Case History 13: Brother And Sister

Only sixteen months apart in age, it was natural that Irene and Mark should be playmates during their early years. It was also convenient for the mother, Hillary, who was flighty and given to finding all sorts of activities that kept her away from her home and her responsibilities as much as possible. It was common for the mother to place the children in the playpen in order to keep them busy with each other and out of the way. This is not the least bit unusual for all mothers, but in this instance the mother did it abnormally often and not for the right reasons.

Irene and Mark were nine and eleven years old respectively when they started to show an interest in each other's body. They played doctor and nurse often. It was their favorite game. At first, both of them would play their roles using a neighbor playmate as the patient. They would undress the "patient," run their hands over the child's body, and perform all the make-believe tasks of a doctor and a nurse. Then, when other playmates were not available for the game, Irene and Mark would take turns being the patient and experiencing the touches of the other.

Irene was the first to notice the difference of their sexual build. She mentioned it to Mark while performing a make-believe examination of him during their game one day. Mark, as it was later reported to his psychiatrist, thought that his sister was "crazy or something." He has stated that he was sure that they were built the same, that she really had a cock as he did, but that she was "hiding" it or keeping it concealed "between her legs." Mark insisted that Irene expose her body so that they could make a true comparison. Irene refused, saying that they could not do that because they were playing nurse and patient and nurses never undressed for the patient. Mark had to agree that that was the way the game went, however, he was insistent. Irene obliged. She lifted her skirt and pulled down her panties. Mark was overwhelmed. He still was not convinced that Irene had not at one time had a cock. She felt the same way. Then they decided that she must have at one time had a cock but lost it in an accident or had it "cut off." Irene was quite upset, especially when her brother kept boasting that "he had something she didn't have."

The following childhood conversation about this phenomenon was reconstructed by Irene for her psychiatrist during one of her therapy sessions.

"Everybody has one you did, too," Mark said.

"Maybe not."

"I say you did."

"But lots of girls are like this just like I am so that can't be true."

"It just happens to all girls," Mark explained.

"That's what it does happens to all girls when they're babies or something."

"Maybe not," Irene said, her voice sounding hopeful.

"It does, it does, it does. Ha, ha, boys got something girls ain't I got something you haven't got."

Feelings of castration and a complex called "Phallus Envy" are not at all unusual in the young. Most girls, Freud proclaimed, feel a certain "denial" or rejection in that they are not built as their fathers are built. Many young girls also feel that originally they possessed a penis and were built exactly like the male, and that their penis was taken from them. Girls of this disposition find further evidence for this belief's validity when they begin to menstruate. Then there is blood, very much as if it flowed now, years later, because of the amputation that was made at a very early age.

So, Irene and Mark were not too very much different from other children upon discovering the difference of their sex organs. Undoubtedly, they had discovered this fact many years before, at a far younger age, but to the subject's memory this was the first incidence of discussion with her brother about the subject of their sexual difference.

Irene and Mark began masturbatory play when they were about thirteen and fifteen. Both of the children were large for their age and developing rapidly. Irene's tits were budding and her hips had begun to jut sassily outward from her skirt. Her legs were beginning to take on lines and curves. She wore her hair long and the ends of it bounced as low as the small of her back. Mark was large for his age and although on the skinny side, he showed all the signs of young muscles and strength.

"Remember how we used to play?" he asked of his sister one day when they were alone in the house.

"Oh, we've played a lot, I guess," she answered.

"I mean how we used to play kind of 'dirty.' "

She glanced away, then back to him again. Mark was sitting in a chair across from where she lounged on the couch.

"That was sure something, wasn't it?" Mark asked.

"Yes. We were pretty young then."

"Real young."

"Were those happy times for us, Mark?" Irene asked suddenly.

"Sure they were."

"They were?"

"Sure they were. What the hell, can't you remember? I remember everything about when we were kids together."

"I don't remember much about it," Irene said. "I do remember that we were alone a lot. Alone and naked."

"Yeah, that. But something else, too."

Irene frowned in concentration, then said, "Oh, sure. I remember how we always liked to play doctor and nurse."

"Yeah, that's the one I remember, too. Hell, we sure were kids, weren't we?"

"We sure were."

"We fussed around quite a lot, didn't we?" he "How do you mean, Mark?"

"You know. Touching each other and everything."

"I guess so," she said, shyly turning her head.

"Most brothers and sisters do that, I guess," Mark said.

