It took me a while to admit it, to realize it, but for years I was in love with my sister. It's a hard thing to get right away: sure, I loved her, but I didn't realize I was IN love with her. And I somehow managed to avoid thinking about the fact that I wanted her, more and more as the days went on. That I scheduled my showers for those glimpses of her in the towel; that when I jerked off, it was her face in the back of my mind; that I'd dated a friend of hers because it was some kind of connection. You know what did it, though? Coming home from college for Christmas break.
I'd gone to school on the other side of the country, near about, and been gone just long enough for her to look ... less familiar. Do you know what I mean? At that age -- she was a year and a half younger than me, a senior in high school -- a few months can make a difference. It was like, before leaving, I had continued to see her as she was at 14: and being away from her for four months, it made her age three years. Longer legs. Creamy pale skin that had lost most of its tomboy freckling. High, pronounced cheekbones, making her face more angular, the baby fat stripped away. Her dark brown hair had been dyed a deep shade of purplish-black, the Crayola color only showing when the light hit it just right: her long eyelashes and jade-flecked eyes were accented by expert shadow and mascara now. Her hips had more sway, her breasts more curve. She was a completely different person.
Except, of course, she wasn't.
She was the one who greeted me at the airport, having driven my car -- well, her car, but it'd BEEN mine -- there while the folks were at work. My eyes went right past her, right past the simple white sweater and long black shirt where I was expecting a concert T-shirt and ripped up jeans. She had an arm around my neck before it completely registered who she was, and I couldn't help laughing.
"Jesus, Lee," I said. "I was expecting --"
"-- pigtails? Pony sneakers?"
"Well, not that bad. But, you know. You've grown up a little."
"Kinda did the makeover thing for senior year. Anyway, just want you to know -- since my car used to be yours and everything, I figure you'll want it to be able to get out of the house for the next couple weeks."
We headed down towards baggage pickup, and I nodded, talking over the holiday crowd. "Actually, yeah, that would be --"
"Well, tough. I can drop you off places or whatever, but the car's mine now. Suck it up and deal."
Now that was the Leah I remembered.
* * *
We ended up working out a complicated schedule so that I'd have car access, but as it turned out, there was really no need. After a few days I'd seen everyone I wanted to see, and there just wasn't a damn thing to do in the area. Finals had worn me out, and truth to tell, I was as happy staying home and enjoying the digital cable setup as anything else -- the dorm televisions got an odd mix of Spanish-language Disney channel, a few obscure pay stations, and NBC.
Closer to Christmas, Leah was home more often, too. Most of her friends had gone off to the relatives they'd be visiting, or to Vermont or Colorado where they'd be skiing. Yeah, it was that kind of town, those kinds of social circles.
My room was sort of an adjunct to both the rec room -- no one called it that except my mother -- and the storage areas of the basement. The basement was only bearable spot in the house in the summer, because my parents didn't believe in air-conditioning; but in the winter, it was cold as sin. That's probably the only reason Leah hadn't bothered moving in to my room. Mine was larger, sure, but she'd taken care of that by putting all the crap that had taken up her closet space and shoving it in between my bed and the windows (the windows could barely be called such: medicine-cabinet-sized things high on the ceiling, where the basement overtook the ground outside). It wasn't so bad, though. I threw an old quilt over the boxes, and it almost looked like I just had a raised floor there. Or a weird table. Or boxes and a quilt.
Mom and Dad had their cocktail parties, their dinner parties, went to the country club, cajoled me into going along to a distant aunt's house for dinner (Leah was smart enough to be out of the house when it came time to leave), and Christmas inched slowly closer, break seeming to last forever. Sure, I loved having the time off, but my God. None of my friends were around, I didn't have a car, and it was damned cold.
This is the part where I say "what I didn't realize was that by the end of the break, I'd wish it would never end."
