Chapter 8

My laptop was closed, so I just thought Kaylee was finished talking to her boyfriend and that something had happened she was upset about. I figured she wanted to ask me why men did thus-and-such or something like that. Instead, she leaned back in my desk chair and said, “I snooped. I’m sorry. Except I’m not.”

“Beg your pardon?” I was a little confused.

“The broadband was down for maintenance and I couldn’t use Skype. I snooped and opened some of your private videos,” she said.

My heart stopped beating. Or skipped a beat. Then it did this little dance in my chest that, I swear, made me think of those scenes in movies where the actor grabs his chest and yells, “It’s the big one!” Of course it never is. That’s just hyperbole they use in movies to show something is upsetting or whatever.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, leaning forward. “It was inexcusable of me to violate your trust like that.” Then she tilted her head like she was studying me.

I got that. How often do you get to examine a pervert, up close and personal? How often does someone find out a woman is getting porked by her brother, or was and obviously plans to again some day, and it turns out you actually know the brother involved, and thought he was just a normal guy? Who gets to curiously question somebody like that? Assuming you aren’t just disgusted and walk away and never want to speak to or be in the same room with that guy again.

It didn’t occur to me she was still there and that, if she was disgusted, she was doing a damn fine job of hiding it.

Which is why I wasn’t at all prepared when she said, “My brother and I have been having sex since we were twelve.”

Boom!

I for sure wasn’t expecting that.

“You have?” I asked, quite sure I’d heard her wrong.

“Yes,” she said, softly. “That boyfriend I tell everybody I have? He’s my twin brother. He’s farming our family land in Nebraska. I tell everybody I have a boyfriend so they’ll leave me alone. I presume you’ve been doing the same?”

I swallowed. I didn’t actually answer her question, because the answer to that question paled to insignificance compared to the topic we were suddenly on. This was surreal. Impossible. I thought I was the only guy who had a thing for his sister. I mean everybody in the whole world says how wrong it is.

“I’m still thinking about this, but I have an idea,” she said.

“An idea?” I gasped. I realized I’d been holding my breath. My mind was still whirling. I couldn’t have strung two coherent thoughts together if my life had depended on it. It was really a good thing she hadn’t sprung this on me while we were working. I’d have been a basket case.

“Yes,” she said. “I know this will sound crazy, but the idea popped into my mind while I was watching your sister being horny out of her mind in that video. I know exactly how she feels. I miss Kyle so much I cry sometimes, but if I’d have stayed at home, helping to run the farm, I’d have been pregnant within a year.”

I’m quite sure it was the thought of Jenn on the pill being the only reason she hadn’t gotten pregnant that caused me to say it.

“Aren’t you on the pill?”

“Of course I am,” she said, as if that were the most normal subject in the world for two airmen to casually discuss. “But the pill isn’t a hundred percent effective and Kyle is insatiable. Me, too, for that matter, and if I’d gotten pregnant it would have destroyed our parents. I wouldn’t have anything to do with any other boy, to the point that one time my mother actually asked me if I was a lesbian. If my belly had swelled, there could have been only one male responsible for it. It would have torn our family apart. So I joined the Air Force to get away. We’ve been miserable ever since.”

I didn’t have to ask who the “we” was.

“Us, too,” I said, softly, finally beginning to believe this bizarre situation was real.

She jumped up and paced.

“And that’s what made me think of this idea. It’s crazy, I know, but desperation is the mother of invention.”

“I think that’s necessity,” I said.

She turned and shot me a look.

“It’s necessary that I get to be with my brother. I can’t spend the rest of my life pining over the dufus and being terminally horny. I suspect your sister feels the same way. At least she has a facsimile of the penis that makes her happy. What a brilliant idea. I’d give a month’s salary to have a copy of Kyle’s cock.”

I was so giddy I actually thought about doing a little mini commercial about the kit, telling her it only cost $49.99. My poor mind saw the whole commercial, with this excited guy’s voice saying, “But wait! There’s more!” I was at the part where, if you buy one, you get a second one free when Kaylee, who was probably off in some la la land of her own, stepped on my foot and I jerked back to reality.

“Sorry,” she said, moving away from me.

“So what’s this idea?” I asked.

She paced some more and then turned to face me.

“I propose that when our tour is over you marry me, and that your sister marries Kyle, and we all live together on the farm.”

Okay, now imagine that you left your barracks room to go get a couple of cans of soda while this girl who is your friend Skypes her boyfriend. When you’re overseas, separated from such a loved one, Skype often becomes the vehicle by which the two of you get a little relief. You can see each other and it often gets to the point where you can see all of each other. In the buff, I mean. And of course I was thinking about this possibility as I wandered around the dayroom, talking to this or that person, giving Kaylee time to do her thing and get decent again. And then imagine going back to the room and having your entire world turned upside down. You’d feel stark terror, and a host of other emotions, including curiosity and relief and disbelief and hope. Just dozens and dozens of emotions whipping all over your mind like the line on a weed eater. Except not so regular and tidy.

