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The author enjoys feedback and comments: autoeroticrobot[at]yahoo[dot]com. ... Or look me up in Second Life: avatar Fnugus Abismo.
WARNING: This story may depict sexual activity of fictional beings, solo, or between men and women, or women and women, or men and men, of various ages, which may be above, or below, the age of consent, in one or another real-world polity. Or something like that. If that freaks you out, or violates some law that applies to you or your computer, please don't read it.
This bit starts out based on something that really happened over the recent holidays. I decided to write it down after a recent online conversation with a reader of my longer work, after mulling over the inevitable question he asked me, "how much is based on reality?" Seems fuzzy... and getting fuzzier. I'll leave as an exercise for the reader to decide at what point this little bit stops being true and becomes fantasy.
Sisflash
I was staying with my sister and her family over Christmas - something of a tradition, in recent years. My sister and I are pretty close, and only 11 months apart in age, although she's adopted, so it wasn't the burden on our mother that it might have been. We fought and played like twins as children, and after a teenage period of mutual alienation, we'd developed a deep friendship and mutual respect as adults (at least I hope she sees it that way).
I emerged from the bedroom where they were putting me up. Sis was sitting at the kitchen island, reading the paper and drinking some coffee, eating leftovers from the elaborate Christmas-morning breakfast of the day before. She was still in her pajamas, a red-pink flannel looking set, but remarkably thin cloth. And, notably, she was evidently braless, and the dark nipples under the cloth were prominent. I was stunned - my sister had never been particularly immodest, and her style of dress could best be described as "soccer mom / professional".
I've been to some degree or another infatuated with my sister for as long as I can remember, but I'd never done anything about it, and I'd always felt guilt about the occasional bouts of lust her proximity would induce in me.
So I felt even greater alarm when, after some small talk, out of the blue, she remarked, "Seems like ever since I turned 40 my sex drive has been out of control." Now, she and I were capable of some very frank and personal conversations, and past talk had been known to include some innuendo, but only of the mildest forms. This was unprecedented.
Fortunately, I managed a quick comeback. "Good thing you're married, then." My sister's husband was a hunk, even I had to concede. If I was going to have a threesome with a man and a woman, these two had always been near the top of my list - and not just because she was my sister.
My sis tilted her head and chuckled. Then asked, "how can you stand it, not having a relationship for so long? It's been what, 7 years?"
Seven years since my wife committed suicide, after we'd separated the previous year. I was still wounded and dysfunctional, relationship-wise. Given how the conversation had started, I decided to take a risk, and answered, "I have an active fantasy life. And excellent hand-eye coordination."
Another laugh, then, but her eyes dropped involuntarily to my lap. Crap - was this for real? Nothing like this sort of exchange had ever taken place between us. I pondered whether my own recent fantasy life was somehow, on some level, "visible" to her - she was a trained psychologist and an astute observer of people. And I'd been going through a phase where I'd been much more openly (well, openly to myself) fantasizing all kinds of kinky things, including incest fantasies with you-know-who. I mean, strange coincidence. I could wonder if she was a consumer of online erotica, and had discovered my pseudonym and the story I'd been posting, and was messing with me.
She looked away and sipped her coffee. A pause.... "T___ hasn't had much of an appetite, lately," she complained. Her husband. "Might have to work on that hand-eye coordination, myself." She shrugged. Stood up. Stretched, displaying those excellent perfect half-spheres under the pajama shirt, with their little hats. And then she disappeared into her bedroom.
I decided I needed a long shower.