Native Sister

Nice. It was nice to get someone else to feel awkward for a change. But my grin of manly triumph turned to a frown as I realized the implications of what Zami had just said. I tried not to worry about it, though. Yes, Tara and I were going to be "married" tomorrow, and it was natural to assume we'd then go off some where to consummate the marriage in private, at which point nothing could possibly happen. Not between brother and sister.

But Lord help me the thought of a consummation did cross my mind, and I felt instant shame.

Zami stepped forward and repeated the particularly startling gesture as she had when we'd first met: she grabbed my cock. Already conditioned to obey, I automatically looked down and waited tensely for the elder's next move. Continuing in her broken English, she turned to the others and said, "Tomorrow we unite this man and his seed of life to Tara. We make them one flesh."

That sounded strangely biblical, but the words were hardly registering because the woman was gripping my cock firmly in her warm hand, a hand that was surprisingly smooth. It actually felt good, but I daren't let myself start getting an erection. I fought like mad.

Then she let go and turned away. I let out a breath of relief and glanced at Tara. She'd been looking at me and glanced away when she sensed my eyes on her, but not quickly enough to hide the fact that she'd been watching Zami clutching my cock. I wanted to approach her and ask her a few things, at least see how she was doing, but Zami was already leading the women away, uttering something in her native tongue that caused the other women to giggle and Tara to look down and blush again.

Just once, as they moved away, did Tara glance back, meet my eyes, and smile.

The rest of the day and night involved a series of bathing rituals that seemed designed to get me cleaner than a surgeon in an OR. Throughout the three days of what I loosely referred to as my bachelor party, several of the male villagers took turns guiding me through exercises, rituals, meals and drinking. But there were four or five that always seemed to be around, and I'd come to think of them as my groomsmen. They took me from one stream to the next, guiding me to dunk under, scrub down, dunk again, then move to another stream or small pool. In an almost effeminate way, the groomsmen also washed my short hair in various "shampoos" of fruit nectars, scented oils and even some kind of powder. In the end my hair looked and felt normal, but it smelled as if I'd just come from a salon. I couldn't help but think that if I could bottle the stuff and sell it in Hollywood, people like Madonna or Brad Pitt would probably pay hundreds of dollars by the ounce!

* * *

Day 3: the Wedding Day. In the morning I was gently awoken by my groomsmen, all of whom seemed careful not to startle me or get me worked up in any way. They encouraged me to lounge lazily in my temporary bachelor's hut, while they brought me food: fresh fish, fruits, pure water. Other men stood outside my hut, chanting softly in unison, some kind of prayer, some kind of spiritual song. After a few hours I actually got bored and dozed. In fact I dozed for a number of hours, because when I stirred again and was allowed to step outside the hut, I found that it was already late-afternoon.

The sun was low on the artificially high horizon of the jungle canopy line that surrounded the village. The village itself was strangely quiet; that is, there was very little human activity, little commotion. I could clearly hear the steady and powerful flow of the river. It was serene, beautiful, carnal. I found myself experiencing a very Zen-like state of being.

After being allowed to take this in for several minutes, the groomsmen began guiding me gently, reverently to another part of the village. Along the way dozens of other villagers, both men and women, all nude, lined the path, bowing and smiling at me. I was the groom, the Man of Honor. Clearly the marriage of a man and woman in their culture was profound an highly revered occasion. I was touched, but I also felt a pang of guilt. These people were providing such unbridled hospitality toward me, and toward Tara, when the fact of the matter was we were fooling them, using them. The marriage would be a sham. Well, for Tara and I it would be. If it made these people feel good to believe it to be real, we would certainly let them.

Presently I found myself standing outside a moderate-sized hut, completely closed by walls of reeds, distinctly different than the other huts which were all mostly open-walled. (There was very little privacy here, not from walls, not from clothing.) Standing outside, wearing a fresh necklace of beautifully intertwined flowers, was Zami, the elder of the village. The necklace rested loosely on her prominent breasts. Surrounding the hut were small carefully placed fires, fueled by some sort of natural oil the villagers had extracted from some obscure plant, no doubt. They flickered and glowed against the sides of the hut.

