This is a joyful story! Today I am happily married with kids and my little sister Lily is too, but the two of us still have a special bond that we share with nobody else, not even our spouses. It’s made my life such a happy one!
When she was little, Lily used to get scared at night – of the dark, of the wind, of thunder, of a bad dream, of anything really. Of course she would always go to our parents’ bedroom when that happened, but at some point, when she wasn’t so little anymore, she got to the point where she could sleep through the night.
Now, I’d always felt very protective of her, even when she was a baby. I loved being the wise older brother who could wipe her tears away if she got hurt, show her how to do things, and make her laugh if she was in a bad mood. So, even though I thought she was long past getting scared at night, I wasn’t actually so surprised the first time she came into my room, scared of the storm raging outside, and woke me up, I wasn’t annoyed to have been awoken at all. I lifted up the comforter and Lily snuggled in beside me. I wrapped my arms around her and we both fell back asleep right away. That morning I woke up before she did and marveled at this adorable little bundle sleeping peacefully in my arms. I remember feeling somehow very old and very wise, like I had discovered an incredible secret of life, had been given a peek into the ineffable beauty of the universe. I lay there motionless for I don’t know how long, then carefully planted a kiss on her forehead. She woke up smiling and said “Robbie!” in a happy, quiet voice. It filled me with joy to hear it.
After that, she started coming up with any excuse to come to my bed at night. First it was a bad dream, then it was the wind (even though it was a still night)… eventually she abandoned all pretense and just began coming in routinely every night, usually only an hour or two after we’d gone to bed. It was the most wonderful thing. Our parents were loving but they had never been super demonstrative with their affection. I think it was just the era: much later I read that parents then were advised to let their babies cry rather than picking them up, lest they be spoiled. I know (my mom once confessed to me) that my dad had persuaded my mom to start me on a bottle very early; he thought breast-feeding was not totally psychologically sound. So we were probably both somewhat starved for simple human touch. What a wonder we worked on each other, just simply lying there every night in each others’ arms.
The real miracle is that our parents didn’t stop it. They absolutely caught on quickly, even though Lily would always go to bed in her own room first. Probably already the third or fourth time it happened we overslept a little, and Mom went to wake Lily up and found she wasn’t in her room. She knocked on my door, then, as I was groggily waking up, came in, asking: “Robbie, have you seen…” Then she stopped and I could see she was smiling a little. She didn’t seem at all flustered that Lily was all snuggled up to me, asleep, and so I never felt any sense that there was anything wrong with it. And so it just continued, every night. I imagine Mom and Dad must have had *some* discussion about the situation, especially with Dad apparently having strange ideas about what was psychologically sound and what not, but whatever conclusion they arrived at, they never once brought the subject up… so it just became the normal thing, unspoken but taken for granted: “Lily and Robbie sleep together every night.” It became part of the inviolable family routine, as inevitable as eating dinner, putting on PJs, brushing our teeth – we’d lie down in our own beds, then a couple hours later Lily would come in and snuggle up next to me. I think it was precisely the fact that it was an unbreakable routine that kept us from simply starting the night together – as logical as that would have been, it would have felt odd.
I was, quite simply, dependent on that wonderful, deep, calming feeling that came from waking every morning with my sister asleep in my arms. Only the fact that Lily’s eventual arrival was a certainty allowed me to fall asleep alone every night. On the rare occasion that the routine was broken – the times that Lily went on a sleepover, for example, or when I had a friend over and he slept on a mattress on the floor, and Lily naturally didn’t come in – I felt ill-at-ease, had trouble falling asleep, slept poorly, and was cranky the next day. Those occasions were rare. Any normal morning, we’d wake up in the same bed, lying in each other’s arms, and bask in the calm bliss of it all before we got up. It set the tone for the rest of the day; we had little drama or disappointment in our daily lives, just quiet contentment. We were closer than siblings usually were; we almost never bickered, and could happily spend hours just existing together. My sister, quite simply, was the single most important figure in my life. The love and protectiveness I felt towards her was so strong, so unwavering that it sometimes felt like it formed the bedrock of my existence.
