Irrational Exuberance

I've never liked my sister, never got along with her, not in the 18 years we lived together at 34 Hillside Drive, not during the few times she'd come home while going to college and not in the four years since, so I wasn't pleased when she called: she said she was moving to my city and needed a place to stay for two weeks until she could get settled.

When she showed up on a Saturday afternoon I wasn't surprised to see that she hadn't changed much, maybe aged a bit, that was about it. She was still really thin, I could say that much for her, but she still looked like the archetypal anal librarian, the one who tells you to 'shhhush': severe-looking, with greying hair, glasses, a good rack but wasted on a sexless frame. I pretended to kiss her on the cheek, pretended she was welcome and pretended to help her get settled. Two weeks. Fuck.

By mid-week, I was becoming increasingly abrupt with her and it was frustrating because I knew she didn't deserve it: she did all the cooking, all the washing, all the cleaning and in my relatively small apartment she did her best to stay out of my way.

On the following Friday morning I ran into an old girl friend; we met later that night for a few of drinks, enough so she started looking pretty good. I wrestled with it for about 6 seconds then said 'fuck it' and asked her back to my place, knowing that Alice would be on the couch with her legs tucked under her, nursing a glass of red wine while watching CNN.

After my curt introductions Alice moved from the couch to the chair, but that was her only concession to us; she wasn't going anywhere and I thought it would be a bit too sudden to drag Wendy into my bedroom. Instead, I threw a light blanket over us and settled against her, just sort of testing the waters.

I've done this before, usually in the back seat of cars, make out while others were close by. It's really exciting to go as far as you can and still be discreet. Wendy found it pretty exciting, too because she gave as much as she got, and you never saw the blanket move; you never heard a noise from her. But if you were in the room you'd have to be pretty much brain dead not to sense that something was going on under that blanket. And my sister isn't brain dead.

She was peeking and it really surprised me that her subtle little peeks were turning me on, mainly because she was pretending not to. But she was, there was no doubt about it and unless I was totally fucked up, it seemed that the Ice Queen was into a mild melt.

I don't think I was actually trying to be mean to her but I'll admit I was trying to shock her when I let the blanket slip from me so she could clearly see that my pants were open and Wendy had me by my shaft. Unfortunately, Wendy notice this, too and wasn't at all pleased: she beat a hasty retreat — and not on me.

But the whole blanket thing turned me on, even more so the next day when Alice pretended nothing had happened. I guess that's why I decided to up the ante.

Freddy, that's her name. And she looks like a Freddy: over weight, big breasted and a little stupid, but a gamer, God knows Freddy is a gamer: she once blew me in a movie theatre, my reward for a particularly effective hand job: if anyone was going to stick and pitch under that blanket it was the Fred. So when she called me the next morning, really, right out of the blue, I hadn't heard from her in years, I suggested a time and place where I plied her with drinks before we headed to my place.

I knew Fred from my school days and I guess Alice did, too because they seemed to recognize each other and offered an awkward greeting.

It was clear from the get-go that Fred didn't understand the nuances of the blanket game, the no noise, no movement part. In fact, to her the blanket quickly became little more than a nuisance, to be swept aside; she wanted to get at it; she could have cared less who else was in the room.

But I cared, a little, so I tried for discretion but just for awhile until I realized that when you're making out, the discretion of one is patently pointless: she wanted everything I could give her and she wanted it now.

And Alice? She was way past peeking, she was staring, and judging by the weird look on her face, liking.

I'm a whoremaster, a swordsman, a sexsmith. I'm not proud of it but I've been this way since I got out of high school; I chase everything I can with a primordial lust. And I carry a terrific trump card: there is something about the way I look, smell or act that tells women that if they go out with me, they're going to end up in my bed. I get turned down a lot but when a girl says 'yes' to my advance, she knows what that 'yes' means.

Freddy knew this because the moment we got under the blanket and I poked her playfully in the ribs she started taking things off, off her and off me and I soon reached the point of 'irrational exuberance,' the point when the body tells the mind to 'fuck off' and you just get at it.