Because the highlight was Leah. Yes, she was still something of a brat, but reflexively, habitually. She was funny, smart, my cohort against the parents, and we talked for hours about both her senior year -- how to cruise through Fisk's physics class, all the senior benefits she should be reaping -- and my freshman year of college -- what it was like living in the dorms, having such a different class schedule, staying out all night, etc. And we watched movies, when we were both home. That had been "our thing" forever: movies. Neither of the folks watched them much -- Mom would purchase the occasional tear-jerker, watch it every day for a month, and drop it off at the Salvation Army. Dad had his John Wayne and Tom Clancy movies. Yeah, it was that kind of family.
Lee and me, we'd watch anything together, because if it was horrible we'd just make fun of it -- and that was as much fun as the best of the good movies. So we rented a bunch of everything on the folks' Blockbuster chargecard, knowing they wouldn't get the bill till I was back at campus and Leah could blame it on me -- and when we'd gone through that, two days before Christmas, Leah sighed.
"Nothing's gonna be in, you know." It was true. The local Blockbuster was small, and this close to Christmas, everyone was renting movies.
"Eh. Well. We could watch some of your movies."
"Ohhh, my movies are crap. Girl movies. I'm outgrowing them. There's only so many times I can watch the same old thing. But you know what we've got." You're thinking she's going to say porn, but you're wrong. "I'll bet Grandma sent the usual."
She grinned, jumped up from the couch, and snuck upstairs to the presents under the Christmas tree. When she came back, she had a wrapped package in her hands: small, the size of a video. Bright metallic green wrapping paper. Yep, Grandma's usual.
"You're not really suggesting we watch it?" I asked.
"C'mon. It'll be fun. We'll mock the living shit out of it." She unwrapped it before I could object, and there it was: The Happy Hippos Go To China. "China!" she grinned. "God. How many has she sent?"
"Ten. At least ten, maybe more. You'd think they'd stop making Happy Hippos movies. You'd think Grandma would realize I'm not nine years old. You still hide wine behind the basement freezer?"
I got up, brought a couple of bottles out, and she'd already put the video in and had laid down across the couch, sprawled on it, very much like the teenager I remembered. "Move over."
"Nope. Don't wanna."
I picked her legs up, and she kicked a little but let me sit down, putting her long legs down in my lap. She was wearing comfortable jeans and a red sweater -- nothing exceptional, but she looked good in it. I rested my hand on her ankle, and she smiled, but didn't say anything. While we talked for the next two hours (the Hippos movies were bad enough, but believe it or not they were also full-length), I squeezed her foot a few times to make a point, and found myself running my fingers along her ankle, tracing her skin. I wasn't even really aware of doing it, until Leah stretched her leg out against me, and my fingers shifted six inches or so up her leg. "Tickles," she mumbled, like she wasn't really going to acknowledge my touching her, either.
We downed the first bottle of wine while making fun of the Happy Hippos and their madcap adventures in China, getting progressively more giggly, and when the tape ended, Leah stood up, almost falling over, and pointed upstairs.
"Gonna pee. Put the TV on or something. It's vacation, we should be staying up all night."
Late Night was over, but after some flipping I found a movie worth watching on one of the many channels available through the wonder of digital cable. Strangers on a Train, one of the better Hitchcock flicks. Leah, of course, recognized it the instant she came back down.
"Rock. Good choice, big brother." She'd changed while she was upstairs, into nothing but a long T-shirt and longer legs.
"Getting ready for bed?"
She shrugged. "Eh, eventually. Now move over."
I grinned. "Don't wanna."
She sailed over me, pouncing into the seat next to me and hrmphed, stretching her legs out again. "Brat."
"Oh yeah. Good one."
And so it went, random jabs and insults as we finished the second bottle of wine and watched the Hitchcock movie. I was sitting closer to the middle now, which meant closer to her, and her legs were laid over my lap so that when I rested my hand, I was touching just below her knee. Every time I didn't make a conscious effort to stop, I found myself caressing the back of her leg there -- barely touching, but just moving my fingers along it, stroking her soft creamy skin, rewarded occasionally with a light "mm" or "ohh." It's just her leg, I thought. Perfectly innocent. Nowhere near what my mother used to call "the swimsuit area."
