Wise Parents Beget Smart Children

'Sis, this is the greatest sacrifice by sister to a brother'

It was a pleasant evening, not cold and not hot, something not unusual in Portland, Oregon.

"What are you up to young man," I said to my brother Partha.

"Should I have to tell you elder sister," he said placing accent on the word elder. He is twenty and I am three years his senior. He often said that the difference of three years is not enough to entitle me the superior status that Indian culture accords seniors. He did not call me Akka (elder sister) as he would have if we had lived in India. I was twelve and he nine when we moved from India to the U.S. In a country were even grand parents are called by name it was too much to expect brothers to call elder sisters Akka.

"To satisfy the curiosity of your elder sister," I said again putting accent on the word elder. It was all in fun.

"Is it unusual for me to go out on a Saturday evening?"

"Not really, but today's flamboyant dress, and perfume smell got me wondering."

"Is it wrong to use perfume occasionally?"

"Not at all, but taken in conjunction with the shifty eyed man with the wax tipped moustache who seems to be your companion for the past fortnight your perfume assumes some significance." This friend of his irritated me. He was a bad type.

"How?"

"My sixth sense tells me he is a pimp."

"So?"

"You have the air of a man preparing to visit a woman."

"Anything wrong in that?"

"If the woman is one with an evil reputation, yes."

"How?"

"You will be abasing yourself." I said. Partha's response was a powerful snort.

"Twentieth Century Indian middle class concept," he said. "Forced celibacy is the worst abasement known Sungu." My name is Sungavi, an ancient Tamil name of historic significance, but it is too much for the rigid Western tongue, and so I am Sungu even to people I do not know well.

"Celibacy is the other extreme," I said.

"Please tell me Sungu is there anything between these extremes for us middle class Indians even her in the States? My school mates date, they kiss, and they fondle, and they, well you know what. Any young man who has not done all that by the time he is eighteen is a loser. I am twenty and I am seething with hunger with no relief in prospect. What about you. You are starving too. I thought I can breakaway and you are talking of abasement."

"AIDS and herpes?"

"Condom." He took out a packet and displayed it. "I'll kiss without opening my lips."

I did not snort but my gesture had all the force of one.

"I do not think you are going to enjoy sex on a tight rope?"

"Better than nothing," he said.

"How much?" I said. Partha was not quite expecting that question. He hesitated. "Be honest. After all I am your friend."

"One hundred bucks."

"Big money."

"Big stuff commands big prices."

"White?"

"Latino."

"Short?"

"Not tall, but very busty."

"What is the pimp's cut?"

"Twenty percent from me."

"Did you consider black mail possibilities?"

"What's that?"

"They take photos and threaten to publish them unless you pay."

"Sister, you are the most negative person I have ever met. We are not so rich that blackmailers will be interested in us."

"So your mind is made up."

"Yes."

"No doubts, no anxieties?"

"Sister, I'll be frank with you. I am sloshing to the brim with anxieties."

"Then why not give up?"

"My body wants it. It is screaming for it. Do you know that I have not even seen a topless woman? That is my plight. I'll tell you Sungu, this U.S. is pretty conservative place. Appa should have taken a job in Denmark or Holland. Anything you wish to say Sis?" He must have guessed from my body language.

"I'll do anything to stop you from degrading yourself with a prostitute."

"Really?"

"Yes. If seeing a topless woman would stop you I can bare my breasts." I spoke without thinking. It was crude thing to say, and it was cruel.

This was more than my highly strung brother could bear. His jaw dropped in surprise, and then his face twisted in misery. He took out his cell phone and spoke. 'Bert, the programme is off,' he said, 'I am not going through with it.' Bert must have tried to dissuade him but Partha was firm. 'No Bert not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Please do not call me or try to see me. Thanks anyway.' He pocketed the cell phone, bowed low and went into his room and closed the door with a gentle bang.

I was stunned. I just could not understand how I could have said something as horrible as offering to bare myself before my little brother. I lay back on the sofa with eyes closed, but my mind was working overtime. 'What made me say that?' I asked myself. Some such thought must have been in my subconscious. It just could not have spurted it out of the blue. I could not deny it any further, in my subconscious I did desire to bare myself before him.

