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Another Night Wasted, Chapter 2

  • Posted on November 18, 2017 at 10:06 am

By Jane Doe

Lana
Lucy and I are walking down the clogged hallways to my locker, talking about class, boys, who said what about who… normal high school topics. Actually, it’s mostly her talking, and I just listen and smile and nod at the right times. Or laugh when I can’t help it.

I’m rummaging through my locker, looking for my calculus book when her chattering trails off, and she nudges my arm gently. Not much could stop her from talking, so I give her a questioning look and she’s looking past me, a charming smile on her lips that’s usually reserved for boys of interest.

I let my gaze shift and follow hers, and to my great surprise I find Dean Radcliff sidling up next to me, leaning against the lockers and looking about as suave as any guy I’ve ever known could. His dark hair perfectly tousled just so, shaggy enough to offset his light blue eyes, sparkling clear and surrounded by dark lashes. He’s got just a faint smile, showing off his straight white teeth between his faintly pink lips, softer and fuller than most boys, at least in look.

And to my shock, I have this minor godling of masculine sex appeal close by, with me as his object of attention… and what do I feel? Nothing at all, really.

I must have looked as puzzled as I felt because his smile widens and takes on a vaguely reassuring aspect.

He offers his hand. “Hey, I’m Dean. You’re Lana, right?”

I take his hand lightly and he gives mine a gentle squeeze, leaning down and planting a soft kiss on my knuckles. The cogs in my head are whirling, and any normal girl would be weak in the knees and totally enchanted by this point. What the hell is wrong with me? All I want is to be normal, but then why–

I realize he’s watching me expectantly, and even so it takes me a moment to find my tongue.

“Yeah, I’m Lana… nice to meet you, Dean.” I think my voice is a bit weak as I speak, but I don’t suppose he finds that strange. Oddly enough, that idea makes me a bit angry. Guys like him and Craig, thinking they can charm girls into putty so they can do as they please.

He smiles again and gives my hand another gentle squeeze before letting it go. “The pleasure is all mine. I heard you and Craig had a little split, I take it you told him where… well, he couldn’t shove it?”

“Yeah, that I did. And he wasn’t too pleased about it. But really, if that was all he was interested in I can do a lot better.” I pull my calculus book out, wondering if maybe I’ve just been put off boys in general by the whole Craig experience.

“In that case… I was hoping you might give me a try.” His shy smile seems plastic to me, like it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe Friday would work for you?”

I think for a moment, desperate for an excuse before I realize I don’t have to make one up. “Sorry, I promised my sister I’d chill with her on Friday. You know, girls night in.”

“Ah, that’s cool. Well, why don’t you pick a day, then?” He looks a bit downcast, but somehow I can’t bring myself to be sympathetic, as once again it doesn’t quite ring genuine.

“How about I call you and let you know? You’re in the directory, right?”

“Yeah, my number’s there. And if you need a bit more time before you want to date again or whatever, that’s cool too. Just think of me first, okay?” He seems a bit happier at the avoidance of a straight shoot down, and I’m wondering if perhaps I’m being a bit harsh.

“Sure thing Dean, I’ll talk to you later.” I say with a smile as I close my locker and turn to head for calculus class, Lucy right at my elbow.

I can feel her wanting to burst, I’m sure she had just as much going through her head during that exchange as I did. Finally when we’re down the hall and around the corner the dam breaks.

“Oh. My. God! I can’t believe you just did that! Turning down a date with Dean for your little sister!? Are you insane?” She spouts it all with such drama, as though the words were positively ripped from her throat.

“What? I promised her… and I don’t break promises. Anyways. I mean, who says I always have to be dating someone?”

“That wasn’t `someone,’ that was Dean Radcliff! Come on, he has to be like the hottest, smartest, most charming and most eligible guy in school! And you blew him off for your sister?”

“It’s been hard on her since we got here… she doesn’t make friends too easily, she really relies on me.”

“Well, maybe if she wasn’t such a little freak, she’d have an easier time making friends. You shouldn’t have to suffer for her social issues.”

I’m not really sure what happened then. Anger boiled up inside me like a burning, living thing. I stopped dead in my tracks and glared at her, and the heated venom in my belly must have shown in my face because she almost wilted.

“Never, ever talk about Jen like that,” I hissed. “You don’t even fucking know her!”

Seething, I headed off to class. As I calmed down my thoughts returned to my lack of interest in Dean — or really, any other guy. Maybe I’m just not ready for any kind of relationship so soon after the Craig fiasco. But as I continue thinking about it, I’m asking myself, What do I really find attractive about boys?

I think back to all of my past boyfriends — how I felt about them, what kind of relationships we had. They were all distant, it seems to me. We were generally there to look good together, and in middle school, that makes sense. And the affection part is nice, even if it’s been kisses and not much else.

I was beginning to wonder: am I even interested in having a serious boyfriend?

When it comes to guys, what I think of as my “type” is so incredibly generic it’s silly. Basically, my type is what any father would want his son to be. Handsome, generally good at sports, decently intelligent or at least sweet… In retrospect, I think the guy I liked best was actually probably the dimmest one I’ve dated.  But even then, was there any genuine chemistry between us? I don’t think so.

So if I don’t want a boyfriend, what do I want? I mean, I’m young and I don’t have to figure everything out right now, but I should get some sort of clue. I certainly don’t like the idea of going through life alone. I scan the classroom and ponder.

Lucy doesn’t find me again until after school, when she slinks up, almost like a scared cat. Seeing the apologetic look on her face, I can’t stay mad at her — one look at her deep brown eyes and my anger seems to melt away.

“Hey, Lana, I’m really sorry… I was just…” She looks so hesitant and apologetic.

I just smile and throw an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Lucy, I’m sorry I got so angry. She’s my little sister and I’m a bit overprotective, I guess.”

She grins up at me, eyes sparkling happily, and slides her own arm around my waist.

Maybe this is what I want.

*****

Jen
I headed out to the parking lot, scanning about for my sister. It only took a moment to spot her over by our car, goofing off with Lucy. I paused and just looked on for a moment, watching her and Lucy laughing and talking. To see her smiling like that, so happy and free. In that moment I love her all the more. It makes me feel like my heart is going to burst, but in a good way.

I jog on over, darting in and half-tackling my big sis, making her squeal happily and clutch at me to keep from falling over. I can’t help but laugh and begin a tickle assault on her, because mercy is for the weak. Unfortunately, I made a miscalculation. I might be able to take on Lana, but her and Lucy at the same time? Not likely. Soon I was reduced to a giggling mess trying to shelter myself against the car.

They relent in their attacks and I slowly regain my breath, still breaking into giggles now and then, grinning up at them. Mostly at Lana. Her hair is a bit mussed, blowing in the breeze and her cheeks are flushed bright pink, a gorgeous smile as radiant as the sun itself lingering on her lips. Then a thought occurs to me.

“Shotgun!” I call out as I lunge and slide over the hood to the passenger side, nearly falling as I reach the edge of the car. Lana looks briefly stunned before collapsing into gales of laughter, and Lucy chases after me protesting and seeking to renew the tickle assault. Too bad for her she’s lost her cohort in crime. We wrestle about tickling one another and trying to take control of the front passenger side door until Lana, always the responsible one, ends it.

“Come on Lucy, fair is fair, she called it.” She’s still smiling happily as she says it, and I grin triumphantly at the little brunette. “Now both of you get in before I make you walk home.”

We scramble into the car like chastised little children, and once Lana is satisfied we’ve calmed down enough to not be a danger to ourselves or anyone else on the road, we take off. Soon the two of them are chatting away about whatever `important’ is going on at school and I just relax, staring out the window and enjoying the feel of them there.

Somehow paying attention only to their voices instead of what they’re saying makes me happy inside. It’s like by filtering out the supposed meaning and simply listening to the music of their voices, I can hear what they’re really trying to say. Or maybe I’m just hearing what they feel. Regardless, I’m flying high and so are they… and that’s what’s important, isn’t it?

I’m pretty far out there and contemplating what happiness might taste like, or if the color blue feels fuzzy to the touch — then Lucy pokes my shoulder.

“Hey, you! You should be feeling really special right about now. You have a not only awesome but also incredibly devoted sister.”

“Well, yeah, I’ve known that for years. It’s taken you this long to catch that newsflash?” I retort, smiling back at her over my shoulder. I notice Lana blushing a bit out of the corner of my eye and it makes me feel even more proud to have a sister like her.

“Hah! You don’t even know what happened today!” She gives me a smug smirk of sorts and glances over at Lana, also noting her discomfort.

“It’s no big deal, really.” Lana chimes in, waving a hand dismissively as she drives.

“The hell it isn’t, it’s a Dean Radcliff big fucking deal!” Lucy rolls her eyes, as though despairing at the idea of Lana comprehending the gravity of the situation. And my curiosity is perked.

“So then, who is this Dean guy and why is he such a big fucking deal?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at Lucy — doubly curious now that Lana seems to be getting a tad irate.

Lucy gives us yet another dramatic eye roll, as though she were a long suffering missionary delivering the truth unto bored heathens. “Dean Radcliff is only like the hottest, most eligible guy in school. And your big sister turned him down to spend a night watching movies with you! A decision I will never understand.” She settles back in her seat, shaking her head and looking at my sister as though she’s mad as a hatter.

I glance over at Lana, surprised to see that her cheeks have reddened another shade or so. Not only that, she seems to be rather occupied with driving and keeping stray locks of hair brushed back from her face.

She glances over at me ever so briefly, making eye contact for a fraction of a second before returning her gaze to the road. “It’s no big deal, really. When I want to date again, I will. Some of us don’t have to have a boyfriend twenty-four seven, y’know!”

They begin arguing about the importance of boyfriends and I tune them out again. She’d really rather spend a night with me than with this supposedly hot guy. I mean… I don’t know him or anything, so it’s not like I can make a judgment, but she definitely did choose me over a guy, one that maybe wants to be her boyfriend.

I don’t think I stopped smiling all the way home. I know there’s not really any chance of being anything more to her. But I think I can be happy enough with this.

*****

Lana
I was almost relieved when we got home and Jen stayed downstairs to hang out with Lucy and me. I hadn’t even thought about it, but when she plopped down on the couch next to me and started a minor war over the remote control, I couldn’t help but smile and shake my head.

Jen wrestled the remote away from her nemesis and began flipping through the channels like the true surfer she is, so I figured it was time for me to intervene. I wrapped my arms around her, leaning in close over her shoulder and planted a lingering kiss on her cheekbone. She seemed sufficiently stunned when she turned her head and stared at me, so I then lightly plucked the remote from her hands, landing on some old episodes of The Golden Girls. I suppose there’s nothing like old women making jokes about sex to get us all chattering and laughing like twelve-year-olds, and we end up having a really good time.

It got late far too fast, so rather than making something I opt for the lazy way out and order pizza with the discretionary allowance Dad makes available in case I need groceries when he’s out.

Jen almost seems a little disappointed when Lucy gets the okay from her parents to spend the night; another plus to having Dad pretty much let me run the house. When we finally head to bed she seems a bit surprised when I demand she stick with us and share my bed, as usual. The three of us fit in it just fine, so why the heck not? And that disappointment vanishes like fog after the sun has risen.

Funny; as it is, Jen just can’t seem to stay awake most of the time in my bed, in stark contrast to her insomnia when she’s alone. She drops off fairly early and Lucy and I stay up, whispering in the dark.

Lying there between my best friend and my little sister, the vague curiosity that I had pushed to the back of my brain muscles its way to the forefront. Curled up on our sides, nearly face to face, nose to nose, Lucy and I talk softly, her voice reverberating through me, her eyes nearly black in the darkness, like dark pools drawing me in. Her lips are curled in a soft smile that seems almost inviting, and I can feel the heat of her body close to mine.

I can feel her warmth flowing into me and those eyes… it’s so easy to get lost in them. I wonder what she’s thinking and what her lips taste like. The curiosity and longing take root in my mind and grow, sprouting like a weed and taking over my thoughts. I’m not even really listening to her anymore. So I decide to cast caution to the wind for once in my life, and just interrupt her.

“Lucy, have you ever, you know… messed around with another girl?”

Her eyes widen for a moment, a bit surprised and then she smiles slyly.

“Oh dear lord, does this mean the good girl has discovered her sex drive?”

I can feel the blood rising to my cheeks, and I’m sure the embarrassment shows on my face in ways other than just blushing.

“I was just wondering, I mean…” My courage has fled off to somewhere in the distance and I’m wilting a bit inside, but she gives me a knowing smile.

“You mean you got used to getting a bit of attention with Craig, but now you don’t have him and aren’t ready for a new guy? It’s not that strange, hon, a lot of girls I know have tried it. After all, guys really like watching that kind of thing.” With that she giggles softly, grinning.

“Yeah… something like that.” How could I tell her that I just don’t think guys are my thing? How could I say that I find her infinitely more sexually attractive than guys at school, even Dean? As much faith as I have in her as my best friend, she’s just too boy crazy. I don’t think she’d ever understand. So… it’s easier just to go with what she says, let the subject drop.

But then she smiles at me again, an excitement in her eyes that makes me quiver inside. “So then… you wanna give it a try?”

Breathlessly I nod, and she pushes me back on the bed, leaning over me. I’m dizzy with anticipation as she moves in close, her hair falling down around my face, locking out the rest of the world and hiding us behind a mahogany veil of silken softness. I lift a hand and gently brush my fingertips along her jaw line, taking in the sweetness of her skin, the smoothness of her cheek, marveling at the feel of her.

Finally her lips meet mine, softly, delicately, so gently… our lips press together in a veritable symphony of sensations, her smell and feel, her warmth above me, her lightness is intoxicating. Everything is so different, so gentle and refined, nothing at all like Craig’s gropings and grabbings. It’s so wonderful and so close to perfect, I lose myself in it as her lips part, her tongue presses gently into my mouth and a perfectly choreographed dance begins, our mouths locked together and tongues entwined…

Suddenly there’s a jerk in bed beside us, and a startled Lucy pulls away. I just barely catch a glimpse of Jen darting out of the room. The door slams behind her and I look up at Lucy, her face mirroring my own puzzlement.

After a moment I get up and try to follow after, heading down the hallway and searching for my little sister. But she’s nowhere to be found. I search downstairs and then return up into her room, just in case she slipped in there before I followed her… but nothing. She’s simply vanished.

*****

Jen
It’s cold outside. I didn’t know where else to run. I can’t face her right now. The siding is frigid against my back and the roofing tiles are rough and harsh on my feet and legs. I let out a long, slow breath and watch the steam it causes drift in the cold night air. Hot tears burn down my cheeks as I turn my gaze to the sky, a dull orange vault overhead.

I hate this place. When we lived in Arizona the sky was almost always clear. Millions of stars shone in the sky every night, the Milky Way a dense band across the sky, almost like some cosmic mother’s milk taunting me, eternally out of reach while somehow offering my soul a strange kind of sustenance. A feeling of not being alone. God, I wish I could see it now. I hate this place and its cloudy sky, the snow, the rain, all of it.

If we were still in Arizona, none of this would have happened. No snow, no crash, none of this. I’d still be blind to her. Ignorance was bliss. I was stupid to think I could really be happy after all that. To think I could be happy, only having her as a sister.

But why the fuck did it have to be Lucy? Why on God’s green earth did it have to be her? Who knows how many dicks that mouth has sucked, what could Lana like so much about that plastic slut?

The tears flow faster, I feel like I want to punch the side of the house, to feel blood flow like the hot salty wetness on my cheeks. I want to scream, to let out everything inside me. To give the emotional pain a physical mirror and maybe just bring an end to all of it. It’s like a rusty knife has been shoved through my heart, sharp enough to puncture, blade rough like the roof under my bare feet, grabbing and ripping the flesh around the wound. It makes me feel sick, like I’m going to puke or maybe I’ll just choke, suffocated because it hurts too much to breathe.

Lana isn’t even into girls, but she was kissing Lucy… or Lucy was kissing her. But I heard something. A noise woke me up. And as much as I try to tell myself it wasn’t Lana, I know in that torn up heart of mine that it was. I’ve been dreaming of that kind of little moan for too long not to recognize it.

The urge to lash out wells up in me again and I have to hold it back. I’ve got to be quiet. I can’t let her find me. Fuck, I wish I had a cigarette out here. But I have to wait, wait for Lana to stop looking for me. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t look her in the eyes, those gorgeous, soft blue eyes. I know how she’d look, I know the confusion that would be there and I know she’d look hurt too. Her pain would fold into mine and I’d scream at her and at Lucy… Lucy would take the brunt of it, I’m sure.

I couldn’t look in Lana’s eyes too long, I’d have to turn away and that would have me turning to that little whore Lucy and screaming at her like I was demented, I’m sure. Dad would wake up and then the shit would really get flying. So I have to stay quiet. Stay silent, stay hidden. For both of us.

I can’t get the image out of my head, or the sound. That tiny sound, just the faintest little moan of pleasure that was enough to wake me. Then to open my eyes and see them. To see Lucy half on top of my sister, to see their lips pressed together, mouths open to each other and sealed off from the rest of the world.

My heart lurches in my chest again, seemingly trying to free itself of my rib cage, maybe so it could jump off the roof. It’s an odd little image that almost makes me smile. But as the anger recedes I’m left with nothing but pain, pain and the urge to jump. If only it were six or seven stories higher.

So all I can do is stay quiet, and wait… God, I want a cigarette.

*****

Lana
I make my way back to my room, confused and more than a bit worried. Lucy is waiting in there for me, and when I walk in she gives me a questioning look. I just shake my head.

“No idea where she went… it’s not like this place is that big. I’m worried.”

Lucy gives me a half smile and takes my hand for a moment. “It’s okay, hon, I mean, she’s a tough li’l girl. I don’t get why she flipped out, though…” She looks down at the hand she’s holding, chewing on her lower lip lightly. “I mean, she’s definitely not the type I would expect to be paranoid about catching the gay or whatever.”

She’s right. I mean, Jen has had gay friends before, she’s not a homophobe or anything. I nod a bit in response to her and we contemplate it quietly. So if it had nothing to do with that kind of freak out, why would she? Then it hits me, and my jaw drops for a moment.

“Lucy… you don’t think she could be maybe… and then, if she was, you know… into you?”

