Nan and Ron Pt. 01

Author's Note: This is my first submission. The story is of a woman in her 20s who arrives in a small Alaskan town, to start a new job with a man who is ostensibly her husband. As they are settling in, the truth is revealed. The flashback is in strictly chronological order.

Nan and Ron - 2837 words: Today and our first time together.

We get off the big airplane at Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage. I don't know if the name is an omen or not. Or, if it is an omen is it a good one or a bad one. Stevens spent 50 years in the Senate. He was driven from office by members of his own party's elite only to later have the federal prosecutors in his ethics case themselves charged with contempt, perjury and falsifying evidence. But as he was being exonerated he died in a single engine airplane crash near our destination for today. The important thing is that nearly everyone in Alaska loves Ted Stevens. They don't think that he did anything wrong.

I don't believe that what we did was wrong. But others do, and here we are starting over. Ronald and I walked across the jetbridge and retrieved four of our eight duffle bags. We carried everything down the inside staircase, out the door and across the tarmac to the stairs mounted on the back of a pickup truck. Half of Alaska's residents live in Anchorage, but shades of'Northern Exposure,' we had both signed a contract to spend a year in Bethel - a town with a population of 6,000 that we knew about only from the research we had done online. A 19-seat turboprop airliner would fly us there. It's an hour and 15 minutes away.

As further proof of our desperation, idiocy, or both it was just after New Year's Day, and eight degrees. The average January temperature in Bethel ranges from a low of zero to a high of 12. Well at least we would be in time for the Kuskokwim 300, according to the guidebook, "one of Alaska's premier middle distance dog sled races." After we take off, I chat a little with the pilot of our Beechcraft who is flying us to our new home. Alaska in winter time is a beautiful sight but I certainly wouldn't want to be stranded down there. Our pilot who has been on more than a few search and rescue missions says it is just something you prepare for.

"Always have a full fuel tank, and an extra can if you're able. Carry a bag or small backpack with a knife, light, fresh batteries, space blanket, lighter, matches, hard candy and a metal cup to melt snow. Let friends know where you are going, and when you plan to be back. Either wear bright clothing or bring a fluorescent vest."

We are flying over a nearly flat and mostly monochromatic white landscape. Approaching Bethel it consists of numerous frozen rivers and sloughs interspersed with lots of frozen tundra that, according to my guidebook, is a big lichen marsh in the summertime. Touching down at the airport we walk through the terminal building and catch one of the many cabs waiting at the airport. My book said that Bethel has the highest number of cabs per capita in the United States.

The chatty young man who was driving our cab was a Korean immigrant. I wondered to myself what he was running... Or starting over from. Was it poverty, lack of opportunity, or like us infamy...

He just seemed too articulate in a second language and too well educated to be a cab driver. He says that winter time in Bethel is the prettiest time of year. With the blanket of snow you can't see all of the broken wooden pallets, rusty oil drums, derelict old automobiles and peeling paint of the tiny, astronomically priced, houses. He is used to driving in snow and on ice he says. Besides he has better visibility in winter because the half of the roads that are not paved aren't dusty. Although I had been told to expect really high prices, the cab fare to the apartment on Uyaquq Circle provided me with sticker-shock.

Our home for the next year is small. But it isn't a hovel, as I was worried that it might have been. We had signed the employment contract after doing as much research as possible from Illinois. Online, speaking to people that we knew and to some people that the people that we knew knew. But without ever seeing the place. It is three rooms, a bathroom - with a sign over the toilet about low pressure water supply, a small bedroom with a tiny closet and a combination kitchen dining area living room. It is as advertised, furnished. With sturdy, albeit worn, functional pieces.

I look over at Ron. He's unpacking our bags into the bedroom closet. I wonder if he and I can create a universe for two here like fellow outcasts Howard Campbell and Helga did in war torn Berlin. They are characters in Kurt Vonnegut's'Mother Night.' Except that is a really bad example; it did not end well for either of them.

"First impressions?" I ask Ronald.

