End of Innocence

Chapter III - Home, Hearth, and Health

The home life that I shared with my baby sister was the envy of most people that we came into contact within this little place of Americana that we grew up in. I had a dedicated, hardworking, educated, and rugged outdoorsman kind of father that would rather eat glass than beat his kids or hurt his wife. My mother, my incredibly beautiful mother who passed her genes onto my sister with one slight exception: Both of my parents had brown hair and while my father had green eyes, I am still trying to figure out where in our ancestry did my sweet Ashley gain her bottomless blue eyes and golden hair?

It was not that we were well-off, we were standard middle class, comfortable, but had the affection and encouragement of two parents who loved each other. This deep association between my parents was a prime positive influence that psychologists in this day and age have forgot is the best forum to raise a family. So jaded are mental health professionals today that actual successful domestic units are the exception rather than the rule. We were without the need of professional intervention and of course, without the subsequent unnecessary billing that would be invoked upon us if we followed the basic screwed-up norm. The extra money unspent to try to level out and maintain wild children simply went to doing things that families have been doing for years. Namely, we went camping, fishing, and to amusement parks. Still, as an adult myself, I have to believe that with all the extra goodies and attention my parents provided to my sister and me, they still saved a buck or two for themselves for that romantic dinner and the sly acknowledgement that some quack with more sheepskins than brains would not be receiving regular payments due to their emotionally disturbed offspring. Alas, we were young. What I know at the time is that my little sister and I were loved, clothed, fed, and shown that we were wanted. I loved my folks and showed my deep-felt appreciation in return, however, my deepest warmth was always reserved for Ashley.

As a young child, my little sister would sneak into my room most nights from the point she learned to walk. Whether to allay her fears of monsters under her bed, UFO abductions, dwarfs or munchkins carrying her off in the middle of the night, an errant tsunami that might materialize in the San Fernando Valley, or a host of other maladies, she would tear into my room with that impish smile and state just so emphatically, "Big Brother, PLEASE, protect me from ..." I would wrap my arms around my gorgeous little girl while protecting her from whatever sort of mischief the night might bring. After a time, when the giggles settled down and Ashley began to yawn, I would carry Ashley back to her room and lay her down to sleep. Acting as Ashley's personal hero, my heart was contented.

When Ashley was eighteen and I twenty, those innocent nightly meets gravitated into something much more. On one particular occasion, after passionately kissing Ashley's face and neck, slowly nibbling on her ear lobes and listening to her breathing becoming deeper with a quiet moan and, "Ahhh" coming from deep with inside her, I began to caress her flawless skin with my hands following each pat and stroke with my tongue, a suck, and kiss, following the patterns traced on her skin by my hands. Moving alternatively from her chest to her back, down her arms, her smooth sides, to her belly, I kissed, licked, and stroked her supple body and with each touch, her body grew warmer to the point it was almost too hot to touch.

All the while, Ashley let escape tiny moans of pleasure telling me not to stop, to go lower, with her hands on my head, she pushed me down, down further while simultaneously opening her legs until I was over her adorable slit and pink bud begging me to give pleasure for the first time in her sacred area. Her blonde pubic hair was as soft as the fur of mink. I kissed and licked the folds of her labia, moving toward the center becoming acutely aware of a unique and delightful scent that belongs only to my sister. Licking and kissing her vagina, her clit, she began to get wet on her own. Her breath becoming ragged, her back began to arch while her grip on my hair and the sheets tightened in her small hands, moans, panting, with sounds sexual escaped her small perfect body until her pleasure was moving her towards her very first climax. "My brother, oh my brother, my, mmmm, what...!!" She climaxed, her luxurious frame shuddering and her legs locking me between her holding on as the waves of female ecstasy washed over her time and time again.

We lay silent, my head resting on her blessed femininity with both her slender hands upon my head. "My big brother, oh what a sweet brother, my brother ..." was repeated over and over again. We were not sure as to what had truly transpired between the two of us, but it seemed so right that somehow, we pushed through another barrier and became infinitely closer than we were a minute ago. I told my sister I loved her, and she returned the same three words, "Brother, I love you too." Not the "I love you" we always told each other from the day of her birth, but ones charged with new emotion, deeper, mixed with raw power, transformed with lust, desire, and hope. We had fallen deeply in love.

From that time on, our nightly bedroom rendezvouses became much more exciting and tender. In retrospect, I have wondered if our loving parents were ever the wiser as we progressed from innocent touch to exploring areas of our sexuality. I have often thought about whether our mother noticed the continual changing of the sheets on my bed much more often than normal as they would be soaked with our sweat, saliva, and my dear little sister's own nectar that would begin as a trickle and pick up to a flow soaking the sheets, the bed, my face and hands, and her legs on a regular basis. Although I loved the aroma and taste of my sweet baby, she produced so much girl coo that I could not keep up with my licking and slurping that I was engaged in.

Ashley returned the fondness, kissing me all over, letting her tongue bring out sensations that I had never experienced before. She began to touch me in all my intimate places, first with hands, then her tongue, and ultimately her mouth. She slid my penis into her mouth letting her incredibly sensual lips and tongue glide over my shaft to its head bringing my organ to full erection. It was my turn to moan and call out to her, "Sweet baby, my little sister, ah, my love, I love you, Ashley" falling into moans and wanting these moments to last forever. I experienced a shuddering orgasm but being only twenty, it was only a prelude of what was to become when testosterone triggered the animalistic passion catalyzed by lust, love, and tragedy. Still, these are some of my fondest memories. Two young and inexperienced lovers genuinely merged with the other, sharing something of meaning without the sense of guilt or selfishness that erodes away at our world.

My bed served as a springboard to experimentation, love, desire, lust, and contentment between my little sister and me while providing a respite to the daily grinds of being just young. Little did we know that that bed that we shared was to become the holder of sorrows, of countless tears, of pain unimaginable when the first evil appeared in our lives. It championed in the very first steps in our descent into hell. The bed that we shared this last incredible month where love's tender heart was reaching and touching the deep substances of the other would become a fortress, battleground, and an escape from where we fought our pitched battles in our hearts, souls, and eventually, in the world. Our perfect world was about to die.