Big Brother Comes Home

We had been married almost ten years. Everything was going great; the home we built together was finished and exactly what we both wanted, even the granny annex was furnished to perfection. My dad passed away a few years ago and mum couldn't live alone, so we added the annex to our home for her. She now had her own home and privacy, but we were only the other side of the dividing door if she needed us. Life was good. We were happy and my husband had a great job with an excellent salary. What more could one ask for?

Then it happened. He came home early from work and his face told me there was something very wrong.

He sat at the kitchen table, took my hand and said, "I've been made redundant."

His firm had gone into receivership. All the staff had been laid off and it felt as if our world had collapsed around us. What on earth could we do? The mortgage still had to be paid. We had some money put aside for rainy days, as many couples do, but it was pitifully small when compared to the outgoings of a home as big and costly as ours.

The mortgage was insured, but it only paid the interest. To cut a long story short we were getting further and further into debt when one of his ex workmates phoned and offered him a job. It turned out to be a very well paid position but it involved a lot of travelling abroad. He didn't want to take it, but we both knew it was the only thing he was likely to get as the market decreased. The recession was setting in.

He took the job and left for Africa the first week. He was gone for almost two months. I longed for his return, his arms around me, his loving, and his sex. We had a very active sex life and enjoyed making love as often as possible. You don't realise how important it is until it's not there.

While all this was going on in our lives, my big brother was going through a very messy divorce. His wife was never on my best friend list; she thought she was too good for our family, putting on airs and graces that she didn't really have. She, with the help of a divorce lawyer, took Bernie to the cleaners. He was broke. I felt so sorry for him. He had given her everything but finished up broke and very unhappy. Unfortunately, he still loved her and couldn't stop talking about her. He used to visit us every week, mostly to see mum, but always spent an hour or so with me and my hubby. That is, until my man went to work for this overseas company.

Bernie was getting desperate. He was living in very unsavoury accommodation and paying through the nose for what was little more than a room. On one of my husbands rare visits home we talked about Bernie, and decided he could come to live with us. It would be company for me, and it would mean a man around the house to protect us weak women, and do the little jobs that confused the mere female mind.

I put it to him on his next visit. He was over the moon, insisting on paying us a reasonable rate for his lodgings and being so close to mum would be a big bonus for him. So within a week I had my brother living in my home. It felt strange, having to get dressed and make myself decent every time I stepped outside my bedroom. I had been in the habit of walking around indoors naked; in fact we both did when my man was at home. It saved so much time when we felt sexy - nothing to stop us from going straight for it. Perhaps that's a little crude, but you know what I mean don't you?

I had a habit of getting up in the morning and, after a quick coffee, visiting mum. I didn't have to go outside as we had a connecting door. I would make sure she was alright and then I had some breakfast, before taking a shower and getting dressed. Up to that point only a light dressing gown to cover my body - it was warm and safe so I really didn't need to dress before my shower.

Now that Bernie was living in my home I had to be much more careful. He caught me naked on several occasions before I got used to covering myself up when I had ventured out of my bedroom. But, being my brother, it didn't seem to matter too much.

This state of affairs went on for months - me longing for my man to come home and Bernie longing for his unworthy wife who was filing for divorce. One night we were sitting watching TV; the programmes were rubbish so I turned it off.

"How about a drink before we both go to bed?" I asked Bernie.

He nodded, "Perfect!"

We both sat, drinking a glass of wine, talking about our lives in a slightly sad way. I was bemoaning the loss of my man, and of course he was missing his wife. I suppose I shouldn't have had that third glass, because it always goes to my head and makes me much more honest to the point of being careless what I say.

"What do you miss the most when Andy is away," asked Bernie.

I just blurted out, "Sex," without thinking.

It was the wine talking. Without its effect I would never have said that to my brother if I had been sober.

Perhaps without thinking, I added, "It's the honest truth. I miss Andy more in bed than any other time. I miss his strong arms around me and his body next to mine - not just the physical act of making love, but the whole togetherness thing."

