Sister Finds Brother in the Fog

Thick fog rolling in from the Pacific totally hid Golden Gate Bridge. It was early morning. I expected the sun to disperse the fog. Do fogs disperse or do they lift or maybe they just roll back.

I am Meruli, an 18 year old immigrant to the States. I have come to study. My brother Noel, who is three years older, came a year earlier. He is also in school. He is in San Francisco. I came three months ago to Memphis. The locals do not think much of the school that has given me a seat. In my view it is the greatest school in this country for it gave me the chance to be near my brother. It took me three months after coming here to be able to see him. He was waiting for me at the Greyhound station in SF. I jumped out into his arms and we hugged.

The fog is becoming denser and is advancing. May be my brother and I would soon be hidden too. That would be something I would not have imagined could happen at sea level. In my mountainous country it is very common. My country is tiny compared to even one of the smaller states in the U.S. I will not bother you with its name. You are certain not to have heard of it. A member of our school quiz team had not heard of it either. Neither did he know the name of my mother tongue. Our language is in the UNESO list of languages in danger of extinction. There are only about 100000 people who speak it. Like all people we are passionate about our mother tongue. We love it so much that we all have to go to the top of a peak that is sacred to us and swear that we will keep our language alive by teaching our children to speak it even if we are in another country. Many of my people have left to work in countries more prosperous than ours.

I am on one of the wooden seats well away from the park. My brother is standing at the edge of the road watching a ship as large as a building sail towards the bridge. Soon it will pass under the bridge invisible to us but no doubt visible to the captain's instruments.

Noel is a handsome man. He is tall and virile but is very soft natured. I love my brother. Nothing strange especially if he is, as it is in my case, the only sibling. But I do not love him as a sister loves her brother but like a girl loves her lover. Ever since I was old enough to think of men he has been my fantasy object—my only fantasy object.

We have never had quarrels so common among siblings. This has been so since our nursery days. He was so kind to me that he often allowed me to join in his games with other boys. I believe younger sisters wanting to join brothers in their games is the greatest pain in the neck for boys. My brother not only allowed but at times even invited me to join. He was as I have said my love object. I like to think that he loved me too in the same way but avoided doing so with an effort because it was unnatural. I did not have any such inhibitions. I loved him without any feeling of guilt.

One morning I had a funny experience. I dream a lot. It was winter and I was cosily in bed. We do not have central heating. A fire place and blankets keep us warm in our freezing winter. I dreamt that my brother and I were hugging and passionately kissing on the lips. My chest was bare and he was fondling me. Suddenly it stuck me that I was no longer dreaming but continuing my dream in fantasy. I closed my eyes and continued the fantasy. He fondled and then he sucked. I did not have the courage to take it all the way. Anyway I had to stop for I could hear mother calling 'Meru', 'Meru.' From then on I am able to continue my dream in fantasy. Often I do not know which is which.

Our house is a small one on a ledge of the steep mountain side. My brother has a room to himself. I share mother's room. My father passed away when I was five years old. We are well off by the standard of our country. We have goats that find a way to live on our cliffs. We make goat cheese that we sell in the market in a nearby town. The goat cheese that comes from the particular slope we live in is famous and fetches a good price. The rows and rows of cheese that I find on the shelves of the American super markets are amazing. Blue cheese and green cheese and cheese with holes in it and so on and on. But no, our cheese does not find a place here.

My brother is a physical fitness addict. I often sit in his room as he does his dumb bell and other exercises. He wears short shorts that they call jocks here for his gym work. I will sit and watch his muscles glistening with sweat. More than his muscles I like the bulge of his genitals. I will be in high state of sexual excitement. Under my knickers I usually place a pad on these occasions for I secrete so much vaginal juice that the pad will be soaked dripping wet. When it is over I will go to the bathroom and press my thighs together and move my pelvis forwards and backwards. I will be in such a state of arousal that even that amount to stimulation will bring me to orgasm.

While masturbating I of course think of my brother and nothing else. I imagine that he is hugging me and we are kissing and he is playing with my breasts and sucking my nipples. As I have said earlier I never had the courage to imagine having sex. Then one day it changed.

