This is absolutely and wholly fiction.
When you introduce Elle [Eleanor] to us I can see the way you watch her and fawn over her. Mom dotes on the ring and the engagement and Daddy pokes fun of you, asking how you could have possibly tricked such a pretty girl into marrying you.
She is pretty, and sweet. Mom obviously adores her, and you can't keep your hands off of her. You hand is always cradled in the small of her back, or touching her hair gently, or grasping her hands. The two of you sit very close, and she beams at you with every stall in conversation. Mom comments on the chemistry and Daddy congratulates you.
The funny thing is your unusual behavior towards me. You hardly look over at me, and you haven't said anything more than "Hey, Claire," since the two of you arrived.
At dinner time Mom asks that I set the table while she and Elle linger in the kitchen discussing finances for the wedding. Daddy – per Mom's request – is up in the attic digging out the old photo albums of you as a baby, a toddler, and a teenager. By the time I've set the five spots at the table, Mom and Elle are just now talking about venues and the reception, totally lost in the conversation.
Curiously, I head upstairs where you bedroom has been left untouched since you left for college. I find it strange how distant you've been… you raised me… we were practically best friends, and more. When I was born sixteen years ago you were only ten, but you took responsibility when Mom and Daddy were at work. I was attached to your hip for a long time. Then, as I got older we began to talk more, and I remember at one point you began pulling away from me…
It wasn't until I started calling you from home, and you would answer no matter where you were. Sometimes you were at frat parties, sometimes studying in your apartment, and occasionally with a girlfriend, but you always took the time to to take my call. We would talk for hours and you were the only person I ever spoke to like that.
You got me through my pre-teen years, through junior, and then suddenly it just stopped. You met Elle and everything changed, but now you can't hide… you aren't states away… you're just behind that bedroom door.
I knock gently and wait.
When you open the door I see the look of surprise in your eyes. You were expecting Elle, or Dad even, but not me.
"Claire."
I can see one of your boxes from high school out on the bed behind you. Mom had put a lot of your extra stuff into boxes into your closet.
"Can I come in?"
You step aside and allow me to pass, but you leave the door wide open. "Is, um, is dinner ready or something?" Your hand flies back to your neck and scratches it anxiously. You look incredibly uncomfortable.
"Not yet," I sit on the edge of the bed and pick up the scrapbook you'd been flipping through. It was one that Mom had made to send to you in college but she'd never finished it. Our family is bad about that – starting things we don't finish. "Eleanor's very beautiful," I smile.
"Yes. She is." There's a heaviness between us that I don't quite understand. It shouldn't be this way.
Realizing my own discomfort, I try to act as though you'd never left home, as if you'd never met Elle and things hadn't changed. I get up off the bed and hurry over to you, wrapping my arms around your torso. You're a little harder than you used to be. Your chest is firmer and you've filled out a bit. I kiss your cheek, holding onto you and waiting for you to hug me back.
"Claire," you gently try to untangle our bodies, "We can't act like this anymore." I see your face flushing as you try desperately to avoid my eyes.
"Like what?" I demand, hurt by the way you casually brushed me off. "You won't talk to me or acknowledge me, you can't even look at me!" There are tears in my eyes. "I feel like I've been dead to you for a very long time."
You sigh. It's a resigned, defeated sigh rather than annoyed, but you still don't close the distance between us. "I'm sorry. You're right, you didn't do anything wrong."
I'm about to ask what you meant by how we used to act, but I see Elle walking towards the bedroom from the end of the hall. She's smiling at me, but you don't notice her. When she gets to the doorway she touches your back lightly. The way you jump and your eyes widen is almost as if you were caught doing something terrible.
Eleanor laughs. "It's dinner time!" She sees the scrapbook on the bed behind me. "Oh my goodness, is that a scrapbook of you?" She hurries over and starts flipping through it, grinning at all the naked bathtub pictures, the football portraits, and the candid birthday shots. "Adorable. I can't wait for the photo albums your mom is bringing out over dinner…"
After we'd all eaten, Mom insisted we pass around the albums. She wriggled you out of your seat, sending you to sit beside me so that she could caption each picture for Elle.
You sit next to me stiffly, refusing to look over at me again. I try to focus on the last of my dinner, but it's hard not to notice how awkward you are.
"Aww, it's a little Claire and Seth!" Elle squeals, pointing to a picture. "How old is she in that?"
"Was that thirteen?" Mom grins at the two of us. "They were so close. That was three years ago. Amazing."
Elle turns the album around to show us. It's a picture of us in the pool we used to have at our old house. You had already left for college but had come back for spring break. That was one of the years we were talking on the phone almost every night, sometimes twice a day. In the photo you're sitting on the steps of the pool, submerged up to your stomach, and I'm sitting in your lap grinning with your arms around my torso.
