39 comments/ 228927 views/ 63 favorites Sibling Love Ch. 01 By: VertigoJ Author's Note: Slow approach to incest – so be warned. If you want a quick fix, try some of my other stories. * * * Dear Diary, I've spent the last hour lying on my bed and crying, struggling to summon the self-control to pick up a pen and write the things I'm about to write. I know from experience that committing my thoughts to paper will help me make sense of them, and help me cope with them, but these thoughts in particular make it hard. Several times I sat up and made towards my desk, but each time the images would just come flooding back and I'd be reduced to a sobbing mess once more. Even now I'm wiping away stray tears as I write. Perhaps the best place to start is at the beginning. I suppose it began (inadvertently) when mum and dad announced this afternoon that they would be attending another small business seminar in the evening. This, then, left Kevin and I alone for the night. Being a Friday night, I thought that he might have plans with his friends, but apparently he, like me, didn't feel up to doing anything other than lazing about on the couch watching DVDs. And that was what we did. Everything was fine until then, and for a while after. We watched mostly in a comfortable silence, as opposed to the awkward one that used to exist between us. There were, however, a few swapped comments or remarks, always courteous and sometimes even pleasant. I've written already about how things have subtly changed between us over the last few months, and I suppose it became obvious to me then that they really had. We no longer fight childishly or trade spiteful insults. In all honesty, spending time with Kevin is surprisingly nice; something I never would have expected. I've thought often about that day when we walked home together from school, which was something we hadn't done in years. There were our clashing timetables to consider, but it was more that we just didn't want to associate with each other any more than we had to at home. But that day was different. I remember him asking me how my day was and making a real effort at polite conversation. And by the end, it was more like friendly palaver than just civil chatter. We genuinely had things to say to each other, and that shocked me more than a little. And here I am with a smile on my face despite all the tears running over my lips. I guess that memory just makes me happy now. I wish it had stayed like that. I'm stalling – I know; but it really is hard. Anyway, as I said, we were both sitting on the couch (the same couch, bizarrely) watching a few DVDs we'd hired, when I decided to get something to eat. I stood up and walked into the kitchen, where I fished out a large bag of M&Ms from the pantry and emptied it into a bowl. I took it back into the living room, placed it on the coffee table in front of us and took my seat again. Kevin muttered a nonchalant "Thanks" and leaned forward to take a handful. We continued to watch the movie, every now and then grabbing some of the chocolates to eat. That was fine; everything was fine then. Pretty soon though, the M&Ms dwindled, and only half a dozen or so were left. I leaned forward and scooped up a handful without looking, somehow managing to take all but one. Looking back, I wish to God I'd taken that one too, or had left another one – just one. Wishing won't do any good now though, and it certainly won't change what happened next. A few minutes after I had finished my last handful, the last M&M was still left. I glanced briefly at Kevin, then reached for it. Kevin, however, lunged forward and snatched the tiny morsel out of the bowl, grinning from ear to ear. "Hey!" I cried indignantly. "I was about to take that." Kevin just kept grinning and said, "You'll have to be quicker next time." I should have just let him have the damn chocolate, but seeing him like that, smiling triumphantly, just made me want to wipe the smirk off his face. More than that though, it was strange seeing him so lively and at ease around me, almost like we were children again. It had been so long since I'd seen him smile like that, and almost never had he smiled like that at me. So, stupidly, I leapt forward and swiped at his hand, which he closed in a fist around the M&M. What ensued next was a very childish, very heated, and very (I'm ashamed to say) fun battle for the last M&M. Again, I'm smiling. It was like we were kids again, though I can barely remember what that was like; being on friendly terms – or any terms, really – with Kevin is such a foreign thought to me now. It was so easy just to let go and forget everything we knew about maturity and adult life. Eventually, though, we ended up in an awkward position, which, in the end, was what led to the disaster. Kevin, having greater reach than me as well as more strength in his enclosed fist, had the luxury of staying in his sitting position and moving only his hand out of my reach. As determined as I was, wherever his hand went, I went. So when he held it behind him, over the back of the couch, I put my knees on either side of his lap and reached out for it. Our faces were never in danger of coming into contact, but it wasn't our faces I had to worry about. (That sounds really bad.) Still in playtime mode, I paid no heed to the impending catastrophe, and continued my efforts to reach the candy. Eventually I did, closing my hands around Kevin's fist and prising it open. I snatched the chocolate from inside (it was blue) and popped it in my mouth, laughing triumphantly. I suppose that's when I realised it had been too easy – that either Kevin had let me take it from him or...something had distracted him. That was when I looked down and noticed his stunned face, staring back at me with brown eyes wide and mouth slightly open. I noticed it immediately, and even looked down. Our crotches were pressed up against each other; not just touching but really pressed up tight. Most of that was probably due to the fact that Kevin was extremely erect and very, very hard. It's no secret (to this diary, at least) that I'm still a virgin, in every way imaginable. The only thing I've ever done with a boy is hold hands during dance lessons at school, which I don't think really counts. So maybe my fascination – if that's what it was – was what stopped me from leaping off a split second after I had noticed. As much as I hate to admit it and as bad as it makes me feel to do so, I can't lie in this diary – it felt good. Not erotically or ardently good – at that point – but just nice. It felt like a missing piece of a jigsaw that was meant to fit there, and stay there. I guess that's the whole point of a binary reproductive system, but it still amazed me. I had already been staring at our joint crotches for a while when I looked back up, my expression no doubt mirroring Kevin's by then. A small lifetime was crammed into those few seconds, and even now I couldn't tell you what was happening on the TV or whether a bomb had exploded outside. We just sat there, staring, not at each other's face but into each other's eyes. It was scary and intrusive and thrilling all at once; I wasn't sure whether I wanted it to stop or whether I wanted more. The answer, though, is obvious. In retrospect, I know it was my fault – even though Kevin didn't exactly try to stop it. I was just so caught up in the moment, in the feeling, that I barely registered the fact that I had begun rocking my hips slowly back and forth, grinding my crotch down against my brother's. If it had felt good before, I won't even bother trying to describe what it felt like then. Kevin's expression never changed, and neither, I think, did mine. We just kept on staring like two speared fish as I continued to push my crotch back and forth along his...well, you know what I mean. I did it slowly – very slowly – but even so, my crotch was burning up very soon. I remember now that Kevin absent-mindedly placed a hand on my hip, then dropped it. Maybe he lacked the confidence to do anything else or maybe, like me, he was too preoccupied with the feeling our bodies were creating to concentrate on doing anything else with them. The entire time we never broke our eye contact, and in the end I think that's what pushed us over the edge. I felt it first, like a stirring deep – much deeper than when I felt it alone – inside my stomach. It started to boil up and spread through my body. It was, in all honesty, the single most amazing and most wretched moment of my life. I think that that may have been when the first tears fell, but it was also when my mouth dropped open and my eyes shot wide. I'm almost certain that Kevin reacted not in response to what he felt in his loins, but because of what he saw on my face. It looked almost as though he'd forgotten entirely about the feelings in his own body, and was deriving all his pleasure and – if he felt like me – all his misery from my changing expression. I've never had anyone – male or female – look at me like that before. It was terrifying and, to a lesser extent, exhilarating. I felt exposed, as though he was seeing past my skin and into whatever was residing inside my mind. He just stared, and as my face contorted, so did his, his brow furrowing and his eyes widening. And then I was cumming, and it wasn't anything like it was when I caused it myself – not even close. There was the heat in my crotch and the feeling of Kevin's erection beneath it and his face – it was so much. Reality ceased to exist for me in those few moments; my head whirled crazily, my body was racked by wave after wave after wave of unbridled pleasure, and all I could do was keep staring into his eyes, because I couldn't look away even if I'd wanted to. I knew Kevin was cumming and I have no idea what it felt like for him, whether it matched the intensity and the sheer ferocity of my own orgasm. They say sex is a selfish act – that at the crucial moment we think only of ourselves and how we can best magnify and prolong that feeling, by using the other person to do so. I'm not sure what sex is like, but I suppose there's some truth to that. I didn't really pay any heed to how Kevin must be feeling; I just wanted to cum more and to never stop. But it did stop, and it was like a train crashing through a wall, slamming reality back into my mind along with comprehension, guilt and consequences. That's when I became conscious of the tears, and they fell as intensely as I had cum. I felt wretched in that moment – utterly and completely wretched. No matter how bad things have gotten in my life, I'd never thought it before – but I thought it then. I wanted to die. Right then and there, all I wanted to do was die. I was numb from head to toe; I couldn't see properly and I felt like throwing up. I was dizzy, even as I staggered to my feet, staring down at Kevin's now-blank face through a veil of tears. Part of me – a small part – wanted to reach out to him and tell him I was sorry, that everything would be okay; but mostly, I wanted to slap him, to scream at him and ask him what the hell we had just done. I wanted to know – badly – whether he understood my pain, whether he was feeling it too. Did he care? Did he hate me? Would he despise me for the rest of his life? I couldn't ask him any of those questions, of course. All I could do was take a shaky step back, and flinch away when he reached out for my hand and said my name. "No," I cried, and took another step back. I felt the coffee table against my knees and it seemed to jar me awake. Sobbing, I ran from the room, tore up the stairs as fast as I could and slammed my bedroom door shut, collapsing onto my bed with the only energy I had left. I think that, just before I flew out of the room, Kevin called out to me one last time, though I'm not positive – it may have just been my imagination. He hasn't tried to talk to me though, and I don't blame him. I don't know what I'll do tomorrow – whether mum and dad will notice something's up, whether Kevin will try to talk to me or whether I should try to talk to him. I don't know what to say to him or what to do to make this all go away. I feel like my whole life has just fallen apart in front of my eyes and now I'll never get it back. I feel lost. Lost and miserable. I can't stop crying. * * * Dear Journal, I thought that sleeping on it would make my head clearer in the morning, make it easier to analyse what happened and figure out some kind of solution. And now, eight hours later, it's Saturday morning and I think that, rather than feeling the need to write some more about it, I'm using this entry as an excuse not to get up and face Kyla. Writing her name sends shivers down my spine. It took me hours to get to sleep last night. I