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Angela In The Afternoon
by N. Ambrusco (n_ambrusco@hotmail.com)

***

My sister calls me to her house in the middle of the 
day to help her unblock her stopped up plumbing. Once 
I'm there I find myself helping around the house in 
more ways than one. (MF, inc, cheat, rom)

***

"I think I see what your problem is," I said, popping 
up over the bathroom counter with my adjustable wrench 
in one hand and a wet wad in the other. "You can’t 
flush a paper towel, Angela, it’s too heavy. These 
modern low-flow toilets can’t handle anything that 
doesn’t dissolve in water."

My sister nodded her head and shuffled her feet. "I 
guess I knew that," she admitted, smiling, "if I’d been 
thinking. You might want to get rid of that thing, 
though, Neil."

I looked at the mushy wad of paper I’d just pulled out 
of the gooseneck trap of her john. "Why? What is it?"

"A wrapped-up cat turd."

"Yah!" I tossed the wad across the bathroom and it went 
into the trash can without touching the sides, like a 
Michael Jordan classic. "You have to warn a guy about 
things like that!"

Angela giggled and blushed bright red. She ducked her 
head to keep me from seeing she was blushing, like she 
always does. I think she believes it makes her look too 
childish and girly, but I have to admit, I like it when 
my sister blushes. The luminous crimson on her fair 
skin made her look like a modern-day Caravaggio 
painting standing right in front of me. "Listen, thanks 
for coming over," she said. "Plumbers will rob you 
blind if they can, and Shawn doesn’t usually get home 
on Thursdays until nearly eight."

"Yeah, Shawn," I agreed. "Right." I didn’t want to 
admit what I was thinking, which was that my brother-
in-law is pretty much useless around the house. This 
blockage was too thick to dislodge with a plunger, and 
when that failed he would have just called in a plumber 
anyway. Or me. "Listen, Angela, I need to get home and 
get back to work, but I’d like to get together for 
coffee some time this week. How about that new place on 
Thirty-Third?"

The blush faded from Angela’s cheeks and she looked up 
into my eyes. "It’s not another goddamn Starbuck’s, is 
it?"

"Nope. One hundred percent locally owned. Good lattes, 
too," I assured her.

"Actually, what time is it," Angela asked, checking her 
watch. "One o’clock? Are you sure you can’t stay for 
just a little bit?"

"No, I have work to get done."

"Oh, are you sure, Neil?" My sister flashed me her best 
pouty little-girl face and batted her eyelashes at me. 
"Please, please, please? I get so lonely in this big 
house by myself."

"I’m on a deadline..." I admit it, my protests sounded 
weak even in my own ears. I’m a full-time writer, and I 
work from a converted spare bedroom in my own house. I 
make my own schedule, which is how Angela reached me in 
the middle of a weekday, and that’s why I was able to 
spend time playing Roto-Rooter Man in the middle of the 
day. "Yeah, what the hell," I finally concede. "I guess 
work can wait."

Angela smiled again. "I’ll put some coffee on. I think 
I’d like a shot of brandy in mine, how about you?"

"Sounds great."

"Why don’t you pick some music out while I’m doing 
that?" She strode out of the master bathroom, bouncing 
a little with each stride, her swirly blonde ponytail 
springing up and down with each step she took. I admit 
to thinking my sister has the best hair in America, and 
I’d like to grab a fistful and breathe it in like a 
drug. But she’s three years older than me, and married, 
and I let her get a few steps ahead of me, just to keep 
a safe distance.

When I moved back to my hometown after college, Angela 
lined me up a nice duplex three blocks from her and her 
husband, and I’ve been living there for two years now. 
I’m twenty-four and she’s twenty-seven. We were good 
friends growing up, since both of us had social 
difficulties. I was a book nerd whose idea of a 
Saturday well spent was a patch of grass at the park, 
two cold sandwiches, and a paperback Shakespeare.

Angela wasn’t a geeky type like me, but she was kind of 
an outcast too. She was unusually good-looking, and 
girls will do whatever it takes to humiliate any other 
girl they know is prettier than them, so she never got 
along with the girls in her class. And the guys would 
act friendly and civil, but it didn’t take long with 
each one before she found out they were only trying to 
get into her pants. So every day at school she just 
drifted through the crowd of kids like some aloof 
goddess, and when we got home at the end of the day 
each of us was the best friend the other had.

