Sister and brother work for the passage of the ERA and when it fails she insists that they make their own personal protest...in bed.
There’s a kind of parlor game people play: “Do you remember where you were when ______?” It could be the Kennedy assassination (for the older generation), the Miracle On Ice at Lake Placid in 1980, when Elvis died, or when Nixon resigned. But I have one that absolutely no one can answer: “where were you when the ERA failed?”
The date was March 22nd 1979 and at midnight the constitutional time limit for approval by 38 states ended. And that was that. But I can tell you where I was (and I never, but never tell this at parties): I was inside my sister. Seven inches inside, to be exact.
I guess a little background and context might help. I was 29 in 1979 and my sister Yvonne was 27. Always a free spirt, she’d been swept up heart and soul by the Second Wave of feminism. Well back in middle school she railed against the rules that required separate gym classes for girls and policies that encouraged girls to learn to type while boys learned auto mechanics. With time and age her commitment only grew. By college she’d chosen engineering and with the other women in her faculty comprised about 10% of the engineering students.
I supported Eve (as I always called her) in all of this; very early she’d explained her view to me: “it’s all about mandatory roles and you, Pete, should see that; I’m driven into roles and you are too. It’s just that your roles are generally better, more high-paying, and a wider choice than mine. I’m supposed to be a secretary, never the professional, or a nurse, never the doctor. Eventually I’m supposed to be a wife and mother and stay home. And you’re supposed to be the bread winner; a cop, a firefighter, a lawyer. Why can’t I be a cop or firefighter?” I had to admit what she said made a lot of sense, so I didn’t disagree with her then or since.
When the Equal Rights Amendment passed in the Senate March 22 1972 Eve jumped at the chance to become involved. For several years she juggled school and ERA organizing meetings. Since numbers count, she routinely asked me to come with her to rallies, demonstrations, and even the odd conference. I was always happy to oblige; I agreed with the principles and found the speakers intelligent, erudite, and persuasive. And, chauvinist dog that I am, it wasn’t lost on me that a lot of the attendees were attractive; I dated some of them but Eve wasn’t put off by that: “It’ll add to your education”, she laughed.
So time passed; the Constitution allowed seven years for the required 38 states to approve the amendment. That’s a long time and a lot of meetings and marches, but I was with Eve for a lot of them. In the last year it seemed like a sure thing, that the required number of states would approve the amendment. Then reaction set in. A movement arose that argued that traditional women’s roles (read: housewives) would be threatened. States began to have second thoughts.
By March 22nd 1979 it was clear to Eve and her organizing colleagues that the ERA wouldn’t pass. Her local committee organized “The ERA Wake” for that evening. As usual, she insisted that I accompany her. I was happy to, although I knew the mood was anything but celebratory. There were a few speeches, a few efforts to keep hope alive, but folks, including me, found more solace in the wine that was on offer. Around 10 pm Eve suggested we call it a night. “I can’t drive now” I said, thinking of the numerous glasses of wine I’d consumed.
“No problem”, she said, “you can crash at my place”. And with that we left the gathering and returned to her apartment. By then it was nearing 11 but for some reason neither of us felt tired. Feeling emotional about the defeat, perhaps, or maybe just angry, we sat on her couch and talked about the seven years she’d committed to the ERA, remembering the highs and lows but mostly the highs, often laughing at events we’d witnessed together. “It’s wrong”, she said, “just flat out wrong. I should have complete autonomy over my body, over my choices.”
“Agreed” was my response.
“I should have the same choices and opportunities as a man.”
“Agreed”.
“If a guy, say, wants casual sex, he can simply go out and get it and everyone thinks he’s a stud, a real man. If I feel the same then I’m a slut.”
“Umm, agreed, but not the slut part.”
“You agree that I should be able to have casual sex when I want it?”
“Agreed, I guess”, I said, wondering where this was going.
“Today is a historical date”, she said, “and midnight is a historical time: when the ERA fails. I want to do something to mark the occasion.”
“It’s pretty late to start a march”, I said.
“Not a march. Not a demonstration. Just something private, something personal to just me. And maybe you.”
“Me?”
