Laura helps her brother make his resort fishing camp a success. In several ways.
It all began on the third summer, the summer that my and my sister Laura’s lives changed forever. But maybe a little of background and context will help.
Chance and choice: those have always been the beacons in my life; I’m not one of those people that thinks they’re the authors of their fate. I believe that much in our life can be attributed to chance; what if one of my parents had chosen not to go to the party where they met? What if our parents had had two sons, instead of a son and a daughter? But allowing for chance, I’ve always believed that choice is a huge factor and, yes, choice can steer our lives.
Chance: our parents were both well-educated and believed in education for their children. Choice: I chose electrical engineering after high school, at a time when computers were in their nascent stage. Laura chose teaching and graduated two years after me; her intelligence and warm personality guaranteed a quick hire into a school and role that she loved. That role split counseling with home economics as she loved the human contact that counseling offered but needed an outlet for her excellent domestic skills “…and everybody, not just the girls, should learn to cook”, she used to tell me.
Chance: an excellent promotion for our dad required that our parents move to the other side of the country shortly after our graduations so for the last decade of his career dad and mom settled in their new community and eventually retired there. It meant Laura - Lo, as only I was allowed to call her - and I were pretty much on our own and it seemed that the reduction in parental contact encouraged more sibling closeness than I noticed among many friends. We had no secrets and freely discussed girlfriends and boyfriends and, eventually, fiancés and, finally, spouses.
Yes, spouses. Chance and choice: in a way I was luckier than Lo; I’d found a wonderful soulmate in Claire and we were happily married for 10 years. We’d always planned for children, but careers and the usual “there is lots of time to have kids” view meant that when her ovarian cancer was diagnosed it was too late. When she died I fell into a black hole of grief and I think that it was only Lo’s support that saved me. She came to stay with me for two weeks: at least that’s what she tells me. I was so lost that I don’t even recall those weeks. I do recall, though, the resentment that her husband Felix (“Felix?” I’d said when she told me about their engagement, “you’re going to marry a guy named Felix?”) couldn’t hide. After a couple of weeks, when Lo returned to her own home but regularly dropped by with meals, wine, and caring conversation, I told her how sorry I was that her help had irritated Felix.
“Don’t worry”, she said, “that’s just Felix. If he wasn’t angry about that he’d just find something else”. But I sensed a deeper meaning in her words.
“Are you and the kids ok?” I asked; by then her two sons were in their pre-teen years.
“We’re fine”, she said, “I can handle Felix”. And she did just that, for another five years until she’d finally had enough. Now it was my turn to support and ensured that she had a good lawyer; good enough that her settlement was excellent, providing well for her and the boys and leaving enough to invest for her future. That and her solid employment guaranteed her security.
Which takes us to my work. As I said: chance and choice. I happened to graduate in the very early years of computers. I loved the new technology and immersed myself in it. I was hired straight out of college to an engineering firm that needed some electrical engineering expertise and I fit in immediately. But on my own time I was one of those garage-tinkerers and soon developed a couple of good ideas of my own. I contacted an old college friend, a lawyer, and with his help patented my ideas. Within three years I’d left the firm and set up my own small company. A few more good ideas were patented and very soon my firm had a staff of 30, doing conventional and basic electrical engineering, but also quickly becoming a leading firm in computer technology and engineering. By the age of 40 I was, as they say, set; the firm was very profitable, so much so that profit-sharing encouraged an unusually high degree of commitment, loyalty, and dedication from our staff and an embarrassingly large income for me.
On my 40th birthday I celebrated not in the typical blowout fashion. No, instead Lo and I went out for a quiet dinner and talked. She was always my best confidante and this was no exception. I told her how happy I’d been in my work, but that I was rethinking my life. After Claire’s death I wasn’t interested in new relationships, choosing to immerse myself in my work instead. But five years had passed and reevaluation seemed a good idea. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I’m thinking of stepping back from the firm” I said. “I’ve mentored Charlie since the day he left college and he’d make a great CEO for the firm. I could remain chairman of the board; after all I’m the majority shareholder. My patents and income from the firm generate more income than I need. I’m thinking of doing something entirely different”.
“Are we talking middle-age crazy here?” she laughed, “maybe a Harley Davidson and a tour of the country? Or start a rock band?”
“No”, I smiled, “something a little less outre. Hold onto your seat: I’m thinking fishing resort”.
“FISHING RESORT?” she said, almost loud enough for the next table to hear. “Where? How…?” “Drew,” (most called me Andrew or Andy, but for Lo it was always “Drew”) “are you serious?”
