'Irish Twins' Home Alone

This fictional incest story involves a brother and his younger, recently turned-eighteen sister. It is a mutual act sparked by the sister's voyeuristic observation of a kitchen sex spat between their parents.

Kenjisato, an excellent editor, provided grammatical assistance in this preparation. I'm very thankful for his continued support and for improving this read.

What could go wrong with teenagers Andy and Andreanna being home alone? Nothing, Hank and Doris thought. It was a quiet and very safe neighborhood. They were mature teen adults -- yes, young adults, but responsible enough. It wasn't as though they had idle hands -- the devil's tools -- Mom left them a list with plenty of chores. It was long enough to occupy those hands as mom and dad were away at work. Both were eighteen now, so being home wasn't a legal concern -- they had been latchkey kids after school since they were fifteen and taking care of themselves while Doris and Hank, as teachers, wrapped up after-school tutoring sessions with less 'bright' children. Yes, young adults would be home alone every day until the university started in the fall, so that wouldn't be a big deal, right?

"Andy, Andy, hey sleepyhead, are you awake?" My energetic, early-to-rise sister was knee-bumping the edge of my mattress, jarring me out of my slumber at eight o'clock in the morning.

"No, Sissy. I'm still asleep, silly. Go away and leave me alone," I groaned and turned over, facing away from my tormentor. Heck, she knew I was dead to the world when she entered my bedroom unannounced. Ten-ish in the morning was the earliest I'd get up, unless it was a school day -- and yesterday, high school ended for the summer. I was set to sleep in like a bear. Okay, I know bears hibernate during the winter, but I had to get up for school in winter, so I planned to slumber late this summer.

"No. ... You're awake, Andy. Listen, I know you will want to hear this," Andreanna droned on, disregarding my attempt to ignore her and catch a few more winks.

My younger sister kept driving her knee into the mattress, rocking my bed until it developed a familiar, rhythmic bounce. The box springs began squeaking just as it does when I'm 'shaking hands with the milkman.'

"Leave me alone. I need my sleep," I groused, still half asleep.

Sissy's bouncing was getting more insistent. If she didn't stop soon, I would have to get up and take care of the situation rising beneath my sheets. Something had lit a fire in her overly imaginative mind, I figured. Her voice was agitated, more so than usual for an early morning. It seemed my barking at her wouldn't douse that flame, and playing possum now didn't end her quest to roust me out of bed. Once she latches onto something, she's like a pit bull with a bone. So I rolled over onto my back, resigned to get an earful of 'want to hear this,' -- whatever 'this' was.

"Wow," she gasped, as her voice choked and went silent.

Even with my eyes closed, I could sense her gaze. Sissy was fixated on my penile tumescence, a good six-inch tent pole rising from beneath my sheet. She caused that. This time it hadn't risen due to my nighttime dreams. It was the similarity between her knee-jerking of the mattress and the all-to-familiar milkman's handshake.

"Hey, I can't help it." I growled, "You started it by rocking the bed. Sissy, you know you're supposed to knock before you come in -- that's the rule."

It wasn't that she didn't know about tent poles, the milkman, or masturbation already. We had mutual respect for those situations, and barging into my room while I attended to those times wasn't proper etiquette.

"Yeah, but every day with the stick-of-wood thing? Doesn't it ever stay down?" she giggled.

"Hardly--at least you don't have this obvious pole problem to deal with," I whispered, rolling over to face her. My wood wasn't so prominent lying on my side. Still, it ached for attention, tender love, and a hardy handshake that would send my cream rocketing into the air with a groan of intense satisfaction. I couldn't give it those caresses with Sissy in my face, grinning from ear to ear, and delighted in her discovery.

'Yes, Andy, I don't have a pole to deal with, but the same urges are still buzzing around my little button. It sure would be nice to use your pole to provide some relief,' Sissy thought, as she smiled at her Irish twin's awesome-looking tentpole.

Andreanna's bemused look seemed to enjoy my predicament. "Well, what has you jabbering like a blue jay so early in the morning?" I asked, looking at her standing there in her frilly nightie. I tried blinking to clear my vision.

