Michael unlocked the door with a sigh, knowing that he had to go through with this, no matter how little he wanted to.
The place still felt — even smelled — like home. He'd grown up here, after all, and upgrading to new apartments every time a promotion made it possible meant that he had never really gotten attached to anywhere else.
He had to let it go, though. After much soul searching, he and his sister Paige had decided that it was ridiculous to keep paying property taxes on a house that they probably wouldn't even have time to keep up. They both lived on the west coast, hundreds of miles away, and had full time jobs.
He climbed the stairs to his old room, knowing that it would look exactly the same as the last time he'd visited, before his mother died — almost the same as it had looked when he finally moved out after college.
It saddened him to see the thin layer of dust on his old dresser. The room had always remained spotless so long as his mother was alive. The doors to the bathroom joining his room to Paige's were open — not that they would stay shut. The doors would drift open in no predictable pattern, sometimes staying closed for weeks, and then opening every couple of minutes at just the wrong times.
Or the right ones.
He shook his head and tried to push the thoughts aside. That was one set of memories that he hadn't counted on awakening when he walked into the house. Here in the bedroom, it was hard to forget them, though.
Michael left his room and walked down the hall to his mother's bedroom. Here too, dust had settled for the first time in decades. He knew that he should be going back out to the truck to bring in boxes, but he couldn't help looking around the room, which had been all but off-limits his whole life.
A strange sound attracted his attention toward the walk-in closet. He immediately guessed that the noise was a mouse, and jerked open the door while turning on the light to see if he could catch a look at the vermin. A skittering sound overhead let him know that the rodent was on the shelves above, not on the floor.
Knowing how frightened his sister and aunt were of mice, he decided to pull everything off the high shelves now to prevent either of them from coming face to face with their fear tomorrow. It took several minutes to transfer all of the hatboxes, shoeboxes, and plastic tubs to the bed, leaving behind an antique wooden box that he'd never seen before, hidden deep in a corner.
Once he brought the box out into the room, he gave it a soft shake, but couldn't really hear anything to tell what was inside. The box was locked, but something he'd stumbled across while searching for the copy of his mother's will might provide an answer to that.
The key from the junk drawer — as if something so perfectly organized could be called such — in his mother's dresser looked just as old as the box. Sure enough, it fit perfectly into the keyhole, and the box opened.
Michael laughed, his cheeks turning red. The pictures were of his mother and father when they were dating. The top one was of his mother in a bathing suit — daring for the day — striking a sexy pose that he simply could not make mesh with memories of her. The rest of the pictures were much the same, and explained why the box was locked. He was sure that his aunt would love to have them.
In the bottom of the box, he found a diary. It was far newer than the photos, and made him curious. He pulled it out and opened the cover to discover that it belonged to his sister. He'd never even known that she kept one, and wondered why it would be in the box with the photos.
The first date was her sixteenth birthday, and the entry was written as if she was talking to the diary. Curiosity overwhelmed him, and he sat down in a chair to thumb through the pages.
He learned a lot in those first few pages that he never would have guessed about his sister. She'd harbored crushes on almost every one of his friends, and wrote down her deepest, innermost thoughts in the diary. As the entries continued, the details grew even more intimate, especially after the one of her eighteenth birthday.
The thought of stopping never even occurred to him. He skimmed through, his eyes absorbing the details when she would describe masturbating, shaving her pussy, and everything else that most brothers would never want to know about a sister. She wrote less frequently after graduation, but sometimes wrote for pages when she did. An entry about six months after her birthday caused his eyes to widen, and memories to awaken.
She'd wrote, "I can't believe Mom is doing this. All of my really hot panties are vanishing. I know that she's throwing them away because she thinks that they're slutty, but I bought them!"
The entry went on, but Michael's eyes glazed over. Paige was wrong. His mother wasn't the one who had taken the panties. It was him.
He could still see it in his mind's eye as clearly as if it were happening right in front of him. He'd gone to the bathroom late one night, shortly after her eighteenth birthday, because he felt sick from drinking too much. His girlfriend had just dumped him, and he was trying to drown his sorrows.
The nausea had faded as he knelt over the bowl, and he sat back against the wall before daring to try to stand. The sound of whimpering and heavy breathing had drawn his eyes to where the ever-annoying door into his sister's room had drifted open a few inches.
Paige was nude atop the sheets, bathed in the light of a full moon streaming through the window. He'd sat hypnotized as she caressed her breasts with one hand, the other probing and rubbing between her legs at an ever-increasing pace.
Her back had arched up from the bed when she reached orgasm, her mouth open in a silent scream. He'd only managed to creep back into his own room when she finally fell limp to the bed, her passion spent.
Stiff and throbbing from the sight, he'd masturbated and came harder than he could ever remember in his life. The next morning, her panties were on top of the hamper in the bathroom when he awakened. They still smelled of her — musky and intoxicating. Before he had a chance to think about what he was doing, he took them.
It wasn't the last pair of her panties that he took, either — as she detailed in her diary. She knew that they were missing, but blamed her mother. It also wasn't the last time that he'd hidden in the shadows and watched her play with her pussy. Even when the door didn't cooperate by opening, he often heard her, and knew what she was doing.
The diary wasn't done shocking him, either. A few pages later, he discovered that his nocturnal spying wasn't a one-way thing.
The entry read, "I was wrong about my panties. I went to the bathroom last night and the door to Mike's room was open. I didn't mean to look, but I did. He was sniffing my panties and jacking off!
"I know that I should have been mad, but I wasn't. I couldn't take my eyes off of his cock. It's the biggest one I've ever seen. He was jerking it really fast, and I could see everything because the moon was so bright last night.
"It made me so horny that I had to touch myself. I felt so dirty, but I was so hot and wet that I couldn't help it. I was so close to cumming when he shot cum all over him and I had to get away from the door so he wouldn't see me.
"My pussy was aching so much that I had to make myself cum. I was afraid that he would hear me, but I couldn't help it. I got off thinking about his big cock, and it felt so good.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't stop thinking about it, and I keep looking at his cock every time I see him. My panties are probably soaking wet right now. I have to get myself off again, or I'm going to go crazy!"
The entries picked up after that. She wrote at least once a day, and sometimes more than that. Every time, all she talked about was his cock, and how hard she came when she masturbated thinking about it. She wrote that she was playing with her pussy all the time, and had even come in the bathroom at work.
Mike's cock throbbed in his pants, straining against the denim. He'd never noticed her looking at his dick, but that was because he was afraid to look at her. Every time he'd looked at her, he could imagine her naked, playing with her pussy, and it made him hard as a rock.
The last entry in the diary made his cock throb even harder.
"I can't take it any more. I want his cock so bad. I've almost snuck into his room naked three times now and begged him to fuck me. Mom is going to be gone for a party tomorrow night, and I'm going to do it."
Michael glanced at the date of the entry, and remembered that party. His mother had never gone, even though she couldn't stop talking about it for weeks beforehand. On the day of the party, she'd suddenly started acting weird. A couple of days later, she'd taken Paige to Aunt Helen's without much explanation. Paige had acted really scared and embarrassed the whole time, too.
Now he knew how the diary had ended up in his mother's locked box. She'd read the diary, found out what Paige had written, and sent her away before his sister could do what she said she was going to do. Paige had enrolled in college, and it was years before Mike saw her again. By then he'd managed to suppress the memories of that summer.
He nearly had a heart attack when he heard her calling from downstairs. "Mike?"
"Up here," he answered, and then panicked, trying to think of somewhere to hide the diary. He settled on lifting the covers and secreting it between the mattress and frame of the bed.
.... There is more of this story ...