26 comments/ 108382 views/ 18 favorites Irrational Exuberance By: tarkatony I've never liked my sister, never got along with her, not in the 18 years we lived together at 34 Hillside Drive, not during the few times she'd come home while going to college and not in the four years since, so I wasn't pleased when she called: she said she was moving to my city and needed a place to stay for two weeks until she could get settled. When she showed up on a Saturday afternoon I wasn't surprised to see that she hadn't changed much, maybe aged a bit, that was about it. She was still really thin, I could say that much for her, but she still looked like the archetypal anal librarian, the one who tells you to 'shhhush': severe-looking, with greying hair, glasses, a good rack but wasted on a sexless frame. I pretended to kiss her on the cheek, pretended she was welcome and pretended to help her get settled. Two weeks. Fuck. By mid-week, I was becoming increasingly abrupt with her and it was frustrating because I knew she didn't deserve it: she did all the cooking, all the washing, all the cleaning and in my relatively small apartment she did her best to stay out of my way. On the following Friday morning I ran into an old girl friend; we met later that night for a few of drinks, enough so she started looking pretty good. I wrestled with it for about 6 seconds then said 'fuck it' and asked her back to my place, knowing that Alice would be on the couch with her legs tucked under her, nursing a glass of red wine while watching CNN. After my curt introductions Alice moved from the couch to the chair, but that was her only concession to us; she wasn't going anywhere and I thought it would be a bit too sudden to drag Wendy into my bedroom. Instead, I threw a light blanket over us and settled against her, just sort of testing the waters. I've done this before, usually in the back seat of cars, make out while others were close by. It's really exciting to go as far as you can and still be discreet. Wendy found it pretty exciting, too because she gave as much as she got, and you never saw the blanket move; you never heard a noise from her. But if you were in the room you'd have to be pretty much brain dead not to sense that something was going on under that blanket. And my sister isn't brain dead. She was peeking and it really surprised me that her subtle little peeks were turning me on, mainly because she was pretending not to. But she was, there was no doubt about it and unless I was totally fucked up, it seemed that the Ice Queen was into a mild melt. I don't think I was actually trying to be mean to her but I'll admit I was trying to shock her when I let the blanket slip from me so she could clearly see that my pants were open and Wendy had me by my shaft. Unfortunately, Wendy notice this, too and wasn't at all pleased: she beat a hasty retreat — and not on me. But the whole blanket thing turned me on, even more so the next day when Alice pretended nothing had happened. I guess that's why I decided to up the ante. Freddy, that's her name. And she looks like a Freddy: over weight, big breasted and a little stupid, but a gamer, God knows Freddy is a gamer: she once blew me in a movie theatre, my reward for a particularly effective hand job: if anyone was going to stick and pitch under that blanket it was the Fred. So when she called me the next morning, really, right out of the blue, I hadn't heard from her in years, I suggested a time and place where I plied her with drinks before we headed to my place. I knew Fred from my school days and I guess Alice did, too because they seemed to recognize each other and offered an awkward greeting. It was clear from the get-go that Fred didn't understand the nuances of the blanket game, the no noise, no movement part. In fact, to her the blanket quickly became little more than a nuisance, to be swept aside; she wanted to get at it; she could have cared less who else was in the room. But I cared, a little, so I tried for discretion but just for awhile until I realized that when you're making out, the discretion of one is patently pointless: she wanted everything I could give her and she wanted it now. And Alice? She was way past peeking, she was staring, and judging by the weird look on her face, liking. I'm a whoremaster, a swordsman, a sexsmith. I'm not proud of it but I've been this way since I got out of high school; I chase everything I can with a primordial lust. And I carry a terrific trump card: there is something about the way I look, smell or act that tells women that if they go out with me, they're going to end up in my bed. I get turned down a lot but when a girl says 'yes' to my advance, she knows what that 'yes' means. Freddy knew this because the moment we got under the blanket and I poked her playfully in the ribs she started taking things off, off her and off me and I soon reached the point of 'irrational exuberance,' the point when the body tells the mind to 'fuck off' and you just get at it. I was in Fred and she had her legs scissored around my waist and was squealing in joy when I