because my supervisor suggested it. Granted she thought my chances of actually getting in was slim, and I had told Mom this, days before. Terra had said that the experience of going through the interview process would prove beneficial, help me learn what it was like, help me prepare better next time.

"You were an A student," Mom said. "You were brilliant in school."

"It's just an assistant job. Not even much of a pay raise. Probably more trouble than its worth."

"I think you'd be surprised," she said. "A challenge like this can really give you a sense of purpose, a thrill even. It would be an accomplishment. It would be a stepping stone to bigger and better things."

"Perhaps, but I'll have to go back to school if I'm ever going to go anywhere in life. My curricula in high school and college were just too general."

"Well, you could always meet some rich guy like I did," said Mom with a big grin.

"Ray isn't that rich," I said, glancing around at the modest structure that was our home. "This place is older than the Declaration of Independence."

"It's not that old. And it's classy," said Abigail.

"Ray spends all of his money trying to keep this old place from falling apart," I said.

Ray, my stepdad, had bought the house after he married my mother six years ago. My real dad had walked out on us when I was three. Hadn't heard from him since. Couldn't even remember him, I was so young when he left. Ray met Mom when I was in middle school. They dated for several years, marrying when I was seventeen, buying the hundred-year-old house that same year. Ray and Mom spent a lot of time and money on the place from that point fixing it up. His job paid well, and the house was beginning to look quite fabulous. But they had put a lot more money into the old fort over the years than it was worth, and I was pretty confident they would see that if they ever decided to put it on the market.

"And feeding and clothing the two of us," she said with a wink.

I rolled my eyes showing and grinned humorously. Ray was awesome. Not only did he keep us up, keep me up better than my meager job could have afforded, he had also bought me the new car I was driving. He was a very generous and loving person, taking care of me as if I were his own daughter.

"You don't remember your father," said Mom. "A very lazy man. Ray was a fortunate catch for us both."

"Well, he hasn't kicked me out of the house yet," I said, smiling a smile that said I felt I was getting away quite sneakily with some great deception still living under their roof at twenty-three.

"Oh, you," she said, poking my shoulder playfully. "As long as you do your chores and don't make a racket, Ray and I have decided you can live with us until we're old and grey."

"Oh, you'll never get old and grey," I said, and I meant it. Mother had me quite young, illegally young if it hadn't been for the fact that my biological father was the same age as she was when I was conceived; she was just fourteen. Nearing forty now, she looked quite good for her age, keeping herself in reasonable shape. She was no larger than I was, her build, and she had inherited the kind of genes that refused to show a bodies true age; people often mistook us for sisters.

"Well, I will. And someday Ray and I will need you more than you'll need us. So, it's an investment the way we see it. You can pay us back when we're too old to dress ourselves and wipe our..."

"Please," I interrupted, "let me drink my beer without that image in my mind."

Mom laughed.


Ray came home several hours after I had. He went to work before I woke each morning, and always came home later than I did. It was a well-paying job he had in the construction business, but it also required a good deal of his time and energy.

"Abby," he said as he came into the front door, setting down his briefcase to kiss Mom (Abby short for Abigail.)

"Ray," she replied kissing him twice.

I sat in the living room catching glimpses of their daily homecoming ritual as I watched television.

"We got the job," said Ray, smiling broadly. "Should keep us going for another year."

"Thank God the economy picked back up," I heard Mom say.

I binge watched episodes of my latest, favorite show while Mom put supper together. An hour later Ray was in the living room too, planting himself down on the recliner where we all watched television each night. Ray, having the stressful job that he did, had his bottle of brandy out on the end table next to him, tapping on his tablet computer doing housekeeping for his employers while he put back several shots of his favorite after-work beverage.

Ray was quite the sexy one, I have to admit. It required no alcohol for me to admire him. He was muscular, so muscular that the curves of his anatomy showed through the tight t-shirt he wore. The pair of pajama bottoms he put on each evening fit quite snuggly to his shapely thighs too. I loved to watch him bend over to throw logs into the fireplace during the winter months. His hard ass was fit from the exercises he did at the gym each day before he went to work.

"We're watching that movie your mother wanted to see tonight," he said to me distractedly as he finished up his work on his computer.

Mother came into the room a little later to tell us that supper was ready. We weren't the type of family that sat around a kitchen table for supper. We were the kind that sat in comfortable chairs near a TV while we dined. And soon we were relaxing into our assigned seats in the living room, our plates of food on TV trays.

