FEELS RIGHT, SWEET MELISSA 


I say, Stinky little woman.  

She says, "I'm not stinky." 

I say, Stinky little woman, stinky-stinky little thing.  

She says, "If I'm so fragrant, then take me to the 
bathtub, wash me." 

No, I say, stinky in a good way.  How's the line from 
that movie go?  'I can smell your cunt.' 

"*Silence of the Lambs*," she says.  "And that line was 
uttered by a psychopath." 

Psycho, huh? 

I reach down, I gently bite my sister's left breast, we 
both leer at each other like maniacs.  


* * * 


I say, What I like about you, I like the fact that I 
don't have to bullshit you.  I can't bullshit you.  You 
already know me better than anyone on the planet.  

She says, "You like me cause I'm convenient." 


* * * 


I say, "Are you gonna eat that?" 

"Eat what?" she says.  We are in the bedroom, not the 
kitchen; we're lazing on her sheets, not a crumb or morsel 
in sight.  

I say, Are you gonna eat that?, and then I point to her 
crotch.  

"Uhhhhh..." 

Well, I best not let it go to waste, then.  


* * * 


I say, I wipe my mouth and say, You're adorable.  

She says, "I'm a paragon of kittenish cuteness or 
whatever.  Your point being?" 

Sassy-sassy thing, I say, did she wake up on the wrong 
side of the litterbox? 

She says nothing, she sticks out her tounge.  


* * * 


Stinky little female, sassy little thing, blood of my 
blood, wonderful and evil and beautiful sister of mine.  


* * * 


Sunday afternoon, nothing to do but lounge out by the 
pool and rub sunscreen on my sister's naked ass.  Of course, 
it's only April, and the landlord won't let us take the 
black tarp off the pool till June.  I will hunch over my 
laptop, try to keep the sunny glare off the screen, invent 
equations to help Wall Street divination gurus determine the 
future of Chinese hog markets.  Melissa will spread a 
terrycloth towel on the wooden deck, lie out for hours, till 
she glows pink as a sore throat.  Days later, she will peel, 
then fade as pale as ever; we're McGillans, and McGillans do 
not tan.  There is no real point to this weekend outdoor 
ritual.  When she said she wanted to rent a house with a 
pool, she meant that, and goddamned if we're not going to 
enjoy it, even if we can't swim in it.  

Last year, when she half-joked that we ought to save a 
little cash and get a place together, I doubt she had this 
in mind: 

*Apply liberally*, the directions on the sunscreen 
bottle say, and I do, I do, I do.  

Sunday afternoon, and I massage gobs of white sunscreen 
into my sister's flesh till the goo disappears.  

She says, "Don't use so much, you're making me all 
slimy." 

I say, You smell like coconuts.  


* * * 


We're not misanthropes, we're the nice young couple 
next door.  We're the ones who give grunts of maybe when 
invited to the neighbors' monthly barbecue.  We always at 
the last minute cite vague work-related excuses, we send 
over a twelve-pack in lieu of our presence.  Yes, Melissa 
works from home; yes, she's a script doctor for a 
prefers-to-remain-unnamed Hollywood studio; no, she's never 
met Tom Hanks (or Madonna, or Jim Carrey, or Jennifer Love 
Hewitt, whoever).  Yes, I work from home too; yes, software; 
no, I don't have any advice how to keep adolescent sons from 
hacking into porn sites.  

No, I guess we don't get out much.  

We're not misanthropes, we're simply good tenants, 
we're very concerned that the eight-foot high fence round 
our property stay in the utmost repair.  


* * * 


I say, What I like about us, we can be totally 
disgusting in front of each other.  Pick our noses, scratch 
our pubes, fart, whatever, it's nothing new.  

Melissa says, "It's weird, my friend Isabelle, she grew 
up on a farm, Isabelle slept in the same bed with her 
brothers till she was twelve, and she didn't turn out all 
warped." 


* * * 


Everyone assumes Melly and I are married, cause we have 
the same last name.  


* * * 


We're not nudists either, but it's been over 
forty-eight hours since either of us bothered to slip on so 
much as a bathrobe.  I say, Who needs pants when I've got 
you, Melissa? She says, "You're cute.  Goddamn 
incomprehensible, but cute."  Last year when Melissa 
suggested we move in together, the nudity was her selling 
point: with my previous roommate, I couldn't stride nude 
around the apartment.  Hmmm, but if you can't bare your butt 
in front of your sibling, who can you show it to, right? No 
big deal.  No big deal.  (Here's my penis, wiggle it around; 
she swears my dick is truly, truly not a BIG deal.) 

