ARCHIVED STORY

My sister and I fell in love after a party when we were in high school. We
threw a beer bust, and after everybody left, she and I wound up sharing what
was left of a bottle of wine, laying on my bed in my bedroom. We were drunk
as a couple of skunks. Looking back on it, I think we were both trying to
find an excuse to overcome our inhibitions. We both were already sexually
active, so it wasn't like we didn't know what we were doing. We were
giggling and laughing about the party--and I started tickling her. She
laughed and shrieked and squirmed, and I was playfully trying to pin her
arms, when suddenly we were kissing passionately. There was a second where
we looked into each other's eyes and then "wham" we were French-kissing.
After that first kiss, she said "We can't do this. You're my brother!" and
then she kissed me again. We kissed and cuddled and kissed and then I
started fondling her breast through her t-shirt. (She was wearing a
t-shirt, blue jean shorts and lacy underwear.) She just looked at me,
closed her eyes and started kissing me again. Pretty soon, I had her shirt
off and was sucking her nipples. After that, she was game, and I put my
hand down her shorts and then she kicked off all her clothes and my
beautiful, gorgeous, sexy sister was laying in my bed without a stitch,
luxurating in the fact that she had my full, undivided attention.
I kicked off my blue jeans too, but I was so drunk, I couldn't get an
erection. We went to the shower in the master bedroom and washed each
other, then back to bed, wet as a couple of seals. Finally I got an
erection, and when I took her, she wrapped her legs around mine and we made
love deep and hard. When I finally came (it took quite a while, I was
plastered) she said, "I can't believe I just got balled by my own brother!
Do you still love me?" And I told her how much. I woke up, much later, and
she was gone out of my bed. So I got up and went to the bathroom, and I
found her, naked, passed out on the floor of the "kid's" bathroom, the
toilet full of vomit. I guess she got sick from all the booze. Anyway, I
woke her up, and she was very embarrassed and ran down the stairs naked to
her room. Her clothes and underwear were still in my room. I went back
and passed out again.
The next day, we were both completely hung over and sick. She couldn't even
look at me for the shame. I tried to tell her I was sorry, that I would do
anything to make it up to her. We cleaned up the house from the party.
Later that night my Mom came home again, so I hardly had time to even try to
talk to my sister about what we had done.
About a week later, at night, I went down to get a glass of milk, and she
heard me and got up. She was dressed in a long, cream-colored tricot
nightgown, and I was in jockey shorts and a t-shirt. Standing in the
kitchen in the dark, she let me say "I'm sorry," and then she embraced me
and whispered, "It's not all your fault--I wanted it too." After we held
each other in the darkened kitchen, she took me by the hand and led me to
her bedroom, and we made love very gently, and very tenderly, and I told her
over and over "I love you more than anyone else, and I will always, always
be your brother and your lover." We dated secretly the last year in high
school, by lying about who we were going out with. Finally, when I was 20,
and she was 19, she thought she was pregnant. I was terrified and elated
both at the same time.

I had a lot of guilt and anxiety about what my sister and I had done.
Especially before we talked in the kitchen that night, I was wracked with
feelings of guilt. Because I had been so drunk the night we made love, I
had some unanswered questions about whether on not I had used any force. I
really felt bad. When we talked in the kitchen, my voice was shaking with
remorse and anxiety and --well, lust. I asked her (trying to get around
having to say "Did I rape you?--Jeeze) "Was there any force used?" and she
said, "Well, no--not exactly. You were very determined, but I didn't say
"no." It's my fault too--I opened my legs for you--you didn't do anything
to me that I didn't want you to do. We were both really drunk." I was
very, very relieved. I was also startled when she took my hand and led me
to her room, but of course, in that state of anxiety and arousal, I would
have done anything she wanted. At first, we were standing there kissing and
fondling each other in the dark--I was breathing ragged breaths like a steam
engine, and the fact that I obviously wanted her so much made her excited,
too, and she asked me "Do you want to do it to me that bad?" and I answered
in a hoarse whisper, "Yes. Just once more and we won't do it again, I
promise." She lifted her arms and I pulled her nightgown over her head and
skimmed out of my underwear and we climbed into her old-fashioned brass bed.