One of my earliest sexual memories was when I was 
twelve. Angela gave me a three-by-five of her high 
school portrait. She was fifteen, tall and green-eyed, 
with creamy skin and cherry lips. The picture had her 
body turned at a slight angle to the camera, her hair 
billowing down around her shoulders like the surf at 
Waimea, a wide genuine smile on her face, and just a 
hint of cleavage at the bottom of the photo. 

At eleven-thirty that evening I took her picture into 
the bathroom and beat off for the first time in my 
life. I still have that picture in a drawer in my desk, 
and although the corners are getting dog-eared, I still 
sometimes stroke myself while studying my sister’s 
butter-colored face.

What’s more, she knows I find her attractive. Not long 
after she gave me that picture she caught me studying 
her body, and it wasn’t the first time or the last 
time. We’ve never discussed it out loud, but it’s an 
open secret between us. 

That pouty face she used to make me stay is the same 
one that she uses to do whatever she wants, from minor 
household repairs to accompanying her to the doctor the 
last time she needed a physical. I’ve never touched her 
body more than to give her a friendly pat on the 
shoulder, but she knows I’d like to, and she uses that 
fact.

She’s even learned what clothes to wear to make me do 
certain tasks. A dress with a narrow waist that 
highlights her hips and a skirt that stops mid-thigh, 
and I’ll mow the lawn. A muslin peasant blouse with a 
cinch tie under her breasts will make me help her cook 
dinner for her useless husband. And a white cotton 
scoop-neck t-shirt will inspire me to run down to the 
drug store to buy her tampons and Midol. All this just 
for a chance to look at my beautiful sister’s body.

I selected a Robert Johnson CD from her collection and 
plopped on the couch. The Terraplane Blues was on the 
sound system and I was bopping along in my seat when 
Angela came in with two steaming mugs. She handed me 
one that read "World’s Best Husband," and in her own 
hand she cradled a mug emblazoned "Kiss Me I’m Irish." 
She settled onto the couch next to me, wiggled a little 
to make a soft nest for her butt, and leaned back 
against the overstuffed cushions.

"So what are you working on?" she asked me.

"Come on, you know I don’t like to talk about my work 
until I have a complete draft done."

"Oh, you won’t even tell me one little plot point? Just 
for me?"

"Sorry," I said. "If the Virgin Mary Herself came down 
and asked me about my writing I’d stay mum until I had 
something to show her."

Angela sighed, long, slow, and pretty. She lay her head 
on my shoulder and whispered in my ear: "I’ve been 
learning to knit."

"Knit?" I repeated. "Not many people do that these 
days."

"I have a big house, no kids, and no job," she said. "I 
just wanted something to do with my hands, and I wanted 
it to be something useful." She poked me lightly on the 
arm. "I bet I’d be hot in an Irish fisherman sweater."

"I bet you would," I agreed, and turned my head to 
smile into her hair.

Angela set her coffee on a TV tray, and then she 
surprised me by turning her body a little and nestling 
into my side. Her breast was pressed into my ribs, and 
she put the palm of her hand on my chest, right over my 
nipple. This was a lover’s position, and I was a little 
uncomfortable, especially when I started to get hard. 
It was no secret I lusted after my sister, but I was a 
good guy, and I wanted to do the right thing. Cuddling 
my older, married sister on her couch struck me as the 
opposite of the right thing.

She rubbed her cheek against my shoulder, with her eyes 
closed like a kitten getting its ears scratched. I 
started to feel awkward with my arms hanging at my 
sides like a paralytic, so I set my coffee aside and 
draped one arm around Angela’s shoulder. "I get so 
lonely," she whispered into my shirt. "Talk to me."

"Talk to you about what?"

"Anything."

I fished through my brain, suddenly muddled by lust and 
moral objection, for any subject I could come up with. 
"So," I muttered lamely, "have you spoken to Mom 
lately?" It’s always kind of pathetic when a writer 
can’t come up words.

"Not as much as I should," she whispered. "Don’t talk 
about family."

"Why not?"

She took a deep breath, and I felt her breast move 
against my body. "I don’t want you to be my brother 
right now. I want you to be my friend."

"Can’t I be both?"

"No. Not today. Drink your coffee."

I scooped up my mug with my free hand and put it to my 
lips. The coffee had gone cool, and I drank it down in 
two swallows. It was black, but I noticed it tasted a 
little sweet. "Drink mine too," Angela urged me.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely, go on. I’d like you to."

