Of Sisters & Brothers Pt. 01

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u06la14b
u06la14b
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The odd part was that I didn't think it was strange that he wanted to bang his sister. Our hormones were raging and fucking a girl, any girl, was all we could think of.

"God, she so beautiful!" was all I could stutter.

And that's how it began. She asked us to help her with the suntan lotion and one thing just led to another. I was doing her legs and Clay was doing her back but it was when he slipped his hands under her bikini and squeezed her tits that it shifted into overdrive. It was a race to see who could get undressed the quickest. We took turns licking and fucking her while she sucked on one of us. I remember distinctly, how turned on I was watching Clay with his sister.

I didn't last long and had just cum in her mouth and was lying back, watching them. Her thighs splayed, legs wrapped around his ass while he pumped in and out of her. I remember thinking: "I can't believe this! Clay is fucking Karen!"

Every now and then she would look over at me, watching me stroke my dick, her expression oozing of wanton sexuality. It was a look of desire and discovery, one that is the exclusive privilege of the naïve. Knowledge and experience robs you of wonderment -- the downside to the Apple in the Garden of Eden.

It didn't take him long to cum. With each ensuing stroke, she would moan louder and louder until finally, when he climaxed, she screamed, not a loud scream but some primitive, sensuous, half-gasp, half-moan that seemed to emanate from deep within her. It was a distinct orgasmic sound so female and raw that it transcended mere eroticism and I knew that I was stained by its memory forever.

The three of us spent the rest of the summer getting away from our parents and avoiding Jenny and fucking our brains out. What I didn't know was that Jenny had taken to spying on us; watching Clay and I take turns with Karen.

A year later Karen was killed in a car crash involving a drunk driver and Clay was never quite the same; in fact, none of us were. It marked the end of our innocence.

*****

The Relationship -- of Sisters and Brothers

It had started to rain again; a cold, icy shower that drummed heavily down on the car with a rumbling staccato. I glanced at Clay but he was focused on the road, eyes squinting through the rhythmic swishing of the windshield wipers as we whizzed past snaking lanes of cars and trucks inching along the slushy Interstate. It was the perfect weather to stay indoors, snuggle up under the covers with a book and a cup of hot chocolate. I eased the seat back a bit more and closed my eyes and let my mind wander to another time and another place when fate and the rain had connived to complicate my life.

Even before Karen's death, I had begun to look at Jenny differently. Maybe it had something to do with watching Clay and Karen and how turned on I'd get but the traditional filial boundaries had been breached, at least in my mind. And, as time went by, I began to notice every little nuance about her, from her pouting mouth to her budding breasts and the cute bubble butt of hers. I kept wondering what it would feel like to fuck my sister and spent much of my time at home in a state of hyper-arousal. I would jerk off three of four times a day fantasizing about her and the different ways I could seduce her. It didn't help that she was always barging into my room, asking questions or just wanting to hang out. There is a very fine line that separates fantasy from rationale and I was straddling it and every passing day brought me closer to crossing it. She had no idea what she was doing to me or what was going on in my head, at least not until that fateful night.

It was little past midnight and we were in the middle of a series of particularly severe thunderstorms and as far back as I can remember lightning and thunder had always terrified Jenny. It was an irrational fear that no amount of explaining or logic could mollify. Whenever she was frightened at night, she would scramble into bed with me and that night was no exception -- it didn't matter to her that we were older now only that she was scared and did what she had always done.

"Cal, are you awake?" she asked in a nervous, little voice, her flashlight pointing towards the carpet and away from me.

I feigned like I was waking up.

"I am now. What's up?" I answered groggily, "and turn that damn thing off!"

The flashlight went out instantly and except for the hazy glow of the nightlight, the room was bathed in shadowy darkness again.

"Move over," she said and without preamble crawled in under the covers.

"Jen, you're getting too old for this ... come on! It's really nothing; just a little rain." I had to protest, I mean, I was the older brother. But deep down I was thrilled.

And, I hadn't accounted for predestination or karma or whatever. No sooner had I said that than a brilliant, electric flash of lightning was followed by a loud, clapping thunder that literally shook the house. That was it. She scooched right into me.