About a month ago I was on the sofa in the drawing room when the telephone rang. My parents had gone out and brother was in the bath. The call was for Partha from his office. The caller said it was urgent. I loudly told my brother to take the call. He came out of the bath with a towel round his waist to take the phone by the banisters. I looked up and a thrill passed down my spine. Partha was standing against the banisters and talking earnestly. From below I could see his penis and scrotum in splendid display. I could not take my eyes off the exhibits. His penis was like a banana. It was not erect but turgid. His scrotum was a tight bag and I could make the outline of his large testicles. Thick black curly hair covered the whole ensemble. Soon the call was over and he went back to his bath. My vulva was wet with secretions. From then on his genitals were the first choice objects in my mind's eye when I masturbated.

There was no doubt that I desired him. Then came this sudden thought that had me gasping for breath: Why not now? He was sex starved and I was sex starved. Yes, that would be a neat solution to our needs. Not just neat but perfect. From the way my brother looked at me whenever my valley was on view I knew I was his fantasy object too. But how to go ahead? Clearly I had to take the initiative. As a matter of fact without planning for it I have already done so when I offered to bare myself before him. It had to be now. I had to hit the iron when it is hot and Partha was at the moment as malleable as putty. I decided to act. I put on a skirt without anything underneath and a shirt with no bra. I inspected my vulva. I had shaved only the day before, the last day of my periods and safe from pregnancy if we get that far. I went up to his room and tapped. There was no response. I pushed the door. It opened.

Partha was lying on the cot with face buried in the pillow. He might well have been groaning. He had changed to shorts; his chest was bare.

"Partha," I said. He turned round.

"You?"

"Yes, in person. Sorry Partha I spoilt your mood."

"You did not spoil it. You destroyed it for ever. Now I am all tensed up without hope of relief."

"Why not masturbate?"

"I tried, but got nowhere. I want the real thing. Not substitutes."

"I am willing to do anything to keep you away from prostitutes."

Parthiban snorted. I did not answer immediately. I looked up at the ceiling, the floor, the painting hanging on the wall and finally straight into Partha's eyes. "Yes, anything"

"You are weird today Sis."

"I am not."

"Do sisters talk like this Sungu?"

"They do under two circumstances."

"What are those?"

"One is as I have said to keep brothers away from prostitutes."

"The other?" It took me time to muster courage to speak. Then I did.

"When they are in need of sex," I said. Partha seemed confused. "Partha I am sex starved too," I continued, "and unlike you I have no avenues of relief in the near future. We must help each other to preserve our equilibrium." Tears filled my eyes, and then it flowed down my cheeks. Quite spontaneously we hugged and then we kissed passionately on the lips. The first time in my life I was kissing a man with the passion of love.

I was in frenzy. I knew that I had to act. I knew I had to do it in a hurry while the mood lasted. For the first time I acted as if the three year difference in age mattered, and I can assert my status as the senior. I took off my shirt.

"Here are my bare breasts. See and feel; it's all yours." Partha looked on with wide open eyes. He was in a state of paralysis. I took hold of his hand and placed it on one breast. "Hold it," I said. He did so as if weighing it. "Squeeze," I said and he squeezed. His other hand came up and he squeezed the other one too. Then he lost control. He embraced me with his face pressing on my breasts.

"Is that all you want? Undo the skirt." He very hesitantly unbuttoned. "Push it down." He did so. "Pull it down." He got off the cot to do that. For the first time a man was seeing me naked. I got goose flesh all over. Partha was now in control. He stared at my vulva and them with his palms on my buttocks he came forward and kissed my vulva. I pressed the back of his head to assure him that I liked it. I unbuttoned his shorts. He watched placidly as I did so. From close up his genitals were quite magnificent. His penis was hard and erect, his large testicles and the dense jet black curly public hair were a sight for gods.

His penis was pointing skywards. The veins coursing over it were thick and tense. I thought the whole organ throbbed with his heart beats. When I curved my fingers over it I found it warm, almost hot. I worked on it sliding the foreskin smoothly over the ledge of the glans. He was leaning forwards with hands on my breasts, and kissing all parts of my face.

"Suck me," I said. I was feeling a tingle in the nipples. I lifted up my breast and he took a nipple and sucked.

"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.