FEELS RIGHT, SWEET MELISSA
I say, Stinky little woman.
She says, "I'm not stinky."
I say, Stinky little woman, stinky-stinky little thing.
She says, "If I'm so fragrant, then take me to the
bathtub, wash me."
No, I say, stinky in a good way. How's the line from
that movie go? 'I can smell your cunt.'
"*Silence of the Lambs*," she says. "And that line was
uttered by a psychopath."
Psycho, huh?
I reach down, I gently bite my sister's left breast, we
both leer at each other like maniacs.
* * *
I say, What I like about you, I like the fact that I
don't have to bullshit you. I can't bullshit you. You
already know me better than anyone on the planet.
She says, "You like me cause I'm convenient."
* * *
I say, "Are you gonna eat that?"
"Eat what?" she says. We are in the bedroom, not the
kitchen; we're lazing on her sheets, not a crumb or morsel
in sight.
I say, Are you gonna eat that?, and then I point to her
crotch.
"Uhhhhh..."
Well, I best not let it go to waste, then.
* * *
I say, I wipe my mouth and say, You're adorable.
She says, "I'm a paragon of kittenish cuteness or
whatever. Your point being?"
Sassy-sassy thing, I say, did she wake up on the wrong
side of the litterbox?
She says nothing, she sticks out her tounge.
* * *
Stinky little female, sassy little thing, blood of my
blood, wonderful and evil and beautiful sister of mine.
* * *
Sunday afternoon, nothing to do but lounge out by the
pool and rub sunscreen on my sister's naked ass. Of course,
it's only April, and the landlord won't let us take the
black tarp off the pool till June. I will hunch over my
laptop, try to keep the sunny glare off the screen, invent
equations to help Wall Street divination gurus determine the
future of Chinese hog markets. Melissa will spread a
terrycloth towel on the wooden deck, lie out for hours, till
she glows pink as a sore throat. Days later, she will peel,
then fade as pale as ever; we're McGillans, and McGillans do
not tan. There is no real point to this weekend outdoor
ritual. When she said she wanted to rent a house with a
pool, she meant that, and goddamned if we're not going to
enjoy it, even if we can't swim in it.
Last year, when she half-joked that we ought to save a
little cash and get a place together, I doubt she had this
in mind:
*Apply liberally*, the directions on the sunscreen
bottle say, and I do, I do, I do.
Sunday afternoon, and I massage gobs of white sunscreen
into my sister's flesh till the goo disappears.
She says, "Don't use so much, you're making me all
slimy."
I say, You smell like coconuts.
* * *
We're not misanthropes, we're the nice young couple
next door. We're the ones who give grunts of maybe when
invited to the neighbors' monthly barbecue. We always at
the last minute cite vague work-related excuses, we send
over a twelve-pack in lieu of our presence. Yes, Melissa
works from home; yes, she's a script doctor for a
prefers-to-remain-unnamed Hollywood studio; no, she's never
met Tom Hanks (or Madonna, or Jim Carrey, or Jennifer Love
Hewitt, whoever). Yes, I work from home too; yes, software;
no, I don't have any advice how to keep adolescent sons from
hacking into porn sites.
No, I guess we don't get out much.
We're not misanthropes, we're simply good tenants,
we're very concerned that the eight-foot high fence round
our property stay in the utmost repair.
* * *
I say, What I like about us, we can be totally
disgusting in front of each other. Pick our noses, scratch
our pubes, fart, whatever, it's nothing new.
Melissa says, "It's weird, my friend Isabelle, she grew
up on a farm, Isabelle slept in the same bed with her
brothers till she was twelve, and she didn't turn out all
warped."
* * *
Everyone assumes Melly and I are married, cause we have
the same last name.
* * *
We're not nudists either, but it's been over
forty-eight hours since either of us bothered to slip on so
much as a bathrobe. I say, Who needs pants when I've got
you, Melissa? She says, "You're cute. Goddamn
incomprehensible, but cute." Last year when Melissa
suggested we move in together, the nudity was her selling
point: with my previous roommate, I couldn't stride nude
around the apartment. Hmmm, but if you can't bare your butt
in front of your sibling, who can you show it to, right? No
big deal. No big deal. (Here's my penis, wiggle it around;
she swears my dick is truly, truly not a BIG deal.)
