"More pressure," I said. He sucked in his lips and bit over them. It was delicious. Meanwhile I was holding his penis.
"Sis, I want to lick you." I climbed on the cot and squatted at the edge of the mattress knees fully bent and thighs separated. Partha pulled a stool and sat in front. He embraced each thigh with his arms and drawing closer he also pulled me towards him. He looked up and our eyes met. I was utterly shameless. I smiled, and he smiled back. I held him by his cheeks and pulled his head to my vulva. He needed no second invitation. As I rubbed his scalp with the tips of my fingers and played with his head as if it was a basketball he swiped the minor leaves and smacked his lips. I was pouring out secretions. That done he went for the clitoris. My clitoris has a prominent hood, and under that the clitoris was hard and tense. With his pointed tongue he searched for the opening in the hood and worked on the clitoris. The thrill that passed up my spine was indescribable. I moaned. Given my state of starvation it did not take me long to break into an orgasm. And then my brother retracted the hood with his fingers and held the clitoris between his lower lip covering his lower teeth and under surface of the tongue and with his upper teeth bit the tongue. I screamed with pleasure.
"Come on top Partha. I want you without any delay," I said. I lay back and waited for him with my feet in the air and with hands holding my thighs apart as if they could be set apart any further. Brother's penis was now at its best. The veins coursing over were so tense that I feared they may rupture. He manoeuvred it close to my vaginal opening. I caught it and inserted. He pressed. I could feel my hymen give way. I was a virgin no more, and my brother has taken it. Such was the state we were that we did not have work long for the climax. We had massive orgasms in unison. We lay exhausted in each other's arms.
"Akka, it's time to get dressed. Mom and Dad would be back any moment."
"Akka?"
"Yes, from now on I must give you the respect you deserve."
"Respect? After what has happened?"
"Yes Akka. It is the greatest sacrifice any sister has done for her brother."
"Sacrifice? I enjoyed it as much as you did."
"Nevertheless it is a sacrifice. Sex starved or no, no sister unless she had an overwhelming affection for her brother would go this far."
We waited for two weeks for the next; it is not often that mother and father were both away when we both were at home. This wait was intolerable. One night I was so hot that I boldly went to his room hoping that mother and father were asleep. We did this a couple of more times. The possibility of mother catching us red-handed was so great that both of us suffered. Then something strange happened. Mother announced that she will be attending religious discourses every Saturday at the time father goes to his club. Saturdays was the only day both of us had our weekly holiday.
"Our prayers have been answered," I said.
"Have you been resorting to prayers," said Partha. He was a rationalist.
"Of course I have. You can see that God answers prayers."
2
My name is Visalakshi. My parents named me after my great grand mother. As one might expect it is very old fashioned name, but my family and friends know me as Sala, which is extremely modern sounding. My husband and I moved to the U.S. when he got a teaching job in a college. We live in the West coast state of Oregon. My husband and I even after twelve years have not moulded to the culture of this country. Surprisingly our children who came here when they were 9 and 11 are also strangers to this culture. My daughter, quite a pretty girl, has never gone on a date even though many a young man has sought her company. My son is no better. We are orthodox Hindus. My husband teaches mathematics. He is a Tamil scholar. We speak only Tamil at home, and watch Sun TV. I do not know if that is why we are different. The Chinese keep up to their culture at home but they seem to integrate quite well. We Indians seem not to be able to do so. No, both my husband and I have never told our children not find spouses outside our community. It is their choice. But lately I am observing a change in my daughter Sungavi that disturbs me a lot.
I suspect that something horrible is happening. May be I am imagining but nowadays I am a worried woman. Sungavi's behaviour seems strange. A sparkle has suddenly appeared in her eyes. Well, what is wrong with that one might ask; in a young single woman there can be only one reason for that—she must be in love. The disturbing thing is this, though the glitter is always there her eyes become extraordinarily bright in the presence of her brother. That is not all. I see them exchanging little messages in darted glances whenever they are in the same room. This certainly is more than a manifestation of sibling affection. When I spoke of this to my husband he as usual put the blame on me. He said that watching TV serials has addled my brain. One cannot expect men to understand the subtleties of the female mind.