I pulled out a small clipping I’d saved from our local paper: “Fishing Resort For Sale” it read, and handed it to her. “It looks pretty good” I said, “it’ll obviously need some TLC and maintenance, but I think it just might be the ticket. I’m going to see it next weekend”. And a thought suddenly struck: “want to come along?”
Lo hardly heard my invitation as she concentrated on the ad. “Main house…eight guest cabins…fly-in…off the grid…unique opportunity…” “Yes, I bet it’s a ‘unique opportunity’” she laughed, then, glancing at my face, said “you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely” I replied. “And I repeat; I’m going next weekend and you’re welcome to come along”.
Lo looked down again at the ad and slowly nodded. “Sure, why not? I’m up for a small adventure. SMALL, you understand? How and when?”
“Saturday. It’s fly-in, so the real estate agent is arranging for a flight. It’s about a 30 minute flight and the only real access is by plane. Apparently there’s a bush trail that a snowmobile can handle, but access is almost exclusively by air. The agent says there’s nothing else on the lake. Complete isolation. Should be interesting”.
As I said this Lo was watching my face intently and, as always, could read me like a book. She saw how serious I was, saw the excitement in my eyes and her touch, as her hand reached over, took mine, and slowly caressed it with her own, told me that she really did understand.
So it was that the next weekend we were standing on a dock in a pristine, breathtakingly beautiful lake. Without even examining the cabins and main building Lo said “Drew, you have to do this. This place is paradise”. Luckily she didn’t say it loud enough for the agent to hear. We continued along the beach, checking each of the eight guest cabins in turn, mentally noting the likely repairs and maintenance needed and then strode up to the main building.
The main building was, basically, a large house. Large common room with beautiful stone fireplace, easy chairs and couches, small office, equipment room, large pantry and, the focus for Lo: the kitchen. “Drew, this is a great kitchen” she said as her eyes drifted over the restaurant-sized stove, “six burners…two ovens…”. And then pulling each drawer out in turn, closely inspecting knives, utensils, bowls, crockery, and dishes. “Large cooler, freezer, fridge, excellent natural light; a cook could do wonders in this kitchen”. With that she stepped over to me and took me into a hug, whispering in my ear so that the agent couldn’t hear “buy it, Drew, you’ll love it here”.
So I did and I did; after the usual haggling I bought the camp for less than I’d budgeted and, as Lo predicted, I loved it. My first summer was spent repairing, renovating, and upgrading. Re-roofing the cabins went quickly, checking each cabin’s small wood stove and chimney followed as did gathering a large supply of firewood. The main building was in excellent shape so didn’t need too much work other than a thorough cleaning and repainting. Lo’s advice on the latter was excellent and soon the common room, kitchen, den/office, storage room, and three bedrooms glowed warmly, waiting for my first visitors. I used my electrical engineering to service the generator and then to install solar panels on all the buildings along with a small wind turbine so that the generator with its accompanying noise would only be needed occasionally. With no cell coverage I used a satellite phone to occasionally check in with Charlie at the office or Lo to keep her up to date with my progress. I had made arrangements with a small local bush plane service so that they were able to drop off clients and supplies or materials on their regular milk runs in my area.
By the end of the summer I was satisfied that I was ready. The camp work was done and ready for customers. I purchased a snowmobile so that I could use the bush trail a few times in the winter to check on the camp and then booked myself into a string of sportsman shows for the late winter and early spring. I was confident I could handle the work that guests would entail, but I needed a cook. So I advertised and ***********ed five or six applicants for interviews. At my request Lo sat in on the interviews for a couple of reasons; she was a far better cook than me and, I thought, offered a second read on the applicants’ personalities. At the end of the interviews we agreed on one candidate, a young woman who was taking a gap year from college and wanted the opportunity, she said “to think about my life”.
I was pleased and surprised by my first summer of business; apparently the sportsman shows were time well spent and the first couple of months had enough clients to break even; after that word of mouth and a bit of advertising pushed the camp well into the black. A few kinks in the early days were worked out and the summer and business went smoothly thereafter. I set a firm pattern: clients would fly in on Friday and would be hosted until the following Wednesday morning. That gave me and my cook two days to clean up, re-stock supplies, and plan the following week.