glanced up and saw my sister looking at us, calmly, analytically, like a librarian would. But not quite. She had a haunted look, too; it was kind of chilling, it made me look away and I concentrated on Fred and in a few minutes we were still, panting but still. "Would you like something to drink?" Alice was standing on the other side of the coffee table looking down at us, waiting for our response. "Can I have some more wine?" asked Fred, making no effort to cover up. "I'll have a beer, thanks." When Alice delivered our drinks Fred sat up, flopping her large breasts onto her wide, white belly and stretching her naked legs onto the coffee table, "So what's it like watching people fuck, Alice? I've always wanted to do that. Is it the same as watching porn on TV?" As she sipped, she looked over her wine glass at Alice waiting for her response but when Alice didn't say anything, Fred prodded her, "I imagine it would be pretty frustrating. Is it?" "Yes." Alice's laconic response sorted of stunned me; it never occurred to me that she could feel sexual frustration; she always seemed sort of sexless to me. Then Fred went further, "I would imagine the temptation would be to want to join in, wouldn't it?" I was taking a slug of beer when she said this and I almost choked. When Alice didn't bite, Fred prodded her again, "Is that it? The temptation to want to join in?" My sister was looking at her knees when she said, "Yes," and I've never been so shocked. But that shock soon turned to disbelief. "So if we did it again, you'd like to join in, is that it?" Wendy's word were so calm they sounded as if they had been scripted. Alice's response was almost inaudible, but it was immediate, "Yes." Before I could digest the single word, Fred said, "Great!" and was on her feet and pulling me to mine, "Let's go!" I put on the brakes, this was getting way too weird, even for me, but Fred was having none of that: she roughly pulled at my arm, "Get fucking serious," she said, as it that wasn't my precise point. I went and when we climbed on the bed together we were shucking the last of our clothes. But we were alone; when I checked the doorway Alice wasn't there and I felt a sense of relief — I had no idea how I was going to deal with her if she had been. But in a moment there she was, framed by the doorway, a black silhouette against the bright light in the hall. "Turn on the light," Fred demanded. When Alice did Fred pushed me down. With both of them looking at my totally nudity I felt like a helpless turtle overturned on its back, my arms and legs kind of jerking in stupid protest. That's when Fred bent over and took my stiff prick in her hand like a joystick. She was looking up at Alice, "Well?" "What do you want me to do?" Alice's voice was weak and uncertain. "Well, you can start by getting naked." Fred's words had a 'duh'-quality to them. I would have bet big money that Alice would bolt at that moment but she didn't, instead, she started to strip and a look of horror must have materialized on my face because Fred was laughing at me when I looked up at her. But when I looked back at Alice it was clear she was committed to Fred's orders, she had everything off but her underwear and that was going now. Bias, bigotry, blinkers, blinders — it you want to see something a certain way, you will. As I've said, I've never liked my sister, never gotten along with her, never given her the time of day; she had always been a bit of an embarrassment to me, awkward, unattractive, uninteresting. I've never even bothered to take her for granted. My sister had never been a factor in my life. But she was now and I had no idea what to do. Alice isn't good looking, like I said, not ugly but not very appealing either, mainly because she's so severe-looking, like a chemistry teacher or the head of a temperance movement. But I now realized to my utter astonishment that she has a vicious body on her — it shocked the shit out of me. She is thin, to the point of skinny, I could probably have counted every one of her ribs, but she has superb breasts, not too big, but huge against her thin frame and she has something that has always gotten to me, well, two things: as thin as she is it's really easy to see the entire outline of her mound, it's unbelievably prominent, topped by a tangle of hair that her DNA has formed into a wide landing strip leading to her remarkably flat stomach, as flat as a tarmac. It was hands down the sexiest looking groin I'd ever seen; I don't know why but the moment I saw it, I felt a flush of pride for her: what an accomplishment! The prettiest pussy in town! "What now?" They were Alice's words and a very good question for which I had absolutely no answer. But Fred did, she sprang off the bed and led Alice over to it and sat her down beside me; I was still feeling like a beached turtle, a confused beached turtle. It was as if the moment had locked in freeze-frame; it seemed to last an hour: two naked siblings on a bed together. I didn't know what to do, my sister didn't know what to do and Fred had retreated and was leaning against the