Thanks to MissJenny54 for editing/proofreading.
This is a fictional story, and all characters are over the age of legal consent.
"You're my dream come true" (The Platters - Only You)
Chapter 1
In her translucent nightgown, she moves around the room, closes her textbook, and puts it on the shelf. I'm already in bed, flipping through a newspaper but secretly watching Agnes.
I don't know if she's aware that, illuminated from a certain angle by the bedside lamp, her slightly plump but extremely feminine body is visible through the nightgown. Her shapely breasts stand out through the thin, silky fabric, and the darker patch under her flat belly hints at more exciting landscapes. As she bends down for a pencil with her back to me, the contours of her round bottom are revealed. To put the textbook on the top shelf, she has to stand on tiptoe, and more of her shapely thighs pop out from under the garment that slides up. Even if she knows it, it won't embarrass her in front of me. With a stifled sigh, I turn towards the wall, pretending to be asleep, while I hear Agnes get into her bed and switch off the reading light.
In the darkness, my wishful dreams continue with even greater intensity: I see myself walking over to her bed, pulling the blanket off, then reaching under her to lift her nightgown to her shoulders. I kiss her naked body, place myself between her spread thighs and make love to her while she embraces me passionately. I fall asleep with these images, but in my real dreams, my daydreams never continue, and I know the reason is that we are siblings. Agnes is my sister! Therefore, my crazy dreams will never come true.
I still remember those evenings. She was twenty years old; I turned 18 that spring, and just about to graduate. She attended a university in a distant city and lived in a dormitory. I also had to decide where I would continue my studies, but I also had another problem:
I hadn't made love with a woman yet; maybe that was why I was so excited by her presence. She was more experienced than me. I learned that she had a long relationship with a schoolmate at university, but when I asked her about it, she said the boy was no longer her friend.
"Did you break up?" I asked.
"He's not my boyfriend anymore," she said again without elaborating further. Although I didn't see her sad, I knew she had a habit of hiding her problems.
We generally understood each other well; she called me 'little bro' even now when I was an adult. Although she no longer seemed to look at me as an adolescent boy, neither did she see me as a man. It was discouraging because, in my heated thoughts, I imagined one day, she would introduce me to the mysteries of sex. My nature was to be withdrawn and inhibited, so I was afraid of being intimate with strange girls. I wanted to experience my sister's patient and understanding instruction first. She always cared about me and helped me when she could. Maybe she would allow me to make the first steps toward learning about sex, I thought.
Chapter 2
Agnes comes from the bathroom wearing a white bathrobe. She sits at her dressing table and paints her nails while the acrid smell of polish slowly fills the room. It is Saturday night, and she arrives from the dormitory in the afternoon, eats, bathes, washes and dries her hair. Her shiny brown hair, which she usually wears in a ponytail, now falls on her shoulders. Our parents are at the theater with friends, having dinner in a restaurant, and not expected home before midnight. I am alone with Agnes, and knowing this fills me with a strange, trembling excitement.
"Aren't you going anywhere?" I ask.
"No. I prefer the peace at home tonight. And you... friends, girlfriend?
"I am not interested in being with friends, and I don't have a girlfriend."
She finishes the nail painting while soft music plays in the background. Agnes studies French at university, loves French culture, watches many French movies, and listens to music. One of her favorites, the late, legendary, decadent Serge Gainsbourg's LP, plays while she unpacks her travel bag. With her back to me, she stretches and places the empty bag on top of the wardrobe. The bottom edge of her bathrobe slides up, and for a moment, her buttocks appear, on which translucent, light blue panties are straining. It's crazy; I'd like to take her here on the spot. She is not going anywhere, yet she colors her eyelids with a pale peach shade and draws gloss on her lips, harmonizing with her eye shadow.
She takes a small bottle of French cognac and a package of macarons from her handbag, then pours a dash of cognac for us. Glass in hand, she sits in an armchair across from me, chatting about generalities, then later, we get to personal matters. For the first time, she talks about her former relationship, saying she broke up with her boyfriend because she caught him having sex with her roommate. According to her, the roommate changes partners as often as she changes shirts. Behind her back, she was called a "dorm slut".
Agnes recounted the details of finding her boyfriend and roommate together. On that afternoon, as usual, she wanted to study until six in the evening in the university library. Due to a heating system failure, the library was closed, so Agnes returned to the dormitory early. She entered her room at the wrong time; the two were in bed. "I'm sorry," she said and walked out. Later she returned for her toiletries and pajamas, slept in the guest room that night, and moved to another room the next day.
