by Olga Menson
"And then she says: 'Oh no Santa I thought you came only once a year!'"
I laughed, loudly and inappropriately.
"Where does a good middle-class girl like you learn this shit?"
"Who said I was good? And usually study hall."
"Oh my god you are such a good girl. I could tell by the way your mom let me carry you off and the way your little sister looks up to you. You've become...reformed."
She put on a mock horrified look, then a sly smile spread across her face.
"Take me back to your car, and I'll show you what a bad girl I am."
As soon as the words escaped her lips she put her hand over her mouth as if she wanted to put them back.
"Oh my god," she said, "I am so sorry. That was...oh god."
I reached out and held her hand. God I fucking knew what a bad idea this was, but I was just a swimmer and the tide was so strong between us. I couldn't resist it any more. I didn't want to.
"Don't feel bad. You don't need pretend any more. What we used to feel...when we were kids. It was playful. It made sense. It was us against the world. In me, at least, it grew while we were apart. Matured with me. Became something else, out of my control. I wondered what you would be like when I saw you again. No. I fantasized about it. What you would look like. What you would feel like under my hands. What you would taste like. Would you let me taste you? How else would you let me love you?"
Once it started I couldn't stop it. I don't think she wanted me to. Her lips were slightly parted and she was breathing faster. A blush spread on her cheeks. I wondered what it would look like on the rest of her body.
"I compared every girl I flirted with to you. Not intentionally, it just came naturally. Were they as pretty? As smart? As filthy and hilarious? None of them were. It wasn't fair to them. You aren't really fair competition, are you? For example, how is ti that you ended up being even more beautiful than I imagined you would be at eighteen? I don't understand it. I know what I'm supposed to feel for you as s a good big brother. But I'm not so good. So I feel much more. I. Want. You."
Holy fuck. Did I just say that? I hadn't even had anything to drink. Oh god if I had fucked this up...
"Take me to your hotel," she said in a small, desperate voice, "Please."
I paid and stood up (I'm not even sure how, given the erection I had) and led her out of the restaurant. I held the door for her on the way out but my hand brushed her ass on the way out. I saw that she shivered. Probably not from the cold either, but I still put my jacket around her shoulders. She smiled and looked back at me, pulling it tighter around her.
"Hmm," she said, looking up at me as I held the car door open for her again, "Is your jacket meant to keep me warm? Or to mark your territory? I hope its both."
I didn't answer. I was having a little trouble breathing. We drove to my hotel in silence, holding hands covered in sweat but not daring to look at each other. I think that if I had, I would have stopped and fucked her right there in the passenger seat.
My willpower was almost out and I wanted to be inside my little sister. No. I had to slow down. Think a little bit. If...if I was going to do the wrong thing, I had to at least make it right for her.
"I really want to make you cum so hard that you cry out. I want to hear what you sound like when you can't control yourself any longer."
"Samuel, if you keep talking like that, you might hear what it sounds like in your car. God. My dress is probably soaked."
I smiled.
"My jacket will cover it, just walk with me to the elevator. I should warn you that its got glass windows so everyone can see you."
"You're enjoying this. Torturing me. Teasing your little sister. Making me so wanton for you."
"Wanton," I said as I pulled in to the hotel, rolling the word around in my mind, "Yes. That's how I need you to be. I think I love that word now. Wanton."
I was a gentleman all the way in. Holding doors, leading her across the busy lobby with her arm on mine. Men openly watched her, wanted her. I was proud to be seen with my little sister. Proud that I'd made her wet. We got on the elevator. I leaned in and whispered in her ear:
"I can smell how turned on you are and it's driving me insane. I love you."
I said the last part so simply. We'd been teasing each other up to now, telling the truth to ratchet up the tension, the desire. I did love her. I loved her and the idea of being with anyone else felt like cheating on her. The idea of her being with anyone else made me feel sick and angry. She was my little sister. Mine. And I would make sure she knew it.
