Michael K Smith

Siblings

Chapter 1:

[…from chapter 1…]

My sister, Alexandra, and I had (and have) an unusual relationship, and it was the direct result of birth order and our closeness in age. At least, that's what I prefer to think – that it was circumstances beyond our control.

I was born in Mendocino County, California, at 3:45 a.m. on January 6, 1955. Alex was born at 3:52 a.m. on the same day in 1956. One year and seven minutes difference. We looked very much alike: dark auburn hair, gray-green eyes, lots of freckles, a certain sharp narrowness in the nose. We were about the same size, too, especially as teenagers.

People frequently assumed we were twins, we were so similar. And especially because there was only a single digit's difference when we had to fill out bureaucratic forms that required a birth date. More than once, some clerk increased Alex's age by a year or shaved a year off mine. Before we were even in school, we had begun to think of ourselves as twins, too, in all the important ways, identical twins who happened to be of the opposite sex.

We weren't the only kids in our family. Jack was five years older than me and Philip was eight years older – post-World War II babies, both of them. They had half a decade in which to become mutually supportive before Alex and I showed up, and the difference in age between them and us was large enough that we were almost like two separate families.

I don't mean they picked on either of us. I realized later that they could have made our lives hell, but both of them behaved well enough toward us. They were just too far ahead in age to have anything in common with us. So they practiced benign neglect toward "the kids" and Alex and I stuck more and more to each other's company.

More important, our parents naturally were more concerned with the school activities and career plans of their two oldest boys. When I was starting junior high, Philip was a year away from finishing his college degree and was beginning to interview with company recruiters. Jack was about to go off to a good college on a scholarship and had his own ambitious plans. Nobody was much interested in what I was learning in seventh grade. For whatever reason, I never developed any bitterness about this casual disinterest. I didn't throw tantrums or break windows to get my parents' attention. I was proud of my brothers and they did give me their attention when I sought it out (which wasn't often). But they could have been uncles instead of brothers.

Alex had it a little worse. She wasn't "planned," of course, being so close to me in age, and she became aware early on that her conception had been unexpected. When we were little, we both heard Dad making what had obviously become a standard joke to friends and relatives – that their only daughter had arrived postage-due, "but we kept her anyway." And he didn't mean it maliciously, which was almost worse. It was an unconsciously hurtful thing to say, and Alex WAS hurt by it. That stupid joke made me angry as well, and it bonded me even closer to my sister. I was only eight or nine years old, so I could hardly say anything to my father about his unfeeling jokes, but I comforted Alex when she cried in her room. We began about that time to think of ourselves not even as twins, but in some way as one person.

By the time I was twelve, Dad had reached a moderately successful level as a regional sales manager in his company and he began to travel much more extensively and frequently around his enlarged territory. He was often gone two or three weeks at a time.

At about the same time, Mother's arthritis, from which she had first begun to suffer at the age of 35, became increasingly severe in her legs. Now, she was confined to walking only very short distances and was often in a wheelchair. She chafed at the inactivity forced on her and discovered new ways to do her shopping and cooking and laundry. She hated it when people tried to do things for her that she could still manage to do for herself, so she didn't demand our sympathy and constant attention.

Looking back, I admire her for that determination not to be a burden. At the time, however, it had the principal benefit for us that she almost never came Upstairs. It exhausted her and she showed up above the ground floor less and less often. After Jack abandoned his room and went off to college, Upstairs became*our* territory, Alex's and mine.

Dad usually came up for a few minutes when he returned from a trip, so we kept our rooms as clean as anyone has a right to expect from active adolescents. We hauled our laundry down to the washer and took turns mopping out our bathroom once a week. We folded and put away our own clothes and changed our own burned-out light bulbs. We made sure Dad was satisfied with our attention to our living quarters and he pretty much left us to manage the upper part of the house to suit ourselves, which confirmed our territoriality. And it gave us an almost adult sense of privacy.

Again, looking back, I realize Dad just wasn't much interested in the two of us. Philip and Jack together formed the focus of his paternal instinct. They were born in the lean years following Dad's discharge from the Army, when he drove a cab and sold furniture while going to college on the G.I. Bill. He and Mother lived in a tiny apartment and scraped along through the tail end of the 1940s, first by themselves and then with a son. In 1950, almost 30 years old, Dad finished college and landed a good sales job with a company that wholesaled office machines. Jack was born a few months later.

By the mid-1950s, when I showed up almost as an afterthought, my older brothers were in school, riding the forward curl of the Baby Boom wave. Apparently, Mother and Dad had intended to stop at two children but took a chance on a third, and never expected a fourth at all. So our parents weren't cruel or even deliberately unkind. Just not terribly involved with their two youngest. As Alex and I outgrew clothes or toys, they disappeared from the house, passed on or donated somewhere, with an air of relief hanging over them.

When I went over to some friend's house to play, we usually did things in his room – especially if he also had brothers and sisters. Any younger sibling who entered the room uninvited was pushed out and the door shut behind him or her. I accepted this as natural and normal at the time. It wasn't until I was entering adolescence that I realized that very few of my friends or Alex's had ever seen the upper half of our house. We had a large den and TV room downstairs where the family's supply of games was stored (now used only by the two of us), and that was where we usually played with our friends, whether separately or all in a group. Since Alex and I were so close in age, we had several good friends in common. Those few were the only ones ever invited Upstairs, and then only rarely.

When children begin to enter puberty they become physically very self-conscious. Bathroom doors are shut and even locked. Boys discovered sorting their sisters' underwear out of the dryer are tongue-lashed by its owner. One of my friends once playfully hid his younger sister's first training bra, and she nearly had hysterics when she realized her brother had actually touched it. Anyone who's not an "only" has had similar experiences, I'm sure, especially in a brother/sister mix.

I mention these things only to say that Alex and I were different. When Alex was standing in front of the hall linen closet in her first bra and panties, digging out the fluffiest towel she could find, I didn't make snide cracks. The first and only time I hooked a finger under the back strap of her bra and snapped it (doesn't every brother do that?), she ignored me… until I turned and began to walk away. Then she snapped me with a towel with such accuracy and finesse it felt like a needle had been jabbed in my ass. I jumped, she giggled "Gotcha!," and that was all. We were even-up and there was no escalation.

We usually helped each other make up both our beds simply because it went much faster. The first time she noticed the stiff places on my bottom sheet where I had had nocturnal emissions or had jerked off, and asked me what*that* was, I flushed in embarrassment. She could have made capital on that for weeks, but she chose discretion and shrugged.

So, we were normal kids in most respects. We simply never did anything to hurt or upset each other. "I'm telling!" was not something either of us ever said to the other. An enlightened and mature attitude, I suppose, but I know neither of us ever reasoned it out. I can't remember a time we weren't best friends. That was just the way it was between us.

We played pranks on each other, and we exchanged the usual teasing insults, and we argued frequently. We even had occasional fights and got angry at each other, but it was always over a serious and substantive issue, not just because "siblings always fight." And we always made up in a day or so and never carried grudges. It took us both awhile to realize, from visiting friends' homes, that our relationship was not the norm.

*****

We were protective of each other in the outside world, too. When Alex was in fifth grade and I was in sixth, she chanced one spring week to get on the wrong side on three boys in my class. For several days, they pushed her around at recess and sabotaged her assignments in class. She didn't know why they had singled her out but for awhile she was half in a rage and half in tears most of the day. Typically, she kept her problem to herself and when I finally asked her what was the matter she wouldn't tell me.

I lagged behind her the next afternoon, however, and deliberately spied on her. Our house was only four blocks from school, so we usually walked home. The villainous sixth grade boys were on bikes, though, and they charged out of an alley while she was crossing a street in the middle of a residential block. They circled her like Mongol raiders, knocking the books out of her hands and jeering at her tears. Several other homebound students witnessed the raid but most kids learn early not to draw attention to themselves when one of their number becomes the focus of unwanted malevolent attention.

I was in a different situation regarding the victim, of course. I was not a fighter, not in any way. I never picked fights, preferring to use my already sharp tongue. And if my tongue caused someone to chase me, I ran. I may not have been physically courageous but I wasn't stupid either.

But this was something else altogether. I didn't stop to think about it. I just dropped my book bag and my gym shoes on the sidewalk and ran the fifty yards to the marauders, becoming more angry with every stride. My profanity wasn't very developed anyway, so I kept my mouth shut. I also knew instinctively that taking on three boys my own size required surprise tactics. I was heading directly toward Alex, though I had no idea what I was going to do when I reached her.

As it happened, one of the bastards nearly intercepted my course without yet noticing me, and I jumped in the air knee-high and kicked his bike with my feet as my body hurtled into his. He never knew what hit him. His bike and his head bounced off the asphalt simultaneously, with a satisfying double-crash.

I scrambled up and saw a hand reaching for me with an unbelieving face behind it as the next rider missed hitting me by inches. I grabbed the hand and the wrist and hung on, and the boy yanked himself off his bike by his own momentum. He landed on his knees and tried to grab my leg with his other hand, so I kicked him hard in the face and let go of him. Instinct again. Had I stopped to think about what I was doing, he would have beaten the crap out of me. But he shrieked, went over on his back, and clapped both hands over his nose and mouth.

The third boy had slewed his bike sideways in a frantic attempt not to run into his buddy, and now had gotten the cuff of his jeans caught in the chain. He had his back turned as he tried to extricate himself from his machine. I yelled wordlessly and jumped on his back, grabbed his hair, and began knocking his face against the horizontal bar of the bike. Kids don't fight "fair" when it's a serious contest; they take any advantage they can get.

He reached behind him, managed to grab my ear, and tried hard to pull it off. I yelped at the sudden pain and tried to disengage, but he hung on and twisted himself around where he could get both hands on me. I wasn't going to get out of this unbruised; some of my anger began to be replaced by fear.

But all this time, all two or three minutes of it, I'd forgotten about Alex. She was angry, too. As the third boy cocked his free arm, preparing to bury his fist in my eye, my sweet sister let him have it from behind with her history textbook – the thick, heavy one. I was focused on that fist and heard three separate thudding sounds before I realized what was happening. The repeated concussions made the third Mongol forget all about me. He was crying and yelling and trying to get away. He finally escaped by tearing his jeans, leaving part of the cuff wedged in the chain, and falling over his bike. The pointed front of the bicycle seat caught him square in the nuts and then he was rolling around in the street, clutching his crotch and moaning.

The first boy was trying not very successfully to sit up. Blood was running down his neck and across his head and he had managed to smear it across his face. At first glance, he appeared to have been scalped.

The second one was still covering his lower face with his hands and there was blood all down his shirt front and one tooth lying in the street. He saw it too, and picked it up and stared at it. The only blood on me belonged to the other three, though I had managed to rip two buttons off my shirt.

As I said, I'm not a fighter, and I suddenly began to shake, sitting there in the street. The thrill of victory was whooping somewhere in the back of my mind, but it was mostly obscured by growing fear. Mother and Dad were going to kill me. I'd probably be expelled. Maybe the police would come to the house. Alex was alternately sobbing and laughing as she hung onto my arm. When she felt me shaking, though, she came to her senses more quickly than I did.

"C'mon," she said urgently. "Let's get outta here."

She pulled and pushed me to my feet and quickly gathered up her scattered school books. We both looked around. Perhaps a dozen other students of varying ages were standing, frozen, up and down the block, some in the street and some on the sidewalk. I saw only one adult – a man who had been parking in front of his house ten yards away and was now standing and leaning over his open car door with his mouth open. I paid attention to him especially. The other kids were just kids, but adults were a different species.

The man finally found his voice. "I saw it all, kid, it wasn't your fault. You two get on home and I'll take care of these bullies." He looked disgustedly at the three losers and I felt some relief.

Alex and I hurried back to where I had dropped my own stuff, noting the nervousness or fright of the smaller children we passed. Those our own age mostly grinned, though. The boys in the street were not popular. Probably nobody here was going to volunteer evidence against me. We walked quickly down the block and around the corner, making a two-block detour to get home; I didn't want to have to walk again past the boys I had beaten up.

That's when I realized, for the first time, that I*had* beaten them. Three-to-one odds, and I had won. A satisfying thing for an adolescent boy to discover about himself. But there was also the sobering knowledge that I couldn't get away with that kind of surprise attack more than once. The story would be all over school by the end of tomorrow's classes. And I'd have to be careful or I was going to get my own self beaten up by kids who had decided I had stepped out of the pecking order. Not to mention the revenge these three losers would undoubtedly plan against me.

As usual, Alex was reading my mind. "Michael, don't worry." We were both out of breath from our attempt to escape the scene. "That man was Charlene Huff's father. He's a cop, a lieutenant or something. I don't think he's going to bother us or he'd already have done it. Besides, he said he saw the whole thing. Maybe those creeps will be in more trouble than us." It was typical that she said "us" and not "you." She'd only gotten in three blows and her school dress wasn't even mussed – never mind that she was the victim – but it was still "us."

Then she squeezed my arm and smiled and said "My hero," without a trace of irony. She made it sound lighthearted but she meant it. I was no knight in shining armor and we both knew it. She also knew, now, that I was willing to risk serious trouble on her behalf. I don't think it came as a surprise to either of us.

We found out later that her estimation of the situation was pretty much correct. Detective Lieutenant Huff apparently displayed his badge of office to the three Mongols, which frightened them into giving their true names and addresses. Then he made a point of going around to each set of parents to explain how their sons had ended up in such a sorry condition and why they hadn't better "assault a little girl" again. Charlene knew the three, of course, and presumably filled in her father on their previous terrorist activities. Nobody I knew had ever*seen* the inside of Juvenile Detention and nobody wanted to. So I was a minor hero for a few days, mostly to earlier victims of the gang. And Alex, without telling me, made sure through her girlfriend network that the word went out: Don't start on me or my brother, or Charlene Huff's father will hear about it.

Chapter 2:

[…from chapter 2…]

I remember very clearly when I realized Alex was growing up, because it momentarily frightened me. I went into the bathroom one morning when I was thirteen and found several fresh drops of dark blood on the tile floor in front of the toilet, by the simple method of stepping in it. There was more blood in the bowl itself.

I looked wildly at the backs of my arms and legs and checked quickly in the mirror to see if I had a nosebleed. There wasn't a mark on me. It had to be my sister, the only other person who ever used the Upstairs bathroom. So I hurried into her room.

"Alex!" I said too loudly. "Are you all right? Where'd the blood come from?" She was sleeping on her stomach, but she awoke with a start, raised her head, and stared at me in alarm.

"What blood?! Where?"

"In the bathroom, on the floor! Did you hurt yourself?" She stared blankly at me for a moment before her eyes registered comprehension. She let her head fall back on the pillow.

"No, dummy. I just started my period during the night. Sorry I made a mess. I'll clean it up when I get up…" She began to drowse off again.

Her period. Oh. Yes, that WAS pretty stupid of me. The boys' Health classes in school covered the physical development of both sexes, so I knew, in theory, what menstruation was. I just hadn't put my foot in it before now. I slipped out of my sister's room, embarrassed and sheepish. Then I returned to the bathroom and mopped up the blood, now smeared by my foot, and then went back to lie, wide awake, in my own bed for the two hours before we had to get up for school.

When the alarm went off, I climbed out of bed again and wandered back to the bathroom. Alex was already there, in her ubiquitous sleeping tee-shirt, brushing her teeth. She turned when I came in, her mouth full of toothpaste.

"I said I'd clean it up, Michael."

"What? Oh. Well, I stepped in it and smeared it, and I didn't want it to dry there. Besides, I woke you up at five o'clock." I was still embarrassed, not because she had begun having periods but because she hadn't mentioned it to me.

My sister could read my expressions as fluently as I could read hers. "Michael? I didn't mean to embarrass you; I was still asleep. I started having periods a couple months ago, and I'm just not used to it yet. It makes me feel pretty weird." She continued to look at me.

I patted her on the back. "That's okay, Alex. You just caught me by surprise. I thought you had hurt yourself somehow. This is a new experience for me, too."

Now I was succumbing to curiosity. "Uh, are you using a- a Kotex, or what? I mean, I don't want to pry…"

She replied with her tinkly, high amusement laugh. "No, they're too bulky, you can see the outline right through your slacks. I'm using a tampon."

I must have looked blank this time. "Isn't that the same thing?"

She laughed again and raised the front of her tee-shirt above her panties. "No, it's not! I'm using one now and it doesn't show at all." She saw my puzzled expression. "In fact, I need to change it before we go to school. You can watch if you want to…"

"Really? We didn't get this kind of detail in Health class. Obviously." I had no idea what this was going to involve but I suspected it might make me a little sick. Maybe I had better skip breakfast this morning.

Alex motioned for me to sit on the closed toilet seat while she got down a cardboard box from the bathroom closet and dug from it a paper-wrapped cylinder. Then she pushed her panties down and put one foot up on the seat of the old wooden chair we kept in the bathroom.

This was also something new. I noted with interest that she was developing a sizable patch of auburn pubic hair, almost exactly the same shade as the hair on her head,… and on my head, for that matter. Then I saw a white string dangling from her crotch.

Holding a folded-over pad of toilet paper between her legs, she tugged on the string and extracted a bright red something the size and shape of a hot dog, which glistened wetly. She wrapped it up carefully in the toilet paper and dropped it in the wastebasket. There was a strange new aroma about her, very different but not exactly unpleasant. Just strange.

She dabbed between her legs with another wad of toilet paper, moistened this time to clean off any blood that had trickled around the Tampax. Then she quickly unwrapped the fresh pack, revealing two telescoped cardboard tubes, like a large toy hypodermic. Spreading her labia with the fingers of one hand, she pushed the tube up into herself with the other, depressed the "plunger," and withdrew the tube, which was now tinged with red. A new string dangled from her crotch.

"See?" she said calmly. "Nothing to worry about. And I just gave you a free shot at my pussy, too," she added with a grin. She pulled her panties up and turned back to the sink to wash her hands.

I sat there another few seconds, thinking about what I had just seen. Neither of us was particularly body-conscious, so nudity was not a big thing. I had seen my sister naked a number of times and vice versa. But this was the first time I had actually been shown what lay hidden between her legs… and she had volunteered it. Was she just teasing me? Or was there a message here I didn't yet understand? I was pretty sure none of my friends at school who had sisters had had such an experience, or we all would have heard about it. I, on the other hand, wouldn't tell them, or anyone else, a thing. And Alex knew it.

Maybe that's why she did it, I thought. Starting her periods means she's growing up and who else can she show that off to? And she knows she can trust me not to gossip about it at school.

I reached over to my sister, now standing only a foot away at the sink, and moved my hand lightly down the back of her thigh and the inside of her knee. I knew she liked that caress, and she did indeed look over at me with a wide smile.

"You have a very nice…," I began and then couldn't think of an appropriate word.

"Pussy? I know. Thank you, Michael." Her smile was warm and candid. We were an odd couple, even at that age.

Chapter 3:

[…from chapter 3…]

I was working on my third model Zero, being careful to use only the minimum amount of plastic cement. The two halves of each wing were drying in their network of rubber bands, and I was just about ready to insert the wings into the slots in the fuselage. The first two models had come out okay and were lined up on the shelf before me where I could visually check the wing angles. I painted a thin bead of cement along the wing slots, inserted the wings, checked the angles, and prepared to hold my hands steady for five minutes. I intended to have a flight of three Japanese fighters arranged in a diving formation over my study desk, properly detailed and painted and each with its own individual markings.

Alex's head poked in the door, dark red ponytail askew. She watched in silence for a few seconds as I sat unmoving.

"What are you doing?"

I looked at my sister, then back at the model, then patiently back at my sister. She saw my expression and held up a hand. "Okay, I know: You're working on a model. But what are you DOING?"

"I'm holding the wings steady until the cement dries, so they won't sag."

She nodded as if her worst fears for my sanity had been realized. I raised an eyebrow. "Hey, do I make fun of the stuffed animals on your pillow?"

She smiled and continued into my room in cutoffs and a tee-shirt, collapsing on my bed, arms out, with a loud, dramatic sigh. "I'm bored."

I didn't even look up. "It's 10:30 Saturday morning, Alex. How can you be bored?" I kind of knew what she meant, though. I mean, here I was with nothing better to do than build model planes.

"I bet you could think of something to do if you worked at it. What about the Coven?" My name for the four or five girls she ran around with, doing "girl things" together.

"Oh, they're all out of town for the weekend, or they have afternoon dates, or something." She sounded faintly disgusted. "Michael, could WE do something together?"

"Like what?" The wings were setting up perfectly.

"I dunno – go to a show maybe? Just go downtown and walk around and window-shop?"

I looked over at the bed and grinned. "Well, I could take you to the playground and hold your hand while you go down the*big* slide…"

She stuck out her tongue and then grinned back. I liked the way her nose wrinkled when she did that.

"I'm serious! It's a nice day – we could just go out and do something and have fun together, couldn't we? Unless you're embarrassed to be seen with your little sister, of course."

"No, I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you, and you're not so little anymore, anyway." I thought about discovering her menstruation a few months before; I tried to think of her as a "woman" now, but it often wasn't easy.

The Zero's wings had set enough that I could let go of them, but I slipped a paperback book under each wing, just in case. I turned sideways in my chair. Alex had her hands behind her head and was idly kicking one bare foot over her cocked knee. I thought about things I needed to do, projects I ought to work on. Nothing. I was caught up on my schoolwork and so, probably, was Alex. No pressing errands. No place I really had to be today. God, it WAS going to be a boring day! On the other hand, though Alex and I teased each other without mercy, I really did like her company and I knew the feeling was reciprocated. We had become very comfortable just hanging out together.

"You know what we both need?" I said. "Exercise. EASY exercise. You feel like hiking around Fremont Park for a couple of hours?"

Fremont was a large, semi-wild area on the eastern edge of town that combined lawns and softball fields and cycling paths with rocky trails and not-too-difficult ravines. High school students went there with their steadies, to lie in the sun or to sit up amongst the boulder-strewn hillsides and make out. Young mothers strolled their infants, older kids climbed trees and tossed frisbees. In the summer, the park was pretty busy on weekends, but this was a surprisingly mild day in March and most families would be stoking up their charcoal for the first cook-out of the year, or attacking the winter's accumulation of yard work.

Alex considered the suggestion for perhaps half a second before bouncing up with a broad, sparkling smile. "That's a great idea! Wait'll I get my Keds!" She hurried out, toes curled for traction as she angled across the hall.

We frequently rode our bikes over to Fremont, but the idea today was to hike, and if we parked the bikes someplace – even locked – the odds were slim that they would be there when we came back. But it was only a fifteen-minute bus ride from the end of our block to the park, so it was still well before noon when we arrived. There were a few athletic types around, but the families wouldn't begin to appear before late lunch.

"Wanna head for anyplace special?" Alex asked as we got off the bus.

"No place special," I replied. "In fact, let's just go wherever we happen to go. There's no hurry; we can just stroll, okay?"

Alex nodded agreement and we set off at an easy pace along the tree-edged path that separated the open, nearly empty lawns on our left from the rolling, rocky hillsides on the right. We ambled along and I hooked my thumbs in my front pockets. Alex looped her arm through mine. She was only a inch or so shorter than me and we fit together quite well.

"This is nice," she said lazily and squeezed my arm.

A few minutes later, we witnessed one of those otherwise minor incidents, those little public dramas, that can unexpectedly make a real change in your life. Three boys about ten years old came tearing down the path on their bikes and swerved around us. Several lengths behind them was a girl a year or two younger, wearing jeans and a plaid blouse, peddling as hard as she could.

"Keith!" she yelled angrily. "Mom said not to go off and leave me! Wait up!"

One of the boys threw up his hands in dramatic frustration and coasted to a stop while the girl hurried to catch up. The other two boys began cruising in a circle on the grass off to one side, laughing at their buddy's encumbrance. The girl skidded to a halt just behind her brother. She was nearly in tears.

"Why don't you just go home, kid?" Keith looked very disgusted. "Sisters aren't good for anything!" He glared a challenge at her.

"I just want to play…," the girl replied, looking down at her shoes.

"Well, we don't want you playing with us! Get away from me! Just leave me alone!" And he did a wheelie on his bike as he raced off to join his friends. They all headed for the beginning of one of the park's network of hill trails.

The girl watched them go, then slowly turned her bike around and headed back the other way. She wasn't crying aloud, but the misery of rejection was plain in her eyes. There were tears on her cheeks and she was biting her lower lip. As she passed us, I realized that Alex was about to say something to her.

Bad idea, I knew it instinctively. I trapped the hand that had begun to slip off my arm and said, softly but firmly, "No."

Alex looked at me, startled, and then the girl had passed and so had the opportunity to intervene.

"Why did you stop me?" She looked surprised. "I was just going to tell her to keep her chin up – that not all brothers are like that. Didn't you see the way he treated that poor kid?"

I raised my eyebrows; she really didn't understand. "In other words, you were going to point out to her how much luckier YOU were. And how would that have made her feel?"

Alex opened her mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. She looked for a moment at the snubbed girl, who was peddling slowly into the distance with her head down, then looked back at me and nodded unhappily.

"You're right; I didn't think. Sorry." She took my arm again and we went on. She was thinking, and I thought I knew what about, but I kept my mouth shut.

My sister looked over and stared at my profile for several seconds before asking, "Michael,… why aren't we like that?"

My thoughts had been running along the same lines. "You mean, why don't we detest each other, the way everyone else we know does?" She smiled slightly and nodded. "Alex, I don't know. But I'm glad it's different with us."

"Me, too." She squeezed my arm, just a little.

"Maybe," I continued, "maybe we're just different from everyone else, period. I mean, how many people do we know who would even be talking about this? We've always gotten along pretty well – haven't we? Is that abnormal for brothers and sisters? Or maybe we just left that stuff behind quicker than most people."

Alex was nodding her head. She looked at me again and smiled. "Maybe we're emotional geniuses…"

I snorted and we went on. After awhile we found ourselves stepping from ledge to ledge up a hillside trail. There was a series of broad slate shelves to one side near the top of the hill, screened from above by scrub and juniper, which had obviously been left as a bench for climbers. You could see most of the park from there, as well as the trail we had climbed. It seemed like a good place to sit and talk, which I think we both unconsciously wanted to do.

I sat and stuck my legs out, flexing my knees. I needed to get this kind of exercise more often; except for swimming, maybe I was becoming too "bookish." My sister stepped up on the ledge just behind mine, sat down, and leaned her chin on my shoulder. It was an affectionate gesture and I liked it. But her question wasn't what I had expected.

"Michael, how do you feel about me?"

I considered for a moment, but I wasn't sure what she was really asking. "You mean, do I like you more than that kid likes*his* sister? Sure."

"Well,… no – not exactly."

Her voice had an odd tone. I started to turn to look at her but she quickly laid her hand atop my head and prevented it.

"Don't look at me!" she added, so I didn't. "I mean, uh,… um,… Michael, do you love me?" It came out in a rush.

I hadn't had a chance to thing of a good answer so I said the first thing that came into my head. "Of course, I love you, Alex. You're my sister and I care about you a lot."

Her cheek was next to my ear and I could feel her smile. Then she surprised me again: She kissed me on the cheek and quickly sat back. She had kissed me before, when I gave her a birthday present or did her some kind of favor, but somehow this was different. I motioned for her to move down beside me, which she did. Then I put my arm around her neck, my hand dangling loose over her shoulder, and I studied her.

"So? Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

She shrugged, a bit embarrassed, and reached up to lace her fingers through mine. "I don't know,… I just wondered…" I continued to look at her expectantly so she went on.

"Well, that girl looked so unhappy awhile ago, and I was thinking that I'm usually*happy* around you, and,… well, I just wondered."

Then I surprised myself. I leaned over and kissed her at the corner of her eye. She was startled and put her other hand up to touch the spot. I knew that most guys my age would rather eat dirt than kiss their sisters, but it felt like something I wanted to do, and I realized immediately that I had enjoyed it.

Alex was my sister, yes – but she was also a very pretty girl, and I definitely liked girls. Also, she was my very best friend, barring no one. I had warm feelings toward her on all accounts, and I had reason to think she felt much the same way about me. How long had I felt this way? For as long as I could remember. Looking back, I can see that we were unusually mature emotionally, and I can offer no explanation for that.

Because Alex was right: We had never fought, the way most siblings did. We argued, often heatedly, but we never sank to name-calling. If we stomped off in opposite directions after a spat, we always felt guilty soon afterward and sought each other out to be the first to apologize.

I'm not sure our parents were aware of any of this, either. As I've said, we were the objects of benign neglect in most matters, and we made up our own social and psychological norms. We played together when we were little, we shared our toys with almost no arguments, we took each other's part automatically in dealings with other kids (like the famous incident with the Three Bullies) – we cooperated to what was undoubtedly an unnatural degree. It wasn't an attitude or a relationship we arrived at by forethought; it just seemed to be a part of our emotional makeup.

All our lives we had been close, but now we were both growing up. I was becoming acutely aware that there was a female body under the jeans and sweatshirts and – also unusual – I didn't feel guilty or even strange about the realization.

In retrospect, I believe my sister also had a crush on me. I was beginning to catch her watching me unobtrusively with an expression of vague longing. At the time, I just thought she was acting a little oddly. Certainly, I had a matching crush on her; I simply didn't recognize it.

I know I wondered at the time if our relaxed companionability was a "phase" that would end, if we would soon be at each other's throats like everyone else. I hoped that wouldn't happen. I was really beginning to consciously enjoy and appreciate my sister's friendly presence, taken so long for granted. I liked living with someone so similar in appearance, style, and tastes to myself, someone I could talk to about absolutely anything without being jeered. Someone so cute, too. And I didn't think of any of this as "wrong." It was just the way we were, and the fact that we recognized so early that we were different seemed to isolate us even more from our friends and classmates. It drew us more closely together.

I had my friends, Alex had her friends, and we shared a few friends. But then there was "Alex-and-me," and that was like a third person in which each of us shared half the responsibility.

We sat there on the rock ledge by the trail, thinking much the same thoughts and reaching the same conclusions. Alex snuggled a little closer and leaned against me, and I replied by putting my arm around her and squeezing her in a soft hug.

"Michael," she said softly without looking up, "I'm lucky to have you for a brother, aren't I?" She paused and the tenor of her voice saddened. "This probably can't go on, you know that, don't you? What's going to happen to us?"

"It'll go on as long as both of us want it to, Alex." It was what I hoped, not what I knew. We were still very young and hope comes easy at that age.

Alex turned sideways to face me. "Would it be too strange if I kissed you? I mean, on the mouth?"

"Not to me it wouldn't be."

She reached up to my cheek as I spoke and I put my hand on the back of her neck. I felt warm and tender toward her at that moment, but it wasn't exactly "romantic." Neither was it consciously sexual. More like a deliberate emotional bonding.

Our lips met hesitantly. Neither of us had really done this before with anyone – in cold blood, so to speak. But we gained confidence quickly. That first real kiss between us lasted maybe thirty seconds and it was careful and gentle and exploratory, and it felt so very, very nice. And so entirely natural, as if it were destined. Neither of us had second thoughts.

When our lips parted we simply sat and gazed at each other, our hands still in place. It certainly felt like a "magic moment" but neither of us was quite sure why.

I date my love for Alex, for my beautiful and perfect sister, from that moment. I wasn't aware of any kind of emotional watershed at the time, of course. But, looking back, that kiss was when our attitudes and feelings toward each other began slowly to crystalize. When I told that to Alex, years later, she simply nodded in agreement. Our first deliberate kiss, she said, was like being thirsty and "taking a long drink from a cool well." She felt the unexplainable difference, too. And things were never the same for us again.

*****

Without having to think about it, I knew I had more access to Alex's body than was ordinarily the case. A guy in gym was bragging one day about having caught a glimpse of his older sister's "snatch" (a word I never cared for) and I remember disapproving of his leering description and of the snickering reaction of his listeners.

I was as perpetually horny as any other adolescent male, and I was both appreciative of and aroused by the large areas of skin Alex casually revealed to me more and more frequently. But I certainly wasn't going to describe my sister's many luscious attributes with these lowlifes. The braggart had actually gone on recon, hanging out around his house at locations where he would have the best opportunity to steal a peek at his sister's naked body.

Alex showed me what she was willing for me to see – which was virtually all of her – and there was no sneaking involved. She was proud of her body and she enjoyed showing it off to an audience she could trust. She never said "Don't tell anyone," nor did she even imply it, because she knew it wasn't necessary. I had the usual doubts about my own developing sexual equipment, but Alex watched with interest when I changed clothes or took a leak – and that never embarrassed me, either. How many penises could she compare with mine at the age of thirteen?

After our walk in the park and our first real kiss, there was a subtle change in our behavior toward each other, especially at home. Previously, if my door was shut, Alex would knock and wait for me to invite her in. I gave her the same courtesy. But now our personal privacy began to disappear, entirely by mutual consent. I'd knock at her door and then go in, without waiting for permission; Alex did the same. If she was in her underwear, she didn't make a big deal of it, so neither did I. Then our doors were only half-closed, not shut. Then only occasionally closed at all.

The same was true of the bathroom: If one of us was on the toilet, the other ignored the fact. We still were pretty private, but now it was a *shared* privacy directed toward the outside world. It was as if that kiss had sealed a pact of trust between us.

We also spent more and more time together, just occupying adjacent space. Instead of each of us studying in our own rooms, Alex took to occupying my bed, sprawled out with books and papers scattered around her, while I studied at my desk (which was actually a large, old oak library table).

We might not say a word for an hour or more, the silence broken only by the rustle of paper and the scratching of pencils, but just being near each other as we worked made the homework easier. And I discovered the pleasures of reading a novel while lying on my back with my head cushioned in a girl's lap. Sometimes I would look up from whatever I was doing to find Alex simply watching me and smiling. Then I discovered I was doing the same thing.

We began going for walks regularly, but almost always outside our own part of town. We knew instinctively that our friends and acquaintances would hassle us, and we didn't want to start any rumors, either. Because when we went window-shopping downtown or climbing in the hills, we frequently held hands. I'm sure strangers, if they noticed us at all, assumed I was Alex's boyfriend, not her brother, even though we looked so much alike.

We also went to the shows at the old-style theaters downtown, the ones with balconies. We would find ourselves surrounded in an upper loge by a dozen scattered couples passionately making out, and we would look around, grin, and squeeze our clasped hands. I could put my arm around my sister in a dark theater, too, and she could snuggle up against me unobserved. I began to long for a driver's license, but that was still two years away.

Oddly enough, after that first experience on the hillside, we seldom kissed, except for a perfunctory "thank you" on the cheek. Perhaps we regarded it as too valuable and special an experience and we wanted to preserve its rarity. Or maybe we were just fearful of the implications. We recognized that out affection for each other was growing with every passing month, but that didn't mean we understood it. There were occasions, however…

*****

Alex played flute in the junior high band for two years; it later became one activity too many, and she dropped band so she could stay on the swim team. And the flute section, as every band-survivor knows, is on the very front row. When the Spring Concert – the biggest musical event of the year – came around, my little sister discovered she had outgrown last year's "special" dress; as slender as she was, she had still added an inch or more around the bust. Had she been a couple of rows back, mostly hidden from view, she might have tried to fake it by letting out a few seams, but for the front row she knew she'd have to have a new dress.

The rule in our family had always been that Mother and Dad kept us respectably clothed – which they certainly did – but that fancy non-necessaries, like jewelry, and party dresses, and leather jackets, either came at the usual gift times or were paid for with money we earned ourselves.

Alex had a conference downstairs with Mother and came away from it with a $20 contribution. She had another $15 stashed away from babysitting and typing term papers, I knew, but from what I heard her say, the perfect dress, the one she really, really wanted, cost $49.95.

Cokes were still a dime then and I could buy a new pair of Hush Puppies for under $10, so what she had in mind was a significant target. And Alex was $15 short. I asked her if she had actually counted up her savings and she replied morosely that she*knew* how much was in the old stationary box in her bottom drawer.

I thought about it for at least thirty minutes. I had my own savings, of course, in a battered tobacco tin wedged up in my bed springs, and I had vague plans for it. But it really made me unhappy to see my sister so unhappy. I dug out the tin and counted nearly $40; I took out fifteen singles and stuck them in my pocket. I could always mow more lawns.

While Alex was out on an errand later that afternoon, I opened her bottom drawer and dug out her money box. She had twelve singles, the four fives Mother had given her, and a double fistful of quarters. The bills were neatly paperclipped together, and I smoothed out my contribution and added it to the clip.

Alex wandered in and plopped down on my bed an hour later. When I asked her if she had come up with any ideas for the dress she wanted, she shook her head slowly and continued to stare at the ceiling.

"Look," I said, "why don't you go and actually count your savings? When was the last time you did that? You probably don't have any idea how much you have!"

"I counted it a month ago and it was less than $20, I know."

"Would you PLEASE just go and count it again?"

She was becoming a bit annoyed. "Okay, okay, I'll count it again! But it's not enough!" And off she went. I heard her dresser drawer open and shut. Her bed squeaked as she dumped the box out on her comforter. I could barely make out her voice.

"…four, five, six,…"

When she finished, there was a pause of several seconds and then she re-counted, a little louder. Another pause, and she went through the bills a third time. Then there was a much longer pause and I grinned to myself as I pictured her bewilderment. Then I heard her bed squeak again and her bare feet slowly crossed the hall. I had to struggle to keep a straight face as she came through the door, bills clutched in both hands, and a look of mixed puzzlement and suspicion on her face.

"I*couldn't* have had this much!"

"I always knew you couldn't count above three," I replied, raising my eyebrows.

"Michael – did*you* put more money in there? From your savings?"

"Who, me?" I tried to look innocent. "Why would I do that?"

But I was like a pane of window glass to Alex. She walked over to my desk chair. "I KNOW why you did it. Now, stand up."

I must have looked a bit puzzled myself as I pushed the chair back and got up.

She put her arms around my neck and stared me square in the eye, her nose an inch from mine. "You did it because you're absolutely wonderful, and I don't deserve you for a brother," she said softly with tears in her lashes. Then she kissed me, slowly, lingeringly, in a way that sent muscle spasms through my toes. I held her by the shoulders because I was, frankly, afraid to put my arms around her waist. I wasn't sure I would be able to let go. That kiss seemed to go on and on, though it probably lasted only a minute or two.

She hugged me, her cheek damp against mine. "Why do you do things like this for me? I'll pay you back before school's out, I promise."

"You'll do no such thing," I replied firmly. I had already thought about this, too, and I knew how I wanted it to be. "That's not a loan; it's a gift. More than that: It's yours because you need it more right now than I do. Alex, you're my sister and I want you to be happy. Anything I have – anything I*ever* have – is yours. Always."

She pulled her head back and stared at me, and then her expression shifted and the look on her face held such wonder and happiness that I got tingly feelings in all my nerve endings. And there was something else in her face that I couldn't identify at the time, and which she may not even have realized was there.

But I've seen it many times since when she looks at me. It was the first dawn of real love. It was more than just affection – and it struck me like the sun rising on a summer day. Then she hugged me again and her arms trembled as she tried not to burst into tears. And this time I put my arms around her and hugged back. Like Alex, I wasn't sure what had just happened – was still happening – but I felt, again, as I had after our very first kiss, an almost physical change in my feeling for my sister, a change I was certain she had experienced, too.

Chapter 4:

[…from chapter 4…]

I began going out on real dates when I was fifteen. These days, I suppose, kids of both sexes are old hands at dating by the time they're twelve, but parents weren't so progressive in the middle America of my adolescence. I was always perfectly at ease with Alex but I often seemed to be afflicted with stupidity around other girls. Before and after school and during gym, the boys would gather and pool their intelligence on the girls, liberally salting their accounts with exaggeration, complete lies, and inept psychological analysis.

It was a relief to discover, through Alex, that the girls were following much the same procedure. For my sister was my secret weapon in that first, tentative confrontation between the sexes, and I was hers.

"One of the guys claims Liz Nowotny almost never wears panties to school," I might remark hopefully.

