A week went by, and then another, and then a month with no word from Kathleen, and that made me very, very nervous.
It was completely unlike my sister to keep what we had done a secret. It was too dark, too rampant with repercussions to keep it to herself. Sooner or later, she'd have to talk about it to somebody, but to whom?
I dared not call; having no idea how she really felt about that passionate evening, I didn't want to take the chance that she'd blow up at me, or, worse, rewrite it in her mind to make me look like a rapist. All through our childhood, Kathy managed to find a way to blame me whenever she got in trouble -- why should it be different now? Wondering if and when the affair would explode in my face drove me nearly to distraction, but I kept my promise to her; except for this journal, I haven't told a soul.
The memory of our fiery lovemaking kept playing over and over in my mind, fierce and white-hot as metal pounded relentlessly on the blacksmith's anvil. I found myself in a constant state of erection, and I took my wife, Catherine, to bed as often as she would let me. However, something had changed between us. Though I only pestered her a couple of times a week, which is normal for a couple in their mid-thirties, Catherine seemed reluctant and angry about something, and only agreed to my demands with reluctance. She didn't want to talk about it, and I dared not press.
But what if Catherine knew somehow about me and my sister? What if Kathleen had told her? What if my mother somehow put two and two together and ratted us out? But if any of this were the case, surely Catherine would say something -- we'd be headed for divorce court for sure. The "What if? What if? What if?" refrain bounced endlessly around in my mind.
To compensate for the growing distance between Catherine and myself, I did try to be a more responsive husband, prompted by a measure of guilt and shame at having betrayed her. Before that night with Kathleen, I had never cheated on Catherine, but the circumstances were, after all, extraordinary; how often does an opportunity like that come up? For all my endless fantasies, in my core I was certain it was a one-time event.
The suspense ended abruptly yesterday with an angry phone call from Kathleen, who caught me at the office just before I was to go out on my morning rounds (I'm a salesman).
"Al, how could you?!" she screamed, tears evident in her voice.
"What? How could I what?"
"You know goddamn well what!"
"No, I don't know what. Kathy, what are you talking about?"
Silence on the line; I could hear my sister trying to catch her breath. The cold hand of fear gripped my heart; we must have been found out.
"You-- you really don't know?"
"Kathy, this is completely out of the blue. What happened?"
"You'd better come over," she said. "This affects you, too."
I swallowed, though my throat suddenly went dry. Visions of prison filled my head. Whatever had happened, it was serious. I rescheduled my appointments and churned a couple of existing accounts so I could have something to show for the day, and left the office, fully erect despite my fear and panic, knowing deep in my heart that Kathleen and I would probably never make love again, that I would never again feel my sweet sister's hot and soft lips peppering my face with little kisses, hear those moans and sighs echoing in my ears as she squirmed with ardor underneath my pile-driving prick. Unable to take it, I went home to masturbate so I wouldn't embarrass Kathy by showing up with a hardon.
Kathy and her husband Mark's apartment is in a renovated Victorian rooming house across town. They have a spacious two-bedroom decorated with considerable taste, with modern art prints and large natural landscape photos on the pastel blue walls, a thick, white shag rug covering the living room floor, and a minibar tucked away in the corner. The second bedroom serves as an office and a den, but there is a fold-down couch for overnight guests.
When the door opened, I felt a complete shock. Kathy's housekeeper apparently hadn't come that week; the place needed a thorough vacuuming, the coffee table was covered with unopened mail and magazines, and Kathy herself hadn't dressed that day; she greeted me barefoot in a baggy white T-shirt and grey sweatpants. At least her crying jag had ended, and she had taken the time to brush her hair, which was bound up in a fetching ponytail. Though her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks red and puffy from crying, Kathy was still the prettiest woman I knew.
She didn't hug me, just stood back from the door and waved me inside. I followed her to the kitchen, where hot coffee awaited us. I poured two cups and took a seat at the kitchen table.
"Well?" I asked. "Don't keep me hanging. I'm dying to know. What happened?"
In reply, Kathy went into the office and came out with a manila envelope, which was addressed to her in clumsy block lettering. I undid the clasp and a thick pile of glossy photographs spilled onto the kitchen table. They showed Kathy's husband Mark and my wife Catherine at an outdoor café in the next town over, holding hands, laughing and kissing. Other photos showed their cars at a motel, and the two of them coming out of one of the rooms, kissing before parting. The photos made it clear that they had done this on several occasions over a period of weeks, always picking different motels, taking care not to be noticed. But who was taking these photos?