“You’ve been with me all the way, you’ve supported me constantly in everything I’ve said or done. I want to do one thing now with you that will prove my control and authority over my own body.”
She had my attention now, and wine’s effect seemed to evaporate. There was a long silence as I held her gaze wondering what was coming. She looked at her glass, took a sip, glanced out the window at the night, and then seeming to speak to the glass in her hand, she said “I want to make love to you.”
Another long silence, before I could marshal a response. “I…you…you want us to…umm…” I think both of us were blushing by that time and as she continued to glance away I saw her for the first time in a different way. I saw an attractive woman, long brown hair, blue eyes, trim figure with pert breasts. I saw what virtually every man in the world except her brother…to that moment…would see. But now I saw it. As my brain tried to process her suggestion - or was it a request - another part of my anatomy had a mind of its own. It had been a long time since I’d had sex and part of me immediately reacted to her words.
I could feel that reaction stirring and shifted on the couch to try and hide my arousal. Finally she spoke; “I want to demonstrate to myself my own blow against the patrimony” she said quietly, “I want to break a rule that society says I have to follow. I want to make my own choice…for myself. And I love you, Pete, that goes totally without saying.”
I knew then that it was my turn. “Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, it’s a one way street. I love you too, but if we do what you’re asking, we can never go back. Have you thought about that? Will we regret it? Will it change things with us?”
“No, I’ve thought about it. I said ‘making love’ and I meant it. Obviously we will both have other relationships. We’ll probably marry. But this is different. Special…at least to me.”
And that put it on another plane. It established real responsibility for both of us if we said ‘yes’. Our gaze returned and as I looked into her eyes I could see the hurt she felt for seven years’ work, the fierce commitment she had to her own choices. And the love she felt for me. I couldn’t resist those eyes. “Yes”, I said.
With that we sat quietly for a few minutes, then she slid across the couch and leaned into a cuddle with me. We sipped our wine for a few more minutes and then she raised her face to me and I leaned down and kissed her. Our first kiss, a gentle, loving, soft kiss. By now it was 11:30 and we kissed some more; within minutes our tongues had met for the first time and they rejoiced in discovering the other. My hands had begun to wander, to caress, to fondle. Hers had slipped beneath my shirt and were gently caressing my chest. I found her breast and gently squeezed, eliciting a quiet moan from her.
By 11:40 (she was watching the clock) we rose from the couch; she took my hand and guided me into her bedroom where she slowly, almost ceremoniously, undressed us. She removed her blouse, then unbuttoned my shirt. She dropped her skirt, then unbuckled my trousers, giggling as they fell to the floor. She unsnapped her bra and, as I gasped at my first sight of her breasts, she pulled my undershirt over my head. Finally it was first her panties and then my briefs…and then we stood facing each other, totally naked. And now there was no hiding my total arousal as my cock stood at full attention for her.
I sensed from the very beginning, from her first offering herself, that she needed to be in charge. She needed to prove her agency, and I was happy with that. So I was happy to let her pull me gently onto the bed, happy when she pulled me to her, our legs entwining for the very first time, hands free now of all obstructing or inhibiting clothing, to wander and explore as each of us learned the topography of the other’s body. Our kisses continued, growing in passion as the clock approached midnight. At ten minutes to midnight I took the only initiative I took in the evening; I kissed my way down her body, kissing her lips, her neck, each breast, her navel, each inner thigh in turn and finally beginning to taste her. As my tongue entered her, tasting her juices, her body bucked and her hands reflexively grasped my head, pushing me deeper into her. My tongue was insatiable, hungrier than I could have imagined and as it found her clit she began bucking uncontrollably with her first orgasm. I continued to probe, to lick, to kiss, and she continued to shake. All language had abandoned her: “Unnnhh…I..ahhh….unnnhh” were the only sounds she could manage.