Alex would giggle in delight. "Well, she must change in her hall locker then! She wears fake satin underwear in gym class!" Sometimes there would be a bonus: "She also pads her bra with tissues!" Which I would then report back to the trenches on the boys' side of the field, adopting a knowing smirk if someone demanded documentation.

Within a few months, Alex was also enrolled in the dating game. If a boy asked her out whom she was uncertain of, she often came to me for a background check. I don't believe I was ever really jealous of the fact that my little sister was out at night, holding hands in a movie or making out in the back seat of a car. She was all mine at home, after all.

She seemed to have much the same attitude. We were unnatural allies in the genetic competition. We teased each other remorselessly about our dates, but we also were willing to betray our same-sex friends to spare each other social disaster and personal humiliation.

"Tommy Thatcher?! Alex, don't you know that every girl he even manages to hold hands with, three hours later he's bragging he screwed her or at least felt her up? And he tells every guy in school!"

Or, "Why would you even*think* of asking Eileen Zimmer to a pool party?! Nobody's ever even seen her knees in the locker room, she's such a prude. If she even*owns* a swim suit, I'll bet it has long legs and sleeves and a full skirt!"

And so we managed to save ourselves from most situations of potential public embarrassment. There was a positive side to our information exchange, too. If my sister told me that a girl I was planning to ask out loved to collect hickeys in unusual places to show off to her friends, then I would make an effort to be creative.

And when Alex went out on a tennis date with Brian, a reasonably intelligent jock I knew from math class, I informed her in advance of his admiration for girls who weren't afraid to compete with him; he abhorred simpering "lil' ol' me" types. So she played the game hard and worked up a real sweat, and although Brian won the match, it wasn't by much. He stopped me in the hall the next day, grinning and shaking his head.

"That's some sister you got, man! Really a neat girl!" I could only agree with him.

Since Alex and I had tacitly agreed long before that we could tell or ask each other anything, our dating experiences led to more intimate dialogue. We began to relate our discoveries and blunders to each other in detail and to compare interpretations and perspectives.

*****

One Sunday night when it was uncomfortably warm and humid, we spread a comforter on the floor in my room and lay on our backs in front of the laboring window air conditioning unit, I in my briefs, she in her red rayon bikini panties – a recent acquisition which demonstrated her growing confidence about herself. We lay like starfish, limbs outstretched and overlapping, trying to stay cool.

Alex was absently trailing her fingernails lightly over my chest and shoulders, creating a delightfully shivery sensation. When we were alone together these days, the need for physical contact was almost overwhelming.

I needed to tell her about my date the night before, which had not been a notable success; I wanted to understand why. And, as usual, Alex made it easy for me.

"So, how was your date with Susie Ellis?"

"Awful! She'll never go out with me again."

I regretted it, too. Susie was not only a very cute little blonde, she was also bright and articulate. I valued intelligent conversation on a date, along with the kissing and groping.

"When I put my arm around her in the theater, she liked it; she even leaned over toward me on the arm rest. But when I took her home and tried to put my arm around her so I could kiss her goodnight, she went stiff as a board and practically shoved me away! I see her in class every day, and she's friendly enough then. What did I do?!"

Alex chuckled sympathetically. "I think in the movie she felt safe because there were a lot of other people around; in the car, she was all alone with you." Alex glanced over and saw that I wasn't getting her point.

"You probably don't know this," she continued, "but last year Susie was attacked by some creep, an older man, in the parking lot at Sears. He pushed her into a car and started grabbing her tits and stuff before she could scream. Artie and a couple other guys heard her and ran over to help, but the creep took off and they couldn't catch him. Anyway, Susie's still afraid of being alone with a guy, I think. So it wasn't anything you did – really, it wasn't."

The next Friday night, I ran into Susie at the football game and we sat together in the stands and rah-rah'ed together and laughed together… and I was careful not to touch her.

Making our way slowly out of the packed stadium afterward, I invited her for a coke and offered to include a ride home. She glanced over her shoulder at me and hesitated a moment, but then she smiled and accepted. We gossiped and chattered about inconsequential things over our fountain drinks for half an hour, and Susie relaxed in my company. And I still kept my hands to myself.

When we arrived in front of her house, though, her smile suddenly seemed frozen with tension. I set the hand brake and immediately hopped out and went around to open her door for her. She looked surprised and relieved, and as I walked her slowly up the winding flagstones to her door I kept my fingers hooked in my back belt loops.

"'Night, Susie; I really enjoyed it. See you in Math tomorrow, okay?" I turned to go but she reached out and touched my arm.

"Michael, wait…" I turned to face her again. Now her eyes and her lips said she thought she was willing to be kissed, but I still waited. It had to be her own decision.

"You're really a nice guy…" She twisted her hands together and bit her lip for a moment, undecided about how to proceed. Then she looked up at me from under her lashes and said in a soft almost-whisper, "Would you kiss me…?"

I smiled my most trustworthy smile and held her chin still with one finger laid carefully along her jaw line. Do it slowly, don't grab, I told myself. I leaned forward and pressed my lips firmly against hers. No tongue, no nibbling. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed a little as she leaned into the kiss.

She was basically a friendly person; she wanted to like people. I knew she was relieved to discover she could overcome her lingering fright, to find that she could again enjoy this wonderful human contact. And that was what I intended her to feel. Susie was a very nice girl and it really bothered me that the assault she had undergone also had separated her from boys who liked her and who meant her no harm at all. We broke contact slowly and before I straightened, I brushed away the tears shining on her lower lashes.

"It's okay, Susie," I said softly. "I know you always have to be careful, but not every guy is a son of a bitch."

She swallowed and nodded, quickly kissed me once more on the cheek, squeezed my hand, and slipped through the door. I walked back to the car, hands in my pockets, feeling pleased with myself and pleased for Susie. It hadn't been a completely unselfish act, I knew that well enough, but it was still the right thing to have done.

[NOTE: From Chap 4 of the "Siblings" novel; set 1970; he's 15, she's 14. Some minor correcting and rewriting for continuity has been done since this section was first posted…]

OPENING MOVES

by Michael K. Smith

Alex made the freshman swimming team when she was fourteen. So had I, the previous year, and now I was on the 10th Grade boy's team; I was proud of my little sister and pleased that we would both be on the "jock bus" to out-of-town interscholastic meets.

I had discovered already that I simply wasn't designed physically or mentally to be a participant in what nonswimmers regarded as "real" sports, like football or basketball. You had to force yourself to become a cog in a machine and that wasn't for me.

Swimming and track, though, where you did most of your practicing alone, were a different kind of athletics. Competing against other individuals, head-to-head, or against your own previous best effort, was much more enjoyable. At least, it suited me and it seemed to suit Alex, and we both became steady performers in both sports.

To our coaches, people like us were the "backbones of the team": not many First Place ribbons, but always well up in the standings. Neither Alex nor I would ever qualify for a college athletic scholarship – I think we simply lacked the bloodlust that level of competitiveness demands – but neither would we embarrass ourselves or our teams.

Rather than the bulging calves and linebacker's shoulders that many young swimmers develop, my sister acquired instead long, sleek leg muscles and flat, rippling surfaces across her upper back. I found the result very appealing… but I was hardly an unbiased observer. Many of the other girls, when they made the team, cut their hair very short as a sort of ritual of achievement, but Alex refused to give up her coppery mane. Her body was developing in all the best places, too. Her hips widened enough to hold up her jeans and her waist narrowed; the baby fat disappeared quickly. Daily training at the pool kept her stomach flat and taut, and her bottom quivered nicely rather than bouncing.

Some girls at school possessed breasts that practically exploded into 'boobs' – double-A to C- or D-cup in a semester or less. They became very popular dates with the more mammary-minded boys. I had several opportunities myself to squeeze, suck, and wallow between pairs of hyperdeveloped tits, and it was definitely a stimulating experience – but I suspected even then that such accessories would require mechanical support before many more years passed. I also learned the truth of the old wisecrack: "Any more than you can get in your mouth at one time is wasted."

Like all the rest of her, I regarded my sister's breasts to be near-perfect – the standard beside which all others should be judged. She had barely enough silhouette to be considered sexy by the unimaginative, but even though her bust line was relatively small, it remained firm as the result of regular exercise. Her breasts rode high and proud on her torso and they never, ever sagged. Whether she lay on her back or stood up straight with her shoulders braced, her tits hardly changed their shallow conical shape. And each was crowned by a frequently erect nipple, as prominent as a watchtower on a hilltop.

By today's social standards, my opinion of what constitutes physical attractiveness in a woman may be considered sexist, but I claim a neo-Platonic view of the aesthetic ideal – and Alex at fourteen fit that ideal as perfectly as I could wish.

Our physical relationship also began to change shortly after we turned fifteen and fourteen. About the same time I was learning the techniques of successful masturbation, I became aware that Alex had embarked on her own journey of discovery. This came as a surprise, though I realized immediately that it shouldn't have. It simply hadn't occurred to me that a girl was perfectly capable of enjoying sex all by herself.

I'm amazed I was so blind. On several occasions I found my sister sitting barefoot on the old kitchen chair in her room, one foot tucked comfortably beneath her, the other swinging slowly to and fro. The nail polish or emery board in her hand was forgotten and her slightly glazed eyes had a faraway look. If I interrupted her, she blinked and that was that, but on one occasion I stopped in the hall and watched in fascination. The foot-rocking continued for several minutes and her gaze became more and more unfocused until finally the foot stopped and she let out a deep sigh. Then she blinked several times and licked her lips, and seemed to return from wherever she had been. She looked up and saw me in the hall, and ducked her head. Her ears turned pink but I somehow knew not to ask, and she volunteered nothing.

Bladder pressure forced me out of bed early one Sunday morning, and as I headed sleepily back from the bathroom I paused in the hallway at the sound of my sister's bed creaking rhythmically. My own bed made the same sound when I jerked off, so it certainly caught my attention. I edged down the hall, keeping to the shadows of the far wall, until I could see Alex's bed through the half-open door. And I stood silently and watched her bring herself off, mesmerized by the sight, pounded by guilt for peeking, and totally unable to move.

Her sleeping shirt was up around her midriff and her white cotton panties were pushed down just far enough to allow a downy red curl to escape. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was open, and her breathing was becoming louder. One arm was thrust behind her pillow. Her other hand was out of sight under the cotton and her fingers were moving in a complicated pattern. Her long legs were stretched out, ankles crossed, and her calf and thigh muscles flexed and fluttered. I imagined her finger moving up and down her pussy, and I began to sweat.

Then her lovely legs bent at the knee and her feet rose slowly until her curled toes were pointed at the ceiling. I could see the outline of her finger moving jerkily beneath the now-exposed crotch of her panties. I found the vision of her heated body being stoked even further incredibly arousing.

After a few minutes, she lowered her legs again and this time spread her bent knees. The cotton crotch was a vertical white band separating her smooth thighs. Her hand continued to move, but now she pushed the cloth aside and attacked her pussy with a cupped hand. Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly as she sucked air in and hissed it out. Her lips curled back slightly and her hand flashed ever faster, until she sighed deeply and seemed to sink into her mattress. Her legs relaxed and a satisfied smile crept over her face. She gradually extricated her hand and flexed her fingers as if to remove a cramp. She hesitated and then brought her fingers to her face and inhaled. The aroma was perceptible even out in the hall. My cock had been pushing hard against the front of my briefs for several minutes, and when Alex slipped her fingers into her mouth and silently sucked them dry, I nearly came myself.

As she turned over on her side and pulled the covers back up, I moved slowly and carefully back to my own bed. I lay there for an hour, replaying the vision over and over. And when my sister finally wandered into my room and ruffled my hair to awaken me, I felt a nearly overwhelming desire to grab her hand and suck on her fingers myself.

Dad was gone on one of his trips just before Christmas and the winter cold had exacerbated Mother's arthritis. She was holed up in the downstairs bedroom and Alex and I had the Upstairs all to ourselves, as usual. The heat wasn't working properly in Alex's room for some reason, and she came into my room with a quilt gathered around her. I was sitting up, half under the covers, reading.

"Can I stay in here with you tonight?" She was shivering. I was comfortable, even a little too warm. My internal thermostat always was set a little higher than hers.

"Why don't you wear your flannel thing?" She grimaced and shifted from one bare foot to the other.

Under the quilt, I knew she was probably wearing only a tee-shirt; even though she chilled easily at that age, she hated sleeping in anything that twisted around her like a mummy's wrappings. There we agreed: I usually slept in my briefs, not pajamas with a top.

"Sure, why not?" I scooted over a bit and hauled back the comforter.

She crossed the room in two quick, deer-like leaps, shedding the quilt on the way, and slid quickly under the covers. I was right: One of my old tee shirts clipped off at navel-length, and the standard cotton panties. She immediately drew up her knees in a cannonball and hiked the comforter up under her chin.

"Thanks! I was getting frost between my toes!"

I radiate a lot of body heat at night and she inched over a little at a time until she was snugged up against my left side, her nose tickling my ribs. She sighed contentedly. And a quarter of an hour passed.

We had cozied up in bed together dozens of times in the past, sometimes when it was cold, or to swap giggling gossip from school, or sometimes just for company. We enjoyed being together more than being alone most of the time, even when we were each silently engrossed in our separate thoughts. But now, for the first time that I can remember, I forgot the book I was reading and my imagination suddenly snapped into focus on Alex.

I was still holding the book but on the movie screen in my head all I saw was a still shot of her in mid-leap on her way to the bed, long legs outstretched, tee shirt flipped up by the movement, already nicely-shaped breasts in momentary free flight beneath the cotton. Jesus. My cock twitched as I studied the picture.

I knew my sister had an attractive body – not that I thought of it that way consciously, not yet. What experience of my own did I have to compare her body to? Almost absolutely none. And here my penis was getting the better of me. I had been masturbating for two years, usually to the throb of my imagination, sometimes with the help of a smuggled PLAYBOY. I had even been known, when desperate, to beat off to the lingerie section in the Sears catalog. Recently, I had been replaying in my mind the vision of her masturbating in the early morning… but somehow, I thought of her in that scene as "girl," not specifically as "Alex."

Part of my brain, the intelligent part, tried to get my attention. What was I thinking about here? Was I going to try to put the make on my own sister? I loved her, I really did. And I knew without a doubt that she loved me, too. We had understood that, without actually saying it, since the street fight when she was eleven. If I became a sister-rapist, I thought wildly, I would have to commit suicide.

While I was thinking these sudden new thoughts, my left hand detached itself from the book of its own accord and slipped under the covers, heading straight for Alex's left breast, the only one accessible. She had dozed off now, her breathing light and regular, almost hypnotic. My thumb began to brush her nipple through the thin cloth of her shirt. After a moment she shifted her arm slightly and sighed. I found I now had better access to my target. She was asleep but her nipple sure wasn't. It slowly rose an eighth of an inch to reach for my slowly moving thumb.

I saw a tree branch move in the cold wind outside the window and glanced up. When I looked back a second later at what my thumb was doing, Alex's eyes were half-open and a sleepy smile moved around the edges of her lips. I froze. After an hour-long moment she moved a tiny bit, rubbing her breast against my thumb this time.

"Don' stop… 't feels good," she murmured.

Wow. She moved her breast again. She seemed to mean it, at least here and now, but did she really know what she was doing? Maybe she just thought she was dreaming. I remembered her embarrassment when I had walked in on her masturbating a couple months before. She had joked about it later. But did I really want to take a chance with this? Would she scream at me for taking advantage of her after she awoke and remembered? Was I analyzing too much and losing this opportunity?

Objectively and rationally, I knew I ought to stop (and if she ever mentioned this evening I would lie, let her think she*had* dreamed it), but my more basic drives beat that thought down and killed it. All teenage boys have experiences with girls in which their gonads overrule their better judgment, and they end up embarrassed, or ashamed, or even in real trouble. I understood that even then, sitting there in bed trying desperately to make out with my sister.

Subjectively? I had no choice but to continue, and I knew that, too. I brought my first and second fingers into play and began tracing slow, easy patterns around the base of the nipple, which was now hard and firm. I plucked gently at it, trying to make it grow even more, and Alex drew a deeper, more ragged breath. Her obvious arousal was also arousing me.

I adjusted my pillow with my unoccupied hand and scooted down under the covers, face to face with Alex. She uncoiled and stretched out her legs, which were as long as mine. (Girls grow faster, they said. Boy, did they ever.) The bed was toasty warm by now from the body heat we were both beginning to produce.

I looked into her lovely, heavy-lidded eyes and smiled what I hoped was a seductive smile. I felt one leg move again and her kneecap touched mine. My hand had begun to tremble a little so I moved it carefully down between our torsos and then slowly up under her shirt, gliding my fingertips up the rungs of her rib cage. Her breast was just the size of my hand and I began to caress it, taking care to be gentle and slow. I might be beyond control, but I wasn't going to just grab and squeeze, the way I had seen guys do with girls under the stands at school. I don't want to hurt her, I thought. I also don't want to scare her, because she might make me stop.

And as I thought that, she brought her hands up flat on my chest and firmly pushed herself back from me. Hell, I thought, I messed it up. Or she's suddenly come awake and realized what's happening. But that wasn't it at all.

Instead, she propped herself up on her elbow, her long hair falling across her face, and tugged one arm out of the sleeve of her tee shirt. Then it went over her head and she lay back, slipped out her other arm, and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. She looked over at me and smiled lazily again. She had to be fully awake she wanted to pretend she wasn't. That way, she didn't have to take responsibility for what was happening.

I didn't understand all this at the time, of course. I was up on my elbow, gazing at her breasts and face and hair, and thinking in wonderment how really beautiful and desirable my sister was. Neither of us ever tanned much and there was an obvious flush spreading down her pale, freckled collarbone. These aren't "tits" or "boobs," I remember thinking; these are the genuine thing. Things.

I hesitated another moment. It was like a jerk-off fantasy. She took my hand and carried it to her left breast. When she lay on her back, it had flattened out some but her nipple stood up like a tiny missile. Her breastbone moved slowly up and down. I covered her breast with my hand, which began moving in circular motions, apparently knowing what it wanted more clearly than the rest of me did. Except for my cock, which was searching for the opening in the front of my briefs.

My propped-up arm was quivering with tension so I lay back down on my side and continued rhythmically kneading and massaging one breast. But there was another one that wanted attention, too, so I leaned over and put out the flat of my tongue and dragged it across her other nipple. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her eyelids flutter and her lips part. That removed the last bit of guilt I felt; we were sharing this experience now.

I sucked at her nipple and tasted the texture of its resilience and Alex made a sucking sound in reply. Her left hand was jammed behind her pillow and her right hand had wrapped itself half around my neck and over the top of my head. Her fingers tugged lightly at my hair in syncopation to what my mouth was doing.

I loved Alex so much at that moment, in so many different ways, I knew I had to kiss her immediately. That was what you did with someone you loved. Or someone you were making out with. My motives were confused but my feelings were real enough.

I gripped her arms and shoulders and pulled her off the pillow so we could stare into each other's eyes. I had never seen passion or sexual hunger in a girl's eyes before – I had never seen it anywhere – but I recognized it instinctively. Her arms circled my neck and pulled me back down, and she made that little noise in her throat again. When our lips touched, there was an actual, physical shock, a spark. The emotional pressure almost made our teeth click together. I put out my tongue a little and hers attacked it. In ten seconds we were slobbering all over each other's faces, both of us moaning together. I wasn't sixteen yet but I was in love. That was all that mattered.

My left arm was under her shoulders while I stabbed kisses up and down the front of her throat, but my other hand was feeling left out. I don't think I knew where it was as it traveled confidently down Alex's diaphragm and across her flat, trembling stomach. But the instant my fingers reached her navel, her hand shot southward like lightning and grabbed them.

"No, Michael. No further than that – please."

I lifted my head and looked at her face, a little bewildered. No what? Then I realized my hand was pinned firmly by hers, my middle finger stroking her belly-button. Oh.

"Okay," I said hoarsely. What else was I going to say? I moved my hand back up along her side, buried my face in her neck, and hugged her to me.

Looking back, I marvel at my restraint, my self-control. The animal was loose, I knew that, and partly I didn't care – but my better side managed to keep it on a choke chain. If my hand had reached its objective unobstructed, I'm not sure what I could have done about it, that night anyway. Just as well it didn't happen. I loved Alex, I knew she loved me, and I was happy.

A little while later we drifted off, our arms wrapped around each other. We moved back to our own pillows during the night, still asleep, but I believe we slept facing each other the entire night, and when we awoke in the morning we were still holding hands. Alex smiled at me briefly but intensely and gave me a lingering kiss on the lips before her practical side took over.

"We'll be late for school!"

She scooted out of bed and bent quickly to pick up her tee shirt, which had fallen to the floor. Gravity did a marvelous thing to her small breasts as she bent. In profile, each formed a perfect shallow arc punctuated by a nipple. Another astounding image for my mental projection screen. Then she was out the door, headed for the bathroom, her bottom moving tightly beneath the cotton, always in control. I lay there another moment and replayed the marvel of the night just ended. This was the girl I wanted to spend all my time with and she was already right here with me

… and now there were whole new dimensions to that thought. I grinned idiotically at the ceiling.

One night a month or so later, I was lying in bed late, reading a book I had to finish for a report. As I turned a page, beginning to drift off to sleep, I heard a low, smothered moan from across the hall. My sister's door was half-open, as usual (as was mine), but her light was out. I heard the sound again and wondered vaguely what the matter was. Maybe Alex was ill. Even after my previous voyeuristic experience, the obvious conclusion escaped me completely (I could be incredibly thick at that age).

Yawning and still thinking about the story I was reading, I got out of bed and went across to check on her; I knew she had been experiencing painful menstrual periods lately and I felt especially helpless about such things. Leaving my door open to spill a little light, I opened her door all the way and paused while my eyes adjusted. She seemed to be asleep, or at least her eyes were closed. She made an odd whimpering sound and moved her head from side to side. Her covers were wadded up around her waist and her hands were out of sight. I stepped over to the bed where she was tossing, and touched her shoulder. Still dense as I stone, I was.

"Alex?" I asked quietly. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes and her mouth both popped open, startled, and she pulled up the covers a few inches. Then she lay very still.

"Uh, yeah, I'm okay. Why? What's the matter?" Even in the dim light, I could see how flushed her face was.

"Well, I heard all these strange sounds…" It was beginning to dawn on me that this was a repeat of my recent experience. I knew I should be embarrassed, but instead I was very interested. Fascinated, in fact. I took a chance and sat on the edge of her bed. My sister began to squirm.

"Alex, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were… I mean, I thought you…" Now*I* was becoming embarrassed.

There was a glow in her eyes that I was coming to recognize as sexual arousal. And my sister, once aroused, was not to be denied. She licked her lips several times and seemed to be making up her mind. Then she stared straight into my eyes.

"I was… I was feeling myself up. Masturbating," she added slowly. "Does that… does that make you horny?"

My God, did it ever! Just hearing her talk like that raised my temperature. My mouth went dry and my tongue swelled up. I could only nod slowly. Alex hesitated and licked her lips again. Then, still keeping strong eye contact, she began moving her hand beneath the covers again.

This wasn't like the casual exposure she had offered me the first time I watched her change her tampon. It wasn't even like watching her from the hall without her knowledge. This was sex. Nonparticipatory, but still sex. I stared back with my jaw hanging loosely and watched her pupils dilate. Finally, I could take no more of the mounting tension. Very carefully, with both hands, I pulled Alex's covers down to her knees. She knew it was going to happen and she didn't flinch.

Her panties were halfway down her slightly parted thighs and her T-shirt was pushed up to her ribs. The blazing center of her body lay before me, her pubic mound crowning it like a bonfire. I couldn't take my eyes off her crotch. Her middle finger was lodged in the crevice below her silky pubic hair, sliding deliberately up and down between the folds of inviting flesh. Her other hand was stroking the edge of her labia. On each upstroke her cunt opened just a bit and the dim light glistened on the hidden moistness. I glanced at her face, expecting her eyes to be closed; she was still staring at me, smokily, with a crooked smile.

Then her gaze moved down my body to my groin, and I looked down, too. My engorged cock was visibly pulsing and it felt four feet long. I had no idea what to do, but Alex did.

"I want to see it," she whispered hoarsely.

This time, I didn't hesitate. I reached under the elastic and carefully lifted out my genitals, balls and all. I had to stretch the front of my briefs to get the elastic down out of the way. I cradled my penis in my open hand, so that it seemed to be staring back at her. Her hands paused in their movement and, just for a second, I thought she was going to reach out and touch it. Instead, she looked back into my eyes.

"Do it," she said quietly. "Do it with me." I must have looked blank. "Lie down and jerk off with me," she repeated more insistently. "I know you masturbate. I want to watch, and you can watch me. If we do it together, it'll be almost… almost like…" She didn't have to finish.

She scooted over a few inches and rotated partway onto one hip, spreading her thighs farther apart and pushing her pelvis forward. As I quickly lay down next to her, she added urgently, "Don't touch, though -not tonight. Okay?"

I nodded and squeezed the head of my cock. I wouldn't have to hurry to catch up. In fact, I was afraid I'd shoot off the moment I touched the unguided missile that loomed less than a foot from where her busy fingertips were plucking lightly at her clit. Coming too quickly, I thought, would make me look like an idiot. It also might cut short my visit to Alex's bed.

I started out leaning on my elbow, but that quickly became uncomfortable so I put my head on her pillow and slid my other arm under it. Alex raised her head to allow my arm passage, and lay down again, closer to me than she had been. I took that as an invitation, outside of the admonition not to touch, and I moved my head closer to hers.

I began to stroke my cock like a piston and my movements were quickly synchronized with hers. She gazed into my eyes for another moment, then moved her head the last couple of inches and kissed my lightly on the lips. I responded with a gentle pressure of my own, and her sweet-tasting little tongue raced across my front teeth. Our lips barely touching, her tongue sparred wetly with mine. When she exhaled, I inhaled, and vice versa, sharing the same breath several times, back and forth, until all the oxygen in it was gone. Our mouths were fulfilling the lust both of us felt but were afraid to give in to.

As my right hand moved up and down my cock, trying desperately to postpone my climax by a few more minutes, I was acutely aware of its nearness to my sister's radiant cunt. I would have expected, in such a position, an uncontrollable urge to sweep her hands out of the way and push myself into her. But in the event, that wasn't a problem. I didn't yet know quite how all that stuff was supposed to be done, but I did know I would climax instantly if I tried such a thing. And, somehow, I knew it was best that our bodies and our minds progress through each lesson in turn, one at a time. There was no hurry and I didn't want to spoil things. Besides, Alex had asked me not to, and we always played fair with each other. There was gentle passion in her kiss, willingly given, and that would be the limit for tonight. I only made this rational analysis in later weeks, of course. At the time, my responses and self-imposed limitations were instinctive.

We looked into each other's eyes and I could see what she really wanted, deep inside, but was far too nervous to try yet. And she could see in my eyes that this was all the fulfillment I needed, for now. The fact that we could even*do* this was a result of the strong and implicit trust between us.

Her hand speeded up and her breath was gasping. I just tried to match her pace. A few moments later, she kissed me with greater force as her orgasm rolled over her, and those two events set me off. At the last instant, I realized I was going to make a mess of either her or her bed. I was a little afraid that the former would put her off completely; the latter would certainly be uncomfortable when she finally went to sleep. So, a half-second before I came, I was able to yank my briefs back up and drown my pubic hair in semen.

I don't think Alex was even aware of my actions, she was so transported herself. When our kiss tapered off, she removed her fingers from her cunt and, with a mischievous grin, slid them under my nose. The aroma was enticing and I think I surprised her by fulfilling my earlier fantasy -capturing her fingers in my mouth and sucking all the wetness from them. The taste was exquisite. She put her legs down and readjusted her tee shirt and her panties. Then we kissed again, both of us longing for more, but held back by nervousness and perhaps a little common sense.

"Michael," she finally said huskily, "I think you'd better go back to bed before I climb all over you!"

I regretfully climbed out of her bed and headed back to my room, but I paused at her door and looked back to where she lay watching me. Her fond smile stayed with me the rest of the night.

Five days after our mutual exhibition, I went to bed on Friday night by myself. I normally slept in an extra hour or so on Saturdays, but that night I had some strange and erotic dreams and woke at 5:30. I didn't remember the details of the dreams, but I came to lying on my side with a throbbing hard-on. I also had company: my sister was snuggled up to me, a love spoon, and my engorged cock was prodding the back of her upper thigh through my briefs. I wondered foggily what kind of dreams*she* must be having.

I was still half asleep. I put one arm over Alex's warm body and she wriggled closer against me without waking. It gradually dawned on me that she wasn't wearing a top. In fact, she had unconsciously taken my hand in hers and hugged it against her breast. That made me feel relaxed and secure, at first, and I kissed her bare shoulder, which was all that showed above the cover. But as she breathed, snoring very softly, the movement rubbed her nipple against the palm of my hand. I began rubbing gently in the opposite direction, and both nipples were soon erect. Mine, too.

She shifted the position of her legs several times and murmured under her breath. Finally, she rolled onto her back, tucked her left arm under the pillow, and half-opened her eyes.

"'Lo…" was all she could manage, followed by a warm, drowsy smile. My hand had traveled onto her stomach. Her free hand moved a few inches and absently stroked my cheek and gave my arm a squeeze. Then it, too, disappeared under the pillow behind her head. She seemed to doze off again.

Stretched out at slender full length, arms above her head like that, hair sprawled across my pillow, sleeping so peacefully – she was a striking image of young, feminine vulnerability. I turned back the cover very carefully, trying not to disturb her further. My beautiful little sister, I thought with longing. Shallow, mounded breasts, rising and falling with her respiration. Her arms, curving smoothly and cleanly to her rib cage and then to her small waist. Her flat stomach, punctuated by her navel, hip bones flaring gracefully to either side of her brief white panties. One leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee, the sole of one foot braced neatly against the opposite calf. From above, she looked like a ballerina performing a pirouette.

I reached out and stroked her thigh, the way I would pet a kitten or any other small animal that looked like it wanted attention. When I came to the top of her thigh, without conscious decision (though it had been in my mind all week), my hand continued upward and hovered over the vee at the crotch of her panties. I could stand it no longer. I cupped my hand gently, lightly, over her resilient pubic mound, my first two fingers sliding down between her legs where I felt the springy depression of her vulva. I clutched her pussy a bit more firmly and began to move my fingers up and down the crease in the white cotton. Her head moved restlessly to one side and she made small smacking sounds with her lips. I continued moving my fingers, searching for the little button I knew was there. Alex's hip shifted closer to me and her eyes fluttered open again for a few seconds as she stretch her legs out straight and gave a tiny shiver.

"Take 'em off…," she muttered, and her eyelids slid shut again.

I moved carefully off the side of the bed, making as little disturbance as possible, and hastily pushed off my briefs. My cock sprang up at a steep angle. Then I leaned over and, with both hands, began slowly pulling down my sister's panties. Her legs were a few inches apart, but otherwise she made no move to help. I had to gradually work the rolled-up fabric under her ass by sliding it down on one side and then on the other.

The program seemed to be the same as the week before. I didn't know whether she was completely asleep, half-awake and aware of what I was doing, or just faking. But it was clear that this next step on the ladder of our physical relationship was to be*my* responsibility – which I was very willing to accept. I was also convinced, after the previous week, that if I attempted to cross some invisible boundary, Alex would wake immediately, so I didn't worry about it. I would peruse this marvel before me until one of us decided to stop.

I slipped her panties over her feet and tossed them on the floor. My sister lay naked before me, apparent willing for me to drink in her loveliness, and also ready to take the next step in our sexual awakening. I lay down again on my side next to her and caressed the curve of her hip and the flatness of her abdomen. I threaded my fingers through her soft red pubic thatch and gently cupped my hand again over the mound beneath it.

I didn't know much about foreplay, but I knew there was no hurry and that I should be ever gentle as I explored every inch of her with my hands. I also knew instinctively that if I just yanked her legs wide apart, climbed on, and tried to cram my cock into her, it would break our unspoken agreement; it might even spoil it forever.

Her cunt was becoming more moist every second and I easily slid my fingers along the sides of her clitoral sheath. Slowly, slowly. She began to make humming, purring sounds and her legs twitched farther apart. I rubbed one finger over the dewy tip of her clit and this time her whole body twitched. So did my cock.

I slid my forefinger into her open vagina, trying to fathom the whole length of that warm, tight tunnel. I reached her cervix without much difficulty and added a second finger. It felt rubbery when I squeezed it between my fingertips, different from what I had expected. I wasn't sure she could feel anything there herself, except the finger pressure, but I suppose it's something every guy tries. I would have put my whole arm into her and climbed in after it, had it been possible.

I had groped blindly at a couple of other girls, but on those occasions I could never see what I was doing and I had always felt rushed by the circumstances. This time, I had a clear view and all the time I needed.

What was more, Alex understood that need. She was hesitant about our increasing physical involvement, as I was, but she trusted me to proceed slowly and to take care of her. And because she trusted me so completely, I knew I would follow the same plan, taking my time, backing off if she got nervous, and giving her anything and everything she needed in return. This understanding between us was one of the things that brought us to realize that we were in love.

We never "fell" in love, I think, even when we kissed that first time at the park. It always existed, and it grew steadily as we explored it and came to understand its nature.

I had been watching my fingers, but now I glanced at Alex's face. Her long eyelashes were fluttering slowly like peacock fans and her moist lips were parted. Her arms were still behind the pillow but now she clutched at it with both hands. Either she was really waking up or she thought she was having one hell of a dream.

My right hand returned to her clit, now glistening in the early morning light. I began tracing slow circles around the little pink bullet head, breaking rhythm every few seconds and flicking a finger across its tip. As I increased the tempo, her thighs began making little jerky movements. She was on the up-side of the roller coaster, but I didn't want her to climax yet. I didn't want it to be over. So I slowed and then stopped, moving the flat of my hand back over her stomach and across her ribs to brush her stiffened nipple. She trembled at that and seemed about to tear the pillow in two. My hand moved to the smooth hollow under her arm and trailed over her bicep. She continued breathing heavily.

"God, don't stop! Why did you stop? Oh, God, that felt so wonderful!" This was accompanied by a soft wailing moan of desperation. Her eyes finally opened.

"Michael, I want your finger back in me! It felt so good – I've never felt like that, even doing it myself! And I didn't come yet!"

I leaned over her body on my elbows, trapping her arms in their extended position, and cut off her protests with a smothering kiss. "Alex, I'm selfish – I don't*want* you to come yet. But I'm not ready to quit either. Can I try something else…?

Her expression went instantly serious. "Michael,… please, I'm not ready to do it yet. I*want* to – oh, God, I want to! – but not yet. Please don't." Her voice was soft and calm but her face kept shifting between adolescent lust and fear of the unknown. But she misunderstood my intentions.

"I'm not going to push you beyond where you want to go. Don't you know that by now? I love you, Alex. I would never – COULD never – hurt you like that. You trust me, I know you do, and I will never do anything to made you regret that – I promise." I kissed her again, softly this time. "No, I had something else in mind. And I think you'll like it, too…"

As I spoke, I was moving farther down the bed and farther down her perfect body, leaving a trail of lip prints on her throat, between her breasts, just below her rib cage, to her navel and past it. My hands kept pace, gliding down her sides and her hips and coming to rest clasping her flanks. Her stomach muscles fluttered and she inhaled deeply when I buried my face in her pubic hair.

Her legs parted and as her knees bent, I wrapped my hands around her thighs and pressed them open even farther. I had attempted muff-diving a couple of times with other girls, but always under uncomfortable and hurried circumstances. So I had a theoretical grasp of the subject, but I was mostly making up my technique as I went along. But I was sure it was Alex's first time, too, so I didn't think it would matter.

Her cunt was already humid with the aroma of sex. Her thigh muscles were tensed; she didn't quite know what to expect. Experimentally, I nuzzled her clit and pushed my tongue along the opening below it, where my fingers had been shortly before.

I had been warned by the Boy's Gym Information Exchange to expect a "fishy" taste, but I found nothing of the kind. The moisture I lapped up smelled and tasted of heated honey and licorice, a heady flavor I enjoyed enormously.

My tongue worked its way down to the bottom edge of her vagina, eased between the silky smooth lips, and made the long, slow journey back to the top. The juices I caught flooded my probing tongue and trickled down my throat.

I heard a distant, sighing moan as Alex thrust her pelvis up toward my mouth. I felt her fingers tentatively touch my head and then slide more confidently through my hair. When I stabbed lightly at the tip of her clitoris, it twitched and her fingers clutched at my scalp. I licked all around the little red bullet, pushing back the sheath with my tongue, then sucking hard at it, pressing its tip against my teeth.

Alex was trembling, from her hands on my head urging me on, to the clenching of her ass, to the spreading and curling of her toes. Her profound arousal, in fact, was having a similar effect on me. I was lying flat on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, and my cock felt like a length of iron pipe under me.

I paused, to shift my hands and wipe my lips, and Alex tugged nervously at my hair. "God, Michael, don't stop! You're making me crazy!"

I laughed silently, opened my mouth wide, and covered as much of her crotch as I could. Then I exhaled heavily, blanketing her cunt with warm air. She shivered and moaned loudly, and then began to push her right hand past my head so she could masturbate. I intercepted the hand and moved it away.

"No, Alex, let me do this… I love it, I love making you hot and horny, and I love the taste of you! I'm going to do this all by myself."

I spread her dripping labia with my fingers and licked their inner surfaces. My tongue stroked the creases at the top of her thighs and lunged as far as it could reach into the depths of her. It swiped like a brush up and down the smooth area between her cunt and her asshole. After a moment's hesitation, I licked the corrugated surface around her anus and tapped my tongue against the hole. I couldn't tell whether she actually flinched or merely jerked in a uncontrollable spasm, but I decided to return to known territory for now.

My sister was panting in a shallow, jerky rhythm and her hands were holding her knees up and apart. Her knuckles were white from tension. I settled in to work on her swollen clitoris, to push her over the top to her climax. My tongue swirled around her sexual centerpoint and she began uttering shrill little sounds at the end of each breath.

I sucked her clit into my mouth again and flicked my tongue against it, faster and faster. Now her body was jerking continually. Finally, without forethought, I very lightly nipped the end of her clit between my teeth – and that did it.

Alex went rigid for a few seconds, except for a hissing intake of breath, and I felt her pelvis and thigh muscles tighten. The deep breath paused a long moment and became an even deeper sigh. Her cunt quivered and fresh vaginal juices, thick and sweet, dribbled down my chin. I slowed my pace to a lazy swirl and Alex jerked a little each time I touched her clit, which was now retreating into its sheath. Then I ceased my exertions and closed her legs and lowered her knees.

I gripped her hips and planted a lingering kiss at the bottom of that silky red triangle, and then laid my cheek on her thigh. I was worn out and my neck and shoulders were stiff, but I felt wonderful about the orgasm my sister had just experienced because of me.

Alex's hand stroked my temple and I swiveled my head to look up at her face. Her lovely green eyes were glowing with soft starlight and her face held both wonder and love.

"Michael…?" she whispered huskily. "C'mere…"

I got shakily to my knees and crawled the few feet to the pillow and let my head fall back on its coolness. Alex turned on her side, levered herself over to plant her elbows on either side of me, and slid her forearms under my shoulders. Her face was suspended above mine – my sun and my moon, I thought – and her trembling smile was so warm I felt like melting butter. She came slowly closer and kissed me thoroughly, running her tongue over my lips and eyelids, and finally fixing me with a steady gaze from two inches away. I stroked her back lightly.

"That's the first time," she breathed.

Not it's not, I thought. She's had orgasms before, I know she has. But she read my expression.

"It's the first time anyone but*me* has done that to me. And it was wonderful! I want you to make love to me, Michael, I want to go all the way with you. I thought I did before, and now I'm absolutely sure of it – and it will happen, I promise.

"You could have done it tonight, you know; I couldn't have stopped you. I wouldn't have wanted you to stop, I was off on another world somewhere. But you didn't, and I love you so much for that! I DO love you, Michael – do you understand? I know we're young and everything, but I also know I'll never feel about anyone else the way I do about you. I don't even have the words for it, except to just keep saying it over and over: I love you, Michael, I love you with all my heart." She blinked back tears.