Cold shock gripped my stomach as my mind buzzed with possibilities. How could I have missed this? From the look of the photos, the affair between my wife and brother-in-law had been going on for months; some of the motel pictures displayed dirty little piles of snow and bare trees that indicated they were taken in March, more than four months ago.
"It's God's punishment for what we did," she said.
"Maybe we're God's punishment for what they did," I replied. "They started first."
"You and I have broken every law I can think of," said Kathy. "Al, I'm so ashamed. What were we thinking? What we did ... it was so wrong, so wrong. Don't you feel at all bad about it?"
I didn't reply; I felt pretty good about it, actually. Silence hung heavy in the air between us.
"So you really didn't know," Kathleen said, taking my hand in her long, slender fingers; the first sign of affection she'd shown for me since that night. Our hands kneaded themselves together as we both silently examined the evidence on the table.
"We owe them," Kathleen said at last, her dark eyes beginning to flare. "We owe them big."
I rose and gathered my sister in my arms. She let her arms dangle at her sides, refusing to embrace me. I said nothing and gently stroked her temples and her back. I could almost hear her thinking, coolly calculating the costs of adultery -- and revenge. Though Kathy still kept her gaze from me, her arms snaked around my body at last and we swayed together,, her plentiful breasts crushed against me, dancing silently in the kitchen. I caressed her forehead with a light kiss; she hugged me tighter. Despite having gotten my rocks off once so this wouldn't happen, my prick began to stiffen. When she noticed, Kathleen laughed and looked up at me.
"It's so funny," she said. "The reason I took my problem to you was because every other guy I know would have tried to exploit it fuck me. But you're my brother. You weren't supposed to fuck me."
"I did suggest a therapist," I reminded her. "You could have said no."
Kathleen blushed.
"I was drunk, and you took advantage of it," she said. "I should hate you. But ... I have to tell you ... I wanted a peek at your cock ever since we were kids," she said.
"All you ever had to do was ask."
"And I was upset with Mark. I just didn't think ..."
"I can't stop thinking about it," I replied. "Every detail of that night is seared into my memory forever. I'll be thinking about it the day I die. I love you, Kathy."
"Al ..."
Our lips mingled together, our tongues entwined in a sensual erotic dance. My prick roared fully to life and I pulled my sister in tight so she could feel its heat, its power, my desire. I slipped my hands under the elastic of her sweat pants and her panties, cupping her ass firmly, sliding a gentle finger along the crack. A shiver of delight ran up Kathy's body as I did this.
"This is so evil," she said, but she didn't pull away. "What are we doing? This is crazy. We could spend so much time in jail. Al, maybe we--"
But I kissed her again, harder, and Kathy came alive in my arms, kissing back with hunger and ferocity, lost at last in the erotic power of the moment, spurred by her husband's betrayal and determined now to carry it through. The illicit nature of our incestuous encounter doubled our thrills, but we were also liberated by our spouses' perfidy. We had not sinned alone.
As our tongues waltzed, I ran my hand along Kathy's slender and sensitive neck. I found the rubber band that bound her hair and snapped it in two with a powerful pinch of my fingernails. As her soft chestnut tresses tumbled free, Kathy ground her groin against mine, and I could feel her moist heat as I now ran my hands along her sides, cupping her breasts and giving them a firm squeeze. Even through the fabric, I could feel her nipples, stiff and firm, throbbing with need, wanting attention, wanting my attention. I slid my hands underneath her clothing and under her bra, to her surprise. My fingers were poised to pop the clasp and I was about to remove all her upper clothing, but she stopped me. Taking my hand, she led me to the bedroom and closed the door. Still a little nervous, she slowly removed her four garments, the T-shirt, the sweats, the panties and her bra, the image of her round and gorgeous orbs alive in my palms, renewed in my memory.
I couldn't get naked fast enough, and once we were we dropped as one onto the unmade sheets. At first we clenched together tightly and ground our bodies together, and I thought we were going to get right to it, but when we broke our kiss she pushed me onto my back with the gentle flat of her hand.
"I want to do this right, big brother," she said, stroking my cock with skilled and confident fingers. "You just lie there and let me do the work, okay?"
"Anything, dearest."
My sister beamed at me and started kissing and nibbling her way down my torso. Unable to just lie there, I caressed her back, palmed her breast, teased the nipple with my fingers, to be rewarded with sharp cries of pleasure. All the time her slender, tawny fingers worked my dick with subtlety and dexterity. Her flowing dark brown hair tingled along my body, dancing everywhere, and then Kathy grasped my dick firmly and poked it straight up in the air.
"Do you like blowjobs, Al?" she asked.
"Catherine won't do it," I wheezed.