Bernie nodded, as if fully understanding me.

He said, "It's the same for me. It's what I miss the most as a result of the divorce. I love her still and miss her in bed at night."

I smiled and said, "We are typical brother and sister aren't we? We both miss the same thing."

Again that was not my usual line of conversation, but Bernie drew me into his spiral of despair.

"Most of all," he continued, "I miss the actual act of sex and not so much the loving side of it."

It surprised me, because I thought it was real love, and seemed he missed her as a sex object more than anything else. He then went into graphic detail of how they made love and how often. It appeared his marriage was as sexy as ours, both of them fucking like rabbits. I have often asked my husband if he had his long ears cut off, because I'm sure he was born a rabbit. No other animal is as randy as those little furry creatures, I know, for I have watched from my window as a buck has one doe after another, sometimes as many as ten without taking a rest; very much like my man.

I don't know how the conversation got round to me because the next thing I knew Bernie said, "I wish you weren't my sister. All those years we grew up together, I always thought you were the sexiest girl in town."

I had never even given me a clue he fancied me; he must have been terribly frustrated because we used to go skinny dipping in the river - until I grew up, that is, and became more coy and realised the big difference between girls and boys.

Even then, we often passed on our way to and from the bathroom, both of us naked. Even in my early twenties I thought nothing of passing him on the landing on my way to have a shower, with nothing on. It seemed quite normal to parade nude indoors, even both mum and dad did the same.

It was only after I married I became more careful of being naked in company. I think perhaps it was Andy that taught me to be more careful, as he put it.

Bernie continued, "If you only knew how much I wanted to hold you and make love to you, as teenage siblings living at home with mum and dad."

I was aware that his words were starting to have a strange affect on me.

"I remember how your titties would stand out so proud," he went on, "and how your tummy was always so flat, and the muscles always showed just that little bit. Not like a body builder, but defined and sexy."

I felt that sexy moisture beginning to flow as he admitted, "Your long, sexy legs were often the stuff of my wet dreams; most of my pubescent wanking."

This talk was getting to me quite a bit, so, despite the drink, I said it was time for bed and went to my room, actually locking the door behind me.

I lay in bed thinking of what he had said and hoped it was just the alcohol talking. Maybe he wouldn't remember a thing about it in the morning, but I couldn't get it out of my mind. Despite loving my brother as I grew up, I never thought of him as a man. He was just my big brother Bernie and he was always there. He taught me to ride my bicycle and later my horse. He taught me to ride that damn scooter that both mum and dad hated me riding, and then to drive a car.

Laying there in my bed, my thoughts went back to our early days; he did take a lot of time and trouble to make me happy. I thought it was just brotherly love, but as the memories flooded back, and I analysed them in light of his revelations that evening, perhaps he was being more than my big brother. Just maybe he did fancy me as a lover, not his little sister.

I couldn't help myself my fingers crept down my tummy, to that special place where only Andy had been, my fingers touching that little spot, the one that made me oh! so sexy - my clitty. I rolled it around for a while but needed more, so I went for, it rubbing it hard and strong until I exploded into a fantastic orgasm.

Now it had become frightening. It wasn't my husband, as it usually is, that flashed into my mind. My thoughts were of Bernie as he patiently taught me to drive his car. How he touched my knee and pressed on my leg to make me de-clutch, and the way he reached across my body to turn off the wipers that I mistakenly turned on to indicate I was turning left. It had looked just the same as the indicator stalk to me at the time, but the memory of his arm brushing against my titties was quite clear in my mind after all the years that had passed between then and now. I eventually drifted off to sleep, my immediate need being satisfied.

Morning came all too soon. I put my long dressing gown on before unlocking the door, making quite sure I was adequately covered before I took the risk of meeting him on the landing. He was similarly dressed, not just his boxers that morning. Oh god! He did remember our conversation of the previous night, just as I did. He had reacted in a like manner, covering up the obvious attraction we had for each other, or at least the naked flesh that had fired his imagination all those years ago.

