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From: "Lisa Eighteen" <lisaeighteen@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} My sister (ff) by Lisa Weaver
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Date: Fri, 26 Nov 1999 20:10:01 -0500
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My sister (ff)
by
Lisa Weaver
PROLOGUE
Sister. This is word is magic. It conveys so much strength and beauty.
She is the one I adore, the one I dream of.
Sister. She loves me tenderly, kissing me in my eyes, mouth, and fingers.
Sister. I love her embrace, love what she does to me, to my breasts and my
wetness down below. I hug her and press her close to me, while I die in
little spasms, slowly, feeling her inside me, her fingers playing with my
conscience, my cunt, my self.
Sister. I love to love her, smell her flaxen hair, smell the scent of
roses, because she is a rose, with thorns and all, causing me to bleed,
bleed from heartache and longing… endless longing.
Sister. She makes me happy, truly happy, when she stares at me with her
piercing blue eyes, the eyes of someone who knows what she wants and knows
how to get it. She is like that, the one I love, the one I yearn for, with
thorns and all.
Sister. She says to me, "Kiss me, darling, and you’ll know what’s good for
ya." And I do kiss her, gladly, plunging into her open arms, her bare
breasts, with nipples standing, and deft fingers calling me, promising me
eternal delight.
Sister. You know it’s you. You know how to do me, when our hair mingles,
hands intertwine, traveling in the same direction, going for our the warmth
between our legs, so alike, so engorged with excitement and common blood.
Sister. I love thee. I worship thee. You have always been there for me.
WHAT REALLY HAPPENED
I have read so many stories about sisters having sex together, but none of
them rings true to me. I know. I know how it’s like to love a sister, my
sister. It’s not just sex, it’s much more than that. It’s almost like a
religion. I do worship her. I do not know other girl that can match her in
beauty and personality. The trouble is that she knows this and takes
advantage of it, winning a crowd with her hands down.
It’s not easy to be in love with your own sister. It can be a pain and it
is a pain. Yes, there is the incest part, but I don’t care and I never did.
I can’t help it the way I feel about her and she knows it and accepts it
and embraces it. I was stunned when she agreed to my "indecent proposal",
but proffering her a million dollars to sleep with me was out of the
question.
Loving her is easy, the difficult part is preventing myself from getting
hurt in the process. You see, I have read a few books how strong the
sister bond is but one thing I really miss is a description of a case like
mine. There is innuendo, though, if you read between the lines, but that is
hidden or only in my mind, influenced by the possibilities I came across in
the relationship with my sister.
Everything started in a cold winter day, a snow storm raged outside, weaving
a white blanket all around us, while the wind blew like a fierce cat
protecting her young litter. My sister was reading a novel by Jean Hegland,
Into the Forest, a book my father bought me for my birthday. It tells the
story of two teenagers, sisters, home-schooled, who live on the edge of a
redwood forest with their mother and father. Civilization collapses, and
gradually gas runs out, power outages become frequent and then permanent,
the phone does not work anymore. The sisters’ parents die and they become
orphans. All they have is each other, and then there is pain and hurt and
fear and loneliness and recrimination. To heal, they make love once, the
most magic moment of the book. I was surprised by it and the fact that a
major publisher had the courage to bring out such a story. I was surprised
that I loved the story so much. I was surprised that I wondered what my
sister and I would do if we were those two sisters. Would we fight as they
did? Would I feel lonely? Would we make love, too?
I sat on the couch, beside her, and stared at the page number that she was
reading. I realized she had just read about the moment when Eva and Nell
make love. I was curious and wanted to ask her what she thought of it. I
had to be subtle, though, as I didn’t want to give her reasons to denounce
me to the world, decrying her disapproval and my seemingly twisted mind.
She look at me for a long time before she answered my question. She said,
"It’s a okay book, but it lacks something."
"What?"
"Verve."
"Verve?"
"Yes. It is too bland in my opinion. It needs verve, action…"
"I loved the book," I said simply, shrugging my doubts away.
"You did? Why?"
"I loved the moment when they made love." So much for my subtlety. I
shrugged nervously as she stared at me, the blueness of her eyes becoming a
light shade of green for a wee string of seconds.
"Why?" she asked, staring at me as though her interest was piqued.
"I don’t know," I said, shaking my head, leaving her stare, touching my bare
feet, studying them, as if they gained unusual importance in that moment of
my life, when my heartbeat rate went soaring and I felt dizzy by it.
"Why?" she asked again. My sister is a Rotweiller; she rarely gives up her
prey.
"I don’t know."
"I don’t believe you."
"Honest. I don’t. Why do you keep finding reasons where there are none?"
She gave me her usual smirk, which gradually became a slanted smile.
"You’re a fake."
"What?" I asked, spreading my hands, rage gathering up inside me.
"You’re fake, Sis. You are."
"Okay, I’m a fake. So what? What are you going to do about it?"
Her smile turned into a grin, and then she rose and left. I didn’t see her
again until next morning, when she drank her coffee quietly, as she always
did. When I entered the kitchen her eyes turned to me for a brief moment
and I experienced fear, fear of what she may tell to others, to our mother
and father, to our older brother Cody. A chill ran through my spine and my
hands trembled, feeling so small and humble.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked, skimming through Father’s newspaper. She
didn’t look at me. The word "bitch" sprang in the back of my mind, but I
was far from feeling true resentment.
I shook my head, throwing a web of hair strands over my shoulder.
"Because of yesterday?" She kept reading the news.
"Yes."
She looked at me, perhaps stunned by my frankness. Her eyes twinkled for a
silent moment between us. It was strange, utterly strange and outlandish.
She drew a deep breath and her hand reached out for mine, her slim fingers
intertwining with mine.
"You want it?"
My first reaction was to deny it. My head concurred, however, and then
unexpectedly she stood and brought me to her room. When she locked the
door, I knew we were beyond the point of no return. I could see her desire
for the first time, and I melted in her arms, and I cried like a baby for a
long while. Then she kissed my tears away and we made love, like Eva and
Nell, in that forest of redwoods, alone in the world, having each other and
nobody else.
Lisa Weaver
lisaeighteen@hotmail.com
-------------------------------------------
"I hate my sister. She's such a bitch.
She acts as if she doesn't even know that I exist.
But I would do anything to let her know I care.
But I am only talking to myself
'Cause she isn't there."
"My sister..."
"I love my sister. She's the best.
She's cooler than any other girl that I have ever met.
She had the greatest band, she had the greatest guy.
She's good at everything and doesn't even try."
-Juliana Hatfield
--
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