doorway studying us. Then she lobbed in her directions: "Now, I'm going to live out my fantasy by watching two people fuck." These words absolutely stunned me, stunned me into momentary paralysis — and just as I was about to struggle from the bed, Alice swiveled around and climbed over me, splitting my legs with her knees. I was at the point of irrational exuberance again but this time my rational mind was fighting to dominate my irrational body: my head was positively screaming 'Fucking your sister just isn't right!' But my body was saying, 'Look closely, asshole, your sister is fucking you.' And she was or she was beginning to. As she began, one of the reasons why I had never liked her became clear: it was the way she did things. I've never realized it before, but that's what I've always hated about her, the way she did things. She had her knees between my legs but rather than do what any normal woman would do, spread my legs, punch her pussy with me and buck, she did it her way, in that unbelievably pedantic production she made out of everything. Bending over me in concentration, she used her left knee to encourage me to spread my right leg, then, once I got the position right, she hesitated for a moment then did the same thing with her right knee, forcing my left leg out. Then she seemed to rest, as if consolidating her gains, before taking my prick in her hand, then shuffling forward, then placing me in her opening. I watched with a mixture of horror, fascination … and distain: everything she did was like a unit of energy: she would move, stop, move, stop, move stop as if everything had been thought out and programmed — there was nothing fluid about it, nothing spontaneous, nothing passionate, she seemed just to be following Fred's orders; she seemed to be an autotom not yet completely programmed and I realized now that this was the thing that drove me nuts about her: she just seemed so fucking pedantic. But her sound was passionate, the soft sound of satisfaction as she slid me into her wet hole and she gazed down on me as she moved slowly against my prick, up, down, up and down and I could see love in her eyes, I mean real love, painful love as if she ached with the stuff and in a few seconds she came, unbelievably quickly, with a blissful cry that echoed long in my ears. She was lying on me, twitching with the last spasm of her orgasm when Fred pushed her off me. That's when I got what I was used to: Fred jammed me in her and fucked me until I exploded. I thought of fleeing the apartment the next morning but I knew I had to face her sometime so I was drinking coffee at the kitchen table and pretending to read the newspaper when Alice came in. She poured herself a cup and sat across from me. "Why have you always been so mean to me. I've never understood it?" She was looking at me, intensely. She wasn't annoyed, just curious. "I've never …" She put up her hand to top me, "Please, you've been mean to me your entire life and I've never understood why." I didn't either, not any more. "We're different people, Alice, I didn't want to be mean to you, it's just that we have nothing in common." "We're siblings for God's sake." I didn't know what to say, I mean, how do you tell someone you find them too …meticulous? But she knew what she wanted to say. "Did you know that I've worshipped you for as long as I can remember?" My shock must have showed, "Did you know that I'd have given my spleen just for one kind remark from you, one generous gesture, one hint that you cared just a little?" I've never felt like such a shit, but it was about to get worse. "And how did you expect me to feel the other night when you brought that woman home, what was her name?" "Wendy." "Wendy. How did you want me to feel as you felt her up, not two feet away from me, felt her up when you wouldn't even give me a hug when I came here, not having seen you since mum and dad's funeral? How was that supposed to make me feel? Were you deliberately trying to stick it to me?" "No," I lied, and I could see she didn't believe me. "Because it didn't work, did it? I could see there was only one way to deal with you. Do you know what I did?" She waited for me to respond, but I had no idea what she was getting at, and anyway, she was letting it all out and I thought that would be good for her, and for me. "Do you know what I did?" This time she didn't wait for me, she just kept on going and her words shocked the shit out of me. "I phoned Freddy, I've known her for years, known she's a nymph for years, and I told her to call you; I told her what I wanted; I wanted either you to fuck me or me to fuck you," her eyes were welling with tears, "because I want our relationship to change and that's the only fucking way I could think to change it, the only fucking language you'd understand." I didn't believe her, it was insane that she could have planned the entire evening but as I fast-forwarded through the chain of events her story became increasingly more plausible, but she had moved on in a different tact now. "When we were growing up I cooked for you, every night, but