Maggie's brother, Bob, learned he had cancer during his physical examination while retiring from the Army. He was 47 years old, a big, muscular, macho guy with a bluff manner and a confident air. Maggie was 42. Both had married young. Maggie had been divorced from her preacher husband for two years and was working in a refugee camp in Thailand.
As adults, their paths had rarely crossed and Maggie didn't see Bob for several months into his treatment and recovery. Their mother was staying with him in Los Angeles and asked if Maggie could visit for a week to give her a break. Maggie thought it was the least she could do.
Bob looked better than she had expected. He was bald from the chemotherapy, but he had always had his head shaved so that was not a shock. He had lost about twenty pounds and looked gaunt, but was in good spirits. "Chemo over," he said with a show of heartiness, "I'm on the road to recovery." She was less confident.
The first day they were together they talked as they never had as adults and walked in the park and went to a movie and she cooked a decent meal for him -- their mother being a terrible cook. He tired easily, but otherwise seems to feel good.
Bob lived in a small one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment. Their first night together, she took a shower. As she got out she wondered what she should wear. She mused to herself. Why did she feel inhibited facing her brother while less that fully clothed? She had boldly stepped out on nude and topless beaches in Europe and she had had sex with thirty men. Her brother likewise was no stranger to sex. Even back in high school he had been known for his sexual prowess.
"No reason to be overly modest," she said to herself. She stepped out of the bathroom with head held high wearing a nightshirt made out of t-shirt material, mid-thigh in length and with a scooped neck and narrow straps over her shoulders. Bob was sitting on the sofa. He had already showered and was in his boxer shorts.
"You look good, little sis," he said. "I'll sleep on the sofa bed. You can have the bedroom."
"No," she answered with a smile. "You're the invalid. You sleep in the bed."
"As you wish, nurse Maggie. Let me help you." Bob stood up and unfolded the sofa bed. "Sheets are in the closet."
She took two sheets off the shelf in the closet and they leaned over the mattress and spread and tucked the sheets. She was aware that the neckline of the nightshirt gapped and exposed her breasts as she leaned over the mattress. When he raised his head to look at her she put her hand to her chest, holding the cloth over her breasts.
"Oops," she said.
He shrugged and laughed. "You're my sister." He mused, "When I went away to the army you were barely more than a child. I remember coming home and realizing that little Maggie had grown up."
"I was such a shy and frightened thing back then -- and you were my big bold brother. I felt safe around you."
Bob walked around the bed and kissed her on the cheek. "Now, the shoe is on the other foot. You're keeping me safe," he said ruefully. "Thank you for being here with me."
He closed the door to the bedroom and she laid down on the sofa bed. It was not very comfortable, but she had slept on worse beds in the refugee camps around the world where she worked. She was asleep almost instantly.
She woke to the sound of her brother sobbing and talking in his sleep. She looked at her watch. It was 2:00 a.m. She rushed to the door of the bedroom. "Do you need help?" she asked. He was turning and twisting in bed and even from the door she could see the sweat running down his face.
"It's the pain killers. And the chemo," Bob said. "I have terrible dreams. I'm afraid of the dark." He was still trying to catch his breath between sobs and his cheeks were streaked with tears. "I'm glad you're here."
She wet a towel in the bathroom, sat down on the bed beside him and wiped away the sweat on his face and shoulders. He slowly relaxed.
Bob put his head on her lap and she was aware that nightshirt was pulled up around her thighs. When she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. One of her breasts rubbed against his chin. "I should have brought something a little more modest to wear to bed," she thought.
"This reminds me of when we were kids," he said. "Do you remember that time when you were in the ninth grade? I walked in on you in the bathroom and you were naked."
"Oh, yes, I was humiliated. I was a prude and I was ashamed of my breasts. They were little nubbins. My friends all had real tits." She looked down the front of her nightshirt with a laugh. "They're still little nubbins."
"They're more than that. I can feel them." he answered. His head was resting against her breasts. "You're not a prude anymore, are you?"
She laughed. "No, I've been -- how can I say it? -- around the block a few times. But you're the only boy who saw my breasts until I graduated from high school."
"Who was that lucky boy? Don?"
"Yes, poor pathetic Don. And poor pathetic me."
"Did you have sex with Don?"
"No!" She paused, than added, "Although once he stuck his penis in me. I made him take it out. Does that count?"
"I don't know. I guess it doesn't count if you don't think it counted. Did you tell your husband you were a virgin?"
"Not exactly. I didn't want to lie. But I gave him no cause to doubt that I was pure as the driven snow."
"This is fun, talking to you. We've never talked like this before."
"No, we haven't. My turn to ask a question. Did you have sex with Dottie?
"Everybody fucked Dottie," he laughed. "I'm sorry. Does that word offend you?"
"No, of course not. Fucking is an honest word. It describes what I do most of the time. Making love is a euphemism. Most of the time." She continued, "You're yawning. Can you go back to sleep?"
"I think so, but...uh...could you stay here with me? I feel so alone. Maybe I'll sleep better."
"I'll stay. Roll over and let me lie beside you."
As he rolled over, he said, "This is nice. I feel secure now."
They laughed together and she curled against him, pressing her chest against his back, putting one arm over his shoulder. "Go to sleep now. I'm here. You have nothing to be afraid of."
***
The next morning she was standing at the stove cooking breakfast -- still wearing only her nightshirt -- when he came out of the bedroom and hugged her from behind. "Thanks for last night," he said.
She turned around and kissed him on the cheek. They hugged. She couldn't help but sense his penis pressing against her thigh. She mentally chastised myself for noticing.
