I paced nervously back and forth shaking.

A voice in my head told me it was wrong, but she would never know.  She might feel a little sore or stretched the next morning, but she would never know it was me -- would never suspect her brother of raping her.  She had passed out in the car a few minutes after I picked her up anyway.  What if she had passed out at that run down club?  Those guys and a girl like her?   They would have fucked her till her cunt was a bloody, raw mess!  Was it really that wrong?  I had saved her from [i]that[/i] after all; I was just her gentle brother.  I had helped her out in the middle of the night when she was wasted plenty of times.  Why couldn't -- why [i]shouldn't[/i] -- she pay me back?

I was shaking, insanely nervous.  My entire body shook with tremors as I looked at her petite body passed out sideways on the bed.  Her legs were wide - spread... calling to me.  I had put her in that position though when I dropped her from my shoulder walking from the car, already thinking of all the things I would love to do to her as her warm body pressed against mine without her knowledge.

I had taken her shoes and sweater off when I set her down.  "No reason to sleep in those," I had told my self.  I had wondered about her jeans.  They looked awfully tight, but she would think it was weird if she woke up in her tight white tank top and her panties.  She was wearing a black thong.  I had seen it when I was carrying her from my car into her apartment.  I had [i]tried[/i] to pull her pants up, but when I shifted her on my shoulder, they fell down more, showing me the top of her amazing ass.  When I put her on the bed, I had put her face down to pull up her pants.  I stuck my hands inside her pants to pull them up.  Her warm butt felt warm and soft.

I had rolled her onto her back once that was done, and I took her shoes and sweater off.  Those jeans!  They looked so uncomfortable, tight... restrictive -- not exactly right for sleeping.  Maybe I would just change her into something else!  That way, she would be more comfortable, and she wouldn't wake up half naked.

I started to look around for some shorts or something in her drawers, but decided I would find them once I got her pants off.  After getting her flat onto her back with little resistance, I undid her decorative belt.  I looked at her face:  still no resistance;  She was out cold.  How much had she drank?  Why did she always drink so much?  And why, for God's sake, did she always drink in the bad part of town, wearing skimpy clothes?

I glanced at her again with my hands on her button -- nothing.  I undid the button and unzipped the zipper, throwing her another uncaught glance.  I grabbed her jeans down by her feet and pulled lightly.  The jeans were stuck under her dead weight, and I had to pull them up and down quite hard to get them to start sliding slowly, roughly down her smooth legs.  It was an accident! Yeah, an accident when my hand brushed her barely covered 'area'.  I don't even know why I was reaching there; her pants were quite a bit lower, and grabbing them from the top obviously offered zero advantage.  My hand detracted shamefully after the [i]act[/i], like a child, running from a place he knew he shouldn't have been.

Once the jeans were off, I dropped them to the floor and subconsciously hid them under the bed.  I spread her legs.  Comfort, right?  Her thong looked awkwardly sideways, so naturally, I straightened it for her.  I pulled it out from her body and looked from the side to make sure it was straight.  Her soft lips brushed my finger and caressed my eyes for a moment before I let the cloth fall back into place.

Maybe I would find her a different shirt, too.  She had worn that one at a bar all night; it had to feel dirty and smell like cigarettes.  I climbed onto the bed ontop of her.  Cold precum felt awkward as my penis rubbed against my moist blue jeans.

Her shirt was hard to get off.  I laid her arms above her head and grabbed her shirt at the bottom, crouching closely over her the entire time.  I attempted to lift her back up and slide the shirt over her head, but my plan failed with only half of her back raising, leaving the shirt to stick on the other side.  I sat up on her stomach, supporting my self with my legs, for a moment as I thought.  I pulled her shirt up as far as I could and then pulled it straight up.  It came off, and she fell back onto the bed, still somehow asleep.

I realized how inappropriate it was for me to be sitting on her with just her undergarments on, but I was her brother.  It wasn't like I was going to do anything.  I rolled off of her and looked around absentmindedly for a moment, suddenly remembering my original goal.  I found some small Sofees and a plain white T-shirt.