you never once said thanks. I did your laundry, cleaned your room, organized your life but if you noticed, you never let me know it. When I went away to college I came back every weekend, but you didn't care, you weren't even there half the time, so I started staying away, hoping you would care, but you didn't. It's hard to love someone if they don't give a shit about you." She had more. "When I phoned a few weeks ago, I actually thought you'd turn me down. It kind of shocked me when you said I could stay with you and I got really excited, maybe you had changed, maybe you would recognize how much I love you, maybe, just maybe, you might care a little about me. But when we met, that peck on the cheek spoke volumes and you've pretty much ignored me ever since, just like you used to. And then Wendy … that was the last straw." She got up and walked away. I helped Alice move into her new apartment the next Saturday, it was just two blocks from mine. In fact, it was the first time I'd seen her since the morning after The Event a week before. I felt so shitty about what I'd done I couldn't face her; to avoid her, I left my apartment early and returned late. She was leaning against the sink drinking a glass of water when we finished arranging her stuff. There are a thousand reasons why I did it, mainly they had to do with guilt, but I walked up behind her and placed my hands on her hips and leaned into her, like you might to a loved one. I think what I was trying to convey was that I did care and I was sorry for all the years of misery I had caused her. Her response was immediate, as if she expected me to be there; she took my hands and brought them around her waist and she held them as she cuddled back against me. I had trapped myself. What do I do now? I didn't know. But she did. After two long minutes she released me, turned around and wrapped her arms around me and pushed her face into my chest, "Why have you hated me all these years, Jim, I just don't get it." And I didn't get it either; that's about all I'd been thinking about since The Event: why did I feel the way I did about her; obviously, it wasn't anything she had done; the only thing I could trace it to was her slow perfectionism, like I've explained, but that now seemed pitifully trivial, in fact, non-sensical because when I remembered our brief and immoral tryst, I remembered the deliberate way she took me and it was a real rush: the very thing I had subconsciously hated about her was now turning me on. How sick is that? I wrapped my arms around her and held her really tight. When I spoke it was the very first time I've ever been truly honest while holding a woman, "I'm sorry, Alice, I just can't tell you how sorry I am." "But why, Jim? What did I ever do to deserve the way you treated me?" I didn't know, and that's what I told her, that it just started when we were kids and I just never got out of the habit. "I think I just hated our family, right from the beginning, and you were just a part of it." "And I didn't?" She looked up at me, tears in her eyes, "They were awful, but it didn't mean YOU had to be. You were all I had. We needed each other. I still need you, I'll always need you." I was starting to understand that I needed her, too. I've always been empty, remote, detached — from everything and everyone. I've never had a meaningful relationship in my life and I knew that that had to change; I had to find someone solid I could believe in and over this past week it had become increasingly clear to me that she was that person; I needed her to help me make sense of my past; I needed her to help me get value from my future. That's what I told her. "Do you mean it?" I could barely hear her, her voice was muffled in my chest. "I feel like an absolute shit, Alice. I absolutely mean it, I want you in my life." "So, are you going to change?" She had pulled away and was looking at me, skeptically but behind the tears there was some hope in her eyes, too. "Yes," I said, and as I kissed her on the forehead I knew I meant it. She took me by the hand and lead me to the couch and when we sat down she leaned into me and wrapped her arms around my chest and just held on. One of the things I had thought a lot about in the past week is how much courage it must have taken for her to arrange for The Event. I mean sex as shock therapy! Who would do that and how desperate must she have been to do it? It was just so hard to believe that this little slip of a thing would go to such lengths to repair a relationship, I mean how many taboos did she break: incest, group, voyeur — Jesus, just to tell your dumb ass brother that he was a shit but that she still loved him anyway? Irrational Exuberance "Did it mean anything to you," she said into my shoulder. I didn't know what she was getting at. "What?" She pushed off me and looked into my eyes through glasses that were slightly askew on her nose, "You know." Now, I thought I did, "That took courage, Alice, real courage," it still blew me away every time I thought about it, which was a lot. She kissed me on the lips, lightly, "No it