I watch my best friend for a response and the same slow dawn of comprehension comes over her. She stares up at me, wide eyed. “Wow… I mean, I wouldn’t have thought, but that would explain things. Wouldn’t it? But… I so wouldn’t think I’d be her type.” Her look of puzzlement is comical, and I can’t help but giggle a bit.

“What, you don’t think she’d go for a girly girl? Maybe that’s why she’s so anti-mainstream.” I crack half a grin, hiding the relief I feel at having figured out a reason for Jen’s abrupt departure and subsequent disappearance. “It’s a love/hate thing. She resents the Gap girls and cheerleaders for making her want them so bad, but then she still wants them…”

Lucy giggles, lying back down on my bed. “So then, what do we do? I mean… about the whole thing?”

I sigh, looking back towards the door. “Well… for now, I think we let her go. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. She’s my little sister. I can live without… well, you know. Especially if it keeps her from being hurt. Cool?”

“Totally cool. She really is lucky to have a sister like you.” Lucy grins as I climb back into bed as well. “I woulda just been like, `Well… fuck her, who cares. I wanna have fun!’”

I laugh and pull up the covers around us, settling in, returning her grin. “Yeah, maybe so, but that’s cause you’re a selfish bitch.”

Her eyes go wide and, still smiling, she pulls her pillow out from under her head and whacks me with it, then begins to laugh. Soon we settle in and she’s drifting off again — but I can’t stop thinking, or worrying, about Jen.

It would make sense. Everything would fit if she had a crush on Lucy or something. She stayed downstairs with us, hung out with us all night without even being asked to. It fits, but it still doesn’t quite feel right. So, with a nagging feeling of doubt, I let myself slip off into a troubled sleep.

*****

Jen
I wait as long as I can stand the cold. It wouldn’t be so bad if I just had some pants. As I climb back in through my window I’m shivering and my fingers and toes are numb, my head hurts from crying and my cheeks sting from wind on wet tears. All is quiet, I seem to have avoided Lana’s search fairly well.

The first thing I go for is some heavier pajamas, flannel pants and a thermal weave top. Then straight to the bathroom, I draw a hot bath after locking the door behind me. As I watch the water fill the tub I’m drawn back to thoughts of pain… of making the blood flow as freely as my tears. They’re dark thoughts, but somehow comforting.

Finally I slip into the liquid warmth, the heat bringing full feeling and life back to my limbs, relaxing the stiff muscles. That brings its own twinges. The shock of the hot water on my cold skin… maybe that’s enough pain for now. Lana would freak if I actually went through with hurting myself in some fashion. Maybe that’s a reason to go through with it.

So many maybes. So many what-ifs. I need to stop being such a fucking drama queen. Give up on it. What does it all matter? I don’t honestly believe that with all the maybes and what-ifs in the world that she’d actually go for me. That especially includes the “What if she wasn’t my sister?” and “Maybe she’s into girls,” fantasies.

God, I’m fucking pathetic. I can’t even manage to find someone outside my own damn family to obsess on.

I brood in the tub until the water goes cold, then return to my room. As always I return to old habits — pacing the floor, smoking cigarettes and a bit of my private stash, taking the edge off my wandering mind. All too soon it’s starting to get light out. I still can’t face Lana, can’t look her or her hormonal sidekick in the eye. So I get dressed and start to walk. It’s going to be a long week.

Soon to appear in this venue: Chapter 3!

Dancing on the Edge, Chapter 4

  • Posted on November 17, 2017 at 11:15 am

By Jos Mous

A day passed. And another. And another. And in that time, little was said. Certain subjects got carefully avoided. There are just some things you don’t talk about.

Then one night, Mac got fed up with it. She was tired of lying alone in bed touching herself, thinking of Sam while it was very possible that she could simply be with Sam. Mac got out of bed, walked over to her closet and took out a nightshirt. She normally slept in the nude and hadn’t been very happy when Sam had insisted on buying it for her, but now it came in very handy.

Mac left her room, entered Sam’s room, walked over to the bed and stopped, wondering how to proceed from here. She knelt down on the floor and looked at the sleeping woman. It was dark, so she couldn’t see much, but she could still recognize the similarities between them. Mac suspected that if Sam had been the odd seventeen years younger, the two of them might’ve passed for twins.

Mac hesitantly reached out and softly stroked the woman’s hair. In her sleep, Sam gave a little sigh of contentment.

“Sam?” Mac whispered. She waited for a moment, then said her sister’s name again, a little louder this time.

“Hmm?” Sam said, slowly opening her eyes. “Mac?”

Mac smiled and drew her hand back. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know, but… we need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No,” said Mac. “We’ll just avoid the issue again.”

Sam sighed. “Okay, talk.”

“I love you, Sam. More than I should. And you told me you loved me too.”

“I know what I said,” Sam said softly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“But it does, Sam. I love you, I want to be with you.”

“I know Mac — and I admit it, I feel the same way, but… people won’t understand.”

“Sam, I don’t give a rat’s ass about people’s opinions. And you shouldn’t either.”

“But, Mac…”

“Sam, look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t love me enough to have some kind of relationship with me, and I’ll leave and won’t bring up the subject ever again.”

“Mac, that’s not fair.”

“Tell me, Sam. Say the words and I’ll go.”

Sam looked up and into her sister’s eyes. They say the eyes are the mirrors of the soul. Sam wasn’t entirely convinced that this was true. But even in the darkness, she could see things there. Fear, anger, anguish, pain, love. Sam knew perfectly well she had feelings for her sister that she shouldn’t, but thought that she could simply ignore them until Mac found someone of her own age to fall in love with, someone who wasn’t related to her.

But as Sam gazed at her baby sister, she could see that wasn’t going to happen. Mac had already made her decision, if it was possible to decide who you were going to love.

“Mac, I…”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to realise the consequences, if we’re really going to do this. You can’t tell anybody, we can’t openly share affection, we have to keep this a complete secret.”

“Does that mean that we… you know…”

“Yes,” Sam said. “God help me, but if you really love me, then… maybe we can make it work.”

Mac smiled and hesitantly leaned forward. When she noticed that Sam wasn’t going to back away, she drew closer still and kissed her.

She had kissed and been kissed before, but not like this. Never like this. She’d been kissed just before sex and even a few times during sex. Those kisses had been hungry and impatient, something to fill the time before the fucking got started.

But this…

This was strange… gentle. It didn’t feel as good as an orgasm, but it did make her feel better than when she had an orgasm. It made her feel…

Loved.

Mac had never been loved before. She rather liked the feeling.

The kiss ended the way it had started: slow, soft and tender.

“Wow,” said Mac.

“Yeah,” said Sam.

“Sam, can I… can I sleep with you… I mean, in your bed, with you, not in the… well, you know…”

Sam smiled. “Of course you can.”

Mac quickly got into bed and felt Sam’s arms around her, pulling her closer. The girl revelled in the feeling. It was like the kiss in a way, something wasn’t exactly sexual, but simply loving.

“I love you, Sam.”

“I love you too, Mac.”

Mac reached up, Sam reached down and their lips met again. During the kiss, the two sisters tried to pull themselves as close to each other as they could, hands roaming backs, legs twining. Almost on automatic, one of Mac’s hands left Sam’s back, slid to her stomach, then down.

“Mac…” Sam gasped, breaking the kiss.

“Sam, I want to make love to you. Please?”

“If you do that, there really will be no going back.”

“Sam, there was no more going back ever since the day I rang your doorbell.”

Sam smiled. “That’s true, I guess.”

“So?”

Sam briefly stroked Mac’s cheek with her hand and kissed her. “Do what you will, little sister. I’m yours.”

*****

It was some time later. Sam didn’t really know how much later. From the moment Mac had first kissed her, time had stopped having meaning.

Mac was sleeping peacefully, using her body as a pillow. The few items they’d been wearing were scattered around the bed. Her younger sister had made love to her. It didn’t feel dirty, as she’d expected. Instead, Sam felt as if things were right for the very first time in her life.

Sam knew that she shouldn’t feel like this. Maybe it should bother her that she didn’t feel guilt.

After Mac had so expertly driven her to a peak, she had wanted to repay the favour and had made love to her sister. Unlike Mac, Sam had never been with a woman before, and at first she hadn’t really known what to do. But Mac had patiently guided Sam each step of the way until…

Eyes closed, face scrunched up, Mac had shouted a single word.

Sam’s name.

And in that cry, Mac had somehow managed to convey how much she loved her big sister. It was sick, wrong, twisted and disgusting.

But Sam didn’t care. She wasn’t certain if she loved Mac as much as the girl loved her, but she wasn’t going to let her sister notice the difference.

Sam kissed the sleeping girl’s hair, closed her eyes and tried to get a little sleep as well.

*****

Sam was sitting on the couch in the living room with both arms around Mac, who was half sitting, half lying on the couch. They hadn’t really talked again since that night. They had kissed and hugged and sometimes touched each other, but hadn’t spoken about it. Right now, words weren’t necessary and they both sensed that if they tried to simply sit down and really talk about what they’d done, everything would fall to pieces.

“Sam…” said Mac, slowly and reluctantly.

“Yes?”

“You know how I got pregnant?”

“You told me, yes.”

“And… you know how I got an abortion, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well… I sort of didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Her name’s Jennifer. And I left her behind in the States with Dad.”

*****

Tickticktick…

“Mac?”

…tickticktick…

“Mac?”

…tickticktick…

“Yeah?”

…tickticktick…

“Are you… feeling nervous?”

…tickticktick…

“No. Why do you ask?”

…tickticktick…

“You seem to have developed a very endearing… err… tic.”

…tickticktick…

“What do you mean?”

…tickticktick…

“Well…”

…tickticktick…

Sam was sitting in a pretty comfortable plush blue chair. Mac was sitting next to her in a very similar chair. The younger girl’s right hand was constantly tapping the armrest while her eyes expressed a sense of cold terror.

“Are you afraid of flying, by any chance?” Sam asked.

…tickticktick…

“No.”

…tickticktick…

“Then how about you stop tapping your fingers on the end table?”

…tickticktick…

“What are you talking about?”

…tickticktick…

Sam sighed. For a moment, she wondered how the girl ever managed to get to Europe. Then she decided to take an approach that had been successfully used time and time again. Well, in the movies at least. She took Mac chin in her hand, turned the girl’s head so that it was now facing her and leaned in.

…ticktickti-

It was a small room of a small motel containing only a few small cockroaches. They had arrived here last night and had spent the night, which had been fairly pleasurable.

It had been a little less than two weeks that Sam had first made love to her sister and ever since then it had become more and more… natural. At first Sam had still been very ambiguous about the whole thing. Her mind kept insisting that having an affair with her sister was just plain wrong. But that voice had gradually faded and had been replaced with a voice that kept insisting that this relationship was not healthy for Mac’s mental well-being somehow. That this relationship would end up hurting Mac in the long run. Then that voice had faded as well.

Now, Sam was nothing but proud that she had been able to win her sister’s love. She knew full well that the entire rest of the world would disapprove if they ever found out, but she also knew that what she had with Mac was very real, and very right.

Now she could give her sister all the love she deserved. And Mac deserved plenty.

Sam smiled at her reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. She put away her toothbrush and toothpaste, then left the tiny bathroom and stepped back into the small room. In the time that Sam had taken to brush her teeth, Mac had gotten up as well. Or at least, she had emerged from under the sheets. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly so that her nakedness was clearly visible. Sam looked at her for a moment and felt the fire course through her body.

Not long ago, she still would have been ashamed of that reaction. Coming to terms with her love for Mac had been much easier that coming to terms with the desire she felt for her sister’s body. In any normal relationship, honest love was more important than pure lust. In an incestuous relationship, honest love was wrong — and pure lust was so incredibly wrong that there was no word strong enough to describe it.

Yes, she wanted her sister’s body.

Yes, such a desire was immoral.

And no, she didn’t really care about that anymore.

“Did I already mention I love you?” Sam said.

“Not since the three times when I woke up,” said Mac. The girl stretched lazily, arching her back.

“You’re not being very subtle, Mac,” said Sam, with a slight smile.

“Subtlety is relative,” said Mac. She stood up, ran her hands over her body once and slowly walked towards Sam, moving her body sensuously. When she was standing in front of Sam, she pulled the woman down into a searing kiss. “Come back to bed with me,” she whispered.

“I stand corrected,” said Sam.

“I wasn’t trying to prove a point,” said Mac. “Come on…”

“As much as I want to… no.”

Mac pouted. “Aww, please?” she said, her hands wandering in places that could just barely be classified as not intimate.

“Mac, we don’t want to keep your daughter waiting.”

Mac quickly stepped back, a frown on her face. “That wasn’t fair.”

“We’re not here to have fun,” said Sam.

“I know…” said Mac. “I just… I was just trying to forget.”

“Mac, do you honestly want Jennifer to grow up with Mike for a father?”

Damn it, Sam,” said Mac.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam. “But please, just get dressed and let’s go. The sooner we’re done, the better, right?”

“Yeah. Right.”

*****

Mac stood in front of the door. She stared at the doorbell. She looked at it for quite some time. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and rang. She stood still, realising that her body was shaking with dread. She felt a comforting hand slip into one of her own and give a slight squeeze. The dread didn’t leave.

Mac whimpered as the door opened to reveal the figure of Mike McQueen. It took the man a few seconds to take in who was standing in front of him. Then his face contorted into a mask of rage.

“Where the hell have you been?” he bellowed. “You’ve been gone for months!”

“I know,” said Mac, her voice small. “I’m sorry.”

Mike looked at Sam and didn’t recognise her. “I take it you’re the one who found her,” he said. “No doubt you walked in while she was screwing your son. Well, don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”

“Actually, she came running to me when she left here,” said Sam.

“And now you’re here to bring the little troublemaker back,” said Mike. He turned back to look at Mac. “Haven’t you realised yet we’re all you’ve got!? No one would want a worthless little slut like you!”

Mac seemed to wilt before her father’s anger. “Yes, Daddy.”

Sam’s hands clenched, her jaw stiffened.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” said Mike, looking back at Sam. “I’ll deal with her now.” Reaching out, he seized Mac’s arm, making the girl cry out in surprise and pain. “Get in the house, God damn you!”

Sam’s anger flared. She was against violence on principle, but she realised there were times when principles had to take a back seat. She pulled back with one fist, then let it rush forward, hitting Mike squarely in the face. Mike fell back, hit the ground and didn’t get up.

It took Sam a moment to calm herself. When she did, she noticed that Mac was trembling from head to toe.

“Mac?”

Mac had her eyes closed, she seemed to be talking to herself.

Instinctively, Sam pulled the girl into a hug. Mac broke out of her reverie and sobbed.

“Seventeen years,” she whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Sam said soothingly.

“I hate him,” Mac whispered.

“You should.”

“I hate you!” Mac screeched, freeing herself from Sam’s embrace and turning to the still unconscious body of her father. “I fucking hate you!”

She kicked Mike twice in the side. Sam stood by and watched impassively, than laid a hand on Mac’s shoulder.

“Go get Jennifer.”

Mac nodded and dashed into the house.

Sam remained outside, thinking. The whole scene had lasted less than a couple of minutes — not enough for her to understand what Mac had gone through for those seventeen long years, but had been more than enough to give her a little insight.

Loving her sister was wrong?

Well… even she still believed that, this would’ve erased the last traces of doubt. There were a lot of things in this world that were wrong and, apparently, Mac had experienced most of them first hand.

No, love was never wrong.

“Sam?”

Sam looked up and her residual anger drained away. “Mom?” she whispered.

“What’s going on?” Jane asked. She looked older. Well, of course she’d aged since last Sam saw her, but much more than she should have.

“I… punched Mike’s lights out,” Sam said.

“Why are you here?”

“Did you see Mac?”

Jane nodded. “Briefly, when she ran up the stairs.”

“Well, when she ran away here, she came to me. And now we’re here to pick up her baby.”

Jane nodded again. “Good. It’s for the best.”

“Mom, how are you?”

Jane sighed. “Not good.”

“Why are you still with Mike? Why didn’t you just pack up and leave when Mike turned out to be…”

“A total bastard?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t, Sam,” said Jane.

“Why not? You can start over somewhere.”

“No, Sam. I’m too old to start over. I don’t think there’s very much left for me.”

“Mom!”

“How’s Mac?”

“She’s fine, now that she’s with me.”

“Good,” said Jane again. “Take good care of her, will you?”

“I promise,” said Sam. “I’ll… make sure she’ll be loved.”

Jane nodded. “Your sister Brooke’s in Canada,” she said.

“What?”

“Brooke… followed Mac’s example. She’s left that horrible husband of hers, and is living in Toronto now. She’s happy.”

“That’s good.”

“So that means everything is all right.”

“But, Mom…”

Jane held up her hand. “I won’t hear of it, Sam. I have three daughters and they’re all fine. I’ve… done my duty as a mother.”

“And now you can rest easily?” Sam said sarcastically, but with a hint of fear.

“Perhaps,” said Jane.

“Mom, please…”

“Let it rest, Sam. Take care of Mac and make sure Jennifer gets a good home.”

Sam sighed. “I will.”

Jane nodded and turned to go inside.

“Bye, Mom,” said Sam.

Jane paused. “Goodbye, Sam,” she said, giving her daughter a brief hug before she disappeared into the house, stepping past Mike to get inside.

A few moments later, Mac appeared again, carrying a sleeping Jennifer in one arm, a cloth bag of what looked like baby things hanging from the other. “Got everything,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Yeah, I guess.”

They put Jennifer’s things in the trunk and, with some difficulty, managed to install the baby on the back seat. Sam put the keys into the ignition, hesitated for a moment and looked back at the house. Mac followed her gaze.

“I can’t keep wondering what happened,” Sam said. “What made everything change?”

“Things have never changed,” said Mac.

“You were four when I left, and everything was still fine then.”

“Really? Can’t remember. Can we go now?”

“Sure,” said Sam.

Sam turned on the engine and a few moments later, the car pulled away.

“She barely woke up,” Mac murmured, glancing back at the baby. “Jennifer’s always been a sound sleeper. I sure hope she is tonight… because I want you so much it makes me feel like crying.” She paused, took a deep breath. “I love you, Sam. You’re the best sister in the world. The best lover, too.”

