Chapter 1: Moira
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, Cheating, Incest, Brother, Sister, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Petting, Pregnancy, .
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1: Moira - Two siblings,brother and sister, long time separated, in the middle of their lives have the oportunity to bond again found love and enjoy their newfound love. Thanks to my editor the magnificent Pepere, if this story is readable is because of his hard work
I was a 43 year old married housewife, with two sons and a daughter, when my new life began. The eldest of the two boys, Ian, was named in honor of my big brother, and my daughter, Fiona, after my mother. Ian and Fiona are 20 year old twins, and their brother, Sean, is the family baby at 17. My husband, Richard, will be 49 next month, and by the way, my name is Moira. As you may appreciate, all of us, except my husband, Richard, are very Celtic. Yes, we're descendants of Scottish immigrants; by my grandparents on my mother's side, and Irish on my father's side.
As I have mentioned, I have a big brother, Ian, three years my senior, married, and with one son soon to be 19, if I remember correctly. He's married to a hussy, oh, excuse my French, to a good for nothing wife, who luckily lives five hundred miles away and unfortunately is my husband's sister, ergo my sister-in-law; I also have, we also have better said, Ian and me, two younger siblings ten years my junior who can be considered the children of my parents' old age, and they are also twins. My family is big on twins, as you can see.
Our parents have a medium-size dairy farm on which they, besides providing the feed for their cows, harvest corn and other crops and fresh veggies to sell at the town market. We come from a small community in the middle of the big plain fields of Kansas, New Gotland is the town's name, and my husband, Richard, works in the sheriff office of McPherson County. My big brother, Ian, is an Agronomist, and went west to work for a big multinational agricultural company, and our family, as a whole, would meet only two, three times a year, and even then, not every year, on my parents' birthdays (both are in May), maybe at Thanksgiving, and at Christmas.
We used to get together at least six to eight times a year when we were younger and just married, but what with the passage of time and each family's obligations, such family reunions dwindled, and with luck, as I said, the whole family got together at least two or three times a year.
Just to let things be known, I should tell you before continuing with the story, that I was married, but not happily. On the contrary it was, at least to me, a hurtful marriage. I was married because I got pregnant 20 some odd years ago when I was in my second year in college, and Richard thought it was his duty to make an honest woman of me, ha, ha, ha, and my dad's shotgun also helped convince him, of course.
Our sex life had gone from bad, to nonexistent over a long time, but hurtful to me; we slept in the same bed because I was afraid doing otherwise, it was easier for my husband who didn't want to be giving explanations to the whole family, and that was all the romance I got from life.
A — Siblings
We always were very close, my brother, Ian, and me. It started as early as I could remember when we were toddlers playing in the mud together, taking baths together, and running around in the park by the house. We went together when I was old enough to go to school, and he being older always took good care of me; you could say I had a crush on him. I felt lost without him when he went to high school, so we were always hanging out together when I caught up with him in high school. We always managed to find time to talk and hang out when we could, even when he was in college and I was ready to graduate from high school. If anyone asked me, I would tell them I loved my brother, of course. I mean doesn't every sister? Then it happened.
It was one summer day before I was going to start college. I had just turned 18 a few weeks before, after formally graduating from high school; I was nervous about what it would be like to be in college and about guys my age. I knew I wouldn't have to worry about it because my big brother would be there, and he would look after me as he did many times before. Then I did what was usual for me.
We were alone in the house early that evening; Ian was in his room feeling sorry for himself about the end of his two year relationship with his girlfriend. So, as I usually did when we were kids, I ran up the stairs to my brother's room to try to get him off of what I thought must be his loneliness and boredom. I threw the door open without knocking first, and barged in. "Ian, can I talk with you about co..." and to my surprise, I found him with his pants on the floor and with his hand working very hard on a very hard dick.
The deafening cry was one of outrage and shame, "Holy shit, Moira, how many times have I told you to knock before coming in, don't you know how to knock on a door? " he shouted, as he scrambled to pull the bedspread over him.
"What the hell do you want this time, couldn't I have some privacy in this house?"
"Oh, Ian, I am really sorry. I didn't know, I didn't think, and, and ... I truly apologize," I said and couldn't help burst laughing at the sight of the tent in his bed mattress.
I loved my big brother because she wasn't like the brothers of other girls I knew from high school who are pretty nasty, humiliating, and sarcastic to their little sisters and their friends most of the time. Unlike them, Ian had always been my protector and mentor, and had supported me in so many ways while we were growing up. He was just out of his junior year at the state university and had turned 21 only a couple months ago.
"I just wanted to keep you company and talk to you about me in college and stuff." I went over and sat on the edge of the bed." Ian, I'm truly sorry I walked in like that, but don't feel bad that I saw you. Everybody does it, even me."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, but you have to learn that there is something called privacy, and you can't barge in like it's nothing when a door is closed."
"I know, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. The only thing I can think about is how you must feel now that your girlfriend is out of your life. I assume you guys had sex since you'd been going steady for two years," I said, trying to calm him down.
"We broke up just after her prom a few weeks ago, and I have needs..." then his voice trailed off.
"Damn," I said, "I know you must really be hurting, no pun intended, but you'll be dating someone else soon. You're a pretty cute guy for a brother, you know."
He smiled at that, "So, Sis, what did you want to talk about?"
"Oh, nothing important; do you want me to come back later so you can finish what you were doing?"
"No, no, that's OK. I'm not in the mood now anyway."
I took a deep breath before starting, "As you know, I'll be going to college next year and I wanted to know just ... well, just how things work, you know..."
He was smiling like a jerk, "So you want to know about professors, class materials, courses, class schedules, and all those topics?"
"Don't be so dense; you know very well what I want to know."
I slapped him in the leg over the bedspread, "Such as how the interaction between girls and boys and such is."
"Oh, you mean if you'll be able to fuck and such..."
