Incest HALLOWED SISTER

[neerathemall]

HALLOWED SISTER

Hallowed Sister
"I'm sorry, Steve -- I just can't support it!"
Shelly's voice had a catch in it as she rose from our living room couch, turning her back to me.
Lord, help me! I thought. It was a sincere prayer, not just an expression of vexation. There were multiple reasons for my momentary divine conversation. I needed wisdom to defuse the situation with my sister. And I needed strength to overcome my temptation to gawk at the lusciously rounded derriere she had so innocently posed, accented by a quirk of one hip in my direction.
I had been an evangelical Christian for nearly five years now, after my "come-to-Jesus" moment as a wayward fifteen-year-old. But that experience is a story for another day. Suffice it to say, as a matter of faith and family, I truly cared about my sister, and I felt tremendous pangs of guilt at my long-time infatuation with her.
I knew from life-long experience that Shelly was now very close to tears. As she turned back to face me, her luminous emerald eyes began to well up, and her chin began to quiver.
Shelly's tears had never moved me in the early years as we were growing up. In fact, they had annoyed me. But in recent years, her emotional well-being had become dear to me. And now, gazing at her angelic face, sprinkled with a dash of cinnamon freckles, I'd do just about anything to keep her happy.
Anything to bring a smile to those lush, unintentionally pouting lips. Anything to bring a sparkle to those beautiful pleading eyes. Anything to lower the arch from that neatly trimmed coppery eyebrow, raised at me in anger and frustration.
Well, almost anything. At that moment, my sense of responsibility kicked in and my resolve dug in its heels. There were other things at stake here besides her happiness. I rose from the recliner.
"Aw, Shel -- why do you have to be such a spoil sport?" I asked.
At that, her tears flowed freely. Not the right way to phrase the question, Alex, I thought in a "Jeopardy" flashback moment. Leave it to me to make my sweet, smart, conscientious, and incredibly sexy (Did I say that?) sister cry.
Shelly looked toward the floor, drops of misery falling from her eyes. I moved toward my sole sibling as the sobs wracked her, shoulders heaving. I wrapped her in a hug, pulling her against my shoulder and pressing her close. She tensed up, her body silently declaring the hurt I'd inflicted upon her.
"It's okay, Sis," I soothed. "I'm sorry to be such a dweeb. I didn't mean to make you cry."
She relaxed into my embrace, still sobbing. Within seconds, I could feel the moisture from her tears soaking through my green 100% cotton "Legend of Zelda" t-shirt. I hugged her closer. After another sobbing ten-count, her sniffling began to slow.
Moments later, Shelly pushed back to look up into my eyes. Though she was tall at 5' 10", her face was a good six inches below mine, as I stood at 6' 4" and 220 pounds. Her slender frame was athletically muscled but still carried about 85 pounds less than mine.
The stricken look in her gaze made a lump form in my throat, but I was determined not to mirror her tears.
"I have the whole y-y-y...," she stammered, as tears began to flow again. I waited patiently, squeezing her hand gently as she stopped to compose herself.
She squeezed my hand back.
"The whole y-y-youth group... is against me, Steve," she managed. "I just can't take it if you're against me, too."
She straightened up, shoulders square, chest out in defiance. I tried not to notice the way her improved posture stretched the fabric of her wool sweater, the way her jutting breasts called out to me like mythic sirens inviting me to founder on the rocks.
Lord, have mercy! I thought, though this was more caveman reaction than silent prayer. Shelly's defiant pose accentuated the perfection within her 34-C cup bra. Yes, I took regular turns doing the family laundry, and I had seen the tag.
"Aw, Sis, it's not like that," I said. "I'm not against you. I just don't get why you're making such a big deal about something so innocent."
Shelly glared at me.
"I honestly don't see it the same way," she said. "It actually is a very big deal to me. I can handle having the rest of the group upset with me. Just not you, my dear but clueless big brother."
Shelly was a senior in high school and an active member of our church's youth group, for which I was one of the volunteer assistant leaders. She'd just missed the cutoff date for starting school in an earlier cohort of students when she was a kid, so even though we were just over 2 years apart in age, I had always been three grades ahead in school.
I'd graduated high school a couple of years plus a summer ago. I opted to attend a community college rather than head south to Georgia Tech -- much to Mom's dismay. She had wanted her boy to fulfill his great potential, and I'd been offered an academic scholarship to join the Ramblin' Wreck at the "MIT of the South." I guess I felt like Mom and Shelly needed me closer. Dad's fatal heart attack three years earlier - just at the start of my senior year - was still an open wound for the three of us.
"I'm not upset with you, Shel," I replied. "I just don't get why you're choosing to draw a line in the sand on this. A haunted house is just an opportunity to have some fun and raise some money for the youth group."
She frowned and shot me a look that told me in no uncertain terms that I was a doofus.
"We can raise money another way -- bake sale, car wash, something like that," she said. "We don't have to do a haunted house. There's no reason to actively promote evil in order to raise funds for our youth mission trip next summer."
"It's not promoting evil," I countered, "Everyone knows it's not real. It's just some innocent fun. And we can probably raise three times as much money with a haunted house as we can with those other fundraisers!"
Halloween. Derived from the phrase "All Hallow's Eve." The evening before All Hallow's Day - that is, All Saints' Day. And the irony of it all -- not just due to her objections to Halloween, but in every way that mattered - was that my sister was truly a saint. Some might call her a "holy roller," but she wasn't a self-righteous bitch like the image that that phrase conjures up. She was the real deal. A sincere believer who understood and embraced the concept of grace. A person of principle who cared as much for others as for herself. Shelly was truly my hallowed sister.
But her love for others also meant protecting them fiercely when she thought they were being led astray.
"Agree to disagree," she said, "It's not innocent fun. The Bible is pretty clear that evil spirits exist. And the way I see it, Halloween is a way of glorifying them, even if that's not the group's intent."
I let out a deep, disheartened sigh. She could surely read the frustration in my body language. I needed to choose my words carefully here.
Instinctively, I reached out and pushed a stray lock of her long auburn hair behind her ear. To my surprise, she flinched and gave me an unsettled look. I'm sure I must have blushed in response as I moved my hand away.
"C'mon, Shel. I respect your views. Really, I do. It's just..."
I paused, not wanting her to feel like I was piling on. I hoped she could see the depth of caring in my eyes.
Shelly broke the silence. "Arguing with me about it doesn't feel like respect," she said quietly.
I sighed, trying not to show my exasperation.
"It's just that all the other kids see it differently..." I began, but she cut me off.
"Hold it right there, mister! We aren't kids -- we're youth. If you want to get technical, I'm an adult. A woman."
She was right about that. She was physically all woman. And she'd turned eighteen a few weeks ago, shortly after the school year started in early September. Birth date cutoffs for entry into our school system were based on the school year rather than the calendar year, and Shelly was one of the oldest in her senior class.
"Okay, okay," I said. "The other youth see it differently. They see an opportunity to exercise their creativity, have a little fun, earn some money for summer missions, and build camaraderie among the group while they work together toward a common goal. Your protest against the haunted house for Halloween is actually tearing down the fellowship rather than building it up."
Shelly's drying tears gave way to something else. Her jaw became set rather than tremulous. Her green eyes gleamed with simmering indignation. I'd always thought I could see fire in her eyes at times like this. Green fire. Her nostrils flared. Thankfully, no fire there, though I could imagine it.
"Not my fault," she said quietly, maintaining my gaze. "The youth leaders need to study the scriptures and then show a little backbone."
Her comment clearly had me lined up in its sights. When she refused to blink or look away, I feigned taking a dagger to the heart in an effort at some comedic relief. She didn't bite. And she didn't smile. Her comment had been heartfelt and serious.
"Okay, okay," I said. "I promise I'll take a closer look at the Bible references you gave me, and then I'll talk with Pastor Ralph and maybe some of the other youth leaders.
"Good," replied Shelly. "I'll hold you to it." She continued to hold my gaze for several seconds. Her expression softened, with a somewhat wistful look as her head tilted a little to the side.
Finally, she smiled, like a ray of sunshine breaking through black clouds at the end of a storm. I almost expected to see a rainbow. Her smile gave me a stir of butterflies in my stomach -- or, perhaps, my heart. I refused to acknowledge that I was feeling it lower down.
"C'mere, kid," I said, both arms outstretched for a hug.
"Not a kid," she laughed, and fairly jumped into my arms. I couldn't resist a tight squeeze, and I tried hard not to enjoy the warmth of her embrace too much. Or to let my mind dwell on the oh-so-supple but not-too-subtle mammary pressure of her full-frontal hug against my chest. Or to let her feel the burgeoning tumescence pressing from within my jeans against her lower stomach.
* * * * * *
"Hey, Ralph -- thanks for meeting me," I said. I stood up from the table to shake Pastor Ralph's hand. He was our full-time youth and music ministries leader. After releasing my grip, he took his Red Sox jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair opposite from me.
"Can't turn down a good cuppa java," Ralph smiled. He had agreed to meet me on Thursday afternoon of the following week at our local coffee shop. The topic of discussion: Shelly's protest.
Ralph took his seat. The café was noisy and crowded, so I raised my voice.
"I've been doing a lot of research over the last week," I began. "Even learned what the word 'hermeneutics' means."
"Good for you!" Ralph replied. "So have you been applying it to our current situation?"
"The haunted house? Yeah, well there's not a lot directly related to that in the Bible." I frowned and shook my head solemnly.
"Exactly why you need hermeneutics," he answered, "to know ways to interpret what it says and apply it to a new context. That's after you use 'exegesis' to best explain what it meant in its original context."
"I don't know about all the fancy terminology," I said, raising both hands as if in surrender. "I just honestly want to know what's right and what's wrong."
"And the Bible can help you know that," Ralph said, "Even if it doesn't speak directly to the issue. You have to look for recurring themes, not isolated passages. Plenty of people have been known to make the Bible say what they want it to say, by ripping passages out of their context."
"What kind of context do you mean?" I asked.
Ralph smiled. "Well, the context of the culture of the time or the historical background," he said. "Like when the apostle Paul said for women to keep quiet in the church, it was to deal with a specific problem in a specific congregation at a specific point in time. You have to recognize the difference between contextual issues and eternal truths."
"So - you think Shelly's concerns about the haunted house are really just based on a contextual issue from way back when?" I queried.
"That's a tough one," Ralph said. "I personally don't have a problem with a haunted house, any more than a water slide or a basketball game or Harry Potter World at Universal Studios. They're all forms of entertainment. But I think your sister is genuinely concerned about what she sees as eternal truths rather than contextual issues. And sometimes people's perceptions about what the truth is are as important as the truth itself. I think that's why Paul wrote in the book of Ephesians about 'speaking the truth in love'."
"What does that have to do with haunted houses?"
"It has to do with balance. Some people -- and church leaders are notorious for this -- gleefully spout off 'truths' with no regard to how they're relating to other people in the process. If you're going to do it right, you have to care just as much about the relationship with the person as you do about the truth. Just as much - not more, not less. It's a balancing act."
The relationship, I thought. That's pretty complicated.
"Yeah, well, I've already made her cry over this one," I said.
"But you let her know you love her even though you disagree, right?" Ralph asked.
Love her? Yes, I do. More than I care to admit. She absolutely knows that I love her. But she doesn't know how much, or in what ways. I can't speak that truth, no matter how much it's done in love. No matter how much I'm in love....
Ralph cleared his throat to elicit a response from me. I snapped out of my reverie.
"Eventually, yes, I let her know - after the tears began to flow," I replied. "But I pushed her to change her mind first..."
"Well, that's about my speed with my wife," Ralph said. "Thankfully, I'm learning. That's what they call 'sanctification.' Sinners saved by grace, but continually in need of improvement."
"Yep," I said. "I'm certainly glad that it's God's grace and not our perfection that makes us right with Him. I'd certainly be in a world of hurt otherwise."
You're definitely a sinner, my conscience told me. Starting with having the hots for your sister.
I prayed - somewhat figuratively and somewhat literally - that Pastor Ralph couldn't detect the depth of the familial bonds that were driving my questioning of biblical answers, in hopes of making my beloved sister happy.
"Steve, there may be more to it than what you're sharing," Ralph said.
What? Had Ralph read my mind? Had God rejected my semi-prayer on the spot?
"Not sure what you mean, Ralph," I mumbled.
"It might be about more than speaking the truth in love, Steve. It might be about conscience," he said.
Conscience. Was he wanting me to share about my guilty conscience? My sense of wrong about loving my sister that way?
"C-C-C... Conscience?" I asked.
"Yeah, conscience," he continued. "It might not matter so much whether a haunted house is right or wrong as a universal truth. The issue here might be about your sister's conscience."
"You mean - she did something wrong?"
Pastor Ralph laughed, almost a whinny. A couple of curious patrons at a nearby table looked our way in search of the horse.
"No, no, no, Steve!" Ralph snorted. "I mean that the whole haunted house thing might be about your sister's belief that it's wrong, whether or not it's actually wrong. Paul's deal about 'not causing your brother or sister to stumble'."
"Stumble on what?" I asked.
"Meat that's been offered to idols," Ralph said with a grin.
"What's meat got to do with it, and how is my sister going to trip over meat?"
Ralph suppressed the whinny and settled for a somewhat girlish giggle.
"I figured you might ask," he laughed, nodding. "You remember that passage in First Corinthians about idols? The one where Paul says they're not gods, and there is but one God?"
"Sorta," I said, sounding as tentative as I felt. I hadn't a clue what he was talking about.
"Well, anyway, the whole gist of it was that Paul was comfortable eating meat that had been sacrificed to idols, because he knew that idols had no power. But not everyone agreed. Many in the church felt that it was wrong to eat such meat. Paul understood that other believers who didn't sense the same freedom that he did might be led to sin in other areas of their lives if they thought he was freely doing something sinful."
Ralph looked at me expectantly, as if I should get it. I didn't.
"Yeah?" I answered, with all the simulated astuteness that I could muster.
"So what's the application?" Ralph asked. "How does Paul's situation apply to your sister and the haunted house?"
"Um..." I continued my awesome display of feigned astuteness.
"Maybe, just maybe," explained Ralph, "even if you see nothing wrong with a haunted house fundraiser at the church, you should support your sister's decision not to participate."
"But what about the other youth? I don't want her to ruin it for them."
"Let me worry about them," Ralph said. "You need to think about Shelly. She already knows you love her. Maybe she needs to know that you respect her decision."
Respect. Tough word. I didn't agree with her position, but did I have to win the argument?
* * * * * *
After securing a refill, I left my late afternoon coffee break with Pastor Ralph, still unsure what to make of his advice. I arrived at the school to pick up Shelly a little before 5:00. She needed a ride home after volleyball practice. I decided to wait inside for her and finish my coffee while I watched her practice wind down.
I could hear the squeaking of sneakers on the gym floor as I walked down the hallway. Pushing my way through the double doors with one shoulder while trying not to spill my coffee, I hung a left and climbed the bleachers. As I took a seat and turned to look down on the court, I did a double take.
Shelly was about to serve the volleyball over the net. She held the ball in her left hand, preparing to toss it up and strike it overhand with her right. She stepped back with her left foot, bending at the waist to get leverage and power. Nothing remarkable, right?
Oh, but the tight little black shorts that she wore. Tight little black shorts - filled by a tight little athletic butt. A luscious, squeezable, kissable butt. Pooching out enticingly due to that crouch before the serve.
Let me back up. Shelly is a very conservative dresser - when she has a choice. No plunging necklines. No painted-on jeans. Heck, even her swimsuit has a wrap-around skirt.
But on the volleyball court, you're part of a team. A team that has uniforms. And you have to wear the uniform. The uniform that they give you. And, along with a bright yellow loose-fitting knit jersey, part of her school's uniform is a pair of very tiny, very tight form-fitting black Lycra shorts.
If you haven't seen a girls' volleyball game recently, you may not be able to relate. Suffice it to say that all of the girls on virtually every team wear these tiny shorts, and most of them look really great in them. But I had eyes only for Shelly.

