My Sister, My Love

Not till much later did I realise she had planned it from the beginning, though, of course, it seems obvious now.

"She" was my elder sister -- elder by a year and a bit -- and her name was Anya. She was (at the time of this story) twenty, and I -- eighteen and three quarters. She was tall, almost as tall as I am, and slim, dark with long black hair and elegant limbs. She moved like a gazelle. There's no other word for it.

We lived, you must understand, in a fairly conservative society, though it's less conservative now than it used to be. What this basically meant is that, in those not-too-long-ago days, we had very little opportunity for sex unless it was within marriage. Even the privacy for groping someone of the opposite sex may have been difficult to come by -- and if you came by the privacy, it would be likely that you couldn't find someone to grope and to grope you.

So, given our ages and the fact that we had access to porn (porn always manages to find its way into any society, and the more conservative it is, the more its appeal) just gave us a further hormonal surge. Since my sister and I were usually rather open with each other, not the usual elder sister bossing younger brother scene, we did talk about what turned us on and we used to discuss how we would go about sex if ever we had the chance.

Still, I had never actually anticipated having sex. It was something in the future so far off that we could never contemplate it as real or of any immediate urgency. I used to fantasise about making love to an unknown, idealised woman, and masturbate. Sometimes (Anya's room and mine shared a common wall) I could hear gasps and soft moans coming from her room, and I deduced that she was masturbating too, but I never mentioned it. It was somehow indiscreet of me even to admit to knowing this about her.

One day our parents announced that they had to go to a distant relative's wedding and they would be gone for six days. They gave us all sorts of detailed instructions what we should do and what we should not do and so on. Everything was explained and laid out -- our every action while they were gone. We were both attending the local high school and at the time it was going to shut for a week long recess. We knew of this but never told our parents of it -- just in case they decided to cancel their trip to keep an eye on us, or, even worse, make us go along.

Can you imagine what it meant -- six days of freedom from under our parents' thumbs! We didn't actually think of throwing wild parties (we weren't even the sort who knew people who would come to wild parties) -- but we could imagine them, right?

To cut a long story short, the great day finally dawned and early in the evening the parents (with a last set of instructions to us) drove off. We were back from school, and supposed to get stuck into homework, but of course school was off from the next day.

Anya closed the door behind us, leaned on it, and breathed out audibly. "Whoof!" she said. "I thought they would never leave!"

I looked at my sister and grinned. "And so they've gone," I said. "So now that they went, what do we do?"

"You do what you want," she said. "I am going to change into clothes in which I feel comfortable!"

In a few minutes she emerged from her room and my jaw dropped. My sister had been clad in a shapeless baggy sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms over rubber flip-flops when she went in; she came out in a red halter top, tiny blue denim shorts and bare feet. Her abdomen was flat and hard, the navel puckered and eminently kissable-looking, and her feet long and slender and elegant. She had a black elastic anklet round one ankle.

"This is what I'm going to wear until they come back," she said to me. "Not a word, do you understand?" She went up on her bare toes and stretched. "And I'm going to sleep naked and when you're not in, I'm going to go around topless and maybe naked as well...why don't you change to something else too?" I was still goggling at her. Only later did I recall that I had once told her that pretty feet and flat stomachs turned me on.

There was no way I was going to change to fewer clothes right then -- I was trying to control a sudden hard on so strong it shocked me. As camouflage, I just grunted and covered my lap with a magazine.

But that wasn't all to it. All through that evening she flitted in and out of my sight, almost undressed (once she came though with an unhooked bra clasped to her chest with her hands). We had dinner in silence; silence because I was trying not to look too obviously at her nipples pressing forward through her halter.

Afterwards she called me to the living room. "What do you want to do?" she asked. "Go to bed? I've got a video cassette here " -- those were still the days when one hadn't heard of CDs and DVDs -- "and I'm going to watch it. Join me?" Without waiting for an answer she slipped the cassette into the video player, turned on the TV, and shut the lights. I sat next to her on the sofa. My heart was hammering. I had no idea what was going to happen; I knew, however, that something was. Either she was going to maker a move on me or I'd burst. I had no idea of making a move on her -- the idea never so much as entered my mind.

It was a moment before I realised what the video was showing ... a South East Asian couple, young and good looking, in a room rather like ours. They were kissing passionately, and at this time kissing was hardly even seen on the TV or movies (the censors frowned on it) -- even the kissing would have been erotic, in itself, they were so passionate. Quickly, they slipped off each other's clothing and as we watched his shaved penis entered her wet, dilated vagina. I heard my sister's excited breathing. I could feel her tension rise like my own.

