One Summer Night

An experience shared by Anne:

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That I’d made it home at all should have been enough for it to be a memorable evening. The quantity of wine coolers (remember those?) consumed at my friend’s party was enough, but when the joints started getting passed around I should have known I was in trouble. Nevertheless, by sheer luck I’m sure, I’d made it home a little before midnight.

Our parents were on vacation for a week, and my younger brother and I had the house to ourselves. He was still out when I got home, probably at a party as well. He had a reputation not only as a “party animal” (his description, not mine), but also as one damn sexy guy (a friend’s description, not his). And it had been at a party a couple of months before that he’d hooked up with my friend who’d given him that description. She, in turn, decided to share every possible detail of the encounter with me. Like someone passing a traffic accident, I was horrified and yet I couldn’t turn away. When she got to the part about him going down on her and actually knowing what he was doing(!), I went from being unable to turn away to being genuinely turned on.

After a bad break up nearly a year before, I had “sworn off men” for a while. But I was a very sexual 19-year-old woman, and I had a building need for sex with someone – my own fingers had their charms, but that wasn’t enough to keep me satisfied for much longer. Never in a million years would I have considered my own brother, but my friend had planted a seed, and in the weeks that followed I found myself thinking less in terms of him as a member of my family and more as one damn sexy guy.

That very thought was spinning around in my booze and THC addled brain when he came through the front door. I was sitting at the kitchen table, and as he stumbled in it was quite clear he’d indulged in much the same way I had. I decided to tease him a little about being home so early, implying that he must not have gotten lucky. He protested, but he did so with feigned innocence: Why, he wanted to know, would I think he would get lucky just because he was out with his friends? He didn’t know that I knew about him and my friend, and I decided to play coy. I just hinted that maybe I’d heard something.

Ever since we were young, he knew I was ticklish. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that if I was keeping a secret, tickling me was the most certain way to get me to spill it. Our banter continued with him demanding to know why I had such an impression of him, and me suggesting, but not quite saying, that I had some dirt on him. I got up and made my way to the living room, and he followed. Not surprisingly, when I declined to share one more time, he grabbed me from behind.

His hands went straight for my ribs, and I instinctively doubled over for protection. In a moment, his hand was on my breast, and suddenly we both paused. To this day I think he honestly was embarrassed. He pulled his hands away so quickly I almost fell over forward. He stuttered an apology. And then I heard these words come out of my mouth: “It’s ok. It felt really good. You can put it back.” I wasn’t sure where they came from, but there they were. There was another moment that still to this day feels like it was an eternity, but as I stood straight he reached his hands back around me and cupped both of my breasts. My nipples were hard in an instant, and in another he was kneading them between his thumb and forefinger through the thin fabric of my top, no bra keeping them from the firm pressure he was applying.

I pressed back into him as my brother began kissing my neck. I don’t have any reason to think he knew it then, but I might be more vulnerable to having my neck kissed than I am to being tickled. My knees were getting weak when I reached around and slid my hand between my ass and the front of his shorts. My friend had said he was well-endowed; not huge, but nice. The bulge in his shorts that my hand found seemed to bear out what she’d said. He whispered into my ear, “Please suck it.” I didn’t hesitate. In one move, I twisted out of his embrace and dropped to my knees. I unbuttoned his shorts and pulled them down along with his briefs in one motion. I took him into my mouth. My first sex act with my own brother.

As I knelt in front of him, sucking and stroking, I was seized by the briefest flash of lucidity: What the hell am I doing? Courtesy of Messrs. Bartles and Jaymes and the hard work of some enterprising Colombian farmers, however, that thought evaporated in a haze, and the next moment I said to myself: “What does it matter? We’ve already gone this far, might as well see if my friend was right about the rest of it.” It was not my noblest thought, but I was horny and there was a penis in front of me and, hey, morality has its limits in a moment like that.

Soon I felt him tugging at the straps of my top. At first I thought he was trying to pull it off, but then I realized he was trying to get me to stand up. I stood, never releasing my grip from his now very wet cock. Standing face to face, we kissed on the lips for the first time. He wasted no time reaching beneath my skirt and running his hands over my ass. His fingers were probing for the edges of my panties, trying to slip beneath those, too.

My back was to the sofa, and I awkwardly drew us in that direction. When I was close enough, I sat down then laid back and he laid down on top of me. We continued to kiss passionately, hands roaming. After a moment, he began to slide down, first kissing the tops of my breasts, which still were covered, then gently kissing my belly, pulling up my shirt. As he reached the top of my skirt, I unbuttoned it and and lifted my hips up off of the sofa to help him pull it down. My panties came off quickly in the same motion. And then his face settled between my thighs.

Dear, God, she was right. Did he ever know what he was doing. His tongue turned and twisted and danced on my clit. He slid his fingers in and out of me with a perfect rhythm. I’m now more than 25 years removed from that night, and I can say that it was among the most perfect moments of oral pleasure I have ever received.

I wanted it to go on forever, but it had been too long so there was no holding back. I was unrestrained in my orgasm, and I needed to ask him to take it easy as I came down from the sensation of it. He quickly moved up to kiss me, and I tasted myself on his lips and his chin. Just as quickly, I appreciated that he’d positioned himself for what he wanted next. I suggested we go upstairs, that a bed would be more comfortable.

