a girl, a late blooming fourteen year old girl who was full of herself. I had a crush on my older brother. How pathetic could I get? How could a guy so amazing as him want a little girl like me?

I sat up off the side of my bed and turned the alarm on my clock completely off. My nightgown had fallen down over me. I went on to make my bed. It was something I normally did after my shower but I decided it best then to cover up that little red patch in the middle.

It looked haphazardly done, normal, so I threw my panties from the floor into my laundry basket and hunted down my hairbrush on the other side of the bed before heading to the shower.

It was about an hour and a half drive to the airport with stopping off to eat. Over the radio through the long journey, all I could think about was the night before. I was so sure of myself then. In the heat of emotions, I had it all planned out. In the car surrounded by the real world, I second guessed everything. I didn’t want to feel like that toward my own brother.

But I did. It made me so happy; but so confused. It was so good yet it hurt so bad. I had to see him. When I saw him, I knew he would just be my big brother. Things would be normal, just a fun time. It had to be. I wouldn’t know what to do if it wasn’t.

The wait at the airport was the worst, the anticipation. Sitting in the terminal looking out the window at all the planes come and go. That night, or really morning, only hours before, I was masturbating, fantasizing about having sex with him. Something lingered though in the back of my mind; a thought perhaps that I had forgotten.

But for the first time ever, I had willingly masturbated to my brother; that memory would not leave me.

Then all at once it hit me. Everything came back to me. As my mom stood up and I followed her gaze to the doors where passengers of an arriving plane exited.

Ean.

He had grown in two years. His body was much more defined. His nineteen year old shape still held onto that scrawniness, but it was obvious that he was anything but.

The face he had on drove tears into my mom’s eyes. He had all the time in the world to think about it. Reflect on every single detail. Bask in the loneliness that now plagued him.

He didn’t look sad though. I can’t describe what he looked like but it was like he was feeling something so powerful and so bad, and with all his strength, he held it back. He was a person you would want to avoid. Emotionless almost. Like he would kill you without a second thought. Perhaps though, other people didn’t notice it in him. Maybe it was just because mom and I knew what had happened to him.

I couldn’t tell if he had just given up hope of anything in life and just didn’t care anymore, or if he was just so manically sad and drawn into his mind that he just couldn’t control his outer appearance. The happy, lively brother I saw off came back to me sad and torn apart.

As I followed mom to him and her greatest of hugs, I couldn’t stop staring into his distant eyes. Not even the tiniest glimpse of a thought about my fantasy of him hours before even wandered near my mind.

He only spoke when questioned, only ever a few words. No emotion. We searched down his luggage and left. Needless to say, the ride home was very long and tense.

I wanted to be mad at him for some reason but I wouldn’t allow it. He had left us for two years; not even coming back for summers. Now he was there. All of a sudden. A phone call two weeks prior. “Mom, I’m coming home. Please don’t ask why.”

We heard about why from his school.

He left for two years. Only thinking about himself, now he had come back. He was greeted with open arms, cried for, pampered. How could I get mad though? He had been punished beyond any transgression he had committed.

At the time, I had no idea what to expect of him when we got home. Once he acted, I thought myself thick that I couldn’t figure it out before.

It was shameful to think but it was the truth after a few days of thinking about him. He locked himself in his room. He stayed alone in his thoughts while mom and I remained less phased by him. It was a defense for him to be secluded but it had also helped us. We didn’t have to see him; his mood wouldn’t spread. It was a painful bliss knowing that mom and I were happier because Ean chose to face his demons alone.

We had tried and failed every day to make contact with him; he refused any help. I frequently heard him move about the house at night but I was always too tired or scared to face him. For nearly a week it continued. Then the unthinkable happened.

The day before my first day of school, my first day of high school, freshman year, the day before; mom left. To be fair, she did announce it two days prior. As a journalist, she did have to leave on a trip every now and then, but why then. Some big court case in the big city. Hours and hours away from home. Hotel, days, maybe weeks, gone, alone with Ean, school, alone.