The movie underway, I picked at my food. But as my food disappeared from my plate, I found myself craving something, and I glanced over at Ray with some jealousy in my heart over his bottle of booze. The slight buzz of my after-work beer was leaving me.

"Can I have a few shots?" I asked him.

"Sure," he said handing me the double shot glass of whiskey that he had just poured for himself.

I hissed after drinking it down. It burned as it was a good bit more potent than your average bourbon.

"Another?" he asked me.

"A couple more," I said grimacing.

Minutes later I had taken down my third and was feeling quite warm.

Mother was no help in keeping me from straying away from my diet. Once the sun set on our house and bedtime approached, our inhibitions seemed to wane. The alcohol may have had something to do with it. But I imagined the end of the day drawing nearer, lots of people tended to slip on commitments they had made. It was sort of like night and sleep were an ending similar to death. Life would be over some day, and the draw towards unconsciousness was like the inescapable pull of death. If things were about to end, why waste time and effort trying to look slim, or...

I had two more shots of Ray's whiskey followed by a couple bottles of my favorite beer from the fridge.

Mother was having her third shot of after-meal vodka. She needed it to relax and sleep. But there was the added intoxicant she used that came in the form of a sleeping pill. She usually took one after supper to help her fall asleep. She was a bit of an insomniac without them. She took three that night.

"Getting another beer," I said after my fourth... or seventh, leaving for the kitchen again.

I looked over and saw that Mother was nodding off on the couch, leaning over onto the arm rest. As I wobbled my way to the kitchen, I heard her yawn louder than ever. It was well past her bed time.

"Almost bedtime," she said, and then I heard her kiss Ray on the cheek, a loud playful one that popped over the noise of the television.

I took my beer towards my bedroom to drink my last that evening. I saw that Mother had gone when I passed through the living room.

"I'm going to have a few more," Ray said, turning off the TV. There was a noticeable slurring in his voice as he spoke. Nearly half of his bottle of brandy was gone I saw as I reached my bedroom door.

In my bathroom, between chugging down my drink, I began undressing for bed. When I had cleaned myself up, I too took a sleeping pill from a bottle in my bathroom closet. This wasn't one of those that my mother took. Hers were prescription. If I had taken one of them, being as strong as they were, I imagined I might have fallen asleep and not awoken for days. These were an over the counter type that helped me fall asleep, an antihistamine that had been rebranded as a sleep aid. With all of my nervousness over the interview that day, I figured even with all beers and whiskey I'd had, I might have trouble staying unconscious through the night. Didn't want to go to work in the morning walking around like a zombie. Of course, with all the shots of brandy, I could barely stay on my feet as I readied myself for bed.


I was awoken in the middle of the night. I was lying on my stomach as that was how I usually slept. As consciousness gradually returned to me, I felt what I thought was another person on the bed behind me. I felt something I did not expect to be awakened to as I was single, without a boyfriend; I was being penetrated. My legs had been spread apart, and a man was entering me from behind where I lay.

I was a strange kind of sleeper, it must be understood — especially when I was under the influence of so much alcohol and a sleeping pill or two. I suffered in these cases from a slowness of waking; my body did not awake all at once. I might open my eyes at night after a bad dream, but it would be minutes later before I could move my hands and feet or speak. The best way to describe it is that my mind awoke much more quickly than my limbs did. My eyes would open, and I would become completely aware of my surroundings, but the rest of my body would take some time before it was ready to respond to the commands to move that were being issued by my brain.

It was this feature of the way I awoke that kept me from screaming out or thrashing about in a panic when I felt someone taking advantage of me from behind. I thought I was being raped after all. It was in this long moment of vulnerability, however that I was forced to take in and consider what was happening to me. The long pause kept me from making what I soon believed would have been a terrible mistake.

I caught the scent of brandy in the air as the man behind me rammed my vagina. Brandy! It made me suspect that the person behind was not a stranger at all. It was not some man who had broken into our house to take me. No, it was Ray who was on my bed.

"Ray is fucking me," I thought to myself. "But why?"

"Abby, your pussy feels so good," I heard him say, and I knew. He had somehow mistaken me for my mother. But how?