Reaching for the teen’s hand, Sam gave it a squeeze. “I love you too, Mac. “We’re together now, all three of us. Everything will be fine.”

Sam and Mac and Jennifer. They would make a strange family, Sam knew, and she and Mac would be very unusual parents. But at least they would be loving parents.

And there are worse things.

The End

Another Night Wasted, Chapter 1

  • Posted on November 11, 2017 at 7:10 am

By Jane Doe

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

Jen
Another night wasted, time ticking by while I’m lost in my own world. Hiding behind my locked door, sleepless nights spent wandering my room, changing my clothes, trying to find something – anything – that feels right. Sitting outside my window, drinking beers pilfered from the fridge downstairs in the hopes that the alcohol might help me sleep. It never works, in case you were wondering.

It all started after a night like this. I don’t know what was keeping me up then. She came in to wake me up that morning, giving me a reproachful look when she saw me standing in the middle of the room, lost in thought, wearing my favorite baseball shirt and black boxer-briefs for girls and not much else.

She just raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, then pointed at the window. My eyes followed her finger, processing for the first time how bright it was outside.

“It’s time to get up. Or at least get dressed and ready for school.” Her soft voice a bit concerned, knowing that once again I hadn’t slept.

I just stared at the window dumbly for a moment and then leapt into action, scrounging clean clothes from the piles on the floor. Satisfied, she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

This is how most of our conversations went. Short sound bites punctuated by gestures or facial expressions. Rarely did more than two or three sentences pass between us before the encounter ended. Never too many words, often too few. Not that I recognized it then.

That morning I pulled on some jeans and a thermal weave top to combat the cold outside, then a t-shirt over that before scrambling to get socks on and my boots laced before heading downstairs to grab a mug of coffee.

We trudged out to her little rusty piece of crap she called a car through the slush and snow and she cranked up the heater as soon as she turned the engine over. I fussed with the shoulder strap of my seat belt as we drove in silence.

Then the world was spinning. I was slammed forward and against my door, a shocking pain running up through my left arm as I flung it out, seeking something to brace against. I was dazed by the crack my head had sustained against the window as the spinning came to an abrupt halt. My right hand fumbled with that damn seat belt as my left was cradled instinctively to my chest. I finally stumbled out of the car.

Suddenly I remembered my sister in the car and I scrambled back through the open passenger side door, not prepared for the sight that greeted me. She was slumped onto the steering wheel, one hand still hanging onto it, the other hanging limply down. Blood was streaming down the side of her face, leaving a deep ruby stain on her fair skin and in her otherwise strawberry blonde hair.

I think I screamed. I gathered her to me, forgetting everything I knew of emergency medicine. I honestly thought she was dying. With her lying limp in my arms, my mind just couldn’t process what I may have already lost. For the first time, I loved her. Truly and completely. I know I was crying and stroking her face and I think I was mumbling as I kissed her forehead and cheeks and lips and chin, oblivious to the coppery taste of blood on my lips. As I kissed her I felt her briefly stir, lips parting under mine as she let out a soft, pained groan. My mouth opened with hers, taking the innocent kiss of sorrow and love a step farther, and I let out my own moan as her breath passed into me.

In that one moment I felt more emotion pass through me than I do in an eventful month. To feel her body stir, to taste her breath, to know she was alive. She wasn’t leaving me. There was still time to say things that had never been said. There was a brand new closeness to my sister in that kiss, on so many levels. And after the kiss broke, there was… the desire for more. The desire for her.

Turned out I had a minor concussion and a broken wrist. Her concussion was more severe, and she needed a couple of stitches to close the cut on her forehead. But the change in me was profound. That desire is still in me, and every time I look at her or talk to her it grows. I think I see her more clearly now.

And after these weeks, all those unsaid things have remained that way. I can’t find words for any of them. I want that closeness back, more than I’ve ever wanted anything, more than I want Mom to be alive again. But I have no idea how to find it.

*****

Lana
I’m mixing meatloaf for dinner and Jen is watching me, fidgeting at the island in the kitchen. She’s been watching me a lot lately. I know she hates it when I worry about her, but I can’t help it, she’s my little sister.

I’ve been taking care of her for most of our lives, since Mom died. I don’t think she remembers much about Mom at all, and I envy her a bit for that. Dad has done what he could for us, and we all look after one another in our own ways. With him gone most of the day, we’ve really been the only constants in one another’s lives. A lot of people would end up closer because of a situation like this, but I think we all like our privacy a bit too much.

At least Dad and I do. I’m a lot like him, in looks and temperament. Strawberry blonde, blue eyed, with a quiet nature. I do my best to do what’s expected of me, including look after Jen. Sometimes I wonder if she needs more than I’m giving her.

I look up from my mixture of cold meat and eggs and oatmeal to return her gaze for a moment before she looks away, embarrassed at being caught. Every once in a while it strikes me how much she looks like Mom. Blonde hair as fine as silk and soft, light brown eyes.  Everything about her from the curve of her jaw and her pointed chin to the shape of her slightly pursed lips and her gently upturned nose. But most of all her faraway, contemplative stare. It reminds me of the stories Mom would tell, how much she liked to talk, and it hurts sometimes. I wonder what she’s thinking about when she looks like that.

God, I miss Mom sometimes. I adored the sound of her voice and I loved seeing her smile. Her whole face lit up when she smiled. Suddenly I really want to see Jen smile. I’m lost in my own thoughts when she pipes up.

*****

Jen
When I watch my big sister my thoughts tend to wander. Every little move she makes and every expression makes me think of something different, but it all comes back to the same thing. Even watching her make dinner becomes strangely fascinating, stray locks of hair falling into her face once in a while and the delicate way she uses her wrist to push them back in place. The way her eyes sparkle in even the most common light, a soft, intense blue like the summer sky. The light purse of her lips when she’s thinking, or just focused on the task at hand.

And her lips always take me back to that morning. The first and only time I’ve ever kissed them. How I lose myself whenever I think about that kiss and how I wonder what her lips would taste like without blood on them… or how just about any other part of her body would taste or feel, depending on where my eyes wander next.

Then I realize she’s looking right back at me. Guilt knots my stomach and I look away, a burning rising to my cheeks. She has this way of looking at me as though she knows what I’m thinking and it always made me a bit self conscious, but now it’s almost terrifying.  She can live a long, happy life without knowing what a pervert her little sister is. I need something… anything to get my mind off this desire I feel for her. So I open my mouth and the first thing that pops to mind comes out…

*****

Lana
“Lana, are you going out tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a date. Dinner should be ready at 6:30 for you and Dad, though.” I try for a smile as my thoughts slip to Craig, my boyfriend. Tall, broad, handsome and athletic, just my type — physically, at least.

Lately he’s been a bit pushy on the sex issue, though. Whatever happened to waiting until the feeling is right? I mean, I want to do it… eventually, with the right guy and at the right time. But how am I supposed to know if he’s the right guy after only two months? He just keeps pressuring me, though.

I finished the meatloaf without another word, lost in my own thoughts. After washing my hands I headed upstairs to get showered and dressed for my date. I laid out my clothes beforehand so I began fixing my makeup and hair. Once I was done I took a moment to check myself out. I love my hair, it’s almost down to my lower back and calling it strawberry blonde just doesn’t seem to do it service. All the hues of a sunset, my dad said once. Maybe sunset blonde would be a better term. I think my body’s turning out pretty well too… slim where I should be and curved where it matters. And my eyes, sky blue with just hints of green on the inside rim.

When I was satisfied with my outfit and look, I headed back downstairs to finish up dinner. And back to Jen’s watchful gaze.

*****

Jen
Craig again. That asshole. I think everyone knows he’s an asshole except Lana and Dad. And Dad would figure it out if he ever met the guy for more than five minutes. He’s one of those guys that looks great on paper or in a picture, or really if you only just met him, but as time goes on you get to see how fucking shallow the bastard is. I hope to God she hasn’t let him get in her pants.

My stomach twists again as the image flickers through my mind and the burning sickness of jealousy takes hold. I can hear the shower start upstairs and I bury my face in my hands.

By the time she comes down again, dressed and ready for her date, I’ve managed to pull myself back into a semblance of normality, and everything else clears out of my mind as she comes into the room. Hair back in a calculatedly messy bun, a tauntingly tight little spaghetti string tank top, pristine white, fashionably worn in jeans that make it a feat of willpower to tear my eyes away from her thighs and a long, clingy knit grey coat to finish the outfit off.

Pants are a good sign… especially pants as slim as those. No easy access there. Though they would be so much fun to peel off. For a second I imagine Lana laying back on my bed, letting me slide those pants down her legs…

It’s hard to believe that Lana never notices the desire I feel for her, the need that seems like it must be written on my face… but she just smiles at me and I melt, grinning back, watching her as she finishes dinner. Until Craig’s intrusion it’s just us, and that’s how I like it. Secretly I think she likes it too, or at least doesn’t mind, judging by how much happier she seemed by the time he showed up.

*****

Lana
It might sound kind of strange, but I kind of enjoyed the feeling of Jen’s eyes on me. It’s nice to have someone who knows how much effort I put in to looking good really appreciating it. I don’t think her eyes left me once… and by the time Craig was knocking on the door I was smiling broadly. I don’t know how she manages it, but there are times Jen can make me smile like nobody else in the world.
With one last smile and a wave I headed out on my date.

*****

Jen
Dad went to bed a while ago. I’m still up, lying in bed, TV on more as background than something to really watch. In the darkness of my room, alone, just my thoughts to keep me company. I wonder what she’s doing. I don’t know why she bothers with Craig, he’s an ass. One of those cocky bastards that think they can score with any girl they please. My skin is crawling at the mere thought of him touching her.

Sometimes I want her so badly it hurts. Just to lay with her, or hold her close. To feel her body next to mine and breathe in her scent, to bury my face against the back of her neck, hide in her hair. I think I’m going totally fucking crazy…

Her room is empty and dark. I get up and go to the window, looking out into the night and decide what the fuck, I wanna get a buzz… I’ll just try and stay under the eaves to avoid the rain. Grabbing my stash from my bedside stand, I open the window and climb out, rain making me shiver as it hits my skin in icy cold droplets.

I’m smoking off a half joint I rolled earlier in the week, letting the acrid smoke linger in my lungs and letting it wrap around my brain, taking the edge off my other cravings for a moment at least. Leaning back against the siding of the house I wonder what she’d be like stoned… maybe giggly and happy, maybe overly philosophical.

It’s almost like a deep ache in my chest as I think back to kissing her, just that once, after the accident. Likely all I’ll ever have.

I slip back inside and, without thinking about it too much, leave my room and go to hers. The door slides open silently and a feeling of elation washes over me, knowing I have access to this, her private sanctum. What have these walls seen? What could they tell me that I don’t already know? And everything here is hers. Even the air smells of her.

Her bed is soft and warm, neatly made as I lay down on top of the covers, burying my face in her pillow, drinking in her scent. I wonder what she’s done in this bed… how often she touches herself, or if she even does that. My mind wanders over the possibility, imaging her lying where I am now… maybe in her pajamas, maybe just in a t-shirt and underwear, maybe wearing nothing at all. I imagine the way her hand would move, or her back arch, the sounds and expressions she would make…

I wake with a jerk, fog of sleep and smoke still thick around my brain. I was having such a nice dream… a dream about…

“Jen?”

Lana. Her voice is soft in my ear… my heart races and my eyes snap open, maybe it wasn’t just a — then I realize I’m holding the phone to my ear. There is no soft, warm body beside me in bed, no warm breath on my neck.

*****

Lana
The only thing I could do I did, that being pulling out my cell phone and dialing the number for home. I held my breath as I waited half a ring, the pickup cutting it short… silence for a moment…

“Jen?” a hopeful note in my voice, ever so softly. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in a soft, relieved sigh as I heard my little sister’s voice on the other end, sounding rather groggy and disoriented. Oh God, she had been sleeping… she almost never sleeps.

“Lana… wha — what time is it… and where are you?”

“It’s about one. I’m so sorry to wake you Jennie, but I’m out at Brentwood and my ride left me hanging… Think you could come out and pick me up?” That asshole… I can’t believe he left me out here. Making me call home for a fucking ride.

“Yeah, yeah no problem, Lana… Brentwood? By the Sears entrance? I can be there in twenty.”

“Thank you, Jen. I’ll see you.” I waited for the line to click off, then folded my phone and slipped it back in my purse. I know very well that it takes more than half an hour to get here from our house, but that’s just how great my sister is. I wake her up, and she almost sounds eager to come and get me.

God damn, I hate that bastard Craig.

*****

Jen
I was down and out in two minutes, max, a fresh cigarette between my lips to try and drive the fog from my mind. She’s only that calm, that quiet, when something has gotten to her. What could’ve happened?

What did she do? Or maybe what didn’t she do? The questions whirl through my addled brain as I drive.

That fucker had better not have hurt her.

Thoughts of violence leave me as I pull around the mall, spotting my big sister standing alone in a pool of light. She’s a tiny figure that quickly grows as I approach.  Under one of the lamps out front, her face is shrouded in shadows, and as she looks up at the car her face is thrown into high relief, white light from above and deep shadows exaggerating her features. To me she looks like an angel, skin luminous and hair a shining gold, her red tones washed out and transformed into subtle hints.

I slow the car as I pull up, staring at her in awe as she walks over. The dome light snaps me out of it when she opens the door, gifting me with a thankful smile.

“Jen, you’re the best. I adore you. Thanks so much.” She sounds a bit relieved as she climbs in and even though I know she doesn’t… well… mean what she says like I want her to, I’m still blushing.

“No problem, just remember this next time I miss curfew by a half hour.” Still blushing, I’m smiling back at her like a goon, and as I pull out my heart leaps into my throat. I reach over to her, laying my right hand on her left and giving hers a gentle squeeze.

For the rest of the ride home I’m on cloud nine, holding her hand. Soft and warm and delicate. All I can think of as I drive is how much I love her.

*****

Lana
I climbed into the car and began staring out the window, all the things Craig said still ringing in my ears, anger on a slow burn in my brain and my stomach.

I look down in surprise as her hand slides onto mine, giving me a comforting squeeze and bringing a faint smile to my face. Her hand is warm and a bit sweaty, as though she was nervous about something.  Squeezing back is a balm on my anger.  What does it matter if the first boy I date is a total ass? I still have my friends and most importantly, I still have Jen. Sometimes I get lost in taking care of her, but moments like this remind me that she’s also here to take care of me.

She drives us home, I watch the world pass by out the window, holding her hand securely. I’m just left to think it all over. But mostly I let my mind wander, I’ve spent enough time and effort liking Craig to bother too much more with hating him. Just being there with Jen makes me smile and relax, until it hits me.
What would happen if she wasn’t there? What would I do if I lost her? And maybe, just maybe, that’s why she’s been so weird since the accident. I mean, I don’t remember any of it, I barely remember getting up that morning, but I know I was out for a good amount of time. And seeing the pictures of what the car looked like… maybe she thought I was dead. Maybe she thought she had lost me.

It’s almost like getting punched in the chest to even think of it that way. I think she’s going to be getting a lot more of my time in the future. After all, if you can’t rely on your sister, who can you rely on?

*****

Jen
When we get back home I have to let go of Lana’s hand to get out of the car, and I do it reluctantly. But heading around the car, she’s still waiting for me at the base of the walk, and when I join her she slides her hand into mine once again and we walk up and into the house together. Side by side, hand in hand we walk. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.

When we get up to her room she pauses, looking at me and raising an eyebrow. I left her door open… heat rises through my face as I feel the blush spread.

“Umm… yeah. I kinda fell asleep in your room… I’m sorry, I know…”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it… really. Tonight I feel like I could maybe use some company.”

Her interruption startles me, but not nearly as much as the offer. As hard as I try to be calm about it I can’t help but stare at her open-mouthed for a moment.

“Sure… I mean, if you want. If you need it…”

“I don’t need anything but my little sister. I really would be lost without your little hooligan butt to take care of.”

She’s smiling and I can’t help but grin back. On impulse I pull her into a tight hug and hold her there. Her arms slide around me in return and we spend a long moment there in the dark together. I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to her. At the same time I’m far too conscious of the feel of her body pressed against mine, the softness of her breasts, the slimness of her waist swelling down into her hips, and my god, the smell of her.

I bury my face in the side of her neck, breathing in deeply, her perfume making me feel twice as high as any drug ever has.

After a long moment she pulls away from the hug, sliding her hand into mine once again and leading me into her room. She takes a moment to close the door behind us and lets go of my hand, turning her back to me and dropping her jacket off her shoulders, hanging it off the chair by her desk. My heart is pounding as she continues to undress, pulling her shirt up and off over her head, exposing the line of her spine, the curve of her waist flaring out into her hips, the contours of her shoulder blades, the smooth skin of her shoulders and the nape of her neck, begging to be touched and kissed, to feel the caress of my lips.

Her glance back at me broke my reverie, my mouth dry and the thundering in my ears redoubling until she smiles and giggles a bit, breaking my tension at least. She tosses a shirt over at me, hitting me in the face with it, and with that the last scraps of my nervousness fade. I grab a pillow from her bed and smack her with it, and soon we’re giggling like 7-year-olds, half naked in bed. After finishing getting ready for bed we settle in, spooning comfortably, her back to my front.

They say reality can never live up to fantasy, but in this case reality far surpassed anything I could have imagined. To feel her against me, her warmth next to me, my arms around her, to have her all to myself. I held her close as she drifted off, and laid there in heaven until sleep took me as well.

Continue on to Chapter 2

Dancing on the Edge, Chapter 3

  • Posted on November 9, 2017 at 7:25 am

By Jos Mous

Mac had a friend. She had been greatly surprised when she discovered this. Up until now, she’d never had friends. She mostly had… passing acquaintances. And of all the people Mac had ever thought she might possible befriend, a girl like Fatimah wasn’t among them.

Fatimah was a demure Muslim girl with a rather traditional upbringing. She wore a kerchief and shapeless dresses that reached the ground, she prayed a lot, she always said that love wasn’t important, but that finding a husband who had the right faith was. In spite of these strange ideas, Mac could get along with Fatimah just fine as long as they avoided certain topics.

Right now, Mac really felt the need to talk to someone she trusted. The big problem was, she didn’t trust anyone. Well… she had grown to trust Sam, but that was the last person she wanted to talk to about the subject that had been bothering her. She thought she could trust Fatimah, but wasn’t completely sure. She had a feeling that the girl could turn on her at any moment.