So do I want to find a house with her or what?
As toddlers we used to bathe together, even.
Today we could practically wank off in front of each
other, even.
So I distinctly remember asking, And if we move in, and
I'm enjoying a nice long wank, you gonna lend a helping
hand?
At that point, I was kidding.
* * *
My sister sits down on my bed, my sister is wearing
white socks and nothing else, my sister is as tantalizing to
me as a wedge of tofu.
"Which is good," she says. "If I turned you on, if,
you know, you actually wanted me, this'd be pretty damn
sick."
She picks up my collection of *Celebrity Skin*, stacks the
issues on the nightstand. She moves closer, cracks her
knuckles, wraps her fingers round my erection. Do I want
this slow or fast? Slow, at first. Grasp firmly. Firmly.
It's not made of glass, it's a penis, squeeze the damn
thing, yes, it ain't gonna break. Pull up from the base.
Yes. Stroke, two, three four, stroke, two three four, oh,
baby, hey, baby, yo, baby, sexy-sexy stinky female...
She grabs my balls and yanks them hard.
Right. I'll shut up.
Ten quiet seconds pass.
She says, "If my back itched, you'd scratch it."
I say, Sure.
"If my shoulders were all sore and shit, you'd rub
them."
Sure.
"If my feet hurt, you'd massage them."
Ayuh.
I say, Little stinker, I understand. This is no big
deal. We are flesh. Flesh aches. If my back needed
rubbing, you would rub; not so different, is it, to massage
my boy-parts? These are your hands, working on autopilot,
purely mechanical, a regular wanking machine. The only
reason I've got a hard-on is cause I'm thinking about
Jennifer Love Hewitt (or Sarah Michelle Gellar, Joanne
Guest, whoever). This does not in any county or state
qualify as sexual intercourse.
She says, "Still, dude, you owe me."
Fine. I'll do laundry.
My cock. Her hand. Stroke, two, three, four,
stroke...
Melissa stares at the bookshelf, doesn't glance at me.
It always begins like this.
* * *
Occasionally we leave. Go out to a movie. Dinner.
The Standard North American Night Out. I have no idea.
Atlanta is only a two-hour drive from the town where we
live. Peruse vintage clothing shops in Little Five Points,
we hold hands and saunter down the sidewalk, I nuzzle her
neck, nobody knows us down here. Take Melissa to a Buckhead
cigar bar. She wears a shimmery silvery dress supposedly
hand-sewed in 1923. We slow dance to Ella Fitzgerald, I
wrap my arms around her waist, we giggle like eejits.
Someday, babe, someday we're gonna have to find actual
friends. Real dates. Other significant others.
On the way back home, stop for gas, spot Chuckie
Hargiss and his wife at one of the pumps. Chuckie with the
black leather jacket two sizes too small, Chuckie still
driving the red Camaro he bought when we were sixteen, hey
Chuck, yo Chuck, how's it hanging, uh-huh it's been years,
uh-huh I'm doing fine.
Chuck whispers, "Is that your little sister?
Fucking-A, I heard she'd growed up and turned all hottie,
but, fuck, I mean, fuck!"
Chuck whispers, "Are you sure she's single?"
Chuck whispers, "I mean, fuck, you remember Lester
Dunn? No shit, Lester's an investment guy now, I mean, he
told me, he ran into your sister last month. All the ladies
love Lester, he's got money, you know? Les gave Melissa his
number, it's fucked up, Melissa never called him back. I
mean, chicks, they love Lester. She should go out with him.
You sure she's single?"
* * *
My sister sits down on my bed, my sister wears white
socks and nothing else, my sister as sexy as tofu, my sister
wanks me off, and I promise her I'm fantasizing a plethora
of porn stars and ex-girlfriends.
My sister stretches out on my bed, I kneel beside her,
my sister spreads her legs.
She says she appreciates this.
I say, No big deal, if I'm gonna use my fingers, I
don't see much difference using my teeth and tongue too.