—
New York City summers run hot and humid, but the summer that things really started to change was especially so. There was no air conditioning in my room (or my sister’s) and it was uncomfortable just sleeping alone in bed, let alone entangled together in flannel pajamas. Lilly was still coming into the bed every night without fail, of course, but we weren’t sleeping with our arms around each other because of the sticky heat. And, damn it, I missed it – sleeping in close contact with my sister was so natural at this point that it felt to me like the world was out of balance went we didn’t. The heat didn’t help. I had enough of a sense of modesty not to even think of taking my pajamas off – it wouldn’t have occurred to me even if Lily didn’t sleep with me. Nudity just wasn’t really a thing in our family – outside of the bath everyone were always wearing something, clothes in the daytime, pajamas at night. Again, that was just how our parents raised us.
But somehow, despite that, it was actually Mom who came in to our room (I’d long ago stopped thinking of it as “my” room even though Lilly still would start every night by changing and going to bed in her own room) and solved the problem. It was the night of the big blackout. It was sweltering, and now that I think about it I realize that the air conditioning in our parents’ bedroom wouldn’t have been working, so they were feeling the heat too, and must have realized how uncomfortable we’d be. Mom seemed to be wearing only lingerie and had a flashlight. She touched my forehead gently as I blinked at the unexpected light, then said “Robbie, Lilly, it’s really hot, you’re sweating. You should take off your PJs and sleep in your underwear.” Lilly didn’t respond; she was still sleeping. I was embarrassed even to think of taking my pajamas off in front of my mom, so I asked her to go out. She smiled and left, closing the door. I sat there and thought a bit about it. Finally, I gently shook Lily’s shoulder to wake her up. “Lily…” I whispered. “Mom said we should sleep in our underwear.” If I’d worried that Lily would be nonplussed, I’d worried unnecessarily. She simply smiled and said “That’s a good idea Robbie!” Then she pulled her PJ top over her head. In the dark, I couldn’t see anything. The usual lights from outside were out and there was almost no moonlight. I took my PJ top off too, then inwardly shrugged and shed my bottoms as well, leaving me wearing only briefs. Lily obediently followed suit. I felt a sudden intense curiosity as to what she was wearing under the PJs, but I couldn’t really see anything. We lay back down. I felt a tremendous urge to put my arms around Lily, as I always had before, but felt uncertain. Maybe she wouldn’t like it when she was undressed. Plus, even with our PJs off, it was still hot. I needn’t have worried. After a short pause Lily scooted over and gently settled against me. I felt goosebumps all over. I put my arms around her and she sighed happily and relaxed into my embrace. It felt like the universe was expanding in radiant joy in front of me. I swear that I almost saw blinding lights and colors even in the pitch black, and heard a roaring in my ears. I had never felt such a wonderful feeling as her chest against mine, her chubby tummy against mine, my hands on her backside, her warm, sweet breath mixing with mine. I felt that this, *this* was the thing I’d been missing all my life, that I had never known that simple skin-to-skin contact could bring such joy. We both fell asleep almost immediately, my head swimming with the new sensations.
