Chapter 1

I have always loved her.

My earliest memory is of her laughter as we watched cartoons on Saturday morning, wrapped up in our blankets with bowls of cereal in front of us, her golden curls dangling down her cheeks.

I knew then that I wanted to make her laugh like that.

We never fought. Sibling rivalry is so commonplace that it’s a cliche, but we never fought. Why would we? There wasn’t any rivalry; she was the one in charge, and I was perfectly happy with that state of affairs. We did what she wanted, when she wanted it, the way she wanted to do it.

We didn’t realize there was anything unusual about it until we started kindergarten, and started visiting friends, seeing the way they fought with their siblings. The first time we saw one of our friends tell her little brother to go away and leave us alone, we were stunned. It was completely unexpected; we’d seen that sort of thing on television shows, but we didn’t think it actually happened in real life.

“Sue?” Amy asked that night, turning over to face me in our bed (technically, I had my own bed, but I never used it for anything more than a place to stack my books). “Why did Gwen ... why was she so mean to her brother?”

I didn’t have an answer for her, of course. If anything, I was even less equipped to understand than she was. The thought of Amy telling me to go away like that, with the utter contempt in her voice that Gwen had displayed, made my stomach twist in dread. I swallowed, trying to speak, but nothing would come out.

“Promise me we’ll never be like that,” Amy said. “Promise we’ll always be like we are now.”

“I promise,” I said.

I knew, even then, that I loved my sister. I didn’t understand-- neither of us understood-- that we would be expected to go our separate ways. All we knew was that we always wanted to be together.

When you’re four, or five, or six, there’s not much difference between sibling love and romantic love, even if you know the two aren’t the same. We didn’t, of course. We saw how our parents treated each other, and took it as our model for the way we should act.

It would have been harder on us if we’d been separated at school, but we weren’t. We were only ten months apart, and Amy’s birthday was too late in the year to start before me-- thankfully.

As we got older, we began to understand the difference between the two types of love, at least in theory if not in practice. It wasn’t until we were eleven-- barely so, in my case-- that we really experienced the difference.

Amy had been vibrating with excitement all evening, ever since her shower immediately before supper. She’d tripped and fallen in the mud on her way into the house, and our mother had sent her straight in to wash her hair.

“What’s going on?” I asked her.

She blushed. (Have I mentioned that Amy is utterly adorable when she blushes? She is. I think that was the first time I really noticed it.)

“I’ll show you later,” she whispered.

She refused to say anything more, no matter how much I begged. By the time our bedtime came around, I was almost as excited as she was. As soon as the door closed behind our mother, I rolled over to face her.

“Okay, spill!” I said, raising up on my elbow.

“You know how Mom had me use her shower?” Amy asked. Even in the dim light, I could see her red cheeks.

“Right...” I said, confused. Our mother occasionally allowed us to use our parents’ shower; it was a lot nicer than ours, but I couldn’t understand why it would cause a reaction like this.

“You know how the shower thing is on a hose? Well, I was washing the mud off with it, and I went to wash off, you know, down there, and ... wow!”

“Wow?” I asked, not understanding.

She nodded firmly. “Wow!” she repeated. “I hit this spot and ... wow! It felt good!”

“Good?”

“Like ... like...” Her face screwed up as she tried to think of a way to describe it. If anything, her ‘thinking face’ is even cuter than her blush, and I felt a strange tightness in my chest at the sight. “It’s just ... really good.”

“I don’t get it,” I said.

“It’s just ... it’s ... I can’t explain it,” she said, frustrated. “Maybe I should just show you.”

“Okay,” I said, curious.

“Take off your panties and sit up so you can see,” Amy said.

I squirmed around, getting my panties off, and sat up, but my legs were blocking the light coming in from the window. “It’s too dark,” I said.

Amy leaned forward, placing one hand on my thigh and tugging it to the side, trying to get it out of the way. “This isn’t going to work,” she said, frowning. “Turn around so that you’re leaning back against the wall and facing the window. That should work.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling like I couldn’t catch my breath. I wriggled around until the light from the window was shining on my legs.