I almost regretted not seeing him in the same light as he obviously saw me. What had I missed out on, having a hunk of a man in the house with me all those years without realising it? There had been many times when he had made good use of my charms, if only in his dreams and in privacy of his bedroom. At least he had made more use of my young nubile body more than I had of his. I looked at him, his dressing gown so long it almost touched the floor, about as long as mine. I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing.

He smiled and said, "We both thought the better of it didn't we?" And he kissed me on the cheek, as he did most mornings.

The tension broke and we carried on as if last night's conversation hadn't taken place. I did my morning chores and made sure mum was comfortable. She didn't go out much, only into the back garden, as her hips were in a bad way. I took my shower and started to put my long ugly old dressing gown back on. But did I need to cover myself up? Bernie had seen me every day for most of my life, both scantily dressed and often naked. Why, just because he fancied me as a teenager, should it change the way I lived my life?

I dumped the dressing gown in the clothes basket and walked out, head held high, as naked as the day I was born.

I felt sort of elated as I walked the length of the landing to my bedroom, as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Why should I pretend in my own home? As I turned into my room I heard the sharp intake of breath. Bernie was standing just outside his bedroom door - the look on his face spoke volumes. He hadn't lost any of that desire he professed to me last night. He still wanted me, just as much as he did then. All the kind thoughtful things he did for me as a kid, were they to help me as I had always thought? Or perhaps they were to get me into his bed?

I shivered at the thought. Could he really want to make love to his sister? Wasn't that illegal or something? At the very least, it was frowned on by society, and it was something that had never even crossed my mind. Despite my obvious revulsion to the idea of brother and sister making love, my pussy did that special thing. It sort of griped tight and relaxed as it does when my man comes home after one of his long trips abroad. It sort of pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

I sat on my bed, thinking this was not good. I would have to ask Bernie to leave, or at least live next door with mum, as she had two bedrooms. I dressed as carefully as if Andy was returning home but he wasn't due for months yet. My newest undies, the thong and quarter cup bra I loved to wear for my man, all in red silk. A slinky top and fairly short skirt, as it was too hot for tights or even stockings, so I left my legs bare; then just a pair of low mules and I was ready to meet the world. But was I really ready to meet Bernie?

Walking down the stairs I wondered at my dressing in this obviously sexy outfit. Why had I tarted myself up, did I want Bernie to take it further, did I want to go to bed with my own brother? I felt a mixture of disgust and elation at the thought. After all, he was a handsome son of a bitch, one of the best looking blokes I have ever seen. Did it really matter that we were siblings?

I didn't have time to come to a conclusion because as I walked into my kitchen he was sitting at the table eating his breakfast. I looked at him as never before, his curly hair as it flicked up at the sides. He needed a hair cut, but his face had that James Bond sort of rugged charm - just a hint of stubble on his chin giving him a slightly roguish look. Oh god! He was so bloody handsome and I hadn't noticed until now just how attractive he was, even in his old work clothes.

He hadn't got a job at the moment and so did most of the heavy work in the garden, taking the place of my husband. But did I want him to take the place of my man in my bed as well? He stood up and brought me a cup of coffee. My eyes involuntarily took in the masculine shape of him, even noting the bulge of his cock as it pressed against his tight trousers. It made a big strong statement of his virility.

What was I doing looking at my brother like this? I needed a cold shower, not a cup of hot coffee. He touched my shoulder as he put the cup in front of me. It was just the merest brush, but it felt like an electric shock. I flinched at that and he smiled at my reaction.

He sat down opposite me, his face serious. "We need to talk about this, Chrissie, before we do something we both regret."

I couldn't answer him, my mouth had gone dry. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I just looked at him with a wonder in my eyes. How on earth could I have missed his obvious love for me? I knew he loved me, of course, but as a sister, not a conquest.

