All characters in this story are fictitious, and those who are having sexual relations are eighteen years old or older.
This story was originally composed as one large work. My editor, Gabriel Anon, suggested, because of its length, that I break it up into chapters and I agreed. That being said, the chapter breaks may be a bit awkward at times. Please bear with it, it couldn't be helped.
Thank you.
D. S.
*****
In the dark and my nebulous state of my mind, I could still tell that I was in bed, though I couldn't tell you what bed. I wasn't alone, though I wasn't with whom I ought to be. She nestled into me and I reveled in the touch of her body. She felt comforting and erotic all at the same time, though my attraction to her was clearly illicit.
When she finally looked up at me, I could see it was Trish. Even though it was dark and I couldn't fully divine her face, I knew it was her, I had known it was her since I felt her in the bed.
"You want me, don't you?" She stated more than asked while she moved up higher on my body, her lips tantalizingly close. I could feel her full, soft breasts pressed against my chest.
"Trish I..."
"It's okay, I know. I've always known, besides I want you to touch me. You do want to touch me Dan?"
She moved a leg over both of mine, and now I could feel the brush of her pussy hair against the head of my erection.
"I want you Trish."
"Mmmm. I know," she whispered all breathy.
She pulled me on top of her, and I rolled between her legs. I could feel my cock against her, pressing up against her lips. I was hesitant but also anxious for her.
"You're going to fuck me, aren't you Danny?"
"Oh God, yes Trish."
"You want to stick that big fat cock of yours into me, don't you Danny?"
"Yes Trish."
"Well do it Danny. Fuck me, I want you to."
"Yeah?"
"God yes. Do it, please!" And then she grunted a little as I pushed into her.
I could feel the walls of her tight pussy warmly wrapped around my cock. I thrust into her; once, twice, three times. Her nails raked my back as the passion took her, and I arched my back from the pain and pleasure of it. I could see the pink hue of her nipples against the warm color of her skin as I fucked her.
I felt the pleasure build to its ultimate climax, but as it did I had the sense that this was all not for pleasure but instead necessary, necessary to assuage the recriminations of my life.
Then I heard that unmistakable tone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared for landing at New York's LaGuardia airport. Please bring all seatbacks and tray tables to their upright and locked position, and stow away your carryon luggage."
I awoke sharply, embarrassed that someone might be watching. My eyes flashed to the motherly looking women in the window seat, but she was intently playing solitaire on her phone. If I had done anything remotely inappropriate, she wasn't letting on.
"Oh Christ!" I exclaimed under my breath as I tried to rub the catatonic expression off of my face.
"You okay," she asked without looking up from her game, but a knowing grin came to her lips. Behind her, though the plane window, I could see the lights of the city skyline.
"Yeah, just a very vivid dream."
"Is she very pretty?" The woman finally looked at me, She wasn't exactly old and grey, but she was much older than I, and from her dress and the way she coiffed her hair, she gave the impression she was someone's grandmother.
"Who?"
"Trish! You've been calling her name out in your sleep."
"Who? What? Oh. Oh yeah. Um yes she's...she's very pretty."
"I guess she's someone special?" Her tone was more endearing than prying.
"No," I said, blushing a little. "It's nothing like that, and besides I haven't talked to her in years."
"And you're still having dreams about her?"
"Apparently."
"Well, we all have that one that got away. Just don't let it ruin your life."
"Yeah, well it's too late for that," I said as I felt the distinctive bump of the landing gear locking in place under the fuselage.
As Sunrise Highway stretched out before me on that warm summer afternoon in July, I felt a queasy mixture of anxiety and nervousness in the pit of my stomach. I was en route to my mother's senior citizen complex on the south shore of Long Island, and I was in no hurry to get there.
The reason for the lack of intestinal fortitude on my part was that waiting for me at my mother's place were my two nieces and their mother; my sister, and I wasn't quite sure about the reception that I would get.
You see it had been some years since my sister and I had been in the same room together, never mind talked to each other. We had once been extremely close, but things changed once I got married.
For no discernable reason, my wife had developed a hatred for my entire family, except of course my father, who passed long before my wife could form a detachment to him.
Now I can understand some aversion to my older brother and sister since they both had a tendency to act like pompous asses, but my sister was different, she was not only amiable but also self deprecating, and it was my appreciation of my sister that was a bone of contention between my wife and I.
"There's just something weird about you and your sister," she was apt to say. "You two are a little too close."
Of course I would protest and argue to the contrary, but in my heart of hearts I knew she was right, though I would never admit it.