thought that, by writing things down while they were still fresh in my mind, I'd effectively be passing my thoughts onto my journal, storing them in its pages so that I wouldn't have to keep them in my head. But it didn't work like that – writing them down just gave me more things to ruminate on as I tried – and failed – to fall asleep. I think it was from sheer physical exhaustion that I finally did, though luckily I didn't dream. I don't think I could have handled a repeat viewing of last night's events. I still feel terrible. Watching Kyla run out like that was...awful. I've never felt so vile in my life. I hate seeing her get hurt – really hurt I mean – and I know that if anyone ever wilfully harmed her, I'd tear out their throat. But the thought that it was me who made her so miserable – that's even worse. I know I should confront her and apologise, but I've never been good with things like that. I wouldn't know what to say, or even where to look. Whenever I close my eyes I can still see hers printed on the back of my eyelids, staring back at me as her mouth opened wider and her cheeks began to burn red. I don't know if I'll ever be able to look her in the eyes again. There are other matters to deal with – such as the fact that I had my first pseudo-sexual experience with my own sister – but all that seems peripheral compared to setting things straight with Kyla. I just...don't want to lose what we almost had. Things were different and I didn't want that to change. I guess it has now though – changed for good. I'd better go downstairs now and face the music. Kyla might be up already or she might still be in bed. I guess I'll be able to gauge how she's feeling based on that. If she spends the entire day in her room, I'll know I'm in trouble. And I haven't even begun to consider where mum and dad fit into all this. Will she tell them? Should I? Of course I shouldn't. There's no way I'm telling them. But will they find out? And what will happen if they do? I can't even bear to think about it. For now, I have to do right by Kyla. * * * Dear Diary, I'm not sure how I expected to feel in the morning, but I had assumed that, at the very least, my head would be clearer. At most, I thought I'd be nursing a well-rounded solution to last night's problem just waiting to be put into action. However, what I'm feeling can, I think, best be described as a hangover. I did sleep – I know that; but it wasn't a very relaxing kind of sleep. This morning my head just felt filled with cobwebs, my eyes barely kept open and every muscle in my body was struggling to do its work. In short, I felt like crap. I didn't expect to experience such a marked physical toll. There were a few seconds there – just a few – when I woke up, when I thought that it had all been a dream, that the night before had finished on amiable terms and I had gone directly to my room after the last movie credits rolled. Of course, realisation dropped on me like a sack of potatoes and that's exactly what had felt like happened to my body. I had no desire whatsoever to get out of bed after that, so I pulled the covers up to my chin and curled up in a sad little bundle. For the first time, I wished I'd taken meditation classes, or possibly yoga, so that I could clear my mind of all conscious thought and achieve something akin to peace. But, as it was, thoughts were ricocheting around my head like pointed shrapnel. I had very firm plans to stay exactly as I was for the next twenty-four hours. Getting up and going downstairs would mean forcing pleasant conversation with mum and dad, and possibly being interrogated as to what was wrong, considering how adept I am at concealing my emotions. It's no secret that I'm a heart-on-her-sleeve kind of person, and to be honest, it's never really posed a problem for me. It's just so much simpler to be able to tell what someone is thinking by looking at them, so that you can judge your responses properly. Kevin, on the other hand, might as well be wearing a mask around. It's not that he never expresses emotion – I mean, I've seen him smile before, and he smiles big; but he's so adroit at hiding what he feels, so that anyone who doesn't know him that well could mistake placid acceptance with fiery anger. I've seen it happen before. But I don't want to talk about Kevin; I don't even want to think about him. I wish I could pull my brain out of my head and wash it vigorously in the sink until I'd cleaned away every last memory of last night. Actually...that's kind of gross. Aside from being forced to make idle chatter with mum and dad, going downstairs would also mean seeing him again – and that's something I just can't do right now. Not only that but, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to set foot in the living room again, let alone sit on that couch. As I said though, I had plans to stay in my room all day. Around ten o'clock though, I heard a knock on my door. It was a short, slow knock, and I knew instantly who it was. Mum would have called out straight away or gone ahead and opened the door (it wasn't locked); dad, likewise, would have spoken, though it was rare for him to come to my room. But Kevin, he would have been silent, which was exactly what this person was being. Needless to say, I didn't reply; I rolled over instead and pulled the covers over my head in case Kevin opened the door. Somehow though, I knew he wouldn't. Within another minute I heard his footsteps receding down the hallway and I rolled back over. Kevin coming to my room could mean only one thing: he wanted to talk about what happened. That alone was strange. Living an open life like I do goes hand in hand with a diplomatic nature. I was the one that usually confronted people to mend problems before they got out of hand. I knew, and know, that leaving them to fester only makes them worse. Kevin didn't think like that though; when confronted with a problem, he pulled away, kept to himself and wallowed in his own guilt, or misery or whatever emotion it was the dilemma had sparked inside him. It was almost as if our roles had reversed, though I can't imagine why that would happen. I can imagine though, that this confirms his good-intentions last night when he tried to stop me from fleeing the room. After that rather empty incident, I lay in bed for another hour before pulling out my diary and writing the entry I am now. It is now 11:04 and I still have no idea what to do. I suppose I know what needs to be done, but logic doesn't easily assert itself after an incident like last night. I guess I'll just have to suck it up and talk to Kevin; or let him come back and talk to me. * * * Dear Diary, It's still Saturday. I ended up spending another few hours in my room, taking as long as possible to dress myself and make my bed – I don't think I've ever brushed my teeth so thoroughly. Eventually, at mid-afternoon, I decided to make a quick trip downstairs, due mainly to the incessant rumbling in my stomach. It was harder to be depressed outside my room, but only slightly. Sibling Love Ch. 01 The end of winter was obviously near, and spring was already showing its face. Outside the windows I could see the neighbours gardens in bloom, their lawns trimmed and the sky above a perfect cloudless blue. I envied the people who were out today, picnicking maybe or walking in the park with friends. I wished I could be one of them, free of these heavy thoughts that were burdening my mind. The curtains were open all over the house and light was flooding in pleasantly, making everything look a lot warmer and more welcoming than it had last night. The polish on the floorboards was shining, the sink was gleaming and there were big squares of sunlight on the floor in front of the windows. I could have almost smiled. Mum and dad were no where to be seen when I arrived in the kitchen, nor was Kevin, which brought my nerves down a noticeable notch. I cast my eyes warily around the room and then proceeded towards the fridge to find something to eat. Not wanting to spend too long in the kitchen, I grabbed the bread and the cheese and put together a very spartan sandwich. I was just returning the ingredients back to the fridge when Kevin walked into the kitchen, stopping as soon as he saw me. I, too, stopped halfway to the fridge, my whole body tensing up under his gaze. We stood there for maybe a full minute, just staring at each other, Kevin looking as awkward as I felt. Eventually, he dropped his gaze and I turned away. It looked as though he hadn't had much sleep – there were dark rings under his eyes and his skin was paler than usual. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but I couldn't. Even if I had been prepared for his answer, I wasn't sure if my mouth would comply and speak the words. I didn't need to speak though, as Kevin did first. He took another tentative step into the kitchen as I continued to the fridge and put the cheese and bread away. I didn't want him to get too close, and he seemed to realise it. He stopped where he was and his gaze swept the room anxiously, fixing on me, then the floor, then the wall over my shoulder. It was obviously hard for him, and probably not something he was used to doing. He was displaying more maturity than I was though, and in strange way I respected him for it. "How are you?" he finally asked when his gaze fell back on me. I wasn't prepared in the least for his words and his low, rough voice cut into me like a blade; it was nothing like his voice had been last night, when we were making jokes and fighting over the last M&M. "Fine," I replied curtly, unable to meet his gaze as he was meeting mine, at least some of the time. I stared at his shoes for a moment then turned around to find a plate for my sandwich. I could see him, or rather feel him, casting about for things to say, maybe trying to gauge what my reaction would be to what he wanted to say. I had the feeling that he was treating the situation with the utmost delicacy, almost as though he was afraid I'd explode into tears again and storm out if he said one wrong word. If that was what he was thinking, he wasn't exactly far off. Although I didn't feel tears just yet, I was ready to get out of the kitchen; it was just too painful. "I...uh...told mum and dad you weren't feeling well last night," Kevin said to me. I glanced briefly at him. "Thanks." He nodded. And then there it was: that pause brimming with discomfort and trepidation and inevitability. "Listen, Kyla—." I picked up my sandwich. "I think I'm going to go back to my room." I started off towards the stairs and felt ready to collapse when I heard him hurrying after me. "Kyla, wait." He closed his hand around my wrist. I spun around and yanked it free, my eyes starting to moisten. "Don't," I said to him. "Kyla, we have to talk." I wondered if the frequent use of my name was meant to calm me down, or maybe calm him down. "I know," I replied. "But not now." "Then when?" "I don't know." I chanced a look at his face, and found his eyes fixed inertly on mine. He was having no trouble looking at me, and that infuriated me, considering how hard it was for me to even be in the same room as him. And being this close, having his hand on my wrist, it was such a painful reminder of everything that had happened, of those few quick minutes that had caused so much agony. He searched my face quickly and then his shoulders relaxed. "All right," he said more softly. "I'll wait." I almost thanked him for being so patient with me, for letting me take the time to sort my thoughts out and prepare myself for what it was he had to say to me. But I didn't, because that would have screwed things up even more. As it was, I was able to walk silently out of the room, rather than storming out. I clutched the plate tightly until my knuckles were white. The distance to the top of the stairs seemed endless, made longer by the fact that Kevin was quite obviously watching me go. I managed to hang on to my composure until I got inside my room and closed the door, at which point I put the plate hastily down and caught at the wall to stop from falling. * * * Dear Journal, Well, I did it – I confronted Kyla. And though it didn't exactly turn out the way I had hoped it would, it's a start. If nothing else, I now know that she knows we have to talk. She said so herself, though she wasn't prepared to do so yet. I don't know how long it'll be before she feels ready; I only hope it's not too long. They say makeup can do wonders for a rough night's sleep, but I've never known Kyla to use any, so her fatigue showed. She looked much the worse for wear. I realise now that she's taking this a lot harder than I am, though it hasn't exactly been a picnic for me. I never could understand