Touching Sarah

I always think of my sister wet. Always have, seeing her come out of the shower with a little towel around her and her hair tousled, I'd think, that's my sister, that's what she looks like under it. Long before I knew this was sexual thinking, I imagined her nude, unchanged under all the vast variety of clothes she wore. As I saw her discard clothing, I was more convinced of my mental image of a single naked sister under it all.

Wet, from the shower. Wet, from swimming with me, first in a single-piece then as she grew older and it made a difference, a bikini. At the beach or in a municipal swimming pool, once or twice in a stream when we went camping. This was the closest I got to the body within the appearances.

If she sunbathed I saw the slick of the cream. If she worked in the garden I saw the glow of sweat. Because I thought of her wet, I picked up these signs; and at night, thought of her like that, glistening and coated, and slippery for those who touched her.

It was a long time before I, or anyone else, did touch her. She was a schoolgirl, with a laptop and books on German and commerce, with CDs I couldn't stand and silly posters over her walls, and we seldom spoke. Way back when she was fifteen her boyfriend almost died of a drug overdose, and that sobered her up a lot, made her more adult, and gradually made me notice that she wasn't my kid sister any more, but, like me, someone real, and coming closer to adulthood. Our serious conversations lasted longer.

Sarah, her name is. Sarah Anne Richardson, wants to be a teacher when she grows up, which is a new resolution, having dropped the idea of being a model. That's one thing we began talking about. Laughing at her being a model, with that body. She said she was plump, I said she wasn't as skinny as a rake: really she had a nice normal body with too much thigh, a bit too much tummy, and mottled arms and freckled chest. Lovely, but not a model.

'I've got nice boobs, though,' she observed one day.

'You have. You've got nice everything,' I agreed.

She screwed up her nose at me and poked her tongue out. Wet. Her tongue looked so wet. Suddenly my wet naked sister bloomed into my consciousness and I looked at her very differently. The growing-up body fused with the old slick image and I felt a jolt of lust. I saw her for what she was now, and could be, and would be soon.

'Andy said my boobs were super boobs.'

'And I suppose he knew them inside-out.'

'No, actually. Never got that far,' Sarah said wistfully, staring into the middle distance. I'd never really known if they'd 'done' anything, as I thought of them as kids, but who knows, perhaps they'd gone all the way. This wasn't the first time I'd wondered: but it was, with my new image of Sarah, sexy, ripe, with a body that invited contact.

'Well I like what I've seen.'

'Yeah. I don't like my body but I'm not, you know, haven't got a body image problem like some girls have.'

'You're gorgeous and if you weren't my sister I'd...'

'What?' she said with a coy smile, turning to face me.

'You know.'

'No.'

'You know... I'd like to fuck you, of course.'

'Mmm. I think it'd be nice being fucked. I suppose. People say it is.'

'You'd like it. I wish I could, but you'll have to wait for some other guy.'

'S'pose,' she said, yawning and stretching as if she was tired of the conversation. She lay down on her bed and I admired her. I'd said what I wanted before I could think about it, and she hadn't minded, but doing anything about it was a different matter. Her T-shirt was riding up over her hip, exposing a little flesh. Before I could caution myself, I bent down and kissed it, then got up to leave. All I got for it was rather a pleasant, vague smile. I left her room then, but carried with me the smell of moistened flesh, and it added to my repertoire another very strong image of my sister Sarah, wet.

That night, inevitably, I thought of her when I relieved myself. Never before had I allowed myself to continue thinking about her all the way through. And I had dreams of her, I think. 'Come... take me... ask me... you know I want to.' Dreams are so, so misleading, but so strong, and this was one that did not fade but fixed itself comfortably into the deepest parts of how I felt about her. It changed the way I felt about her, and the following morning I relived my imaginary delights and turned over how real I wanted to make them. Yes, I did. And so far she had not turned me away.

Then the thought came that I had not got close; there was nothing to turn away. A peck on the midriff and the brave word 'fuck' half in jest. She was a sensible grown-up: why should she mind these or give them the thought I had?

It was more than a week before we had a chance to talk seriously again, at least, when I felt comfortable approaching her, knowing what my secret thoughts were. The opportunity just hadn't come up. You can't just say, 'Hey, remember the other night we were getting close to...?'. But she was friendly. Something had changed, we were friends, we were little adults all of a sudden. I touched her on the shoulder, I gave her smiles, little experiments like that, and she was cool about it.

One night she came out of the shower, wet, exuding, sexy, sultry, a different person with my awakened interest in her. I passed her and touched her wet, slick, hot shoulder, and you know what she did? Turned back towards me, smiled, glowed, almost purred. So I followed her into her room.

I'd done this before and of course had had to leave once she wanted to drop the towel and dry and get dressed, obviously. This time we talked, she brushed her hair, reached for the hair-dryer but let it drop, and kept talking. Plans, and thoughts, and nothing too memorable really, just talking like friends, and she's this completely naked woman under only a single towel. I could see legs, chest, and her pretty face, but none of the nudity.