At this point I was already fuming, He was pulling my leg and I could do nothing about it. He had the information I would need to not make a fool of myself.
I'm sure he saw the expression on my face; I was about to explode.
"OK, OK" He said trying to calm me down, "I'm not so sure about that, Sis. But I know that there will be so many boys after you when you get to school in the fall, you'll have to beat them off with a stick."
"You think so? You think I'm cute?"
"Hell Sis, I'd be the first to be after you if you weren't my sister."
I felt my face getting redder by the moment, and my head was getting giddy with his words, "Oh, come on, you can be serious, Ian."
"But I am, and I think I should tell you how things work there. Well," he said. "You're going to have a lot to learn in college besides your course work, and that's because a lot of those college boys are way ahead of you in experience, sexual experience."
"But I'm not going to fall in love..."
He looked at me as if I were stupid, "Who's talking about love? I'm talking about sex, like in fucking."
"But I'm a virgin, and always thought about keeping my maidenhood for my husband.
"He looked at me again as if I were from another planet, "OK, Sister, you can do that if you want, but I'm telling you right now it will be a very boring four years for you when everyone knows you're not available and the boys give you the cold treatment."
"So you're implying that I should become a slut?"
"Oh, for God's sake; I never said anything about being a slut, I'm only saying that you should give it a try if you find someone you like."
"Just like that?"
"No, not just like that. I will say that most of the girls I met in my freshman year were pretty ignorant about sex, and that's why I worry about you. I'd hate to think that boys are going to think you're some neo-virgin who doesn't know her way around."
"What about you, were you were considered a naive boy?"
"Well, yes, and that's why I don't want you to suffer. Ellen and I were sexually involved, that's true, but it wasn't..."
"Do you mean Ellen from home?" I was flustered and didn't know why.
" ... something that either of us had considered as permanent. Truth is, I've had a dozen sex partners since I've gotten to college, and one of them was an older woman professor. Of those, she was the one I've learned the most from, well at least most what I know."
"Wow, a professor." My face must have reflected my surprise and wonder, because suddenly my brother started laughing.
"That's right, little sister, woman professors are also women."
"I'm not so little, I'm already eighteen."
"That's right, and that's why I'm telling you what you're going to find at college."
"OK," I said, "We're together on this, but don't ever tell a thing to Mom and Dad."
"Right, the first thing you must know is how to protect yourself once you've lost your maidenhood to some lucky fellow. The campus medical center sells birth control pills to girls over 18 on a don't ask, don't tell, basis, and you should start taking them as soon as you get there. Still, since I don't know how reliable they really are, you should consider the other option."
My eyes were bugging out of their sockets. "What other option?"
"Are you that naïve, Baby? Listen, it's getting late, and Mom might be coming home soon. Consider this as sort of an introductory lesson, and we'll begin your real education when Mom and Dad head up to their friends' house on the shore this weekend."
I nodded. He kissed me on the cheek, and said, "Holy shit; who would have thought, when you were just learning to walk and I used to help Mom give you your bath all those years ago, that I would be teaching you how to use your little cunt years later."
"Ha, ha, ha, you wish that was true," I said, as he sniggered and I turned and sashayed to the door, wiggling my cute little ass. Each day until Saturday seemed like it was forty eight hours long. I was still struggling with the notion that my big brother and I were going to be friends with benefits, not in the biblical sense, mind you, but very nearly. When I now thought about our budding relationship, that expression wasn't even mentioned almost twenty five years ago.
Our parents left for the shore about nine Saturday morning. I stayed in my room. I wasn't even sure if Ian was still going to follow through with our plan and I was starting to think that it maybe wasn't such a good idea; maybe it would be better to let things go their own way until I went to college and saw how things were there.
I heard a knock at my door around ten o'clock, and when I said 'come in', the door opened and Ian appeared with a little grin, and said, "Good morning, Class. Are we ready for our first lesson in Sex-Ed today?"
He came in, sat on my bed, took my hand, and put it on his crotch over his pajamas. I felt something nice, warm, and firm. I squeezed it a little and let my fingers play with it; something was becoming firm and erect.
"Oh, what a naughty student you are to get so fresh with your teacher," he laughed. With that, he took off his tee shirt and sat there bare-chested.
"I thought," he said, "That we should begin with something you seemed to know nothing about for our first lesson, based on our earlier discussions, but it's so important if you want to be a real success with the boys. The way is to give good blowjobs."
I was astonished, utterly unbelieving, "You mean like, like ... putting that ... in my..."
"Yes, my dear sister, a blowjob is sucking a boy's penis with your mouth; it has its benefits, of course, because you'll want to be given the same treatment and believe me, it's very pleasurable when done well."
"But ... but ... I don't think I could do something so dirty." I tentatively asked my brother, "Have you done it, I mean have girls done it to you?"
"Yes, my love, I've done it and had it done to me, and I assure you that it's wonderful, both to the doer and to whom it is done to."
"But I have never done anything like that, and I'm not sure I can ever do it."
He nodded and said, "OK, you're right. We've all been first-timers." Then he stood up and pulled his pajamas and shorts down, and kicked them to a corner. He stood there stark naked, with his magnificent cock right in front of my face. I blushed and started shaking. My own brother was totally nude, only inches from me.
"It works much better if we both have our clothes off," he said, as he bent over and pulled my tee shirt over my head. Then he knelt down in front of me and pulled my panties off. My pussy was already wet, and he smiled seeing that I was ready for my first lesson. "You'll get used to being with a naked man this way."
"Are you going to make me suck it" I asked, shaking like a leaf. "Later," he grinned, and seeing as I was terrified, said "Don't worry, I'm joking. You have to pay attention to teacher right now."
"We'll use my finger, or we can use yours, if that makes you more comfortable."
