The following story was edited by Fullcore2, to whom I am very grateful. It was held up in editing for almost a month and represents my first attempt at a story for this site. Feedback is deeply appreciated, be it positive or negative and especially if it is constructive. – PSLL
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It had been years since I discovered physical love with my older brother. Not full sex mind you, just the joy of touching and being touched between two people. Two people old enough to want it but too young to really know any better. Truthfully, I started to doubt that it really happened and began to wonder if it wasn't just some trick of my memory seeing as we never talked about it; and that seemed like something we would have talked about at some point. There was some apprehension right after it happened, a mix of terror at what we had done mixed with the yearning to do it again. But time went on; I found other boys, he found other girls and it just never came up.
I read somewhere that incest between siblings was the most common kind; despite the fact father-daughter cases get all the press. It was immensely comforting to know that I wasn't a freak, that maybe my friends might have had the same tight-lipped guilt as me. I even considered admitting it once or twice in intimate late night chats, just throwing it out there and seeing if that broke some tactfully ignored wall between me and my confidant. I never did. Hell, I probably wouldn't even be admitting it here behind the veil of Internet anonymity and knowing full well that my story would soon be lost in the vast galaxy of perversions, except that it happened again. This time we were both older and experienced enough to not only understand what we were doing, but to also embrace it.
Between my sophomore and junior years in college I returned home, working a summer job my dad had lined up for me in his office. It was nice to be back home with my friends, catching up on who were doing what and seeing how all those big high school plans were turning out. Environment changes people and I felt like an entirely different person back at home than I was at college; frequenting forgotten hang-outs and remembering how awesome stupid high school pastimes were. There were differences, of course. We had all discovered the joys of alcohol in and out of moderation. We talked about the new and exciting ideas we were getting exposed to; late night conversations bastardizing Marx and quantum physics had been elevated to a new level. It was a brief, magical interlude where the wisdom of growing up met the carefree nature of youth and I loved it.
My brother had just graduated. He had a job all lined up for the fall, so he was back in town for one last real summer and we were probably closer now than we'd ever been. He was feeling the weight of the world coming down on his shoulders and I was doing the best I could to be a supportive sister. Mostly that meant making little diversions whenever our parents started drilling him too hard about his long term plans, but it also meant being a sympathetic ear when he needed it.
One night we were watching some late night TV down in the living room. Even in July it managed to be cool enough down there that cuddling under a blanket was pleasant thing to do. I was nestled up against my brother, my head resting on his shoulder. He'd always been more of a jock than me; all lean muscle opposed my soft curves. I did my cardio and all that, but I was still a couple of pounds north of where I wanted to be. A fair sized cluster of empty beer bottles testified to our states of mild intoxication and the warm glow of alcohol spreading through my body made him seem all the more snuggleable.
We were talking about how we were growing apart. We spoke of how things used to be and how things would change; how we would see each other and our parents less now. We'd hated each other when we were little. I told him how he'd been a brat, pulling my hair or teasing me with his friends. He laughed about and apologized, playfully bumping up against me. I was grinning like an idiot. I felt so perfect being there with the person I shared so much of my life with, talking, laughing and feeling his firm, steady body against mine. He felt so good right there, pressed up against me...
Then the talking stopped. We sat there, a heavy silence hanging over us. I felt it suffocating me. There was something between us, like a wedge, separating us and I was desperate to tear it away and get back to that moment of being so perfectly in synch with my brother. I wanted to feel like I could share myself with him. I wanted to be truly and completely open with him, but I knew I couldn't. It was almost physically painful to feel how cut off I was from him. I knew needed to end it, knew I had break the flood gate. We sat there in uncomfortable quiet for a few moments until I couldn't take it anymore. I spoke softly, having to shakily force each word out.
"Do you remember those games we used to play?" I asked.
Even as I said it was panicking, telling myself I was an idiot for saying it. Maybe they had never happened and he would just be confused. Or maybe he would remember them and think I was sick, yearning for them when he was just being friendly. Maybe I would just drive him further away. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, swallowing down the knot in my throat.
He looked at me, eyes wide in surprise, nervous. "You mean the bed games?" he said.
So they had happened and he knew exactly what I was talking about. But what now, I thought. Was this just a memory for him? Or did he want it to? It wasn't too late to play it off as a silly reminiscence, to deny that familiar spark I felt; my nipples were perking up under my bra, eager feeling between my legs.
"Yeah," I managed with a nervous laugh.
He shuffled a bit in his seat, managing to face me a little more. He was wearing a t-shirt that spread over his broad chest, so manly now. I didn't quite manage to close my lips and I could feel them half parted.
"I do," he said. At that my mind reeled for a couple of moments. I wanted a signal. A definite signal. Something to let me know I was not going to make myself into an idiot, or worse, a pervert. I wanted it again, but I couldn't say it.
"Was I any good?" I asked lamely. Of course I hadn't been good.
He laughed, a sly half grin on his face as he shook his head. He was playing it off. That was a relief. It had been a mistake to bring it up. I had been stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Well... I still think about it sometimes," he said, more confident now. His hand was resting on my knee and making my heart flutter. I had broken up with my last boyfriend before finals and I hadn't been touched like that in a while. Was I misreading it? Should I make a move? It was wrong, maybe I should just walk out, maybe the silence was better.
