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The sisters decided to become lovers one Sunday morning in May. Specifically, they chose to have a fling with one another. Nobody else would know, it would last no longer than a few months and while it lasted they’d have free rein to try anything they liked. And so it went.

The idea had been building for several weeks -a casual joke at first- but try as they might, neither one had been able to dismiss it.

They talked it over at length and both admitted being extremely nervous but profoundly turned on by the prospect. When they finally decided to try, they immediately agreed there could be no half measures but also no missed or mixed signals. They both knew if this turned out wrong, a lifetime of confusion could be guaranteed.

I must stop there for a moment. I’ve just been told by both women that this last paragraph is awful. They say I’m making it all sound very clinical and missing the sense of tension and vibration the idea was having on them. I suspect they’re right but I’m doing my best. We all decided I’d do the telling so they’re going to have to accept it. I’ll try to accommodate them as best I can.

It began simply enough when the younger of the two was halfway through a one-year posting in San Francisco. She had jumped when the offer was originally made but in reality, she worked relentless hours in a very high-pressure job and almost never went out or got the chance to see much of the city. Understandably, this left her feeling a bit down. So when she found out her older sister was taking a sabbatical from her own job, she begged her to fly out and stay for a while.

Growing up, the two girls had never been especially close. They are five years apart with a couple of siblings in between so had always been in different phases of life until well into adulthood. It just happened that the timing of these events just worked perfectly, otherwise it never would have occurred to them. What did help was that they were both at ease around one another. More like comfortable roommates than anything else.

(As I write this, one or both of them are peering over my shoulder urging me to get on to the details. I’ll try to supply a bit of context if I can. I think it important; they couldn’t care less.)

The elder woman arrived at the beginning of April. This was the year she turned 33 and her sister 28. The plan was to have no real agenda other than to spend a bit of time together and enjoy themselves. For a laugh and a distraction, they agreed to dive into internet dating and compare notes. As it happened, that turned out to be the catalyst.

Three weeks into the project and neither had anything to show for it but stories: a handful of tales of incredibly bad passes made by mouth-breathers and their aftershave. Men who sounded intriguing online rarely failed to disappoint in person. Those who affected to be shy turned out to be timid dormice, those intriguingly cocky were inevitably preening egotists. One calamitous night the girls were delighted to find they’d each dumped their dates after the first drink and sprinted home. The only thing they felt bad about leaving was the wine, something they quickly remedied with what my wife swears was chenin blanc but her sister swears was pinot grigio. Details. They asked for them.

In any case, as the second bottle was being opened, the older girl was giving her sister the blow-by-blow account of her date and his casual invitation to visit a sex dungeon.

“Christ Almighty,” the younger sister laughed. “You know something? The two of us should just have a fling. Enough with the troglodytes. We’ll get on just fine by ourselves.”

“Oh God, exactly,” the other replied. “Think of how much simpler our lives would be.”

The younger girl was now dissolving into giggles.

“Can’t see why meet suck and fuck we never thought of this before.”

“Well, it’s obviously because your ass isn’t that great. Now pour.”

She poured. They laughed. The conversation moved on and for most of the rest of the night it was forgotten about. But when they finally decided to crash, the younger girl gave her sister a goodnight kiss on the lips that wasn’t a snog but lasted longer than it should have.

Back in the safety of separate rooms, both women tossed and turned, neither getting a good sleep. Both managed to drift off after masturbating and both came imagining the other. Neither said anything about it the next day and chalked up the odd mood in the apartment to a general air of hangover.

But they both thought about it and it bothered them and excited them and made them rethink their own sense of sexuality and morality. Neither had the courage to say anything for a few days but the next time the younger woman had a free evening from work, her sister armed herself with more wine and brought it up at the dinner table.

(They both want me to start the next paragraph with the sentence: You could cut the tension with a chopstick -because they were eating sushi. But I won’t. It’s a terrible sentence.)

Over Japanese food they finally spilled it all out, how they were feeling and how screwed up it was making them feel and how they were both so honestly fascinated by the idea that they’d seriously consider giving it a try but for the fact that if anyone else in the family ever found out it would destroy everything. Not to mention the consequences for future relationships -ideally with men who didn’t wear aftershave. Lots and lots to consider.

But the wine did what wine is meant to do and after an hour of nerves and a couple of quickly wiped tears, the older girl stunned her sister by announcing she had thought of her when she masturbated the other night and that wasn’t the first time, she’d been doing it for years and had never told a soul.