Hers was a little warmer, but cool enough to drink. My 
neuromuscular system was more interested in my sudden 
lust than in swallowing a beverage, and it took a 
little effort to get the coffee to go down. Only after 
I’d finished it off and set the mug aside that I 
realized I knew exactly why the coffee tasted sweet: 
she’d put more than just a shot of brandy into each 
mug.

"Talk to me some more," she whispered into my shirt. "I 
need a trusty human voice."

Again I struggled for something to say. I thought maybe 
I ought to ask why she was getting so physical with her 
brother, but when I opened my mouth I was suddenly 
tongue-tied. My heartbeat sounded like jungle drums in 
my ears. My sister’s body was soft and warm with my arm 
wrapped around her, with her body pressed lightly into 
mine. I settled on a simple, neutral topic. "What kind 
of knitting are you learning to do?"

"Basic stuff. Sweaters and scarves. Afghans. I found a 
book on how to knit soft cotton underwear."

"That sounds useful," I said.

"It is. The book has a pattern for a bra, so I knitted 
myself one. Would you like to see?"

I was speechless. I opened my mouth, then closed it, 
then opened it again. "Do you have it upstairs in your 
dresser?"

"No, I have it right here." Angela shrugged my arm off 
her shoulder and stood up in front of me. She crossed 
her arms in front of herself, grabbed the hem of her 
blouse, and peeled it up off herself. Her spine arched 
and twisted sinuously as she slowly, luxuriously 
stripped her blouse off herself, revealing a thin white 
hand-knit bra. She held her blouse up over her head in 
both hands, let it drop to the tip of one thumb and 
dangle for several seconds, then dropped it in my lap. 
"So what do you think?"

"Very... very nice."

She cupped her hands around her breasts and pressed 
them into her body. "It’s so soft and tender," she 
said, and ran the tip of her strawberry-red tongue over 
her lips. "Go on, feel and tell me if I’m lying."

"No, that’s okay," I assured her. I’ve had erections 
before, but this one was warping my jeans like never 
before, and I wasn’t sure there was any blood reaching 
my legs. "I believe you."

Angela planted one knee on each side of my legs on the 
couch and dropped into me, straddling my lap, her 
breasts just inches from my chin. "Please," she 
whispered. "Take a feel. Tell me they’re not the 
warmest, silkiest thing you’ve ever touched."

I stared at her breasts for what seemed like days, but 
was maybe ten seconds. I’d been longing half my life 
for the chance to bury myself in her cleavage and here 
it was, staring me quite literally right in the face. I 
think I forgot how to breathe for several seconds. But 
then I found my courage and shook my head vigorously to 
clear my thoughts. "I can’t do this," I whispered. 
"You’re my sister, and if that weren’t bad enough 
you’re married."

"Oh, don’t turn coy all of a sudden," Angela purred 
through a man-eating smile. She reached down, grabbed 
both my wrists, and planted my hands right on the white 
cotton cups of her bra. "You’ve been waiting for this 
moment for over ten years."

I wish I could say I shoved her off me and gave her a 
stern rebuke, but I have to admit I didn’t take my 
hands off her breasts, not even when she let go of my 
wrist and began kneading my shoulders. "Why are you 
doing this," I asked, hoping I sounded wounded and 
moral. "What do you hope to--"

Angela leaned in then and kissed me full on the mouth. 
Her tongue lanced out and pushed my lips open and I 
tasted my sister’s sweet warm mouth for the first time. 
My courage shattered like a china plate. I slipped my 
hands off her breasts and wrapped them around her 
waist, pulling her even closer if that were possible, 
mashing her breasts into my chest, rubbing my belly 
into her belly, grinding the crotch of my jeans up 
against her crotch. 

Our faces moved together like a well-oiled machine, our 
mouths mingling, our tongues tangling yieldingly, like 
notes of song. I breathed in her scent, filling up my 
soul with my beautiful, smart, sexy, willing sister 
until there was nothing else left, no resistance, no 
well-memorized objections, no pious churchy thou-shalt-
not, only this woman, exquisite, sensual, inviting, 
sinuous, desirable, who knew me better than I knew 
myself and moved her body over mine better than any 
fantasy or dream I’d ever had over the last twelve 
years, who I wanted more than I wanted life itself and 
who wanted me in return.

