The Story of Us

That was the crux of things. She felt exactly like me. Like home. Like sanctuary.

Like love...?

I wasn't sure about that. I knew what love was: I loved Dad, after all. And I still loved mom, even if she had run out on Dad with her newer, richer boyfriend so many years ago. I had always loved Allie, of course, because she was my sister, but not like this...God, never like this...

It didn't feel like Ryan. I hadn't loved Ryan, and even if I had, our status as boyfriend/girlfriend hadn't survived Fall Break that year. I cried after he texted to say he was breaking up with me, because seriously, who texts his girlfriend to dump her? But the tears weren't tears of sorrow. They were more like tears of betrayal, the kind you cry when you feel like something you should have gotten was denied at the last minute.

That's what made this so different. I tried to think about something happening, something where Allie and I hadn't wound up here tonight. What if we'd found the remote? Instead of here, sharing, we'd be watching the extended version of "The Fellowship of the Ring", seeing Gimli and Legolas bickering, witnessing Gandalf fall to the Balrog, urging Frodo and company away with the command: "Fly, you fools!"

Fly.

Well, I couldn't exactly deny my foolish nature. And I sure felt like I was flying.

Just one problem: flights end. Either you land or you crash, but one way or another, what goes up must come down. Not even birds, some of which spend many hours of the day airborne on their way south for the winter, can fly forever.

But just because a plane lands, I told myself, doesn't mean it can't take off again. Sometimes it needs to refuel. Let its passengers disembark, take on new cargo. Birds find a branch, sleep for the night, then head out again in the morning like nothing has changed.

Let us be like those birds, I pleaded with the universe. There was only one way to find out if it could happen though, and that was to carry on through the turbulence.

I held my left arm around her head as we kissed, and slowly slid my right hand down her side. To her hip. To her thigh. Inside her thigh, moving her legs apart with my own.

If this happened, I'd know for sure. If we didn't crash, then maybe we could fly forever...

I felt her hair, soft and reassuring, against my fingers as I moved down between her legs. Allie, unlike the girls in the movie, didn't shave. In a way I was disappointed; I was curious to know what that felt like. But I was glad too: I could know everything about her, even this.

She moaned quietly against my mouth as I gently explored her with my middle finger. Her lips were tender, moist with her own heat just as mine were. I guided my finger through her little garden, caressing her with a fingertip, up and then down.

Up and down.

The kiss changed.

Everything changed.

Now it wasn't just a kiss. It was a demand. It was desire given physical form, a white flash of phosphorous, long-burning and intense. Maybe there's even a word for a kiss like that, I don't know. But if you've felt it before, you know what I mean. If you haven't... Well, then I guess there's nothing I can do except ask you to trust me.

My finger slipped inside her faster than I expected. There had been a few times, during a particularly intense fantasy, where I'd wound up a lot wetter than I imagined, and surprised myself with how easy I slid my own finger in, but with someone else this was all new to me. Like the kiss, this was another first. I was on my own, but not alone, because she was right here with me.

A cry escaped her lips, and I opened my eyes to see she'd done the same. I swallowed. "If you want me to stop..."

"Don't."

"Are you-?"

She grabbed my hand and held it in place, interrupting me. "Yes, Kara, God..." Then she closed her eyes and rested her mouth against mine. This time my tongue ventured forth first.

I moved my finger in and out slowly, letting her get used to the sensation. I didn't know how often Allie pleasured herself, although I assumed that like me she did so at least a couple of times a week, even if only to relieve tension or help herself get to sleep. But I didn't want to assume, and if this was her first time, I didn't want to overrun her with sensations she'd have trouble understanding.

So I took my time.

I took my time because I wanted to protect her. If anybody was going to do this, go this far with her for her first time, I wanted it to be me. Someone else might hurt her. Someone else might scare her. Misuse her. Abuse her trust. Break her.