She raised her legs and put her heels on my shoulders. I was as gentle as
I could be, but when I went deep, I went just as deep as my penis would go,
and with each stroke she let out a little "Oh!" noise. After I came, the
guilt washed over me again. My god, what am I doing, she's your sister,
what if she gets pregnant? We lay there breathing hard for a few
minutes--listening to the silence of the dark house. I was straining to
hear any sign that my Mom or other sisters might be awake or had heard us.
I whispered, "I better go to bed," and she whispered back "Be careful on the
stairs, I can hear it when you come down at night to the kitchen." I
started to get up, to pull out of her, and she reached up and took my face
in both her hands and gave me a long, tender kiss of love and whispered "I
love you, brother." I whispered back "I love you too, honey. See you in
the morning."
At breakfast, I could not detect a single thing different. She was her
usual bouncy good-natured self. I saw her talking to people at school, or
on the phone with her boyfriend and I was jealous. The brother-sister
relationship we had, which of course included some bickering and arguments,
seemed unharmed. I was grateful. Although we had said that it was the last
time, I still thought about her all the time. I loved her, as a sister, but
I was also "in love" with her. Instead of Playboy models or my girlfriend
at school, I fantasized about her when I masturbated. She had an argument
with a boyfriend that she wasn't too serious about, and broke up with him.
I was trying to console her, and to find out what they argued about, and she
blurted out "Sex! He wanted to have sex again and I said no," she looked up
at me and said "You are the only one in my bed now. You--and you only." I
knew right then that we weren't going to stop. I leaned over to kiss her,
and she threw her arms around my neck and gave me a very deep, long kiss.
And then she whispered, "Promise me. Promise me you will never hate me." I
replied, "Hate you? How could I ever hate you? You're my little sister--I
LOVE you, and I will always love you."
She actually continued to date him, but I stopped being jealous. Whenever
she would go out with him, we had this little game we played, where I would
wait up for her to get in, and she would wink and say "Not to worry!" That
meant, "No, he didn't get any!"
There were plenty of opportunities for us to be alone at home, but she was
worried we would get caught eventually, en flagrante delicto. I was very
eager to make love again, so I suggested we start "dating" so we could get
away from the house together. A few times we just "went to the movies
together" and wound up in the back seat of my mother's station wagon in the
parking lot of a nearby university, but I was really concerned that this was
a great deal more dangerous than just sneaking around at home when everyone
was asleep.
Eventually, she found a girl at school who was dating a boy of whom her
parents highly disapproved. Under the guise of "helping them out" we
arranged for me to ask the girl out, and he to ask my sister out, then we
would meet and swap dates. The great part about this idea was that we had a
great excuse for being out on a date, all dressed up, together in public.
We did all the things that teenagers do, walked holding hands at the mall,
smooched in the movies, went out to eat. We lived near the Gulf of Mexico,
and used to drive down and spend the day at the beach, surfing and
sunbathing. We used to drive way down the island to a secluded spot and
sunbathe nude in the sand dunes. It was heaven. And, of course, we had
plenty of opportunities to make love.
And then, she missed her period.
She told me, jokingly, "Hey, you're going to be an uncle." "What?" "Yeah,
I might be preggers--I'm a week late." We both laughed. Three weeks later,
it wasn't funny, and she began to get morning sickness. We decided that she
should immediately sleep with her "boyfriend" and claim that the baby was
his, then get an abortion. That's what we did. Abortion was illegal in our
state then, but she and my mother flew to California and she had one there.
I stayed at home, and went out and got roaring drunk. I was mourning--I
knew things would never be the same.
About a week after they returned, I sneaked downstairs at night to talk to
her. She was a little depressed ("I didn't want to have the abortion,
really, but I knew we couldn't have the baby. It was so sad.") We kissed
for a while, laying on her bed, and then she said "My boobs are getting
bigger." "What?" "They are. Look!" She raised her babydoll nightgown, and
I could see that she was right. Shyly, she whispered "Do you want to taste
it?" meaning the milk, and I was just at a peak of lustful anxiety and
raggedly whispered back, "Yes!" She let me nurse for a long time at both
breasts. The milk did not taste sweet, though, it really tasted kind of
bitter, because she was on antibiotics from the abortion. "Did you like
it?" she asked, and I fervently said "Yes--thank you, it was so wonderful."