didn't, I've wanted to do that for years." "Have sex with me?" I didn't think I had it right. "I know they call it incest, I know it's supposed to be wrong but I got over that a long time ago. It isn't wrong to me." She gave me another sisterly kiss, "You're the only one I've ever wanted." I couldn't think, couldn't process her words but she was going to force me to. She turned on me again, putting her arms around my chest again. "Look, I want you and need you and you need me. You said so, and you do, I know it." She hesitated for a moment, "I don't want you to be my brother any more, Jim, I don't want to be your sister. I don't want to remember our family either, and how our parents died. I want you to be you, not my brother, OK?" I was working hard to understand all this. "And I want you to call me Allie from now on, will you? Alice is dead as far as I'm concerned, as dead as the family." I wanted to run, I needed space, I needed to think about all of this. I knew I needed her, I had thought about that all week, convinced myself of that, I knew it was true. But that was as a sister, someone with a shared past, as if that would provide a more solid platform for my future. But my sister as a lover? "You can't just turn something like that on, can you?" She nestled into me and laughed, "Interesting choice of words," she said, and she kissed me, not sisterly this time, affectionately, provocatively, then she laughed again, "Maybe you can't just turn it on, but I want to turn you on, Jim, I can't tell you how much I want to be able to do that — I want you to want to make love to me." This whole thing was surreal: I felt dizzy, confused. "Doesn't the taboo bother you?" It sure as fuck bothered me. "Ya, right," she said, dismissively, "if I hadn't done what I did with Freddie would we be here right now, actually discussing our relationship?" She didn't wait for my response, "No, we wouldn't." She hesitated and when she spoke again she put the same question a different way, "Do you think we could have a real relationship if we didn't do that?" I had been thinking about that, too, not directly, but I'd been thinking that if I continued to see my sister would/could/should sex be a part of it. No, it shouldn't and I couldn't see why I was so much more troubled by this than she was, I mean, it isn't done, is it? She looked up at me, "Are you going to take me to bed?" She kissed me lightly again. All I could think to say was, and I know it was cowardly, "Do you want me to?" She kissed me a little more affectionately this time, "Of course I want you to. Do you think I meant what I did that night as a one-time thing. I want a real relationship with you, Jim and I want it to include that." Like I said, I've been pretty much emotionally dead all my life. To me, chasing pussy is an unbelievable high but actually getting it isn't, that always leaves me emotionally fucked, I mean what are you suppose to do with them afterwards — I've never figured that out. And what do you do if it's your sister? You can't just fuck and run. So my emotions have been in a deep turmoil the past week: when she got between my legs that night she so fucked me up that I haven't been able to look at anything the same way any more, her particularly. She put her arms around my neck and when she squeezed me, I could feel her lithe body slide upward on mine until she was looking down on me, her eyes just a few inches from mine. "Look, I love you, you're the only one I've ever loved and you may just be the only one I ever will love." She kissed me, but in a sisterly way. "You're never going to care about me like I care about you, I know that, but do you think you could care enough about me to take an interest in me, to talk to me, to wonder what I think, to let me lie against you once in while?" You've got to understand, this was really difficult for me, I knew diddly about emotional connections, diddly about relationships. Could I care about my sister? Really care? No, I couldn't, but that was before all of this, that was before she told me, convinced me, she loved me — that was so foreign to me, it shocked me, got me thinking and, well, I started to think of her in a different way, in a possessive way and she didn't seem to be the same person any more. And, I'm not proud of it, but the sight of her that night, framed in the doorway, totally nude with that gorgeous, rail thin body — she was right, that had been the tipping point, it had shocked me into thinking of her as a person, a woman, a desirable woman, something I should have understood a long time ago; when I say 'desirable' I don't just mean sexually desirable, honest, I mean interesting, complex, vital and a thousand other things that make us all so interesting, once we take the time to notice. As if in answer to her questions I tightened my arms around her and I held her close to me, reassuringly, pressing her into me and I rubbed her back, nervously: what could I say? Could I care about her? I didn't honestly know, but I knew for sure that I wanted to care about her, and that's what I told her. She