Sister and Me Cumming Ch. 04

So this is the way things were for the next week, until Rachel headed back to Loyola. We did it just about anyplace we could, and I imagined the entire house must have reeked of semen.

In our post-coital clean up, Rachel opened up more and I got it; I could see where Rachel was coming from. She didn't want to take anything seriously, and wanted to be free of anything that mattered. She told me, in terms that could only come from someone who was a college sophomore, that she wanted to "deconstruct" things that tried to take themselves seriously by mocking them, mocking through the mysterious, intimate act of sex.

She told me this, and I must have looked at her quizzically. "You can think of it as a game. Treat it like a game. Like when we were kids, but now we can do things we couldn't do as kids." I remembered just then that I had in fact seen Rachel totally naked before when we were very young and wondering about the differences between the sexes.

"And treating the things that are most not like games and turning them into games."

"To show how stupid they are, basically?"

"To show that they don't matter. And what are the biggest things?"

"I guess the Church?"

"Right. The Church. It controls you life, you know."

When Dad was ready to drive her up to Salt Lake to catch her flight back to LA, she came back from the car to give me a little hug. She looked at me like she was giving some sisterly advice. It must have been touching for Mom and Dad as they watched from the distance. Less so if they had heard what she said.

"You know, there's also Mom." I didn't know what she meant, and glanced for a second toward Mom. "She's is the line between you and the Church."

Mom was the agent for the Church in the home. She was always involved in Church activities and callings -- she had been the Relief Society President, the Young Women's President. She kept Dad on task with the Church; as I mentioned earlier, I pretty much felt he kept active in the Church only because of his job, and I guess because of his commitment to Mom. So there was, after all, a logical link from the Church to Mom and then to us.

"So," she paused, "We need to fuck in order to fuck the Church. But we also need to fuck Mom."

I don't know how I reacted, it was instinctual, and she quickly added, "I mean figuratively. We don't really fuck the Church. We don't really fuck Mom."

She walk away and shouted from the car, "Anyway, we'll continue all this when I get back for the summer."

So, for the next five months of anticipation I masturbated pretty much non-stop. But it couldn't overcome the urge I had to get back with Rachel. We didn't communicate at all, and I worried that things would change and our carnal relationship would be at its end. I couldn't find a girl to take her place. Girls were not only guarding their chastity, but they were also protective of the boys who were preparing for their missions. Heaven forbid that they have the double sin of losing their virginity and in doing so keep a boy from going on a mission. And what girl would match Rachel in terms of her sexual abandon.

Late May Rachel returned home. I had received my mission calling two weeks earlier. I was going to preach the Gospel in Korea, in the Seoul Korea Mission. I would be getting my temple endowments in early June and going into the Mission Training Center, just a mile down the hill from our house, the week after that to get a start on the language.

Going along this path, I had to steel myself against Rachel's head-on assault on my religious values. Taking the usual course for repentance was simply out of the question. I would have to go to my Bishop and confess in detail. That we had masturbated in front of each other. On two different occasions. That we then had sexual relations. And yes, I had penetrated her. And yes, oral-genital contact as well. (But not anal, if that mattered.) That we actually had engaged in sexual intercourse multiple times. Like, maybe, twenty or thirty times.

He would then have me go to before a Church court where all of this would be laid bare in front of the Stake Presidency and its quorum. I would certainly be disfellowshipped -- no, that is what would happen if I went "too far" one time with a girlfriend or fiancé -- doing it repeatedly and with my sister would certainly mean being excommunicated. There would be a long road of repentance before joining the Church again. I would never go on a mission, and would not be allowed to go to BYU. At this late date it would be hard to apply anywhere else. And I couldn't continue to live at home because everyone would know exactly what had happened. The proceedings are supposed to be private, but of course people can't keep their mouths shut.

So I was simply going to live with this. Living a lie before Heavenly Father, and down the road before my missionary companions and even my future wife. I already had compartmentalized my sister-fucking time from my non-sister-fucking time. I prayed to Heavenly Father as if it was simply not happening. Much as I did my day-to-day activities in front of my parents as if it was not happening. The difference, of course, being that Heavenly Father knew, and he could withdraw his spirit and guidance from me.

I couldn't see staying on my mission for the full two years. I would have to find an excuse to return early. If missionaries started to have medical or mental issues that made it difficult for them to continue, they could get an early release and still be considered a returned missionary. I would do something like start to hear voices, or feel that I was a prophet, something that would make me seem to be sincere but unstable. Return home, head to BYU.

The day after I received my endowments, and now was wearing the temple garments, Rachel came over to me with a smile. She held my hand and pulled me into the den and said, "It's time now."

Things started simply, and jarringly, by Rachel's question of whether I had ever thought about Mom while I masturbated. Of course I had not. It was perverted.

She replied, "Of course it's perverted. But so is doing it with your sister. Mom has sex too, you know."

"I don't want to think about that." Obviously.

"Well, that is the first step on your path to celestial glory. Think of Mom having sex. I've heard them. Once I saw them. She was bent over with her rear in the air. A wonderful, sacred moment. You know, becoming one flesh, and so on. They were facing away from me. I stood there and watched. I couldn't believe it, both of their garments on, pulled down, hers and Dad's too. His balls were hanging down, I could see them between his thighs. He was all so, really, I mean, hairy. I stood watching for maybe three or four thrusts and then walked away. I would have gagged."

