Wilderness Paradise Pt. 05

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u06la14b
u06la14b
310 Followers

Her fingers, small and dainty, felt cold and hot and moist all at the same time. I could feel her trembling, her breathing, ragged, biting her lower lip, spellbound by the rubbery rod of flesh pulsing in her grip. But once she got accustomed to the feel of my dick, the transformation from naïve librarian to a cock-hungry slut was spontaneous. Her feminine instincts took over. She squeezed and stroked and licked and sucked like a siren out of control and before either one of us could rationalize it, to come to our senses, we were fucking. I had pushed her skirt up, pulled down her panties and had her up against the bedroom wall. It was hurried and urgent, driven by my need for release and urged on by the vestal sensations of this willing ingénue. Amazingly, until that moment neither one of us had said a word.

But once my cock was lodged deep inside her snug, buttery hole, I began whispering in her ear, the mindless ramblings of lovers said in the heat of sex.

"Oh fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good ... the best," I whispered, "... your cunt is the best, Lisa, so fucking tight ... yes, baby, fuck me back, come on, move that ass ..."

She moaned in response, and began working her hips, grinding her pussy against my pubic bone while I stroked in and out of her, sucking on her tits through the fabric of her shirt. Her pussy was a silky, heated cauldron, so hot that I could feel the chill of the air each time I drew back out of her only to be reheated when my cock plowed back into her. It was awesome!

"You have the tightest fucking pussy ever, yes baby, fuck, it feels so good ..." pause, "... it's the best ... unh, unh, unh ..."

I grunted with each thrust in response to her sweet, whimpering moan and once we were fucking in earnest nothing else mattered. It was the only time that my sister was gone from my thoughts. My father was right: I was just a crass, brainless Neanderthal who did his thinking with his dick.

It didn't take very long. The newness of her, the slick, satiny feel of her cunt, her audible cries of pleasure, fingers digging into my shoulders, her pubis grating against mine, it was all too intense and I came quickly, spurting ropey globs of cum and filling her tight, little hole. The sensation of my cock, squirting deep into her belly was incredible. I was squishing in and out of her, pumping and drawing out the viscid mixture of our juices while she kept bucking frantically against me, her backside thudding dully against the wall. I don't know if she got off but it certainly wasn't for lack of effort.

I was standing with my legs spread wide, trousers around my ankles, knees bent slightly with my hands cradling her butt, holding her up while she had her legs wrapped tightly around me. She was panting heavily into my neck, moaning and whispering indistinctly, her hips rocking languidly, squirming and gyrating in small circles when we heard the front door opening and

Rachael's voice echoing down the hallway.

"Lisa? Hey, Lisa, where are you?" she called up the stairs.

It was like hypnosis. The sound of Rachael's voice snapped her out of her trance and back to reality. She slid down off of me releasing my cock with a muted 'plop', her skirt, which had been bunched up above her waist, fell, cascading over her knees. She grabbed her panties and struggled to get them on, turning away from me. Then she adjusted her glasses, straightened her shirt and fled the scene of the crime without a backward glance.

I was left alone with the accusatory musk of our sex permeating my riddled conscience. I was filled with self-loathing and overcome with remorse. I was rendered helpless, struggling with the fact that I had knowingly betrayed my true love, my sister.

*****

A Sharing (of secrets)

I knew it was hopeless and that sooner or later Lisa would tell Rachael, or, one of her other friends, and that she would tell two friends, and they would tell two friends, and they would tell two friends and soon, through the grapevine of gossip, it would get back to Rachael. I also knew I had to tell her first, to come clean and let the chips fall where they may. I just didn't expect Lisa to tell her almost as soon as she went downstairs.

About a half hour later when I heard Lisa leaving, my heart sank. I knew that she had spilled the beans. She rarely left before dinner and often slept over so this was not a good omen. I heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs and Rachael's door slamming shut followed by loud sobbing. I knocked but she wasn't going to talk to me. I stood there listening to her crying, my heart breaking while my soul was being slowly ripped apart. And with each anguished sob of hers I felt myself spiraling downwards into the oubliette of remorse.