In the morning light, waking up with Lily, as usual, asleep in my arms, I felt an baffling welter of confused emotions. She seemed small and vulnerable. Her sun-browned skin glistened a little with perspiration. My natural protectiveness of her mixed in with almost unbearable affection and – it sounds odd, but perhaps it’s not wrong to say I felt grateful – grateful to Lily for allowing my skin to touch hers so lavishly and closely, filling me with such a deep sense of satisfaction. It was just like the first morning I’d awoken with her in my bed – I was suffused with a feeling that I was touching, not only my sister, but also the deepest mysteries of the universe. As she lay sleeping, I allowed my eyes to roam over her bare skin, her slightly plump midriff, her closed eyes and the slight smile on her peaceful face, her tan arms and legs, the thin white panties she was wearing, and finally – I’d almost been avoiding looking – the small pink nipples on her flat chest. i hadn’t seen Lily without a top on for years and years – not since she was a toddler, I thought. In our family, clothes always covered the secrets of the body, and yet, and yet, here was Lily, almost naked in front of me, revealing her secrets. And it wasn’t anything shameful, no, not at all, even Mom had told us we should get undressed to sleep in the heat! For a second I felt momentarily worried – sleeping this way was all fine and good, but perhaps I shouldn’t be *looking* now that I was awake. But, I reasoned practically – looking couldn’t hurt. I resolved to avoid staring once Lily woke up, in case it made her uncomfortable. Yet again, I needn’t have worried. As I was looking at her face, I embraced her just a little tighter than had been before. Lily’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled at me. Almost immediately, she murmured: “This is *nice*, Robbie.” I nearly melted. I felt an urge to kiss her, all over, but I didn’t; just kept hugging her tightly. When we finally got out of bed, she didn’t try to hide her body from me, so I didn’t either. We put on our PJs by mutual, unspoken consent – I knew that even if our mom had suggested we sleep undressed, there was no way she’d want us prancing around the house like that – and went out to have breakfast.
All day, an almost tangible sense of Lily’s skin against mine lingered. The contact had been so intoxicating that it was almost all I could think about. It was an odd day anyway; with the power out, there wasn’t all that much to *do* in the city; we sat around in our pajamas and read, while our parents read the paper and fretted about the food in the freezer. Dad tried to make big meals to use it up; fortunately the kitchen stove ran on gas. We went outside to the park midday. I was in a state of nervous anticipation, wondering if we’d sleep again the way we had the night before. Of course the heatwave persisted, so I didn’t even have to suggest it. We went to bed a bit earlier than usual – no evening TV, no lights to read by. And Lily, for the first time ever, didn’t start the night in her bed; she just came into my room right after brushing her teeth. Mom had held the flashlight for her in the bathroom, so she was quite aware of this change in routine, but said nothing other than “Goodnight!” to us before closing the door. I felt a deep sense of relief. We silently undressed, in the darkness, settled into each other’s arms and slept soundly the whole night. The power came back at some point in the night, and the next day felt especially festive, even though there was bad news about looting and vandalism; Lily and I paid little attention to such things. We went as a family to the movies and a museum. I was filled with a deep sense of happiness and satisfaction – blackout or no, everything was right with the world; even dirty, dangerous New York City seemed welcoming.
That night, Lily again came into our room right after brushing her teeth, and without a moment of hesitation took off her street clothes right in front of me, even though the lights were on. Despite the fact that I’d of course already seen her with her clothes off two mornings in a row now, it felt strange and almost shocking to see her actually undressing. This was something, surely, I wasn’t allowed to watch. But Lily didn’t seem at all concerned about it. She shimmied out of her dress, then pulled off her undershirt, and there she was standing in her panties next to the bed. I felt almost transfixed, but if she noticed I was staring, she didn’t indicate it. I knew I needed to get undressed as well, but it was hard to shake the inhibition I felt. Also, I had a little problem. The unfamiliar experience of watching Lily get undressed had caused me to get hard. In all the time we’d been sleeping together I’d never been bothered by the random erections that I sometimes experienced – when they happened, I just shifted a little so Lily wouldn’t notice. But it would be hard to hide if I stripped to my underwear in front of her. I stalled for time a little, as Lily waited patiently for me to get into bed – out of habit; since she’d started coming into my room in the middle of the night, she always slept on the outer side of the bed. Finally I managed to will my boner down, or at least into a half-hard state, and began to undress, starting by doffing my T-shirt. Lily was watching me peacefully. Unfortunately, when I began to take off my pants, my problem sprang right back to life. I couldn’t stop undressing, so I just gritted my teeth and tried my best to hide it. I was sure, as I crawled under the single bedsheet as fast as I could, that the tent in my underwear was blindingly obvious, and I felt a hot flush come to my cheeks. Lily said nothing, though, just got in next to me and snuggled up to me. I put my arms around her and did my best to avoid poking her. I was honestly distressed. The erection felt like a terrible distraction. I obviously had no sexual feelings towards Lily at all, and I just wanted to get back to the blissful feeling of sleeping with her in my arms, but instead I was fretting about her noticing that I was hard, and I couldn’t relax. Finally I fell into a fitful sleep. I woke up several times in the night from weird dreams that I couldn’t quite remember, feeling hot and sticky and unable to get comfortable.