REPORT

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[sri7869]

Good start

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Shelly's lithe form moved with grace, smacking the ball over the net so hard that the girls on the other side backed away and let it drop. The ball bounced off the floor and into the back wall. The teammates on her side of the net jumped up and down, shouting, giving each other high fives. Apparently, they had just won the scrimmage game. Several of them gave Shelly hugs.

I smiled internally, knowing that Shelly would be happy but humble. As the excitement settled down and the coach finished his post-game wrap-up, they began to head to the girls' locker room. Shelly scanned the bleachers and caught my eye. I nodded and waved with one lazy finger. She gave me an electric megawatt smile and waved back.

My heart did a little flip, but I regained my composure and motioned to her that I'd meet her at the car. My hands gripped the imaginary steering wheel and moved back and forth in a crude pantomime for Shelly's benefit, before I pointed in the direction of the parking lot. She nodded her understanding, then turned and sauntered toward the locker room. I stood riveted to the spot, my eyes locked on those tight, form-fitting black shorts - and trying not to picture what was underneath them.

Jason Mraz was happily crooning "I'm Yours" on my car radio when Shelly opened the rear passenger door to throw her gym bag in the back seat. Then she climbed into the front passenger seat to join me. She was wearing baggy sweatpants and a light jacket over her uniform.

"Shoulda showered," I teased as she buckled up. "Eau de skunk does you no favors."

"Shut it, loser," she shot back. Her taut smile disclosed the humor beneath.

As I put my Ford Fusion in reverse, I made a mock point of airing out the odor. I rolled down the electric windows and vigorously waved my hands. Shelly rolled her eyes. I laughed.

"I was thinking about taking you for ice cream, but I'm not sure I want to be associated with that smell," I taunted.

"S'alright," she said, "I don't wanna smell me either. Just didn't want to get nakey in front of all the other girls. I'll shower at home."

Nakey. Shower. Lord, help me!

I pulled to a stop at the exit from the school parking lot.

"Now or never," I said. "Ice cream or not?"

"Not. I need some real food before dessert."

I turned the blinker to the left, heading for home rather than turning right toward the Baskin Robbins.

"Too bad," I teased. "Ice cream would help to fatten you up."

"Like I really need fattening up...." she said.

"Somebody's fishing for a compliment," I replied.

"I weigh 135, Steve," she answered.

"All muscle," I said. "Plus, you're 5'10". You're underweight. You could easily weigh 15 more pounds and still look good."

Shelly shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I... I look good?"

"Well, let's just say you look better than you smell," I joked.

"Doofus!" she laughed, then flicked my right kneecap with her thumb and forefinger.

We chatted the rest of the way home, mostly about volleyball and her classes at school. I hesitated to bring up the conversation I'd had with Pastor Steve. I figured it could wait until we could sit across a table and look each other in the eye. I knew she needed to see my body language and not just hear my words. If only a certain part of my anatomy will avoid a more intimate kind of body language....

* * * * * *

Shelly ran up the stairs when we got home. I took my time, reaching the top of the stairs just in time to see her toss her gym bag into her bedroom and dash toward the bathroom. The baggy sweatpants were not revealing enough to lure me into following too closely.

"I'll take the shower after you," I hollered after her. "Leave me some hot water!"

"It might take it all to get the stink off!" she shouted merrily. I couldn't help but smile at my sister's goofy sense of humor.

Within seconds, I heard the water running.

I went to my bedroom and tossed my keys and wallet on the desk. Flinging my jacket toward the closet, I lay back on the bed. A million thoughts were flitting through my mind, most of them related to my sister. And that, I realized, was the problem.

I'm blood-related to my sister. If she were any other girl in the world and I knew her the way I knew Shelly, I'd be doing everything I could to get her to go out with me. But if she were any other girl in the world, I almost certainly wouldn't know here the way I did. Talk about a paradox!

As I lay there thinking, I suddenly heard a voice. A female voice. Singing. It was coming from the shower. Of course, it was Shelly. And she was singing beautifully. A hymn. With the voice of an angel, she was lifting up a powerful praise anthem: "How Deep the Father's Love For Us" by Stuart Townend.

Shelly's faith was probably the thing that attracted me most to her. Sure, she was beautiful, athletic, kind and intelligent. But she was a person of genuine faith and conviction. That's what

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started this whole problem with the haunted house. And even that wasn't about being "holier than thou." She was worried about her unchurched friends and the mixed message that a haunted house at a church would send to them.

Shelly had become serious about her faith as a younger teenager. It was through seeing the change in her and the way she treated others - Mom, Dad, her classmates, and of course me - that I began to question my own faith. And eventually I came to a place where I owned it for myself, not just as something that somebody else wanted for me. I had a "come to Jesus" moment where I realized that it was all about God's love for me, not my own ability to perform. From that point on, I viewed God as my Father - especially after my own Dad died. And not as some authority figure with a lightning bolt ready to blast me when I messed up. But, like my Dad, somebody who loved me unconditionally for who I was, not for what I did. Someone who rooted for me and would gladly help me to become all that I could be.

But right now, I wanted to forget that God was always there. Because I wanted my sister as more than a sister, and I was pretty sure that that wasn't what God wanted for me.

Or was it? A voice somewhere deep inside me seemed to whisper.

I listened to Shelly's voice rising in perfect pitch as she finished the refrain:

"Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer -

But this I know with all my heart

His wounds have paid my ransom."