I was in Fred and she had her legs scissored around my waist and was squealing in joy when I glanced up and saw my sister looking at us, calmly, analytically, like a librarian would. But not quite. She had a haunted look, too; it was kind of chilling, it made me look away and I concentrated on Fred and in a few minutes we were still, panting but still.

"Would you like something to drink?" Alice was standing on the other side of the coffee table looking down at us, waiting for our response.

"Can I have some more wine?" asked Fred, making no effort to cover up.

"I'll have a beer, thanks."

When Alice delivered our drinks Fred sat up, flopping her large breasts onto her wide, white belly and stretching her naked legs onto the coffee table, "So what's it like watching people fuck, Alice? I've always wanted to do that. Is it the same as watching porn on TV?" As she sipped, she looked over her wine glass at Alice waiting for her response but when Alice didn't say anything, Fred prodded her, "I imagine it would be pretty frustrating. Is it?"

"Yes." Alice's laconic response sorted of stunned me; it never occurred to me that she could feel sexual frustration; she always seemed sort of sexless to me.

Then Fred went further, "I would imagine the temptation would be to want to join in, wouldn't it?" I was taking a slug of beer when she said this and I almost choked. When Alice didn't bite, Fred prodded her again, "Is that it? The temptation to want to join in?"

My sister was looking at her knees when she said, "Yes," and I've never been so shocked. But that shock soon turned to disbelief.

"So if we did it again, you'd like to join in, is that it?" Wendy's word were so calm they sounded as if they had been scripted.

Alice's response was almost inaudible, but it was immediate, "Yes."

Before I could digest the single word, Fred said, "Great!" and was on her feet and pulling me to mine, "Let's go!" I put on the brakes, this was getting way too weird, even for me, but Fred was having none of that: she roughly pulled at my arm, "Get fucking serious," she said, as it that wasn't my precise point. I went and when we climbed on the bed together we were shucking the last of our clothes.

But we were alone; when I checked the doorway Alice wasn't there and I felt a sense of relief — I had no idea how I was going to deal with her if she had been. But in a moment there she was, framed by the doorway, a black silhouette against the bright light in the hall.

"Turn on the light," Fred demanded. When Alice did Fred pushed me down. With both of them looking at my totally nudity I felt like a helpless turtle overturned on its back, my arms and legs kind of jerking in stupid protest. That's when Fred bent over and took my stiff prick in her hand like a joystick. She was looking up at Alice, "Well?"

"What do you want me to do?" Alice's voice was weak and uncertain.

"Well, you can start by getting naked." Fred's words had a 'duh'-quality to them.

I would have bet big money that Alice would bolt at that moment but she didn't, instead, she started to strip and a look of horror must have materialized on my face because Fred was laughing at me when I looked up at her.

But when I looked back at Alice it was clear she was committed to Fred's orders, she had everything off but her underwear and that was going now.

Bias, bigotry, blinkers, blinders — it you want to see something a certain way, you will. As I've said, I've never liked my sister, never gotten along with her, never given her the time of day; she had always been a bit of an embarrassment to me, awkward, unattractive, uninteresting. I've never even bothered to take her for granted. My sister had never been a factor in my life.

But she was now and I had no idea what to do.

Alice isn't good looking, like I said, not ugly but not very appealing either, mainly because she's so severe-looking, like a chemistry teacher or the head of a temperance movement. But I now realized to my utter astonishment that she has a vicious body on her — it shocked the shit out of me. She is thin, to the point of skinny, I could probably have counted every one of her ribs, but she has superb breasts, not too big, but huge against her thin frame and she has something that has always gotten to me, well, two things: as thin as she is it's really easy to see the entire outline of her mound, it's unbelievably prominent, topped by a tangle of hair that her DNA has formed into a wide landing strip leading to her remarkably flat stomach, as flat as a tarmac. It was hands down the sexiest looking groin I'd ever seen; I don't know why but the moment I saw it, I felt a flush of pride for her: what an accomplishment! The prettiest pussy in town!

"What now?" They were Alice's words and a very good question for which I had absolutely no answer. But Fred did, she sprang off the bed and led Alice over to it and sat her down beside me; I was still feeling like a beached turtle, a confused beached turtle.