"At least that's what some of the guys with sisters tell me."

"Do they really?"

"Yeah."

"But you didn't tell them about how we were when we were kids, did you? I'd just die if I thought any of the kids knew about that."

"Naw, I didn't say anything. Besides, it's none of their goddamned business. If they want to sound off to me about their sisters, that's all right, but I don't tell 'em nothing."

"Oh, I'm glad, Mark, real glad," she said enthusiastically.

The day dragged on. Their mother, following her usual pattern, was late returning from the office where she had worked as a bookkeeper since her divorce from the children's father when they weren't much more than babies. When the homework was finished and other diversions failed to interest them, Mark suggested a game.

"Hey, I got an idea, Irene," he said.

"What's that?"

"Let's play that old kid's game of doctor and nurse."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"You have to be kidding, Mark. What the hell, we're almost grown-up now."

"So what?"

"So it's not nice, that's what."

"Why isn't it nice?"

She sighed exasperatedly, then said, "You know very well why it isn't nice. Because we'd have to take our clothes off and everything."

"So, what the heck, I see you without your clothes lots of times," he said.

"You do not."

"I do so. And so do you see me in the bare. What the fuck, Irene, why are you always trying to act like everything I say isn't true. You know it's true. We've been naked together this week."

"When?"

"When you were coming out of the bath tub and I came in to take a bath. We were standing right there together in the middle of the bathroom without either one of us having a stitch on."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that time. But it was only for a minute."

Mark got up from his chair and walked over to his sister. Playfully, he tugged on her hair where it hung over one shoulder.

"Come on, Irene. Don't be an old ninny. Let's play the game. What the fuck, at least it will be something to do. What else can we do?"

"What if Mom comes in?"

"Huh fat chance at this hour of the day."

"But she might."

"Has she ever come home at this time?"

"No."

"Then come on, it'll be fun acting like kids again."

"Well...."

"Come on, Irene. Please."

"But if you ever tell any of the kids. Any of your friends or anything, well, I'll just hate you the rest of my life."

"I won't tell," he promised.

Irene and Mark decided that the upstairs bedroom was the place to play their game. It offered seclusion, and should someone enter the house, it provided them with ample time for dressing. They climbed the stairs together and entered Irene's room.

"Okay," said Mark. "Who's going to be the doctor and who's going to be the patient?"

"I don't know. I don't care, I guess," his sister replied, her voice now a little tenser than before.

"Okay, then I'll be the doctor first. Then you can have a turn. So, you be the patient."

"All right."

Irene moved to the bed, then turned and faced her brother. Mark, a natural comedian, it seemed, made a great show of pretending to be a doctor. He pretended to be busy at Irene's vanity which was now a table that held surgical instruments and medications and he took on a serious, dour look that was meant to resemble that of an overworked doctor.

"Okay, start the game," he said out of the side of his mouth in a stage whisper.

Irene walked to where her pseudo-doctor brother busied himself at the make-believe medical table. She paused in front of him and waited while he ignored her. Then she shifted from one foot to the other, showing the signs of a grown-up woman waiting for the doctor who was unmindful of her presence. Then she raised her And then she coughed lightly.

Mark looked up and leaned back in the chair to view this patient who had entered his office.

"Umph, oh, yes, Mrs. Brown, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm Mrs. Brown, doctor," Irene answered.

"And what can I do for you today, Mrs. Brown," Mark asked.

"I'm sick."

"Oh, that's a shame now. What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Brown?"

"I don't know. That's why I came to see you, doctor."

"Oh, sure. But how do you feel? Where do you feel sick? Is it your heart, maybe?"

"I have pains, doctor," Irene said. "Here." She brought both her hands around to hold at her stomach. "It just hurts terrible here sometimes."

Mark leaned further back in his chair and stroked his chin, doing it with a flourish as if he had a long, flowing beard.

"What can possibly be wrong with me, doctor?" Irene asked.

"Well, that's pretty hard to tell right now," he said. "We'll have to have an examination. You know, look at all of you to see just what it is that's wrong with you."

Mark stroked his chin again and upon his action, both of the children broke into laughter for the game they played for their own proficiency at portraying the roles of doctor and patient. But they maintained their characters and stifled their laughter.

Mark pushed up from his chair. "All right, Mrs. Brown. You can go right in there and undress." He gestured toward the bed.

Irene lowered her eyelids in a pose of shyness that was undoubtedly made up in part of truth. Then she moved toward the bed.