"Did you hear that?" she said breathlessly and snuggled closer, "Are we going to be okay, Cal?"

"Yes, we're going to be okay. Stop worrying and go to sleep."

We were lying spooned with her facing away from me. I shifted my hips back so she wouldn't feel my erection but she reached backwards, behind her body, and took my arm and placed it around her waist and held on to it. She must have felt safe and secure with me holding her.

Her hair smelled of shampoo, a clean, fresh aroma that mingled with the faint scent of her perfume and the natural fragrance of her body. She had always kept her hair short, pixie like, in a bob that framed her face. It was soft and silky brown, a lot like Mom's but thicker. I lay still for a while without moving enjoying the warmth of her body and the satin feel of her skin. Her breathing was even and deep and when I leaned over and looked at her, she was sleeping or pretending to be but I was pretty sure she was asleep.

I loved her little pointed nose, the full lips and the stubborn set of her jaw. She was more cute than beautiful and if it weren't for her eyes, she would have been just another pretty face. But it was those aquamarine eyes that made her special; that made you look at her and take notice. They were large and almond shaped and sparkled like flawless gemstones. No cloudy speckles of deception; only the pristine brilliance of a translucent blue-green lagoon. It drew you in to its endless spiraling pools with promises of sunshine and happiness; ebullient portals that sparkled with the innocence of her soul.

It was confusing. On one hand I wanted to fuck her in the worst way and on the other, the risk of breaching her trust weighted heavily on my mind. She was sweet and naïve and had always looked up to me and I wanted to preserve that but I couldn't stop the images of Clay and Karen from churning in some allegoric compartment of my brain. It was this tricked out need that created a frenetic flurry of bodies and faces dancing lewdly in the darkness. It was the ultimate subterfuge; this Freudian transfer of brothers and sisters; Clay and Karen: Jenny and me. That was when I realized that my hand was cupping my sister's breast over the silky fabric of her nightie.

It fit so perfectly, that small, succulent mound of pliable flesh capped by a nubby tip. I rolled the nipple between my thumb and forefinger and felt her shift, fingers tightening briefly on my forearm, and waited, heart pounding hoping that she was awake and would be complicit. But her eyes remained closed and her breathing even. My cock, now firmly wedged in the crack of her panty covered ass, was throbbing with crass anticipation; seeping the sticky treacle of need for my sister. I toyed with her nipples moving slowly from one breast to the other, feeling them plump up, pebbling under the caress of my fingers and all the while grinding myself against her bottom. Not aggressively but with a slight, imperceptible back and forth motion, the subtle frottage sending pulses of sheer pleasure shooting through me. I could feel my precum soaking through the thin fabric of her panties, the silky sensation enhanced by the increasing slipperiness. I was filled with fear and excitement, lust and love and the primordial urge to bury myself deep inside her. To anoint her cunt with my incestuous sperm and manifest the many fantasies I've secretly harbored.

Her nightie had bunched up around the apex of her thighs, riding a little above her panty line. It was now or never. I moved my hand slowly down my sister's body, caressing the flat lines of her stomach, making small circles with the tips of my fingers, mapping the outline of her bellybutton and the gentle swell of her abdomen. And when I reached the elastic band of her panties, I stopped, and hesitated, unsure of how far I should go. I flirted with the stretchy bastion, pulling it slightly off her body before letting it go then pushing it down and pulling it back up again debating the course of my next move. But in the end I decided to play it safe and ran my fingers over her panties down into the triangle of her sex. Her breathing had quickened, lips parted slightly, fingers gripping tighter, but her eyes remained shut. I adjusted her upper leg to give me more room and felt her shift as if to comply. I knew then that she had either resigned herself or was also eager to explore whatever the night held in store for her ... for us. The thunder was all but forgotten.

Reassured, I ran my finger boldly along the furrow of her crack, feathering up and down a few times before pressing against the little nubbin crowning her slit. Her reaction was immediate. I heard her breath catch in her throat, a muffled gasp with a slight trembling, her back arching with hips pushing against my fingers while spreading her legs wider. I could feel the seeping moistness spreading, wetting the bridge of her undies, and sensed a subtle change -- a musky, aphrodisiacal redolence that filled my nostrils, driving me to a level of excitement I had never experienced with Karen.