You chuckle halfheartedly and take a drink from Mom's wine glass. I blush at my gangly limbs and dorky smile, but the memories of that day come back in an emotional rush…
It was a hot spring break. We'd spent a lot of it with Mom and Daddy doing a garage sale, visiting shops and going to see movies. On the surface it was just like when we were all still at home for Mom and Daddy. For the two of us it was something more. You knew I had started my period a few months back, and that I was suddenly being pursued by boys at school. I even told you, over the phone, that I had started touching myself in the shower at night because it felt good. You assured me that was perfectly normal and something that adults do.
That day in the pool, Daddy was at work and Mom was spending a lot of time rearranging the house and spring cleaning. You and I went out just to swim and get some privacy to talk. You had said there were important things I would need to know that Mom and Daddy wouldn't want to talk with me about just yet.
"Do you know about sex, Claire?" You'd asked, casually swimming around on your back.
The question had taken me aback, because I knew sex was dirty and that I wasn't allowed to watch it on TV or movies, and that it was a private thing. I just didn't know much else about it… but you seemed to comfortable when you brought it up.
"Kind of…" I dove underwater to escape the conversation for a moment. I didn't want you to think I was naive or stupid. When I came back to the surface you were standing inches away from me.
"Let's go sit and talk." You swam over to the steps and gestured for me to follow. "Sex is a really intimate thing between two people. It's something you do with someone you really like, but only when you're older."
"Why?"
"Because it's really fun and emotional and it makes you very close, but you have to be smart about it because it can have consequences."
I remembered wondering if sex was something brothers and sisters did. If it was fun everyone would want to do it, if it was emotional I'd only ever want to do it with someone I trusted very dearly, and being closer to you was all I'd ever wanted. You were my world.
"What kind of consequences?"
"Sometimes it can hurt… at first. And you need to know the person extremely well because they may have diseases that you wouldn't want to catch from having sex with them. You can also get pregnant, which can be a wonderful thing, but only if it's what you were intending to do."
For a minute neither of us said anything. I watched the rippling water distort our legs beneath the surface before you spoke again.
"Remember how you told me you like to touch yourself?"
Talking over the phone about that was one thing, but when you brought it up I remember my heart pounding. "Yes…"
"When do you stop touching yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
"It feels good right? When do you stop? Do you just do it for a second or longer?"
I remember thinking back to the night before when I'd been showering. I had leaned against the shower wall and touched myself with my palm flat against my privates, rubbing it until I started feeling… it. I did it for a long time until I felt like my knees would give out under me and I had that intense tingling feeling like I was about to pee. Then I'd stop. I remember awkwardly telling you all of that…
"Keep going tonight." You said, smiling. "I know it feels like you might have an accident, but just keep going. Besides, you're in the shower, it's no big deal."
With my eyes wide I'd asked you why? Why should I keep going?
"It will feel really, really good. I promise. It's why people enjoy having sex. It's a different way of feeling the way you do when you touch yourself. A better way."
"How?"
"Well, all girls have privates like yours." I'd given you a no-duh face then. "Do you know what boys have?"
I shook my head.
Remembering all of this, I suddenly realized why you feel so awkward now. It's as if I'd forgotten everything… or maybe it just hadn't been wrong then.
In the pool, sitting on those steps, you very gently and lovingly took my hand and said, "Do you want to know?" When I nodded, my heart beating so fast, you lowered my hand down beneath the water and onto your swim trunks. At first I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be feeling, but then… there it was. It was long, and hard. My eyes widened, but I didn't jerk away. I let you maneuver my hand down the length of it slowly.
"Why do you have that?" I'd asked quietly. When I looked up at you you were watching me closely, but your eyes looked somewhat glazed, your lips parted.
You continued guiding my hand down to the very tip of it, which was rounded. "You can grab it," you'd muttered.
Through your swim trunks I remember I had held the tip in my palm very gingerly. I wasn't sure what else to do with it, so I slid my hand back up the long part and back down again, just to feel it. I'd laughed a little. "That's so weird. What is it?"
You had thought a moment, maybe for the appropriate term… "It's a penis, a boy's private part. It fits inside a girl's private part."
"No it doesn't!" You had already released my hand by then. "It wouldn't fit inside me!" You had laughed and started tickling me then, lifting me up and onto your lap. I was shrieking with laughter by the time Mom came outside with a camera.
We'd both smiled and yelled "Cheese!" and flash.
I look over at you at the dinner table. Elle is still giggling about all of your baby photos, Daddy has excused himself from the table, and you're paler than ever.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/29ahhn/little_sister_pt_1_incest_mast_mf