My brother's room is tiny, not more than six feet by eight feet. It has two doors to it, one from outside and the other from the room where I stay with my mother. Our door is usually closed. One afternoon our room door was slightly ajar; less than an inch but enough for me to peep. That day mother had gone to the market and I had freedom to peek. If mother had been at home I could not have peeped for she is all the time moving about the house. Brother was in the room reading a glossy picture magazine. The girl on the cover was quite naked. I believe all young men have pictures of nude women, but I have not seen my brother's collection. I squatted on the floor watching eagerly as my brother turned the pages of the magazine. I could not see his eyes as he had his head turned to my side but I could imagine his eyes popping. He has large eyes that glint with affection especially when he is looking at me. His penis was tenting his trousers. Now he did something that made me gasp, thankfully not audibly. He pulled down his trousers and his knickers and took his penis out. I have seen his penis when he was young but not after he reached manhood. This erect one was monster. It was curving backwards and the veins on it surface were like giant worms.

All this happened months ago but I shiver even as I write. He held his penis in his hands and moved it over the rose. He was masturbating. He did it first slowly for a while and then he speeded up, and then he ejaculated. Blobs of whitish creamy fluid spurted out. I have never seen semen before. Now I not only saw but smelt it. It has a sort of funny odour. He wiped himself with a towel and withdrew. I had to lie down for I was trembling. I rubbing my clitoris with my fingers and pressing my thighs together I gave myself an orgasm.

When I saw him an hour later I made eye contact with some hesitation.

"Why that smile?" he said.

"What smile," I said.

"The smile you just now flashed. It is different."

"In what way?"

"Sly and shy."

"Like a girl smiling to her lover. Is that what you mean?" I was being bold.

"Something like that."

"May be it is so."

"You are full of mischief today," he said that bending down he kissed me on the forehead."

"Not there. The smile deserves more. Here," I said pouting my lips. He touched my lips with his lips and was gone. The first lip to lip contact left me a mass of quivering jelly.

A few days later I was reading in my room when brother came in through the door connecting his room with ours to take away his laundered clothes. Clothes in our place are hand washed and sun dried. Sun-dried clothes are one of the many things I miss in the States. They have crispness and pleasant smells that machine dried clothes do not have.

"Why that smile again," he said. Jim Reeves song of that title is a favourite with both of us.

"You mean sly and shy and non-sisterly," I said. He did not render a verbal reply but bending down he held me by the cheeks and pressed his lips firmly against my lips. Before I could react he had collected his clothes and was back in his room. This time I did not quiver like a jelly. I latched both door and removing all my clothes I lay back with feet in the air and thighs spread out, and using my fingers I masturbated with images of my brother's monster penis in my vagina. Soon I was rocking in orgasm.

The next time he remarked about my sly smile I knew we would be hugging and kissing live lovers. But that never happened. A couple of days after that kiss brother got admission to a school in San Francisco. He got his visa a week later and his flight was a week after that. It was all happening with stunning speed. All I needed and prayed for was five minutes with him alone, but that appeared impossible.

The people of the mountain live as one big family—an extended family unlike in the States and most countries where the family is nuclear composed of father, mother and children. Living on the same mountain slope there are houses close to ours where my aunts and uncles live with their children. There are lots of grand uncles and aunts and great-great grand uncles and aunts too for we were a race where living up to hundred is not uncommon. Scientists who came and stayed in our mountains to study this phenomenon say that the clean mountain air, the physical exercise we have in climbing up and down the slopes, and home cooked food are the reason for our longevity. I am digressing. When the news got around that my brother was going to America the family exploded in excitement. None of our family has been abroad but there were many on the other slope of our mountain who worked in the States and elsewhere.