I began thrusting faster and harder, reaching under her to hold my cock firmly against her cunt. There was a part of me that wanted to stop, to pull down her panties and fuck her but the slick, slippery feeling of rubbing along the gulley of her slit through the slimy wetness of her panties was too much. I could hear her breathing, short, choppy breaths, timed to my thrusts, fingers digging into my arms while her hips moved with mine in the symbiosis of a disjointed and unpracticed dance. I felt the familiar tingle all too soon; the runaway diesel of imminent orgasm emanating from the tip of my cock, racing unfettered down the tracks of nerves until it exploded in a startling array of lights in my brain.

I pulled her tightly to me and couldn't stop myself from crying out, "Jenny, oh fuck, I'm cumming ... Ohhhhh God, Jen!"

I thought I heard a whispered "Oh, yes, yessss ... mmmm!"

And then it happened. It was intense, the most intense orgasm I have ever had. I kept shooting glob after sticky glob of viscid cum into her panties and her abdomen, some of it dribbling down her thighs and soaking into her scrunched up negligee. I thought it would never end. I twitched uncontrollably against her, grinding and grunting loudly with each thrust, my face buried into the back of her neck inhaling the irriguous essence of her, until finally it was done.

We lay still, panting, unmoving for a while, bathed in the recessive aftermath of the most intimate of acts. Her hand still gripping my arm, her soft behind pressed against me. I could feel her breathing, labored, her mouth parted slightly in a sensual pout, and her eyes shut tight. I removed my hand from the messy wetness in between her legs as the repulsive bite of conscience flooded my brain. It was the gradual metamorphosis from blinding lust to reluctant rationale that defined with clarity, and without excuse, the extent of my action. The pellucid awareness of what had just transpired exploded with the subtlety of a cannon. I had violated an unwritten rule by taking advantage of my sister. She was complicit, of that there was no doubt, but she was young and naïve and inexperienced and I should have known better. I rolled away from her and closed my eyes, my mind finally free from hormonal torment and numbed by the consequence of my actions. I drifted slowly into an uneasy sleep wondering what she was feeling and how she would deal with the transmutation of our relationship.

"Hey, do you want to get a cup of coffee?" Clay asked shaking my shoulder and jolting me back to the present.

It took me a moment to get my bearings, descending from that nebulous realm bridging the space between somnolence and reality. It was dark and had stopped raining.

"Yeah, sure ... how long was I sleeping?" I asked.

"You had passed out. You've been sleeping for about three hours."

"Wow! I must have been tired." I muttered then looked over at him and asked, "How are we doing for gas?"

He glanced at the indicator, "We could use some. Let's take a break, I need to stretch my legs and get a caffeine fix."

Clay drank more coffee than anyone I knew and when we saw signs for Hampton Falls in New Hampshire, we pulled off the highway.

*****

The Praying Mantis

"Her golden hair is tied around my memory

The pain she left with me is here to stay

I'm doing all I can to go on living

And yet I die a little more each day"

Riff from a Country & Western song: She's Walking Through My Memory

The nice thing about a buddy is that you never feel compelled to make small talk, you know, the kind of idle, polite bullshit because the hanging silences get too damn uncomfortable. We genuinely enjoyed each other's company and he is the closest thing to a brother I'll ever have. Oh, I do have a brother, a half-brother, who is ten years older and a real piece of work. Phillip is some hotshot VP at Merrill Lynch with loads of dough and an I-know-everything attitude that bugs the heck out of me. Not that he cares for me either -- the feelings are definitely mutual. He thinks I'm a waste of a life but he dotes on Jenny so I'll cut him some slack. He was the product of my father's first marriage and I don't remember a single moment of any consequence that I shared with him. Clay has been more of a brother than that prick will ever be.

"Do you ever think of her?" He spoke so softly I had to strain to hear him. He was looking into his coffee, his forehead furrowed.

I knew he was referring to Karen but my mind went blank. We had never discussed her, not since the day of the accident. I mean never; not a word. It was almost eight years now and it was one of those 'don't even go there' topics with Clay. There were two days every year that Clay disappeared -- Karen's birthday and her death anniversary. No one knew where he went or what he did, he was just gone and we knew better than to ask.