"Just undress and I'll be right in with you," Mark said, trying hard to keep from grinning.

"Oh, but isn't your nurse here today, doctor?" Irene asked.

"No. I'm sorry about that. My nurse had to go to the hospital for me. But don't be bashful go right ahead and undress. Take everything off. We doctors are used to that, you know."

Irene nodded, then turned and walked over to the bed. She turned and looked back at her brother. He had turned and pretended to be busy at the table (vanity) again. His head was bent low. Irene smiled, then crossed her arms in front of her and raised her sweater up and over her head. She threw it on a chair in front of the bed. She looked back at her brother, then pretended a gasp when she saw that he was looking directly into the mirror and at her tits which were held by a young schoolgirl bra.

"Stop it, Mark," she exclaimed, breaking character. "If you look when we're not playing the game just like you really were my brother and not the doctor, well then I'm not going to play I won't be able to do it."

"Please. 'Doctor' that's what you call me," he said, scolding her with a finger.

"Well, damn it all...."

"Go on I'm sorry. I won't peek." Then he changed the tone of his voice and called out, "Did you say something, Mrs. Brown?"

"No, I didn't, doctor," she replied, falling back into her role as a patient.

Irene looked at her brother to be sure he was playing doctor again and not looking at her reflection in the mirror. Then she undid the button and zipper at the side of her skirt, slipped it down and stepped out of it. Again, she glanced at Mark but he was bent over several perfume bottles that were obviously being used as props for their game. She turned away from him, then bent and kicked off her shoes and pulled her socks free of her feet. She raised and breathed deeply. Dressed in only bra and half-slip, she felt the pinpricks of excitement upon her flesh. Then, very slowly, she reached her hands behind her back and unhooked her bra. She let it fall away from her tits and she sent it flying to the chair. Irene glanced at her titties. They seemed larger than at any time that she could remember. She wondered if the game she played with her brother had anything to do with it. She felt warm and guessed that she was blushing, as she so often did when embarrassed, but she did not risk a glance at the vanity mirror, for fear of raising her brother's attention to her again. Again, she breathed deeply, then she slid her half-slip away from her body. She felt very warm at that time. She wondered why the heat had come to her. She looked downward at the thin panties that remained as her last article of clothing. Then, she felt a wet heat at her crotch and as she rather determinedly banished the panties from her body, she felt a wetness at her pussy lips that puzzled her.

Completely nude now, Irene turned to the bed. She swung around and lowered her buttocks to its edge. Then, still without looking at the pretend-doctor at the vanity, she called to him.

"I'm ready, doctor."

"Oh, good," Mark said, raising his head but still not looking at her.

There was a little confusion between role-playing and reality when Mark moved in front of his sister and stared at her naked body. A flush appeared at his cheeks and it seemed a twin to the burn Irene already knew.

"Umph, yes, Mrs. Brown," Mark said. Then, breaking character again, he said, "God, Irene, I had no idea you had gotten so...."

"Shut up!" she snapped.

"Oh, yeah. Sure." He paused, then reassumed the posture and expression of a doctor and said, "Ah, yes, indeed, Mrs. Brown, now we can see what the trouble is."

They both giggled at this. They could not help it. To Irene, feeling a little nervous anyway, it seemed like just the greatest joke in the world that a doctor could "see" what the trouble was because she was naked.

"I can see you haven't been to the doctor too often," Mark continued. "You don't get naked just like that, Mrs. Brown. You get naked, but then you hold a sheet over you until the doctor comes in to examine you."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Irene said.

Mark bent and freed a sheet that lay at the bottom of the blankets. He stretched it way out, loosening it, then he handed it to his sister.

"Here you are, Mrs. Brown," he said.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Irene pulled the sheet in front of her and bunched it at her small, round titties. The bottom portion of the sheet draped downward, covering her upper thighs but leaving her legs exposed. And she did very much resemble a girl waiting to be examined by a doctor a shy, young girl, uninitiated in the ways of medicine or men or doctors, or almost anything.

"Well, now," Mark said, continuing as the doctor. "You can just remove that sheet now if you will, please."

Irene giggled again and in a moment, Mark did, too. Both of them caught the humor of the doctor giving a patient a sheet to be covered with, only to ask that it be removed within the next ten seconds. But again they reconstructed their role and continued the game.

"If you'll just lay down we'll see if we can see what your trouble is," Mark said.

