Are We Bad?

I tentatively reached my hand beneath the waistband to touch myself. I was so hard, it was a relief just to hold it in my palm and squeeze gently; enough to stall the desire for more urgent stimulation. But it was risky. I had to make sure my arm didn't send rhythmic waves along the blanket that might alert my sister. More than anything I wanted to pull my pants down and get myself off freely. But I knew that freedom would have to wait until bedtime, unless I abandoned the film, and then I would have to abandon her. I was in a bind of my own dark creation.

I don't know if it was the whiskey we had drunk, or the fact that I became so turned on, but I did something extraordinary reckless at one point and pulled my erection out the fly of my pajama bottoms. I was still mindful not to create a ripple effect beneath the blanket. But she could have moved at any moment and exposed me.

When the credits began rolling to the movie, I slipped my cock back into my pajamas and held the blanket in front of me as we got up from the sofa. After we had tidied things up a bit and said goodnight, Amy went off to her room. But I didn't go to bed. I lingered in the living room.

In the dim light of what was ostensibly a silent house, I needed to give myself the attention I'd been forced to restrain throughout the movie. I loosened the waistband of my pajamas and let them drop to the floor. I stood there naked, my hard cock jutting out in front of me. I felt like it might explode on the spot.

And that's when it happened.

Perhaps it was inevitable. Perhaps I knew (or hoped) at some level. All I can tell you is one moment she wasn't standing in the doorway and the next moment she was.

She had come back down for her phone, which I now saw - too late - on the coffee table. But she paused in the doorway, frozen in shock or embarrassment, or some cocktail of the two.

You would imagine I would have covered myself immediately. I could have pulled my pajamas up from my feet, grabbed a cushion to hide myself, or simply turned around in shame. I could have fled to my room. But I did none of these things. I stood there.

In fact, rather than cover myself up, I stepped forward into the light from the hall and actively showed her my engorged cock. I stood there with it sticking up proudly in the air at her. Like a cat that brings a dead bird into the house to triumphantly show its owner. I wanted her to be impressed by it.

Her eyes were wide with surprise but she didn't say anything. She definitely didn't seem impressed. But why didn't she say what are you doing like last time? And why didn't she turn away like last time?

I felt bolder, but I didn't dare breathe a word for fear of breaking the spell we were under. I put my hand on my shaft, and without breaking her gaze, I tugged its flesh three times and shot multiple thick jets of sperm several feet across the floor towards her. It could be heard splattering onto the carpet in the quiet house. It lasted a while. And when I was done, I stood there, pajamas at my ankles, cock dripping with semen, utterly out of breath.

Amy said nothing. She grabbed her phone, turned around on her feet and went to bed.

I felt instantly ashamed.

***

Her mood seemed fine the next morning.

I think it was me who was sheepish and weird. Either way, I knew I owed her a massive apology.

She flew to her Dad's as scheduled for New Year. I sent her a text message at the moment she would be about to board her flight to Miami. It said: 'A. I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Probably the whiskey. Promise it won't happen again.'

I spent a good hour or so composing it - by which I mean deleting and rewriting it virtually the same each time. I sent it twenty minutes before her flight was due to take off, wanting her to have the full five hours to formulate a response. I don't know why I imagined this would help. I guess it was another version of me hiding, even while trying to do the right thing. I sent the text and saw that it had been successfully delivered.

Seven hours later, I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, my mind racing; a stomach-churning combination of dread and anxiety. That's when it arrived. My phone lit up in the darkness of my room. A text from Amy. My heart was racing with anticipation as to whether she would have forgiven me, or how angry or weird she might be.

'Don't be sorry' the text said. 'I liked it.'

6

Everything changed for me after Amy sent those words.

She grew cooler over the next few weeks. But she never took them back. I didn't dare talk to her about what had happened that night and I didn't mention it in our texts or phone calls. I did ask her how Max was, as casually as possible. And to my delight (which I disguised well), some time around February, she told me they had broken up.

"Why?" I asked.

"He's kind of boring," she said.

