Into Her Life: (The Complete Taboo Story of Forbidden Love)

by Jill Soffalot

  The same twisting feeling rose in her stomach as when she'd stood in the bathroom while he showered. An opportunity was there for her, very close, but it was something she both wanted but knew she was not supposed to want. She felt sick with desire. There was a sense of revulsion too, but the disgust was with herself, not him. She swallowed. It was right there, just past the end of her fingers.

  She moved her hand slightly so that her fingertips touched him through his pants, and she felt his body respond, his dick rising involuntarily to meet her touch.

  "Sorry," he said, and tried to adjust his posture again, but she moved her hand so it rested lightly on his penis. Her first three fingers were on him. Her index and middle fingertips touched the hard shaft, and the fingertip of her ring finger lay on the soft ridge that marked the beginning of his cock-head.

  She moved her hand lower and slowly began to run her fingers up and down along the shaft. He hardened more, his dick straining now, erect, but strapped in place by his pants.

  C.J.'s breath was ragged. "Um, Keryn, um... are you... is this okay?"

  She turned and looked up at him. "Are you okay?" She was lightly running her hand up and down on him now, up and down the shaft of his cock.

  He could look her in the eye for only a second. Even in the darkness she could see how red his face was. After a long hesitation, he replied, breathless: "I'm okay."

  The movie carried on, but neither of them were watching. She took him in hand, gripping his cock through his pants and masturbating him. C.J. closed his eyes and tilted his head back, carried away by the moment. She listened to him breathe as she worked, squeezing and jerking his cock. She could feel his shape in intimate detail, the contours of the shaft, the shape of the head. She was breathing hard too. It was impossibly hot under the blanket, but neither of them would push it off, unable to expose what they were doing to the open air of her apartment.

  Keryn laid her head against his shoulder and rubbed him, feeling his cock, jerking him up and down. He moaned and groaned, then lay a hand on her thigh, squeezing her leg through the silky material of her dress. He came at once, grunting and rocking his head back. Keryn could feel his cock jump and pulse, the shots of his ejaculation pumping through.

  He finished and slumped back against the coach, gasping.

  She waited, then finally took her hand off his softening cock. She hugged him, reaching across his body, laying her head against his chest.

  "Why," he softly asked, "why did you do that?"

  She looked up at him. With the moment over, she could feel tears of shame and confusion welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just wanted to all of a sudden. Are you angry?"

  C.J. managed a minor smile and leaned his head toward her so their foreheads gently touched. "Not angry," he said. "Just surprised. Very surprised."

  She looked away but hung on to him, her arms around his neck, her head against him. He hugged her back, held her for a long moment, then shifted uncomfortably. "I need to use the restroom," he said. "I'm kind of a mess."

  "Sure," she whispered, and released him. C.J. got off the couch and walked to the bathroom, stepping awkwardly from the feeling of hot come running down his leg.

  Keryn was alone in the darkened living room, the bad movie still playing. The man and woman were driving in a convertible, looking happy. Keryn got up and went to the kitchen. She washed her hands very well, then went into her bedroom and closed the door.

  She heard him outside her door a minute later. He knocked gently. "Keryn? You okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm okay," she replied, her voice almost breaking. Her mind was filled with thoughts of them as children. The fights that had seemed so constant before seemed to fade now, and the image that persisted was the innocent young boy, little C.J. when he was calm. She had never loved him when they were children. Why not? There was something chemical between them. They just couldn't share space.

  So why now? He was standing there, outside her bedroom door, and she wanted to open it and pull him inside, pull him to her bed. Was she crazy? What the hell was wrong with her?

  "Did you want to talk?" he asked. He sounded calm, rational, measuring his tone, concerned for her.

  "No thanks," she said. "I'm cool, okay. I um, just want to go to bed if that's okay with you. We'll talk later, okay?"

  He paused. "Okay. Goodnight."