I observed them for a week when more evidences emerged—they were holding hands under the table. In South Indian culture for sister and brother holding hands is not normal. I was certain that they have developed an unnatural relationship. Have they gone all the way was the question that I was asking myself.
One day I noticed that Sungu had oiled the hinges of her room door and Partha had done the same to his room door. This can mean only one thing—one of them is moving into the other's room at night. I decide to spy on them.
I could do that with ease. The air conditioner in our house is not working well. On hot and humid days I often sit at night for an hour or two to cool myself in the sea breeze blowing in the balcony of our home. If sit in a corner I can see the aisle separating Sungu's room from Partha's. There will be sufficient light for me to have a clear view of both the doors. I sat from one to two in the morning every day for three days with nothing happening. On the fourth day my world fell apart.
Sungu's door opened very slowly. She came out, closed the door very softly and then shot across the aisle and disappeared into her brother's room. It all happened so swiftly that there could be no doubt that Partha's door was wide open. I then heard the gentle click of the latch. I was hardly in control of my senses. I shivered as if struck by ague. This was too much for me to handle by myself; I had to wake up my husband.
"I have seen it happening," I said. He stared back.
"What is happening," he asked.
"O God why are you testing us so." I wailed.
"Sala have you taken leave of your senses?"
"No, moments ago Sungu moved into Partha's room." It took my husband a moment to register the momentous news.
"Really?"
"You don't seem to be shocked."
"I am not. Only good can come out of this."
"Good?"
`"Yes good. It is better than Partha visiting prostitutes or Sungu have affairs with a married man."
"How can I make you understand," I said in desperation. "Our son and daughter are having sex and you say that is good."
"You know nothing about being starved of sex. You were married when you were eighteen. These two must have suffered agonies before seeking solace in each other's arms. Sala, brother and sister sex is not at all uncommon especially these days when men and women have to wait years to get married. You know that 'have sex with your elder sister' is the most commonly used abusive words in Tamil. Please note that it is not younger sister or just sister but elder sister. It appears as if it is the elder that is the more objectionable. It could not have come out of thin air. It has been happening for centuries. But first we must be sure that it is sex that they are up to and not some innocent stock market discussion between two insomniacs. We will go into our bathroom. Their bath room adjoins ours. Surely they will come to wash. We can hear the sluicing."
I was totally bewildered by my husband's reaction to this horrible event. There was nothing I could do other than follow his suggestion. I cannot ever forget that strange vigil. The wetness of the bathroom kept it cool. It was pitch dark and expect for the ticking of the bedroom clock it was silent. I sat on the stool and my husband had his hands on my shoulders. I do not think I can ever understand my husband. Here I was in a state of shock watching my son and daughter engaged in sex while the father of my children was not only unconcerned but sexually excited—he was kneading my shoulders. Before I could react to this abomination we heard the sound of water pouring in the next room. It was just the sound of water splashing, but my husband read more in it.
"Notice the way water is splashing Sala? He is washing Sungu's vulva. I have no doubt. He will do that for he is my son, and she will be spreading her thighs enjoying it," and after a pause he continued spacing his words, "because she is your daughter." My husband was kissing me and I was responding. Something must have triggered my desires for I was hot too. He peeled off my night dress and was sucking my nipple.
"What is Sungu's vulva like Sala?" he said taking his lips off my nipple, "I have not seen it after she came of age. Must be as beautiful as yours is. A bulging one most certainly. I must see it Sala. You must arrange it somehow with her knowledge or without. I must see my darling daughter naked. Wonderful breasts she has. I wish she wore dresses with lower necklines." I should have been spanking him for these horrible words but I was not for I was moaning. My husband was on his knees licking me and I was on the stool resting my back on the wall with my legs up enjoying it. I was lovingly holding his head with one hand and with the other hand gripping the tap to steady myself.
"We'll move to the bed," I said, and we went in. He had one hand on my shoulder and the other on the vulva as if afraid that it would run away as we moved. I must have been burning hot for I had hardly settled on the bed with his tongue on my clitoris when I had a powerful orgasm. I was in a hurry. He was in a hurry too for he was on top in a jiffy and I was guiding him in.