"Fuck," was all she said, softly. I saw her knees shake a little.
I put my arm around her. It wasn't just possessive. I led her to my room and opened it quickly. I let her in first and then kicked the door closed behind me. We were finally alone together. We crashed into each other's arms.
We kissed like we were dying, like we needed each other to live. Maybe we did. She didn't kiss like an experienced woman. Intellectually I didn't care if she was a virgin. I loved her and wanted her. But the idea that she was untouched and that I would be her teacher and lover turned me on even more. I felt shame but it was buried deep in the back of my chest, behind my lust and longing.
I crushed her to my chest, feeling her soft but firm body melt into mine. Her breasts felt amazing and heat came off of her sex as she ground against me. Her tongue darted in my mouth, exploring me. She stopped suddenly, breathing hard, leaning into me.
"Please make me feel good. I can't wait any more. I can't. I need you."
I gently picked her up, carrying her in my arms like a husband would across the threshold. I was aware of the similarities. I sat down on the sofa, leaving her in my lap like a child. Without any warning I slid my hand up under her skirt, pushing it over her knees, her thighs and finally to her waist. Her skin was smooth and soft, and so toned. She gasped and drew in her breath as my hand wandered ever upward. She was wearing tasteful but extremely sexy blue panties, silky and cut to barely cover her mons. It was clear that she intended me to see them tonight.
"Your legs feel amazing," I said, stopping briefly to feel her thigh's firm muscles, "Do you work out?"
She nodded, biting her lip. When she spoke it was a hoarse whisper.
"Please stop teasing me, I need you...oh fuck."
While she protested I moved my hand up onto the outside of her panties, applying gentle pressure to her lips and clit. Although I couldn't see them I could feel them, and her fluids made the fabric cling to her like a tight swimsuit. She immediately started to grind against my hand. With her own hands she had grasped fistfuls of my shirt, as if to keep me from leaving her side. Her eyes were closed and she tucked her head into my chest. Her breath came in shallow and I could hear her softly whispering.
"Oh, oh, oh fuck. Samuel please. I love you so much, I do. I need this. I need your fingers inside me. Please...."
I hesitated, this time not to tease her. My conscience, what little of it was left, held me up. I felt something inside me screaming that this was wrong, that I was a monster, taking advantage of my sister, loving her in the wrong way. It was a far weaker voice than the one telling me to make her cum.
My hand slipped under her panties. Oh fuck, she felt so good. I wasn't going to be rough, or fast with her. I gently moved my index finger around her clitoris, feeling its swollen warmth, then I moved my fingers down to her labia, gently rubbing her slick folds.
"Oh fuck, baby, please. You feel so good. Oh, oh fuck."
Her body was tensing, her breathing stopped.
"It's ok, relax. It's me, ok? You can stop me any time you want. I...I love you. I want this to be good for you. Very good."
I felt her relax a bit, she started breathing again.
"O...ok. I trust you, I just. It almost feels like too much. Its so much more than...than when I do it."
I smiled and kissed her gently on her face, moving down to her neck. They were gentle, sweet kisses. I gently moved my thumb over
her clitoris and then slowly pushed a finger, slick with her fluids, into her.
"Oh fuck. Oh fuck. That feels so good. You feel right inside me. I love you please keep going."
She was unbelievably tight, I was afraid that I might hurt her, so I slowly and carefully pistoned my finger inside of her, placing my palm against her clitoris and mons. She instinctively began to grind against my hand, whimpering every time my finger entered her.
She was already wetter than I'd ever seen, and as I felt inside her tight tunnel, my hand was bathed in ever more liquids. I'd been with only one girl before her, and while I was able to make her cum, I don't think she'd ever been this excited.
I added a second finger and gently pushed against her interior walls, spreading her sex, resisting her clutching muscles. Her grinding increased, her breathing was so rapid that it was almost worrying.
"Oh, oh god what are you doing to me? Why is it so good with you?"