So do I want to find a house with her or what? 

As toddlers we used to bathe together, even.  

Today we could practically wank off in front of each 
other, even.  

So I distinctly remember asking, And if we move in, and 
I'm enjoying a nice long wank, you gonna lend a helping 
hand? 

At that point, I was kidding.  


* * * 


My sister sits down on my bed, my sister is wearing 
white socks and nothing else, my sister is as tantalizing to 
me as a wedge of tofu.  

"Which is good," she says.  "If I turned you on, if, 
you know, you actually wanted me, this'd be pretty damn 
sick." 

She picks up my collection of *Celebrity Skin*, stacks the 
issues on the nightstand.  She moves closer, cracks her 
knuckles, wraps her fingers round my erection.  Do I want 
this slow or fast?  Slow, at first.  Grasp firmly.  Firmly.  
It's not made of glass, it's a penis, squeeze the damn 
thing, yes, it ain't gonna break.  Pull up from the base.  
Yes.  Stroke, two, three four, stroke, two three four, oh, 
baby, hey, baby, yo, baby, sexy-sexy stinky female...  

She grabs my balls and yanks them hard.  

Right.  I'll shut up.  

Ten quiet seconds pass.  

She says, "If my back itched, you'd scratch it." 

I say, Sure.  

"If my shoulders were all sore and shit, you'd rub 
them." 

Sure.  

"If my feet hurt, you'd massage them." 

Ayuh.  

I say, Little stinker, I understand.  This is no big 
deal.  We are flesh.  Flesh aches.  If my back needed 
rubbing, you would rub; not so different, is it, to massage 
my boy-parts?  These are your hands, working on autopilot, 
purely mechanical, a regular wanking machine.  The only 
reason I've got a hard-on is cause I'm thinking about 
Jennifer Love Hewitt (or Sarah Michelle Gellar, Joanne 
Guest, whoever).  This does not in any county or state 
qualify as sexual intercourse.  

She says, "Still, dude, you owe me." 

Fine.  I'll do laundry.  


My cock.  Her hand.  Stroke, two, three, four, 
stroke...  

Melissa stares at the bookshelf, doesn't glance at me.  


It always begins like this.  


* * * 


Occasionally we leave.  Go out to a movie.  Dinner.  
The Standard North American Night Out.  I have no idea.  
Atlanta is only a two-hour drive from the town where we 
live.  Peruse vintage clothing shops in Little Five Points, 
we hold hands and saunter down the sidewalk, I nuzzle her 
neck, nobody knows us down here.  Take Melissa to a Buckhead 
cigar bar.  She wears a shimmery silvery dress supposedly 
hand-sewed in 1923.  We slow dance to Ella Fitzgerald, I 
wrap my arms around her waist, we giggle like eejits.  

Someday, babe, someday we're gonna have to find actual 
friends.  Real dates.  Other significant others.  

On the way back home, stop for gas, spot Chuckie 
Hargiss and his wife at one of the pumps.  Chuckie with the 
black leather jacket two sizes too small, Chuckie still 
driving the red Camaro he bought when we were sixteen, hey 
Chuck, yo Chuck, how's it hanging, uh-huh it's been years, 
uh-huh I'm doing fine.  

Chuck whispers, "Is that your little sister? 
Fucking-A, I heard she'd growed up and turned all hottie, 
but, fuck, I mean, fuck!" 

Chuck whispers, "Are you sure she's single?" 

Chuck whispers, "I mean, fuck, you remember Lester 
Dunn?  No shit, Lester's an investment guy now, I mean, he 
told me, he ran into your sister last month.  All the ladies 
love Lester, he's got money, you know?  Les gave Melissa his 
number, it's fucked up, Melissa never called him back.  I 
mean, chicks, they love Lester.  She should go out with him.  
You sure she's single?" 


* * * 


My sister sits down on my bed, my sister wears white 
socks and nothing else, my sister as sexy as tofu, my sister 
wanks me off, and I promise her I'm fantasizing a plethora 
of porn stars and ex-girlfriends.  

My sister stretches out on my bed, I kneel beside her, 
my sister spreads her legs.  

She says she appreciates this.  