how guys I know could engage in sordid bouts of sex that didn't even qualify as a one-night stand. The parties they would talk about and the girls they'd mention never held any interest for me. I guess I just place a lot of meaning on sex, in all of its forms. And after last night, I know beyond a doubt that that view will never change. And I guess this philosophy is more common to females, which is why Kyla is taking it so much harder. I felt almost guilty when I started to think about what impact last night would have on the rest of my life. With things starting to happen between Danielle and I, and the possibility of my first girlfriend in the mix, I couldn't help but wander whether I would have to tell her about this, should we ever get together. Did this mean that my first sexual experience would forever involve my own sister? Those thoughts weren't pleasant and led to all sorts of agonising questions. Still, it was better to focus on the short-term, make things right with Kyla and then worry about Danielle. I only hope I can do those things sooner rather than later. * * * Dear Journal, I didn't see Kyla for the rest of Saturday evening. I did hear her get up this morning though and take a shower, which was a good sign I supposed. After leaving the bathroom she spent close to an hour in her room before I heard her footsteps on the stairs. I was sitting at the table at the time, flipping idly through the day's newspaper. I looked up when she appeared on the stairs and noted immediately that she was looking much better. She had donned a skirt and short-sleeve top in the spirit of the weather; her hair looked a lot tamer and her face had some colour in it other than the burning spots on her cheeks. "Hi," I said simply, wondering whether she'd reply or if she'd merely turn around and go back upstairs. She did reply, however, with a quick, "Hey." She still wouldn't meet my gaze, but I couldn't exactly blame her. It had been two days and yet the memory of her staring into eyes was still crystal clear. I watched as she moved about the kitchen making a bowl of cereal, then took a seat opposite me at the table to eat. She kept her head down but I got the impression she knew I was still looking at her. I turned the page over. "Mum and dad are out," I said. At last she looked up, as though I was about to pounce on her with questions and accusations. Not wanting to frighten her or put unnecessary pressure on her, I decided again that this wasn't the time to talk and turned back to the newspaper. Kyla though, didn't turn back to her cereal. "You want to talk," she said; a statement rather than a question. I looked up. "Only if you want to." "I don't," she replied. "But I know we should." "We can wait longer," I said. "If you need to." "No. It'll be worse if we do." I nodded and then realised I didn't know what to say. I stared blankly down at the stretch of table between us; Kyla did likewise. We were silent for quite some time Eventually, Kyla said, "So does our talk include talking?" I looked up and actually smiled, for the first time in almost two days. Kyla even managed a tiny smile, though it was fleeting and soon disappeared. At last I settled for the best thing to say, which was also the simplest and most obvious. "I'm sorry." Kyla raised her eyes with a look of confusion on her face. "Sorry?" she said. "Why should you be sorry? I was the one that...." She broke off, as I knew she would, and she dropped her defeated gaze back to her cereal. "You didn't start it." "I didn't stop it either," I replied. And it was the truth. I could have stopped it at any time, though perhaps that would have been worse, as I would be in the clear and Kyla would be feeling the full brunt of the responsibility. She would never have mustered the courage to speak to me again after that. What she asked next though, surprised me, and I got the feeling that it wasn't easy for her to ask, but that it was the one question she was most curious about. "Why didn't you?" She looked up as she said it. I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it, then tried again and closed it once more. It was now me staring down at the table and quavering under Kyla's gaze, as unsteady as it was. At length I said: "I've never...I mean, I haven't ever..." I looked up and met her eyes in an effort to communicate my meaning without the need for words. I think she got it; she opened her mouth to reply but shut it again as I had. "I mean," I continued, "it's not easy to...to stop." Eyes lowered, she nodded. "I know." "But I should have, and I'm sorry that I didn't." "Don't be," Kyla replied. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry for what I did. And I'm sorry for running out. I just...needed time." "Me too," I replied. "I just didn't want things to fall apart between us. I mean...lately, it's been..." "Different," Kyla finished for me. "I know." "And I like having things different," I said. "Me too." I took a deep breath and wondered whether this was a good place to get out while I was ahead. I lowered my head to peer up into her down-turned face. "Are you okay?" I asked. She looked up and forced a smile. "Yeah." I kept my eyes on her for a while longer, reading her expression as I could always do with Kyla, to see if she really was going to be okay. She was still hurting, I knew, and still embarrassed about what had happened, but she would be okay. I only hoped things between us would be okay. "It wasn't your fault," I reiterated. She smiled a bit more genuinely. "Thank you," she said. "For making me talk about it. I don't think I would have if you hadn't. And thank you for not hating me." "Hate you?" I said in shock. "Why would I hate you?" "I don't know," Kyla replied idly. "I was just worried you'd never speak to me again." "That's what you were worried about?" I asked in surprise. "Most of it." "You don't ever have to worry about that, Kyla," I said, trying my best to emphasise that point. "Things are different now. You can always talk to me...about anything. You know that, right?" She looked at me and nodded pleasantly. "Thanks." "No problem," I said, taking another deep breath and swimming back to reality. The sun was still shining and the world was still rotating and everything was going to be fine. I considered asking Kyla if she wanted to go out somewhere, or take a walk, or watch some TV, but I thought it best to give her some more time alone, especially considering the latter suggestion may have resulted in more painfully resurfacing memories. I stood up and headed for the stairs, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder as I past, which she covered briefly with her own hand and looked up at me with a now steady smile. * * * Dear Diary, We did it; we talked and it wasn't bad. I'm not in tears and Kevin doesn't hate me and I don't think I'll be scarred for life anymore. I can't express how much of a relief it is, to finally talk about it and put it behind us. And Kevin was so good about it; he told me it wasn't my fault and made sure I was okay and everything. He can be so understanding when he wants to. I'm not sure what I expected – I didn't see Kevin as the type of person to yell at me – but it was just a lot easier than I thought. The whole time my stomach was just brimming with happiness and gladness that we had finally resolved it. I don't think I've ever felt so relieved in my life. Strangely though, I was also relieved by what Kevin had said about the event itself, about not being able to stop, which was exactly how I felt at the time. In the end I guess we were just two young virgins caught up in a new sensation that we had no power to stop. Oh yeah, I know now that Kevin is a virgin. He actually told me, though...not in so many words. I was shocked to hear him say, but somehow not really surprised. I know that sounds like I'm selling him short but...Kevin doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to 'give it away' lightly. And now I can't believe I'm writing about this stuff. And I'm smiling too. What's wrong with me? Anyway, I'm just happy (so, so happy) to have things back to normal again, or as normal as they'll ever be. I guess there's still the worrying possibility that the experience will forever hang between us as an unspoken memory; but after our conversation I don't think that's very likely. Even when Kevin touched my shoulder at the end, there wasn't that sickening pang that I felt the last two times he touched me, only a light fluttering in my chest because of how relieved I was feeling. And now things are back to normal – simple and uncomplicated, just the way I like them. * * * Dear Diary, Monday morning. I'm early for school so I decided to write this down quickly, before I forget it. I had a dream last night, about Kevin. We were walking home again, on that day a few weeks ago, only this time he had his hand on my shoulder the whole time, and he was telling me again that I could talk to him about anything. He said it over and over until I wondered whether there was something I was supposed to be telling him. I think I may have dreamt about being a goldfish after that. I don't know what the dream meant (either of them) but it was funny nonetheless, having it. * * * Dear Journal, Things with Kyla are better, which is a relief. This morning, before school, I saw her in the kitchen, and she smiled at me amiably, which let me know that she, too, was feeling much better. At school, too, I saw her once, walking past me in the locker bay with a group of her friends. One of her friends was talking to her in rapt tones but Kyla didn't seem to be paying too much attention. She had a smile fixed almost permanently on her face and it didn't vanish when she looked up and saw me. I smiled back and she kept on walking. Danielle too, seemed much happier. I guess she's finally getting over her break-up with Anthony, which is a good sign. I don't want to push things with her, but after waiting close to five years for someone, it's hard just being friends. I've hinted, certainly, and I think she may have hinted back, but things haven't seemed to progress from there. Her friends tell me she's happy when she's with me – that I make her laugh. And God knows I'm happy when I'm with her, which is something of a rare occurrence. Being friends with her is great, but I'm not sure I can keep it like that. I thought that all I wanted was to be around her, and then maybe see where that leads, but it's hard. Her smile gets me every time. I've never seen a smile like that before. * * * Dear Diary, I cannot believe the entry I'm about to write. I...I feel sick – and I don't want to write it, but I know I have to because if I needed to deal with what happened before, then there's no way I can escape dealing with this. I'm not crying this time, but only because I'm not sure if I want to. I'm not even sure how I feel. I'm not angry and I'm not upset, but I'm certainly not happy. I think confusion wins out at this point, though that could change. I have no idea how this could have happened, or even if it has happened. