Our naked bodies are slick with soap and water as steam from the shower rises around us. My palms are flat against the shower stall and hot needles of water are stinging my face as my sister Kathleen moves in close behind me, flattening her perfect large round breasts against my back. Her palms soap my chest, stimulating my nipples, reinforcing my already strong erection. Her face flat against my back, Kathleen's smooth, well-soaped fingers find their way downward to my hard, wet and now familiar dick. Her right hand encircles it and moves gently, slowly up and down its unbending length, creating a bubbly foam and making it very, very slick; it should slide deep and smooth into Kathy's snatch. Her ministrations are bringing me to the point of orgasm. I push back from the wall in time and turn to face her.
Kathy's eyes are full of laughter and mischief as it is her turn to lean back against the stall's shining white tiles. We embrace as tightly as we can, enmeshed in a deep, soulful kiss and grinding our bodies tightly together, covering each other with soap, lather and bubbles.
I have never been happier.
* * *
Kathy's departure left me stunned at first, and then I was despondent for weeks. As an act of desperation, I even tried to reconcile with my wife, but it was no use; my sister's face haunted every kiss, and I simply could not match the intensity of the passion we shared with anyone else.
Images of Kathleen's lean and luscious body thrashing with orgasm in the arms of another man also tormented me. I couldn't imagine someone so lovely and alluring remaining unattached for long. More than anything else, I did not want to fade in her memory, our luminous and white-hot affair shrinking away to become just a sordid and never to be discussed chapter in her life. On the good nights, I would relive our times together, of playfully persuading her out of her clothes, of her teeth taking little nibbles out of my neck as our bodies moved together in perfect unison on my bed, her face contorted in passion as she looked down the length of our torsos to watch my incest-stiffened cock impale her over and over again. I would invariably have to change the sheets after those dreams.
But more often I would dream of watching her from outside a bedroom window on a cold dark night as she murmured endearments to a stranger whose back was always to me, but who fucked into my sister with force and fury. In these dreams she would sometimes glance out the window and see me there forlorn, glare for a second, and fuck her stranger all the harder. My pillow would be damp with tears after those dreams, and I had them often.
Catherine and I went through the slow trudge of uncontested divorce. Not having children, all we had to do was settle property, rather easily done once we decided to sell our house and split the proceeds. The final hearing took all of ten minutes; one tap of the gavel and it was done, the only good thing coming from it being that each of us was about $75,000 richer. We managed one final, joyless embrace in the hallway, and then my wife walked down the hallway through double doors and never looked back. Fifteen years of marriage gone, as ephemeral as a dissipating cloud.
I collapsed into one of the chairs in the waiting area, never feeling more alone and abandoned in my life; I had once loved her, after all, and it was her affair, not mine (did she even know about mine?) that brought us to this. An afternoon at the bar seemed in order, but then I spotted the lawyer representing Kathleen's husband in their divorce, talking to someone in the hallway. In a sudden flash I realized something: no matter where Kathleen had disappeared to, her divorce was taking place in this New Hampshire jurisdiction, and that meant a case file, and in that case file would be a current address.
My heart lifted, and I raced to the clerk's office and sure enough there it was. My face clouded a little when I realized she had not moved to Europe as she had told me; she was across the state in, of all places, Grafton County.
You lying little bitch, I thought, but with a smile. An afternoon at the bar was still in order, but now I had to think. For once, I was completely at liberty: unburdened by a wife, possessed of a fair amount of money, and having a lot of vacation time built up. Three scotches later, I had a plan.
I rented a motel room in the town where Kathleen settled, parked outside her building and waited. My sister seemed to have done well out of her divorce, too. She lived in on the third floor of a brown brick 19th-century warehouse that had been converted to apartments in one of the towns near Dartmouth College. No more $400-a-month walkups for this girl, I thought. From the street, it looked like a spacious two-bedroom, overlooking the town on the south and the mountains to the east.
It being a Friday deep into autumn, my hopes were dependent on Kathy coming straight home after a long week at work and not having made plans with the mysterious and evil stranger who haunted my nightmares. Five o'clock went by, then six, then seven. By seven-thirty night had fallen, the temperature had dropped to the mid-thirties and the wind started to pick up; not only was my car getting cold, but my breath was frosting the windows. I was ready to give up, but then I spotted a familiar pine green Volvo with a much-missed silhouette at the wheel, turning off the street into the parking garage in the warehouse's basement.
My heart leapt when I recognized my sister's lovely, longed-for face, her dark hair pulled back into a bun -- blood rose to my cheeks and my heartbeat climbed a bit as I wondered what I would say to her, terrified as to what she might do. Part of me wanted to just pull out into the street and maybe make a phone call, but I suppressed that part and crossed the street, hoping I could make it to Kathleen's door in time.
Up the stairs I went, two at a time, racing the elevator to the third floor. It stopped at the second floor as I rushed through the corridor door, and marched down the hallway to No. 33. The gentle ding! of the elevator now, and I heard my sweet sister's voice for the first time in what seemed like a decade as she muttered and struggled with the little wire contraption that contained her groceries.
I stepped up behind her and muttered, "Would you like some help with that?"
"Oh, thanks, that'd be-- Oh my God!"
A full range of emotion -- shock, surprise, disbelief, love -- crossed her face, and then she checked herself and tried to fake disappointment and anger, but I was not fooled.
"How did you find me?" she asked with a forced frown.
"Diligent detective work, darling." I tried what I hoped was a winning smile. "If you really wanted to go to Europe, you should have taken a right turn at Greenland."
Despite herself, Kathy smiled. I tried to take her in my arms, but she resisted.
"Al, you know we can't. Don't you remember why I moved? I can't get started with you again."
"Kathy, do we have to discuss this in the hallway?"
She shrugged and, to my surprise, she gave me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, taking care to avoid the magic wand beginning to swell under my zipper.
"That's all you get," she said as she opened the door to her apartment wide to let me haul the groceries in. I took a peek inside the plastic bags: Italian bread, marinara sauce, assorted vegetables, a couple of eggplant, two large bottles of red wine, and some hamburger.
The apartment reflected Kathy's flair for interior design. A huge mirror took up the western wall, which gave the illusion of size and would also increase the light and heat when the sun rose in the morning. On the other walls were some of the more tasteful prints and photos from her previous abode, and she had also added some tall plants. She'd also bought some new modern furniture, and lit the room with tall, subdued black floor lamps. A bare brick fireplace took up the northern wall.
But one small gold-framed photo in particular caught my eye; she'd placed it far back on the mantel so no one would notice it easily. We'd had it taken at the height of our affair, when we ducked into Massachusetts for a day of shopping and spotted a photographer set up near the food court. We were happy and laughing, the perfect couple. My heart lifted when I saw it; perhaps she truly missed me after all.
Kathleen took my jacket and removed her thick beige winter coat. Underneath, she wore a tight black sweater that conformed snugly to the curves of her body, outlining her spherical breasts and slender waist. She wore tight blue jeans that rounded the rest of her, and around her neck she wore a pretty blue paisley scarf.