The next morning – disaster. Utter disaster. When I woke, Lily was sleeping peacefully as ever in my arms, but I could feel something was very wrong. My underwear and the sheet under me felt soaked. At first I had the irrational thought that I’d just sweated incredibly profusely in the heat, but I quickly understood what had happened even though it had never happened to me before. I’d read about it in the young-adult books that I devoured, always wondering that “other people” could have lives so much more fraught than mine. None of the protagonists of those books had ever had a wet dream with their sister in the bed, though. My only thought was how to wake Lily and get her out of bed without noticing the aftermath. I was paralyzed for a while, but eventually worked out a strategy – I tried to nudge her further towards the edge of the bed without waking her up, moving over so that at least I’d be covering the wet spot on the sheet. Lily was a light sleeper in the mornings and her eyes fluttered open while I was shifting her, but she didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss. I forced levity into my voice as I said good morning to her. Ever perceptive, she looked at me quizzically, but then closed her eyes and relaxed back into my arms from her new position, sighing a little. I was petrified that she’d feel my wet underwear against her body, but if she noticed anything, she didn’t say a word. I tried to calm down and just enjoy our regular morning cuddle, but my mind was racing and I just couldn’t get myself back into a relaxed state. I felt deeply ashamed, without even fully knowing why. It was a natural thing, it had nothing to do with Lily, did it? And yet I was afraid to look at my sister’s body even as she lay there with her eyes closed. I felt — irrationally — that if I did look, I would see her in a different way, and *I didn’t want to*.
Somehow, eventually, we managed to get up without Lily discovering my “accident”. If she noticed anything was wrong, she didn’t say anything, but happily chattered, as she put on the previous day’s undershirt and dress, about the diorama we’d seen at the museum the day before with a Neanderthal family in it. It’d evidently made an impression on her. She was waiting for me to get up before she went out, so I sat at the edge of the bed with the top sheet covering my waist and, with forced casualness, pulled on my trousers over my clammy underwear, then stood up to put on my shirt. I wanted nothing more than to get out of my briefs, take a shower and wash away my grime and shame, but we usually bathed at night. Plus I had to do something about the sheets. We walked out; Mom and Dad were already sitting at the kitchen table having coffee. When she saw us, Mom exclaimed in surprise: “Were you two so tired you just fell asleep in your clothes?” “Of course not, Mom,” said Lily, the tone in her voice indicating that our mother was being silly. “We slept in our underwear.” I winced internally at hearing it stated explicitly, but Mom didn’t seem perturbed. “You shouldn’t really put on yesterday’s dirty clothes, though,” she chided. “Well, I didn’t have my PJs,” said Lily. It was perfectly true; she had left them in her room. I saw an opening and quickly said, “I’ll go change.” Dad asked me what I wanted for breakfast and I shrugged and said “bacon,” figuring I was being clever – it would take a while to cook. Dad looked a bit surprised and explained that he’d thrown the bacon out to be safe. “You know what, though – I wouldn’t mind a bacon and egg sandwich myself. Ellie, maybe I should go pick some up at the deli?” Perfect. I left the room as they discussed the complexities of the breakfast order and quickly locked myself in the bathroom, stripped, took off my underwear and buried it at the bottom of the laundry hamper. Then I thought better of that – Mom would surely notice. And the sheet! – I thought in a sudden panic. It was Saturday; Mom usually did the laundry on Sunday. I’d have to find a solution by then. I went into the bedroom and hid my underwear under the bed, put the blanket that we hadn’t been using in the summer heat on the bed, over the top sheet, to provide further cover for the shameful spot, then quickly returned to the bathroom and showered. I felt better when I got out. I’d formulated a strategy: I’d offer to do the laundry myself. I knew how, and it seemed unlikely to me that Mom would object to being relieved of a chore. As I dried off and got dressed, I almost felt like things were OK again. Bacon and egg on a roll from the deli for breakfast – my favorite – was just proof that the universe tended inexorably towards happiness.