With that, he scrambled up onto my bed, puffed the pillow up for my head, and sat in front of me Indian style, with his legs crossed; his hard penis was straight as an arrow with its tip pointing to the ceiling; my vaginal lips felt a little moist, but nothing more. The rest would come later.
"Now, give me your middle finger; I'm gonna start explaining the facts of life to you. You take the boy's or man's penis like this, and..."
He explained the basics of a good blowjob to me. He took my finger and started licking around the tip with his tongue, then he slowly took it and put it in his mouth, sucking at it like it were a bar of candy, moving it inside his mouth then he took it out and licked the finger from the tip down to the palm of my hand and back up several times. He put it in his mouth again when it was covered with spit, and returned to the sucking and licking.
I was getting hot and was squirming in my bed by then, with my vagina getting wetter by the second; the performance my brother was making with my finger was a very erotic, and my mind went blank at that moment.
Ian suddenly took my finger out of his mouth, and looking me directly in the eyes, said, "Your turn to practice; take my finger and show me what you learned." He extended his right hand, with his middle finger rigidly outstretched near my mouth.
I was nervous as I took his hand with mine trembling; I had never done anything so kinky, so weird, so exciting, or so thrilling. I was going to simulate giving a blowjob to my big brother; truth is that it was only his finger I was going to suck; truth is that it was only make believe, but I found the situation stimulating none the less. There we were, both of us naked on my bed, both sexually over-stimulated if his rampant erection and my wetness were any kind of proof.
We profoundly looked into each other's eyes and something, some kind of thunderbolt, went from one to the other; his penis was trembling and jerking with every heartbeat, my pussy was leaking something white and viscous, as a strong scent wafted up. He seemed to wake up from a deep sleep, shook his head as if to get out of a deep trance, softly took his finger from my hand, and getting up from the bed, said, "I think we better finish the lesson some other day," and he quickly exited the room.
B — The breakup of a sibling's relationship
We never finished the lessons on how could I become an expert on girl/boy relationships in college. We didn't meet alone again, and it took almost all summer for us to feel comfortable with each other again. Something in our relationship had subtly changed; I didn't know what it was at the moment, and I'm sure Ian also didn't know what had happened. It was a weird feeling; we were more united mentally than ever before in our lives, and we were uncomfortable when we were together alone at the same time. This sensation slowly disappeared with the passage of time, and our relationship was almost completely normal well into my first semester at college. We started to go out and spend time together again, so much so that some people made malicious comments about us, about how much time we spent together, or about the effort I always made to see him. But we were just really close. I suppose they were just jealous. That was just the way it was with us, we loved each other and liked to be together.
I always thought he was a handsome guy and it was a surprise to me that he never dated anyone steadily again. I figured he was just holding out for the right girl, and I didn't blame him. There were a lot of tramps out there. In my mind, I romantically thought whichever girl my brother wound up with would be the right one for him, and he had time to avoid making mistakes. When it came to these sorts of things, I thought timing was really everything, after all. Life has taught me just how wrong I was.
I found myself with no more classes one evening. My Chemistry 101 professor was sick, so got to leave early, and on the spur of the moment, I decided to drop in on Ian at his dorm before going to mine. I had been there a few times, so I knew my way around the buildings. I made my way through the campus toward his dorm after parking the car. The college was always full of people, and I figured Ian would probably be out with friends, but maybe I could catch him, drink a soda, and chat. I felt very 'college girl' that night wearing a white tank top and black skirt, with a pink band in my hair.
The truth was, one reason I went to see my big brother at his dorm was to check out the guys, his acquaintances that I would meet in the next year. High school boys had been mostly immature and I figured the older boys in college would be a little more mature. I wasn't much for dating, and I knew all about intercourse, of course; anyone living on a farm learns about it at an early age.
I slipped into the door of the building as a couple was coming out, went up the three flights of stairs, and made my way to Ian's room. I always liked to sneak up on him whenever I could, mostly at home, of course, so when I came to his door, I checked the handle to see if it was unlocked. It clicked open and I darted in with a big grin.
My smile froze on my face at the picture suddenly before my eyes; my brother, my playmate, the confidant to whom I had told things that not even my best friend knew, was naked in bed having sex with a woman. The woman turned her head at the sound of the door opening and saw me in the doorway. She uttered a cry of terror at the intrusion and tried to disengage my brother from above her.
With her cries and the scandal, my brother who didn't understand what was happening, turned his head in the door's direction, and I saw the look of surprise and the glassy stare he had in his eyes, before I turned and slammed the door shut. I had stopped him in the middle of coitus. If there ever was one, that was really a case of 'coitus interruptus'.
Our relationship changed dramatically from then on; we were no more siblings, companions, and accomplices; something had broken inside me that day. I didn't know what or why, I only wanted to have nothing to do with Ian, I went back home and entered a stage of alternating rebellion and depression that my parents didn't understand. When my brother came back home at the request of my parents, who didn't know was wrong with me and didn't know what to do, and he asked me what was happening with me, I just told him to fuck off and never talk me again. Silly of me. I went back to college, where I had lost a semester, and my mind was made up. If he could fuck, so could I, and it was then that my short wild spree started. Everything went wrong, and I now didn't have a big brother to advise me or keep me out of trouble. It was a short spree, because when Richard, a student I knew from our hometown who was a jerk, asked me to go drinking and dancing at a place where I would see and be seen by Ian, I told him yes to annoy my brother.
That party was a nightmare. Ian was there with a couple of his friends and girls, and his expression went sour when he saw me with Richard, and he didn't remove his eyes off me all night. I acted very crazy, and the more he looked at me, the crazier my behavior became. Not being accustomed to hard drinking, I was completely drunk by midnight, making a spectacle of myself to the screaming and cheering of the place crowded with students. My brother had left the place before midnight, so he didn't see me at my worst; but I'm sure the people he was there with and who didn't leave with him had to tell him everything with plenty of details.
