Chapter 1

Mom, Dad, my sister Mindy, and I spent that Monday evening in early August chatting over a few beers. Mindy and I had returned from a backpacking trip earlier that day, and that was our main topic of discussion. They wanted all the details: where we'd been, what we'd seen, how we'd traveled, cooked, camped, and so forth. Seeing that they were in a good mood after we'd described our trip, Mindy mentioned that she'd like to take a course from the Mountain Odyssey Learning School. They seemed receptive to the idea, but they were non-committal. They would have to think about it, they said. Then, at about half past nine, Mom and Dad, who had to get up around six in the morning to be at work by eight, called it a night—leaving Mindy and me alone in the living room together.

In our conversation with Mom and Dad that evening, Mindy and I had left out the most important—to us—part of the trip. We'd been an especially close brother-and-sister pair ever since we'd been little. Before Mom had married the man Mindy and I now called “Dad,” we'd been the children of a single mom; children, born only 14 months apart, whose father had died in Vietnam when we were too young to know him. We'd lived with Mom in a small home, where the two of us had to share a bed—and we'd come to think of our bodies as mutual property. So maybe it had been natural that, together in the wilderness by ourselves for almost a week at the ages of nineteen and eighteen, we'd fallen head-over-heels in love with each other.

And I don't mean chaste-and-proper brother-and-sister love. We had shared that ever since either of us could remember.

No, this was man-and-woman love—which we had shared as man and woman. Which is to say: We had joyfully shared our bodies with each other. It had taken us most of that week to break down the barriers that came with what we'd been taught about incest. But, when those barriers went down, they fell with a resounding crash. Only two days earlier, on Saturday evening, we'd given each other our respective virginities. And, in a period of about 36 hours, we'd made love four superlative, mind-altering times.

After Mom and Dad left us, then, in the living room, we looked at each other. Looked at each other, that is, as in “undressed each other with our eyes.” But we both knew better than to undress each other with our hands—much as we wanted to. We knew, from the reactions of our motel neighbors that very morning, that making love quietly was not our style. And the house, though big, was open. Even in their bedroom, Mom and Dad would have only a single door between them and us. In fact, they didn't like for the television in the living room to be on after they'd gone to bed, because they could hear the noise.

We thought about going downstairs to the basement rec room for some “recreation,” but we decided that they might be just as suspicious about the absence of any noise as about too much of the wrong kind of noise. With proper preparation, we decided, we could use the rec room in the future. We settled for staying in the living room, talking about the coming college year, and snuggling while fully clothed—with a couple more beers to drown our sorrows. Naturally, as we snuggled, we both copped multiple feels of each other's more interesting parts. That we were able to do quietly—or, at least, with only a little soft moaning.

Finally, after an hour or so, we decided that we'd better go to our separate beds in our separate rooms. We'd thought, earlier, about heading for the same bed in the same room, but we'd quickly realized that the proximity of both those rooms to Mom and Dad's room would more than cancel out any gain, in terms of noise, we might accrue by putting a second closed door between us and our parents. And so, for the first time in over a week, I would be sleeping alone.

When we had climbed the stairs together, each with an arm wrapped around the other, Mindy stopped and turned toward me. Our arms encompassed each other, and, looking up at me, smiling and rubbing her wonderful little body against me, she whispered, “Big Brother and Little Sister!” It was the first line of the secret childhood litany we'd developed when we were about six and recalled during our Wyoming trip.

I smiled back at her, squeezed her, and whispered, “Best friends and lovers!” We'd added the last two words to the response only two days ago, right after we'd given each other our virginities.

She placed her head on my shoulder and squeezed me back as, together, we whispered the chorus to each other: “Now and always!”

She reached up for the day's last kiss, and, reluctantly, we parted—to go to our separate rooms.

I got ready for bed, and, just in case Mom—who couldn't bear the thought of one of her children sleeping naked—should decide to look in on me in the morning, I wore tee shirt and boxers to bed. It wouldn't do for her to learn how uncultured I'd become.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I awoke in the wee small hours, with a substantial fraction of the several beers I'd downed demanding release. Half asleep, I stumbled down the hall to the bathroom Mindy and I had shared since we'd moved into the house nine years earlier; once there, I peed out what seemed like several quarts more than I'd drunk. Then I shuffled back to my room.

As I got back into the empty bed, I found myself wishing that I could—as I had done many times, when I was a little boy, in the weeks after Mom had married Dad and we'd moved into this house—just walk back down the hall, crawl in bed with my little sister, and hold her little warm body close to mine.

For the first time in nine years, I felt lonely in bed by myself—and now there was an extra added attraction to sharing a bed with Mindy: She wanted to make love with me as much as I wanted to make love with her. Eventually, probably much sooner than I thought, I drifted back to sleep—feeling mighty sorry for myself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In my sleep, I dreamed. It was one of those dreams in which I was aware, somehow, that I was dreaming but could not control events. I dreamed that a faceless woman's warm, naked body backed up against me as I lay on my side. My arm encircled her, and my hand cupped her tit. In my dream, her nipple hardened in greeting as I rolled it between thumb and index finger. She wiggled her ass against my stiff cock, which nestled along the cleft where her thighs joined her body. My hand slipped from her tit, traveled down the length of her belly, passed through her pubic hair, and found her hot, wet furrow. My finger entered, found her clit, began tickling it; her ass clenched on my boner and, as her hips moved back and forth, stroked me. I recognized, but could exert no control over, a promising wet dream.

And then I woke up…

…to find that what I had been dreaming was real. Mindy had gotten into bed with me, naked, while I slept. She had backed up against me, and my hand and cock were doing exactly what I'd dreamt they were. The main difference between the dream and reality (aside from the fact that Mindy has a face) was that I had to pee—really had to pee. Evidently, those 12-ounce cans had each somehow held several quarts of beer—impossible though that seemed.

I kissed the back of her neck to announce that I was awake. And then it dawned on me that she shouldn't be where she was. “Mindy!” I whispered in shock. “What are you doing here? We can't get caught together like this!”

She snuggled in more tightly, clasped my hand against her mound, and wiggled her ass against me.

“Look at the clock, dope,” was all she said.

I looked, as instructed, realizing as I did that it was more than light enough for me to see. It was half past eight. Mom and Dad had left for work about an hour ago, and we were alone in the house. Somehow, in my pining for Mindy, I'd overlooked a central fact of adult life: Mom and Dad both worked. Five days a week, they would be out of the house from about seven-thirty until about five-thirty. Duh!

“I take it back. You're right where you should be. But I've got to pee. Don't leave.”

As I rolled out of bed to head for the bathroom, I stripped off my tee shirt and my boxers. Mom wasn't home to catch me being uncultured, either by being naked in bed or by engaging in any of the other activities Mindy and I planned for the next hour or so.

As always, my hard-on wilted when I peed; but on the way back to my room it anticipated what it would find in my bed. By the time I was back in bed next to my little sister, it had reasserted itself, making me proud to return it to the place where it had nestled before I left.

“Mmmmm!” we hummed in unison.

I wormed my arm under her waist as she lay there. Then I wrapped my arms around her, crossing them in front of her and taking possession of one of her perfect little tits with each hand. She wiggled herself back against me again.

“Big Brother, I was lonely last night in bed without you. I like having you near me when I sleep.” We had spent the previous week sleeping near each other—first in a pair of zipped-together sleeping bags, and then in a motel bed.

I replied: “I was lonely, too. I really like having you in bed with me.”

My cock was now up against the...