I was just marveling at the amazing illicitness of it--I was nursing
mother's milk from my OWN SISTER who had been pregnant with MY OWN BABY. I
could practically smell the sulphur fumes from Hell from where I was laying.
"We really have to stop," she said. "I know." "No, really." "I know."
"I have some PhisoHex in my bathroom (this is a type of antibacterial soap
no longer sold.) I can't get pregnant now. If you wash with PhisoHex, we
can do it one last time." I was as concerned as she was about infecting her
with something. I washed with Phisohex, and then, very gently, we made love
again. I started to pull out for coitus interruptus (I normally came inside
her) and she said, "No, don't leave! It's okay. Just this one last time."
So I slid it as deeply and as gently as I could, and came inside of her as
we held each other.
Upstairs in my room, smelling her pussy on me, I cried into my pillow. Life
seemed so fucked up. I loved her, she loved me, why couldn't we just be
allowed to do what seemed so right and so natural?

Since my sister and I had agreed that we had to stop having sex, and I felt
guilty and responsible about the abortion (but, secretly, in a way that I
still cannot really understand, very proud and satisfied that she got
pregnant--as though we had accomplished something very rare and worthwhile)
I did my best to stay busy with other things, like surfing and going out
with my friends. We weren't angry at each other or anything like that. I
did my best to treat her in a "brotherly" way, and to completely avoid any
indication that I still desired her. I kept telling myself "We are brother
and sister forever, even if we never touch each other again, we still have
to love each other and go on with life." After I graduated from high
school, I got a job and moved in to a ratty apartment in the "hippie"
district of our city. I had a girlfriend who was very good-looking and I
transferred all my attention, affection for my sister and sexual energy into
that relationship. My sister moved into an apartment as well, with a room
mate. I used to visit her there, trying to time it so the room mate was
gone and we could at least have a few minutes of privacy.
The first time I went to her apartment she was kind of angry at me. "How
come you haven't called, or come by?" she asked me accusingly. I told her I
sort of thought she didn't want me to. "Don't be crazy!" she said. "You're
still my brother! I love you, but we just can't make love any more." She
was very warm and affectionate, but when I touched her breast, she shied
away and scolded "Robert! None of that. We can't do that anymore." She
enjoyed kissing me, though, and several times we almost got caught sitting
on her couch necking. Finally, one Saturday night we were kissing and
petting on the couch and we were both so aroused, she said "Okay, you can
touch me, but no balling, okay?" I knew somehow, as soon as she said it,
that she wanted me to give her an excuse. "I'm worried my room mate is
going to come back tonight and catch us. I'm going to change." She went
back into the bedroom and I followed, where she pulled off her blue jeans
and put on a long flowing Indian-print skirt (a "hippie" dress, popular with
girls back then) and no panties. We laid down on the bed and she eventually
let me masturbate her, with the skirt pulled up. After a while she and I
were both so aroused I was virtually pleading with her, and she gave in. I
took my blue jeans and underwear off and we made very passionate love, but
with her still wearing her clothes, except for panties. As we were laying
there in the afterglow, I heard someone putting the key in the lock, so I
leapt out of bed and ran into the bathroom with my clothes and dressed in
there. When I came out she was sitting in the kitchen, talking to her room
mate, and I was trying to act casual, but the room mate knew something was
up. She could probably smell the scent of sex. I could tell by the way she
looked at us, with a sort of wrinkled nose, that she was suspicious. When
my sister walked me out to my van, and kissed me goodbye (a very chaste,
sisterly peck on the cheek) she whispered "See! I told you she was coming
home. We can't do this again." I said, "Come to my place, nobody will know
or care." She said, "No. I just can't do that. We have to stop, and I
really mean it this time. No more fooling around, period." It made me sort
of angry, even though I knew she was right.
I didn't see her again for several months, thinking that if we stayed apart
long enough, it would "go away." I went over to visit when I heard she and
her room mate had a big argument, and the room mate moved out. We sat in a
rocking chair and cuddled, but she was adamant that we could not have any
sex. I proposed that she and I move in together and split the rent, but she
was too worried we would get caught. Again, I knew she was right. If we
lived in the same apartment we would be sleeping together without a doubt,
and it would be just a matter of time until somebody we knew or a family
member caught us.