Then Mac realised she was being silly. People had turned on her all the time in the States. But this weren’t the States. And Fatimah certainly wasn’t just another pussy that Mac wanted to use for a night or two.

Constantly reminding herself of that fact, Mac walked up to Fatimah one day after school and asked the girl if she would join her on a walk across the grounds so that they could talk in relative peace and quiet. When they walked there was peace. And there was quiet. There wasn’t much talking, though.

“Is something bothering you?” asked Fatimah, when she felt the silence had gone on long enough.

“Yeah,” said Mac.

“And you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t really want to, but I feel I really need to.”

“I see.”

“You see, the thing is… I have this friend, right? And we’re close. I mean, we’re, really, really close. We’re like… we’re like brother and sister, y’know?”

“Yes,” said Fatimah in a “Go on, I’m listening” tone of voice.

“Well… the thing is, I… he… he sort of accidentally… saw me naked.”

“I see,” said Fatimah, her expression carefully blank.

“Hey, it’s not like I flashed my tits at h… at him, or something. He was just… at my house one day, and I decided to take a shower, and he accidentally saw me walking naked across the hallway.”

“I suppose that can happen.”

“Well, but then he… he sort of hinted that… I mean, he didn’t exactly hint, but from what he said I could sort of… deduce that he might find me attractive.”

“This doesn’t surprise me. I can plainly see you are very attractive.”

“Come on, don’t start dissing my clothes and I won’t say anything about the curtains you’re wearing.”

A smile flashed over Fatimah’s face. “Oh, very well then. But I’m afraid I don’t see the problem.”

“Like I said, we’re like brother and sister and the thought that he could find me attractive is… well, it’s disgusting!”

“So… you’re disgusted by your best friend.”

“No! That’s the whole problem! I should be disgusted, but I’m not!”

“Perhaps you love him.”

“What? No. No way. I so do not love him. Not like that, anyway.”

“It’s not uncommon for friends to fall in love.”

“No, but…” Mac sighed. “Never mind.”

“Very well then,” said Fatimah. “I should probably go. Lots of homework.”

“Best of luck.”

“Thanks. Good luck with your friend.”

“Yeah,” said Mac.

Best friends could fall in love. There was nothing wrong about that. But siblings, no, they couldn’t fall in love with each other. That was sick, perverted, disgusting.

And besides, Mac didn’t love Sam. Sure, she trusted her and cared for her and… well… loved her in a non-romantic sense. And, okay, from a objective point of view, Sam was quite attractive.

But Mac wasn’t attracted to her, because that kind of attraction was just sickening.

And two sisters making love to each other, that was… well, that would be…

Disgusting! Totally, utterly disgusting!

And there was no possible way that Mac could even be remotely attracted to Sam.

Now, if she just kept telling herself that long enough…

*****

It was early in the evening and Sam and Mac were lounging on the couch, sort of watching TV. There wasn’t anything interesting on, so they both stared at the screen without watching it.

During a commercial break, Mac figured she really needed to talk to Sam before her worrying lack of disgust turned into something of an obsession. The show they were staring at was already over, however, when Mac had finally found the courage to speak.

“Sam…?”

“Yeah?”

“You know, the other day, during the dishes when you were… acting a little freaky?”

“I remember.”

“Well, why were you acting freaky?” Mac asked.

“It was like I told you, I needed to work something out.”

“Yeah, but what, exactly?”

“Just… where the two of us stand.”

“And did it have anything to do with… seeing me in the nude?”

Sam was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Of course not.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Mac.

“Mac, you’re a very attractive young woman, I won’t deny that. But we’re sisters.”

“And sisters can’t be attracted to each other, right?”

“I don’t like that tone of voice.”

“Well, too bad. I’m using it anyway. Face it, you saw me naked and it turned you on.”

“Mac!” Sam said indignantly.

“Well, didn’t it?” Mac demanded.

Mac looked at Sam and saw her eyes. There was anger there, like she had expected, but also… something else. “I wasn’t “turned on” when I saw you like that,” Sam said. “But I’d be lying if I said I never think about that moment.”

“And when you think about it, do you want that moment to last longer?”

“Mac, I refuse to talk about this any longer. We’re sisters, it’s wrong.”

“And with those words you admit that you’re attracted to me!”

“Mac, we are sisters,” said Sam calmly. “If I was physically attracted to you, which I’m not, I certainly wouldn’t act on it.”

“Because it’s wrong,” Mac finished, not without a hint of sarcasm.

“Yes.”

“No, it’s not,” said Mac, surprising even herself. “I know about wrong. I’ve seen wrong. I’ve seen it so much it almost killed me three times. And if you love me, that’s not wrong. I think that no matter how you look at it, love can never be wrong.”

“It is,” said Sam.

“Show me where it’s written, then!” Mac shouted. “Show me the insane deity that carved the words ‘Thou Shalt Not Love’ on a stone tablet!”

“I won’t hear any more of this!” Sam snapped. “I do not love you in that way — and I — I’m certainly not attracted to you in that way!”

“Well, I do love you, so there!”

And just like that, Sam fell silent, staring at her younger sister. Finally she spoke. “I… I beg your pardon?”

“I said I…” Mac trailed off. “I love you.”

That’s what she said. It was one of those damn Freudian slips. It hadn’t been meant to be said, it hadn’t even been meant to be thought. But it was there. And the really aggravating thing about Freudian slips is that they often reveal the truth. And it was logical too, in a sense. Mac’s childhood had left her as a fucked-up headcase. Sam was the first person to genuinely care for her, unconditionally.

How could you not fall for a person like that?

Fuck! thought Mac when she realised where her thoughts were leading. I want Sam… I want my sister, for fuck’s sake, to love me. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“Mac…?” Sam said carefully.

“What?” Mac asked gruffly, resurfacing from her thoughts.

“What you just said…”

“I know what I just said.”

“Was that… Did you really mean that?”

Mac sighed. “Yeah. I meant it. I know I want you, and it’s possible that I love you.”

“Possible?”

“Well, it’s not like I have a lot of experience with love, now is it?” Mac snapped.

“Mac… I want you to think about this carefully. Do you… want me to… to kiss you?”

Mac peered at Sam suspiciously. “What happened to all the ‘it’s wrong’ stuff?”

“That was before you said you loved me.”

“Wait, are you saying…?”

Sam looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Ever since I saw you… No, it started even before that. I can’t stop thinking about you. I just can’t. I try and I try and I try and then the moment I let my thoughts slip out of my control I see you. Not naked, not in a sexual situation — just you, Mackenzie McQueen, saying that you love me.”

“And what do you say then?”

“I love you, too.”

Continue on to Chapter 4

 

My Sister’s Honeymoon

  • Posted on November 3, 2017 at 5:13 am

By Ginny Walker

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

I came from a pretty normal family — growing up it was just my folks, myself and my little sister, Jeanie. My sister and I were close, at least as close as our 4-year age difference would allow. From age 16 to 20 the difference seemed most significant.

It was at 20 that I married and within a year, had our first baby — a precious little girl named Jennifer. Dave and I lived across town, about 15 miles from my family.

A year later is when things started to melt down in our family. Jeanie had become pregnant at 18. She hid this little fact from the whole family for nearly 5 months. I knew something was up and she finally confided in me. I told her she needed to tell Mom and Dad — after all, they were going to find out pretty soon anyway. A week later she did. Mom and Dad went ballistic! They disowned Jeanie and she wound up moving out. Unfortunately, she decided to move in with the creep that got her pregnant.

I felt so much compassion for Jeanie and went out of my way to show support for her. She had so many questions about her pregnancy and I helped her through it and reassured her. We became closer than ever over that period — best friends, actually.

Giving me mixed emotions, Jeanie and the creep decided to get married, but she, in her words, “sure wasn’t going to wear a wedding gown with a basketball for a belly,” so they set the date for July 14th, three months after her due date. April was a busy month for us — Jeanie and I both celebrated our birthdays — she turned 19 on April 4th and I turned 23 on the 11th. But the 19th was the biggest birthday party. That’s when Jeanie gave birth to Samantha. She was beautiful: 7 lbs — 2 oz, 20 inches long, platinum blond hair, and she looked like she might have Jeanie’s blue eyes as well — although a baby’s eyes are pretty dark at birth.

Things were still very cool between Jeanie and my folks so I became sort of a mother figure to Jeanie. Kind of weird for a 23-year-old to be a mother figure to a 19-year-old, but Jeanie had lots of questions about taking care of a baby. I did have some experience to offer — my Jennifer was almost two. I had just weaned her — which was an emotional letdown for me. I felt even worse as I watched Jeanie breast feed little Samantha. Breast feeding is such an intimate act and really bonds a mother and child. Weaning a baby results in a sense of loss. Those bonding moments were gone forever.

July rolled around and things were set for Jeanie’s wedding day. It would be a small church service. Mom and Dad were still upset about everything but would attend the wedding. Jeanie had planned their honeymoon — the creep didn’t have a romantic bone in his body.

Five days before the wedding, Jeanie shows up at my house hysterical. She would go from crying to screaming to crying again. It seems the creep had decided that being a daddy wasn’t for him. He took off and left Jeanie and Samantha.

I felt so bad for my little sister. She made one mistake and was paying for it continuously, it seemed. I spent the afternoon just hugging on Jeanie, comforting her, and telling her that things would work. I told her I would always be there for her and Samantha.

She laid her head on my shoulder and through her tears she cried, “I love you, Mindy.”

I caressed her hair and told her, “I love you too,” and gave her a reassuring, “motherly” kiss on the top of her head.

Friday, Jeanie showed up at my place with Samantha. I asked how everything was going.

She said, “Couldn’t be better.” She was really bonding to Samantha.

We were eating some bagels and drinking coffee when Jeanie asked, “You want to go to Saint Maarten?”

I said, “Huh?”

She explained that her honeymoon reservations were non refundable and she had an “available” plane ticket and 10 days in a cottage on the beach — sun, surf, casinos, boat drinks, and all that exquisite French cuisine. Besides, she really didn’t want to go alone.

I thought about it for a half-second and told her, “Yes!” I could use a break from real life.

I said good-bye to Dave and Jennifer, leaving him three pages of notes on what to do before I went to pick up Jeanie and Samantha. Mom and Dad had agreed to watch Samantha while Jeanie was gone. They might have been mad at Jeanie, but they couldn’t say no to their second granddaughter.

We departed Sunday, flew to Puerto Rico and took a puddle-jumper to St. Maarten. The island was beautiful! I’ve never seen water so clear — or such a light blue-green color. We unloaded our bags at the cottage and went out to get a bite to eat for lunch. We found this little cafe just off the strip overlooking the beach. What a view! Chocolate croissants became my favorite food in the whole world.

We finished lunch and walked over to the beach. As we laid our blankets out I noticed that the women around us were topless. Just as I turned to tell Jeanie, but before I could get the first word out, she untied her bikini top and dropped it on the blanket beside her. I was shocked and caught off guard and just stared at her naked breasts.

I must have had a stupid look on my face because she said, “What?”

I finally composed myself and said, “Oh, nothing.”

“Aren’t you gonna get a tan?” she said with a mischievous tone in her voice.

Being too self conscious to remove my top, I explained that I didn’t want to burn on our first day there.

We laid out in the sun for a couple of hours. I found myself unconsciously glimpsing over at Jeanie — I was mesmerized by her breasts. They were so big since giving birth — and looked even larger due to her extremely small nipples, I thought. Her aureolas looked to be the size of a nickle — they were so pink, with nipples that were a deeper pink and looked like pencil erasers as they noticeably stuck out from the small outer rings.

We looked so different — my breasts were smaller, more upturned, with larger, very dark nipples. Her breasts glistened in the sunlight as she had liberally coated her entire body with baby oil. I thought they looked unnaturally firm, but I knew she hadn’t had any enhancements done.

My mind wandered and I could picture Samantha feeding on those picturesque globes. Then I thought back to how I was no longer able to feed Jennifer. I became a little depressed and then I snapped back to reality and reprimanded myself for analyzing Jeanie’s breasts — what was I thinking?

We had a blast the rest of the day taking in the sights and having a great seafood dinner. We decided it had been a long day and headed back for the cottage. I got ready for bed, putting on my long t-shirt and fresh panties, then I called out, “Hey, there’s only one bed in here.”

Jeanie replied, “Yeah, well, it is a honeymoon cottage, you know.”

I was nearly asleep when Jeanie came in from the bathroom. Once again I found myself with a dumb expression on my face as she approached the bed. She was wearing a white satin and lace ensemble — the bra had satin undercups with a sheer front and top so her nipples could be clearly seen as they attempted to poke through the virtually nonexistent restraint. The panties were high cut tonga style with a very narrow back — just a little wider than a thong. They were satin with lace trim around the leg openings and waistband and some inlaid lace coming down to a “V” in front. She also wore a matching garter belt and white, shimmering lace stockings.

She looked incredible. It was perfect for her wedding night and would have driven any testosterone producing creature wild.

“A little overdressed, aren’t you?” I sarcastically asked.

“This was supposed to be my honeymoon,” Jeanie replied. “And this is what that jerk is missing!” In my heart I felt bad for Jeanie, but I did get some satisfaction knowing the creep was missing out.

We said goodnight and I rolled over onto my right side facing the edge of the bed, which was the opposite way I usually faced, preferring my left side in my own bed. Jeanie rolled onto her left side and faced the other way. She shifted a little and I felt her rear rub up against mine. I felt embarrassed by the contact — yet I didn’t move myself away. I didn’t know why that was. We both fell asleep like this.

I was awakened later to some noise. I was still out of it and didn’t know where I was for a moment. In my sleep I must have rolled onto my usual left side and was cuddled up against Jeanie, in a spoon position. Then I realized what the noise was — it was Jeanie whimpering. I thought she was crying over what the creep had done to her so I put my arm over her to comfort her. I told her it was alright. She completely ignored me. I again called to her and then started to shake her a little and discovered that she was still asleep.

I finally woke her up asking, “Jeanie, are you alright?”

She looked at me a little confused and with a distressed voice said, “It hurts.”

“What hurts?” I asked.

“My breasts are killing me,” she cried out.

I realized it had been about 20 hours since she had last fed Samantha, so I said, “Jeanie, didn’t you know that you would become engorged after skipping a feeding?”

Jeanie just whimpered, almost crying now that she realized she had screwed up — her eyes pleading with me for help. I knew the only option available, yet that was an impossibility. But there was my little sister, in agony.

I hesitated for a moment more, looking right into her eyes, sort of conveying what I was too uncomfortable to say. Then, without saying a word, I leaned over and placed my mouth over Jeanie’s left nipple. I’m sure she was equally shocked but we both knew that this was the only way. I began to suckle her breast, gently squeezing it in my hand to increase the flow of milk. The milk began to come slowly.

Jeanie and I never spoke a word nor did we make eye contact. I tried to clear my head of the idea that I had my sister’s breast in my mouth and was feeding from her. But I found that impossible to do. I noticed her milk was slowing so I figured that was good enough and knew I had to do the other side.

I released her left nipple from my mouth and as I was moving to her right breast I saw Jeanie’s face for the first time. Her head was tipped back slightly, her lips were parted, her eyes barely open — just enough so I could tell her eyes were sort of rolled back in her head. She seemed kind of delirious.

I pulled her left bra cup up over her soaked nipple and pulled the right cup down. Pausing for a moment to look closely at her nipple, I then took her right breast into my mouth. As I started to massage and milk it, I was overcome with a feeling of awkwardness. How did I do her other breast? Did I have this much of it in my mouth? Did I suckle this hard?

Then I noticed my tongue brushed her nipple — where had I kept my tongue before? I hadn’t touched her breast with my tongue until now. Before I just sort of suckled with my lips. Again, my tongue brushed her nipple. All of a sudden I couldn’t seem to avoid touching her nipple with my tongue. Maybe it was because more of her breast was now in my mouth.

Nevertheless, something was different this time. The more I tried to avoid her nipple, the more tired my tongue and jaw became. Eventually I had no choice but to rest my tongue on the underside of her nipple. Now it was helping to work her breast and bring out the milk.

I noticed I was swallowing more often now. This was definitely a more productive method — or was I just getting better at it? I lost track of time, though it must have been more than 30 minutes since I started. I definitely had spent more time on Jeanie’s right side.

I hadn’t even noticed that I had suckled her dry until she finally pulled back, releasing her breast from my still puckered mouth. She never made eye contact, she just said, “Thanks, Mindy — that’s better,” and walked back to bed.

I sat there motionless for a few moments trying to understand what had just happened before returning to bed. A part of me was somewhat repulsed by what I had just done, yet I couldn’t deny the effect it had on me. I noticed it was just past 1 am when we both went back to sleep.

I was awakened by Jeanie, shaking my shoulder and calling my name. I had rolled onto my left side again as I slept. Jeanie was facing me. “It hurts again,” she complained, almost pleading.

I looked at the clock and noticed it was 5:30 am — 4-1/2 hours seemed about the right interval. Again we did not speak, I just reached over and undid the front clasp of her bra and pulled the two triangular patches to the sides releasing her breasts from their entrapment. She was on her side, with her right breast resting against the mattress. As I lifted her right breast up she rolled onto her back. I brought her breast to me and drew her nipple into my mouth.

I started to feel that intimate bond that I had not experienced since weaning Jennifer. After a while I noticed there was another sound in the silence. It wasn’t just the slurping sound I was making, it was Jeanie — she was making little cooing sounds, sort of like a gasp and a moan together. I continued to milk Jeanie and found myself getting more comfortable — maybe a little too comfortable, I thought to myself. I finished drawing out all of Jeanie’s breast milk from her right teat and moved over to her left. I had to lean over her as I reached for her left nipple. I latched on and began suckling and as I did I eased my weight off of my hands which brought me down partially onto Jeanie. My own breasts were mashed into Jeanie’s belly. I liked the feeling, even through the cotton material of my t-shirt. My right leg was on top of Jeanie’s right leg. I could feel her silky stockings and garter belt rubbing against my skin and I found myself unconsciously moving my body a little to increase the sensation. It was definitely having an effect on me.