The emotion in her voice touched me in a way that both captivated and crushed my heart. This pure girl with sincere faith, wanting to be God's vessel of love, but loved by her brother in a way that -- by all appearances in both society and the church -- could never legitimately be consummated. A true conundrum of biblical proportions.

Shelly's knock at my door a few minutes later drew me out of my reverie.

"Shower's all yours, dork," she said through the panel, giggling as she proceeded down the hallway. Moments later, I heard her bedroom door open and shut.

As I adjusted the shower head and leaned under its potent stream, I was happy to find that there was plenty of hot water left. Shelly didn't have a genuinely mean bone in her body, and I was pretty sure she'd deliberately saved me as much as she could.

After I washed my hair, I lathered up my loofah with some body wash for sensitive skin. And as I began to rub my body, I encountered some genuinely sensitive skin. Down there.

I thought about the fact that Shelly had been in here not 5 minutes before. Just as naked as I was now. Nakey.

And I thought about that snapshot in time before she served the volleyball to end the game. About her tight, black, form-fitting short shorts. And her cute little butt. And suddenly that sensitive skin was getting uncomfortably hard.

Hopefully God is looking the other way, I thought. Or at least He understands.

My hand grasped my soapy dick and began to stroke.

I'd long before resolved that masturbation - in and of itself - wasn't sinful. The Bible never condemns it. The closest it comes is an Old Testament passage where God struck down a man for "spilling his seed upon the ground." But the point there was that the guy was deliberately foregoing his duty to provide a child to his wife through a Levirate marriage. It wasn't the act of masturbation itself that was the problem.

Where things become a bit more dicey is with the thoughts that make masturbation possible, or at least bring it to its most effective conclusion. Jesus taught that "anyone who looks upon a woman to lust after her has already committed adultery with her in his heart."

So, if I'm thinking about a woman - let's say some random woman in tight, black volleyball shorts - while I stroke my dick in the shower, am I committing adultery with her in my heart?

Well, if she's unmarried - say, like my sister - can it be adultery? And if she's not aware I'm doing it, can it be "with her"?

Okay, so I'm looking for a technicality. Maybe the answer is simpler. Maybe Jesus was pointing out our weaknesses so that we didn't think we had the strength on our own to overcome them. After all, didn't his teaching about "anyone who looks upon a woman" follow right after He said, "You have heard it said not to commit adultery, but I say to you...." He basically raised the stakes to say it's not just the actions, but the thoughts, that lead to sin. And nobody is good enough to completely control their thoughts -- so everybody sins. And that's why we all need God's grace, rather than our own perfection.

Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. God knows my weaknesses - and when it comes to my sister, God knows -- I'm weak.

As I stroked my soapy dick, I tried to show my sister some respect -- and to somewhat control my thoughts -- by not completely undressing her in my mind. That tight little butt in those cute little shorts were enough. Shelly's smile in my mind's eye was what ultimately put me over the top. I felt my cock starting to pulse as I stroked faster. My body shuddered and I grasped the shower head with my left hand for balance. I was about to explode in a massive orgasm, and I called out to the girl in my mind as my cock began to erupt.

"Ah - ah - Shelly!" I hissed through clenched teeth, as spurt after spurt of white creamy globs painted the shower wall.

"Um.... Steve?" I heard Shelly's surprised voice from the other side of the shower door.

Busted. My mind kicked into survival mode. Rapidly exiting my orgasmic nirvana, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the "fight or flight" instinct.

"Shel? What're you doin' here?"

"I was just grabbing the hair dryer," she said. "What are you doing?"

"Taking a shower, Einstein," I retorted.

"But - why did you call me?" she asked.

I grasped for straws. "I... um... I, uh, needed to ask you a question."

"Well - what about?"

"Um...." I stumbled for anything. "What time is Mom getting home from work?"

"Steve - what's wrong with you?"

I turned the shower stream off to hear her better. I noticed a glob of cum stuck to a nearby tile as I released the knob.

"Shel, I'm confused..." I said.

"It's the first Thursday in October, right?" she asked.

"Um, yeah...."

"Well, what has Mom been doing on every first Thursday evening of the month for the last three years?"

My orgasm had momentarily robbed me of my other senses. "Oh, yeah," I replied. "Grief group at the church."

I reached for my washcloth and wiped the cum off the tile, erasing the physical evidence of my desire for my sister.

"So... we won't see her until after dinner, right? Since they share a meal? Remember?" Shelly continued.

With the shower turned off and me dripping wet, I was starting to get cold.

"Um... right..."

My eloquence was astounding, I'm sure.

"So, there's no need to call out to your baby sister from the shower..." Shelly replied.

I blushed the length of my entire body, probably emanating from my guilty dick. I decided to change the subject.

"Um, Shel... could you hand me my towel?"

"Sure, bro. But you're gonna have to slide the door open a bit."

Our shower was one of those with a sliding door and a panel at the top to keep the water in, so there was no way to toss a towel over to the other side without opening the door a crack. Thankfully, the swirly pattern on the shower door was opaque enough that Shelly couldn't see the activity I had been engaged in when she had entered the bathroom. At least, I didn't think so.

I slid the door carefully open. Well, I'm sure I thought I was being careful. Unfortunately, I lost my balance and had to grasp the handle harder, pulling it wider open as I regained my stance.

Shelly's mouth gaped open and her eyes widened as she looked down at my floppy, flaccid cock. She was bundled to the gills with a heavy terry cloth robe and her hair wrapped in a towel, but I was stark naked and totally exposed to her view.

Having just lost my load to thoughts of my sister, my dangling dick was more embarrassing for its small size than for the fact that Shelly saw me in the buff. If she was going to see it, at the very least it could have been in a state where I'd have been prouder of its length and girth. I half expected her to tease me with her twisted take on the "wee wee-wee, all the way home" line from the "This Little Piggy" toe-pulling game from when we were kids. "It's not a little toe that got pulled; it was his little wee-wee getting pulled that made him cry," she had always insisted as a juvenile joke.

There was no mirth on her face now. Instead, she was completely flustered.

"Here!" she said, throwing the towel in my general direction and fleeing the scene. I caught it before it hit the shower floor, but Shelly was already gone. I noticed that she'd left the hair dryer behind.

* * * * * *

As was our custom on the Thursday evenings when our mom was gone to her grief recovery group, Shelly and I settled in at the kitchen table to share a frozen pizza. It wasn't frozen, actually -- Shel had heated it in the oven at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for the required 18 to 20 minutes.

"Which kind did you fix?" I asked.

"Delissio thin crust -- 4 cheese," she replied quietly, without looking up from the table.

I could see immediately that she was troubled. It had only been half an hour since our awkward little shower scene. My hair was even still a little bit wet. So was Shelly's. She'd never returned for the hair dryer.

Shelly had changed from her terry cloth robe into track pants and a white tank top. While modest, the top hugged her bosom in a way that inspired adoration. For my part, I was the epitome of fashion in an old pair of jeans and a Casting Crowns t-shirt.

"Do you want to do the honors?" she asked.

I hesitated a second, thinking she wanted me to slice the pizza -- but it had already been cut. Then realization dawned. I bowed my head and closed my eyes.

"Sure," I said. She was asking me to offer thanks to God for our food.

"Father," I said, trying to visualize God and really talk to Him, "We thank you for this meal, and for the chance to share some time around the table together as brother and sister. Biological siblings, as well as brother and sister in Christ. We ask that you'd give Mom a good evening sharing with her group, knowing that she's fulfilling your word to 'mourn with those who mourn.' And we ask that you forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. We pray in Jesus' name... Amen."

Shelly kept her eyes downcast as I raised my head.

"Um, Steve," she said, a hint of a question mark raising the pitch of her voice as she spoke my name.

"Yeah, Shel?" I asked as I took my first bite of pizza.

"You, uh, mentioned 'trespasses' when you were praying," she said, again almost a question rather than a statement. Her pizza slice remained on her plate.

"Yup..." A string of cheese pulled away from my pizza and landed on my chin.

"Why'd'ja do that?"

"Well, I dunno..." I stopped chewing and hesitated. "Maybe because it's part of the Lord's prayer? Y'know, a model prayer for us to use when we pray?"

"Oh...." she said, still with a question in her voice. "I thought maybe it was because of me walking in on you in the shower."

"What?" I asked, perhaps a little more emphatically than I had intended.

"Y'know," she said, "I sorta trespassed against you when I came in the bathroom while you were still showering."

"And you think I was pointing out your need for forgiveness when I prayed?"

"Well, y'know...." She stopped again, looking up from her pizza and holding my gaze. "I probably shouldn't have come into the bathroom with you all nakey and everything...."

Nakey, indeed. With my sister in the room, catching a glimpse of my shrunken phallus. But she's thinking about it. Just not sure whether because of guilt -- or perhaps curiosity....

My heart raced, and my dick galloped ahead of it. But my brain said, "Whoa."

"Shel, that was nothing more than an accident. An unfortunate, uncomfortable, innocent situation."

"Well... maybe. Uncomfortable, yes. Unfortunate -- I don't know. I'm not big on the role of 'fortune' or coincidence. And innocent?" She paused, her cheeks flushing, and took a sip of her Diet Coke. "Maybe not so innocent...."

My poor, dear sister was struggling with guilt. She looked back down at her plate, frowning, flexing her fingers. I was determined to relieve her of her sense of responsibility.

"What are you talking about, Sis?" I asked. "I know you won't even go into the shower with the girls on the volleyball team. And I certainly didn't mean to show you my junk -- such as it was, all shriveled and all."

Her frown transformed into a mischievous grin.

"So you'd have purposely showed it to me if it wasn't all shriveled?"

I harrumphed. "That was not my proudest moment. But no, I was not trying to flash you. If I had, I'd have been more prepared and done a better job of it. Bad enough that I gave you a glimpse. Worse yet that the flagpole was well below half-mast."

Shelly giggled at that, her cheeks turning rosy. She was naughtier than I suspected.

I took another bite of my pizza, while Shelly flashed a grin at me.

"Well, Steve," she laughed, "was it at half-mast because someone had died? Perhaps 'the little death'?"

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Was she saying what I thought she was?

"I'll have you know, my dear little sister, that I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Shelly looked down again, then caught my gaze again and batted her eyes.

"We both aced our French classes in high school, dear brother," she said meaningfully, "and you're trying to tell me you don't know what 'la petite mort' means?"

I nearly choked on my last bite of pizza, while Shelly's remained untouched.

"Please, please -- enlighten me, little Sis," I said.

"It refers to an orgasm, dear brother," she replied saucily.

I laid my hands flat on the table. I knew the jig was up. No lying, no excuses. The Bible talks about the importance of confession. Not to a priest, but to those we've wronged, both human and divine. I looked her in the eye.