I was near tears myself. Her beautiful face was so filled with fourteen-year-old conviction, I could only believe she meant what she said. And I was only a year older and I felt the same absolute love for her, so I*wanted* to believe it, desperately. I wrapped my arms about her as she clutched my shoulders.

"Nothing and no one will ever separate us," I said softly. "We'll be together forever, or as long as we both want to be. Alex, you know I love you so much I can hardly stand it."

And each of us, I knew, was wondering what the future held, thinking how we would have to struggle against a world that wouldn't understand. We hugged each other more tightly.

It was Fourth of July weekend. We felt older, I think – and we certainly were maturing more rapidly than most teenagers, because we had each other to practice with.

Some things had changed in the few months since our first sexual contact. For one thing, I was sleeping naked these days and Alex wore only bikini panties. Neither of us had any sense of modesty at all in each other's presence. I could walk into the bathroom while she was taking a bath and she wouldn't bat an eye; in fact, she watched with interest while I took a leak. Then she would come into my room naked and sit on the bed and talk while she dried her hair. At first, it was constantly exciting and distracting. Now, the excitement hadn't gone, but it remained at a comfortable level, even while we observed each other's continuing physical development.

We were becoming physically used to each other, though never bored. And while I often caressed her breasts and her upper body, and stroked her thighs and her buttocks when she rolled over on her stomach, I never attempted to get closer than a few inches from her pussy. Nor did she ever reach for my cock.

My sister had cuddled up close to me and fallen asleep while I read late again. I was beginning to doze off, too, and I turned my head sleepily to look at her before I doused the reading lamp.

She lay on her side in the crook of my arm, her head on my shoulder and her thick hair spread across the pillow. One arm and one leg were pressed up close against my side while the others were flung across me, half pinning my body to the bed. Her limbs were still as long as mine, though more slender, and every time she twitched in her sleep or shifted position slightly I felt the movement reverberate all through me.

I was acquainted with plenty of girls at school now, and had survived crushes on several of them – to Alex's amusement. All of them were generally considered "cute" or "pretty," but none of them even came close to my beautiful little sister, who was no longer so little.

I finally cut the light, settled the pillow behind my head, and fell asleep thinking of Alex. And apparently those thoughts produced a midnight erection. Alex awoke in the night, for whatever reason, and discovered the tent that my cock had formed under the sheets. She told me later that she was fascinated by my penis, had been for years, because it seemed to have a life and a will of its own. And since I was asleep, she felt at liberty to experiment and explore.

Her attentions brought me up out of the deeps into that fuzzy region where sleep and wakefulness are confused, where you can imagine you're awake while actually dreaming that you imagine you're awake. And in the night, external stimuli in such a state can make you highly suggestible.

So I half-dreamed that a soft, slender hand was grasping the shaft of my cock and moving slowly up and down. Then it paused and a thumb passed curiously several times over its head, measuring its contours and the opening at the tip. My cock twitched several times at the provocation; I felt it and thought drowsily that this was a very sexy dream.

Then the hand moved to the base of the column and I felt her fingers sliding through and untangling my pubic hair – for my half-awake mind knew whose hand it was, dream or no dream. Her touch was gentle but determined. She worked her way around to my balls, and it is a measure of my trust in my sister that I didn't even flinch. I needn't have worried anyway. My scrotum was relaxed and loose in the warmth beneath the covers, and she carefully scooped up the whole of it and seemed to weigh it in her hand, manipulating my balls gently within their sac.

I heard her take a breath as she seemed to come to a decision, and I was awake enough now to peer through my eyelashes. The touch of Alex's hand disappeared for a few seconds and I saw it emerge from under the covers and pause before her mouth. She cupped her palm and quietly filled it with spit, and the hand disappeared again from sight. An instant later I felt it, warm and wet now, curled again around the shaft of my cock. I wondered absently if she knew anything at all about technique.

Her hand moved up and down, slowly and gently at first, and she interrupted her rhythm every few strokes to rub her palm over the head of my cock. The pace gradually increased and she squeezed a little more tightly now and then. Maybe it was instinctive for her, too, but she definitely knew what she was doing. It felt wonderful: When you masturbate yourself it's difficult for your hand to come up with any surprises.

I remained quiet but I was wide awake now and beginning to breath more rapidly. No point pretending to be asleep. I heard a moan of pure pleasure come from deep in my own throat and Alex glanced up quickly at my face. My arm was still around her and I squeezed her shoulder and shifted toward her a bit and onto my hip. My left hand slipped around and under her armpit to stroke her breast. I smiled and nodded and she grinned back at me.

Now that I was awake, my sister wanted to see what was happening, so she halted her exertions for an instant and threw back the covers. My cock reached even more resolutely toward the ceiling. It was just all too much for me and within another minute I could feel my climax rapidly approaching. From the expression of concentration on her face I knew she didn't realize what was about to occur.

"I'm almost there," I murmured hoarsely.

Either she didn't hear or she didn't understand. I didn't want to frighten or disgust her, but I sure didn't want her to stop, either. A distant corner of my mind tried desperately to think how to have it both ways, and then it was too late.

I gasped as I began to spasm and I would have rolled over flat on my back, but Alex's grip on me prevented it. Several large gobs of semen exploded in rapid succession from my cock as if from a machine gun. One landed on her wrist, remaining connected to the tip of my cock by a long white thread. Another hit her on the collarbone and began to ooze down across her breast. A third shot spread in its trajectory and landed on her chin and across her lower lip.

Christ, I thought in dismay, she'll be so repelled she won't ever touch me again. When I hesitantly looked at her face, though, I saw no disgust – just startlement and surprise. She touched her little finger to the milky blob on her chin and withdrew it, as though testing its sticky consistency. Then she curled her tongue out and down and scooped most of the semen off her lip and into her mouth, like a kitten lapping milk. For a moment, she had a faraway look as she tasted my essence, and then swallowed it.

I realized that was what I really*wanted* her to do. I wanted her to swallow my come. And then: WHY would I want a girl to do something like that? It's an old, old puzzle. Certainly, the great majority of men enjoy being the subject of skillful oral sex (no surprise there). But every guy with whom I've ever discussed this puzzle in the philosophy of sex admits to even greater erotic pleasure when the woman not only allows him to come in her mouth but swallows his load as well, and without making a face or a fuss.

Alex just smiled and said "No taste! Just a little salty."

Then she leaned across my chest, smearing the wad on her breast across me – I could feel the stickiness – and kissed me firmly on the mouth. I welcomed her tongue when she poked it between my lips, as I had many times before, but this time Alex was playing one of her erotic little jokes. She hadn't swallowed it all, and I tasted the salty flavor of my own semen.

Chapter 5:

[…from chapter 5…]

("The Early Days")

My sister and I always followed our own rules in our increasing physical involvement – which mostly meant my being patient and sticking to an unwritten, probably unknown schedule that she could deal with. Unfortunately, because she had become used to my gentle patience and my willingness to work around her occasional nervousness, Alex seemed to expect the same from all the boys she went out with.

It was her fifth or sixth date, I think, when her optimistic assumptions got her into trouble. It was one of those rare Friday nights when Alex had a date but I didn't. I'd had a bad head cold for several days, missing school and staying home in bed to enjoy my misery. The cold was about gone by Friday, but I was still recovering and not feeling great, and my makeup homework was stacked up on my desk, so I stayed home.

Alex was out at a movie with Allen Somebody from one of her classes, a guy I didn't know except that he played basketball on the junior varsity squad. About 10:30 that night the phone rang and since I knew Mother was already asleep I put down "Oliver Twist" and answered it. On the other end was Alex, sounding very tense and upset.

"Michael? I'm so glad it's you! I'm in trouble. I mean, I'm not hurt or anything – but I'm stranded and could you*please* come and get me? I'm by myself and it's pretty dark here and it's making me nervous."

She told me the intersection where her pay phone was located; I recognized it and remembered that there was a convenience store nearby. I told her to go into the store and stay there, and I'd come as soon as possible.

I was still in my jeans, so I hauled on a tee-shirt, grabbed my loafers and my wallet, and trotted quietly downstairs. I hopped on my moped, coasted down the driveway, popped the starter, and took off.

What in the world could have happened? Alex sounded like she was on the verge of tears, not so much from fright as from anger, and she had her control clamped down tightly. She had said she wasn't hurt. Had she been in a wreck? If so, where was her date? I would have been embarrassed for myself had I slipped into a state of panic – but I admitted that my anxiety level was increasing.

Alex saw me pull up to the curb in front of the store and came out to meet me. She looked all right, composed and smiling. But as she got closer and saw the concern on my face, the smile crumpled and she threw her arms around my neck and pressed her face against my shoulder, nearly knocking me off the motorbike. She wasn't very coherent; all I could make out was "That son of a bitch!"

I stroked her hair and held her for a few moments. "Alex, are you sure you're okay? You're not hurt?"

"No, I'm NOT okay," she sniffed, "but I'm not hurt. Please, let's just go home!" She climbed on the back of the bike, gathering her full skirt between her knees so it wouldn't get caught in the chain and kill us both. We buzzed off and she held me tightly around the waist and pressed her cheek to my shoulder blade, which felt nice. She had calmed down on the surface but she was still upset, and I wanted badly to know why.

I waited until we were back upstairs and Alex had kicked her shoes off – clear across the room – and had sat down on her bed. Her head was down and her hands were in her lap, fidgeting. I leaned against her dresser, tried to assume a sympathetic expression, and said, "So…?"

My sister looked younger than usual; I thought it might be because she was still a little scared. But why wasn't Allen Whoever in the picture somewhere? She took a deep breath and looked up at me unhappily.

"I'm sorry I had to holler for help, Michael, but I'm glad you came and got me. I thought about it on the way home, and I guess it was partly my fault-"

I interrupted. "Alex, what are we talking about? Why don't you just start at the beginning?"

"Yeah, okay. Allen Stone asked me out – he's in my history class -and he's nice-looking, and the girls I asked said he was okay, so I said yes. We went to a show, and then for ice cream, and he*did* seem nice. A little too full of himself, maybe, but a lot of the guys I know are like that." She gave me a quick 'exception' smile.

"Then he asked if I'd like to go up and see the view from Pilot's Point – you know, where the kids with the expensive cars go to park. He was driving his father's T-Bird. I thought 'why not?' I can take care of myself. So we went up there and parked – and then he kind of changed. I just wanted to make out a little, you know? But he wanted a lot more than that! Oh, God. He's too strong and I had to fight him off, and he scared the hell out of me. I mean, we kissed, and I let him play with my tits a little – but I kept my clothes on. But then he pushed me down on the seat and pulled my skirt up, and he got my panties part-way off, and I couldn't struggle because he was on top of me, and I couldn't even yell or anything because he kept kissing me so hard, and…" She ran out of breath and the tears were coming and her voice was shaking.

I moved quickly to the bed and sat and held her, and stroked her back, and she clung to me. Her tears were on my neck and her fingers were squeezing my shoulder. I was angry, and getting angrier by the second. When she calmed down again she continued her story, but she didn't let go of me.

"I finally got one hand loose and held the horn button down, and he quit because people were looking at us from the other cars. Then he called me some terrible names and drove me back, and I was scared all the way! He took me as far as that corner, which was the first pay phone he saw, and told me to get out of the car."

I hugged her, meaning to comfort her, but she flinched and gasped slightly. I sat back abruptly and looked more closely at her. "Alex, are you*sure* you're all right? Did he hurt you?"

She snuffled a few times and stood up, silently unbuttoning her dress and dropping it (and her half-slip) to the floor around her ankles. There was a purple and green bruise across the upper part of one breast, half-covered by her bra. Another bruise spread across the inside of her thigh. And her panties were torn completely open across the front, held up only by the elastic.

My fists clenched and I felt myself begin to shake. My sister was a very sexy girl and she was correct in that she had had plenty of practice looking out for herself. But no frustrated date had ever assaulted her before. She was very adept at sending out the right signals, and most teenage boys will accept that whether they like it or not. But this Allen Stone wouldn't accept "No." And he was going to pay for it.

I took Alex in my arms again, carefully this time, and we stood and held each other for a few minutes. It was almost midnight, but what I had to do wouldn't wait until tomorrow. I led Alex into the bathroom and urged her to run a hot tub and soak for awhile. I'd be back. She looked at me with some apprehension as she undressed.

"Michael, don't do anything stupid – please? He's a lot bigger than you are."

I smiled reassuringly and went back to my room and looked up Allen Stone in the school directory. Then I dug out my leather jacket. It was meant to keep out the cold when I was out on my moped at night, but it was also enough like the classic black motorcycle jacket to afford some physical protection as well. I added the heavy, hard-toed shoes I used for hiking and climbing.

Then I dug through my odds-and-ends drawer and located the thirty-inch length of coaxial cable I had found on the side of the road a year or two before, probably scrap dropped by some line crew. It was an inch of spiral copper strands wrapped around a solid core, with a thick, hard, black rubber covering, and it had a satisfying heft.

I slipped quietly out the back door and coasted my bike a short way down the block before revving the motor. I hoped Alex hadn't heard me leave.

The Villain lived about half a mile away and all the way over there my mind kept replaying images of Alex's bruises and torn underwear. I wasn't shaking anymore; my anger had escalated to a cold, hard rage that planted a dull throb behind my eyes. I was not yet sixteen and I was prepared to commit murder, if necessary.

As I buzzed up the short street Stone lived on, I saw immediately which house I wanted: There was a jazzed up Mustang parked in the drive next to a white T-Bird. A bulky-looking character was leaning against the fender of the Mustang, drinking out of a can. I stuck the cable/club into the back of my jeans and coasted to a stop ten yards away from the guy, who was watching me curiously. I could smell the beer and I noticed three empties lined up on the trunk lid behind him. My sister seemed to be losing her taste in dates.

I walked a few feet closer and stopped with my hands in my jacket pockets. "You Allen Stone?" That coldness in the front of my brain was making me foolhardy.

His eyes flicked up and down, measuring my height, which was a bit less than his, and my weight, which was considerably less. He was about seventeen – two years older than me.

"Alex is my sister. You beat up on her, you son of a bitch!" I wished, at that moment, that I owned a revolver.

The guy stared at me uncomprehendingly for a moment before my identity clicked. Then he sneered.

"She's a fuckin' tease. I should have slugged her. And what are*you* gonna do about it, kid?" He didn't know it, but he was at a psychological disadvantage. This was just a game to him, but not to me.

"What's the matter, asshole? You can't beat up on anyone but little girls?" I put one hand in my back pocket and took a grip on the club with the other. Stone's eyebrows lowered and his face got red, and he took several quick steps toward me, still holding the beer can.

"You little punk!"

Make him come to me, I thought – especially when he isn't expecting a fight. He reached for the front of my jacket but his hand was still a foot away when I yanked out the length of cable and swung it overhand. I brought it down as hard as I could on his wrist. He yelped in shock and startlement and dropped his beer.

While he was still standing there clutching his numbed wrist, I brought the cable around in a backhand and, by sheer luck, caught him high on the side of the cheekbone. He stumbled back and held up both arms to protect himself. From the way he favored his injured wrist, I thought I might have broken it – with any luck. That would keep him out of basketball for awhile.

As he moved back, I stepped in. He hadn't expected this attack at all and he certainly wasn't prepared for it; if he had been, he'd be pounding me to a pulp right now. The beer was on my side, fortunately, because he wasn't reacting intelligently.

I pretended I was kicking off in a football game and caught him solid and hard in the crotch with my steel-capped toe. His mouth opened but no sound came out, and the blood disappeared from his face. He fell heavily to his knees, clutching his balls – crushed, I hoped – then hunched over and vomited stale-smelling beer all over his driveway.

Since his head was already down, I switched from football to golf. Getting a firm two-handed grip on my club, I swung it up into the creep's face, hitting him squarely under the jaw just as he started to raise his head. His teeth clacked together loudly and his head snapped back. All my hours of swimming practice had made me stronger in the shoulders than I looked. I stepped back as his eyes rolled up and he slumped sideways into his own puddle of vomit. Very appropriate, I thought.

I prodded him a couple times in the Adam's apple with the rough end of the cable and he gagged as he returned to partial consciousness. I poked him again to get his attention.

"That was for Alex, creep. If you ever come within five feet of my sister again, I'll kill you." I didn't scream or threaten; I spoke almost conversationally. Perhaps it was the cold, calm tone of voice that made him look at me as though he believed me.

"And if you decide to come after me to get even, or if you send your friends to beat me up, you'd better make sure you kill ME. Because if you don't, you're dead.

"Listen carefully: My sister is the most important thing in the world to me. Where she's concerned, I really don't*care* what happens to me. You might say I'm a little insane on the subject. I'm prepared to commit murder, if necessary. Are you?" From his expression, I was sure he believed me now, which was the first smart thing he'd done this evening.

"Just so you won't forget," I added, and suddenly raised the club and smashed it down across the center of his face, flattening the cartilage in his nose.

He'd have a splint on it for weeks; let him try to explain that to his buddies. Beaten up by a kid two years younger and probably thirty pounds lighter. But he was clutching his nose with both hands, retching from the pain, and staring at me like I really was crazy. And I probably was, for a while there.

The entire encounter had taken less than three minutes and made very little noise, and the street was still quiet. And I had learned some valuable lessons. Let them underestimate you and then take them by surprise. Then, hit 'em first, hit 'em hard, and kick 'em while they're down. When you're outnumbered or outsized, that's the only way you have a chance of winning.

I quickly wiped the bloody end of the club on the grass and stuck it behind my back again. Then I climbed on my moped, started it up, and headed for home without looking back. Halfway there, though, I had to pull over to the curb for a few minutes, to stop shaking. I had gone through the entire incident on automatic, and now the adrenaline rush was catching up with me.

I coasted silently into our driveway, parked by the back door, and slipped inside as quietly as possible. Alex was dozing on her bed, sprawled on top of the comforter. She was wearing one of my old sport shirts, unbuttoned, and I gently opened one side. Her bruises had deepened in color but they didn't seem to have swollen much; probably no cracked ribs or anything. The blue on her breast had gone purple and it made me angry all over again, that her body had been abused so. Alex stirred and her eyes flickered open.

"I tried to stay awake," she yawned. "You went over to see Allen, didn't you? What happened?" She struggled to sit up, grimaced, and pulled me down beside her instead.

"Are you okay?" She searched my face anxiously for evidence of a fight. But I didn't intend to tell her, in any detail, what had happened.

"We had a little talk. I think you and that creep are even, now. He's not going to bother you anymore." Her expression was full of questions, but she sensed that I wasn't going to talk about it, not yet.

"Why don't you pass the word around among your girlfriends about that guy? Show them your bruises. His potential dates ought to be warned."

She looked solemnly into my eyes a little longer and when it became obvious I wasn't going to say anything more, she took my head between her hands and kissed me long and seriously.

Then she flashed that loving smile and murmured, "I usually*can* look after myself, Michael. But when I can't, I'm glad you're there to take care of me. I love you…" Then I settled her in bed and pulled the covers over her, and by the time I switched off the light she was asleep again.

And as I climbed into my own bed a little while later, I thought over the incident and wondered if I really*would* have killed Allen Stone, given a weapon and the opportunity. And I finally decided 'Yes' – I would have. It was a useful thing to know about myself, both good and bad.

We almost always walked home from school together, so on Monday afternoon I met Alex out in front of the main building, as usual. She was wide-eyed and gave me a strange look.

"I saw Allen in the hall after Third Period – and he saw me and turned around and went the other way. He had a cast on his wrist, and a plastic splint on his nose, and a very black eye! What*happened* the other night?"

I didn't think she sounded displeased, but I felt uncomfortable under her questioning stare. "Was he walking kind of funny?" I asked. "I kicked him in the nuts, too."

She blinked at me and said slowly, "Are you telling me you beat up on Allen Stone? Michael, he's a LOT bigger than you are – you could've gotten hurt bad!" This was becoming embarrassing.

"Well, he wasn't expecting it. Neither was I. And I don't have to fight fair. Alex, it was partly luck, and yes, I could have gotten hurt – but I didn't."

I slung my book back over my shoulder and started across the street. Alex found herself hurrying to catch up. I was trying to avoid further discussion, but she wouldn't let go of it.

"Michael, wait a minute! Why would you DO something like that?" I stopped and looked her in the eye.

"Did you look at yourself in the mirror the other night?" She nodded slowly.

"Alex, when I saw the bruises he put on you, and the way he ripped your clothes,… well, I got angry. I mean*really* angry. I couldn't stand the thought that someone would do that to you." I lowered my voice. "I went over there with a weapon. I was going to kill that geek if I had to."

She couldn't decide if I was serious. "You would've*killed* somebody because of ME?" Her voice had risen almost to a squeak. "Michael, I can't believe that!"

I set down my book bag, took hold of her biceps, and gave her the most serious expression I could muster. "Believe it! Alex, you have to understand how I feel about you. Yes: I WOULD kill to protect you. Don't ever doubt it. And if it were a choice between you and me, I'd die for you, too. That's just the way it is, okay? I know it sounds melodramatic, but it's the simple truth."

I picked up my books again and set off at a slower pace. Alex matched my stride and glanced over at my face several times. Finally, she took my arm and squeezed it possessively.

"I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't know. It scares me a little, that you feel so intensely, but it feels good, too. It makes me feel secure."

I smiled back at her. Now she understood.

[NOTE: From Chap 5 of the "Siblings" novel; set 1971; he's 16, she's 15. Some minor correcting and rewriting for continuity has been done since this section was first posted…]

PATTY

by Michael K. Smith

One comfortably warm afternoon in October, I was taking a nap in my room, having exhausted myself with several hours of freestyle practice. There was no one else in the house, so the sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by girlish giggles on the stair, half woke me. Then some part of my brain registered that the giggling was a conversation between two different voices and I came fully awake, though some instinct kept me from moving.

I recognized the other voice as belonging to Patty Jensen, who was also on the swim team and was one of Alex's best girl friends. Patty was a cute little blonde with large, blue, innocent eyes, a snub nose, and a wide, sensuous mouth filled with very white teeth. Her pale, wavy hair swung against the nape of her neck in a ponytail and she tanned nicely. She was shorter than Alex by a couple of inches but somewhat meatier (my unconsidered opinion before that afternoon); she had been one of the first girls in Alex's class to buy a bra because she actually needed it.

Yet she was both a popular date and well-liked by the other girls in her group – no small achievement. She seemed to be smitten with the idea of love and sex but was still uneasy about the reality. She also exuded pheromones uncontrollably and the reaction and attention of the boys who wandered within range often bewildered her.

Alex ushered Patty into her room across the hall and gave her door a halfhearted shove; it stood open a foot, but privacy was not something we had ever taken seriously Upstairs. I lay on my bed in my cutoffs, casually eavesdropping, until I picked up the words "bikini" and "sexy." What in the world was going on?

I rose quietly, silently opened my own door, and slipped into the hall. In ordinary circumstances, I wasn't the Peeping Tom type. I never joined in when my gym class found new ways to intrude in the girls' locker room. Why should I? I could see all the skin I wanted at home. But this was a different situation and a different girl, and in most ways I was still no different from any other fifteen-year-old boy.

I peered through Alex's doorjamb to see where the two were. I could watch Alex openly at any time and she wouldn't mind, but Patty was definitely an "outsider," even though she had been invited Upstairs. They were sitting crosslegged, side by side on Alex's brass bed, dumping out the contents of two small shopping bags labeled MALIBU BIKINI SHOP.

I knew that place; even the limbless manikins in the window were exciting! In each bag was a small bundle wrapped in tissue, and each bundle was unwrapped to reveal two remarkably tiny strips of brightly colored cloth.

Patty was smoothing out her new neon-red bikini on the bedspread in front of her. "My dad would kill me if he saw me wearing this at the beach!"

She giggled and lifted the cups of the halter top so they looked like two miniature tents. Without realizing it, she tugged a little at the tips of her bra and compared the result.

Alex's suit was just as brilliant a shade of cerulean blue, which I knew would contrast electrically with her hair and eyes.

"Well? Let's try 'em on!" said Alex, scrambling off the bed.

"Here?" Patty looked dubious.

"Of course, 'here'," Alex laughed. "You're going to wear that Do-It-Now suit at the beach in front of thousands of ravenous boys, aren't you? Don't you want to know what it really looks like on you first? Especially since they wouldn't let us try them on at the store?" She was already unzipping her jeans.

"I have a full-length mirror in my room at home," Patty pointed out.

"Uh-huh. And what was it you just said about your father? Besides, we need to help each other adjust the fit, for maximum effect!" Her voice was muffled by the knit top she was pulling off over her head, and then she was standing there in bra and panties, a hand on one hip, waiting for her friend to catch up.

Patty looked up a bit shyly and surveyed the sleekness of Alex's body. I made a bet with myself that she admired my sister's trimness – but that she also thought her own breasts would even up the score. If she could work up the nerve to strip.

"Well,…" Patty stood up slowly but then began rapidly shucking off her jeans and sweatshirt before she lost momentum. Both girls were facing generally in my direction and I was careful to stand back from the door crack a few inches. Patty seemed momentarily shocked when Alex dropped and stepped out of her panties. I was merely surprised; when had that happened?

My sister's curly red-brown pubic thatch had been trimmed and regimented. Her crotch was now shaved bare at the sides and she was completely naked between her legs, obviously so she would only show at the beach what she intended to show. The effect was to make her appear even slimmer than she was, and a bit more vulnerable as well. I liked the effect. Alex stood calmly naked, waiting for Patty to finish undressing – she was giving her encouragement by example, I thought.

Patty dropped her bra and bent over to push down her panties. Her breasts swung out invitingly and I stored the image away as a mental polaroid for the next time I needed a fantasy. She stood up and took a breath.

Little Patty actually had a much nicer body than I had given her credit for. She had some extra flesh but it was smooth and lightly tanned; she was becoming voluptuous, not fat or flabby. I should have realized that anyone who could make the swim team in the first place would be in top physical condition.

The wider flair of her hips made her look like an Earth-mother-in-training and her stomach was flat and muscular. Her legs were proportioned to her lesser height. She wasn't a natural blonde, though. Her pubic hair was a rich brown mat that entirely concealed her crotch and much of her groin. Her shoulders were broader than Alex's, and while her breasts were much fuller than my sister's, her small pink nipples stood up right where they should. She might be a little overbalanced, but there was no sag. I immediately revised my opinion of her looks.

Alex gave her friend's breasts a grin and a nod of approval. "You have really nice tits, Patty. Not like these…" She cupped and lifted her own pair as Patty blushed at the intimate compliment and then lifted her own breasts. They filled both hands. I knew quite well that my sister was perfectly happy with the shape of her own body; she was just putting Patty at ease.

I also noticed that Patty seemed to follow Alex's lead in many of her physical movements. I began to suspect that she regarded my sister as a model of gracefulness and poise. (I certainly did.)

Then both girls turned back to the bed and began sorting out their new beach assault weapons. Patty had a rather larger ass than Alex, but it fit right in with the rest of her equipment. Alex got her suit on first.

The bottom part was cut as low in front as she could get away with; if she hadn't trimmed her pubic hair it would have curled over the hem. The top of the suit was a simple elastic bandeau that went on over her head. She didn't need straps for support – but Patty certainly did.

Patty's suit had a halter top with one shoelace-sized string around the back and another behind her neck. The bottom part had string ties at the sides that could gather the suit in from a conservative three-inch-wide band to a very narrow connecting strip. And the narrower the strip, I saw, the lower the suit would ride on her hips.

They each examined themselves in the long mirror and then stepped back and studied each other critically, measuring psychological effect and searching for the smallest flaws. I had to admit it: They were different types, but both girls were sexy and beautiful. I had personal preferences, but I could also think of a dozen guys just in my home room who would go to serious lengths for a chance to cuddle up with Patty at the beach.

Patty put her hands out to her sides and shrugged helplessly. "What can I say, Alex? You look terrific!" Alex blushed at her friend's honest compliment but also managed to look pleased with herself.

"Hey, I just thought of something," Alex said, and reached up to the top shelf of her closet to pull down a shoebox. When she stretched on tiptoe like that, the bottom of her bikini seemed about to slither down to her ankles. She was going to have to be careful in volleyball games, I thought.

After a moment she dug out the pair of deep green satin shoes I had bought her to go with her country club dress. "I got these as a gift last summer to go with a party dress. I think you were on vacation with your folks."

She slipped on the shoes and became instantly sexier. High heels are undoubtedly bad for a woman's feet, but they can sure do wonders for the long curves of her legs.

Alex put her hands on her hips and thrust out her chest. She began strutting across the room, swinging her ass and pointing her toes with each step. Patty was laughing in delight and clapping.

"That's great, Alex, really! You ought to enter a beauty contest some day – you got the moves down perfect!"

I was smiling, too. Alex could clown around but she was truly gorgeous – and she knew I thought so, and that made both of us feel good. But her parade across the room had brought her close to her bedroom door before I realized where she was headed. I made the mistake of stepping back from the doorjamb too late and Alex's quick eye caught the movement.

In the second or two before she turned, her face showed surprise, then amusement, then thoughtfulness – and then mischievous delight as she suddenly had an inspiration. Two steps back toward the bed, humming "The Stripper," Alex paused and rotated in a slow, exaggerated bump and grind while Patty crowed with laughter. And as she turned, she gave me a broad wink. She had an audience now and she intended to take advantage of it.

I had no idea what her instant plan might entail, but I was sure it would involve Patty. She wouldn't hurt Patty, I knew; she liked the other girl too much as a friend. And if Patty was lucky, she would never know she had been the victim of a prank. My sister and I had many, many private jokes that the rest of the world was never let in on.

Alex was back at her friend's side, now. She smiled and kicked the shoes under the bed, and then stepped back to look more closely at Patty. She parked one open hand on a canted hip – a calculated pose if I ever saw one – while Patty twisted her pearl pinky ring and waited a little nervously for Alex's verdict.

"Patty, you look really nice in that suit – in fact, you look great! That kind of red means 'Stop, Look, and Listen,' and the boys are gonna do just that." The little blonde beamed radiantly.

"But-" (Alex pointed a finger dramatically at the other girl's navel) "-you're wearing that suit much too conservatively!"

"What?!" Patty squeaked. "I feel almost naked already!" She looked down at the narrow red strips. "How can this possibly be 'conservative'?"

Alex knelt on one knee in front of her and said in a mock stern tone, "They put these ties here for a reason, but you still have them let all the way out. Haven't you seen those teeny little bikinis in action at the beach?" She began cinching up the string on one side.

"But those girls are in college, or at least high school juniors and seniors! I won't be fifteen for another month!"

"So? You're never too young to be sexy! Besides, think of the fifteen-year- old boys. They watch the college girls with the grown-up bodies, sure, but they know they'll never get within ten yards of any of them. And then they'll turn around, and there you'll be, a dazzling blonde their own age in a red bikini, and their eyes will fall out on the sand. They'll stumble all over themselves, and get tongue-tied trying to talk to you, and you'll have to hold them off with a beach umbrella! Now that's POWER!"

She had cinched up the strings on both sides of Patty's suit while Patty's expression said she was imagining the scene at the beach – and enjoying it. Now Alex pulled the front of the red suit two inches lower so it marked a straight line across Patty's lower abdomen. Then she turned her around quickly, before she could react, and tugged the back of her suit lower as well, almost exposing the cleft between her cheeks. Patty was spun to the front again.

"Have to make the most of those tits, too," Alex said as she stood up. She held the lower string of Patty's halter top with one hand and began experimentally sliding the cups farther apart, exposing a much more generous cleavage. Patty stood helplessly, caught up in Alex's radicalization of what she obviously thought was already a very daring bikini.

"Untie the bottom string." Patty did as she was told but clutched the strings at her sides.

"We move the string farther up under your boobs to make 'em stand out,… okay, tie it again." Patty's breasts looked larger now and more nearly spherical. Alex stepped behind her.

"Now, we cheat gravity a little…" She untied the halter string behind Patty's neck. "Lift your boobs, Patty; c'mon, use your hands!"

Alex retied the neck string and stepped back. "Now, go take a look in the mirror, kid – every boy you meet is going to have an instant hard-on. You're going to have to wear a name tag: 'Hi, my name is Patty, and please don't come in your trunks'!"

Patty's face suggested she had just survived a whirlwind, but when she saw her quarter-profile in the long mirror her mouth fell open and she stared.

Her bust looked to be a full cup size larger than it already was, and the skinny little sides of the bottom of her suit emphasized the earthy flair of her hips and made her legs look longer. In a word, she was luscious. She unconsciously arched her back a little more and cocked one hip. She looked speechlessly at Alex, who grinned and made an 'O' with thumb and forefinger.

"What did I tell you? You believe me now?" She moved up close to Patty.

"Now – if you'll trust me with a sewing machine, I think we ought to take in the sides of each of these about a half-inch…" She tucked under the edges of each halter cup with her fingers and managed to stroke the surfaces of Patty's breasts as she did so.

"I'm going to take in my top some, I think, and remove the lining so my nipples will show through." She looked down at her bandeau as she pulled down its top edge as far as her brown areolae.

"I do have great nipples, don't I?" Patty watched, somehow unaware that right now their breasts, bellies, crotches, and thighs all were less than two inches apart.

Alex moved her hands slightly and then she was casually, gently, lifting the weight of Patty's breasts. The other girl seemed hypnotized; I knew the feeling. Alex sighed.

"Gee, I wish I had boobs like these." No, she didn't, but I was beginning to understand where Alex's game was going. At fourteen, my sister was already an artist at seduction. She had a talent for it when she chose to use it, and I was the proof; when she wanted something from me she nearly always got it.

Alex withdrew her hands before her friend could think of anything to say and casually removed her own suit. "If you'll leave that outfit with me for a day or two, I'll brew you up some magic, okay?"

Patty was pulling off her suit, too – mostly because Alex had done so, but she didn't realize that. She nibbled at her lower lip for a second.

"Alex? I'm glad I have someone like you for a friend." She was sweet and sincere, and still astonished by her transformation in the mirror. "Why are you so much smarter about boys than I am?"

Alex gave her a surprised glance and then a genuinely warm smile. "I'm glad we're friends, too, Patty. You're one of the very nicest people I know. And I'm*not* smarter; maybe I just work at it harder." I'll bet you've also had a*lot* more practice, I thought, and smiled.

Patty really was a nice girl, besides being sexier than I would have expected. Then Alex put her arms around her in an affectionate girl-girl hug and Patty responded in kind. It would have seemed the most innocent embrace in the world, had they not both been naked.

Again, Alex quit first. She looked around the room for a moment while one hand absently stroked her tiny tuft of pubic hair. Then she looked at her crotch in apparent surprise.

"I almost forgot! There's something else you need to do before you can wear that bikini."

"What?"

"This!" My sister spread her thighs slightly, bent her knees, and pushed her crotch forward to display her cropped pubic patch.

"If you don't trim it back, your hair will stick out the sides of your suit. Remember Mary Elizabeth's first dive in the tank suit she borrowed from her older sister? It looked like her pussy was drowning and trying to escape!" Both girls burst into peals of laughter. I wished I had been present at*that* practice.

Patty fluffed her large bush thoughtfully. Without being aware of it, she was becoming used to being naked around Alex, who always walked and behaved exactly the same way whether she was dressed or not. Especially when she knew she was safe at home, my sister had totally lost what other people might regard as modesty, and her unconcerned attitude toward bare skin sometimes rubbed off on other people.

"You really think I have too much hair down there?"

"Well, you don't have it shave it completely… although that*would* attract attention."

Patty looked momentarily alarmed before she realized that Alex was teasing her, and then she smiled prettily. "Well, I can trim it down at home."

"I thought you bought a Lady Something-or-Other electric because you kept nicking your legs? And I don't think your dad would appreciate finding pussy hairs in his shaving cream. Besides, an electric leaves a stubble; it really itches."

Patty looked baffled. "Embroidery scissors?"

"It's not just the length," Alex explained. "It's the width. You need a strip of bare skin on each side and underneath. Also, with that much hair, when it gets wet, it soaks up water like a sponge and it expands. Like in the shower?" She stroked her index fingers down her own newly-mown crotch. Patty watched in fascination and continued to pluck at her own bush.

Alex looked her solemnly in the eye. "I'd be happy to do it for you if you'd trust me to, Patty. I'll be very careful not to nick you. And if we do it here, your father won't ever know about it, right?" I held my breath. This was the crucial point in what I suspected Alex was planning.

"Uh, nobody's ever touched me there, except my doctor." She was talking mostly to herself.

"Patty, your gynecologist is a man and he practically shoves his whole fist up in you, doesn't he? Most of 'em do." Patty looked a bit dazed, but nodded.

"I'm a girl and I'm your friend, aren't I? Friends help each other out, especially with things you can't really go to your folks about. And I'll be very careful, I promise." Alex was speaking softly and soothingly, now, and I could tell Patty was allowing herself to be talked into this adventure.

"Well,.. I guess you're right. I guess I do have too much hair for a bikini. Besides," she added with a self-deprecating twinkle, "I don't think I could see what I was doing!" She spread her breasts apart with both hands and peered down between them. Her subconscious had come up with the perfect way of asserting her physical superiority to Alex in the one department she was absolutely sure of. She had even turned it into a sexy joke. Patty had definitely loosened up in the past hour.

"Okay, why don't you empty off that chair while I get the stuff?" Alex was all business now. The chair she waved at was an old wooden kitchen piece, straight-backed and armless, repainted bright yellow. It served as a seat, stepping stool, clothes rack, and especially as a gathering place for junk. Alex was keeping her friend occupied while she went next door to the bathroom.

I stepped back against the wall as Alex came out of her bedroom. Thirty seconds later she was back with her safety razor and a new blade, her needlework scissors and a small comb, and two bath towels – and my shaving mug and brush (I had ambitions). I pointed at the brush and nodded in approval. Alex pointed to her eye, which meant "Watch and see."

Patty was standing a bit nervously by the now-empty chair, fingering her pubic hair protectively. Her body language always spoke volumes and yet she remained unaware of it. Remaining naked herself, as another kind of supportive body language, Alex folded a towel and draped it neatly over the chair seat, and then adjusted the chair's angle so my view would be unimpeded.

"Would milady care to park it?" She made a theatrical flourish and Patty sat down with her knees and feet together and her hands in her lap. Alex knelt before her.

"Umm. Patty, dear – I have to be able to get to the work site," Alex explained gently and laid one hand lightly on the other girl's knee.

With Alex's quiet prompting, Patty finally got settled. She found herself scooted far forward on her coccyx with her pussy cantilevered over the front of the chair. Her knees were spread as wide as for any gynecologist and her heels were hooked over the rungs on the sides of the chair. To keep herself from sliding off, she had a grip on the chair's back slats above her shoulders, which also had the effect of lifting and pressing her breasts together.

I had wondered why Alex didn't simply have her lie on a towel on the bed. Now I knew why. The little blonde was vulnerable and wide open to the world; she looked like a pose from HUSTLER.

Working slowly and carefully, Alex untangled Patty's pubic hair with the comb and trimmed it down to shaving level. Then she quickly whipped up a mug full of suds and twirled the brush in it as she had seen me do. She slowly stropped the brush up and down between Patty's legs – not only on the sides of her crotch but vertically across her clit and downward below her cunt, almost to her asshole. There was quite a bit of hair in front of Patty's puckered little opening. Patty's eyes flickered closed and her lips began to twitch; she was feeling something but she wasn't going to admit it, not even to herself.

I watched in fascination as my sister slowly and carefully cleared a bare area on each side of Patty's half-open cunt; I suspected she could work a lot more rapidly if she cared to. She seemed to completely ignore the protruding clit that emerged from its sheath of its own volition.