It's perfectly acceptable for me to kiss your cheek or
forehead. So lets pretend I'm doing that. Except, you
know, a little lower. I cup my hands under her buttocks. I
kiss her ribs, I kiss her belly, dart my tongue into her
navel, smooch down, down, down the happy trail. If Melissa
weren't my sister, she'd be decently arousing, fair to
middlin sexy-sexy. Requisite curves in all areas of
designated curvaliciousness. Long, straight blonde hair.
Pale pale skin, freckles on the bridge of her nose, freckles
on her shoulders. Acorn-shaped breasts, white-pink areolas,
left nipple points forward and true, the other hangs
slightly to the side. Lean body, taut midriff, you could
bounce quarters off of it.
Pubic hair light brown, coarse and wild, like mine.
Hell, I admit it, she's a doll.
Fragrant little female. All damp down there. Did she
have an accident?
"Yes, dork, I peed myself. Not! If you can't figure
why I'm all wet..."
She's all aroused. I'm all arousing.
"No, I'm horny cause I'm thinking of Jennifer Love
Hewitt."
Eh? My sister's bi?
"Sure. Whatever. And you're a tool."
Ayuh.
My sister's scent, slightly acrid, kinda sweet. Like
stale cake reheated. Nice. I think to myself, if I were a
girl, if I had a vagina, it'd taste like this. Her spry
fuzzies. Her pink wrinklies. Kiss, kiss, Melly's lips. I
think to myself, am I doing this right? I penetrate with my
tongue, I suck her labia to my teeth. "Ow, not so hard,"
she says. It's like playing music. Establish a rhythm.
Then do variations on the theme, change the lapping speed.
Lick in different directions, strokes, swirls. I discover
what makes her whimper. I press my nose into her pubic
bone.
Stick two fingers in, jiggle two fingers inside her,
like I'm tapping piano keys. Faster rhythm. Faster. My
mouth tickles her clit, fingers grooving along. My thumb
finds her anus. Presses against it. Pushes in. Her
sphincter tightens round my knuckle. Stimulate both her
holes, feel the different textures. I clamp my fingers and
thumb together, I squeeze her innermost muscles. Yeah, I'm
simply giving her a massage.
I prop myself up on an elbow, I move my up face near
hers.
Her chest rises, falls, rises faster. Breasts jiggle.
Her breath is warm against my neck.
My hand practically pulsates. I scratch her deepest
itch. I lean down, nibble on her shoulders, gently bite her
collarbone, her breasts. She pulls her arms up behind her
head. Dewdrops of sweat glisten in her armpits-- I lick her
pits, it's not so awful, her sweat-scent identical to mine.
This is not sex, this is masturbation, her flesh is my
flesh, blood is my blood, her taste is mine. My fingers
writhe inside.
I kiss the bridge of her nose.
Her anus suckles my thumb; warm, slick; her nether eye.
So now I pop my thumb out, so now I bring my hand up-- our
mouths hover close together, and I place my hand between
them. My Melissa-flavored fingers, my fingers are a mutual
dare. I wait.
I smile.
She scuttles her fingernails up my testicles, my cock.
I'm at half-mast. She exhales, glares at me. "You are
*not* getting hard again," she says.
Forgive me. I flick my cock. Uh, not flaccid...
"Lemme guess," she says. "If you're gonna use your
hands, you might as well use your mouth. Mouth, hell, might
as well stick lil' willy in too, huh?"
I say nothing, I run my index finger across her teeth.
I touch her tongue.
She makes a face.
What? I say. My fingers are naturally sweetened with
Melissa goodness. No artificial additives or preservatives.
"Right, dork, major turn-on. We women thrill to do
nothing but sit around all day and spread our legs and savor
the smell of our own--"
Really?
"No. Not really."
I love her taste. My thumb is a mutual dare, my damp
thumb, I lick it first, ha ha, la la la, I win.
She says, "You're a freak, boy."
I say, You're gorgeous.
She says, "If I let you put your dick in me, it don't
mean you're having sex with me. Make sense? You're just
using my vagina as an advanced organic masturbation device."
I say, Huh-huh, duh, you use big 'ol words.