Somewhere along the way I had become less business-like and relieving Jeanie’s pain didn’t seem to be the only goal of my actions. My tongue was moving across her nipple, teasing it, playing with it. My mouth which had remained in a fixed position up then was now sliding over Jeanie’s breast. At times there didn’t seem to be a suction as her nipple would escape from the corner of my mouth and I explored the sensitive under slope of her beautiful breast. I found myself softly moaning, “Mmmm…” as I worked her large globe with my lips and tongue.

I felt Jeanie start to move under me a little and my leg slipped in between hers. I could now feel her satin panties on my thigh. We both kept up our subtle gyrations and I could feel her pubic bone start to press into my upper thigh. I thought I should back off and reposition myself , but I didn’t — at that moment this had become less an act of relieving pain, and more an act of causing pleasure.

Our gyrations became more pronounced as I hungrily worked on Jeanie’s breast. Jeanie started panting and moving more rapidly. I suspected she was close to an orgasm which was soon confirmed as I felt a hot wetness on my thigh. I had made Jeanie come. I heard her whisper, “Thank you,” as I eased my oral manipulations of her breast, while still holding her nipple within my mouth. We fell asleep in that position.

We awoke about 9 am. Jeanie got up and headed for the shower. When she got out I started to say to her: “Jeanie, about last night…”

She cut me off with “let’s not talk about it.” A feeling of shame came over me. We didn’t even look each other in the eyes for a few hours. After breakfast we hit a few shops and then were off to the beach again. Jeanie just laid down, leaving her bikini top on — we were the only two girls wearing tops. Not that I especially wanted her to remove her top, but I knew Jeanie was feeling embarrassed or guilty, just as I was.

It was almost noon when Jeanie said, “I need it again.” We went back to the cottage. Jeanie sat down on the edge of the bed and said, “Can we talk after?”

I knew what she meant as she rubbed her chest in pain. I walked over to her and as I did, Jeanie lifted her bikini top up over her breasts — she didn’t remove it, just left it up near her neck as she laid back on the bed, her knees bent with her feet touching the floor. I eased myself down next to her on her right side and took her her right breast into my mouth. Jeanie immediately let out a long sigh. Her breast milk began to flow into my mouth and I found myself eager and aching to gulp it all down.

I became less gentle and really began to work her nipple, occasionally giving her teat a playful bite. Jeanie was starting to squirm around a little getting more and more vocal.

What I did next shocked me and forever changed the relationship with my little sister. It was like some hidden instinct in me took over and I reached my hand down and brought it between Jeanie’s legs. I cupped her mound and could feel her part her legs ever so slightly. She lifted up against my hand and I gave her a gentle squeeze. Jeanie moaned and in response, I moaned against her soft breast. I don’t know why things escalated — it just seemed like the next natural step to take.

I began to move my hand up and down massaging her vulva. I could feel her labia through her swimsuit bottoms as I pressed with my finger. I continued to rub my sister for several minutes and it became obvious that she needed release. In one smooth motion I slid my hand up towards her belly and back down slipping my hand under the waistband of her bikini bottoms. My palm came to rest on her naked pussy and I felt how warm she was. My hand resumed its ministrations. My sister’s slickness was all over my fingers and palm — Jeanie was soaked. I discovered her hardened clit and began to rub it while I continued to suckle and feed from her.

Sensing she was close, I slid my hand down further and pressed with two of my fingers — they slipped effortlessly into my sister’s vagina, passing both knuckles. That sent Jeanie over the edge and she had a violent orgasm. She screamed so loud that it startled me. Then I felt a torrent of her juices spurt over my fingers and into the palm of my hand.

I released her nipple from my mouth and lifted my head as I slowly slid my fingers in and out of my little sister. I’ll never forget the sloshing sound it made as I continued to work my hand in and out of her. I just stared at her — first her perfect breasts which were still heaving from the remnants of her orgasm, and then I looked down at the obscene display of my hand sliding in and out of Jeanie’s vagina, my fingers disappearing and then reappearing.

I knew we had crossed a line that we could never undo. Maybe it was that reality — that I couldn’t go back — that caused me to give in at that moment to some uncontrollable desire. I slipped my hand out of Jeanie’s panties and looked at my dripping fingers. I could smell her sex on them. Then it was like I became a passenger on some erotic ride — my body began to respond on its own.

I slid down off the edge of the bed and kneeled between Jeanie’s open legs. I grabbed the crotch of her bikini bottoms and pulled them to the side, spreading the leg opening — then brought my face down to her. I opened my mouth wide and covered Jeanie’s entire mound. I started to lick her pussy, bringing my tongue from the rear of her slit up to the top, teasing her clitoris as I got there. Jeanie began to squirm up and away, but I held her thighs tightly with my right hand and kept my face buried in her crotch.

I continued this lapping for several minutes, each time pressing my tongue harder against her vulva, eventually separating her labia with repetitive upstrokes, and finally entering her vagina with my tongue. I will never forget my first taste of Jeanie. Her juices were a new and foreign flavor to me, but I now craved her taste — I craved eating this woman.

Then the guilt set in again. I was doing this to another woman — my own sister! How could I? Despite this, my body refused to stop what it was doing and I pushed these thoughts out of mind. I did what I thought Jeanie would like.

After about 15 minutes of licking like this I sucked her clit into my mouth and rubbed it hard with my tongue. Just as Jeanie was coming I lowered my mouth, pressing my tongue as far into her vagina as I could, mashing my lips hard around her vulva as I sucked with all my effort. Jeanie came hard again and I wasn’t prepared for what happened as she did — she actually squirted into my mouth. I could feel it hit my tongue and my mouth was soon filled with her hot, creamy liquid. She tasted so good as I let it ease down the back of my throat and enjoyed swallowing her feminine nectar.

I was so far gone at that point — and I needed release badly. I instantly shed my bikini bottom and top, and from a position still between her legs, brought myself down on top of my sister in a position that was familiar to me in my normal lovemaking. I wanted to feel Jeanie’s skin against mine. Our breasts met first which excited me so much — my nipples had not received any prior attention over the past day of fore play.
Then our mounds touched, and it was as if I had received an electric shock. I almost came that moment. I needed Jeanie — I needed to make love to her.

Jeanie looked up at me, unsure of what I was doing, scared.

I began rubbing my mound against my sister’s. I whispered to her, “It’s okay — I want to make love to you. I need this, Jeanie.” Our vulvas pressed together, making squishing noises because of the overflowing of both of our juices. I pressed down hard onto my sister and I felt her labia spread open allowing mine to enter her slightly. I began to rub her with zeal. My labia and clitoris became engorged. I slid my clit up and down Jeanie’s slit and could feel it rub between her labia and bump her own clit. I held it there grinding our pussies, clit to clit for a while and then slid my clit back down between her swollen lips. Once at the bottom I again began the ascent back up her slit.

I continued making love to my sister in this way then I started to come and I pressed myself down hard and felt my clit works its way into Jeanie’s vagina. I exploded just as I entered her pussy. I came so hard, like nothing else I’ve ever experienced in my life. Grinding my pussy into her pussy, I screamed out “FUCK ME, JEANIE… OH PLEASE, FUCK ME!”

I looked down at my sister laying below me, a dazed expression on her face, and I collapsed on top of her, bringing my mouth onto hers and slipping my tongue into her mouth as I kissed her with a long, slow sensual kiss. I’m not sure why I had the desire to kiss her like that. My tongue explored her mouth, teasing her tongue, feeling the slickness of her pearly teeth, and massaging the roof of her mouth. I kissed and kissed her, all the while keeping our pussies pressed firmly together, forcing our juices to intermingle.

Never in my life had I experienced such emotion, such sexual release, such lust, such pleasure, such intimacy. I had always loved my sister, but I had now fallen in love with her.

We just lay together cuddling. We had never spoken a word. What would we have said, anyway? That it was wrong? We both knew that from the start, but deep down we obviously didn’t want to stop it from happening. So silence seemed the appropriate approach. There would be time for talking later.

The End

Dancing on the Edge, Chapter 2

  • Posted on November 1, 2017 at 7:37 am

By Jos Mous

It didn’t take very long for Sam and Mac to fall into a kind of routine. Despite everything Hollywood tries to tell the world, most human beings are creatures of habit and would prefer tomorrow to be very predictable instead of filled with exciting surprises. In the mornings, Sam would get up first, go to Mac’s room to see that she was usually still asleep and, depending on her mood, wake her up or just let her be. Then she would go down to get breakfast and leave for work soon after. When she came home, she usually made some hasty arrangements for dinner and spent the rest of the night looking at papers to ensure Mac’s stay and find a school for her.

Mac would spend the day lounging around the house, listening to the radio, watching a spot of TV and, if she really had to, do a bit of shopping at the local grocery. She often made plans of getting out of the house, going to the nearest city and start scouring bars, but she always gave up on those plans when she realised that she still didn’t speak the language.

Neither of them ever brought up the subject of Mac’s brief pregnancy again.

This went on for some weeks until one Sunday afternoon Sam sat down in the living room and looked serious enough for Mac to realise that there was going to be A Talk.

“Mac…” said Sam.

“Yeah?” Mac asked, turning off the TV and deciding to sit up a little straighter.

“You are going back to school tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Couldn’t you tell me that earlier?”

“I just received the phone call today.”

“Well, that’s great,” Mac said testily. “Which school is it and how am I supposed to get there?”

“It’s called the William of Orange School,” Sam said, smiling ironically. “I suppose someone found it very hilarious to name a school for foreigners after a national hero. It’s not very hard to reach. You just hop onto any bus here and you get off at the central bus station in the city. There you take line 35 and just sit in it all the way since the end of the line is right in front of the school.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess,” said Mac. “Not sure if I speak enough Dutch for the bus, though.”

“You’ll probably do fine in English.”

“Here’s hoping. How ‘bout books?”

“I’ll order them first thing tomorrow, but it’ll take a few weeks before they arrive.”

“Figured as much. Anything else?”

“You’ll have to talk to the principal first tomorrow and he’ll show you around and everything.”

“Great. Was that it?” Mac asked, getting impatient.

“One more thing,” said Sam. “Don’t screw this up. I’ve managed a green card for you and I found a school for you. I’m not your legal guardian, however, and you’re not a citizen of this country so you really have to try your best.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Mac, they’ll send you back to the States.”

Mac froze, now she really looked at Sam. “What?”

“If you cause a lot of trouble or simply skip school, Immigration will revoke your green card and send you back to Mike.”

“What? You’re a politician, can’t you do something about that?”

“I’m not above the law, Mac.”

“Well, I’m not going back.”

“Nobody said you have to.”

“You just threatened me with sending me back!” Mac yelled. “And I’m not going back, understand! Ever!”

“Mac…”

“No, fuck you! I’ll throw myself off a bridge before I go back!”

“Mac, you can’t be serious!” Sam exclaimed, shocked.

“Damn straight I’m serious! I’d rather be dead than go back! And I mean it, too.” Mac rolled up a sleeve from her black shirt and showed Sam the wrist of her left arm. There were scars on it.

“You slit your wrists?”

“Three times,” Mac said, rolling the sleeve back down. “Survived them all, unfortunately. I was almost successful last time, if it wasn’t for the fact that Mom had hired a cleaning lady and forget to tell me about it.”

“But why?”

“Gee, Sam, can’t you guess?”

“It couldn’t have been that awful.”

“Oh fuck, Sam, grow up. Things can be that awful. They’re that awful in thousands of families.”

“But… how could… I mean… it was never like that when I…”

“I don’t know, okay? People change and all that. Dad’s a fucking bastard, Mom’s an alcoholic and I got caught up in the middle.”

“Mom’s an alcoholic?” Sam asked, unable to grasp the concept.

“Yep. For the same reason I’m a slut. To escape reality for a while.”

“You are not a slut, Mac,” Sam said, her voice very carefully held evenly.

“Hello, Earth to Sam? Lost virginity at twelve, got pregnant at seventeen and got fucked everywhere anyone wanted to in-between? Face it, I’m a slut.”

“You are not a slut. You just… did that to survive.”

“OK, fine, I’m not a slut. Happy now?”

“Mom’s an alcoholic?”

Mac looked at Sam’s face and saw the she was on breaking point. She wasn’t surprised when Sam started crying not long after.

“Aw, shit,” muttered Mac.

The teenager walked over to the woman, sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug. Sam gratefully accepted the comforting gesture and cried into her shoulder.

“And here I was thinking you adults always kept things together,” Mac muttered, gently stroking the brunette’s hair as she sobbed.

*****

Sam was busily working on her slightly archaic computer one Saturday afternoon when Mac decided to take a shower.

This was not a problem, of course, since Sam’s computer was not in the bathroom. What was a problem was that the bigger of the two clothes hampers in the house was standing inside Sam’s bedroom and that the way to the bathroom led past Sam’s little work space. This still shouldn’t have posed a problem if Sam kept the door to her room closed, but, having lived alone for quite some time, she seldom did.

“Mac?” asked Sam, her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her.

“Yeah?” came Mac’s voice from the bathroom.

“Nice tattoo.”

“Which one?”

“The one on your upper left arm.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

“Still, I’d prefer it if you didn’t walk around the house stark naked.”

There was a slight pause.

“Sorry.”

“No problem,” said Sam. “Just keep something on in future.”

“Right. I’ll do that.”

As the sound of rushing water started to filter into Sam’s room, the brunette stood up from her chair, walked over to the door, firmly closed it, walked back to her chair, sat down again and continued working. She focused on her work with a kind of angry determination. She often did this when she was upset about something.

Right then, she was very upset about something. From the moment Sam had seen Mac on her doorstep, she knew that her younger sister wasn’t the same little kid she’d last seen about thirteen years ago. But now that Mac had walked past her open door like that, it really hit Sam that she had grown into a beautiful young woman.

A very beautiful young woman.

A very desirable beautiful young woman.

The keyboard cried and rattled as Sam punched the keys and if the screen had been able to see anything it would have shut itself off in an attempt not to see the angry glare in Sam’s eyes.

*****

Mac had often complained about the fact that Sam didn’t have an automatic dishwasher. Lately, however, she’d stopped complaining and simply accepted the fact that she would be drying dishes for as long as she stayed there. After all, there were worse things than having to dry dishes. This was something Mac knew for a fact.

What she also knew for a fact was that Sam had been very quiet all day, and had tried hard not to look at her or even be around her. This disturbed Mac somewhat. She knew all about avoidance, an art she’d practised daily when still living with her father and mother. She had enough experience to notice if someone was trying to avoid her. Especially if that someone was still very new at avoiding someone else.

“Did I do anything wrong?” Mac asked.

“What?” Sam asked, coming back from whatever thoughts were in her mind.

“Did I do anything wrong?” Mac asked again, while putting a few cups in the cupboard.

“Err… no. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sam said.

“Then why are you trying to avoid me?” Mac asked.

“I’m not trying to avoid you,” said Sam.

“Yeah, and I’m the pope,” said Mac. “C’mon, I know there’s something wrong. The least you could do is tell me what.”

“We didn’t grow up together, did we, Mac?”

“Err… no,” said Mac, confused at this turn of the conversation.

“I left for Europe when you were just four years old.”

“That’s right. Where’s this going?”

“The only things I’ve seen of you growing up were pictures Brooke sent me by e-mail.”

“Your point being?” Mac asked, getting impatient.

“You’re not my sister, Mac.”

“What do you mean?” Mac asked, suddenly turning pale.

“We don’t have a sisterly bond,” Sam said, as if trying out the words for herself. “We’re practically strangers from each other.”

“Sam… what are you saying?”

Sam looked at Mac and upon seeing the fearful look on the younger girl quickly smiled.

“Don’t worry, this doesn’t change anything. You’re still my sister and I’ll take care of you as long as you want.”

“But… you just said…”

“Never mind that,” Sam said quickly. “It was a stupid thing to say. I was just trying to explain something to myself, really. Don’t worry.”

“Right,” said Mac, not entirely sure if she believed her.

“The point is… well, we are sisters, actually. The fact that we were separated for so long doesn’t change that.”

“I see,” said Mac.

“So, how was school?” Sam asked in a cheerful tone that seemed somewhat forced.

“It’s Saturday. There was no school today.”

“Right, right,” said Sam. “Well then, let’s just… get on with the dishes, okay?”

“Fine,” said Mac.

Mac took a plate from the rack and started to dry it. She didn’t think very often. Or at least, she didn’t used to think very often. In the past, thinking had hurt — and it was better to do something, anything, to distract her from her thoughts.

But now that she was living with Sam, she’d started thinking a lot. About home and how she didn’t want to go back there. About the times she tried to commit suicide. About the careful friendships she was forming at her new school. And sex. She thought about sex. She often thought about her baby and how she should tell the truth about it to Sam.

Right now, Mac was applying these new-found thinking skills to her big sister. Sam had just said that she was acting weird around her because, evidently, she hadn’t “explained” something to herself. Mac wondered what that was. It had something to do with her, obviously, and the fact that they were sisters. It also had something to do with Sam having some sort of difficulty with this “sister” concept.

But why would Sam feel uncomfortable with the fact that they were sisters?

And why would Sam have difficulties now?

What on earth could have happened that…

Suddenly an answer presented itself to Mac.

No. Fucking. Way.

Continue on to Chapter 3

Dancing on the Edge, Chapter 1

  • Posted on October 26, 2017 at 7:49 am

By Jos Mous

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

Sam’s fingers were flying over the large, bulky keyboard that lay on the desk in front of her. The computer she was working on was old, considered prehistoric by people who had never even seen the 8-bit age. She was well aware of the fact that many of her colleagues found her old-fashioned. Some would consider this to be rather odd since she, at the age of 34, wasn’t considered to be “old”. Or at least, not in the field she was working in. Samantha McPherson was a politician and a member of Parliament. Early on in her Journalism study, Sam had discovered that she found politics to be a lot more fun, so she had switched studies and had never looked back even once.

She was now working on a speech she planned to recite tomorrow, explaining exactly and in detail just why she thought the head of the Ministry of Defence was a complete idiot who wouldn’t be able to find his own butt with the help of an atlas and three GPS satellites. The trick, of course, was saying this without actually becoming insulting. She already had a rough draft, outlining her points and now she was trying to edit out the insulting parts. It was proving to be quite difficult for her.