It was fucking awful. I had never felt this devastated in my entire life. I kept whispering into the door, a repentant profligate seeking absolution, but it was all for naught. She either didn't hear me or didn't want to deal with me. She cried straight past dinner and wouldn't even open the door for Mom and that was saying something.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay awake, tossing and turning, praying for forgiveness and a second chance. I couldn't imagine life without her. And finally, just as I was succumbing to the drowsy seduction, a weightless quotient, where the burdens of reality are divided by the obscurity of dreams, the door to my room opened. There was no knocking or greeting only the silhouette of my sister standing by my bed.

"How could you? How could you hurt me like this, Luke? You said you loved ..." and she began bawling again, her body wracked in deep, heaving sobs.

I got up and went over to her but she pushed me away.

"Don't! Don't ever touch me again!" She hissed.

And in the darkness of the room, made darker by curtains and lit only by the persistence of desultory moonbeams, her face glistened golden. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying; the tears streaking down her cheeks in silvery rivulets, swerving into the curve of her lips before bridging down to the sides of her chin. I couldn't speak. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was, that I was a weak and miserable fool and that I would do anything, ANYTHING at all, if she would only give me another chance. But instead I stood there; mute, looking at her wondering how I could have hurt anything this beautiful.

After crying softly for a while she turned to go and I knew I would lose her forever unless I did something; anything.

"It was your fault, Rach! If you only ..." I called after her, doing what men have done for ages, I blamed the woman for my pathetic weakness.

"My fault? My fault?" she hissed, repeating herself, something she did when she was angry, "You've committed sacrilege and it's my fault?" Her face contorted with anger; the flashing infuriation temporarily replacing the sadness. Anger, I could handle; there was no defense against tears.

"You didn't talk to me! You acted like something was wrong. And no matter how much I tried, you refused to tell me what it was. I came home hoping we could talk and you ran away to Kyla's place. What was I supposed to think, Rachael?" I rambled. I knew I was blabbering but I need to keep her engaged, "You go out on a date with Mister-Fucking-GQ, come back later than you ever have and then I see you kissing him, fuck! What was I supposed to think? What? And, if that wasn't enough, you shut me out and lock yourself in your room. I'm in the dark without a clue! What about me, unh? What was I supposed to feel?"

I was actually impressed with my rambling, my non sequitur logic and especially with the transference of guilt. That was good, definitely drawing first blood; touché, baby.

"Is that really the best you can do?" she was quiet but she was engaged and had come back to the bed, "Did it even occur to you that I wouldn't have been able to see it through if I even looked at you or saw you looking at me? That I spend every waking moment thinking about you, about us and what it means that I can never really have you? That I'm frightened every moment that we are apart that I will lose you, that someone will take you away from me. And, someday, someday soon, you'll be gone with someone else? And that would kill me. I needed to go out with others not to please Dad or you but to see if I could function without you even when every fiber in my body screamed for me to go running back to you."

She started to cry again and when I made a move towards her, she held up her hand, "Don't, don't you dare ..."

Suddenly I felt like a fool. The earlier coup de grace was just an illusion and I realized I was the nothing but the joker except that the joke was on me.

"I was jealous. I thought you liked this guy and that I was losing you. I didn't know, Rachael, I really didn't know and I was going out of my mind! She didn't mean anything! It was something stupid I did ..." I tried to backpedal but it sounded inadequate and weak.

She continued as though I wasn't even there. Her voice was soft but firm.

"I let Dennis kiss me because he was the first man I was attracted to besides you and I thought if he kissed me, and I felt something, then I had some hope," she paused, "... some hope of surviving you. That maybe I could lead a normal life after ..."

"Well, did you? Did you feel anything?" I couldn't contain myself. I was pathetic.

"No. I didn't feel anything. How could I when it was you I was thinking of all evening and feeling guilty. I felt bad that I was using him like some test dummy and I broke away."

"Did he try anything? I mean, he had to ..." I had to ask.