Without really thinking or talking about it, we stumbled into our parents’ room. They had the only queen-sized bed and air conditioner in the house, so it was the best place to fuck. And oh did we fuck. Missionary. Doggy. Cow girl. By the time we collapsed in a heap after the last orgasm, it was almost impossible to find a dry spot on the sheets.

The evening’s activities led to both of us falling asleep – ok, call it what it was, passing out – almost immediately. When I woke the next morning, my brother had already left for work. I spent much of the day straightening out the house (especially our parents’ bedroom) before I left for work at 3:00. He was sound asleep when I got back in at nearly 11:30 that night. I went to my own room, climbed into bed and laid there. I felt we had to talk about what happened before our parents returned in a couple of days.

I’m not sure a moment had passed since I woke up that morning in which I hadn’t thought about it. The sex had been intense but, God, my own brother? I had passed my shift speaking as little as possible. At times it felt like there was a living creature in my mouth, and if I had tried to talk it would leap out on it’s own and announce its presence to the world. “Oh, I like your sandals andbythewaymybrotherandIfuckedlikeanimalslastnight.” I tossed, turned and finally concluded there was no way I was going to sleep without talking to him. Just as I was about to get out of bed, the door to my room opened and there he stood. He said he had something he wanted to ask me.

His question struck me as a bit odd. He asked if I remembered what happened last night. He said he’d been pretty wasted and started blaming that for what happened. I cut him off and insisted it was entirely my fault. I offered up the fact that I hadn’t been dating much lately as the reason I took advantage of him. Then came the first of several awkward silences which he broke by asking if I’d washed the sheets. I assured him that I did.

I wasn’t sure if I should ask him to sit because I didn’t know how long the conversation would last. Our family, for the most part, was masterful at ignoring the 500-pound gorillas in our lives. But this one was more like 5,000 pounds, so I thought we should continue. I asked him to sit, and I said that I didn’t think we should be ashamed of what happened. I didn’t entirely believe that and said it as much to convince myself as to comfort him. More awkward silence punctuated with half-hearted attempts at rationalization and “saying the right thing” followed. Then he asked me why I hadn’t been dating.

Like I said, our family was masterful at ignoring uncomfortable topics, so he never knew that a year earlier I’d gotten pregnant. The guy I was dating back then, the father, convinced me that we’d be together forever, but that it just wasn’t the time for us to start a family. After college, he said, we’d have the house with the white picket fence, the 2.4 kids, the Volvo wagon, the middle class dream. I bought every word of it, ended the pregnancy, and then promptly got dumped by the “love of my life.”

It didn’t seem there was much reason to hold back from telling my brother now. Heck, he’d heard me practically scream, “Fuck me with that big cock,” and “I can feel you throbbing inside of me,” while he filled me with his come. So I shared the whole long story, up to and including the trip to the clinic with my friend, the same friend he’d hooked up with and who’d planted that “seed” that had now blossomed into full-on sex.

As my voice quivered and the tears started to flow, he put his arm around me. Our family, likewise, rarely tended to express our emotions physically, and his move caught me off guard. As we sat there and I tried to regain my composure, I was experiencing wildly different sensations. I was upset at having relived the events of a year before, comforted by the embrace of my brother who clearly cared deeply for what I was feeling, and aroused to be back in the arms of the guy who 24 hours before had given me several mind-blowing orgasms. In short, I was a total mess.

I asked him what he thought we should do, and by then the conversation had drifted so far away from where it had started, he asked: “Do about what?” I reminded my brother about all of those bodily fluids we’d exchanged the previous night, and we both laughed awkwardly. He offered up another one of those “things you’re supposed to say” comments, but this time he added a subtle hint at what he really was feeling. He said that he realized we obviously couldn’t do it again, but this time he added somewhat meekly that he was impressed at how well I could keep such a big secret. He and I were close enough and had had enough experience keeping things between us (though never anything THIS big) that I knew immediately what he was getting at. Despite saying the “right things” throughout most of the conversation, neither one of us really had closed door on the possibility that we might do it again. Still, his smart ass way of hinting at it earned him a playful punch in the chest.

I told him that I thought the best thing we could do was to sleep on it. I suspect that’s not what he wanted to hear, but I had an ulterior motive. The emotional toll of opening up to him was as much as I could take for one night. If he had remained on that bed with me for another moment, the question was going to be answered with deeds, not words, and I didn’t feel like washing another set of sheets in the morning. More to the point, if there was going to be a next time, I wanted it to be because we’d decided to do it and not simply because we once again were caught up in the moment. He barely had left, though, before I had one of my hands on my tit and the other one inside my panties. Maybe sleeping on it would make a difference, but I doubted it. I pretty much knew that I’d be putting my secret-keeping skills to better use.

It was the beginning of almost three years of on and off sexy fun. Eventually we moved on, and though, like everyone, we have had our ups and downs through the years, today we’re as close as ever. We’re no longer involved sexually with one another, and I don’t think we ever will be again. But I have many fond memories of many pleasurable times that began with that one summer night.

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4 thoughts on “One Summer Night

  1. Thank you Anne for sharing that experience, I can feel your love for each other coming through your words. Plus the raw and intense sexual energy you felt on that night. Has me very aroused as I read so thank you for that too :-) xxx

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