Are These Things Planned Somehow

Having been inspired by what I've read here I've finally got around to finishing this and any constructive comments are greatly appreciated. Also, thanks are due to a certain individual for their inspiration on a certain character in the story. They know who they are. All characters are over 18 years old.

*****

This is our First Day, arriving in the morning of an early summers day. In the afternoon, black thunderclouds are now looming, slowly rolling in, low and nearly overhead. The Sunlight is there one minute then gone the next and the sparkling turquoise waves are turning dark and blacker by the minute. What was the cooling breeze suddenly becomes a gusting wind, ruffling and putting strain on the multi-coloured beach umbrellas dotted about in front of us. The sand grains airborne, tingling our faces as she and I huddle in low beach chairs. The weather is closing in. We put our books down and look skyward, then at each other. Without saying a word we know what we have to do.

Some people have fled already, their cool boxes and umbrellas hefted up to the various hotels and cottages dotted behind us. Our rented beach cottage, is a good 45 minutes away. We drive that far to get to this better beach which we found many years ago on a day out with our parents. It's less crowded and flatter.

"Let's get back to the car and head out," I tell her, continuing "I estimate we've got maybe 30 minutes tops before that lot hits us." She agrees happily and we pack up and quickly, heading off to the car park. Just as we reach the car, she insists we should wash off the sand at the outdoor public shower on the corner of the car park. We've got time, she explains. It's one of those single, open top type cubicles with simple planks for walls. There is but one shower and an old couple are already waiting their turn in front of us. We push our luck and move to join behind them.

Just as we arrive an old man exits and they= old couple go in, taking their clothes and bars of soap. Talk about well prepared. Within minutes the line behind us grows, with half dozen people now waiting their turn, looking skyward at regular intervals. The old couple come out, grinning and laughing. Now it's our turn. "Go ahead," I say to her. She goes in and starts to close the door.

"Can't you and your boyfriend shower together?" someone behind us says in a loud voice. "It would help us all out." We all look up and back at the black clouds now even closer.

Still standing in the door, she looks at me. I look at her. "Well, come on boyfriend," she says. "We'd better hurry." She quickly takes my hand, pulls me in and latches the door. It's then I realise there is no roof. The shower is open above us, the sky darkening by the second.

"You okay with this?" she whispers.

Whispering back I say "Am I okay? Really?," with quiet sarcasm and a smile. "I guess I am. Aside from the fact that I somehow can't remember the last time I took a shower with my sister."

Even in here, the line of people outside is no more than 10 feet away. She turns on the shower, still whispering. "It will speed up things Alex. Everyone's in a hurry. It just makes sense."

Before I can collect any thoughts and reply, she turns her back to me, steps under the shower head, lets the cool water spray over her. Some of it hits me in the face. The coolness of it feels remarkably good. It has been really hot on the beach all day until the weather broke. She shakes her hair, looks up at the sky, lets her face get the full force of the water, and slowly, deliberately unties the halter neck of her one piece.

I am less than a foot behind her, standing still, unable to move. Shower mist still wetting my face and eyes. It's a nervous moment. Jitteriness overtaking my stomach, anxiety creeping in. Suddenly, I realise, I don't know how I feel about this.

I watch as she slides her fingers underneath the edge of the spandex just above her waist. She pushes her swimsuit down. From behind, I see the beginnings of the dark cleft between her buttocks. She slips the suit further down, over her hips, slowly down her thighs, bends over to push it past her knees until her swimsuit falls freely to the floor at her ankles.

With her back still to me, she glances over her shoulder. "Are you going to take a shower, Alex? Or are you just going to ogle me?" she whispers. "I'm 18. It should come as no surprise that I have developed into a young woman - if that's what you're thinking." She seems a little annoyed at my inaction. But usually she's really shy. Why is she showing no embarrassment this time?

At this point, I have no choice, I suppose. I have to man up. So, I strip off my swim shorts. Let them drop down into the sand strewn water.

