It All Started in Paradise

Olivia pensively, "She was a noticer too. You remember her shelves were lined with shells, bird feathers, pebbles, eggshells, the skeleton of something that might be a bat. They were just bits that were lying on the ground that anyone else would step over or on. Flowers growing tiny and low to the ground. But, she saw beauty in them."

***

They anchor offshore in a cove on the other side of the island. Olivia cooks a small but excellent dinner.

After the meal, Ollie takes a can of beer and his e-reader, and goes topside. Olivia is finishing up some writing on her laptop.

Ollie sits on the deck, leaning against the mast to read, sip and watch the sunset. He loves the sea. To look at. To swim in. To listen to. With the warm winds, the slow rolling at anchor, a full stomach and alcohol, he nods off to a heavy sleep after the long day sail.

Ollie awakes in the dusk twilight, somewhat light headed. He notices the topside lights are on.

Olivia emerges from the cabin. As she walks toward the mast carrying two gins, he notices she is wearing a bikini, but a different one. As she approaches, he looks again.

It is underwear! A pastel translucent panty exposes her fluffiness, wisps of her thatch peeking curiously out of the sides, luxuriant at the vee tip, then thinning out up. A matching sheer half C-cup bra. A delicious cleavage. Her eruption of nipples visible.

Music is wafting through the forward cabin hatch, a haunting Edith Piaf song of amour.


Ollie stands up.

She hands him the gin. Smiling coyly, whispering, "Like my outfit?"


"It's a mite..."

"Brief? Oh yes. Just right for a balmy tropical evening, don't you
think?"

Ollie without thinking, "My thoughts too."

"Well, the truth is that my bikini is still slinky wet and salty from our swimming today. So, I've to improvise."

"I'm so glad you decided on something sensible."

Ollie cannot talk anymore. He just stares at his sister's beautiful body. For the first time, he admires her in the open, as she should be properly admired.

They toast. He drinks the gin, but isn't particularly conscious of it because he is kind of numb. His body is in lust.

Olivia drifts closer to Ollie, drink in
hand, with a mystical scent of eastern perfume about her. Her eyes fix on the onset of bulge in his shorts.

Olivia places an arm around her brother's neck, lightly whispering, "Dance with me, bro."

Holding their drinks, they dance on the deck to Edith Piaf's emotive 'La Vie En Rose'. There is nothing more quintessentially French than the French.

Ollie feels his sister's warmth. He can feel her body shudder as she presses her breasts against him. When she grinds her pelvic bone into Ollie, he dramatically throws his drink overboard, and frenches her deeply.

Olivia gently moves her brother against the mast. She reaches down to unbutton his pants. It takes only a second to remove her flimsy bra, while she has Ollie completely naked. She lowers her panty and places both hands on his shoulders, shoving him down on his knees.

Olivia's aggression surprises Ollie. What has possessed her? It scares him some. But, he wants to have her.

Olivia's kinky pubic hair is in his face. She grinds his face mercilessly. The thicket pricks him a little at first. A raw sensation. She wants to grind this handsome face to pulp. Ollie is in a state of blissful suffocation. She mercifully lets him come up for air. The air he inhales is salty. A tang. It is not of the sea.

Ollie starts oral ministrations as his sister makes circular motions around his mouth. Once he starts on her clitoris, she begins to shake all over. She grips his head, arcs back a little. Will she crush his skull? She shoves his face into her loins.

After fingering her swollen clitoris, he discovers that she comes like a man. White fluids ooze out of her lips, and almost seep up his nose. He loves the sisterly fluids. He wishes he can bottle a little bit of it.

Olivia spins around. She drops to her hands and knees. She raises her buttocks toward his erect penis. Looking back, "I want you this way."

Ollie almost cries out, but bites his lip, "My God, dog fashion."

With his back stiff up against the mast, Olivia raises her buttocks farther up for him to pleasure. His thick six inch erection probes a little, finds her wet vagina. In an instant, he is inside her.

The significance of the moment gives pause to Ollie and Olivia. They have crossed a line. Crossed the Rubicon. Their relationship will never be the same again. They are more than brother and sister.

At the first stroke, Olivia bucks, bringing her arse farther up, backing Ollie flush against the mast while he pistons her.

He has his hands on her hips, guiding her savage pushes and grinds. He thinks he is in control. He is not. His sister is.

His penis makes movements inside her love canal, making loose, sucking sounds that electrify him. His first ten strokes result in another of her vaginal contractions.

Olivia keeps pressing her buttocks harder against his strokes, wedging him against the mast. Will the mast hold in this tempest? The hot penetrations are getting to feel more pleasurable with each new stroke now.

Ollie is close. Very close. He starts pushing her away a little, grinding
faster, trying to initiate long strokes, but Olivia is not allowing it.