Alex did very neat work, squaring the thick tangle into a neat, brush-like vertical hedge and shortening its length overall. She also managed to lean her forearms frequently on Patty's splayed knees and to drag her own nipples across the inner surfaces of Patty's thighs. Several times she moved her head in close – just being careful, you know – and opened her mouth wide, breathing warm air directly onto Patty's clit. She continued, meticulously shaving clean the entire area toward the back of Patty's crotch.

Finally, she wiped off the soap with the other towel, being sure the coarse material traveled the whole length of her friend's gaping cunt. She handed Patty a large hand mirror so she could view the result.

"Now we don't want you to get razor burn – happens a lot the first time you shave." She picked up a bottle of moisturizing cream from behind the chair, uncapped it, and dribbled a stream of the pale cream down both sides of Patty's crotch, and then down the sheath of her clit.

Patty gasped and her toes curled at the touch of the cool, thick liquid. Alex slowly spread the cream up and down the creases of her crotch and her exposed lips. She spread it evenly over the clitoral sheath. The covering hand moved back and Patty's clit, pinkish red and twitching involuntarily, emerged and grew.

Alex's forefinger lightly smoothed the cream down the center of the cunt before her, touching but not penetrating the opening, and continued to the satiny area between the bottom of her wide-open pussy and the darker, ridged opening below. Patty was holding her breath, and so was I, but Alex's finger stopped just short and lifted away.

The brush, Alex's careful but persistent manipulation of her labia, the friction of the towel, and finally the soothing cream had all done their work. Patty's breath was coming in erratic puffs as she gazed in amazement through half-closed eyes at her newly revealed crotch.

She passed her own hand over the smooth, soft surfaces and curves, even drawing one finger dazedly across the tip of her clit. It abruptly struck me that Patty's general shyness, the apparent attitudes of her parents, and the thick, rapid growth of her pubic thatch probably had prevented her from ever getting a close look at her own genitals. ALL of this was a new experience for her.

Alex apparently drew the same conclusion and added it to her plan. Still kneeling on the floor between Patty's knees, she spread her own legs and leaned back on her heels, her nipples visibly elongating. Her middle finger glided down into her own slit and disappeared, and she sighed lightly. "You know, trimming your pussy also makes it easier to get yourself off," she said quietly.

Patty shook her head vigorously. "No, I don't do that! My dad caught me… uh, playing with myself when I was twelve and he beat the crap out of me! Besides, it isn't good for you." What do you think has just been happening? I wondered.

Alex continued stroking herself, mostly for Patty's visual benefit, but she gave her friend a sympathetic look. "What do you do when you get horny, then? And*don't* tell me you never get horny!"

It hadn't occurred to Patty that she could put her legs down; they were still spread wide and her clit was twitching more frequently. One hand held the mirror and the other began absently to stroke the neat pad of hair that remained as she studied its reflection.

"I just get frustrated, I guess," she said softly. "Sometimes, though, when I'm alone, I squeeze my legs together and I feel a sort of tingle." She didn't notice that she had contradicted her earlier denial.

"Patty, it's called 'masturbation,' not 'playing with yourself,' and it's a natural part of sex – and sex is a natural part of life.*Not* masturbating is what's abnormal! I'm still a virgin – yes, I am! – and I had my first orgasm a year ago by masturbating myself. And it felt wonderful!" Alex's fingers were beginning to move up and down like slender pistons.

"You can't just go on being horny and frustrated! Doing yourself takes the edge off. You can keep control of yourself with a boy when he gets you hot because you know you can always finish it later. Otherwise, some guy is going to get you so worked up you'll let him fuck you just to get it over with, to release the pressure – and it might not be the right guy or the right time and place. Boys jerk off all the time, you know that, and it's a lot harder for them to hide it! And if it's natural for them to do it, why shouldn't girls do it, too? Look at your body, Patty! It's ready for you to get pregnant and have a baby. But you can tell it to be patient and still have all the fun part of sex."

Alex's fingers were acting independently of her mouth, caressing and tugging at her clit and pressing its sheath back to expose more of it. The tiny red shaft glistened moistly. Patty couldn't take her eyes off that busy hand. She tried half-heartedly to conceal her own cunt by cupping her hand over it, but her legs were still splayed out.

"I don't think I know how," she said in a small voice with a sudden low sob at the end.

My sister wasn't close to orgasm yet, I could tell that, but her fingers slowed and stopped. She could save herself up, remaining at a high sexual pitch but picking her own moment for a climax. I had seen her do that before, too, and it always astonished me.*I* certainly didn't have that kind of control.

Alex stood and bent over Patty, her hands on the other girl's shoulders. Her breasts moved in a shallow curve a few inches before Patty's face. Her nipples were as erect and rigid as pencil erasers.

"Patty, I've never been a teacher before, and I'm sure no sex expert, but my pussy is something I know real well. I admit it – virgin or not, I enjoy sex. And when I do pick out the guy I want to pop my cherry, I'm going to be ready. No fumbling around, no confusion. I'm going to know what I'm doing." She put a hand behind each of Patty's thighs, lifted her legs from the chair rungs, and set her feet together on the floor. Then she pulled her to her feet.

Patty clutched Alex's upper arms and put her forehead against her shoulder. She canted one hip, which pressed what remained of her pubic hair against Alex's thigh; my sister's crotch was in a similar situation. Alex glided both her hands up and down the small of Patty's back and murmured soothingly in her ear as the soft sobbing continued.

Patty made a strange picture, standing there: naked and sexy, but shy, breasts trembling against Alex's as she tried to control her tears, moisture reflecting from her eyelashes as she kept her head down in embarrassment – not because she was naked and nipple-to-nipple in another girl's embrace, but because her clit was throbbing wetly and she didn't know what to do about it. She was desirable and she knew it, but the very lushness of her own body frightened her. It sounded like her father wasn't being much help, either. Watching through the doorjamb, I felt a surprising wave of sympathy for little Patty.

Alex had played her prank, exposing the most intimate parts of Patty's body to me in great detail – which had hurt no one but would provide us with hours of conversation later – and arousing her friend's untried sensuality into the bargain.

But Alex truly liked Patty and now she obviously intended to try to help her friend become less sexually helpless. The fact that she knew I was still watching was irrelevant.

Alex sat both of them down on the side of the bed, thighs again pressed side-to-side, and put her arm comfortingly around her friend's shoulder.

"Patty, sex is supposed to be fun," she began, "and I promise you it is, if you know what you're doing. It's not something you should be afraid of. I know – there are guys you have to be careful of because they get carried away, even if they're sorry afterwards. And some guys are just selfish, unfeeling sons-of-bitches." Patty nodded in agreement; I had a feeling she had run into a few of those, just as Alex had.

"But, Patty, that isn't your fault and it doesn't make sex bad. And most guys are okay. You're a beautiful girl and they're more likely to be afraid of*you*. That's why they get tongue-tied and act silly sometimes. They just don't know what else to do."

Alex glanced for a moment at the crack in the door where I stood. "Let me give you an example. The boy I know best is the one I live with, okay? My brother, Michael. He and I get along – in fact we're pretty good friends. Now, let me ask you: Do you think he's good-looking?"

Patty looked up at her in surprise, as if it were a silly question. "Sure, I think he's very good looking."

"Okay," Alex went on. "Is he sexy?" I wondered how many games she was playing? Or had the identity of the contestant simply changed?

Patty hesitated. "Yeah, I guess he is. I mean, I've never gone out with him, of course, but he smiles at me in school. But maybe that's because he knows you and I are friends," she concluded doubtfully.

"That's negative thinking, Patty!" Alex smiled. "Anyway, I've seen a lot more of him than you have, and*I* sure think he's sexy! If he weren't my brother, he might even be the one I'd pick to give my virginity to."

That got my attention. Patty looked a little startled but interested. Alex was stroking the inside of her friend's thigh, but Patty seemed not to notice.

"I've seen him naked a few times, like in the bathroom. He has swimmermuscles, too, remember. And a nice butt. And a very interesting looking cock." She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"Once, I watched him jerking off in the shower, because the shower door wasn't fogged up too much to conceal it. His cock looked huge, and when he shot off it really made me hot! So I came back in here and fantasized about it and got myself off. You see what I'm saying? He came in the shower, by himself, and I came in my bed, by myself, and we both enjoyed it."

"But I don't know how to- to get myself off. I've tried just rubbing it – I mean, I…" She was admitting to more than she had intended but Alex laughed and squeezed her shoulder encouragingly.

"Well, I can take care of that! Scoot up here, Patty…" Alex pushed herself backwards, against the brass headboard and put her legs straight out in front of her. "Over here, next to me." She put her hand flat on the bed beside her.

Patty hesitated again for a long second, then turned and crawled over next to Alex – who moved over an inch so the entire length of their flanks were pressed warmly together. Alex brushed the instep of her right foot against the sole of Patty's left. Patty's toes curled over.

"Now, follow me…" My sister arched her back slightly and cupped her breasts in her hands, massaging and tugging at her nipples. She took a deep breath of enjoyment. "Think of someone whose hands you want to imagine on your body."

Patty followed her example, almost over-balancing when she arched her back. Her nipples were pink little buttons, much smaller than Alex's, but they also rose under the friction of her fingertips.

"I've done this before, too," Patty sighed, "but it feels different this time. It must be because we're doing it together." They continued stroking themselves almost in unison for several minutes, and their breathing grew heavier.

"Alex,… this doesn't mean we're, uh, lesbians, does it?"

My sister threw her head back and laughed. "No, of course not! You're a dear, sweet girl, Patty – but you're not the person I'm daydreaming about right now, I guarantee!" I hoped I knew who*was* in her daydream.

"Now, move your hands where you want your dream-lover to put his hands. Remember, they aren't*your* hands right now – they're his."

She moved her own hands smoothly down her sides, down her upper legs, then back up the insides of her thighs. Her skin was beginning to flush lightly wherever her hands passed. Patty copied her movements and her eyelids fluttered as her imagination replaced the touch of her palms with someone else's.

"Patty, you wouldn't believe whose hands I'm feeling on me right now…" Alex shifted her gaze directly at me and smiled provocatively.

She spread her legs wide apart, sliding the left one under Patty's. Patty bent her knees and took a similar position. Both girl's pussies were open to me, though only one of them knew it, and the sight of two such lovely bodies being systematically aroused was almost more than I could stand.

My cock had grown thick and erect, but I couldn't jerk off or even unzip my cutoffs, for fear Patty would hear the sound. I had to be content with hiking up one leg of my shorts enough to expose the head of my cock, which I squeezed and massaged as quietly as I could.

At Alex's lead, the girls had both hands in their crotches now, stroking their labia between their fingers and reaching far back to tease their assholes with an occasional light touch.

Alex nudged Patty to get her attention. "Getting juicy?" she breathed.

"Oh, yes…!" Patty's head was leaning partly on Alex's shoulder.

Alex thrust two fingers up into her vagina and brought them out dripping with aromatic wetness. She began to slide her shining fingers slowly up and down her clit, which already resembled a tiny red cock.

Patty took more time with her fingers, moving them in and out of her cunt, experiencing probably for the first time the internal friction. Then she also moved her attention to her clit. Her breath began to rasp, as her fingers moved faster.

"No, Patty! Take your time – stop for a moment if you have to! Make it last and last… You've heard about boys who are virgins, who just stick it in and come immediately? They don't know how to pace themselves and it's over too quickly."

Patty obediently slowed her pace and even turned her head on Alex's shoulder to watch my sister's technique. Alex was doing slow rings and figure-eights with two fingertips around her clit, returning to her cunt at intervals for additional lubricant. She had done this many times and knew exactly how to sustain her own arousal.

Patty returned to her own rising passion, but using more control this time. A few minutes later, Alex began making low animal sounds in her throat and bent her head back. Her fingertips were racing around the tip and shaft of her clit, now. Then she caught her breath, jerked slightly several times, and then relaxed with a sigh. She stretched her legs out without removing her hand and simply sat quietly for a few moments in the afterglow of her climax.

My own legs were trembling so badly I had to go carefully down on one knee to keep from falling.

But Patty had stopped her finger-work, engrossed in her friend's orgasm. Alex looked down at her with a smile. She withdrew her hand from between her legs; her fingers were wet and shiny. She raised her hand casually and traced the moisture from her fingers across Patty's upper lip.

"You want to know what it's really all about, Patty? Inhale deeply. That smell will drive a guy completely out of his mind."

Hell, I could identify that particular pungent aroma all the way out in the hall. I had brought several girls to a climax by masturbating them, and they all smelled different. And I knew my sister's scent best of all.

Then Alex became aware that Patty had stalled out. She was flushed with sexual arousal but she'd lost her way and her fingers were moving almost mechanically. Her lips were compressed in frustration; she'd climbed almost to the top of the ladder but she couldn't quite make the last step.

Alex put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her down flat on her back on the bed and propped herself on an elbow. "I'll help you, Patty, you're almost there, you just need a boost to climb over the top…"

Alex covered Patty's motionless hand and her whole pubic mound with her own hand and began moving the two in a pattern together. After a minute, as Patty's respiration rate began to increase again, Alex slid her hand under Patty's and took control of the blonde's pussy. Patty's eyes were closed tightly; she may have thought it was her own fingers that were back in action. Alex dipped her fingers into Patty's cunt for more lubrication and went to work at the base of her shaft, gradually moving toward the tip.

I don't believe she planned what happened next. It was just the appropriate sexual thing to do, I think. My sister looked down at Patty's head lying on her arm and smiled, and kissed her full on the lips.

Patty's mouth reached up eagerly and returned the kiss, and she made little sounds of excitement. She was so far out of it, I think she believed it was her daydream she was kissing. Her eyes never opened. Alex raised her head as her friend's pelvis and legs jerked uncontrollably several times. Then a brief spasm shook her whole body as she gasped and opened her mouth and curled her tongue. A final extended moan escaped her lips and then all her muscles seemed to relax at once and she lay loosely.

Alex combed Patty's hair back out of her eyes with her fingers. The other girl had beads of sweat over her breasts and belly and she was still panting. "God, I didn't know… it could feel… like that…"

She turned over on her side to face Alex, who was propped on her elbow again. I knew my sister wasn't going to mention the kiss. Let Patty think it was her imagination. I felt the wetness oozing down my leg; I had climaxed uncontrollably during that kiss.

There were teardrops on Patty's lashes again, but this time for a very different reason. Her first orgasm had opened up a whole new world for her, a new self-image and new possibilities. And she realized it, too, because she slid both arms around Alex, her face pressed between my sister's breasts, and hugged her tightly.

Alex held her closely and stroked her back, then put one leg gently over her hip. Patty's reaction was automatic. She slipped her thigh between Alex's and pressed it snugly up against her crotch. They lay together like that for perhaps five minutes, each floating back down to earth.

They finally unfolded themselves and sat up crosslegged on the bed, laughing quietly. Patty's face seemed fundamentally changed, somehow, and it took a moment to see that she looked truly happy for the first time since I had known her. She was relaxed and excited at the same time, filled with new confidence, eager to try out her new red bikini on the male public. I was happy for her, too.

I turned and crawled back across the hall, being as quiet as possible. I felt as drained as though I had been responsible for Patty's climax myself, and I didn't even*attempt* to stand.

THE FIRST TIME

Alex and I went through a period of anxiety and self-doubt between Christmas and the New Year. In barely a week, I would be sixteen and she fifteen – old enough to marry in some states with parental consent. Our relationship had evolved so gradually that neither of us had felt any pressure about it. It was like taking a slow stroll through rising hills and coming abruptly to a halt at the brink of an unexpected chasm. We suddenly were realizing just how high we had climbed. In less than a single year, our physical relationship had progressed from separate masturbation, to jerking off in company, to making out like any other teenagers, to*really* making out, to mutual oral sex. And after Alex's episode with Patty, the only thing it seemed we hadn't done was The Deed itself.

As long as Alex was still technically a virgin, regardless of the amount of sex play we indulged in, perhaps we thought we could continue to pretend that this was all just fun and affectionate games. But we came to understand that soon, very soon, we would no longer be able to restrain ourselves. The sex play wouldn't be enough. Though we didn't discuss it in so many words, we both wanted very badly to spend an entire night fucking ourselves into exhaustion. Moreover, the opportunity was there every day and the lingering fear of taking that final step was dissipating. What were we going to do?

It all came to a head the third week in December. We were lying in her bed, naked, our bodies pressed hungrily together. My hands were squeezing and stroking her ass and her hands were manipulating my penis and my balls. We both were breathing hard. My cock was an inch away from where I knew it belonged, and I wanted so badly to slip it into that warm, moist opening! And I was convinced that Alex wanted me inside her, too. I knew I wasn't the only one torn by physical desire when I gradually became aware that my sister's body was shaking from some emotion other than lust.

Her face was buried against my chest and I had to pull back to see that she was sobbing in frustration. Her face was flushed and she looked terribly unhappy. I pulled her close to me again and cuddled her head beneath my chin and stroked her back.

Her fingers tried to kneed my chest. "I'm sorry, Michael. I just don't think I can stand it any longer. I WANT YOU! Making love like this without*really* making love is driving me crazy!"

God, I wanted her, too. But I was worrying about it a lot lately, just as she was. I knew what "incest" was – we both had read quite a lot about its perils and traumas. But the cases we read about seemed to involve mostly young girls trying to deal with forced relationships by much older male relatives, whether father or brother, and that certainly didn't apply to us.

Consenting sibling incest, if it was discussed at all, was seldom analyzed or tracked for its social and psychological consequences. No one approved of it, of course – most of the books we had read through didn't seem to approve of sex at all – and again, there was always the assumption of a forced relationship.

We had found one case study in a popular magazine and read it together several times, trying to make sense of it. It concerned a couple in their late 20s who had met through friends, begun dating, and fallen in love. They had seemed almost magnetically drawn to each other from the first and they planned to be married in due course.

Then the woman, who was an adoptee searching for her biological family, finally uncovered explicit information about her long-lost siblings, all of whom had been adopted out to different families at a very young age -and there on the list of names was the man with whom she was in love.

Alex and I both thought this a terrible tragedy – to gain a sibling at the expense of losing a lover and spouse-to-be – but the couple in the magazine article had immediately shifted gears and romantic love seemed to instantly transform itself into traditional filial devotion.

Neither of us could quite believe that the couple had been able to undergo such a radical emotional transformation without severe psychological disturbance. Or were most people really such slaves to a primarily European tradition?

We didn't know, but it was frightening. And it was the most important reason that we went to such lengths to keep our own relationship secret. As brother and sister, we were utterly devoted to each other. But as members of the opposite sex, we were deeply in love. And not puppy love, either.

I had a couple of acquaintances who had gone through a "crush" phase with an older brother or sister. They laughed about it later or maintained an embarrassed silence.

We had also read the theories of psychologists who argued that siblings went through a stage of infantile sexual attraction which they were physically unable to fulfill, so that the attraction turned to active rejection of each other as possible sex partners by the time they reached puberty. That sounded like crap to us, and it certainly didn't fit our own case.

We also knew the hoary old biological arguments – that children born of incestuous relationships were likely to be congenital idiots with two heads, or worse. We knew*that* wouldn't wash. The human gene pool was much too large for common parents in one generation to be statistically significant.

So we weren't in a situation of child abuse, and there was no valid biological argument that we could see. Incest was simply a taboo, inherited from Neolithic ancestors with a different survival agenda. And we lay there in bed, holding tightly to each other, both of us in tears now, feeling conspired against by society. Our relationship, emotional and otherwise, was certainly different – we recognized that. But did that make it "wrong"?

Maybe we were*ahead* of the pack in terms of evolution. Maybe many other sibling couples felt as we did but were afraid of departing so far from the norm – or else thought themselves depraved. Perhaps we shared a common insanity. Or was everybody*else* nuts?

After awhile, we found ourselves sprawled on Alex's bed in conversational mode, still naked, but not feeling very sexually aroused at the moment. The tears had gone but the depression hadn't.

"Michael, what it comes down to is whether we're going to listen to ourselves or to the rest of the world. Do we want – do we*need* – each other badly enough to tell everyone else to go to hell?"

"But we're still minors, Alex. Unless we ran away, the State would keep us apart if they found out. We'd both probably end up in the nut house, under shock treatment. Remember the ending of "Cuckoo's Nest"? And you know we're not going to drop out of school and run away from home. We'd make lousy hippies. I think all we can do is to keep The Secret and wait until we're old enough that no one can stop us, until we can protect ourselves."

"But that's*years* yet – and a year longer for me! Michael, I don't want to wait that long – I can't! I want to fuck you!" Her cheeks colored a bit at her own vehemence and she took a deep breath.

"I want to make love to you, Michael. And I want you to make love to me.*Love.* And I can't wait too much longer. I've been waiting for months. I even started taking the Pill a few months ago – Janie's father is a doctor and she got them for me – and I've just been waiting for the right time." She gave me a look of such longing, I got flutters in my stomach.

She shifted to a kneeling position, which – even naked – seemed somehow more formal. Her expression became serious. "It all comes down to one question, Michael: Do you love me?"

I just looked at her for a moment, then sat up facing her. This didn't sound like a rhetorical question; did she really need an answer?

"You know how I feel about you, Alex."

She folded her hands together and tucked them between her knees, and studied them. "Maybe I do, but I have to hear it. Please."

I leaned forward and covered her hands with mine. I looked into her eyes and said slowly and clearly, "Alex, I love you with all my heart." She blushed a little but her smile seemed relieved. She caught my hand and squeezed.

"Michael, I love you more than anything. Anything. We*are* in love, for real, and it's not fair that we can't share it physically, like any other couple."

I guess that's what made up my mind. I was still nervous about taking the final step, taking my sister's virginity, even though she was actively pressing it on me.

"Incest," I decided at that moment, was just a word. An outmoded concept that had no relevance to us. I'd had one semester of psychology, though I was actually very widely read in that field already, and I suspected Freud and his crowd would have all sorts of significant things to say about us, but that simply didn't interest me. It didn't mean anything.

My sister and I might be unusual in our relationship, but that was all it was – "unusual." If we had had two different sets of parents, we would have been just like any other teenage couple, and no one would care. So what was so perverted? What was so degenerate about us?

I realized that my conclusions had been coalescing for months. I knew I loved a girl named Alexandra. And that it wasn't a crush, or puppy love, or anything so trivial. Those things were all we were*supposed* to be capable of feeling at our age, but I was convinced that our feelings for each other were much, much deeper. Perhaps we were simply more mature in certain ways than most of our peers… or maybe it was our slowly developing love and resulting closeness that had matured us. However cause and effect worked, the result was the same.

These thoughts rushed in and piled atop one another in my mind as we sat there in bed holding hands and gazing longingly at each other. It was almost an epiphany. My nervousness about the resolution of our sexual involvement was still there, of course, but now it was the natural nervousness of any young male contemplating sex with a girl he cares for deeply. That "I-word," the one we never used aloud, no longer entered into it.

The few seconds' pause in our conversation seemed like an hour. I had to think back to recall the last thing Alex had said. Ah. Yes.

"You're right," I replied. "It's not fair. And I think we've just decided to do something about it, haven't we?" Alex looked faintly surprised at the sudden resolution in my voice.

"But I think we should treat this as a special occasion – special for both of us. Why don't we give each other a very special, very private birthday gift?" Her eyes were bright, now.

"I also think we should give up all this foreplay with no 'last act' until then. Sweets taste a lot nicer when you haven't had any for awhile."

"Yeah," she said with a smile. "I think you're right. Looking without being able to touch will make us anticipate the Big Day all the more." She hesitated. "We don't have to avoid each other, do we?"

"Alex, we're still brother and sister; what else have we been agonizing about? We just won't be lovers for a week, not actively anyway. But I still get a kiss in the morning, okay?"

My sister looked and seemed happier than she had in months. This was a deep river for us to cross, but I thought things would be all right, now that we had decided to blow up the log jam.

*****

It was a long week… like trudging across a desert, even though you know when and where the waterhole is going to be. We continued the same friendly affection we had developed over the years, and we still exchanged quick kisses of greeting and departure. We held hands when we went shopping out of our neighborhood.

But each of us adopted a careful modesty around the other. Clothing changes were made with bedroom doors shut, and we knocked on the bathroom door, just like other people. All showers were solo. We stopped our intimate but casual sex play. In some ways, of course, it was godawful frustrating, but it also heightened the sexual tension, like tightening a guitar string. For some years, I had had regular dreams about Alex -always very nice ones, too – but now the dreams came every night.

She was still doing most of her studying on my bed, though she was wearing more than just underwear these days. But neither of us was getting a lot of studying done; we spent much of our time looking at each other and smiling. The mounting anticipation became almost overwhelming.

The morning of January 6th, my – our – birthday, as I was putting my keys and coins in my pockets, I discovered a neatly sealed square envelope propped on top of my chest of drawers.

On the front was "An Invitation," lettered in my sister's precise script. Inside was a folded sheet of her monogrammed notepaper which read:

"The Joy of Your Presence Is Requested at a

Grand Opening to Be Entered Into at

Approximately 9:00 p.m. on the Evening of

January 6th and Ending Whenever the Revelers

Are Exhausted. No R.S.V.P. Required, No

Excuses Accepted. Dress: Optional."

I had a great deal of difficulty concentrating on school that Friday.

We had a leisurely supper with Mother and Dad, who wished us both Happy Birthday and gave us our presents. Our family had never made a big deal of birthdays, especially after we each passed the plastic toy stage.

That suited us, too. Each January, Alex and I gave each other small, highly personalized gifts carefully selected or handmade. The more unusual and unexpected, the better; no unimaginative boxes of candy or bottles of cologne between us!

This year, our folks gave us each very nice new wristwatches in matching style, relatively modest in price but a lot better than the old Timexes we both were wearing. Our gifts to each other would come later.

Dad was working on weekends at least half the time these days, in addition to his frequent business trips, but I was concerned that he might be inconveniently present that night. Not*that* night, of all nights, please!

As it turned out, he was taking Mother for a rare night out: They were going to a show and then to visit some friends across town who had recently returned from a winter vacation in the Caribbean. Mother absolutely hated lugging her wheelchair to other people's homes, but these friends had known her a very long time, long before her arthritis became crippling. Anyway, they didn't expect to be home until well after Midnight, which was fine with us.

We each took an hour in the bathroom, trying to make ourselves perfect for the occasion. I had problems deciding what to wear. Or should I just show up naked, wearing a bow tie? I finally settled on a pair of slacks and a reasonably new dress shirt with the top few buttons undone. Then I slipped on my loafers without socks. This was almost formal attire by Upstairs standards, but it was nothing I couldn't get out of in a hurry. As I was brushing my hair and wondering how to approach our rendezvous, the question was answered by Alex's soft knock at my door.

"Michael? Don't open the door yet – but it's ten to nine, and I'd like you to come and open MY door at exactly nine o'clock. All right?" I agreed and heard her bare feet hurry back down the hall. Whatever she was preparing, it was going to be interesting.

At ten seconds before 9:00 by my new watch, I stepped across the hall. Alex had taped a big red satin bow to the middle of her door, with a printed note just above it: "ENTER WITHOUT KNOCKING."

I turned the knob and walked into the nearly dark room. Alex was waiting across the room, but I was struck for a moment by how neat and tidy the place was. No dirty laundry, bed newly made, closet door shut. She had swept and dusted, too. This really WAS a special occasion. The lights were off and the window shade was drawn, but a soft illumination was provided by a dozen candles set at intervals around the room.

Alex stood by her dresser wearing a blue velveteen mini, dark blue hose, and a pair of shiny black patent high heels that must have been borrowed. She had beautiful legs in any outfit, but tonight the effect was stunning. A gold-orange satin scoop-necked blouse provided an electric contrast to her long, deep-red hair. She wore no jewelry – the colors did the work very nicely. And she certainly looked older than just-turned-fifteen! I stood just inside her door, rooted to the spot in amazement, tinged with awe. I had never seen my sister looking more beautiful or more desirable. My face must have shown my reaction clearly because she blushed and looked very pleased. Then she almost giggled but managed to control herself.

She reached over to her dresser and switched on a Wollensak tape recorder I hadn't noticed (also undoubtedly borrowed), and began walking across the room, swaying her hips gracefully and provocatively. The music was for slow-dancing and we slipped into each other's arms and moved around the small, empty center of the room in no particular pattern or step.

Rather than going into a clinch as we usually did during a slow number, we found ourselves examining each other's faces minutely. Alex seldom wore much makeup except lipstick; she simply didn't need it. Tonight, the lipstick was absent; she knew it wasn't much good for serious kissing. Her lips were covered only by a thin sheen of gloss which made her mouth appear moist and inviting.

Her eyes had gotten much more attention, however. The shadowing was faint but effective, making her brilliant green eyes appear even larger and more magnetic. The effect was that I felt myself falling in love with her all over again, as if I had just met her at a school dance. She was looking at me a little differently, too, and I was glad I had shaved after supper (though I'd had to search diligently for stubble).

After a few minutes, she sighed in contentment and slipped her arms possessively around my neck. Her soft cheek brushed mine and she whispered "I love you" close to my ear. I scattered slow kisses down her cheek and along her jawline and she purred and shivered a little.

I popped open the little pearl buttons down the back of her blouse one at a time as we continued to move in our unhurried dance. She wore no bra and when the blouse fell open I smoothed my hands over her soft, sleek skin, enjoying the shifting of muscles under my fingers. She stepped back almost bashfully and let the blouse slide off her arms. As I covered her breasts with my open hands, she unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it off my shoulders. Both garments were tossed in a chair in the corner and we went back to dancing, pressed breast to breast, four hands caressing two bodies.

Alex took the initiative next, unhooking my slacks and sliding down the zipper down far enough to allow them to fall to the floor. I pushed down my briefs, stepped out of my loafers, and kicked the whole mass to one side. We embraced and our hands continued to move over each other, as if exploring for the first time.

Alex reached down and squeezed my penis, stretching it upward between us. Because she was still wearing her heels, I was able to reach around, push up her skirt, and grip her ass, one cheek in each hand. I think both of us wanted badly to simply throw ourselves on the bed, but we had tacitly agreed to spend a little time tormenting ourselves. Foreplay with a vengeance.

Alex stepped away, turned her back to me, and pushed her mini and her hose slowly to the floor, swinging her bottom as she did so. She stepped out of her heels one at a time, to get rid of the hose, and then put them back on. She turned back to face me, a beautiful, naked girl in heat and heels. I was barely able to breath.

She paced the few steps back to me with smoke drifting out of her eyes. I unconsciously backed up to the bed. "I'm not going to suck you this time and you're not going to eat me," she said in a low, intense voice. "We've had nothing BUT foreplay. Tonight, we're going to fuck!" Her crooked smile seemed very determined.

She pushed me relentlessly onto my back on the bed and crawled sinuously on top of me. My cock was erect and straining and she rubbed her pubic mound against it as she covered my body with hers. She nudged the inside of my calves with her feet and I spread my legs wide and straight. She followed exactly, keeping her legs balanced atop mine.

Then she stretched my arms out to the sides and again followed my movement, laying her palms flat against mine, fingers spread. Her loose hair fell around my face as she touched the tip of her nose to mine and began licking my lips with her tongue. I thought we must look like wrestling starfish, with the curvy one pinning the larger one. I knew I could slip my cock into her pussy easily in this position, but Alex apparently had her own program and kept the instrument trapped between us. She moved against me as we kissed deeply – just an inch or so in different directions, but the experience of*really* full body contact was extraordinarily sensual.

Finally, with Alex's prompting, we brought our limbs back together and intertwined our legs and held each other very tightly. Then we rolled over, assuming the classic missionary position. Alex was flushed now -so was I – and I felt the moisture in her crotch filtering through her pubic hair. She raised her knees and spread her legs.

Taking my head in her hands, she began kissing my eyes, my chin, my mouth, and whispering over and over, "Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me…" She was so aroused in anticipation, her whole body was trembling seismically.

I stroked my cock against her cleft, bringing little gasping noises from her as it passed over her clit like a violin bow. Then I eased it into her a little at a time, savoring the pauses. It was as if all my nerve endings were concentrated in my cock, which felt a foot long and six inches thick. Finally, I was all the way into her and my backbrain wanted to climb in behind it. This was where both of us had wanted to be for months, and now we were here and we almost couldn't believe it.

As I began stroking slowly in and out (I was determined not to come too soon), Alex wrapped her legs high on my back and curled her pelvis hard against me. She wanted me to fill her up completely and I tried hard to comply. Her eyes fluttered open and shut and she made rhythmic moaning sounds in the back of her throat.

My sister's leg-lock was so persistent, I found I could barely move. I pushed her long legs up over my shoulders, with her ankles against my ears, and took a more vertical position, like I was drilling a well. I plunged into her at an increased pace, pulling out almost completely each time so as to make the longest possible strokes. Each time I felt an orgasm beginning to build, I slowed my pace to prolong the action. But it still wasn't enough – as if anything*could* be enough. But I wanted all of this fantastic girl, and she wanted to give all of herself to me.

She spread her legs as far apart as she could, hands behind her knees. As I continued to screw myself into her, I pressed her legs as flat against the bed as I could, trying to increase the friction against her clit. She made a little mew of discomfort, and I sure didn't want to hurt her in any way. I was breathing too hard to talk, but I raised my eyebrows in a question.

She gasped a reply. "No – it's okay – harder – harder and deeper -oh, God – it feels so good – I can't stand it."

So I really went to it, slamming into her like a piston in a steam engine. Her head was jogged forward by two inches on each stroke, but if she felt any strain it was lost in her sexual delirium. I hadn't even touched her nipples, yet they stood up stiffly and seemed to pulsate.

My climax started as a tingling in the soles of my feet. I wanted very much for us to share our first "official" orgasm, and the thin, wailing moan coming from my sister's writhing mouth made me pretty sure we could do it.

She suddenly wrapped her legs around my waist again and clung frantically to my arms and shoulders, as if she were about to fall off a cliff. Her shuttering, gasping climax might indeed have thrown her off the bed, except that she triggered my own orgasm. My paroxysms continued for half a minute and she jerked and trembled again with each new spasm.

As our hot-wired bodies slowly coasted to a halt, I rolled carefully off Alex, who turned on her side to face me. Both of us ran with rivulets of sweat. We kept touching each other's faces and bodies, gently, hesitantly, awed by the intensity of what we had just experienced. Both of us were bright red in the face and struggling to get our wind back.

I was finally able to speak. "I was afraid I might hurt you, sweetheart – I kind of lost control for awhile there…" I laid my hand on her soft, damp cheek and she placed her hand over mine. "It felt a little like I was killing you."

Alex kissed me softly and lovingly. "Michael," she murmured, "if I'm dead then I've sure gone to heaven!" Then she got that look in her eye again. "That was a beautiful birthday present – just what I've always wanted! But I have a present for you, too."

She scooted toward the foot of the bed until her face was level with my crotch and slid her hands under my ass, squeezing and kneading. My cock had shriveled considerably already, but when she began to lick at it and suck the remaining white fluid from its tip, it recovered quickly enough.

My cock was covered with my semen and her own juices, but she seemed to enjoy the combination of flavors, and I certainly enjoyed the attention. I wasn't sure I could gobble her pussy under similar circumstances. It was temporarily so soft, she was able to stuff my entire penis into her mouth and both my balls as well. She swallowed a couple of times, and I could sense my equipment edging down her throat.

Then she applied*real* suction and clamped her mouth around the base of my genitals, without biting. Her eyes twinkled when she tugged her head back, and the strain, physical and emotional, became exquisitely erotic. In less than thirty seconds, Alex found she could no longer hold all of me in her mouth.

She began to lick up and down the stem like a lollipop and I responded with more sexual energy than I would have thought possible. The head of my penis, especially, was still very sensitive from my first orgasm and the flicking of her tongue gave me a restless twitch.

"Alex, if you don't sit on it quick, it's gonna leave without you!"

She grinned and bounced up to straddle my hips. Taking her cue from my earlier method, she grasped my penis between her legs and rubbed the head briskly against her pussy. I moaned from the electricity she generated.

She settled herself onto my cock and pressed her crotch down and forward, pushing me into herself as far as she could. She moved up and down experimentally, shifting her hips from side to side. My penetration was greater than before, and since Alex was in control each movement and change of pace was a surprise. It felt wonderful.

I took one perfect breast in each hand and massaged them, finally tugging her down to me. She braced herself on locked arms, leaning forward so I could suck on her swaying nipples. I chewed gently on the little corks and she closed her eyes and hummed in the back of her throat.

My hands on her ass pressed her clit against my grinding cock, which made her lips curl back. Her back was arched, her stomach flat against mine, her breasts brushing my face. I urged her on and she flattened herself against me, her hands squeezing my shoulders. Her ass swung up and down as I moved down and up, both of us stretching to obtain the longest stroke. Soon we were slamming together, both gasping for breath, and then I felt the spasm of climax building rapidly in my groin. I squeezed her ass tightly and shot off into her steaming cunt again. Alex launched herself a few seconds behind me, gasping and shuddering. The contraction of her vaginal muscles milked the last drop of semen from me.

She let herself collapse completely, her cunt still filled to capacity. She gave a low moan that communicated pleasure, satisfaction, and exhaustion. My cock was shrinking from overwork, too, and as it withdrew itself from her, I felt my come oozing out with it. Alex finally let herself roll off and lay beside me, her knees still slightly bent and her legs apart. I slipped my arm behind her head and she leaned over and kissed me and stroked my chest.

I squeezed my cock, coaxing the milky residue out, and gathered the mixture of her juices and mine that had soaked into my pubic hair. Then I carefully smeared it across her belly. She peered down when she felt the stickiness and smiled benignly. Then she gathered a handful of the stuff from between her legs and spread it just as carefully across my stomach. I grinned back at her and put my arms around her, and held her close to me. She folded her hands against my chest and nibbled at my throat.

After a few warm minutes catching our breath and basking in the heat we had generated, Alex nuzzled me. "Michael, we need to get up and take a shower, before we get stuck together… as much as I hate to leave your arms right now. God, I love you. But I can love you in the shower, too. C'mon…"

She began sliding toward the side of the bed, trying to drag me after her. I mumbled a protest as she rolled me over on the sweat-soaked sheets. The clock read just after midnight. I knew Alex was right, but she'd worn me out and I wanted to just lie there. She finally got my attention by tugging firmly on my flaccid penis; she giggled and I moved.

We wandered the few yards down the hall to the bathroom, arms around each other's waists, hips bumping together. I turned the shower up to hot-as-hell while Alex dug out a stack of thick towels. The bathroom was already filling up with steam as we climbed into the big shower stall and closed the glass door.

We shared showers often in those days, soaping each other up and down and sliding out bodies against each other. We always loved to handle each other's bodies, tracing the curves and planes with our fingertips and the palms of our hands.

I enjoyed kneeling behind my sister and shampooing her thick hair -and I knew she enjoyed it, sitting cross-legged on the tile floor with her head leaning against my chest. That position also made it easy for me to cup her breasts in my soapy hands, to lift them and play with them, pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She always enjoyed that, too.

There was something particularly romantic and erotic about sharing a lengthy deep kiss, naked under the hot cascade from the shower head, our sweat mixing with the steam, the water splashing from her body to mine and back to hers. We did that now, but there was the new, added element of fulfilled sex. No more holding back, no more being careful to maintain control. As long as both of us were willing at any given moment, we could fuck all we wanted. It was a very liberating realization. And though we were both a bit exhausted – and very stiff – we hadn't lost interest.

Alex flattened her body against mine under the spray, one arm tight around my neck and her other hand tangled in my hair as her tongue tickled my palette. Her thighs pressed against mine, her crotch grinding against my cock (which was, unbelievably, already showing renewed interest), her navel trying to form a suction with mine. Her breasts were mashed hard against my chest, as if she were trying to get inside my skin with me.

Admittedly, I helped, massaging her beautiful ass and rubbing the base of my cock against her clit. I backed her against the wall and shifted my hands to her thighs. Her legs parted and, with a little squirming and maneuvering, I was able to get my reinvigorated cock into a position where it suddenly slid up the channel into her cunt.