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Maybe there's nothing to think about. I'm stalling, I know, but it's hard. This is so much worse than what happened last Friday – so, so, so much worse. And now it sounds like I went further with Kevin. I didn't – it's worse than that. It's... I think I'm in love with him. Oh God, it even looks crazy. But, like I said, maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm misreading my feelings. After all, I've never been in love before – how would I know what it feels like? It's just...it was so strange. Okay, I was at school, sitting in the quadrangle during lunchtime, with my friends, eating our lunch as usual. And, as usual, the subject of conversation turned to boys. Now, I can guess easily enough that Kevin was only on my mind because of what had happened over the weekend, and because I had seen him at his locker; and so the mixture of the two topics was...bad. Marissa was at her usual garrulous self, talking about the perfect guy in this case. Strangely though, they didn't focus on the physical side this time, and instead started on about all the personality traits their dream guy would have. So by this time I was already letting my attention wander, not wanting to listen to another mindless eruption of giddy-teenage-girl syndrome. And, I guess my attention chose to wander onto Kevin. So there I was, thinking about how things were better between us and how nice he had been about it all, when Marissa starts reeling off her dream-qualities. "He's gotta be sensitive," she said, and I felt myself nod. "And charming and witty and smart." Check, check, check. "And he understands what girls are like and doesn't treat us like objects." And I found myself checking off all of her points against none other than my own brother! Of course, I didn't realise I was doing it until I gazed off across the quadrangle and saw Kevin sitting with his friends and felt the enormous smile on my face. Then, I realised, and I ran. Well, I walked, but it was a quick walk. I told my friends something about needing to see a teacher, which, in their present state of awareness of reality, was enough to sate their curiosity. So I went to my locker and hyper-ventilated I think, then I hid myself in the stacks in the library, then I splashed copious amounts of water on my face in the bathroom until I was in danger of soaking my shirt, and finally, when the bell rang, I walked mechanically to class and realised what a mistake that was. During my last two periods, all I could think about was Kevin, and how this feeling in my stomach wouldn't go away unless I did. It's preposterous, I know. It's ludicrous. It's...it's absurd. I can't possibly be in love with my own brother. I mean, sexual attraction is one thing and – oh God, do I have that too? No. No, I can't. Well, maybe I can...have that, but not the other thing. My body just remembers what it was like, and it wants more, because that's what bodies want. It would probably be happy with any guy, not just Kevin. And does that make me sound like a slut? Sibling Love Ch. 01 Ah, I'm so confused. I haven't seen Kevin yet and I'm dreading when I do. I see two possibilities here – one bad and one...really bad. Either I see him downstairs and I realise that this fluttering in my stomach is just simple, meaningless, carnal hunger (which is not a good thing in its own right); or, I realise there's more to it and...I crawl into a hole and die. Either way, things aren't looking good. * * * Dear Journal, I think I may have been too quick to declare Kyla better again. At least, I had thought she was better, after seeing her in the morning and at school. She certainly looked better. But...maybe I was wrong. Close to half an hour ago, I was in the kitchen looking for something to eat, when Kyla came through the door. I said hi, expecting at least a polite greeting in return, but that wasn't what I got. She just stood there, staring at me, looking like she was surprised to see me in the kitchen or something. I asked her if she was okay, to which her reply was to nod absently. "I...uh...I have to," she started to point back at the stairs, "I have to...I have to go." And she went, quickly and quietly. I can't imagine why she'd do such an emotional back flip in such a short time. I guess the answer, though, is obvious. Something probably reminded her of what happened. Maybe it just resurfaced for no reason and she had trouble looking at me. I took it for granted that I'd put it all behind me, but maybe she hasn't. I don't know whether I should talk to her again or just wait it out and see if she brightens up again. I thought things would be better; now I don't know if they'll ever be. * * * Dear Diary, Oh, my God. This can't be happening. It just can't. There is no way I have those...feelings...for my own brother. How can I? A few months ago we would have been spitting razor-sharp insults at each other for no other reason than to hurt the other person. And now.... Things were better, certainly, but...not that much better. Oh, I don't know what I'm going to do. I guess the first step was admitting it, which I suppose I've done. Seeing him in the kitchen, with his dark eyes and hair, and his smooth voice and those stupid sexy black clothes – it's not fair. I bet I didn't look sexy. He's just come home from school and he looks like he wouldn't be out of place at a casual dance party. God, where did this come from? If you'd asked me six months ago whether my brother was a good-looking guy, I would have laughed for a few hours on the floor, and then said no. But now...now he just looks different. Or maybe it was that I was looking at him differently. Whatever it is, it's there, and I can't ignore it. But what can I do? I can't tell him, that's for sure. Then he'd hate me. Being tolerant about a little sexual misdemeanour (and now it does seem little) was one thing, but having your sister tell you that she's in love with you – that's horror movie material. I guess the only option then is to make it stop. Either that or...live with it. But no, I can't do that. It's just a phase – it has to be. I've heard about things like this before. Sisters sometimes develop crushes on their brothers – it's not rare. Granted, those sisters don't mix that crush with a mutual masturbation session, but...it's still normal. Oh, God. Oh shit. Am I wet? Holy crap, I am. Oh, my God, this is too much. This... I have to go. * * * Dear Journal, Okay – now I know something's up. Kyla's been behaving strangely for the last two days now. I can't walk into a room that she's in without her leaving straight away. I must have done something, or said something – or maybe it was something I didn't say. Should I have apologised again? Maybe she's waiting for me to tell her it's not her fault. But I did that. I guess the only thing to do is ask her. I had some luck with that approach the last time, so what's to say it won't work again? I'm just afraid I might push her even further away if I say something wrong. Maybe she'll accuse me of not giving her space and tell me to get lost. Maybe she's still sorting out the thoughts in her head. She's taking it a lot worse than I thought she would. Maybe that's it – maybe she's upset that I'm taking it so lightly when it's had such a profound effect on her. Should I have spoken to her about the event itself? Oh, God...maybe she's worrying about what it was like for me. Should I have told her that it felt good? I thought that was implied; I did tell her I hadn't been able to stop. Maybe she needs to hear more though. It wasn't sex but it could be that she was worrying about how she was. Maybe. I don't know. I'll just have to ask her. * * * Dear Diary, I thought I had used up a lifetime's supply of tears last Friday night, but obviously not. For the second time in my life I feel like I want to die, like that fate would be merciful compared with the one I'm facing now. I'm not sure if I did the right thing or not, but it certainly doesn't feel right. It's Tuesday today, and mum and dad were (and still are) at the shop, which is standard fair for weekdays. They were working later tonight though, so Kevin and I were left to cook our own dinner. I used it as an excuse to leave when he walked into the living room, where I was sitting on one of the side couches, staring more often at the couch it had happened on than at the TV. When Kevin walked into the room I said I'd make dinner and went into the kitchen to do so. I filled a saucepan with water and found a packet of spaghetti in the pantry. I tipped the packet in and then set about making the sauce, which was when Kevin came in. He walked over to the sink where I was working and stood next to me, looking at me with that look of his that's both soft and heavy at the same time. It's a look that asks you what's wrong, and encourages you to tell him, even though he seems to know already. I avoided his gaze and kept silent. "Kyla," he said softly, and I may have flinched. He paused and waited for me to reply, but I didn't – I couldn't. "Kyla, what's wrong," he asked. "Nothing," I said, which may have sounded more convincing if I hadn't refused to look at him. "Something obviously is," he said. "Why don't you tell me." He sounded concerned, not irritated, which was just like him, and just like me to think of. "Nothing's wrong," I repeated emphatically, my body betraying me as a tear splashed on my cheek. Kevin has never been a tactile person and I've almost never seen him touching anyone. I don't mean in a sexual way, but even just patting a friend on the back or standing close to someone he knows. He keeps to himself both emotionally and physically. But he did touch me then, placing a hand under my chin and turning it gently towards him. The contact was thrilling and agonising at the same time. "What's wrong?" he asked again, and his voice was so soft and gentle that I shut my eyes for an involuntary moment. I tried to look away once I'd opened them but he held my chin in place, without doing so forcefully. Even his movements were contradictions. "Kyla," he said softly, "I told you you could tell me anything." "I can't," I replied, and the words triggered more tears. "Not this." "Not what?" Kevin asked. "Did I do something wrong?" I settled for a shake of my head this time, fearing that more words would bring even more tears. "Is it something I didn't do?" he asked. I shook my head again. "Kyla," he sighed, and he made my name sound like a note of music caught in the wind, "I know we haven't been on friendly terms for that long – or that recently – but I don't like seeing you like this. Tell me what's wrong so I can help." Then, I did look up him, and it was definitely a mistake, because as soon as I saw his eyes I burst into tears. "I can't," I said through them. "Can't what?" Kevin asked, looking extremely worried. "Tell you," I replied. "Why not?" "You'd hate me," I said. "I already told you," he said, "I could never hate you." "You would," I said. "For this you would." And I began to wonder why I had told him this much. Certainly I could have made up a story about something happening at school. Now, however, he would keep probing until I told him, because he knew it was about him. No matter how this began or how it played out, there was only one way it could end. "You're wrong," said Kevin, so firmly I had to believe him. "Nothing you say could make me hate you." Embracing my new-found sense of inevitability, I dropped my gaze to the floor, lowered my chin, feeling utterly defeated, and said, "I love you." I should have realised how he'd construe those words, but I didn't at first. So when I heard him say, "I love you, too," I thought my heart was going to rupture with pleasure. Then I looked up and noticed the simple smile on his face and the complete lack of earth-shattering shock. I'd need to look at him to convey my meaning, and that was hard, but I had to. I poured everything I felt into my gaze and fixed it on him. "No," I clarified. "I mean I love you." He understood, instantly. His hand fell from my chin and he took a step back and that's when I knew he was disgusted, knew he was appalled. "What?" he asked, clearly mistrustful of his own ears. "I love you," I repeated weakly, though with my eyes on the floor this time. He was still and silent for a long time. I could see his feet, but nothing else. They were fixed to the floor, perhaps refusing to move, perhaps too astonished to, or, perhaps, because they didn't want to. I knew it was a foolish hope, that he'd feel some of what I felt, that he experienced the same feeling in his stomach whenever I was near. But still I hoped. When at last he said my name, it was less like music and more like tyres crunching on gravel. "Kyla..." and that's all he said. Clearly he was too stunned for words. It was the first time I had ever seen all of his defences stripped away, and yet still I couldn't tell what he was thinking. There were too many threads of emotion to pull apart – confusion, shock, sorrow, remorse, disbelief. I would have to wait. Eventually he spoke, and it was just a single word. "How?" "How?" I asked back, looking up but not directly at his face. "How did this happen?" "I don't know," I said, and a large sob racked my body. "I don't know how it happened. It just did. I'm so sorry." Kevin let out a long, shaky breath. "I..." he began, then stopped, and began again. "I don't understand. How...." I didn't let him finish. It was too much, standing there quavering under his look of horror. I ran out of the room, up the stairs and into my bedroom. Just like that Friday night, I shut my door and fell on my bed, crying (if it were possible) more than I had been then. And that's where I stayed, until I opened my diary and wrote these words, these words that are so painful to write and so hard to read. Even under all the shock and misery of what's happened, even under the weight of Kevin's bewildered reaction, I still have that small hope that, maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way. * * * Dear Journal, After last night, after finding out what was wrong with Kyla, I didn't think things between us would ever be mended. But nor did I think they would ever get worse. Perhaps I shouldn't have reacted as I did, perhaps I should have said something; but it's not easy finding out that your own sister has those kinds of