My head was throbbing like mad, and my headache was so painful that it could be registered in the Guinness Book of Records the next morning. It was the same the next Saturday, only this time my brother got up and left the premises as soon as I got in the club. It was a rowdy night again and I was considered a slut by the end of the month.
I lost my virginity to Richard, and as luck would have it, my period went missing after only three copulations. That sobered me up in a hurry, and I knew I was in deep shit when my period didn't arrive for the second month in a row. I was so afraid of what Ian would do, tell, or think of me, that I didn't even think of asking him to help or to advise me. I didn't and our lives were tattered.
I went home and confessed to my parents what their stupid daughter had done with her life. My father went to talk with Richard's parents and explained the hard facts of their son's and his daughter's life in college to them. Richard's parents went to talk to him and asked him to get married and give a name to their grandson. Richard adamantly refused to throw his life away—his own words—for a stupid girl who didn't even know how to take care precautions not to get pregnant with a brat. It wasn't his problem, he said; he wasn't in love, wouldn't marry me, and that was all.
My father didn't agree with Richard; he was old school and he had always thought that if you put your dick in any woman's pussy and she becomes pregnant, that it's your obligation to take care of the mother and child. So he took his twelve gauge two barreled shotgun, put it in his truck, went to the town where the college is, waited for him, and convinced him to marry me or else, one late evening. We married and I wished I had remained a single mother after a few months.
C — The gap between siblings widens
Ellen, my husband's sister and double sister-in-law is one year younger than me, so I have known her well since before school. She had had always a streak of envy towards me. Everyone knew her as we grew up together in a small town before and after we left for college. Well, everyone knew everyone else in town. Ellen worked at the ice cream shop in town after class and during summers. It was one of those old-time family-run establishments, and in her case, served her parents as a way to keep her lazy self-occupied. I always thought she hated me because my big brother was always there for me, while hers didn't give a damn what happened to her. It had always been like that. She was a quiet enough, cute girl, if you like insipid blondes with insipid faces; those kinds of faces that don't say anything to you when you see them. She later became colorful and showy, without being beautiful when she was growing up through her teens and afterward; the kind of woman most men like to marry. I didn't think my brother would be one of them, and knowing what I know now, I see that I was right and he was wrong.
With my reckless behavior in college and my foul ways with my brother, I ruined not only my life, but his also. I got pregnant and it was only my ego that was bruised at first, and my whole body was bruised after a few months into my marriage. My soul sank when he, my brother, married the little tramp. I just couldn't forgive him his betrayal but then, betrayal to whom? I was his sister, married to his brother-in-law, whom was he betraying by marrying Ellen? I thought it was my hormones taking possession of my mind and driving me insane at that moment.
As I said, after my brother graduated, got a job with a big agribusiness, and immediately married the big slut, the vixen, the bitch, and went west to work, she went with him of course, not to work as she was the lazy one, but to live off and ruin him. How do I know most of this if we hardly talked to each other; by hearing my parents talk about it, or directly asking my mother about my brother's life.
Now that I think things through the passing of time, I never even loved my husband; I mean I was never 'in love' with him. He was only an accomplice on my short wild days at first, and that was because I knew him from our hometown since we were kids. I had never suspected him to have such a nasty, violent, unpleasant, and dangerous nature.
I always knew something was missing in our lives, Ian's and mine. We were both married, we both have children, and no matter how rough the times at our homes were, we never discussed divorce, not with each other, of course, as we were on just civilized speaking terms, but also not with our respective spouses, or even in a whispered comment to our parents.
Now that I know we never were 'in love' with our spouses, worst of all, we apparently never ever loved them, not even as a friend. We not in love and I force myself to ask the question 'why did we continue to be married for so many years?' I know my own answer; I was afraid, deadly afraid of my husband, but Ian? What made him live with a woman who only wanted his money and all that that money brings, and foremost, make his life as miserable as she could.
I had seen her doing that to Ian in front of the whole family; I can't even say her given name, that shrew, that harpy woman who always had something to complain about, making her own son blush with shame at family gatherings. My brother always looked at her with grief and disregard at those times, and I had seen her own son tell her to shut the fuck up and take his father by the shoulders and take him out of his mother's whining presence. I felt embarrassed when seeing and hearing how that mare, that whore, that shameless hussy, disparaged my brother during those times.
We didn't know it at the time, but things were on their way to getting resolved; not from one day to the next, but they would be resolved, and the solution was to come from the old country, one of our ancestor's countries. It had been a long time since the whole family was reunited, but it was a special occasion; a lawyer had come to our parents' home with a request from a Scottish solicitor. This is the beginning of our new story.
All my parents' offspring, their respective spouses, small and adult children, were coming to our parents' home during Thanksgiving week. Before dinner one night, my father asked us to gather in the dining room. Once there, he told us he had received a call from a lawyer who had received a letter from a solicitor in Scotland, the old country.
In the letter, father said, the Scottish lawyer made a request on behalf of his sick and with little time to live client, one Sean McIllroy, that some family from America, the only one he has, go to his town and distribute his belongings according to he law and the terms of his last will, as soon as possible. Mr. McIllroy was ninety four years old, so time was short.
Father broke the silence, "OK, boys and girls, what do you say, what do we do?"
We suddenly started talking all at once, and instead of having a civilized conversation, there was a cacophony of noises where no one understood anything that the others were saying or trying to say. I swiftly looked over to where Ian stood, separated from the rest of us with a drink in his hand and a sardonic look on his eyes.
"Boys, girls; please speak one at a time, so that we know where everyone stands on this matter," Father said, trying to put some semblance of order in the discussion.
My husband, Richard, was the first to talk, "First of all, who's the old fellow; I mean I know he's family, but I have never heard of him before."
"OK, Mom, you tell them, he's family on your side," said my father.
"Well, he's the son of my mother's cousin. My grandparents and my parents kept contact with their family in the old country for a while, but then, with things being what they are, they all lost touch."