After Strangers on a Train, I flipped channels for awhile, expecting her to yank the remote from me -- but Leah had fallen asleep. She had her hands curled up under her head, tilted to the side against the couch cushion, with that slow, regular breathing where you know someone is just plain out cold. Too much wine, too late at night.
Her legs were still on my lap, though. I slinked out from under them, trying not to wake her up, and wobbled -- there's no way I was going to be able to get her upstairs, not this drunk. But she'd freeze sleeping on the couch, so I ... well, I picked her up, being careful not to fall over, and brought her to my bed.
I had a queen-size, so it's not like there wasn't plenty of room. I laid her down on the far side of the bed, by the boxes, pulled the quilts up, laid down on my side, and promptly fell asleep.
I woke up I don't know how much later, maybe an hour, because she was huddled against me, her back against my chest, trying to keep warm. Still sound asleep, and I was barely awake myself. I started to push her away, but shrugged inwardly. It was too cold to bother, and I was too drunk. I started to drift back off, bunching my pillows up under my head, but something started stirring. With her this close to me, I was suddenly very aware of the vanilla-lavendar smell of her hair. Of the curved shape of her underneath the quilt. Of her ass almost pushing against my stomach.
Only half aware of what I was doing, I shifted, until I was higher up on the bed, letting her ass nestle against my crotch. I was still clothed, in jeans at that, and she was wearing ... well, panties ... so it wasn't too bad, right? But now I couldn't go to sleep. Suddenly just wasn't tired at all, although I certainly wouldn't say I was awake. I just lay there, listening to her breathe, feeling her back against my chest and the growing warmth of her against me, and realized I was as hard as it was possible for me to be.
So what, I thought. Go to sleep. Go back to sleep. There's nothing you can do about it right now.
Of course ... there was ONE thing I could do about it.
Moving slowly, not wanting even a chance of Leah waking up, I unbuttoned my jeans just enough to slip my hand down into my boxers. My fingers wrapped around the base of my cock, and began to slowly jerk. It's not that I wanted to take my time so much as I just didn't want to wake her up. I kept stroking, running my wrapped fingers along the length of my shaft, rubbing the head against the fabric of my boxers, doing my best to make no noise at all. Once you get into it, though ... it's a slippery slope. My cock began to nudge out of my boxers, out of the V formed by my button-fly, and I froze for a moment when Leah's breathing changed, like maybe she was waking up.
She wasn't. She just rolled an inch or so, turned a little -- unconscious weight-shifting, it happens a thousand times, but this time it pushed the panty-clad cleft of her ass right against my knuckles. I took a deep breath and kept stroking ... slowly ... breathing deep to smell her hair, angling myself to let my cock touch her after every stroke. I shuddered, knowing this was an amazingly stupid thing to do, knowing that there was no way I was going to stop.
And if she wasn't going to wake up from feeling me stroke myself against her ass ...
I released my cock and fumbled my arm around her, pulling her against me. I didn't mean to be fumbling, but -- the alcohol hadn't quite worn off. She made this noise, in the back of her throat -- this little whimper. But I was sure she was still asleep. I let her fall into a natural position, and pressed gradually against her, my cock pressing her panties into the cleft of her ass, the shaft laying against her parallel to her spine, as I slowly -- and carefully -- and insanely -- began to grind against my sister's ass. It was so much better than my hand. It was -- just the fact that I was trying so hard not to think about this being my sister, the fact that I couldn't face the idea of what might happen if she woke up or I was discovered -- that made it so much better. My hand slid under her T-shirt, running lightly along her skin, tracing the contours of her, the bewildering concavities and vexing convexities that made her who she was, and I shuddered again, unable to stop a low moan, when my fingers discovered she wasn't wearing a bra.
