This is a life-story, rather than an erotic story, but I hope it gives you an insight into incest and the games people play.
I've always really been into girls. I'm the older of two sisters, separated by two years. So, when we were all teenagers, my dad was a bit overwhelmed with three women having periods, often at the same time! But sex was very repressed in our house.
Although my mum was in the vanguard of Women's Lib, talking about sex was a topic too far for her and her rural 1940s/50s upbringing. Everything was very proper. I even remember having to put a dressing gown on to go the four paces from my bedroom to the bathroom rather than parade in my bra and knickers. The exception was Kate, my younger sister. As the baby, my parents let her get away with everything, and as she grew older she just grew bolder and sexier.
We were drawn together by shared secrets in a family where sexuality was repressed. We stayed together, becoming more intense, because apart, we were lonely and frightened by the things that were happening to us as young teenagers.
Kate was isolated physically - a beautiful girl disfigured by goofy front teeth, and the braces needed to correct them, and by the other kids cruelty.
In her bigger sis she says she found both comfort and excitement. The warmth of naked bodies. The sting of heavy deep kisses. The tingle of clits stimulated by slow hands.
When we were together, I used to think she was sometimes feeding off me. Drinking me in. Suckling the love she need from my breasts. Of course, she loved the naughtiness of our illicit love, too. She loved the creeping about. She thrilled at secretly touching me when the others weren't looking. And she loved our "sunbathing" in the secret garden (the top lawn surrounded on three sides by hedges and trees, and not overlooked on the fourth. She was ... is ... fearless, but lonely.
I wasn't lonely. On the contrary, I was crowded-in, with too many people pressing in on me. Though mum and dad never ever said anything, I knew they wanted me to be a vanguard in the feminist revolution.
My boyfriend Anthony wanted me to marry him and become a nice little house-frau.
My best friend Penny wanted me to cut my long blonde hair hair, wear dungarees, and become a serious lesbian instead of a flighty bisexual.
My other friends just wanted to get pissed up and doped up and talk endlessly about who was fucking who.
Only Kate accepted me for who I was, didn't want me to be anything, didn't crowd me. When I was with Kate I was free from pressure. Except the pressure of tasting the forbidden.
But even that seemed OK, because I knew I'd never really be able to escape the pressure ... so cheating it for a while seemed only appropriate ... like when school forced us to do long distance runs, and we'd dive into some bushes and have a ciggie and a chat, before sullenly carrying on with the whole, faintly humiliating process of making a girl jiggle about uncomfortably for six miles.
With Kate there was freedom from fear of pregnancy, freedom of fear of looking an idiot in the high pressure gay scene (all that hanky bollocks - please! Just no!), free from having to take mistakes with new lovers and broken hearts.
You can over analyse this stuff. But once I had Kate to share my body and secrets, I didn't really need anything else. Penny gave me the fun of going off clubbing once in a while. And I wore Anthony like a cloak, to keep the other boys off. But having Kate meant never having to jump into the teenage cattle market.
Things began to change when Kate was sixteen and her braces finally came off. Suddenly everyone noticed what a cute girl she was. And though she snubbed a lot of boys (who'd been too spineless to ask for a date when she had metal teeth). Eventually she gave in to the posse of boys, and in rapid succession she went through half a dozen boyfriends. I wasn't jealous of the boys ... now she had so many more secrets to share, but I was jealous of the time they consumed.
But then the thing happened that I'd all along been trying to avoid: Kate broke my heart. Of course, she didn't do it deliberately. She was now seventeen and she wanted to study beauty therapy and for that she had to go off to college. I was so selfish. I actually asked her, pleaded with her not to go. When she left I was depressed for a long time.
I took a lot of stuff out on Anthony. I ignored Penny. I ignored most of my friends. Rose was the biggest help and that's only because we'd go out riding together and pounding through the fields at breakneck speed with her was one of the few truly pleasurable things.
When Kate came home for her first holiday (it was Christmas) things were cold between us. I made a clumsy pass at Kate and she said we should stop, that we should both grow up, that what we did together wasn't right.