  "Goodnight." She waited until he left the doorway. She hadn't turned on the light, and her room was illuminated only by the street lights shining through the venetian blinds on her windows. Her purse was on her desk. She dug inside and found the cigarettes and lit one. Her hands shook as she held the lighter up to the tip, and she exhaled, sending a cloud of gray smoke through the lined shadows of the blinds.

  She was crying, and she didn't know why. He was out there. Would he hate her? Would he tell anyone? How did he feel? Did he feel molested, abused by an older sibling? He was a grown man. She had asked him, and he said it was okay. He never told her to stop.

  Even so, there was a crushing feeling of loss, of something being destroyed. The worst conflict in her though, was the desire that remained, the feeling that she wanted to go further with him, much further, and that somehow it wouldn't happen, it had been spoiled somehow, and now he would surely leave her and they wouldn't speak or see each other again.

  How had things become so screwed up? She smoked cigarettes and cried in the dark. When she felt completely drained, completely devoid of emotions, she finally crawled into bed, still wearing her dress. It felt stupid and shameful, a whore's dress, and she wrestled it off without getting up and deposited it on the floor next to the bed.

  When she closed her eyes, the whole event played out in her mind. She remembered the feel of him in her hand. She thought of his size, his shape. She knew she should be angry with herself for thinking about it, but she had no anger left. She imagined the feel of him against her. She thought of his cock in her hand, both of them naked, guiding it to her mouth, and to her wet vagina.

  Keryn slipped a hand between her legs. She imagined the whole scene playing out again in detail. This time it would not be over so quickly. She imagined the bad movie, feeling his erection and playing with it, and then, instead of shock and murmured acquiescence, C.J. giving her a devilish smile and a kiss. He places his hand over hers and encourages her to feel his big, hard cock.

  She slips to the floor in front of him, places her hands on his thighs. She unzips the front of his pants and he raises his bottom to pull them down. His cock is there, heavy, strong. It's a beautiful cock, its head shining in the light of the TV. A tiny clear pearl of pre-come already glistens at the tip, and she licks in, tasting his salt.

  His balls are below, and she moves down to lick them, running her tongue around them, making him moan. He's running his hands through her hair, telling her how beautiful she is, how he couldn't believe it when he saw her, how this is most incredible thing...

  Keryn had her legs spread now, masturbating with both hands while she imagined the scenario. She imagined taking his cock in her mouth, sucking it, sucking that big beautiful cock until he finally came...

  She moaned, pushing her face into the pillow as she had her own orgasm, her body locking up as she clutched at herself with both hands.

  He was still asleep when she woke up the next morning. For once she skipped every part of her morning routine and instead just slipped into the bathroom and refreshed herself, got dressed, and slipped out of the apartment before he could so much as twitch.

  It was an awful day at work. Keryn stumbled along, going through the motions, cranky and distracted. Her co-workers took notice, and she deflected their questions. "I shouldn't have skipped my yoga this morning," she told Monica, her manager. "It throws everything out of whack."

  "Well, please don't skip it anymore," her boss replied. "Go get a coffee. You look exhausted."

  That night Keryn decided she wasn't quite ready to face C.J. yet. He was supposed to have a rehearsal with his band, but
she didn't want to take any chances. Instead of heading home after work she met up with her friend Stacey, and the two of them went for sushi and drinks afterwards. Then after the drinks they went to another bar for more drinks, and then back to Stacey's to split a joint.

  The whole time Keryn was bursting to tell Stacey what had happened, but she knew she couldn't. She could never tell anyone about it, ever, no matter what. Stacey could tell something was wrong, and Keryn played it off as work trouble, coupled with the fact that she'd broken up with Bryce.

  "Bryce was an idiot anyway," Stacey said with a shrug. "I never liked him. You should get your brother to introduce you to some musicians. Not for anything serious, but just as a rebounder. Musicians aren't usually boyfriend material, but they can be fun for one-nighters."

  Keryn laughed. "Yeah," she said. "I'll think about that."

