She Goes Both Ways

Stopping at both Raleigh and Charleston for a night, the four hundred or so miles trip passed quite pleasantly. Adam met her at the train.

"God he's handsome," she reminded herself, not having seen her brother for three years when he had visited her in London.

Adam had inherited his mother's artistic side and not the commercial nature of their father. Amanda had more commercial acumen, but was also an artist at heart. Both had taken on the warmth of their mother and not the hardness of their father.

Her brother had left the South, just as Amanda had. Following four years at Harvard, and graduating Phi Beta Kappa in fine arts and history, he could not bear the thought of being 'culturally buried' at the plantation. Additionally, he felt little affiliation with the South where he had been raised.

What with Florence's 'Yankee' propaganda during his childhood and the eight years he had spent in New York and Boston at school and university, his perspective, attitudes and whole range of views were far more in tune with Northern thinking than that of the South. He had never expected to return to the Deep South, other than on visits.

After Harvard, he had worked in an art gallery in Boston for a year or so, before moving to New York to join an eminent firm of artwork auctioneers. With the inheritance, he gained when granny O'Rourke, Florence's mother, had died ten years ago, he set up his own gallery on Madison Avenue right in the centre of Manhattan. Whilst it had enjoyed only varying levels of modest financial success, it had been absolutely fantastic as an entrance to, and a way of maintaining a position in, New York's social scene.

So, as Amanda and Samuel had been in London, Adam was in New York, right at the heart of the heart of the trendy, sophisticated, artistic and creative set.

He had studied at Harvard for four years from when he was twenty-two. Florence and granny O'Rourke had paid his fees, his father thinking that most education, other than business related subjects, was a waste of time and learning about art and history was totally pointless.

Adam loved the student way of life. The whole idea of education purely for enjoyment and for learning's sake appealed to his intellectual and creative philosophy. The partying, drinking and mild drug taking played to his hedonistic aspirations and the reasonably ready supply of sex satisfied the constant needs of his flesh.

It was at Harvard that he met Guy, a French Canadian also studying fine art. They got on well, they helped each other with their studies and partied together. They became almost inseparable and a force to be reckoned with by the increasing number of female students at the nearby Lasiter University for ladies. They went whoring together in downtown Boston in the area that later became known as the 'combat zone' and to the many opium dens around Quincy Market and the harbour.

They also had sex together!

It had been accidental. Neither had experienced gay sex before. Neither had really thought about it; it just didn't register with either of them that they would be attracted to another man. And in a way they weren't. It was the buzz, the turn on, the thrill, the adventure, the taboo and experiencing the forbidden that attracted them.

They were in Guy's apartment. They were discussing whether to go and smoke some opium or visit a nearby, upscale brothel.

"It's very cold outside, I think it might even snow." Guy said.

"Shall we stay in then?" Adam asked.

"Yes, shall we?"

"Why not, we've got some booze left." Adam said brightly, for they had been drinking brandy most of the afternoon. They were both slightly drunk.

"No dope though." Guy said gloomily.

"Or women." Adam commented.

"I'm getting fed up with whores, even those at the Craven," Guy responded, referring to the brothel they had thought of visiting.

"I know what you mean," Adam replied, walking over to where Guy was sitting on the floor in front of the blazing fire and poured more brandy into his friend's glass. He stood there in his tight, white breeches, no boots or socks and his lacy, white shirt undone almost all the way down the front, looking down at his similarly dressed friend. "They rarely turn out to be as good as they look," he added, loving the warmth from the fire on his thighs and stomach.

"No, but then I can't be bothered chasing the Lasiter bitches who lead you on then won't get their drawers off for you," Guy sneered.

Adam nodded as he slid down beside his friend on the floor, feeling an unexpected thrill as their legs touched. "Fucking women," he muttered, sipping his brandy and not moving away even though their hips were now also pressed together. He was well aware that he'd instigated the physical contact, but wasn't sure why. The trembling he felt inside also told him that Guy had made no effort to move away.