She eventually moved out of that apartment and back in with our mother and
one younger sister, in a small, two-bedroom apartment. Our mother had been
forced by economics to give up the house we had all grown up in. After our
parents' divorce the economic condition of the family had been steadily
going downhill. I went over to visit at Mom's apartment, and the four of us
had dinner together. It grew late, and I decided to spend the night on the
couch. In the middle of the night, she woke me up, dressed in a very sexy
nightgown (this wasn't our usual routine,) almost a negligee', and wanted to
make love right there on the couch. My mother's bedroom door was ten feet
away. I whispered "No! Are you crazy? We can't do it here!"
We quietly went to her bedroom (separated from my mother's room by a
bathroom) and we made love on a blanket on the floor with a pillow under her
bottom for comfort. We were trying to be very, very quiet, but it had been
so long, I really wanted her badly. She had hooked her heels over the back
of my legs (this was a signal between us that she wanted me to come inside
of her) and whispered "God! If Mom found us now she'd think we'd both gone
nuts!" I actually took her twice, after a short rest. Then I sneaked back
to the couch, feeling guilty, wondering if anybody heard us. The next
morning, after Mom went to work and our younger sister to school, we made
love again, only this time with the dead bolt lock on and the apartment all
to ourselves. She got to be as noisy as she wanted, and it was wonderful.
She said to me "When I hear you straining to do it to me, and I can hear
myself saying stuff, it just makes we want you to make a baby in me. Isn't
that crazy? The last thing we need is another problem like that." In fact,
she was on the Pill, and we were supposedly safe from that particular
hazard.
We spent the day together, walking around the city, but she seemed to get
sadder and sadder as the day wore on. I couldn't understand why she felt so
sad. It seemed like a great day to me.
A few days later, I came by my Mom's apartment again and she seemed very
distant, and sort of upset, as though she might cry at any moment. I asked
her to accompany me to the store to get cigarettes (just to get her alone so
we could talk) and when I tried to hold her and kiss her in a large,
darkened parking lot about a block from the apartment, she shied away from
me and began crying. "We can't DO this," she bawled. "We have to STOP."
"But you like it just as much as I do, " I said. "Sometimes you're even
hornier than I am--like the other night on the couch. What was that all
about?" She sniffled a few times, wiped her eyes and said "We have to stop,
Robert, and I mean it. Do you LOVE me?"
I said, "Yes, of course I do, you know I do."
"Then if you love me, you need to leave. And you need to stay gone until I
tell you it's okay to come back."
"Are you serious?"
"PLEASE, Robert. Please! Just go."
I was hurt and angry. "Okay! Fine! I WILL."
And I did--I got rid of all the junk furniture I had, gave my extra clothes
to the Salvation Army, sold my van and went "on the road."
A few months laterI heard from another family member that she was engaged,
and then, later, that she had married. After a couple of years, I came
back.
While I was back, living in a commune, my grandfather passed away, and my
Dad (with whom I had a rather distant relationship) asked me to go with him
to the funeral and burial, in another city. I agreed. While we were
driving late at night he said, "I want to ask you something. Your mom told
me something that I'm concerned about. Are you sleeping with your sister?"
I was suddenly practically speechless, and I said, "No way, Dad! What kind
of guy do you think I am?" But in my heart, I knew we were busted. He
didn't pursue it, and I thought the best way to deal with it was to just
ignore it. Obviously, Mom must have heard (or possibly even witnessed) us
making love in my sister's bedroom at the apartment.
My sister and I have discussed that period in our lives a few times since
then. Over the years, her memories seem to have changed. She has sort of
reduced it to one incident (the first night) and offhandedly remarked once
"Hey, we were really drunk, that's all."
I loved her then and I still do. But she asked me a real question that
night in the parking lot. "Do you love me? If you do, you need to leave.
And you need to stay gone." So that's what I did, and where I am. "Gone."
But I still love her, and I really, really miss the extraordinary closeness
and the deep passion of our love affair. Whenever I have doubts, whenever I
begin to wonder if it was all some self-delusion on my part, I remember
those times when she hooked her heels over the back of my knees and
whispered, "Now, Robert, now---please make a baby in me now." It wasn't all
just me. And it wasn't just because we got really, really drunk.