She says, "And I'm using you as a dildo."
I say, Use me.
* * *
How's that verse go? Old blues song? 'I know a
girl/She lives on a hill/If she won't do it/Hey, look, cool,
*my* little sister will'?
No, wait, I don't think that's how it goes at all.
Mel, darling--I say this to her--seriously, someday we
must find real spouses.
She sighs.
* * *
My sister stretches out on my bed, my sister wears
white socks and nothing else, my sister spreads her legs. I
climb on top of her. I am her drooling dildo. I am her
grinning tool.
I say, I love you, Melissa.
Push myself against her, I work my way inside her,
little thrusts. She is warm and calm. Does my sister's
heat feel different than other women's? Yes. More...
electric; that's not exactly the right word; but it's
similar to one of those kiddie puzzles, this peg crafted only
for this hole. Yes. The nerves of the most sensitive parts
of our bodies press together, I feel the energy between
us... or, damn, maybe I am imagining things.
She won't look at me.
I say, What?
She won't speak.
I stick my hand in her armpit, I try to tickle her. I
need a reaction here, babe; what's the prob?
She says, "I cannot fucking believe you."
Excuse me?
"You. Boinking me. You're such a shithead."
We do this all the time, I thought this was our
favorite game; what the hell?
She says, "You like me cause I'm easy."
Do huh?
"I wash the sheets. I cook the meals. And the only
time you ever goddamn get out of the house is when I take
you someplace."
I say, I love you, Melissa.
"Sure. As a sister."
Well, yeah. So?
"Get off of me."
I repeat, I love you, Mel...
"Wonderful. My grinning dildo loves me as a sister.
This is sooooo how I always hoped my stupid life would turn
out." She looks in my direction now. "I make sure the rent
is paid on time, you love that. Get the hell off me."
I say, If you're sick of this game, I'll stop.
"Good. Are you gonna move off of me?"
No. Hell no.
I lean down.
I put my hands behind her neck. My fingers interlace
with her hair, hot and damp. I lift her head, I bring her
face up to mine.
I've never kissed my sister on the mouth before, not
like this. My tongue explores her teeth. I breathe her
breath. I feel like I'm fondling her tonsils, I have no
clue, I'm trying to express something here, I'm sorry, babe.
I say, Fuck the game. I love you, Melissa, I'm in love
with you, I've been in love with you for years, I assumed
you knew that, I'm an eejit, I apologize.
My sister kisses me in return, my sister beneath me, sweaty
gorgeous living nudity, stinky little thing. I am inside
her, I've never felt this awake, I've never felt this giddy,
like all the blood's rushed out of my brain and straight
down to my cock. I'm inside her, then I'm sliding out,
sliding back in. Our mouths stay together. I can't kiss
her hard enough. Her hips buck and jerk. Establish a
rhythm, in-out in-out, faster, slower, spirals. My hand
goes down her belly, my hand finds her clitoris, then my hand
goes back up, finds her mouth. Sweetness. We kiss again,
her taste on both our tongues.
I can feel her orgasm, I am nothing save a grinning
extension of her. I experience her crescendo, muscles deep and
deeper, a primal quiver, tension, relax. I want more
than what our bodies can give us, I wanna swallow her whole,
I wanna crawl under her skin, I have no mind, I have no
clue, I am her, I cannot think coherently-- I'll settle for
this, her breasts, my testicles, shudder and strain,
girl-parts and boy-parts, I'm coming too.
I may have mentioned: I've never made love to my sister like
this.
* * *
I may have mentioned: We're not misanthropes. At least
once a month we leave our fenced enclave. Nashville gay
bars are her favorite lately. Skull-thumping techno music,
brilliant blinding red and blue strobe lights, anything goes
here, don't nobody care about nothing here. Tip the DJ ten
bucks, ask him to play something slow, something I can dance
to. Melly and I sway together, I wrap my arms around her ass,
I lick her neck, we make out like teenagers escaped from the asylum.
Everyone assumes we're married, cause we have the same last name,
cause we can't stop smiling at each other, not to mention the ring
I finally bought her.
Copyright (c) 2000 Ed Mueller