Mother and I had a close relationship, probably too close and too honest as she had me so young and knew so little about raising children when she did. It was one night while the two of us sat alone in the living room having one of our especially honest girl-to-girl talks that she had confided in me a strange fetish that her husband Ray had. It wasn't like they made love this way all of the time. No, it was more like a treat that she would give him from time to time to reward him for some accomplishment, she had said. Ray, for whatever reason, often fantasized about having sex with a woman while she slept. And although my mother swore that her insomnia was a real condition, the two of them had found that if she took her medication with a few drinks of alcohol, she slept so soundly that she wouldn't wake while Ray played out his fantasies with her sleeping body.

It was because I remembered then that mother had taken several shots of vodka that night that I figured out she had planned to reward Ray for his recent success at work. Yes, whenever mother drank so much after dinner, I knew what they were planning to do that night — especially when Ray drank so much of his brandy. Of course, when I saw these signs, they were something I would almost immediately put out of my mind. I really had no desire to think of my parents having sex.

But it was Ray, pumping me slowly from behind. And as I began to regain control of my limbs, I chose instead of making him aware of what he was doing, that I would lie very still. Yes, it sounded like a mad thing to do, but then what was the alternative? If I had let him know, if he had realized what he was doing, if Mother had found out, it might tear our family apart. The shame he would feel. The betrayal he would see in my eyes, knowing that he had made love to his stepdaughter; he would have been crushed; mother would have been inconsolable; I would have no recourse but to leave their house. My parents' marriage might end in divorce, the three of us too stricken with embarrassment to even speak to each other again.

No, I would lie still.

Then it occurred to me that this is what I really wanted anyway. I mean, it was one of my own fantasies that I never dreamed would ever be played out in reality. His sculpted body, this handsome man, this god in human form taking me in my bed with no restraint as if I was his lover.

Ray had removed his glasses, I had assumed. They were probably laying on the end table next to his bottle of whisky. Without them he was as blind as a bat. He was quite drunk too, no doubt, and his vision would have been swimming even if he had his glasses on.

Then there was me, my body. I was built so similarly to my mother. We could wear each other's clothes, all the same sizes. He might have suspected something about my identity if he'd had to undress me, but I wore a teddy to bed. And I wasn't wearing underwear as I had found my waist had broken out in a rash before I went to bed: mother had washed my underwear with the wrong detergent. I was allergic to the perfumes in the detergent she used on her own. Leaving my underwear off would get rid of the rash by morning, and then I could safely find a pair in my dresser that didn't smell like the ocean or spring flowers or whatever scented detergent she was washing her things with these days.

I felt Ray's hands press down on the mattress on either side of me. I worried that he might try to move my body.

I also wondered if perhaps mother woke slightly during these fantasy-sex-sessions. If I cocked my ass up slightly, it might make it easier for him to thrust.

He seemed to appreciate this change in posture, rubbing a hand along the side of my teddy where it covered my breast. Then he was sliding underneath to cup it, his fingers messaging the nipple. The shape of my breasts were close enough to Mother's to fool him.

Ray leaned down to kiss the back of my neck, pushing his knees forward underneath me so that my legs splayed open even wider, his muscular legs pressing me upwards as he did. His kiss, his breath on my neck; my nipple hardened as he stimulated it. His balls were slapping against my crotch as he thrust into me. I had never seen his erection before, much less seen him naked. But as he rammed himself harder and harder into me, I realized that he must be quite large as he hurt me as much as my largest sex toy did. Where my hand curled under my stomach as I usually slept, I felt the bulge where his tip pounded in my abdomen. I had some idea what his penis might look like then. He was quite long. Only the longest of my sex toys did this to my insides.

I wanted to commend Ray for his efforts, but I knew my voice would only give me away, so I just moaned my appreciation.

Ray nuzzled down close to my side then, his pecs pressing against my delicate back. He pulled down the shoulder of my teddy and found my breast. His tongue lapped under me, stimulating my nipple. Then he switched to the other side, pulling down my teddy so that it looked like nothing more than a wrap around my stomach. Again, he was nuzzling and licking at my nipple underneath me. I fought the urge to gasp in pleasure as his muscular chest pressed down harder against me.

I thought then, still fairly drunk myself, about what a kind and loyal thing I was doing for Ray and my mother, lying silent and obedient there, not letting him know the offense he was committing. Also, I thought about Ray and my mother and how much they must love each other, Ray playing with my body this way, showing me how he played with hers. Yes, he truly loved her, was kind to her even when she lay powerless, unconscious under him. He didn't thrust too hard; he didn't abuse me.

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byAngela_Ivy_Bloom© 0 comments/ 41342 views/ 37 favorites

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