The nightie's hem was barely in line with the top of her pink panties, and her tits held it out from her tummy. Those two firm mounds poking against the tight-fitting gown gave a hint of the pink-cherry nipples beneath. Andreanna's taste for nightwear was to put on as little as possible -- just enough to stop Dad from getting after her for being bare-assed, as he called it when he scolded her for coming downstairs like a...

Dad and Mom had more than a few discussions about his choice of terms and how Dad felt her attire might be too much of a tease for me. A former college debater, Mom easily trumped all of his chauvinistic arguments. I figured that out last year when I realized he would get a frozen shoulder for a few days if he did something to irk Mom. It drastically affected his early morning exercises. I could tell whenever that happened -- their mattress thumping and box springs squeaks would be quiet for a few days. Dad would get the message, and soon stopped getting after Andreanna's at-home attire. That was okay with me; I got to see how my dream girls from school would look undressed, mostly.

And as for Andreanna, she wasn't bothered one bit. I knew she wasn't wearing it to tease me. That's just the way it was between us. As same birth-year siblings, nine months apart, we bonded almost as twins do. We shared our thoughts about guy-girl things pretty openly. That's how I found out girls fingerfuck, nearly as much as guys jerk off. I felt better knowing that tidbit when girl-gawking down the halls, picking out a beauty to turn on my imagination for some untamed thoughts. Before that, I thought girls never had sexual thoughts, and my almost-always-on sexual fantasies meant something was wrong with me.

Ridiculous, I know, but hey, you learn as you go. And with Andreanna as my backstop, I could get answers about girls' feelings toward guys that no one else was willing to share. If she asked me questions, I reciprocated, as frankly as I could. It was an inexplicable bonding. We made that 'Irish twins' pact our little secret.

Sissy even shared my name, as I was born, Andrew -- Andy. She got named Andreanna because, at her birth, Mom said, "You two are destined to be joined at the hip."

"Hey, Andreanna! My eyes are up here. Stop gawking. You said I would want to know something. Thanks to you, I'm wide awake now, so .... What's up?"

I'd borrowed that quote from mom -- 'the eyes up here one.' Sissy giggled,"You are up, silly. Aren't you going to ... you know ... take care of that woody thing? I'd even stop blue-jay jabbering for a little while -- if you'd let me watch."

"No. You're not watching! And I'll take care of it later. You know I can't do it with you here. So, behave and ... spill it."

Her gaze met my eyes for a few seconds, then broke. The temptation to resume her stare was a bit too much for her, as she got around to explaining the real reason she barged into my room in the first place. She answered, "Well, I woke up this morning and could hear Mom and Dad in the kitchen. It was a muffled conversation, but it sounded like they were fighting. So, I tiptoed downstairs to eavesdrop. It turns out it wasn't a come-to-blows fight."

"You woke me up to tell Mom and Dad weren't fighting? What the hell, Andreanna?"

"Okay, okay. It wasn't a physical fight, but they were calling each other some nasty things," she bristled nervously, still looking at my tented sheet.

"Stop with the bullcrap, just get out, and let me go back to sleep." I barked, and started to turn back around to face away from her. Nasty things for Sissy could have been almost anything PG-13, like 'butthole or shithead.' Those words were prevalent in our vocabularies since our parents taught high school and used them instead of the more derisive or outright vulgar terms.

"Daddy called Mom a bitch," Sissy blurted out.

That got my attention! That word was not used in our household. I spun back around to face her.

"And Mom called Dad a motherfucker, too," she blurted out. Sissy's eyes dropped, fixed upon the floor, as though she had uttered the words in front of our parents. Her face turned beet red. She had used the other word not permitted in our household.

"But you said they weren't fighting.What was going on? Didn't you stay and listen to find out?"

"Yeah, I did."

The emphasis she put into her reply told me she regretted it. "So, come on; you want me to beat it out of you?" She knew I was joking -- I'd never hurt my kid sister. I'd defend her with my life if it came to that level of protection.

Andreanna remained uncharacteristically quiet. She avoided looking me in the eye as her lips pursed together. For a moment, I thought she was considering not spilling the beans.

