People Who Live in Glass Houses...

"I wasn't implying anything. But they sure seemed to take it that way. Agreed?"

"Either that or incest is not only taboo, but taboo as a conversation piece with them. "

"Guess so."

I let it go at that. One, I wanted to spare Martin further discomfort. I watched him squirm—that was enough. And two, I didn't want to conflagrate what I had seen, and thereby risk spoiling my chance to see more.

**************************************

"He knows," Gale said after her three guests had gone. "I'll bet anything he knows. Either he saw us or somebody else did and told him."

Martin looked out the window to make sure his friends were off the property. Then he left the room to check the driveway. He hadn't heard his parents pull up in their Lincoln, but he saw no harm in making sure. Good, he thought, there was still time to fool around.

"Well, maybe we're just being paranoid," he said upon returning. "But just to be safe, no more hanky-panky in the den, not until we put up some drapes."

"Then I guess we'll go back to where we started, either in your bedroom or mine. Too bad," she signed, "because somehow it's so much more erotic in here. Subliminally, it's the idea of being watched, I suppose."

"Perhaps, but I'll trade privacy for any subliminal pleasure I might derive from the likes of Ben Holtzman spying on us."

He took Gale's hand and led her into the living room where drapes of a striped pattern of copper and brown covered most of the glass. He then placed his hands over her boobs. "We could do just as well in here. I don't know about you, but all that incest talk made me horny as a...well, I was going to say motherfucker, but—"

"But sister-fucker is what you meant."

"Yes."

"I'm with you, little brother. Well, not so little. If you know what I mean." She then snapped open his jeans, reached inside his underwear and closed her hand around his cock. "There's another sofa in here. My panties are soaked and you're growing bigger by the second."

"And we're alone."

"Yes."

She pulled her sweater over her head, unsnapped her bra and kicked off her boots. Then she peeled off her jeans and panties. By the time Martin had run to his bedroom and returned naked, lambskin condom affixed to his rock-hard shaft, she was reclining on the brown leather sofa, waiting for him with open legs. He sank to the yellow carpet and got between them.

"Oh my god, oh my god, Marty," she shrieked, feeling waves of excitement rushing through her as he worked his tongue over her swollen clit. "You love eating your big sister's pussy, don't you? Admit it, you gross, perverted sister-fucker, you!"

"And you love it just as well, you lying little cunt, telling those guys that incest grosses you out when we both know the truth. When in reality, you crave your little brother's big dick like you crave food. Admit it."

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh fuck. Oh my god! I can't take much more!"

"Then take this." Keenly aware that their parents could arrive home any minute, he dispensed with the usual long foreplay, crawled on top and shoved his cock into her. There would be no double-banger today. "You like that? Huh?"

"I love that! Oh my god, Marty, fuck me! Fuck me like only you know how to do!"

"Better than any of your college boyfriends?"

"No, no contest," she said, her breathing so heavy she could barely get the words out. "They can't hold a candle to you. You pleasure my soul as well as my pussy. You fill my waking hours with anticipation and my sleep with dreams of fantasies realized. I love you."

"I love you too, sis." Tenderly, he kissed her while he kept up a steady, easy rhythm, guiding his cock to where he knew she liked it, up against her clit for maximum pleasure. He loved the feel of her legs around his waist, her smooth, soft skin against his. And he loved the way she smelled, clean and fresh. There was a baby's freshness about her, yet she was all woman—luscious, sensual, seductive.

She closed her big brown eyes, lost in the reverie of her brother's loving touch. It didn't get any better than this. Yes, it was naughty, and yes it was taboo, and yes it felt so right at the same time—a paradox she had long since stopped analyzing and instead peacefully surrendered to its wonder and joy. A tingling sensation washed over her, successive waves of orgasmic pleasure, her body's way of telling her that she was heading into the backstretch. "I'm almost there, Marty," she said. "Bring me home."

He knew she was almost "there" even before she said it, for he knew the intimate details of his sister's unique sexuality, the way her body responded to his, the rhythm of her breathing, the sound of her voice, the way her nipples perked up and the way her pussy pulsated and gushed forth its juices, "a geyser in miniature" he called it. Amazingly adroit at controlling his climax, he waited, as he always did, for her to get there first. He held her as she shook and screamed—his clarion call to follow her home. And then it came, those few seconds of ecstasy that human beings crave from the time of puberty to when age or infirmity shut the door.

But, as Ben Holtzman gleaned from that birch tree, this was more than just raw physical lust. As kids they were close. Gale was thrilled when baby Martin came along. She mentored him and protected him from other kids when he needed protecting. Rarely did they fight, and the sibling rivalry that did go on usually ended in quiet compromise. When she started dating, she'd ask his opinion of the teen suitors who came through the door. This was a few years before his hormones began to rage. And when they did, he took notice, not only of other girls but his own sister. She noticed him noticing, and took notice herself. He asked her questions about all things female and she answered, willingly and happily. It was when he was still in middle school and she in high school that she started to demonstrate. By the time he entered the dating scene at age fifteen, thanks to her hands-on lessons, he was a quasi-expert on the female erogenous zones—lucky for his girlfriends because they became the happy recipients of his sister's unbridled tutoring. And then, sometime after he started driving, on a weekend night when they were home alone, they made love for the first time—his first time, not hers. Her original intention was to give him experience, to mentor him as she had always done. She never expected it to turn into the most thrilling sexual intercourse she ever had in her young life. But it did, and she was hooked, and so was he. Friends and lovers came and went; none could improve on the special love they shared. They grew into each other, their closeness inviolate, almost sacred.

"My brother, my lover, my friend," she whispered, snuggled on the sofa in her brother's arms.

"Friends and lovers forever," he whispered back. "Our bond will last as long as we."

*****************************************

Following that Saturday afternoon of tense talk and hot chocolate, I never revealed to Martin or anyone else what I'd seen. He apparently suspected it because weeks later thick drapes covered the big den window. And there was a change in Martin too: He stopped bragging. Nonchalantly, he'd respond "it's okay" when I asked about his love life.

Our little neighborhood gang split up after college. We all went our own way, moved out, became independent and lost contact with one another in the process. Years later, in my mid-thirties, I ran into Mrs. Prager in the food store and asked about Martin and Gale. I assumed, like me, both were married with kids.

"Neither of them married," she said, disappointment etched in her face. "They moved to where Martin attended college, in Colorado, established careers, and have lived together ever since."

"Really? Well, I knew they were close, but..."

"But what?"

"I didn't think they were that close."

"Yes, well, they were closer than any of us knew, than even Mr. Prager and I knew until one night we came home and found them..." She looked down and shook her head.

"And found them..."

"Never mind, Ben, I've said too much already," she said, stuffing a box of cereal into her shopping cart. "They're healthy and appear to be happy. I would have liked to have had grandchildren, but we all don't get what we want in this life, do we?"

"No, I guess we don't. Well, Martin and Gale being exceptions," I added, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, please," she huffed, and moved on.