"Well, that's enough for me; we're not interested in going to some God forsaken place." Richard was as delicate as ever, meaning he was as gross as ever.
The other boys, my younger siblings, the twins, wouldn't go to a long trip alone and they wouldn't go without their families; so they decided then and there for them to put an end to the issue.
I asked Mother and Father what would they do, and they answered not only me, but all of us, that they wouldn't go, not because they hadn't the money or the desire. Simply put, they wouldn't go because mother's arthritis had flared up recently and he wouldn't leave her home alone.
Father, then looking around, said, "Well that fixes things, I'll let know the lawyer we're not interested so he..."
Then the bomb exploded. Ian, without separating from the wall where he was leaning against and listening to the conversation in which had not intervened until then, suddenly softly said, "I'll go to Scotland."
"What, are you insane?" shrieked the good for nothing hussy that was his wife.
"What about me, your son, YOUR WORK?" she was still shrieking.
"Well, I have some vacation time due me, at least a couple months, in regard to my work. About my son ... what do you say, Son, could you be without your father a couple weeks?"
"Yeah sure, Dad, go and enjoy yourself. You need it and don't worry about me. I'm not a baby; I'm nineteen." I looked my quiet nephew with new respect.
Ian then turned to his wife and said, "As for you, you do as you have been doing for the last twenty years, whatever you want, and spending the money I earn. If that's not enough for you, you can get a job, get to work, and earn your money." Addressing Father, "Please call the lawyer tomorrow and tell him I'll leave on the first flight to London," now if you all will excuse me...
With that, Ian left his glass on the table and exited the familiar dining room and the house. His footsteps were lost in the silence of the night.
A blanket of silence fell over the house which was broken by the rude laughter of my husband to his sister, "Ha, ha, ha, ha, huah, huah, huah, that's for you, your spineless husband, ha, ha, ha." And while he laughed at his sister, tears of laughter were falling from his eyes.
That's when I spoke, "Father, would you tell the lawyer hat there will be two of us going to Scotland."
D — The trip
The trip began with in ominous silence. Seated in the plane one next to each other, I hardly spoke to my brother at first; I was as angry with him as I had been for the last twenty one years, and the worst thing is that I shouldn't be. I was thinking about what he had done to me to make me angry? Nothing, then why was I so pissed at him all these years, if the first name to come to my head when the twins were born and one of them was a boy, was to name him Ian.
He was morose, glum, and uncommunicative, as if traveling with me and sharing something of our lives, even a trip, was distasteful to him; I had asked for the window seat, and he said no when the stewardess offered him a drink after takeoff, took a magazine that he had bought at an airport newsstand from his bag and acted as if he was reading for several minutes, then closed the magazine, leaned the seat back, closed his eyes, and made believe he was sleeping.
I wanted to cry in mourning as I looked to the sky outside through the plane's small window; here we were, what you should be considered as two mature people, and siblings above everything else no less, barely speaking to the other and both hurting inside. I was, and am sure he was hurting, because I was hurting too, and because I could see the hurt in him, in the expression on his face, and in his eyes the few times we got together in our parents' home. The reflection of his suffering soul was in the back of his eyes. How could have we reached this point? I fleetingly looked at him by my side, his elbow touching mine in the cramped space, and I intuitively knew that he wasn't sleeping; his eyelids didn't have the rest a really sleeping person has; they had the subtle flickering of someone pretending to sleep, and the muscles of his jaw were clenching and unclenching at the same time. As much I love him, I knew in that instant that it has to be me who broke the ice if we're going to bond again after so many years.
I know it is always we women who try to mend things with our men; even the best of them can't budge. It's a macho thing with them not to ask for forgiveness, admit they were wrong, or say 'excuse me'; they only relent when they're in need of sex, and need their wife or girlfriend to relieve them of blue balls. That's when they are nice and good men. Beware of them, women, when they are the other way.
Ian, besides being a good person, unhappy maybe, but a good person, is also my big brother, so it all boils down to a case of hardheaded stubbornness in our case. I got the idea to approach him with this when dinnertime came. The transatlantic flight was over the ocean, when the stewardesses went from row to row offering drinks and asking for food preferences around 10 PM, and Ian made it look like he was waking up. I couldn't resist the temptation to molest him a little, in a kind way, of course, and said to him, "Oh, big brother, how lucky that you're awake; would you let me pass so I could go to the toilet and empty my bursting bladder?"
Oh my God, as a kid with the hand in the proverbial cookie jar, his face suddenly went a deep red and his behavior showed different emotions. He rapidly stood up against the backrest and murmured something I didn't understand, but it was something about being sorry, you could have awakened me, not wait, blah, blah, blah. I put my back toward him, and making as if I was stuck passing by his front, made my bottom rub against his pubis. If he was red before, he was now a red purple when I threw a look at him after I was in the aisle. My heart was pounding madly.
When I came back to my row, Ian stood up and quickly stepped into the aisle to let me pass and take my seat. I couldn't stop smiling, and when I entered between the seats, I turned and softly said, 'Thank you, big brother'.
That's when the steward came to our row and asked what we wanted. Ian, who knows my likes, ordered for the both of us as if we were an old couple together. He turned to me when the steward left and, red as a tomato again, said, "Sorry, Sis, I had no right to ask..."
My eyes were full of tears and I told him, "That's alright, big brother, you have all the rights with me."
He looked at my face strangely, and I thought 'where did that come from?'. I had never said the likes of this, not even to my husband of more than twenty years.
When the stewardess brought the tray with the food on it, we started to eat in silence, locked up in our own thoughts; I was thinking that this was the perfect opportunity to get our rapport back; we were alone and together for the first time in what, eons? We were getting ourselves out, at least for the moment, from our everyday lives, from bed companions that were only that, didn't even make love with, and who we didn't want to live with anymore, so why not take the opportunity by the nose and at least become the siblings that we were during our early years.