After a million years of rapturous ecstasy Angela broke 
the kiss and lifted her face off mine. I continued to 
hold her body up against mine, tracing each bone of her 
spine one by one with my fingertips, while she looked 
me in the eye. "Don’t ask me that question, Neil," she 
murmured, in a tone that combined sexuality with 
threat. "If I’m ever ready for you to know I’ll tell 
you."

Gasping for breath after a kiss unmatched in all my 
life, all I could do was nod.

Angela put her hands on my shoulders and pushed 
slightly, lifting herself a few inches off my body. 
"Now you’re not being fair," she insisted. "You’ve 
already seen a sample of what you have to look forward 
to this afternoon, and I don’t get to see what you have 
to offer me." She paused with her palms on my chest, 
her thumbs drawing gentle circles around my nipples, 
before she began unbuttoning my shirt.

"Now it’s my turn to tell you not to be coy," I said. I 
slipped my arms off her back, grasped my shirt with 
both hands, and pulled. Buttons went flying, and one 
wedged itself in Angela’s cleavage. We both stared at 
the button, balanced precariously in the gentle auburn 
shadow between her breasts. All of a sudden I felt 
unaccountably embarrassed. But then Angela giggled, and 
that flawless, adorable, cherry-colored blush returned 
to her velvety cheeks, and I chuckled, and then we were 
laughing madly, hugging and kissing and shaking with 
hysterical glee like children playing in the sun.

I tossed my shirt aside, still laughing. "I’ll get 
that." I pulled her into me, hands roughly clutching 
her body, and lived out the long-deferred fantasy of a 
twelve-year-old baby brother, burying my face in her 
breasts, rubbing the skin against my cheeks, kissing 
and licking, groaning hungrily. A bead of sweat 
trickled between her breasts and I caught it on my 
tongue. 

I felt blindly against her back until I felt the clasp 
of her bra, and undid the hooks. She shrugged out of 
the straps, and I tossed her bra in the same general 
direction as my shirt. Her nipples stared up at me, a 
dark russet color, large as silver dollars and hard as 
carbon steel. When I finally pulled my face back I had 
the button between my teeth. I waggled my eyebrows at 
her and spat the button off to one side, and we laughed 
some more.

We were still sitting upright, and Angela grabbed my 
shoulders and threw herself backward onto the carpet, 
pulling me after her. "Come on, be a man," she said. 
"Get on top."

"Aye-aye, Cap’n," I answered, climbing into the best 
possible position.

She reached down and grasped the fly of my jeans. 
"You’ve been waiting for this since you were a little 
boy, haven’t you?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"And now you’re ready to receive your reward for being 
so patient."

Something in the tone of her voice made me pause. "It’s 
not like I’m a virgin."

"Of course not. You’ve probably been with, what, three, 
four women?"

"Six," I clarified.

"How many since college?"

"One. It’s been over a year."

"And with every one of them, in the half a second 
before you came, you closed your eyes and saw my face, 
didn’t you?"

"I even called your name once." I grinned, embarrassed, 
and I felt like I needed to explain. "I had to claim I 
had an old girlfriend named Angela, and she still 
walked out on me."

"So you were trying to forget me, weren’t you? But you 
never could, could you?"

"That’s about the size of it."

Angela unbuttoned my waistband and unzipped my fly. 
"That sounds like true love to me."

I kicked my jeans off behind me, then sat up just long 
enough to shirk my boxer shorts. I was now fully naked 
in front of my sister, erect, flush with lust and 
laughter. We paused a moment so she could study me, 
then I grasped her own jeans. She lifted her butt so I 
could slide them off her hips, and I tossed them behind 
me. I pulled her panties off, and this time I turned to 
look where I was throwing. 

Our clothing was in a heap, mingled and twisting around 
each other with the same indiscriminate sweat-soaked 
passion that was gripping our bodies. Early afternoon 
sunlight slanted white and yellow through the Venetian 
blinds, painting stripes across our young naked bodies. 
Robert Johnson sang about meeting the Devil at the 
crossroads. We kissed and stroked each other’s faces, 
gnawed on each other’s ears. We rubbed our bellies 
together, slick with sweat, warm with the rush of 
blood.

I put my mouth over hers and kissed hard. She closed 
her eyes and I closed mine, and our tongues moved over 
each other. I explored her mouth with the eagerness and 
curiosity of a starved cave diver. Her hands on my back 
traced figure eights. My right hand stroked her 
shoulder while my left hand cupped her breast. I 
shifted my pelvis until the head of my penis found the 
lips of her warm, wet hole.