"What do you mean?" I countered because I couldn't think of an appropriate response.

"You know what I mean, so stop being an ass," was his brusque retort.

Of course I thought about her -- for a while she was all I thought about. She was my first and was gorgeous and bubbly and mysterious. And, we shared that maddening, innocent, convoluted teenage passion that was so tortured and all consuming. The three of us swore eternal love and allegiance to one another and foolishly thought that it was forever without really comprehending the concept of time and the fragile unpredictability of life. We saw ourselves as outlaws trapped in some forbidden triangle; those indestructible gypsies of ecstasy whose incestuous profligacy was the sole reason for living. I don't recall how many hours we had spent making love but it was a lot. And, it wasn't just making love or fucking or whatever other tainted forms of physical carnality we indulged in -- we truly enjoyed being together. I close my eyes and I can still see her laughing; rumpled, golden hair and blue eyes; a Rapunzel trapped in a capsule, in that beautiful, ageless moment of memory. How could I not think of her?

"Of course I think of her ... I was in love with her!" It just popped out but it was the truth.

There was an uneasy silence. I could hear the clatter of dishes in the background and the tinny laugh of a waitress at a nearby table.

"I was too ..." he said, paused and added, "fucked up, eh? A brother in love with his sister?"

"Hey, it's no one's fuckin' business!" I answered and I meant it. It was no one's business but theirs.

"Amen to that, brother!" he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The day she ..." he grit his teeth fighting back the demons, his face wracked in pain, "... that day was the worst fuckin' day of my life. I died too. A part of me will always be dead. I used to spend hours planning on killing that drunken bastard; different ways; painful ways so it would last. I wanted to get pleasure from his suffering, watch him beg! He had no right to take her from ..." he paused again, struggling for control, "I was sick, man, real sick. But when I found out that he was some forty year old loser with three little kids, I couldn't do it. I knew that she wouldn't want me to do anything; she was the sweetest, gentlest soul."

He fell silent, lost in thought. I had no idea where this was coming from; this rambling in non sequitur. He wasn't high and he wasn't drunk. It wasn't like Clay to get emotional. I remained silent; I figured he needed to talk and I was ready to listen.

"She was beautiful and sweet," I offered softly trying to commiserate.

"I was never jealous of you, Cal. She loved you ... she loved us. She used to tell me that all the time. And I didn't care that I was sharing her as long as it was only with you. You're my brother, man, and there is nothing, I mean nothing, that I ..."

He left it hanging, unsaid, ambushed by the charitable deception of nostalgia. But I knew what he meant and that he was wrestling with the sudden flood of emotions, the catharsis of sharing feelings that had been bottled up for years. He stirred his coffee, staring into its blackness, working his jaws, allowing the stinging silence to salve our buried wounds.

I had to help him out and this was getting a bit too heavy, even for me, "Stop. You're making me misty! Anymore and I'll start bawling."

He looked up, his expression changing and laughed, "You were always a cry baby!"

"Me? Damn boy, you were the friggin' cry baby! Don't you remember the park?" I countered.

My family had just moved into the neighborhood. We were kids, about 5, and playing at the local park. Our moms were busy chatting when we had a disagreement over the swings. He pushed me and I punched him in the eye and that did it; Clay bawled like his head was on fire. His mother came running over and examined Clay's eye. She tousled his hair and murmured softly to him before returning to the bench where the other mothers were sitting and said, "What are you going to do? Boys will be boys!"

"Yeah, I remember ... you beat me like a drum!" he smiled, "but you came over and gave me that stone. You told me it was a magic stone and I believed you. I knew then that we were buds for life. Man, those were the good old days!"

"Yeah, the magic stone; it was a piece of black marble that I carried around with me ... a good luck charm. What did you do with it, dumbass? I want it back. I could use the luck."

He chuckled, "I kept it under my pillow for a few weeks wishing on it -- certain that if I wished hard enough it would give me the power to fly like Superman! But when that didn't happen, I gave it to Karen. Little good it did her!"

He had a sad, melancholic smile on his face and then looked up from his coffee, "Don't blow it, man."

"Blow what?" I had no idea what he was talking about.

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u06la14b
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