Best Big Brother Ever

There wasn't much to say, then, so I sat there and held her.

Time passed, but neither of us was paying much attention. We sat there, holding onto each other, communing silently. But as the pain and anger that her situation had roused in me diminished, I slowly became aware of other things—things that had been there all along, but that I'd paid no attention to.

There was the soft warmth of her body—and its feminine curves and shapes. The scent of her hair floated into my nostrils, along with the scents of her skin and of her breath. And I recognized, somewhat belatedly, that my arm lay across her chest, right below her tits. She wasn't wearing a bra, and their pleasant weight rested on me. All of my unnatural love, and all of my perverted lust, for my little sister crashed in on me. And with them came all of the guilt and all of the torment of wanting what I knew that I could, indeed, should, never have—even though it was, even now, in my arms.

Unconsciously, I shifted my body a bit under her. And it wasn't until I was in the midst of that motion when it dawned on me that I had moved because my pants constricted the hard-on I'd gotten in the last few minutes. As I moved, my pants loosened, allowing my boner to move under her—and to slide against her thigh where she sat on me.

She didn't react, and I thought, gratefully, that she hadn't noticed my indiscretion. But a minute later, she squeezed me again and whispered, "I made you get hard again, didn't I?"

"It's okay," I said. "Don't worry about it." Meanwhile, I screamed to myself, Awkward!

She looked up at me and smiled. "I'm not worried about it. But maybe I won't rub against it this time." And she gave me still another squeeze as she put her head back down on my chest.

We sat there awhile longer, silently; once more I felt the rhythmic little motions of her life, and now I also smelled the perfumes her body emitted. So, naturally, I got harder. Now, too, I was hyper-aware of the way her tits pressed against my arm.

Without warning, she raised her head and looked up into my eyes. She reached up and pulled my head down, bringing our lips together. Hers parted, and her tongue reached to enter my mouth. Surprised, not knowing quite what to do, I let nature take its course. My own tongue danced with hers as our arms tightened about each other, and that heavenly kiss extended into deep time.

At last, she broke away and I opened the eyes I didn't remember closing. My feelings of guilt, already strong on account of what I had wanted for so long—and now wanted even more—intensified in me, and I said, "I'm sorry, Vicki. I shouldn't have done that."

"You did exactly what you should have," she said. "I've wanted to kiss you like that for a long time, and I finally did. And you kissed me back—just like I wanted you to. Didn't you like it?"

"Vick, of course I liked it. How could a man not like a kiss from such a wonderful woman?"

She put her hand over my mouth again, interrupting me; she said, "And you're a wonderful man, Bry. The best." She paused, but her hand still blocked my mouth, stifling any reply I might make. She looked into my eyes again and, after we'd exchanged looks for a few seconds, she said, "You want to, don't you!"

It wasn't a question.

She knew my deepest secret; I hoped, though, that she didn't know the depths of my love and of my desire. Maybe, I thought, I could survive this if she thought that my reaction to her body was a simple, male, animal response—not something perverted, deep-seated, and a fundamental part of the way I thought about my little sister.

She took her hand from my mouth, but before I could find words to answer her, she reached for my hand and pressed it against her tit. The soft globe of flesh filled my palm, fulfilling a dream and answering my long-standing question.

Even more flustered now, I finally got something out: "Want to what?"

She grinned at me, and said, "Don't you dare play innocent! You want to do it with me. Don't you."

I gulped and began, "But—"

She stifled me again and said, "It's okay. Don't worry about it. I've wanted it with you ever since I was twelve."

She reached up to join our lips again, and I closed my eyes as her kiss overwhelmed me with lust and emotion. I had wanted it with her for years. My heart almost burst with joy at her confession to having wanted me for years. And now, this cold, winter night near Spokane, Washington, far from anyone or anything we knew, we could have what we wanted.

We broke that kiss and separated enough to look again at each other. And as I looked at my little sister, the little sister who now smiled hopefully up at me, a spark of sanity returned and I knew how false my joy of a moment earlier had been. Full of remorse and regret, I tried to put all my love for her into my voice as I said, "I do want to. I've wanted it with you for a long time, too. But we can't, Vicki. I can't!" As I spoke, I noticed that her tit was still in my hand; reluctantly, I removed it. At least I now knew what it felt like.

Still she looked up at me, but her smile evaporated. "Why, Bryan? Why? We both want to. Is it because I'm a slut? …because—"

I stopped her before she could go on. "Vicki, whatever anyone says, you aren't a slut. Don't ever say that again. It's bad enough when someone else says it, but it's terrible when you do. Don't even think it."

She digested that for a few seconds, and then started, "Is it because I'm yo…" She stopped, mid-word, unable to go on.

"Because you're my sister?" I finished for her. And I went on to answer, "That's got something to do with it." I stopped to wipe away the tear that trickled down the side of her nose, and, when I'd done that, I continued, "But it's not what you think. If I was… If I was sure… sure that you wanted to—really wanted to, I wouldn't stop because you're my sister. But being brother and sister makes it a more serious step. We could call each other 'perv' for real if we did it with each other."