feelings for you; it's...a little shocking. I'm not sure what to do, to be honest. It's enough of a task making sense of all this myself, but then there're Kyla's feelings to worry about. I know how she'll deal with this and it won't be well. She might never speak to me again. I guess I do know what to do, because it's something I have to do. Kyla won't broach the subject again – I know that. She's too hurt and too afraid to say anything about it, which means that I have to be the one to bring it up. I just don't know how she'll react. This isn't like last time; she might not agree to speak to me at all. Still, I have to try, and I'm going to do that right now. * * * Dear Diary, It seems there is just no end to how much despair I can wallow in. Whenever I think I've seen the worst of things, I'm proven wrong. This time, I guess, was the worst, mainly because I got my answer. I was in my room, again, as I so often am these days, at every time of the day. I had cried myself out and was sitting with my back on my pillow, looking out my window at the night sky, which was dotted with stars. I could find nothing pretty about the scene though – it just filled me with more remorse. It would be accurate to say that I hadn't expected Kevin to come and see me. I figured I had been lucky that he had been in an approachable mood the other two times, and that finally his resolve would thin and he would go back to brooding. But he came, and he opened my door this time. "Kyla," he said simply, after shutting the door behind him. If I had been lying down, I could have feigned sleep, as it was too dark to make out each other's face. But, as it was, he knew I was awake and he wasn't going to go away any time soon. I only hoped he wouldn't turn on the light. I kept silent as he took a few steps forward. He repeated my name. When he was only a few steps away from me, he gazed down at me, looking very dark and very solid – a silhouette, but nothing else. I wiped a tear from my cheek. "Kyla, we need to talk about this," he said, and, obviously convinced of my determination to remain silent, he started solo. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. I just didn't know what to say. But I don't want you to think that that means I'm angry with you or that I hate you." He had read my mind and answered its questions. But not all of them. "I just...want to understand," he said, and I looked up, thankful for the veil of darkness between us. "I don't even understand," I replied in a voice so small I wondered if he could hear it. Kevin didn't respond, and I had the feeling that now that he'd started the ball rolling, he was going to let me speak my mind. I couldn't stop myself. "After what happened last Friday, I just...I felt miserable. I thought you'd hate me for what I did – that you'd be appalled with me. But then we talked and you said those things to me and...it was just...nice. I've had crushes before and I've thought about love, but I've never felt the way I did when I was with you, just talking or...doing more." I think it was clear to him what I meant. "Kyla," he said, "if that's all it is then..." "It's not," I replied. "It's more than that. I think about you in so many different ways and I know they're not all sisterly. I'm not just hung up on what it was like to have an orgasm with you." And there I'd said it, at last, specifically. I couldn't tell the reaction it had on Kevin, but the reaction it had on me was definitely noticeable. It felt good to say it. It felt...empowering. I stood up then, a small amount of strength flooding through my veins – not much, but enough. I took two steps forward so that I was less than a foot away from Kevin, my hands twisting nervously together in front of me. I felt small, standing before him like that, noticing for the first time how much taller he was than me. He wasn't a muscular guy or a tall guy, but at that moment he looked so very solid, as though I could fall against his chest, have him put his arms around me and everything would be all right. I had to know. "Do you..." I began hesitantly. "Do you love me, too?" "Kyla," he replied gravely. "You can't do this. You have to stop before..." "I can't stop," I interrupted, running on autopilot all of the sudden. Logic was a memory, rationality a long lost friend. "I know it's wrong, and I know it can't work, but I want it to. I want it to work. I want to be with you." There was a pause after my words, and before his, that was almost the worst thing I've ever had to endure. Almost, but not quite. His words were the worst. "I don't," he said, dropping his head. I felt like his words had severed a connection between us; like he had already left the room and I was still standing there feeling stupid and alone. "You don't?" I asked, crying forcefully now. He looked back up. "I'm sorry. I just don't feel that way about you." I couldn't speak; couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel the floor beneath me or any bone in my body. My heart certainly wasn't there; I had poured it out to Kevin and he had batted it away. As the strength left my body, I fell back on the bed, sitting with my hands clenched tightly together in my lap, praying for death. "Kyla..." he began, starting forward with an outstretched arm. I flinched back and he stopped. "Go away," I said to him. He didn't move, so I repeated it. Finally, he retracted his arm. "Kyla, I..." "Please just go." I turned away from him and hoped that he would leave soon so that I could collapse. He finally turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. And then I fell apart. * * * Dear Journal, I haven't seen Kyla for days, and I know it's because she's avoiding me. It hasn't been hard; she told mum she was sick and hasn't left her room since. I feel awful; I have even less of an idea what to do now. I couldn't lie to her though – that would've been worse. What she said to me...I've wanted to hear those words from Danielle for so long. But Kyla...she's my sister; and more than that...I just don't feel about her the way she does about me, or the way I feel about Danielle. I know I did the right thing, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I'm still having trouble understanding where she's coming from. Physical attraction I can see (without being vain) – after what happened last Friday, I know I've been looking at her differently, noticing her clothes more and her hair – but beyond that, I just don't see how it happened, or why it happened. Is it possible she's misleading herself, convincing herself she feels something she doesn't? I know I've felt a much stronger connection to her in the last few months, so maybe she's interpreted it wrongly. But then Kyla's a smart girl and if I know that what I feel for Danielle is love, why should she be any different? Why do things always get so complicated for me? I have a girl that I've loved for years, who I finally befriended, despite the odds, and she's not exactly keen on a relationship. And then I have my sister, who's smart and warm and beautiful yes, but still my sister – and she has the feelings for me that I'm trying to find in Danielle. It just never works out right. So what do I do now? Do I leave things be and become estranged from my sister for the rest of our lives? Do I persuade her to talk more about it? But then what? Convince her that she doesn't really feel that way about me? That would never work. The thing that's surprising me is that I'm actually thinking of her as just another girl. The 'you're my sister' argument should have taken the forefront and settled all the questions. But I didn't think about that at first – I thought about whether or not I felt the same way she did. And what if I had? Would I have declared my love and lived happily ever after with her in a small seaside cottage, sans marriage and children? It was pointless to even consider it. But obviously she had. She loves me. She's in love with me. I still can't believe it. I mean...I care about her...a lot, and I do love her, and she's clever and kind and romantic and definitely attractive, and she is willing to offer me a lot more than Danielle is, who would probably pick up with Anthony right where they left off, if he gave her the chance, but... Sibling Love Ch. 02 Author's Note: Here's chapter two of my romantic incest story. It may be too melodramatic for some, but make sure you send me feedback if you read it anyway. At this point, I'm not sure if there'll be more, but we'll see. * * * Dear Journal, I remember when I began this journal, years ago, I would always write in it with the idea in mind that someone else would one day read it and learn from it. That was when I wrote about my thoughts, about the world, about what it was like to grow up feeling different to everyone else you've ever met. Even my musings on Danielle, I thought, would enlighten another poor soul who would one day go through the same thing I went through. But now...now I have to commit to these pages something so scandalous I hope no one ever reads it. It's not that I'm ashamed – although, I do feel something rather different to happiness – it's just that what I did – what we did – would never be understood by anyone who hadn't experienced the same thing before. People would pass judgement on us before they even got to know us or the circumstances of the event. I don't expect people to understand and I have no intention of telling them; but already I can feel the weight of keeping it a secret. Okay, then – here it is: I fingered my sister. And yes, I mean that in the exact same way that first comes to mind. I had my fingers...inside her. Not only that but, we kissed and we cuddled and I told her I loved her. And I meant it. I thought it would feel so wrong saying those words to her but it didn't. A little strange, certainly, but not wrong. I suppose that, having distanced ourselves from each other for so many years, we aren't exactly a paragon of the brother-sister relationship, and so maybe that's why it didn't feel as forbidden as it should have. It's not that she's just like any other girl to me – she isn't – it's just that it wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. I guess that's something. So what was it like? Well, it was...great. It was so much like what I hoped my first sexual experience would be like. It was tender and romantic and soft and gentle. We were lying on the couch, bodies pressed together with a blanket over our legs, and it just sort of happened naturally. Well, Kyla asked me to do it, but I had a feeling it would have happened anyway. And there was no awkward, unspoken question of sex either, which took away a lot of anxiety. We just...connected. To my dying day I'll never forget what it felt like having two of my fingers buried deep inside her vagina, my arm wrapped around her and my mouth kissing the soft flesh of her neck. It was the most erotic and sensual embrace I've ever experienced, or ever seen, really. I know now how potent love can be and how easy it is to see it. Maybe I was in love with Danielle at one point, but I can't ever remember feeling for her the way I felt for Kyla in those moments. It was almost painful, like something was clawing its way through my chest, trying to get out. I know also why sex is the logical step for two people in love, because right then I couldn't think up enough ways to express how I felt about her. I felt like just giving up because I knew that, even given a lifetime with her, I wouldn't be able to convey all that love – not with words, not with gifts, not even with physical affection. I certainly tried though. I'm left to wonder now whether it will continue, whether it was just a one-off. My heart and my mind both tell me it wasn't, that it can't possibly be when we said those things to each other and shared what we did. But even more so, I'm left to wonder whether sex is on the horizon and whether, even if I want to, I'll be able to stop myself. I did last night, which I know was something I wanted to do. I couldn't stand to turn it into a simple case of mutual physical relief. If Kyla had returned the favour simply because she felt she had to, I wouldn't have derived much pleasure from the experience. It was better, I think, to offer her something she wanted and something I wanted to give her without trivialising the experience. I wanted only to hold her in my arms and fill my nostrils with her sweet scent, which mingled easily with the smell of her sex. It's hard to find strangeness in all this, but, sometimes, if I shut my eyes and then quickly open them and read one of the sentences I've written, I realise just how bizarre it really is. I guess it's a testament to how right it is that I don't feel awkward