As I drove, I took out my phone and scrolled to my favorite picture. One taken of my sister and I when we were younger. The picture was one of my guilty pleasures.
We were on the beach, she in a very sexy little floral bikini, and I was standing beside her, my arm wrapped over her shoulder as she held onto my hand that was draped between her breasts.
I "dated" most of my sister's friends, and I also fucked her best friend, in of all places, my sister's bed. Sometimes I wonder if all that might have been some kind of sublimation on my part, or then again maybe not.
It wasn't all a one way street. My sister had a tendency to send me mixed signals. Case in point, one summer afternoon when we were still single, she came over for a barbeque at my bachelor house. She was dressed simply in a cropped, scooped neck, white tee shirt and a denim skirt, but her top was skin tight and the skirt was extra short.
I remember that I wasn't the only one at that party that couldn't keep their eyes off of her. Several people commented on how hot she looked, including some of the girls. There were plenty of good looking guys at this party, but for some reason she spent the whole night with me.
The thing I recall most about that evening was at one point in the night, she was sitting across from me, we both had too much to drink, and I could see right up her skirt.
I knew that I shouldn't be looking up my sister's dress, but she was wearing the cutest neon peach panties, and besides I had the distinct impression that she wanted me to look. That lasted until ultimately one of my friends sat down to talk with us. Only then did she flash me a smile, and cross her legs to hide the view. I got the impression that night that I had missed an opportunity.
Now you might think that a man so infatuated by his sister would marry a girl exactly like her, but you would be wrong.
For her part my sister was a statuesque blonde with wide set, sparkling green eyes and just the right amount of freckles sprinkled across her pretty Irish face. Her body was provocative without her even trying, so when she did wear a tight sweater or a short skirt, it was startling.
Robin, on the other hand, was a petite Italian with a Roman nose and brown eyes. She was considered by most to be attractive, even I did at one time, I did marry her after all, but any allure she had for me was overshadowed by her cold, mercenary heart.
That being said, Robin and I were married for nearly twenty years and had two boys, one of whom was attending college in the fall. I tried to make a go at it with her, but in the end we just couldn't hold it together. Most of that was probably my fault: I wasn't in love with her, and eventually, she found someone else.
The fight that alienated my sister and I was about something so trivial that I'm not even going to mention it. Suffice it to say, that during the ongoing exchange neither myself, my sister, or our two spouses showed much grace or understanding.
I found myself caught in the middle, having to choose between my wife and my family. Not a situation that I would wish on my worst enemy. In the end the whole situation left me empty, lonely, and feeling like a coward.
Flash ahead some eight years, and through a devious plan concocted by my mother, I was on my way to meet my sister and her two teenage daughters. I was a complete mess, quite convinced that they would shun me.
I pulled into my mother's senior citizen complex, and then down to her unit. A different car was parked in the driveway, which I assumed to be my sister's. I got out of my car and knocked on the door, but no one answered.
I knew that if they weren't at my mother's condo, then they would be at the pool. Since the pool was less than a hundred yards away, I opted to walk the short distance across the complex's lawn.
Sure enough when I got there I could see my mom and sister amongst the senior citizens sitting poolside. I walked through the gate, and both my mother and sister got up to greet me.
I actually had butterflies as my sister approached, but then she gave me a big hug and kiss, and I have to tell you, I was greatly relieved by the reception.
The swimsuit my sister Trish was wearing was wonderful. It was only a black one-piece, but it was strapless, made of spandex, and it hugged her every curve, and what's more, she still had the body that tormented me as a boy.
Her girls, one nineteen and the other seventeen, didn't initially move off of their chaise lounges, so my sister made them get up and greet me, but their hearts weren't in it. My sister was embarrassed, but I understood.
They were only teenagers, I was a stranger to them, and I'm sure that they had heard some unflattering things about me over the years.
"You look great," she said as we sat down at a table. It was late in the afternoon, and a stand of trees mercifully shaded us from the sun. Her smoky green eyes sparkled at me, and I got the impression that, amazingly, she was glad to see me.
"Me? Look at you. You look wonderful," I said effusively.
She smiled demurely as she flipped the windblown hair from her eyes.
"No really, I don't think that you have aged one day since I saw you," I continued.
"Thank you," she blushed. "I know that you are lying, but don't stop."
"Danny, tell Patricia about Patrick," my mom said referring to my son.
"What?" Trish asked.
"He got into RPI," I said proudly.
"Rensselaer?"