Zami raised her arms and looked at the villagers gathered near us. She said something that sounded official and authoritative, yet kind and warm at the same time. She was smiling, too. Bowing in reverence, the villagers, including my groomsmen, backed away and melted into the further parts of the village, presenting privacy for the marriage hut.

In her heavily accented halting English Zami said, "Walk at me, Cal." I stepped forward and bowed. I saw her move her arms my way and I braced myself to have my cock squeezed again, but to my surprise (and relief) Zami reached for my hands this time. She clasped me warmly and said, "You enter. You enter." She was stepping back, through a draped entrance to the hut, pulling me gently with her. Following reverently, I ducked into the tent and blinked a few times. It was a lot darker in here and my eyes needed to adjust. There were a couple more of those crude oil dip lamps in here, which gave off surprisingly little smoke. What I smelled mainly was a mixture of fruit and spices an earth.

Outside, from somewhat of a distance, I heard the rhythm of a drum begin.

Zami stepped aside as I straightened to my full height in the hut (all the doorways were about eight inches shorter than the top of my head). As my eyes adjusted to the light I made out the two younger "junior" elders or attendants to Zami, both of whom were beautiful in their own respects: lovely curves, smooth skin, healthy breasts, bare pelvises. They stood next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, and they were smiling brightly at me, their white teeth stunning within their dark mouths. When they saw me looking directly at them, they glanced at each other, nodded, then stepped apart, one to the left, one to the right.

And there she was.

Revealed before me was one of the most stunning sights I have ever beheld: Tara. Nude, pure, innocent, beautiful. Her long soft blond hair was freshly washed, decorated and braided with small flowers. Like Zami she wore an elaborate necklace of intertwined flowers which collected into a long V between Tara's amazingly vivacious breasts. Her belt of beads and reeds had been removed, and there was now nothing whatsoever infringing on the purely naked and perfectly curved shape of her stomach, hips and vagina.

I swallowed. Twice, three times. The rhythm of the drum was slow and steady, in sharp contrast to my rapidly beating heart.

Everything in my being wanted me to tell Tara how beautiful she was, but this impulse was coming from a feeling that had welled up from deep within me, a feeling I still refused to acknowledge, refused to name. I forced myself to remain quiet.

Tara looked at me in a slow-moving arch from the floor, my feet, up my own completely naked body, and eventually up to my eyes. And when we locked eyes I could swear, or perhaps I was subconsciously hoping, that she was fighting to acknowledge the same feeling as me.

From another world, another reality, I heard a voice, Zami's: "Walk at each other."

For this special ceremony it seemed that Zami was going to try conducting it in English, obviously for my benefit. That was nice of her, but I almost wished she'd switch back to her native tongue so I could just go through the motions and not really know what was transpiring, just get it over with.

Tara and I obeyed, stepping toward one another. We never left each other's intense gaze.

"Take hands," Zami said softly.

Maintaining firm eye-contact, I let my hands reach out slightly from my sides, and Tara did the same and in the next moment our fingers were brushing against each other. I opened my hands a little wider and Tara put her small hands within mine. I grasped her lightly. The shoulder touch, the hug, and now this...this was the third time I was touching my naked sister. It was electric.

I gazed into her eyes, I drank them in. They were deep-blue, wide open, passionate, curious, mesmerizing. It melted my heart to sense that Tara, as she gazed right back up at me, was as entranced as I was. How much of her was still recording these proceedings as an anthropologist? How much was now just a woman getting caught up in an incredibly primal, intensely sensual experience of pure emotion?

Zami, with her beautiful attendants on either side of her, stepped forward, nearer to us, and began: "From time Great River bring life in jungle, life continue between woman and man. Woman and man must also flow together, like Great River. Life must flow, and woman and man must join like small rivers to the Great Water..."

For the next 20 minutes or so, Zami continued in a poetic fashion, her English broken but her tone solid, confident, official. Eventually she fell back to her Kasabai tongue. Perhaps she was repeating herself in her native language for the benefit of the attendants, who seemed to be acting as witnesses. At one point Tara adjusted her hands from being held within mine to where we interlaced our fingers and let them lock loosely together.

