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Brother and Sister Incestial Love


Author: Philippa
Published: 15-Aug-13 Revised/Updated 18-Sep-17

The only time we ever truly relaxed was when we were in bed at night laying together, often in silence, perhaps after making love...

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We didn't have spyholes in the walls or ceilings of my bedroom, my brother didn't watch me preen in front of a mirror trying my first bra. He didn't splash cum into a shoe as he watched through the hole he had drilled so carefully in the wall between our bedrooms. My towel didn't fall off as I "ran across the hall to the bathroom". I didn't walk in on my brother touching himself in the shower after sport. He didn't steal my soiled undies from the washing basket and sniff them while he masturbated. I didn't pretend to go to sleep with him on the couch in the basement so he could feel me up.

We were perfectly ordinary kids, two years apart who slowly grew more and more close. We knew what was happening, we talked about it. We stopped dating other people and even noticing other people. He took me to the high-school dances. People thought we were just odd, and that was fine by us.

We didn't have sex until I was 17 and he was 19 and even then it just sort of happened and when it did it seemed so natural that it wasn't all that special. It became special once we got the hang of it. We did the usual things and they got better and better as time passed. He didn't make gallons of cum, I didn't mess his bed with squirting. Why am I telling you this Because the reality of an incestuous relationship is far, far removed from the masturbation fantasies that people often write and pass off as personal experience.

Our parents know and their emotions have ranged from horror, through shame, to loving, if resigned, acceptance. When we come home we sleep in the same bed and they treat us like a married couple. When I was 18 we wanted to tell them and couldn't find the right words or time, so we set it up so that mom would walk in on us doing it. When you walk into a room and facing you is your daughter's bottom, she is astride your son, laying on his chest with her legs up beside his ribs and his penis is going in and out her vagina, there really isn't much to doubt. It's incontrovertible. So that was what she was confronted by that Saturday afternoon. All she said was, "How long have you been doing this" I said, "A bit more than a year."

She sat beside us and for a long while and said nothing. Then very quietly she said, "I guess you must be very sure of what this means" We nodded. "I'm sure that we will cope with this, but be patient, daddy is going to find this hard." We nodded.

That started the irrevocable transformation of our lives and theirs. Initially talking was minimal and rather strained. Daddy didn't start to ask even vague questions for months, mom said she was talking to him though. When she was alone with us she would ask us questions, we didn't mind as she was doing her best to understand what this meant and what it implied for our collective future. She asked when I knew that my brother was the person I wanted as my partner, I said when I was 15, that I had always loved him as my brother and that gradually changed into sexual love, a quite different love, that we deliberately didn't have sex until we were both older, as we were scared of making a huge fuss and perhaps then find that it wasn't what we wanted after all.

Daddy started to relax and talk to us about our decision about six to seven months after mom walked in on us. He explained very quietly and gently that it was hard for him to accept initially as he had nothing to guide him other than the usual loathing and hysteria of most people's responses. I loved him so much for doing his best to understand and for not posturing and thundering like some Edwardian or Victorian paterfamilias.

I moved into my brother's bedroom, we got a new queen double bed and put our two single beds into my old room. Mom and daddy stopped coming upstairs without calling out that they were coming up, we were careful to not display any overt physical or sexual behaviour in their presence, that changed after some months when they both said one day that they felt able to accept us behaving toward each other like ordinary people in love, like touching and hugging and kissing. We were shy of that and took many weeks to relax to a point where we could hug and say "I love you," to each other in their presence. Over the next two years our household acquired a new shape and dynamic.

It wasn't the conventional masturbatory fantasy of endless sex, endless cum splattering on me or in my mouth, there were no secret, exciting, dangerous trysts, but we gradually acquired the veneer of normality necessary for us to be lovers in secret, we began living the lie that people like us have to live every second of every day. It would have been much better if we could have occupied a long, hypersexual fantasy into which reality, other than "rock-hard penises" and "wetness trickling down legs" never intruded. It wasn't and the exigencies of everyday reality, of going to the university in which we were both students, preparing for our future together, buying food, doing the domestic things that occupy so much time, made sure that what sex we did have was cautious and often less than satisfactory because of deadlines for papers and reports, long hours in the library and the tiring bus travel to and from lectures, just like the pressures and time demands ordinary couples juggle. We were lucky that we lived with our accepting if confused parents.

