For weeks, I was anguished. Watching my brother suffer from some unidentified ail was so difficult. He would pinch his fingers over the bridge of his nose and squeeze his eyes shut, sucking air in and out of his mouth as though something hurt. He'd stumble out of his room in the morning, and it was apparent that he hadn't slept very well. His healthy, athletic, 19-year old body would slump over at the dinner table, as though he was injured. I wanted so desperately to help, but even the most simple inquiry would make him defensive, and more withdrawn. He never stopped being kind to me. He was helpful and loving. He was as attentive as he ever was. But he was bruised, damaged, harmed. From a cause, and in a way, that I did not understand.
It pained me to witness. Although I never expected he would confide in me, his baby sister, I really wanted to help. I wanted to know. I wanted to feel what he was feeling. I wanted him to dump his hurt on me. Unload the pain, whatever it was. Absorb it into myself.
I loved him. I didn't love him in the way a sister loves her brother. Though, I suppose I did. There was certainly that conventional love between siblings. But I loved him deeply, romantically, erotically, achingly. Not the way a sister loves her brother. The way a woman loves a man. His suffering, even though its cause was a mystery to me, only made me desire him more.
This was not some flighty, adolescent crush. It wasn't lust, either. It didn't happen overnight. It just was. It was always there. It was something I knew, as well as I knew who I was, where I lived, that I was alive. I was in love with Matt. Matt happened to be my brother.
I was resigned to live a life that did not contain any romantic love, because the romantic love I needed would never be available to me. I poured myself into my studies in a way that even I knew was unnatural and all-consuming. I was that kid you would hear about studying for seven or eight hours in a single night. It kept the demons at bay. As far as vices go, I suppose it was better than drugs, or shopping, or eating. I was such an analytical creature. If I had an interest in any subject, I'd learn about every detail, every facet, every fact. I was amassing knowledge as a substitute for the gaping hole in my heart. I was collecting. It filled the holes. It muffled the trembling, throbbing need between my legs.
As for my unfulfilled lust, what could I do? I bought a vibrator, which could bring me to orgasm, but I knew would never substitute for the touch of the man my body craved. I would lay in bed and fantasize about a man on top of me, taking me, plundering his dick into me. He would start as a nameless, faceless figure. Just a blur. But slowly his body would take form, his face would take shape. His face would start to go from a hazy blob to a more focused image. One with wavy brown hair, beautiful hazel eyes shaded by dark lashes, and dark brows. A square jaw. A graceful neck that was just a hair too long. Broad, strong shoulders. A chiseled torso. It was Matt. It was Matt every time.
Matt would come in from a jog and throw his sweat-soaked shirt into the hamper. About once a week I'd retrieve a freshly worn shirt and go into my room. I'd inhale his scent on the soiled clothing. I'd let myself get lost in the smell, the moisture, the very idea that the shirt was just on his body. Eventually, that familiar ache would start between my legs, and I'd lower the shirt, rubbing a bunched-up fistful of fabric against my pussy. I'd massage just over the hood covering my clit, pressing harder and harder, until I came. Unbeknownst to him, for the past couple of years, Matt had been the source of practically every orgasm I had.
******** On the first Thursday of October, I was in my room studying AP Chem. It was just past 11:00 pm, and I knew it was time to give it a rest for the night. After the third or fourth time reading the same line without comprehending a word of it, I knew I was useless. I threw the book closed. I was walking down the hall to go to the bathroom when I realized how still the house was. This happened often. Matt would be sound asleep, and my parents, if they were awake, had a bedroom two stories below ours, so the house would feel so still and empty. I'm not sure what compelled me, but I decided I'd pop my head into Matt's room, just to watch him sleep for a minute. When I was younger, I used to crawl in with him, but stopped doing it when it became socially unacceptable. How long ago was that? Eight years ago? Ten?
I slowly opened the door to his room, and peeked my head in. It was very dark, so it took my eyes a moment to adjust. It wasn't silent. What was that noise I was hearing? A squishing sound. It was my brother, on top of his sheets, hand greased up with lotion from the bottle on his nightstand, and he was jerking off.
"Matt!" I whispered. I don't know why I thought getting his attention would be a good idea, but for whatever reason, it seemed like the right thing to do.
He didn't respond, and he didn't even look my way. His head was tilted back. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark, but finally I saw that he had on his big noise-cancelling headphones. He had no idea I was standing there.
I wanted so badly to get closer to him, to see what he was doing, to see his cock. From my angle, his hand was just a blur. How long had he been going? How long would it take for him to cum?