You grew bored of his massive cock slapping you in the face? I wanted to say, but restrained myself and said: "That's too bad. I don't think he was right for you. You deserve..." But I couldn't finish the sentence.

"What?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Someone who gets you" was all I had.

Although we didn't talk about what happened that fateful night, it remained tattooed on my mind. I continued to lust after Amy but now it was accompanied by the terrifying hope she might feel the same - or at least that she might not mind. The audacity of what had happened that night at Christmas, the inappropriateness of my behavior, but most of all, my sister's apparent approval - the fact she didn't chastise me or walk away. Did this not confirm she had found it arousing? What else could it mean?

I would lie in my dorm room at night, erection in hand, replaying the events blow by blow. The closer I got to ejaculation, the more I would convince myself she had been turned on by my brazen display, that she had wanted to touch my cock, or even... Then I would cum an earth shattering orgasm.

Afterwards, the doubts would consume me all over again: she couldn't have meant "liked" in a sexual sense. She was my sister. A few times I even cried myself to sleep. Partly because I worried I had hurt her, but principally because I was just madly in love with her. And I wanted to make love to her more than I had ever wanted anything.

My new agony was not the impossibility of possessing her body, but the thrilling risk of doing so. It was dizzying to think my sister and I might cross that line; a line we had never breached before. Wouldn't it be dangerous? How would we know when to stop? How could there possibly be a happy ending? I knew she and I were in a potentially dangerous position the next time we were together. And yet I looked forward to it more than anything I had looked forward to in life.

I suspect Amy's own processing of what had happened was the reason she became more distant over the same period of time. As we were getting close to spring vacation, I started to feel palpitations of excitement and anxiety about seeing her so soon. But I received the devastating news she would be spending the holiday with her father in Paris.

It was like a hammer blow to my chest. Despite the fact I knew she loved her father (and Paris), I became convinced she was only doing this to avoid seeing me back at home. I decided to spend the spring vacation with one of my friends from college and resigned myself to having to wait until the summer to see my love again.

By the time we did finally see each other, it was midway through the summer break and had been more than eight months.

She had undergone a transformation all over again, much like when she had been in Europe, although less of a physical one this time - she was still as blonde, lean and gorgeous as ever. But something about her demeanor had changed considerably. It's difficult to describe but she was softer somehow. She'd always been warm and gentle, but from the moment I walked through the door that August night, she greeted me with such love and compassion that it almost knocked me off my feet.

It was like the pure love we used to have between us. There was nothing overtly sexual about it, but I felt that everything was forgiven; as though we'd had a hard reset.

That first night we smoked a joint with Mom in the yard and reminisced about the old days. Mom was happier too, having recently met a semi-reliable guy of her own. We all laughed and got on so well. It made me feel excited for the upcoming camping trip. Amy told me that Mom's new guy, Rob, would be coming with us on the trip and that she and I would have to sleep in a tent together while Rob and Mom had a tent of their own.

My stomach was filled with butterflies at the prospect of ten days in the remote wilderness with my darling sister, in which we would share an intimate sleeping space, while my Mom would be distracted with her new love. It was more than I could have wished for if you'd given me a magic wand.

Rob turned out to be great value; he had a dark sense of humor and was very generous to my Mom - not something we were used to seeing from one of her guys. At the end of the first night of the trip, after we had unpacked and Rob was making us his signature-dish chili on the campfire, I felt a lightness I hadn't felt for years.

We were a real family in that moment and a functional, harmonious one. And when Mom had drunk too much wine and smoked too much pot, and Rob retired with her for the night (chivalrously carrying her to their sleeping quarters), Amy and I retreated to our own tent.

I watched Amy closely as she undressed, searching for any signs of awkwardness or apprehension around me. There were none. She was super cool and super normal. She put on a new t shirt to sleep in and didn't even turn away from me to do it. Although it was fast and I didn't get to see much. She also kept her underwear on. But she didn't behave prudishly. I felt less paranoid than ever. I also felt more in love with her than ever.

