Chapter 1

I guess I should begin at the beginning.

By a quirk of dating, the fact that I joined my nearly-year-old brother in this world eight days premature made a big difference in how he and I came to be where we are today.

Peter was born on Sept. 7, and I was due on Sept. 3 the following year, so I have been told. However, the fact that I was born on Aug. 25 meant that we would start school at the same time and we would be in the same class throughout our schooling.

At the time the events of this story take place, we were both 18 – it was Labor Day weekend, just after my 18th birthday and right before his 19th – and we had just started college. So we were, and are, consenting adults.

My name is Catherine, by the way, Catherine Anderson. I’m usually described as cute, with a smallish build (although I’m told I have a nice ass), small enough in the boob department to not have to wear a bra most of the time – and most of the time I don’t – but with just enough for some jiggle to draw some attention.

If you stand Peter next to me and look at us together for a while, you’ll probably figure out that we are related in some way. We have the same eyes – steel blue – and a few other facial resemblances. But if you don’t know and don’t look at us together, we really don’t look much alike.

For one thing, Peter has darker hair, almost a brunet look, and darker features, like my mom, while I am blonde, with fair features like my dad. Peter is also taller, about 5-10, while I’m maybe 5-2.

Our parents’ marriage was always pretty shaky. They both grew up in or near a smallish city in eastern Kentucky. My dad’s people were originally from Minnesota, but Mom’s folks were mostly rooted deep, deep in the Kentucky hills.

As for their relationship, they were from neighboring schools, a city-county thing, but struck up a summer romance after graduating from their respective high schools. Mom was still going to be living at home and going to community college, and Daddy was joining the Navy.

The story varies, but the gist of it is that when Dad got back from basic training, right before the holidays that year, they resumed their summer romance hotter and heavier than before, and she quickly came up pregnant.

I don’t know if the plan all along was for her to follow Dad to whatever base the Navy had sent him to, but my Mom has always been a planner. I think she saw Daddy as a way out of Kentucky, and she was desperate to get out of there. Can’t blame her, really.

They got married at the earliest opportunity and went off to see the world. And experience the world.

Let me be blunt. My parents liked to party, and whether they were together or separated, they partied. And the peacetime Navy of the mid-to-early ‘80s was still a party-hearty tour of the world, and they wanted to live it.

I think Mom would have been content with just one child, but my dad apparently wanted to try for a girl, and when I came out female as promised, we were settled as a family. Mom got her tubes tied and Daddy got a vasectomy.

So it was always just the two of us. Me and Peter.

Because he was gone a lot, we didn’t see our dad as much, but the one constant I remember from early childhood was living in base housing and sharing a bed with my brother, once I got out of the crib. These places were usually two-bedroom duplexes or apartments.

And we moved around a lot, so it really was just the two of us.

Peter and I did everything together – ate, played, went to school and slept together.

Although I was younger, I had a little more open personality than he did, which usually meant that I wasn’t about to be left behind in anything he did.

But Peter never once minded me tagging along. I was a ready-made best friend, he was a ready-made mentor, plus we learned very early in life that self-preservation meant there was strength in unity, and that we made a pretty good team.

I guess we were in third grade, about 8 or 9, when Daddy got a promotion of sorts. He became a petty officer, which came with a bump in pay, but also an 18-month posting in Japan.

I clearly remember that Peter and I were all for moving to Japan, but for some reason neither of our parents were that keen on moving the whole family over there.

It was no secret that Mom and Dad weren’t getting along; hell, we saw a few battles royal between them, especially when they’d both been drinking, which was far too often.

I think they wanted a little time out from each other, so Daddy went to Japan and we moved back to Kentucky to stay with my grandmother and the rest of Mom’s family, at least for our fourth-grade year.

Daddy had been the youngest in his family, and when he went into the service, his parents pulled up stakes and moved to Florida.

Peter and I had never stopped sleeping in the same bed, and that continued to be a necessity at Granny’s house. But things were changing as that year went by, and they came to a head that following summer, involving a horny cousin.

This cousin, who was maybe 12, tried to feel me up one afternoon when we were all skinny-dipping out at the swimming hole in the creek that ran behind my uncle’s farm, which we did quite a lot.

I slapped his hand away and told him to stop, which he did, but a few minutes later as I was getting dressed, he came over with his pecker sticking out and tried to get me to touch it. I was about ready to slap him, when I saw this blur coming from the creek side.