Our reality was one of concerted hard work, of sustained deception, of constantly being aware of the possibility of an eagle-eyed aunt or cousin seeing a gesture or a touch that was appropriate to a "couple" but which was inappropriate for a brother and sister. The only time we ever truly relaxed was when we were in bed at night laying together, often in silence, perhaps after making love. Then we could talk about all those things that ordinary couples can talk about whenever they feel like it. As soon as we left our room the protective barriers had to be in place again until the door closed behind us in our bedroom again at the end of the day. It was a lifestyle that was alien and extremely stressful, but at least one in which we had each other.

I have never regretted a single minute of our relationship. I know that we can never be like couples from different families, but we don't care. We know that as time passes the likelihood of us getting outed increases, but we don't care about that either.

Some of you who read this might wonder why I wrote this, it's because it's a relief to say the things we have to hide, it might help other couples in our situation, we can't be the only brother and sister in a country with a population of about 300 million who love each other, and we know what they have been through.

Chapter 2

The whole thing about us being together started when I was about 15 as I said, but in a way I didn't really understand then I had liked him as more than my brother from likely when I was 13 or 14. When we were little we did everything together, bathing, even peeing, in some ways we were more like twins than kids separated by two years. He says that he was aware of me for pretty much the same reasons but probably earlier than I was of him. He'd always been curious about what was between my legs and I remember him asking to have a look when I was about 8, nearly 9, there was no need for me ask about his stuff as it was always on show, boys are so different from us that way. For us it's all hidden, down there, very private, and has to be revealed.

I showed him and he looked for a long time, moving things around so he could see better, of course there isn't all that much to see down there when you are 9, but it satisfied his curiosity for a couple years. Next time he asked I was 12 or so and had some hairs. He looked with the same careful curiosity as before, but this time when I looked at his it was very changed, he was 12 then, has some hairs and was much longer and thicker than before. I wanted to touch it to feel what it felt like, to see if it was different. He got an erection and it was very different from before, the top was so soft and silky and it was so much thicker that I wondered how it would fit inside a women. At that stage I didn't think about it fitting inside me, for even though I had had my finger inside me I hadn't thought about him in me at all.

We talked about touching ourselves, masturbation wasn't a word that I felt easy with, so that was what we called it. He said he did and I said I did, so that was that. We talked about what happened and decided that we had both had orgasms and left it there. I don't remember masturbating about him for quite a while. Later he told me that he didn't begin making sperm until he was nearly 13, but when he did he started to think about me and us doing stuff, but that he was much too shy and unsure of the appropriateness of what he was thinking, or getting caught or told on, so he never said anything. We knew that brothers and sisters weren't supposed to do stuff and probably to not even look and talk about it. It was the beginning of the very gradual change in the focus of our relationship.

I talked and listened to the girls at school, the usual source of (mis)information then, I looked at other boys, decided that I was a bottom fancier and realised that I like my brother's bottom, because it was so nice and round and tight, not at all like teen girls' bottoms that were fuller and softer. He wore tighty whities that were always snug and let me see his roundness perfectly, I liked to see him in his underpants if I could and often did as he got dressed before we went to school. I think that in gradually seeing the attractiveness of each other I was probably in front of him in that respect, perhaps not, it's hard to know. I liked his male thin-ness, his middle-teen arms were still thin and boyish and his tummy was flat, he was still physically in that in-between stage, not a child and not yet a man. He had some hairs on his legs, but not many. Still not many between his legs, really just a clump at the base of his penis, nothing at all on his face.

He is a quiet, gentle man now and was a quiet, gentle boy then, nothing has changed. He was one of those kids who was comfortable with silence, he was an observer, a reader, I am too, and that is another of the reasons why we get along so well. I said that I knew by the time I was 15 that I knew that he was who I wanted as my partner in life, but this was not something that was achieved either easily or quickly. It was a difficult period of secret turmoil and guilt. I knew all too well that girls were not supposed to think about their brothers they way I thought about him, feeling that way about another girl's brother was one thing, it was quite another for me to be thinking and speculating and dreaming about my brother in that way. By this time I thought about him when I masturbated. No matter which way I looked at it, this remained a huge problem as he became increasingly central to my thinking, not an obsession but certainly he occupied a lot of my private time. If anything the problem of him in my life became an even bigger problem. He hasn't said much about how he dealt with he in his life, other than to say he felt scared and very guilty as well until I finally broached the subject with him when I was 15.