I say, No big deal, if I'm gonna use my fingers, I 
don't see much difference using my teeth and tongue too.  
It's perfectly acceptable for me to kiss your cheek or 
forehead.  So lets pretend I'm doing that.  Except, you 
know, a little lower.  I cup my hands under her buttocks.  I 
kiss her ribs, I kiss her belly, dart my tongue into her 
navel, smooch down, down, down the happy trail.  If Melissa 
weren't my sister, she'd be decently arousing, fair to 
middlin sexy-sexy.  Requisite curves in all areas of 
designated curvaliciousness.  Long, straight blonde hair.  
Pale pale skin, freckles on the bridge of her nose, freckles 
on her shoulders.  Acorn-shaped breasts, white-pink areolas, 
left nipple points forward and true, the other hangs 
slightly to the side.  Lean body, taut midriff, you could 
bounce quarters off of it.  

Pubic hair light brown, coarse and wild, like mine.  

Hell, I admit it, she's a doll.  

Fragrant little female.  All damp down there.  Did she 
have an accident? 

"Yes, dork, I peed myself.  Not!  If you can't figure 
why I'm all wet..." 

She's all aroused.  I'm all arousing.  

"No, I'm horny cause I'm thinking of Jennifer Love 
Hewitt." 

Eh? My sister's bi? 

"Sure.  Whatever.  And you're a tool." 

Ayuh.  

My sister's scent, slightly acrid, kinda sweet.  Like 
stale cake reheated.  Nice.  I think to myself, if I were a 
girl, if I had a vagina, it'd taste like this.  Her spry 
fuzzies.  Her pink wrinklies.  Kiss, kiss, Melly's lips.  I 
think to myself, am I doing this right? I penetrate with my 
tongue, I suck her labia to my teeth.  "Ow, not so hard," 
she says.  It's like playing music.  Establish a rhythm.  
Then do variations on the theme, change the lapping speed.  
Lick in different directions, strokes, swirls.  I discover 
what makes her whimper.  I press my nose into her pubic 
bone.  

Stick two fingers in, jiggle two fingers inside her, 
like I'm tapping piano keys.  Faster rhythm.  Faster.  My 
mouth tickles her clit, fingers grooving along.  My thumb 
finds her anus.  Presses against it.  Pushes in.  Her 
sphincter tightens round my knuckle.  Stimulate both her 
holes, feel the different textures.  I clamp my fingers and 
thumb together, I squeeze her innermost muscles.  Yeah, I'm 
simply giving her a massage.  

I prop myself up on an elbow, I move my up face near 
hers.  

Her chest rises, falls, rises faster.  Breasts jiggle.  
Her breath is warm against my neck.  

My hand practically pulsates.  I scratch her deepest 
itch.  I lean down, nibble on her shoulders, gently bite her 
collarbone, her breasts.  She pulls her arms up behind her 
head.  Dewdrops of sweat glisten in her armpits-- I lick her 
pits, it's not so awful, her sweat-scent identical to mine.  
This is not sex, this is masturbation, her flesh is my 
flesh, blood is my blood, her taste is mine.  My fingers 
writhe inside.  

I kiss the bridge of her nose.  

Her anus suckles my thumb; warm, slick; her nether eye.  
So now I pop my thumb out, so now I bring my hand up-- our 
mouths hover close together, and I place my hand between 
them.  My Melissa-flavored fingers, my fingers are a mutual 
dare.  I wait.  

I smile.  

She scuttles her fingernails up my testicles, my cock.  
I'm at half-mast.  She exhales, glares at me.  "You are 
*not* getting hard again," she says.  

Forgive me.  I flick my cock.  Uh, not flaccid...  

"Lemme guess," she says.  "If you're gonna use your 
hands, you might as well use your mouth.  Mouth, hell, might 
as well stick lil' willy in too, huh?" 

I say nothing, I run my index finger across her teeth.  
I touch her tongue.  

She makes a face.  

What? I say.  My fingers are naturally sweetened with 
Melissa goodness.  No artificial additives or preservatives.  

"Right, dork, major turn-on.  We women thrill to do 
nothing but sit around all day and spread our legs and savor 
the smell of our own--" 

Really? 

"No.  Not really." 

I love her taste.  My thumb is a mutual dare, my damp 
thumb, I lick it first, ha ha, la la la, I win.  

She says, "You're a freak, boy." 

I say, You're gorgeous.  

She says, "If I let you put your dick in me, it don't 
mean you're having sex with me.  Make sense?  You're just 
using my vagina as an advanced organic masturbation device." 

I say, Huh-huh, duh, you use big 'ol words.  