It was Peter, and he walloped the shit out of this cousin, knocked him on his ass, tattooed his face three or four times, then stood over him with rage on his face and said in a low, quivering voice, “if you ever wave that thing in her direction again, I swear, I’ll cut it off.”

It wasn’t the first time he had defended my honor, but it was the most profound and most memorable, and it just made me idolize him even more.

I didn’t want to tell Mom what had happened; she’s always had a bit of a temper, but Peter insisted, although we both begged her not to say anything to either the cousin or her brother.

To her credit, Mom kept her temper – other than a noticeable tightening of the jaw – and kept her mouth shut. But it wasn’t long, before the start of the next school year, that she moved us to where Daddy’s next posting was going to be.

It would be years before I saw that cousin again, at Granny’s funeral, and he was just as repulsive as he was when he was 12.

Mom and Daddy got back together, and they stayed together until after we graduated from high school. However, I think they had a discretely open marriage.

Let me put it this way; they both ran around on each other, each of them looking the other way while the other played. While there were fewer incidents of fighting, I always remember the tension level was always high in our house. Which, of course, pushed Peter and me together as a defense mechanism.

And that inevitably led to the long-term growth of latent sexual attraction, which wasn’t helped by the fact that after we reached 13-14 years old, we were basically left to our own devices, while they pursued a very active social life.

That was around the time that we both really grew into puberty, and we both did at almost the same time.

One month, we were still kids. A month later, it seemed like, we were young adults. I started sprouting my breasts and he started showing facial hair, plus he grew six inches between the start of eighth grade and Christmas that year.

We both developed our curiosity about sex at the same time, that is, after we started high school, and it didn’t take me long to start lusting after my brother.

As close as we were, we had always seen each other naked or nearly naked many times over the course of our lives, and once I figured out that sex thing, I knew my brother had something I wanted.

Peter, to put it bluntly, grew into a hunk. He wasn’t coordinated enough (or interested enough) to play any of the team sports at whatever high school we found ourselves, and there were three of those: in Virginia our freshman year, Florida our sophomore and junior years and California our senior year.

But he started taking up running, and ran on the track and cross country teams throughout high school. He wasn’t a threat to go to the Olympics, but he was pretty good, and I liked watching him practice, often without a shirt. That was always a delicious sight.

Me, I got into drama. At first, it was because I’d been bitten by the acting bug, but as I got into it, I really became more interested in set design and costuming. I learned how to sew, and became good enough at it that I’ve been able to make an adult living as a seamstress.

Peter wasn’t officially a drama student, but he liked to help out in building sets, and he was handy with a hammer and paintbrush. It was something we could do together, plus the schools we attended had some babes in the drama department, and Peter always called the theatre, “a target-rich environment.”

Of course, we both dated and we both lost our virginity at roughly the same time, in the spring of our junior year of a high school we knew we weren’t going back to for our senior year.

I believe Peter lost his virginity to a senior drama student (who I heard gave him rave reviews, by the way). I lost mine to a guy I’d been dating for a month of two, although I’d earlier learned how to give a solid blowjob and a good hand job.

My first sexual experience was, frankly, kind of meh, and I knew why. He wasn’t who I really and truly wanted. I let him fuck me twice more before the end of that school year, and while it got better, it still wasn’t any better than OK.

That was enough, though, to clue me in that I liked sex, but also enough to know that I wanted good sex, and that it was worth waiting for. I wasn’t completely celibate my senior year, once I started to meet some people, but I got more of a rep as a hands-and-mouth girl than one that would go all the way with a guy.

But, to be honest, Peter and I spent our senior year watching each other’s back at the mega-school we found ourselves in. It was in San Diego, and it was hugely competitive – in everything, including sex – so Peter and I never really felt like we fit in there.

Still, there were benefits to spending our senior year in California. The off-base house we rented outside of San Diego had a pool that we used just about year-round and it was kind of secluded.

Not only did the pool serve as our limited entrée into the school’s social life (much more so with the Navy kids than the townies), but it also allowed me to show off the kind of skimpy bikinis that were standard fare on the beaches in and around San Diego.