She gave me a lop-sided smile at that. But I could hear that her tears weren't far away as she said, "Then what? What? You said it yourself this morning. Girls need to like a guy before they'll do it with him, but guys will do it with anyone who's willing." Her eyes bored into mine as she went on, "I like you. I like you a lot! I'm in love with you! I've wanted it with you since I was twelve because I've been in love with you since then! So I'm willing. Really willing! More than willing!"

I was more than willing, too. There was no question about that. But I couldn't know—know for certain—that her willingness and the love she'd just declared were real, or, rather, were products of the train wreck she'd just been through.

"Vicki," I said, "listen to me." My heart felt like it was crumbling as I spoke, but I knew that I had to say what I was about to say—that, for once, I was being right and good. "Understand: yes, you're my little sister. I love you. I love you in a way that a brother isn't supposed to love his sister. I love you more than there are words to tell you, and I want what's best for you. That snake put you through something terrible this evening, and you've been pretty emotional for the last hour or two. I don't think that even you can be sure of what you want right now."

She whitened a bit and sniffled when I said the word "snake," and that reaction suggested that I might be right.

With both arms, I pulled her close; I continued, "And if you can't be sure of what you want, neither can I." I kissed her on the cheek and went on, "So the answer is 'No,' but not because I don't want to, or because a brother can't with his sister, or because I don't love you, or because I think you're damaged goods." She put her head on my shoulder and sighed as I continued, "It's for pretty much the same reason you've probably said 'No' to guys in the past. It's an important step, and it's a more important step for us than it would be for most couples. It's a step we can't take back, and I'm not sure we're both ready for it."

And as I explained myself to her, I knew that, for the rest of my life, I would regret the lost opportunity—the opportunity to have what I desired most in all the world. But I would also know, for the rest of my life, that I had done what was best for her.

But I wasn't as noble as it may seem; I did wonder why I couldn't have one or two of the snake genes that James carried in such abundance.

We sat there silently for a few more minutes before she raised her head and pulled back to look at me. She was smiling—though tears still flowed—and she said, "I think I get it, Bryan. Thanks. You've always been good to me. And good for me." She paused. Then, still looking into my eyes, still smiling, she said, "And you did say 'No,' but you didn't say 'Never'."

No, I thought, I didn't say 'never.' I left the door open, didn't I! And then I was ashamed of myself for having such a thought.

Gently, I started to help her off my lap, saying, "You've had a long day, and you're tired. We'd better get to bed. Take your jammies into the bathroom and get changed."

She elbowed me as she got up. "Kids wear jammies," she said. Then she elevated her nose and sniffed. "I wear a nightie!" Her tears were diminishing and she was almost herself again—at least, superficially. How much damage that asshole, James, had done remained to be seen.

While she was in the bathroom, I saw by the digital clock on the table beside my bed that it was 9:04. Tomorrow's drive into Seattle should only be about five hours, and there was no point in getting up as early as we'd been doing—so I set the clock to wake us at seven-thirty. Then I oriented it so that we could see it during the night. We both liked sleeping in cool rooms, so I turned the thermostat down a few degrees. Soon after I'd finished, she came out of the bathroom in her short nightie. "Into bed with you," I said. "I'll tuck you in."

"Jerk!" she said, grinning. Nobody had ordered her to bed, let alone tucked her in, for years. She was still grinning a minute later as she looked up at me from her pillow. I pulled the covers up to her neck, caressed her cheek, and kissed her forehead. "Good night, Vicki," I said.

"Good night, Bry," she said. "I love you." I understood, now, that it was a good bet—a very good bet—that she meant something more than a sister's love for her brother.

"I love you, too," I said as I turned off the light over the head of her bed. And, for the first time, I wasn't ashamed that I meant more than a brother's love for his sister—nor afraid of the possibility that she would understand exactly what I meant.

Leaving on only the reading light beside my bed, I went into the bathroom for my bedtime chores. When I returned, I turned off the light, took off all of my clothes but my boxer shorts, and got into bed. As I lay on my back and prepared myself for sleep, her tired, faint voice came from my right. "Good night, best big brother ever," she said.

I replied, "Good night, most wonderful little sister."

And, shortly, sleep came.

==||*||==

The toilet flushed in the middle of the night and woke me up. The bathroom door opened as I rolled over onto my left side. The clock said that it was 3:27.

She must have heard me moving, because when she was behind me, between the beds, she said, softly, "Bry? Are you awake?"

"Barely," I answered as I tried to burrow into the mattress to reclaim the lovely state of unconsciousness I'd lost.

"I'm sad," she said, "and I'm having trouble sleeping. I need a hug. Can I get in bed with you for a minute?"

