The Two Sisters

She laughs. He looks at her. As if to explain, she says, "How does that square with your idea that trash is beautiful?"

"Oh, it doesn't," he is going to stop, but then goes on in a rush, "Then I got over there," he waves across at the river, "And looked over here and saw you. The water from the hose just glistened in the sun. That big white house looked like some rich person's home, you can't really see the parking lot or the sign from there. And I thought if I could just hold that image in my head I'd be happy forever."

She takes a sip of her beer, then reaches over and lays her hand on his.

That hand feels like it's electrified.

Of course he can't mention how much he'd thought of that set of photos as he walked.

Just before waking he'd been trapped in a confused dream. There he'd been, standing in front of a roomful of people from that oh so important customer, instead of a screenshot of the potential interface, the overhead shows a picture of the front of that church, the two sisters both lean forward, looking up at that handsome looming fellow. The woman beside the guy is clearly not so happy to be in the company of such beauties. You can see hard lines etched at the corners of her eyes.

He frantically pounds the space bar. The next slide shows the shorter and rounder sister, the not-Emily-lookalike, talking to the man. They stand on the bank of a brook. Behind them is a thin edge of trees, behind that, up a steep bank, is thick tall corn. They are cut off, alone.

The clicks now take place on their own, they're sharp and loud. He wants to move his hand to shut down Powerpoint, to slam the laptop lid, but is curiously unable to move.

There the two are kissing, first standing, then sitting, leaning against a broad tree with multiple trunks that stretch out over the water. There she is with her dress unbuttoned in front, her bra on the grass beside her. Her breasts are so full, the man's hand is under one, he bends to kiss it. There she is on her back, her dress thrown over her chest, her underwear on the grass next to the bra, one arm over her eyes the other stretched to the side, the man is between those so white thighs, half in. There she is, head on his chest, as he leans back against the tree trunk, smoking a cigarette, tears flow down her cheeks.

At this point he'd managed to break away and start up staring and sweating in the hotel bed. He'd been unwilling to lie back. He'd stood up and looked out the window at the brightening eastern sky. Streetlights were still on below the hotel window in the morning half-light. He'd looked at the broad river. Then in a lurch of activity he'd checked Mapquest, saving several pages so he could refer to them when not connected. Next he'd hurriedly packed his stuff. It all fit in the shoulder bag with the computer, he despised checking baggage on airplanes. Then he'd checked out of the hotel and hurried out into the cool fresh 5AM air.

"I need to be going," he forces himself to say. He feels he's standing on an edge, looking down into fog. He realizes he's going to jump. "Look," he says, "My meetings are over at 4. My flight's not till 8. Would you like to meet for a drink?"

He thinks suddenly that she may not be 21. He wants her to say no, to say she's busy.

"Where are these meetings?" she asks, her fingers idly caress the back of his hand. They lightly brush his ring.

"1048 River Rd. It's on the other side of that mess up there and then about a mile."

"1048 River Rd," she repeats, "I'll meet you at 4 then. Now, I'll show you a short cut. It'll save you twenty minutes at least."

She stands, "Finish your beer, I'll run the bottles in then be right back, don't want them sitting out here."

He tips the bottle, it's still more than half full. He drinks and feels it hit his stomach, the only thing he's had that day is coffee and a pastry from a Starbucks on a corner. He can feel the beer in his head. He watches her walk quickly up to the restaurant, the sun shining on her white blouse, on her pale hair, on her swaying bottom. He feels he's dropped behind an event horizon, into a never ending moment, separated from all cause or consequence.

This girl's lookalike is more forward than her sister. After their first encounter, she sits sweet and naked on the guy's lap, sharing a cigarette. When he guides her head down toward his cock, she doesn't slap him as does her sister, she takes it with every expression of curious eagerness. Not all the images of them fucking are with him on top, his broad muscular frame hiding everything but her splayed thighs. As often, she is on him, sitting facing him or with her back to him, her fingers touching herself.

"Hey!" She has suddenly returned, "Can't have you falling asleep!"

She leads the way down to the river's edge and turns along it. There is a slight edge of gravely dried mud by the water. He hesitates.

"You can keep your feet dry," she says reassuringly. "It hasn't rained in a couple weeks and there're only a couple places you'll have to jump."