I decided to get the shirt on first, reflecting on how hard the previous one was to get off.  I pulled her to the side of the bed so I could stand over her and looked down at her bra.  Surely she didn't normally sleep in her bra?  Would it be wrong to take it off?  I was her brother after all.  Not like I would enjoy it or anything.

I knew I was lying to my self as my cock tried to get out of its blue jean jail.  I reached behind her and clumsily unhooked her bra before removing it.  "38C"  I had always wondered what size her breasts were.  I tossed the bra down.  Her small nipples attracted my eyes, and I looked for a moment.  Surely a touch or two wouldn't hurt.

I was soon gluttonously massaging her orbs.  Rubbing them in circles, wrapping my hands around them, rolling her nipples inbetween my fingers.  Had she been awake, and I wasn't me, she might have enjoyed it, but it wasn't for her.

All of a sudden I was hot.  I took off my shirt, hoping to relieve my self from the heat.  My pants were too tight!  Bah!  Had I been at my house, I could have been comfy in my bed, just boxers on.  My pants were sooo tight.

I took off my pants too.  I stroked my cock without meaning to through my boxers.  It was rock hard, and wet spots polka-dotted my red boxers.

I looked at my helpless sister.  She sure did look cold.  Maybe I would lay down with her a for a few minutes.  I awkwardly pulled the comforter down, somehow managing to slide it under her, and I pulled it off of the bed before pulling the first sheet down too.  I pulled the sheet over her, and climbed into the bed on the other side of her.

I didn't make up an excuse this time.  I didn't even try to think of one.  I laid flat on my back and pulled her warm, soft body ontop of mine after flipping her face down.  She over lapped me at an angle, but her breasts still pushed into my chest.  I wrapped my right arm around her with my head propped up on a pillow, and I stroked her soft, long black hair as it tickled and teased my barechest.

I gave in and took my boxers off.  My hard cock ran up towards my belly button while I laid flat on my back and got my sister on top of me.  Her stomach pushed on my cock, and I rocked her slowly up and down.  Her soft skin felt amazing as it rubbed on mine.  Her tits pushed into me as I ran my hands over her back and through her hair, continuing to rock slightly so my cock ran up and down her stomach.

I finally decided I would do it.  By this point, there was no moral delema about it.  I wasn't think about her as my sister; I wasn't think about consequences -- I was just doing what people were made to do.  It was my [i]purpose[/i].  I was like a machine.

I rolled her off of me, and flung the sheet onto the ground.  I pulled her thong off and slid my finger through her cunt.  My cock throbbed.  It yearned.  It wanted her, and who was I to deny it that natural thing?  I slid a finger in her.  Maybe the breast rubbing had gotten to her.  Most likely her body had just been reacting to mine.  Her cunt was moist.  My finger slid in it easily, and I licked it when I pulled it out.  She tasted good, but now wasn't the time for that.  No.  I was hungry in another way.

She was laying on her back.  Her face looked awkward as I climbed on top of her, like maybe she was in a bad dream.  I let my lips softly brush hers as my body settled.  Her tits pushed into my chest, and my cock was once against pressed against her stomach.  I shifted slightly lower, and maneuved my cock one handed.  I found my mark, and I held my butt high in the air, anticipating the moment.

I grunted as I slid forward into her heavenly abyss.  I still didn't feel any remorse.  None of the weakness that would later follow.  I didn't feel my self giving into worldly pleasures like a heathen.  I didn't see my self betraying the close relationship my sister and I [i]had[/i].  I just saw -- just experienced -- my self getting what I wanted.  She groaned softly in her sleep, but I think it was from a dream again.

My upper body was stationary, concrete weight ontop of her, but my lower body: It was alive;  It was hungry.  My pelvis thrusted in piston like movements.  Up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down.  Just like a piston, I reached my vertical limit, barely still inside of her vagina.  Then, I would thrust back down, until I reached my downward limit, my cock as far as I could get inside of her.  My hands found their way under her and to her shoulders, holding her in a hook.  I held her tightly to me as I continued pumping, thrusting.  She didn't show a sign of consciousness.  Her head hung limply to the side.  Mine was looking the other way.  I didn't want to see her face.  I didn't want to see my little sister.  The woman -- the girl -- I was supposed to protect.  I had always protected her, looked out for her, not taken advantage of her.  What was wrong with me?