It took all the effort I had, but I broke the kiss and 
lifted my face off hers. "Now be reasonable, Angela."

"I’m sick to here of being reasonable," she said. 

"I just want you to be sure. Once this happens we can’t 
take it back. We can never be just brother and sister 
again."

"I want one thing from you, Neil, and I want it now."

I wanted to say something wise just at the cusp of the 
moment, but the English language failed me. I nodded, 
then resumed the heated fervent kiss we’d just broken 
off. While my tongue penetrated my sister’s mouth, my 
body penetrated hers. She was warm and soft and wet and 
everything such a beautiful woman ought to be. She 
wrapped her arms around my body and pulled me close. 

Our tongues tangled and knotted and became one and we 
rolled with the grace of the tide, slow and gentle, 
with building intensity, I couldn’t tell where her body 
began and mine left off, her hair and mine rolled 
together, her breath, her memory, she enfolded me and I 
enveloped her, she was everything I ever wanted and so 
much more, so warm, so strong, so willing, so perfect, 
I saw her with my fingers, I smelled her with my hair, 
I tasted her with my body and then a bolt of lightning 
struck and we screamed and called each other’s names 
and it was absolute and this, this, this was the only 
woman I ever wanted to see when I woke up in the 
morning, I would turn the world away from my door for 
her lips and her body and her soft gentle touch.

Then it was over. We lay on the carpet with our arms 
under each other’s heads, staring at the ceiling, 
struggling to catch our breath. We were both slick with 
sweat, and with other liquids. Never before in my life 
had I come like that. A dam had burst, a flood tide had 
smashed the shore. My whole body still shook with the 
force of my orgasm. And while I couldn’t see my own 
face, I turned to look at Angela, and she smiled back 
at me, bright as the sun. She blushed again, and she 
did not hide her face from me.

Suddenly a warm hairy weight dropped on my belly. I 
looked, and Angela’s cat walked across me and made a 
nest in the canyon Angela and I formed where our bodies 
were still pressed together. The cat licked his nose 
and purred at the two of us. I scratched him between 
the ears while Angela ran soft, gentle fingers down his 
spine.

"See," Angela said to me, "this one knows a loving home 
when he sees it."

We lay there in silence, basking in our shared light, 
petting the cat. I loved Angela. If anyone found out, 
they would say we were immoral. They would call us 
sinners. They would say I was her brother, and she was 
married, and possibly even worse things than that, but 
as I lay there with the only woman who had ever treated 
me like an equal, the only woman who had ever reacted 
to me like a human being, I knew everything anybody 
could say was wrong.

But there was one thing I still needed to know.

I turned my head and whispered in her ear: "Why?"

She returned my gaze. Her eyes looked into mine, and 
her breath was hot on my lips, and her hair rubbed up 
against my cheek, and I felt myself beginning to become 
aroused again.

"I told you not to ask me that," she said, but not 
coldly.

"Sorry."

She paused, then looked back up at the ceiling. "I went 
to the prom with a football player because I was 
supposed to. I went off to college when I was eighteen 
because I was supposed to. I married a guy in one of my 
classes because I was supposed to. And now I’m twenty-
eight years old and wondering why.

"Shawn is out late most evenings," Angela continued, 
"drinking beer and eating pizza. He’s gotten fat and 
his skin is greasy and I told him eight months ago that 
until he lost weight he wouldn’t be touching me. I 
guess he’d rather eat and get drunk with the guys than 
sleep with his own wife. All of my neighbors are two-
income families, so I’m the only one at home for 
several streets around during the day. And Shawn and I 
tried to have a baby early on, but nothing ever came of 
that, so I’m just damned lonely."

She turned to look back at me. "But you," she said, and 
paused. "You’re useful. You’re loyal to me. You pamper 
me like a husband ought to. I, um..." She blushed 
again, and touched her forehead to mine. "I 
deliberately clogged the toilet this morning so I could 
call you over. I just wanted to talk to somebody who 
would actually have a conversation."

"So you planned this! The couch and the coffee and you 
and me and, and everything!"

"No," she exclaimed. "I just wanted to talk to an 
adult. But when you were here, and the coffee, and the 
music, it all just felt right. It’s been months since 
I’ve been with a man in that way. Shawn hasn’t been a 
real husband to me for over a year. But you’ve been 
like a husband to me for my whole adult life. I saw you 
there on the couch, and I just, I fell in love with you 
right there. I thought it was maybe time to make you my 
husband for real."