“Perfect!” Amy said, putting her hands on my knees and pushing them apart, until my legs were spread and I was completely exposed. My pulse pounded in my ears as she reached for me. “There’s a spot right up here at the top--”

I gasped and jerked as her finger touched a little bump at the top of my privates. “Oh!”

She froze. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, looking up at me.

“No!” I said, grabbing for her hand before she could pull it away. “Don’t stop!”

“Oh,” she said, giving me a smug smile. “You like?”

I couldn’t answer her. I’d stiffened, every muscle in my body tightening as my world narrowed to two points. Amy’s face, and the finger that was gently stroking between my legs. There was something just out of my grasp; I didn’t know what it was, but it was there, and I needed it desperately.

My eyes were locked on Amy’s. Their brilliant green was hidden in the shadows cast from the light behind her, but somehow I knew they were focused on me. “Isn’t it good?” she asked, her voice husky. “Can you feel it?”

I nodded jerkily. It was all I could manage, my hands grabbing the sheets and twisting them.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” Amy said.

That was all I needed. My back arched as my first orgasm swept over me, exploding out from where her finger was still gently stroking, waves of pleasure sweeping through my body. I bit my lip as my hips bucked and twisted, my eyes never leaving Amy’s face as I came, hard.

Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer, grabbing her hand and pulling it away. “Too much,” I said, sucking in a huge breath. “Oh, wow ... that was ... wow.”

Amy’s smile hadn’t faltered since I first told her not to stop. Now, it turned mischievous.

“See why I couldn’t describe it?” she asked, squirming around to lean against the wall beside me.

I nodded. “Yeah. It was ... yeah. There’s no way. Just ... wow.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder. “That was really ... nice. I liked making you feel like that. You looked ... you looked beautiful, like I said.”

I licked my lips, tasting the blood where I’d broken the skin trying not to scream when I came. “Can I ... can I do it to you?” I asked, hoping she’d let me.

She nodded jerkily. “I was hoping you’d want to,” she said.

I rolled over onto my knees, still shaky, and looked up at her. Her eyes were wide and hungry as she stared back at me, and it took my breath away to see her looking at me like that.

I’d known I loved her, but now I understood how I loved her.

Slowly, I leaned forward, cupping her cheeks in my hands. “I love you,” I whispered, just as my lips touched hers.

Objectively, our first kiss was clumsy and awkward. Neither of us knew what to do, much less how to do it.

To this day, it remains the single most perfect moment of my life.

Her lips were soft and warm against mine, and her hand slid around the back of my head, tangling in my hair, pulling me against her. I shifted around, trying to find a position that would allow me to reach her more easily, and my knee slipped between her thighs, pressing up against her.

She stiffened at the unexpected contact, and raised up against me, pressing herself against my thigh. She was hot, and wet, moving against me, and then she raised the leg I was straddling until it was pressed against me. She looked at me, and I was lost.

“Together,” Amy said, her breath coming in short little pants. “Let’s do it together.” And then she kissed me again, but this time her tongue slipped between my lips like we’d seen in movies. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to breathe. I didn’t want to do anything but kiss her back, as her hips rocked, leaving my thigh slick with her wetness.

Her movements were coming faster, and her hands slid down my back, cupping my ass, pulling me to her hard, her fingernails digging in as her back arched and she came with her mouth glued to mine.

I felt her fingernails sliding across my skin, leaving a burning trail, as my leg slipped, causing me to slide down her thigh until her knee was pressed up between my legs.

And I came.

My first orgasm had been good, but this ... this was better. I didn’t come because I was rubbing against her; that was just the trigger.

I came because I’d made her come. And I wanted to do it again.

Amy whimpered as I rolled off of her. “Don’t stop,” she said. “Please...”

“I’m not stopping,” I said, tugging at the hem of her nightgown where it was bunched around her stomach. “I just want this off.”

I’d seen her breasts before. Amy was almost a year older than me, and the breast fairy had apparently gotten confused and visited her twice, because even at not quite twelve years old she had B-cup breasts. I’d always thought they were beautiful, just like the rest of her, but as the gown slid over them I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I couldn’t breathe for the sudden ache in my chest, and without thinking about it, leaned over and kissed her nipple.