I took one step forward, and then stopped. This wasn't right, and he'd hate me. He'd never talk to me again. This was private. This was not my space, not my world. The world of Matt's sexuality was off limits to me. I had long ago passed the feeling of guilt for my extreme attraction to my brother; if I had been given a green light, I would have acted on it without any hesitation. But I would never allow myself to ruin our relationship. The desire was mine, not his. That road traveled in one direction only.
I took a step backwards, then another. Then a third. I closed the door to his room. I pivoted on the ball of my foot to turn toward my room, took one step, and nearly collapsed. I pressed my thighs together as hard as I could, and I came, right there. The lips of my pussy barely brushed against each other and I unraveled. I hadn't even touched myself, and standing in the hallway outside my brother's room, I had the most intense, amazing orgasm of my life, until that moment. I didn't even know I was turned on until I let my brain process what I had seen. My body was flying forward, and my brain was delayed by several seconds. I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. I lay there for some time, before picking myself up and going to my room. My panties and yoga pants were soaked with fluid. They made an obscene noise as I peeled them off my body. I took a clean washcloth and wiped myself down. I thought about showering, but felt so completely exhausted, I couldn't even re-dress myself before crawling under the covers and drifting off to sleep. I was still in a partial state of arousal when I drifted off. Every cell in my body felt like it was vibrating.
********
Friday morning I woke up as aroused as I was when I fell asleep. The alarm jarred me out of my dreams, and I dragged myself into the bathroom to shower. The bathroom was still a little steamy, probably from Matt.
"Mathy?" I called to his closed bedroom door, but there was no answer. He was probably already downstairs.
I went back to the bathroom and took my shower, lingering a little too long. Sometimes I'd let my mind wander, and imagine what Matt would do in the shower. How he'd wash his hair, soap his body. I would wonder if he jerked off in the shower, and if so, how he did it. Eventually my hand would find its way between my legs, and I'd rub to ease the ache. That's what happened on Friday morning. With the darkly-lit visions from the previous night still fresh in my mind, I had a fairly good orgasm.
********
I wasted too much time in the shower. I was now in a rush to get myself dressed and hopefully bum a ride from Matt to school. I threw together my bookbag, and grabbed a jacket which never quite made it onto my body.
"Michelle!" Mom called up the stairs. "Michelle! Breakfast!"
My mother's voice caught me off guard. I stumbled, and barely caught myself on the railing. My bookbag wasn't so lucky; it made it to the bottom of the stairs before me. "Shit! Be right th---shit!" I stubbed my toe. Finally I made it into the kitchen and threw my stuff into a corner. I didn't bother with the jacket. I was incredibly clumsy. It's a miracle I hadn't had any serious accidents by this point in my life.
"Sorry! I spent a little too much time in the bathroom this morning." Hey, I was nothing if not truthful. I sat in the empty chair at the table. I was scared to look at Matt, because I couldn't trust my own reactions.
Eventually, I glanced at Matt, and caught him staring. He was starting at my chest, which made me feel a little self conscious, and more than a little flushed. I thought I understood: he was a guy, and that's what they did. My tits were a little bigger than I would have liked - they were more than a handful each. I tried to wear clothes that didn't draw attention to them, but given their size relative to my frame, it was hard to not look busty, no matter what I wore. I wanted to flatter myself and say that Matt found them sexy, or that he found ME sexy, but they're just tits, I reasoned. They could have been on anyone. He quickly averted his eyes, but then reached across the table and handed me the carafe of orange juice. It made me smile, that simple task. He knew me so well.
"Thanks Mathy" I leaned my body toward his and pressed my shoulder against him. He looked at me so lovingly. And something else. It was longing, it must have been longing. I really wanted it to be longing, but couldn't permit myself to get my hopes up, so I chalked it up to simple kindness that I was misinterpreting. I somehow suspected that I wasn't Matt's type. I don't know what his type was, actually. Thinking back at some of the girls he dated, there was nothing they had in common with each other other than the fact that they were female. But me? None of them had anything in common with me. If Matt had a type, I wasn't it. I didn't fit that type at all. Not to mention the fact that I was his sister. While I may have been comfortable with my own unnatural feelings toward him, I couldn't imagine they were reciprocated.
"Any Friday night or weekend plans, kids?" Dad spoke up. I think this was directed more at Matt than me, but I could sense Matt's discomfort, so I decided to offer my answer first in the hope that they'd lay off him and leave him alone.