What ever it was, it had a strong hold on me.  I was like an animal.  All I felt was her lukewarm tightness wrapped around me.  I was an animal.  I was shameless.  It felt good, so I did it.

The pumping continued for a while.  Now, it's all I think about, but then.... Then, my mind was blank.  I didn't want to think - I just wanted to feel.  Wanted to feel the warm sucking, wanted to feel her hot breasts against me, wanted to feel her cheek against mine, wanted to feel her wrapped up in my arms, holding her close...

I started pumping faster as my cock head grew more tender.  My upper body still stayed still, but my lower body went wild.  I was a broken piston now with no limits.  I tried to go higher, tried to go lower.  I tried to tear into her so I could get deeper.  Feel deeper.  I pumped and pumped and pumped for a moment like each pump would be the last.

Finally, my mind wasn't blank.  It flooded with pleasure and bliss -- extasy.  My arms tightened letting go of her shoulders, and suddenly my weight was on her more.  My back tightened, and my legs flexed, but I kept pumping.  I kept pumping a tiny while after my cock stopped pulsing, and then I kept pumping more.  My cock became flaccid, and all of a sudden my inside were torn out and ran over by a steam roller.

I rolled off of her as if she, the object of my lust, was a sickening leper.  I laid beside her in shock for a moment, and then the world felt like it was crashing down.  I felt like a baby in a crib with Satan glaring down at him.  I felt exposed, vulnerable, almost like I had been the one on bottom.  I began shaking and crying, I feebly wiped  the tears away. After a moment I let them run down my cheeks.  The warm, salty tears felt good.  They felt like they were carrying the evil with them.  That evil, evil lust.  They felt like they were forgiving me, but the crime was so large;  A lifetime of forgiving could never replace it.  I wasn't a sexual beast any more.  My penis was useless, shrunk back to normal.  I curled into a ball and looked at my sister.  My crying intensified.  How could she ever forgive me?  Would she forgive me?  Would she remember it was me?

I'm not sure how much longer I cried, but when I finally defeatedly got up with my face streaked with tears, her clock said 5:37AM through my now dry eyes.  I still felt like crying, but there was nothing left.  My throat was dry and closed, my face was red and puffy, and my eyes were slightly blurry from rubbing them.  She looked so helpless - so innocent.  She just lay there like an angel on the bed with her arms and legs sprawled casually around.

The dead silence of the early morning was foreboding.  I felt the shadow of my sin still hanging over me as I pulled my clothes on, now feeling the cold cum spots in my jeans and boxers and regretting them: almost hating them.  It was their fault, not mine.  Why did I have to lust so strongly?  Why did I think it was worth the 5 minutes for a scarred relationship?  What the fuck was wrong with [i]me[/i]?

I put her bra back on her before going to the bathroom and wetting a cloth.  I felt no arousal as I tried to scrape my cum out of her red vagina.  I became frantic.  What if she had my child?  The whole family would exile us.  They would exile me anyway!  What if I went to jail!  The words in my mind stopped, and I became filled with fear, anxiety - raw emotions.  I scrubbed dilligently which happened to be rough.  Soon her skin looked almost raw.  Soon it looked rough, red... scratched.  I threw the rag away, making sure to hide it under some other stuff in her trash can.

I should have redressed her.  I could have atleast given her that dignity.  But, I couldn't stand to stay at the scene of the crime any longer.  I couldn't bare it.  Looking at her tore my insides out.  My stomach shook, and I felt things begin to come up when I looked at her laying on the bed, wearing just her bra, her legs still spread, her skin now bright red down there.