By the evening, though, I was filled with trepidation again. To be sure, I’d successfully negotiated doing the laundry myself, using the (transparently false) excuse that I was running out of clean clothes – my mom was mildly surprised but raised no more than a token objection. I was happy she didn’t suggest that I wait until laundry day. We had our own washer-dryer (a luxury in a New York apartment in those days!) so it was no big deal. I washed the contents of the laundry hamper, my clothes as well as Lilly’s, and stuck the soiled sheet and underwear in surreptitiously. Everything went according to plan. I put the sheet back on the bed, carefully folded the clothes and put them away in my room and Lilly’s, and inwardly sighed a deep sigh of relief. Still, by the time bedtime approached, all the anxiety had come back. Sleeping next to Lilly, which up to then had always been a joyous, calming center of my life, now seemed almost threatening. What if I had a wet dream again? What if she noticed my erection? How could I suppress the confusing thoughts I’d felt the night before, and this morning? Lilly, for her part, was oblivious to my distress. She came in to our room at bedtime, freshly out of the bath. She hadn’t even bothered to put on anything but fresh panties, and she proudly held her folded pajamas (that I had washed and folded! I thought) in her hands. “For tomorrow morning,” she explained, as she put them under one of the pillows. I understood what she meant – so that she could change into them before we left the room. I nodded, trying to force myself not to look at her near-naked body standing there. Instead, I said “That’s a good idea, Lilly.” I stood up, went to the chest of drawers, took out my own PJs, and put them under the pillow next to hers. She giggled. I stood there, momentarily, then realized she was waiting for me to get undressed and get into bed as usual. I shrugged inwardly and took off my clothes. I could feel stirrings down there but fortunately didn’t get fully hard. Lilly got into bed next to me and wrapped her arms, demonstratively, around me. “This is so nice,” she murmured. I felt myself stiffening again, involuntarily, and pulled away a little, both so that she wouldn’t notice and also to reach over and turn out the light. If I thought that not being able to see Lily’s body in the darkness would relieve the churning maelstrom inside me, I was wrong. Lily was gently running her hands up and down my back. This wasn’t entirely new – over the years we’d often stroked each other’s back or sides a little as we went to sleep in each other’s arms. But it had taken on a new, threatening aspect for me. I felt shivers going up and down my back at her touch. She had no idea, I thought, what this was doing to me. She was innocent, just thought everything was still the same, and I, and I – I despaired at the thought – I’m going to ruin everything. I yearned to reciprocate, to run my own hand, awkwardly draped over her waist, up and down over her body. In fact I wanted to touch more than her back – I wanted to feel her tummy, her butt, her chest. Instead I lay there, stiffly. Lily, always the perceptive one, murmured, “what’s wrong Robbie?” I had no answer, but I forced myself to take my hand and mutely started stroking her cheek. She sighed deeply and pulled me in closer. I panicked as I felt my hard-on bump into her thigh, but she didn’t even seem to notice. We lay there like that for what seemed like an eternity. I could feel her belly and chest against mine. I tried to relax and just enjoy the sensation of skin-against-skin, but it was difficult as I was sure she would discover my hardness at any moment. Finally, I realized she’d fallen asleep. In spite of myself, I planted a kiss on her forehead. Perhaps I felt that the innocent gesture would somehow negate the confusing feelings I was experiencing. I drifted off to sleep, unmoored, uncertain of myself.