She turned off the kerosene lamp and we lay next to one another in the dark, inside our sleeping bags. It wasn't lost on me that we were alone, in a state of partial undress, and in virtually the same bed (if not the same sleeping bag). But even this could not make me want to risk sabotaging the joyous mood. I did find myself getting hard, of course. But I held it in my hand; I didn't 'do' anything with it.

As the week went on, the trip continued to be pleasurable and relaxing. It was some of the best quality time Amy and I had spent together in years. Mom and Rob also seemed so happy. We went on long hikes - the two of us, or sometimes the four of us together. We swam in the lake, played cards each night, and ate some delicious food. Rob made the best pancakes for breakfast in the morning, which is no small feat on a campfire stove in the middle of nowhere. He was the sort of man my Mom had always needed but never seemed to choose - not just decent and loving to her, but practical. If we were ever to be caught in a perilous situation in the wilderness, Rob was the first person in twelve years who might have a clue what to do.

Amy and I were exhausted from the day's physical exertions each night - not to mention the heat - and one or other of us would fall asleep too fast for my liking. But it also meant there was less opportunity for me to make things weird. We had some great chats and shared memories that made me feel so close to her.

She talked about the vow we had taken all those years ago, to keep one another's secrets forever. She said I had kept some of hers now for years and never breathed a word.

"I'll go to my grave with them," I assured her.

'I know," she said. "And me with yours."

'I love you," I told her.

For a moment the only noises were insects and the night.

"Goodnight Josh," she said.

***

Don't get me wrong, it entered my mind a zillion times to ask her about what happened that night at Christmas. I came close to doing so a few times but I didn't want to risk testing the water. I wanted to show her the love and respect she deserved as a person. And it was paying dividends. We were happier and closer than in years.

The only downside was that the ten days were flying by so fast. Before long there were only two nights left and I started to feel sick that we would soon be separated again. It was then that the demon awoke inside me. I found myself wanting something to happen and wondered if I should risk everything to initiate it.

On the afternoon of our penultimate day, I noticed something different about her mood. She was happy and relaxed but there was something new. She was almost giddy, funnier and more brash than usual. And there was something I couldn't put my finger on.

I noticed she was drinking a lot of wine. She would usually have a couple of glasses but tonight she seemed not to be pacing herself. By the time it was dusk she was in a delightfully silly mood. And although none of us said anything out loud, we registered she was a little tipsy and found ourselves giggling at her slurred words and attractive clumsiness.

As the evening wore on, her mood changed again and she became drowsy; her dreamy eye-lids half closed, her laughter as if in slow motion. Most tantalizingly, she became uncharacteristically tactile. It was like she had reverted to a former time when we were young, choosing to drape her legs over mine, her arm around my shoulder, her head resting in the vase of my neck. At one point, while she was staring into the fire, she traced circles on my back with her fingertips. It was as electrifying as it was surprising.

When it came time for us to walk to the makeshift shower (basically two water taps, one of which was high enough to stand under), she took my hand in the dark, which could have been an innocent attempt to steady herself. But it meant everything to feel her warm hand in mine for the first time in years. After she had brushed her teeth with my toothbrush (having forgotten her own), she handed it back to me and let me lead her by the hand back to our tent.

It felt like a love-nest as we zipped ourselves in. I lit the kerosene lamp and took my shirt and pants off, climbing into my sleeping bag. She took off her own shorts and sweater, but didn't get into bed yet. She sat cross legged for a while in her sleeveless shirt and panties and looked at me.

"Joshy?" she said, "is it weird that sometimes I feel like I'm inside your head?'

She was in a playful mood and there was something unmistakably sensual about her.

I laughed. "Is that right?"

"Yes," she said, as she gathered her toes between her fingers and held hands with her feet.

"So what am I thinking right now?" I asked. It wasn't a particularly serious question, since I didn't really know.

"Right now," she said with great authority, "you are thinking about how much you would like to play with your thing."

Wow. That was out of left field.

"I was expecting you to have done it in front of me by now".

I felt winded.

"I mean, seeing what happened at Christmas," she went on, "and when we were here last year."