Then, while all that is going on, try to imagine reflecting on her idea.

I’ll just say it was complicated.

I will confess that despite my firm and unshakable love for Jennifer, I was still a guy. There are guys everywhere who truly love their partner and would never seriously contemplate cheating on her, but that doesn’t mean they don’t notice other women. Nor does it mean they don’t have the odd fantasy about some woman they know. Or even merely see somewhere. It’s just built into our DNA.

And despite what I told you about how Kaylee and I were all platonic and just friends, it had not escaped me that she was pretty cute. Along with that red hair which she refused to cut and kept up in a bun most of the time, and those electric green eyes, she had a face full of freckles like many redheads do. I suppose to some guys that would have seemed like an impairment, but I thought it made her look girlish and interesting. Military uniforms aren’t stylish, though I suppose the class A uniform can look pretty sharp, but my point is that they don’t do much to show off the attributes of the person wearing them. A woman has to have double Ds to look busty in the desert camouflage uniform. If we’d been stationed in Germany or Korea or one of the places where American servicemen and women had been stationed for decades, in our time off we could wear whatever we wanted, but in Saudi we rarely wore any kind of civilian clothing at all, and never off base. I’d seen Kaylee in DCU pants and a T shirt, but that was the extent of viewing her girlish charms. To be truthful, she didn’t fill out a T shirt to the point that it really drew my attention all that often. Of course she was never in my presence without a bra on. The Chief Master Sergeant in charge of all us intel types would have had her ass for that, even if she was off duty.

Even so, it’s not like I hadn’t had the odd fantasy about Kaylee. She was sweet and nice and cute and ... untouchable. That’s what makes for the best fantasies.

Still, it really was a crazy idea.

I started out the argument with, “Why would you think my sister would ever consent to marry your brother?”

“So she could sleep with you,” she said. “It would be a marriage in name only. We’d run the farm together, but I’d sleep with Kyle and you could sleep with...” She stopped.

“Jennifer,” I said.

“You could sleep with Jennifer. And if either of us got pregnant, then nobody would blink an eye.”

I blinked ... perhaps proving she was wrong about that. “You want to get pregnant with your brother’s baby?”

“Of course I do. I love him.”

“What about all those birth defects?”

“We researched that. While there are no published verifiable statistics, our research gave us reason to believe there’s a lot more incest going on in the world than anybody would believe. That’s why I wasn’t shocked when I saw that video. Again, I’m really sorry I violated your privacy. Except I’m not. This could be the answer to both our problems.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” I said. There was nothing I loved more than filling my sister with my seed and I’d wished (mostly while doing that) that there was some way I could get her pregnant without destroying our lives. “Just because lots of people might be doing that doesn’t address the birth defect issue.”

“Okay,” she said, getting animated. “We found this one study where some researchers reported identifying a gene that some women have that makes their eggs vulnerable to letting more than one sperm in at the moment of fertilization. That means too many chromosomes in the fetus and that’s a bad thing. But the gene only makes the egg vulnerable like this to the sperm of a close male relative. We’re talking brother or father. And the study said only two or three percent of women have that gene.”

“So?”

“So, think about it. If that’s true than that means that most of the incest defects recorded in history were produced by women who had that gene. In other words, all the birth defects in history blamed on incest were produced by only two or three percent of the female population. But women who had incest babies and who didn’t have that gene, had normal babies that nobody could ever tell were the product of incest. There must have been millions. Tens of millions. Hundreds of millions!” She ended up waving her arms around like a madwoman.

“What about all that stuff we heard about inbreeding in social studies?” I said.

“Of course that’s a problem, but that only happens after generations of inbreeding. Do you have any reason to believe there are generations of inbreeding in your family?”

I laughed. It felt really good to be able to laugh, under the circumstances, even if what I was laughing at was no laughing matter.

“Me, either,” she said.

“Wow,” I said, as something like a crazy, insane hope began to bubble up inside me.

“Think about it,” she said. “This could work, Bob.”

“So how do you find out if you have this gene?” I asked.

She frowned.

“That’s an issue. I know the study said they had developed a test that would determine if the woman had this gene, but nothing about how to get the test. It’s not likely, at least in the U.S., that you could go to a doctor and calmly request being tested for the incest gene. But the test exists and there are cultures in which incest is acceptable. Those cultures might have this test. I mean if I were a researcher and found a test like that, I’d try to get it where it would do some good. Wouldn’t you?”

