Chapter 6

Life slowly returned to normal, or at least kind of normal. Mom kept true to her word and didn’t bring up what had happened. Chrissy and I stayed true to our word too: obviously, we didn’t let on anything to Dad (there was no risk of our bringing it up, of course: we both would have been horrified if he’d found out; Mom was bad enough). Sadly, though, we also, by unspoken mutual assent, immediately stopped all of our encounters. Cold turkey.

We even fell into the habit of locking the doors of our shared bathroom when we were using it, though we had never, ever done that before, not when we were kids, not even when we were early teenagers and found each other just a little annoying. I think I started it and Chrissy followed suit, but I don’t really know why I did it (we’d never accidentally or intentionally intruded on each other), and I worry that it badly hurt her feelings - and once or twice in the beginning I certainly must have annoyed her by inadvertently leaving her door locked, though she was very nice about it and just knocked on my bedroom door and asked me to open the bathroom. We didn’t stop interacting – we were far too close for that. But we stuck resolutely to an ordinary brother-sister relationship. When our parents went out, we’d watch TV on the couch like before, and even sit snuggled up to each other, but I kept my hands to myself and she did the same. Naturally, the showers together stopped. I switched took my showers in the morning again, before she even got up.

And I jerked off every night and most mornings, always thinking about Chrissy. How she would sit in my lap and look up at me with adoring eyes. How she looked as I masturbated her, how it felt as she caressed my penis with her butt. When I felt I deserved a special treat, I dug up the memory of how she had tasted and how she had gushed her sweet-sour juices into my mouth that one time, although I firmly believed I should leave that singular memory alone most of the time, as if overusing it would cause it to fade away and lose its effect. As for the other memory of that night - I wished fervently that it would fade away, never intrude into my memory again. But time, and time again, as I reached orgasm thinking about lovely Chrissy in my lap, out of nowhere I’d see the same scene, as if from above: Mom appearing at the door, Mom staring at Chrissy and me in the shower, oh God, Mom seeing Chrissy naked, Mom seeing me naked, Mom seeing my erection, Mom seeing Chrissy, Mom, oh God, Mommmm ... Chrissssyyyy ... Mommmmmmm!! And then I’d spill my seed all over my belly, trying to force the image of Mom out of my mind, forcing myself to visualize only Chrissy, her beautiful belly, her tiny breasts, her eyes looking up at me; but also, willy-nilly, seeing myself, seeing what Mom saw through her eyes: me sitting dumbly in the shower stall with my dick pointing straight up, Chrissy in all her lovely beauty standing right next to me, Mom just saw her getting up from sitting on my dick, Mom saw her two kids together, her two beautiful kids - did Mom like what she saw? Did Chrissy like it that Mom saw her? Did I like it? Then I’d lie there in the dark, hot, sweaty, covered in my own come, clutching my softening penis, and wanting to cry from self-hatred and loneliness.

Chrissy seemed sad and subdued a lot of the time. I didn’t feel so hot myself, of course, even though I’d get up extra-early every morning resolved to be cheerful and bright. I’d take a hot shower, wash off the dried semen and the shame, sniff Chrissy’s soap and her strawberry shampoo, then, aroused by sense-triggered memory, jerk off once again in the shower thinking about the time we first did it there. The scene of getting caught never intruded when I masturbated in that shower. I’d come fast and hard, wash it off, and emerge refreshed to try to make the best of the day. I tried to concentrate on my schoolwork and Chrissy did too - I’d see her studying late into the night, and occasionally she’d come to my room and ask me to quiz her on something. We still did a lot of other things together – traded opinions about books, watched TV, even occasionally tickled each other, carefully avoiding the long-familiar progression. But it felt as if an unscalable wall had grown up between us.

Then, one day, I was up well after midnight, uncharacteristically late for me. I’d been staying up the past few days studying for midterm exams and, once the exams were over, exhausted as I was I still found it hard to go to sleep at the ordinary time. I wandered to the kitchen, thinking perhaps to make myself a grilled cheese, and was surprised to find Mom there, sitting at the table having a beer. She looked tired. “Where’s Dad?” I asked, superfluously - I knew he was either in his workshop or, more likely this late on a Friday night, asleep. Mom confirmed: “He’s in bed. Sit down, kiddo.” She gestured at the stool across the kitchen table from her, and I obediently sat down. “How did the exams go?” Honestly, I was surprised she even knew I had had exams. Mom wasn’t really the type to pay attention to that sort of thing. But I told her I was pretty sure I’d done well, and it was a relief to be done with them, and so on. Sure enough, she didn’t probe further, but quickly dropped the subject. She seemed to be searching for the words to say what she was thinking. Finally, she just blurted it out. “I’m worried about Chrissy.”

“Chrissy?” I asked, stupidly. “Yes, Alex. Chrissy. Your sister. She’s changed.” I mumbled a non-committal reply, not knowing what to say. Mom sighed. “Look. I know. I know I promised I wouldn’t bring up ... what happened.” She paused, as I froze to my seat. “What I saw. You and Chrissy. I know I said we’d never talk about it again. But I need to know what happened. I know you would never intentionally hurt Chrissy, but Chrissy has been hurt, and I need to you to tell me exactly what happened between you two. From the beginning.” I couldn’t begin to answer her. “Mom,...” I squeaked.

She spoke again, harshly. “OK. I’m just going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer. When did it start?” I croaked out the biggest lie of my life: “We just did it that one night...” Mom looked furious. “Don’t. Ever. Lie. To. Me. Alex. Do you think I don’t know that you two have been ... doing things for years now?” I must have looked stricken, because she gave a short, barking laugh and continued, more gently. “You two have been playing ... games for as long as I remember. I blame myself for not stopping it a long time ago. But you made each other happy. Chrissy adores you, Alex. Every minute you played those silly drama games together brought joy to her. And she brought joy to you. It was my fault - I let it go on. I pretended I didn’t see you ... touching each other. I pretended I didn’t see where it was going. And then, when it was obvious it couldn’t be stopped and I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening any more, I decided to let you go on. My fault.” She looked like she was going to cry. I said, “Mom, it’s not like that...” She barked out, harshly again: “I know exactly what it is like, Alex. Uncle Rob, Aunt Thea and I used to play the same kind of games.”