Periodically she would give me a reassuring squeeze, her eyes rarely leaving mine. And I would give her a light squeeze back, giving her a smile, letting her know that I was okay with this. Once she mouthed, Thank you, and I mouthed back, You're welcome. But what really started to get my attention, as Zami droned on, was when Tara began gently, ever so gently, rubbing her thumb along the length of mine. The movement was so slight at first I almost didn't notice, but when I did I felt my heart rate increase again.

What the hell was happening here?

Recalling what Tara had told me a few days ago, I knew this was going to be the first of three sessions like this. And each session was only for an hour or two. By my reckoning, Zami had been speaking for about a half hour or so, which meant that if I could survive just a little while longer this would be over for the night and we could get out of here. The longer I remained in Tara's presence, in this Zen-state, the harder it would be to contain an emotion in me that simply should not, should not be occurring for my own flesh-and-blood sister.

Suddenly Zami went silent.

The silence lasted long enough that both Tara and I turned from each other to look her way. Zami was whispering something to her attendants, both of whom nodded reverently and began moving about the hut. One of them moved to the center of the hut, where I noticed for the first time what appeared to be a long mat made of closely woven reeds and cushioned with several layers of animal fur. The other attendant was unfurling what seemed like a animal skin blanket. It was thick and had soft-looking fir on both sides, the hides sewn skin-to-skin.

Zami said something in Kasabai.

I glanced at Tara, hoping for a translation, but there was a look of sudden shock in Tara's eyes as she stared at me. "What's the matter?" I whispered.

"Cal, I...she wants us to...oh God."

Zami said something again, and from the tone and syllables I gathered she was repeating herself.

I clutched Tara's hands, "What's the matter?"

She said, "Cal...Zami is telling is to...to lie down together."

It was my turn to look shocked.

Swallowing, I said, "Just lie down?"

"Well—"

Zami spoke again, a little more firmly. And she added a few things, causing the blood to drain from Tara's face.

"Tara, talk to me."

She closed her eyes, lowered her head and sighed, then looked up at me again. "Okay, Zami is telling us it is time to lie down on that bed of firs there," inclining her head toward the center of the hut, "and...well, 'join' together under the ceremonial blanket they have made for us."

I tried not to overreact to what my sister had just told me. I simply stared at her and let my mind try to work the matter out. We now knew the secret of what happened in this marriage hut. Zami expected Tara and I, as newlyweds, to consummate our bonding right here in front of her, and apparently her attendants, rather than in the privacy of our own hut as one would expect. Correction: as a Westerner would expect. Up to this point Tara and I had been going through the motions so that she could witness the inner-workings of the super-secret marriage ceremony of the Kasabai. But to continue this charade...

The drum picked up its rhythm. Or was that the beating in my chest?

We had now reached the limit of our charade, Tara and I, and in the next moment Zami was going to start wondering why we were so hesitant, and either the truth would come out, that we were siblings, or Tara would find another way to explain why the two of us could not have sex. Once that revelation came, Zami would very likely feel betrayed, and if she felt betrayed it could utterly destroy everything Tara had worked for all these months. It could perhaps even become violent—the would-be SEAL in me had been very impressed with how the men handled their bows and arrows, not to mention spears, slings and heavy hardwood clubs. And as I looked deep into to the pleading, desperate and devastatingly beautiful eyes of my dear sister I knew that I simply could not let this happen.

I whispered to her, "Let's do it."

"Wha...what?" Tara could hardly find her voice.

"Look, they're going to cover us in that blanket, right?"

Tara looked over at one of the attendants and the blanket she was holding. The attendant smiled. Tara looked back at me. "Yes," she said.

"Okay," I said, still whispering, "we get down there, we get covered up, and I grunt and groan for a few minutes, do a few push ups over you, and Zami gets her consummation."

Tara glanced quickly at Zami, then back to me, whispering, "Be careful what you say, Cal. Her English is surprisingly good."

I nodded. "Got it. So what do you say?"

"You'd do that for me?"

I gave her a grin, "We've come this far. Might as well go the distance and get you your PhD."