While I was discretely observing his changes, change had come to me. My breasts grew, hair came in all the usual places and, most dramatic change of all, my periods came. I was ambivalent about that, because it meant that my life had changed forever. There was the inconvenience of it, my fear of getting caught out and bleeding through my clothes so boys would see, the feeling of dull heaviness that accompanied my cycle immediately before they came. But I liked my breasts and what happened when I rubbed and pinched my new large nipples, there seemed to be a hard-wired nerve straight down to the opening of my vagina. He liked my new breasts, too, they were the next thing he asked to see. He asked me many questions about what it felt like for them to begin to grow, did I like them, did I want them bigger or was I happy with little ones, was wearing a bra comfortable, those sort of boy questions that I had heard from girls at school. I was very curious about what it was like for him, I knew that boys has problems with unpredictable erections, some with cumming in their underpants at things like dances and making out, did his balls ever get in the way, where did they go when he sat down, (I was very curious about that) was it true about blue balls or was that just a ploy to get a girl to touch or masturbate or suck. Boys seemed obsessed with every aspect of sex, especially where it concerned us. They tried to see our panties when we sat down when we wore dresses and skirts, that was tiresome, at dances they ran their hands down your back to see if you were wearing a bra, they always wanted to kiss you, some were brave enough to try to put their hand between your legs, it was constant sex, sex and more sex. I was 13 and going on 14 and didn't want that attention at all, so it quickly became tedious, I was so sick of boys looking either at my chest or at my crutch. I was gradually turning off boys and looking more and more at my brother.

He didn't have the same issues, girls are much more reticent, sure we look, but we don't generally touch until much later in a relationship, the bottom line was pregnancy and being labeled a slut, the latter was the greatest fear, and even if you wanted a boy to touch you where ever, you always knew that the next day the whole school knew that he'd had his hand up your shirt or between your legs. The labeling came from other girls, other girls were the eagle-eyed morality police, not wanting anyone who did what they dreamed of but didn't do, to have any fun by actually doing it. I was most afraid of other girls, then and later, when we turned our backs on that teen world for each other. I had no close girl friend whom i trusted unconditionally, there was no-one I could tell, confide in, and the way things turned out for us that was just as well.

Chapter 3

The first time he put his finger in my vagina my body relaxed in a way that was foreign to me, it felt so totally right, final confirmation I think.

While my brother had dated girls in high school he did so in a half-hearted way and they didn't seem to ever do anything for him, things petered out rather than he was dumped or dumped them. The girls at school gossiped about who was going with whom, who'd done what, who was a slut, all the usual. They were careful to not say too much about him to me, but there was the feeling that he might be gay or asexual, for he never tried anything on and they knew that no-one ever lasted long enough for things to get sexual.

If I asked him about what was going on he'd look away and shake his head and look puzzled, if he said anything it was usually non-committal. He didn't get excited about a date, it was if he was going through a process that he felt was expected of him. A bit after my 15th birthday I talked to him and told him how strongly I felt about him, how this wasn't just some passing, misdirected, teen-girl crush, that it was something I'd struggled with for a long while. He said nothing for a long while and stared at the floor, finally saying that he felt the same way. There were tears in his eyes as he told me that he'd felt the same for so long he couldn't remember when it began.

We sat and held hands and talked about what it meant, how dangerous it was and what it would do to our parents, there were just the two of us, no other children. There were the legal implications, incest is illegal everywhere, but hanging over everything we considered was the monumental scandal that any relationship we entered would spark at school. And there was no way that it would be confined to school. We knew that neither of us was strong enough to withstand the tsunami of gossip, innuendo, shunning and ridicule, and almost certain expulsion and prosecution, that us being outed would provoke. This was a conversation that went on for months, it wasn't crammed into that first afternoon. It seemed insoluble and the fear of the inevitable consequences drew us even closer together. There was nowhere for us to turn.

