Making Me Complete

'Hi Robert,' she said cheerily. 'Are you ready for our picnic? I've prepared everything. Here, you carry the basket.'

'OK,' I said.

'Let's go then,' she said. And off we went.

As soon as we were out of the door of our flat, she took my hand. It felt strange, almost tingling.

Iris felt me stiffen up, and explained, 'We're on a date. So we have to hold hands. That's how it's supposed to be done.'

All good and well, but I hadn't quite got used to the idea of dating my sister. But now we were on our way to the park.

'I took some old bread,' said Iris, 'so that we can feed the ducks.' Ah, good, because I was so nervous that I had forgotten about everything else.

The walk to the park was pretty uneventful. I actually started to enjoy a bit holding Iris's hand. It made me feel special, and wanted, and no longer alone. Once we got to the duck pond, we sat down on a bench. I was a bit surprised when Iris snuggled right up to me. But I suppose that's the sort of thing you do on a date.

Meanwhile, some ducks had waddled to where we were sitting, and were quacking expectantly. Iris took out the bread, gave half of it to me, so we could break it in small pieces and feed those to the ducks.

When no more bread was forthcoming, there was some more quacking, but the ducks finally seemed content, and returned to the water.

An old lady with a walker stopped at our bench. I smiled at her, because I knew that old ladies like it when you smile at them.

'How sweet,' said the old lady, 'young love. It reminds me of when I started dating my late husband.'

'It's our first date,' said Iris happily.

'Oh, so you just got together?' asked the old lady.

'No, we've been together all our lives,' I said. 'We're siblings.' The old lady gave us a look that I couldn't quite understand. 'Twins,' I added.

Without a further word, the old lady moved on.

'She walks remarkably quickly with that thing,' said Iris.

'Yeah, she does indeed,' I said. I wondered if I had said something wrong.

* * *

It was time for the picnic now. We chose a place on the grass, underneath an old tree. Iris took out a chequered cloth, making sure to lay it absolutely straight. She had made four sandwiches, two small salads, and also brought two apples, two plates, and cutlery, all of which she proceeded to place exactly symmetrical on the cloth. Finally, she produced two wine glasses and a chilled bottle of Chablis.

It had to be said, I was impressed. 'Very nice, sis,' I told her. She smiled at the compliment.

Iris took one of the sandwiches, while I reached for the salad. I spotted the frown on her face, though, and decided instead to go for a sandwich as well. Symmetry restored, Iris gave me the sweetest of smiles.

Apart from a couple of running dogs, and an invasion of ants --for which Iris had thoughtfully brought insecticide-- the picnic proceeded without incident. All in all, I was actually enjoying myself, even more so when we got to the wine. I felt a pang of disappointment when everything had been eaten and drunk, and we should be on our way home.

* * *

'So did you like our first date?' asked Iris when we got there. I had to admit that, on the whole, I had.

'Good,' said Iris. 'So tomorrow we go to the cinema. We need to select a film.'

Which meant: we need to select a romantic comedy.

I never really understood romantic comedy. The story was always the same: a man and a woman meet by accident, they fall in love, then something happens that drives them apart, but in the end they end up together again.

Now there's nothing wrong with predictability. I like predictability, after all. But I never get the jokes in romantic comedies, so in the end I'm looking at attractive people being happy. No space battles, no special effects, and no attractive young women scantily clad in leather, brandishing huge weapons.

We --well, Iris really-- selected a film and we reserved two tickets online. We spent the rest of the evening watching a film together, and I made the unfortunate mistake of letting Iris choose a film. Still no leather-clad space heroines. Oh well.

* * *

The next day went by pretty uneventful. After dinner, we went to the bus stop to catch a bus into town. Iris insisted on holding my hand.

When the bus arrived, I went to sit on my favourite seat.

'Where do you think you're going?' asked Iris.

'Em... what?' I asked.

'We're on a date. Come sit next to me,' she instructed me.

Ah, yes. The date. Somewhat reluctantly, I went to sit on an unfamiliar seat, but at least it was next to my sister, who again sat really close to me and took my hand in hers. It tingled again, my hand and my leg, but in a nice way.

Once arrived at the cinema, we went to the box office. I asked for one ticket for the romantic comedy.