It was as if the moment had locked in freeze-frame; it seemed to last an hour: two naked siblings on a bed together. I didn't know what to do, my sister didn't know what to do and Fred had retreated and was leaning against the doorway studying us. Then she lobbed in her directions: "Now, I'm going to live out my fantasy by watching two people fuck."

These words absolutely stunned me, stunned me into momentary paralysis — and just as I was about to struggle from the bed, Alice swiveled around and climbed over me, splitting my legs with her knees.

I was at the point of irrational exuberance again but this time my rational mind was fighting to dominate my irrational body: my head was positively screaming 'Fucking your sister just isn't right!' But my body was saying, 'Look closely, asshole, your sister is fucking you.' And she was or she was beginning to.

As she began, one of the reasons why I had never liked her became clear: it was the way she did things. I've never realized it before, but that's what I've always hated about her, the way she did things. She had her knees between my legs but rather than do what any normal woman would do, spread my legs, punch her pussy with me and buck, she did it her way, in that unbelievably pedantic production she made out of everything.

Bending over me in concentration, she used her left knee to encourage me to spread my right leg, then, once I got the position right, she hesitated for a moment then did the same thing with her right knee, forcing my left leg out. Then she seemed to rest, as if consolidating her gains, before taking my prick in her hand, then shuffling forward, then placing me in her opening. I watched with a mixture of horror, fascination … and distain: everything she did was like a unit of energy: she would move, stop, move, stop, move stop as if everything had been thought out and programmed — there was nothing fluid about it, nothing spontaneous, nothing passionate, she seemed just to be following Fred's orders; she seemed to be an autotom not yet completely programmed and I realized now that this was the thing that drove me nuts about her: she just seemed so fucking pedantic.

But her sound was passionate, the soft sound of satisfaction as she slid me into her wet hole and she gazed down on me as she moved slowly against my prick, up, down, up and down and I could see love in her eyes, I mean real love, painful love as if she ached with the stuff and in a few seconds she came, unbelievably quickly, with a blissful cry that echoed long in my ears.

She was lying on me, twitching with the last spasm of her orgasm when Fred pushed her off me. That's when I got what I was used to: Fred jammed me in her and fucked me until I exploded.

I thought of fleeing the apartment the next morning but I knew I had to face her sometime so I was drinking coffee at the kitchen table and pretending to read the newspaper when Alice came in. She poured herself a cup and sat across from me. "Why have you always been so mean to me. I've never understood it?"

She was looking at me, intensely. She wasn't annoyed, just curious. "I've never …"

She put up her hand to top me, "Please, you've been mean to me your entire life and I've never understood why."

I didn't either, not any more. "We're different people, Alice, I didn't want to be mean to you, it's just that we have nothing in common."

"We're siblings for God's sake."

I didn't know what to say, I mean, how do you tell someone you find them too …meticulous?

But she knew what she wanted to say. "Did you know that I've worshipped you for as long as I can remember?" My shock must have showed, "Did you know that I'd have given my spleen just for one kind remark from you, one generous gesture, one hint that you cared just a little?"

I've never felt like such a shit, but it was about to get worse.

"And how did you expect me to feel the other night when you brought that woman home, what was her name?"

"Wendy."

"Wendy. How did you want me to feel as you felt her up, not two feet away from me, felt her up when you wouldn't even give me a hug when I came here, not having seen you since mum and dad's funeral? How was that supposed to make me feel? Were you deliberately trying to stick it to me?"

"No," I lied, and I could see she didn't believe me.

"Because it didn't work, did it? I could see there was only one way to deal with you. Do you know what I did?" She waited for me to respond, but I had no idea what she was getting at, and anyway, she was letting it all out and I thought that would be good for her, and for me.

"Do you know what I did?" This time she didn't wait for me, she just kept on going and her words shocked the shit out of me. "I phoned Freddy, I've known her for years, known she's a nymph for years, and I told her to call you; I told her what I wanted; I wanted either you to fuck me or me to fuck you," her eyes were welling with tears, "because I want our relationship to change and that's the only fucking way I could think to change it, the only fucking language you'd understand."

