It will always amaze me how a few words spoken in casual conversation can drastically change your life. I am still puzzling out the events that forged the chain of luck and circumstance that led my beautiful sister Kathleen into my arms.
The world changed on a warm summer evening in rural New Hampshire, when Kathleen and I had a rare moment alone. My wife, Catherine, and I, Kathleen and her husband, Mark, and my brother, Fred, had converged on my mother's home for a weekend of drinking, barbecue, conversation and croquet. But on this Saturday afternoon, Mom was away in town for one of her many volunteer committees, Catherine was summoned to fill in for a colleague who had suddenly fallen ill (she's a reporter), and Mark and Fred had gone off fishing somewhere.
So, it was just the two of us, my sister and I, in wicker rocking chairs on the back porch, sipping bourbon and looking out over the placid pond as the sun sank slowly in the western sky, crickets and frogs filling the air with their music, a gentle sultry breeze blowing through the pines, oaks and maples.
Kathleen wore a pale blue sleeveless pullover blouse, denim shorts and sandals, her feet up on the rail. Happily, she was in my natural line of sight, and I let my gaze wander over every pleasing inch of that lean and lovely 28-year-old body, made taut by a daily morning swim, imagining us together in my old bedroom, those legs parting ever so slightly as my lips and tongue explored that bountiful and generous cleavage, the curving breasts that I imagined would overflow my palms should I ever get my hands on them ... her long, tawny legs, flat, smooth belly ... The bourbon in her glass nicely complemented her dark, sharp eyes and set off her thin red lips. Her thick mahogany hair was pulled back and held in place with a simple brass barrette; when she let it loose, it fell gentle and free about halfway down her back.
An agreeably lustful glow spread across my loins and I quietly became erect. Kathleen finished her drink, poured another.
"Albert," she said.
Must be serious, I thought. Usually she calls me Al.
"Nobody's going to be back for a while, right?"
I shook my head and lied, "I was just thinking about firing up the grill for dinner, just the two of us."
Kathleen turned her rocker to face me, having difficulty forming words, leaning forward as if someone could overhear. I patiently sipped my drink, my curiosity as well as my cock aroused.
"There's almost nobody else I can ask about this, but I don't want you to think I'm weird or some kind of sicko," she said. "You promise?"
"Of course."
"It's about Mark. I-- I--" She took a deep draught of her liquor, draining half the glass. "Oh, hell. What do men like from a woman in bed?"
Absurdly, my first thought was relief that she didn't want a loan, so stunned was I by the question. "Generally, free access," I said.
"Don't joke," she replied. "This is serious. I think Mark is seeing another woman. I need to know what to do to keep him. I have to be able to compete. I have to save my marriage."
"Kathy, I don't understand. Isn't your sex life satisfactory?"
"Perfunctory is more like it." She paused to sip some more liquor. "Oh, I shouldn't be talking about this! Not to you!"
The thought of helping my beauteous sister with a sexual problem put my dick into overdrive and had I stood up right then she would have seen a gigantic tennis ball in my pants, inches from her face. The image of pushing the knob of my cockhead between her slurping lips filled my head. I wanted to bury my hands in her thick chestnut hair and ever so gently show her the right way to give head. To conceal my hard-on, I scooted my chair around and leaned forward, taking her hands in mine.
"You said perfunctory," I said softly. "Does that mean your lovemaking isn't creative and exciting anymore?"
She nodded. "I need something new. I need to know what men like in bed so I can give it to Mark and keep my marriage together."
"Tell me what you do with him now. Tell me why your marriage is in trouble over this."
At that she balked and refilled her glass. We drank quietly for a moment, she more than me -- the alcohol was burning in my head, and an evil part of me was plotting how to best take advantage of this situation. Besides, I never liked that son of a bitch to begin with.
Kathleen spoke for about ten minutes, her voice low and halting. Essentially, the two of them went through the same motions every time when they went to bed. He'd usually make the first move, they'd kiss and caress for a few minutes, grind their way to orgasm, and then fall asleep. But even that had fallen off lately, and Mark had been showing all the usual indicators of adultery -- a sudden interest in exercise and weight loss, better taste in clothes, nights out late, clearing his computer screen whenever Kathleen walked into the den, and just a hint of strange perfume lingering on his collars.
"Your wife says you're a tiger in bed," she said, "and you've been married longer than I have. What's your secret? How do you keep it fresh?"
"Well, this is going to sound a little funny, but ..." I tried to tell her, but it came out sounding like some sort of alien sex-ed video. How do you talk to your little sister about the secret to great sex? I saw disappointment form in her deep, dark brown eyes, and I couldn't have that. Finishing my glass, I said, "It's too hard to explain, Kathy. I know you're going to hate me, but the only way I can help is to show you."
Kathy's face went blank with shock.
"I can't believe you said that," she said. "For real?"
"Maybe you'd be better off seeing a sex therapist," I said. "Talk to someone dispassionate about this."
"But passion is what I need!" she snapped, her ferocity surprising both of us.
She glanced at her watch; we both knew we had at least two hours before anyone came back to the house.
"If you promise not to tell anybody, ever," she said, "I'd like you to show me just a couple of tricks. Okay?"
Now it was my turn to be shocked. I nodded, disbelief, I'm sure, all over my face.
"Let's go to the guest room," she whispered.
I rose, a little unsteadily. Kathleen's eyes widened a little at the thick bulge in my jeans, but she didn't say anything. I tried to take her hand, but she batted it away. We made our way upstairs to the guest room, which was at the far end of the hallway, near the bathroom. As teenagers, we both took our dates in there because it was out of earshot of the rest of the house and had a communicating door to the bathroom.
The door closed softly, and I was alone in a bedchamber with my beautiful younger sister. We stared at each other for a moment.
"Just this one time," she said resolutely. "And you don't ever breathe a word to anybody."
"I promise." I took her in my arms and prepared to kiss her, but she stopped me.
"I can't," she said. "That would be too weird."