The only fly in the ointment was my cook: she had all the skills we needed to cook and do light housekeeping - that wasn’t the problem. But after the fourth month she began to show signs of moodiness. When she finally talked to me about it she told me that the isolation was finally getting to her. Flying her out for a week of R&R, the obvious solution, wouldn’t work as I’d already booked our clients months in advance and I wasn’t up to doing the cooking myself. I’d planned a six month season, ending in October. Thankfully, Lo offered a solution: “I can come for a month or so and take over”.
“Are you sure? What about your teaching?”
“I’ve decided to switch from full time to supply status, so I can pretty much pick my own hours; I don’t need the income anymore.”
And with that my cook left the camp on good terms and Lo arrived in mid-September. It was change, but what a change; her cooking skills were a cut above my original cook and she genuinely revelled in the work. As summer turned to fall and the leaves turned she was even happier in the job and more content to simply be at the camp.
After our season ended we closed the camp and returned to our city lives. I spent the time reviewing all aspects of the past summer, making a few changes, and planning for the next season. Lo gave invaluable advice on meal planning and housekeeping routines. When I told her that I planned a winter trip to the camp to check on its condition her response was immediate: “I want to come”.
“It’s probably an hour trip on the snowmobile.”
“Not a problem; I’d love an adventure.”
So with that in early February we drove to the trailhead, unloaded the snowmobile, sled trailer, and supplies, and headed in to the resort. The trail was excellent and we arrived without incident to find the camp in surprisingly good shape. My upkeep efforts had served well and all we had to do was to get a roaring fire going in the common room fireplace and before too long the main house was warmed up. I swept off the solar panels and started the generator to charge up our batteries. Soon we were comfortably sitting before the fire, drinking a good red wine, and taking in the winter wonderland just outside the house. And, Lo being Lo, soon had dinner on the way, the delicious smells permeating the whole house. It was all so very domestic; a domesticity that I hadn’t felt since Claire died. Maybe Lo sensed that. Maybe she sensed the one missing piece in my domesticity. And maybe she intended to fill that missing piece when, having checked the dinner’s progress, she returned to the common room with our wine, sat on the couch next to me and with the smoothest and most natural movement cuddled up to me in a warm, cozy way that demanded a hug. And just as naturally and smoothly my arm found itself wrapping her in a hug, pulling her closer to me. With that she tilted her head to me, smiled, and gave me a quick, warm kiss. On the lips.
Time stopped. What had just happened? A part of my brain that had been dormant for years seemed to awaken with a jolt. That kiss, its warmth, its affection; it felt so good, so welcome, but…my sister? Lo returned her gaze to the fire and resumed our cuddle as if nothing had happened. But it had. Something had happened, with me, at least.
Our visit to the camp was perfect; had we known how good it would be, how the peace and quiet of winter would be so relaxing and peaceful, we would have brought more food and stayed longer. As it was we had to return home after a few days, but the days quickly became a pattern; a few chores to ensure lots of firewood, a bit of exploring on the snowmobile with me becoming more conscious of Lo’s arms around me during our forays, and ending on the couch before the fire with Lo easily slipping into a cuddle with me. And at some point, each time, she invited that kiss. And each kiss became a bit longer. And each evening as I drifted into sleep, the last memory was the soft warmth of her cushioning lips on mine and the thought of her lying in her bed in the next room.
Late winter meant more plans and more sportsman shows. When I asked Lo to sit in again on interviews for a cook she said “I don’t think you should bother; I can take the job.”
Again, from me: “but your job?”
“I’ve got a lot of choice now for when I work or don’t. I can simply advise the school district that I can’t teach from May to November. Problem solved. Or don’t you think I’m a good cook?”
“You’re a fantastic cook, but I feel guilty asking you to do it.”
“It’s not a sacrifice and you’re not asking; I’m telling. I love the camp. And I love you - you know that - so I’m happy to do it.” And with that the problem was solved. Lo prepared meal plans and supply lists and bought a few more things for the kitchen and all was set.
That spring we had the camp up and ready well in advance of our first clients, so Lo and I had a few days to relax and enjoy the experience. The lake was far too cold to swim in yet, so after dinner we wandered down to the dock, wine glasses in hand and watched the sunset. On one particular evening, the sunset being exceptionally beautiful, she reached out and took my hand. Again, it was the most natural of affectionate gestures. As I squeezed her hand lightly, she rested both on her leg. And as I felt the warmth of her thigh that dormant brain awoke again with a start. Somehow that warmth seemed to feed a current that began to run from the brain to, well, a part of my body that had been, in truth, dormant for years as well. I had to break the current, so I lifted her hand and gently kissed it before I released it. And then sat still for several minutes while my erection slowly subsided and I hoped she hadn’t noticed.
