The following is a story of consenual incest between adults - if this is not what you're looking for please don't read on...
FRENCH NIECE??
Chapter 1 - New York City, August 2004
"Pierre, c'est toi?" I heard down the phone line, a line that stretched all the way to the elegant 7th arrondissement in Paris, that most exclusive of areas, now home to my only sister Marie Justine (nee Mary Brown) Tremblay.
"Oui, c'est moi Marie. What a pleasant surprise to hear from you. I was just thinking of you," I lied, both nervous and excited at hearing the voice of my forty-three year old sister, a sister who would be calling me only if she wanted something. "How's everything going over there?"
"Good news Peter," she almost sang as she switched back to her native tongue, "Amelie's coming to visit you."
"She is….. When?" I stammered, but relieved that this looked like a simple request to perform, a couple of days escorting my pretty niece around New York City.
"Well Cherie, not exactly a visit," she added ominously. "Actually it's wonderful news Peter, your brilliant niece has been accepted to our Alma Mater."
"NYU? But she's only sixteen," I protested, confused by the idea of my only niece wandering the halls of America's best University.
"She's eighteen Peter. Don't you even know the age of my daughter? She graduated from the Lycee in June."
"But does she speak English well enough?" I asked, as my mind whirled through the possibilities and problems Amelie's presence in New York would cause me.
"Of course she speaks English," she almost shouted in response, her natural dislike of the male species coming perilously close to the surface as she spoke. "But she'll need a place to stay when she arrives in three weeks."
"I'm sure she'll love residence living Marie. Remember how you enjoyed your first year?" I enthused and then added, "And of course I'll love entertaining my beautiful niece from time to time."
"We were too late Peter."
"Too late? For what?"
"Amelie was going to go to the Sorbonne of course, but when NYU accepted her last week, both Jacques and I thought she should experience at least one year in America, it'll be good for her."
"And?"
"We were too late to get her in residence Pierre, so we thought……"
"Yes?" I finally murmured, all of a sudden realizing what my dear sister was hoping for.
"Well, you do have a huge house. And you are so close to the University, well, so we thought maybe the best thing for your innocent little niece is to live"
"I'm sure she'd be better off with people her own age," I said quickly, interrupting her argument. "In fact, I'm sure with the contacts I have that I could easily arrange a place for her in residence."
"I've already decided Peter! She'll stay with you first year. It'll be much safer for a young girl. Remember Peter, she's innocent, she's not used to the violence and guns and criminals and murder and drugs like all you Americans are."
"Marie, you're an American too," I protested weakly, knowing this was an argument I'd never win.
"We're arriving on the 28th Peter, Air France of course. We expect to be met," she warned, and before hanging up added, "I'll e-mail you the details tomorrow."
A myriad of emotions flashed through my brain as I sat immobile in my easy chair, the phone's busy signal buzzing unnoticed in my ear. It was hard to believe that Claire Amelie Tremblay, my little 'cat', was already eighteen and about to become a University student. I hadn't seen her for over four years and had often wondered if her Mother hadn't intentionally sent her away whenever I had made one of my visits to France in recent years.
Was it on her fourteenth birthday the last time I'd seen her I asked myself. Even then she had been taller than her Mom, I remembered. She was a thin, coltish, auburn haired girl, frisky then and with no hips and just small bumps rising under her tee shirt. She'd had hard fat nipples though, I thought suddenly, grinning at the remembered image of a topless, soaking Amelie climbing from their pool as we adults sipped wine.
Even then though, she was her Mothers daughter, having already developed a haughtiness, even a snobbishness that can be maddening in a twenty year old, but in her fourteen year old body four years ago it had been simply irritating. She'll be a bitch I knew suddenly, that worst of all possible combinations, a beautiful, rich, private school educated French teenager, brought up by my status conscious sister.
My sister, I mused, as a lifetime of sibling memories crowded my brain………
Chapter 2 - New York, Summer 1985
My sister, simply Mary then, was born six years before me, and was probably more surprised by my sudden appearance than my father. Dad was sixty when I was born, and greeted the son he had given up hoping for, a son who could carry on the proud tradition of the New York Browns, with jubilation.
In one day Mary went from being the only child of a wealthy family, an always spoiled girl who had been the most important person in the Brown household, into almost an afterthought, the arrival of the male scion completely superseding her, even though she was the elder.
She must have loved me at first, what small six year old girl could possibly not love a baby brother? But as the years passed resentment grew, and although I didn't recognize it at the time, I know now that I induced in her incredibly strong emotions, a love/hate pendulum that threatened her happiness.
When I was ten, eleven, twelve, she would often wrestle with me as we played, and looking back I can still see the joy in her eyes as her sixteen or seventeen year old body sat astride me, forcing me down, hurting me just enough to get me to cry and beg for mercy.
I have no memories of any sexual association with these games; at that age I was still too young to harbor even the remotest interest in sex. But now I guess that Mary must have somehow received some sado-erotic pleasure in subduing her little brother, probably some early stirrings of the two sided sexual person she was destined to become.
When I was twelve Mary started first year medicine at NYU and with her living in residence for her first three years we grew apart, our childish games left behind. And when she moved back home after third year, half-way to her medical degree, a twenty-one year old woman, she found not the boy she remembered cowing before her, but an almost-man.
At fifteen, I had grown to 5'10", three inches taller than Mary, and although still thin, had a wiry strength that easily eclipsed hers. And so, during those next three years, my high school years, Mary changed tactics, ostensibly kind and charming to me when in the presence of others, but often mean and verbally harassing when in private.
When I finally discovered girls and started dating in my junior year, her attacks all of a sudden became increasingly shrill. She hated the ease I had with the opposite sex, and would invariably criticize any date I brought home. It was that year when I recognized that there was something wrong with Mary, that I realized that this twenty-three year old beautiful woman, and she was beautiful, even her brother could recognize the sexual delights that awaited someone behind every curve of her lush body, had sexual problems.
"Why don't you ever go out with men?" I learned to reply to her constant criticism of me and my dates. "Don't tell me you're still a virgin?" I'd laugh at her.
"She's just a slut, a dirty little slut," she'd rage back.
"Lesbian!"
"Fuck you Peter, fuck you," she'd cry.
Only once that year did we actually physically battle, and as I easily rode atop her thrashing, struggling body, taunted, "Some day a man's going to come along and make you his slave Mary, make you grovel at his feet, how do you think you'll like it Mary, obeying a strong male.."
"Never," she screamed, "I'll never let a man control me. I'm strong, I'm liberated! Never!"
But I just laughed as I got off her and could see the fear, the excitement, the yearning in her eyes as she lay looking up at me.
In her last year at NYU, while I was eighteen and in last year high school, Mary all of a sudden found a man, or at least a male member of the human species. Jacques Tremblay, a fellow student in medicine, a Frenchman, all of a sudden started appearing at our house, and during Easter of their final year they announced to Dad and Mom their plans to get married in late July and then move to France to live and practice medicine.
"Are you crazy?" I demanded one day soon after their announcement, "Mary, he's not for you. He'll never satisfy you. He's a"
"Shut up Peter. You're just jealous," she laughed, feeling she had the upper hand. "He's kind and rich and educated and urbane and handsome," she crooned. "And he obeys me. He does what I say Peter, when I say it," she boasted, showing the haughtiness I recognized from our youth.
He was a short, dapper man, maybe 5'5" and one hundred and twenty pounds, and I didn't doubt Mary's words, easily being able to imagine her sitting astride him, disciplining him.
"He's not a man," I howled, "He'll never fill you like you want, like you need."