That was why the sudden ringing of the front doorbell came as quite a relief for her. Sam quickly saved the document, shut off the computer, walked out of her small work room, down the stairs to the front door. When she opened it, she froze with shocked surprise.

The person standing at the other end of the doorframe was a teenage girl with black hair and brown eyes. She wore a black shirt under her black leather jacket, along with a black pair of jeans and a pair of black boots from an army surplus store. She also wore black eyeshadow, black lipstick and every single fingernail had been carefully painted black as well. She had a small rucksack flung over her shoulder and attempted to give off a vibe of casual indifference. Sam, however, could easily spot that the girl was simply very tired and had recently seen a little too much ugliness in the world.

“Hey, Sam,” said Mackenzie. “Can I come in?”

Sam opened the door wider and stepped out of the way, indicating that the girl could come in. Mac walked past her into the living room, dumped the rucksack on the floor and flopped onto the blue couch. Sam, after having quickly closed the front door, joined her in the living room and sat down next to her.

“I… haven’t seen you in a while,” said Sam, not really knowing what to say and thinking that this was a pretty good opening.

Mac smiled a rather thin smile. “Nice to see you too.”

“Could you tell me why you suddenly show up in front of my house all alone?”

Mac sighed. “I need a place to crash, really. I figured you might take me in.”

Sam nodded. “You must be pretty desperate to come all the way to Europe just for a place to crash.”

“Dad kicked me out of the house and that shithead Brooke calls a husband wouldn’t take me in either. So, I begged Mom for some money to fly here, hoping that… well…”

“I see,” said Sam. “Can I ask you why Mike kicked you out?”

“It’s a free country. Or so I’ve heard, anyway.”

“Why did Mike kick you out of the house?” Sam asked patiently.

“I’d rather not say.”

“Was it drugs?”

“No.”

“Theft?”

“No?”

“Did you kill someone?”

“God, Sam, what do you think I am?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Listen, I’m not a criminal, okay? The only thing I’m guilty of is aiding some people in performing statutory rape, got it?”

I see, thought Sam. “Are you pregnant?”

“Look, it’s been a long flight and I’m tired. Can I crash here or do you want me out on the streets again?”

And now I’m sure. “Of course you can stay here,” said Sam.

“Thanks,” said Mac gruffly. She stood up and picked up her rucksack from the floor. “Anywhere I can put my things?”

“I have a guest bedroom upstairs. Just up the stairs then immediately on the left. There’s a bed there too, if you’re really tired.”

“Thanks. See you at dinner then, I guess.” Mac headed for the door that led from the living room to the small hallway and hesitated for a moment. She turned around. “Look, Sam, I know I’m really not the best of company right now. It’s just that I’m still going through some stuff I’d rather not be going through, so…”

“Hey, you just told me about Mike kicking you out. I don’t understand what you’re going through, but I think I can be quite understanding if you decide to start acting like a bitch.”

Mac smiled, a little more genuine this time. “Thanks.”

“Just don’t overdo it, hmm? After all, with all the experience I get in my profession I am more than able to out-bitch you any day of the week.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Sweet dreams.”

“Later.”

*****

Sam carefully cut a small bit of her pork chop and ate it. She watched Mac as she slowly chewed on the piece of meat. Even though dinner tonight consisted of meat, potatoes and beans, which were not Mac’s favourite choices of food, to say the least, the girl was eating everything and didn’t seem to be thinking about stopping any time soon.

That, of course, didn’t have to mean anything. Mac had just had a very long flight, not to mention a rather long ride, behind her and it was only natural that she was hungry. But still…

“Mac?” asked Sam.

“Hmm?”

“How are things at home? I mean, before…”

Mac shrugged. “Lots of yelling. Probably one of those weddings that only keep on existing because it’s in the best interests of the child.” Mac said those last words with such cynicism that it made Sam shiver.

“I see,” said Sam. “And did they yell at you too?”

Mac chuckled. “Didn’t get the chance. I made sure I was never home.”

Sam nodded. “And how’s Brooke?”

“Oh, she’s just peachy,” said Mac sarcastically. “After all, she’s got a pretty good job as a nurse in the hospital and she doesn’t even have to stay there very often because her so-called husband is usually too wasted to be really able to hurt her.”

Sam sighed. “I see,” she said again.

“It’s not your fault,” Mac said. “Mom and Dad would probably fight even if you hadn’t left and I’m betting Brooke would’ve still taken such a crappy excuse for a human being as her husband.”

“Still…”

“Look, everything was still fine when you decided to move all the way over here. You couldn’t have known things would end up like this.”

“I wasn’t even at Brooke’s wedding.”

“Well that makes two of us then,” said Mac. “At least you’ve got the excuse of being on a different continent at the time.”

“Really?” asked Sam. “What was your excuse?”

“Didn’t have one,” said Mac. “Just wasn’t there when the parentals had to leave.”

“So where were you?”

“At a friend’s place.”

“What kind of friend?”

“Hey, I was 12. What kind of friend do you think?”

Sam sighed. “The way you just said it…” she let the sentence hang unfinished. “How did you do at school?”

“Pretty good, I guess,” said Mac.

“You were going to school, weren’t you?”

“Course I was. Any excuse to get out of the house.”

“That’s something at least,” said Sam. “How long are you planning on staying here?”

Mac looked down at her plate, futilely poking her potatoes with a fork. “I was sort of hoping on indefinitely.”

“In that case, I’ll have to see to it that you go to school.”

“Do you have to?” Mac asked.

“Mackenzie, you’re 17. That still makes you underage and I know that here compulsory education ends at 16, but if you want to stay here you’re going to school, understand?”

“Yes, Mom,” said Mac.

“And don’t call me Mom.”

“Big Sis, then?”

“Just stick with Sam.”

“Fine.”

And that seemed to be the end of the conversation. Sam quietly finished eating, then turned down Mac’s offer to help with the washing up. She had some thinking to do. She had lost touch with the rest of the family a few years ago. The only contact she had with them were postcards on birthdays and Christmas.

And now, as it turned out, her family was totally and utterly fucked up.

So here she was, with her sister half her age who probably had more problems than the average therapist could and who had done something (which could possibly be getting pregnant) that had caused her expulsion from the rest of the family.

And all Sam could do was hope that there were enough pieces left to glue the girl back together again.

*****

Sam’s car pulled up in the small driveway next to her house. Inside the car was Sam, who turned off the engine, unbuckled her seatbelt and then sat back in the driver’s chair, staring out the windshield towards the white garage door.

Today had been a long day.

A really long day.

Being a member of one of the opposition parties all she could really do was argue a lot with members of the ruling parties and trying to sway a few of them to the point of view of her party. Today had been particularly trying. The ruling coalition was planning to take a few million euros away from the Ministry of Education and Sports and invest it in Defence. Needless to say, the entire opposition was vehemently against, save for the three representatives of the extreme-right party. In the end, the measure had not been passed, but it had required a lot of arguing, debating and even a little bit of name-calling.

What Sam really wanted right now was to order some Chinese food and take a really long hot bath. Not necessarily in that order. Unfortunately, she still had to deal with Mac. Or, to be more precise, all the paperwork that came with having Mac in the house. If Mac was really planning on staying indefinitely, she would have to be reported to Immigration at least. And since Mac was underage, she might also have to be forced to become Mac’s legal guardian lest she be sent back to the States.

Then there was the matter of school. Sure, saying that Mac had to go to school was easy, it was the actual finding of a high school for foreigners that would pose a bit of a problem. And when she had found one that wasn’t too far away there could still be problems in actually getting Mac accepted over there.

And then there was still the matter of just why Mac had to leave home in the first place. Which was quite possibly even worse than all the bureaucratic paperwork she’d have to deal with. At least she had some experience with paperwork.

Sam sighed and got out of the car. She unlocked the front door, opened it and sighed again. She quickly closed the door, hung up her coat and marched into the living room where she turned the volume of the radio down somewhat.

“Hey, I was listening to that,” Mac protested. The girl was lying on a couch, and had been looking at the ceiling, but was now glaring at Sam.

“Look, I know all about wanting to hear loud music. Just… not now, okay?”

“Rough day or something?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to order a pizza or anything?”

“And how are you planning to do that?”

“You know, by phone, just dial up and… Oh.”

“Exactly,” said Sam. “Listen, I’m… I’m going to take bath now and then we’ll see about dinner, all right?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Oh, before you go…”

“What?”

“I need new clothes.” Mac stood up from the couch to show that she was still wearing the same clothes she was wearing yesterday. “I didn’t exactly have time to pack, if you know what I mean.”

Sam smiled thinly. “Don’t worry. We’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

“Great. Thanks,” said Mac, before flopping down on the couch again.

“Don’t mention it. Anything else I can help you with?”

“Nah,” said Mac, ignoring the hint of sarcasm in Sam’s voice.

“Thank you.”

Sam left the room and headed up the stairs. She was halfway to the top when she heard that the volume downstairs had increased considerably once again.

*****

They had ordered Chinese food. They had ordered only one portion, of course, since one portion is more than enough to feed three people. And since there were just two of them, there was bound to be leftovers. During dinner Sam and Mac talked about nothing in particular. Small, short sentences asking things that didn’t matter, saying things that weren’t important. Then, nearing the end of the dinner, Sam decided to ask what had been on her mind the most.

“Mac?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you have to leave home?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I think you’ll have to.”

“Look, it’s over. It doesn’t matter.”

“What’s over?”

“You’re not going to let this rest, are you?”

“Not until I get an answer.”

Mac stared at her plate for a while.

“Fine then. You know what a town bicycle is?”

“Yes,” Sam answered calmly.

“I was it,” said Mac.

“Why?”

“Just because, okay? I wanted something, because I didn’t have anything.”

“Were things that bad?”

“Worse, probably. Anyway, I go through life thinking that contraception is something that happens to other people. So… well… guess.”

“AIDS?”

“Thank God, no.”

“So I was right yesterday. You’re pregnant.”

“I got pregnant, yeah. Dad wanted me to keep the baby.”

“Pardon?”

“Dad, you know, Mike, thought that I should drop out of school to give birth to the baby and take care of it all on my own. He thought it would teach me a lesson on responsibility and shit. Frankly, I think he just wanted to torment me with that.”

“So what did you do?”

Mac snorted. “Got an abortion, obviously. Anyway, I was so stupid to tell Mom about it, who then told Dad, who then freaked and put me out on the street with only the clothes I’m wearing. That’s the short version anyway.”

“Are you serious?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding?”

“How was it?”

“Ah, the usual. Lots of shouting and yelling and calling each other names and just a lot of fighting, basically.”

“The abortion, I meant.”

Mac was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

“Look, it was just a clump of cells, okay? It had no mind, no life, no soul. It was an it, nothing more and I’m glad I’m rid of it.”

“That’s pretty cold.”

“It’s a cold world. Deal with it. Can I be excused?”

Without waiting for an answer, Mac got up from the table and left. Not long after, Sam could hear the loud thump of footsteps walking up the stairs, then the slamming of a door. Mac didn’t have a key or anything, so Sam could easily go to Mac’s room and continue to talk to her.

She didn’t. She didn’t know what to say or do if she got up there. So instead she cleared the table and went to do the dishes.

Had she gone up, she would have seen Mac crying her eyes out.

Continue on to Chapter 2

What Do You Want?

  • Posted on October 20, 2017 at 11:03 am

By Shay

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

The room was softly lit, like a church. Candles flickered on every surface. Mirrors reflected their yellow glow. Sandalwood incense burned and the fragrant smoke coiled up towards the high ceiling. It was warm, yes, quite warm.

Carolyn sat on a wide sofa in the middle of the room. It faced large oaken double doors with gleaming golden handles, which, as they reflected the candle flames, seemed almost to be made of fire themselves.

Next to Carolyn on the couch was her older sister Janet. You would not have guessed that they were sisters unless you looked into their eyes. In their eyes were vines and parrots, pools and wings; tigers crept in those eyes and waterfalls fell to earth. These were eyes that could stop your heart — or start it again.

Carolyn sat silently, occasionally chewing her lip. When she did this, Janet watched her silently. Janet, two years older and dark as a winter night. Like falling through the ice at midnight — if you touched her, she would touch you back, touch you in a way that you would never forget.

She watched Carolyn, thirty minutes short of her twenty-first birthday. Golden-maned Carolyn, bright as the sun on a lifeboat, bright enough to induce thirst and madness. Carolyn, tawny as a caramel candy, Carolyn, carrier of her mother’s beauty. You could die with her name on your lips and never know why. Carolyn, whose night this would be.

Two women sitting side by side on a sofa in a softly lit room; one having passed this way before, yet utterly unable to guide, and the other about to pass through an experience that would cleanse or destroy her.

Twenty minutes. Fifteen. A clock chimed the quarter hour. Janet reached across and squeezed her sister’s hand. Still, they were silent. That is to say, no words passed between them.

At twelve minutes to the hour, a sudden shiver passed up Carolyn’s slender body like a bird on an updraft. She took a deep breath and waited.

At two minutes before twelve, Janet stirred. Without letting go of her sister’s hand, she leant across and touched her delicate jawline. Their eyes met. Janet looked away for a moment and then kissed Carolyn on the lips, very softly and a bit longer than she ever had before.

Before Carolyn could recover from her surprise, her older sister had stood and, without a word or a backward glance, disappeared out of a side door, her steps muffled on the thick dark green carpeting.

Carolyn could feel her heart beating. She could feel her sister’s kiss on her lips. The room was warm, so very warm. And then it was midnight.

The clock chimed twelve and a handsome man in a tuxedo opened the double doors and walked towards Carolyn. He offered his hand and she took it. He led her to the open doors and to the moment she had come here tonight to meet.

The handsome man smiled enigmatically, and not unkindly, as he escorted her up to, but not through the doors.

“Stop,” she whispered, and did, stock still as a deer in the forest, sensing the wolf. She removed her pretty hand from his arm.

“It’s all right—” he began but she cut him off.

“I want…”

“This is not the time for—” but again she sliced through his words.

“…a woman. I want a woman.” She turned her tiger eyes on him and he simply nodded and left the room.

Carolyn held perfectly still, straining for any sound. She was aware of her own breathing, regular but with a slight ripple in it.

And then she appeared. A tall blonde woman in a green dress. She wore diamonds on her ears and hands. She was regal.

“I am Marlene,” she said simply, in a low and sensual voice.

The smallest of smiles appeared at the corners of Carolyn’s mouth, the lips her sister had kissed turning up in a subtle but unmistakable expression of small triumph. The two women closed the doors behind them and walked down a hallway.

*****

Marlene gave Carolyn a look which invited, commanded her to follow. She did, willingly. As Marlene walked, the green dress hugged her generous hips like a wave over a mermaid’s tail. Carolyn watched, as if transfixed by tides. Her feet carried her without thinking. The woman’s body was fragrant with night-blooming Jasmine. Carolyn wanted to bury her face in her. And still, it seemed so warm.

They came to a doorway and her beautiful guide opened the door and waited for Carolyn to precede her into the room. A bedroom. The woman’s gown was low cut and her breasts were smooth and perfect. Carolyn blinked, then looked away. She had never been with a woman. Not like this.

And yet, that was the entire point. This was her Midnight, the experience every woman must have on the night of her twenty-first birthday. The choice to be made. Many choices. Choices which would reverberate through the rest of her life. Choices she must make… soon.

Marlene stood before her at the foot of the large bed. She ran her fingers through Carolyn’s long blonde hair. For several minutes she did this, almost as if calming a nervous mare. Then, at last—without stopping the stroking of her hands in Carolyn’s hair, she leant forward until the younger woman could feel her sweet breath on her face. Marlene searched her eyes with her own green ones, the green of a siren sea.

Then her cheek was touching Carolyn’s, feather soft. And still, her gentle breath on her skin. Still, the gentle stroking of fingers through her hair. And then… kisses, light as petals falling on her cheeks, next to her eyes… her forehead… soft lips on her closed eyes… and at last, settling on her lips like a perfect wordless phrase. Like music.

Carolyn had never been kissed this way. At least, not until just before the double doors had opened. What had…? But her thoughts melted away as Marlene’s kisses took her over. Marlene caught Carolyn’s lower lip gently between her teeth and then released. Then she kissed her over and over, unbearably gently, in a sensual allegro.

A little cry escaped her when Marlene’s tongue slipped into her mouth, like an angel folding her wings, like a succubus priming a sleeper. And still, softly, still so sweet.

Carolyn’s legs were getting weak and without realizing it she clung to Marlene for support, even as Marlene herself weakened her, made her pliable, dizzy with delight.

And then Marlene’s small hand grasped a handful of golden hair and held it, making Carolyn cant her head to the side. Marlene’s green eyes glowed and she smiled like a jaguar.

“Carolyn… what do you want?”

But before the blonde young woman could gather her wits, just as she opened her mouth to say, What? Marlene’s hungry mouth covered hers again and Carolyn’s knees buckled. Marlene smoothly laid her on the bed and then lay atop her, never breaking the kiss.

The easy weight of this woman’s body on hers felt delicious to Carolyn. Nothing at all like a man. Marlene’s kisses were demanding, yes, but with the sense of having the perfect right to demand. Marlene’s breasts, the same fine breasts that Carolyn had admired before, were now pressed to her own as Marlene’s tongue and lips explored hers.

So delicious, thought Carolyn, so marvelous to feel another woman against me. Her fullness, her softness, her knowing. Oh yes.

Marlene drew back and searched Carolyn’s eyes before lowering her lovely face again and using her left hand to firmly move Carolyn’s head to the side.

“What do you want?” she whispered, her breath warm in Carolyn’s ear just before Marlene’s tongue smoothly followed her words and Carolyn moaned beneath her. Marlene tongued and sucked her lover’s ears until the girl was squirming underneath her and moaning out her pleasure.

“What… do… you… want?” she asked again, letting her hands caress Carolyn’s breasts, her thumbs rolling across her nipples through her dress.

“I want to undress you.”

And with that, Marlene smiled and slowly released her prey and stood next to the bed. “Why don’t you, then?”

Carolyn got to her knees on the bed and gently turned Marlene around. She ran her hands over the bare skin, so smooth, so welcoming. She licked her lips without realizing that she was, and took the tiny green zipper in her hand and drew it down. The dress fell to either side, parting like a curtain when a play begins. She ran her hand over the beautiful exposed skin and was rewarded with the sensual sound of Marlene’s husky purr.