Olivia jams her brother harder. She swivels and grinds her arse tightly while demanding, in an erotic patois, "No... ooohh... leave it... ooohh... in... Don't take it... oh God, oh God, oh God..."

Olivia orgasms again as Ollie shudders, with a joyous jolt of his semen lava.

Ollie is wedged against the mast by his sister. He cannot pull out. He ejaculates again and again deep inside as he tries to pull out, but Olivia slams him, taking in every shot deep inside her vagina. When she at last senses that he is spent, she gently crawls forward as he exits, still erect.

Olivia looks back at her brother with a smile of gratitude far more than is called for.

They stretch out on the deck. In the quietude of afterglow, they talk, cuddle a little. She plays with the hair on his chest. He doodles on her lawn. His finger traces her contour of breast. A fleshy swell of rise, an icing stage of denser and darker flesh, a summit eruption of nub.

Olivia speaks in a serious tone, "You're only my second."

Ollie quips, "Thank you for saving yourself for me."

Olivia smacks his penis playfully in slapstick mirth. Then, she is serious all over again, "And my first in ten years."

Ollie processes this detail, and begins to understand her earlier heat of aggression. First what in ten years? Lovemaking or climax? He decides better not to pry.

"You're only my second too."

"What?"

"Yes..."

"What's with the heated animation at the mast? I sense that there's something more going on."

Olivia hesitates. Sheepishly, "Mum and Dad."

"Huh?"

"Do you remember the time the family sailed to Saint Michael's Mount. I think I was sixteen, you fourteen. We were moored at Mount's Bay that night."

"I remember."

"I couldn't sleep for some reason. I heard mewing topside. I thought it must be Zoe ranging the deck. I was worried that she'll fall overboard and drown. I got topside, quietly, to not wake anyone."

Olivia pauses, as if deciding whether to continue.

Bated breath, "Go on."

"It was mum mewing."

"What?"

"Mum was in a doggy position. She wedged dad against the mast. It was a sight. It was so intense. Dad roughhoused mum, and then kissed her ever so gently, confusing her into whimpering submission. And then roughs her up all over again. They appeared to enjoy this. This went on until mum collapsed. As she went down, she caught a fleeting glimpse of me."

The persistent memory of that poignant experience makes strenuous demands on her mind's eye. Sharing the experience with her brother, pleasurable in itself, somehow lightens that burden.

Olivia goes below deck to freshen their drinks.

***

"Now, I want to admire you properly."

Teasingly, "What do you want to see first?"

"Everything, to begin with."

Olivia stands up, takes two steps backward. The mast is a convenient prop all over again.

This is the first time Ollie sees his sister full monty. No stealth. No rush. No awkwardness. No mediation by masseur and masseuse. There is a hush, not quite amounting to silence. She does fit the body he has imagined for her, and he is very glad for that. He lets the moment run its unhurried course.

She is sensually architected. Flying buttresses of wide hips tapering to sylphy legs. Breasts with just the right calibration of sag. Inviting eruptions of nipples. He studies the swell of her buttocks.

Gazing at her lovingly, "You're not to move until I say so each time."

She smiles as she watches him dart from one pleasing gratification to the next. There is form and there is substance. She can sense him weighing her breasts with his eyes.

He peers into her, closer and inner. "Whoever said beauty is skin deep hasn't chanced upon this."

The way he is looking at her, he might have been waiting for her all his life. Maybe he has.

Soon, he will have to respond to the vigorous urging of his loin. He is full of good intentions, desiring to please her in every way.

***

The faint violet tinge of dusk is turning the cove to a luminous cavern.

The sun sets. A downpouring of darkness. Nothing it seems, can resist the flood of darkness. It creeps past the sail, through the portholes, seeps through keyholes and crevices, and devours entire landscapes.

A harvest moon.

Ollie takes a bottle of wine, a blanket and an audio player. They go to the foredeck. They lie naked under the stars, buzzing pleasantly from a combination of alcohol and anticipation. Edith Piaf is trilling L'Hymne à l'amour to their ears. He realises that he is smiling at her smiling at him. She is so beautiful, it hurts his eyes when he turns away.

He puts his arms around her. He feels her body fit into his, relaxed and limp. Her breath, warm and soft against his ear. He takes in her scent. A smell whose components he has tried to analyse without success. He fondles, then lifts her breasts a little. He relishes the heft and balance of her form.

He teases, "How do you like your sex?"

"Well done."

"And you?"

"Raw"

It is his turn now to seize the initiative. A bit late in the day to affirm loud and stout, but Carpe Diem!

He gazes at her naked body. He flexes. It is a pleasure just to be alive. He enters.

He pumps her with savage abandon. This is the end of civilisation as he knows it, in so far as man has come. She is crying without being aware of any unhappiness. His ejaculation is quite substantial. Enough to put out a small fire.