"Out with it, no secrets between us; remember -- our pledge to one another?"

Her eyes widened at my reminder. She had brought up a hot topic that concerned parental anger; now, it was up to her to finish what she had started. Nothing hidden between us, had been our promise to one another. Nervously, she sat down on the edge of my bed and slowly began to recount her observations.

"Well," she began hesitantly, "I heard Dad angrily ranting at Mom in the kitchen, but I couldn't distinguish the words -- just the volume and general harshness of it. So, I crept to the kitchen doorway to hear and see what was happening. As I got to the doorway, Daddy started boiling over but tried to keep his voice down. I guess so as not to wake us up. Mom grew angry and began to yell back."

...

"Bitch, I told you from now on, you're going to do what I tell you to when I tell you, and you're going to show some appreciation for it, got it?"

"Just because you've got a 'dick,' Hank, doesn't mean you have the right to order me around. Bastard, I live here too, and have as much of a right to say how things are run and done! So fuck you!"

"I'll show you, bitch, who's going to get fucked today, and tomorrow I may decide to do your ass to show you who the real boss around here is. So, you better start respecting me properly. Now, turn around, grab that damn sink, and wiggle your ass back here. I'm going to give it to you like the bitch you are. Get your head down on the counter, now, or I'll slap your ass 'til it glows red in the dark!"

...

"Andy, I never heard them so angry before. It sounded like they were mad enough to come to blows."

"Sissy, that's bad. I'm sorry that you had to hear that crap. But I'm not sure we can do anything about it -- we're not in charge. They are. That's just so out of character for both of them, especially with all that bad language between them. Are you sure that's what you heard and ... just maybe it was something from your overactive imagination?"

I asked for her second opinion because she tended to exaggerate circumstances. For instance, when we were twelve, she came screaming into the house to call the fire department because a giant snake had attacked our neighbor. Dad grabbed his shotgun and ran through the gate between our yards while Mom called the fire department. We didn't hear any shots, but Dad was back pretty quickly, chuckling over Mr. Cocklesberry's version.

"Well, Hank, I did fall and got tangled up in the garden hose I was carrying. Sissy must have seen me struggling to get up with my hose still wrapped over my shoulder. Not a giant snake. Hank, your kid still has that wild imagination," Mr. Cocklesberry told him.

They both got a laugh over that. Until the fire department showed up. Dad grounded Sissy for a week over that one -- Mom didn't intervene.

"Andy, it wasn't my imagination; I heard what I told you," she sighed, looking me dead in the eye.

I knew that, too, even before I asked the question. I just held out some glimmer of hope that she had some small doubt. From twelve years old and seeing snake attacks to turning eighteen years old and hearing your parents screaming and calling each other vile names was a whole different universe of maturity -- not imagination running wild.

What could be done about that?

Her recounting the scene hit my baby sister like a ton of bricks. My parents were never at each other like this, ever. Was this destined for a family split up?

Sissy's eyes moistened, then a tear started to form, and Niagara Falls came immediately behind those first tenuous drops. I didn't know what to say. My only option helped her in the past. Opening my arms, she fell into them. The sobs came right behind the tears wetting my bare shoulder. Her heaving breasts rose and fell against my chest with each new moan. I was at a loss as to how to console her. But needed to let her go -- those titties pressed against me were rubbing my nipples and rousing some of that still-not-subsided morning wood. It pressed against her tummy. She scooted back a bit, which told me she could feel its firm head poking her, too. With all the turmoil surrounding her revelation, my biological reactions became hormonal. I had to let her go or spend time later trying to explain why my dick was throbbing against her belly despite her gloomy mood -- Biology 101 and proximity again.

"How did you like my service 'bitch'?" Hank grinned, as he slipped back into his robe.

"Well, sugar, the script was flaky, but the action scene was hot. I could feel how that set you off, you randy 'bastard' you -- it felt good to have you banging me from behind. We haven't been that hot for each other in quite some time. It was like the old days. We need to get more into this roleplaying stuff. ... and you need to keep the noise level down. You could have awoken the kids, and then what? You know Sissy is an early bird. She could have walked in on us 'doing the nasty' -- that would have been awkward."