She says, "And I'm using you as a dildo." 

I say, Use me.  


* * * 


How's that verse go?  Old blues song? 'I know a 
girl/She lives on a hill/If she won't do it/Hey, look, cool, 
*my* little sister will'? 

No, wait, I don't think that's how it goes at all.  

Mel, darling--I say this to her--seriously, someday we 
must find real spouses.  

She sighs.  


* * * 


My sister stretches out on my bed, my sister wears 
white socks and nothing else, my sister spreads her legs.  I 
climb on top of her.  I am her drooling dildo.  I am her 
grinning tool.  

I say, I love you, Melissa.  

Push myself against her, I work my way inside her, 
little thrusts.  She is warm and calm.  Does my sister's 
heat feel different than other women's?  Yes.  More...  
electric; that's not exactly the right word; but it's 
similar to one of those kiddie puzzles, this peg crafted only 
for this hole.  Yes.  The nerves of the most sensitive parts 
of our bodies press together, I feel the energy between 
us...  or, damn, maybe I am imagining things.  

She won't look at me.  

I say, What? 

She won't speak.  

I stick my hand in her armpit, I try to tickle her.  I 
need a reaction here, babe; what's the prob? 

She says, "I cannot fucking believe you." 

Excuse me? 

"You.  Boinking me.  You're such a shithead." 

We do this all the time, I thought this was our 
favorite game; what the hell? 

She says, "You like me cause I'm easy." 

Do huh? 

"I wash the sheets.  I cook the meals.  And the only 
time you ever goddamn get out of the house is when I take 
you someplace." 

I say, I love you, Melissa.  

"Sure.  As a sister." 

Well, yeah.  So? 

"Get off of me." 

I repeat, I love you, Mel...  

"Wonderful.  My grinning dildo loves me as a sister.  
This is sooooo how I always hoped my stupid life would turn 
out."  She looks in my direction now.  "I make sure the rent 
is paid on time, you love that.  Get the hell off me." 

I say, If you're sick of this game, I'll stop.  

"Good.  Are you gonna move off of me?" 

No.  Hell no.  

I lean down.  

I put my hands behind her neck.  My fingers interlace 
with her hair, hot and damp.  I lift her head, I bring her 
face up to mine.  

I've never kissed my sister on the mouth before, not 
like this.  My tongue explores her teeth.  I breathe her 
breath.  I feel like I'm fondling her tonsils, I have no 
clue, I'm trying to express something here, I'm sorry, babe.  

I say, Fuck the game.  I love you, Melissa, I'm in love 
with you, I've been in love with you for years, I assumed 
you knew that, I'm an eejit, I apologize.  

My sister kisses me in return, my sister beneath me, sweaty 
gorgeous living nudity, stinky little thing.  I am inside 
her, I've never felt this awake, I've never felt this giddy, 
like all the blood's rushed out of my brain and straight 
down to my cock.  I'm inside her, then I'm sliding out, 
sliding back in.  Our mouths stay together.  I can't kiss 
her hard enough.  Her hips buck and jerk.  Establish a 
rhythm, in-out in-out, faster, slower, spirals.  My hand 
goes down her belly, my hand finds her clitoris, then my hand 
goes back up, finds her mouth.  Sweetness.  We kiss again, 
her taste on both our tongues.  

I can feel her orgasm, I am nothing save a grinning 
extension of her.  I experience her crescendo, muscles deep and 
deeper, a primal quiver, tension, relax.  I want more 
than what our bodies can give us, I wanna swallow her whole, 
I wanna crawl under her skin, I have no mind, I have no 
clue, I am her, I cannot think coherently-- I'll settle for 
this, her breasts, my testicles, shudder and strain, 
girl-parts and boy-parts, I'm coming too.  

I may have mentioned: I've never made love to my sister like 
this.  


* * *


I may have mentioned: We're not misanthropes.  At least 
once a month we leave our fenced enclave.  Nashville gay 
bars are her favorite lately.  Skull-thumping techno music, 
brilliant blinding red and blue strobe lights, anything goes 
here, don't nobody care about nothing here.  Tip the DJ ten 
bucks, ask him to play something slow, something I can dance 
to.  Melly and I sway together, I wrap my arms around her ass, 
I lick her neck, we make out like teenagers escaped from the asylum.   
Everyone assumes we're married, cause we have the same last name, 
cause we can't stop smiling at each other, not to mention the ring 
I finally bought her.

Copyright (c) 2000 Ed Mueller