Both of them very nearly laughed again, but they controlled it and Irene pulled the sheet away, swung her legs up on the bed, then reclined flat on her back.

For quite a long time, Mark just stared downward at his sister's body, his eyes running over it from her neck to her toes, then back again, but slower and with stops made at her pussy mound, her thighs, her belly, and finally, at her young, pouting, but pretty titties.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I'm ready, doctor."

"Now just where did you say you've been having pains?" he asked.

"Here." Again, she brought both her hands to rest lightly on top of her stomach.

"Take your hands away, please," Mark said, bending deeply over her body.

Irene removed her hands.

Very slowly, and with a slight tremble, Mark placed his hands where Irene's had been. His fingers spread wide, covering all of her belly, almost to her hips and dipping devilishly low so that the butt of his hands were only a fraction of an inch from her cunt mound that was covered by a fine furry fuzz.

"Right there?" he asked.

"Yes, that's where it hurts, doctor."

"Now, as I move my fingers, you tell me if any one spot hurts any more than any other place. Can you do that for me Mrs. Brown?"

"Sure doctor."

Mark began pressuring his fingers, starting with the small fingers and running up the scale as if he were doing a Bach fugue. Then, apparently sensing the resemblance to a musician he made, he broke character again, this time from play-doctor to play-musician. He threw his head way back and made his eyes bug outward like one entranced with beauty. Then he began pressuring his fingers hard, running them in scales yet, but faster and harder and finally so fast that it became an act of tickling.

Irene couldn't stand it another second. She howled with laughter and jerked her knees up as she rolled to her side to escape her brother's musician-doctor fingers.

Mark laughed, too. Uproariously.

Soon, they brought their emotions under control again and Mark replaced his fingers on his sister's stomach. He moved them again, this time in a doctor-professional manner so that there would be no more giggling.

"Oh, yes. It hurts there, doctor."

"Ummmm. Here?" He pushed his little fingers deep into her flesh.

"No, a little to the side of that," Irene told him.

"Here? I bet this is the spot," he said, burrowing his right thumb into her belly.

"Ah, yes, but lower."

Mark readjusted the position of all his fingers, bring the total contact of them upon her body, so low that he now actually covered her cunt mound.

Irene felt like shivering. She couldn't understand it. She was certainly warm enough, hot, in fact, yet she felt as if she had taken chills. She wanted to tremble. And then she thought that perhaps she would cry, and she had a vision of herself breaking into sobs, springing up from bed and running from the room. But she did not. She remained motionless except for the now, exerted motion of breathing that had come to her.

"I think we've got it now,, " Mark said. He pressed with all his fingers.

"I think you have, too," Irene said softly.

Mark allowed his fingers to play upon his sister's stomach and the area around it for quite a long time. He maintained the pose of doctor, but his fingers were those of a young boy investigating a girl's body for the first time since she had started the bloom of womanhood. His fingers acted hungry. They probed. They pressured. They wiggled and moved and moved still lower when his entire hand lifted and went down a bit. And his breathing had become exerted, too, was like that of his sister's, for his chest heaved as if he were truly under great exertion, as he no doubt was.

"What are you going to do for it, doctor," Irene asked in a sick voice.

"Can't tell yet," he said strainedly.

"Can you cure me?" she asked, pushing to get the tone back to that of their game.

"Don't know. Hope so." He pressured all his fingers, then flicked his eyes to the right, sweeping her body until he reached her tits. His hands relaxed.

"What's wrong, doctor?" Irene asked, raising her head a bit to look at him.

"Nothing," Mark replied. He sounded like Mark, not a doctor.

"But you look funny," she said, also sounding like herself, and not a character from a game. Mark jerked his hands away from her stomach. His eyes shot away from his sister's young tits and again he assumed the role he had determined to play.

"Am I going to be all right, doctor?" Irene asked, falling back into her characterization.

"I'm pretty sure you are," Mark said. "But first, I have to make more of an examination of you."

"But you just did."

"Yes, but you know, sometimes the trouble starts someplace else. Or it might be able to infect you other places so I just better check you over to make sure you're okay."

He brought his hands to her tits; his right to her left, his left to her right. He squeezed.

"Careful," she added a little breathlessly.

"Hurt there, does it?"

"No, but be careful anyway."

"Of course I will," he said. "I'm the doctor, aren't I?"

"Yes, doctor."