Now that my senses have returned to some normality I gaze at her and particularly her body which is beautifully toned and healthy. And then there is the slenderness of her. The sensuous neck. Long slim fingers. Smooth shoulders. Unblemished back. A distinctive curve to her buttocks. Not a young teenage girl's body anymore, but a young woman's with lovely curving, which alone is bewitching. These things have gone unnoticed by me until now. Of course, I reason, I've also never before seen her without any clothes on recently. Never really wanted to, as best I can remember.

This young woman, my sister, who I would have professed to know so well, has in an instant become a mystery to me. This can't be the same sister who used to keep herself to herself. The one whose blue eyes used to cut right through me if I ever said anything bad about her during her early teen years. That look alone would have prompted a swift exit from where ever I was at the time. Now, I'm not looking at that young girl. Someone else is standing there, exquisitely naked, her back to me, in this outdoor shower.

She turns and faces me. She's much shorter than me. Her narrow face. Button nose. Large blue wide-set eyes, calming, almost sleepy in their gaze. Her skin virginally white where the sun hasn't coloured it. Her fingers splayed gently across and around her breasts, slowly brushing away the sand and water. And what breasts, not large, but the biggest I've ever seen in person. They seem to look heavier and larger than when they were encased in that swimsuit. Sagging just a little from their weight. For an instant, I think I see her massage each pink nipple with her thumbs. Maybe not. I scan her body looking down, no visible pubic hair. Then I realise, she is now watching me watch her, so I can't stare down at her lower body for too long, though, I find myself wanting to.

Whether it is the single thought of being naked with my sister, or just being naked with a female in a public shower - with people queuing and bustling all around us - I do not know. Nonetheless, my penis starts growing, enlarging. The blood rushing in as never before. Unwanted but uncontrollable. Engorging. Getting harder. Harder and harder, growing by the second. I pretend not to notice. Of all times, why does this have to happen to me now?

As she rinses more sand from her thick, milk chocolaty hair, her eyes lower, fastening on it. My hard penis twitching. She makes no pretence. She is watching it as she now washes her arms. Her eyes moving slowly on it, studying its length, its girth, skin texture. Watching it bob up and down in the shower spray. She says nothing. Yet, for some unknown reason, I know she is measuring me with her eyes. An uneasy silence now between us, I'm now aware of the chatter of people outside and the sound of the shower spray raining down, bouncing off our bodies, plopping on the floor into puddles. She pulls me closer to her to let me wash myself under the showerhead. She backs up to give me room her curved bottom hitting the shower stall.

Leaning in toward me a little, she dips her head under the falling water as I brush off my chest and stomach. It does not escape my attention that, with her now this close that we are almost touching, once again she is taking note of my erection. Her eyes lowered, looking toward the wet sand covered concrete floor, to see it better. Also, watching me stroke myself once and then twice to get sand off. Watching me slowly massage the sand out of my balls which I have to be careful not to prolong. I squeeze my insides, trying to keep from ejaculating in front of her. I'm 21. I should be able to do this. And luck is with me this time.

We rinse our suits off quickly, get the sand out of the crotches, put them on awkwardly in front of each other. One by one, she lifts her legs to step into the swimsuit. My first real look at her pubic area. Smooth and not a hint of hair anywhere. She is aware that I am looking. We are dressed and she starts to open the door. Then stops. Looks me in the eyes straight on.

"I won't tell if you won't," she says with a cheeky grin on her face. She then quickly unlocks the door and bounces off toward the car. Who is this new young woman I think to myself!

***

A lot has changed about my sister now I come to think of it, just from having reflected watching her on the beach today, before the storm made its presence. A certain new poise to her, even when she was sitting, reading in the beach chair. More apparent as she walked, one slow deliberate step at a time, searching down the beach looking for sea shells to pass the time. She carries herself well now, maybe even gracefully. She now makes a good impression and I guess makes heads turn, both male and female.

To some, she must seem of an older age, certainly to those coaxing us to shower together, thinking we're a couple. A little more self-assured and sociable now, which I guess working on the farm has provided, though the shyness is still there. One can forgive her for that, it's a trait born to her and is utterly charming now. Not that working on a farm means she's not bright. She's very clever in fact and got grades much better than mine.