"Nan, it's not the place, it's the people. We'll be fine."

I guess that he's right. That so long as we can get along with the people we work for, and we have each other, we will probably be okay. There is a printed notepad on the kitchen counter; groceries will be brought up by the company weekly; just indicate what you want. We pay for them but they pay for the heating oil. We brought books and sex toys, that covered just about everything else. For the two of us all we've really had and all we've ever really needed was food, heat, and each other.

***

Years ago...

For me high school was sort of like one of those old army basic training movies. You know, the ones where a drill sergeant chooses a particular recruit to dog, and creates unit cohesion by getting everybody else to dog him too. As junior year went on, it just got worse, but Ron never abandoned me. He would eat lunch with me. When he saw me between classes he would say, "hi." He walked to school with me and home with me. He defended me in front of anybody. Any of the great many "bodies" who took endless issue with something that I was doing, Something that fifteen other people were also doing. People who weren't being called out on it.

We are both highly introverted and that limited the number - in his case, and the depth - in my case, of the friendships that we had made before all hell broke loose. I don't think that we're geniuses by any stretch. But to paraphrase Yogi Berra, school is half academic and half socialization and half waiting around. We only did the academic part, much of it while we were waiting around, which delivered excellent grades and left most of the school day unscripted. After a time we both found that if we simply brought outside reading material to class and stayed out of the teachers hair we were pretty much ignored.

As the high humidity and heat of the last summer of our childhood gave way to a warm fall, we celebrated our eighteenth with a joint birthday party just two weeks into senior year. It was expedient to have just one party and invite all three of our combined friends. I didn't really mind, we had always been the most comfortable around one another. We would give one another books after we had read them. Then we would talk about those books and other stuff. We talked about everything together. Our parents used to think that was "so cute," they used to be proud of how well we got along together. They used to be proud of our academic success. They used to like us.

We talked about our first kiss, and what it meant. We didn't laugh it off or make it a harbinger. We had a couple hours to ourselves every weekday between the end of school and the time mom returned from her daily routine. Sometimes we had a few household assignments to complete, but mostly we just hung out. We did both together. My build is such that I could easily get away with wearing a light camisole or tee-shirt and shorts. Back then I was a tomboy and not into dresses. When we were alone our activities included playing truth-or-dare, which is a great way to start serious discussions.

We also invented games to play together where one of us would end up naked in front of the other. I found that it wasn't the slightest bit embarrassing to be naked in front of Ron. I totally trusted him to look after me. In retrospect I am sure that it was the deepest part of my brain announcing to the rest of my being my fervent desire. That I wanted Ronald to be mine. Christmas came, as it always did, four months after our birthday. We always split the three big holidays more or less evenly between our two sets of grandparents. That December we celebrated at our maternal grandparent's house.

It was chilly outside, and the car's back seat heat wasn't the best. So, like many other times before on the way to their house in the country Ron and I snuggled under a blanket in the back seat. This time was different though. Father drove the car and mother channel surfed and complained about there being a bunch of stations but none that she liked. Under that blanket I placed my brother's hand inside my winter coat on my sweater covered but braless breast. I put my hand over his hand and I smiled at him and he understood. He responded by, slowly gently massaging my breast, feeling me up for the first time. Nothing on Earth felt so right, so much like it was simply made to be.

Grandpa was a big sports fan, and back then Christmas was a big football day. So after a dinner that exceeded in all of Grandma's traditionally excessive ways, Ron and I slipped off unseen to a disused apartment over the detached garage while our parents and grandparents were watching a game. We were playing a game that ended up with my being totally naked in a not terribly warm apartment. Ron offered to let me put on his shirt "or something." At first I declined telling him that I had lost, fair and square. Had he lost I would expect him to strip. Rules being rules and all.

He pointed out that I had "goose pimples," so I accepted his shirt and invited him to feel "my pimples."