The next morning, to my great relief, there had been no “accident.” We woke up as usual, in each other’s arms, and I even managed to enjoy the simple feeling of holding Lily’s body close without being disturbed by untoward impulses. Perhaps it was just the sunlight streaming in the window that seemed to put a fresh, clean face on everything. Lily looked quietly content and I felt the same way. My anxiety had receded, but I knew it was still waiting in the wings. I tried to push all the worries aside and enjoy the moment. When Lily finally clambered out of bed, I didn’t avert my eyes, but watched avidly as she bent over, her tummy bunching up a bit, and retrieved her pajamas from under the pillow. She placidly pulled them on, and I followed suit, doing my best to hide my half-erection from her view. The summer Sunday passed languidly. We read, had a picnic in the park, even went swimming at the Y. It was there, accidentally, that I discovered the solution to my dilemma. The Y had an open men’s locker room, which I’d always hated – getting undressed in front of strangers went against every fiber of my sensibilities. But I also had to admit to myself that it had always been surreptitiously interesting to check out other boys as they changed. Seeing what was supposed to be secret, covered up, had always given me a bit of a thrill. In addition, on this occasion, I’d found myself unable to resist sneaking peeks at girls in the pool, wondering what they looked like under their swimsuits, even mentally comparing them in my imagination to Lily. I must have spent half of the swim with a boner; fortunately in the busy pool no one noticed. When I got to the locker room, though, I was in a state indeed. I felt an unfamiliar sensitivity down there, a kind of tingling that begged for relief. I knew about masturbation, of course, thanks to Judy Blume and other helpful explicators of the 1970s teen condition. I’d never really tried it, though. I knew that rubbing down there sometimes made it feel good but I hadn’t done it intentionally for more than a few seconds at a time. This time, though, I felt an almost irresistible urge. I locked myself in one of the shower stalls – thank God these at least were private! – and took off my swimsuit, standing naked under the warm flow. The head of my penis was reaching for my belly button. I tentatively began to handle it. It felt good, so I kept going. Inexpertly, I moved my hand up and down its length. It felt nice. I moved my hand faster and faster. It didn’t take long before I felt something indescribable – totally different from anything I’d felt before, like a pressure building up in my groin. Involuntarily, I had a vision of Lily bending over in front of me, wearing only her panties. I desperately suppressed it, forcing myself to think instead of the girls in their swimsuits in the pool, the chubby boy who was pulling his suit down right near the door of the locker room as I’d walked into the locker room, revealing his privates to the world – anything but my sister. A soft groan escaped me as my penis began to throb. A little bit of milky liquid came out and instantly washed away in the streaming water. It wasn’t an intense sensation – more of a sudden relief of tension. I closed my eyes for a moment, a little dizzy, and relaxed under the hot water.