Neither of us spoke another word, just drinking our coffee. Then we went about our daily tasks, me tiding up for mum and Bernie getting out the tractor to cut the grass. I listened as he drove the grass cutter round and round the garden cutting the almost half an acre of grass. It was a job that I normally did, as the tractor is easy to handle, and it doesn't have indicators or wipers!

Finishing mum's quarters, I set to work in the kitchen. But his image, sitting there so much a man, made butterflies keep attacking my tummy, sending those oh so wrong signals to my sexy bits. I could feel my nipples brushing against my blouse as I moved around. My pussy kept on doing that funny little throbbing, as if I was thinking about my husband. It was as if it were preparing me for a sexy interlude that would last all night on his return from abroad.

Yes, we still loved to make love to each other, and with him being away for so long it was like a honeymoon every time he came back. We acted like young lovers, but with the knowledge gained from being married for several years. Both of us knew just what buttons to push to make the other ecstatically happy. We could press those buttons all night, not sleeping until we were totally exhausted and spent. Then we would wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

Andy usually came home for a month before he had to leave again. The first week was a continuous round of unadulterated sex, both of us gagging for more until we had got it out of our system. Then we settled into a more normal round of making love once or twice a day.

These thoughts kept mingling with the image of Bernie as he drove the tractor past the window every few minutes or so. I would just get my mind straight and remember my position as a wife when he would come chugging past again, making me think of him, and wondering if I would really let him make love to me.

Bernie came in for his elevenses as usual.

"It's certainly hot out there," he said, sweat dripping from his face. "I'm going to change into something cooler."

I made him some tea and cake for his break. Oh god! How could I have lived with this man for so long and not noticed a thing about him?

He walked into the kitchen in shorts and a muscle vest, his legs so toned and firm, his shoulders straight and strong, his biceps bulging. His shorts, however, were the thing that I couldn't drag my eyes away from. The bulge was so obvious. He had a hard-on. I could see the outline of his manhood, so clearly defined by the tight shorts; everything about him screamed sex. How could I not have seen this before? He had seen me; he hadn't missed anything about me as we grew up together but I had missed out on so much. Why hadn't I realised what an absolute hunk he was?

He smiled at me and said, "You'd better not let Andy catch you ogling my bits like that or he will think you fancy me."

I wanted to tell him just how I felt, but again my tongue was stuck firmly to the roof of my mouth. I mumbled something totally unintelligible and set his elevenses in front of him standing back to prevent me from grabbing him.

He sat in silence as he munched through the cake I had made only that morning, licking his lips in a most provocative way. It seemed as if everything he did today was turning me on, luring me into his web of fantasy.

I had to go out that afternoon so set out some food for his lunch and made sure mum was okay before driving into town in my car. I met my best friend for lunch and we sat in this little café.

"How are things going for you and Bernie?" she asked. "Is he managing to sort his life out?" She hadn't missed his obvious charm, adding, "You're really lucky, having such a nice sexy brother."

I knew that she'd always fancied Bernie, and was quite distraught when he married a girl from work. She never liked the girl any more than I did. We often dragged her through the mud in our conversations. Why hadn't I seen the fantastic looks and charm that my brother exuded? Mary, my best friend, had pointed them out to me often enough, she questioned me about why I was slightly 'out of it', as she put it.

I couldn't tell her I was crazy about my own brother and that I was seriously considering sleeping with him. In fact the more I thought about it, the more it seemed as if there was nothing I could do to prevent it. It felt as if it was destiny, that we were meant to be together, but I was happily married to great man who I loved to death. How could I allow myself to be thinking like this? Not only would I be unfaithful, but I would be committing an illegal act with my own brother. Incest is an ugly word that conjures up the very worst images in most peoples' minds. But I was committed to it and, despite my denial, it was going to happen. It was no longer if, just when.

Twice Mary had to bring me out of my reverie. I had gone off into that world of incestuous sex, she made me break my thoughts and continue the conversation. But every time she mentioned Bernie I went off again, into my own little world of imagination.