Not far from where they stand the stream comes out from under the bridge he'd crossed earlier. The opening is square and barely head high. It is very dark. The noise of the traffic seems to swell like a suddenly disturbed hornets nest.

He starts to draw back.

She steps to him, tilts her face up. He bends and kisses her. Her lips are warm, soft and taste of beer. The world seems to close in around him, enclosing him in a bubble with her face. She steps back, smiles, touches his arm and moves along the edge. Her sandals are the kind that can get wet, she steps confidently and quickly, splashing. He follows more carefully. He has to jump in more than a couple places and sometimes the mud is yielding. He's going to have to clean his shoes. He has to find someplace to tie his tie anyhow.

Under the bridge the going suddenly gets easy. There is a concrete shelf along the side to walk on. It is dark and the noise is oppressively loud. Cars and trucks above groan and whine and roar. The structure seems to shudder. The air stinks of chemicals, dirt, oil and rubber. He can't help think of the last pictures of the set, he'd only glanced at them they were so horrible, but in air that's foul to breath, it's hard to push them back.

Suddenly she is against him. She's stopped and he hasn't seen. Her arms are around him, her face in the dim light waits, he bends and they kiss, her tongue pushes through his lips, he puts his hand on her bare waist, it feels amazing. He hesitates to move. Her hands are exploring his back under his coat, it is almost as if they are directly on his skin. He lets his hands roam over her tight ass, she pushes her hips against him. He is so excited. He wonders how this can be happening.

"I am lost," he thinks.

She pulls away from him. Her hand brushes the fly of his pants. He wants it to stay but she has turned and is moving along. The bright opening is not far ahead. The sun makes the stream gleam. He climbs a low grassy bank and stands on a flat grassy spot, trees and brush surround the clearing except where a narrow path leads off. The river here is slower, a little further he sees it bend, with a deeper pool at the bend, maybe deep enough to swim a body length in. There is a large tree with several thick trunks, one reaching over the stream. The road noises recede, almost fading to nothing. There is a relaxing sense of unchanged nature.

The path leads straight to a steep embankment, lined with heaped boulders and concrete blocks. At the top of the embankment is a low wooden guard rail. He can see a couple parked cars up there, their headlights staring sightlessly down.

"That's an office park," she waves, "boarders River Rd. Your building may be in there or in the next mess of office buildings. They're up a hill. There's a killer view of the river and the city from there."

She stands relaxed, watching him. He barely feels he has a choice. He steps and embraces her. He is filled with need. He pushes his hand up under blouse, over her warm silky skin, he feels a breast through her bra.

She pushes him away and quickly unbuttons her blouse and wriggles her bra over her head and stands bare from the waist up. Her breasts are small and delicate. The bones about her throat and shoulders are thin and almost birdlike. He cannot take his eyes off her.

"If you have time and aren't so particular," she says, "there's someplace we can be comfortable, it's not far."

He is so hungry he would take her on the grass. He follows her along the path, her blouse and bra swinging from one hand. She carelessly swats them at some weeds that line the path. Before coming to the embankment and the parking lot she turns and after a few yards they come back to the river. They're where the stream turns along a natural rocky little hill, maybe glacial. The eddying pool, with the tree trunk reflected lazily on the water, is right there. Two steps up the hill is a cave.

She turns and kisses him again. His peripheral vision sees her tender nipples brushing against his shirt. He feels them against his chest. She takes both his hands and leads him in. He has to duck and push through something gauzy. He realizes that it is mosquito netting.

The space enlarges so that he can stand, his hair brushing the rock of the ceiling. She takes one step to the left and sits on what he sees is an air mattress covered by a sleeping bag and sheets. Behind the pillow is a plastic cooler. On the cooler is a battery powered LLBean camping lantern, turned off, the dim light is all green leaf filtered morning light flowing through the entrance. And, for him, from her face.

He drops beside her, puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her to him. Possibly he intended to be on top, but he finds himself on his back, he is fumbling at the buttons of her jeans. She laughs and brushes his hands away. She wriggles like an eel and sheds the blue skin. She hangs over him pale and beautiful. The dark blond thatch about her sex almost burns out his eyes.