I didn't have any answers for her so I applied more pressure on her clit while moving my fingers in and out of her faster and faster. As her breathing turned to moaning and she was about to peak, I hooked my fingers towards the top of her vaginal wall, finding the rough g-spot and rubbing into it rhythmically.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she swore over and over, entirely out of control, her hips bucked against my hand, her body shook and quivered. She finally let out a cry, loud and high-pitched, and then collapsed, shaking into my arms. I withdrew my fingers gently, caressing her swollen lips, and then simply held her.
I stood up, holding her limp form, and carried her to the bed, laying her down slowly and with care. Her hand wouldn't let go of my shirt, pulling me toward her. I had no intention of leaving her side, and I cuddled close to her, spooning her smaller form against mine. Against my hard cock.
This is where things started to turn on me. Now that she was satisfied and quiet, the voice inside me, the one that hated me, told me I was a monster. Worse than dad. After all, he'd never finger-fucked her.
I didn't want to ruin the moment. I truly didn't. But no matter how hard I try, I can never escape myself.
* * *
The Fight
* * *
I stood up. More suddenly than I had intended. I was breathing too fast. Oh fuck, what had I done?
She was looking up at me, confused, and then alarmed.
"Are you...ok?"
"No. I think you should go. Get your things on I need to take you home."
"What?"
There was so much meaning in that word. I saw confusion, fear, anger, rejection. It hurt too much to even think about.
"I...I need you to go. This isn't right. I'm not right."
"Jesus. Calm down, it's ok."
"No, it's not. But you will be. You need to get out of here, away from me. Then you'll be all right," I was certain that was what had to happen. I loved her, I wanted her. Had I hurt her? I tried to consider the night's events objectively. Did I take advantage of her? Work her up? Make her need me so I could fuck her the way I wanted to?
Although I wouldn't have said so in the moment, now I'm very thankful for her anger. She started shouting.
"No! I won't be ok, you stupid fucker. I love you! I need you! For five years, I looked for you. When I went to bed I imagined that it was you I was holding, not a pillow. When I fingered myself, I was imagining what your cock would feel like inside me, filling me. When I kissed a boy I felt sick with myself, because I knew, I knew that I'd see you again and it was like cheating on you. And you found me. And you love me the way I love you. Tell me I'm wrong."
"It isn't that simple."
"Explain it to me then. Explain why you can't love me. When I know you do. When I feel it, like heat, coming off of you. When you look at me the way you do and I can feel the hunger in your gaze."
"It's not that. I do love you. I love you more than anything. It hasn't changed in five years so it's not going to. But I'm not like you. I'm..."
She wasn't angry now but her eyes still bored into me. I felt completely exposed, helpless. No one else could make me feel that way. I realized that what I saw in her eyes was a kind of desperate compassion. Somehow that burned me more than her anger. She was kneeling now, her dress disheveled, her beautiful hair falling messily behind her. She spoke quietly now, insistently.
"Yes, I'm listening. I want to hear you. Tell me how."
Everything was spinning. I leaned against the wall for a moment. I was desperate not to do this. To let her keep some tiny amount of the image she had of me. The last and only person to ever look up to me, or love me how I needed to be loved. But she'd fallen in love with a memory, someone who didn't exist any more. The last little bit of my mask was slipping and I couldn't stop it from going all the way. I sighed, and took off my shirt. If I showed her, she'd understand. She could have a clean break and hopefully she wouldn't remember me too badly.
The expression that she made was just as bad as I had expected. Maybe worse.
"I know I look disgusting. I'm sorry, but this is just the best way to show you. To let you understand why I'm not who I was. Or who you want me to be."
She was crying now, silently. I made no effort to cover my shame again, although I wanted to.
"I'm not...disgusted. Not with how you look. I'm...I'm sickened by what it means. Samuel, why didn't you tell me? God, it must have been awful, whatever happened. But that doesn't mean I don't want you. How could you think that?"