She sounded disappointed it hadn't happened again. Was that it? Was she disappointed I hadn't jerked off for her? Just breathe and go with it, I told myself. Let her do whatever she is trying to do.

"Well, I guess... I didn't think it was cool to do that around you," I said, quite honestly.

"Oh cool, schmool", she said ridiculously. "Who needs to be cool? Am I cool?"

"You're literally the coolest person I know."

She grinned at this. "Then I don't know why you think I'd have a problem with it."

I lay there, not knowing how to participate in the game.

"Have you done it at all this week?" She asked.

I had done it multiple times - in the dark while she was sleeping (almost every night); outdoors on the trail (almost every morning); and at least five times in the car when I had gone there to "listen to music"...

"A couple of times," I said.

"Have you done it in here?"

"Once," I said. "While you were sleeping."

Did her eyes grow wider? I could have sworn they did.

"Inside your sleeping bag?' she asked.

"Yes."

"Where did you wipe your stuff?"

It was a courtroom interrogation.

"I used my t shirt."

"What were you thinking about when you came?"

"Wow. This is intense," I said.

"I'm just curious," she said, laughing it off. "I'm your sister. I like to know what's going on down there."

Right now, what was going on down there was a quasi-erection - not quite hard, not quite soft. It was like Schrödinger's cock - at any moment it could have deflated or engorged on a dime. Such was my generally precarious state at the conversation taking place. The whole universe could have expanded or fallen apart in an instant.

"I was thinking about... girls and shit," I said feebly, my mojo having deserted me.

"Girls in general?' she asked.

"I told you the other day, there's no one I'm seeing. I just think about girls and stuff."

"I think about girls sometimes too," she said, "when I'm doing it."

"You do?" I could barely breathe.

"Totally. I mean, it's not my favorite but there's something about the idea of a girl, the way she does things. Guys don't know what they're doing down there. But I haven't done it all week."

"You haven't?"

"It's not so easy for girls. I've wanted to".

"Oh?" was all I could manage. I think I was trembling.

"I've needed to all day. It's like I feel this spot inside..." She pointed to her abdomen. "And it needs to be scratched."

"How do you scratch it?" I asked.

"It's not easy," she said. "I have to be super relaxed. Then I start rolling my hands over myself like this," and she began to smooth her thighs with her palms. "And this makes me start tingling."

I must have looked like the emoji with the open eyes and dropped jaw. I was frozen in erotic suspension. "Then what do you do?" I asked.

"Now I start to move my hips a bit", she said, and began to gently rotate her hips off the floor in little shuffles.

"And then what?"

She lifted her t shirt up, just enough to expose her pink panties and bare abdomen. "Then I rub myself here," she said, placing her two fingers against the gusset of her underwear and rubbing them over her little mound.

Was I dreaming? Had I drowned in the lake earlier and gone to heaven? I could barely catch my breath to experience it in real time. My own gorgeous sister in the yellow lamplight, her shadow cast upon the canopy of the tent; eyes tightly closed, biting her bottom lip as she rubbed her clit in front of me. She didn't seem to close her eyes to shut me out, but rather to concentrate on her pleasure.

"And then I like to touch it with my fingers," she said. She slid the hand inside her panties and began rubbing herself directly.

The more aroused she became, the more specific her hand movements grew. She masturbated herself like it was a graceful martial art, her gliding knuckles appearing through the drenched fabric of her panties. I got a few glimpses of the outer folds of her labia.

I longed for her to get completely undressed. But I didn't dare break the spell. I also didn't need the experience to be anything more or other than it already was. It was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed. And my cock was as stiff as a tent peg beneath the sleeping bag.

She soon stretched her legs out in front of her and with a look of intense concentration, her breath grew fast and she started panting. My dear little sister was about to have an orgasm. By the time she came, I was worried Mom and Rob might hear her from their tent twenty feet away. She made the most delicious, elongated-vowel sound from somewhere in the back of her throat, her legs studded with goosebumps and her body spasmed with bliss. Even after it was done, her thighs continued to shudder until they came to a stop, like a wound-down toy. Then she turned out the lamp and climbed into her sleeping bag.