Even though I'd spoken and I knew what time it was, I wasn't fully awake. I mumbled, "Sure." And, becoming a little more aware—and remembering what we had almost done a few hours earlier—I amended that: "Just for a minute."

As I spoke, I felt a draft of chilly air when she raised the covers to climb into the bed. The mattress behind me sank a bit under her weight, and the draft ended as she released the blankets. Groggily, remembering vaguely that she wanted a hug, I rolled over toward her and extended my arms. She came to me and lay warmly against me, laying her own arm on my waist. I folded her to myself, and she relaxed against me with a long sigh of pleasure. "I'm sorry, Bryan," she said. "I just needed you to hold me for a minute."

"Anything," I said, fuzzily, "for my little sister."

==||*||==

I didn't know how long it had been when I awoke to find her, fast asleep, still nestled against me, still wrapped in my arms. However long it had been, it had been enough time that my muscles complained about having been in one position too long; my body shifted a bit to relieve them. It wasn't much of a shift, but it was enough to wake her. She sighed happily, squeezed me, and moved more tightly against me. "I'm glad you're here," she whispered. "I've really needed you tonight."

"I'm glad I could be with you when you needed me," I said. And as I spoke, the soft warmth of her femininity, the feel of her shapes and curves, and the mixed aromas of her body crashed into my awareness. Her nightie, I knew, was opaque, but now I discovered that opaque cloth can be flimsy. Almost, it felt as though there was nothing between her body and mine; her skin, so warm, so smooth, so soft, so nearly in contact with my own, entranced me. Her bare legs rested against my own, delivering caresses every time one of us moved a little. Of its own volition, my hand stroked up and down her side, gliding over the curves of her hips and her waist.

She sighed again, now from my touch, and she said, "That feels so good, Bry." She moved in my arms, and, before I understood what she was doing, her lips—whose ripe fullness and sweet taste I remembered from only a few hours earlier—pressed against my own.

This time, it was my tongue that entered her mouth to engage her tongue in another joyful dance. Her tongue was an altogether willing partner with mine, and I reveled in her response. Now she stroked my side, while I stroked and cupped a tit. Now she sighed into my mouth as I fingered and tweaked her stiff nipple.

I lost myself in her, and in her body, for a time—an endless time of touching and mutual exploration. We kissed, felt, stroked, and caressed, enjoying body against body, hand against body, mouth against mouth, mouth against body. And then, somehow, I was naked against her, and she, most amazingly, was naked, too. At first, our caresses had been gentle—almost tentative; now they grew in confidence, in strength, and in effect.

And, then, my awareness immersed in the wonder of her body, I reached for the cleft at the base of her torso—the crevice that ordinarily lay concealed between her thighs. I encountered first the wiry curls of her bush, and, delving further as my little sister parted her legs, I found slick, wet heat. Her hips moved, driving my fingers along her folds, and she whispered, "Yes, Bryan! Yes! Like that!"

I fingered, tickled, tweaked, and as I did, her lips sought mine again. She reached for my rod and wrapped her hand around it. She stroked it, and, as she did, she broke our kiss. "I made you get hard again," she said, and I heard wicked delight in her voice.

"And you're going to rub against it, aren't you!" I answered—with an equally wicked inflection.

She continued to stroke while we kissed again. Then, saying, "Now, Bry! Now!" she rolled onto her back and pulled me toward herself.

I rolled to my hands and knees over her; my legs came to rest on the bed between hers as she again parted her thighs—this time she also folded her knees upward. Slowly, but not too slowly, I lowered my hips. Her hand, which had never left my rod, directed me into herself as I descended.

The doubts I'd felt earlier that evening no longer assailed me. Her body, her willingness, her desire, and her love had conquered them, driven them out, and I had no thought for consequences. Especially, I didn't think of her as my sister, but as a willing woman—a willing woman whom I had loved and craved for years. And as a willing woman who had loved me and craved me during all those years as well.

She wrapped her arms and her legs around me as my boner glided into her. Her molten flesh brought ineffable sensation, and with that sensation came her loving words, "Oh, Bry! I've needed you so much for so long!"

Willingly, lovingly, longingly, desperately, we drove ourselves against each other, pumping me into her and out, into her and out, in, and out, in, out, in, and out.

Almost lost in my body's reactions to hers, I felt her stiffen under me. "Oh, Bryan! Bryan!" she shouted. "You're going to make me—" Climax overwhelmed her before she could finish; her arms and her legs tightened around me in her ecstasy and her boundless love surrounded me.

Seconds later, I reached my own peak, and my boundless love flowed white-hot into her body, flowed again, and again, and again, again, again, and again, at once draining my desire and quenching hers. Drained, also, was my guilt; quenched, too, my torment. Instead, I knew peace in her arms, in my wonderful little sister's arms. Faintly, as the turmoil of our bodies' triumphs subsided, I heard my little sister's voice, "Oh, Bryan! You really are the best big brother ever!"