"Okay, Shel -- I'll bite. Let me start by saying that I was not pointing out your need for forgiveness when I prayed about trespasses. I would never use a prayer to communicate someone else's faults to them. But maybe I subconsciously was thinking about the shower scene and my own need for forgiveness...."

[neerathemall]

But.... But...." Shelly stammered. "You just said that you didn't purposely show me your junk...."

"That's right, I didn't purposely show you my penis, if we're going to have a serious talk like adults. And yes, I'm the one that started out calling it junk...."

Shelly smiled, then reached out to lay her hand across mine. "It's not junk at all," she said quietly.

I returned her smile. "Be that as it may," I said, "It was in a reduced state for a reason. And you're exactly right as to why. I had just had an orgasm, which leaves it in a completely deflated state."

"So...." she began. "So I was right...."

"Yes. And that may be what was on my mind when I asked God for forgiveness for my trespasses."

"You were obviously alone in the shower. And you had just had an orgasm...."

"If you're going to make me say it.... I was masturbating."

"Is -- is masturbation a sin?" she asked. "I mean, did you really need forgiveness?"

"I -- I don't fully know whether it's necessarily a sin. I've studied the Bible and I don't actually think that the physical act is sinful. But the mental images that accompany it might well be sinful."

"Mental images?" she asked.

"Yeah, y'know -- thoughts that get you aroused, so that you can actually -- masturbate," I replied.

"And, um, what were you thinking about?"

Ugh. Didn't want to go there.

"Shelly... Sis... Please don't make me say."

Shelly grinned a megawatt smile.

"So... it's true."

"What's true?" I asked.

"When you called out my name... It wasn't... it wasn't because you heard me in the room."

"Um... no, Shel. No, I didn't hear you until after."

"After -- your orgasm? But you definitely called out my name from the shower...."

"Yeah, I did," I admitted.

Shelly lifted her hand from mine and touched my face.

"Truth, Steve. You called out my name when you were having an orgasm?"

My face burned with shame. But there was no condemnation in her voice -- just a sincere question.

"Truth? Yes, Shelly, I was thinking of you when I came. You're the mental image that I conjured up to masturbate to...."

"And you think you need to be forgiven for that?" she asked, quirking her eyebrow at me inquisitively, not in anger, frustration or judgment.

"Jesus talked about lusting after a woman -- not just the physical act of adultery, but the mental image...."

"You -- you lust after me? Moi?"

"Yes, you, Shelly -- only you. Whenever... whenever I... I masturbate. But not just then. I always think of you as more than just my sister...."

There. I'd said it. Revolting as it surely must be to her. But she only smiled at me.

"Steve, I have a confession to make."

"Yeah, Sis?"

"Well, Steve... I masturbate, too."

"You... you do?" I don't know if I was truly surprised. After all, they say that everybody does it. Even sweet, innocent Christian girls.

"Yes. And I... I don't feel guilty about it."

"So you can do it without the... the mental images?" I asked.

Shelly averted her gaze from mine, and removed her hand from my face.

"Well, in all honesty... not exactly."

"So how do you get past the idea that it's sinful?"

"Because... because I love the person I'm thinking about."

A stab of jealousy pierced my heart. I clenched my fists below the table so she couldn't see my rage. I wanted to pound the poor fellow who had stolen my sister's heart. But I managed to calm myself and pursue the line of questioning. Unlike a good lawyer, I was willing to ask questions for which I might not want to know the answers.

"So, if you love him, it's not a sin to think of him lustfully?"

"Not if I'm committed to him. Like, for life."

"You mean -- you're planning to marry him?" I was devastated.

"Um, Steve -- it's complicated...." she answered.

Just then, the front door to the house slammed shut.

"Kiddos -- I'm ho-ome!" Mom's gleeful voice shouted from the living room.

Shelly grimaced. "I'll explain later, Steve."

My heart sunk to my stomach as we stood and went to the living room to welcome our mother with the hugs she always craved.

* * * * * *

That night, I opened my Bible and silently asked God for guidance and wisdom. I needed to know why I had these longings for my sister, and whether I was truly committing a sin by thinking of her that way. By wanting more.

Shelly had mentioned that she didn't believe in coincidences or fortune -- that my shriveled-dick appearance in the bathroom might not have been "unfortunate." But what possible reason could there be for it? What possible good could come from it? Only God knows.

I only knew that I was heartbroken that my sister had met some guy that she wanted to marry. I hadn't even known she had a boyfriend. Maybe -- maybe she didn't. Maybe she longed after him from afar, and he didn't even know she thought of him that way. That would explain his absence from the scene. Still, it was strange that she could feel so committed to him if that were the case....

I suddenly remembered a passage in the first book of the Bible that I wanted to look up. It involved Abraham, the father of "God's people" -- first, the physical descendants of Abraham, and then later, the spiritual descendants: the entire population of God-followers.

After some searching through Genesis, I stumbled upon the story of Abraham's sojourn with his wife, Sarah (originally Sarai). As I read, it dawned on me that Sarah wasn't just his wife. She was his sister, too. Well, his half-sister, at least.

Holy smokes, I thought. What are you showing me, Lord?

In the story, as they entered new lands, Abraham feared that the foreigners would kill him if they knew that Sarah was his wife. She was beautiful and they would surely want her. So, he told them she was his sister -- which was true, but it was not the entire truth.

Sarah was upset with Abraham for not telling them that she was his wife. After all, she didn't want them making advances on her. In Genesis 20: 11-12, Abraham tried to explain his reasoning to her: "I said to myself, 'There is surely no fear of God in this place, and they will kill me because of my wife.' Besides, she really is my sister, the daughter of my father though not of my mother; and she became my wife."

She really is my sister.... Huh. I'd really never thought much about it before. But now I was thinking.

I suddenly remembered another passage about a sister -- one that had a tragic ending. One of King David's sons, Absalom, had killed his brother Amnon because Amnon had banged their sister Tamar. But, if I remembered correctly, the issue was the bang, not that he loved his sister in a very unsisterly way. I leafed through my Bible, over to the book of 2nd Samuel. In the 13th chapter, I found the passage I was looking for:

Amnon became so obsessed with his sister Tamar that he made himself ill. She was a virgin, and it seemed impossible for him to do anything to her....

So Amnon lay down and pretended to be ill. When king David came to see him, Amnon said to him, "I would like my sister Tamar to come and make some special bread in my sight, so I may eat from her hand."

But when she took it to him to eat, he grabbed her and said, "Come to bed with me, my sister."

"No, my brother!" she said to him. "Don't force me! Such a thing should not be done in Israel! Don't do this wicked thing... Please speak to the king; he will not keep me from being married to you." But he refused to listen to her, and since he was stronger than she, he banged her.

Please speak to the king; he will not keep me from being married to you.... So, I indeed remembered it correctly. King David, whom the Bible repeatedly refers to as "a man after God's own heart," would not have kept Amnon from marrying his sister Tamar....

Pastor Ralph had told me to search the scriptures and God would help me find the answers to the difficult issue of the youth group hosting a haunted house. Was God similarly showing me the answers to the difficult issue of my longing after my sister?

Ralph had differentiated between contextual issues and eternal truths. In the context of today's society, loving my sister as a wife was definitely taboo. Probably even illegal. For sure, the state would never license us to marry. But was the separation between sister and wife to be an eternal truth? If so, why is it so clear that Abraham, the spiritual father of all believers, married his sister? Or that David, a man after God's own heart, would surely have allowed his son Amnon to marry his sister Tamar?

But even so, it didn't matter. Shelly's heart was obviously taken already by someone she ultimately wanted to marry. Someone who was the object of her thoughts as she masturbated. Even if he didn't necessarily know it yet. My fists began to clench and flex again. As much as the Bible called upon me not to hate, I truly hated this guy.

As I pondered these things, there was a knock at my door.

"Who is it?" I called out.

"It's me, Steve -- Shelly. Can I come in?"

"Sure."

The door opened slowly, and Shelly peered around the edge cautiously. Almost stealthily. She looked all around me -- side to side, up and down -- before fixing her gaze on mine.

"I.... I wasn't sure what you'd be doing," she explained. "Thought you might be masturbating," she said with a sheepish grin.

I rolled my eyes at her lame joke. "It's not like I do that all the time, Sis...."

"I can see I was plainly mistaken," she said, waving her hand with a grandiose gesture at the open Bible on my desk. "So what'cha doin', dear brother of mine?"

"Um.... Research. I mean, like, trying to figure some things out. From the Bible."

"Like, about your masturbation guilt?" She walked toward me, standing over me as a remained seated in my desk chair.

"Well, yeah, kinda...." I said weakly.

"And.... What have you -- found?" she inquired. She placed an affectionate hand on my shoulder in a display of support.

"Well, not to go back over ground we've already covered, but I think it's really about the mental images. That's where the sin comes in."

"And you -- you always think of me...." Shelly's voice was low, a husky whisper.

Gulp. "Yes, that's right, Sis. Please forgive me...."

"Well, Steve -- we got interrupted earlier. I didn't finish my confession." She sat down on the end of the bed, beside my desk chair.

"You -- you had.... had started talking about that guy you want to marry," I said, the pain straining my voice. "That it's okay to think of him when you masturbate, since you plan to marry him."

I felt a tear slipping down my face, latching onto my nostril momentarily before splattering on my desk. Shelly tenderly wiped the rivulet from my cheek.

"I didn't say I plan to marry him. I said it's complicated. I don't think -- I don't think I can actually marry him...."

"But -- why not?" I asked, louder than I intended. I was both relieved and puzzled.

"Because... because even though we love each other desperately, I don't know of any jurisdictions where we could legally marry. But, like I said, it's complicated. Marriage isn't just a legal concept. It's a spiritual commitment...."

"You -- couldn't legally marry? Why not?" I was incredulous.

"Steve -- dear brother of mine -- are you really that dense?"

She smiled a dazzling smile, then leaned her face toward mine.

I rolled my desk chair back away from her momentarily, not sure what was going on.

Shelly leaned over toward me from the edge of the bed -- my, oh my, her white tank top hugged her breasts deliciously -- and picked up my open Bible.

"I see you're in the 13th chapter of 2nd Samuel, Steve."

"Um -- that's right, Shel."

"Where Amnon rapes his sister, Tamar?"

Busted again!

"Um, yep, Sis...."

"Steve, you're not planning to bang me, are you?"

"What??? No way, Shel, I would never, ever hurt you!"

"I didn't think so. But you do fantasize about me to make yourself ejaculate when you masturbate?"

"But that's different than bang. I love you, Shelly -- I truly love you. More than just as a brother. As a man. I want to be with you, always and forever."

"Exactly. And that's why it's okay."

"You mean -- you're not grossed out? You don't hate me?"

"No, Steve," she answered, a smile tugging at her lips. "I could never hate you. You're my brother. And I am not grossed out."