"Is that all you can think of? Whether he tried anything? Like what?" she asked the exasperation obvious on her face, "No, Luke, he didn't try to fuck me! He was a gentleman. He took a lot of trouble planning the evening and even told me about the time you beat him up and he took the blame for it. He said he deserved it that he was sorry and had wanted to apologize to you. He's had some miserable breaks in his life and despite all that he has turned out to be a really nice guy. And he's good looking and talented. Can you understand what that did to me? If I couldn't feel anything with him, then what hope do I have when you leave? That's all I could think of the last few days. And, I was feeling really crummy and that's why I didn't want to talk ..."

"I love you Rachael, I could never leave you. I ..."

"Don't say that! Don't you ever say that! You lost the right to say that. You don't love me. Dad was right. If you really loved me you would have known. You would have felt exactly what I was feeling and you would have never fucked someone else; especially a friend of mine! How, how ..." she couldn't complete her thoughts and began sobbing again.

I knew exactly what she was thinking: how could I say I love her and then turn around and screw her friend? I don't know – that's simply the truth. I don't know. Maybe there was something to the chaos theory and anthropological evolution after all.

"Please, baby, please give me one more chance. I swear I'll make it up to you. I'm really sorry, I am ..." I was ready to beg, "... you're my soulmate, I know that. I couldn't go on without you!" I was stuttering and rambling – there was no pride anymore.

But the more I groveled, the more resolute she was.

"I thought we were soulmates. I really did. I was ready to give up everything for you. At school, I couldn't stop thinking about us and how incredible you made me feel. I even left my panties on my bed, for you," she was whispering, "... to let you know what you do to me. But that was yesterday when you were my lover, my darling older brother. Today, you are nothing. Just some two-timing asshole who I wish I had never let into my life!"

And then she turned and before I could do or say anything, she ran from the room. I heard her door slam and I knew my sister was gone; lost in the gloomy refuge of sadness, anger and pain. It was a place devoid of love and forgiveness.

*****

Alaska – Kodiak Island

"In your wake I stumble through the fields of life, wounded by the riddle of love. I lie on scarlet grounds stained by the forbidden nectar of desire. In the distance I hear the murmur of Northern Lights and am blinded by its resplendent Aurora, so effervescent and brilliant. It is you, echoing through the gardens of love whispering my name – and in the silo that has become my world, the words resonate endlessly as fate's sordid conspiracy keeps us apart. And then you appear, a wish in a storm, sprinkling gold-dust and love ... my sister, my lover."

The months following that incident saw Rachael and me drifting farther apart. There was nothing I could do. I left notes for her, messages on her cell and even barged in on her class but it was all to no avail. My notes were returned unread, my messages erased and the day I pulled the stunt of interrupting her class, she slapped me. She slapped me so hard, it made my ears ring!

It is true what they say; the deeper your love the more intense the fights and the harder the rift to mend. It reached a stage where my own temper kicked in and I said, "Fuck it! If that's what she wants then the hell with it! I'm tired of trying."

And then something odd happened. I learned that the mind is capable of some incredibly convoluted machinations, that it can create deceptive allegories that make sense only to you. But the logic is as strong as math itself, like numbers that are rooted in algorithms to produce irrefutable numerical evidence. And, in this fucked up equation, Lisa was the perfect foil, the 'x' factor. She descended into the role of the vindictive seductress; the person to blame for what had transpired between us.

She called a few times but I never answered or returned her calls. I refused to acknowledge the fact that I had fucked her. I should have been a man and spoken to her honestly and told her that it was a mistake but instead, I brushed her off as an inconvenient memory. I was soon to learn that there is a time for atonement and you do pay for your misdeeds.

The hardest part for me, concerning Rachael, was the weekend. I'd come down for breakfast and she'd get up and leave. Or, if I was already at the dinner table, she'd take her plate to her room under the pretext of having papers to finish. Mom tried, several times, to bring us together but soon realized that her efforts were wasted. The only person who seemed pleased with the 'feud' was Dad. He sat there with a Cheshire cat grin and didn't say a word. He didn't have to.

I knew that Rachael needed Mom and Dad a lot more than I did so I began spending less and less time at home. I'd call Mom a couple of times a week and we'd talk but despite her pleading, I stayed away. I was convinced that distance was the solution and was determined to get as far away as possible from my sister and everything that reminded me of her. This and the quantum of time would make things bearable; of that, I was sure. So, when the job offer from Chicago came my way, I jumped at it.