Instead, he laughed. "That used to be my hobby."

"What did?"

"Fucking women of course," Guy told him, flashing his eyes across at his friend. He and Adam often had this sort of cosy chat, but not with any physical contact between them.

"Who needs 'em?" Adam slurred, reaching up and pushing away the thick lock of black hair that continually fell over his eyes.

"Not us, mon ami," Guy said, casually resting his hand on his friend's leg, midway between his knee and groin. He hadn't meant to, had he? It was as if some sort of external force controlled it.

Adam shivered. It was as though a hot poker had been placed on his thigh. His whole body was tingling at the contact. Did Guy feel the same? Was his friend's cock twitching and starting to lengthen, just like his own? What the hell was happening?

For a while, neither spoke. Only the sound of their heavy breathing filled the otherwise empty air as they sipped their Cognac. Neither wanted to disturb the other and neither wanted the feelings to go away, but neither felt able to say or do anything. Something was happening between them, and neither would or could admit it.

They remained like that for some time, leaning back against a chesterfield, their legs stretched out towards the fire, their tight trousers emphasising their respectable bulges, their shirts open almost to their waists.

Guy's hand almost imperceptibly moved on Adam's leg, and then stopped. The sound of their heavy breathing increased as the possibilities slowly dawned on them both.

They both turned their heads at the same time. Their eyes met. They simply looked at each other, enquiringly on one hand, invitingly on the other. They didn't speak, neither could find the words to express their feelings, but somehow they communicated the same message to each other.

The feelings were not like those when with a girl. They didn't feel tenderness, they weren't seeking a sensitive, caring relationship. It was purely sexual.

But sexual of a sort neither had experienced before. They couldn't understand it nor could they explain it. That didn't matter. All that was of concern was satisfying this new found sexual inquisitiveness, giving vent to the adventure they felt and experiencing the buzz of going outside their sexuality comfort zone.

Guy's hand moved again, softly sliding up Adam's leg. Not all the way, not to where he wanted to put it and not to where Adam wanted it, but far enough to indicate his intent; sufficient so that, with just the merest further movement, the side of his hand would nestle against the bulge of his friend's balls. Adam's leg began to shake uncontrollably under his friend's touch.

In a croaky voice that Adam had never heard before, Guy suddenly broke the silence. "Would you like to remove your shirt, Adam?"

His words burst over Adam. They were simple words, but meant so much. They carried a reassuring message, telling his friend that their feelings, needs, desires and lust were in tune with one another.

"Why don't we both undress?" was Adam's reply. It surprised Guy. It surprised Adam, too. With it, he was accepting Guy's invitation to experiment with their sexuality.

***

"Hello darling," Amanda said, as she stepped down the steps from the train at the main station near to River Street, in Savannah.

"Amanda, it's so wonderful to see you. You look fantastic," Adam gushed to his sister.

She really did look wonderful, too. Her long, thick, chestnut-coloured hair that was piled up on top of her head, with ringlets falling down by her ears, neck and forehead was so different to the parted in the middle, austere look that was still popular in Boston and New York and of course around dreary Georgia.

The pale blue, silk dress with a wide hoop accentuated both her beauty and her body. The bodice was tight with a high neckline and a frilly collar that touched the bottom of her chin. It was pushed out in such erotic curves by the fullness of her breasts and by the way that her usual twenty-six inch waist was pinched in by her corset to a highly fashionable twenty-three inches.

That, together with her upright posture encouraged by her corset, exaggerated the size of his sister's breasts and the flair of her hips. My God, her figure looked so amazingly feminine. As they embraced and kissed, her full breasts squashed against his chest.

Adam was horrified to find himself becoming erect - surely that was all behind them?

They took a carriage to the Eliza Thompson Guest House in what had become known as the Garden District of Savannah. With the price of cotton on a seemingly endless upward trend, until the very recent slump, which most were terming a 'blip', Savannah had been booming. The cotton barons had latched onto the elegant squares and beautiful gardens of, what was considered to be, America's first 'planned' city and had built impressive mansions in the area.