I closed her bedroom door behind me and left.  I left her house and drove home like I was the drunk one.  I drove carelessly, feeling like I was high.  My eyes were no longer trying to cry, but now I felt an overhanging shadow, like a friend had died, and I had just now accepted it.

When I laid down in my bed, I began to cry again uncontrolably.  I cried that night more than I had in years.  I hadn't even cried in a few years.  I was shocked with my self.  How could I do that?  How could I let my self do that?  Still no consequences registered.... I was just ashamed.  I felt weak.  I felt like humans were weak.  I felt like the entire human race was flawed with sexual desire -- [i]lust[/i].  I thought the word with malice, hatred like my sister would later feel for me.

I had been the betrayer, but she had been the one used to being protected.  Using to being shielded.  How could I take advantage of her like that?  How could I violate her trust?  She no longer saw me as a person.  No.  Just as I had gotten over a death, she got over my death as well.  She got over the brother she had known.  He had been murdered and replaced by a cold bastard!  I no longer had a heart in her eyes, and I definately no longer had a soul to her.

When she had woken up, she had sat up and grabbed her head in pain from the hang over.  The cold air stung her, and she realized she was wearing a bra only.  She wondered why her vagina, both inside and out was raw.  It felt like it had been scraped, and it definately felt like it had recently contained something.  That couldn't be though.  She didn't put it below those guys to use her when she passed out, but she remembered me, her brother, her savior, going to get her.  "No!  It can't be!" She thought.  She put on her clothes, the ones I had meant to dress her with, still trying to figure it out.


If it wasn't me, and it wasn't the guys from the night before, then it must've been.........  She couldn't think of anyone.  She knew it wasn't the guys since I had picked her up.  She wondered around in a daze.  She went to her kitchen to look for food but couldn't think straight.  Surely I wouldn't betray her.  I had always looked out for her.  I had always helped her when she was down.  If I could do that, then anyone could do anything!  She was shocked.

She suddenly felt like her clothes weren't enough, but with another layer the feeling some how multiplied.  She felt exposed and vulnerable even though she was alone and perfectly safe.

--------------------------------------------

Just over 30 years later I saw her.  Our mother had gotten sick.  She was quite old, so it wasn't surprising.  My sister had been caring for her, helping her, but I had been no where to be found.  One day I got a call from my father.  Sometimes I think he knew.  He never asked me why I withdrew from the family.  He never even called me past that day.  I can't imagine her telling anyone that, but maybe she felt she had to tell someone.  Maybe she felt it would ease the shame, the anger, the heartache.

When I saw the caller ID, it never even crossed my mind it could be my father.  The name was my father's, but why would he call me almost 32 years after that night?  Why would he call me out of no where?

We had a long awkward pause when I first picked up and said hello.

"Michael?"

"Yeah?" There was pain and sorrow in my voice coupled with guilt, betrayal, heartache and disconnection.

"This is... your father."  I didn't say anything.  I was tingling, waiting.  My entire body was covered with goose bumps.  Was he about to ask me why I had soullessly raped my sister so many years ago?  Was he going to ask me to come home?  Was he going to say he wanted me to die after knowing what I did to [i]his[/i] one and only baby girl.  His one and only [i]child[/i].  I had been disowned.

"Your mother... She's very sick."

"Oh...?"

"She has... the doctor says she has a few days left.  She's already slipping away."

"She hasn't seen you--" He paused for a long, painful moment, "She hasn't talked to you in 32 years."

I sat silent waiting for him to go on.

"She might want to see you."

I feebly said I would be there soon not even knowing what I was saying.

A day later I found my self on the other side of the United States sitting in my car in the middle of a parking lot.  A sentinal like hospital over looked the parking lot.  It guarded it.

I glanced up at the hospital for a moment.  I looked for a closer parking spot as the raid pattered on my roof.

The heavy rental car door sprung open, and I shot into the nasty air.  Water was all around, and clouds shunned the sun as I ran for the doors.