I figured a big city with lots of women would offer me the emotional sanctuary I needed. But, I was only fooling myself. It didn't matter who I was with, it was always my sister I was making love to. I went both ways: dating women who resembled her and women who were diametrically opposite to her but it made no difference. In the warmth of their beds, my eyes would close and my mind would wander through the clouds of fantasy where sultry images of my sister, naked and willing, called to me. Her memory would sear the peaks of my passion, urging me on, driving me to climax while numbly whispering her name. And so it was that I remained trapped in her web, a mendicant without hope, begging to be set free.

*****

My Sister, the Rain Dancer

"I search for you within the ramparts of my dreams but find only flotsam tossed by dark oceans in the convoluted labyrinth that is me. I am trapped in the morass between fantasy and sleep and though I feel you, you are never really there. I am an Eastern Wind, a swirling breeze that cuts through the open fields to the mountains of Shambhala. It is that secret place of Joy. Here I see you dancing on moonbeams, a pixie nymph, clothed in starlight and sparkles, ethereal and slight. I reach for you but you skip away, laughing, teasing, and urging me to chase after you, a shadow slipping through my fingers. You are here now only to vanish like mist in the morning sun ... my Rain Dancer, Wind Rider and Eternal Lover."

Then it happened. Three years later, I got a call, it was Rachael. I was at work and almost fell off the chair.

"Hi, Luke?" her voice sounded soft and hesitant, a question rather than an acknowledgement but I could have picked it out anywhere even through the din of an Iron Worker's mill.

Just the sound of her voice shut the world out, immersing me in a peculiar silence. I closed the door to my office and sat down.

"Hi!" my initial response was a reaction of surprise, but then the years of anger and frustration took over, "What ..." I paused before adding, "what do you want, Rachael?"

I really didn't mean it to sound brusque but in the vulnerability of surprise the hidden resentment surfaced. I was never the cool one and the festering pain was back.

"That's nice, Luke, you can't help it, can you? You insist on being a jerk!" there was a bite in her voice now.

"Hey, what did you expect? You call me after three years and what? What did you think?" I felt my mercurial temper beginning to erupt and reeled it in. I was happy and angry but definitely more 'happy' than anything else, "Listen, I don't want to fight. I don't have the energy for it anymore."

She was quiet. I could hear her breathing. My heart was pounding, my mind screaming: don't hang up, baby, please don't hang up!

"I don't either, Luke, I just ..." more silence, then, "I was calling because of Dad. You know that he hasn't been well and we thought, Mom and I thought that we'd do something special for his birthday. We were thinking of taking him to Alaska – it's one of the things on his bucket list. He's always wanted to go fishing there, you remember those stories! God, it seems like yesterday! What do you think?"

I knew she was extending the olive branch. If this had been Mom's idea, she would have called, not Rachael. I had to control my excitement. I didn't want to get ahead of things.

Alaska! We grew up hearing incredible tales of that frozen wilderness. I remember Rachael and me as kids, curled up in bed listening to my father's tales of White Fang and wolves, elk and the caribou, the tundra, the grizzly and the salmon. For him it represented the last American frontier and he had always fancied himself to be an adventurer of the Hemmingway, Jack London ilk. His heroes were all erudite and worldly intellectuals, men who lived life exploring the unknown. Unfortunately, my father lived his mostly through the experiences of others. He was a hopeless romantic caught up in his books. But he had piqued our interest as children, instilling and nourishing those seeds of adventure. I knew it would mean a lot to him to finally check this one off his list.

"Just tell me how much and I'll send you the check or I can put it my card." I offered impersonally.

"I didn't call you for money! I don't believe you! I called because we ..." she caught herself and corrected, "... Mom thought it would be nice for us to be together, a family again!"

"Mom?" I asked.

She didn't answer and I didn't push it.

"When were you planning to go?" I asked, "I would have to let my boss know."

"The weekend of his birthday, a month from now. I think a week should be fun." She replied, unable to suppress her enthusiasm and I could tell she was relieved and happy, "I've checked some places out and there are these day trips to Kodiak Island and Nushagak River ..."

u06la14b
u06la14b
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