Moisture fogged my sister's eyes and she said, "You are so wonderful, Cal." Then, "Okay, let's do it."

She tightened her clasp on my fingers and began moving toward the mat on the floor. I moved with her and tried not to think about the act to which we were about to commit—pretend to commit. One of the attendants gathered herself behind Tara and reached out to take off her flower necklace. Tara bowed her head and allowed herself to become now and once and for all utterly naked, as I was. In this moment I could not help but look directly at her voluminous breasts. Her nipples were hard within perfectly symmetrical areolas. It was with effort that I pulled my eyes from them and back to Tara's gaze. Fortunately, my sister didn't seem to mind; she was smiling.

She began reclining.

Down, she lowered herself down onto the mat, all the while drawing me toward her. I let myself be guided by her. I got down on my knees as Tara reclined onto her back, parting her legs, letting me settle. In this moment I paused and took in the scene: my sister, lying back, legs parted, her womanhood exposed, welcoming, inviting...her stomach moving with short nervous breaths...her breasts swelling, heaving, beckoning. If this were any other woman I would have found myself overwhelmed and would have ravished her by now, burying my face in her breasts, showering her with kisses, licks, nibbles, and of course the thrust of my manhood as it probed, pleadingly, against and into her sex.

It was also in this moment that I found that I could no longer hold back the carnal instincts of my being as the blood flowed into my loins and my erection began to swell. I tried to imagine I was a movie star, doing a love scene, surrounded by cameras... But it was no use; I was growing hard, growing erect. For my sister. I was simultaneously aroused and embarrassed, worried that once Tara saw—or felt—that I was physically responding in this way she would be horrified and recoil from me. That, of course, would blow the whole charade and ruin her project, not to mention her respect for me as a brother.

Thankfully in this same moment the attendants were draping the blanket over us so that even if Tara looked down between us my erection would be hidden by dark shadow. Very carefully I positioned myself so that I was now kneeling between her spread legs, supported above her by my straightened arms, hands on either side of her. As we shifted around I felt my legs occasionally graze her thighs, which did nothing to help subside my now fully formed erection. I was completely hard, huge and protruding.

Saying something...Zami was saying something. Sounded far away.

"Cal," Tara said softly, "she's asking you to lower yourself." She swallowed. "To...enter me."

Despite the proximity of our two naked bodies it was pretty obvious to someone watching—the elders—that I was no where near being on Tara's body, let alone entering it.

"Well," I said, trying to give her a reassuring grin, "it's time for some push-ups."

She gave a nervous nod and I lowered myself down, trying to keep my butt up so as not to accidentally touch her with my hard penis. I got low enough to feel her breasts begin to squish warmly against my chest, our mouths only an inch or two apart. Then I pushed back up, allowing myself a soft sigh—a bit of acting, yes—before lowering myself back down for another push-up.

After two or three reps, I saw a worried look in my sister's eyes, but her attention was actually turned toward the elders. I followed her gaze toward them and saw almost comically puzzled looks on their faces. I glanced back at Tara.

I said in a whisper, "They're not buying it, are they?"

She shook her head.

I swallowed. "That means I have to get closer, Tara. If we're gonna sell it."

She nodded and whispered back. "It's okay, Cal. Do what you need to, but only if you're still okay with this."

"I can do this. I'm okay with this."

"Thank you, Cal."

Closer. I had to get closer. So I did it. I let myself ease down against my sister, this time letting my hips come down as well. I thought about warning her about my erection, because there was no way I was going to keep it from touching her. But I couldn't figure out what to say. I figured if it hit her she'd either freak out or not. The moment of truth.

Lower...lowered myself down. My chest again pressed against Tara's, our flesh searing together, our mutual rapid heartbeats meshing. I lowered my head down to one side of Tara's bringing my lips close to her ear. Her mouth was close to my ear a well, I could feel her warm breath. At that point the tip of my penis grazed against the inside of her thigh, high up where it met her pelvis. I heard Tara take a quick sharp intake of breath at the realization of what was touching her. To add insult to injury, I must've been leaking precum, because the sensation was not only warm and electrifying, it was wet.