She sighed and tried to hold me even closer. Her right foot hooked behind my knee. I tried bending at the knees to get some friction started, but my sister was too close to my own height and too heavy to lift, especially in the slippery shower. I was only able to move an inch or so in and out of her and both of us were becoming frustrated.

Finally, she reached down and squeezed my balls and slid off of me. "Fuck me from behind, Michael," she said urgently.

She went quickly down on her hands and knees, facing away from the shower head. I immediately knelt behind her and spread her upper thighs with my hands. She angled her ass upward and her pussy showed itself invitingly. I slid my hand between her legs and grasped her whole crotch. She made a sound in the back of her throat and increased the angle of her spine even more.

I moved up closer and slid my fully erect cock smoothly into her yet again. Alex's head whipped back and a tremor traveled down her body. As I began plunging away, she contracted the muscles in her vagina in counterpoint. Soon, she was down on her elbows, bracing herself against the tile as I slammed into her. Her body was being jolted so much, I was afraid she might bang the top of her head against the wall. But when I tried to ease off a little, Alex only insisted, "No! Fuck me harder! Harder!"

I held onto her hips and when I squeezed, she moaned and gasped even louder. But the floor of the shower was slippery and so were we, and Alex's knees gradually slid out from under her. When it became obvious that she was going to wind up on the floor of the shower, I pushed into her as far as possible and settled her carefully, face down.

The hot water splashed off my back and my pubic hair was tickling her asshole. She twitched her buttocks against my belly as a signal to recommence our activities. I began fucking her again, hoping my cock wouldn't slip out, but that turned out not to be a problem. In fact, when she pressed her thighs together, with my legs on the outside, I discovered that the friction had improved – even with my sister's naturally snug cunt. It also was obvious that the friction against her clit had increased.

As I speeded up my strokes, shoving her whole body forward each time, she emitted little sobs of passion. She stretched her arms back and spread her hands along my sides, and I laid my full weight along her body, pulling her shoulders and arms back.

Though I didn't really think about it until later, there was a certain amount of domination/rape fantasy going on. I wouldn't have hurt Alex for anything, and she trusted me absolutely, which allowed her to at least pretend to give up some of her control, to be submissive in her fantasies. Whatever the case, we both got off on it.

As we speeded up again, I definitely began to feel that I was "using" her and my reaction to that was a bit uncertain, but Alex seemed to be enjoying herself enormously – this was our third time around this evening – and that knowledge kept me aroused.

Finally, as we began the climb to another orgasm, I moved one hand between our bodies so that my thumb insinuated itself between her buttocks and pressed against her rectum. I was taking a chance since I had no idea how my sister would react to ass-play. I wrapped my other hand in her hair and tugged back just enough to make her arch her neck.

My hesitancy was answered when she shivered under the hot shower and my hot body and her ass trembled. I slammed into her the last two times and ejaculated more heavily than I would have believed. At the same time, I pressed my thumb a half-inch into her rectum and twitched it from side to side. I pulled a little harder on her hair.

She stiffened and I thought I had gone too far. But then she took a deep breath, sighed loudly, and let her whole body relax, almost seeming to sink into the tile. Still lying on top of her, covering her body with mine, I felt I was both dominating and protecting her. I stroked her arms and flanks and kissed the back of her neck and her shoulders. I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and just lie there.

Eventually, though, I levered my weight off her and climbed unsteadily to my feet. Now the water was splashing on Alex and she moaned a little and came back to the real world. She stood and we clung to each other without speaking. There was nothing more to be said that we hadn't already communicated with our bodies. My penis was sore and numb and her vagina was filled to the brim with my sperm, and the world seemed perfect to us.

We finished our shower – or, rather, we started over again – and dried each other lovingly, pausing for kisses which were filled with love and affection now, rather than raw passion. It was nearly 2:00 in the morning when we finally slid wearily into bed, naked, me spooning in behind her. One of my arms supported her head and the other wrapped itself around her torso. Alex sighed happily and wiggled back against me. I kissed the back of her head and murmured, "I love you…"

She stroked my arm a few times. "Oh, Michael, I love you, too…" We drifted off to sleep, stiff and tired and a little dazed, but happier and more content than we had ever been before.

AT THE DRIVE-IN

Neither Alex nor I dated much our last two years in high school -except with each other. And though we often referred to going out together as a "date," we knew we weren't using the word in the ordinary way. This was precisely the period during which teenage hormones reach their frantic peak (as we both could attest), and most students dated a lot, whether they were going steady or playing the field.

When Alex was a junior, in 1972, she took a "special topics" course in social psychology. Searching for a term paper topic in the area of interpersonal relations, she naturally thought of our own relationship… but there wasn't much she could truthfully say about it without revealing The Secret.

Then one of her girlfriends providentially began to encourage her to "go out with boys" more often, and the dating process became her research subject. And in the course of her research, my sister decided that we really*weren't* dating other people enough. When she asked me what I thought, I agreed that we dated much less often than most of the kids we knew – but so what? They were still looking, but we had found each other.

Alex was perturbed at my complacency (her word). If we didn't date other people, she insisted, we would inevitably become bored with each other. We would be like "an old married couple" before we even got to college. We were limiting ourselves physically, as well. When was the last time I had gone out parking with a girl other than her? Well, she had me there; I hadn't even kissed another girl in months. However, the two of us had also shared many other wonderful experiences that were beyond the dreams – perhaps even the imaginations – of most of our friends.

I thought about it after Alex stomped off in exasperation. I understood the point she was making (sort of) but I wasn't sure why she thought it was important. Was she implying that she wanted to have sex with other guys? She had always been free to make out with or fuck whomever she pleased, and we both knew it. I was mercifully free of jealousy and always had been. Perhaps it was conceit, or simply the conviction that Alex loved me as I loved her. I was pretty adept at psychological compartmentalization, too.

For myself, I certainly didn't object to a sweaty make-out session with a nice- looking girl. What I objected to, or was impatient with, was all the preliminary rituals – the girl establishing her moral standards for the record, the boy protesting the Platonic innocence of his motives, the gradual ground-giving – before you could both get down to the heavy breathing and groping and fondling that you knew you were going to do anyway. It seemed hypocritical to me then, and it still does. A graceful, non-adversarial seduction, in which both parties participate but neither knows the result in advance, is much more satisfying.

"Well, okay," I decided with some irritation, if Alex thought we should date around, then I was going to beat her to it. I began making a mental list of girls I knew whom I might even*want* to ask out. Girls who were intelligent and pretty. I had no use for bimbos, nor would they probably have put up with me. Several of my top possibilities were already going with someone else.

The third girl I called was Marianne McKelvey. She was in my journalism class and had just that semester begun writing for the school paper, on which I was Assistant Features Editor. She was very attractive, with a nicely proportioned body, large circular eyeglasses that made her wide gray eyes seem perpetually startled, and long, chestnut hair which she usually wore tucked into a practical knot on top of her head. She had a musical laugh and an engaging habit of biting her lower lip when she was concentrating over a typewriter. She was friendly to everyone, though not a tease, and a couple of times I had noticed her giving me sidelong, surreptitious glances in the newspaper office. I was curious about Marianne both intellectually and physically.

When I called her that evening and invited her to a drive-in movie on Saturday, I detected a moment's hesitation which I decided was just her surprise at my asking her for a date. I had never made a pass at her. She was probably wondering why I had called her up out of the blue. She sounded pleased when she accepted, though, so I thought no more about it.

Then Alex returned to tell me, rather sheepishly, that she had called up Bill Brumey, a senior on the swim team who had recently broken up with his latest cheerleader girlfriend, and asked him out. Bill was a nice enough guy, except for his apparent predilection for brainless blondes, and I gathered that he was both surprised and flattered that a girl as pretty and smart as Alex would take the initiative. But his family car was unavailable, he said; he would*love* to go out with her, but he was temporarily without wheels. Alex looked at me from under her lashes and stroked my forearm with one finger. Would I be interested in double-dating?

Her "poor little me with a problem" routine was so unsubtle, I knew she was apologizing for our earlier spat and asking for a favor at the same time. My sister always had me in the palm of her hand – sometimes literally – when she wanted something. I called Marianne and cleared the new arrangement with her; she had no objections, and even sounded a bit relieved. I wondered if perhaps she didn't quite trust my motives.

The family vehicle was a Chevy station wagon, originally Mother's car, but she seldom was able to drive it anymore. Alex and I shared it most of the time and kept it in gas and oil and tuned up. We ran most of Mother's household errands and, in return, we had almost unlimited use of the car. And a station wagon is a great car for dates and for weekend jaunts with a bunch of friends.

On Saturday afternoon, I found Alex standing in front of her closet, pondering her wardrobe.

"Don't have a thing to wear, huh?" I laughed. She grinned and swatted at me and I ducked.

"No – I just don't know how to play this. Is this a "jeans" date or a "frilly dress" date?"

I must have looked at her oddly. "This is only the drive-in, Alex. I hope you don't think I'm gonna wear a coat and tie!"

She looked at me patiently. "Michael, if I think I might end up getting cozy with Bill, if I want him to know it's okay to make a move, then I probably want to wear something we can both deal with in the back seat. But if I*don't* want to do that, I'll probably wear jeans and a long-sleeved blouse that buttons up the back – and my cast-iron bra!"

I thought I understood her calculations now – and I began to wonder what Marianne would wear. Did she also subscribe to this body-language code of dressing for dates?

By the time we left the house, Alex had carefully shaved her legs so she wouldn't have to wear hose, and she had settled on a particularly short black mini with a matching velour pullover top. And no bra. It all looked very nice above her long, creamy legs. By her own explanation, I assumed she was dressed for action.

We went by Bill's house first and found him waiting on the front steps. He jumped up and walked quickly to the car, obviously embarrassed at having to be picked up by his date and her brother. Alex hopped out of the front seat and he held the back door and climbed in after her. It dawned on me that Alex could have sat in the back to begin with, but that she wanted to give Bill's ego the opportunity to escort her from the front to the back. She always was a good applied psychologist.

Bill's hand squeezed my shoulder briefly as he leaned forward. "Hey, I really appreciate this doubling, Mike! I've thought about asking Alex for a date but she doesn't seem to go out much; I thought maybe she had a steady I didn't know about. And then she calls*me* and I don't have a car!"

"Hey, yourself," Alex chimed in. "Don't tell him, tell me! What do you mean you were 'going to call me'? Why didn't you? I think I've been insulted!" She snagged his sleeve and tugged him back beside her. "You aren't shy, are you?"

I glanced in the rear view mirror and noted that my sister had crossed her legs and allowed her skirt to ride up even farther. Then I saw Bill blush, and I suddenly realized he*was* shy! A good-looking, reasonably intelligent jock, who could have any fluffy little cheerleader he wanted! I glanced at the mirror again. Alex had hooked her arm through Bill's and was chattering away about inconsequential things to put him at ease; he looked quite happy with his situation.

I thought about it all the way to Marianne's house and concluded that Bill usually dated bimbos because he knew they were no competition for him. An attractive girl who was also very intelligent, quick-witted, and athletic – like my sister – was another matter. He wanted Alex to like him and he was a little nervous around her. I filed away that insight for further study.

Marianne met me at the door when I rang the bell. She called over her shoulder that she was leaving now, and slipped outside with a bright smile. She was wearing khaki shorts – not "short shorts" but short enough – and a cropped yellow T-shirt that ended just at the waistband, giving me brief flashes of bare midriff. Not the sort of outfit I would have expected from Marianne, somehow, but it definitely suited her.

Her thick, rich hair was uncoiled for a change; it spilled far past her shoulders and it swayed and bounced when she turned her head. The effect was astonishing and enticing. And if the way a girl dressed for a date was a guide to her mind-set, as my sister seemed to think, then this could turn out to be an interesting evening.

I casually took her hand as we walked back to the car, which also seemed to surprise her. "Thanks for agreeing to double-date," I said. "Alex and Bill would have been stuck, otherwise."

"Oh, I don't mind." She squeezed my hand. "I'm just glad you asked me out, Michael. I really never expected it."

We weren't early enough to the drive-in to get a good spot in one of the front rows, so we got the next best thing – a spot in one of the back rows. The picture was sufficiently uninteresting that we could watch for alternate five-minute segments and still follow the plot-line.

An unspoken agreement had existed between high school students and the drive-in management for as long as anyone could remember: As long as there was no screaming, drunkenness, rapine, or parent complaints, the back row was regarded as a "free fire zone."

After the first thirty minutes, with everyone in the car relaxed, I saw in the mirror that Bill was leaning back against the side window with his feet propped up and his loafers off. Alex was stretched out half on top of him, one leg hooked over his, talking almost nose to nose in a low voice. He had one arm around her shoulders and she was stroking his chest with her free hand.

I asked Marianne in a whisper if she would mind switching sides in the front seat so I could get out from behind the wheel; she pulled her knees up out of the way before I could even finish the question. I made sure to steady myself with a hand on her knee as I eased past her. I had barely resettled myself when Marianne's shoes were off and she had tucked her bare feet under her and pressed her thigh against mine.

I put my arm around her and she snuggled up happily with her head on my collarbone. She even reached up and stroked the hand that was dangling over her shoulder. She was sending a blizzard of signals, but I wanted to take things slowly. I was content for the moment to enjoy her warm body curled up against mine and to comb my fingers through her luxuriant hair. She felt so different from Alex – a novelty. I didn't know her, not in these circumstances, so anything she said or did would be pretty much unexpected. I discovered that made her even more interesting. Marianne would never hold a candle to Alex – I doubted anyone ever could – but perhaps my sister was right about our need for social variety.

After a few minutes, Marianne leaned her head back so she could speak softly in my ear. "Michael,… if I ask you something, will you promise not to think I'm being dumb?" I nodded. "We've known each other for more than a year, and we've worked in Journalism together for months now. And you've always been very polite and nice to me. But why did you call me up now, all of a sudden? I mean, I'm really glad you did, but you've never said anything to make me think…" She'd run out of explanation.

I thought again about Bill's reaction to Alex's call. Marianne wasn't particularly shy, but she wasn't a flirt, either. My fingertips lightly traced a line down her throat and she swallowed, as if my answer was important to her.

"I knew you were there all the time, you know. You're very pretty: How could I not know?" And as I said it, I knew it was true. "I know I don't date much, but that doesn't mean I don't notice girls. You're pretty, and you're smart, and you can spell – now."

She snorted a laugh. I had corrected the spelling in her articles until she caught on and began looking up words before submitting her stories.

"And I like you, Marianne. I wanted to get to know you better; I thought there were sides to you I didn't know about. Looking at you tonight, I'm sure of it! Besides," I added, burying my fingers in her hair, "I've wanted to do THIS for months!"

She smiled at me over her shoulder and reached up and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "Michael, you're sweet." She took off her glasses, folded them, and set them carefully on the dash. Her eyes were light brown and gold, but they seemed much darker there in the car.

With one finger on her cheek, I guided her head around, bent down, and kissed her firmly on the lips. It took only a split-second for her to make up her mind to kiss me back. It only lasted a few seconds, though, and I was disappointed – until she swung around the other way so she could fit more comfortably in my lap and in my arms. Then she hooked herself around my neck and fastened her mouth to mine.

I responded to this delightful assault by putting my hands on her waist, where her shorts and shirt didn't quite meet. I slowly stroked her lower back, letting her call the shots and decide the pace. In fact, I was contemptuous of "grabbers"; such behavior was unsubtle, unfriendly, unromantic, and sometimes dangerous. I much preferred mutual seduction.

But with Marianne, I needn't have doubted. She surprised me again: Without losing her grip on my tongue, she reached smoothly under the back of her shirt, unhooked her bandeau bra, and tossed it on the floor. I realized just how carefully she, like Alex, had planned for contingencies. The bra was a barrier to balance the cropped shirt if she decided to keep our date merely on a friendly basis – but it also could be removed with a minimum of hassle if she decided otherwise. She had made her decision; she wanted my hands on her body, and I was certainly willing.

But still I restrained myself. We had plenty of time. I slid her shirt up as I ran my palms over her shoulderblades. She shivered and pressed her body against my chest and nibbled at my earlobe. She was relaxed and obviously felt secure and in control, which was what I wanted.

I peeked over Marianne's shoulder at the mirror again in curiosity. Alex and Bill had slumped down on the back seat. I could see Alex's hand clutching at the window ledge and the top of Bill's head was barely visible. From the sound effects, I guessed that his mouth was busy with her tits and that she was enjoying it. Couldn't let my sister get too far ahead of me, I thought.

I let Marianne lean back, moved my mouth down to her waist, and began kissing my way upward, pushing her shirt up out of the way as I progressed. She was moaning quietly under her breath and holding onto the back of my head, and when my mouth fastened on her nipples she dug her fingers into my hair. I knew intuitively that she wasn't very experienced at this, but I also understood that she wanted to be. She had decided it was time to jump off the cliff and I was the one she had selected to catch her. I was flattered, and I had sufficient ego to think she wouldn't be disappointed.

I reached up and tapped on the ceiling panel. "Bill? Alex? Why don't we fold down the back seat?"

Bill looked to Alex for confirmation and she nodded with a lustful twinkle. She already had her top off and her breasts jiggled invitingly; her skirt was hiked up to her crotch. Bill had already lost his shirt and had obviously entered into the spirit of the evening.

Marianne, still sitting in my lap, had begun to pull her tee shirt over her head, but when she saw the other two moving around she hurriedly pulled it back down again. I stopped her and smiled.

"Take it easy, Marianne. We're all friends here; no one's going to mind and no one's going to stare at you." My hands slipped under her shirt and I cupped her full breasts and rubbed my thumbs over her erect nipples. She closed her eyes and arched her back. Then she swallowed, smiled broadly, and removed her shirt.

While the two in the back were rearranging the car, I simply sat back and admired Marianne. She folded her hands behind her and perched there with her shoulders back and her lovely breasts outthrust, hair scattered in all directions. She smiled seductively from beneath her lashes. She knew it was an erotic pose. This sort of thing was so unlike her school persona, I almost wondered if she had a twin.

She got up on her knees straddling me, hand on the back of the seat for balance, and slowly and deliberately swung her breasts just above my face. The sounds in the back ceased for a moment. Alex said "Go get 'em, you guys!" and there was a throaty chuckle I knew well.

Marianne was not at all over-built, but her breasts were much larger than Alex's. Also unlike Alex, she had large soft areolae with small, hard button-like nipples in the center of each. I could not easily suck on her nipples, but I could take much more of her breast into my mouth. A very different experience. And those beautiful, conical masses swaying before me were very alluring – as was the fact that she was offering herself to me this way.

She didn't seem nervous or unsure of herself, but somehow I knew I was the first guy ever she had ever trusted like this. And I did my part, too. I practically inhaled her tits, chewing very gently and curling my tongue around her little nipples while squeezing the soft flesh I couldn't fit into my mouth. Marianne's body was trembling and her pelvis was grinding slowly against my groin. My shirt had somehow become unbuttoned. I shrugged it off as Marianne sat back on my knees again, running her hands slowly across my chest and looking at me with those dark, glowing eyes.

Bill and Alex had converted the back of the station wagon into a playpen now, and had spread out the two or three thick blankets we always kept in the car. I wasn't sure exactly what they were doing back there, but Marianne was staring entranced past my shoulder and a deep flush was creeping down her torso – partly lingering shyness and her own lively imagination working on what she was watching, but mostly her own sexual arousal, the flames being fanned in her by whatever activity my sister and her date were engaged in.

I hooked a thumb over my shoulder and raised a questioning eyebrow. Marianne scrambled off my lap, tits bouncing, and climbed over the seat into the back, being careful not to step on anyone. She sat waiting with her legs crossed as I followed her.

Bill and Alex were in a '69' position with her on the bottom. My sister had her mini up around her waist, and her panties, if she had worn any, were not to be seen. Her face was framed by his pubic hair and she obviously had his entire cock in her mouth. Bill's head was buried between Alex's widespread thighs and he was industriously pushing his tongue up her cunt. They were oblivious to us and everything else except themselves. Marianne was trying not to watch them – out of misplaced modesty, I suppose – but I gently turned her head toward the undulating bodies eighteen inches away.

"Don't be embarrassed, Marianne – it sure doesn't bother THEM that we're here! Don't you see how much fun they're having? How much pleasure they're giving each other? Nobody gets hurt and everybody gets off. What could be better than that?"

She seemed to think about it as she watched – apparently forgetting that she was already half-naked herself. Alex was now concentrating on sucking the head of Bill's cock, and I massaged Marianne's breasts as she continued to watch them, fascinated now. Her hand strayed to my crotch and began stroking my cock though the denim. I'm not sure she was even conscious of what she was doing. I stifled a groan. Watching my sister suck a cock while I was being fondled by my date was having its effect.

I stroked Marianne's inner thigh and her attention flicked back to me. She realized where her hand was and smiled as she squeezed my cock. Then she popped open the top button of her shorts and lay back invitingly. I quickly unzipped her shorts and slid them and her panties down her legs and off her feet. Another surprise: Marianne, with her electric body, full breasts and hips, and lush hair, had shaved her crotch completely bare!

I was more aroused by the sight of the utterly exposed crevice leading to her cunt than I would have been by a mat of pubic hair. I looked back at her flushed face and dilated eyes and grinned my pleasure; she blushed even more. I was certain, then, that she had done this especially for me, hoping we would get this far, and letting me know at the same time how vulnerable she was willing to let herself be with me. She slowly spread her legs and pulled her knees back, and her moist clitoris reflected the light from the movie screen; her dazzling body showed not a single hair below her eyelashes.

It took me less than a second to bury my face in her smooth, sweet pussy. I was peripherally aware that Bill and Alex paused for a moment in their exertions to watch us; they both grinned and returned their attentions to each other. My tongue was busily probing Marianne's pussy and her hands clutched at my hair, pushing my head closer. I knew this was her first time for any kind of oral sex, too, and she was obviously enjoying it. Intermittent tremors coursed through her thighs and across her stomach and her feet pressed against the sides of my ribcage.

After a few minutes with my tongue inside her, she tried breathlessly to reach under my body. "I want to- to hold you- your cock! C'mon…!

I had already undone my belt and lowered my zipper, and now I pushed my jeans off. I tipped Marianne on her side and curled my body around so she could reach what she wanted. I was erect now, and she had no difficulty getting her hands on my cock. She started rubbing it vigorously up and down, but I quickly stopped her. Many girls make that mistake; they seem not to believe a guy could, or would want to, build up to a climax step by slow, calculating step.

"Just touch it, stroke it, all over – not so hard, okay? Don't be afraid to use your tongue and your mouth, Marianne, please? Close your eyes and pretend it's a stick of candy."

She obviously was eager to return to me the experience my mouth was giving her, but was unsure how to manage it. She began by holding my cock like a dagger and kissing the head and touching the tip of her tongue to it, but after a minute or two she grew more courageous and took the head into her mouth. I held my hips still while she figured out what she was doing, but at my end of our world things were a lot more active. My head was pushed up between her thighs and my mouth was playing catfish on every bit of flesh within reach. Her aroma and the taste of her was different from Alex, more pungent and spicy, but just as exciting. My hands squeezed her ass and stroked the small of her back, and my fingertips, gliding lightly between her cheeks and across her asshole, made the surrounding muscles quiver reflexively.

"You like that, huh?" I mumbled.

"Oh, God…" she moaned. "You have no idea!" Oh, yes, I did. Her tongue moved up and down the shaft of my penis and she licked and sucked lightly at my balls. She seemed to have shed the last of her nervousness and embarrassment in the heat of her growing passion. The juices were flowing in her cunt and the aroma of sex within her was much stronger.

I wondered briefly what her reaction would be if I could time-travel back to yesterday and tell her that she would soon be naked in the presence of three other people, with a guy's testicles in her mouth.

But there was something I had to know. I managed to partly sit up with one arm wrapped around her hips. She came up to the same position, so that we were wrapped in a ball together, hands busy with each other's bodies, our faces only a few inches apart. She had a kind of wild look in her eyes, like she had put all her inhibitions on the shelf for the evening.

"Marianne," I said in a low voice, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but… are you a virgin? I mean, you're absolutely beautiful, and I*really* want to have sex with you, but I don't want to push you farther than you really want to go – I don't want you to have regrets later…"

I was stroking her clit as I said this, but I still meant it. I was pretty sure this gorgeous girl, whom I had stupidly overlooked, had no illusions about what we were doing being "love," and I wanted to make sure we would remain friends, at least, whatever else might happen. If she was simply temporarily out of control, I had to offer her an escape hatch, out of respect for her and myself.

She squeezed my cock and stretched it toward her. "Michael, do you know how many other guys would ask a question like that at a time like this? None! I can't believe you'd even think about it – but, no: I'm not a virgin, just barely, and tonight I want you to fuck me stupid! And I won't have any regrets tomorrow. This is what I want, and I'm ready for it – right now! Mostly because it's you I'm with. Even if I*were* still a virgin, I'd pick you to pop my cherry – do you understand that? You're a very sweet guy, Michael, and I really do like you, and I trust you, too. What more could I ask for in a lover? Now, can we please stop talking and go on with what we were doing? Please?!"

She pressed her mouth hard against mine and wiped her tongue across the front of my teeth. She was radiating more heat than a homecoming bonfire. How could I have worked next to this girl all these months and never suspected the dammed up sensuality within her? Well, that dam was about to burst!

I hadn't thought about it in advance, but since I was almost leaning against the back of the front seat, it seemed easier to lie on my back and let Marianne get on top. I thought for a moment that it might leave her feeling too exposed to the rest of the world, but in her present state of mind she would probably have gone out for popcorn naked.

So I slid down onto my back and watched my cock go rigidly vertical; I was already imagining what Marianne's cunt would feel like. I loved Alex unreservedly, but this was a matter of pure lust. She knelt between my legs and let her long hair curtain my groin as she took my cock in her mouth once more. She was a fast learner, but she didn't try to deep-throat me either.

"Enough, enough!" I said, and reached for her arms to draw her up to me. She smiled and moved up to straddle my hips. Reaching between her legs, she opened her cunt and guided herself carefully onto my waiting cock. That was a detail I enjoyed: Instead of grasping my penis and steering it into her, she accepted it as a target and impaled herself on it. The difference was minor and the result was the same, but it was*nice*… almost a compliment.

Her lips parted and her eyes closed as she settled herself. I held onto her flanks as she moved up and down slowly and experimentally. I moved then to her swaying breasts and covered them with my hands, squeezing them slowly in rhythm with her own movements. I tugged forward and she opened her eyes and bent from the waist, resting her open hands on my shoulders. Now my cock was rubbing strongly against her clit and her eyes had gone smokey. Her tits were pressed against my collarbone and I nibbled at her neck and the underside of her chin, and squeezed her ass. As I picked up the tempo, she rasped "Oh, God…"

Bill and Alex had moved on to the next stage as well. Both had shed the remainder of their clothes and Alex was on her back on the blanket beside me, only a few inches away. She was filled by his cock and thoroughly enjoying it. Her long legs were wrapped around his waist and her head was arched back.

She raised her hips to meet each thrust – a maneuver I knew well – and sucked in between her teeth at each stroke. Bill looked completely transported by Alex's aggressive sexuality; I knew exactly what he was feeling at that moment and I was pleased for both of them. Bill was to my sister what Marianne was to me: An enthusiastic and capable sex partner, and heretofore casual friend, who would be a much closer friend after tonight.

Neither of them was a threat to either of us and this change of bodies was exciting and exhilarating. Alex had been more accurate about our need for variety than even she had realized.

I unconsciously matched my rhythm to Bill's and soon Alex and I were lifting our lower bodies almost in tandem in our pursuit of orgasm. I felt it building in me and so did Marianne; she was making little moaning sounds and her face was almost agonized with abandon. Without really paying attention, I knew Bill was approaching his climax as well. His eyes were shut as tightly as Marianne's as his sensory input concentrated in his cock.

Unexpectedly, Alex's hand crossed the few inches between our bodies and touched my leg. I took her hand and she twined her fingers between mine and squeezed. I glanced sideways and found her smiling crookedly at me with sparks in her eyes.

I knew immediately what she intended and I laughed silently with her. For the next minute we held hands and squeezed in unison. And we gradually slid our bodies together until our shoulders were just touching. Alex even planted one foot lightly against Marianne's hip and Marianne grasped Alex's kneecap to brace her wild gyrations. Neither of our partners were aware that we were holding hands, of course, but it was like a telepathic link.

My cock was about to explode and Marianne's cunt got the message; my orgasm triggered hers and we tipped over the edge together. Bill could not have been unaware of what was happening next to him, especially when Marianne tried unsuccessful to smother an ecstatic squeal. Bill came ten seconds after I did, and he was followed instantly by my sister's arching climax. She squeezed my hand until my knuckles were white.

It was close to an indescribable experience. Alex and I, each fucking other people, but also sharing our separate orgasms as if we were fucking each other – a doubled climax. Bill shooting off inside Alex while I fountained into Marianne's steaming vagina, and Alex and I coming together as well, which intensified the experience for both of us. It was almost an out-of-the-body feeling.

Our four overheated bodies slumped in a heap for several minutes while everyone gasped for breath. It finally occurred to me that this must be a very strange situation for Bill and Marianne.

It certainly wasn't the first time two couples had foregone privacy in favor of fucking space, especially at the drive-in, but this was a little different. A brother and sister, pressed side by side, naked, in the back of a car, banging away with their dates. Nobody had exactly planned it that way, and on another occasion it might have struck our companions as extremely weird, but the enthusiastic lust all four of us felt had overcome any inhibitions.

But it was in the back of my mind – and Alex's, I was sure – that we still had to be very careful how we behaved toward each other. I wanted very badly to lean over and kiss Alex, but that wouldn't do at all. It would have betrayed The Secret. But as we began slowly to untangle ourselves, I managed to stroke Alex's short ribs for an instant, and she surreptitiously caressed the back of my calf.

Nor, surprisingly, was there no great rush by anyone to cover themselves as the sexual fog began to dissipate. We laughed and make bawdy puns as we casually sorted out our clothing. I glanced quickly at Bills's cock out of male curiosity; it had shrunk considerably, of course, but it was still longer and somewhat bigger around than mine. I made a mental note to ask Alex whether or not his size had really made a difference in how her cunt felt.

Alex had worn black bikini panties under her black mini and Marianne had opted for blazing red under her shorts – though I hadn't noticed at the time, I was so anxious to get her out of them.

Alex held up the red satin panties and said "Wow!" in mock awe. "Marianne, I like these! How about a swap?"

Marianne actually blushed a little – after all that had just happened! – and laughed. She shook out the very brief black lace panties and raised her eyebrows.

"Are you sure, Alex? These are much sexier!" More expensive, too, probably, I thought, but I was reading my sister's mind again. Each girl slipped on the other's panties and they knelt facing each other for a moment, comparing the results.

Alex reached out and minutely adjusted the pair Marianne was wearing. "Hey, those look nice on you; you look good in black!"

Bill and I exchanged glances as we avidly watched the girls. We were both thinking what a turn-on it was, knowing each girl's crotch was cradled in the spot where the other's had been a short while before. And both pairs were "used," which made Alex's apparent whim even more erotic. But I already knew that this was a little gift from Alex to me. She wouldn't be wearing Marianne's underwear for very long.

The movie had another five or ten minutes to run when Marianne and I climbed back into the front seat while Bill and Alex reconstructed the back seat. Marianne picked up her bra, wadded in into a ball, and stuffed it down into the very bottom of her purse. Then she went back to her earlier position, straddling my lap, with her arms around my neck and her nose nuzzling my ear. I stroked her thighs and gave her an affectionate hug. We might do this again, or it might be something we could only do once, but I could live with that too. Either way, I knew Marianne and I would always be more than just Journalism office buddies. She was sweet, sexy, pretty, and smart. Just the kind of close friend I wanted. By choice, I didn't have many.

I knew she wanted to say something because I could hear her hesitate. When she did speak, it was very softly and close to my ear.

"Michael,… I don't know what to say. This has been such a wonderful evening! I*love* you…" I froze instinctively and she felt it, and laughed under her breath.

"Don't worry, I didn't mean it that way! I'm not 'IN love', Michael -though it wouldn't take much…" Her hand moved softly across my cheek. "I love you for being*you*, here, tonight.

"See,… I said I wasn't a virgin, and that's true, but…" She took a deep breath and it all spilled out in a rush. "I've never really had sex before, not really. There was this guy when I was fourteen. A girlfriend – EX-girlfriend – set me up with a blind date to double with her, and then she and her boyfriend went off and left us, and he was nineteen and he got me… he got me all excited. Horny. I had no idea what I was doing. But he… he got my pants off and just… he just stuck it in, and pushed a few times, and then he came, I guess. It didn't hurt, but he was finished so fast, and I didn't really feel it, and I was scared when I… when I saw his cock, it looked so big, and…"

She swallowed and her voice quavered. She was holding tight to my shoulder with her cheek against mine. "And then he took me home and I never saw him again. I wasn't even sure about his name. And I worried for weeks that I might be pregnant." She kissed my ear and her body relaxed. "I've never told anyone about that, not even my mother, but I wanted you to understand." Her confession, if that's what she meant it to be, was complete and she sounded very relieved.

"I've been out with other boys lots of times, but most of them only wanted to grab at me, and I never let them do*anything*. They usually didn't ask me out again," she added sadly. Her head had rested itself on my shoulder and her hand was moving aimlessly around my shirt front. I gently stroked the small of her back and let my other hand rest motionlessly on her knee, comforting her, I hoped.

"I like you a lot, Michael. I guess I have sort of a crush on you -have had for months. I was surprised when you asked me out, though. I thought at first you'd picked up some vibes from me or something – that you knew I liked you. And then I worried that you might use that to… to… I'm sorry, I know you aren't like that, now. I'm just suspicious of boys, most of them anyway. And then I started thinking about you, and that maybe I could, well,… seduce you. I wanted you to like me more. You don't hate me, do you?"

She wasn't faking or exaggerating; she really felt guilty, and I wasn't sure why. I kissed her cheek.

"Marianne, if you were trying to seduce me, I'd say you did a pretty good job; I thought I was seducing you! But didn't you think maybe I'd like it? Doesn't happen that often, not to me, anyway." I stroked her hair and hugged her again.

"Now, listen to me. I'm not afraid of love. You just caught me by surprise. I must be blind, because it never occurred to me that we could be more than just friends. I apologize for that. I*do* like you – I like you a lot – and I sure don't want to hurt you. You're sweet, and you're smart, and you're very sexy! But every guy trying to make it with a girl tells her he loves her, and it's a lie. That's not love, that's lust – and lust is great, but it isn't 'love', Marianne. I asked you out because I thought you'd be fun to be with – and I was right, in more ways than I expected. I didn't ask you out just to get into your pants, I really didn't."

She hugged me back. "No, you don't understand – I*adore* having sex with you!" She lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. "I WANTED you to fuck me tonight, and I got what I wanted, and it was fantastic! It was a little strange – four of us back there, including your sister… but I wasn't embarrassed, and that was even stranger, ya' know? I felt sexy, and happy, and relaxed afterward. You were so good for me, don't you see? All I had was half a memory of half a minute of that other guy, whose name I don't even remember. But now, I have this wonderful memory of tonight. You're the first guy I've ever deliberately given myself to, and I'm so glad I picked you. Michael, as far as I'm concerned, you're my 'first'. You're the guy who popped my cherry, and it was beautiful!"

That sounded a little odd to both of us after she said it, and she giggled. But we both understood what she meant. I felt a lot of tenderness toward this girl – and my ego was pleased with itself, that was for certain. I felt a little guilty that I had been holding Alex's hand and dividing my attention between the two of them at our mutual moment of climax. But Marianne hadn't noticed, I was sure, and it didn't affect her experience at all.

She sat back and stroked my cock through my jeans; there was a twinkle in her eye and a pleased smile on her lips. I smiled back and cupped her breasts in my hands, and drew her back to me. She sighed with pleasure and leaned her warm body against mine and kissed me slowly and thoroughly. My hands moved just as slowly under her shirt, up and down her bare back. Her skin felt so nice. It was a warm, sentimental kiss, not a heavy, passionate one, though we both were aware of the ever-present sexual content as well. We felt very close at that moment.

"Please tell me we'll do this again, okay?" she murmured. "Not any particular time, but 'again'. I don't want this to be the only time we make it together…"

"I promise, we'll do this again," I replied. "I guarantee it. But let's just let it happen when it happens. We see each other every day and we're very special friends now. I want you to stay my friend, and too much pressure by either of us could spoil that. Besides, I think you're going to be dating a lot more now, with a lot of other guys, and I*don't* want you feeling guilty about us when you do, okay? Can we be close, special friends, and occasional, part-time lovers?"

She hugged me gratefully. "That's exactly what I want us to be, Michael. I knew you'd understand me. You're terrific!"

All those few minutes, Alex and Bill had been having their own quiet talk, and kissing, and cuddling. But now Bill said, "Is the movie over?" I noticed the cars around us pulling out a few at a time, and the projection screen had dimmed. "Anyone remember what we saw?" he inquired. "Just in case someone asks?" That cracked all of us up and comfortably broke the spell.

"Who's for hamburgers?" I asked over my shoulder. "I don't know about you two, but*we've* worked up an appetite!" Marianne laughingly growled and pretended to bite my arm as I started the car.

It took a little while to get Marianne dropped off, because we had to say goodnight several times in her driveway, and again on her porch. Her mother finally opened the front door from curiosity: She had heard the car door and our footsteps five or ten minutes before. Marianne suddenly turned shy and we ended our embrace. As she stepped inside I saw her mother smile at her indulgently.

Bill and Alex didn't take as long. They'd been saying goodnight at Marianne's house, and all the way to his place, and I think Bill got a bit shy, too, about me sitting in the front seat by myself while he was in the back seat deep-kissing my sister. He seemed to have momentarily forgotten all that had happened earlier in the evening. He was obviously very impressed by Alex, and not just as a sex partner, either.

In fact, they dated several more times that year and Bill had the good sense not to become possessive – nor did they have sex on every occasion. Alex developed a lot of respect for Bill and spoke highly of him. And he was delighted to find someone equally athletic who valued him for his intelligence and wit; he was tired of being regarded as "just a jock." After we all went off to college, he sent Alex a dozen red roses every Valentine's day, until she graduated.

My sister tumbled over the front seat before I was out of Bill's driveway and had Marianne's red panties off by the time we reached the end of the block. She sniffed the crotch delicately.

"Yep. She's still there! So am I. There's a gift for you, Michael -two girls in one!" She rubbed the satin laughingly beneath my nose.

"Very nice," I agreed. "What do you suppose she'll do with your black ones?"

"She'll probably wash them," Alex replied, stuffing the trophy in her purse. "She's not as kinky as I am," she added with a straight face.

That night, as I was reading in bed, waiting for my hormones to calm down, Alex strolled into my room and stretched out on the bed beside me, clad only in her comfortable old tee-shirt. She propped herself up on one elbow and her foot slid over and stroked my shin. I smiled and kept reading my book.

"Well? How was she?" She sounded a touch impatient.

"What do you mean, 'How was she?' What kind of question is that?" This wasn't like Alex. We told each other everything, but in our own time.

"I mean, what kind of fuck was she?" She traced designs on the quilt with her finger. "Was she- was she better than me?"

I closed my book and looked at my sister in some consternation. This *really* wasn't like her! She always had the self-confidence of a wolverine. And she knew quite well how I felt about her. Moreover, her present mood was inconsistent with her behavior at the drive-in and on the way home. I began to wonder if I should worry.

"Alex, what's the matter?" I covered her hand with mine. "You aren't jealous, are you? Because that would be really stupid. Don't you know yet that*I love you*? More than anything else in the world, Alex, more than myself – I love you. And wasn't it you who decided we weren't seeing other people enough?"

She glanced up and then looked back at the quilt. Her shoulders seemed to hunch. "She*was* better than me, wasn't she? At sex." This was bewildering. I took her face in the palms of my hands and made her look at me.