I didn't know whether to believe this or not. But her intent was to paint an image in my mind, which she did very well.

"It's all perverted, thinking about that, much less seeing it. But grown-ups do have sex. Mom has sex."

Rachel returned to her dirty-Rachel mode, and started to unbutton her blouse.

"So Mommy loves to do it. And she wants to do it with her little boy. Who's so grown up now. First she wants to see how big you are." She pulled off her blouse, and, just as she had warned me she would do, underneath she was wearing Mom's garments.

Mom was open about being seen in her garments when she was changing her clothes. They were, after all, supposed to define the boundaries of modesty. They were opaque, like an undershirt, and covered over the shoulders. I looked at Rachel with the inescapable image of Mom wearing those garments with her rear up in the air and Dad going into her. And in spite of this, my cock was growing hard."

I heard Rachel like it was from another room, "Sweetie. I'm going to take my skirt off now. My, you seem to have an erection now. Very good. That is what you need to get into Mommy. So let's pull it out so Mommy can see it."

She was in front of me with only the garments on. The garments looked almost comical, cartoonish. They were meant, among other things, to act as a shield against immorality. And I think if anyone in the heat of passion started to pull off their clothes, they would stop mid-course when they saw these. They were singularly unflattering, loose fitting, with markings at the nipples and navel. It was like seeing your grandmother in her underwear. In fact, that was the intent of the design. The temple garments heralded back to the mid-1800s. The only major change, which occurred in the 1970's, was to allow Church members to move from wearing one-piece to wearing two-piece garments. The one-piece garments had a flap in the back that buttoned closed. With the two-piece, it was like wearing an undershirt and underpants, though with the legs going down to near the knees.

"Pull it out, son. For your mother."

Rachel sat on the couch with her legs apart, and I could see a slit in the garments. She had cut an opening in them. She pulled the cloth against her crotch so that her vulva pushed out from them.

It was the extreme of cognitive dissonance. I either had to break this off with Rachel, or keep going and spiritually break the most sacred of taboos. I had started down this path by masturbating with Rachel's underwear. Now I was going further by violating my mother through her sacred temple garments.

"How do you want to have me? Do you want to see my face?" Rachel threw her head back and mimed an "Oh, Oh". "Or have me take you in from the rear." Rachel turned to stick her rear up like she had in the past, but more to the point like how Mom had. She wiggled her pelvis and gave little thrusts, each punctuated with a guttural "Uh".

The rear it would be. I pulled down my pants.

"Take them off. And your shirt."

I complied. There we were, face to face in temple garments. We looked ridiculous. Hers were loose fitting. There was no trace of her breasts or nipples, no outline of her hips or the mound between her thighs. Mine had a big double layer of cloth by the opening in the front so that it was difficult to tell that I was erect.

She took my hand again, and we walked out of the room. And into Mom and Dad's room. She pointed to Mom's side of the bed. "That is the scene of the crime." I now knew she was not making up witnessing our parents having sex.

The bed had a million pillows on it. Rachel pushed them over, pulled the comforter and blanket from Mom's side, and went on her back on the bed. She spread her legs with her knees bent. I could see her labia peeking out from the white garments.

Yesterday in the temple I had made a sacred vow to only have sexual relations within the bonds of marriage. Two days before that I had received the Melchizedek Priesthood by the laying on of hands from my father and the Bishop. I had my washing and anointing. And here we were on Mom's bed, in temple garments, ready to do this most insane and evil thing.

I moved onto the bed to mount her.

"Say, 'Mommy, I'm going to go into you now'. Say everything I tell you to say."

She gave me phrase after phrase. "Mommy, I'm going into you now."

"Oh, sweetheart. Mommy loves to feel you pushing in."

Rachel said, "Oh, mommy, I'm entering your holy of holies. Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord."

She told me to repeated it. "Oh, mommy, I'm entering your holy of holies. Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord." Rachel was getting rusty in her memory of Mormon prayers. "Praise the Lord" was an evangelical phrase; it was not something I had actually ever seen in any prayers. I was grasping at that little technicality in that moment to forget the reality of our act.

"Oh, God, thank you. You are giving Mommy a special blessing before you go off on your mission. You are going to anoint me in my most special, sacred place."

She went back to her normal voice. "Denia Bates," my mothers name, "in the name of the Lord Jesus I enter you to anoint you with my sperm."

I kept on thrusting in and out. She stopped me by pushing her hands on my shoulders, and said, "Say it. Everything I tell you."

I didn't want to stop. I repeated her. "Denia Bates, in the name of Jesus I enter you to anoint you with my sperm."

"To bless and sanctify you with this act of fucking you."

I repeated again, my breath now shortened, the words coming out staccato.

Rachel let out an "Oh God, Oh, I accept your sperm. I accept it deep inside of me. Please, my little boy, please give it to your Mommy."

She said in the most deliberate manner, one worthy of a General Authority, "May this be witnessed by thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that we may always have your Spirit to be with us."

I could barely say the words. I was moments from climax.

Before you come, say, 'Oh, God, Oh Mommy."

I was about to come, "Oh God, Oh Mommy."

And now "Amen."

"Oh God. I'm coming." I started to shoot out -- "Amen. Oh God. Oh Mommy. Amen."