Mom had talked to him about it. Before I stayed with one her friends. This time, I would stay with him, Ean. She said he was pulling himself together, for me. He was needed then and mom said that right there raised his mood some. He had something to do. He always loved projects. Unfortunately, I was his project that time.

Ean even came out for dinner the night before mom left. There wasn’t much talking, but it was nice to see him. Stare at him. Take him in.

Then mom left in the morning. The day before school. Ean was out of his room most of the day but he was watching TV. I went through all my new school supplies at least ten times before joining him.

I was nervous; anxious, almost sick. I was going to high school. I didn’t know anybody there. I had no real friends in my own class for support. I was all alone through everything.

“Are you ok?” Ean asked looking at me. I had been staring off in space. A commercial was on.

“Yeah, just a little nervous about tomorrow,” I answered as he turned the TV off.

“Well, I guess we should go to bed then.”

I looked out the window, then to the clock below the TV; I hadn’t realized so much time had flown by. I was really getting sick then. Go to bed, wake up, then school.

I tremblingly followed Ean up off the couch. I wobbled to my room. I was so alone. The high school was in walking distance, but still, if mom was home, she would’ve drove me. It would have been a tiny bit easier that way.

I dropped my bra beside my bed and opened the drawer holding my night gown. It was so cold. I was in my panties. The air against all my skin was chilling. My stomach was jumping every which way inside me. Weakly leaning forward, I pulled the thin cloth over my head and let it drop down my body. I had to do something. It was all just too much to handle alone.

I walked to my door and opened it. Ean’s door was cracked. He was facing away from me, sitting on his bed lost in thought. Just in boxers and a t-shirt.

“Ean,” I trembled as I pushed the door open. He turned around and looked to me. “I don’t feel good.” I was squeezing one arm into my stomach. I wanted to cry. I didn’t know why. I was anxious, nervous, queasy. At the moment I asked for help, I had given up all the fight in me. My mind was amplifying all my symptoms. My subconscious knew what I really wanted. I wanted someone else to take my burdens, someone else to comfort me. My weak fourteen year old mind wasn’t strong enough to handle it. I asked Ean for that comfort. I had given up all my defenses and relied on him to compensate.

As the words escaped my mouth, my entire body quivered. It was a self-induced sickness with one purpose, to seek pity and comfort from an external source. Whether Ean knew or would find that out in time, he showed no care about it. He jumped from his bed and speed walked over to me. He put his arms around me and lifted me up. He carried me to his bed. His bed. It was twice the size of mine and almost twice as soft.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m so cold. My stomach hurts.” My entire body began shivering. The more I thought about it, the more I gave Ean responsibility to care for me, the worse my sickness got.

He jumped across the room and pulled a trashcan to the side of the bed before lifting my butt onto one of his pillows. He pushed his sheet and comforter down and drug me under it. I was still shivering. Then he climbed on top of me. I was under a sheet and comforter. I was in my nightgown. He was in a t-shirt and boxers. But he was lying on top of me. He was holding me.

We lay like that silently for several minutes. I was feeling amazingly better all of a sudden. I was so much warmer. I wasn’t thinking about school at all. I almost forgot how we got in that position. Every ounce of the sickness had left my body.

“Can I sleep here tonight; I don’t want to move,” I said trying to sound still sick.

“Do you really think I would just shove you back in your bedroom alone in this condition?”

“Are you going to sleep like that?” I admit that I had no problems at all with him sleeping on top of me with his arms hold me tight, but I wanted more; I wanted him under the covers. I wasn’t thinking anything sexual then. If I did, I would have just gotten myself sick again in anxiety. I just wanted his comfort. It was almost like an innocent crush right then. Holding him under the covers would make me blush in happiness.

He pushed off me and walked over to turn out the light. He came back. It was so dark. I felt the mattress move as he got onto the bed. So quiet. He pulled up the covers to let in a chill across my body.