We talked about what we wanted of each other, we talked about love and companionship, of trust, a total non-issue then and now, how we would conduct ourselves, what the future might hold, what to do about mom and daddy, if anything at all. We talked about sex. We were both virgins, neither of us had had any sexual contact with anyone. No wonder the girls' gossip had him pegged as either gay or asexual in a time in our lives when almost everyone else was consumed by the how, when, where and with whom of sex, sex with others, sex watching porn, speculating about others, online sex, skype sex, sexual preferences, it was sex interspersed with school, study and despair about sex. And here we were, the virgin brother and sister on the extreme outer fringe of it all, looking in at this swirling maelstrom and wondering how it might possibly apply to us. It didn't and couldn't for we were only interested in each other. We went on like that for months, talking, staying together, comfort for each other. No-one knew what we were going through, especially not our parents, it was an accepted part of our lives that we did most things together, we studied together, went to the movies now and then together, nothing that they could have seen or sensed would have alerted them to our predicament. Then one night as we sat together doing homework I pulled him to his feet and kissed him. That was truly the beginning of who we are now. He stood there woodenly as I kissed him so I put his arms around me, my arms around him and then, for the first time, he held me while I cried for a long time. Then he kissed me back.

A completely new world had opened up for us, that first tentative kiss changed our personal landscape in ways that we couldn't have anticipated. Talk became a flood of words, relief that we could finally talk without the self-imposed fears we struggled with before. Mom remarked how happy we both seemed, saying that she was so glad that we had come out of the dark place we had been in for so long that she had worried about us. Daddy was just daddy, he looked benignly at us and smiled, like most dads he had no idea, mom is the quiet, acute observer, of the two of them the one I was most worried about. Soon after that conversation we touched each other for the first time. We undressed and stood and looked at each other and held hands, then we embraced and kissed. We stood clinging to each other and I took his hands and put them on my front and said that I wanted him to touch me. He was hard and he flinched when I held his penis for the first time as his lover. That's all we did then and for weeks after, looking and touching. He didn't put his hand between my legs until I took it and put it there and opened my legs wide. It was a process of discovery and our gradual acceptance of our new reality. I've read many accounts of urgent grappling while parents are downstairs, of nearly getting caught, of the excitement of the illicitness of it all, of the urgency that seems better relegated to fiction than reality. It wasn't like that for us. The first time he put his finger in my vagina my body relaxed in a way that was foreign to me, it felt so totally right, final confirmation I think. I was surprised how much better a finger other than mine felt, that was a revelation. I showed him how to touch me, what motions and pressures worked for me, he learned quickly and became a wonderful, perceptive lover. I gradually realized that David was a submissive, that it was best for him if he were shown what to do and gently guided, it was then that he was happiest.

We didn't do oral until I was past my sixteenth birthday, that, too, was a revelation. I had no previous way of understanding the intensity of the pleasure it would give me then and now years later. I was equally unprepared for the explosion of his orgasm in my mouth or for the texture and taste and smell of his cum. Initially disgusted, I grew to love its intimacy, his surrender to my mouth. I still wonder why most accounts of male-female sex seem to invariably involve clothes being torn off, bras and panties being flung into corners, the girl being immediately wet and moaning with urgent lust, with orgasms manifested as screams of pleasure, of the boy's cum flooding her as did her copious squirt. Boys' penises were always rock hard, precum dripping from them. What we did was pedestrian and very quiet and always ended with us holding each other as our breathing slowed. Often I had to massage and rub David to get him hard, I think his early ambivalence and conflict kept him soft for a long while. We would talk quietly, as we do now, tell each other what had been good and, back then, talk about actually doing it all the way. David was worried about pregnancy, but I was on birth control so that wasn't an issue for me. He wanted to use condoms, I wanted to feel him inside me for the first time with nothing between us. Until then we were happy with what we were doing together, though we had discovered how good masturbating for each other was. Seeing his cum spray almost up to his chin pushed me over the edge all the time.

Major milestones in our relationship tie closely to my birthdays and it was a week after my seventeenth birthday that we decided to do it.


We had talked for a long time about our first time and what it be like and what I wanted David to do. By this time it was completely obvious that he was a submissive, he was comfortable with that, after some initial embarrassment and shyness. After a while he opened up and told me his feelings, he was relieved and I was then certain that my intuition had been correct. Being the dominant member of our relationship was entirely natural for me. It worked for us both.