Mark alternated the pressure on his fingers as they moved on his sister's tits, going light, then harder, and finally light again, then rolling them around all of her roundness. Then he brought his fingers away from her tits altogether. When he touched her again, he pinched at the red-brown bud of her nipples. He rolled them. He pulled them gently away from their base, then let them return, then pulled them again, up and down, up and down, up and down, each movement a little harder and pulling the ends a little further away from their mounds.

Irene closed her eyes. The light from the ceiling seemed to blind her although she knew that it was a low watt light and could not really do that. Still, she closed her eyes. Then, by closing her eyes, she learned that she could better concentrate upon her brother's actions upon her body. She tingled with excitement. She felt very happy, happier than she had been in a very long time. She wondered if this was the happiest she had been since they had last played this childhood game of doctor-patient. She wondered if she was happy now because they had returned to the past, had returned to a period that did not pose a threat at them for the things they did. She wondered and wondered and wondered. And all the time Mark's hands played upon her, rolling upon her, nipple and tit, tucking and tickling, and pulling and snapping and kneading. All the time he seemed to be making her warmer and warmer.

"Ah, yes, there could be trouble here," Mark said.

"Really?"

"Yes." He brought one hand free from her tit as he continued to hold her with the other.

"And there could be trouble here, too," he said, continuing. He dropped his free hand to the joining of her thighs, to the puffy cunt mound.

"Oh!" Irene said with a short start.

"Hurts there, eh?" Mark asked.

"Yes yes, doctor."

Mark kneaded her tit with the hand that held her there, and with the other hand he made a quick, inward stab into her cunt mound.

"OHHH!" Irene cried, sharply and with shock, but in no way that sounded like a sign of pain.

"Well, I think we'll be able to take care of you all right, Mrs. Brown. In fact, I'm sure of it."

"Will you have to operate, doctor?" Irene asked in a voice that sounded very far away.

"Maybe."

"Oh, I hope not."

"Why? It won't hurt. You'll get a a well, we'll put you to sleep and you won't know anything that's going on."

"Oh, yes, that would be the best way," she said. "I don't want to know what's going on."

"You don't?"

"No. Not when you're operating."

"We'll put you out, then."

To Irene's surprise, Mark pulled his hands completely away from her body. It felt strange where he had been, as if an impression had been made there, as if her skin still carried his fingers' marks like white dough would the prints of the baker who had kneaded it.

"Are you through now, doctor?" Irene asked.

"No. No, I'm not through, Mrs. Brown," Mark said. His voice sounded strange and serious, different than Irene had ever heard it, different, too, than the voice used for his doctor role.

"What's going to happen now?" she asked.

"I'm going to have to to to go inside your cunt a bit, Mrs. Brown. Not far, just enough to see to see...."

Irene's body stiffened. It did so involuntarily, almost before Mark's sentence had ended. And then it stiffened again as she felt the touch of her brother's ringers brought back to her body. This time, one of them was extended and stiff and it probed.

Her body jerked and arched a little. She did not cry out. She had not thought of the role of patient that she was playing: She recognized that she was being sexually fondled by her brother. And she did not care. Did not care at all.

Mark was more careful than many early teen-aged boys would have been under similar circumstances. He seemed to have a true wish not to do his sister harm, but his finger was so curious that sometimes he reached a depth he had not intended. But when Irene emitted that short, little cry of hers, he always drew back, and went gentle again.

They were silent except for the sounds, light and furry, that could not help escaping from their lips. And Irene felt as if she would burn up. She did not pretend to herself that she did not feel a reaction to her brother's inner caresses. She did. Fantastically so. She forced herself to keep her body in check, keep it taut and away from breaking into pieces or from burning up as it felt it might do. And all the time she felt a kind of growth, a kind of swelling that was very pleasant and delightful and kind of beautiful in a far-away, blue-haze look. Very suddenly, it seemed to Irene that the growth within her should be encouraged, that it could be encouraged to grow so big that it would burst. Then, that was what she wanted it to do. To burst. Within her. Hard. And fast, too, if possible, but she didn't know how to help herself, how to make it happen, or how to instruct Mark in whatever it was that was needed to make it happen.

But when the heel of Mark's hand pressed hard against her above where his finger strayed, and she knew that he had found the clue, that he, all by himself, had touched that emotion of her that could cause some fabulous thing to happen. She helped him along a little. She began arching and lowering, making a tighter contact with both the heel of his hand and his curious finger as it stabbed inside her cunt lips, pulling and drawing upon her clit.