"Why -- why not?" I asked.

"Because I love you the same way. As a woman, I mean."

"But -- what about the guy you want to marry? The one you think about when you masturbate?"

Shelly laughed, a hearty laugh from deep in her belly. Tears began streaming down her face. Her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably in the midst of her giggle fit.

"You're going to make me pee!" she shouted.

"But -- what's so funny?" I asked. And then it hit me. "Wait a minute -- you love me like I love you?"

"Yes, dear brother of mine. I am hopelessly devoted to you."

"And -- there is no other guy?"

"Exactly. You are the one that I conjure up when I masturbate. You are the one that I'm in love with. And you are the one that makes things complicated."

I rolled my chair in toward her, reaching in for a brotherly hug like we'd shared hundreds of times before. She leaned into me, accepting my hug unconditionally.

When our hug became awkwardly long, uncertain as to its role between siblings or lovers, we each released the other. Shelly stood and took my hand. I rose in front of her and gazed into her emerald depths. She smiled comfortably at me, and our hug resumed. But it made a choice: the sibling role was relinquished. And then my dormant dick developed a mind of its own, pushing into her belly. I started to back away, but Shelly pulled herself flush against me.

"I'm sorry, Shel -- I can't help it," I said, referring to the elephant in the room.

"And neither can I," she answered. "But it feels good. Can it be so wrong?"

"Well, uh -- actually, maybe not. I was searching the scriptures for a reason, Sis. And trying to do it with an open mind and open heart, not simply to justify what I've been feeling."

"And you landed on the passage about Amnon banging his sister Tamar?"

"Well, uh -- the bang was definitely wrong. Non-consensual sex is never right. But it's clear from the scripture that if it had been consensual, they could have been married. And it's clear in Genesis that Abraham was married to his sister, Sarah. Well, half-sister."

Shelly hugged me closer and looked up into my eyes.

"Steve, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"If you think I'm saying that I want to marry you -- yes. At least spiritually, as a lifelong commitment, even if it's not possible to marry you legally."

In response, Shelly put her hand behind my head and pulled my face gently down toward hers. She pressed her lips to mine, tentatively at first, then deepening with a sense of urgency. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, and I slid my tongue against hers. My dear, sweet, beautiful, loving sister -- how I love you! My burgeoning dick found its way to the crotch of her track pants, and she hoisted herself up to my abdomen, straddling me as I held her up. My hands began to massage her rounded, taut buttocks. I was overwhelmed with the confluence of love and desire....

"Shelly! Shelly, where are you???" Mom's voice drifted down the hallway from outside Shelly's bedroom.

Shelly jumped down from my midriff and straightened her hair, her track pants, and her tank top.

"I'm right here, Mom! I was just talking with Steve...."

She opened my bedroom door and smiled down the hall at Mom.

Mom met her at the doorway and poked her head into my room. She looked at my Bible and books spread across my desk.

"Ah, Bible study time. Good to see, Steve," Mom said.

"Yep, good to get some answers," I said giddily. "Really good."

"That's so nice," said Mom.

If you only knew, I thought.

"God is faithful," I said, sincerely thankful that He'd guided me to the answers I needed. My longing for my sister wasn't so unnatural after all. In fact, it wasn't sinful. Even better -- she loved me the same way!

"Yes, He is faithful," said Mom. "Shelly, sweetheart, I need you to come downstairs and help me out. I have to get three dozen cookies made for my kindergarten kids for tomorrow, and your cookies are so good. Of course, they must be nut-free, but we can adapt your recipe...."

Shelly wrinkled her nose and looked at me with a sad, upside-down smile.

"I guess we're done, Steve -- for now." She blew a kiss in my direction.

I smiled and blew a kiss back to her. For now, indeed.

* * * * * *

The next morning, Mom cooked some maple-flavored bacon while I made pancakes. Shelly fixed the coffee and set the table, and we all sat down to eat together.

"So, Steve," asked Mom, "what sort of Bible studies have you been doing lately?"

I nearly spit my coffee out. Shelly grinned at me and pointed a taunting finger.

"Um, well...." My mind raced. And then something truthful but diversionary bounced into my brain. "I, uh, I've been trying to figure out this haunted house thing...."

"Don't even get me started!" Shelly snapped.

"Sorry, Sis," I apologized, "but it's not what you think...."

"So -- what is it?" she asked.

"Well, I haven't found a definitive answer. The Bible doesn't specifically mention haunted houses. But I've discovered some principles."

"The man has found some principles! I raised him right!" Mom laughed, raising her hands above her head in a goofy cheer.

Shaking my head at her and smiling, I continued. "I think the key principle is to not cause my brother to stumble. Or in this case, my sister."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you, kiddo."

"I've told you, I'm not a kid. I'm a woman."

I fixed a gaze on her breasts pointedly, deliberately making both her and Mom uncomfortable. Mom even slapped my hand playfully.

"You are indeed that, Shel," I admitted. "But that's not the point."

"So get to the point," Mom said, pouring herself a second cup of coffee.

"When Paul talked about not causing others to stumble, he meant that even if I don't see something as wrong, I need to pay attention to whether others see it as wrong. If they do, and they see me doing that something that they see as 'wrong' -- it might cause them to 'stumble' themselves."

"So," Shelly said, "if I think having a haunted house at the church is wrong, you're going to support me in that?"

"Indeed I am, Sis -- no questions asked. But I've had another thought that you might want to consider."

"And -- what's that?" Shelly's curiosity was genuinely piqued.

"Well, we've always talked about wanting to get more people to church," I said, "and what better way to get people from the community -- people who'd never darken the door of a church on a Sunday morning -- to come out to a fun event on Halloween night. A charity fundraiser, at that?"

Shelly contemplated for a moment. Mom looked at her, then looked back at me, shrugging her shoulders with an emphatic question mark.

"Well, Steve, you may have something there," Shelly said slowly, "but if it's only about ghosts and goblins and witches, how does that make a positive difference with visitors from the community?"

I hesitated, then recovered. "Maybe they'll see that we're a lot like them. That we can have fun, without judgment. After all, we're all sinners in need of God's grace...."

R

[neerathemall]

Shelly wagged a finger at me. "Yes, but.... we're called to be light in the darkness. We need to shed some light on what's otherwise a very dark night of the year."

"And -- how would we do that?" I asked. "It's not like we can hand out tracts at the door and expect people to be cool with it."

"No, you're right," Shelly said. "It needs to be something that fits with the theme. Something that leverages the rest of the event. Like... like -- costumes!"

"So, you mean, like Bible characters?"

"Not necessarily," she replied. "Something -- creative. Something -- catchy. Like Pastor Ralph did at his garage band's Halloween welcome party in his driveway a few years ago."

Mom spoke up. "You mean the one where he wore a gigantic box of Corn Flakes and had the plastic hatchet embedded in his temple, with fake blood dripping out?"

"Yeah, that's it," Shelly chuckled. "The infamous 'cereal killer' costume."

"So -- something nerdy," I joked.

"Well -- maybe," Shelly replied. "But symbolic. Something meaningful. Something to tell people what the church really is."

"Like 'the body'?" Mom asked. "You know -- someone is the hands, another one's the eye, another's an ear. I think I'm the hemorrhoids...."

"Mom!" Shelly exclaimed, "You definitely have nothing to do with the butt! If anything, you are the smile."

"Thanks, sweetie,"

[neerathemall]

"Thanks, sweetie," Mom replied, "but that would make me part of the head, and we know that Christ is the head of the church."

"Perhaps we need a different metaphor," I interjected, "something that can actually be worn as a costume."

"Like -- like -- the bride!" Shelly nearly jumped out of her seat.

"The bride of Christ?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure," said Mom. "The church is the bride of Christ. So you could have someone dressed as a bride... and someone dressed as Jesus."

"Exactly!" Shelly stood and began bouncing up and down excitedly from one foot to the other. I couldn't help but notice the flouncing under her nightshirt. It was apparent that she did not sleep in a bra, and that she hadn't bothered to dress before breakfast.

"So, um, who're we gonna get to do that?" I asked.

"Why, us, of course," Shelly blurted out, scowling with mock indignation.

"You mean you're going to dress up as Jesus, and I'm going to wear a bridal gown?" I taunted.

"Steven Michael Morton, you behave!" Mom shouted while trying to suppress a laugh.

"Okay, okay," I said. "But -- wouldn't it be a little weird for, y'know, brother and sister to play the parts of bride and groom."

Shelly got a serious look on her face, but Mom grinned.

"You two make a cute couple," she answered.

What? Okay, Mom is full of surprises. But surely she doesn't suspect....

Shelly had turned beet red.

"As long as it's not too weird for you, dear brother," she huffed, "I think the two of us can pull it off."

"Indeed you can," Mom said, standing from her seat at the table. "And I can help."

She walked across the kitchen and disappeared.

"How are you going to help, Mom?" I shouted from my seat.

"Just wait there," she hollered back from the living room.

"I think I have an idea where she's going," Shelly said tightly, sitting back down next to me.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She nodded and flashed me a quick smile. I scanned her face for signs of regret, but I saw none.

Shelly was absolutely gorgeous, despite having come to the breakfast table without even running a brush through her lustrous reddish-brown hair. My heart lurched with affection for her, and I leaned forward for a kiss. She smiled at me and nuzzled me nose-to-nose before giving me a brief peck on the lips.

"Can't go making out in front of Mom," she whispered. "Not just yet."

Just then, I heard footsteps padding in our direction. Apparently, Shelly's ears were better than mine.

"I'm ba-ack," Mom announced in a sing-song voice.

Shelly gasped. Then I saw why. Mom was carrying a hanger that held -- her wedding dress.

"Mom!" Shelly said. "I can't ask you to let me wear that for -- a Halloween costume!"

"Oh, pshaw, sweetie. It's not like I'm ever going to wear it again."

"But -- it's from your wedding."

"Of course it is," said Mom. "And at one point, I'd hoped that you would wear it someday for real, but... somehow I don't see that happening anymore."

"You see her as a confirmed bachelorette?" I asked.

Shelly coughed, nearly choking on her coffee.

"Well, something like that," Mom answered. "I just -- don't see things the way I used to."

Okay, Mom, you're freaking me out a little bit, I thought.

"But -- even if I don't get married in a church, you might get remarried someday," Shelly declared.

"Yes -- yes, I might. And it would be in a church. But not in this gown. That was just for Dad."

I felt a lump in my throat, thinking about Dad. Man, I missed the guy. He was the best. The absolute best.

I saw a tear threatening to leak out of Shelly's eye, too. My beautiful, tender-hearted sister. I leaned into her for a brotherly hug.

"My two dear, sweet children," said Mom endearingly. "You love each other so much. And that makes me so happy. I just want you both to be happy. Together."