***

Her face and breasts glow in the moonlight. He reaches down and strokes the hair from her moist forehead. She smiles weakly, rubs her head against his hand like a cat, before turning to her side.

She is drowsy. As always, just before sleep, things simplify themselves so that only one of all the myriad details has the power to assert itself. She drops to deep sleep.

In the warm darkness, he admires the naked sensuality that clothes her. He can hear the sound of her breathing. He is a good listener.

The air is soft and salty, warm and still, the stars sharp. So depleted, he has never felt so complete in his life.

***

Chapter 13

Parting Is So Hard

The last night. Ollie and Olivia will depart in the morning.

What a night! Warm, black velvet. A sickle of moon. The wink and glitter of stars. A faint salty breeze coming off the sea. An invisible orchestra of insects whirring and chirping away in the shrubbery.

The cliff edge of the garden. They lie naked under the stars. They feel the sheer double exhilaration of their nakedness on edge of the cliff drop. They are grateful to be on the starry side of the island. They gaze up the sky and check out the scatter of stars.

For the first time in their lives, they feel unaccountably free. There is tonight, and then, there is the temporal rest of their life.

He kisses her all over. As he kisses her there delicately, he remembers an old perfume advertisement he had seen somewhere before.

"Wear it where you'd like to be kissed." And she does.

She gets up from the blanket. She playfully pulls her brother up by his semi-erect penis, then, gives him an affectionate unsisterly squeeze, first at the base, then at the head. He twitches.

"Let's dance."

She positions his penis between her upper thighs just below her crotch. His penis is not so hard as to point true north, but not so soft as to point down. Just the right rise to fit her design and purpose. She clamps the shaft to lock it down in captivity.

They melt into each other. They coalesce as one. He writhes and grinds his genitals. She tightens her vice grip not letting up.

They dance like this, at the cliff edge, under the stars for awhile. Time stands still. She has sensitive thighs. She tenses up, then teasingly eases, tenses up, then eases, repeating the cycle, to keep him simmering on edge, just short of boil.

She feels him welling up. It will be a long night's journey into day. She leads him back to the blanket.

As Ollie lies down, he prescribes, "I want you against the stars."

He guides his sister to straddle him. She is a moonlighting cowgirl now.

She bends forward impossibly low. She grazes then grinds her breasts savagely on his face. He enjoys the feel of pliant roving flesh. But now, he is getting a little scared. She is hardening. Her rigid nipples are poking with conviction, and will shortly blind him. He closes his eyes not a moment too soon. It is only when he captures a nipple securely between his lips in a suction vice grip that he dares opens his eyes again. He gives the nubbin its due. He closes his eyes again even though he doesn't need to.

Ollie is now very aroused, as is Olivia. Olivia straightens up. She lifts up a little, then lowers on her brother. She feels his twitch, and he, hers. Soon, they cannot tell which is whose. They are one.

Olivia arches back dramatically, hands girding her hips. Ollie has his sister against the stars. A sight to behold. Olivia pauses to let Ollie take in the imagery of the moment. Her head is juxtaposed against a scatter of stars. She is wearing a twinkling crown of stars. Like a festive Rio carnival reveller.

Olivia feels the rising ache in her loins. She begins to bounce. Slowly, then building up to a high, sustaining. And just when the implosion is imminent, she slows down dramatically. This is torturously pleasurable. It is driving Ollie delirious. It is bordering on cruelty. A cruel and unusual punishment.

After twenty minutes of agony, brother and sister shudder and tremor in orchestral harmony and in unison. They collapse into a spent heap.

As they cuddle up in the moonglow, Olivia in her prescience, mumurs, or rather sighs, "I will miss you..."

***

Epilogue

A year on, a conglomerate acquired the island. That was the end of paradise as Ollie and Olivia knew it.

Ollie and Olivia stayed faithful to themselves. They never did scale that level of intimacy again. They had enjoyed their experience without being appropriated by it, so that they might relish it forever.

Penchan, Anurak and Nin moved on.

Anurak had modest business success. But he was compensated many times over in the enjoyment of his work. He loved the sea. To look at. To immerse in. To listen to. And this he did anew every single day.

Nin carved a successful corporate career in tourism.

Her children so set up, Penchan retired enjoying her matriarchy.

And Nin still cuts Anurak's hair.

***

Three years on, a travel-themed bestseller, "A Paradise Unto Itself", stormed the literary world. It captured the popular imagination of luxury and backpacker travelers alike worldwide.

The details of the island were artfully alluded to, but not specifically named. The book moved many an avid reader adventurer to go seek the island. The charm was in never quite knowing for sure whether this was the island when they thought they had nailed it.

Traveling on what is a lonely planet can be a bitch. The novel launched a trend in sibling travel.

The End