"Ehmmm!" It wasn't quite a whimper, it wasn't quite protest, but it was a definite sound, anxious and whining, when my palm covered her nipple and squeezed. Her breasts were pefectly shaped, sized for hands, designed for mouths, and when she pushed back against me in her sleep, pushing her ass against my bare cock, it was all I could do to keep from taking things much further than I dared. I stopped, looking at her face closely, but she seemed asleep -- drunk-unconscious, as if just responding to some dream. I wondered what she was dreaming about, whose cock she thought she was feeling. I started to stroke myself against her, moving up and down along the bed to feel her ass hugging me, and her foot criss-crossed between mine, her leg stroking me just where I'd caressed her in the rec room.
My breathing was erratic, my chest pushing against her back, and hers was heavier now, deep, punctuated with a steady layer of almost-groans, little noises she wasn't awake enough to make. This was dumb. This was really dumb. This was -- sooo good. I rocked my hips against her, grinding steadily against her firm ass, and when she moved back against me, it was only instinctive, off-rhythm, as if in a dream. I wanted to squeeze her breasts, to slide a hand down the front of her panties, to kiss her, but I didn't dare. I pressed my mouth to the back of her neck, just where her hair fell to the pillows, but didn't kiss, just held it there as I clenched my teeth, and pulled my hand away from her breast so I wouldn't bear down on it, curling my hand into a fist beneath her shirt as I came, stifling grunts and groans and holding my breath until I could release it slowly, silently, as I rolled away from her, staring at the dark ceiling.
* * *
"Mrrm. You could've woken me up or something." Leah looked over at me, wrapped in the quilts, and I couldn't read her expression. By daylight, the night before felt ... dangerous and stupid.
"You were out cold." I forced myself to grin, and realized I'd fallen asleep without buttoning my jeans back up. The quilt covered me, but only barely. "And I was way too drunk to dry to drag you up the stairs."
She nodded and pushed her hair out of her face groggily. "Unh. At least it was the white wine. Red gives me such a hangover. And we have --"
"Church today. Christmas Eve. Yeah. Fun for the whole family."
"Mmhmm." She crawled over me to the side of the bed without boxes and got up, pulling the quilts off behind her. I yanked up my boxers and started to button my jeans, and she turned around to say something, but stopped. Still unreadable. Intentionally unreadable, I could tell that much: guarded. Uncertain. She nodded to my jeans. "Just how drunk were you?"
I faked another grin and finished buttoning. "Dunno. Probably got up to take a piss."
She nodded and walked away, up the stairs to take a shower. "Silly college boy. Hey, by the way -- I'm out to the mall this aft to do my last-minute shopping. You wanna come with, just let me know."
* * *
We made the mistake of shopping. I say "mistake" because -- hey. This was Christmas Eve. You've seen the malls. Wall to wall last-minute shoppers, us included. We finally found something for the folks, and showed up to church -- fifteen minutes late.
You'd think the only pews left would be the ones in the front, the ones no one wants. But no. We found ourselves in the back, in one of those mini-pews in the corner -- it had already been abandoned by someone who'd come in to make an appearance and left as soon as they could. Damn fickle Christians.
Mom and Dad were up front in the choir, as per always. We'd catch hell later for showing up late, if they saw us come in. I didn't look up to make eye contact. Sometime between "O Come All Ye Faithful" and the sixth-graders' nativity play, more late-comers shuffled in, squeezing in to our pew, and I found myself pushed against the window, our coats bundled in my lap and Leah practically sitting on top of them.
You know how it is in northern winters: you dress up all warm to deal with the outdoors, and then when you get inside, with too many people, you're far too hot. Leah's leg pressed tightly against mine was oven-hot, fire-hot. She was pressed much closer than she needed to be: doing that crowded movie-theater thing where you press against the person you know instead of getting wedged next to the stranger.
After the nativity play but before the sermon, she reached into her coat to find a Tic-Tac, rummaging through my lap -- and when she'd found it, her hand stayed there as she straightened up, eyes front and innocent ... her fingers making their way through the layers of coats until happening on the fly of my pants. I glanced at her again, but her eyes were firmly forward with no chance of contact, and the way she was sitting, you couldn't tell from the position of her arm that she was doing anything but keeping her hand warm under her coat.
