This story is a very slow burn and involves incest between a Sister and Brother. Expect it to be about 14 stories long. Some parts posted will contain two stories combined. Eleven are already completed.
The story only contains sexually activity of a brother and Sister over 18 years old.
While set during the Paris Olympic Games and its historical setting. None of the athletes in this story are meant to represent any athlete competing in the games. Or other persons otherwise living or dead.
Inspiration in the Louvre
I did not wake early in the morning. I can remember me hearing myself groan a few times and realised I have a date with the Louvre. Lucky they don't open till ten. Fresh coffee smells waft in from the lounge. I stretch and try to remember the night. I flick through the photos. Apparently I had fun. I even had some film of an Italian athlete feeling me up as I danced. I quickly switched it off.
God that was when Sam interrupted and I nearly raped him then and there. Oh God.... then he took me home. I wasn't that drunk was I, but I do remember trying to seduce him in the taxi. And the kiss. I never want to forget that kiss. For me it was my first kiss. Well my first kiss of passion. That counts doesn't it. So he's my brother, tell me it still counts. My gay brother....
I go in and nurse that coffee. Mum and Dad are quiet around me. I get a hug around the shoulders from Mum.
"Good night huh? "
"What I can remember."
"How did you get home? "
"Sam dropped me off before he went back to the village."
"He's a good brother."
"You can tell me the juicy details later. Girl chat, I don't think you father wants to know."
And she left it at that. I crawled into the shower and wished I could smell my brother on me.
After I freshen up and dried myself I looked at my figure in the full length mirror. I wanted to see a sex goddess in the reflection but all I saw was innocence, a young, rounded, well shaped body with adequate breasts and soft features. The Italian was right. I was not a hardened athlete. But his simple passionate compliment was food for my confidence in that this body was alright and it will do someone.
I then left Mum and Dad and caught an underground train to the Louvre. I rather think they were pleased to have me go. Dad pushed a large euro note into my hand and said see you when the Gallery closes. Mm time for parental hanky panky. Imagination! that is TMI.
Now I have visited a lot of the National and State art galleries in Australia. But wow this place blew me away. I could spend weeks in here. I know I had to be strategic. I did not want to go and see Mona, why waste precious time in a crowd with scant views. So I went to the Greek sculpture gallery first.
In my mind I'm comparing these beautiful works to the body's that had been my study these last few days. I had remembered comparing the guys to the Greek Kouros form, but the archaic period the males while nude were less chiseled, minimum muscle definition. More like I remember Sam a few years ago when I last saw him dive. Much more innocent.
Then the classic period was mainly what I had appreciated this week. Clearly the perfectly defined and proportions body was the ideal body they were after. These were the athletes of the first Olympiad. It was a quiet gallery and I so wanted to run my figures over the forms. Then again I may have to settle to rubbing sunscreen into Sam instead. I hope I didn't scare him off with the Taxi incident. Perhaps he gets into the male form himself a bit too much. I sigh and move to the chicks.
It's a different way they presented the females. The archaic period the girls, Kora, are clothed but with alluring, very sexy cloths, that got more see through as the style developed. Like a sexy nighty. Innocence and virginity are the themes. But please display your wears. It's funny how scanty clothing is more sexy than total nudity. Of course they were made for the male clients. Was homosexuality a big thing in the culture. Plato or Socrates, I'm not sure which said it's the right of every citizen to have a young male. Of course only males could be citizens.
I know I'm going to be studying gender politics in art in my course. This is interesting stuff. Particularly when I get to Venus De Milo. Wow, I so want to look like her. I think that's how I will look in ten years time, if I don't have kids. Sumptuous oozing sexuality. Now nude but not naked, not ashamed. Why is our culture so hung up on driving our girls to thinness?
Wow, and as if in contrast the Nike of Samathras is so powerful. So authoritative, so incredible.
I take a lunch break and think. Is Sam same sex attracted, homosexual? I've just spent the morning amongst a crowd of perfect bodies. Granted with hearts of stone. I know it breaks my heart. But who can resist falling in love with perfect diving bodies all around you as your day job.