"Alex," I said softly, staring into her eyes as hard as I could, "she was terrific! And she was a virgin, for all practical purposes. Marianne is sweet, and loving, and passionate, and charming, and she has a really great body, and I really enjoyed-" (I almost said "making love" but changed my mind) "-having sex with her tonight. And NONE of that has ANYTHING to do with you and me. You're my darling, the center of my life, Alex. How could you ever doubt that?

"Marianne is a really nice girl, and I think we're going to be very good friends. So what? You certainly enjoyed your evening with Bill, didn't you? I*know* you did, you came like the San Francisco Earthquake! I think that's great. And I think our coming simultaneously is the sexiest thing you and I have done in a long time. Sex is usually part of love, but love doesn't have to be part of sex. You know that; I*know* you know that. Having sex with Marianne was terrific fun, sure. Having sex with you is*making love*, Alex. I could never be jealous of Bill, because I know you love me." I stroked her cheek and kissed her lightly.

"You hold my heart in your hands, Alexandra." I spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. "Don't ever doubt that. Not ever."

I don't know what brought on that spasm of self-doubt, but I must have become nearly telepathic in my earnestness to make her believe what I was saying. She*had* to believe it, I thought. It was all*true*. And she did believe me because she threw her arms around my neck and pulled me down into a fierce kiss. After a few minutes, she put her cheek against mine and spoke softly into my ear.

"Michael, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to doubt you. You*are* my darling and my love. I*do* know you love me. And I love you so much, so much. God, I love you!"

We finally fell asleep there with her head snuggled up on my shoulder and my arm around her. She slept peacefully, smiling, all doubts erased. And when I awoke too early in the morning, I lay there for half an hour, unwilling to move and disturb her. I wanted only to absorb her beauty and her love, and to reflect on how fortunate I was. How lucky we*both* were, for that matter, each to have found our hearts' desire so early in life.

SHOWERS

In July following my junior year in high school, my sister and I reached a new plateau in our physical relationship. I bought or borrowed porno magazines on occasion, from curiosity or for jacking off to, and I knew Alex studied them too. Not that she made a secret of it – we had no secrets – but sometimes I saw her stare at a photo more intensely than usual and then turn the page hurriedly. When she wasn't around, I'd leaf through the magazine and try to identify the picture that had startled even her. I knew about "regular" sex by now, so I usually bought magazines that featured the most perverse or perverted acts I could imagine. And I soon discovered that the most graphically explicit photos were the ones that mesmerized Alex.

That summer, I was on a secondhand anal sex binge. Those photos seemed to arouse me even more than the pictures of oral sex in which I had submerged myself the year before. What I found definitely unappealing, however – in addition to the often bored expressions of the professional models – was the fact that their presumed long experience with anal sex left them with gaping assholes that rivaled their cunts. Not very sexy, I thought.

One afternoon, when Dad had driven Mother over to her sister's house and we had the place to ourselves, Alex came in from playing tennis. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, studying again one of the ass-fucking magazines. The humidity was high and she was running with sweat. Her knit shirt was stuck to her back and even her white socks looked soggy. She clumped into my room, sat down heavily in my desk chair, and blew out her cheeks. Her coppery hair was tied back in a damp ponytail and her freckled face was red from exertion. A definite locker room aroma surrounded her but I found it somehow erotic.

I studied her over the top of my magazine. "Just a guess, sis, but I think you need a shower. A*long* one."

"Boy, do I ever!" She pushed off her shoes without untying the laces and wrinkled her nose. "I smell like the animal tent at the circus." She stood and pulled the shirt over her head; there were also sweat marks on her bra and rivulets running down between her breasts. As she pushed her shorts down and stepped out of them, she saw what I had been reading and grinned.

"Interesting pictures, aren't they? Have you ever done that? Screwed a girl in the ass?" She knew perfectly well I hadn't. For that matter, except for each other, we were both still virgins.

"I wonder what it really feels like…" She unhooked her bra and dropped it with her shorts and socks on the floor. We were so casual now about undressing in front of each other, I was aware of her increasing nudity only peripherally.

"Wanna join me?" I looked up as she pushed down her panties, managing to wiggle twice as much as necessary to get out of them. At sixteen, she was already becoming wise in the ways of seducing a man. But she'd had more practice with a more appreciative audience than most of her girlfriends. Why not? I thought. We were sharing showers pretty regularly, now; it was nice to have someone scrub your back for you and to do it for them. And wet, slippery bodies were fun for other reasons.

"Yeah, okay." I stood and shucked off the jams I usually wore around the house in hot weather. Alex was already headed out the door and I noticed that the sweat coursing down her back was now continuing over the swell of her ass.

When I arrived in the bathroom a few seconds later she was already filling it up with steam. Alex loved very hot showers – she claimed it opened up her pores so she could scrub off the dirt easier. She swung open the door and looked over her shoulder expectantly. I was right behind her and I stood back out of the spray while she rotated under the shower head, arms upstretched, the water ricocheting off her head.

It was a big shower stall, completely tiled in white; it had been installed by the previous owner for reasons we didn't know. It was almost the size of an elevator car and could probably hold six or eight adults if they knew each other real well. (Who knew? Maybe it had.) But it was certainly large enough for two people and for most activities they might invent, as we had long since discovered. The shower head was set high up on one wall and was the kind that provided a variety of pulsations and fineness of spray. That could be fun, too.

Alex backed up to me and flipped her wet hair back over her head. She always did that, but I knew enough to close my eyes in time so I no longer got whipped across the eyeballs.

"Do me?" This was the comfortable routine we had settled into. I soaped her back (and often her front) and then she soaped mine (and ditto). Often, that was all that occurred – just a companionable shower together. Since we were nearly always available to each other, the sexual pressure had become controllable. But it was always there, waiting, when we wanted it to emerge.

I squirted the bottle of her favorite decadent bath soap across the top of her shoulder blades and began rubbing my hands briskly over her smooth, muscular back. Up over her shoulders, a pause to massage her neck muscles (she purred when I did that), up and down her sides as she raised her arms. I liked the feel of her rib cage under my soapy fingers. Up under the angle of her shaved armpits, back down her arms, which she now held out behind her. She stretched and arched her back a little and sighed with pleasure. This was often almost as good as sex to her.

Another squirt of soap across her lower back, then my hands were spread out over her ass, squeezing a little (she expected it), then moving around the sides of her hips to run my fingers over her pelvic bones. Then she turned around and I saw the glow in her eyes that meant she didn't want this to be a quick shower, just to get clean.

More soap across her collarbone while she stood with her head tilted back, neck arched, breasts out-thrust. Her nipples were erect. My hands moved across her shoulders again. Her eyes were shut against the soap but she smiled as I took her by the throat and slid my hand up and down beneath her chin. An old joke: I had once pretended to strangle her in the shower while doing sound effects from PSYCHO. I ran my hands across her flat, tight diaphragm and stomach and then down her sides again to her hips. My cock was half-erect as I pulled her closer to me.

She clasped her hands behind my neck and we kissed quietly for a few seconds before she disengaged.

"Not yet," she whispered.

Now it was my turn. She turned me around and rubbed soap across my shoulders and my back, down my sides, and across my ass – which she also squeezed (because I also expected it). Then she did something different. Running her finger slowly down the crack between my cheeks, which by itself made me shiver, she pressed her middle finger against my anus.

It startled me for a moment but my cock instantly sprang to full attention. Her nails were forever breaking off and at the moment that particular fingernail was trimmed back short. She pressed her body against my back and pushed her finger about one joint deep into my ass, and wiggled it back and forth. The sensation was incredibly sexy. I knew I had no homosexual urges, but I wondered if this was what it felt like to be fucked.

"Like it?" she whispered over my shoulder.

"Umm-hmmm! When you do it," I qualified.

"You know those magazines? The ass-fucking? I want to try that!" She wiggled her finger again and then eased it out.

"Are you sure?" I wasn't sure I wanted to do this, not to my sister. I certainly didn't want to hurt her and anal sex looked like it could be pretty painful, especially the first time. I told her that in a hesitant tone.

"If it hurts too much, we'll stop. Besides, I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose." One of her hands had wrapped itself around my cock and was squeezing a little and stroking a little. Her other hand clutched her own crotch and I could see one finger busily stroking her clit. She was determined to push us both into this.

"C'mon, please? Haven't you wondered what it would feel like to fuck a girl up the ass? Especially me? Don't you want to fuck your sister in the ass?" Well, she was right about that. And when such blunt language came out of that sweet little face it usually had the effect she desired. I turned her around to face the wall that had a porcelain rod in it and lifted her hands toward it.

Alex bent forward, breathing a little heavily in anticipation, and gripped the rod with both hands. I knew my sister. She had really gotten herself worked up thinking about this. She bent her back even more as she spread her feet a little apart on the slick tile and cocked her ass upward.

"Put it… in! I want to feel it going up my ass – I really do! I can imagine it, but I want to*feel* it! Please – put it in!" Her head was swinging from side to side and her wet, cascading hair swished.

I reached up to the shelf above the shower head and grabbed a jar of skin- moisturizer. I had used it occasionally to masturbate with, for extra lubrication. Scooping out a handful of the cream, I slathered it up and down my cock, which twitched in anticipation. Then I pushed my slippery middle finger up into her rectum as far as I could reach – three inches or more. It was snug, tight, but I could fit. Alex gasped once and sucked in through her teeth. Her ass trembled and her sphincter tightened around my finger, trying to pull it out of joint. My god, what was this going to be like?!

I slid my finger out and maneuvered the head of my cock into position, pressing against her puckered anus. Slowly, carefully, I began pushing into her. She gasped louder and her knuckles on the wall rod tightened. I paused; I didn't want to hurt her, no matter how much we both wanted to do this.

"No- It's all right! Go on, go on!" She shivered in the steamy shower and I could feel the motion in my cock. I held her hips and pushed forward harder. My cock slid upward, inward without stopping. In another moment it was completely buried. My pubic hair seemed to sprout from between her cheeks and my balls were pressed against the space between her cunt and her asshole.

I moved my cock in and out a fraction of an inch, just to see if I could. So tight! It felt like I was being swallowed by a suction pump. Alex was breathing rapidly and moaning.

"Does it hurt?" I asked anxiously.

"A little – no – it feels so good – oh – shit – oh – it feels huge! Bigger than it ever did the other way! Oh, God- Fuck me, fuck me!"

As I began pulling it out halfway and pushing it back up into her, I felt myself come just a little. No, not yet! I wanted all of this first! But the small amount of cum just increased the lubrication in the depths of her ass and made it easier for me to pump back and forth.

Alex was gasping and breathing loudly in rhythm with my pumping, just as she did when my cock was ramming in and out of her cunt. Her pussy was always nice and tight, but her ass was fantastic! The inner surface of her was smooth and soft but those shit-pushing muscles were strong. When I pushed into her, she, without thinking about it, pushed back; when I pulled back for the next stroke, her muscles tried to grasp my cock even more tightly. It was the most erotic sensation I had ever felt.

I couldn't see them, but I knew her breasts were swaying tightly back and forth. I wanted badly to reach around and squeeze them, but if I gave up my pelvic clutch we'd land on the hard tile floor. I interrupted my pace, pulling out almost all the way and then cramming my cock back into her as hard as I could. My balls slapped against her ass. She gave a louder cry and arched her head backward.

"Oh – ah – I love your cock up in me – it's so big I feel like I'm popping! Oh – it's good, it's good – oh, shit – keep – fucking me -don't – stop!"

Sweat was running off my forehead and my hair, the soap was getting in my eyes, and I didn't care. I could feel the pressure building and there was no way now I could stop, even if either of us wanted to. I squeezed my sister's hips to signal her that my climax was on its way.

"Yes – me, too – I'm there! – oh, shit – that's – so good!"

I increased speed, gasping as loudly as she did. And then I came, in great, shuddering, shocking contractions. I tried unconsciously to push into her even farther as I ejected millions of sperm into her lower intestine. I almost laughed at that unbidden thought, but I was lightheaded and gasping for breath. Now her sphincter was rapidly dilating and tightening, and that helped the ejaculations to go on and on, longer than ever before. From the hoarse, throaty sounds Alex was making I knew she was climaxing with me. God, was there ever a feeling like this?

Alex's grip on the wall rod was loosening. She was so out of it from her own multiple climaxes, I was afraid she might smash her face on the tile wall. I got my arms around her hips as she began to slide downward, and I slid with her, both of us panting loudly. Her ass was pressed against my groin and she was still impaled on my cock. We somehow landed on the bottom of the shower stall without hurting ourselves. She was face-down with her cheek cushioned on her wrist, gulping the hot, steamy air. I was lying on top of her, also struggling to get my heart rate down, supporting most of my weight on my shaking arms. If my elbows unlocked, we'd both crash. My cock was still buried to its root in her rectum. The passage was still so snug it had no room to contract. And I was content to leave it there awhile longer.

What finally brought us around, rousing us out of our half-swoon, was the water. It was getting colder and the steam was disappearing. I had no idea how long we had fucked or how long we had lain on the floor, but it was long enough to use up all the hot water. I had sunk down on my elbows – my arms could never have lasted that long – and slowly withdrew from Alex's fantastic asshole.

"Ohhhhh…" She moaned softly, perhaps feeling the loss. I leaned over and kissed her lingeringly at the base of her spine. So beautiful, my sister, so filled with me for however long it had been. It's your decision, but I think we'll do it again.

I sat back on my heels so the now icy water splashed off her back. My reaction to the change had been gradual; her's was electric. She gasped at the shock, her green eyes snapped open, and she struggled to get to her knees and then to her feet. I stood up, still a bit shaky myself, and helped her. It took a minute, but then she deliberately stepped back under the water and rinsed the sweat out of her hair. She turned slowly in position, combing her fingers through the dark red strands, while I stood and watched. God, I loved her.

She saw my expression and her peculiar sense of humor got the better of her. She smiled and stepped back to me, hooking one arm around my neck. With her other hand, she took my hand and slipped it, palm up, between her slightly parted thighs. She can't possibly want to screw again, I thought.

She brought my mouth down to hers and kissed me. I stroked my hand back between her legs, delighting still in the smooth, wet flesh and the curly hair brushing my wrist. And then she tapped the tip of her little red tongue against my front teeth, pressed her thighs closer together, and pissed in my hand!

That's how well we understood each other – that she could do something that crude at such an emotional moment and know that I would be amused. The cold shower splashed off my shoulders while my cupped hand filled with her warm urine, and I cackled at the joke. Here, now, under these circumstances, it was funny!

I extricated my hand, trying to hold on to some of the pale yellow liquid, while she grinned mischievously. I squeezed her cheeks – not roughly – to force her mouth open while she squealed and tried to bat my hand away.

"I ought to dribble this down your throat, you know. But I'm a nice guy so I won't." Instead, I trickled it across her breasts. "You can have it back," I added. "You might run out!"

*****

I had to stay late at school one day in September of that year, working on a project for journalism, so I was in a hurry to get home. I didn't stop at the restroom before I left, and by the time I reached the house, I had to take a piss so badly I was walking knock-kneed. I got halfway down the downstairs hall and saw that the bathroom door was closed – Mother must be in there – made a U-turn and hurried upstairs. I dropped my books in the hall and charged into the upstairs bathroom, already struggling with my zipper.

Alex looked up startled from the toilet seat, her jeans around her ankles and her shirt rucked up around her waist. I moaned. "What's your problem?" she wanted to know.

"I can't wait!" I was fishing out my cock. "I'll have to use the shower stall!"

"Hey, wait! There's room here…" She spread her legs wider and slid back a little on the toilet seat. "Just aim between my legs, for chrissake."

I didn't hesitate. I stepped in front of her, trying not to get my feet tangled in her pants, pointed my cock at the front slope of the bowl, and let go. In my effort to control the high-pressure yellow stream, I aimed too far forward and managed to splash both myself and my sister's legs.

She threw up her hands in surprise. "Watch it, Michael! Here, gimme that…" She reached forward, took my cock in hand like she was milking a cow, and pulled me forward. I had to let go of it and quickly support myself on her shoulders to keep from falling on her. She used both hands to pull me to within a few inches of her pussy and grinned up at me. My cock was engorged with internal pressure and completely filled both her hands. "You can lead a horse to water," she laughed.

The golden stream just went on and on. She watched speculatively and then aimed closer to her crotch. The spray was now wetting the outer part of her bush.

"What are you doing, Alex? Do you*want* me to piss on you?"

"I dunno, I've never tried it. Might be fun as an experiment, though…" Alex would try almost anything at least once, and, these days, the more unusual the better. She hadn't bitten off some guy's penis or fucked a Great Dane (as far as I knew), but otherwise I suspected her taboo list was pretty short. I finally finished draining the tank and took my cock back so I could make sure it got the customary final shake, and tucked in back in my slacks. Alex looked pleased at the strange look I gave her as I left the bathroom.

What I didn't know was that one of Alex's girl friends had a brother in college who belonged to a fraternity that claimed to own the largest lending library of pornographic books and magazines in the state.

The brother was presently interested in fringe erotica, having apparently become bored with standard fuck-and-suck scenes, and Alex and her friend had been spending some time in his absence evaluating photos of bestiality, bondage, spanking, enemas, ass-fucking, and erotic urination – "golden showers." Why my sister was turned on by this particular sexual variation I had no idea. Her interest soon waned – rather, it found new outlets, some of them equally bizarre – but it sure led us to some interesting experiences.

I should probably add that I had no theoretical objection to any of this. I was as fascinated by some types of sexual experimentation as Alex was. I drew the line at anything involving shit, however. Happily, she agreed with me. But some of our water games during that few weeks had very erotic overtones.

Perhaps some of this started because, as I've said, Alex and I enjoyed sharing a hot shower. Hot water, steam, soap, shampoo, and two slippery bodies in a relatively confined space can be a very big turn-on, as we had discovered at an early age.

Occasionally, the sight of running water would have its effect on me when I closed the shower door, and instead of getting out again, wet, to use the toilet, I would simply piss down the shower drain. Alex began to do the same thing, squatting over the drain. Then she learned to do it standing up – bending her knees, jutting out her crotch, and holding her labia open while raising her aim by pushing upward at the base of her clit.

On another evening, she came into the bathroom in her tee-shirt and panties while I was on the toilet preparing to take a shit. She quickly dropped her pants, pushed my knees apart, and sat on my lap facing me, a leg on each side. Then she leaned backward, pulled me forward, wrapped her arms around my neck, and stuck her long tongue in my mouth while her urine hissed between my thighs into the bowl below. She had decided it wasn't the act of urination she found sexy, but performing in front of someone else. It was crude, and that was erotic sometimes.

Boys and men are used to lining up at urinals in public rest rooms and exposing their genitals, even though social custom prohibits eye contact, much less staring. But women's rest rooms come equipped with private stalls. The same is generally true of most school locker rooms and showers. I had even witnessed a jerk-off "duel" between two well-endowed jocks.

On Alex's report, the girls in the locker room at school were usually pretty modest – or nervous, or embarrassed – about their bodies. They didn't often stroll around naked… with a few outstanding exceptions who flaunted their assets (puns intended).

From the beginning of puberty, Alex was unusually casual about nudity, at least in my presence. She knew I found her extremely desirable – I made no secret of it – and she never even considered the possibility that she could be raped by her brother. In that she was fortunate, because I never considered it either. I could and would seduce her, but I could never force her beyond her current limit. Physically, I probably could have, though my sister was no weakling – but psychologically, it was never a possibility.

When it came to water sports,… well, I doubt I would ever have suggested it myself, but as it turned out, I was willing to play along. The fact that she seduced me in this case made the experience more erotic for both of us. And she knew what she wanted.

About a week after our second encounter at the toilet, she came in hot and sweaty from mowing the lawn. I had spent the afternoon laboring over a term paper (and I've always loathed yard work). I was drinking glass after glass of iced tea, and my bladder was filling up rapidly, but I kept putting off a needed break to go to the bathroom. The thoughts and the words were flowing, I was on a creative roll, and I didn't want to break my train of thought for even the two or three minutes a bathroom break would require. Alex puffed into the room just as I finished a page and paused to drain another glass of tea.

My sister has always had a special talent for sizing up a person, a problem, or a situation almost instantly. She knew where I was headed the moment I finally stood up from the typewriter. I turned toward the door but Alex, shoes and socks already off, was on me in an instant -literally. She clasped her fingers behind my head and kissed me, hard. I tasted the salt sweat on her lips and I felt her soaked shirt pressing her sweat through my own tee shirt. She stuck her tongue in my ear – always a guaranteed turn-on for me – and whispered, "No, don't go to the bathroom! I need a shower, and I need you full of piss!"

She quickly unsnapped my cutoffs and pushed them to the floor before I registered what she was saying. She gripped my still limp cock like a pump handle and squeezed it hard enough to make me aware of it. I trusted my sister not to injure me, but I had no idea what was happening. With her other hand she almost frantically pushed her running shorts and panties to the floor, stepped out of them, and then moved even closer to me.

My cock was beginning to throb again as she stood on tiptoe and thrust it between her legs – not into her cunt, but across it, clasped between her steaming thighs so that the tip of my penis poked out behind, below her ass. Her thigh muscles flexed and the sensation turned my cock into a pulsating, quivering column of lust. She put her arms around my waist, pressing her groin more tightly against mine, and leaned back a little so she could look directly into my eyes.

She was aroused, as well, and her voice came out husky and demanding. "Come with me, you goddam, beautiful, sister-fucker! I want you! Now!"

She stepped up on the tops of my feet and tried to grip the front of my ankles with her toes, like thong sandals. I reached down over her hips and her extra elevation allowed me to grip her ass cheeks in both hands without bending over. I could barely reach the tip of my penis with one hand, behind her, but I took hold of the glans and pulled it up more snugly against her hot, damp cunt.

Then we carefully made our way out the bedroom door and down the hall the few yards to the bathroom in that peculiar but exciting position, both of us naked below the waist, clamped together by her thigh-grip on my penis.

When we arrived, we pulled off each other's shirts and Alex ripped off her sports bra. She opened her thighs then, but immediately grasped my cock tightly in her strong, slender hand and tugged me toward the shower, eyes dilated with open lust. Being led around by your cock by a beautiful, sexually aroused teenage girl is one of those experiences that burns into your memory for life.

But there was another internal pressure competing with my gonads. I had drunk a lot of iced tea and when Alex turned on the shower it reminded me immediately that I really had to take a piss. I was beginning to develop a cramp in my groin, but when I protested to Alex she said "Not yet!" and squeezed a little harder, drawing me closer and rubbing the tip of my cock against her flat stomach.

In a few seconds, when the water had gotten hot and the steam was raising new sweat on both of us, she angled the shower head away and knelt in front of me. She sat back on her heels, spread her thighs, and arched her back – her most provocative pose, and she knew I loved it.

"Michael, I want you to pee on me. Piss all over me, head to foot! I want to feel it running down my tits, I want you to splash it on my back and my ass! Go slow, don't just squirt it all at once. I'm getting even hornier just talking about it!"

I had read enough by now to suspect that water sports were a kind of erotic punishment game, like bondage. Well, this wasn't going to hurt anyone and if Alex was going through a weird stage – weird even for us -I could accommodate her. "Better close your eyes," I suggested.

She squeezed her eyes shut, closed her lips tightly, and tilted her head far back. I let go with a bright yellow stream that hit the center of her breast bone; it splashed all over her torso, running down her breasts and trickling off her rigid nipples. She gasped at the first warm shock and then began rubbing the urine over her body, under her arms, down her thighs. I controlled the stream as best I could, to make the experience last as long as possible. She inhaled the acrid aroma and whimpered huskily in her throat. She was obviously enjoying this. God help me, I was enjoying it, too – and what did that say about my own psychological state?

I circled slowly around her, holding my penis squeezed shut to regulate the flow. I drew a piss line down her spine, neck to ass, and she shivered as it flowed down between her cheeks. "In my hair,… my face…," she murmured.

My bladder was finally running low, so – still playing the punishment game – I took two fistfuls of her wet, tangled hair and tugged her head further back. Not enough to hurt her, of course, but enough to create the illusion of threat and control. Her throaty whimper had a strong sensual edge and she didn't resist. As the last of my urine flowed through her dark red hair she shampooed it in, piling her hair up and wrapping it around my cock. A Freudian image if I ever saw one. The golden liquid ran in a sheet across her forehead and trickled off her tightly shut eyelids and the end of her nose and the tip of her chin.

When my supply ran out and I stepped back, she stood shakily, still rubbing my body fluids into her smooth skin. She picked up a washcloth and wiped only the area around her eyes and nose; from her lips down, she still glistened aromatically.

She pressed her body close to mine and rubbed herself against me. She pulled my mouth down and fastened hers to it in a long, slow lip-sucking kiss. The smell of my own fresh urine filled my nostrils; it was surprisingly erotic, at least under these circumstances. I found myself being pushed firmly to my knees and I slid my hands down her back, over the swell of her ass, and down the backs of her thighs.

When my head reached the level of her waist, she suddenly moved her hands to her pussy and spread and lifted its lips – and before I realized what she intended, a strong stream of her warm, fragrant piss splashed against my chest, ran down my body, and dribbled off my cock and my balls.

I sat back on my heels and looked up at my sister's grinning face… and began to laugh. We loved each other more than anything else in the world, and here we were, urinating on each other. Erotic it might be, but it was also pretty silly.

Alex began to laugh, too, and quickly ended on the floor of the shower, engulfed in a fit of uncontrollable giggles. The more we thought about what we were doing, the funnier it became, and the more we laughed. It took us a few minutes to run down, and then we were both under the hot shower, soaping and shampooing each other – but a glance at each other's faces and we were again whooping helplessly with laughter.

Soaping each other's bodies in the shower always made us feel close, physically and mentally, even when neither of us was really in need of a fuck. Many times, we simply held each other, took turns massaging shoulder and neck muscles, and cuddled. And that's how it turned out this afternoon. Neither of us was embarrassed by our earlier activities. Amused, yes, but we had long ago accepted each other in all things. So we kissed affectionately, and Alex nuzzled my throat with her nose, and I nibbled her earlobe.

Finally, I was leaning against the tile, my sister's arms linked loosely around my waist, her head resting on my collarbone. She sighed contentedly as I untangled her wet hair by combing my fingers through it. My cock was almost completely limp – that's how relaxed and happy and unhurried I felt. She looked up at me with a glowing smile.

"You put with a lot from me, don't you?"

I looked back into her green eyes and thought about how lucky I was. I combed her hair back behind her ears.

"Sometimes…" I hugged her again. "And I intend to continue putting up with you for many, many years. I wouldn't be worth a bucket of piss without you, Alex…" I had to work hard to keep my voice level as I said it.

Alex instantly cracked up with laughter and slapped the flat of her hand not too gently against my chest. Then she reached up and kissed me again, still laughing behind her lips.

"Michael – I love you so much! What would I have done if I were an only child? Life would be so lonely and boring,… especially in the shower!" she added.

Chapter 7 – Chapter 10 missing

CONNIE

Midway through my first year of graduate study at Berkeley, a paper I had submitted was accepted to be read at the June conference of the Western Social Sciences Association in San Diego. I was excited and Alex was happy for me, too; in our eyes, anything one of us did reflected equally on the other. But when June arrived, Alex had her hands full revising her senior thesis so she could graduate that summer, and I had to fly down alone. I've never sought out crowds, but neither do I particularly enjoy traveling by myself. If a place is worth visiting at all, it's probably an experience worth sharing with someone else. Well, what the hell, I could manage two days, I thought – but I wouldn't bother with the beach or Balboa Park.

A couple hours after leaving Oakland International, I stood near the end of a long, serpentine queue before the front desk of the conference hotel, trying to calculate how long it would be before I could relax in my room. An hour at least, maybe two. The line shifted a bit and I picked up my overnighter and my attache case, took one step forward, and set them down again. I sighed and let my vision drift out of focus, but a tinkling, elfin laugh just in front of me brought my attention back.

I had paid no attention to the girl ahead of me in line and I realized now it was partly because the top of her head barely reached my chin. I had looked right over her head and sighed practically in her ear!

As she turned and grinned up at me over her shoulder, her silky black hair, cut in a medium-length pageboy, shone with reflected light from the lobby chandeliers. Her face looked as smooth and flawless as translucent porcelain the shade of sandalwood or cinnamon. The longest, thickest lashes I had ever seen – I knew intuitively they were genuine – shaded a pair of black-brown elliptical eyes so hypnotically ancient and deep their twinkle seemed incongruous. Her small mouth was enhanced by brilliant red lipstick. She wore a straw-colored linen suit over a white silk blouse, both businesslike and alluring. I took in all this in less than a second.

"Maybe we'll have to sleep here in the lobby tonight," she laughed. Her voice was bell-like but included a nameless quality that I was sure would grab any man by the throat, the heart, and the balls, all at the same moment. No accent, either, so she wasn't an exchange student (I took it for granted, on no evidence at all, that this tiny beauty wouldn't be a faculty member somewhere.)

Without her two-inch heels I guessed she couldn't be taller than 4'10", but she was so properly proportioned that she seemed not short but doll-like. A cliche, I know, but even cliches are founded in truth. She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and tilted her head quizzically. I was suddenly aware of my loosely drooping jaw and the fact that I was staring down at her. I could feel the flush rising above my collar.

"Uh, yeah – I mean, they'll, uh… I'm sorry – I sound like an idiot." I swallowed and tried to regroup my scattered thoughts.

"Let me try again," I apologized. The twinkle in her eye was brighter; she*knows* she has this effect on men, I thought. "I think it's going to take another hour, at least, to get to the front of this line, and I don't think we're likely to lose our places." Only two other registrants stood behind us.

I made a joking half-bow. "Would you allow me to buy you a drink so we can wait this out in comfort?" Because it's unexpected, that sort of formality frequently gets a woman's attention.

"You've got a deal!" We parked our bags behind the velvet retaining rope at one side of the lobby, walked into the bar, and took a small table in the quieter area at the back. As I held her chair for her, I belatedly introduced myself.

She held out a small, elegantly manicured hand and I took it carefully. "I'm Connie Liang, University of Hawaii." Her palm was cool and satiny. I'm only a bit above average size, but this lady made me feel like a 280 lb. linebacker.

Her surname was obviously Chinese, but she appeared to be a more exotic blend of Japanese, southeast Asian, Polynesian, and probably a little European. A typically Hawaiian background, in other words. We chatted over a couple of bottles of Harp and she told me she about the graduate work she was doing in social anthropology. She was also in San Diego to read a paper. From remarks she made I re-estimated her age upward; she had to be a year or two older than I was. Her voice was wonderfully musical and I resolved to attend her session, regardless of the subject, just to hear her read.

After a little while, I rose and peered out at the lobby. The line was down to almost no one now, so I paid the tab and we retrieved our bags and checked in. Connie was on the 10th Floor and I was on the 11th.

On the way up in the empty elevator, Connie mentioned with elaborate casualness that she thought she might just go down to the pool deck on the 5th Floor and "splash around a little." I caught her calculating sidelong glance and allowed as how I might just do the same thing. She flashed me what I hoped was a promising smile as she got off at her floor.

During the few seconds between the 10th and 11th Floors, all by myself in the car, I had an sudden, unnerving conviction that Alex was standing beside me. The feeling was so strong I actually turned my head to ask her how she had gotten there – and as I did, she vanished, leaving behind an amused chuckle, like the Cheshire Cat. Her voice whispered in the back of my skull. "Michael, don't worry about it… have fun, enjoy yourself! I won't be angry. Don't you know me any better than that?"

Yes, I did know her better than that. All the years we were growing up together, learning about love and sex together, we were nevertheless out there dating other people and sampling considerable sexual variety.

I learned early not to be jealous when my sister quietly slipped in from a late date radiating a lingering orgasmic flush, or when she rinsed some guy's semen out of her mouth with ginger ale. Nor was she anything but pleased when I came home with my zipper still half-open and my fingers smelling of another girl's cunt. Often she wound up in my bed or I in hers, sharing our experiences and still aroused and primed by the evening's adventures. I must be feeling guilty, I thought. Weird. Why should I feel I'm betraying my sister just because I'm attracted to such a terrific girl? Ridiculous. The elevator door slid open and I hurried down the hall to my room, trying to remember if I had packed my swimming trunks.

Thirty minutes later I was walking out on the pool deck in a polo shirt and my Hawaiian-print jams (good unintentional planning, I thought), with a hotel bath towel draped artfully about my neck. It was a half-hour till dusk, my favorite time for swimming and beach-strolling, and there were only eight or ten other people present, laughing and talking in two groups up at the shallow end. Everyone else would be at dinner. I glanced around but didn't see Connie. Either she'll come or she won't, I thought, and hung my towel and shirt over the back of a deck chair.

I sat down on the pool curbing next to the diving board and cautiously stuck one foot in the water. Great – the pool was heated! I glanced again at the glass doors; still no Connie. Ah, well. I took a breath and pushed off into the deep end, headed straight for the bottom.

When my feet touched the cement eight feet below, I crouched down with my knees bent. I paused a few seconds, enjoying the null gravity sensation. Then I uncoiled and shot myself back to the surface, arms at my sides, arching over backward to smack my shoulder blades against the water. My "humpback whale" trick, Alex called it. Childish, probably, but half the fun of a swimming pool is in not acting like an adult.

Then I heard that silvery laugh again, accompanied by a patter of applause, and I looked up. Connie had arrived while I was underwater. I splashed the few yards to the side of the pool and hooked my elbow over the edge. She was wearing a one-piece smooth silver suit (to go with the laugh, I thought inanely), cut in a deep V almost to her navel, that contrasted sharply with her light brown skin and black hair.

She knelt and tried not to giggle. "Tell me… did you do that on 'porpoise'?"

I rolled my eyes, groaned in the expected manner, and reached out as if to grab her ankle and fling her into the pool. She skipped back a few steps, grinning, and waved me farther away from the diving board. She stepped onto the board, adopted a serious expression, and shook out her fingers as if preparing for a difficult dive.

As she paced out to the end, looking every bit an Olympian, I saw that the back of her suit was scooped very wide and low; only the thinnest of straps crossed vertically over her shoulders and had the back been cut any lower she would have revealed a second cleavage. There were no tan marks, of course, to spoil the gently rippling surface of her upper body.

She took a precisely placed bounce on the end of the board and I expected to see a 2-1/2 twist or something equally spectacular. On the way up, she touched her pointed toes with her fingertips, arms and legs absolutely straight – a form obviously the result of many hours of practice. But at the peak of her arc, she suddenly tucked herself into a perfect, slowly spinning cannonball and hit the surface of the water with a splash that caused a small tsunami at the other end of the pool!

I pushed out to the end of the board and reached up for an ape-hang as she paddled back from her point of impact. "I can't think of a horrible pun just now," I grinned, "but I'll give that one a 9.9!"

She reached me and rested a hand on my shoulder for buoyancy, and I added in a softer voice, "And I have to give you a 10 just for looking the way you do."

She smiled more intimately and ran her other hand across my chest beneath the surface, pausing to trace a circle around each nipple with a fingertip. "You're not so bad yourself, big boy."

Where did she get this dialogue? Well, I'd seen quite a few old films myself. "I'll bet you say that to all the boys who are a foot taller than you."

She nodded slightly in approval as if I had just passed a test. "Speaking of 'taller', you might be standing on the bottom for all I know, but my legs are getting tired." I doubted it.

"Want to get out of the pool?" I hoped not, not yet.

"No, it's too warm in here and too cold out there. Just let me shift into my barnacle routine."

Her legs, which had been slowly scissor-kicking, slid up and wrapped themselves around my right thigh. At the same time, she twisted around to face me at an angle; now, one knee was pressed in a friendly fashion against my crotch. In the water, her clinging suit had become semi-transparent. I was very much aware of her dark nipples erect beneath the cloth, especially since one was being pressed firmly into my ribs. Even in the warm water, I could feel my cock stirring.

Her left arm slipped around my back and her thumb hooked itself casually over the waistband of my trunks. I steadied my grip on the end of the diving board. I didn't care if my arm developed a permanent cramp, I was attached to that board as long as Connie wanted to stay in the pool.

I put my free arm around her and stroked my palm up and down the smooth resiliency of her back, registering the subtle muscles that come with regular swimming. Other muscles were shifting slightly in her thighs and calves. There were other activities besides swimming that this well-maintained body was expert at, I was sure.

My hand slid downward across the small of her back, past the edge of her suit, and I paused and watched out of the corner of my eye for her reaction. She squeezed my thigh between hers, so I continued down over the curve of her small, firm ass. She brushed her nose across the top of my chest and leaned in closer. My chest was right at surface level and my nipples had hardened, both from being in the water and from her previous attention to them. She submerged a few more inches and fastened her lips around one nipple, sucking as if it were a soda straw, while her hand moved from my chest down to my abdomen. Connie's aggressive ideas of foreplay were a revelation even to me, and the experience was very arousing.

After several minutes of mutual stroking and caressing, she climbed up and breathed into my ear, which produced a wave of delightful shivers down my neck. "Why don't we move up toward the other end?" she whispered.

I watched the last of the other pool inhabitants gathering up towels and sandals and strolling back into the building. It was full dusk now, and the pool's underwater lights had come on, but they weren't too bright.

"Sounds good to me," I replied.

Connie adroitly unwrapped herself and headed for the four-foot marker with long, powerful strokes. After a few moments of stretching my abused left arm, I set out after her.

When I arrived, she had her back to the pool wall and her legs spread wide. "C'mere," she said softly. As I moved in and put my arms around her torso, she wrapped her legs loosely around my waist and hooked her wrists behind my neck. Her kiss was long and sensuous, accompanied by rhythmic movements of her crotch against my groin.

Alex and I had been together so long, we nearly always moved to each other by mutual but unspoken consent. Connie's aggressive style of sex play was new to me and I found it exhilarating.

I gripped both cheeks of her perfect ass and pressed her harder to me. She raised herself up a little and I attempted to suck her nipples out through the surface of her suit. She grabbed a shock of my hair in her teeth and tugged my head up, then wiggled her tongue between her lips in invitation. She was expecting a deep kiss, but instead I grabbed her tongue with my lips, as I had done her nipples a moment before, and sucked. I was trying to match her "surprise" style of foreplay by making it up as I went along – and with that move I succeeded.

Her dark eyes widened. She wrapped both arms around my head, crushed her mouth hard against mine, and strained to push her surprisingly long tongue down my throat. She growled a little and both our mouths vibrated. Her thighs tightened around my waist and I wondered in passing if I would end up with a cracked vertebra. She mashed her crotch so hard against my cock I was certain I could feel the lips of her cunt on either side of it, even through both our suits.

After a minute or two of convulsive dry-humping she seemed to regain her senses enough to realize that I was becoming very short of breath. She loosened her scissor-grip and pulled her head back to stare into my eyes. Her lips were parted and her waterproof lipstick was smeared all over her mouth. She continued to grasp and tug and release my hair with both hands.

"Oh, you're beautiful! Where have you been all my life?" Her voice shook a little.

Another cliche, but this time I had an answer. "I've been waiting to meet a water sprite, and here you are," I replied. I combed my fingers back through that shining black hair. "If you're planning to lure me away to the bottom of the sea, I'm ready to go."

Connie was regaining control of her voice now. "How's your room? Single or double occupant?"

"Just me and a double bed," I replied.

"Then I think we ought to get in out of this cool breeze. For our health. And my bed's King-size."

I hadn't been paying attention to the weather, but she was right. The cool San Diego night breeze was giving me goosebumps. I waded on up the slope of the shallow end and went carefully up the steps; Connie still had her arms and legs wrapped around me. She was so small I could have carried her back to the room that way, but I didn't want to risk running into some senior faculty member with a beautiful girl plastered across my front like bronze armor.

She must have had the same thought because she suddenly let go of me, landing perfectly poised and reaching for her towel. I was certain now that she must be a gymnast as well as a swimmer and diver: Every move she made, every step she took, was so effortlessly graceful. I doubted that she had ever stumbled or tripped in her life. I admired her as much as I lusted for her.

We kissed again in the elevator between floors until an older couple got on. Then we stood silently in the back of the car, Connie in front of me. I was running my open hands over her ass while she reached back to caress my cock through my trunks. We both squirmed but neither of us made a sound.

