This story is partly fiction, and the characters are over eighteen years of age. If you are offended by incest, or are under eighteen, you should read no more of this page. If, however, you believe that the mind is the greatest sex organ, and you support the First Amendment of our constitution, then read on. Perhaps in a few months, after it occurs, I will be able to recount another adventure with my sisters, M and J.
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I had decided to take a few days off work to sort out things at the old family cabin on a creek in the Great Smoky Mountains, a few hours from my home in Atlanta. It was a great place to relax by myself and enjoy some much needed time away from the bustle of the city and the recent end of my marriage.
It was Wednesday afternoon when I arrived and I spent the rest of the day cleaning up the place which had been idle since the previous summer. By dark I had finished the chores, eaten a light meal, taken a long shower, and was ready to take it easy. Once I was ready to relax, it occurred to me I should have brought along some feminine companionship to assist the process.
When I finally settled back with my book that evening on the big day bed in front of the gas logs, the warmth of the fireplace slowly lulled me to sleep. As my head nodded, I heard a noise outside and suddenly became aware of a car turning out its lights in front of the cabin. When I heard foot steps on the porch and my younger sister's voice calling me to open the door, I was surprised as I had thought she was home in the city with her live-in boyfriend.
At the door I could see she had been crying, and I smelled the odor of alcohol. She was only a little tipsy, and she seemed to brighten when she saw me. We had never been close, but always had affection for one another. We were only four years apart, but since she had graduated from college three years before, we had not seen much of one another. She was an attractive woman, but tonight looked tired and upset. When I got over my surprise, I scolded her for driving and drinking.
On my repeated inquiries about the reason for her unexpected arrival, she confessed she had caught George, her lover, with another woman. She had left their apartment without even her purse to come to the old family cabin to be alone. She said she was glad to find me there though, because she desperately wanted to talk to someone.
We had a glass of wine at the table in the kitchen and talked of all the things going on in our lives. Finally, she asked to borrow a robe so she could take a shower and get ready for bed. I heard her go into the bathroom and close the door, and I went back to the big day bed to read my book.
A short while later I heard the bathroom door open, and she came in the living room with two more glasses of wine and sat down next to me. She looked lost in my old terrycloth robe. As we sat there staring at the fire, we talked of the problems with relationships in our lives. She had trusted George, and was unhappy, but glad she had discovered his infidelity before they had married. She was a beautiful, educated young woman with long auburn hair and a luscious body, and I knew she would find another man with little problem. I also knew, but did not tell her that she was strong enough to live on her own.
Our conversation led around an entire range of subjects, from current movies to dirty jokes we had heard at work. We sipped the wine, laughing, and then crying, as the situation and conversation demanded. The warmth of the room and laid back mood contributed to our mutual mellowing out from the problems in our lives, and the world of anxiety outside seemed much further away.
She leaned back into the cushions on the daybed and stretched her bare legs out toward the heat from the fireplace. She wiggled her toes and sighed, contented now that she was feeling better from the wine and conversation.
I stretched out next to her and she reached across me to put her empty glass on the table. When she did, the robe fell open and her leg brushed mine as her arm balanced on my chest. I found myself looking at her right breast and she giggled and pulled the gaping collar of the robe closed. It was obvious she had nothing on underneath. She blushed and said to me, "It's OK, you've seen it before."
I nodded and told her that I had, but pointed out it was when she was seven or eight, and she sure had changed since then.
She turned over on her stomach and asked me to rub her back, stating it would help her relax before she went to bed. I could smell the scent of soap and the jasmine scented lotion she had used since we were children.
I leaned over her and placed my hand lightly on her neck and began to caress it with soft strokes. She rose up on her elbows and slipped the robe down slightly so I could knead her shoulders. I began to move my hands down along the smooth skin of her back, and pulled the robe off her arms, one at a time, and then I softly rubbed her spine down to her waist. She lay down and put her arms out over her head and sighed, not stopping me as my palms worked along the middle of her back and down along the shapely curves at the top her buttocks. She asked me to hand her the glass she had placed on the table and, rising up to where just the ends of her breasts were flattened out on the bed, she took another sip, spilling some of the red liquid which ran down her throat onto her chest and then to the sheets.
I grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped her face and neck, and as I did she turned slightly to me, exposing her breast which was wet with the liquid.
I moved the napkin across her throat and down the front of her chest, her eyes watching me as I dabbed the wine from her perfect breasts. She was raised up on her elbows, and when my hand brushed her nipple I heard a sharp intake of breath. She then lay back down and I continued the massage, my mind shaken at the thoughts in my head.