And I know Peter enjoyed the shows I put on with these bikinis, because often after we’d spend time by the pool, he’d go in his room and lock the door. He may have bought a little privacy that way, but the walls to our bedrooms adjoined and they weren’t very soundproof.

So I knew what he was up to, and I’d often indulge myself in some finger-patter myself. I don’t know what he got off on, but I always – always – imagined that it was Peter taking me, Peter fucking me and Peter filling me with cum.

See, even though we’d had separate bedrooms after Daddy came back from Japan and got back together with Mom, we’d still always been in such close quarters with each other that we’d always get flashes of each other in various stages of dress and undress, especially on weekend nights when they’d be gone out partying.

So I had a pretty accurate idea of what Peter was packing, a nice thick slab of cock, maybe seven inches or thereabouts. Plus, he was darkly good-looking, if a little on the shy side, and lean from running.

By this time, too, I had started shaving my pussy, and, yes, I got a tramp stamp, a tattoo of Tinker Bell on my right shoulder. No one, not even Peter, understood the significance of the design at the time I got it.

It was Tink, all right, but Tink in a sexy little outfit, and it was Tink whose heart (and body and mind and soul) belonged to Peter, in this case, my brother Peter.

As our senior year neared its end, we began to think about college. Peter and I had decided that we were going to the same college, and we were looking at one of the Cal State colleges, since neither of us had the grades or the ACT scores to get into the UC system.

We weren’t dumb, but schools like UCLA weren’t interested in B-average students with ACT scores in the mid-20s.

Dad was all for it, but I think Mom may have gotten a whiff of just how close Peter and I were getting, and she suggested that we go to separate schools. Mom’s “suggestions” usually had the effect of being law in that house, so we were forced to acquiesce.

And that’s how I ended up going to Cal State Fullerton and Peter to San Diego State. Although our folks were paying for the basics – room, board, tuition and fees – out of a savings plan Dad had started many years earlier, they didn’t spring for the newer, nicer dorms at either college.

Peter seemed to like SDSU all right, but I knew after a week at Fullerton that I wasn’t going to stay. It was too much of a commuter college, and I didn’t like the roommate I was assigned in the dorm.

We both got summer jobs that year, for the first time. I worked at McDonald’s and Peter worked for a home construction company framing houses. Like I said, he was handy with a hammer.

When we weren’t working, we would usually just hang out together, going to the beach or just sitting out by the pool, and usually we were brooding about out imminent separation. That just stoked our fires a little hotter.

^^^^

On Friday of the fateful Labor Day weekend, after Peter and I returned home from our respective colleges, we actually had a family time on Friday night. We all went to dinner and actually had a civil conversation among the four of us, really for the first time in a while.

But then Mom and Dad were in a good mood, because they were going to spend the weekend up in L.A. with some group they’d hooked up with, which Peter and I had deduced was a swap club. They were leaving mid-morning on Saturday and would be back sometime Monday.

I guess they assumed we had a party or something we could attend for our entertainment Saturday night, then go to the beach on Sunday. Neither of us had far to return to school, so we wouldn’t need to leave until later on Monday.

In fact, we had no plans. The few friends we’d made in San Diego were all off to their own colleges, so, like always, it was a weekend of just the two of us, me and Peter.

That Saturday, we got Mom and Dad off, fixed some lunch and decided to hang out by the pool that afternoon.

Peter got some tunes set up on the outside stereo, we brought out our towels, some beer, got in our suits, lathered up with sunscreen and settled in.

Peter had on his usual board shorts, but I had a new bikini that I’d bought a couple of days before on sale. It was pink with tiny black dots and it was skimpy. The bottom didn’t remotely cover my ass and the top clung to my perky little titties, especially once I took a dip in the pool.

After our first little swim, Peter sat at the patio table with his backpack, pulled out some weed and rolled us a joint. We weren’t big dopers, but we didn’t mind dabbling in the minor party drugs, just liquor and weed.

Peter was always more in control of that than I was, and occasionally in high school he had to rescue me from my stupidity. Another reason why I loved him.

Maybe if we had been inside, where it was cooler, we might have thought a little more rationally. But it was hot, the sun was out, we’d had a couple of beers and smoked a joint, and we were in the right state of mind for what was about to happen.

Out of the clear blue, Peter said, “Hey, Cat, you remember when we stayed at Granny’s that one year and we used to go skinny-dipping down at Uncle Albert’s creek?”