'Two,' said Iris.

'But...,' I started. I wanted to point out that we always split the bills, but she didn't let me finish.

'We're on a date, so you have to buy the tickets. It's traditional,' she said.

The lady in the box office looked at me. 'If you want this date to work, son, you'd better pay for her ticket,' she said.

I sighed and paid for both tickets. We went inside and I took off towards the hall, when Iris asked, 'Aren't you going to buy me a drink and some popcorn?'

'But that's not fair,' I protested. 'You and I get the same amount of money each month. Why should I have to pay for everything?'

'Because that's how it's supposed to be done. It always happens like that in the film. The boy takes the girl out, pays for everything, and after the third date he gets to have sex with her.'

I pointed out that this whole dating thing was very much her idea, and that I still wasn't at all convinced about the sex part. Iris conceded that I had a point, and paid for our drinks and popcorn.

'But what about tomorrow?' I asked. 'Do you expect me to pay for everything? That's a lot of money for dinner.'

'Maybe we could set up a dating fund,' said Iris. 'We both put in an equal amount of money, and this money we use for dating.'

I thought of protesting again, that I still wasn't convinced about this whole dating thing, but I didn't want to disappoint her --or ruin our date-- so with some reluctance I agreed.

'Great!' said Iris. 'Now let's go watch that film.'

Iris insisted on holding my hand throughout the film. This made drinking and eating the popcorn somewhat difficult, but we managed. And I had started to enjoy being so close to her.

The film itself was as expected. The attractive main characters met by accident, they fell in love, then something happened that drove them apart, but in the end they came together again. I could tell that Iris was enjoying it. She had a big smile on her face.

Just before the credits, there was a sex scene. Iris's grip tightened. Surely, she was thinking the same thing as I. Would we be doing this tomorrow, after our meal? Would it be anything like in this film?

We spoke little on the way back. We held hands, as was practically natural now, and each reminisced on what we'd just seen. Were we anything like that? Probably not: a brother/sister couple was hardly the norm. But the characters cared a lot for one another, and that was very much how Iris and I were.

Once home, Iris asked me, 'Did you enjoy our date?'

Before I could answer, she said, 'I enjoyed it a lot. I like being with you. It makes me feel... safe. And wanted. I like it that there's you with me, that you want to be with me.'

Neither Iris nor I are particularly good at expressing our feelings, but she described exactly how I was feeling. In a world that was so often incomprehensible or even downright scary, there was always Iris as a stable factor. I knew that I could rely on her, and what to expect from there. There were never any surprises.

Well, except perhaps that she wanted to date me. That had been rather surprising.

'Yes,' I told her, 'I too liked the date. It's nice to be with you.'

She smiled at that, and pecked me on the cheek. 'Good night, little brother,' she said. 'See you tomorrow for the big day.'

* * *

There was still some time before I went to bed --falling asleep has always been difficult for me-- but I didn't want to spend it like I would normally spend a Friday night: that is, watching porn. It somehow didn't feel right, and I wasn't in the mood anyway.

I didn't feel like watching TV either, so I decided to undress and lie on the bed, and think. Staring at the dimly-lit ceiling, I thought about what happened, and what was going to happen.

Iris was the most important person in my life, no doubt about that. And I was the most important person in her life. The relationship with our parents, who never fully admitted to our condition, and definitely never committed to therapy, was strained.

They never understood us, and we never understood them. It was like we were two different species. So as soon as we'd finished secondary education, it had been a good excuse to leave the house together, and move to the city.

That had been a frightening experience, leaving the old, familiar house. But while the house was familiar, there were too many painful memories, and the difficult relations with our parents. But even though all this change had been more difficult for us than it would have been for a neurotypical person --or 'normal' person, if you prefer the less politically correct expression-- it had been necessary to start with a clean slate.

And now, I was dating her. Ever since my hormones started to wreak havoc in my body, I'd wanted to date a girl. But I never managed to talk to one and not say the wrong things. It had been extremely frustrating, to the point that I was reluctant to approach any girl.

Dating Iris seemed to be going OK, though. But that was because she was Iris. She wasn't one for nuances in speech, and getting offended if I said something wrong. Because she was the only one who knew me.