We ate in complete silence, both absorbed in our own thoughts. When the stewardess took the used trays and asked us if we needed anything else, we answered in unison, "No, thank you."
Then she commented, "Just let us now if you or your wife need anything. We're at your disposal. Good night."
We looked at each other, our eyes telling the other things the mouths wouldn't let out, and when the cabin lights went out and only the reading lights were dimly shining, darkness became almost total as I took my brother's hand in mine and touched his fingers with mine for the first time in years. His body stiffened at first, then relaxed with a sigh at the same time he squeezed my hand with his.
I gave a sigh and leaned my head on his shoulder, softly asking, "May I, Husband."
He squeezed harder my hand in his and I felt something wet on my forehead, and when I touched it with my right hand, it felt like a river was falling on me. My hand then went up, and I could feel tears all over his cheeks as I touched his face. He was silently crying like a baby.
Here we were, two mature people, well advanced in our forties and crying together like the two lost souls that we were in some way, who had met up again. We overcame our emotional display after a few minutes and dried each other's tears.
"You know I had always loved you, don't you, big brother?" I very quietly said.
"Did you?" he teased me under his breath.
"You know I did; you know I do." It was a whisper this time.
"Then why we didn't even speak to the other for ages; why were you always so angry with me?" His voice was soft.
"I don't know; I was young, stupid, and inexperienced; didn't know even how to wash my panties or clean my nose, metaphorically speaking, of course, then my own issues at home ... I'm so sorry, Ian."
"That's OK now; we're together again, at least for a while," he whispered so softly that I almost didn't hear him.
"What I couldn't understand all these years was why you had to marry Richard; I know, I know, he knocked you up, and Dad used his persuasive methods, but you had lots of good fellows to choose from, even going wild, why that jerk?"
He didn't know how that question made me feel. I felt so cheap and hurt, and I couldn't tell him that it was because of him, could I? But I wanted retribution; his words were salt in my wounds, my shattered ego, as well as other parts of my body, claiming vengeance; I couldn't keep quiet and let the wounds heal. It seemed as if I had learned nothing in the last twenty years.
"Yeah, I married a jerk, and you don't know half of it, but you quickly went and married his good for nothing of a sister." I was seething, my jealousy evident, but not to him.
"I married your husband's sister because..."
"Your wife, you mean," I said, with sarcasm.
"Please, don't fight with me again," he said, with a tired voice, he looked 60 not 45. "No, I mean your husband's sister, and if I could she wouldn't even be my ex-wife in the future."
"Don't talk nonsense, you aren't even divorced." I was uncontrollably happy.
"No, I'm not yet, but this trip is the perfect excuse to do so when I get back. I'm not going back to my former life, and least of all, not with my soon to be former wife."
"And I married her," he said, following the conversation as if I hadn't interrupted him, "Because of you, to get back at you. You had hurt me, and I wanted to hurt you in the same way. We were so stupid..." and his voice was lost in the silence of the airplane cabin.
I was so astounded, astonished, amazed, shocked, you name it; I couldn't even open my mouth to speak. It was several minutes later that I did react.
"But you didn't say anything about..."
"Of course not, I didn't want to arouse suspicion, I put everything in the hands of a very capable attorney."
"No, I don't mean that; well, yes that too, what I mean is you never, ever told me..."
"What, that I love you?"
"What about your son, are you going to abandon him too"?
"Don't change the subject. No, I will leave his mother, and he has the option of either staying with her or coming with me. He goes to college next year anyway, so he'll leave the nest and just thinking of my being alone in the same house with his mother gives me the creeps."
I couldn't react; hell, how in hell do you react when your brother tells you that he loves you and he has done so for the last twenty or more years. I squeezed his hand again, leaned my head on his shoulder, and with a smile of contentment in the darkness of the cabin, I said to him, "Would you mind if we go to sleep now, Dear, I'm very tired."
E — In Scotland
We arrived at London Heathrow Airport at 07:45 AM. To me, it was the first night in a long time that I had slept and felt rested. How couldn't it be so, if I was sleeping besides a man who loves me and would protect me with his own life? We went to the offices of British Airways at Heathrow after passing passport control and customs to buy two tickets for the 9:50 AM flight to Aberdeen.
At 11:25 AM, we were landing again after a short flight, and went to the rental car company counter in the baggage claim area and were soon on our way to the big northeastern Scottish city of our final destination, the property of our unknown distant relative in the proximity of Alford, almost twenty five miles away.
We ate in an airport restaurant before taking the car and driving on the left-handed side of the country's roads at a leisurely pace. Ian was driving as we talked about the country we were passing by and the uncertainties of the trip may hold for us. We were very careful not to touch any personal issues, although we were going to have to do it at some point, but as with many things in life, there is always the right time and this wasn't it in this case.
We were in the outskirts of the small town in less than an hour I mean 'small' whereas it has only a total resident population of around two thousand. We learned that it was much more important than what at first glance seemed when we investigated the town's characteristics.
Probably due to Alford's relative isolation and large suburban area, there are a large number of services in the village, including three banks, a supermarket, three garages, a bakery, and a wide range of other shops. There is also a dry ski slope, swimming pool, golf course, and public library. Travel to Aberdeen to satisfy other important needs is the usual solution.
We looked for a relatively good place to rest and other service. We found a couple rooms in a four star mixture of a country inn and hotel, near to an old medieval castle, who catered mostly to the numerous tourists who swarm to the place in fair weather. After a good shower, we asked the reception desk for a phone book to get the number of our relative's attorney so we could connect with him. We called to inform him we were in town. He told us he could see us right away, so we asked him for directions to his offices.
It was easy to find his house and we were at his door and ringing his bell fifteen minutes later. He opened the door a few minutes later and effusively greeted us. He invited us to enter to a well-furnished office after the necessary introductions, and we were soon seated in two comfortable armchairs.