When I walked into the building, the cold air bit into my cold skin.  I walked up to the receptionist, and after a few moments of conversation got directions to my fading mother's room.  When I walked in, I almost walked back out.  My mom was asleep, and my sister was half asleep leaning on her arm in a chair beside her bed.  My father was somewhere else.  There was no way I could be in there with just my sister and my asleep mother.  I started to walk out, but she looked at me.  She looked at me, asking me if I was going to be that weak with her eyes.  Asking me if I would really walk away because I couldn't handle the guilt.  Asking me if I would hide for another 32 years.  I floated into the room in a catatonic state, and I stood next to the bed looking down at my mother.  Locking it on my mother.  I couldn't bear to look at my sister.

I tried to whisper, but nothing came out.  I tried again: "Mom?"  It was barely audible to even me, but on the third try I managed to get words out.

She slowly and tiredly opened her eyes, and I looked down into them trying to keep from crying.

"How are you?"  Words were still hard to get out.

She mumbled something.  She was on pain pills.  She was dying from cancer.  It was all throughout her shoulders and legs.  It had even started spreading to her head.  I whispered quietly for a moment.  She drifted back into sleep in the middle of a sentence, and I figured I would just let her sleep.  I looked at the door nostalgically for a moment.  I wouldn't be weak.  I wouldn't disappear for another 32 years.  I sat down in a hard chair beside my sister.

She different after 32 years.  Longer hair... Baggier skin.  She looked more tired.  She looked like life had hurt her.  Had I done that to her?

She looked at me, and I looked back at her for a moment.  We made eye contact, and then we both looked away.  She looked back at me, and in a feeble voice asked the question that had hung in her mind for 32 years...

"Why?"

I sat there quietly staring at the ground wishing I had left the room when I had the chance.

"Why?"

I looked at her, and suddenly a dam broke, and the crying from that night broke free again.  I looked at her through my bleary eyes.

"I'm sorry....  I'm sooo... sooooooooo sorry...  I don't know why...."  I stopped talking for a moment.  I couldn't continue I was crying so hard.  I got the crying back under control, and tried again.  "I've been asking my self that for 32 years now...  32 long, cold years.  It hangs over me like a depression...  I'm so, so sorry...."

She just looked at me for a slow moment, and then water consumed her eyes too.  She began crying and we both looked at the ground.  I wanted to hug her.  I wanted to tell her I wish I could undo it.  I wish I could undo everything.  But, it didn't seem quite right.


----------------------------------------

I would like to say we had that healthy, long cry I for which I had lusted for 32 years, but unfortunately, she couldn't bring her self to forgive me.  I sat there for a few minutes feeling horrible.  She had just cried as I cried, and I tried to pat her on the back, but she jumped away.  I can't say I blame her.  Finally after a few hour long minutes, I got up and left, leaving her to cry, still wanting her answer.

I left like a dog with its tail between its legs.  I felt horrible as I walked back out into the rain, this time too distraught to care if I got wet.  I got back in the rental car, and I drove to a hotel.  The next day, I left.  I didn't see my mom again.  I never saw my father, and I thank God that I didn't see my sister again.

----------------------------------------

Years later, I laid on my death bed just like my mother had years earlier, but for me, no family cared.  My father was dead, and my mother had died hours after my plane left.  I kept hoping that my sister would show up.  Each person who walked by in the hall gave me hope, but eventually I didn't even have that.  After two days, I wanted them to let me go.  I wanted my old, ruined body to go into the land beyond.  I wanted to be gone.  I hoped there was no God.  I wanted everything to just end.  I wanted to stop being, stop thinking, stop hurting.  Why couldn't she just come by?!  Around 8AM a day later, my lungs failed, and the doctors couldn't revive me.  I was gone.  Dead.  Nothing.  As I sat up in my bed frantically groping around as I suffocated, I stared at the door way.  My lungs burned, but my heart burned infinitely worse. I wanted to see my her just one more time.  Just once!  I wanted it more than anything I had ever wanted in my entire life.  I wanted it more than anything [i]anyone[/i] had ever wanted.  Like all the other things I had ever wanted in life:  forgiveness, the cloud of guilt to go away, the happiness I saw in other people that seemed so impossible, I never saw her.