There aren’t many things I’m jealous of Amy for. Right then, however, I found one. In addition to being extremely spathic, Amy has extremely sensitive nipples.

In fact, if she’s turned on enough, she can come just by having them played with. Or, in this case, kissed. Her back arched, and her hand grabbed the back of my head, pressing me to her breast as she shuddered. I reached down between her legs, stroking her the way she’d stroked me, and she came again, bucking against my hand for several seconds before pushing me away.

“Too much,” she said, her face flushed and her hair damp with sweat. She tugged me up so that she could kiss me. “Wow. That was ... wow.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Just ... wow.” I bit my lip, hoping. “We’re going to do it again, right?”

Amy nodded rapidly. “Oh yeah. Just not right now.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “I really liked it.”

“Me too.” Amy licked her lips. “Me too.”

We did, of course. Every night. Sometimes during the day, when we thought we could get away with it. We knew instinctively that our parents wouldn’t approve, so we made sure they didn’t find out, taking care to muffle our voices and not make too much noise.

We were surprised to discover that it got better as we learned what we were doing. Neither of us had expected that to be possible, but it was.

Still, I wanted to find something to show Amy that would be as nice a surprise as what she’d discovered. I was at a loss as to how I could do so, until one Saturday about a month after our first time, when our mother put Amy to work cleaning the kitchen, and me to work in the garage, having decided that we’d be more likely to work rather than play if we were separated.

I discovered, about a half-hour in, that there was a box of our father’s dirty magazines in with the other junk. I was curious, so I opened one of them up, thinking maybe I should try to sneak it back to our room to show Amy.

I nearly dropped it when I saw the picture of two women together, one with her head between the other’s legs, her tongue very clearly extended and touching the other girl’s privates. My first thought was, That’s nasty. That’s where she pees!

Then I thought about it again. Amy I and both had smooth fingers, but our tongues were still softer. Experimentally, I ran my finger along the back of my hand, then followed it with my tongue. The sensation was distinctly different. Hmm. I thought about the way it would feel elsewhere.

Oh. OH! I suddenly understood why someone would want to have it done to them.

Amusingly, even though I still thought it was nasty, it never occurred to me to wonder why someone would want to do it. The instant I realized how good it would feel, my nipples hardened and I squeezed my legs together. I couldn’t wait to lick Amy like that.

The next several hours were almost painful. I understood exactly how Amy had felt that first night; waiting for it to be bedtime was almost unbearable. On the other hand, I was worried, too-- what if she thought the idea was gross? What if she thought I was sick for wanting to do it?

By the time supper was over, I was a nervous wreck. Our parents didn’t notice, but of course I couldn’t hide it from Amy. Once we were in our room, with the door closed, Amy rolled over to face me.

“Okay, spill,” she said. “You’ve been bouncing around like you stuck your finger in a light socket. What’s up?”

I licked my lips. “Let me see your hand,” I said, reaching for it.

“Okay?” she said, puzzled.

I ran a finger along her palm. “That feels kind of nice, right?” I asked.

She nodded, still puzzled, and I ran my tongue along the same path.

“That felt better, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Amy said.

I rolled over and slid my hand down between the wall and the bed, feeling around for the magazine. After a couple of seconds, I pulled it out. “Look--” My voice cracked, and I swallowed. “Look at this.”

“Okay?” Amy opened the magazine to the bookmark I’d put in it, tilting it so that it caught the light of the streetlight outside. “What’s she--”

Amy stopped mid-sentence, her eyes wide, leaning closer to the magazine, as if making sure she was seeing what she thought she was. My heart was beating a thousand times a minute as I waited for her response. She remained quiet, her hand shaking as she turned the page, looking at the pictures on the next pages, something I hadn’t done.

She licked her lips, and tilted it so I could see. “You-- you want to do this?” she asked, pointing to the picture of the two women together, facing in opposite directions with their heads between the other’s legs.