Finally, as the minute hand approached twelve, her hands lifted my head and she drew me back to her, kissing me deeply, tasting her own juices. Then she took control again, pushing me over onto my back and, at exactly one minute before midnight, rose from the bed, straddled me, and, crouching, slowly descended onto my cock. As I entered her slick, warm pussy we both gasped. Now neither of us was capable of speech. She bent over me, her long hair creating a curtain around us, leaned down and kissed me once again. As she rose back up I reached up and cupped her breasts, then my hands reached out to her sides and glided down to her hips as she rose and then fell onto my cock, again and again. And so it was that at midnight, March 22nd, 1979, I was seven inches deep inside my sister Yvonne, who was pumping my cock with greater and greater energy, powered by something more than sex. She was keeping a promise to herself, giving herself power and authority over her own body, even if the Constitution wouldn’t.
It didn’t end at midnight. It continued for probably another five minutes. I like to think that I can go longer, but the thoughts whirling around my head; telling myself that “You’re fucking your sister. You’re fucking Eve. Your cock is deep inside your sister” was just too much. But it must have been the same for Eve; “I’m going to come”, I gasped, “should I pull out?”
“Don’t you dare”, she said. “You’re going to…unnhhh…you’re going to come inside of me.” And with that I did exactly as she said as my cock began to pulse, shooting jet after jet of my seed into her. And that seemed to trigger her second orgasm. “Ahhh…I can feel it”, she gasped, “I can feel you pumping. I…oh god…I unnnnhhh” as she came, her body shuddering as her orgasm rolled through her.
She collapsed onto me and we fell into a hot, sweaty hug, my cock slowly softening, still inside her until, to her disappointed “Awww…” it slipped out. With that she rolled off me and we returned to our original embrace, kissing more slowly now, the passion, the lust replaced by affection and, simply, a deep love. After another half hour of kisses, caresses, and cuddles, we fell asleep.
But immediately upon waking up the next morning an avalanche of thoughts as I rolled over to Eve: “My sister…we’ve had sex…incest…the best sex I’ve ever had…one way street…” But the thoughts ended as she stirred, awoke, turned to me, and immediately began kissing and touching me. Within minutes we were deep into love-making, although this time I was allowed a little more license, a little more agency which she seemed to acknowledge as she rolled onto her back and gently guided me over her. Now in the classic missionary position, with a short pause as our eyes again locked in a deep gaze, we kissed again, deeply, as her hand found my cock and guided it into her. Now I was able, somehow, to stave off my pleasure, to thrust deeply into her again and again as her moans grew louder, her language leaving her only primal sounds: “Unnnhh…unnhhh….ahhhh…I…oh god….Unnnhhh” with each thrust until finally she seemed to explode with her orgasm.
With that I felt my release approaching and whispered in her ear “I’m coming…I love you…I’m com…” and with one final thrust I reached deep inside her as my cock began to pump jet after jet of cum into her, filling her with my seed for the second time.
“God, I can feel it…I can feel you again” she said as her body arched, lifting us both from the bed before we collapsed together, a tangle of arms and legs, my cock still deep inside her.
Another hour in bed; more cuddles, more slow kisses, and one last fuck: doggy style this time, on her request. And then a kind of domesticity seemed to overcome us; showers, dressing, my fumbling around her kitchen as I made coffee, then breakfast, all the while she sat at the table drinking the coffee, smiling at me, giving me leering winks occasionally, and once or twice bursting out laughing at a private joke. And how did I feel? Much the same. I’d never felt such affection…no, love…for my sister as that morning. So much for the one way road, I thought. And, I have to admit, I felt like a true stud. I don’t have the longest cock around, nor the widest, but it’s never been as hard as when it entered Eve. And this has been confirmed by Eve; “without a doubt you have the hardest cock I’ve ever seen or felt” she’s told me on more than one occasion.
More than one occasion? Yes; the years haven’t dimmed our passion one bit or our love one iota. Through separate relationships and two marriages (I’m widowed, she’s divorced) and three (now adult) children, we’ve been lovers. How many times have we made love? I’ve no idea but I once estimated over 500 times. And how many times have we just fucked - it’s not the same, is it - probably another 200 times. In fact, about ten years ago, at her suggestion, she sold her house and moved in with me. Yes, we keep a second bedroom for appearances sake, but almost every night…
And she still works to bring back and pass the ERA and I’m right at her side every step of the way.
jack simpsonReport