writing about it. At first I thought the knot in my stomach that appeared whenever I thought of Kyla was guilt or shame – but now I think it's love. I think of her and picture her and I can't help but smile and remember what it was like to touch her skin and kiss her lips. So many years of looking for love, for the right girl, for someone who understands me, and all this time she's been right under my nose. * * * Dear Diary, I cannot possibly express the elation I felt this morning – and am still feeling – after I woke up from what was perhaps the best night's sleep of my life. After my almost surreal experience with Kevin last night, I simply returned to my room after parting ways with him outside my door, with a kiss of course. Once I was in bed and under the covers, however, I pulled my pants and my panties off and lay there, naked from the waist down, with a memory so vivid that I could almost feel Kevin's fingers inside me again. I fell asleep like that – the taste of my own juices on my lips and the thought of Kevin's fingers between them. When I woke up I was rested and relaxed and wanting Kevin again. It was impossible, though, to go to his room when mum and dad were probably home. I don't know if they'll be going out today or if I'll be forced to wait an unknown amount of time until I can be alone with Kevin again. I want to feel his hands on my back again and his lips on my neck; I want to touch him the way he touched me and make him cum like a storm, so he can taste the fruit that I tasted last night. I ended up pleasuring myself after I woke up, so that I wouldn't be so horny when I left my room, but it was dull and boring. I want Kevin to do it, like he did last night. I'm not sure how healthy it is, thinking of him so ardently and so often. I guess I'm still too far into that state of bliss to worry about things like hiding it from mum and dad and what will happen in the future. The latter, especially, terrifies me. I want to ask Kevin about it – to ask him whether he'll stay with me forever and run away with me where we can be together in public – but I don't want to frighten him. Oh, I'm so happy. I think I have to cum again, though. * * * Dear Journal, The first time I saw Kyla today was everything I'd expected. My stomach instantly tied itself in knots and I could vividly taste her skin in my mouth and feel her hips in my hands. We both kind of froze for a moment when we saw each other in the kitchen; then Kyla broke into a huge smile and I couldn't help but follow suit. I wanted to pick her up and kiss her all over until she squealed with delight; but I couldn't, of course. With a cautious glance at the door, I crossed the room so that I stood a mere foot away from her, smiling down at her beautiful face. Bravely, she crossed the rest of the distance between us so that we were almost toe-to-toe. Her smile was a sight more astonishingly beautiful than any I've ever laid eyes on, and it sent a shockwave along my spine. "I had fun last night," she whispered, soft as a breeze. Mum and dad could have been anywhere, but her presence was like a magnet, like a drug – I needed more. Me too, I mouthed. Let's do it again, Kyla mouthed back, her lips wrapping slowly around each word as I watched them. "When?" I whispered. "The next time we're alone," Kyla replied. "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel." "You already have," I told her, and her smile widened. We heard footsteps then, in the living room, and quickly broke apart, trying our best to look casual and aloof. Mum walked into the kitchen sporting a pair of green rubber gardening gloves and an old baseball cap. Clearly she had been pottering around in the garden. Just then I heard the telltale vroooms of dad gunning the lawnmower to life. Mum and dad would both be outside for most of the morning and yet I still couldn't do anything with Kyla for fear of being caught. We'll have to tread carefully, that's for sure. * * * Dear Diary, I was beginning to have withdrawal symptoms, hiding in my room on Saturday afternoon, daydreaming about Kevin. I don't know what's come over me; I certainly never expected myself to be this kind of girl, but God he just makes me so hot now. All that time alone let me think though, and let me make up my mind about something. I want to make love to Kevin; I want him to be my first. And I don't want to wait either; I want to feel him inside me, so badly I can almost feel it already. I'm going to go to the pharmacy and buy some birth control pills too, because I don't want to use a condom – I want him to cum inside me. I know it would only be a thin, rubber membrane between us, but it would feel like a steel wall. I don't know how he'll react, but he must have thought about it too. I think we both know it's coming, though maybe later rather than sooner in his mind. I'll convince him though, and tell him how much I want it and how much I love him. And I do – I do love him. And he loves me too; I can't believe it. Hearing him say those words to me last night was...it was the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love him and he feels the same way and God I want him inside me. I'm going to the pharmacy. * * * Dear Diary, Today is Sunday night and I'm still reeling with what happened, but here it is: We found out mum and dad were going to another business meeting in the evening, which would keep them out late. It was like a sign or an omen or something – whatever it was, it was perfect. Kevin and I were sitting casually in the living room watching TV while mum and dad bustled around getting ready. We kept casting surreptitious smiles at each other when they were out of the room, and I was itching to have his arms around me. I'd popped a pill on Saturday night and I was more ready than I'd ever been. I was afraid though, to tell Kevin, in case he didn't want to or thought I was rushing things. I wanted him to want it to, to want me. At long last, when mum had said a last quick goodbye and shut the door, I practically leapt on Kevin and planted kisses all over his face. He laughed, but didn't push me away, which was encouraging. We fell back on the couch he was on. "I love you," I told him. "I love you so much." "I...love you too, Kyla," Kevin replied between my fierce kisses. We continued kissing for quite some time, much longer than I'd intended to. It was so addictive, and so, so hard to pry my lips off his, even for a moment. He kept his hands on my sides, his splayed fingers almost spanning my waist. I couldn't tell him, but I wanted him to move them around, to stroke my back and rub my thighs. I supposed he was worried I would tell him to stop. I really hoped I wasn't being slutty about all this. Eventually, with a massive effort, I pulled my lips off Kevin's and looked him in the eyes, panting softly. "I love you," I told him again. "I love you, too," he repeated. I smiled and brought my face closer to his. "I want you to make love to me," I said. Kevin was silent for a moment, his eyes searching my face, checking for doubts. He wouldn't find any though – I knew that. None at all. I'd never been surer of anything in my life. "Are you sure?" Kevin asked nevertheless. I nodded. "Please," I said. Then, recoiling slightly, I considered the possibility that perhaps Kevin wasn't ready, or wasn't sure he wanted me to be his first. I mean, it's a big thing having sex with your sister and having it with her for the very first— "Okay," he said, cutting my thoughts off. I can't tell you how relieved I was. "We don't have to if you don't want to," I said, hoping desperately that he wouldn't take me up on the offer. "I want to," Kevin said, and my heart leapt. I crawled over him, my breasts hanging in his face, and turned the lamp off. When I wriggled back down we spent another few minutes (or maybe hours – I lost track of time) just kissing, exploring each other's face and neck and hands. It was like torture, but I was inflicting it on myself, building my desire up to a teetering height, ready for Kevin to knock it all down to earth in one enormous orgasm. As impossible as it seemed to me then, once Kevin's hands slid under my top and began slithering up my belly, I started to feel nervous about showing him my body. He seemed to read my mind though, because after he'd raked his hot fingers across my tummy, he took his hands out and pulled the blanket that was hanging over the back of the couch down. He spread it over us both, which made me feel a lot more at ease and a lot safer. It was packing us closer together by limiting the space we had to move apart, and I liked it. I wasn't going to raise any objections to leaving it there while he made love either. But I was anxious again – to start, to have him inside me and make him moan against my mouth. I found his fly and began to unbutton it. Kevin watched me, sliding his hands up and down my bare arms. Once I'd undone the last button, I ran a hand across his silky boxers, then dug my fingers under the waistband and pulled them down in several quick tugs. I felt him bounce out against my palm, already hard and warm. It was my first penis, of course. I wrapped my hand around it in wonder, marvelling at how stiff and hot it was. I looked up and loved the expression on Kevin's face. "Is it nice?" I asked him. He nodded in reply. "I want it inside me," I added. My words made Kevin's cock twitch in my hand and a ripple of pleasure crossed his face. I smiled. As I was busy with his cock, Kevin relieved me of my shorts and panties, giving me once more that wonderful feeling of naked freedom. We were so close now – both naked and only inches apart. And it was really going to happen. Kevin, too, seemed to realise what was going to happen then. "I'll have to pull out," he said. "I haven't got any condoms." "No," I said, running a finger across his lips. "I took a pill. I want you to stay in there until you finish cumming." Again, his cock twitched. "Are you sure?" "Positive." The suspense was killing me by then. I lifted my arms and worked Kevin's top off, so that I could run my palms over his bare chest, trace the contours of the muscles that had developed only recently. I removed my hands long enough to lift my own top over my head, and then remove my bra with Kevin's helping fingers. I could tell instantly that he liked my breasts, and I was thankful for it. I knew he wouldn't say anything bad about their size or shape – Kevin wasn't like that. But he looked genuinely fascinated by them. He curled his fingers around my chest, laying them over my ribs, and brushed his thumbs across my nipples. They perked up straight away. I let my mouth open with a silent moan of pleasure. Kevin slid his hands around my back to draw me closer, then enclosed my right nipple with his mouth. I moaned audibly this time, as he sucked on it softly. He had one arm wrapped around my lower back, the other thrown diagonally across my spine, holding me in an upright embrace that made me feel as though nothing else in the world could touch me. As he continued flicking my nipple with his tongue, I used the opportunity to take his cock inside me. Realising what I was doing, Kevin took his mouth away from my chest and looked down at the spot on the blanket that hid our genitals. I looked there too, then up at Kevin's face to find him staring back at me. I felt the tip of his penis pressing against my lips, the force of his body behind it, ready to push it in at any moment. He was being careful, I knew – letting me set the pace. I braced myself for pain, but there wasn't much. I moaned as he slid inside, and I could hear him gasp, then I let out a long breath. That was it, right there – what I'd wanted. And it was exactly what I'd wanted. It felt amazing. He filled me up, wall to wall, buried right up to his pubic hair. It was almost as though I'd been waiting my entire life for him to enter me, to fill the gap that longed for him. I started to move then, up and down, still in the upright embrace he was holding me in. Kevin was staring at me in awe, in fascination...in ecstasy. I looked right back at him, at his pupils and my own reflection that seemed to shine inside them. It was hard though, keeping up that motion. Eventually I collapsed forward onto Kevin and laid my head against his shoulder, letting him continue the thrusts on his own. He put a hand on the back of my head and pushed into me, making me gasp. I gasped with every inside thrust and sobbed every time he pulled it out. My eyes soon fluttered closed. It was a steady pace we chose and it kept us going for a while, but not forever. Soon I felt it like a tide inside my vagina and I nestled my head into Kevin's neck. He was breathing in deep, throaty pants by now, the sound