“Uh, yeah,” I answered hesitantly.

Remembering the incident with Doofus, our cousin, was not one of my fonder memories.

“Oh, yeah, I know that all ended badly after Eddie took it too far and I had to beat his ass to get him to keep his sorry little cock out of your face,” he said, as if reading my mind, something he did a lot.

“But before that, wasn’t it fun to feel the cool water on your entire naked body?”

I had to admit, recalling those days, that it did feel kind of nice.

“Where are you going with this?” I said suspiciously.

“I’m saying let’s go skinny-dipping, right now,” he said, kind of in a rush, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was suggesting.

This was so out of character for Peter to be this forward.

“I mean, it’s just us here. Mom and Dad are gone, off to screw whoever it is they meet in L.A. They don’t care about us, what we do. They never have. We have privacy, no one to tell us no. I’ll do it first, if it will make you more comfortable. But, hell, it’s not the first time we’ve seen each other naked.”

On the outside I was wary, but on the inside I was rejoicing. I would finally get to see the fount of all my desires. I said nothing else, but stood up, untied my bikini top, threw it aside, shimmied out of my bottoms and dove into the pool naked.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” I shouted triumphantly when my head broke the surface of the water.

Then I got serious for a second as I looked up at Peter slipping off his shorts. I remember thinking that my brother really looked like a Greek god standing there with his lean physique, the long legs, flat stomach and narrow hips.

I drank in the sight of his shoulder-length dark hair, the dark shadow of his day-old beard, the liberal covering of chest hair, the dark pubic bush with his cock dangling from within.

Even soft, it looked beautiful, with a distinct, circumcised head and slender shaft, and the balls hanging slightly behind. He was the whole package and I could feel little butterflies in my pussy from the sight of him standing there naked.

Then he dove into the pool and the moment passed.

We swam a couple of leisurely laps, not saying anything, then I thought I heard Peter say in a very soft voice, “Fuck, Cat.”

I drifted into the deep end and felt a churning in the pit of my stomach that maybe he meant, “Fuck Cat.” And I was ready for him to do just that.

After a few minutes, we just sat in silence, me on the concrete steps and him leaning on the ladder at the other side of the pool, near where the deep end started.

“Shit, I didn’t know it was going to be this hard,” Peter said abruptly.

“What?” I said.

“Not being with you, it sucks,” Peter said forcefully.

I didn’t reply, but stood up and walked, slowly, through the water over to where he was. I let him get a long gaze at my nakedness, my jiggly little titties and my clean-shaved pussy giving him a glimpse of what he could have, if he was willing to take it.

Getting over to where he leaned on the ladder, I swept my eyes down his body, stopping at his cock, which appeared to be swelling.

Then I put my hand on his chest and the other on his shoulder and said, “We have all the rest of this weekend to be together. Why don’t we make the most of it?”

“God, Catherine, you are the sexiest, most beautiful woman in the world, but you’re my sister,” he said with an anguished expression on his face, trying, I guess, one last time to hold off the inevitable.

I knew he was serious, because he used my full name, instead of Cat, which was his norm. But I was having none of it. I had made my decision.

“Not anymore,” I said, and I pressed my body to his, my mouth to his and let him know in the time-honored fashion that I was his to do what he wanted, what I wanted. “For now, we’re just a man and a woman who love each other.”

We kissed ravenously then, as the dam holding back our long-suppressed mutual lust burst into a thousand pieces. My hand found his cock and his hands gravitated to my tits, squeezing and kneading, and our mouths devoured each other.

“Fuck...” was all I could get out after we broke our kiss.

“Cat, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said as we climbed frantically out of the pool.

“I do, about as long as I’ve wanted to,” I panted as I lay back on the lounge chair and dragged him on top of me. “Now, damn it, I want you to fuck me like we’ve always wanted to, and make me your woman.”

There were no more words as our mouths met again and his body fell onto mine, but not before I felt the head of his hard cock sliding up my hot, wet cunny.

It felt even better than I’d dreamed it would, nice and big, but not too long.

And, God, my pussy was so wet. Even though I’d just gotten out of the water, he scudded right up me, no muss, no fuss.

I was in full slut mode as I wrapped my arms around Peter’s shoulders, my legs around his waist and worked my twitching pussy up and down vigorously on his throbbing hot rod.