“You remind me of…” began Carolyn in a distracted voice.

“Of who, sweetheart?”

Carolyn shook her lovely head. “Of — of no one.”

In an instant Marlene’s hand was softly but firmly gripping Carolyn’s throat, then slowly stroking downward, lightening its pressure.

“Don’t lie,” warned Marlene.

“I’m sorry.”

Marlene shook her head slowly. “No, precious, tonight isn’t about me. This is your Midnight.” She trailed her perfect fingernail down Carolyn’s arm. “What you embrace or deny tonight is forever. People used to waste their lives agonizing over their secrets, the guilts, their hidden desires. That’s not for you, precious. Don’t lie to yourself. Don’t hide from yourself. I am only the canvas you will paint your desires on tonight. Your Midnight.” And with that, Marlene let her beautiful green dress fall like an outdated notion, and smiled as Carolyn reached out to touch her perfect, full breasts.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want these,” replied the younger woman eagerly as the shared sound of their soft laughter filled the air.

Marlene took Carolyn’s hands. “Touch them.” And she did, feeling their perfect lovely femaleness in her hands. So full, so sexy, so inviting. She caressed them and watched, fascinated, as Marlene’s large dark nipples puckered and stood up under Carolyn’s feminine touch. Marlene tilted her head back and sighed.

For the first time in her life, Carolyn bent down and took another woman’s luscious breast in her mouth. Could anything ever feel so heavenly? She instinctively knew exactly what to do as her pretty cheeks hollowed and she greedily enjoyed what Marlene was offering her.

“That’s right,” cooed Marlene, once again stroking the beautiful blonde mane of her younger lover. “Take what you want. Yes baby, mmmm, that feels so good.”

Carolyn sucked on each of Marlene’s nipples almost until they hurt, first surrounding each one with her soft lips and then gently pulling on them with her perfect teeth. Having teased them erect, she sucked them deeply until finally letting go with a sexy wet pop.

“So beautiful,” Marlene sighed. “You’ve never made love to another woman’s breasts before, have you, precious?”

“No,” Carolyn admitted while covering the curve of Marlene’s left breast with adoring kisses and laying her face against the hard nipple.

“But you’ve wanted to,” Marlene urged.

“Yes,” confessed Carolyn as her blonde hair fell over the smooth skin of Marlene’s shoulders, and she kissed her shoulders, her throat, her upper arms. “For a long time.” Marlene was not asking this time, her voice confident and sure as her hands explored and caressed Carolyn. Busy, happy Carolyn.

“Sweetheart,” whispered Marlene through her heightening pleasure. “What else have you been wanting?”

With that, Carolyn, gently rolled Marlene onto her stomach on the bed and feasted her eyes on Marlene’s ample, curvy, wonderful ass. The ass she’d been admiring all the way down the hall. But this time she was looking at bare flesh. Running her hands over the gorgeous soft swells. Her cheeks. Her lips.

Marlene moaned and lifted her ass in the air a bit, resting her head on her elbows with her eyes closed.

“Don’t deny yourself, precious,” she purred.

Carolyn didn’t intend to. She gasped with pleasure as she explored Marlene’s sexy hips and covered her rounded loveliness with kisses. She gently parted them and kissed and licked her intimately relished Marlene’s loud moans of pleasure as she did. Carolyn traced her fingertips over Marlene’s labia lips as she licked the woman’s anus as if she were starving, her urgent sounds of desire muffled against the flesh she was busy worshiping.

She ducked her head down to lick Marlene’s vulva — her very first taste of another woman — and a sweet shock ran through her entire body, a realization of the arousing combination of sexy familiarity and otherness, the pure delicious scent and taste of femaleness.

Marlene maneuvered them so that she was straddling the very willing younger woman, her blonde hair spread out around her lovely face.

“Yes, baby,” purred Marlene as she slowly lowered herself onto her eager lover. “What do you want? My pussy? My cunt, is that what you want?”

But Carolyn couldn’t answer. She could only barely breathe. And she was in heaven as Marlene smothered her in what she wanted.

Carolyn wrapped her hands around Marlene’s generous hips and moaned into her marvelous wetness with unfettered desire. She simply couldn’t get enough of this woman’s pussy, her aroma, her heat, her depths, her slick arousal. She felt a deep thrill as she had the thought, this is the most womanly thing I have ever done.

She felt as though she could climax herself, from pleasuring Marlene. And when Marlene reached casually back and began fingering her, she did exactly that.

*****

“Tell me,” whispered Marlene as they lay kissing afterwards. Carolyn tasted of pussy, was marked by pussy, drenched with Marlene’s scent, as if Marlene were some magnificent female animal.

“Tell me, Carolyn,” Marlene urged softly, “who was it I reminded of you of?” She stroked Carolyn’s warm side, just under her ribs, “when you were walking behind me… when you were taking off my dress… I saw it in your eyes even before you told me. Who was it, precious, who were you remembering when you adored my ass… when you lost yourself in my cunt? Who? Tell me.”

Carolyn thought of all the times she had admired, envied, and yes, desired the woman who she had grown to resemble. She blushed, and her first instinct was to keep it from Marlene, even from herself, but then she remembered Marlene’s firm hand at her tender throat, and the wise words she had spoken. This is your Midnight.

“I was remembering my mother, ” she said softly in Marlene’s ear. “My mother,” she whispered again, finding a new pleasure in the words themselves.

Marlene kissed Carolyn again and murmured, “I know, precious. And did you want her to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And… did you want her to come to your bed and lay down next to you? Did you want her to make love to you?”

“Yessss, ” Carolyn answered through rising arousal.

“Of course you did, precious. How lovely, how beautiful.”

Marlene gently rolled over on top of Carolyn and moved her thigh up between her silken smooth legs while moving gently atop the younger female.

“What else, precious? There is more. More even than this.”

“Y-yes.” It was getting hard for Carolyn to think to respond in any way but a physical way. Something was breaking down within her, some useless barrier, and the remains of it were fueling a passion that was rising quickly within her.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Who do you want? Even more than the glorious woman you’ve been confessing to me about? Who speaks straight to your heart?”

Marlene had slipped her hand down to Carolyn’s wetness and she was fingering her expertly as she gently moved on her and inflamed the young woman with her words.

“I…I don’t—” Carolyn faltered.

“Tell me what you see… what you feel… in your heart and mind at this very moment, precious Carolyn. Tell me. Tell me while I’m fucking you. So sweet, so good. Yes, Carolyn, tell me what you see. What you want.”

Carolyn was trying to match her lover’s rhythm, and had her arms hooked up and around Marlene’s back with her fingers spread across Marlene’s shoulders, as if she were trying to hold on to something solid in a rushing current.

“I feel… Mom’s hand on the back of my head… in my hair….”

“Yes, baby… that’s right…tell me.”

“She’s—” Carolyn bit her lips and trembled as her pleasure became almost unbearable, her self control a memory as Marlene’s body and skillful fingers pushed her ever higher.

“She wants… she wants me to kiss…”

“Yes…?”

“She wants…”

You want—”

“I want to kiss Janet! I want Janet!” Carolyn wrapped her legs around Marlene and bucked beneath her in a beautiful fury of joy.

As her orgasm overwhelmed her, Carolyn screamed, “I want my sister! I want her, ohhhhhh Janet, I love you, I love you….”

Her words, torn from the depths of her heart and desires, were shouted out in the same cadence as the delicious rolling orgasm that was seemingly tearing her apart.

“I want Janet,” she panted helplessly, broken and yet more whole than she had ever been. “I want my sister.”

Marlene propped herself on her hands and smiled down at Carolyn, laughing warmly.

“Yes, you do,” she said in a honeyed voice.

In the morning, after the two women had left each other’s embrace, after they had dressed; just a bare moment before Carolyn’s Midnight was over, Marlene took the younger woman in her arms one last time and stroked her beautiful blonde hair.

Smiling into her eyes, she said, “Precious? There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

Carolyn looked up at Marlene quizzically as she stood in her arms near the unmade bed.

“What I didn’t tell you was that two years ago, another young woman told me of her desire. A desire so very similar to your own.” Marlene kissed Carolyn on the lips, ran her hand up and down her bare arm and spoke one last time before they parted.

“That woman’s name was Janet. And she’s waiting right outside the door for you, to take you home.”

The End

Her Last Touch

  • Posted on October 18, 2017 at 6:25 am

By Marie Marshall

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

“When’s your flight?” I asked quietly, standing before my sister, hands awkwardly clasped behind me.

Helen shrugged. “Tomorrow morning – I forget what time. The taxi will be here at some ungodly hour.” She looked listlessly at her luggage, flicked at the catch on her case, then glanced up at me, a slight frown on her face.

“This time tomorrow, I’ll be in Canada,” she said. “You’ll finally be rid of me.”

“Don’t say it like that,” I protested halfheartedly.

“Come on, Ronnie,” she said, knowing how much I had come to detest that diminutive – I much prefer my full name, Veronica. “You know we don’t get along, you and I.”

It was true. Ever since the time she reached her teens, two years ahead of me, I’d been an irritant to her; I was her embarrassing little sister. Often when she wanted to go out, our parents would make her stay at home to keep an eye on me. And it was no use her trying to have friends round, or a boyfriend, because I was always in the way. Helen had blamed me ever since for her lack of success with the opposite sex. I suppose her bitterness had rubbed off; I had long felt resentment towards the big sister who always seemed to hate me.

Now that we were both in our twenties, there was no love lost between us. We were on totally different wavelengths, and hardly spoke anymore.

“It wasn’t always like that,” I said sullenly.

She shrugged again, her expression neutral. Why was she like this, damn it? Helen was the one who started all this ugliness between us; the one who turned cold first. No point in saying so, of course — she would simply shake her head and say I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Perhaps my memory was longer than hers; didn’t it stretch back to a time before our enmity, when we were simply playmates – our role playing games with dolls, our rambles on the beach, our sisterly laughter? Perhaps the years in between had blotted all this out for her, so great was her resentment towards me.

Now here we were, in our mother’s echoing house, the day after Mom’s funeral. She’d sold her half to me for a song, and was on the eve of leaving for Ontario, and a new life.

“I’d better say goodbye now, before turning in,” she said. “I don’t expect you to get up to see me off. In fact I’d rather you didn’t.”

Why was I surprised by this? Come to that, why was I hurt? Why didn’t I just tell her to fuck off to Canada and leave me in peace? I had to face it, a part of my life was about to disappear, and suddenly I felt more connected to the playmate of my youth than to this ill-natured half-stranger standing there fussing with her luggage. People said we didn’t resemble each other, but now I actually looked long at her, and began to see the likeness. Now she seemed more like a mirror image; apart from her face being thinner and her hair darker. It caused a pang to see echoes and shadows of my old playmate where I did not expect them.

Suddenly Helen surprised me by stepping up to me, putting her arms around my neck. Surprised? More like shocked, as I caught the scent of her perfume and her sweet breath.

For a moment neither of us spoke or moved. Then she kissed me.

It was a light, gentle touch on my lips. I’d never kissed a girl, so the softness of her mouth came as a complete surprise to me. She broke away and rested her forehead against mine, traced figure eights on the back of my neck with a fingernail, and sighed.

“Damn you, Ronnie,” she whispered, her eyes lowered.

I felt my heart banging against my ribs… but with excitement rather than anger.

Then she nuzzled my face, her lips searching for mine again. This time her mouth lingered as she kissed me. The strange thing was that, instead of pushing her away, I stood there wondering if my lips felt as soft to her; realizing that this must be what it would be like to kiss myself, thinking that she was my sister and we shouldn’t be kissing this way – but none of this seemed to matter. What mattered was to experience this thing, to hold onto her, to hold onto this piece of my past.

Her hand was still behind my head, but now our mouths were pressed together and open, tongue touching tongue, her lips nibbling mine. Helen’s eyes were closed, but I couldn’t close my own, still wide in disbelief — even denial.

I studied her face, her expression softer than I had ever seen it before, and with a shock I realised that she was beautiful. Having seen that, I closed my eyes too, and enjoyed the dancing of her tongue.

Thoughts danced around my head in time to her probing tongue. This is what it’s like to kiss a woman. It’s wonderful, and I never knew! Would it be like this with other women, or was there something special about Helen’s forbidden kiss?

Then suddenly I felt a panic, as I realised that I was falling into a lesbian passion for my own sister; but that very thought suddenly thrilled me! My emotions flipped and shifted this way and that. And all the time, that caress of tongue on tongue as our mouths slid sensuously together.

I now found myself with both hands up Helen’s sweater and cupped around her breasts, my thumbs flicking her nipples. Somehow I registered the thought that she wore no bra. Again her forehead was resting against mine, again her arms were around my neck, but now she had arched backwards to let my hands touch her body. She looked at me from under lowered eyelids.

“You fucking bitch,” she said.

“Shut up! Kiss me!” I gasped.

She did so, desperately, almost brutally, as though quenching a deep, deep thirst. And as she kissed me she seized my breasts, her hands stroking, fondling… her fingers telling me beautiful lies. My mind raced, rational thoughts battling with helpless arousal. She was doing wonderful things to me – had she done this sort of thing before? Had she practiced on herself? How could I think such things about my sister? And yet, here she was – here we were making out as though our lives depended on it. Over all this two thoughts hammered away in my brain: I hate her… I want her… I hate her… I want her…

More lost minutes, vaguely aware of tearing clothes from each other’s bodies, no words spoken but low growling through clenched teeth, and labored breathing. Then all too aware of where we were, how we were – naked and entwined upon my bed, our mouths pressed together in a kiss more passionate than any I’d ever shared with a lover. She was grinding herself against me, and I found myself matching her movements.

Suddenly she tore her mouth from mine, trailing her tongue down between my breasts. Then she took an aching nipple between her lips to suckle, and I cradled my sister’s face to my chest. Helen’s tongue circled the pink tip, and my head seemed to spin right along. I felt her hand slipping between my thighs, and a whimper escaped me as she palmed my now dripping vulva.

I wanted to be the aggressor now. Sitting up, I roughly flipped my sister onto her back, then got on top of her, claiming her mouth in a crushing kiss. I reached down for her cunt, needing to take my bitch of a sister, to make her mine. I thrust two fingers into her vagina and began fucking her, hard and fast. A scream broke from her lips, and her nails bit into my back. We were sharing rough, unrestrained love that was definitely flavored with hatred… but that only made our incestuous coupling so incredibly, unbelievably hot. And we kissed again and again, as if we were passionate lovers instead of fighting sisters.

Somehow Helen and I got into a 69 position… legs thrust apart, faces buried deep in each other’s pubic curls, licking at the pink flesh we both found there, no longer caring that we were sisters, simply wanting, needing, desperate… I could think of nothing now but how wonderful she tasted, how beautiful her pussy was, how much I loved what she was doing to me.

Was it hours or mere minutes that we fucked like that? I couldn’t tell, lost as I was in her heat, exploring a black nebula of lust with two burning women right there in the middle. It felt as though we were melting; sweat poured off us, mingling with the juice of our arousal, and I felt as though I was drowning in it.

But there was nothing we could have done to stop this, as we plunged headlong towards orgasm. Helen was making a continuous keening noise, trembling uncontrollably. We clasped our arms around each other’s bodies as tight as iron bands cooling around a barrel, and forced our faces between each other’s soft thighs, licking, licking, tasting one another’s essences; we clung desperately as we both heaved in climax, Helen screaming, me gasping. Then we collapsed in a hot, sticky heap.

Rolled away, feeling cold air on my body, gooseflesh beginning to rise. I looked at the ruin of my bedclothes and at my sister. She had one hand over her face, weeping. I put my arms around her, as tenderly as I could. She reached out and pulled me close to her; now she was giving out great sobs, and with each one she thumped a fist ineffectually on my shoulder-blade.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she said, through gritted teeth, each great sob seemingly torn from her lungs.

“Shh, Lennie, Lennie,” I said, remembering and using her own nickname from all those years ago, kissing her cheek, brushing her tears away with my lips, tasting my own cunt on her. “It’s all right. It’s all right. Shush now!”

I stroked her and talked to her until her sobs subsided into whimpers. She no longer hit me, but lay close, snuggled in my arms, warming herself on my body. I felt her lips gently brush my cheek. I drew back to gaze into her eyes… and before I knew it, we were kissing again.

We fucked over and over again that night. No words were spoken, just the sharing of pleasure. My sister and I explored every inch of each other’s bodies, and it was utterly wonderful. I marveled at having grown to adulthood without making love to another woman.

Finally, utterly spent, my sister and I lay quietly, our naked bodies curled together. Eventually her breathing became regular and quiet, and I could see that she was asleep. She looked relaxed, young, beautiful, and I kept myself awake for hours just to look at her, in wonder at her beauty and almost in disbelief at what had just happened between us.

I must have fallen asleep at some time, because my next recollection is of waking. I was alone. The duvet had been drawn over me, and I could hear Helen moving around somewhere else in the house. I got up and struggled quickly into an old rugby shirt and a pair of jogging pants. In the hall Helen was fussing with her luggage again, and putting on her shoes. We didn’t speak. I kept watch at the front window until headlights drew into our avenue.

“Your taxi’s here.”

The taxi driver took her bags out to the car. Without a backward glance my sister said, “’Bye, then,” and walked out of my life. Forever, except for a Christmas card every year. And that’s the end of the story.

Except it’s not really the end. I’ve been haunted by this episode ever since – when two playmates of long ago gave way to a flood of emotion so strong that they could not find a name for it, and had to find another way to reach one another. And except also for this: as Helen left without looking at me, for a brief second she took hold of my hand. She let it go quickly, but traced her fingers across my palm, down my own fingers, right to their tips. Her last touch – I can feel it to this very day, and feel as though I am branded…

Five years later, not a day goes by when I don’t think of my sister, remembering that night when we shared our bodies as lovers. Not a day when I don’t long for her kiss, her touch. I’ve taken other partners since then, both male and female, but none have lasted for long… none have truly satisfied that deep, deep hunger I feel for Helen.

Somehow I know — and I’m not sure how I know — that my sister and I are destined to be together again. One day, the need I feel for her will become too great to bear… or perhaps she can’t take another sleepless night, dreaming of me. Then one of us will go to the other, and the two sisters who were enemies will be lovers once more.