When we got off at the 10th Floor, Connie looked up and down the hall, saw no one, and immediately pinned me to the wall with her body. I assumed she was going to kiss me again and I began to lean down, but instead she stuck out her tongue and painted a wet stripe up the front of my throat, Adam's apple to chin. She giggled and trotted away up the corridor while I stood frozen by the burning mark. I had to hurry to catch up. Nobody had ever better take*this* woman for granted, I thought.

Inside the room, Connie's first move was to lock and bolt the door. I flicked on the overhead light but she turned it off again and switched on only the small bedside reading lamp. Now it was private and dim. She pushed me gently back to sit on the edge of the bed. Then she spread her knees and sat astride my lap, leaning back on her heels so she could scan my face. I put my hands along the sides of her damp thighs to balance her, and she played with the hairs on the backs of my wrists. Her expression had become serious.

"Michael, you seem like a sweet guy, not the sort to try to take advantage of me." I raised an eyebrow and she smiled; who was taking advantage of whom?

"I mean, I don't think you'd try to force yourself on me. So I'm going to tell you some things up front that you ought to know about me. First, I'm not as crazy as I sometimes act. I'm smart, I'm successful at whatever I do, and I'm on my way up in my field. I do act silly when I feel like it, and today I just kinda feel like it.

"Second, I like sex – no, I*adore* it. I enjoy acting sexy, by myself or with a man – if I like him. I sure like you. I guess I'm just a sensual person. But that doesn't mean I'm an easy lay; no one carves another notch on his cock with me! I've had two serious love affairs in the past five or six years and perhaps a dozen one- or two-night stands. I even made it with a complete stranger once – spur of the moment, fifteen minutes of fantasy, bam, and I'm gone. But I'm usually very picky; it's been more than two months since I fucked a guy and a couple weeks since I even kissed anyone. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I think you're saying," I replied, "that you'd like to spend some time with me – I hope you will – but that it's your choice to make." I shrugged. "Well, it always is, isn't it? The woman's choice, I mean." I patted her legs lightly in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"Connie, I like women, almost all women, beautiful or not. And I respect them – if that makes any sense right now. Rape is not my thing. Seduction, maybe, but that's a game, and both sides take their chances; if it comes out right, nobody loses. I think*I'm* the one who's being seduced this time, and I don't mind at all. We don't know each other well enough yet for you to tell the difference between my brand of flattery and the honest truth – but I tell you honestly and truthfully that you are one of the most absolutely beautiful and desirable women it's even been my good fortune to meet. We'll play by your rules, I promise."

I took her by the shoulders and began to bring her within kissing range, but she stopped me. "Third," she said. I waited.

"I hate to hurt the man I'm with as much as I love having fun with him, as long as it lasts. I've been in love twice, or I thought I was, and both of us were hurt each time it ended. I'm not fool enough to think anyone can predict that they will or won't fall in love, and I don't believe in 'love at first sight' anyway." I could see some painful memories behind her infinitely dark eyes.

"If I get involved with a guy, for a few weeks or even a few hours, I won't run around on him. I don't mind a little*temporary* possessiveness in a man – in fact, I take it as a compliment. I can be possessive, too!" She flashed another smile.

"But I understand the difference between sex-for-mutual-pleasure and real love. A couple of the guys I've had flings with have become friends even without the sex; they recognized when that relationship ended and became something else, and they accepted it." She took my face in her hands and looked at me with an expression that begged me to understand.

"Don't decide you're in love with me, okay? I don't*want* to be in love, not now. If it happens, it happens, but I don't want anyone getting hurt!"

I took her hands and kissed them, and tried to match her earnestness. "Connie, I have a girlfriend back in Berkeley. We've known each other and lived together for a long time, and we love each other very much. We're not married, but I think of her as my other half. In fact, I was a little depressed when she couldn't come down here with me – until I met you in the registration line." Her eyebrows rose another fraction.

"You just now laid it on the line for me, in advance of anything that might happen between us," I continued, "just to be sure I understood what was going on here. That's very unusual and it's very honest. That girl back home owns my heart absolutely – but she's a very smart lady, too, and she knows from experience that sex-for-fun is temporary, like a ferris wheel. You have fun for awhile, you enjoy the ride, and then you go back home to the one who loves you.

"She's gone round on the ferris wheel a few times herself, and I always welcome her back with a smile and a kiss. Do you see? I don't own her body – I couldn't even if I wanted to – but it doesn't matter, because I know, absolutely*know*, that she loves me. Neither she nor I has ever had anything to be jealous about."

I couldn't tell whether Connie quite believed I was telling her the truth or not. "In my attache case over there is a copy of my conference registration form, with my home phone number on it. If you like, you can call her up and talk to her. Her name is Alex. She's as different from you as the sun is from the moon, but she enjoys sex, too, believe me. She might even make a few suggestions."

Still sitting astride my lap and holding my hands, Connie just looked at me for another minute. I could practically hear the balance scales clink in her head as she weighed out the possibilities. Then she smiled broadly, pushed me onto my back, and began kissing and nibbling at my throat. I was glad she had decided to believe me because what I'd told her was the truth.

"Your suit seems to have dried," I commented as I slid my hands up and down her back. "But mine's getting clammy. How about first things first?"

She rolled off, laughing, and I stood up and unknotted the string at the front of my trunks. Connie bounced off the bed and pushed my hands away.

"No, no, no! Let me do that; I enjoy unwrapping presents!" Barefoot, she came only to the middle of my chest, but her arms circled my waist and her hands slid down under my jams and squeezed my ass. She knelt and pulled my trunks slowly down. When my reanimated cock sprang up, she made clacking sounds with her teeth and lunged playfully at it.

"Down, Toto, down!" I laughed. I hadn't meant it literally, but she obediently lay on her back on the floor, arms outstretched, legs slightly apart, her hair scattered around her face.

I stood over her, reached down, and slid the thin straps off her shoulders. She raised her arms and I carefully pulled her bathing suit away from her breasts and down to her hips, like peeling a banana. She raised her legs straight upward, pointing her toes as she had when she dived off the board. I worked the silver suit quickly down her legs, untangled it from her ankles, and tossed it on the bed. Then I simply stood and looked down at this perfect, miniature Venus.

She saw the open admiration in my eyes and proceeded to give me the complete tour. Her breasts were small but in proportion to all the rest of her, and they quivered firmly. She cupped them in her hands, rubbed her dark brown nipples between her fingers, and sighed. Her legs were still in the air; she spread them slowly and curled her ass up a little. Her pubic hair formed a tiny black rectangle ending just above her cunt. Her clit seemed as erect as my cock, protruding from the cocoa folds of her labia.

She curled her body smoothly to one side and I stepped back out of her way as she suddenly became a three-sided pyramid – ass at the apex, legs still stretched out, the tips of her toes digging into the carpet, her back perfectly straight, arms cushioning her head. She curled her toes inward and her tiny asshole opened invitingly. Connie was exposing to me everything her body had to offer, and the array of possibilities was impressive. Her small frame, combined with her high degree of physical conditioning and her obvious willingness to share it all with me, was making me lightheaded.

Without conscious decision, I knelt between her slender, perfectly turned legs and thrust my tongue into her cunt, flicking it against her clit on the way in. She jerked slightly and I felt her thighs quiver against my ears. I wrapped a hand around the front of each knee, to balance her, and continued to stir my tongue around in her bare little cunt, which was now beginning to drip with her juices.

I remembered the wetness of her mouth on my throat, out in the hall, and now my tongue moved slowly, wetly, from the bottom of her cunt up toward her asshole. A girl like this would always be absolutely clean, I was sure of it. As my tongue traveled the last smooth brown inch between her legs she moaned softly and trembled again.

When I reached the rim of her puckered anus I paused for a moment, and not just to build the suspense. Rimming was something I seldom did, and then only with Alex. I knew many women were uneasy about it. Yet Connie hadn't stopped me; in fact her quivering tautness convinced me this was something she would really enjoy.

My tongue began tracing rings around the rim of the deepest opening in her body and I could feel her heart rate increase and her breathing become ragged. Then I plunged it as hard and as far into her ass as I could, burying my face again and again between her cheeks, and I could heard her half-sobs of passion. I became aware of spasms ricocheting between her cunt and her ass as the orgasm carried her away.

After a minute, I gently helped her to lie down with her stomach flat on the carpet. Her spine curved back and her groin rose at an angle in my lap. Her knees, locked straight for so long, were now bent with her toes pointed away from me. My cock, still erect and throbbing, tapped lightly against the half-open slit but I made no attempt to push it into her, though I could hardly ignore the enticing aroma of the wetness that beaded the back of her crotch.

I quietly stroked her ass and her thighs, and I threaded my fingers between her toes and felt the tough smoothness of the soles of her tiny feet. Finally, she attempted to get up but her position was awkward for anything other than what we had been doing. I rolled her over on her back and stood, scooping her up in my arms as I rose; she weighed so little, it was like a lifting a little girl. I knew that was part of what attracted me to her; she undoubtedly knew it too. I laid her on the bed on her back and settled next to her on my side, head propped on one hand so I could continue to look at her.

Her eyes had been closed in momentary exhaustion, but now they opened and I was favored with a warm, dreamy smile. She held up her arms and I lay down with my face next to hers and her arms around my neck.

"He followed me home, Ma; can I keep him?" She kissed me once, lingeringly, and then nuzzled my ear with her nose. "How did you know something like that would turn me on so?*I* didn't know it." Her full voice had been bell-like, but her whisper was husky. She nibbled my earlobe and sighed happily.

"It wasn't just a lucky guess," I said, as my hand traveled down her back, pressing her warm body against mine. "Besides, a gentleman always lets a lady come first."

"What do you mean, it wasn't a 'lucky guess'?"

I was still down by one horrible pun. "Well, being an Island girl, I figured you couldn't resist a Pacific rim…" She groaned and laughed softly in my ear; then she licked one finger and marked a score in the air.

"That's a hell of a start, but we've got all night to try and top it. Don't we?" She hugged me affectionately.

"We certainly do," I replied, and hugged her back.

It was a long night and neither of us got much sleep. There was too much of each other to explore, and I think we covered every available square inch. We began with a conventional fuck there on the bed, if anything about Connie could be said to be conventional. She was a long way from being a virgin, but her cunt was still tight. As I pushed my cock into her, she locked her ankles so high up on my back I nearly slithered out again.

Finally, relying on her gymnastic strength, I hooked my arms behind her knees and thrust up into her as far as I could reach. As she breathed deeply with pleasure, I could feel the head of my cock battering against her cervix. She made low growling noises again as I positioned myself to apply maximum friction against her clit, and when we both climaxed, one after the other, a few minutes later, she was breathing rapidly with her mouth wide open, almost as if she were in labor.

The taste of her own juices and my semen didn't bother her either, because five minutes afterward she was stretched out atop me with my cock in her mouth and the sweet smell of her pussy hovering just above my throat. She went from sucking hard on my cock head to lightly flicking her tongue up and down its length. I couldn't quite reach the prize with my tongue, so I turned my head a bit and nibbled the insides of her thighs while gently squeezing her ass with both hands. When I finally came again, she sucked hard, not wanting to lose a drop of me.

After we caught our breaths, she urged me over on my stomach, pushed my legs far apart, and lay with her face pressed snugly up between my legs. She licked my balls and sucked them gently into her mouth one at a time and then both together. A guy can't help but feel vulnerable in that position, but I loved it – especially when she tugged just a little.

I couldn't reach her at all with my hands, of course, so I was completely at her mercy. I suspected she liked to be in control to some degree and I was content to let her orchestrate our lovemaking. Besides, she was so very good at it!

She moved away from my balls and I felt my checks being spread. I remembered her tapering, beautifully manicured fingernails, but what I felt poking into my ass was too wet and mobile to be a finger. She swabbed her tongue up and down, from the base of my balls all the way to the base of my spine, pausing on each journey to flick it into my ass.

After a few minutes of that treatment, my cock was rigid again, trapped between me and the bed, and I had to roll over on my back. Connie was instantly on her knees over my cock, letting herself down onto it, then lying on my chest and sliding slowly up and down on the organ that filled her so completely.

I couldn't reach to kiss her very easily – the only disadvantage of her lack of height – so I lay happily and quietly, smoothing her glossy hair and stroking her neck and shoulders. We dozed off for perhaps thirty minutes, arms around each other, a lovely woman still impaled on my cock.

Connie brought me back to wakefulness by the simple method of resuming her motion. After a minute, she sat up, hands pressed flat against my chest, her hair curtaining her face, and began systematically pumping me up into herself. I reached down with both hands and gripped her ass, flattening her groin and bending her back. I could feel the fiery friction between my cock and her clit. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth opened and closed without a sound. She seemed to be in another place. Break on through to the other side, I urged her silently. This time, I came first and that rush within her triggered her own orgasm. She moaned breathily and collapsed on my chest again.

"Oh, God," she whispered between gulps of air. She was finally tiring herself out, I thought. Good thing, too; I wasn't sure I could manage more than three climaxes in one night. Unbelievable.

I was awakened about 3:00 a.m. by Connie's small, slender hand yet again wrapped around my penis. Her head lay against my shoulder. Her eyes were closed and she seemed almost to be running on automatic. My cock was reacting to her warm grip, though, and I was willing to fuck this insatiable woman as many times as I could manage, even if it put me in the hospital. But I decided to take charge myself this time around.

I gently removed her hand from my cock and slid her head off my arm. She murmured something incomprehensible. I wasn't sure I could roll her over onto her other side without waking her, so, moving very slowly and quietly, I arched my body across hers, trading sides of the bed. Now she was facing away from me. Her lovely, athletic body was lying loosely curled and I moved up against her from behind. Her frame was so small, I could reach almost every part of her.

My hand crept over her hip and worked its way down between her legs. When my middle finger slipped through the gate guarding her clit, she shifted her legs to give me better access and sighed. She was still asleep. After perhaps thirty seconds of gently stroking her hard little center, her breathing deepened and her own hand moved down to replace mine. In another moment she was slowly masturbating in her sleep.

My finger was wet with the juices of her cunt; I put it in my mouth and sucked it dry. The taste of her was fantastic. The same finger now moved to her asshole, lightly brushing the puckered ridges. Her sphincter quivered involuntarily as I eased my finger past the muscular rim. By the time it was in her up to the second knuckle, her hips were visibly twitching and she was finally beginning to waken.

I leaned over and kissed the side of her neck and flicked my tongue in and out of her ear. She opened one eye halfway and twisted her head to see where I was. She continued to stroke her clit as we kissed – and then I thrust all three inches of my middle finger past her relaxed sphincter, all the way up into her small, tight ass.

Her mouth and both eyes popped open at the unexpected sensation. She knew immediately what was where, however, and she gasped and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as I flexed my finger several times.

Had I been completely awake, I would never have done any of this without at least her tacit consent. Connie was small but she was strong and very tough. Any man trying to force himself on her would come away missing both balls and an ear, and I knew it. As it was, I was just lucky. Connie liked the surprise of being gently dominated – a little, anyway -as much as she enjoyed being the aggressor.

She drew up her right leg and moved it past my arm. Now she lay on her back, legs spread wide, as I leaned over her with my wrist pressed against her crotch and my finger gyrating in her rectum. I varied the rhythm with random flexing motions, as if I were attempting to make a one-finger fist, and each time I did, her body twitched and jerked.

Her hand was flashing across the wet, red tip of her clit and her moans came from deep in her throat. As she neared her orgasm, I began moving my finger smoothly in and out but no more than one knuckle. She bent her knees up against her chest, giving me the greatest possible freedom of movement, and I took advantage of it, moving my finger almost completely in and out of her hole. Finally, at the very instant she peaked, I slammed my finger all the way back into her. She gave a small cry, though not of pain, and I could feel the convulsive contractions in both her rectum and through the dividing membrane in her vagina.

We slept in until 9:00 the next morning and missed the conference's opening session, but our exhaustion was worth it. I woke Connie this time. The hairlessness of her slit made it easy to send my tongue probing down the crevice of her pussy. She made a husky moaning sound that I was beginning to learn well and spread her legs. I settled in on my stomach and pushed my whole face into her crotch, my nose opening her labia and my tongue licking up and down the entrance to her cunt. She smelled of sex – equal parts sweat, my semen, and her vaginal juices. She smelled wonderful. She woke fully after a few moments and laughed softly and musically.

She clenched my hair in her fists and tried to push my entire head into her cunt. My tongue teased her clitoris out of its hiding place and I pursed my lips around the shaft and sucked hard. Her fists tugged harder at my hair, and that was beginning to hurt a little. Okay, I thought, and I nipped very lightly with my teeth at her clit.

She squealed and let go of my hair. "I give, I give!" she gasped. I slid backward off the end of the bed onto my knees and began hauling her after me by her spread legs. As her knees bent and her feet hit the floor I stood and held out my hands. She smiled and accepted them, and I pulled her upright and wrapped my arms around her tightly. She put her arms around my neck and hung on.

I kissed her neck and shoulder and she kissed every freckle on my face. We finally unclinched and looked at each other, grinning like idiots. "You know what this room smells like, don't you?" Connie laughed. "What are the ladies in Housekeeping going to think when they walk in here and take a deep breath of all the pheromones?"

"Well," I laughed back, "we'd better make sure we don't smell the same way when we read our papers this afternoon! Care to split a shower?"

Three minutes later we were standing under the hot, cascading water, industriously soaping each other up and down, and paying special attention to all the erogenous zones we could think of. I thought briefly about how many showers I had shared with Alex. But this wasn't the same thing at all.

After lathering up, we tried the "Bangkok method" of scrubbing -rubbing our bodies together at all angles. Connie pressed her small, firm breasts against my shoulder blades and slowly worked her way down to my ass. Feeling her nipple travel down the crack in my ass gave me chills even in the steamy shower. When it was my turn, I made certain my stiffening cock made the same trip, down her lower spine and the center line of her ass. I ended with my cock pushing between her legs from behind. She reached under and grasped the head of it, pulling it forward and up snug against her crotch. She flexed her thigh muscles, as Alex sometimes did, but she was so much smaller that two inches of me protruded in front of her.

She laughed delightedly. "Hey, it looks from here like I've become a hermaphrodite!" She wrapped one hand around my intruding penis and began jerking me off, all the while making absurd imitation-male sexual sounds.

Two could play at almost any game, and I remembered the night before. Sliding my soapy hand down between our bodies, I slipped my middle finger easily into her asshole. She sucked in between her teeth and jutted her ass out without losing her grip on my cock. Then I stiffened my finger into a hook and slowly lifted up. Connie gasped and rose on tiptoe, letting go of my cock to brace herself against the wall.

I already knew her ass was, relatively speaking, the least experienced part of her. Now I had a blinding flash of lust: I wanted to get my cock up that ass. As tight as her vagina was, what must her rectum be like? My cock came to full alert as the vision raced through my imagination.

"Connie,… have you ever been fucked in the ass? I mean, I can't tell you how much I want your asshole, but I won't do anything to hurt you."

Her breasts were pressed against the tile but her lovely little bottom was cocked at an angle. "I tried it once," she admitted between gasps of breath. "The guy tried to shove it in too fast and it really hurt. But his cock was also bigger than yours – too big." She paused. "I want to try it again. Having your finger in me is making me crazy! But do it slow, and if I tell you to, you have to stop. Okay?"

"Of course, Connie; I said I wouldn't hurt you, and I meant it."

I carefully removed my finger and picked up the miniature bottle of moisturizer thoughtfully supplied by the hotel – though probably not for this purpose. Sliding my finger back into her asshole, I made it as slippery as I could while I spread the remaining lotion thickly over the head of my cock.

"It'll be easiest if you spread your feet and touch your toes," I said. "I'll balance you, don't worry. Put your feet on the nonskid strips."

I moved her around to face into the back corner of the shower and as she bent over, I gripped her hips firmly and watched her anus opening wider. "You have to relax your ass muscles. Push out, like you were taking a shit. I'll take it slow, but you have to relax."

I felt the hot water pounding against my shoulder blades as I pressed the head of my cock against Connie's anus. She was resisting without intending to and I heard her bite back a whimper. But the lotion did the trick and my cock popped through her sphincter. I paused for a few seconds, then held her hips steady as I pulled her ass slowly toward me. She was alternately groaning and gasping, but she didn't ask me to stop. I lathered up a little more lotion on my cock as it disappeared from view, and then realized I was buried in her tight brown ass up to the hilt.

"Are you okay?" I asked softly. "I can take it out."

Her teeth were clenched. "It feels like I have an iron pipe at the base of my spine. It hurt at first, a little, but not now. God, it feels strange! But I want you to fuck me! I've never done this all the way and I have to know what it feels like."

I eased my cock out an inch or so, then pushed it back in. I continued, increasing the tempo, and it gradually became easier as her muscles cooperated. After a minute or two, Connie was standing upright with her back arched and her beautiful ass almost horizontal. She was moaning now and catching her breath with each penetration. The natural moisture inside her added to the lubrication and I soon found myself having to control my frenzied lust, for fear of slamming into her too forcefully.

For a minute or two, I wanted to climb all the way up into her. I wished I had a twenty-inch penis, so I could reach all the way into her intestines. The tight, smooth grip of her rectum on my cock combined with the vision of her firm little butt as I watched myself sliding in and out of her. And the knowledge that I was the first explorer in this virgin territory added to the vision. All of this, combined with the previous night's exertions, made me visionary. I was seeing tiny colored lights at the edges of my sight.

My hands moved up to her small waist and I held on tightly, controlling the tempo. Connie didn't resist. In fact, she was pushing her ass back against my cock, trying to deepen each thrust. Her mouth was open and she was making repeated "Ahhhhhh…" noises. I realized she was so far gone, she probably didn't know what planet she was on – and that accomplishment was the last ingredient needed to trigger my orgasm.

I made a final deep lunge and came like a fire hose, shooting what felt like whole pints of come up into her body. Two or three more spasmodic plunges, and I was empty. God only knew how long it would take my body to manufacture enough replacement semen to have sex again. Weeks, probably.

I felt Connie's knees begin to buckle, and I quickly wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her body and pressed her back against my chest, leaning back for balance. One hand cupped her breast and her nipple was so erect it poked between my fingers. Her arms hung loosely at her sides and her head lolled back on my collarbone. She was truly impaled; the balls of her feet barely rested on the wet tile. I could never have supported a larger girl that way.

"Oh, God,… I don't believe it." She was gasping for breath and seemed on the verge of fainting. "I came,… I actually came,… incredible feeling,… I feel… so full,… like… like your cock… is ten times bigger."

I began to ease myself out of her but she immediately fumbled behind her, trying to grab my body. "No! – Not yet! – Don't leave yet…"

My own body was trembling and I wasn't sure how well I could support even her weight. One careful step at a time, I turned around where I stood. One slip and someone could break something, and it might be my cock. The water now beating against Connie's body seemed to revive her, and she raised one hand to cover her face. I backed up and braced myself against the wall.

"Connie? I have to sit down before I fall down. If we're careful, you can sit in my lap and I'll stay in you. Okay? Bend as I bend."

I anchored my heels on the nonskid strips in the floor of the shower and lowered myself to a sitting position, trying to keep my pelvis pushed forward so as not to lose possession of Connie. She kept her ass pressed back against my crotch and her palms braced against the shower walls.

We made it almost all the way down, but the last couple of inches I was overbalanced. My ass landed with a thump and my knees splayed out; I was lucky not to crack my tailbone. Connie had unavoidably let half the length of my still hard cock escape from her. When I landed, so did she, and my penis plunged back into her with real force. She let out a little cry of pain, but then stroked my thighs as she caught her breath, to let me know she was okay.

I scooted my lower body forward a little and Connie pressed herself down even farther. She sank her fingers in the sides of my thighs as she moaned.

"Michael,… help me turn around. You'll have to turn my hips around so I don't lose you…"

I rotated her body slowly and carefully on my cock and she lifted one leg almost vertically to get it past my chest. I bent my knees so she could lean back against them, and she lifted her own legs with a hand behind each knee. Her legs were spread as far up and apart as it was possible to do, even for a gymnastic body like hers. But to my amazement, her weight added almost another inch of penetration. The union between us was so tight, strands of my pubic hair were tucked up into her rectum. She smiled, a little shakily.

"I had no idea," she said huskily. "I never came like that before, without a guy in my pussy or eating me, or without bringing myself off. I love having you in me like this! I'll be sore for days and I don't know when I can do this again, but I don't care. It felt so fantastically different… I'm going to find a long vibrator, not so big around, and have a*lot* of fun. Oh, Michael, you're so beautiful! This'll sound strange, but you've given me a gift, a discovery. I'll never forget the last twelve hours – never!"

*****

Connie was back in her tan suit, looking businesslike and professional and academic, but still sexy and sensual… or maybe that was just my recent memories. Just before we left the room with our bags, she leaned against me and pulled my head down, and we shared a lengthy, soft, gentle kiss. Not passion this time, exactly, but affection. And maybe a little love. Then she hugged me tightly around the neck and spoke quietly into my ear.

"Michael, you are something else. And so am I. You fucked me and I fucked you more times last night, and in more different ways, than I've ever managed in any 24-hour period. God, you're good for me!" She squeezed me again and there was a choke in her voice. "You're good for me in other ways besides sex, too."

I squeezed her back. Even though I was going home to Alex, I knew I would also miss this fantastic woman. "Connie, you don't know how good you are for me, too. I told you I loved Alex, and I meant it, absolutely

… but if she weren't there I'd be madly in love with you by now. You're beautiful, sexy, smart, athletic, you have a personality that any guy would fall for… Did I mention 'sexy'? I don't know why you aren't married. I know it's none of my business, but I sure don't understand it."

Her voice softened even more, her lips brushing my ear. "Remember, I said I had two relationships that ended badly? I've been proposed to twice, Michael, and I said 'No' both times. That's why they ended. I was in love both times, too. The first guy was really terrific but I turned him down because I was afraid of the commitment. Maybe that was a mistake, but I'll never know. Because if I ever marry someone, it will be permanent and I'll be absolutely faithful. I couldn't do it any other way.

"Then, when I fell in love the second time, I proved I was right not to say 'Yes' the first time. See what I mean? I like men too much and I'd probably fall in love once a week if I let myself. Hell, Michael, I'm half in love with you right now, too! How could I give up an experience like last night? I wouldn't run around on the man I married – but what if we got bored with each other? What if the sex got to be too ordinary? I'm afraid to take the chance! I'm afraid of myself, I guess."

I could feel the tears and the fluttering of her eyelashes against my ear. I stroked the small of her back and her hair and held her close for a few silent minutes. How could someone this wonderful be afraid of anything? I almost felt like crying with her, or for her.

But there was a bond between us now, I had no doubt of that. I also felt certain we'd be seeing each other again.

EXTENDED FAMILY ("CONNIE RETURNS")

Alex and I stood at the big window by Gate 29A and watched as the brightly painted Aloha Airlines jet was hauled the last few yards up to the telescoping walkway. I was nervous and it showed. My sister found this amusing; she kept patting me on the shoulder and cooing such constructive advice as "It's okay, Michael, it won't be long now…" I might have found her playful condescension annoying except that I recognized my own silliness. We were only meeting Connie Liang's plane, after all.

Fourteen months it had been since my brief, serendipitous affair in San Diego with that tiny beauty and I hadn't actually seen her in all that time, though she sent me snapshots regularly. Connie and I had kept in touch, just as we had said we would.

I had always been a lousy correspondent before this. I preferred to simply pick up a phone and talk with someone in real-time. Telephone rates California-to-Hawaii made that economically unfeasible, so I learned to write letters.

Connie's letters to me arrived every three or four weeks – usually with extra postage because of their bulk. A single letter might sprawl across several kinds of note paper and lined tablets, in several colors of ink: She was writing whenever and wherever she had something she wanted to say to me, which I took as a compliment. And she communicated as beautifully, and as idiosyncratically, on paper as she had in person, going on at length about anything in which she had an interest.

I heard her opinions on Hawaiian politics, the best way to build a sand castle, the personalities of the people she worked with in her new job with the Museum of the Pacific in Honolulu, and why I absolutely*must* read a certain book or see a certain movie. And I heard her thoughtful ruminations about life and the people in it, including me.

I also heard about her sex life in some detail… partly, I believed, because she knew it would turn me on. As she had told me in San Diego, her enjoyment of sex was moderate in quantity but always enthusiastic in quality.

Letters like that seem to demand that the recipient hold up his end of the exchange, so I learned. My first discovery was that my high school experience in journalism didn't help much. My first few attempts at literate replies were pitiful reactions to things she had said, but soon I was initiating discussions and venturing my own opinions. And I began following her example by jotting a few paragraphs at odd moments on a note pad I carried around in my briefcase. The thickness of my letters to Connie began to rival hers.

And I, too, included candid accounts of my sexual experiences, both the casual flirtations I enjoyed with girls I met on campus and the deeply emotional and satisfying relationship I reveled in with Alex. I was careful not to divulge The Secret, though.

Naturally, I had related my one-night affair with Connie to my sister, who – predictably – was both pleased for me and curious about this girl I found so fascinating. After I asked for and received Connie's permission, Alex read all her letters and was impressed both by her imagination and intellect and by her obvious charms, as evidenced in those snapshots. For I should mention that the photos Connie sent were often of the "private" variety, featuring her very own self in very erotic poses. (I wondered who had taken them for her.)

Soon, Alex began including brief notes and then longer missives in my letters to Connie, and Connie answered with evident delight. I felt a growing conviction that these two wonderful ladies would get along just fine, if we could ever arrange another meeting.

Then the opportunity suddenly arrived, in the form of an invitation from the Humboldt Museum at the University of California to the Museum of the Pacific, to send someone for two weeks of concentrated training in some arcane specialty of Polynesian anthropology. Connie wangled the invite for herself, on the grounds that being part-Chinese, part-Japanese, part-Oceanic, and part-European gave her special qualifications. Then she called us that evening to say she would be arriving at Oakland International the next Friday. Alex was sharing the earpiece and listening in; she beat me to it by insisting that Connie would stay with us – and no arguments!

Now, here we were, waiting for the lady to deplane. I had missed her, for reasons of friendship as well as lustful memories. I prayed fervently that she and Alex would hit it off as well as I hoped. And I was nervous about this new turning point in my relationship with Connie. It*had* been fourteen months, all our correspondence notwithstanding, and this wasn't an unexpected interlude in San Diego; I doubted we could simply pick up where we had left off.

Nor did I*really* know how my sister would react when she saw how Connie so obviously affected me. Alex knew I loved her, no doubt about that. And we both had had our flings over the years (including Alex's "crisis of faith" in our relationship during her sophomore year in college). But we were older now and this thing with Connie might be different. Or maybe not – but I was still nervous.

I spotted Connie walking along behind the velvet rope from the passageway; she was scanning the crowd that was waiting to greet the passengers but she hadn't seen me yet; being under five feet in height has some disadvantages. She was wearing tight, bright red shorts, a sleeveless white cotton shirt, and white woven leather sandals with heels. All the colors contrasted nicely with her glowing sandalwood complexion. Her gleaming black hair swirled as she looked about; she had let it grow much longer than it had been in her last photo, and she looked younger than Alex though she was actually almost two years older than me. Alex saw her, too, and squeezed my hand.

"Michael! She's absolutely beautiful!" my sister whispered. The admiration in her voice didn't ease my edginess, though.

Then I raised my hand and waved and Connie saw me. Her eyes lit up and her smile flashed as she wove her way through the crowd. I was a little hesitant in moving forward to meet her, and she saw it and slowed to a stop. She raised those expressive eyebrows in a question that I wasn't sure I could answer. Alex saved me by walloping me on the arm in exasperation.

"Michael? Go and*kiss* her, you idiot! She'll think you don't want her!"

That got us a few odd looks from bystanders but it broke through my uncertainty. I closed the distance between us and swept little Connie up in my arms and swung her around, like in the movies. She hung onto my neck and laughed that tinkly laugh I remembered so well. When I set her down she kissed me so vigorously I heard a ringing in my ears. Only now was I realizing just how*much* I had missed her.

When we came out of our clinch, Alex was standing close to both of us, grinning ear to ear. She hooked her arms through mine and Connie's and we found ourselves in a warm three-way hug. Then Alex put her arms around our so-welcome visitor, and squeezed, and bent to whisper something in her ear, I couldn't hear what. Connie beamed and whispered something back. Obviously, I wasn't going to be let in on this one. But my relief was profound.

*****

When we got back to our "lost" brownstone on the margin of the Berkeley hills, I lugged Connie's bags up the steps while Alex gave her the standard tour, upstairs and down – together with a mock-stern warning that she would not tolerate our guest thinking of this place as anything less than her own home for as long as she wished. Watching them interact so easily, I knew for certain that any fears I had had of Connie complicating the relationship between my sister and myself were groundless.

Neither Alex nor I had ever had more than a very few close friends -our preference as well as a practical necessity – but the two of them were already behaving as if they had known each other all their lives. Maybe that was inevitable; anyone about whom I felt so strongly almost had to rank highly with Alex, as well. Our minds functioned that closely.

Our bed was full-size, elderly but serviceable, with wooden posts at the corners. My first thought had been to let the girls share it while I unfolded the double-width sofa/futon downstairs in the living room.

Connie flatly refused the offer, pointing out that she was part-Japanese, after all, and smaller, and probably in better physical shape than I was. She would take the futon and we would keep our own bed. When I tried to protest, she retorted that if this was really "her own home," then she would sleep where she pleased, so there. I threw up my hands in surrender; I already knew that trying to argue with a decision she had made was pointless.

It was only about nine in the evening, and Connie's internal clock insisted it was even earlier than that, but Hawaii-to-California is a long, tiring flight. We had planned on a light supper and early to bed, to let her erase her reverse-jet-lag. But after supper, the girls became so engrossed in their first face-to-face conversation in the bedroom that after an hour or so I finally gave it up and unfolded the futon for myself. I hadn't worn pajamas in years, so I just stripped down, flung a spare sheet over my body, and dozed off within minutes.

I was awakened in the dark by the presence of a warm body cuddling up to mine and the feathery touch of long fingernails drifting across my cheek. It was Connie, wearing a very short, bright yellow nightshirt – obviously intended for a much younger girl, since it had a portrait of Bullwinkle on the front.

I looked over at her and registered the soft smile she gave me. Then it dawned on me that Alex must still be in the bedroom, asleep. This wouldn't do. As much as I might desire Connie, I wouldn't do anything behind my sister's back. I took her hand and opened my mouth to explain, but she laid a finger across my lips.

"I know what you're thinking, Michael, but you don't have to worry," she whispered. "Alex suggested I come in and claim my futon. Actually, she ordered me to! I understand now why you love her so much. You were worried that I might come between the two of you, even without meaning to, weren't you?" She saw the embarrassed admission in my eyes.

"You shouldn't have worried, you know. Michael, you*must* know how much she loves*you* – it's in her eyes and her voice every time she mentions your name. Didn't you know that? Maybe it just takes an 'outsider' to notice." She smiled again.

"And she knew you'd react like this! She said to tell you to remember 'the station wagon at the drive-in'… whatever that means. But she knows how much San Diego meant to both of us and she wants us to get reacquainted, she really does. I don't understand why you haven't married that girl, Michael!"

I couldn't answer that one, not truthfully, so I kissed her instead. It took a long time to finish and it still wasn't long enough. Then Connie sat up and pulled the shirt off over her head. Her small, perfect breasts were as lovely as I remembered, her belly still concave, her skin still smooth and soft with flat athletic muscles rippling beneath.

She pulled the sheet off me and lay down again and I turned onto my side to face her, letting the palm of my hand glide down to her waist, over the gentle swell of her hip, and along her perfect thigh. She moved even closer to me, lying on my arm, nuzzling her head under my chin and raking those nails lightly across my chest. When I moved my hand around to cup one buttock, she shivered and made a little sound in her throat. Her hands glided down my body and found my cock, already half-erect and twitching. She curled one hand around the shaft, squeezing a little, and cupped my balls with the other.

Strangely, I wanted only to prolong this tender foreplay. Neither of us was going anywhere for awhile and I felt entirely at peace. If it was possible to love another woman even half as much as I loved my sister, and at the same time, then Connie was the object of that love.

I was sure now that Alex must have some inkling of how my affection for this little Aphrodite had grown during the past year, and that she was pleased, rather than threatened by it. Connie would never do anything to disturb what Alex and I had; I was now quite certain of that.

But it still felt a little strange, perhaps because I loved Alex so deeply both as a woman and as my sister. Connie wasn't someone I had grown up with; I had met her fully matured, sexually and intellectually, and I was still discovering marvelous things about her. If ever it came to a choice between the two of them, Alexandra was the only contender… but if there was any fairness in the world at all, that would never happen.

After awhile, my trapped hand wrapped itself in that long, thick hair as my other fingers brushed through the small, silky triangle above her cunt. She bent her knee to give me access and rubbed the head of my penis slowly across her breastbone. Her nipples had hardened and were drilling into my ribs.

I eased one finger into her cleft and down the shaft of her clitoris, finally plucking the center of her like a guitar string. She jerked a little and gasped, and then laughed silently into my throat. Her thumb rubbed across the opening in my cock, in retaliation.

I removed my hand and eased her onto her back, and she spread her legs for me and stared deep into my eyes. I stared back, nose to nose, and marveled at what I saw there. I painted her lips with my tongue and kissed her again as I gradually entered her.

We took our time, as we had with our foreplay, moving slowly with each other, shifting position slightly to create the maximum friction. Her knees flexed and moved up and down the sides of my ribs while her hands wandered across my back. I kissed her long eyelashes and her cheekbones and the tip of her nose… and she mimicked every move.

Then she gradually increased the tempo of our lovemaking, locking her ankles high on my back and urging me to thrust as deeply into her as I could. Several times, I could feel my climax building and I deliberately slowed my pace just enough to prolong the pleasure. I could tell by the changes in her breathing that Connie was also holding herself back at each plateau. We were both sweating freely now, but I felt like I could continue this exquisite experience forever.

Finally, after what must have been thirty minutes of continual motion, I could stand it no longer and I began thrusting more rapidly. Connie hugged herself to me and bent her head back, hair sprawling above her face. Neither of us made much sound, not tonight; it simply wasn't needed.

And when I jerked hard against her several times and came in a blinding rush, she strained against me so that I felt the tremors rippling through her body. We froze in position for perhaps ten seconds, holding our breaths, savoring the perfection of the moment.

Then, finally, I eased my weight down, trying not to smother her. She let her knees splay to the sides as she gulped deep breaths. Her hands moved to my head and her fingers combed shakily through my hair. My cock was still buried in her and neither of us was in a hurry to remove it. Her lower body jerked in reaction to my post-orgasmic spasms and she laughed quietly.

"Michael," she whispered huskily, "do you remember what I said before about love? How I was kind of afraid of it?" I looked down at her as she licked her lips in hesitation.

"Maybe I shouldn't say this – maybe I have no right to, with Alex in the other room – but I can't help it anymore. I think I love you. I mean, I love what we have together. I guess that includes both of you, doesn't it? I wouldn't have thought I could share a guy with another woman and be glad of it, but I think that's what I really mean. Oh, I don't really know*what* I mean…"

She seemed genuinely puzzled and I had no idea what to say. Could I possibly be this lucky? Or was it selfishness? Jesus. What I felt for Connie was stronger than ever, and not just because my cock was still inside her. Maybe what I felt was love, too. But it was a different sort of love than my deep devotion to Alex. But that didn't make my feelings for Connie any less strong. But, but, but…

I carefully withdrew from her and caressed her face and smoothed her hair. "Connie, if it's really possible to love more than one person at a time -*really* love – then I think I'm in love with you, too. I don't know. I know that the feelings I have for you are stronger than I've ever felt for anyone except my – except Alex." My near slip decided me: I had to tell her what she was getting herself into.

"There's something you have to know, Connie, something about Alex and me that no one else has ever known…" I swallowed hard. All my carefully developed reflexes fought against divulging what I had to say. But Connie smiled that warm smile and again put her finger to my lips.