Of course there was a lot more to the conversation than that. It went on for more than a month before I agreed to very carefully approach Jennifer about it. By then I’d talked to Kyle myself. He was a decent sort of guy, kind of rugged looking in his western shirt and jeans. He had red hair, but it was a darker shade than Kaylee’s, and his thick beard was yet another shade of red. He looked wild and untamed, but he had one of those winning smiles, where his white teeth gleamed through all that ginger hair around it, and his eyes were involved in those smiles. Their family farm was about six thousand acres of corn and beans, with a little milo thrown in there for silage. There were also hay fields and pasture. They had a herd of between fifteen and a hundred head of cattle, depending on the time of year. They kept a few around to butcher for their own use or trade to a neighbor who raised hogs. It was a lot for one man to handle. He’d helped his father run things since he was a teenager, taking time out only to spend two years in college studying agriculture. Kaylee had gotten him into using drones to survey the crops and keep an eye on fences and all that kind of thing, but he was still busy all the time. Both their parents were in their late seventies. Apparently they’d tried to have children for decades with no success. Then, when they were in their early fifties, things had changed and twins had come along. Now they were just plain worn out from hard work all their lives and raising twins that late in the game. His mother still cooked and cleaned, but his dad mostly stayed around the barn, doing maintenance on equipment and repairs and that kind of thing. He was beginning to show interest in the drone, but still looked over Kyle’s shoulder while it was operated. Having another capable male around would really help out.

I’d never thought about being a farmer, but the way Kaylee described things it sounded interesting, challenging in a way that appealed to me. It was iffy, in the sense that there might be years and years when you didn’t make a profit, or even lost money. The weather was something you couldn’t control and irrigating was calling for deeper and deeper wells as the water deep underground was being depleted by overuse. But Kaylee had a backup plan in mind for that, too. Drones were just beginning to take off in the agriculture community and she wanted to be the expert in western Nebraska that everybody would come to. Of course Jennifer’s skill would be viable almost anywhere, especially in an area as remote and lonely as that part of Nebraska. So the women would have a steady income while us men communed with nature, coaxing her to grow the corn tall and the cattle fat.

I thought of all sorts of ways to try to approach Jenn about this. I even thought about asking her to get another dildo kit, telling her it was for a friend of mine in Saudi, and having her mail it to Kyle. But that idea got complicated quickly, not to mention the questions Jenn would ask.

Long story short, before I could come up with a plan we only had a month left on our tour. I finally decided I should talk to Jenn about this in person, because I needed to have unlimited time if she melted down. Kaylee, being ever optimistic, suggested I bring Jenn up to the farm to meet, face to face.

I said we needed to take things a step at a time. I promised that if Jenn was at all interested, we’d get together.

We were both commited enough to the idea by then, that neither of us re-enlisted, even though the bonus was considerable.

Jennifer was overjoyed to see me, to say the least. She had a little apartment in Manhattan, Kansas, where she’d been going to college. Because of the incentives to getting promoted faster I’d signed up for six years. I had to go to basic almost as soon as I graduated, based on the Air Force Specialty Code I had chosen. The architecture program at Kansas State University in Manhattan was five years long which meant that while I was off spending six years in the Air Force, she spent those six years finishing high school and college. I got home on the morning of the day of her commencement ceremony, and got to sit with Mom and Dad as we watched her walk across the stage at Bramlage Coliseum, where we’d all gone to on a family trip one time to see the Wildcats play Oklahoma in basketball.

There must have been two thousand people there. They were graduating a whole bunch of different disciplines. When it came time for the architecture folks, of all those thousands of people, only I knew that, as Jennifer Lynne Chalmers’s name was called off and she strode with authority across the stage, pausing to shake hands and all that, that she had a dose of her own brother’s sperm tucked up inside her now very adult pussy. This was because she told Mom and Dad to go ahead and get good seats and that she’d bring me in her own car. So, with her cap and gown lying right beside us on the bed, I climbed between her wide open and welcoming thighs and we celebrated what was about to happen in our own unique way. Or at least the way I always thought was unique. For all I knew, Kaylee was banging Kyle at the same time three hundred miles northwest of us.

I waited to talk to Jennifer about Kaylee’s grand scheme. First of all, it was only a few hours before we had to go to her graduation. I knew we’d need some pretty serious time to get through the first stage of things. First I’d have to describe Kaylee and Kyle’s situation and get her comfortable with the idea that somebody else knew about us. It was a good plan, too, well thought out and designed to give her time to ease into things without completely freaking her out. Plus she was all on fire to tell me about college and ask me all about my job, which I’d given the family only the minimum info on because it was so sensitive. In theory we were completely safe in Saudi, but various terrorist groups had bounties out on anybody who had anything to do with a drone. That was one reason we didn’t go outside the compound unless it was really necessary.

Anyway, there wasn’t a chance for me to broach the subject with Jenn after she graduated because there was a party at home. We had two uncles and two aunts and a few cousins, all of whom came to grip and grin and eat cake and give Jennifer gifts, mostly money. Finally the party was over and things calmed down and we were finally alone as a family again.

The plan would have gone a heck of a lot smoother if Kaylee hadn’t been so impatient. From her viewpoint there was nothing to discuss. It was perfect for both sets of siblings. Which is why Kaylee called my parents’ house about eight-thirty that evening and asked to talk to me. Jennifer and I happened to be out getting a burger and fries at the time and when Mom said she’d have to take a message, Kaylee just said, “That’s okay. Just tell him his girlfriend called.”

I think the average reader will see the problem here.

I hadn’t told anybody in my family I had a girlfriend.

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