Mom, what are you saying? I thought.

"So, it's settled, then," she continued, "Shelly will wear my wedding gown and will be your bride, Steve."

"For the haunted house... At the church... And me dressed as Jesus...." I clarified.

"Well, there's always that," she replied.

Shelly shrugged her shoulders at me, her eyebrows raised.

* * * * * *

The haunted house was a rousing success. We had several hundred people that made their way through the scary-themed church building throughout the course of the evening, and we raised several thousand dollars for summer missions. All the youth had a great time -- it was a time of team-building among them, and Shelly was able to share in that camaraderie with a clear conscience.

Our "bride of Christ" metaphor was a hit, too. Visitors seemed to appreciate the idea that the church was really supposed to be all about love, even if the conjugal aspects of the relationship with Christ were a bit of a mystery.

When we arrived home late that Halloween night, Mom had left us a note saying she'd gone to her sister's house to help with trick-or-treaters, and that she planned to spend the night.

Hmmm.... That's a bit odd, Mom, I thought.

Shelly held my hand as we climbed the stairs together. After we walked down the upstairs hallway, I was struck with an impulse: I picked up my sister and carried her across the threshold to her bedroom.

She let out a pleased squeal, pulling the wedding train up so that I didn't trip on it.

I walked to the bed and gently deposited her on it, one arm still around her back as I sat down beside her.

"D'you think Mom suspects?" I asked.

"Nothing gets by Mom," she replied.

"And -- she... sorta seems okay with it?"

"Oddly enough, I think she's quite happy."

"But -- won't it be as difficult for her as it is for us?"

"Where God provides a will, He provides a way," Shelly answered.

"My wise and wonderful bride," I said, "My hallowed sister."

"Your sister who wants to consummate this marriage," she replied.

She reached her hand under the robe that I wore as part of my Jesus costume.

My cock quickly stiffened in anticipation of Shelly's grasp. No post-masturbation limpness to embarrass me this time. Even before she reached her destination, my flagpole was at full mast. She stroked my junk -- my penis -- through my loin cloth.

I leaned back and looked into her eyes. "I can't make this legal, Shelly -- but I pledge my heart, my all to you -- for life. In the eyes of God, I will be your husband."

Shelly's emerald eyes took on a fire of their own. "And I pledge my heart, my all to you, Steve -- for life. In the eyes of God, I will be your wife. A spiritual, emotional and physical union. No piece of paper needed."

I stood and pulled off the robe, dropping it beside me. Dressed in just a loin cloth and sandals, I reached behind Shelly to help her unzip her bridal gown. She turned to the side, easing the process for me. In no time flat, guided by instinct rather than acumen, I'd stripped it carefully off her and laid it over the seat by her dresser.

She was now clad only in white satin bra, white stockings and white satin panties. Her auburn hair was a beautiful contrast to the sea of white.

"Help me get these off," she said, a hint of a plea in her voice.

I knelt in front of her, starting to peel her stockings off as a first measure. But they made her look so sexy, I decided to leave them on. Then, chewing my lip with deliberation, I reached for the front clasp on her bra. I'd never removed one before, and she could easily detect my ineptness. "Here," she said kindly, "I can get that." Seconds later, her bra was discarded to the floor.

My mind had seen Shelly in various states of undress in its masturbation moments many times, but nothing prepared me for the reality of her naked tits. They were perfection personified. Round, creamy globes that hung as mature fruit waiting to be plucked. Dusty pink nipples, protruding with burgeoning desire atop quarter-sized areolae, waiting to be sucked. I instinctively raised my hands to hold them, feeling their softness as if measuring supermarket produce for ripeness.

And then my mouth was on them, and Shelly's hands were on my head, pulling me harder into her chest. She moaned with pleasure, making my cock stiffen uncomfortably within my loin cloth. It was the first time I'd ever experienced a painful erection. Feeling ready to burst, I stood and ripped the loin cloth from my body.

Shelly's eyes grew wide. "It's beautiful," she said, grasping my penis.

"Better than the embarrassing little leftover state you saw it in before, eh?"

She grinned a Cheshire cat grin, then leaned over to kiss the head of my dick.

"There's never anything to be embarrassed about, dear brother," she said. "We're in this together."

And, just to prove her point, she stood and stripped off her white satin panties, casting them to the floor on the other side of the bed. The sight of her trimmed triangle of auburn bush caused my cock to twitch.

"Shelly, you are.... exquisite."

"Better than your masturbation fantasies?"

"A thousand times better. Not just visually. But -- because you want me as much as I want you."

"You've got that right," she said. And to prove her point again, she grasped my hand and pushed my fingers against her dripping snatch.

"You do that to me -- your beautiful penis, silently screaming your desire for me -- even better than when I masturbated to thoughts of you," she murmured.

"You're really wet," I said. "But I think you may need to be wetter than that before we consummate this marriage."

"You -- you mean..."

"Lay back, dear sister -- and spread your legs for me."

She obeyed without hesitation. As she lay back, I kicked off my sandals before leaning in to inspect her most private place. I was struck with the thought of rose petals and artistry. God's creation in the feminine construction was truly amazing. As I took in the beauty of her vulva with my eyes just inches away, my nose caught a whiff of her jasmine aroma. I was ready to touch her treasures.

I didn't really know what I was doing, but I knew that it was important for a girl to be well-lubricated. Especially for her first time.

I leaned my face against her pussy, and I pushed my tongue against her folds. Then I licked up and down her crease. Tentatively, I stuck a finger inside her sopping slit. And then, with my tongue and lips, I found it. Her little nub, protruding out of its little perch at the top of her folds.

I began gently sucking her clit, accompanied by a finger probing her furrow. I increased my pace on both, feeling a feral desire to bring her to orgasm. I savored the scintillating scent of her arousal, the tart taste of her womanly juices.

I lost track of time as I sought her bliss. And it dawned on me that I was receiving as much pleasure as I was giving.

"Steve -- Steve!" she cried out. "You're -- you're gonna make me... cum!" Her hands held my shoulders, pressing my face against her most intimate place.

I felt her pussy flexing, then pulsing, then finally spasming as she thrashed against my face and finger. A minute or so later, her body completely relaxed.

I climbed up on the bed beside her, nuzzling her cheek with my pussy-juice-coated face.

"Steve," she said, "that was wonderful. Now, I need you inside me."

"Give me 60 seconds," I said. "First, I need to cherish your beautiful behind."

"My -- what?"

"Your sweet little ass, dear sister. You can't imagine what it does to me with your little black volleyball shorts on. But I have to see it with them off."

Shelly giggled at that, but she rolled over obligingly.

I was once again mesmerized. Her toned, muscular thighs -- peeking out from above her stockings -- were sculpted seamlessly into two softer, rounded, luscious mounds of precious, creamy, flawless flesh. Her ass was as exquisite as the rest of her.

I trailed kisses up her thighs while massaging her ass cheeks. Then, pausing at the juncture of her thighs, I blew a gust of air across her pussy lips. She flinched and smacked my arm playfully. Then I licked the first two fingers of my right hand and carefully began pushing them into her pussy from behind. I continued to traverse the line of kisses past her thighs and up onto her butt cheeks.

"So lovely," I sighed, in between kisses on her ass. My fingers continued to probe her slit.

"I'm glad you like it, Steve," Shelly whimpered. "The kisses are wonderfully sweet. You make me feel so treasured. But I really need something more than your fingers inside me."

She didn't have to ask twice. I helped her roll back over so we could face each other. Perhaps not too surprisingly, our first time together would be in the missionary position. That's not to say we'd be limited to that going forward.

I kissed her deeply as I positioned my body above hers. She reached down and grasped my cock, guiding it to her blissful opening. She slid my glans up and down her nether lips, coating it for lubrication.

I don't know what actual heaven will be like, but I now know what coital heaven feels like. Her dewy petals gently grasped my penis as it penetrated them, filling me with euphoria as I gazed into her eyes and saw her smile. She kissed me and sighed with satisfaction.

Her lubrication from my earlier oral ministrations and her orgasmic release let my cock slide toward her tight tunnel until it reached the barrier.

"Do it, Steve!" Shelly said, and pulled me by my buttocks to eliminate any argument. My stiff rod pierced the barrier, and her body seemed to wince with the pain of the loss of her virginity.

I immediately suppressed my urge to thrust, giving her time to recover and adjust. Just moments later, her body relaxed into mine, and her vaginal walls expanded to accommodate my girth.

"I love you," we both said simultaneously. She smiled and nuzzled my cheek with her nose.

We started off slowly, simply enjoying the deeper level of connectedness than we'd ever before experienced. The physical connection took us to a new experiential plane, for sure, but the emotional and spiritual connection between the two of us exploded to a new level as well.

I found myself pushing deeper inside her, feeling like I just couldn't get close enough to my beloved sister. She pushed back against me, pulling me deeper into her again by my ass cheeks. Our pressure against each other eventually became kinetic rather than calisthenic, turning into more of a mutual thrusting motion.

We quickly found a satisfying pace, building from the euphoria of love to the craving of sexual release. Before long, the pace of our rutting became frantic. Our primal thrusts were leading us past the point of no return. Seeing her tits bouncing to the beat of our coital friction was about to send me over the edge. And then a thought struck me, and I slowed my thrusts.

"Do we need -- protection?" I asked.

"No -- no, Steve. I want you to cum inside me. If God gives us a baby, then His will be done."

I was overwhelmed with my baby sister's trust in me and in God. And her words of encouragement -- I want you to cum inside me -- did me in. I sped up again, and within a half-dozen thrusts I was blasting her womb with spurt after spurt of my milky semen. I had never before known such ecstasy.

Shelly wrapped her legs around my upper legs, pulling my cock deeper inside her. I held her in my arms and kissed her with all the adoration in my heart.

As we both came down from our orgasmic highs, I rolled over with my deflated dick still embedded in my sister's warm vagina. She kept her legs wrapped around me, trapping my cock inside her as we lay pubic bone to pubic bone, with her on top.

"What's on your mind?" she asked as she grinned down at me.

"You mean besides these beautiful breasts hanging down in my face, waiting to be sucked again?"

"Well, that's a good start...."

"You mean besides this warm, wet, willing, delicious sheath of yours that fits my rock-hard manhood like a glove -- sorta like it was made just for me?"

She smiled. "Okay, now you're not playing fair," she said as my dick twitched within her.

"You really wanna know what's most on my mind?" I asked.

"Yeah, I really do," she said.

"It's that this whole haunted house thing was such a gift from God."

"But -- it made us argue. Like we've never argued before. It made me feel -- so alone...."

"I know. It made me hurt for you. And -- it made me realize that I couldn't stand to hurt you. That I -- truly loved you. And it sent us on a journey that taught us we're not perverts and hopeless sinners for loving each other the way we do."