Our house was now full of my cousins and aunts and uncles. They took over the household management and my mother as befitted the mother of a son who was leaving for America presided over in grand style like a matriarch she now imagined she had become. Five cousins moved into my room. Four of them were either my father's sister's daughters or my mother's brother's daughters and were proper match for my brother. (Mother's sister's and father's brother's daughters are taboo relationship.) They were of course very friendly with me. Little did they know that I hated their presumption. I do not blame them. How indeed could they have guessed that a sister could be a rival? There were many male cousins staying with my brother and the result of all that was I was not able to get even a moment alone with him. The tight hug and passionate lover's kiss that was round the corner never materialised. His farewell was lifeless. He held me by the cheeks and kissed me on the lips. 'We will meet again in America,' he said. I was applying to American colleges too. I did not have great hopes of success for my grades were too poor to merit seat with full aid.

He emailed which we downloaded and printed in the town 20 miles from our home. The shaky telephone line was not good enough for photos. Everyone read everyone's letters in our share-all community. As the man in the Internet parlour had to type our letter nothing tender could find a place in them either. My only hope was for Noel to give a list of lesser known school that would accept me. This is what happened. A school in Memphis accepted me. Later I was to know that my professor had emigrated from the same mountains we live in but in a country that shares one border with ours. He knew my country and my people. It is out of such wispy material that the thread of life is spun.

I left home nine months after my brother. I worked hard. I could not let my professor down. After three month I could take a few days off. I rode a Greyhound bus to SF. As the bus was nearing SF my pulse was speeding up at the prospect of seeing my brother after one full year. I do not why but I felt very shy. I was not sure I would be able to face him without blushing and turning away. I was worried too. Will my brother resume the relationship were we left off? That last kiss (not the farewell one) was on the lips and not just a touch but with firm pressure and with slightly parted lips. But that was a year ago. Much can happen in one year. The bus was entering the station when I saw him and he also saw me at the same moment. It took a while before I could get out of the bus and into his arms. We hugged but did not kiss. I could sense brother's love and not lover's passion.

Has he acquired an American girl friend? My brother, though somewhat shy, was popular with girls. My school mate Kesia with whom he was very close lived a stone throw away from our house. Well, the stone thrower will have to direct the stone with great precision for it to land on a courtyard half a kilometre away down the steep slope of our mountain. Kesia was a beauty but was arrogant; with me she was very sweet. Noel has been writing to her; I have seen her brandishing the letters thought I never got to read them. But boys from our parts who go away acquire girls in foreign countries. Was my brother following on their footsteps? I was desperate. I had to declare my love to my brother the day and a half I was spending with him. But how? It suddenly struck with great force that I was making a grievous error in expecting him to take the initiative. Poor fellow how can he, for after all I was his sister. No decent brother will like to place himself in a situation where it might appear he was breaking the trust sisters have of brothers. I could sense that he found me sexually attractive but no way can he even hint it. I read it in his body language and that appeared to me to be quite explicit. I had to take the lead. I had no inkling how I was to go about it.

The fog was becoming less dense. I could see cars fleeting across on the bridge. For the first time there was another person on the road. I could see him trudging towards us. He had a large bag on his back and when he came closer I could see two cameras dangling on his chest. He must be a professional photographer for the cameras had long lenses. He had an unwieldy mass of grey hair on his head and a flowing moustache. He reminded me of Mark Twain. He had no wings! I mention wings for he soon proved to be my guardian angel.

2

"Excuse me." Noel and I turned round with a start for we were so absorbed in our conversation that we did not notice the photographer approaching us. He had set up his cameras on two tripods some distance away. "Sorry to startle you but I need an unusual favour from you." It was indeed an unusual favour that he requested. To get his composition of the Golden Gate shot perfect he needed a kissing couple in the foreground. Would we oblige? We would indeed. With chalk he drew foot prints to mark the precise place we had to stand. We did so. He trudged back. Even when not carrying his equipment he stooped no doubt owing to constant lugging of the heavy stuff. With a newspaper rolled up into the shape of a cone he shouted 'action,' and we hugged and kissed.

Our mild mannered Mark Twain was not satisfied with our performance. He shouted with authority. Apparently while talking into a megaphone one automatically transforms into movie directors who are supposed to be short tempered.