Our routine quickly began: Fridays to Wednesdays with clients, two days to regroup, and repeat. Our clients loved her meals and she took particular pleasure in cooking up their fresh catches. Word of mouth spread more quickly than it had the year before and much of the praise focussed on the cuisine. Once clients were gone we threw ourselves into sweeping, dusting, cleaning, laundry, and re-stocking. As the summer began and days warmed Lo took to wearing shorts and abandoning her bra. To my raised eyebrow glance one day she laughed and asked “what’s the problem? Who’s here to see…other than my brother?” But I did see and couldn’t avoid my blush that followed and that she, I’m sure, noticed. But the image, repeated weekly, of those breasts, pert and erect, nipples often clearly defined, took more and more of my brain’s bandwidth and occupied more and more of my pre-sleep visions. And dreams.
What was happening? How could I allow these images, these thoughts about my sister? But the more consternation they caused for me, the more Lo seemed to enjoy my embarrassment. Was it my imagination, or was she teasing me? I couldn’t believe that. I’d never known Lo to be a flirt or a tease, but by mid-June she seemed to wait for me to pass by as she bent over a bed, carefully placing sheets and blankets. At dinner, passing a plate or bowl, she seemed to lean over, tempting a glance (which I couldn’t refuse) down her shirt. More blushes, I knew. More amusement for Lo, I thought, but tried to push the thoughts down, tried to convince myself it was just me and that I should snap out of it. I was almost grateful when our clients arrived and things were “back to normal” for five days.
And then it happened. The teasing reached its peak. It was an exceptionally hot week in early June and, clients departed, on the Wednesday evening after dinner Lo announced “I think the lake is ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready for swimming. I know I’m ready for a swim, so I’m going for a dip.” And with that she skipped down to the dock, headed to its end and without pause or hesitation quickly stripped down. Stripped down, I repeat, to nothing. As she did so I was slowly sauntering down to the dock, unaware of her intentions. I was at the other end of the dock by the time she stood, facing away from me, in her nakedness. And, yes, the cliche is there: the sight literally took my breath away. I wouldn’t have been surprised if my heart stopped briefly along with my breathing. She was absolutely beautiful. Soft, perfect curves, muscles perfectly toned by her work and seemingly totally at ease with her nudity. In front of her brother.
She glanced back at me over her shoulder, smiled a genuinely coquettish teasing smile and without looking back again she dove into the lake, rising quickly, laughing. When she spotted me on the dock she laughed again: “come in, it’s perfect.”
“I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“Neither do I, obviously” and laughed again with “or didn’t you notice? And it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Tease indeed, I thought and somehow, without thinking at all, I pulled my clothes off and jumped in.
More laughing, more splashing as each of us tried to soak the other much as we had decades before as kids in our community swimming pool. She tried to push my head underwater and I tried to push hers. Finally I swam to the ladder up to the dock, Lo close behind but then as I reached and grabbed it she reached me and enveloped me in a hug from behind. I could have continued the games, could have splashed and tried to dunk her to escape up the ladder, but I didn’t. Another unthinking decision, perhaps answering the unspoken question she seemed to be asking. There it was again: choice. I stopped, held on to the ladder as she held on to me, and leaned my head back until I felt her lips on my neck.
I turned then, both of us treading water, and faced her. There was a moment’s pause as we looked into each other’s eyes, all laughing now ceased. It was probably a second or less, but it later seemed to me the longest moment in our lives together. At the same moment, in perfect synchrony, we each leaned toward the other until our lips met in a kiss, a kiss that lasted far longer and was far deeper than those winter evening kisses. Within a few very short seconds those lips parted so that our tongues could meet, delicately, hesitant at first, tip to tip, and immediately plunging, thrusting, each exploring and welcoming the other, until we broke the kiss, softly gasping for breath. Again our gazes met and after a quick and soft kiss to me she quickly climbed up the ladder. For the first time I realized I was fully erect. I suspected later that she’d known that before I did. Embarrassed, I clung to the ladder. “What are you waiting for?” she asked as she sat on the dock. “Come on; like I said, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
And with that I climbed onto the dock, my erection bouncing with each step. “Oh my,” she smiled, “I have to say it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen one like that. I’m flattered.” She reached her arms up to me, inviting me to sit with her and as soon as I did the arms took me in a hug as she drew me down with her onto the dock. Our kisses continued now, it seemed with a new urgency. Freed of the water our hands wandered about each other’s body, stroking, gliding along the soft curves and contours. Those breasts now seemed to me, in their first full exposure, to be more beautiful and more perfect than ever. More perfect that I’d even imagined in my fevered dreams. I needed to experience them with another sense; my lips drifted down, kissing her neck slowly drifting down to her soft moans, until they found her nipples. Fully erect - by the cool lake water? No, by the heat of our embrace. As my lips closed on them, my tongue circling and tasting her dollar-sized beautiful aureolas her moans came more quickly and became louder. Language seemed to return to her as softly she whispered “yes…I..ahhh…more…yes…I…” and with that a tremor passed through her body, shaking us both.