didn't say anything, not with her voice but she pressed herself hard into me, I could feel her fantastic mound just a few layers of clothe from my prick and with the thought of that unbelievable vulva my hands went under her sweat shirt and when I massaged the tight hot muscles of her back I felt a charge of guilt race through me. That was it! It was the one thing that had been bothering me about all of this and I hadn't figured it out, not until this very second: she was giving me sex — as a gift, and in return she wanted me to be nice to her! God, it just sucked the strength right out of me; I felt like the worst kind of slime-bag; I struggled to get away. But she wouldn't let me. She was squeezing me with her arms and legs, holding me down; fear contorted her face as she looked down on me. "What's the matter?" So I told her, or, at least, I tried to but she stopped me before I got going. "I masturbate, quite a lot. I always think of you when I do and only you, always. Only you. I've had sex a couple of times, well, sort of, just to see what it was like, but I've never wanted to have sex with anyone, just with you. I dream about it all the time, and not just when I masturbate." She shifted on me and put her head on my chest. "Sometimes I'll think of you all day, as if you were watching me. I'd do something, anything, and when I did it, I'd kind of exaggerate what I was doing to make it more dramatic for you. It was fun and it kept you close to me." She laughed, "And you were close to me in another way, too. When I started working and making money I started buying really sexy underwear, it was my one extravagance, and on days when I knew I wasn't going to be super busy, and I'd have time to imagine you were with me, I'd put them on in the morning and the underwear and my thoughts made me unbelievably hot all day. Sometimes I'd come home and go at myself for hours, always imagining you were with me, watching me." She looked up at me and smiled but without embarrassment. "Funny, ah?" Then she put her head back down on my chest, "And I dream of being like we are right now, with me lying on you; you holding me, your arms around me and I can feel you against me." She looked up again, "I don't want to give you sex, Jim, I want to have sex with you, I want to be as close to you as I can, I want you in me, I dream about it all the time. This has nothing to do with a gift; it's about being together." I don't know why I reacted like I did. Sex to me had always been fucking, the more frantic and wet the better. But this was different and it wasn't just because I was with my sister, either, I was feeling different, my lust was coming from an entirely different place – I knew I cared about this woman and that realization was really starting to turn me on; that I COULD care, that I COULD connect emotionally — not just physically; that the body in my hands had a soul, too, and a beauty that was evident to all my sense, not just my eyes. I went back under her shirt and when I felt her hot flesh I probably moaned, I know she did and she was writhing in my hands now, more turned on then any woman I'd ever been with. It would have been easy to speed past the point of irrational exuberance, to let my body trump my brain, to just let myself go but not this time, this time I was determined that my brain would beat off my body: I wanted to show Alice that I cared, all of me cared, not just my prick — but mostly, I wanted to prove that to myself, too, that I could care. I took my hands from her back and placed them flat against the sides of her face and when I pulled her lips into mine I could never have imagined what this would mean to her. She just went nuts, her hands clamped roughly on the back of my head; she forced her mouth into mine and seemed to suck my tongue right out of me as she beat her pussy against my thigh. But not for long. Suddenly she pulled back, her mouth glistening with spit, her eyes wide with lust, "I'm losing it, Jim." I bucked her sideways on the couch and slide my hand inside her sweat pants, inside her panties. She was soaking, unbelievably soaking and when I slid a finger into her she squeezed at my neck, went back to my mouth and as she sucked on me and beat herself against my finger I remembered the sounds she had made that night , the passion that boiled up from deep inside her and when I felt her flood onto my fingers I felt my heart rush to her in a surge of love. And she felt it too, I swear she did because even before she stopped writhing on my finger, she pulled back and when she looked at me a look of surprise quickly turned to joy and her cry was not from her orgasm but from delight and she was back on my mouth again, frantically sucking on my tongue and she was moaning so hard I could feel it. And I could feel the last shudder in her pussy, too, it felt warm and wet and intimate and when I felt her finally relax I slowly slipped my finger from her but she quickly gripped my wrist and held me in her, then her hand went over mine and she caressed my hand as I caressed her pussy. I have lost myself in sexual