Shelly sat up, laying her hands on my chest as she straddled me from on top. My now-burgeoning cock was still lodged in her tight, tempting pussy. She began to rock against my hardness.

"Oh, we're sinners, all right -- and maybe a little pervy," Shelly answered with a smile, her body shivering with the excitement of the base of my penis pushing against her clit. "Sinners, but not hopeless. Sinners saved by God's grace."

"Amen to that!" I cried out, thrusting up into her like a jackhammer as we spiraled together into a nighttime of passion, and a lifetime of love.

[neerathemall]

A VISION OF GOD

[neerathemall]

My name is Anna Thrush and I grew up under very strange circumstances. Since before I was born (and I was 20 at the time this story unfolds), my parents had been members of a strange religious cult. Now, at the time I had no idea that we were the members of a strange religious cult. When you are born into something, it just seems normal. It was only later in life that I realized how different it was for the rest of the world.

[neerathemall]

guess I can't just skip ahead; you need to understand some of the ways in which my community was so strange. We called ourselves "The Light and The Way," and we were ostensibly Christian. We read the Bible and celebrated Christmas and all that (although our Christmas was much more subdued than the strange carnival that you 'regular' Christians call Christmas).

Anyway, what really sets us apart from other Christians isn't so much about the Bible or anything like that. I mean, the church leaders SAID that all of the rules were in the Bible, but I've never seen any evidence that that is true. No, what really set us apart was the strict way in which we live our lives, especially women.

For a woman, from the time you are born until you are married you are supposed to stay in your parents' home or on their property at all times. In fact, every person in our community has big privacy hedges around the outside of their property to prevent people from outside of the Light and the Way from seeing women. Now that seems so strange, but growing up that was just the way life was. My parents owned about 25 acres of land in a secluded area in Idaho. And I stayed on that property.

Despite our seclusion, both women and men were encouraged to dress modestly. Every day I wore a big, billowy dress that went down to the floor and a bonnet. Both had very dull colors. I wore no makeup and had only one pair of shoes.I later learned later that I would be considered an attractive girl. At that age I was around 5'2 and 115lbs, but I had no idea what that meant in relation to other people. I had medium-sized breasts (although I didn't know that either) and flared hips. My hair was very long and chestnut in color and my eyes were green. For what it is worth, men wore long black pants and long-sleeved white shirts every day. My brother was taller than me, around 5'9 and stocky in build. He had a square chin, short cropped brown hair, and blue eyes.

In addition to our simplicity of dress and modesty about appearance, we were fanatical about personal hygiene. We brushed our teeth three times a day, we shampooed our hair every other day, and showered every day. For religious fanatics, that is pretty good. From the time I was a little girl I was encouraged to wear deodorant and my mother told me from the time I first got my period that I was required to wax off all of the hair below my head once a week. Apparently, one of the prophets of our religion had taken the homely saying "cleanliness is godliness" to be a literal truth and our church had continued that tradition thereafter. I would later learn that rule only applied to women.

Of course, I was homeschooled. My mother provided the lessons and they were almost exclusively on the Bible. I learned to write well (or so I have been told), but my math never progressed much beyond arithmetic. Science was rarely discussed. For what it is worth, my brother got largely the same education that I did. So, despite the various weird things the church did to keep women down, education wasn't one of them.

But there were very unpleasant aspects about being a woman. The only time women leave their homes was on Sunday, for Church. For church, my father would put my mother and I in a car with the windows blacked out and we would go into the Women's Entrance to the church. There we would worship with the other women, the only man in the room being the Women's Preacher, John Davis. All my life he was an old man with a prodigious gut. There would be about 100 women in the church and the four or five hours we spent there would be the extent of my socializing for the week. After church, one by one mothers and daughters would leave the Church and get back into their black-windowed cars. It was set up in such a way that when we got outside, my father was already there.

The long and the short of all of this was that women never saw a man that was not their father or their brother (Except the preacher). According to the teachings of the church it was sinful for non-family members to see an unmarried woman. Even married women had very little contact with men other than their fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons. By the time I left the community I had only ever met three men in my life. My father, my brother, and the Women's Preacher.

Obviously, in a repressed society like this, sex was not discussed. I must've been curious about it at one point in my life, I mean where did I come from? But my parents only had two children so I didn't see babies much. Even in Church, there were only occasionally pregnant women. It just did not come up. I knew that according to tradition, at some point after my 20th Birthday but before my 21st, my father would take me by myself to church. A man would be there, probably ten to fifteen years older than me, and he would be my husband. I would know his mother and his sisters, but it would be the first time I'd ever see him. And then we'd make a family. I really didn't know how, but that was what would happen (The only animals we kept on our farm were birds, mostly chickens, and so I'd never even seen animals have sex). It was always a nagging fear that I would marry someone who was awful, although I could not really make strong opinions about what that would mean. But it was a distant fear.

[neerathemall]

Life for my younger brother was largely the same. He only left the farm for church, he only saw men, and the only women he knew were my mother and me. He was my only companion growing up and while in other circumstances we might fight, it was not an option for us. We had to be friends because otherwise we'd be totally alone. I still have fond memories of playing the barn growing up and making silly faces at one another. Despite all of these oddities of my childhood, I was pretty happy.

But things in our community changed for boys when they reached 18. The men would drive into the city every week to sell our farm produce at markets. This was how we made extra money, by selling hand-made butter and things to others. The bulk of our money (and the money of everyone in our community), I would later learn, came from leasing mineral deposits. We just sort of played farmer while we collected the royalties that actually paid the bills. Not that it seemed that way; life was an unceasing list of chores and farm routine.

That is what made my brother's 18th Birthday so exciting, and how it began the most important change in my life. Joseph and my father woke up very early and met up with the other men to drive to the city. I was still sleeping by the time they left. But that entire day was a blur. I got up, ate breakfast with my mother, tended the chickens, weeded the vegetable garden, and did some sewing. These were all normal activities. But I wasn't really thinking about them, I was just thinking about Joseph's trip from the farm. My Father never told me what the rest of the world was like. Joseph had already sworn to our Father that he wouldn't tell me anything either. But he'd also sworn to me in secrecy that he would share everything that he learned.

It was already dark when they arrived home that evening, which was normal on market days. Mother had the supper ready and we all sat at the table and bowed our heads in prayer. I looked at Joseph and he had sort of a glazed look on his face. I tried to get his attention, but he didn't seem to notice anything. At dinner, my father did most of the talking. As usual, his conversation was little more than an inventory of the items sold and money collected. My Mother nodded and made all of the appropriate noises of appreciation.

Finally, dinner was done. Mother and Father went to the sitting room to talk. Joseph and I always cleaned out my father's truck after marketday, taking all of the unsold items back to the barn to await the next trip. This was the opportunity I'd been waiting for. I washed up quickly and rushed outside. Joseph came more slowly, he still had that look.

"Well how was it?" I asked excitedly as soon as he was within talking distance. I couldn't let Mother and Father hear me, even outside I spoke softly. At first he just shook his head. But I kept asking him a million questions and finally he spoke.

[neerathemall]

Anna, it was just... so much. There is just so much," he said. That didn't really explain anything to me, it just made me more anxious to learn.

"Did you see other people?" I asked and he just gave me the most serene smile I'd ever seen, "What?"

"I saw hundreds of people... thousands," he said. He went on to describe all of the strange sights he'd seen. People wearing garish clothing, tall buildings, and cars in many colors, long buses filled with people, and a thousand other things. I couldn't even picture these oddities in my mind.

"I don't believe it," I said.

"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it," he said. And I was so jealous at that moment. My little brother got to see all of the excitement of a city and I was still here, just waiting to pick up the leftovers. "I wish you could've been there," he said, and my jealously faded into a gentle longing.

[neerathemall]

And Anna, women," he said conspiratorially, "I've never seen so many women in my life. Some of them looked like women here but there were young women dressed... provocatively. It was positively sinful. And they'd walk right up to me and ask for butter." He said. Suddenly, the tang of jealousy was back, stronger now, but different. But I couldn't imagine what it meant.

[neerathemall]

What did Father say," I asked.

"He told me that we are not supposed to comment about it, but to just provide the items they asked for and leave them alone," he explained, "But it was so strange. Men were walking holding hands with women. Outside, just in the middle of the street. I'd heard rumors about these things at Church, but to see it was... I thought doing that in public would cause you to burst into flames or something," Joseph explained and I laughed. We both thought about sin for a moment, wondered what it meant that he'd seen so much in the city.

"Joseph, I am so jealous," I said finally, after thinking about all he had experienced, and he smiled sheepishly, "I can't wait until next week!"

"Neither can I," explained Joseph, "There was just so much that about halfway through the day I just sort of felt fuzzy and numb. I couldn't take in anymore. I am sure I missed things."

"Well try to remember everything, I want to hear about it," I pleaded.

"That is a good idea!" he said suddenly, moving items out of the truck more quickly than before.

"What?"

"If I am trying to remember and document everything for you, it will keep me focused. When I go to town I will come back and we will go through everything together from beginning to end. Then we can work together and make sense of things," he explained, "You are always better at understanding complicated things. So I will be the eyes and you will be the brain." I felt sort of touched that he thought of me that way.

"I think that is a good idea, glad I thought of it" I said happily. The truck was completely empty now, like it had never left. I looked over at my younger brother and smiled.

[neerathemall]

I think that is a good idea, glad I thought of it" I said happily. The truck was completely empty now, like it had never left. I looked over at my younger brother and smiled.

"Thank you for letting me know everything, I know you could get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out," I said, suddenly realizing the risk Joseph was taking for me. He could be shunned for telling me these things. I, of course, was liable for punishment too, but likely only a beating.

"Anna," he said as though completely surprised by my concern, "You are my sister and my best friend, really my only friend, what is an experience if I can't share it with you?" He said and I felt my heart swell. I reached over and grabbed Joseph's hand, squeezing it once. Then we went back into the house and did the dishes.

[neerathemall]

In the next few weeks, Joseph and I settled into a routine. All week we would be excited and anxious as market day approached. Then Joseph would go off to the city to sell goods with my father. All that day would be nervous agony for me. I couldn't wait for him to get home and tell me everything. In the evening he would return and we would share an interminable dinner with Mother and Father. Then, we'd go out to the barn to clean out the truck and Joseph would describe the world to me.

Joseph would describe, in minute detail, his trip to town and everything that he saw that day. We would skip over nothing, so much so that our conversations were long and detailed. Through Joseph I first heard about cell-phones and pet dogs, iPods and tattoos, television and earrings. It was all so strange and wonderful. We would talk about all of the things that Joseph saw and try to fit them into our world, to make them make sense. We were like children again, discovering the world and having fun.