He was getting in bed. He was getting in the bed I was in. I was in the bed. I was in the thinnest piece of fabric I owned and a pair of my panties. He was scooting under the sheet. The same sheet that I was under. We were going to sleep together. The words in my mind held the wrong meaning to what they actually meant to the situation, but, my meaning for those words sounded so much better. We were sleeping together.

I wanted him to hold me so bad but I was scared beyond belief that he would actually touch me. In the dark, under his sheets, in his bed. My body was frozen solid. I didn’t know what to do. Every movement I made would be judged by him. I had the most wrong thoughts in my head. Did he know what I was thinking? How could he?

“Are you still cold?” he asked.

I was his little sister. I was sick. I was just an innocent little sister that had gotten terribly ill. He was protecting and comforting me. I was innocent. He couldn’t read my mind.

“Yeah.” A shiver rolled through my body as I said it.

I felt him shifting under the covers. He was moving toward me. His hand rubbed over my ribs. He gripped my side. I was on my back. I wanted to be firm in his grasp.

I rolled as he gripped me and shifted into his body. He dropped his arm over my back and held tight. He was so warm. Soft skin with a hard wall of muscle just below it. My breasts were pressed into his chest.

Oh no. What if I wasn’t supposed to roll into him? What if he thought I was weird or something for pulling myself into his body? What if he just wanted to put his arm over me and that was all? Why did I move?

If I was still on my back, I didn’t know what to think. I was so embarrassed. Maybe though, if I was on my back, he would have rolled on top of me like earlier. That would have been soo super incredibly amazing. Damn. Why did I have to move?

I was there though. In that position. In my little nighty and panties. Under his arm. In his chest. I didn’t know how long I had been in my repetitive thought process but apparently it was long enough for Ean to fall asleep.

How could he sleep? I was wide awake. How could he sleep in that position? With me in his arms. A girl so next to nude in his grip, on his bed, under his sheets.

His sister. His fourteen year old sister. Of course. I was nothing to him. Of course he could sleep.

I pushed my head up to look at his face. He was peaceful. My nipples were stabbing into his chest. My vagina. My vagina was pressed just above his pelvis. It was so hot. If he was awake, I was sure he would have noticed the excess of heat coming from that part of my body.

If I could just kiss him. He was right there. He would never know. Just a small kiss. Then I would force myself to roll away and fall asleep. Just a peck.

I was going to do it. My body had already reacted before I admitted to myself that I would do it. I was at his lips. Just a peck. I pushed out my lips. I pecked his. My vision blackened from the nervousness.

I pulled away instantly and watched his eyes. Listened to his breathing. I had kissed him. I kissed my brother. The most amazing guy I had ever known. I kissed him. Eyes closed; breathing steady. He was asleep. I had to do it again.

I moved my neck out forward again. I had to keep my eyes focused. I had to see this time. I puckered my lips. Slowly. Very Slowly. Very very slowly. Our lips met. I stared into his eyelids. Hold. Hold it. Push. Push a little harder. Hold. His eyes remained shut. I couldn’t hear his breathing over my own.

We were kissing. Well, I was kissing him. How was I supposed to do it though for real? Was I supposed to move my lips around somehow or someway? The feeling was amazing though.

Then his lips started almost massaging mine. I stared into his eyes. They were almost shaking under the eyelids. He was dreaming.

His hand rode up my back onto my neck. He pushed my face into his. He was making out with me. My brother. What was happening? I wanted this, I think. I didn’t want him to be dreaming. I never thought of what I would do if one of my dreams became reality.

Ean’s body rolled forward. He pushed me back and settled on top of me, kind of off to the side. Something grew along my leg. My brother was getting an erection. What was I suppose to do? Was I supposed to let him have a wet dream on top of me? That would be the most amazing thing in the world. Or would it?

Why did I have to second guess myself always in the heat of the most important times of my life? The hand around the back of my neck retreated to my chest. It didn’t stop there but I just remember so vividly when it was there for the one small stroke. His hand travel down my ribs, over my belly, onto my pelvis. Oh my goodness!!