"I think I know what you're leading up to. When I called to tell you about this trip, I'm afraid I discovered I had misplaced your phone number. But I had your address, from your letters. So I called Information and gave them the last name and the street address – and the operator said he had*two* listings for that name at that address, "Michael" and "Alexandra," and which did I want? Then he corrected himself and said it was actually the same phone number, so it didn't matter." She gave me a searching look.

"I could only think of two explanations. One was that you were married and hadn't told me. But I knew you too well, by then, to think you'd ever cheat on me, much less on your wife. And you said once that you'd known her 'all your life'. The other explanation…" Then she paused, wondering again if she was correct in her conclusion, not wanting to shock me if she was wrong. I saved her the worry.

"You're right, Connie: Alex and I are brother and sister. It's The Secret." I pronounced the capital letters. "It's been very hard for us the past ten years, getting used to the idea of being in love and keeping everyone else unaware of it." I sighed, relieved that she knew. "Does the fact that you figured it out and you're here anyway mean you aren't, uh, revolted…?"

"You forget, I'm an anthropologist by profession. I imagine I can accept almost any manifestation of love that two people can find for themselves. Look at me, here with you! No, I'm not 'revolted'. I'm even a little surprised to find that I'm not particularly bothered by it. Theory and practice can be very different." This conversation was becoming oddly scholarly, considering the circumstances.

"The two of you have never been able to tell anyone about your feelings for each other, have you? When we all feel more comfortable – when you two are comfortable about my knowing your secret, I mean – would you, if you want to, would you tell me about it?" She touched my cheek and seemed amazed at the tears she found there.

*****

We lay for awhile longer in our warm embrace but neither of us was ready to sleep, not now. Eventually, I climbed to my feet and lifted Connie to hers. She clung to me and I stroked her and hugged her yet again.

"We have to talk, don't we?" she said somberly. "All three of us, I mean."

"Yep. And we should do it now. Somehow, I doubt that Alex is asleep."

We walked into the bedroom still naked, arms around each other. As I expected, Alex was sprawled on her back, hands tucked behind her pillow and eyes lazily half-open. The sheet came only to her waist and her naked breasts shimmied in the way I loved as she scooted up into a sitting position. Both of us must have appeared apprehensive because Alex gave us a fond smile and held out her arms.

We climbed onto the bed on either side of her and she pushed the cover down so all of us could be comfortably naked together. My sister looked uncommonly pleased with herself, as if she had personally engineered my reunion with Connie. Then she took the other girl's hands and interlaced their fingers. It was an affectionate gesture of acceptance and I began to relax. This was going to work.

Alex looked Connie up and down, taking in her smooth, trim diver's body, and the lustrous black hair floating around her shoulders, and her suddenly shy smile.

"Connie, when I first saw you at the airport, I told my brother you were absolutely beautiful – my exact words – and I understood why he was so taken with you." Connie and I exchanged glances at the words "my brother" and Alex didn't miss that, either. Her smile became even warmer and softer.

"Yeah, I knew he'd tell you: He had to. I know how his mind works and he's not capable of lying to someone he really cares about." Her face became more solemn. "Do you love him?"

Connie studied my sister's face and nodded slowly, and swallowed.

Alex was blinking tears and at first I didn't understand. Then she squeezed Connie's hands, and gulped, and said "Thank you! I'm so glad!" She quickly pulled the smaller girl to her and hugged her tightly as they overbalanced back against the pillow. Connie was sobbing quietly with happiness and relief. I knew my face was trembling with the pent-up emotion of the moment as I sat there cross-legged and gazed at the only two people in the world whom I really cared about.

We spent the rest of that first night sandwiched together on the bed and we all seemed to take turns being in the middle. Once, when I rose to half-wakefulness, I found Connie stretched out along Alex's other side, her leg cast loosely over my sister's thigh; their hair was a tangled auburn-and-black puddle spread across the pillow. My arm was flung across Alex's midriff, my fingers brushing Connie's hip.

I knew I didn't deserve to be as happy as I was, and I knew there would be problems if we really did undertake to establish a three-way partnership. I knew I would never lose Alex… and I hoped I wouldn't lose Connie. Our public deception would become more complicated, even after Connie returned to Honolulu. But we could deal with all that as the need arose. I stroked Connie's flank once, lightly, so as not to waken her, and drifted back to sleep.

We slept late the next morning, which was Saturday, and when we finally began to stir I found myself in the middle of the sandwich. I turned my head and my nose brushed Alex's cheek. I nuzzled her ear and spoke as quietly as I could.

"Sweetheart, you are, without exception, the most wonderful woman in the history of the world." I meant it, too. "I'm still not quite sure what happened last night – but I know you're the key to it. Thank you…"

I turned her face with one fingertip and kissed her, long and slow. I thought back over all the years we had struggled together to nurture this love between us and I tried to communicate those memories and my love through my lips to hers. We not only understood each other's desires, we accepted and shared them. Alex seemed to melt into my body. How could two people, even siblings and lovers, be any closer?

My sister opened her eyes and raised her head just enough to peer across my body. She smothered a laugh and pointed with her chin. I turned to see what was so funny. Connie lay on her back with her neck arched, her eyes screwed tightly shut, and her lips puckered in a cartoon-kiss.

"Hey," I said softly as I hugged her against me. "We don't do that here."

She kept the pose but opened one eye and batted her lashes at me. "Nyeu?" she inquired brightly through pursed lips.

"No. We do this." I buried my free hand in her hair and descended on that full, inviting mouth, kissing her as thoroughly as I had Alex. She, too, seemed to melt against me, returning the kiss with tender single-mindedness. And I felt my sister's long fingers softly caressing my shoulders and neck. Alex was sending me a message I understood very well: This is the way it should be, she was saying. Accept it and don't worry about the future.

When the lengthy mutual surrender between myself and this miniature goddess with the ancient eyes finally reached a satisfactory conclusion (that is, we had to come up for air), both girls sat up spontaneously and reached across me to each other. Slender hands moved over new territory, touching hair and cheeks and collarbones. Then their lips joined, each woman wanting and needing to communicate her emotions directly. They leaned closer so that their nipples brushed together.

Their kiss was tender and beautiful and, watching them silently, I discovered a new array of emotions I'd never felt before. They were so different in so many ways and I wondered if I was the bridge between them. Each was undeniably heterosexual, yet the closeness of their bodies and the fusion of their lips and the writhing of their tongues seemed obvious and entirely natural. Each girl spread her hands across the other's breasts, each ran her fingers through the other's hair, and the kiss went on and on.

I understood that this was a first for both of them – and that what they were sharing didn't extend to other women. It was unique between themselves. And I was a part of it, too. Finally, slowly, they parted and settled back on folded knees, blinking at each other in amazement, and smiling, and weeping silently. They held tight to each other's hands across me and I was careful not to interrupt the moment.

"Michael and I have always had each other," Alex began slowly. "But there's never been anyone else we could really share ourselves with. We've become like one person over the years, Connie. And it was so lonely, sometimes, being shut out of the world by ourselves. But now…" She couldn't finish so I completed her thought – which, of course, was also mine.

"But now there's you, Connie." I gently stroked her thigh, and Alex's. "Now there's two of us… or three, however you want to look at it." Alex swallowed and nodded agreement. "You're like the third leg of a tripod, Connie – giving us a stability we never knew we needed. Until now. And we*both* love you for it." My mind was leading me down a new pathway even as I spoke.

"Remember, in San Diego, you said you were distrustful of commitments because you weren't sure if you could love only one person? Now you don't have to be afraid. Love us both and let us both love you – that's twice as much love as any 'normal' person is likely to find."

Both of them were watching me and listening, and the bed was becoming damp with tears. I sat up, cross-legged, and put one arm around each girl's shoulders. They did the same, interlocking all three of us in an embrace of acceptance and understanding. Three heads touching, three pairs of hands clutching, three bodies, each leaning against the others -one person in three forms. It was what we all desired, now that we began to comprehend what had happened. We might be physically separated but never again would Alex, Connie, or I ever be alone.

*****

The next two weeks were glorious. I taught my two sections of freshman American history and worked on my dissertation. Alex went off to her job at the PR firm and struggled to get new copywriters to produce coherent English. And Connie soaked up the intricacies of Polynesian anthropology at the university museum. And then we came home and immersed ourselves in each other. Alex and I had found a third dimension in our lovemaking, and Connie had twice as much exploring to do.

That first week, we were hesitant and careful, edging our ways into this new arrangement. Connie would hover above me from behind as I lay with my head in her lap, sheltering me with her shining, raven-black curtain of hair, and offering her nipples to my lips so I could suck them into quivering rigidity – and at the same time, Alex would crouch astride my cock and fuck herself into a panting sweat. Each of them would watch the other's actions and their arousal would redouble.

Then Connie would lie on her back, knees raised behind her elbows, while my cock plunged into her marvelously tight cunt – and Alex would keep both her middle fingers busy teasing our assholes in counterpoint. The plethora of sensations was astonishing.

We let the urge take us as it would. More than once I was roused (and aroused) in the middle of the night by a warm, wet mouth fastened on the head of my penis. It might last only a few minutes and then we'd be asleep again – but, ah! What dreams!

Connie was a natural tease, in an entirely playful and extremely erotic way. She also liked a little social danger with her sex, as I discovered later that week.

Thursday was the off-day at the museum and she had come over to meet me in front of Bancroft Hall so I could walk her on a tour around the campus. It had rained earlier so I wasn't surprised when she showed up in a mid-thigh red oilskin slicker, buttoned up over tight jeans and heels too high to be practical. Being so small, though, she'd had years of experience navigating in high heels, and they certainly suited her.

As we walked, I noticed male heads turning as we passed, students and faculty both. Connie was always aware of her effect on men and took great delight in it. In this case, since the lady was with me, I very much enjoyed showing her off.

When we passed a small grove of redwoods back of Strawberry, Connie led me beneath them and stood with her head tilted back, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at their size. Then she took me behind the trees, out of sight of the sidewalk, and coaxed my head down for a kiss. That was fine with me, and I slipped an arm around her and ran my hand over her ass. The cleft between her cheeks was very obvious to the touch – and I suddenly realized I hadn't felt any pockets or belt loops.

Connie giggled into my mouth and took my hand in hers and guided it between the snaps on the front of her slicker. There was no shirt and no jeans in there, only Connie. I stepped back in surprise and she demurely raised one side of the raincoat to show me where her homemade denim leggings stopped, at the tops of her thighs. Just as well I hadn't offered to hold her coat!

We continued our (mostly uphill) stroll a bit longer, but the vision of Connie's gloriously naked body moving under that oilskin made me incredibly horny. Finally, we stopped and sat on a bench a few yards off the path. Connie put her hands in her coat pockets… but they were in almost to her elbows before it dawned on me that the pockets must be bottomless. I saw movement under the oilskin in her lap, one hand reappeared, and a moist fingertip left an aromatic spot under my nose.

"Any inspirations?" she asked, and the smoke began to drift from beneath her lashes. The front of my slacks were in danger of a puncture. I put my left arm around her shoulders, very innocent to any passers-by, and slid my right hand into the vacated coat pocket. Her fingers met mine and led them down between her thighs. She scooted her ass forward on the bench a few inches and spread her knees as much as she dared. Then, as she spread her labia, I inserted a finger or two and went slowly to work on her cunt.

The challenge, of course, was that she absolutely could not lose control – but it was a close thing. I flicked my fingertip against her swollen clit and she gave a tiny jerk and bit her lower lip. Her gaze never left mine, and as I moved my finger up and down, and in and out, and 'round and about, her eyes became all pupil. When I felt her pulse quicken and heard her breathing accelerate, I fastened my mouth to hers and sucked as strongly as I could on her tongue. Her reaction was the same as it had been in the hotel pool in San Diego. She moaned and clutched my sleeve and her cunt muscles spasmed. Even her long tongue vibrated. In a sense, she came in my mouth.

We had to sit a few minutes longer while she collected herself. And when we finally headed back downhill to the car, I had to hold my briefcase awkwardly in front of me, to hide the stain on the front of my trousers.

So far, all our three-way sex had actually been two-way with a sidecar. That Friday evening – the one-week anniversary of our darling Connie's arrival – the action began to even up.

We discussed (very briefly!) what we should do with Saturday, the first opportunity we'd had for all three of us to be together all day. The unanimous vote was that we would not leave the house, not even to eat; we would put the answering machine on automatic pick-up; we wouldn't even bother with clothing for the day, unless it served an erotic purpose; and, for at least twenty-four hours, we would indulge ourselves and each other until we collapsed from sexual exhaustion. Saturday would be reserved for love, sex,… and experimentation. We slept that night all in a heap on the bed, like puppies. Caresses and kisses were exchanged, but they were relaxed and undemanding.

*****

Alex and I had been so utterly comfortable in each other's constant presence for so long, we no longer consciously thought about it. But Connie's welcome addition to our private world required deeply-rooted psychological realignments. And we tried to go about it systematically.

Connie's first fascinated questions about our relationship were still hesitant. She didn't want to embarrass us or overstep some unknown boundary. We managed gradually to convince her that were NO boundaries -not for her.

We volunteered experiences of joy and of pain that we would never have confided to anyone else, even if we had been an "ordinary" couple. We recounted the fears of our earliest adolescent relationship, when we didn't understand what was happening to us. We remembered our first, tentative sexual encounters, and we held hands and got sentimental as we described for Connie our discovery that we were in love. We laughed about our high school escapades and our experiences with others, now fondly remembered, and how we had often sat up late to compare those experiences.

Alex somberly told of the few dates gone wrong, by which she'd had to learn not to trust everyone as much as she trusted her brother. And I looked away when my sister told Connie about the time I had rescued her from a brutal date and had come frighteningly close to committing murder in my rage at her physical mistreatment. I still felt queasy when I remembered her bruises.

Some of Connie's questions had an academic tinge. Quite apart from her new emotional involvement, she was trying hard to understand the foundations and everyday dynamics of our two-body mutual orbit. And that led us to try to explain ideas and feelings we had simply accepted before.

This whole process, this unveiling of our most private selves to another, developed a therapeutic component we hadn't realized we needed -and we were grateful. And Connie, though surprised, amused, sympathetic, indignant on our behalf, and professional, by turns, was never judgmental.

All this was spread through our long evening hours together during that first week, and by Friday Connie knew more about the two of us than any "outsider" ever had, including our late parents. Alex and I also knew, without having to ask, that Connie would unburden herself to us, as well, when she thought herself ready. But not tomorrow; Saturday was to be time-out for fun and games.

There was very little clothing to put in the wash by Saturday night -mostly bed sheets. Connie wore a short woollen pullover when she got chilly, which kept her upper body warm enough but also emphasized her firm, bare ass and her small, triangular pubic patch. Alex achieved the same effect with a cropped tee-shirt. Being a warm-blooded creature, I simply remained naked and enjoyed the peek-a-boo scenery… when I wasn't occupied in rearranging it.

We had fruit for breakfast,… with extra juice. We found that Alex's pussy would accommodate twelve grapes, while Connie could hold only nine. Tasty, too. And watching a peeled banana moving slowly in and out of Connie's cunt did wonders for my appetite. But I had to take the girls' word for it that a cock tasted better with smooth peanut butter than with chunky. We knew such games were pretty silly – but what did we care? Anyway, it was at that point that we reached a level of genuine three-way participation.

I lay sprawled on the floor with my head cushioned in Connie's lap while Alex licked the last of the peanut butter from my cock. I loved the satiny feel of Connie's skin. I wondered if it was an "Asian" thing. Alex's thighs were also soft and smoothly muscular, and I had always loved stroking and kissing them, but the texture was somehow different.

I turned my head and kissed Connie's flat belly. Her fingers, which had been exploring my eyebrows, moved to touch my lips; I kissed them, too. Having begun, I decided to kiss her all over.

Curling my arm back around her hips, I shifted onto my side so my tongue could reach toward the secret part of her. I explored her short pubic hair with my mouth; like the cascades that framed her face, it was absolutely black, and absolutely straight, and absolutely beautiful. And it felt so very soft under my lips. Connie wrapped an arm protectively around my head and sighed.

Alex had paused in her ministrations when I moved my hips. Now she pushed my knee up out of her way, moved my balls forward with her nose, and buried her face in my crotch, licking and nibbling that nameless region between my genitals and my anus. Which led me, in turn, to urge Connie over onto her side so I could crawl face-first up into her pussy. The scent of sex she was already beginning to produce was delicious. (I've never understood why women wear perfume for the presumed benefit of their men when a woman's natural aroma can be so intoxicating.)

I carefully traced the folds of her cunt lips with my tongue and watched as the tiny muscles around them flickered. She had hooked an elbow behind her knee to give me full access to her – no effort at all for someone as trim and athletic as she was.

Then Connie's pelvis jiggled about and Alex simultaneously paused in her nibbling. I peered out to see what was happening and found the three links of our bodies closing into an unbroken chain. Connie was moving up Alex's legs practically hand over hand and my sister was doing her best to help. In a moment, all three of us lay in a much closer circle, each with one knee propped in the air and a head burrowing eagerly between a twitching pair of thighs.

Alex moaned softly and stretched as Connie's pointed tongue entered her cunt; it had been several years, I thought, since any tongue but mine had explored that passage. My sister began to suck at my balls, which was a sensation always guaranteed to stiffen every hair and organ on my body. I gently pushed back the cocoa-tinted sheath at the peak of Connie's cunt and sucked noisily at her protruding clitoris. The energy we were creating ran round and round the circle, gaining amperage with each lap.

My hands were squeezing and caressing her firm little bottom and I remembered something else from our night in San Diego. I left her clit (which brought a small, muffled protest) and blazed a trail with the flat of my tongue back toward the brown pucker that encircled her asshole. A few seconds later, my sister's tongue followed the same route back between my legs to the edge of my rectum. It couldn't be a coincidence: I was sure Connie's tongue was rimming Alex's hole as well.

Around the ring of corrugated muscle I went, zeroing in on my target. This was an oral variation Alex and I seldom got around to, and the sensation was not only unusual but sublimely erotic.

We were synchronized, now, like torpedo bombers over a trio of hidden submarines. Our tongues moved faster and faster and then, all at the same moment, plunged into the depths beyond the rim. My cock was rigid and straining but I was already beyond the point of mere orgasm. The strong thrust of my sister's tongue into my ass seemed blurrily to be the result of my own assault on Connie. I hoped the girls were experiencing something similarly marvelous.

Instead of just darting in and out of that beautiful opening, I continued to probe with my tongue as deeply as I could, which surprised me in a dim sort of way. This sort of thing was right on the esthetic edge of what I would ordinarily be willing to do, but I was aware only of the intense sexual pleasure I was giving Connie and receiving from Alex, and I didn't want it to end. Alex's tongue continued to writhe madly in my ass, too, so I assumed Connie was doing the same service for her. The spark of electricity jumped from each of us to the next, tripling our shared ecstasy.

When we finally collapsed, I hugged Connie's hips tightly and kissed the vee just below her breastbone. Alex held my aching penis and rubbed it against her face until my climax broke through and fountained semen across her flushed breasts. And I could see Connie's hands sliding shakily up and down my sister's thighs. It was a long time before any of us was able to change position. Or wanted to.

*****

After we recovered and were able to stand upright without assistance, I excused myself for a bathroom break. My lower body was in turmoil and I ended up hunkered on the can for half an hour. When I emerged, feeling several pounds lighter but much steadier, I followed the sound of low feminine voices to the kitchen. It didn't sound like an ordinary conversation so I peered through the crack between the door and the frame before entering; I didn't want to interrupt anything unnecessarily.

Alex was sitting on one of the straight, ladder-back wooden kitchen chairs, feet flat on the floor, knees spread. Connie sat astride her lap facing her, legs dangling behind the chair. Her arms were draped loosely about my sister's neck while Alex's hands stroked her hips. Their voices had dropped to a murmuring chord and I wasn't sure whether they were speaking actual words or only exchanging the meaningless cooing sounds lovers make.

Connie leaned slowly forward and licked lightly at Alex's upturned face, finally fastening on her mouth. My sister made long stroking passes with her hands, moving from the smaller girl's shoulderblades to the out-thrust curve of her perfect ass. I simply stood and watched, spellbound. They were beautiful, very sensual women, and I had an intensely personal interest in both of them. Watching them make slow love, I felt like a privileged audience of one rather than a peeper.

I considered joining them but quickly decided against it. I'd had Alex's caring and love all to myself most of my life, and Connie and I had shared that memorable night in San Diego without my sister's presence. It was only fair that they have as much time together as they needed, just for themselves.

Their kiss ended very gradually as Connie hooked her heels on the chair rungs and lifted herself up until her shimmering breasts were level with Alex's eager mouth. My sister cupped those shallow globes in her hands and flicked her tongue around first one nipple and then the other. Then she picked one as her favorite and began milking it with her lips.

Watching, I felt a "ghost" tingle in my own functionless nipples; Alex had given me that same treatment on occasion and I knew quite well the mini-spasms it caused. Multiply that by all the nerve endings in a woman's breasts, I thought, and it was a wonder Connie wasn't creaming all over Alex's stomach.

Actually, Connie had arched her neck back and was pulling Alex's face against her body with both hands. She was also balanced on the chair rungs with her knees half-bent; her legs trembled visibly and her ass muscles clenched and moved with the tension.

Eventually, even Connie's physical stamina gave out and she settled with a plop on Alex's thighs. Her nipples, which I had*never* seen in a fully relaxed state, seemed to have extended another half-inch. The two girls embraced feverishly, hands moving everywhere, kissing whatever they could reach. Even Connie's little-girl toes were wiggling and I thought I heard her whisper "Oh, God…!"

My benign voyeurism had pumped up my cock as stiff as a post. I didn't want to waste such a rousing hard-on by masturbating but I couldn't stand my present condition much longer. I was on the point of opening the kitchen door and fastening myself to the first female who came within reach, when the two girls hopped up from the chair and hurried up the back stairs toward the bedroom, hand in hand.

I stepped into the vacant kitchen and inhaled the estrogen fog; the room smelled like a cathouse, pheromones all over the place. I could no more resist following my two lovelies up to the bedroom than I could resist breathing.

When I got there, Alex was already on her back on the bed with Connie in a '69' position above her. My sister could barely reach the smaller girl's crotch, but by propping up her head on both pillows she had managed it. Her fingers were spreading Connie's soft folds. It was difficult to see what Connie's lowered head was doing, behind that veil of hair.

I settled as quietly as I could in the old overstuffed chair in the corner. At least I didn't have any clothing to get rid of. Alex saw the movement from the corner of her eye and smiled in my direction. We locked smokey gazes and she raised an inquiring eyebrow. Did I want to join in? I blew her a little kiss and shook my head. I would watch for awhile and that was all right with her, too. My cock was still stiff and I took a grip on it where my sister could see. She grinned and returned her attentions to her present partner.

Connie's hands were busy now, and I guessed she was parting the folds of flesh, clearing the way to her own target. Her head moved lower and Alex's toes curled. Not to be left behind, Alex lifted her head a bit and began plowing her tongue up and down the length of Connie's gleaming cunt. Connie pushed her crotch as low and as far back as she could without losing mouth contact herself. In seconds, both women sounded like they were slurping hot cocoa, sucking and licking and moaning, as clouds of steam seemed to rise from each end of this two-headed beast.

My reaction was as spectacular as it was predictable. I was getting a cramp in my arm muscle from jerking myself off so energetically. I didn't want to come yet – in fact, I was forming a plan for that. I watched the two heated bodies squirming on the bed and fought to maintain my own control.

The time came, though, as the girls were reaching a fever pitch, when I knew it was now or never for me: Move-it-or-lose-it-time. I got up, cock still in hand, and moved closer. Alex had had an orgasm, I thought (though you can't always tell with a woman, even when you know her*very* well), and was doing her best to bring Connie off along with her. Neither of them had any special lesbian inclinations – they were individuals making love – and I was a little surprised they had reached such a level of expertise so easily. (On the other hand, what did I know? Perhaps women are simply more subtle and articulate lovers than men, by birth.)

I stood at the foot of the bed, behind my sister's head, and she paused and reached back to stroke my leg. I climbed onto the mattress, knees on either side of Alex's head – and Connie's calves – and ran my hands gently over Connie's back to get her attention.

"Connie, love, I have something here that's badly in need of a home…"

She raised her head enough to murmur "Do it! I'm not used to this; I think I need it, too!" She wiggled her ass a little for emphasis. I held her hips and urged her back toward me; I didn't want to topple over and crush them both. Connie bent her knees more, laid her cheek against Alex's belly, and gripped the backs of her thighs.

As I stropped my cock on the margins of that little brown cunt, I felt Alex's lips nibbling at my balls – an extra added attraction. Then I slid into Connie's warm, juicy vagina and her spine straightened. I tried to move slowly but it was a struggle. Alex had propped up her head again and was slurping in my scrotum while her hands roamed over my legs, my hips, my ass. The physical feedback was electric.

It didn't take long for either Connie or I to reach the brink of orgasm, but it wasn't like we had launched ourselves from a standing start. I held her hips more tightly as I jerked once, then twice. Connie was gasping for breath as she climaxed. It was a wonderful feeling but I quickly found it wasn't quite over.

I became aware that Alex had worked her hand up between my groin and Connie's ass and was trying to get her fingers around my cock as I pulled back for another ejaculation.

"No – gimme… I want it, too! Please, Michael!" The vehemence of her demand made my cock twitch. So I left Connie's luscious cunt and my loving sister pulled my sticky cock down and engulfed it with her mouth. It was already hypersensitive and her tongue swirling around the head made all the nearby nerve endings jitter wildly. I hadn't finished emptying my balls and Alex saw to it that not a drop of my semen was wasted, swallowing rapidly as it jetted against the back of her throat. Then she flicked the tip of my cock with her tongue and that released a final torrent. She sounded very pleased with herself.

When Connie coasted down from her orgasm, she crawled off Alex and cuddled up to one side of her; I did the same on the other side and we hugged and kissed and stroked each other in lazy weariness. We passed several hours like that – sated, happy, totally at ease with each other. Toward dusk, we crawled out of bed and made our way, arms around each other, to the bathroom. After our jubilant orgy we all were badly in need of a shower.

When I was house-hunting, back during that summer before Alex's freshman year, a bathroom with a larger-than-usual shower was high on my list of desirable features. It narrowed the prospects considerably, but our time together under the hot spray was important to us both. A major factor in taking a lease on this mis-located brownstone was that it*was* older than most apartments and houses I had looked at. The bathtub was a claw-footed monster big enough for a mast, a rudder, and a crew of six. The important thing was, it was easily large enough for three people who were on very friendly terms.

Connie arranged the Mickey-and-Minnie vinyl shower curtain and cranked up the hot water while my sister and I readied a stack of thick towels and got out the big sponges. The sides of the tub came up to my knees when I stood on the outside and I had to give little Connie a steadying hand while she climbed in. She flipped the shower lever on and the bathroom instantly filled with clouds of steam; no wonder the wallpaper was peeling at the upper corners of the room.

We were too beat for much horseplay, but gentle, quiet loving under the torrent of hot water was another matter. We all soaped each other, paying special attention to body cavities and protuberances. Alex laid her head back against my shoulder and we kissed, long and slow, while Connie carefully lathered up my sister's breasts and belly.

Then we double-teamed Connie, covering all of her tight, smooth body with suds while she basked happily in the attention. Then the girls stood back-to-back, entwining their arms and letting their soap-slick buttocks slide against each other – and I enjoyed the exquisite titillation of cupping my sister's sweet, taut breast in one hand and Connie's smaller, springier breast in the other.

Finally, both my "best girls" moved in on me, each sucking one of my nipples simultaneously. Then there were four nipples fluttering against my cock, my ass, my legs – everywhere they could reach. It wasn't really a matter of sexual arousal – we were all aroused to some degree all the time, now – but of giving each other tactile pleasure, and in that we were certainly successful.

We hit the sack early that Saturday night – much earlier than we had expected to. We were young and full of energy and hormones, and any of us could have jogged from the UC campus down to the Bay Bridge without difficulty, yet we had exhausted ourselves in only twelve hours. And that's the best way to do it, I thought, as I floated off to dreamland with my arms around two beautiful women and their heads snuggled against my chest.

*****

The next morning, sitting at our kitchen table with the largest mugs of coffee we could organize, we discussed what to do with the remainder of the weekend. We could simply repair to the bedroom and no one would vote it down, but I wanted to show off the two lovely ladies I had been blessed with.

So I proposed we go into the City, stroll around Golden Gate Park and the Palace of Fine Arts, visit Coit Tower and Mission Dolores – the usual sights, but the most dramatic. The spots Alex and I knew showed off San Francisco at its best, the places we returned to again and again ourselves.

Then the cocktail hour at the Top of the Mark on Nob Hill, followed by dinner at Donatello (if we could get reservations). My sister and I were aficionados of Northern Italian cuisine and Connie – no surprise – was a seafood junkie: Donatello was one of the best restaurants in the City for both. Expensive, but worth every penny – and this was a very special occasion.

The weather in S.F. that afternoon was glorious, comfortably cool but sunny and dry. The frisbee-freaks thronged the park and young lovers huddled under the trees. The girls wore their warm-weather best and drew attention everywhere we went; walking arm in arm with them, I basked in their reflected radiance.

Alex, with her long legs, had chosen a pleated minidress that reminded me of a cheerleader outfit. It was dazzling white, as were her low heels, and showed off her tan nicely. Connie preferred a blazing red miniskirt cut straight and slim and a black sleeveless top – her favorite colors. She also wore low heels; San Francisco isn't a high-heel city when you're walking and hopping on and off cable cars. But both women carried large purses in preparation for the evening and I was carrying my basic blue blazer and my sister's white jacket over my arm.

By 5:00, we had seen the sights on our list and Connie was mentally comparing Honolulu's cost of living with that of San Francisco. Even coming from the Islands, she was visibly smitten with the City by the Bay; it's hard not to be. San Francisco can be dirty, dangerous, decadent, and demoralizing – but it's also exhilarating, intoxicating, and romantic, and (when conditions are just right) so heartbreakingly beautiful that I can't imagine*anyone* wanting to live anywhere else.

We strolled into the Mark Hopkins and split up at the rest rooms on the 2nd Floor. When we met on the Mezzanine a few minutes later, Alex's walking shoes and ordinary pantyhose had been exchanged for white patent heels and smoky gray hose with a seam up the back, and she was wearing her linen jacket. Her freshly-brushed auburn mane shone. Connie had changed to high red heels that matched her mini; over the black top she now wore a short gold lame jacket that contrasted electrically with her thick black hair. And I had put on my tie and blazer.

We went up the elevator to the Top with several other couples and I was aware of the curious/envious glances of the men – especially when Connie laid her head against my left shoulder and took a possessive grip on my arm, while my sister interlaced her fingers with mine and touched the back of my hand to her lips.

We spent a delightful hour sipping our drinks on the outer ring of the Top, watching the City rotate past; we were in a curved booth so that, again, I could have the pleasure of a girl on each side of me. We all three held hands on the table top and talked quietly about this marvelous new triangular relationship that had come into being so suddenly. We must have caused considerable gossip among the waiters.

When Alex made a hip-swaying journey to the powder room, Connie and I squeezed each other's hands in delight and barely suppressed our glee at the surreptitious glances she got from other patrons of both sexes. When Alex returned, she said another woman not much older than she had tried to pump her (diplomatically) for information about our little threesome.

"I just smiled and told her we were both your devoted fiancees," she said straightfaced. Nothing would do, of course, but that Connie make the same trip, whether she needed to or not.

"She's still there," Connie reported on her return. "She asked me if we were both really engaged to you." She poked my gently in the ribs. "She couldn't understand how two women could share the same man without being jealous of each other. I just told her you were such a world-class lover, we were always too exhausted to worry about it!" She could barely stifle her giggles.

Then it was a short walk across Union Square to Donatello, where we stuffed ourselves with veal marsala and scampi, and wine from the Esti vineyards. We swore to each other that we couldn't eat another bite… until the pastry cart came around and we fell all over the chocolate and orange and hazelnut concoctions.

Our waiter that evening was a young Genoese named Pietro who confided that he was really an artist – but one must earn a living, Signori! I could spot a closet romantic a block away (takes one to know one) and I asked him if he thought it was possible for a man to be genuinely in love with more than one woman at a time.

He smiled broadly at the three of us. "Of course, Signori! But it can be a terrible problem: Does one man*deserve* the love of more than one woman in*return*?"

I looked back at him more soberly. "Pietro, it is indeed a terrible problem, and a heavy burden. Such a fortunate man must strive very hard to be worthy of such a rare gift."

I looked into Alex's eyes and then Connie's, and then I had temporary difficulty seeing anything clearly. Both of my darlings leaned over and kissed me on the cheek at almost the same moment. Even Pietro looked a little misty. He also got his largest tip of the evening.

*****

The second half of our two-week odyssey of discovery was a little different. The starting gun had fired, the first sprint was past, and now we found ourselves settling in comfortably and naturally for the long haul. We worked during the days, went out most evenings to introduce Connie to our favorite haunts around Berkeley (and to show her off – "an old friend of ours" – to some of our acquaintances), and spent much of each night making love. The sex wasn't as frantic, now. Instead, we refined our techniques with each other and made all the reassuring noises and gestures that new lovers make.

I enjoyed falling asleep with a woman I adored and a female body I constantly lusted after cuddled up to me on each side. I would wake once or twice each night and lie there listening to their breathing and delicate snoring, and I'd fall in love all over again. Often, Alex's arm would be draped across my chest while Connie's arm crossed my body from the other direction a few inches lower.

Wednesday night, I woke gradually from an enormously sexy dream and found both of them quietly licking my quivering cock from both sides at once.

"It's just us," Alex whispered.

"Thank God for that,…" I murmured and simply lay there, indolently enjoying the attention. I repaid both of them Thursday night by very quietly and gently sucking at each girl's tits until she was moaning in her sleep.

Saturday was a sad day in spite of the joy we took from simply being together. It would be our last day and our last night together, at least for awhile, because Connie had to be on her plane at 10:30 Sunday morning.

None of us felt like carousing as we had the previous weekend. Without any real discussion, we spent the day quietly and domestically. We made sure all of Connie's clothing was gathered up from around the house, and was washed and packed. We collected all the books and souvenirs she had acquired in two short weeks and packed them in a couple of cartons for direct shipment. And we made ourselves more and more miserable in the process. When Monday morning came, Connie wouldn't be there with her broad smile, her dancing eyes, her devious puns. She wouldn't be there to stand on tiptoe and kiss each of us good morning. She wouldn't… Hell.

In mid-afternoon, I was standing at the bedroom window staring morosely out at the gray sky, when Alex stuck her head in the door and beckoned urgently. She looked worried. I quickly followed her down to the living room and discovered Connie sitting on the big, old overstuffed sofa, the one that had been in Alex's room when we were young.

She was huddled against the back cushion with her legs drawn up protectively and her arms hugging them. Her face was pressed down against her knees; her cascading hair hid almost all of her from view. It wasn't until I saw her shoulders move that I realized she was crying.

"She won't talk to me, Michael." My sister looked at me anxiously and urged me toward her with one hand. Whatever had upset Connie was upsetting Alex as well.

"I don't think she wants talking," I replied and went to the small, huddled figure. Curled up in a ball like that, she seemed not much bigger than a child, never mind that she was older than me. I wasn't quite sure what to do, either.

I sat carefully next to her and leaned close, and I heard her muffled sobs. They made my chest ache. I gently stroked her head and let my hand linger on the back of her neck, a warm presence she couldn't ignore.

"Sweetheart, what is it? Connie? Please tell me what we've done…" I spoke softly, as I would to a child. I was pretty sure we*hadn't* done anything to upset little Connie – and I was pretty sure she wouldn't let that question go by.

She finally raised her head and looked at me; her lovely eyes were swollen and red and the knees of her jeans were soaked with her tears. Her mouth was contorted with something like anguish. It was a few minutes before she could regain some measure of control but she still had difficulty speaking. She*did* seem like a little girl.

"Oh – it – it wasn't – anything – you did, Mi- Michael! Or – or Alex. I – I*love* you guys! I just – I just – don't want to – to go *home*…!" And she broke down again and buried her face in her hands. I glanced over at Alex, holding her clenched hands under her chin in sympathetic pain, and she moved around to Connie's other side.

"Connie, darling, we love you, too!" My sister seemed on the verge of tears herself as she took the other girl's hand.

I could think of only one immediate therapy. I slipped one arm behind Connie's knees and the other around her shoulders, scooped her up, and set her on my lap. She buried her face in my chest and her small frame shook with renewed sobs. I put my arms around her and held her and rocked her a little, making hushing sounds and stroking her hair.

It might have looked silly to an outsider, but it worked, over a period or ten or fifteen minutes – and it dawned on me quite suddenly that I had used the word "Outsider" in my mind in its old sense of "everyone but Alex-and-me." Connie had become fixed in my thoughts as one of "us."

She snuffled and gulped and blotted her eyes on the hem of her T-shirt. Then she saw the large damp spot on my shirt and made a "huh" sound, which was as close as she could get to a laugh. She didn't look embarrassed at her loss of control; she knew that honest emotion, even as intense as this had been, was never anything to be ashamed of in this house.

"I thought I could get through today without losing it." She looked sadly at the two of us. "But it just hit me all of a sudden that I won't *be* here tomorrow morning. God, I want so much to stay here with you -or take both of you with me. There*has* to be a way for us to stay together!"

I cupped her chin in my hand. "Sweetheart, we*will* find a way. It'll take a while and I have*no* idea*how* we'll do it – but we will. I promise you, Connie: We'll find a way."

I hadn't noticed that Alex had moved over until her arms circled my neck from behind and I felt her cheek press against mine. She was sniffling a little, too, as she kissed my ear. She reached out and touched Connie's cheek and added, "Now that we've found each other, nothing's going to keep us apart. Not anything, Connie."

Since Connie's gear was organized and ready to go, the three of us spent the rest of Saturday pretending Sunday would never come. There was a Bogart mini- festival on TV that evening and we lounged around in various configurations and watched "Casablanca," "To Have and Have Not," and several others. We popped popcorn and fed it to each other.

For awhile Connie sat in my lap like a kid, with her head leaning against my chest. Then I lay with my head in Alex's lap – my favorite spot in the universe for many years. Connie and Alex propped each other up on the sofa while I sat on the floor with my back to the furniture and massaged the bare feet they draped over my shoulders. We made an effort not to feel there was any hurry.

That night, we went back to the simple formulas. Alex and I made love in the tried and true missionary position. As many times as we had fucked over the years, the desire in each of us was as strong as it had ever been. As I reached a gasping climax, Connie lay beside my sister, kissing her long and soulfully, nibbling at her ear, and holding her hand.

A little while later, I lay on my back with Connie impaled above me as Alex licked her breasts and her ears and stroked her sweet ass. Then the girls lay side by side, kissing and caressing each other's bodies, while I lay behind Alex and stroked and petted them both. And I tried to think of a way for all of us to remain together that wouldn't require someone's career to be sacrificed.

Sunday morning we laughed and joked to cover the somber mood. We got Connie to the airport and sat around holding hands and smiling at each other until it was time for her to board. At the last minute, as our emotions threatened to unravel again, we indulged in another three-way clinch, as we had two weeks before.

Connie hugged both of us tightly and then said with fierce resolution, "You guys start shopping for a larger bed. By this time next year, I'll be back – to stay!"

And as Alex and I stood at the observation window and watched the plane taxi out of sight around the corner of the terminal, we hugged each other and managed to hold back most of the tears. We were sure we could find a way to reunite our new family.

Chapter 13 – Chapter 17 missing

Content

Michael K Smith
Siblings

OPENING MOVES

PATTY

THE FIRST TIME

AT THE DRIVE-IN

SHOWERS

Chapter 7 – Chapter 10 missing

EXTENDED FAMILY ("CONNIE RETURNS")