And I understood the biological underpinnings of the aversion that society held against what we were doing. But society is not always a nice place if you're a bit different, so as far as I was concerned, society go very well go stuff it.

Sex. It was something I had fantasised about so often, and now it was supposed to happen the following day. I wondered what it would be like, and what sort of things we would be doing.

Slowly, my thoughts were getting a bit unfocussed, and I closed my eyes.

* * *

The next morning, we were having breakfast together.

'We need to book a restaurant,' said Iris. 'Did you have anything in mind?'

I've always loved Italy and its cuisine. 'How about Trattoria Vecchia Firenze?' I suggested.

'That sounds fine. Could you book a table?' she asked. And as I took out my phone, she added: 'A romantic one,' and she winked at me.

After cleaning up, we went to get some groceries for the weekend. Almost automatically, I held out my hand for Iris as we walked towards the supermarket. I wasn't just getting used to the sensation, I was thoroughly enjoying it, feeling her hand in mine.

We bought what we needed, and went back to the flat. It was still early, and we weren't going for our dinner until nine o'clock. We decided to spend the rest of the afternoon on the sofa, watching old films. We snuggled up to each other, and held hands. Holding hands made me happy.

* * *

It was getting time to change. I would have been happy going out in shorts and a T-shirt, but Iris pointed out that this would not be very romantic. So I settled for a pair of smart jeans and a short sleeved shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror, and the mirror image looked OK for a romantic dinner, I thought. I'm not really the shirt and tie type of guy. Ties are awful; they make me feel as if I'm suffocating. It's one reason why I loathe formal events with a passion. Another reason is that people suddenly start behaving differently, as if the occasion makes them some sort of different person. I've never quite understood this.

Iris took quite a while longer than I to change, but when she came out of her room, I was flabbergasted: I hardly recognised her. Instead of her usual jeans and casual top, she was wearing a light blue dress, that reached only marginally lower than her hips. It showed quite a bit of skin, and proved that my sister didn't really look so much alike to me these days. She looked definitely very feminine, and a lot more curvy than I'd thought. Although truth be told, I never really considered my sister's curves until then. And instead of trainers, she was wearing low-heeled sandals.

And was she actually wearing make-up? Indeed she was. I couldn't remember her ever wearing make-up, but now she had applied a bit of eye shadow to accentuate the colour of her irises, plus mascara, eyeliner and a soft pink lipstick. It was all done subtly, but the effect was spectacular. Only then I realised that my sister is actually rather pretty. No, scrap that: she's beautiful.

'Do I look OK?' she asked, apparently insecure. I just stared.

'Robert? Say something. Close your mouth first, though.'

'Ah? Um. Oh. Sorry,' I said. 'You look more than just OK, sis. You look absolutely stunning.'

'Really? You think so?' Her face broke into a smile. Smiles I could recognise, definitely on Iris. I was glad that my comment had made her so happy.

'Well, let's be on our way then,' she said. She didn't move, though. Then I remembered that I was supposed to play the part of the gentleman, and open the door for her. To me it still felt a bit like play-acting, but it made Iris feel special.

The restaurant was only a ten minute walk from where we lived. We walked there hand in hand, taking time to enjoy each other's company. It was a beautiful summer evening, a bit cooler than during the day, but by no means chilly.

Just before nine, we arrived at the restaurant. True to his word, the restaurateur had given us a table in a secluded, dimly-lit area of the restaurant, and had even put two candles on the table. We were given the menus, and left alone.

'What are you having?' I asked.

Iris glanced at the menu. 'I think I'll have the beef carpaccio as a starter, and the steak as a main course. You choose the wine.'

'I'll have the pasta with artichoke, and then the lemon chicken,' I said.

Presently, the restaurateur returned to take our order.

'Per piacere,' I said, 'una bottiglia di acqua frizzante...'

Sparkling water...

'Lambrusco rosato...'

A rosé Lambrusco...

'Per me, tortiglione ai carciofi e pollo al limone...'

For me, tortiglione of artichoke and lemon chicken...

'E carpaccio di manzo e bistecca alle fiorentina per mia...'

And carpaccio of beef and Florentine steak for my...

I stopped and looked at Iris. The word 'sorella', sister, had been on my lips, but...

I spoke to the restaurateur again: 'Per mia ragazza.'