abandonment many times, but this wasn't about to be one of them; my mind was racing too fast for that; I was trying to make sense of this. It's one thing to begin to care about your sister as an interesting, loving person; it's quite another to care about your sister as a sexual mate. That first time, a couple of weeks ago, was an accident, an aberration; the next time, if there was going to be one, would mean a commitment. Part of the fascination of sex is how you deal with the moment of irrational exuberance, the moment of body over mind, I mean some of the time you're not really into it, maybe she has bad breath, a lousy body, hair on her nipples, a lousy personality, whatever, you're sort of slowly going at it, hesitantly, even reluctantly, trying to make up your mind, trying to prepare your body — you're rational, your mind is working, you're making conscious decisions, you can still back away, and then it gets you, the irrational exuberance, and you suspend all rational thought and you just let your body do whatever the fuck it wants to. I was there now, lying against my sister, with my lips on her forehead, my finger in her pussy — I was at the moment of irrational exuberance, the tipping point. But I couldn't just say 'fuck it' and get at it, like I've done every other time — just give in to the body and deal with the consequences later. This was my sister for Chrissake. I had to intellectually decide what I was going to do, with full consideration of all foreseeable consequences. She must have sensed I was wrestling with my conscience for her words succinctly summarized everything, "We need each other, Jim, can't you see that?" I could, I first understood that about a week ago when I began to realize that I cared about her, that I didn't want to hurt her any more, that I wanted to protect her, a woman I had never given a shit about. And for the past week I've loved how I've felt, loved thinking about her, loved thinking about someone other than myself. That's why I went up to her a few minutes ago when she was at the sink; that's why I held her. I wanted to tell her, however awkwardly, that I needed her. And that's what I wanted to say now, knowing that if I did I would pass the point-of-no-return. I took my finger from her pussy and brought it to her hair, which I stroked for a few moments before saying, "I want this, Alice." I hadn't realized how keyed up she was; even relaxed, she had been coiled like a spring because with my words I could feel her sag against me as if all her tension had just drained away. "I want this, too," she said, "I want this more than you could possibly imagine." And it was done, we had made a contract — the future was merely detail. I was surprised how business-like she was, how efficient. She got off the couch and helped me up. When she led me to the bedroom it all seemed so pragmatic that for an instant I felt like I was walking to a sacrificial ceremony, I mean something profound was going to happen to me and it seemed like it had been planned, even choreographed. But I liked it, I liked that we were still in the rational state, that we were consciously going to make love to each other — that we weren't just giving in to the passion boiling beneath the surface. And I liked it that when we got to the bed she faced me, kissed me lightly and began to undress me, slapping away my hand when I tried to take off her shirt. She was making a production of it, as if she was unwrapping a present and she was doing it in that way of hers when she starts and stops, as if all her actions are measured in units of energy. But I liked it — because she was so happy and not just sexually happy either, she looked like she was opening a gift knowing that what's inside was something she had always wanted, and she was in no hurry to see it. When she finished undressing me she sat on the bed and brought me into her, pushing her face into my belly, rubbing the small of my back with one hand and my ass with the other. She just stayed like that for maybe a minute while I caressed her hair. Then she leaned back and looked up at me. "I want this to be a new beginning for us, Jim — girl and boy, not brother and sister." When she looked up at me there was fear in her eyes, as if I might object, but I didn't, I pulled her gently to her feet, brought her into my arms and kissed her, like I meant it but when she kissed me back, excited that I had agreed, well, I was back to the tipping point again but now there was no reason to hold back — I pulled off her shirt, unclasped her bra, pushed her pants and panties down and my idea was to push her onto the bed and get at it. But she had other ideas. She pushed away from me and when she sat on the bed again, she brought me in, as she did before, pressing her facing into my belly for a minute then she leaned back and took my erect penis in her fingers and studied it, playfully moving it from side to side like a windshild wiper. She looked up at me and smiled, "It's beautiful, Jim," then she kissed my helmet a few times then she dragged her tongue along its length