"Oh oh, Mark," she suddenly pleaded.

Mark's only answer was a groan and a faster, harder movement.

"Oh, God Mark. MARK! What's happening?"

"It's it's all right, Irene."

Soon, he moved faster and faster and at the end it was the speed that sent Irene to shrieking, crying and sobbing and choking back pleas that she could not believe came from her own throat.

When Irene's climax had ended, brother and sister talked about it. Irene told Mark how she felt. He acted a little worldly, as if he knew all about such things, but, of course, Irene knew that it was just a pose, knew that he was putting on just as he put on when he played doctor or musician or anything. But she could not stop talking about it. She rambled on and on and on.

The talk, the frightening-pleasurable thing that had happened to Irene, ended their attention to the doctor-patient game. Now, they didn't even pretend that they were playing their childhood game. Now, they were very determinedly interested in sex, and they knew it wasn't a game.

Soon, Mark, without an announcement of any sort, undressed.

Irene stared at him when he was naked. She couldn't remember ever having seen him the way he now looked so strong and straight and kind of like a man.

Mark flopped upon the bed. Irene jumped up from it.

"Okay, now you look me over," Mark instructed.

"Like you did me?" she asked.

"Not just like that," he said. "Just just do do whatever you want.

"Like a doctor, eh?" she laughed.

"Yeah, like a doctor."

Irene placed her hands on her brother's belly, but no sooner had she touched him there than she jerked them away.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Mark asked.

"I better get dressed."

"Now, don't do that. It wouldn't be fair."

"But somebody might come in."

"We'll have time if they do."

"Gee, I don't know, Mark."

"I do. Damn it stay like you are."

She brought her hands back to his belly, but they only remained attentive there a few minutes. There was much too much heat and curiosity and desire. Irene grasped his cock with one hand. Mark groaned and arched, indicating that she had made the touch that he desired. She squeezed and released and repeated the action for several minutes. And then she became inventive, spun his prick, twisted and twirled and maneuvered him to suit her mood, his mood, too, obviously, for he groaned harder and arched more deeply.

Other than the groaning sounds that came from him, Mark uttered only one word as he started to strain harder, as his cock began to throb with more passion.

"Faster," he choked.

Irene obeyed his command.

At the end she was like a machine and feeling some of the same excitement she had herself experienced only a short time earlier. But she was not prepared for what the end brought forth. She was not prepared for the squirting of his cock juice as it splattered forth, covering her hands with his gooey globs of prick milk.

"Oh, Mark, what have I done to you?" she cried out. "I hurt you. Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry."

Breathing hard, Mark twisted to his side. In a moment, he rolled over and faced his sister.

"You didn't hurt me, Irene," he said. "Not at all. Not a bit, you didn't hurt me. That was just come that came out of my cock. It's supposed to do just that."

This mysterious event was cause for another deep conversation. And when it ended, they showered, dressed and were sitting downstairs in the living room when their mother returned to her home from work and the cocktails she always had immediately following her day's chores.

The brother and sister became even closer companions than they had been before their recreation of their childhood game. They continued to partake of masturbatory play at every opportunity they had. They had many such opportunities. Their mother, aside from work, was absent from the home frequently and for long periods of time. Irene and Mark always took advantage of it. They became proficient, too, and soon developed a method whereby there was no need to take turns at giving pleasure, a method and arrangement of their bodies that enabled them to give and receive at exactly the same time.

Irene and Mark were both in high school before they decided to experiment with their first fucking. It was very interesting to Irene's psychiatrist, many years later, that neither of the young people put much emphasis on the taboo of incest. It was the fucking that they thought "bad," not the incestuous nature of it.

Fucking for the brother and sister was very much like the elevation of a game, like a final step that had to be taken to make their game complete. And, in effect, this was exactly what it was. They had indeed proceeded from the early childhood games that are an excuse for sexual investigation, to outright masturbatory play, and finally to the ultimate fucking action.

They even talked about it first, and did not "fall into" the affair like so many people do or claim to do.

"How about really fucking?" Mark asked his sister one night.

"Do you want to?"

"Sure," he said.

"Why do you want to, Mark? Don't we have enough fun the way we are now?"

"Oh, sure. We're great. Always have been. But the guys have been talking. You know how it is. They're all big shots, know all about fucking."

"And you want to know all about it, too, eh?"

"I guess so. But it's not just that."

"What is it then?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, for his thoughts about intercourse were indeed confused.