She opens his pants and pulls them down, he raises his hips to help. He thinks that he looks so disgusting and gross compared to her. She bends, pushing her hair out of her eyes, hooking it behind her ears and takes him in her mouth. He wants to warn her that he will explode any second. She straightens, crouches over him and positions him at her entrance. It feels so much more intense than when he'd imagined it the night before, second hand sex. She slips down on him, her eyes half closed, her face tilted up. She is so tight. She has to lift her self up once before she can drop and settle all the way. He puts his hands on her waist and runs them back over her tight bottom. He cannot help himself. His hips begin to rock, he pushes hard up against her, he feels her fine thatch mingling with his coarser hair. His back arches and he spasms inside her.

The pleasure flees as quickly as it came and he feels a gaping sense of inadequacy. He starts to say, "I'm sorry" but she drops her face to his and stops his mouth with hers.

She slips off him, leaving him flopping and chill, crawls over him and leans over his head and the pillow. She fumbles behind his head, she opens the cooler and takes out a beer. Her navel and sex are just above his eyes. She stretches back beside beside him, takes a sip and then offers it to him. She puts her hand on his sex. Her hand makes it relax and tense with expectation at the same time.

"You have time?" she asks.

"No" is what he thinks. "Yes" is what he says.

She wets her fingers and fondles him, licks him and takes him in her mouth, it feels warm, wet and wonderful. A part of his mind notices that her cheeks don't bulge anything like the not-Emily's did in the pictures. He wonders if she thinks him inadequate. Then he calls himself an idiot for confusing this live girl with whatever model posed for those pictures. He sips the beer and watches her blond hair shifting, spread as it is over his belly.

He thinks he must be magnifying a chance resemblance, he'd been in a strange mood during the night and now he must be tired, must be, though he feels more than fine.

He thinks how commendably flat his stomach looks. He knows this is because he's on his back, when he stands, it bulges unpleasantly.

He feels distant and disconnected from everything.

This activity seems to have no relationship to his wife. He thinks, "This doesn't concern her. It's contained in itself."

He fondles the girl's hair idly, pulls it so he can see her mouthand hands working his cock. The last time he'd seen a girl from this perspective, he was in college. His wife'd made it clear she would never go down on him. Such sex was disgusting, she'd said. This was after a movie where there'd been oral sex, they'd hadn't seen too many such, what what was it? PRIVATE BENJAMIN. He thinks it's nice to be feeling a girl's mouth down there again.

He feels a distant nagging concern for his meetings. "Little time has passed," he assures himself, "I'll get going in a minute and I'll see her again this afternoon." That part of his life seems to fall away too. There is nothing that matters outside of her mouth.

He looks around. He and the girl, Emily, are in greenish half light from the cave mouth. The other side is in deeper gloom. The space is little larger than a minivan. There's a laundry basket of clothes in the middle and along the far wall there's a pile of blankets.

"You live here?" he asks.

She lifts her head, "Can't beat the rent," and drops back down on him.

"But in the winter?"

"Oh, it's too cold to live here in the winter," she mumbles from around him. She lifts her head briefly, laughs and asks, "You're in the mood for conversation?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

He feels her teeth for a fleeting instant and then her tongue. He looks out through the cave door and admires the green of the far bank of the river, an abandoned supermarket cart is on its side, entwined in brambles.

She straightens leaving his cock suddenly cold and exposed. She swings a leg over him and crouches, her back to him. She pushes her hair behind her ears but when she bends forward it swings down again. He can see his sex now, flat against his belly, the V of her thighs just over it. How old his skin looks compared to her bloom.

He feels mildly sad that her back is to him, he remembers how her breasts bounced during those couple instants before he'd come. He runs his hands over her ass and up her back. Her skin is so smooth, new and firm.

She positions him against her wet cunt and drops down on him. He begins to be more connected to his excitement. She is so hot and tight. His breath catches. He slips his hands forward along her hips and down her belly and touches where they join. She lifts his hand to her mouth and wets his fingers then places them back on her sex. He feels where he is buried within her. His fingers blindly find her little nub and begin to caress it. Her fingers brush his away and begin to rub herself more vigorously.

He wonders if he's been doing it wrong all these years. Maybe his wife is sour because he's no good.