Oglethorpe had set the scene well all those years ago.

They went to their rooms to rest after their travels and agreed to meet for dinner at seven. Right on the dot, Adam tapped on his sister's door. She was waiting for him in a similar style gown to that she'd worn on her arrival, but this was a pale, smoky pink.

His gaze immediately went straight to her magnificent, half-uncovered breasts.

In America, such a sight was something only shared by husbands and wives, and then usually with the lamps out. Yet for some time in Europe, the necklines of gowns, in the evening especially, had been dropping. In the set where Amanda had moved it was often only a few ruffles of lace that prevented the tops of a woman's areola being seen.

Adam had heard and had seen lithographs of European fashions, but had not realised just how extreme it had become.

Meeting his sister's eyes, it seemed she was almost flaunting her well-endowed swells at him. The familiar stirrings in his tight, tailored grey pin-stripe trousers returned and his mind went back to the times he had seen those breasts in all their wonderful female glory.

"As we have so many confidential topics to discuss Adam, I thought it would be preferable to dine in a private room, I hope you agree?" Amanda said as she walked out onto the landing in her voluminous hooped skirt. The bulk made it difficult for her to get through the door of her room and she gave one of her delightful giggles.

"Of course Amanda, whatever you say," he replied, smiling at her laugh. He remembered it so well, and it put him at ease, so he easily fell into the older sister, younger brother roles they had shared most of their lives.

They had a delightful dinner catching up on their lives, before moving onto discussing the plantation. Both agreed that they did not want to stay there permanently and would prefer to sell it as soon as possible.

"But can we with all that's going on?" Adam asked, swilling back more wine.

Amanda had no answer to that. They both knew how difficult that could be. "Let's wait and see when we get to Selby shall we?" she eventually replied thinking that it was a problem for tomorrow, not now.

"Yes of course," Adam replied, dreading the prospect of living on the plantation. The damn thing was miles away from anywhere that he would consider as 'civilisation.'

And that, of course, meant away from a social scene of parties, drinking, dope, girls, hookers and now, occasionally other men. Although he knew he was not homosexual, he was well aware he needed the buzz of a variety of sexual opportunities. His appetite for sex was huge and he was greedy, he was adventurous and he just could not get enough of anything and everything.

Yes, he knew that he could have an almost endless supply of black, slave women, but like the Boston hookers, they did not appeal.

He needed other things. The forbidden. Just like the one he'd found with Guy that marvellous snowy night all those years ago, but which he could recall as if it was yesterday.

***

In the pleasant low eighty degrees temperature of Georgia in November, the thirty miles or so ride in the open top carriage to Meldrim was very pleasant, particularly as much of the way was alongside the lovely, slow flowing Ogeechee River with its abundance of birds and wonderful trees and plants.

'Mmmmm, maybe it's not so bad," Amanda found herself thinking, reluctantly.

Amanda and Adam arrived at the plantation just before six in the evening, their excitement building as they drove up the oak lined half-mile drive from the road. It was, after all, where they had been born and had spent their childhoods.

Their earliest memories were mainly warm and comforting, but as each had developed more sophisticated approaches to life, so Selby Bluff had become somewhere they resented. And now they were back there!

The three floor, ten bedroomed mansion house had lain empty for several months and as the carriage pulled up outside they felt mixed emotions. Neither spoke as the driver opened the door and placed the steps for them to climb down. Both of them had been away so long they didn't know the man who had driven them, nor the footman who opened the door to the house. It was only when the maids, cooks, and general helpers came out and lined up that they both recognised some of the family's slaves and servants.

Amanda had dressed conservatively, realising that London and European fashions had not yet reached New York and Boston, let alone Savannah. Last night had been a massive mistake. Although they ate in a private dining room and despite the guesthouse staff being as diplomatic as they could be, she was aware of their stares. The male waiters and the maitre'd could hardly contain themselves and when they sat on the balcony with some of the other guests, the eyes of the male guests seemed to be popping out.