She use to consider me her best friend when we were growing up. As male teenagers, other boys shunned their sisters as being un-cool. Not me. I liked being seen with her back then. We used to share secrets too, racked up adventures large and small, and I listened as she shared hers with a passion I could not equal. I grew to love being in her company back in the day, but then a switch flicked and she changed into a rather spiteful teen and all that was lost.

* * *

"Well, that was a first for me," she says as we drive back slowly in the torrential rain.

"I guess," I say. "I mean how many sisters and brothers can say they've taken a shower together at our age." It wasn't a question just a statement.

"I wasn't talking about that. I meant, no one's ever thought me old enough before, to be a guy's girlfriend. Now that was a first." she smiles.

"I can tell you're flattered." I say sarcastically.

She looks at me, smiles. "Think of this as another one of our many adventures together, like we used too. We'll remember it always."

"That's my fear," I tell her. How did she know I was thinking back to those days!

From there we lapse into trading jokes about it. Then the inevitable silence that comes with long drives. I'm behind the wheel. She is lost in thought. Often, I have found myself trying to figure out what she's thinking. As for me, I know I can never erase this day. I can't help but wonder if, in those five minutes, all has changed for us - because of this one simple act of getting together and washing the sand off. Standing next to each other naked. I feel guilty that I enjoyed watching her nude. I shouldn't have allowed myself to get an erection right under her eyes. Uncertainty now surrounds me. I feel uneasy for a second. Why do I get this sense that nothing will ever be quite the same again.

* * *

Where we are staying is very rustic and basic, a light blue wooden boarded cottage. It's on stilts twelve feet high to catch the enduring, gentle sea breeze. Heavy slatted shutters constantly rattling on their hinges guard the windows. Built in the early 60's there are ceiling fans, an ocean themed decor of assorted lamps, chairs and a sofa, weatherworn and all in a all slapdash but somehow pleasant arrangement. 'Modest but economical' our mother used to say. Our home away from home each summer for a break. For as far back as I can remember. It bears a likeness to the hundreds of other cottages lining this beach, each a few feet from the other.

In those early years we could afford to much luxury as a family. Which is why we rented this same cottage year after year. A Living room, one bedroom and kitchen, all light polished wood panelling on the inside, a very dated styling but one that brings back fond memories each year. My parents slept in the tiny bedroom on what was just barely a double bed. I usually claimed the living room sofa, and my sister slept on the covered, screened-in front deck looking out over the night beach, better to hear the waves she would always say.

It was all absolutely close-quartered. Before bed, weather permitting, we would migrate to the front deck to sit in wooden rocking chairs in the dark, feeling the salty breeze against our skin, following the far-off lights of ships at sea as they made their way to places unknown but hopefully exotic.

With time came wealth for our parents, we could afford better as a family but here always felt good, great even. Much better. But it's very homeliness infatuated our mother more than any of us. She adored the memories we'd already built here. Thus, each year we have returned. My parents couldn't make the trip this summer. Just my sister and I for an abbreviated stay. What was surprising is that Sarah suggested we could sleep together on the double bed. Which was not an oddity if we were still young. Over the years, we had slept side by side even top and tail on occasion, at family gatherings and such.

On this first night, I bring glasses of Chablis, our wine of choice, out to the deck. For me this means dark khaki shorts and a bare chest, since I'm feeling the twinges of a light sunburn. My sister comes out in plain white knickers and a short tee shirt. She is never one prone to need provocative dress. Yet, here she is in her panties.

"I'm assuming you don't mind, since we've already crossed that line today," she says as she sits down.

What can I tell her? I don't really know how I feel about this at that moment.

"If you want me to put more on, I will," she says. Slowly, I shake my head no.

We sit in silence a few minutes. A little discomfort between us. An uneasiness of the situation.

"It's bothering you, isn't it." she whispers to me.

"No. It's just different. Just different. That's all."

"You know, Alex. Now that you're no longer at home, the days I have off work, I'll spend the whole day at home like this if mum and dad aren't around." she pauses then continues " You want in on another secret? Sometimes I even spend the day naked." She says this so easily, as if it were a normal discussion.