He asked if we wanted some refreshments or tea, and when we declined, he took a thick folder that was in front of him, opened it, and said: "As you must know by now, I'm your distant relative's solicitor and sometimes administrator..." He explained to our puzzled faces, "A Solicitor in the UK is the equivalent, mostly, to an attorney at law or Lawyer, as you say in the USA. I'm also his administrator, but only concerning matters of law and legal documents; I'm not an accountant, so I don't keep his money accounts."
We looked at each other, Ian and I; we didn't know how to proceed, but Mr. Hotchkins took the initiative and told us it would be better if we could arrange a visit to our old cousin's home as soon as possible, as he put it, because he wanted to know us before he passed away.
It was Ian who spoke up this time and told him we could go right away if he thought important. Mr. Hotchkins looked at his pocket watch and answered that it was a little late since it was getting dark early because it was winter. We agreed to meet at the hotel entrance after breakfast the next morning, from where we were going to visit the old man.
At ten o'clock on the dot the next morning, Mr. Hotchkins was at the hotel's doorstep with his own car. The weather was very awful, bleak, and stormy.
Ian turned the conversation to the weather and asked Mr. Hotchkins; "Is weather always like this in these parts, so cold and unpleasant?"
The solicitor didn't answer right away; we got into his car while he mulled his response, "I thought it better if I took you there myself, as I know the route and the county roads and you don't. About your question about the weather, Sir; today is a very fair winter day, it's almost sunny and temp is at 46.5 degrees, not so bad."
"Not so bad?" I said.
"No, not so bad for winter. Now with respect to your relative; he is very old. As you know, he is over ninety four and doesn't take well to unknown visitors, so it's my duty to present you to the old rascal. He is very anxious to know his young relatives from America."
We were impressed by Mr. Hotchkins verbiage, and his not so subtle friendliness; we thought nothing of it at the moment; we understood later.
Ian asked, "The lawyer in America told us it was an urgent matter that we come here. Is Mr. McIllroy very sick?"
"Well, your cousin has the problems that come with age. He is in overall good health, but he is as a candle whose wax is running very low and out, and the wick is losing strength in its luminosity and seems to be flicking off at times."
We were silent for a few more miles and when a very large and beautiful house appeared in front of us, the solicitor added, "He is very weak, and it may not be very long before he leaves us."
We got out of the car and went up the stairs to a magnificent oak door. It opened, and there he stood, leaning on the arm of a mature lady, who we later learned was his housekeeper, and was in charge not only the people who worked in the house, but also the expenses and the home finances. We waited till the solicitor spoke.
"Mr. McIllroy, may I introduce you this two young people from America?"
A deep and raspy voice answered him, "Since when, mind you, am I Mr. McIllroy to you instead of Sean?"
"Well, I thought the moment merited a little bit of solemnity," the lawyer answered his apparently old friend undeterred.
"Nonsense, just come in and make the introductions inside. It's too cool outside to be chattering at the front door. Come in, come in. Let's go in front of the fire in the sitting room, Mrs. Murdock."
We followed the old man and his companion to a nice room and once there and all of us were seated in front of the lit fireplace, Mr. Hotchkins made the necessary introductions. "They are the only ones of your American relatives with enough, how I can say it, curiosity... ?"
Before the lawyer could continue with his discourse, the raspy old voice, now impatient, cut him off, "That doesn't matter now, that will come later when we get to know ourselves better. Now, ladies first," and turning a little, addressed me, "Whom would you be, my dear."
"She's..." the lawyer was interrupted.
"Be quiet, please; I want to hear the voice of this nice niece," the old man said.
"I'm Moira, Moira Martin..."
"Martin?" a couple of bushy eyebrows rose on his brow.
"Well, I was nee Moira O'Rourke; Martin is my husband's family name."
"Oh, I see, and you would be?" he asked, turning his head around to my brother.
"I'm Ian O'Rourke, and McIllroy is my fourth surname.
"And apart from your parents, who as far as I was I know, didn't come here because your mother is unable to travel, do I have any other kindred?"
"Yes, we have other kin who weren't interested in coming so far; as for my parents', mother has arthritis and it is very difficult for her to travel, especially this far away." I saw that Ian was annoyed by the questioning.
"Bear with me, young man; I'm very old as you can see, and have my own motives in seeing how you answer my questions; I thank you very much for coming, and if you'll excuse me, I'm very tired and would like to rest now."
"Yes, of course, sorry if we..." Ian was trying to be calm.
"No, it's alright, would the both of you be so kind and come to eat with me tomorrow? Would noonish be a good time for you?"
"Yes, of course," we both answered at once, rose from our seats, said good day to him, me with a kiss on his cheek, Ian with a handshake, and we left with the lawyer behind us.
As a comment on our way to town, Mr. Hotchkins said, "Don't mind the old boy; he is a good fellow, and by the way he asked me to tell you to come alone, he wants to talk with you two."
So that was all, we talked about the cold, the weather, and other mundane topics on the way.
The weather was worse the next day. It had snowed lightly during the night, temperatures had fallen to 38 degrees, and a fine drizzle was falling with a humidity of almost 100%. What the hell did I expect? It was December and we weren't in Palms Spring; we were on the northeast coast of Scotland by the North Sea. It was good weather to catch a cold or something worse, and in a foreign country.
Trying to read a map and drive at the same time is not recommended, especially in the tight lanes of rural England. Trying to drive with a female, even if she is your dear sister, reading a map and giving you snap directions to bear right at the junction isn't recommended either, although the idea would have seemed to have been the right one for a short while. The road was well maintained, with clipped hedges lining the steep banks that were only relieved where a gate into fields appeared.
Ian was driving the rental car, and I was now quietly looking out the window and thinking; I was mad because after my last, "Wait a minute I think we should turn at... ," Ian had stopped the car, taken the map from my hands, closed it, and kept driving. The car was moving along a single lane road in an extremely rural area of Alford Valley. The late afternoon sun shined on the trees and distant farms, cows, sheep, and barns.