But not if I was first. If I gave Allie the knowledge, the memory, of what it should feel like, if I got there before someone else did, she would always know. This was giving perhaps the most precious gift an older sister could give. I had already accidentally stolen her first kiss, a nearly unforgivable crime. In exchange, I resolved to give this to her fully, lovingly, truly.

The television's power saver mode kicked in, and it turned itself off, cloakng the room in night's blanket. In a way I was glad, because now no one could see us. On the other hand, if I needed to look her in the eyes, to find that reassurance again, I wouldn't be able to. Rationally this wasn't a problem. But I'd kicked rationality's ass far too many times this evening; it and I weren't on speaking terms any longer.

She shivered against me. At first I thought she was cold and was going to suggest we could get under the blanket, but she followed it up with a whisper of, "Feels good...", so I kept going.

Even when we took a brief break from the kiss to draw in a breath or two of fresh air, I could taste her on my lips. Her scent, her taste, everything that made her 'Allie' was now as much a part of me as my own skin. I gently ran my toes over her foot, and smiled at the tickling sensation that made her pull it away for a second before coming back to let me do it again.

I moved my finger as far inside her as I could reach, and was rewarded with a long intake of breath, which she held, then exhaled against my cheek. When I drew my finger back, she pushed herself towards it. I loved the feeling, the warmth, the deepness, the sense that there was so little left between us. I loved the sounds she made, drawing each breath, letting it out, repeating, as I stroked between her thighs. Loved the sensation of her gripping my shoulder with one hand. Loved when she bit my lip when something felt really good. Loved when a shudder she couldn't control ran down her legs, through her back, across her arms.

My mind wandered, unbidden, to Ms. Watko, my Health teacher, who taught the Sex Ed unit for sophomores. I honestly don't remember much about the class except for the time we passed around these really weird jelly-form 'breasts' so we could examine them for lumps, but I did recall during one question-and-answer session at the end of class, she'd posed one to us: "What's the difference between 'having sex' and 'making love'?"

I didn't have a clue, and neither did anyone else in the class (or if they did, they weren't about to open their mouths and risk ridicule).

"Having sex," Ms. Watko had said, "is nothing more than the act of attempting to procreate. If you're having sex, intensity and emotion are secondary, and it's really only basic biology.

"Making love, though, that's something different." I remember the twinkle in her eyes as she began talking. "Making love is just like sex, only, well, more. You're there, in the moment, with your partner, and it's like the rest of the world just melts away. It's giving and receiving pleasure for pleasure's sake, being unconcerned with yourself, only with your partner."

I remember one girl's hand going up after that, Tiffany's I think, and she asked, "How would we know the difference?"

The only thing Ms. Watko said was, "If you're left wondering, then it's just sex. If it's making love, you won't have any doubt."

I felt Allie shiver against me again, returning me to the present. I didn't have to wonder. Like Ms. Watko had promised: I had no doubt.

She drew in a quick breath, and I felt the change. A quiet whimper. She shuddered. The tempo altered: instead of working with me, letting me control things, she was wrestling to take charge.

Her hips thrust against my hand, and I worked my fingertip faster across the little bump I always used on me when I pleasured myself. She moved in time with me, urging me to hurry up. She bit my lip harder. Grabbed a fistful of my hair. Tensed her calves. Clenched her toes. Doing it to myself was one thing...knowing I was doing it to my own sister blistered my synapses. I've never used cocaine, but if it's anything like this, no wonder people get addicted.

I moved quicker, rubbing her sex more urgently, listening to the sounds of her whimpers and moans increasing in intensity, frequency, duration.

She demanded more, and I gave it, caressing her leg with my foot, squeezing her shoulder with my hand, working my fingers between her legs as fast as I could, pushing harder, driving her forward.

By now she was no longer kissing me. Her mouth hung open, slack, drawing breath in and out as quickly as she could. Her eyes were closed, pinched tight, like she was caught mid-sneeze. And still she pushed, struggled, fought onward.