I couldn’t stop now, not even if someone had put a gun to my head. My kisses continued their voyage down, down, across her midriff, her belly, down, down until…I felt the soft moss of her vulva, felt her heat, heard her increasing moans. My tongue, now awakened and empowered by her kisses, began its inevitable probing until I could taste her, feel her wetness as her body began to shake and move beneath my ministrations. Slipping up her opening, feeling its heat and tasting it, I came to her unsheathed, erect clitoris - her body involuntarily leapt briefly off the dock as my tongue brushed it, circled it, teased it. Her body began shaking more as her hands found my head and pressed me harder to the task until, all words now gone, her only utterances “unnnhh, aahhh, mmmuuunnnghh, UNNGGHHHH” as her body’s shaking reached a peak and arched lifting both her and me off the dock with her orgasm. I continued to lick, to probe as the rapture continued in her body, wave after wave shaking her until, laughing, she finally rolled onto her side. “Enough”, she laughed, “I don’t think I can take any more”.
“We’ll see about that” I smiled, as I gently rolled her onto her back and positioned myself between her thighs. I gently spread her legs as our gaze remained unbroken, each smiling, each knowing, each anticipating, me supporting myself with my hands on each side of her on the deck, hers softly gliding up and down my sides in a loving caress. Our second, it seemed later, infinitely long moment before we did the unthinkable and broke one of society’s strongest taboo: before we committed incest.
And commit it we did. I lowered myself slowly as she reached out and found my rigid cock, watching my eyes, my expression all the while. But as the extreme pleasure of her hand around my cock registered I closed my eyes in the pure rapture of it. I opened them again as she guided my glans to her opening and gently slid it up and down, moistening it in readiness, our moans mingling into a kind of beautiful music, my pre-cum mixing with her juices. She pushed the head of my cock in and then released her gentle grip, returning her hand to my side, then my back as she pulled me down to her and pulled me into her.
Were we ready? Whatever had brought us to this moment, to this act, it somehow seemed that we had been ready for this for years. I slipped easily into her and felt immediately her wet tightness. Glancing down at her she smiled and whispered “it’s been a very long time, Drew” and then closed her eyes as we began that perfect rhythm, me thrusting into her, slowly pulling almost out, thrusting in again. Her feeling the rhythm quickly and rising slightly with each thrust to meet me. My second surprise was that I didn’t come immediately; I wanted her so badly, felt the reason for her weeks of teasing so clearly, her offering, felt the hunger that had been building for years so much, I realized, that by all rules of sex and fucking, I should have come immediately. But somehow my need to give her as much pleasure as possible ruled the moment and I continued to stroke in and out of my sister, her moans growing louder, her hands becoming less controlled and more demanding, until her body arched for a second time that evening, in an even greater orgasm, her primal moans surrendering to her shouted “YES…UNNNHHH…YES!”, echoing across the lake. That signalled my release and my cock began to pulse, to beat its own rhythm as I pumped rope after rope of my seed into Lo, our bodies becoming slick with our sweat and escaping juices and cum.
It was the most erotic experience of my life; sexual pleasure beyond anything I’d felt and judging from her gasps and panting as I fell onto my back beside her, my now flaccid cock well spent, beyond anything for her, too. Short minutes passed before we rolled on to our sides into a hug, kisses flowing and following. Then a quiet cuddle. “What do we do now?” I asked, as I sensed she had answers that I didn’t.
“We jump into the lake again” she laughed.
“Are you sure?” I teased, “look where that led a few minutes ago”.
She didn’t reply but rose and with one simple graceful movement, dove back into the water. I followed quickly, but no playing this time, no dunking. Instead we swam about for a few minutes, allowing the lake to wash us, drifting together for the occasional kiss. Then we climbed back to the dock and walked hand in hand back to the house.