"No sister brother stuff," he shouted, "I want lover's passion." Noël eyes met mine. We smiled. 'Action," said the director. We hugged. His lips were on mine. He pressed and I pressed and then I did something that lit the fuse. I parted my lips and probed his mouth with my tongue. And then we kissed hugging each other like pythons, tongues playing about in the other's mouth, breasts pressed to chest, and rod hard penis crushing wet vulva. I wanted more pressure on my vulva. With one hand holding him I pressed with the other on is buttock; he went even further. He held both my buttocks and pressed while I ground my vulva against his penis with swaying motions of my pelvis using all the force I could muster. How long it lasted I know not but when we parted the photographer had taken whatever he had wanted and was dismantling his equipment.

"Thanks," he said and waved his hand and was soon gone. We were exhausted. We moved to bench and lay side by side holding each other less we slip down, savouring each others warmth...

"My brother darling, I can love no man but you," I said. He rendered no verbal reply but hugging me he sought my lips with his and we surpassed the kiss that we had done for the photographer.

We cycled to a fast food place for breakfast. My panties were soaked wet. I took it off in the toilet. It was too wet for use. I dumped it in the garbage. When I came out I was thrilled to be with a skirt and nothing else blow the waist. I had a coat though that came up to the waist. Noel had told me that SF in summer especially close to the Pacific can be windy and quite cold. My worry was that if I were to hug and kiss my brother again, as I was sure I would, my skirt may get visibly soiled. In the event the problems I faced owing to being without panties were more delicious.

My brother wanted to take me to the Pacific side of the bridge where he said visitors were few and we could explore the rocky shore. First stop was the Point Bonita lighthouse. A quaint suspension bridge took us to the lighthouse where we were the first visitors that morning and at that moment the only ones. I was excited for another opportunity for a hug and a kiss was sure to present itself and my heart missed several beats at the thought of that prospect. And then this heart stopper: Yes I would be in front as we climb up and from below my brother can see my nakedness. The very thought made me moist about the vagina. I not only did not care but welcomed the chance to show my wetness to my brother.

I did not spend too much time reading the various posters on the history of the lighthouse. The lighthouse was short and squat I believe because fog will engulf taller lighthouse and will be useless. I stood at the foot of the stairs ready to be in front. I climbed a few steps and called to Noel to come up. I kept two steps ahead of him. I judged that he has to be that distance away to see high up my thighs and my buttocks which many have told me was a lovely pair. It was a short climb for as I have said earlier the lighthouse was short and squat. I now put a plan I had formed boldly into action. I dropped my handbag. I did not drop it on the step I was standing but on the one below. I bent down quickly and my hand was on Noel's who was also holding the bag to return it to me. We froze. There I stood bent double with the hem of my moderately short skirt raised up exposing my bare buttocks. I had my thighs slightly parted so that brother can see my vulva.

Both of us were holding the bag. Brother's eyes were fixed on my vulva and he was so stunned that his hands were incapable of movement. Then we made eye contact. It was funny for my head was in the inverted position.

"You are not wearing panties," he said hoarsely. The muscles of his cheeks were fibrillating in the excitement.

I straightened up and turned round facing him standing two steps below me.

"I had to junk it for you had made them wet during the kiss," I said. "You disapprove?

"No. It is to me a dream realised."

"Then come up and see it close." I smiled and lifting up my skirt I took a step down. With his eyes riveted on my vulva he took a step up. I covered his head with my skirt and pressed his head against my vulva. He placed his palms against my bare buttocks and he licked my vulva with vigour that reminded me of the day long ago when our puppy went for cod liver oil spilled on our floor. I pressed the back of his head against my spread thighs and moving my pelvis the while. I do not know how long it lasted but the sound of foot falls made us break off in a hurry. He was by my side at the top of the steps both trying to look like innocent visitors. It was a false alarm for no one appeared round the curve of the steps. We moved to a corner in front of the Frensel lenses and kissed with lips locked and tongues probing. I took his hand and placed it on my vulva and unbuttoning my skirt and took his other hand and placed it on my breast. His hand was soft as he gently felt the inner leaves between his fingers as if he was feeling silk. He ran his palm over my vulva and then he pressed my clitoris with one finger. With the soft pulp of his finger he kneaded the clitoris till thrills ran up and down my spine. I gripped his penis hard and large and moved my hand up the down the way I had seen him do on that memorable day I saw him masturbating.