We went to see our old relative almost all week; he was old, but very sharp, and his questions were always to the point. He mostly wanted to know about our family and how we had fared since his cousins migrated to America, and we told him all we knew about our ancestors. While taking tea and sherry after dinner one day, he surprised us asking about our own families and lives.
We looked at each other, surprised, and didn't know what to tell the old buzzard. He had a sly smile and said, "Don't worry; your secrets are safe with me. I have my own reasons to hear from you about your actual lives."
So, Ian and I gave the old boy the sanitized version of our lives; he laughed at some anecdotes, and when we were saying goodbye to go back to the hotel, he took two manila envelopes and gave them to us to read at the hotel, then told us not to come the next day because he was going to be very busy with his administrator, Mr. Hotchkins.
Once in the hotel, I told Ian that I wasn't sleepy and would he have a drink with me; we did and while seated in the sofas, we opened the envelopes to read their contents. Our surprise was huge; the results of two researches on our lives commissioned by the old codger two weeks prior were in the envelopes. We had to laugh, because except for our activities in the bedroom (which were none on my part and as I later knew it was the same for Ian), everything else was included. Yes, he was a pretty smart fellow.
F — The burial
We never saw our old cousin alive anymore. I assume he died a death of old age; he was 94 years old, going on 95, after all. His administrator told us he was in bed with a bad cold and that it would be a few days before he could see us again; it never happened. He died in his sleep five days after he gave us the manila envelopes with the results of an investigation of our lives.
As his only relatives in Scotland, tradition dictates that we take care of all matters relating to the funeral rites and burial. It was something unexpected that we had not thought of; my brother was not a religious man to begin with, and hadn't entered a church since his marriage, and that was only because his wife's family had insisted on a religious ceremony. It was the same with me; everybody in my family was, or is, Catholic on the Irish side, and confessed Presbyterians on the Scottish side. I had a lax religious education; it had been a mixture of both, in fact, so I didn't practice either one.
And there we were. Old McIllroy had been an institution in the region, not only for his age, but for his vast fortune. As in most old and backwoods Europe people of all backgrounds went to pay their respects to the family. To us, Ian and me, the Catholic funeral was a kind of a nightmare, not because there was nothing to be afraid of, but as that part of the country are mostly affiliated with the Protestant Church of Scotland, the little Catholic Church has no permanent priest. There is an itinerant priest, almost like in the Middle Ages, who serves several parishes on a rotating schedule, unless there is a specific event that can't take place without his presence, such as weddings, baptisms, or funerals.
We were respectfully informed by the people of the area that this was going to be a burial as in the old days. The old McIllroy housekeeper took care to send for the priest first thing. The Archdiocese told her they would send for Father O'Reilly who was two days away, and wouldn't be able to get to Alford before the third day, so in the interim, we would be able to get to know most people who came to the house to pay their respects to the deceased's kinfolks, meaning us, the two cousins from America.
The house staff had rearranged most of the furniture from the parlor and dining room in order to accommodate chairs and a couple tables where mourners and visitors in general placed the meals they brought when they came to pay their respects to the deceased and family. Our old cousin was taken to the funeral home, where he was to be dressed in his best clothes after his body had been embalmed.
As is usual in those cases, the family stays at the home of deceased to receive condolences most of the time. This was a part of the process we could never have imagined. It was a brutal sacrifice for us both in that we were forced to spend ten hours a day kind of meeting people we didn't know or know of us. When the day's visitors had left, which happened at about six o'clock, the rooms were closed, the employees went to their rooms, and we went back to the hotel, cold and tired, to take off the dark clothes we wore by tradition, take a hot bath, eat something, and go to bed.
The next day was a repeat of the previous one, and when Father O'Reilly arrived on the third day, along with the employees of the undertaker from Aberdeen to prepare the funeral with the guidance and support offered by the priest. Catholic funeral, burial, or cremation arrangements cannot be finalized until the deceased's family has had an opportunity to coordinate the desired rite pertaining to a Catholic funeral and burial with the priest. It could be a full Mass, a visit to the funeral home to offer prayers, or a simple graveside service. The priest then asked us if there were any special requirements on our part. We admitted to our absolute ignorance about the deceased's wishes, and suggested that his lawyer, Mr. Hotchkins, should know.
We sent for him so he could clarify whether or not Mr. McIllroy had left any testamentary instructions about his final disposition. While the Catholic Church accepts cremation, the body of the cremains must be present in the church at a Mass of Christian Burial. In this case, Mr. Hotchkins informed us all that there was a clause in the will concerning the final disposition of the body. In the lawyer's words, his client had said, "I don't want to be cremated; I prefer to wait and see what happens as I maybe able to dodge the flames of hell." Despite the conditions, that caused everyone present to laugh.
We then followed the priest's directions with regard to the Catholic funeral ritual, which generally consists of carrying the body or cremains of the deceased into the Church, the celebration of a Mass of Christian Burial, followed by the interment, with a graveside commitment preferably in consecrated ground of a Catholic cemetery.
The day before the funeral, usually in the afternoon or evening, the body is viewed at a wake or prayer service where friends pay their last respects to the family and prayers may be offered for the deceased and for the bereaved,. The whole Christian community offers its prayers for God's mercy for the deceased and His strength for the bereaved.
It was raining hard in the small cemetery after the Mass, when we went to bury our cousin and I was soaked to the bones. I wasn't feeling so well, in fact, and I thought I could get the flu. The week had been very cold and rainy and we were all drenched to the skin, umbrellas being insufficient to shield us from the gusts of wind and the rain that fell. We returned to the hotel when the funeral was over, and I noticed that my temperature was very high, but I thought that a hot bath and a good night's sleep would fix everything. I was wrong.