  By the end of the night they were both wasted. At one in the morning Keryn stumbled out of Stacey's apartment, leaving her friend passed out on the bed with her clothes still on. Keryn found a cab and managed to get home safe.

  She did her best to make it inside quietly, but in her drunk condition she bumped and clattered her way in, shut the door with a thump, and finally made it to her bedroom. C.J. was on the couch, but she passed by without even a glance, heading straight to her room and closing the door behind her. Moments later she was asleep.

  Keryn slept in late the next morning. C.J. was up when she finally stumbled out of the bedroom, and she moved like a whirlwind around the apartment, never pausing to let him speak more than a word to her. In no time flat she was out the door, leaving him standing in the kitchen.

  Now everything was just as bad at work, except with the added fun of a crushing hangover. Plus, C.J. kept calling and texting her, asking her to call him back. She ignored everything, cursing herself that she would have to find another place to live. He could have her apartment and all her stuff. She couldn't go back there and face him. It was all too weird. She would have to just give up, let him have the place, and she would find somewhere else. Of course, she wasn't serious, but she dreaded the idea of the inevitable conversation that would have to take place between them.

  That night she gathered herself and went straight home from work. He had his show tonight. Maybe he would already be gone by the time she got home, but she expected to find him there, looking sad and confused, and they would have to have some really painfully awkward discussion about her choice to give her adult brother a hand job.

  But he wasn't there. She breathed a long sigh of relief when she walked in and found the lights off, except for the one over the breakfast bar in the kitchen. She dropped her bag and wandered in there. On the bar was a folded piece of note paper with her name written boldly across the back.

  Keryn poured a glass from the bottle of wine they'd opened on Wednesday, then sat down at the table and read what her brother had to say.

  "Hey Keryn," he wrote in small, clear printing, "I'm sorry we haven't talked since the other night. I guess you're pretty freaked out by what happened. Maybe we can say it's just something that neither of us planned, and if you don't want to talk about it, I understand and that's okay with me. I don't want you to feel bad about anything. I've really enjoyed spending time with you here, and I hope everything's not all screwed up now, because I really want us to be friends."

  She took a sip of wine. So far so good. He's okay with not talking about it. Good. She read on: "I have my show tonight," he continued, "and it would be great if you could make it out. It would be nice to see a familiar face there. Bring some friends if you want. It's at Sliders Bar. We're on at ten. Hope to see you. If not, we'll talk later. Love, C.J."

  Keryn put the letter down. Tears welled in her eyes, and she realized how selfish she was being, cutting him out the way she had. She'd been embarrassed because she'd acted on a foolish impulse, but she hadn't thought about things from his point of view: alone in the city, relying on her not just for a place to sleep, but for some kind of friendly human contact, someone in his corner. She'd been even worse than the bitchy snob he'd remembered. She'd acted like a lunatic.

  The wine was taking the edge off the lingering remains of the hangover. She got her phone from her purse and texted Stacey, inviting her out to the bar. Keryn gulped the last bit in her glass and went to change. She was better than this. She was going to get dressed, straighten herself up, and go cheer on her brother.

  After a hot shower and some time with her hair and make-up, she went to her room and looked in her closet. She'd never been to Sliders before, but she didn't imagine it was a very fancy place. But for a Friday night with a band, she figured she should wear something nice. She pushed through her outfits, looking for something just right.

  She paused at a purple and black dress. It was perfect for a night in the bar, but her first instinct was to wonder if C.J. would like her in it, if he would find her sexy. "I'm going crazy," she said out loud, but she pulled the dress off its hanger and draped it over herself. She looked in her mirror. She knew the dress hugged her curves and made her look hot. "Okay," she said and began to get dressed, ready to go out and cheer him on.

  Chapter Six: Something Wrong

  Sliders Bar could have been in any city in America. It was a big place with a long, polished wood and brass bar, with lots of tables and booths. They had a dozen domestic beers on tap and a kitchen that served such exotic delicacies as the BLT and the turkey club, plus fries and nachos. It served a working class clientele and had no aspirations to do any more than keep the people of New York City drunk and entertained.