The fingers flipped my button through the eyehole, and in the midst of first sentence of the minister's sermon I was sure the whole congregation could hear my zipper being slowly undone. Through my boxers, she caressed the underside of my shaft with her knuckles, tracing it warmly, with touches from firm to feather-light, making me hard before Joseph even knew his fiancee was pregnant. She worked her fingers through the front of my boxers and caressed me gently, as if getting used to the shape of me, before rubbing her palm against my cockhead and wrapping her hand around the base, starting to slowly stroke me.
She was ... good. This was far from the first handjob she'd given. She brought me to the edge quickly and kept me there, with just enough pressure, just enough variance in her stroke, sometimes faster, sometimes painfully slow, and I had to force myself to lean my head against the window in an effort to look bored. Her hand kept moving, fingers changing position, fist twisting around my cock as she stroked, and I spent the entire sermon, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!" and the update on the church's sister congregation in Belize so close to coming that I could feel it in my toes. Every nerve was on fire, and I was sweating more than coats on my lap should have accounted for.
And then she stopped.
I was right there, it would only take a little more, and her fingers slipped off me, zipping my pants back up and rebuttoning them without bothering to pull my boxers back over my cock. She took another Tic-Tac from her pocket as I stifled a groan, and popped it into her moist mouth as the choir sang "The Little Drummer Boy."
* * *
We were two of the first ones out of the church since we were right there in the back, and she didn't even glance at me as we got back in her -- my -- car and she pulled out of the parking lot. "Church wasn't so bad this year," she said after awhile. Maybe she'd been waiting for me to say something first.
"Oh yeah?" I shook my head. "I don't think I even noticed."
"What, you drunk again?"
I reached into my pants to fix my boxers, and groaned at the tautness of my still-hard cock. "Christ. Leah, what the hell --"
She smiled. No, grinned would be more like it. "Hm? What?"
"What you were doing ..."
"What do you mean?"
"Jerking me off in church, is what I mean."
She shook her head solemnly and turned the radio on. "That's crazy, Simon. You're my brother. Jerking you off? In church? On Christmas Eve? That's not just incest, it's -- well, whatever jerking off in church is."
I leaned my head back on the headrest and groaned again. "Jesus, you tease."
"Oh, I'm the tease now."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Last night." I didn't answer for a long time. "Last night when you almost fucked me and didn't. That's what it's supposed to mean."
"I didn't -- I wouldn't have --"
She glanced at me, grin faded a little, something in her eyes almost like anger. "What. Pretty enough to look at, pretty enough to jerk off on, but not pretty enough to fuck? Or even kiss?"
"Lee, you're my sister! I was drunk, I don't know what I was thinking. It was -- crazy. Stupid. I didn't think you were awake --"
"You should have stopped at 'stupid.'"
"Yeah. Well --"
"I know you used to watch me in the shower, you know. And that time -- when we were playing basketball -- what was it, two years ago? You felt me up. It's not like I wasn't going to notice. You weren't just blocking my shot, your hands were on my tits." I'd managed to forget about that. "I remember you kissing me good night a few times -- lingering a little too long, and when it was about to become something -- you left. And I'm the tease? Fuck you."
"You should have said something."
THAT got me a look. "Oh, I should have? What, I should have said 'please big brother, please fuck me'? You were ashamed enough for both of us, I didn't need that shit. You're the older one. The responsible one."
"... so you jerked me off in church because you're angry with me."
That time she grinned. "Okay, so I'm not the most logical girl in the world. Make it up to me."
She pulled the car over, along the stretch of road by the woods near our house. "Kiss me."
"Lee ... someone might drive by and see ..."
She turned towards me and unbuckled her seatbelt. "Fuck that. Kiss me or lose me forever. No more free shows. No more feeling me up when we play basketball. No more --"
I shut her up by grabbing her by the hair and kissing her, hard. No gentle caress of lips on lips, no hands stroking cheeks and necks -- I pulled her against me and opened her mouth with my tongue, hot and wet, and she whimpered as she kissed me back greedily, her hands on the back of my neck and holding on tight, her lips and teeth closing down as she sucked on my tongue, twisting in the seat to press her breasts against me beneath their covering of jacket and sweater. "Fuck me, Simon," she murmured between hot breathy kisses, both of us moaning every time our tongues touched. "Fuck me. I want you inside me, I want it so bad. I know you do too, I know how hard I make you. It would be so good."