I genuinely think that we as humans are capable of loving and falling in love with anyone given the right circumstances and right intimate moments. But then we also can't help who we get hard for or in my case, who I get wet for. Damn or be damned. I got wet for Sam before I could even think about him being more than my brother.
I don't know that this walk around the Louvre has helped my dilemma or given some answers. It has sure raised questions. I decide to spend my afternoon walking through the paintings, but only looking at the nude ones or the overtly sensual ones. What do the master artists tell me about my newly awakened sexuality?
That's what I do; Scanning, stopping, scanning. Only once am I really really stunned. It was the painting 'the Raft of the Medusa' by Gericoult. First of all OMG it is huge. All I've ever seen are illustrations is a book. Wow, with this thing you get lost in the sea. The figures are life sized. You could be on that raft. The ultimate virtual reality painting.
But it was my dream. It floods back to me. All those bodies in the pool swimming in my cum juices and they can't escape. The rejected divers because they didn't measure up to my ideal. Am I to be a Medusa that breaks my lover on the rocks of despair? Or have the sirens got me, calling me to the rocks of passion? Drowning in my own passions and selfishness. Will pursuing this love destroy both Sam and myself?
Lost in this raging sea the gallery announces it is closing in ten minutes and I stumble toward the entrance. Profoundly moved and affected.
All I can say to mum when I get back is mind blown. We sit and chat while we watch the closing ceremony on that small TV screen. It's in French so we don't understand much. We scan the Australians as they enter. I think I saw Sam, but it was so quick and he was up the back. Of course as it was not an Australian broadcaster, the coverage was not edited for us.
We also discus tomorrow. Am I not told anything! Yes we are picking up Sam but no, we are not going to the South of France tomorrow. We are staying one more night here. Mum and Dad have tickets to the Moulin Rouge. I'm being left in the care of Sam. I can't say I have a problem with that. BUT I do have a problem. Now they tell me I'm sharing my bed with him tomorrow night.
This unit has only two bedrooms and no couch to speak of. I lose my shit. Typical sister share bed with brother protest. But the truth is, how the hell am I going to not lay my hands on him. I will be so wet and so horny. I don't trust myself. I don't care if he's gay, if I sleep in the same bed as him I'm fucking him.
Of cause I don't say that to the parentals.
Dad makes it worse by informing me that I need to get used to it. We will be sharing a room and often a bed in most places we are staying in Southern France. We we are not made of money. We have to make do. I look to mum for support but she just apologetically grins and nods; true.
"It won't be all that bad and you can chat and catch up. Just make sure you wear some appropriate nightwear. I'm sure Sam will be wearing boxers. God you've seen more than that all this week."
"Not the point Mum," I grumble. "I'm a girl. I need my girl space."
But I can't do anything about it. Eventually we head to bed. Eventually, being once the extremely long closing finishes. I did see a few people I know from last night and enjoyed pointing them out to the parents, although most of the time it cut away before I could get the name out.
In my room I was like a cat on a hot tin roof. What can I wear? It was going to be hot. It's summer, and it's hotter the further south we go. I really need a suit of armour. Or at least long-johns and a straight jacket. A crop top and panties is not a good idea. It's so hot, and I've been so hot that I've slept naked these last few days. And Sam was responsible for that hotness. God how am I going to rub one out. I've just found the joys of masturbation and I'm not prepared to give it up so easily.
Maybe I ask Dad to tie me to my side of the bed each night. I might trust Sam, but I don't Trust me. Given that this is for a week, if he is gay then he won't be by the end of it. Maybe I should just join a nunnery. That would solve all my problems.
How can I sleep now? I'm frustrated, horny, angry and frankly stuffed. I'm not hormonal yet but everything has got too much. I'm just in love. Let me be in love without all these complications. I curl up in a fetal position and just cup my mons.
I do sleep if fitfully. I wake sometime in the night and rub a small one out. But this only encourages dreams of Sam and beds and unfulfilled erotic nights spiced with nightmare.