Yet, for all of our extended make-out sessions, the orgasms we gave each other and the deepening love we each had for the other, there was a tiny, lingering unease in my mind. We knew each others bodies and responses, we had refined our techniques through observation and quiet talking, and yet there was this unease that I felt but couldn't understand. I talked to David about it, reassuring him that I wanted to move on to this next stage in our relationship, he said little as usual, other than saying that he didn't feel anything like unease, he just wanted for us to do it and get it over with. His penetration of me was the last of the great taboos that we had to deal with, it was like a keystone in an arch, what we wanted couldn't be realized without him being in my vagina.

As I look back over what I have just written I can see a cool analytical detachment that might strike a reader as odd. That's just how I am, I consider and weigh up, then I talk about whatever it is that is the issue, but it didn't even minutely alter the decision that we made together. I wanted David in me and he wanted to be in me.

We talked about the how and when. Mom and daddy had to be at least out, but preferably away. We had to be certain that we wouldn't be disturbed. I wanted the first time to be perfect, but without the rationalization of romance, no candles, rose petals, no sobbing violins. Just David and me, my vagina and his penis. He was worried that being his first time that he would ejaculate too soon, he was worried that he would hurt me. I didn't expect to be hurt as I had been fingering myself for years, once putting the handle of a hairbrush in, and I'd never felt anything like a hymen. When he fingered me he couldn't feel anything. I reassured him. He said the first time for him was a really big deal, that he was sure that he'd be nervous, he asked how I thought I would be feeling. I said I wasn't completely sure, but that I expected to feel a little detached until I got used to everything and settled into this next phase.

Mom and daddy told us that a week after the party for my birthday that they would go to the west coast for a week, perhaps two. That's all they said. This was our time. The party came and went, they packed, David drove them to the airport and Mom said that she'd ring and catch up in a couple of days. She looked at me very directly and said quietly and carefully, be safe, and enjoy yourselves. A mother's intuition Her eyes were tired. She kissed me on the cheek and got into the car. She didn't look back. Half an hour later David came back. He stood with his hands in his pockets and looked at me. We went upstairs to our room and undressed each other. I was wet but it didn't run down my legs: other than in fantasy, does it ever run down a girl's legs We lay on our sides facing each other and kissed and caressed each other. We talked about how we'd do it, I explained that I wanted him to come into me very, very slowly, so that in fifty years we could remember what the first time was like. David told me again that he was so nervous that he was afraid that he would come immediately or not at all. I told him that it didn't matter. I turned onto my back and opened my legs and guided him onto his knees between them, then, holding my lips open I reached for a hand mirror that I had ready for just this moment and whispered for him to put the head into my opening and then not move. He did that and I held him close and ran my hands down to his bottom and gently pulled him toward me. Nearly half an hour later, it might have been more or less, I'm not sure now, he was all the way in. I watched him gradually disappear into me until he was right up against me and there was nothing to see. I put my hands on his chest and pushed back a little, he pulled out slowly, all the way out, my hands back on his bottom he came back in. Not so slowly. If the video cameras that are everywhere now had been available then I would have videoed it for us.

He told me that he was feeling wonderful and that he wasn't going to cum too soon. In fact he didn't manage to cum in me for about three weeks, but when he did it was the culmination of all those years, his desire took over completely and he drove himself in and out as hard as he could. Even the first time there was no pain, no blood, all I felt was my opening being stretched as he went in. As the days passed and he became more confident we discovered new feelings, new rhythms, things to do that seemed to come out of nowhere. And yet for all the pleasure and intimacy, the fulfillment, I still felt a tinge of sadness, I didn't tell David for a long time until I understood what it was about: when he entered me for the first time it was like a door closing behind us, one through which we could not ever again pass, we had gone into voluntary exile, into a world that only we could occupy. Later I read a novel by an Australian author, Patrick White, The Aunt's Story. In the frontispiece there is a quotation from a South African author, Olive Schreiner...

She thought of the narrowness of the limits within which a human soul may speak and be understood by its nearest of mental kin, of how soon it reaches that solitary land of the individual experience, in which no fellow footfall is ever heard...

Sometime Later: Brother, Sister, and Jayne.

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