Author's Note:
Slow approach to incest – so be warned. If you want a quick fix, try some of my other stories.
* * *
Dear Diary,
I've spent the last hour lying on my bed and crying, struggling to summon the self-control to pick up a pen and write the things I'm about to write. I know from experience that committing my thoughts to paper will help me make sense of them, and help me cope with them, but these thoughts in particular make it hard. Several times I sat up and made towards my desk, but each time the images would just come flooding back and I'd be reduced to a sobbing mess once more. Even now I'm wiping away stray tears as I write.
Perhaps the best place to start is at the beginning.
I suppose it began (inadvertently) when mum and dad announced this afternoon that they would be attending another small business seminar in the evening. This, then, left Kevin and I alone for the night. Being a Friday night, I thought that he might have plans with his friends, but apparently he, like me, didn't feel up to doing anything other than lazing about on the couch watching DVDs. And that was what we did.
Everything was fine until then, and for a while after. We watched mostly in a comfortable silence, as opposed to the awkward one that used to exist between us. There were, however, a few swapped comments or remarks, always courteous and sometimes even pleasant. I've written already about how things have subtly changed between us over the last few months, and I suppose it became obvious to me then that they really had. We no longer fight childishly or trade spiteful insults. In all honesty, spending time with Kevin is surprisingly nice; something I never would have expected.
I've thought often about that day when we walked home together from school, which was something we hadn't done in years. There were our clashing timetables to consider, but it was more that we just didn't want to associate with each other any more than we had to at home. But that day was different. I remember him asking me how my day was and making a real effort at polite conversation. And by the end, it was more like friendly palaver than just civil chatter. We genuinely had things to say to each other, and that shocked me more than a little.
And here I am with a smile on my face despite all the tears running over my lips. I guess that memory just makes me happy now. I wish it had stayed like that.
I'm stalling – I know; but it really is hard.
Anyway, as I said, we were both sitting on the couch (the same couch, bizarrely) watching a few DVDs we'd hired, when I decided to get something to eat. I stood up and walked into the kitchen, where I fished out a large bag of M&Ms from the pantry and emptied it into a bowl. I took it back into the living room, placed it on the coffee table in front of us and took my seat again. Kevin muttered a nonchalant "Thanks" and leaned forward to take a handful. We continued to watch the movie, every now and then grabbing some of the chocolates to eat.
That was fine;
everything
was fine then. Pretty soon though, the M&Ms dwindled, and only half a dozen or so were left. I leaned forward and scooped up a handful without looking, somehow managing to take all but one. Looking back, I wish to God I'd taken that one too, or had left another one – just
one
. Wishing won't do any good now though, and it certainly won't change what happened next.
A few minutes after I had finished my last handful, the last M&M was still left. I glanced briefly at Kevin, then reached for it. Kevin, however, lunged forward and snatched the tiny morsel out of the bowl, grinning from ear to ear. "Hey!" I cried indignantly. "I was about to take that." Kevin just kept grinning and said, "You'll have to be quicker next time."
I should have just let him have the damn chocolate, but seeing him like that, smiling triumphantly, just made me want to wipe the smirk off his face. More than that though, it was strange seeing him so lively and at ease around me, almost like we were children again. It had been so long since I'd seen him smile like that, and almost never had he smiled like that at me.
So, stupidly, I leapt forward and swiped at his hand, which he closed in a fist around the M&M. What ensued next was a very childish, very heated, and very (I'm ashamed to say) fun battle for the last M&M. Again, I'm smiling. It was like we were kids again, though I can barely remember what that was like; being on friendly terms – or
any
terms, really – with Kevin is such a foreign thought to me now. It was so easy just to let go and forget everything we knew about maturity and adult life.
Eventually, though, we ended up in an awkward position, which, in the end, was what led to the disaster. Kevin, having greater reach than me as well as more strength in his enclosed fist, had the luxury of staying in his sitting position and moving only his hand out of my reach. As determined as I was, wherever his hand went, I went. So when he held it behind him, over the back of the couch, I put my knees on either side of his lap and reached out for it. Our faces were never in danger of coming into contact, but it wasn't our faces I had to worry about. (That sounds
really
bad.)