I opened my mouth to respond, but my throat was too dry to actually speak. I swallowed, my pulse pounding in my ears, and nodded.

“You-- you don’t think it’s ... gross?” she said.

I swallowed again. “I-- I don’t care. I-- you don’t have to do it to me, I just want to do it to you,” I said, pleadingly. “It-- think about how different my tongue felt than my finger did.”

She swallowed, her eyes going even wider, and bit her lip uncertainly. “You really want to?” she asked, her voice wavering.

I nodded, pleading with her with my eyes.

“And ... and I don’t have to do it to you?”

I shook my head. “I just ... I want to make you feel good.”

She bit her lip again, and then, slowly, nodded. “Okay. If I don’t have to do it to you.”

I licked my lips, my mouth dry. “Okay. Um.” I wasn’t sure how to go about it. “Okay. Maybe you could, um, lay down sideways, with your legs hanging off the bed, and I could get down in the floor? That way, I can see what I’m doing.”

She nodded again, and squirmed around until her knees were hanging off the bed, pulling her nightgown off as she did. I knelt down between her legs, my hands shaking. “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Um, I’m not really sure what I’m, you know, doing, I mean, other than the obvious--”

“Sue,” Amy interrupted. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I mean, it was your idea--”

“No!” I interrupted. “That’s not...” I let out a deep breath. “I just want to do it right. Make you feel good, like you did when you showed me how to play with myself.”

“Oh,” Amy said, and before I knew what she was doing, she’d grabbed my arms and pulled me up, kissing me. “Sue, you don’t have to do something you don’t want ... you do make me feel good. Every time you touch me like that.”

“I know,” I said. “And I want to. I just ... what if I don’t do it right?”

“Then we do what we’ve been doing,” Amy said, kissing me again. “Or if you’d rather, we can just do that anyway.”

I shook my head. “No. I want to.” I gave her a quick kiss, and slid back down between her knees. “Okay.” I took another deep breath. “If I do something that doesn’t feel good, let me know, okay?”

And, before I could lose my nerve, I leaned forward, stuck my tongue out, and ran it along her pussy.

Amy let out a squeak, stiffening, and tried to squeeze her legs together around my head. I stopped, worried that I’d hurt her.

“Was that bad?” I asked.

She stared at me, wide-eyed, and pulled her hand away from her mouth. “NO! Oh ... my... GOD. Do it again! Please!”

I couldn’t have kept the smile off of my face if I’d tried, and I didn’t. I didn’t bother answering her, either. I just lowered my head and started licking.

I’d had more than my share of experiences which changed my life, even then. This was another. That first lick along her pussy had been tentative, and she hadn’t been turned on. There hadn’t been much taste, honestly, and her reaction had kept me from paying it any attention.

Now, however ... she was most definitely turned on, and by the third time my tongue ran along her soft, crinkled labia I could definitely taste her. And I knew I’d learned something important.

I liked the taste of pussy. Or at least Amy’s pussy. My eyes slid closed, and I lost myself in the sensations, the taste of her juices, the soft, silky feel of her thighs sliding over my cheeks as my head moved as I licked her, the way her labia felt under my tongue.

I wanted more, more of the taste, more of the feel, more everything. I worked the tip of my tongue in between her lips, and was instantly rewarded ... and then again, as my tongue reached the top and slid over her little nub.

She squealed, the sound thankfully muted as she’d had the sense to cover her mouth with her hand, and her hips bucked upwards. “Oh god,” she said, “Right there. Like that. God.”

I didn’t mean to tease her. I just wanted to taste her, so I kept alternating, running my tongue around her clit, sliding down to lick, actually pressing my tongue into her as I lapped, then, when her whimpers became insistent, moving back up to her clit until I couldn’t resist slipping back down.

Finally, she grabbed my head with her hands, a high, keening sound of frustration, muffled by something, letting me know just how desperate she was. Her fingers pulled on my hair, painfully, pulling me up and holding my mouth right there on her clit.

I would have said, had anyone asked, that having my hair pulled would have broken the mood. It didn’t. I was already almost as turned on as she was; if I had had a hand free, I’d probably have come at least once by then. I didn’t, unfortunately, as I needed them to hold myself in place, which meant I wanted to come as badly as she did.