Then she gave it to me. Just stepped to one side, dropped the towel, turned away to fossick in her underwear drawers, and turned back to me to keep talking. Full on, just my sister, no big deal, we're talking, and she's pulling pants up round her legs and I'm seeing my opportunity go away...

I know, I know I shouldn't be looking at that pussy hair, the pinkness of her nipples, even the muted fold beneath the hair, but so quickly the flash will be gone, perhaps for ever: and would she have done this, so casually, had she not wanted me to see? Was she telling me anything? I could make this so much worse if I read it wrong.

So I lean forward, stroke her breast, just a touch, she stops. Looks at me. I really don't know how she's looking at me. Softer than anything, and firm and warm. That's just a moment with the edge of fingers: a nothing, a harmless friendly nothing. Please believe it if I go too far.

'Remember I said I'd like to fuck you?' I said.

She waits, and after a moment when I think she's angry or hurt or something I realize she just doesn't know how to react, she's torn inside herself. I even bet she's thought about this as much as I have. I move my hand a second time, a lighter stroke over her nipple. Can I see a faint smile?

I reach my hand down. It rests in hair I've never touched before. No man ever has, I think. She's newer to this than I am.

'Do you want to?' I say.

'Incest,' she whispers. Is that a smile?

'I know,' I say, almost a whisper, but with urgency. 'Do you want to? I want you. I want to have you.'

She swallows, she looks slowly down at where my fingers are now entering her, and I know she must have done that to herself many times, she looks so pleased at seeing mine there. Her wet hair flops over her shoulders; her breasts sag; her lips are curved and curled in an uncertain, sensual way.

'You shouldn't be in there till I've decided,' Sarah says in a low voice. I apologize in confusion as I bring my fingers up towards my nose: they weren't inside her, just slid within the parting of the folds for a few seconds, but the sliding was soft and almost liquid, and on my hands is a perfume so rich my eyes flutter and shut trying to impress the memory. The taste rests on my lips. Now she's looking at me with a smile, a real and curious smile.

The white pants flecked with flowers and stained with use have fallen unregarded to the ground, and the hand that held them is cupped a little towards me. My eyes rove over her nudity, and over her uncertain face, the face that I've always loved and now the fresh, clean sex that might be mine for asking. There's a silence between us, and I don't know whether to speak or worship.

'Decide?' I say with an unsteady, hoping smile.

She shrugs her shoulders a little, sending ripples of bounce over her breasts for me to watch. The whisper from her tangled mouth could be 'maybe'.

Kneeling, I begin worshipping her, hands around her hips, fingers on my sister's naked bottom, lips butterflying across her belly. My tongue emerges and touches the skin, laves the skin. For the first time I myself am creating the intoxicating moisture upon her body, sea of my dreams. My hands press her closer and my nose enters her navel. I dare not yet go south, but the fuzzy hair is close enough to kiss, and it tastes new-washed, wet not from excitement but from the shower: part of me wants to delve for the deeper excitement I am sure must be there by now, but I am afraid.

There is a long, windy sigh above me, and a gentle hand on my head, stroking me once, then coming to rest very lightly on my shoulder. I become conscious of my clothes. Perhaps she would like to see me without, or perhaps that's too precipitate. I rise, wanting to see in her eyes and graceful face what she might want next. My mouth brushes one nipple in passing but I forbear to go further. We're standing, looking at each other.

'We haven't kissed,' Sarah says, almost as if I'd been impolite, but no more than impolite. She's trying to keep smiling, but something inside her is hurting. I think it's the pain of decision.

If so, kissing would be so much more favourable than clumsily rushing her secret places. We've never kissed on the lips, of course; barely brushed cheeks a few times when we've hugged goodnight, several times after staying up late with drinks and an old film after Mum and Dad had gone to bed. Once I'd had my arms around her for an hour or more, just casually. Never anything like this: no hint of bare skin beyond her arms, no hint even of kissing the way you kiss a girl.

Her hair is limp and wet against my sleeves, and the first kiss doesn't work, in the rubbery way it happens between people who aren't sure about it. She pulls back her head, raises her hand, and drags her hair back behind her ears, then returning my embrace settles in with a tip of her head and lips parted and pushed towards me. We begin to kiss.

It goes on, and on, beautifully, radiantly hot, squirming in each other's gripping arms as we get used to it and surrender ourselves to passion. I love my sister, and now here I am loving her as I seldom dared imagine before. And within my arms she's naked, and might be willing to give me everything in love. My tongue licks into her and hers replies, making me imagine her creating wetness upon my body: then a strong vision obtrudes, because my erection is hard against her and she is yielding and returning the pressure.

'Is it okay if I undress?'

She nods, a vigorous, repeated nod that makes her hair caress my hands and her bosoms jiggle. I pull back so I can see them, and hastily unbutton my shirt and take it off. The cuffs delay me but Sarah has stepped back a pace and is watching with frank interest, and once more I can see her whole voluptuous form. My penis is bursting to be released but next comes my singlet, then my socks. No-one else will be home for hours yet, if the party our parents are at is like the others; but I mentally rehearse how long it would take to get away safe if we suddenly heard the door. I decide the easiest route is just to grab my clothes and scoot naked across to my own room, which I'm sure can be done while they're still downstairs. With this in mind I place my singlet and socks on top of the shirt.