The End

Ann and Una, Chapter 6

  • Posted on October 12, 2017 at 11:09 am

By Una

When summer came, I joined Ann in Edinburgh. I’d hadn’t seen my sister since Christmas. It had been more than a year since we had “been together,” a euphemism she used for our sisterly intimacy. On that occasion, our lovemaking had been hurried. It was as though we were both frightened of  — yet we couldn’t do without.

Our strong emotional attachment was still there, but we were growing apart. We had different friends, were separated by hundreds of miles as we studied, and our passionate trysts were confined to clandestine embraces, a few stolen kisses and hurried fumblings whenever we were out of Mother’s sight.

The only chance we had to be together was at home, whenever we returned for Christmas or Easter. The last contact that had satisfied us both had been in Ann’s bedroom, where she stood with her back to the door, leaning on it in case Mother chose to enter. Fully clothed, we kissed hungrily, hands fumbling under our clothing until we reached and fondled the moist centres of each other’s passion.

That night, as Ann and I sat with our parents for the last dinner we would share for another few months, I wondered about my sanity. What was it that made me so desperate in my craving for the pleasures I got from embracing and kissing my sister?

Why did her touch thrill me like nothing else? Why did every stroke of my finger in her wetness etch itself in my memory, so that when in those half-asleep moments in bed, when reaching into my inner being for comfort, it was Ann’s wetness I felt, not my own? Why, when I took myself to the summit of satisfaction, was it always Ann who I dreamed of — lying beside me in my lonely bed, her fingers magically turning my raised legs to jelly as she plumbed the sinful depths of my soul?

I had a boyfriend, of sorts. Other girls envied me. Sean was attractive, the life and soul of any party — and he had money, or his father had. At least that was the myth at that time.

He was also sexually undemanding, which I found his biggest attraction. We could go to the cinema, and I wouldn’t be harassed by his wandering hand. He would sit in my flat for ages, talking to Judith and I — and never attempt to entice me into bed. Even when we were alone in the flat, he seemed indifferent to such things.

Later, I discovered that far from being a gentleman and respecting my person, he was a repressed gay. For all the time we were a couple, he never got up the courage to explore intimacy with a man, so far as I know. He simply avoided all sex.

I needed far more than Sean was capable of giving. I got fed up trying to excite him — soon relying on pleasuring myself in times of need, which was most nights. It wasn’t possible to touch myself without a picture of my sister Ann appearing. Oh, I’d fight it, and try to conjure up some lustful fantasy of a virile, handsome man to stimulate my brain and arouse my body.

But always, always, memories of my adventures with Ann would appear, until I finally had to surrender and allow myself to enjoy them. Sometimes they were highly erotic, other times they were mental snapshots of my sister’s nakedness, of the parts of her that made me shiver to recall. The gentle slope of Ann’s back, the curve of her hips, the creamy globes that were her breasts.

I’d see us both, giggling conspiratorially as we pleasured ourselves, staring intently into each other’s eyes, seeing the blissful thoughts reflected there until, with barely audible sighs, we would both ascend to our peaks — sharing a secret moment of satisfaction.

These images would intrude as I struggled to concentrate on some more acceptable daydream. But as a finger moved among my folds, the picture would be replaced by one of Ann emerging from the bathroom, topless, tight knickers silhouetting the rift valley along her mound. It was a vision that never failed to grant me the sweet release of orgasm.

Ann was on a five-year course in Edinburgh. Now 22, she had settled in well. It looked as though she would live permanently in Scotland upon graduation. I missed her desperately. We’d been so close at one time. I missed her sisterly comfort and affection, but most of all I missed our forbidden love.

During our late teens, our secret romance had waxed, then waned. Looking back, it’s clear that both of us felt that we should leave behind the carnal part of our relationship — the sly touching, the clandestine looks, the forbidden embraces, the mutual masturbation.

Invariably, when I lay with Ann, glowing in the aftermath of our lovemaking, guilt and fear would well up in my mind. Ann’s hunger for me was huge. I worried that she would be unable to have a family relationship later in life — a husband and children. I didn’t want her to rely on only me for love, for satisfaction.

I was different, I felt. I could marry Sean, and still retain my secret longing for Ann. I couldn’t marry my sister, but I was happy to imagine her face, to smell her excitement, to remember the warmth of her naked body against mine as I drifted off to sleep, face down, a comforting pillow tucked between my thighs.

I’d sit with my boyfriend for hours in his car looking out to sea, occasionally kissing, sometimes even petting. All the while, my mind would be filled with sexual thoughts of Ann. I’d see us in some exotic setting — kissing, hugging, fondling, using fingers and mouths to gratify each other.

These thoughts were on my mind as I hung up the phone and noticed that I was breathless. Ann had just told me that her housemates were going to a festival. She would be alone for the weekend. Making my way into the bedroom, I took down a suitcase and began to pack. I had to be there, with my sister.

*****

Ann greeted me in prim, sisterly fashion — a warm hug, a kiss on the cheek, an inquiry about my flight, and the offer of coffee. We sat in the kitchen, catching up with the latest news and gossip.

Later, she showed me around the house. It was huge compared with the dingy little flat I shared with Judith. The bathroom was delightful, if a little untidy. But it was Ann’s bedroom that thrilled me most. It was large and airy, with a big bay window and a double bed.

We stood awkwardly for a moment in the centre of the room. She didn’t need to tell me that I would be sleeping there. Although there were spare beds, I knew that was what she wanted, and what I wanted.

I turned to her, and our eyes met. Love and desire were there to see in Ann’s gaze, as well as the sweet dark fire of lust.

Wrapping both arms around my sister’s neck, I drew her mouth to mine. My tongue entered her like a lance. Her hands cradled my face between them as she responded to my kiss with a hunger so intense that it felt like fury.

Our breasts were pressed tightly together as we thrust against each other. Then her hands were on my arse, raising the back of the new skirt I’d bought to wear for her until my knickers were exposed. She slipped a hand beneath the front of them, her fingers seeking and finding my sex.

I felt a finger press against the soft, wet warmth between my legs. Then Ann flung her head back and laughed — not the soft, girly giggle which used to mark our secret touchings, but a loud guffaw of unrestrained mirth.

I freed my arms from about her neck and she stepped back. Smacking me playfully on the backside, she said, “You’re a dirty bitch, Una. Your cunt is dripping!”

To which I replied, “It was you doing the fingering, sister!”

We were still laughing as we went downstairs to eat the meal Ann had prepared. My ankles seemed to have wings. I couldn’t remember when I’d last been so happy. Ann and I were going to sleep together for the first time since I was about sixteen.

We’d had our moments since then, of course: but they were mere passing flights of passion, stolen moments in unsatisfactory surroundings, when we lived in fear of discovery and wrestled with the torments of guilt.

A stranger would have known from our babbling over dinner how excited we were. We pretended, to each other and ourselves, that we were two sisters who hadn’t met for ages, having a leisurely meal. But it was hard to pretend — my beetroot cheeks and lobster-pink neck were giveaways. Ann knew me well enough to read the signs. Thankfully, she could not see the other clue to my lustful anticipation: the uncomfortably hot moisture between my thighs.

I needed a shower and an early night. I said so as I laid my fork and knife to one side.

Ann agreed. I ignored the way she was twirling one finger around another, trying not to look directly at me — a sure signs that her libido had gone into overdrive. I knew how she felt down there. I’d felt that warm, hidden puddle before, many times. Especially right then.

I offered to do the dishes. She wouldn’t hear of it. She offered a dressing gown. I told her it wasn’t necessary. I was hoping she’d join me in the shower. The thought of that was thrilling, but she didn’t.

After drying myself, I padded barefoot across the big room and sat at the dressing table fixing my long hair for bed. Ann arrived, fussed about, asked if I needed anything. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell her about going to bed with my flatmate Judith. I wanted to say to her, Yes, by Christ, I need a fuck. But I didn’t. This was not the time or the place. I would choose my moment in bed.

She asked about Charlie, my stuffed toy panda. In a moment of madness when I was about fifteen, I’d told her how I pleasured myself with Charlie — lying in bed, face down, his leg stuck between mine as I thrust. At the time, she’d laughed: a superior, big-sister sort of laugh.

Now Ann was teasing me about Charlie. I suspected that it made her feel better about her own passionate hunger. I gave a snort of laughter and called her an old bitch. It was a term of endearment, but I knew she didn’t like to be reminded that she was the older sister, even if it was only by two years. My sister would never be a teen again, but then neither would I.

The bed was crisply fresh. Cool linen sheets. They smelled newly laundered. I knew that Ann had prepared them for my visit. She’d left out a three-quarters-length traditional cotton nightie — for appearance’s sake, I supposed. We were still playing girlish games, pretending each time we made love that we weren’t having sex, merely indulging in a unique game we’d invented during childhood.

I climbed into her bed naked, smiling at the very thought of wearing a nightie.

I was almost asleep when she came to bed. The tiredness from a long day and the flight had me exhausted. I watched from under drooping lids as she undressed. It was like old times. Sharing a room, sharing a bed, sharing love with my sister.

But things had changed since we were children. Ann’s shape was different, the fuller figure of a mature woman — hips wider, buttocks broader. When she removed her bra and faced me, I could see that the high, perfect spheres had been replaced by two pear-shaped breasts. They were still small enough to belong to a fourteen-year-old, but they had lost their pyramid shape.

Who cares? I thought. They are part of Ann, an intimate, wonderful part of my sister.

Keeping her knickers on, Ann slipped into bed beside me. I took her into my arms, starved for her embrace. We kissed; a subdued, sisterly kiss. I was breathless with excitement, instantly wanting more.

Her hand was on my back — tenderly stroking me, as a mother would her baby. We kissed again, our lips parting, just a little at first.

Oh, my God. Ann’s hand had slipped down to my bare bum, and she was caressing it in the most indescribable way. Her thigh ground steadily against my crotch, making my nectar flow.

I was lost in a world of helpless lust. How could I have forgotten how sweet, how perfect this was? Why had I allowed what I had with Ann to fall by the wayside?

I’d had enough of these gentle kisses. My lips parted like a wild animal about to devour its prey. I bit her lower lip, then plunged my tongue deep into her mouth.

She responded by thrusting into my mound, moving her thigh so my cleft was parted, then closed, then parted again. The most wonderful sensations rolled over me, like an ocean wave lifting, carrying me away, tossing my quivering body hither and thither.

My hand was between Ann’s legs — cupping her, pushing against the warm moistness of her gusset. I wriggled a finger lower, seeking to part her, to open her inner sanctum to my probing. The humidity of her sex was soooo… arousing. It was as though my finger had been wrapped in a warm, soaking washcloth.

We thrashed about, turning, twisting — Ann on top, then me, then her again, like two cats fighting. We were struggling to get her wet knickers off, me tugging at one side, she at the other. Never had so much energy been spent trying to roll a pair of light cotton panties down a woman’s thighs. We were giggling, laughing in our frantic haste, the two of us almost hysterical.

She had no sooner kicked them off her ankles than I took charge. Kneeling alongside, I parted her raised knees. We had fallen silent. Ann sensed that what we used to call the Sacred Kiss was about to happen again for the first time in years.

I lowered my head until it was between her legs, kissing one thigh and then the other. She shivered. Delicious. I could smell her need, that wonderful musky fragrance so like my own, a natural scent I recalled from our earliest days.

I teased her. I wanted to tease her — as she’d done to me many times when she was Big Sister, the one who had to be obeyed. I licked to one side of her slit, a long slow lick like a fat, lazy cat drinking milk.

She shivered as my mouth passed by, tensing herself for the warm wetness of a lover’s tongue on her cavern. But it didn’t arrive. Instead, I placed my cheek on her vulva, using it as a resting place while my tongue traced a thin line on her inner thigh.

She groaned. The sweet sighs of earlier were gone — now she was articulating her hunger, desperate to rise to the heights of rapture.

I relished the plaintive moans, savored the convulsive squeezes of her thighs on either side of my head as I continued to toy with Ann. Was I being needlessly cruel? Or was I taking her further, prolonging her anticipation, promising with each kiss that she would soon be transported into a world where she’d never been before, not with any other lover.

I turned my head slowly. So slowly that I doubt if she felt my lips on her vulva. her thatch was well-trimmed but prickly. I didn’t mind. Her scent was assailing my nostrils, intoxicating me. Was there anything naughty, anything bold, that I hadn’t yet tried to please my sister?

I wriggled my nose, easing the stubbled lips apart, feeling the hot wetness on its tip. I slowly drew my tongue upwards, parting the inner folds, uncovering the tiny pearl of Anne’s clit.

Above me, Ann’s voice was muffled. Her thighs obscured my hearing, closing my ears as they spasmed — tightening, then relaxing. I could hear my name, along with repeated cries of, “Please.”

I knew she was near the point of no return. Her back was arching, hips squirming, her buttocks moving this way and that. I put my hands between her legs and parted the lust-puffed lips with two fingers.

It lay before me, the nerve centre of her sexuality. Parting my lips, I placed a tiny kiss on the love button. Slowly, as if drinking through a straw, I drew it between my tightened lips.

She cried out on the second intake. I held the fleshy pearl in my mouth, tickling it with the tip of the tongue. I pushed as if to expel, to relieve her agony of passion. But it was a tease. As she relaxed in anticipation of regaining her senses, I sucked the slippery nub hard, as if intending to swallow it, to eat her inner core.

She climaxed instantly, nearly throwing me aside as a violent orgasm overwhelmed her.

Soon, I lay between my sister’s legs, listening to her breath-catching gasps. Once Ann had returned to me from the ether, I crawled into her arms.

I’d never felt so close to anyone, before or since. We spoke of love, of how only sisters could love each other in such a special way. We talked of an upside-down world, where people killed and were killed, where cruelty and evil were everywhere, a world that would not allow us to openly express our closeness as sisters, as lovers.

That night, the barricades of guilt and shame were finally broken down for good. Until then, we had been held back by our inhibitions, our loving mired in a juvenile, eyes-shut world. But now it was as if my sister’s clitoris had become a magic button — once pushed, it opened doors in her mind, and in mine.

We were no longer clumsy, impressionable teens — Ann and I were two women in love, mature enough now to know it, eager to explore every side of our grownup needs and desires. I told Ann about Judith, how my roommate and I had made love on the night of the power cut. She seemed a little jealous at first. But as we lay together naked, stroking one another, my fingers running through her hair, Ann teasing my nipple, a wonderful calm descended on the room.

We listened to a distant church clock chime. Ann said it was nine PM. I marvelled that we’d been in bed only two hours.

We spent another couple of hours baring our souls to one another, exchanging thoughts. Men were okay. They were simple creatures, really — good for giving babies and sharing a home, bad to share a bed with. Women were lovely in bed. Some women were wonderful, the only source of real sexual thrills and satisfaction. Sisters were best, Ann declared, nuzzling my cheek.

I wanted to know how Ann could say this. Had she been in bed with other women?

“Not for a while,” she said. I quizzed her. Ann told me that she and her best friend Maura had made love many times.

It happened, she told me, during sleepovers. But Maura had to go to England. We all knew the story about her aunt needing her in London wasn’t true. She was expecting. She’d fallen pregnant at seventeen, when she and my sister were leading lights in a chastity group.

I felt my own pangs of jealousy, but it would hardly be fair to become angry, not after my relationship with Judith.

We lay silent. The special fragrance of the sex we’d had was everywhere: our faces, our fingers, our skin, on the bedclothes. It was the aroma of nature, of womanly love and desire.

I snuggled closer to Ann and put a hand between my sister’s thighs, dipping a finger into the humid valley of her cunt. There was an instant reaction. Like an underground spring, she began to flow freely, baptizing me with her essence.

Languidly peeling the fleshy hood back, I tipped the pearl of Ann’s clitoris. It felt so like mine. And why not? We were sisters, alike in so many ways.

The Goddess of Lust tempted me. I began to caress my own clit with my unoccupied hand, sighing as the need for satisfaction turned to passion.

Removing my fingers from her sex, Ann got on her knees beside me. “Let me watch you,” she whispered. I moved to one side and opened my legs. She shook her head. “No, let me see you, properly. Kneel up.”

I turned to face her, as wide open as could be. I looked into her eyes as she took in the view, enjoying the spectacle of her young sister masturbating. I felt like a slut — an unbridled slave to sex. But I needed this adventure with Ann. We hadn’t done this since we were kids, yet it was so much a part of what made us lovers.

I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to the pleasures of the flesh, warmed by Ann’s gaze. The escalator was climbing, carrying me step by step toward blissful release. I cupped my left breast, teasing the excited nipple between finger and thumb.

Wanting a glimpse of my sister, I allowed my eyes to open again. Ann was lying back on the pillow, her face flushed. I couldn’t see, but knew her hand was between her legs, enjoying what I was enjoying, experiencing it with me.

A stab of intense pleasure gripped me. My finger slowed and paused, resting on the magic button. I’d almost gone overboard, drowned in a sea of satisfaction before my head was ready for it.

I raised myself up on all fours, crouching in a most unladylike manner. Of course, at that moment I had no intention of behaving like a lady.  I turned myself around, bringing my face towards Ann’s lower half. My feet were on each side of the pillow behind her head. I placed my knees near her ears — then slowly, like guiding a ship into dock, lowered my cunt to Ann’s mouth.

I could sense her breath, cool on the fiery wetness along my cleft.

Her head lifted from the pillow. Gripping my hips, she drew me down and plunged her tongue between the vulva lips, forcing them apart so the tip slithered about in my hidden folds.

Gasping, I thrust a hand between my legs, using two fingers to spread myself open for Ann. I wanted her tongue to love me, to match its wetness with mine, to caress the tingling pearl until my brain went out of control.

I don’t know for how long Ann licked, sucked and kissed me. I was lost in dreamland, running to catch a will-o-the-wisp that appeared and then disappeared in the most unusual places, carrying me along in its wake.

My climax frightened me. I don’t know why. I was safe, comfortable, there with my sister. And yet it hit me like an express train. As its might swept through me, I ascended to the ultimate heights of ecstasy. When it passed, tears were rolling down my cheeks.

Ann and I lay awake for hours. We talked and made love, then talked again, made love again. Our hunger seemed boundless.

When morning came, Ann and I knew that what we’d found in each other’s arms was the real thing. That we were meant to be as one. We still are.

The End