Chapter 1

No good deed ever goes unpunished. --Anonymous

Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it. --Anonymous

There was a battle going on inside my father’s mind when I got home. He was somewhere between completely confused and absolutely livid. He was sitting on the edge of my-- which is to say our-- well, the only bed in the apartment. The bed sheets from this morning were where we had left them. In a damp pile on the floor nearby. Part of dad’s brain had just figured out what was going on between us. My brother Leo and I, in the little house seventeen blocks from the harbor. He poured himself a glass of our Scotch. He said he was going to finish his drink while I thought about the situation. He would expect an answer-- meaning a good explanation-- when he was done.

Was dad asking me to lie? I certainly could have lied-- a popular vote on the subject at hand would probably say that I should have lied. I had a great many ‘good daughter’ points banked up over the years. My father ... Our father ... Both of our parents would have wanted to believe a semi-plausible lie. It was the only time that I was ever in our little apartment that I was glad that Leo was not.

I decided not to go that way. Maybe it’s because I really value the truth. Certainly part of it is my faith, “This above all else, to thine own self be true:” the Bard summarizing several verses of Philippians. Partly it’s because I know deep down in my own heart ... I ‘know’ I do not ‘merely think,’ that there is nothing ‘wrong--’ as in immoral-- about my relationship with Leo. People hide lies. They hide things that they are ashamed of, or know to be wrong.

This wasn’t ‘wrong.’ Mostly though, it was because I love Leo. And Leo was just too important to me for me to deny him.

What I said was not bull shit. That it wasn’t all my fault. Or all Leo’s fault. It was in somewhat equal parts our fault and theirs-- dad’s fault and mom’s too-- although he did not want to hear that. Just like he didn’t want to hear that there was nothing wrong with what we were doing in the apartment together.

Oh, not the discovery, that was completely my fault. A psychologist would have told me that I had wanted to get caught-- or that Leo and I had both wanted to get caught. We both knew that our parents had a key-- we gave it to them. Mom and dad lived less than thirty minutes away. The house was six blocks from campus and seventeen blocks from the office where we worked part-time for dad’s company.

The streets were narrow and parking was always an issue, but dad walking over one day was completely predictable. Either or both of us could have made it appear that we slept in separate beds. That we slept in separate rooms, but neither of us did ... Maybe it was the two of us growing up and not being willing to hide the complete nature of our love for each other anymore.

What was in my admittedly highly biased opinion mom and dad’s fault was something they really should have been truly proud of. They had raised a boy to be as close to perfect a man as anyone human might hope to be. Leo ... Leo was sweet and thoughtful, kind and considerate. He put my needs first, he took care of me. He was strong and reliable, driven and buff. He wasn’t unaware, a fool or a patsy. Nor was he arrogant or snooty, a jerk or an ass. He was ... Well, he was Leo.

I loved Leo and mom and dad raised him. Mom and dad taught us by example and deed. Mom was always there for us, Dad was too, even though he was working hard and sometimes staying late to keep all of those Benjamins rolling in to fund our privileged lifestyle. (And, yes, I know that’s a real ‘first world problem.’)

I get that while half of the sophomore girls at SUNY are schtupping ... One of my professors-- the one from Brooklyn-- taught me that word, I love it. Amy is schtupping Leo. This morning we shtupped in the shower before classes. Last night we shtupped in our bed. Once we shtupped on the kitchen counter, but the formica was really, really uncomfortable.

So while a lot of girls here are schtupping, fucking, sucking, sleeping with and even living with junior boys, I just may be the only one schtupping her own brother.

But dad, hear me out on this. Leo is a real catch. This is life. It’s not some corporate sponsored on-air radio contest. Why should relatives and employees be prohibited from participating. Why should Leo be off-limits to me? Why should I, Amy ... Your daughter ... Whom you love, have to settle for second, fifth or thirty-fifth best? Am I not worth the very best?

Why should Erica or Lorraine be able to fuck Leo but not me? Dad, you can’t expect to raise a wonderful boy to become a terrific man, the perfect mate and potential husband, perfect partner and ideal prospect for a lifetime of happiness, then say that that dish is only for another. Someone you don’t know and may not even like, and if you like her ... You may despise her parents. Like Jennifer...

Dad. You do not know Lorraine or Erica like I do. I could tell you stories about them. But rather than drag them down I will just repeat a few things that you have said over the years about me. Nice things, kind things, true things. I don’t have to, do I? Just as I don’t have to tell you how wonderful Leo is. Well, maybe I should, just a little. A little bit about how Leo is with me when we are together.

Leo pays attention to me. When we are together I am the center of his universe. I rarely have to ask him for anything because he just knows me so well. He pays attention to me and then he remembers, isn’t that exactly what every girl wants. Is that not exactly what you and mom taught me to look for?

Do you really want Gwen or Jennifer as a daughter in law? Do you really want Burt as a son in law? Really. If I married Eddie do you honestly figure that at some point I would not be on my knees in the bathroom with his penis down my throat? Me playing with his pulsating balls as he pushes on the back of my head. Me sticking my finger into his ass to find his prostate. Pushing to cause him to shoot his load down onto your baby girl’s tonsils?

If Leo were not the one bending me over in our bed-- my face buried in a pillow-- Leo sliding his wondrous penis, still wet from its recent foray into my vagina. His penis slick with lubricant-- my fragrant pussy secretions. Leo slowly pushing himself into my ass ... If he wasn’t the one pumping, grunting, slapping, pushing and finally coming. Squirting his hot essence into me? What then would he and I be doing instead?

Don’t you really think we would just be doing the same things with other people who were less nice to each of us. People who cared less about us ... Less suitable matches ... Or, do you maybe think I would be praying the rosary at a nun’s convent? A convent that I converted to Catholicism just to enter. Do you think Leo would be living in a mountain cave? Leo a sexless hermit ... Is that really what you would want for the two of us?

You said that picturing us together made you ill. Was it really us, together? Or was it more the thought of us-- especially me-- with anyone? Does picturing Steve fucking me make you less ill? Steve who does not love me, who couldn’t give a damn if I come ... Who is unconcerned with giving me pleasure ... Or some other selfish ass who does not care about my needs. Is that what you want for me? Someone who unlike Leo would never carefully unfold my labia, sucking, licking, nibbling. Someone unlike Leo who drinks my juices as if they were superior to your single malt scotch. Someone who would never find my pearl and entice it to come out. Then make me come just because he wants me to feel like ... Like ... That. Someone who selflessly just wants me to be happy.