I felt as if someone had got to her. I felt utterly miserable. Kate later said that she really thought she was doing the right thing. That our incest had been a silly girlie teenage infatuation, and that now she was "grown-up" she should put her childish toys behind her. So I got chucked to one side, along with the dolls and skipping ropes.
Eventually I hardened my heart to Kate and tried to move on with the mess I'd managed to make. Anthony - loyal loving patient Anthony - asked me to marry him, and I agreed, but not till I was twenty-one.
Gradually my hurt towards Kate thawed, and I could bear to be kind to her again. She was under whelmed by my peace offers and kept a proper distance when she came home.
I moved out and started playing house with Anthony. And as the wedding day rolled around, I asked Kate if she'd be my bridesmaid (with a little cousin of ours). It was to be the turning point. Preparing for the wedding - all the fittings and rehearsals and stuff allowed us to be together, sharing time again ... and it was fun. And with a couple of years distance from Kate leaving home, we were able to talk about ourselves and what we wanted.
Of course, what I wanted hadn't really changed. I wanted my cake and to eat it. I wanted to do the wifey thing (and decided that being a lesbian was too much like hard work, and "playing" at being bi got you too much of a telling off from the dykes). And I wanted to eat Kate's pussy till her cum juices smeared my face all shinny and wet in a pact of wickedness that would set me apart from the "normal".
I loved (and still love) the banality of being a suburban woman with the intensity of crossing taboos. I wanted the certainty that my sister's love would never die, that of all people, she would never let me down. And for Kate, I was still her soul mate.
So we talked through why we'd parted on such poor terms when Kate left for college. My sense of abandonment. Her sense of denial at our secret past. I'd come to accept that she hadn't deserted me ... but that the things she needed and wanted in her life had made it harder for us to be together. And she'd come to realise that I still made her laugh, I still made her thrill, I still made her sexy. That I was still her sister, still her best friend, still her lover.
So we kissed and made up, and then kissed some more, and yet more. We bathed together and made love before dolling ourselves up for my hen party. Where we smooched together on the dance floor - our friends thought we were just drunk, just doing a parody. (I also got so drunk; I threw up on Kate's shoes and had to be carried home). A few painkillers later, it was so good to be back together again. Bizarrely, mum and dad where pleased we'd made up too.
The night before my wedding, I slept with my sister, and it felt so good. Except that, next day it felt sore, as her personal wedding present to me was a small butt-plug and a tub of Vaseline. It took quite some persuading on Kate's part to make me try anal sex - mainly because it had never really crossed my mind - it being a gay man thing - though I'd been enjoying having my arsehole lightly fingered for ages.
So it was with an extra spring in my step that my father led me down the aisle. Luckily I didn't have to look at Kate, as she flowed along in behind my train, as I'd either have burst into floods of tears or gales of laughter.
Since then we've been strong and we've been close whatever the distance. When our grandmother died she left us each a little money and Kate used it to go round the world over the course of eighteen months. When she came back, she stayed in London for a couple of years. Then got shacked up herself.
We've only had a few of hiccups. I found myself very attracted to Kate's husband, Robert. And though he was a perfect gentleman and a good brother-in-law to me, I ended up seducing him — much to his dream come true (screwing both sisters is well up the on the male fantasy list).
The other was when Kate was asking about all about sex and Laura, my daughter. I got all defensive and paranoid and thought Kate was trying to make a move on my daughter - which I guess is the trouble when you cross over the intra-family sexual boundaries: if you cross one, why not cross another?
But it was a misunderstanding. Kate was trying to encourage Laura to be open and honest about her developing sexuality. And was making a point of reminding me when it was all those years ago that we started.
But ups and downs aside. My love for my sister Kate is at the core of my adult sexual being. My children are my job. My husband Anthony has been a rock, he has had his odd moments, but is a good father and loyal companion. My brother-in-law is a constant source of amusement. My girl-friends are a frequent delight as I now don't worry about being bi. But you can never be deeper, never be closer, never have a greater witness and sharer in your life than your own sister. So I count myself very lucky.