That night, I felt calm and happy as Lily and I undressed in front of each other and lay down to sleep. We held each other close and her hands traveled up and down my back, as they had the night before. I could feel my penis stirring but didn’t worry about it too much. Instead I wrapped my arms around her and stroked her back as well, moving from her neck down as far as where her panties covered her butt. She was emitting little, incoherent noises of satisfaction as we stroked each other, and after a while we began to rock from side to side just a little, in unison, always staying pressed together as if we feared to lose even a square inch of contact of bare skin. It felt, as Lily would say, *nice* – just as shedding our pajamas had represented a new dimension in our long habit of bedding together, this new aspect of actively touching each other, moving our hands around, rocking back and forth was yet a third dimension. Everything seemed to fit together perfectly and I felt in tune with the universe again, and intensely, almost unbearably close to Lily. We rocked ourselves to sleep, and for the first time in a couple of nights I slept undisturbed, waking with no apprehension to my beautiful little sister snuggled in my arms, glowing in the sunlight. As my sleepiness softly dissipated, I had an idea. I began to stroke Lily again, gently, rubbing my hand up and down her side and back. I even briefly put my hand on her panties, marveling at the tight roundness of her buttcheek underneath. All this felt very right. Somehow, I knew she wouldn’t mind me touching her there, or anywhere really, and indeed when she opened her eyes, she sighed softly, “Robbie,” and pulled me close. We lay there for an eternity, just letting our hands roam over each other, trying to encompass each other’s bodies. Nothing felt off-limits, really. I let my finger stray over the panties covering her butt more than once, and even linger there, nestled in between her cheeks; she did the same to me. Still, we were mostly feeling each others’ backs and backside because we were hugging so tightly and that was what we could reach. I noticed almost absently that I was hard and my hardness was pressing against her — surely she noticed! — but she paid it no mind at all, and so I just ignored it as well. Somehow the fear had been wiped out of me – perhaps it was the knowledge that I had control over that organ down there, that I could rub it and make it feel good and make the tension go away. I no longer feared it and maybe I therefore concluded that Lily had nothing to fear from it either. In any case, when we finally, reluctantly, separated to get up, I felt suffused with a deep, glowing contentment. Lily looked radiant. We quickly put on our pajamas and went out to face the day, secure in the knowledge that we had yet again discovered ourselves together.
For a couple of years, that was every night and every morning for us. I settled into a routine of masturbating to orgasm every night in the bath or shower, so that I wouldn’t feel any untoward sexual feelings or tension when we lay down together. I was now ejaculating on a regular basis and the strength and duration of my orgasms were increasing as I learned to stimulate myself just right. Still, as good as it felt, it was nothing – *nothing* – compared to the sheer, transcendent joy of cuddling with Lily. I consciously, steadfastly avoided thinking of my sister when I masturbated, not wanting to despoil that joy with something as prosaic as self-stimulation. I looked upon the latter more as a task that I needed to complete to put myself in the right state to be with Lily each night. And indeed, slowly bedtime became the center of my life – the one thing that more than anything I looked forward to, relied on, knew would always be there. Whenever school was in session, I left each morning happy and ready to tackle the challenges of the day; I knew that by the evening, no matter what had happened that day to knock me off-kilter, I’d be centered again. School, in point of fact, wasn’t a huge challenge for me – I was a good student and, while I was shy and not very social, I wasn’t a bullied introvert either. Mostly, students — and teachers — had always ignored me, but as the years past me of the teachers seemed to be taking note of my performance. I hung out with fellow students and even thought of some of them as friends. Of course I never, ever revealed to anyone that I slept together with my sister; it was obvious that would have been a socially disastrous admission and, furthermore, there’s no way anyone would have understood. Instead I joked about girls with the other guys and even hung out in the coffee shop near school with a mixed group, sometimes even casually putting my arm around one girl or the other. It was fun, maybe even sexually titillating, but meant nothing; I just wasn’t that interested in sex *per se*. Naturally I still knew nothing about it – I’d never even seen a girl fully naked! – but it held no fear for me – I had those urges under “manual control,” every evening in the bath. All I really cared about was Lily. And, to my endless joy, she seemed to feel the same way. At home in the afternoon and on weekends, we did everything together, our homework, reading, just quietly existing together. We were almost shutting out our parents, but they didn’t seem concerned – indeed, while it was probably my imagination, I had a weird sense that they were behaving more romantically towards each other than I’d ever seen before. I’d sometimes catch them holding hands or looking into each other’s eyes. They seemed really happy, almost merry at times, and I was glad. In any case, they never once commented on how close Lily and I were, or made any suggestion that perhaps it wasn’t appropriate for us to be bedding together, and I’ll be forever grateful for that.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/or6r5c/changing_the_rules_of_the_happiness_game_part_1
Beautifully written!