Much too bright, bedroom lights came on with a vengeance, stabbing through eyelids, fracturing an erotic dream.

“Happy birthday, little brother,” my big sister Alexa chirped merrily. “Now You’re legal.”

I groaned. The night before, gathered for the special event, my ten-year older big brother and his gorgeous, flirty wife, my dad, two reprobate uncles and their lovely, rather sexy wives tried to get me hammered with a pre-birthday, introduction to being of legal age drink fest. Fortunately, I surreptitiously dumped most of the proffered tequila shots and, with relief, prevented a subsequent hangover.

Still, with head pounding, this was a morning I didn’t want to face. Worse, my lovely, annoying older sister woke me from a nearly wet dream before I messed briefs and sheets, probably sparing me the embarrassment of sticky linen.

Grumpily, I rubbed sleep crusted eyes, looking up at Alexa, frowning at the pretty bane of my existence. Almost two years older, a hell of a lot smarter, her olive complexion completely free of acne blemishes, my sister was a five foot short, ninety-five pound bundle of gorgeous energy. Not only was she beautiful, her long fall of hair was a dark, shimmering chestnut, so different from the dirty blonde I’d inherited from my parents. I hated my older, brilliant sister ... and of course, couldn’t help loving her,, and much to my continuing frustration, I’d had a terrific crush on her since I was twelve.

Over the past seven or eight years, every time Alexa went out on a date, something inside snapped. I roiled and seethed with hostile energy. I could Invision her with each guy, their tongues in her mouth, or their hands squeezing her small, perfect tits. Any thought of them doing more left me boiling with impotent rage. More than a few times through my difficult teens, I plotted various means of dealing with her shitty boyfriends when she came home crying from heartbreak. I’d come up with creative ways to off the bastard. One of my hobbies was pyrotechnics, and, though dangerous, making nitro was fairly easy. Unfortunately, I’d be a suspect, get caught, and prison was not an inviting prospect. Now, at twenty-one, I still hadn’t gotten laid, and didn’t want to become some guy’s prison bitch.

The November afternoon before my birthday was grey and dismal. The eleventh of November promised Clouds and rain. After dark on the tenth, scudding clouds obscured the moon.

Regardless of the weather, family had gathered for the event. The sky was leaden grey. Over the past week, with our spacious lakeshore retreat crowded with aunts, uncles and a few older cousins, my mother couldn’t help but regale everybody with tales of my planned, post-war, terribly difficult birth. I had been a huge, nine pound surprise to a woman barely measuring four foot eleven. No thanks to those hours of hard labor, I was Born on the eleventh day of the eleventh month and wailed my first breath at exactly eleven o’clock Pacific standard time. Repeatedly noted by family, that auspicious coincidence seems to have imbued my arrival with obscure metaphysical and memorial significance. Thus, a gaggle of relatives had descended to welcome my entrance into a peculiar sort of manhood at twenty-one, Canadian style, if there was such a thing.

The family gathering wasn’t surprising, since my grandfather managed to survive WWI in the trenches of France without getting gassed, returning home in one piece a few months after that date. The eleventh gained significance well beyond nineteen eighteen. Later, in nineteen thirty-nine, with the outbreak of war, our father enlisted, ending up in the army, serving in the Royal Canadian Engineers. His volunteer service resulted in a year of training in Northern British Columbia. After that, he was shipped to England. Not long after, he received commando training in Scotland. Then, after two more years training in Britain, he landed in Normandy on June sixth, nineteen forty-four. Yeh, I’m proud of that.

Our dad fought from the beaches of Normandy through to Germany and was wounded three times. I wasn’t even a spark in the eyes of either parent. I wasn’t even a spark until more than a year after my father returned from Europe. Then, on eleven, eleven of nineteen forty-seven, yours truly burst on the world and complained loudly. My mother told her mother, “that one almost killed me ma!”

I rubbed my eyes. “Shit!” I growled, squinting up at the petite beauty who seemed to fill my every waking thought. “Lexy! What the fuck?”

“Happy birthday boob,” she replied, bending over, planting a delightful smooch on my lips. I couldn’t help but notice the points of her firm little breasts through my T. At first, I thought she had to be naked. Jolted wide awake, I focused in on my sister, then blinked several times, still remembering the wet-dream vision of a seductive, naked water nymph. Alexa wasn’t exactly dressed ... and not exactly naked. My little older sister with the perfect, petite bod and perky little breasts was wearing a sheer pink nightie that did little to conceal her small, conical breasts, let alone the firm pressure they were exerting on my chest. One glance down over her body provided a glimpse of equally sheer pink bikini panties and the dark shadow of her bush. I wondered absently how much they were showing of her lean, round buttocks.