Irene put him at ease at once. "I know," she said. "The girls talk about fucking, too, you know."

"And you want to know what it's like, is that it?" Mark asked.

"I suppose I do."

"And it's got to happen sometime," he suggested.

"I guess it does."

"Well, what about it?"

"All right, I guess."

"You just guessing about it?"

"No," she laughed. "I just say that all the time. You know that."

"I know you do."

"You know everything about me, don't you?"

"Yeah. And you know all about me, too."

"Sure I do."

"So, how about it, Irene? What do you say?"

"It's fine with me. Anything you want to do is fine with me. Always has been that way--always will be, I guess."

Mark smiled.

"But you have to do something, Mark," Irene added quickly.

"What's that?"

"You know."

He cocked his head to one side and looked puzzled at her remark.

"You have to get something. Something to put on your cock."

"Oh, sure. I forgot. Thanks for reminding me, Irene."

"Is that going to be hard for you, Mark? To get them, I mean."

"Naw, I'll work it out."

"Do you need any money?"

"I've got enough."

"I've a little from my lunch money, if you need it," she generously offered.

"Naw, forget it, kid. Treat's on me," he laughed.

"You're not going to have to go into a store or anything, are you?"

"Naw. There's a senior at school. He makes a little money on the side."

"Oh, good."

It was arranged. Mark did his shopping. The opportunity was presented. An incestuous fucking affair was begun.

The brother and sister, Irene and Mark, became lovers and continued in that relationship until Mark was drafted into the Army at the age of twenty. Irene missed him fiercely. And he missed her. Letters passed between them, and if they had not been intercepted one would think that they were a sweet exchange between two lonely lovers.

After Mark had been away a year, Irene, for the first time started dating. She was popular overnight, for she did not resist the sexual advances the boys made. She was a ready piece of ass and the boys sought her out for all the fucking they wanted. It seemed quite natural to her. But she seldom achieved anything that even closely resembled the thrill that she had known when she fucked with her brother.

Many dozens of lovers had pushed their cocks into her hot cunt mound before Irene found one boy who provided her with the climax for which she had yearned. He was considerably older than she, and greatly experienced. Also, there was something about him that made her think of her brother. They began their first fuck on their second date. They met regularly, and fucked regularly, for four months. Then, the boy asked Irene to marry him. She accepted at once. Things were going badly at home with her mother. Irene was glad to be away from that. And, only recently she had had a letter from Mark, stating that he dated quite a bit, but was serious with no particular girl. He also stated that he liked the Army and intended to make it his career. So, Irene eloped with the boy who had erotically aroused her as her brother once had done.

Marriage was different than courtship, Irene soon learned. She was incompatible with her new husband. And once their one-week honeymoon had ended, she ceased the ability to obtain a climax. She grew distraught, ill-tempered, argumentative with her husband. He grew a little brutal, and showed Irene the hardness of his fists. Soon, they separated. When Irene applied for a divorce, the judge refused to grant it until the young couple visited a court-appointed marriage counselor. They complied with the court's order, and Irene, upon the advice of the counselor, sought and received psychiatric treatment at a state-supported psychological center.

Fortunately, and unlike most cases of such an incestuous past, Irene responded to treatment. After a year's separation from her husband, the couple reunited and at last information they were making inroads toward a happy family life together.

Why did Irene have difficulties in reacting well to marriage? her psychiatrist was asked.

"For many reasons," the psychiatrist said. "But one point does stand out above all the others. In a way, Irene had already been married. To her brother. She had a history of sexual relations with her brother dating back many, many years. She was compatible with her brother, too. And this hindered compatibility with her real husband. Also, because Irene had enjoyed what is normally thought of as a 'good sex life' with her brother, it was difficult for her to sexually adjust to another. And when upon marriage, she stopped experiencing orgasm, well, then, all of the marriage was bad. And there were many elements of guilt prevalent in Irene's subconscious, too. This, quite naturally, caused difficulty. But I would say that Irene turned out rather well much better than we would expect the partner in a long incestuous affair to turn out."

And what of Mark? How did he fare? Did incest leave irresolvable marks upon his life?

Mark remained in the military service. He advanced to a top grade in the ranks of noncommissioned officers and has served in many strange and exotic lands. Mark never to this date, to our knowledge married. He was popular with the girls and tended to drift from one to the other, never finding the one who quite satisfied him enough to warrant a marriage proposal. Perhaps some day he will find just that girl.