As his hands roamed around my naked flesh. Flesh clearly demarcated as belonging to him by being covered by his shirt. His hands made me warm and then hot and I wordlessly drew his attention first to my two erect "bigger pimples" located in the center of my throbbing breasts. And, after he didn't go there on his own, to the rapidly moistening, steaming, pulsating area that was normally covered by my panties.

He felt my fragrant moisture as he played with the small forest of curly little hairs and the big lips that got thicker as he stroked them. I took his hand and gently pressed it into my vulva and he toyed with the greasy, tingly little lips inside the bigger ones. He started to take more and more initiative. Playing with my lady-parts with the intent of stimulating them. Then after toying with my bush, thighs and labia he went inside to gently finger my hole and play with the folds covering my most sensitive part. It didn't take very much to bring me off as I was already boiling. Then I suggested we make a "pimple comparison," so he stripped too.

That was our first night, the first time we made love, on Christmas Eve. I ended up giving my twin brother a somewhat passable hand-job after letting my hands roam all over his body examining his goose pimples. I encircled the shaft of his penis with my thumb and fingers and caused the skin to slide back and forth over the hard blood filled interior. We were both standing and his whole body got stiff and he had to hold on to me to keep from falling. I didn't have a technique to vary yet, and just kept doing the same thing over and over, but he was obviously as hot as I was in that chilly room. It did not take him long, and it was great fun watching him ejaculate.

Then Ron being Ron, insisted upon returning the favor. So, I laid on an old rug we unrolled and showed him how I masturbated. My short hair was a mess from the heat and sweat my body was producing. I bit my bottom lip as I took my brother's hands on a guided tour of my sex. Lying flat on my back on that worn old rug my heart was racing and my clitoris was throbbing as I panted to catch my breath. My mind was showing me it's immense power, I had only just begun, and it was telling me that Ron's touch was pure pleasure. Electricity that was causing me to squirm and for my hips to try to work a part of him inside me.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax, this was the first time I wasn't completely relaxed being with Ron. My body needed his. I pushed my fingers into the warm wetness of my hole and a familiar sensation appeared. I showed him how I pushed firmly on the area around my pee-hole that a book I found said was part of my deep buried clitoris. I moaned as his fingers joined and then replaced mine. I used one of my hands to progressively massage my breasts, and put the other in my mouth and bit on it to stifle any sound as Ron both finger-fucked me and pressed on my buried clitoris, sending a second wave of pleasure coursing through my entire body.

We were young, healthy and horney, Ron's penis was hard again coming and making me come a second time, so after I caught my breath I rolled and got to my knees pushing him to the rug. I crawled on top of him and opened my mouth and took his penis in my mouth. Then I didn't know what to do. But Ron did, he reached up and took hold of the back of my head and started to slowly buck his hips and thrust his penis into my mouth. He was thrusting hard, his grip on my head was tight, and the universe was perfect. In that moment I had totally submitted to the man who owned my soul. I loved sucking my brother's cock.

Once I made the decision to completely submit to him, everything in my life changed. I knew no fear, I had but one master, one person whose opinion mattered. I was at his mercy and I've never found anything more exciting than knowing that he was enjoying using my body for his pleasure. He reached up with one hand and started firmly kneading my butt cheek, occasionally switching hands and letting go of my head so that I could breathe. He tried to send his penis deep into my throat, but I gagged on it, and he returned to simply pounding my mouth.

As he moved with intensity in my mouth, I started making sounds like a wild animal I was getting more and more turned on by being totally under Ron's control. I loved it with every fiber of my being. I felt Ron tense up much more than he had before. He gripped my head with both hands and held me down hard on him as he shot his warm jizzim into my mouth. I had no choice but to swallow. His whole body seemed to tremble and he released the grip on my head.

Pulling out, he looked concerned.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"What, why?" I asked.

"I just came in your mouth."

"I was there."

"Are you okay?"

I tried to look all sultry as I made a show of swallowing the rest of his semen that was in my mouth. Then I smiled.

I looked over at him, as his face registered surprise, shock and finally pure lust.