"My sister - the nudist." I say with surprise in my voice.

"Not hardly. I have no desire for people to watch me. And I have no inclination to play ball games naked. This is for me. I relish the sense of being in my own skin. I feel more in touch with myself. There's a certain intimacy about it," she has always said things with such feeling.

"By the way, that's something I'd like to keep between you and me."

"No one knows?" I say, thinking it stupid after saying it.

"Don't be silly. They would think it ridiculous. I don't do it when anyone's around. No. I'm by myself. Usually I sit naked and read or type emails. Sometimes for hours. It's actually very pleasurable."

She sips the wine, leans her head onto the back of the chair, resting and staring out into the dark, the sounds of waves breaking loudly across the shore.

"So I just thought, after this afternoon, you wouldn't mind. You've seen more than this anyway now." She says quietly.

"But you said it's something you do just by yourself?"

"It is private. Very private. And you're the only person in the world I would let into that part of my life," she tells me. "We're on the same page, you and I. I think I know that better than you do."

Why is this happening now? I think to myself. Why does she now think we are on the same page after years of not being. I feel uneasy again.

Yawns and thoughts of sleep. I definitely need it. The idle relaxing and sun exhausts one's bones, dries out the skin, dehydrates. Then I'm remembering there is one bedroom. As if by telepathy we move into the room without saying anything. The breeze light, though steady, still leaves the room warm. We push down the top sheet. She, still in panties and tee shirt, me now down to my boxers. Only a foot apart, yet there is no cuddling, no spooning, no touching. We both just fall to sleep.

The second day and it's Sunrise. My favourite time, if I can make myself rise early enough of course. As a family we sometimes used to walk the beach before first light, a time when all is still and silvery grey. Then the gulls glide about overhead as the sun peeks over the ocean, lighting it, a glittery affect on the waves. I remember someone wrote, "and by degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them." Our mother would recite those lines to us on cold winter evenings when we were younger, nights the three of us spent planning our next beach trip for the summer ahead. I begin to wonder has she got anything to do with this change in my sister?

On this particular morning, my eyes focus on my still-sleeping sister, lying on her side her back to me. Beyond her by just a few feet, the bedroom window and the ocean, little by little coming out of the darkness, all life and form returning to it.

The sight of Sarah is warming. I'm actually lying here thinking a lot about Sarah. Such an enigma to me now all of the sudden. Walking around in panties and those perky boobs, wow. Telling me she likes to be nude. I thought I knew her. Maybe I don't. During conversations she always preferred more challenging topics. "What are you passionate about, Alex?" she will ask. "What book are you reading now, Alex? Tell me about them and don't forget the juicy bits." More than a few dinners and lunches have been spent with myself, mum and dad discussing her deep interest in farming with great detail, a passion she now has as a job. Never discussing anything sexual in the slightest. Not even an innuendo I can recall or remember!

As I'm thinking this I have an epiphany moment. Many of the paintings here, those most known to us, are of beautiful turn-of-the-century women, titillating and suggestive portrayals really. Many are nude but only from the back, no intimate body parts on show. Some are groups of women nude together, gathered around a bathing pool. These are all new thoughts for me this morning, I've never really looked at them in that much detail before.

I look back over at Sarah. It took a moment to register that her back is bare. Sometime in the night she had taken off that small tee shirt. I can't blame her. It was such a humid evening. My attention turns in the early sunlight and to the smoothness, the creaminess of her back. Her shoulders toned, her waist narrow and perfectly curved. I study the curve up her hip as it flares out. I can see the crease in her panties that separates her perfect bum cheeks . The faint scent of her skin fills my nostrils, a mixture of sea salt, milky tanning lotion and perspiration. Her hair tousled from sleep, but perfectly cut and still lustrous. Although still young, she nonetheless exudes an erotic air I have never before imagined in her. In the space of less than one day, she has, to my mind, evolved from a sister to a flawless young woman. This thought stirs me to arousal, I can't control it. She could have been on one of these canvases on the wall I think to myself. I have never before sensed any of this and that uneasy feeling I had last night returns.