"I'm pretty sure she knows we have sex, honey. And now that she's eighteen, getting a peek at the old pecker probably won't freak her out -- bet she's already seen a few by now."

"Hank! That's ... so bad of you!" Doris' mock show of shock had Hank grinning.

"Sorry, babe, but this isn't our parents' world. Kids are online all the time and probably see worse, no make that, do see worse stuff than a surprise glimpse of a Dad's dick."

"Well, Hank, you contribute to that 'worse stuff' with your part-time work at that recording shop."

"Babe, it pays for their tuition, so let's not bite the hand that feeds them. And you're contributing to 'worse stuff,' too; you're getting paid to polish those scripts, so it's tit-for-tat in that game, sugar."

"Okay, I'm partially guilty, too -- but not like you, 'Mister, I am the boss.'"

"Honey, come on now! That was just a line in the script. I didn't mean a word of it. But, seriously, we will have to figure out how to stage these scripts, get actors, and improve those terrible dialogs. Those scripts are not all like this kitchen scene where everything takes place in one room. We need a whole house to film in -- isn't there some camp we can send those two for the summer so we'd be home alone?"

"Hank, you'd like an empty house to film that stuff, wouldn't you? It would be like that porn parody of 'Home Alone' you love to watch, the one with naked triplets robbing the house. I see that ear-to-ear grin on your mischievous face. Well, get real. It's too late to send them packing. Besides, they'll be gone soon enough this fall. Classes start at the university on the eighth. Mark your calendar for then, babe. After that, you can do a little catching up on your acting -- when we're home alone."

"Speaking of catching up, look at the time, honey. Let's get this sex sauce washed off and get to work before the crew decides to bail on us. Hustle your cute ass, babe."

"Hank! Such language -- you're beginning to talk like some of those script characters ...."

"Sissy, I'll go down and .... I'll say ... uh ... something to Dad. I'll tell him off or ...."

"Andy, you're too late."

"What? Why?"

"Mom and Dad left for work already. Those part-time summer jobs, remember? That's why we have the chores list, goofy. I swear, Meg Rosoff wrote that goofy line just with you in mind, 'The average attention span of the modern human being is about half as long as whatever you're trying to tell them.'

"They're gone, Andy. It's just us two -- home alone. Come on, I'll start some pancakes while you set the table, and then we can divvy up the chores."

"Divvying up is easy. I'll take the yard work. It's a lot more, and harder than the inside of the house. That leaves you the easy ...."

"Not so fast, Bro, that trick might have worked ten years ago, but I'm not your underling anymore. I'm an adult now, just like you," Sissy barked at me in response.

My little chihuahua had become ferocious since she turned eighteen. She'd bite your ankles off one bark at a time, until she had you down to her size and then wrestle you for whatever was being wagered. I laughed as I set the table, while she mixed the pancake batter. So, yeah, I still got the better deal, but she still had me listed to clean the bathrooms. Sissy let me off easy but remained unusually somber as we ate. The gears inside that devilish brain were grinding over this morning's events -- the kitchen ones. I felt sorry for her. Andreanna was always skittish about being in frightening situations; this one was awful for her.

Together, we cleaned up, with Sissy washing as I dried the pans and put them away. I stood with my back to the island and faced the sink, as she put the last coffee cup in the drainboard.

"So, this is where the big explosion happened, the name-calling you heard. I can't believe that happened, but I believe you, Andreanna. Though they never talk like that, ever. What brought that out to make them so angry?"

Still standing at the sink, Sissy looked at me over her shoulder and got still, not saying another word. That was her tell. Quiet and still, hardly breathing as I spoke. I knew immediately that there was more to this than she admitted. Andreanna stared out the window, taking in a deep breath and letting it out with a sigh.

"After the name-calling, did something else happen? Did Dad hit Mom?"

"Nothing like that," she finally answered guardedly.

"Then, like, what was it?" I pushed the issue, knowing something disturbing had shaken Sissy's confidence.

"It became more than words, Andy. Daddy yelled that he would show her who the boss was, and she yelled back that just because he had a ... dick ... he couldn't boss her around."