"Where did you find this?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

"Oh...you know Sanjana" (a friend of hers) -- "She got it from somewhere..." her voice trailed off. The woman in the video had positioned herself on top and with every move she made her vaginal lips clasped the man's penis, the moisture glistening in the lights. Anya moaned slightly.

"Oh I can't stand it any more," she said, and stood up suddenly, her hands together reaching for her halter and drawing it over her head, throwing it to the floor. In the light from the screen I could see her breasts shine. Her shorts fell to the floor and she sat back on the sofa, right next to me, with her legs wide apart. For an instant I saw the dark puff of her pubic hair and the deep line of her vulva cleft before her hand came down over it and she began masturbating. Her other hand was playing with her nipples, her head thrown back, her eyes half closed, and little gasps came from between her parted teeth. At this moment I had no more thought for the video and neither had she. My attention was all on her, and hers, if anywhere, on herself.

Her hips began bucking rhythmically, first slowly, then harder, and she began to moan in rhythm to the thrusts. I saw the exact moment when her orgasm hit; her eyes flew wide open and her hips rose right off the cushion as her body shuddered. She sank back on the sofa at last, lying back with her skin shining with sweat, her legs wide apart, breathing deeply.

All this time I had been sitting almost frozen, watching her. I still wasn't quite expecting it when she suddenly reached over and put her hands between my legs. I had shorts on and without any trouble her hand found its way through the flap and to my underwear. "Take all that off," she said, in a voice I hadn't heard before. I got up automatically to obey.

Free of clothing, my penis was rigid as a bar, and when she touched it and held it and drew me to her by it, I felt the sensation all through my body like an electric shock. Naked, I stood before her, feeling her hands on my hips, and then the sudden sensation of my penis being taken into her mouth. Her tongue flicked back and forth across my glans, the sensation so excruciatingly pleasurable that I cried out.

Suddenly she drew back, her lips slipping off my penis, and I almost groaned aloud with disappointment. But it was only a momentary disappointment, because she lay back on the sofa, her legs spread so wide that one was draped over the back of the sofa and the foot of the other was on the floor. Grasping my arms, she drew my naked body down on hers. I felt her wiry pubic hair rub against my penis head, and then a nudging sensation as, before I quite realised it, my penis entered the warm, moist confines of her vagina. We both gasped in unison.

Can you -- can you remember the first time you ever had sex in your life? Do you recall how it felt to penetrate a vagina, or to have a rigid penis enter you? If you can, if you can savour the memory of that first penetration, you can imagine what I felt then at that moment. I cannot describe it. It has to be felt. Wordlessly, I began to thrust, instinctively, slowly and firmly against her. She thrust up against me too, and every movement of mine was responded to by her, our gasps coming together, the warm slippery grasp of her vagina around my penis. I felt the thrumming sensation start further down, between my legs, and build quickly, and I tried to slow down, to withdraw, but it was too late, and as my orgasm sent my fluids spurting into her I heard her cry out, the sound distant through the blood roaring in my ears.

We fell asleep there that night, naked on the carpet before the VCR, not even troubling to rise and shut it off. In the morning there was no shame, no embarrassment. We rose almost together, smiled and kissed. Afterwards we bathed together, ate breakfast in the nude, and had sex again.

In those few days we were alone and together we made love not less than fifty times. It got so that we would do other things just in the intervals between sessions of lovemaking. We didn't leave the house except to do essential shopping, we didn't invite anyone to visit, and as far as possible we did not wear any clothes at all.

I still remember her lying back on the dining room table, her legs apart, while I stood between them and watched my penis vanish in and out of her vagina. She raised her head, too, to watch it, and cried out in excitement when I used my fingers to stimulate her clitoris. I remember well how she straddled me, holding my penis with one hand while rubbing her vagina back and forth over it until I came all over her hand and she began laughing uncontrollably.

After the parents returned we could no longer have sex that often, but we did manage it at least once a week. If we got too horny one or other of us would slip into the other's room after mom and dad were asleep. The response was always rapturous.

I wish this story had a happy ending but it doesn't. Anya was returning from a New Year's party when she was hit on her scooter by a drunken driver. She never regained consciousness and died in hospital three days later.

I was devastated, more than I can say. It was years before I recovered and I can still not celebrate New Years wholeheartedly. Sometimes I lie in my girlfriend's arms, even now, on a moonlit night and I cry. I haven't told her why; she thinks it's for the beauty of our lovemaking. I haven't told her and never will, about what Anya and I did.

And sometimes, lying in the warm afterglow of sex, I look up and I can see Anya. I can feel her presence and I know she will be waiting. Someday, she promises me, we will be together again.