He is swelled with need. He pulls himself out of her and rolls her over in a twisting giggling struggle. He kneels over her, her thighs on either side of him, and clumsily presses himself against her. Her wet fingers touch him, causing his nerves to spark, and she guides him home. He slides in. When completely joined, pressed hard against her pelvis, he bends and kisses her hard, thrusting his tongue in over hers. Her eyes are just an inch from his, wide and excited. His hands caress her breasts and touch her nipples. He shifts so he is supported by his elbows on the air mattress and begins to fuck her. She bounces up and down. He works faster and faster as his excitement builds. Their breathing comes in loud gasps.

He feels her tense underneath him and she clamps down hard on his cock and screams. He comes a moment after. It feels so great. He's aware of an echo of his voice, inhuman. He collapses on her, filled with a sudden sick feeling of nausea and despair.

After a time, she wiggles out from under him and squirms about. Her legs rest on his ass. He opens his eyes and looks back and sees she is sitting with her back against the dark mottled rock of the cave wall, her legs over him, her feet on the dirt floor, sipping the beer.

He rolls onto his back. His limp penis brushes against her thighs. She offers him the bottle and he props himself up and sips and then returns it. He thinks, "This cannot be happening. This is a dream."

The girl reaches for her pants and extracts a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

A soft voice says, "Sister, you know I don't like you smoking in here."

He sits bolt upright, consumed by surprise and stares across the cave. The pile of blankets he'd hardly glanced at has sprouted a pale face, the blankets are in fact another sleeping bag.

"Thought you were still asleep, Mary," Emily says calmly, putting the pack back in the pocket.

"You two were loud enough to wake the, well the neighbors, if we had any."

"This is my sister Mary," the girl says, "She doesn't get out much since the accident, she was always the unadventurous one. Mary, this is Sam."

He feels beyond awkward and he feels a dread of seeing Mary's face better. If this is a dream, he will wake up soon, and if not he needs to get out. He croaks, "Well, I'd better be going."

"Sam's walked more than 6 miles this morning, sister. From Lincoln Sq in the city."

"Pity for him the ride's at the end," Mary says through a yawn.

Emily laughs shortly and looks fondly at her sister. She sips her beer. "Mary likes to take it easy," she says, standing.

He stands too, bumping his head on the ceiling. He's pulled up his suit trousers and now zips them and buckles his belt.

"Bring me a beer, Sam," says the soft voice, "You and Em shouldn't hog it all." Neither girl has taken the slightest notice of his preparations for leaving.

"I'm going out for a smoke, Mary. Be good."

Mary sticks her tongue out at her sister in response.

Without bothering with clothes Emily steps through the netting and out into the bright light. He watches her. She is pale and brilliant in the sun. He watches as she stretches, her arms reaching for the sky, her bottom clenching, her calves tight, rising onto her toes. He feels a stir of desire.

There's the click of her lighter and she inhales deeply. She steps to a tree just on the edge of what he can see, leans her bottom against its trunk, and relaxes in the sun, one hand is against the bark, the one with the cigarette is hooked on her shoulder for easy access. She looks at the river with a reflective expression. He can't take his eyes off her.

"The beer, please," Mary says patiently, "I can't stand the sun myself."

He opens the cooler, takes a bottle, twists the cap and steps, carefully stooping, over to where Mary lies. Without surprise he sees she does look very much like the other woman from the set.

Very belatedly it occurs to him that this may be connected to some weird screw-the-pornstar reality site. It's a nasty thought. Such a thing would ruin him everywhere, at home, at work, everywhere. The cave is too dark for pictures, could someone have been on the bridge? Hiding in the woods? It seems so unlikely.

Mary sits, the sleeping bag drapes about her lap. Her breasts really are something, full, hardly deigning to show the influence of gravity in their form. She herself is rounder than her sister, more like an expensive pillow in construction, and where those breasts'd've made Emily look top heavy, on Mary they're exactly right.

He can see down to her pubic hair. It's dark and thick, unlike her sister there too.

"It's getting flat," the girl says with some amusement. She rises to her knees and reaches up and takes the bottle from his hand. She settles down on her side, only her calves and feet hidden. She is propped on one arm so she can drink and look up at him.