[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. It is a fantasy and as such, the story may or may not conform entirely with reality. But isn't that the whole point of fantasies? With historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]
I do not practice nor do I condone any of the sexual acts about which I write, other than straight, heterosexual relationships. Other than the fact that most other forms of sexual behavior are illegal, I still don't judge others for their sexual preferences except where such behavior is hurtful/harmful to others, such as pedophilia.
None-the-less, many people have FANTASIES of such taboo laden behavior to achieve sexual gratification or whatever, but have no intentions whatsoever of carrying out such behavior in actual practice. That said, if I have struck a particular fantasy of yours, read and enjoy.
Harold Winegate... 19 little brother to Heather and a sophomore in college
Heather Winegate... 24 sister of Harold who lives at home to care for their widowed mother
Sue Anne Winegate... 40 mother of Harold and Heather
Friday night, the first one in July, started out like any other Friday night of that summer, at least for a while. My little brother, Harold, was home for the summer from his first year in college. He was nineteen. I couldn't get over what a stud hunk he'd turned into.
Me? I'm big sis, Heather. I was also getting ready for a date. I'd chosen to stay home and go to work after high school. I still lived with our mother, Sue Anne who was just forty. Yeah, she had me when she was only sixteen. Not only that, but at age forty, she could easily pass for thirty. She was still a gorgeous woman. Two weeks after little brother was born, our father had enough and took off with an eighteen year old. We never heard from him again.
I think that was part of my unconscious reason for staying home: someone had to look after Mom. Surprisingly, she wasn't bitter, just sad. She dated only infrequently and never more than twice with the same guy. I think she was afraid to get very deeply involved again. Within a year of out father taking off, Mother got a really decent job, so lack of money was never one of her/our problems growing up.
Harold. Yeah. Well, to tell the truth, I was only just then realizing consciously that I was deeply attracted to my little brother. I think it all began the summer he turned fifteen. Looking back, I can remember trying to get a look at him, naked, as often as I could: things like barging into the bathroom unannounced as he showered and doing anything at the sink/mirror in order to get a glance or more at his blurry features behind the opaque like shower stall doors.
Or, I'd try to get sly glances of him in the hall with only a towel around his middle, often tented up quite a bit in front of him. I really liked looking him over in a spedo he always wore to the beach. When he'd get aroused at the beach clothes, or lack thereof, of the females, it became quite obvious he was carrying quite a package between his legs. Stuff like that.
Harold's hormones were pulsing like any other fifteen year old's, and he would often be trying to catch me in similar circumstances. I'd no idea how serious his lusting for me was or wasn't. But back then, I of course, wouldn't think of trying to act on such thoughts--his or mine. After a while, I got a steady fellow and was no longer interested in little brother--not much anyway.
So, what about that Friday night I started out talking about? Well, before I was completely ready, my date for the night called to cancel--something about an emergency. That was the first thing.
The second thing to happen was later on when Harold came home pretty early and banged the front door shut pretty hard. He almost took off the door to his room when he slammed it shut. Our parents were gone for their own version of a Friday night date.
I went to Harold's door and knocked.
"What's wrong Harold? Wanna talk about it? Can I come in?"
"Yeah, come in Sis," which was followed by a deep sob.
Harold was sitting on the edge of his bed. Clearly, he'd been crying not very long ago.
"What, Harold? What happened?"
He broke down and sobbed. I immediately went to sit at his side on the bed and hugged him to me, oblivious of the fact that my right breast was crushing into his left side. I waited until his sobbing turned into quiet little whimpers.
"Tell me, little brother, what happened."
He broke into more sobs.
"Sh, little brother, sh, it's ok, I'm here. We can work it out."
"Sally broke up with me," Harold just blurted out.
"Tell me about it, little brother."
"Sally was really quiet during the movie. She'd let me hold her hand, but nothing more. That wasn't normal. She just stared straight ahead at the screen."
"Then what, Harold?"
"As usual, I drove us out to the lake to park in the moonlight. Sally wouldn't snuggle up against me on the way as she usually did. She didn't sit against the door, but I knew something was up."
"Did you say anything, either of you?"
"No, we just drove in silence, each with our own thoughts. But I was really getting worried and anxious."
"So what happened at the lake?"
"I put a hand around her left boob, turning her partially toward me and asked, 'What's wrong, Sally'."
"How'd she react to that?"
"Her right hand came around with the speed of a jet plane and gave me an open handed slap on the left side of my face--hard enough to more than turn my head. I never saw it coming."
"Did she say anything?"
"She said, 'You stupid bozo, this's it. We're through. I've found a real man to go out with. It's not negotiable. There's no point in arguing. Now, right now, take me home'."
"Jesus, little brother, I'm so sorry."
"But that's not all and the second thing is mostly what I even more upset about."
"Oh God, Harold, what more can there be?"
"I'm really sorry I have to be the one to tell, Sis."
"Tell me what, little brother?"
"I didn't notice them when I pulled into our spot, but when I backed out, I saw your date for tonight, your guy."
"I saw your date. He was with a girl my age or younger. They were laid out on the tilted back passenger seat. His bare ass was visible in the clear moonlight, pumping up and down, quite obviously into the girl."
"Come on, Harold, how do you know it was him?"
"When they heard my car start up and back out, he foolishly raised his head up to look out the side window and I saw his face quite clearly. I'm so sorry sis."
"The Goddamned, stinking bastard. So that was his emergency. Damn his soul to hell. I'll castrate the scumbag."
Then I burst into tears and Harold was suddenly holding and consoling me on his shoulder with his arms around me.
"God, Sis, I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, but you had to know."
Harold held me tighter. He kissed my hair by my ear and said, "It's ok, Sis, it's ok. I'm here for you too."
His lips then gave me little kisses all about my forehead and face following down to my neck and behind my ears. My God, my nipples went instantly erect. My pussy itched and I felt moisture soaking into my panties. Jesus, Harold was more than just comforting me, he was turning me on--and I mean turning me on big time.
I'd been hugging Harold as well, with both arms. One of my hands dropped to his thigh. One of his hands covered my right boob. My hand went to his crotch. Our lips met in a fiery and frenzied kiss of passion unleashed.
Oh my God, what's happening?
What was happening was, we were embracing each other passionately as lovers, not as brother and sister. The kiss had turned into a really sloppy French kiss in seconds. It was our need for air that finally broke our kiss.
"Oh God, Harold," I said as I drew back with a beet red face of embarrassment.
His face was just as red for apparently the same reason, not to mention the fact that we were both seriously aroused.
"We just can't do this, Harold;"
"I guess not, Heather, but I do love you so much."
"And I love you as much Harold."
"So what now, Heather?"
"God, I don't know, Harold, but we have to cool it a bit right now, not that I really want to."
"I think for now, I'd better go back to my own room. We both have a lot to think about--us, mostly. You've already broken up with your girl but I've still got to give my asshole the boot. I'll call him tomorrow. I don't even want to see him face to face. But right now, I've just got to go. I'm sorry, Harold."
"I understand, Sis.'
"I like that much better, Harold, when you call me Sis instead of Heather."
Harold remained seated on his bed, head down, dumbly staring at the floor. I all but ran to my room across the hall and quietly cried my eyes out into my pillow, cried in both grief and confusion about my feelings just revealed.
Saturday morning, Mom was as usual, up at the crack of dawn or close to it. I got up late and went to take my shower. Harold's door was closed, so I knew he was still in bed.
A bit later, I'd stepped out of the shower and had just completed drying my chest when, without a preceding knock, the room door opened and Harold stepped in. He was wearing just his boxer shorts.
.... There is more of this story ...