I didn't believe her, it was insane that she could have planned the entire evening but as I fast-forwarded through the chain of events her story became increasingly more plausible, but she had moved on in a different tact now.

"When we were growing up I cooked for you, every night, but you never once said thanks. I did your laundry, cleaned your room, organized your life but if you noticed, you never let me know it. When I went away to college I came back every weekend, but you didn't care, you weren't even there half the time, so I started staying away, hoping you would care, but you didn't. It's hard to love someone if they don't give a shit about you." She had more. "When I phoned a few weeks ago, I actually thought you'd turn me down. It kind of shocked me when you said I could stay with you and I got really excited, maybe you had changed, maybe you would recognize how much I love you, maybe, just maybe, you might care a little about me. But when we met, that peck on the cheek spoke volumes and you've pretty much ignored me ever since, just like you used to. And then Wendy … that was the last straw." She got up and walked away.

I helped Alice move into her new apartment the next Saturday, it was just two blocks from mine. In fact, it was the first time I'd seen her since the morning after The Event a week before. I felt so shitty about what I'd done I couldn't face her; to avoid her, I left my apartment early and returned late.

She was leaning against the sink drinking a glass of water when we finished arranging her stuff. There are a thousand reasons why I did it, mainly they had to do with guilt, but I walked up behind her and placed my hands on her hips and leaned into her, like you might to a loved one. I think what I was trying to convey was that I did care and I was sorry for all the years of misery I had caused her.

Her response was immediate, as if she expected me to be there; she took my hands and brought them around her waist and she held them as she cuddled back against me.

I had trapped myself. What do I do now? I didn't know. But she did. After two long minutes she released me, turned around and wrapped her arms around me and pushed her face into my chest, "Why have you hated me all these years, Jim, I just don't get it."

And I didn't get it either; that's about all I'd been thinking about since The Event: why did I feel the way I did about her; obviously, it wasn't anything she had done; the only thing I could trace it to was her slow perfectionism, like I've explained, but that now seemed pitifully trivial, in fact, non-sensical because when I remembered our brief and immoral tryst, I remembered the deliberate way she took me and it was a real rush: the very thing I had subconsciously hated about her was now turning me on. How sick is that?

I wrapped my arms around her and held her really tight. When I spoke it was the very first time I've ever been truly honest while holding a woman, "I'm sorry, Alice, I just can't tell you how sorry I am."

"But why, Jim? What did I ever do to deserve the way you treated me?"

I didn't know, and that's what I told her, that it just started when we were kids and I just never got out of the habit. "I think I just hated our family, right from the beginning, and you were just a part of it."

"And I didn't?" She looked up at me, tears in her eyes, "They were awful, but it didn't mean YOU had to be. You were all I had. We needed each other. I still need you, I'll always need you."

I was starting to understand that I needed her, too. I've always been empty, remote, detached — from everything and everyone. I've never had a meaningful relationship in my life and I knew that that had to change; I had to find someone solid I could believe in and over this past week it had become increasingly clear to me that she was that person; I needed her to help me make sense of my past; I needed her to help me get value from my future. That's what I told her.

"Do you mean it?" I could barely hear her, her voice was muffled in my chest.

"I feel like an absolute shit, Alice. I absolutely mean it, I want you in my life."

"So, are you going to change?" She had pulled away and was looking at me, skeptically but behind the tears there was some hope in her eyes, too.

"Yes," I said, and as I kissed her on the forehead I knew I meant it.

She took me by the hand and lead me to the couch and when we sat down she leaned into me and wrapped her arms around my chest and just held on.

One of the things I had thought a lot about in the past week is how much courage it must have taken for her to arrange for The Event. I mean sex as shock therapy! Who would do that and how desperate must she have been to do it? It was just so hard to believe that this little slip of a thing would go to such lengths to repair a relationship, I mean how many taboos did she break: incest, group, voyeur — Jesus, just to tell your dumb ass brother that he was a shit but that she still loved him anyway?