Angela lifted her face to look right at me, and I could 
see that her face was streaked with tears. "I used you 
for my own satisfaction, and I’m so sorry. Please don’t 
hate me."

I took my hand off the cat and stroked her cheek, 
mopping up the tears. "I don’t hate you," I assured 
her. "I don’t think you could do anything bad enough to 
make me hate you. I’ve been in love with you since I 
was twelve, and you know it."

She smiled at me, and then she sobbed, and the tears 
rolled out of her like a river.

"What?" I asked, suddenly panicked. "What’s the 
matter?"

"You’re just so perfect," she said. "You’re everything 
a man should be. You’re loyal and loving and handsome 
and completely devoted and, well, you’re an excellent 
lover."

I leaned in and started kissing tears off her face. 
"And you’re everything a woman should be."

Angela rolled into me, making the cat jump up and hide 
behind the couch. "What cruel prank was God playing," 
she asked, as she lay on top of me and I continued to 
kiss tears off her face, "to make you my brother and 
not a man I’m free to love?"

"Think about it," I said. "If I weren’t your brother I 
would have been scared to ever talk to you, and if I 
ever did you would have thought I was a terrible nerd, 
and even if you didn’t think that you would have known 
how badly I wanted to sleep with you and you would have 
told me to get lost. Being brother and sister gave us a 
bond that would keep us together in spite of my fear 
and lust and your pride."

"I’ve wanted you so badly for so long," she whispered 
into my ear.

"And I’ve wanted you just as badly for just as long. I 
wish I’d been brave enough to say something to you 
before you went to college and met Shawn."

She nodded, and I nodded, and she cried, and I felt 
myself start to cry, and she laughed, and I laughed, 
and we held each other and laughed and cried and nodded 
and felt such love as neither of us had ever felt 
before.

When the laughing and crying stopped, we lay side by 
side again, and Angela looked at me, big-eyed as if 
she’d just had an excellent idea. "I could leave Shawn. 
Once and for all. And when a woman leaves a husband 
who’s the sole breadwinner, I bet nobody would think 
anything of it if she moved in with her brother."

"I bet you’re right," I agreed.

"You’d work at home like you do," she said, "and I’d 
keep house, and we could make love whenever we wanted. 
As long and as hard as we feel like it. And I could 
wear that dress you love so much, Neil, and I’d never 
wear anything but a hand-knit cotton bra, and we’d be 
there for each other, ’til death do we part, just like 
it ought to be. And we could start a family, and I 
could raise--"

"Whoa!" I broke in. "Did you say family?"

Angela nodded. "I’ve wanted a family more than 
anything, and Shawn hasn’t given me one. I suspect he 
can’t give me a family, not with his lousy diet and his 
lackluster performance in bed. But I can think of no 
one I’d rather start a family with than this man right 
in front of me, who I love so much."

"And I can think of no one I’d rather start a family 
with than this woman in front of me, who I love so 
much." I ran the tips of my fingers down her cheek, 
along her neck, over her shoulder, around her breast, 
and back up to her chin. "So why don’t we get started 
right away?"

"What? So soon after the last one?"

I looked down, and she followed my gaze to my penis, 
already nearly as hard as it had been the first time we 
made love. "I’m ready if you are," I said.

She reached down and wrapped a tender hand around the 
shaft of my cock. She traced my veins with the tip of 
her finger, then lifted her gaze to look back at me. 
"Wow, Neil. All this and you can repair the plumbing 
too."

"For you and nobody else."

Angela and I smiled at each other, then she leaned in 
and kissed me. I ran my hands up and down her spine, 
and our bodies wrapped together, and the sweat started 
to flow, and we made love again. And again before I had 
to leave that evening. And again in the morning. 

And the next day when she showed up on my doorstep with 
her suitcase, wearing a white cotton scoop-neck t-shirt 
and a hand-knit bra, we made love on the linoleum of my 
entrance hallway. And in my bed. And in the hammock 
hanging from the tree in my back yard. And leaning 
against the kitchen counter while we worked together to 
make dinner. And in every room of the house, slowly and 
passionately, one after another.

Seven years and two lovely children later, we’ve 
scarcely spent a night apart, waking up in each other’s 
arms and making love to the morning cry of the house 
sparrow. Now it’s true we’ve had to keep our secrets, 
but I love my sister, and she loves me. What more can a 
man ask for in this life than the true love of a 
beautiful, smart, willing woman?

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 44