Her soft kiss a lingering distraction, I managed to hug Alexa back with one arm, barely managing to vocalize through a dry, congested throat, “God, I died in my sleep and angels are really hot!”

Alexa gave her little girl giggle. “You’re just a big tease!” she said, pulling back, tossing a long, unbound fall of dark brunette hair.

“So, little brother, what do you want for your birthday?”

Before reason, filial caution or inhibition had a chance to kick in, I spoke. “You, naked, in bed with me.”

Alexa gasped, actually jerking, head rearing back, her big chocolate brown eyes going very wide, a hand flying to her mouth. “Darryl?”

With a groan, I realized what I’d just said. “Sorry sis,” I muttered. “Real sorry. Inappropriate. That ... kind of slipped out. Blame it on the dream I was having.”

My brain was still fogged, though that wasn’t an excuse. Part of me didn’t want to forsake the pornographic dream-images of a naked, nubile nymph swimming in a spring in a forest glade. There was no internal denial that the face and naked breasts of that nymph had been those of Alexa.

Alexa was my secret crush. My sister had been in most of my wet dreams since puberty. Year after year, as frustrating adolescence kept stirring hormones, Alexa’s face kept replacing those of any Playboy pin-up, or real girlfriend, even in the fantasies and throes of masturbating.

“Me?” Alexa squeaked. Her big brown eyes stared right into me. “Naked? You ... think of me that way Darryl? Seriously?”

I groaned, squeezing my eyes tight shut, throwing an arm over them.

“Sorry!” I wheezed out. “Blame that on an explicit, waking dream. Naked nymph in a forest pond. She had your face. They always have...” I caught myself and let out another embarrassed groan.

For a moment, Alexa said nothing. My eyes remained shut, my arm covering them. I hoped she would just go away in a petulant huff. Birthday or not, I knew that particular wish would never be granted.

“A nymph?” Alexa said with a hint of uncertainty. “Naked, and with my face? They always have my face? Is that the reason for the woody tenting your blankets Darryl?

I groaned even louder. “God, sis, do you always have to be a pain in the ass? Torment me all the time? At every opportunity? Yeh! I was having a sweet, kinky dream! I was turned on. Okay? If you hadn’t jarred me awake, I probably would have cum in my sheet.”

Only a moment after I’d blurted all that out, my entire body arched with shock. Alexa’s hand settled on the tented blanket, then she was squeezing my erection.

“It’s okay Darryl,” she whispered, fingers very solidly gripping my shaft. “I understand. Sorry I broke into your dream.” Still gripping my cock, her fist began to move. “Maybe ... I can make it up to you?”

“Lexy!” I gurgled, barely managing speech, suddenly understanding. “You ... You can’t do something like that! It isn’t right! you’re my sister!””

“Sure we can. Besides, Darryl, I’m only a half sister,” she murmured with a definite note of sadness that did nothing to relieve the pressure of her fingers on my dick.

“What? I said, more than a bit confused.

“Mom got pregnant with me before dad came back from Europe.”

For nearly a minute, my mind was in stasis. I couldn’t quite process what my sister just told me. The hand firmly squeezing my dick I could understand. I just couldn’t accept that my older, pain-in-the-ass sister just told me our dad wasn’t her father.

“Half?” I said, bewildered.

“Do the math boob,” Alexa replied.

I blinked, meeting her big eyes, drowning in them for a moment. “The math?”

She giggled. “You were planned, little brother. I wasn’t.”

“Christ!” I thought, in that moment and for the first time, realizing that my father remained with our mother in spite of her being pregnant by another man.

I’d never thought to ask when dad got back to Vancouver after Germany. Alexa also had her birthday in November, just six days after mine, but she was born in nineteen forty-five.

“Fuck!” I murmured, staring wide-eyed up at Alexa, surprisingly no longer distracted by the hand squeezing and working my boner through the covers. For the first time, I understood why my sister was so dark, with rich chestnut hair, olive complexion and dark brown eyes. I was more like dad, showing a pale Norwegian heritage, with my dirty blonde hair and blue eyes.