catalysing my own orgasm. "Yes," I said once, whispering it into his skin. "Cum inside me. Please, Kevin. I want it. Cum in me." I took one last push before I began to cum. Things exploded inside my head and erupted in my belly; a fire spread through my thighs and poured out of my vagina as the muscles clamped down fiercely on Kevin's cock. He groaned long and hard and started squirting into me; hot ropes of cum lashing against my walls and filling me up. I clung to him more tightly than I've ever clung to anything before. I held him protectively and ground my hips down against his so that he stayed deep inside me. I bit down on my lip and dug my nails into his shoulder blades, his own arms squeezing my slender body in his fierce grip. I let his cock run dry inside me, wanting it all in there. We panted against each other, both struck still by the intensity of our orgasms. I lowered a hand to Kevin's abs and used the support to ease myself up and down some more, my pussy sliding over his shaft easily with the aid of our mixed juices. Kevin expelled a huge breath over my shoulder and I felt him start to go soft inside me. I didn't care though; I didn't want him out just yet. I waited until my head stopped spinning and opened my eyes. I laid my ear on Kevin's shoulder, my eyes facing his neck and my lips kissing it. After that, I lifted my head up to see him and shivered when our eyes met. Without looking away, I reached a hand down to take him out of me, laying his cock up against his belly and pressing my own body against it. His head sagged with exhaustion, his nose lining up with mine, our eyes less than an inch apart. "I love you," he whispered, and it sounded so much more significant than it had the other times. Now...now I knew what it meant to love him, in the closest possible way. "I love you, too," I said, kissing him gently on the lips. I rolled over and lay back against him, his arms linked around me. I could have fallen asleep like that, but it was too dangerous of course. Kevin said he would close his eyes while I put my panties back on, but I told him there was no need to. We both stood to dress, perfectly at ease with our nakedness. After that, we kissed some more, before I told him I was tired and that I was going to have an early night. He didn't mind and walked me to my room, giving me a goodnight kiss outside my door. I fell asleep for an hour or so as soon as my head hit the pillow. I was exhausted and physically drained, but I slept well. It was nice, falling asleep like that with Kevin's semen inside me, some of it stuck moistly to the inside of my thighs. I could smell it, and the aroma relaxed me, rather than sending intoxicating waves of pleasure through my head. Sibling Love Ch. 02 I can say now, without a doubt, that I have no regrets. I've had my first time, and I'm no longer a virgin. I'm glad I had it with someone so loving and gentle; I'm glad I had it with Kevin. * * * Dear Journal, I'm not a virgin anymore. I suppose that's one of the pinnacle entries a typical teenage guy would make in his journal – his moment of glory – but for me, it brings mixed blessings. I'd have to say though, more positive than negative. As you may have guessed, it was with Kyla – my sister. I don't regret that part because it was one of the most intimate and tender experiences of my life; so foreign to me and yet so right. As I said: I don't regret it. There is, however, a small knot in my stomach that seems to be telling me that I'm starting down a dangerous path; that what I'm doing is borne out of desire and nothing more. But then there are all kinds of desire. Lust is desire, but so is love – and I'm sure I love Kyla. There is no doubt in my mind about that. I slept soundly last night, following the event itself. I hope that doesn't make me pig-headed to think of it as an 'event'. God knows I probably wasn't spectacular, but to me it really felt like a memorable occasion – one that, when I look back on it in years to come, will be one of the most important incidents responsible for shaping my life. Of course, there are burdens as well: the burden that I can never admit, to anyone, who my first time was with; the burden that I will never be able to bring my lover home to meet my parents, both because it would destroy them and because...well, this is her home. I guess complications are to be expected in any relationship though. As I said, I slept soundly; better than I have in years. In the morning, I woke up with that 'something big has happened but I'm not sure what' feeling. Pleasant realisation began to trickle in eventually. The first thing I felt was an overwhelming urge to see Kyla, to ask her if she was all right, if she had slept well, if she had thought about what we'd done during the night. It wasn't exactly feasible though, so I opted for a visit to the shower instead. I was hoping, post-shower, to see her downstairs before we left for school, but mum mentioned something about Kyla starting later today. Luckily, mum didn't seem to find my curiosity on the matter unusual. So I walked to school and had a pleasant, if rather boring day. Once the final bell had rung and I'd visited my locker, I walked to the back gate that I usually exit from at the end of the day and found Kyla waiting for me. I got the feeling that she tried – and failed – to suppress the smile that lit up her face when she saw me. I can't tell you how it made me feel to know that I could make someone smile like that. It was like falling in love with her all over again. I discovered then that something I really loved about her, and about being with her, was that unlike with other girls from school, or out of it, I was entirely comfortable with her. I mean, there are girls who I'm nervous around, and girls who I find I have nothing to say to, and there are also girls who I just can't stand to be around because they're so egotistical or slutty; but with Kyla, being nervous is okay because I know she's nervous too, and if we don't have anything to say, that's okay too, because the silence is always comfortable and relaxing. And I don't even need to say that she's not egotistical or slutty. I fell into step beside her in a casual way that wouldn't arouse any suspicions. I guess I'm more paranoid now – thinking that the slightest touch or kind word could send out warning bells to a passing observer. I know I'm being stupid though – brothers and sisters can be close without being intimate. I know I've read about it somewhere. The walk was, to say the least, extremely pleasant. Just walking with her like that, catching sight of her bright little grin that seemed to claim a permanent spot on her beautiful face – it was nice. We spoke too, of course. I asked her how her day was. "Good," she replied simply, beaming me a smile. "How was yours?" "Good," I replied. Around that point I began to pay more attention to the backs of her knees, which were visible above her school socks. I like her legs. We slipped into a comfortable silence, which was broken again by me. "Did you sleep well last night?" I asked out of curiosity, which I tried to hide. Kyla grinned at me. "Like a baby." I laughed a bit. I noticed how close we were walking – hip to hip with our fingers occasionally brushing as our arms swung at our sides. I wanted more than anything to open my hand and close it around hers, but I abstained from doing so. Spring is really showing its colours now and the weather is picturesque. I couldn't help but notice the soft tweets coming from the trees we walked under or the bright orange flowers that ran alongside us for most of the way. It seemed as though the background had been specially ordered for Kyla, emphasising every beautiful feature of her body. When we arrived home, Kyla dropped her bag on the doorstep to search for her key. A creamy strip of bare skin showed itself between the bottom of her shirt and the waistband of her skirt as she bent down. I smiled to myself and looked away before she'd notice. Inside the house, I realised for the first time that we were alone, and would be for another three hours at least. Kyla, I think, had already thought about it. She put her bag down beside the door and turned around, tapping her palms against her hips aimlessly. "So..." she said. "Are you hungry?" I slid my bag off my shoulder and dropped it next to hers. "Very," I said, taking a step towards her and encircling her slender waist in my arms. She looked pleased, draping her arms over my shoulders and turning her face up playfully. I lowered mine until our noses pressed together. Slowly, I closed the distance between our lips and kissed her softly on the mouth. It was difficult though – she was smiling so broadly. "What are you so happy about?" I asked. I was so close to her – our noses, chests, foreheads touching – that I could smell the scent of shampoo on her hair. "I'm happy," she said, nudging my nose playfully with her own, "because last night I made love to the most wonderful guy in the world." "Really?" I asked lightly. "And what did this guy look like?" "Oh, young, handsome...about yay high," she rested her palm on top of my head. "And you had fun with him?" "Oh, yes." "And if he asked for an encore?" Kyla's smile widened. "I'd be happy to oblige." Once more our mouths met, this time in a more passionate lock of moist lips and probing tongues. Again there was a flutter inside my chest, which Kyla alone could produce. I was just about to pick her up and carry her upstairs when she pulled her lips off mine and looked over my shoulder. She gasped. I turned around to see mum's car through the window, rolling into the driveway. We instantly sprang apart, Kyla smoothing her skirt down and me running the back of my hand across my mouth. After another few seconds, there was a rattling in the door of mum's keys turning in the lock, before she pushed it open and stepped through. "Hi, kids," she said cheerfully as she noticed us. Straight away I knew she hadn't seen anything, and my heart returned to its normal place in my chest. Kyla, too, seemed to visibly relax. "Can you give me a hand with the groceries?" mum asked. "I'll get them," I said, implying that Kyla didn't have to. She got the message and took her bag upstairs. It turned out that business was slow this afternoon, so mum had decided to do some shopping instead. I can't help but feel we were lucky this time, and that we might not be the next. It was stupid to just drop everything and kiss like that in front of the door. We'll have to be very careful about what we do from now on. The idea of mum, or dad – or both – finding out is too horrible to bear. We just can't take that risk. * * * Dear Diary, This afternoon Kevin and I were rudely interrupted when mum decided to come home early. I know it's not her fault and I know we should have known better than to do what we did in plain sight, but I still feel slightly angry. I was looking forward to being alone with Kevin for a while, maybe even making love again. With our first time behind us, I'm no longer craving the experience to an unhealthy extent; now, I want to take our time and explore different things. We won't get that chance though – not today and, according to Kevin, not very often. I visited his room briefly after mum came home, while she was in the kitchen preparing some extravagant meal or other. I pushed his door open and found him reading a book on his bed. When he looked up, his expression was almost apologetic. I crossed the room quickly and knelt down beside his bed. "Are you okay?" I asked him. "Yeah, just a little shaken, I guess." "She didn't see anything." "No, but she might. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but one day she might." "We'll be careful," I insisted. Kevin fixed me with a dubious look that softened eventually into reluctant acceptance. "Very careful," he said. "It can't be every day and it can't be downstairs." "Okay," I replied, and smiled. "I wasn't planning on every day anyway, you know." "I know," said Kevin, going a little red. He looked rather cute. I reached a hand up to touch his face and my lips too to kiss him. He pulled my hand gently away though. "We'd better not," he said. Disappointedly, I retracted my hand and left the room. I agree with Kevin, of course – we do have to be careful. And I know it's the best hope we have of making our relationship last, but it's still hard. I don't want to sit in my room alone, calculating the soonest possible time we can be alone together. It's almost like an addiction – I want to be close to him, close enough to feel his breath on my face and his eyelashes brushing against my cheek. I finally find the guy of my dreams and I can't be with him whenever I want. It's just not fair. * * * Dear Journal, I have a feeling that Kyla thinks of this forced caution as unnecessary. She mopes whenever mum or dad are around, which is something I've very rarely seen her do; and once they leave the room – and that's all it takes – she'll hurry over to me and start to kiss me squarely on the lips until I tell her to stop. It's come to the point where I have to pretend I hear mum walking back down the hall so that Kyla will take her hands off my neck and go back to her seat. I'd be lying, though, if I said it wasn't hard for me too. Just looking into her pretty little face makes me want to pick her up, carry her upstairs and lock the door, before I slowly undress her and kiss my way all over her body and this really isn't helping. I should also mention the spiteful looks Kyla gives mum whenever she interrupts us. She really doesn't like to be disturbed when she has her mind on those things. What I realise after writing all of this down is that this relationship – if that's what it is – isn't exactly smooth sailing. We have to hide so often and plan out the times when we think we'll get to be alone together. I've started worrying about things like Kyla's perfume sticking to me or my sheets; creases appearing all over our clothes even though mum's only been out of the room for a few minutes; even hickeys have become a possibility. I'm certainly not saying that it bothers me to go to all these lengths just to secure a few minutes to ourselves. Kyla is worth it, I know that. But I'm just worried about how...attached she's becoming to the whole idea. She has to realise that things won't necessarily get better. We can move out and we can meet up in out of the way places but it'll never get easier. It'll never be normal relationship. And I don't think Kyla sees that, so I have to. I just don't want to see her life ruined because of me. * * * Dear Diary, When you're in love with someone there are three little words you long to hear (I love you) and four that you hope you'll never hear (we have to talk). I've heard all of them from Kevin now. I was sitting on my bed after school, flipping through one of my schoolbooks and thinking about Kevin as usual, when he came into my room and shut the door quietly behind him. "Hey," he said distractedly, his eyes refusing to settle on one spot. "Aren't mum and dad..." I asked, trailing off. "They went out," Kevin replied. I spilt into a grin and leapt up off the bed. In an instant my arms were around his neck and my lips all over his face. There was a reluctance in him though. "Kyla, wait," he said, gently taking hold of my arms until I took a step back. "What is it?" I asked, searching his face. "We have to talk," he said, and then my heart melted. "Talk?" I asked in a tiny voice. "About what?" "About us." I was breathing very fast now, my stomach twisting into knots. "What about us?" "Sit down," he said, taking a step towards the bed. "No!" I said firmly, refusing to move. "If you have something to say, then say it." He stopped and looked back at me, fiddling with his fingers. He sighed heavily. "I don't think this is going to work." And that's when it felt as though the floor had fallen away beneath me, as though I was tumbling into a huge, empty void. He couldn't be saying what I thought he was saying. He loved me! "What do you mean?" I asked. "I mean you and I," he replied. "Us. It won't work." I could feel tears then, threatening to overwhelm me. I held them off with every ounce of strength I had. "Why not?" "Because of what we have to do," he said. "We can't keep hiding from people and scavenging a few spare moments to ourselves. We can't stay indoors forever and never tell people how we feel about each other. It just won't work." "It will!" I said, taking a step forward and clutching his arms. "It will. We'll make it work." His expression was full of pain. "Kyla," he said, "you're not looking at the bigger picture. You think it's simple now but it won't be forever. You'll grow up and you'll want more than this. You'll want someone who you can take to the movies and show your friends; someone who you can kiss in public and have children with." "Children?" I said incredulously. "Don't you think that's a bit premature? Who said I wanted kids?" "You might not," Kevin replied. "Not now, anyway. But you will one day. One day you'll want to start a family and you'll want all those other things too...and I can't give them to you." I clutched his arms more tightly – as tightly as I possibly could. I put my chest against his so that not a sliver of space existed between us. I tried desperately to communicate to him what I felt. It was like one of those horrible dreams where someone you love is leaving you and no matter how hard you scream or how much you plead with them they won't stay. "I don't care about any of those things," I said earnestly. "I'd rather live like this with you than like that with anyone else. I love you." "You do now," said Kevin. "But you might not tomorrow." I recoiled as though he had slapped me. "How can you say that? You think love is just something that starts and then stops again? You think I would confess it to you if I weren't sure? I am sure, Kevin. I love you and nothing will ever change that. I won't ever stop loving you." "Don't," he said, his face torn apart by pain. "Please, don't do this." "I have to," I said, squeezing his arms and digging my fingers in so that it would hurt him. "I can't just walk away from you like that. And if you can, then maybe you don't...." "I do," he replied firmly, almost angrily. "You think this is easy for me? You think I want to be apart from you? I don't! Not for a second. But this is something I have to do – for your sake." "If you cared about me at all," I said, looking into his eyes, "you wouldn't do this." He stopped short. "That's not fair" "And you think what you're doing to me is?" "I'm doing it for you!" he said loudly, making me jump. "Well, I don't want it!" I yelled. "I don't want you to do that for me. If you want to stop what we're doing, fine! Break up with me then. Tell me you don't love me. But don't pretend that you're doing this for me because it's not what I want." I swiped angrily at the tears in my eyes, wishing that I could keep my face as straight as Kevin's. I felt like I was going to collapse. I couldn't stay like that. I wanted him either to leave or to take a step forward and catch me; to hold me and promise me he would never say anything like that again. "Kyla...." "No!" I said resolutely. "Don't say anything else. I don't care about the things you think I want. I don't care about other people. You can tell me that you don't want to be with me, but if you do then you can't ever tell me you love me again and I won't ever forgive you." His gaze hit the floor and his shoulders sagged. I could see how much he was hurting and how agonising this was for him. I wanted so badly to reach out and hug him, but I wasn't going to – not until he gave me an answer. I was trembling so hard, waiting for his words. If he told me it was over, that he could live without me and without my forgiveness – I was sure I'd die. There was no way I could keep living after that. No way in the world. At last, he looked up. "That's really what you want?" he asked. "That's what I want." "Even though you'll never have a normal life and you'll never be able to share what we have with anyone else?" "Yes." He sighed again. "Then...I guess I don't have a choice." My teeth were chattering, my bottom lip quivering. Slowly, he smiled. A weak, bone-weary smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I love you," he said. Before he'd even finished saying the words I was rushing forward and throwing my arms around him, sobbing like mad on his shoulder. "Don't you ever do that to me again," I cried. "Ever, ever." "I'm sorry," he said, putting a hand on the back of my head and burying his face against my neck. I held him as fiercely as I'd ever held anything in my life – like a child protecting a beloved toy or a lioness guarding her cub. I held him so tightly my fingers were white and my chest was in pain from pressing so strongly against his – but I didn't care. I raised my face enough to plant dozens of quick kisses all over his neck. "I don't ever want you to leave me," I said. "If you do, I'll die." He lifted his face and kissed me on the lips, my legs turning to jelly. His arms went around my back and legs and lifted me off the ground. He carried me to the bed and laid me down gently; I pulled him down on top of me. I was hurt and sad and relieved, but I knew exactly what I wanted – what I needed. I was unzipping his fly as he kissed my neck. My breathing was feverish; I couldn't relax until I had him inside me. He raised the sheets and put them over us. Outside, the sky was dark, the first few stars of the night twinkling into existence. The room was bathed in shadow and there was hardly any moonlight moonlight, but I could see Kevin as clearly as if his image had been burned into my eyes. "Quick," I said, panting. "I want you inside me." Still kissing me, he bunched my skirt up around my waist and slid my panties down my legs. I grabbed his back and pulled him forward, gasping over his shoulder as he entered me. I exhaled a long, contented breath. Once he slid all the way inside me, my breathing was normal again. Most of our clothes were still on but it felt like we were closer than ever before. We lay down with our heads on the pillow, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Kevin was on top of me so I turned my head to the side and stared at the wall, clutching his shoulder blades. His face was buried in the crook of my neck and I couldn't see it but I could feel him inside me, filling me up wholly and completely just as he was filling my heart. The pleasure was immense but so was the emotional pain I felt. I held him desperately, sobbing against him. Sibling Love Ch. 02 "You were going to leave me," I cried. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice full of remorse. "I'm so sorry." We were moving in a slow rhythm, our bodies rising and falling like a wave beneath the sheets. "Yes," I breathed. "Yes." My face screwed up with ecstasy. "Cum inside me, Kevin. Cum inside me and never let me go." His arms were wrapped around my body, holding me to him. I heard him start to moan into the pillow beside my head. "I love you so much," I cried at the last second. A low, desperate groan escaped his lips, almost like a sob of pain. And then I was groaning too as he came inside me. There was so much more than the first time and it was so much warmer. It was like fire spilling into my vagina, cascading over my opening and disappearing into my womb. The muscles clamped down hungrily and elicited every drop with an unquenchable thirst. I was only vaguely aware of it though, as my own orgasm tore through me like a hurricane and left only exhaustion in its wake. I cried out so loud that if mum or dad were home they would definitely have heard it. I dug my nails into Kevin's back and buried my head against him, screaming into his shoulder. My screams were mingled with sobs of happiness, I think, or perhaps fear at how close I had been to losing him. His weight on me was the most comforting thing in the world and I never wanted him to move. We lay a long while together, even after both our orgasms were nothing but pleasant memories. I moved my head around to find Kevin's lips and kissed him fiercely. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Shh," I whispered, stroking his hair. I held him to me tightly, unwilling to let even a tiny cavity of air exist between us. We may have lain there for an hour, or ten minutes, or an eternity – I don't know how long it was. It seemed all to short, though, when Kevin was getting off me. I reached out for him desperately. "No," I said. "Stay here. Stay here and lie with me." "I can't," he replied. "Mum and dad might be home soon...." Somehow the words 'if they're not already' echoed in the air between us. I was sure, though, that if they had heard anything, we wouldn't be alive. I conceded reluctantly and let my hand fall away from his arm. "I love you," I said with as much feeling as I could muster. He laid a hand against my cheek. "I love you, too." Another kiss and then he was leaving the room. My gaze lingered on the door for several minutes after he'd left. I finally came to my senses and blinked several times before curling up in bed and hugging my pillow for the lack of Kevin. I could still smell his body on the bed; the pleasant, woody smell of his cologne or deodorant or whatever it was. Maybe he smelled like that naturally. It soothed me to sleep though, and I slept like a baby.