The resultant stares from their mostly, austere looking wives had been too much for Amanda.

"I think we should go inside," she had said to Adam after just a few minutes of enduring the uncomfortable looks of disdain. She was not shy, but recognised that flashing so much of her bosom was wrong, or at least undiplomatic in this setting. 'Savannah was not ready for Amanda's tits yet' she laughed to herself as she and Adam retired to her room for a nightcap.

Although, beautifully appointed, the second floor room was quite small. It did, though, have French windows opening onto a tiny balcony, which really was not large enough to sit out on, especially in the latest fashion of huge hooped skirts. Instead, there were two chairs with a low table just in front of the open French windows. Within a few seconds, a rather aged waiter brought a jug of red wine and two glasses.

Adam stood and poured the drink as his sister, leaning forward a little, held her glass out for him. Even had he not wanted to, and he was not that shocked to find that he did, Adam could not have avoided seeing Amanda's deep cleavage. Her corset held her back ramrod straight, resulting in the slight forward incline of her body from the waist plunging her magnificent breasts forward. At the same, time the firm corset pushed them up and together, creating a beautifully enticing crease between.

The London fashion of having frilly lace along the neckline of the dress, cut as daringly low as possible, meant that from some angles an onlooker was afforded a glimpse of the lady's areola, something that just never happened in America. Last evening, though, it had happened in Savannah and Adam had found it enormously difficult to tear his eyes away from the patches of pink, the deep crease and the expanse of powdered, soft and yielding flesh that swayed deliciously as his sister moved. Even though they were more covered tonight, the swell in her dress and her cleavage were quite spectacular.

Amanda was only too well aware that Adam was staring at her breasts. He had she knew been staring at them at every opportunity since she had walked down the steps from the train. Smiling, she reminded herself that he had actually been staring at them for years, but she was used to that for many men did just that. In all honesty, she told herself, it was not something that worried her unduly and in fact like many other ample bosomed women she quite enjoyed it.

She was well aware that in the time since they had last been together in London, her breasts had grown into wonderful, round, peaches. They were like magnets with men, whose eyes invariable greeted them even as their mouths said hello to her eyes whilst their lips touched the back of her hand.

Some part of her had wondered if Adam would be the same when she saw him again. She was well aware of his fetish for breasts, any breasts, but especially hers. The way she had cradled his head to them as she comforted him seemed a long time ago. So did the way, in their late teens, he would continually stare at them, hypnotised by her twin delights. That was not all, of course, and she gave a soft sigh as she hurriedly put to the back of her mind the other things that had happened between them.

It took some time to greet all the slaves and staff, particularly nanny Goldie who had looked after both of them when they were young. Then they met with Overseer Nathan Stevens. The fifty-odd-year old had been born on the plantation and had worked there all his life. He had been their father's right hand man and had been running it since he had died.

It took some time for him to bring them both up to date with the plantation business. The financial side of it was okay, he said, but was inevitably deteriorating due to the cotton yield per acre declining in recent years.

"The slaves work slower," he explained, with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

A quick tour followed. It was one that struck apprehension into the brother and sister. The clear signs of neglect would never have been allowed when they were younger. Uncut lawns, overgrowing shrubs, white fences where the paint was peeling and holes in the roadways round the estate, all spoke volumes.

They would have their work cut out to make this work, let alone sell it for top dollar, Amanda was thinking.

***

Over the next few weeks they familiarised themselves with the slaves, the staff and the plantation, learning as much about the business side of it as possible.

"We need to reach a decision by Christmas" Amanda had insisted to Adam. They had agreed that they had three options: keep running it and live there, be absentee owners or sell it.

"The heavy planting season is late January, so that's our deadline," Amanda firmly told him.

Of course, it didn't work out like that. How could such a far-reaching decision be made in such a short time?

Not with them having to re-familiarise themselves with the area and their neighbours, the modest social life of Meldrim and the whirl of that in Savannah. Not with Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year to celebrate. Not with them having to learn about the running of a plantation that had simply been taken for granted all those years.