"How? Because I'm already over. Because I've been trying so hard to just be human, and I can't. I don't know how. Billy did right by me, but some shit you can't fix. This scar," I said, pointing to a white line about three inches long on my lower-left abdomen, "was from dad. He didn't create it, but that's where they had to operate to fix where my intestine had ruptured. These," I said, gesturing to the fifteen or so small circular scars all over my upper-right chest, "were from my first foster family. Gary liked his cigarettes, his drink, and his belt. He got drunk and then saw in me everything he hated about himself, so he burned me. Eventually someone reported him and I was moved again. That's where the real fun started."
She had her hands to her mouth now and was shaking her head. I don't think I could have stopped now if I had tried. I hadn't talked about any of this in years. Billy hadn't even asked after he saw the haunted look in my eyes when I was dropped off, and I didn't blame him.
"I won't even say their names. They weren't killers like dad or simple angry drunks like Gary. No, they were fucking actual sadists. There were eight kids there, I was the oldest. They gave us enough food for four. He liked his knives, and he could usually get you to do what he wanted with them. He didn't ever think he'd deal with someone who didn't care about whether he was gonna be above ground the next day. I ate enough to keep my strength, and I built my rage up every day. And, it turned out, even then, I could fight. I was good at that."
She said something, it sounded like "stop". I didn't know how.
"So he cut me and stabbed me and did his best to kill me, but he didn't hit anything important. That's where I got all of these," I said, gesturing to the many remnants of cuts and gouges over my torso and the defensive scars on my arms, "I kept fighting. Until he stopped getting up and my hands hurt so much I couldn't even make a fist any more. I took all of the kids out of there, but I didn't have any plan. We got picked up by the cops inside of an hour. But I guess we got lucky because they listened to me. And the other kids backed me up. They'd been there longer and had it worse than I did. So I got pulled from there. But who wanted a sixteen year-old kid who fought? Who beat his foster-father almost to death, even if he was a monster? No one. So Billy took me in. Because I was exactly the sort of last-resort head-case he tried to help."
I realized that I was crying now. I hadn't even noticed it. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried. Was it the first night at Billy's? Could have been. Marilyn was walking towards me. Her expression was unreadable, but it was clear to me that she was done with me. It made me sad,
but I understood.
"So that's what I am. He did his best, but I can't make this shit in my head go away. And yeah, I'm not violent right now, but who fucking knows what will set me off? Who knows when I'll start hurting someone because it feels good? It's all in here," I tapped my head, "and here," I took her hand and put her palm on my chest, "and I can't get rid of it. My nightmares are made of this. Its what tries to get out when I get too angry or scared. That's who I really am. I'm sorry I can't be what you deserve."
She had a sad expression, but made no move to leave.
"Samuel. It's always just been you on your own, hasn't it? You had Billy, but he couldn't see your pain. You didn't let him because you thought you were a monster. They hurt you so much that you started to believe what they said. But you are not worthless. You might need therapy. I did. You might need medication. I did for three years. That's not your fault. That doesn't make you a bad person. And you aren't alone. So get it through your fucking skull that your little sister isn't leaving you. Do you know what my family would do if they heard what you told me?"
I shook my head. I could imagine the horror at having let someone like me into their home, with their children.
"They'd say exactly the same thing I just did. That's what they said to me, before they even really knew me. When I told them the awful things that dad did to you. You had it worse also you might need more help. That's it. That's the only difference between us."
I opened my mouth to speak, but she gently put her finger to my lips.
"No. I need you to understand this. This is the irony of being you. You've been through so much, it's natural to doubt yourself or worry that you'll be like those other monsters. But your worry? Your concern for me? No monster would care. They're afraid of being caught, not of hurting anyone. You saved me. More than once. Now you need to let me save you. I'm not asking you to change or fix everything right away. I can see how badly you're hurting. So just trust me. That's it. Trust that I can see you better than you can and that I'll be beside you while you work to heal yourself. Do you trust me?"