His fingers slid over the thin fabric of my nightgown to the very bottom. At the bottom they stopped. They changed direction immediately. My nightgown was being hiked up. By my brother!

His fingers tapped into my panties. My wet panties. At first just the tips. Then they slid more, the pads of his fingers were rolling over my vagina. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. I had never felt so much pleasure in my entire life. It was happening so fast. It was the first time I ever remembered someone touching me there, and it just had to be him. My brother!

The pads of his fingers turned into his whole fingers. Those turned into his palm. The giant hot thing burning into my leg moved up and down. He was humping my bare leg under his boxers. I couldn’t take much more. So much so fast. I was only fourteen.

His palm continued rubbing up and down over my panties. Over my mound. Over my vagina. I lost.

“Aaaah,” I moaned. My hips shattered under an orgasm. I couldn’t stay silent. All my senses died. All but the nerves in my vagina. The feeling was beyond life. He masturbated me. He pushed me into orgasm. In his bed. With his hand. My vagina writhed and pounded at nothing. I cooed and moaned several more vowels.

I knew I had to stop. I had to try to focus my eyes. The rubbing on my panties stopped. The pipe bouncing on my leg ceased movement. Damn it! I couldn’t regain control of my body. Damn that orgasm was so good. I needed to stop it. My entire body was tingling and my pelvis was on fire with pleasure. Stop it. Stop it. Please just stop. It took all my strength to keep the cooing I so desperately wanted to release, inaudible. Wow! Stop. Finally. The greatest orgasm of my life began subsiding.

My eyes began focusing on my brother’s face. I could still feel amazing pleasure pulsing through my reproductive organ but at least I could see the damage. I felt the rapidly growing wetness on my panties. Ean’s hand was still there. He could feel literally as my cum oozed from my slit into my panties. That overflowing wetness soaked through the fabric onto his hand. It was soo warm.

I didn’t know why his hand was still touching me there but I wished he would never take it away. I wanted him to feel my wetness. I wanted to feel his warmth, his cupping comfort.

His face was so scared. My orgasm finally left me. My panties were as soaked as could be.

“I thought you were Crystal. I swear. I’m so sorry. Please I’ll do anything to make this right. Please forgive me. I thought you were Crystal.”

His eyes watered on the first sentence; they dripped on the last. Two tears fell to my cheek. He finally removed his hand from my vagina and his boner from my leg. He was moving away from me. I reached out and grabbed his hand. I felt my own wetness soaking it.

“Ean, it’s ok.” I didn’t want to sound like wanted it. I didn’t know how much he knew and I wanted to keep myself as safe as possible from him profiling me correctly. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s ok.”

“No, it’s not ok. I have to leave. I’ll go back to college. I can’t stay with you anymore. I can’t believe I did that to you. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“NO! You can’t go back! I need you! Mom and I need you. You have to stay. I liked it. I like when you touch me. I feel special. I feel like you love me. Like you’re the only one I can trust. Don’t leave.”

Something I said struck him hard. I said too much. I knew I should have kept playing my safe game. He scared me though. I would do anything to keep him from leaving. He stared into my eyes. I hated it. It was like he was looking into my mind. He was profiling me. Like I was something less than him.

He let go of my hand. He scooted back to get off the bed.

“Please, just go back to sleep here. If you leave me alone after what just happened, you know what I’ll be feeling.” I couldn’t say what I would feel but I knew it. If he gave it thought he would figure it out. He was the smartest person I knew. He would deduce it. Wouldn’t he?

Leaving me stranded after that, I would feel horrible, guilty, sick. I would never be able to face him again.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “If I start at it again, wake me up before I do anything. I won’t forgive you again. You might like it, but it kills me. I was the one who actually did it. I have to live with it.” He turned away from me and dropped down at the edge of the mattress.

What did I just do? He’d never be able to trust me again. He would always look down on me from then on. I would be his weird freak little sister that likes him too much. Why did he keep his hand on my vagina so long? Why did he linger, collecting all the lubricant that poured out? What was he really thinking?