before taking me in her mouth and sucking, at first just the head but then she slide along me until I bumped into the back of her throat, then she backed off and sucked a few times, experimenting, applying different pressures and speeds. That did it! I moved to pull away but she wouldn't let me, her hands gripped my cheeks and as I tried to escape she pulled me closer as she clamped tighter on my prick. But I had to have her pussy. When I pushed her onto the bed she laughed and scrambled into the centre then I almost dove at her sex but when I landed with my lips just inches from a pussy I'd had dreams about, she spoke, "Oh, no you don't," she was pulling me away from that fantastic mound. "I've waited a long time for you, you can have all the time you want with that later." She pulled me onto my back and had her arms around me, squeezing me, laughing, getting a leg under me so she could crush her sex against mine; it was at once erotic and playful. "Do you know what I've dreamed of … for our first time together … that last time doesn't count. I dreamed that when we did this for the first time it would be fun, liberating, that I looked at you, you looked at me, we poked and prodded, I told you want I thought, you told me what you thought, you know, about our bodies, that it was a kind of discovery, a really exciting discovery. I want to do that, I want to inspect you, have fun with it, and I want you to inspect me." The first thing I thought of was inspecting that fantastic twat of hers — but that was a mistake; I was already on fire, ready to fire. I pushed her off me and put her hand on my prick, "I can't wait, Allie." She turned around in a flash and she kissed my prick as she slowly pumped it but not fast enough. Furiously, I thrust at her fingers and I heard her laugh when it started to come and then I felt her lips on me, sucking as I spasmed into her mouth and I felt her fingers on my balls, softly massaging and then I pulled her into me, pushing my face into her flat, taunt stomach, squeezing her to me until the waves of ecstasy calmed to a ripple, then became still. Sexually spent, I expected to be hit with a pang of guilt— that's what always happens to me after sex; release meant retreat. But not this time. This time it was more like a pang of joy. My face remained pressed against her stomach, her lips remained on my now-flaccid penis. "Jim?" I pulled my face just off her skin, "Ya?" "That was the most exciting moment of my life." She waited a moment before adding, "I can't possibly love you more." I was going to say something, but I fought it off and pushed my face back into her stomach. I wanted to think … but not right now. Right now, I wanted to enjoy. She pulled away and was leaning over me, kissing my stomach. I pulled at her leg; I wanted my face in her pussy, but she pushed my hand away. "Relax," she said, "When I've dreamed of doing this you don't move. You let me; you want me to; you surrender to me; you let me kiss and suck your entire body." She turned, put a pillow under my head, kissed my lips, then returned to my stomach and for the next hour she lived out her dream on every inch of me, turning me over at the 30 minute mark and then back again in 59 minutes so she could suck me off again, this time to feel me splash on her breasts. And then she thanked me, got up and ran me a bath. We went out to dinner that night and as she sat across from me, talking the whole time, talking about, well, I don't remember, I was too busy with my thoughts. She was beautiful, not in comparison to beautiful people, but for her she was stunning beautiful. Gone was the severe look of the cantankerous librarian. There was laughter in her eyes, cheerfulness in her voice and hope in the aura she cast and in the spell that was enveloping me. I guess she noticed that I was a bit pre-possessed because after a half hour into dinner she asked me what I was thinking. "I'm giving you a past." "A past? Why?" "Allie." "Yes?" "That's why." "I don't understand." "Your name is Allie, not Alice, I'm wondering who you are and why I'm feeling this much love." Irrational Exuberance She just let it hang there, and I did, too and we started eating the food we had barely touched, slowly at first, looking at each other with increasing hunger, and then, together, we started to speed up, cutting more quickly, forking the morsels more rapidly and then we realized what was happening and we started, at first, to snicker, then to laugh, food flying off our plates and into our mouths with increasing speed, the faster to get out of there and then, so help me, she picked up the quarter chicken in her hand and tore off a piece with her teeth and when she did, I did, too and when I did, she jumped to her feet, grabbed her purse that hung from the chair and quickly walked out. The credit card was still in my greasy fingers when I popped the unlock button inside the car door and I was only half in when she was pulling at me, then her greasy lips was pressed at against mine and she was laughing and kissing and biting and I had never, ever felt so alive.