And when she yanked on my hair to pull me where she wanted me, I did. I came without even touching myself. It felt like there was an electric wire running straight from my scalp to my tits and pussy, and it was a good thing my face was buried between her legs, or my squeal would have gotten us caught. My hands tightened on her ass, where I was holding onto her, and I lapped at her clit frantically.

She stiffened, her hands twisting in my hair, sending aftershocks running through my body, and arched her back. Her legs wrapped around me, pressing me against her even more, and she came, shaking, shoving her hips up into my face, smearing her juices all over my chin.

Finally, she collapsed back on the bed, her fingers loosening in my hair, and I raised my head to look at her. She was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the light shining in the window making her gleam, and she was staring back at me with a look of shock.

And then she lunged for me, pulling me into her arms and sobbing, telling me she was sorry, she didn’t mean to, she just needed to come so bad...

I managed to wriggle loose enough that I could stare at her in disbelief. “Sorry for what?” I asked.

She stared back at me in equal incomprehension. “For hurting you like that. I can’t believe I ... you were making me feel so good, and I hurt you!”

“Oh. Um.” I chewed on my lower lip. “I, um. Kinda liked it.”

“Liked it?” Her face screwed up in confusion.

“Um. Yeah. I don’t know, maybe I was just so, you know, turned on by what I was doing, but ... um. I, you know.”

“You what?” She clearly hadn’t been paying attention to anything but what I was doing to her.

“I kinda, um ... came.” I hoped my blush wasn’t visible in the dim light, even though it felt like it ought to be providing its own illumination.

“You ... came? While you were ... licking me?” Amy asked, sounding ... almost awed.

I nodded. “I ... really, really, really liked it. And I was real close, and when you pulled on my hair...” I shivered. “It was like it was connected directly to me down there. And it made me come.”

“Wow,” she breathed, staring at me. “You liked it that much?”

I nodded. “I don’t know if it was the, um, the hair-pulling thing itself, or just ... knowing that I’d made you lose control like that, but ... um. Yeah.”

She licked her lips, and leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head. “I’m all covered with, you know, you.”

“Sis, after what you did ... I don’t care.” She grabbed my chin, forcing me to turn my head back, and kissed me hard. After several seconds, she pulled back, looking thoughtful. “That’s what I taste like?”

I nodded. “Yeah. You, um, you taste ... good.”

She thought for a minute. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call it ‘good’, but it’s not bad. Okay, then.”

“What are you doing?” I protested, as she pushed me down on my back.

“Returning the favor,” she said, pushing my legs apart.

“You don’t have to do that!” I tried to close my legs, but she was stronger than I was. “Remember? That was the deal.”

“I know I don’t,” she said, looking at me soberly. “I want to. I want to make you feel like ... like that. You’ll understand once you see what it’s like.”

I wavered. “You’re sure you want to? You aren’t just doing it because you feel like you have to?”

“I’m sure,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever want to do it again, but I want to do it at least this once.”

I licked my lips, and let my legs fall apart. “Okay,” I said. “If you really want to.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said, clearly building up her nerve. “Okay.” And then she leaned in and brushed her tongue across my labia.

Every muscle in my body tensed, and I fought not to scream. I’d thought it felt good when she used her fingers...

And then she did it again, and I exploded, wave after wave of orgasm crashing through my body. I don’t know how long it went on; all I know is that I came back to myself with Amy laying on top of me, straddling my leg, her hard nipples pressed against my chest and her tongue invading my mouth. Her arms were underneath mine, her hands holding my shoulders tightly, pressing us together even as she slid herself along my thigh, hot and wet.

I reached up and cupped her ass, raising my leg slightly to give her something to press against, and she squealed into my mouth as she came.

Finally, she relaxed on top of me, her kisses becoming softer, less urgent, her tongue teasing mine, tracing my lips. I could still taste myself on her lips, and just the idea made me shiver.