We toweled ourselves dry, found a couple of robes, and returned to the porch with a bottle of wine and glasses. We pushed a couple of lounges close and lay down, each savoring the best post-coital feelings that either of us could recall. I was almost afraid to ask, almost afraid of the answer, when I said “what now, Lo?”
“What now? What do you mean? Do you mean right now now? Right this evening? Or do you mean what do we do now about this?”
“I mean what do we do now about this? That was easily the best sex I’ve ever had; if it has to be a one-off then I would understand that. We’ve committed incest, Lo, broken a huge taboo… and the law. But if it’s a one-off it would break my heart.” And with that I turned to look at the lake.
When I turned back to her she was watching me, her expression serious. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had too, Drew. But there’s more than that: I love you. This can’t be a one night stand, a one-off. I know about incest, I know about taboos. I know about having sex with…no… fucking my brother. But what can possibly be wrong with two adults, with full consent, having sex with someone they love? How can that possibly be wrong? And it would break my heart, too.” And with that a silence fell on us as we held each other’s hand and slowly drank our wine.
After a few moments, thinking of our future, of the path we were inviting each other to take, I asked “did you plan this?”
“Plan? No…how do you mean ‘plan’?”
“You teased me, didn’t you? The last couple of weeks? Shorts…bending…no bra…wasn’t that teasing?”
She smiled as she thought for a moment. “Maybe it was, but I didn’t mean it. Deep down it was probably more of an invitation, one that I didn’t even know I was giving.” Another pause, then “I think, Drew, that somewhere deep down I knew that we both needed - both wanted - this. Was I wrong?”
“No, absolutely not. I love you too. And I want to give you the most pleasure possible.”
Her eyes brimmed, tears very close. She glanced down at my robe and with a soft laugh said “I think another part of you loves me too”, the rising tent of my robe becoming more and more obvious. She took my wine from my hand, placed on the deck of the porch, took my hand and led me back into the house and down the hall to her bedroom. Dropping her robe - as I gasped again at her perfect body - she giggled and, reaching out to untie my robe, said “Drew, I don’t think we’re going to need two bedrooms two nights of the week” and with that pulled me down onto her bed. This time our lovemaking was slower, deeper, more intense even if that’s possible than our dock sex. It was her turn to direct the proceedings so, after long and deep kisses, after mutual caresses and fondling, she gently pushed me onto my back, swung one leg across me, rose above me, and slowly lowered herself, impaling herself on my rigid cock, shuddering with the pleasure as her vaginal muscles wrapped my cock in a tight, wet, hot embrace. She then leaned over me, burying herself in my neck and began riding me, pumping my cock mercilessly until we both reached a peak and came together. Twenty minutes later it was time for doggy-style (“I want to try it, Drew, I want you as deep in me as possible”) to which I was more than happy to oblige.
Finally, exhausted and after a quiet long cuddle, we rose, showered together, and moved to my bedroom for the night - to sleep. “Some extra laundry to be done tomorrow”, she smiled, as we got into my bed.
“Better leave it” I said, “I’m pretty sure we’re going to mess those sheets again tomorrow”.
“Am I a whore?” she asked quietly as we spooned together.
“What?” I asked, “how could you be a whore?”
“You’re paying me…and we had sex. Great, incestuous sex, but sex nevertheless”.
I thought on it and turned her to face me. “I have an easy solution to that” I said.
“What’s that? No more sex?”
I laughed and said “no, I’ll simply stop paying you.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “What, and I’ll work for free? For all the sex I can get out of you?”
“No. You won’t be an employee; you’ll be a partner. I’ll have my lawyers make you an equal partner in the camp. No one will think that’s weird; you’re my sister, after all.”
She drew me into an embrace, her leg tossed casually over me, hooking me and pulling me even closer. “That’s right,” she whispered, “your sister…your incestuous sister, the one who loves her brother, and loves fucking him.” And with that she turned back and pushed herself back toward me, back into a perfect spooning.
That was years ago. We ran the camp for decades; we used the “two days a week” interlude every week, sometimes even blocking off a week or two each summer so that our loving could go uninterrupted. Our winter “check the camp” visits became longer and more frequent. Eventually, after a few years, Lo sold her house and moved in with me, explaining to her sons “it makes a lot of economic sense; neither of us is interested in a relationship and uncle Drew’s house is big enough for both of us. I can put the sale proceeds in the bank”. Big enough indeed. We maintained separate bedrooms “just in case”, but only used one. Ever.