  During the week, entertainment consisted of sports on the TVs scattered around the bar, but on weekends, the dim stage at the back of the long room was cleared off and set up for a band to play. The bands were almost always cover acts. Classic Rock was the typical genre.

  It was not the type of bar Keryn usually visited. If she was in a bar, it was typically a club with a DJ, and people in expensive clothes getting drunk on martinis and doing coke in the bathrooms. Not that she used coke, but she'd seen it enough times. This was New York, after all.

  On Friday night Keryn arrived at Sliders with her best friend Stacey. The bar was crowded, and The Guess Who was blasting over the sound system. "We're over-dressed," Stacey said as soon as they were inside.

  The two young women were wearing stylish cocktail dresses, while the fashion in Sliders was dominated by denim. "We look hot," Keryn said to her friend. "We're the best-looking pair in here."

  "Drinks," Stacey replied. The pair had been out late drinking the night before, and were both trying to bury their hangover. Stacey had argued against going out, but Keryn talked her into it. After all, Keryn's brother was playing on stage that night, and wanted to see a friendly face in the audience. And since there was no way Keryn was coming to this sketchy bar on her own, she pressed Stacey into service.

  The pair of them slid up to the bar and waited for service. The bartender, a fat man with a walrus moustache, came over and served them Jack Daniels and diet coke, which they took to the back of the bar where the stage stood, dark and empty.

  "What time are they supposed to play?" Stacey asked. "I want to see C.J. and get out of here."

  "Soon," Keryn said. She was looking forward to seeing C.J. as well. It felt like she hadn't seen him in a long time, although it had really only been since Wednesday. Oh God, Wednesday, that crazy night when Keryn had given into a sudden impulse and touched C.J. while they were watching a movie on the couch. She'd touch his penis through his pants, then masturbated him under the blanket. She was still driving herself crazy with shame and confusion. But as much shame and confusion as she felt, the unnatural urge to touch him even more remained.

  That was the second reason Keryn had made sure Stacey accompanied her to see C.J. perform with this cover band. She wanted to see her brother, but she wanted to stay in control, and there was no way she would let herself slip with someone there to witness it. She might have been crazy for lu
sting after her brother, but she wasn't so crazy that she would ever want anyone to know about it.

  The two women stood in the open space in front of the empty stage holding their drinks. Men came prowling around, walking slowly past them holding bottles of beer, checking them out. That was nothing new. Keryn was a slender, toned young beauty with long, dark hair, and a face like a model. Stacey, although very pretty, did not have Keryn's classic features, but tended to draw more attention in darkened bars on account of her curvier figure.

  The men cruised by, but the girls maintained their cool attitude and did not engage. They sipped their drinks and like the two fashion industry workers they were, looked around and commented on people's clothes.

  "This is killing me," Stacey moaned. "Get me out of here. Where is C.J.? I want to stare at your hot brother, not look at these relics."

  "Just hang on," Keryn said. As if on cue, the stage lights came on, illuminating the empty space that was decorated with a drum kit, several guitars resting on stands, a keyboard, and a few microphone stands. A few people came around to the space where the girls were standing, anticipating the show.

  A door opened near the stage and a few guys came rambling up a staircase and out into the room, then directly up onto the stage. They looked like they were all in their forties or fifties. They were grey-haired, grizzled men, a few with pot-bellies, and a few with the lean, hard look of men who spent long days swinging hammers or hanging drywall. Only the last of them was a young man. This was C.J., the guest guitar player, filling in for the regular lead guitarist who was unable to play after having knee surgery.

  While the four older fellows who led the way looked serious and business-like, C.J. appeared loose and happy to be there. The others stumped up a set of steps at the side of the stage, but C.J. jogged and leaped up to take his place, pulling his black-bodied electric guitar from its stand and slipping its strap over his shoulder.