For my girlfriend.

Iris showed me the most beautiful smile when she heard me say that.

'Grazie,' said the restaurateur, who collected the menus and left.

'Allora Roberto,' smiled Iris, 'sono la tua ragazza?'

So Robert, am I your girlfriend?

'Si,' I replied, 'sei la mia ragazza. Ti amo, e sei tutto ciò che voglio.'

Yes, you are my girlfriend. I love you, and you're all that I want.

Expressing emotions isn't always easy for me, but it's a bit easier in that incredibly beautiful and elegant language.

We were silent after that, holding hands across the table, and looking each other in the eye. There was a feeling that I had. I'd had it before, but this time, I felt that it was mutual. I was falling in love with Iris.

Then, she asked me, 'So how many red cars did you see today?'

'I... I don't know,' I said. Which was true. Spending all day with Iris and thinking about it had made me all but forget about red cars. Why was that? I suppose that counting red cars is a coping mechanism, a way for me to make sense of a chaotic world. But today, the current line-up from Maranello, home of Ferrari, could have driven down the street and I wouldn't even have noticed.

Today, there had been little room for anything other than spending time with Iris. And thinking about what would be coming this evening. And I had started to feel better about it: instead of absolute dread, it was more of a mild panic now.

'I guess I was too busy thinking about you,' I added. 'Thinking about us.' She smiled again at that.

A waiter came with a bread basket and the water. I took one of the side plates, put it in the middle, poured some olive oil in it, and added some salt and pepper. Both Iris and I took a piece of bread, and proceeded to break of pieces of the bread and dip them in the oil. Sometimes, the simplest things are the best.

We didn't say much until the food arrived, just exchanging glances and smiles. Before long, the dishes started arriving, and we dug in.

The meal was excellent, and so was the wine. Having polished off most of it, we were a little bit tipsy when we started on the way home.

I held out my hand to her, but she actually grabbed my entire arm and put her head on my shoulder. Eventually, we settled on half-hugging each other while we walked home. It took us twice as long, but it did feel very special.

* * *

So, this was it. We had arrived home, and it was time to bring this to a conclusion.

'So,' I said, not knowing what else to say.

'So,' repeated Iris.

Several seconds went by. Embarrassment was making a triumphant return, until Iris spoke again.

'Well,' she said, counting on her fingers. 'We've done the walk, we've done the cinema, we've had the romantic dinner, so that leaves one item on our little list.'

'So... erm,' I said, 'where shall... um... how do we.. um... oh bugger.'

'That,' said Iris, 'most definitely not, at least not for the foreseeable future. Are you trying to ask where we're going to do it?'

It was a good question. Her room was definitely a no-no; just imagine if I'd accidentally touch something. It would ruin her mood, and the whole experience. My room was equally unsuited, because Iris --perhaps not entirely unreasonably so-- thought of it as somewhat chaotic.

'How about the sofa?' I suggested.

Iris thought about it for a second. 'OK,' she said.

So we went to lie on the sofa, like we did when we were watching TV. But today, the TV was switched off.

'Come here,' said Iris. She was lying on her side, facing me. My sister was taking charge, like so often she did. Obligingly, I tuned on my side, too.

We lay there for a couple of moments, looking at one another. The silence added to the embarrassment, and I could see that Iris was getting embarrassed now as well.

'So...,' I asked, 'what do we do now?'

'Haven't got the foggiest idea, really,' she replied. 'I hadn't thought about that yet.'

We lay there, looking at one another, at a loss of what to do. We were both familiar with the procedure --I had watched enough porn for that, and there had been sex education in school-- but doing it yourself is a different matter. I can watch somebody play the violin, but that doesn't mean that I know how to do it myself.

'Maybe we could look it up? Google it or something?' I suggested.

Iris looked relieved. 'OK, let's look it up.'

* * *

I fetched my tablet and searched for 'first time sex'. Iris was lying close and half on me, so she could read the small screen as well. I had always felt completely at ease with her touching me, but now it felt a bit... strange.

It was actually remarkably difficult to find a decent document that explained how to go about it. Between the clutter of the pages that assumed that one of the parties was experienced, and the porn that had wriggled its way into the search results, the pages were few and far between. Good thing we didn't search for 'first time sex between siblings'.