“God,” Amy said. “God. That was...” She hesitated, and I wished I could see her face in the dim light. “I hadn’t really expected to like it,” she said. “I still thought it was kind of ... gross, when I started. But I wanted to make you feel good.”

“I said you didn’t have to,” I started, but she kissed me, cutting me off.

“I wanted to. I just didn’t think I’d actually like it. But ... wow. I don’t know ... I don’t know if I actually liked the, um, I guess the actual, you know, licking, but ... I really liked what it did to you. I guess it’s like what you said about when I pulled your hair. Making you lose control like that...” She shivered, and kissed me again, long and soft and tender.

“I love you,” she said. “I know people would think it’s wrong, but they don’t understand. They don’t know us. I love you, and I want to be with you forever.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Amy ... I’m yours. For as long as you want me, I’m yours. I don’t care about anyone else. I don’t care what anyone thinks, or what anyone would say, or ... or anything. I love you.”

I pulled her down, kissing her. “I love you, Amy. My sister. My lover. I love you.”

The next few years were idyllic; aside from keeping anyone from suspecting the true nature of our relationship, we didn’t really have any problems. Even before we understood how we felt, we almost never fought-- partly because I almost always did what Amy wanted, and partly because Amy almost never pushed when I resisted.

We knew, instinctively, that what we had was precious and fragile; we knew that we could break it if we weren’t careful, and so we took great care to treat each other ‘right’. The fact that we’d always taken our parents as role-models helped; we were simply more conscious of the stakes now.

I, of course, did what I always did when I wanted to understand something: I turned to books. For the first several months, I brought home several books on psychology, relationships, and similar subjects every day. I didn’t worry about the books giving us away; our parents and the librarians were used to me becoming obsessively interested in something and devouring everything I could get my hands on about it, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary for me.

Our parents ... I wasn’t sure whether we’d managed to hide our relationship from them, to be honest. There were a couple of nights where either Amy or I would fail to completely hold back our screams, leaving us lying in the bed, waiting for one of our parents to open the door and discover us.

They never did, but occasionally I would catch one or the other giving us a troubled look, as if trying to get up the nerve to say something. It might have been that they suspected, but weren’t certain enough to say anything, or it might have been something else entirely. With our mom, especially, it might have been her trying to get up the nerve to give us ‘the talk’, since she never had. Admittedly, if she didn’t suspect, she probably thought she didn’t need to; we’d never shown any interest in boys (or other girls, for that matter), after all.

I never did; Amy has always been the only thing I wanted. When we looked at dad’s dirty magazines, I wasn’t turned on by the girls, and I definitely wasn’t turned on by the men (although, at the time, I wasn’t sure if I was just a lesbian, or if it was because the men were so ugly-- and I had yet to see a dirty movie, so I didn’t realize it could have been worse). I got turned on, definitely, but it was by the thought of doing whatever was being shown in the picture to or with Amy (although, in the case of heterosexual pictures, I was a little fuzzy on how it could be managed-- I’d never heard of a strap-on dildo at the time, so those fantasies revolved around a fuzzy concept of me magically growing a penis for her, since Amy did like the penises-- not the men attached to them, just the penises themselves; is it any wonder I fantasized about growing one for her?).

Aside from liking the penises, Amy had never shown any interest in boys either, so I had assumed she was like me-- right up until the most terrifying day of my life.

We were fourteen, fully in the grip of our hormones and, while not fully developed yet, far from flat-chested-- we had curves (oh, did Amy ever have curves!), and we were attracting attention from boys left and right. Most girls would have thought this was a wonderful problem to have, but I just found it annoying, as did Amy.

Or at least that’s what I thought, until March 13, 2001, a date I will never forget-- both because of the sheer terror I experienced, and the things I discovered about myself.

Amy had been distant and somewhat troubled for several days, refusing to talk about what was on her mind. Finally, I decided I’d had enough. It was a Saturday; since we didn’t have to get up early the next morning, I decided to corner her and make her talk. She almost never shut me out like this, and-- without exception-- always felt better after we talked it out.

This time, though, she was more resistant than normal; it was almost three in the morning before I got her to tell me why.