"Allie," I whispered.

"Huh?" she breathed.

I leaned close to her, and waited until I felt her start to tense up so she'd hear, so there could be no mistake, no question in her mind if she thought about it later on. I waited.

Waited.

Her abs flexed: my cue. I stilled my finger and she grabbed my shoulders. I put my lips to her ear. "I love you." And gave another stroke.

She broke.

Everything inside her shattered as she let out a long, gasping wail. She squeezed my shoulder so tightly I had an epic bruise the next morning. But I didn't care, because she began to climax.

She kept going, vibrating the bed as the spasms ran wild through her. For my part, I just let her use my finger as she needed, pushing and steadying herself, pulling away to relax, then pushing forward again for more. The noises she made, the words she said, were for my ears and my ears alone. Written down, they would lose their impact. I could record them, but only clinically. You couldn't understand what they meant, either to me or her. They would lack a context impossible for me to provide. At that time, in that place, they simply were. All apologies to the curious, but this will have to suffice because some things must remain for her and I alone.

I don't know how long I cradled her in my arms as she rode down her climax until there was nothing left but the occasional shiver. Finally she returned to my lips and I welcomed her home with all the fanfare of a wayward spirit. Allie. My sister. My lover.

The kisses we shared now were different than the beginning. At first uneasy, then working their way to desperate, now they communicated peace, serenity, and a non-judgmental familiarity.

Finally, still working to fully catch her breath, she opened her eyes, something I could just barely see thanks to the angle of the moon shining in through a break in the curtains, and whispered something softly.

"Hmmm?" I asked, and bent closer to her mouth.

"Love you too," she breathed into my ear.

I kissed her forehead and smiled. The words were wonderful to hear, but I didn't need them. She'd sung them to me so many times, so beautifully, just moments ago.

"What time is it?" she asked after a long, glowing silence.

"I don't know, I can't see the clock."

She shifted and raised her head to look over my shoulder, then sank back against the bed. "Oh man... It's quarter after one."

"Dad'll be home soon," I murmured.

She pulled my mouth to hers and we shared another kiss. "I think we have a few minutes, right...?"

I agreed.

Slowly the energy in the room normalized, and I felt everything reach the equilibrium from when we first entered. I cradled her head against my shoulder, then moved my arm as she lifted herself to a sitting position.

She sat up and stretched. Her back popped, making me wince. "Guess we ought to get dressed, huh?"

I looked over her, taking in her silhouetted form in the darkness, wishing I could turn on a light but not wanting to break the moment and embarrass her. "Guess so..." I said reluctantly.

She leaned in and kissed me again. "But just until Dad gets here."

I smiled, and she must have been able to tell in the moonlight. "Don't worry," she said as she crawled to the foot of the bed and stood up. "I'll still love you after he comes home. And nothing," she added, wrapping her arms around me as I swung my legs over the floor and stood up, "is going to keep me from proving that after he goes to bed."

As she stooped to gather up her clothing, I closed my eyes, rocked back on my heels, and thought: Thank God we never found that remote.

So that's how it happened. I don't know if it makes sense, or even if it can make sense to you, but if nothing else it stands as my testament to 'why'. It turned out Dad had misplaced the remote; we found it in one of the kitchen drawers a couple days later. And no, for those of you wondering, he hadn't intended for us to go snooping and find that video. Dad's human, just like everyone else. He's got needs like everyone else. And he just happened to leave a porn video in the player in his bedroom. Knowing Dad, it'll be there for weeks and surprise him the next time he goes to watch something. Allie's convinced if we look hard enough we can find his stash. She's probably right, but I think I've seen enough. At least for the time being.

The world works in mysterious ways. I think some things are just destined to happen, no matter what we want, or think we want. But I also believe that, in the end, it all turns out OK. So far for us, it has. Eventually the universe makes fools of us all, one way or another. That night it just happened to be our turn.

And so, like fools, we fly.