A hand touches my ribs, traces down to my navel, rests on the hairy skin of my belly where it meets the waistband. Sarah caresses to and fro between there and the smoothness of my hip. She extends four fingers into the hollow under my trousers, then her longest finger come to rest in the cleft of my thigh.

'I love you.'

It changed tempo in a flash. Sarah accepted my love and a probing tongue kiss. She accepted my fingers straying across her breasts, downward, over her pubic hair, and between her legs. This time I continued into her vagina and she seemed to suck my fingers up, so easily were they welcomed. Sarah's fragile moans breathed over my face as I devoured it with kisses. Her hand was digging deeper in my underpants, cupping and weighing my scrotum then squeezing the shaft. I dropped my head down to suck her breast, hard and roughly then softening and licking. We broke apart and both gasped.

There was a wild look in her eyes. I tasted my fingers then reached down to my trouser button, but she made a quick movement and displaced me. She undid me, unzipped me, and pushed the clothes away and down. She was looking down at my penis as she caressed it with one hand, and I was falling in love with the curve of her neck and the flawless skin of her shoulders.

It all seemed to be happening at last, and I thought I could push her a little: as I stepped out of my trousers I pressed her shoulders down; she, understanding dropped to her knees and took me in her mouth. A glorious burst of heat gripped me, and I couldn't do anything but feel her velvety mouth squeezing me. Wanting both to explode within her and for this rush to build up endlessly, I was momentarily disappointed when she withdrew her mouth and turned away from me.

Her bottom was too beautiful to resist, and I dropped to my knees and kissed it, as she took condoms from her chest of drawers. I had just time to lick both cheeks and dart my tongue at her centre when she turned back to me with a sly smile and an unwrapped condom.

'So I won't have to worry about a hymen then?'

'No,' she answered, eyes widening. 'Did you really think...? Get on the bed.'

She lay between my legs and sucked me rigid again, drying hair flopping about my loins. I wanted her to stay there forever, but she sheathed me in a smooth, practised way, and crawled and sat up so that we were near to joining. Only then did the flurry abate and she looked down at me with her head on one side.

'What?' I said.

'You want to?'

'I want you, I love you, I want to fuck you.'

'It's scary. It's so...'

'Don't be scared,' I told her.

'Love you,' she said.

I held out my arms to her and she straddled me, and mounted me, and held my penis while she got into position. Then with one slow, deliberate movement Sarah my little sister enclosed me and lowered her torso onto me so that our chests touched: then our mouths: and we began to kiss and kiss and kiss as, at first, we just felt her vagina hotly round my penis, then hesitantly began to work them together.

In her passion she looked so sultry, her lips flaring and her eyes burning into me when she let them open. I was raking her bottom, gripping, trying to pull her further onto me; I rolled us over so that I could thrust deeper, harder. It hurt her, but it delighted her, and her cries of 'oh god' were ragged and bitten out. Our tongues were crammed as tightly as we could, then I would withdraw and lick her face, wide wet sweeps as she mewled and jerked in cumulating pleasure. I bit her skin, sucked hard to draw the marks up, on her shoulder and upper breast and upper arm.

Once more I edged my hips upward, shifting the angle, and then at last the flood began and I could only exhale as I came in my sister under me.

We lay on the bed. Any moment I expected to hear the door rattle. This was like a dream turned flesh, and I feared for its impermanence, but Sarah's naked body was hot and solid pressed against me, and her tongue kissed and murmured, and painted invisible lines over my chest.

Needing release, she crawled over me again, face down, pulling off the condom and taking me in her mouth while I was still hard and sensitive. As she licked around me and took my balls in her mouth, she lowered her liquid pinkness onto my mouth. I pulled her cheeks apart, licked inside her, plunged my tongue in as deeply as I could reach. She pushed down on me so that I could barely breathe, and I nuzzled the tip of my nose into her anus, then came out to lick it as I grabbed air.

Then I went to her squirming depths, hearing her gasp and stutter as I moved upward or inward. She came. The violent rocking of her limbs somewhere above me abated; Sarah flopped onto my face and I lay breathing her taste. I felt her heartbeat. After a minute she sucked me, I came again, and we moved face to face. There we lay half asleep, half kissing, till our parents returned and I had to run.

Next morning I was awoken in my room by her in a nightgown, which she threw off. We made love hard and quickly, stifling our sounds. In the afternoon we had a chance together, but were afraid of being caught if we undressed, so we exposed the minimum and fucked harder than ever. That night we had no more protection, so we shared oral sex at eight o'clock and again at half past midnight, though we were both aching. Our lives changed magically.

Today I hardly remember any details of those, but the first time we made love is impressed forever, second by second and look by look. The tableau of Sarah wet, a little shy and vulnerable, but welcoming, as she dropped the towel in front of me. I always think of my sister wet.