I've been thinking about how this all started, how it progressed, how I ended up where I am now; I think it happened in stages, by small slips down a long slope, and with each increment there was no going back, no way to say it never happened and forget about it, no chance to call it off. I don't regret what happened, but it was a strange trip, and even as I tried to be rational about it I knew it was nearly out of control.
When I came back home after my second year at college, I was shocked to find that my sister Tammy had changed from an awkward teen to a beautiful woman. She was just eighteen, tall, with long dark hair; but her body, instead of being bony, was all curves now, and her face had changed, matured, so much that I barely recognized her. To make things worse, the day I got back she was getting ready for her senior prom, so my first sight of her was in an amazing dress, scarlet red, short skirt, bare shoulders, with plenty of cleavage. Going back home is always a little weird, but it shouldn't be this weird.
She was standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, adjusting her dress, and I was standing in her doorway with my bags in my hands, just wanting to say hello on my way to my room, but I was stuck, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Finally she turned to me, waiting for me to say something.
"Since when did you become the prettiest girl in town?" I blurted out.
She turned back to the mirror with a small smile and a slight blush. "Welcome back, Karl," she said.
I had to unpack and settle into my old room, and listen to my parents tell me about all the dumb things that had happened since I'd been away, and I didn't really give my sister much more thought. Even when her date showed up, with a look on his face like he was the luckiest punk in the world, I couldn't say I was thinking anything particular; yet that day must have been when the seed of the idea was planted in my head, the first mental step that led me down this path.
That summer was about relaxation, which I pursued as much as I could. I fell into old habits, ran with old friends, and refused to take anything too seriously. The one thing that was different that year was that I paid more attention to Tammy - but only because I felt that I had forgotten who she was. She had always been the little sister, always hanging around, maybe bugging me, usually me bugging her, but all this time I had never really gotten to know her. So I watched TV with her sometimes, and played video games, and talked about college, since she was going to go the same one (it was Dad's college, it was mandatory), and you know, she was smart, and funny, and interesting to be around. I think we became friends that summer.
And if my eyes strayed sometimes, when she was wearing those short shorts or those tight T-shirts, I didn't think much of it.
But when you see your sister outside your window, going out to the backyard to sunbathe, wearing a bikini, and you decide to not turn your eyes away, instead you look closer, and you see her as a woman, a beautiful woman, a sexy woman, maybe imagining her naked, walking in the sun, or lying on the grass, or maybe on a bed, maybe... and you find yourself with an undeniable hard-on; then you've taken another step further, haven't you? And maybe you can't go back.
There was another thing I found out that summer, some rumors from around town, things overheard, guys bullshitting the night away: Tammy was a bit of a slut. It might have been the jealously of a small town, since she really was the most beautiful woman for miles around; yet from some of the things she said, or maybe the way she acted sometimes, I guessed the rumors were probably true. Although that didn't stop me from getting into a fight one night, after some moron wouldn't shut up about my sister.
It was fall soon enough and time to go back to college. I left early, as I was going to get an apartment and a part-time job. Tammy would be living in a dorm, but Mom made her promise that she would come to my apartment at least once a week, where I'd make dinner and make sure that my sister wasn't starving or living on junk food. I didn't mind, I like cooking; yet having her coming to my apartment, constantly seeing her - I felt it was a complication that I might not need.
It became routine, the dinners in my apartment. I could tell she was grateful for those nights, to get away from school, coming over to eat and talk. She talked about everything at first, every stupid thing that happens to every freshman; then she seemed to settle down, got used to the grind of being a student, and the freedom of being away from home. We were comfortable with each other, and I looked forward to those nights she would come over.
And if I started to fantasize a little, alone in my bed, late at night, trying to fall asleep; and if I happened to think of her when I was jerking off, picturing her face, her perfect body; well, I didn't think there was much harm in that.
But then I took another step. It wasn't planned, not really. Maybe it was inevitable.
Sometimes, during dinner, she would talk about her latest boyfriend.
I would ask some questions.
She would tell me more about her boyfriends.
I asked more questions.
She started talking about sex with her boyfriends.
She would talk with her cheeks red sometimes, as if she couldn't believe she was telling this to her brother, but she didn't stop talking. I learned that the rumors back home weren't completely true, but she was definitely experienced, and it seemed her experience had been growing since she came to college. She certainly had no shortage of boys since she arrived. She would ask about my sex life sometimes, and I would drag out a story about an old girlfriend, but since I hadn't actually had one for a while, it was usually her doing the talking. I would just sit there quietly, hide my erection, and try not to act amazed as she told me about her sex life.
It was too much. I had to jerk off every time she left. I had to admit that I lusted for my sister.