Still in playtime mode, I paid no heed to the impending catastrophe, and continued my efforts to reach the candy. Eventually I did, closing my hands around Kevin's fist and prising it open. I snatched the chocolate from inside (it was blue) and popped it in my mouth, laughing triumphantly. I suppose that's when I realised it had been too easy – that either Kevin had let me take it from him or...something had distracted him. That was when I looked down and noticed his stunned face, staring back at me with brown eyes wide and mouth slightly open. I noticed it immediately, and even looked down.
Our crotches were pressed up against each other; not just touching but really pressed up tight. Most of that was probably due to the fact that Kevin was extremely erect and very, very hard. It's no secret (to this diary, at least) that I'm still a virgin, in every way imaginable. The only thing I've ever done with a boy is hold hands during dance lessons at school, which I don't think really counts. So maybe my fascination – if that's what it was – was what stopped me from leaping off a split second after I had noticed.
As much as I hate to admit it and as bad as it makes me feel to do so, I can't lie in this diary – it felt
good
. Not erotically or ardently good – at that point – but just
nice
. It felt like a missing piece of a jigsaw that was meant to fit there, and stay there. I guess that's the whole point of a binary reproductive system, but it still amazed me.
I had already been staring at our joint crotches for a while when I looked back up, my expression no doubt mirroring Kevin's by then. A small lifetime was crammed into those few seconds, and even now I couldn't tell you what was happening on the TV or whether a bomb had exploded outside. We just sat there, staring, not at each other's face but into each other's
eyes
. It was scary and intrusive and thrilling all at once; I wasn't sure whether I wanted it to stop or whether I wanted more. The answer, though, is obvious.
In retrospect, I know it was my fault – even though Kevin didn't exactly try to stop it. I was just so caught up in the moment, in the feeling, that I barely registered the fact that I had begun rocking my hips slowly back and forth, grinding my crotch down against my brother's. If it had felt good before, I won't even bother trying to describe what it felt like then. Kevin's expression never changed, and neither, I think, did mine. We just kept on staring like two speared fish as I continued to push my crotch back and forth along his...well, you know what I mean.
I did it slowly – very slowly – but even so, my crotch was burning up very soon. I remember now that Kevin absent-mindedly placed a hand on my hip, then dropped it. Maybe he lacked the confidence to do anything else or maybe, like me, he was too preoccupied with the feeling our bodies were creating to concentrate on doing anything else with them. The entire time we never broke our eye contact, and in the end I think that's what pushed us over the edge.
I felt it first, like a stirring deep – much deeper than when I felt it alone – inside my stomach. It started to boil up and spread through my body. It was, in all honesty, the single most amazing and most wretched moment of my life. I think that that may have been when the first tears fell, but it was also when my mouth dropped open and my eyes shot wide. I'm almost certain that Kevin reacted not in response to what he felt in his loins, but because of what he saw on my face. It looked almost as though he'd forgotten entirely about the feelings in his own body, and was deriving all his pleasure and – if he felt like me – all his misery from my changing expression. I've never had anyone – male or female – look at me like that before. It was terrifying and, to a lesser extent, exhilarating. I felt exposed, as though he was seeing past my skin and into whatever was residing inside my mind. He just stared, and as my face contorted, so did his, his brow furrowing and his eyes widening.
And then I was cumming, and it wasn't anything like it was when I caused it myself – not even close. There was the heat in my crotch and the feeling of Kevin's erection beneath it and
his face
– it was so much. Reality ceased to exist for me in those few moments; my head whirled crazily, my body was racked by wave after wave after wave of unbridled pleasure, and all I could do was keep staring into his eyes, because I couldn't look away even if I'd wanted to.
I knew Kevin was cumming and I have no idea what it felt like for him, whether it matched the intensity and the sheer ferocity of my own orgasm. They say sex is a selfish act – that at the crucial moment we think only of ourselves and how we can best magnify and prolong that feeling, by using the other person to do so. I'm not sure what sex is like, but I suppose there's some truth to that. I didn't really pay any heed to how Kevin must be feeling; I just wanted to cum more and to never stop.