The heat was fading from the car quickly, and I could see my breath. "Where?"
She disentangled herself and started the car up, pulling into one of the little dirt trails that peppered the woods. "Outside. I've always wanted to do it outside at night."
"It's below freezing out there, Lee --"
"So?" She opened the door and ran out. "Keep me warm!"
Once my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I found her: laying on her big floofy coat in the snow, my footsteps crunching through the ice as I came up to her. She was shivering, her blouse unbuttoned and opened, her nipples hard visible bumps through a bra the same color as her trembling lips. I knelt between her legs and kissed her hard as she unzipped my pants, reaching for my cock --
-- which immediately shrank in the cold. I groaned, but she chuckled and shook her head. "It's okay. Sit up." I sat up, leaning back on my heels as she pressed herself against me, pushing her breasts around my limp cock and rubbing up and down, slowly, enough to warm me up a little and cause a mild stir -- before she took it into her mouth, her lips swallowing down to the base as her hot tongue worked around me, teasing every fold of skin, lapping against every inch of me. She started to withdraw slowly, sucking, and bobbed back in as I stiffened. For minutes she sat there, playing with my balls, my hands in her thick hair as she sucked my cock, teasing me with tongue and lips and teeth, waiting until she was sure I was fully hard.
"Hurry," she murmured, her mouth half-full, as she reached down under her skirt and pulled down her panties. "I'm fucking freezing!"
My wet cock felt like it was going to freeze in the Christmas Eve air, but it didn't take long for me to nestle on top of her and find her warmth. She was as wet as I was hard, and hot, so hot, I couldn't believe it. She groaned as she pulled me inside her, wrapping her legs around me under my coat. The snow and the dead leaves beneath it crunched as I rocked into her, and when she kissed me I grabbed her tongue between my teeth, sucking on it, teasing the edges, as she bucked up against me.
It wouldn't have looked like lovemaking to anyone else: it was a hard, fierce, vicious fuck, full of growling and mewling and clawing at the ground. But it was love, too -- a validation of things we'd never let ourselves say or do. Her heels dug into the small of my back as I pounded her down into the snow, thrusting hard enough to make us both grunt, and our mouths were everywhere: hers on my shoulder, mine on her breasts, biting and sucking through the bra; mine on the side of her neck, leaving a bruise she'd have to cover with her hair the next day, hers sucking hard on my collarbone; and on each other, kissing, tasting. We were hungry. We needed this. Every time her ass lifted off of the coat as she shoved her hips up, I pushed back against her thighs. Every time I sank inside her, she gripped my hair and begged me for more. Every time I pulled back, she whimpered and wriggled for me.
All I could think was how I'd dreaded even acknowledging this is what I'd wanted, and how I couldn't believe we had waited so long.
"Harder, Simon," she panted in my ear, her nails digging into my scalp as she grabbed my hair. "I know you're going to come soon -- I want it hard, so hard."
I lifted her legs up around my shoulders and just slammed into her, fucking her like I'd never fucked anyone else, not worrying if it was too hard or if I was going to come too soon or if the angle was right -- just needing to be inside her, needing that slick friction, needing to feel her swallow up every thrust. She came, but I didn't even know it until later -- the woods seemed impossibly loud around us, the cold and the dark keeping the world away as we fucked until we were sore, until the snow had sunk into our muscles, and when I came it was a hot bolt of lightning that started in my spine and shook us both, taking our breath away and leaving us panting against each other, sweaty despite the chill.
We didn't stay there long: it was freezing out. We kissed, still hungry, and fondled, and touched, and slowly dressed again, checking for marks, before making our inevitable way home.
Christmas just couldn't measure up to Christmas Eve.