It was one day, about a month after Joseph's birthday, that our exploration of the world began to change us as well. We have already finished cleaning the truck and we were sitting in the front seat. Joseph was by the steering wheel and I was in the passenger's seat. Joseph was finishing up his explanation of the day, going over many of the details. But he seemed more reticent than usual. Finally, I had to ask.

"Joseph, what is bothering you?" I asked and he looked surprised.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You just seem very distant today, did something bad happen?" I asked, leaning onto the dashboard of the car. At first, my brother looked like he was about to deny that anything was amiss, and then he looked around conspiratorially.

"Okay, I saw something different today," he explained, his eyes wide.

'What?" I asked excitedly, I was always interested in new things.

"Well..." he said, it was clear that it was something big.

"Come on, just tell me!" I said, actually bouncing up and down in the seat. Joseph laughed at me and put up his hands.

"Okay, okay," he said, "Well we were selling items like usual and this man and this woman came up. I say they were a man and a woman, but they were actually pretty young, like your age. Anyway, after they paid the woman whispered something into the man's ear and he laughed. Then he turned towards her and..."

"What?" I asked in suspense, leaning forward.

"He put his lips against her lips..." he said. I don't know what I was expecting but it certainly wasn't that. I furrowed my eyebrow and tried to figure out what it could mean. My brother seemed lost in thought as well.

"Just pressed their lips together?" I asked.

"Yeah," he explained, "And they didn't do or say anything else after that. They just walked away." It was becoming stranger. We'd read the Bible before, we even knew the word "kiss" but we had no idea what it meant. If we were ever to ask we were told not to ask questions.

"Did you ask father about it?" I asked.

"Yes," Joseph said and winced, "he just told me it was a sin and that I should pray that God forgives me for witnessing it." He said. I knew that Joseph took my father's warning seriously. But even then, I knew my father was a little too strict.

"Oh don't worry about him," I said, "God has bigger things to worry about than people touching their lips." I said and Joseph seemed to relax a bit.

"Yeah, I guess you are right," he said, "But I still wish I knew what they were doing."

"Did it seem like they liked it?" I asked, "Or like it was a chore or something."

"Oh they liked it, they smiled and everything," Joseph said. There was no doubt. I was very curious about this practice. Why would they do something so unnecessary? What did it do for them? Suddenly, I had an idea.

"Do you want to try it?" I asked.

"What?!" Joseph said, taken aback. I giggled.

"Come on, aren't you curious?" I asked and he seemed to consider that. He leaned against the steering wheel and rubbed his chin.

"But if seeing it is a sin, then doing it must certainly be a sin," he countered. It was a good point. I was as afraid of sin as the next person in my community. But, at the same time, I knew the Bible talked often of God's mercy and his forgiveness. Perhaps a little sin, if you regretted it later, was okay. I wanted to know what it felt to press my lips to another person's. It sounded exotic and fun.

Thinking about this, for some reason, was having an effect on me. I couldn't explain it but my heart was beating hard and my palms felt sweaty. Something was happening to my body I couldn't control. I felt so many strange emotions. They were scary, but they felt good. I looked at Joseph, he was clearly feeling something similar. There was a bead of sweat on his forehead and he looked flushed.

"Just once maybe," he said cautiously. We didn't really know what we were doing. I got up on my knees on the seat in the truck. It was a bench seat so I just sort of leaned over. Joseph was sitting in the driver's seat and he turned his head so he was looking at me. He looked a little nervous.

"It is okay," I said, "everything will be fine." He might be worldlier now, but I was still the older sister. He let out a sigh and nodded his head. I kept inching my lips forward, closer to his. I looked at his lips and wondered if he were thinking of mine, pink and thick. I wanted my lips to touch his, to feel his skin against mine...

"Close your eyes," he said suddenly, and I stopped. My mouth was just inches from Joseph's now.

"Huh?"

"The people I saw, they closed their eyes," he explained. That didn't make a lot of sense to me, how would you know where to put your lips? Maybe it was just practice. I shrugged my shoulders and closed my eyes. I tilted my head to the side and pushed my lips forwards, against my brother's.

I felt the soft press of his lips against mine. It was just slightly damp skin against slightly damp skin. But it was so much more. I felt every nerve on my body light up. I could smell more, taste more, and feel more. My entire body trembled. My heart pounded in my chest and my head felt light. For some reason, my nipples hardened, scratching against the hard fabric of my dress. And, most unnerving of all, my private area felt strange. But I didn't worry about any of that, I melted into the kiss, just letting my lips move softly and gently against my brother's. I'd never felt so transcendent. I moaned a little as we kissed, I didn't even know why.

Then, after a long while, we broke our kiss. I sat back in the truck, against the door, and opened my eyes. Joseph was looking at me. He had a silly smile on his face as well and we both laughed a little nervously. We didn't know what any of the feelings we had meant, but we knew they were different. And we were sure, because of how lovely the effect of those emotions were, that they must be sinful. But it was hard to feel nervous.

"Wow, that was amazing," I said and my brother nodded.

"I can see why those people did it," he said. We were having trouble making eye contact for some reason. For a long minute we seemed to be too awkward to speak. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer.

"Well, I guess we are done cleaning," I said and opened up the passenger side door.

"Yeah," my brother said sheepishly, opening his own. And then an urge struck me. I'd can't explain it, but I quickly leaned over and kissed my brother once on the cheek. He smiled at me and I blushed deeply and smiled back. Then we both ran to the house, flush with strange new emotions and blind sexual energy.


YKN4949. Lit

[Mampi]

nice concept, keep going

[neerathemall]

Thanks for your valuable time and reading the

[neerathemall]

The rest of that week my brother and I would kiss occasionally when we were alone. We knew because we'd never seen my parents kiss that it was not something that was supposed to be done. It was sinful and it was wrong. But it was also fun. It made me feel so lovely. But I should stress that we didn't really understand what we were doing. Part of me longed for Joseph to take me in his arms and hold me tight while he kissed me. But I didn't even know those were actions a person could take. Our kisses were chaste, both of us in the barn, sitting next to one another, and lovingly putting our lips together. Except for the fact that each kiss lasted about two minutes, they weren't even particularly inappropriate for a brother or a sister. Of course, we didn't know that.

Every time I kissed Joseph I was faced with four distinct kinds of feelings. First was pure elation. It was such a magical thing, the connection I felt when I kissed my brother. I'd never known you could convey love with your body, to pass your emotions to another threw your lips and skin was a revelation. I didn't know how I knew that part of what I felt was love, but there must've been some connection between a kiss and the heart, because I felt it nonetheless. Second, I felt closer to my brother each time. As I said, we were always close to one another, but something felt different now. When I looked at him I ached inside and I found myself blushing around him. I noticed that I liked the way his face looked in a way I hadn't before. I noticed his strength and his humor in a more appreciative way than before. I didn't know why it was happening, but those feelings made our kisses more magical. Third was an intense and unaccountable frustration in my body. I knew there was something my body was telling me I needed to do. When I kissed my brother my heart beat so fast, my cheeks flushed, my nipples hardened, and my private area became dripping wet. I knew that my body was begging me to do something, but I didn't know what it was. Finally, I felt fear. Each time I kissed Joseph we were one step closer to being caught. I didn't know what punishment would be in store for us, but I knew that it would be bad. Of course, this fear was never enough to stop. In fact, all four of these new feelings, all at once, complemented one another. It made my life more exciting and more fun that it had ever been before, more than I'd ever imagined it could be.

It was only two weeks after our first kiss that Joseph once again brought new and startling information back to our home. I could tell the instant he got home from market that he was more excited than usual. He was nervous and shifty our entire dinner. His impatience was exacerbated by the slow pace of dinner. Father had made more money than usual that day and he was in good spirits. While we slowly ate our stew, Father regaled Mother with the highlights of the day. Mercifully, the story ended eventually and Joseph and I rushed out to the barn and began unloading the merchandise.

"What are you so excited about?" I asked, excited myself. But Joseph would not skip ahead. We had a ritual and, as usual, he started at the beginning of the day and told me everything. By now some of the things that had seemed so strange before were becoming commonplace. At least, hearing about them were. I no longer had hundreds of questions about short pants or about sunglasses. And, in a matter of a few minute, Joseph ran through his entire day. No new revelations, everything seemed quite routine.

"Then what are you so happy about?" I asked.

"What do you mean Anna?" Joseph asked with false innocence. I could tell he was lying and reached over and smacked him three lightly on the arm. He grinned at me, "Okay, okay!" he said, lifting his hands to defend himself.

"What are you smiling about you rat?" I asked, laughing as well. Joseph looked around the barn conspiratorially. Then he reached down the back of his pants and slowly lifted something out.

"This," he said with reverence, and laid a rectangular packet of papers down on the hood of the truck. I walked forward cautiously. It was made of glossy paper and had a red border around the outside. At the top of the packet was a single word "TIME" and there was a picture of man with gray hair on the front. The fourth man I'd ever seen. I now know that Time is a magazine, and a rather dull one at that, but at that instant it was amazingly precious. Suddenly, I felt tears rising in my eyes.

"Joseph," I said, my voice cracking a bit, "Thank you so much..."

"Anna," he replied, "I know that you wish you could come with me, but I thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if you could see a little of what I see." My brother had taken an incredible risk. Surrounded by the other men in the Light and the Way, including our Father, he had carefully snuck a little piece of the outside world back with him. To share with me. I dropped the magazine onto the hood of the car and wrapped my arms around my brother. He laughed a little. Then, I turned, my eyes still blurry with tears, and kissed him. There was something different about this kiss. Every other time we'd kissed it had been after careful deliberation. This was just a natural reaction, I could not have chosen otherwise. And the kiss was so much more passionate, with my arms draped around Joseph's strong neck. He kissed me back, our lips fused hard, our saliva mixing as our mouths opened ever so slightly.

Finally, I realized what I was doing and felt a bit odd. I broke the kiss and pushed back. Joseph had a sort of dazed smile on his face, as though he were more than satisfied with the reward he received for the magazine. To hide my embarrassment in my sudden loss of control, I picked the magazine back up.

"Where did you find it?" I asked.

"A customer asked me to throw it away after I checked him out, I just hung onto it instead," he explained. I held the slick paper up close to my face, enjoying the feel of its foreignness and weight in my hands.

"It is my favorite gift ever," I said to Joseph and he blushed.

"I'd get you anything to have you look at me like that," Joseph said slowly, with intense embarrassment. I blushed back but couldn't speak.

"Well," Joseph said finally after a long pause, "I guess we should go back in, Father will wonder what is keeping us." He said. And he left. When he was gone I carefully unzipped the back of my dress a bit, slid the magazine down against my back and then zipped myself back up. Then I rushed to the house, hoping that no one would notice my slight hunchback.

* * * * *

[neerathemall]

nice concept, keep going