What's Wrong Is Right
By: Mary

*Disclaimer Note: This following story contains scenes of a nature that may not be suitable for those under the age of 18.  Read responsibily.  If you can't handle it please close the window.*

     She sat there in the middle of my living room.  She always had the ability to find her way through locked doors and closed windows.  I was surprised since I hadn’t told her where I lived.  I stared at her for a second, remembering every line of her face.  She was so beautiful I almost cried.  Looking at her, I realized the pang in my heart did not disappear as I hoped it would with distance, and if anything it had gotten more painful.  She sat facing away from me, waiting for me to engage her.  I knew she heard me come in, but she choose for me to make the first move.
I had loved her as soon as gained the sexual maturity to be attracted to the opposite sex.  Maybe I had loved her long before.  She was a few years older than me, and we had lived in the same house all our childhood.  We were brother and sister, but the truth was we couldn’t really know.  We never knew our mother, possibly mothers, and our often absent father never cared to discuss it with us.  Who even knew if he really was our father at all?
     We were therefore just a bunch of kids living in one house, and we called each other brother and sister.  Or maybe we’re really brothers and sisters, and I’m just trying to justify myself?  In any case, we were stuck to each other—it was that type of world where it was imperative that we did.  Somehow we survived the wrecked and diseased streets of post WWIII urban America.  And we were always together.
     She was the one who would disappear from the house for weeks on end.  She would then suddenly reappear as if nothing happened.  She would never tell us what happened on her trips, or even where she went.  She was very agile and we often found her on the tops of trees or roofs without knowing how she got there.  I dreamed she somehow had wings and flew.  To me it seemed true, and I kept it as my little secret.  She was my angel.
     Other than she and me, there was our older brother Jake.  He was the one that really took care of us.  He was big and muscular, so he protected us.  He always had his way, but he was fair.  No one would mess with him because he was large for his size.  He was often mistaken for someone older.
     There were also the “brats”, as we like to call them.  They were all very young and stayed in the house.  Jake, she and I would take care of them, by getting food and whatever they needed.  I was the only one who really interacted with them.  I’m sure that the other two were too busy with their own things.  I was younger, but not the youngest, and yet I was still patronized.  Not until I proved I could hold my own did they finally treated me with some respect.  My whole life was a struggle.
And there she sat there, still looking forward, in the apartment I had to get when I was 16 because I couldn’t stand living in the same house with her any longer.  Loving her, but not being able to touch her.  There was always an undeniable distance between us.  Distance because she was always aloof when she dealt with me.  Distance because she was my sister.
     I knew she knew I loved her.  Maybe it was because of the different way I looked at her.  But in her own subtle way she would always tease me about it.  She would hug me just so her breasts would press against me.  She would lightly kiss me on the lips when no one was looking.  She had her ways.  And it would torment me.
     So today she appears, and I haven’t seen her in months.  And tonight I happened to have a date—one of my many pathetic attempts to get over her.  I didn’t think it was a coincidence.

“The roses are for my date, if you’re wondering.”

In response, she stared at me in silence with a solemn look.

Her look makes me nervous, and I feel obligated to fill the silence, “Here, have one.  I had to look long and hard for these.  They also cost an arm and a leg.  Dad said it’ll do the trick, romancing and everything.”

She grasped the offered rose.  She smelled it and sensuously slid the blossom across her lips, then down across her breasts.

I nearly gulped—she always easily manipulated me.  I looked away and put up a wall with my next words, “She’d better give me some tonight.”

She finally spoke, “You will.”

“I sure hope so.”

“You will, but not with her,” she got up, tossed the rose aside, and got face to face with me.  Her look was intense, and her breath was heavy.  She made as if to kiss me, I could barely make myself push her away.

“Stop it. You know how this hurts me.  You can’t keep teasing me--that’s why I moved away.”

She put her fingers on my lips, “Shhh, I know.”

     She placed my hand up her shirt, and I turned into putty.  She looked at me so intensely that I knew she didn’t mean to tease me this time.  I forgot my date that night.  I forgot why what was about to happen was wrong.  I couldn’t hold back, so I pulled her into a fierce kiss.  She fell easily into my arms.  I was hungry and thirsty, and she was my only sustenance.  It was scary how easily I lost control, and the little voice at the back of my head was never loud enough to stop me.
     The next thing I knew, we were both pulling off our clothes.  It was surprising to notice that she seemed like she needed this as much as I did.  I kissed her all over her naked body.  Something awoke within me.  Something that had always been within me, but that I had kept repressed.  It was love that need no longer be denied.
     I sucked on one of her nipples as my fingers rolled on her other.  She opened her legs, and I obliged by tasting her.  She was sweet and very wet.  I couldn’t hold myself back—I needed her too much.  I pushed my firm self inside of her.  She felt so good I almost cried.  My body filled with the need and passion.  Unable to hold back, I exploded inside her.
     Our first lovemaking session was like two animals at a bloody carcass.  We engorged ourselves not knowing how to hold back. When later we found ourselves on my bed, our next session was slow and sweet.  I loved her so much, and I showed her with each slow thrust.
     We made love.  I couldn’t stop her, nor did I want to.  I couldn’t get over the warmth of her skin, or how breathy her moans were.  I was no stranger to sex, but I’ve never made love before.   Maybe it was because I’ve never loved else anyone but her.
     In the morning she was gone.  She disappeared as mysteriously as she arrived, and there was only her imprint on the bed and the residual scent of our lovemaking as proof that it wasn’t a dream.  I was neither surprised nor disappointed that she had left.  I was thankful for that little taste of heaven, even if I were never to see it again.  She was my angel, and I’ll keep this our little secret.

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