Her sister stared at her open-mouthed for a moment and in the silence the older woman all of a sudden panicked and thought she’d ruined everything.

Then the younger girl carefully refilled their glasses, exhaled slowly and looked up.

“If you had any idea how wet that thought is making me right now,” she said, “You would have told me years ago.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Wow.”

“So seriously that I’m very tempted to come extremely loudly here in this chair right now.”

The tension was now so strong in the air between them that you could cut it with a chopstick (you’re welcome.).

“Maybe you should,” said the older one in a shaky voice.

“I can’t,” her sister whispered. “There’s too many leftovers on the table.”

They both started laughing at what was later agreed to be the best ever excuse to get someone else to clear the dinner table. The moment seemed lost but they were both completely relaxed about it. It wasn’t lost. They’d just agreed, without having to say anything, that it was just postponed. What had happened was the most important step of all. They hadn’t yet crossed the line but they’d both agreed to.

And an hour later they did. Side by side on the couch. For some reason it seemed more natural to begin there. The softest of soft-core on the television, a thin blanket over the younger girl’s lap as she asked if it was ok to take off her knickers. Her sister could barely breathe the word ‘yes’. And then watched as a hand slid down and began a rhythm. She watched as the tendons in her little sister’s neck began to strain, as her eyes closed and as she abandoned herself to her fingers. She watched her little sister’s nipples harden on the curve of her breasts mobil porno and felt her entire body electrified.

The one woman she’d always wanted to watch, to touch, to press against, to kiss, was masturbating for her and it was a feeling unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Right then she wanted to do everything and have everything done to her. And when the pace began to quicken, she looked at the tip of her sister’s tongue against her lips and couldn’t hold back and leaned over and kissed her.

When she broke away, the younger woman began to buck and twist and writhe and said ‘oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck” and came in shuddering waves.

Her big sister put her arms around her and pulled her in close. The younger nestled against her sister’s chest and let her breathing slowly recover. When she did, she climbed up the older woman’s body and french-kissed her as passionately as she had ever kissed another soul.

Then she whispered in her sister’s ear.

“Your turn. Don’t think. Go.”

The older woman felt another odd surge of shyness about to ruin everything but fought it off and did what she’d always wanted to do in front of this woman. After a minute, her sister told her to raise her arms, and she stopped long enough to have her t-shirt and bra removed.

When she touched herself again, her beautiful younger sister leaned forward and took her right breast in her mouth. And from that moment, the two of them were locked together.

As everyone who’s ever tried it knows, sex is a funny thing. It can work brilliantly but it can also be bafflingly bad. It can be bland, it can be silly, it can be full of fantasy and daring or packed out with tacky shallowness. It’s a lifetime’s pursuit and most of the time, we settle for ‘pretty good’. That being better than ‘None at all’ and a recognition of the human condition.

But during that one summer, those two women got to experience something altogether different. A physical, emotional and intellectual purity. Total freedom, total trust.

That first night, they only made love once again. Naked on the bed, the younger woman on top of her sister, four legs scissored together. They collapsed and fell asleep and for the rest of the summer, when weather and the moon allowed it, that’s how they chose to sleep: naked, side by side.

When the time came and both of them told me this story, they both emphasised two distinct things almost to the letter. The first was the fact that they both loved holding ordinary conversations with other people all the while holding this amazing secret. The tension was extraordinary. The younger girl found work so much more enjoyable when she could visualise fucking the shit out of her sister while her boss lamely tried to hit on her.

The other thing they both talked about constantly was showers. Every morning they’d stand together in the oversized shower. Only once or twice did they actually make love. Instead, they just loved the sensation of bathing with a sudsy, wet, naked woman. Oddly -or perhaps not- it was one of the most important parts of the summer and they both missed it profoundly when it was all over. The older one described it to me as the eroticism of the absence of sex. All the details were there: soapy breasts and hips and lank hair and shampoo in the eyes and cold tiles on shoulder blades. But when it was just nicer to touch and lather up and wipe down and then go make coffee, something about it was far more enduring than mere sex.

Once time had passed, and they both could talk about it with the benefit of distance, the same themes emerged. Yes, they both loved sitting in bathrobes sipping coffee in the morning feeling the after effects of the night before. Both loved graphic, furious sex and gentle, careful love-making. They each mofos porno talked about the dark sides to their personalities and were honest with each other about fantasies and kinks. One of them is a sexual submissive and the other a careful exhibitionist.

They let each other in on the parts of the mind that rarely get shared with anyone, lest any of it get misinterpreted. This is an odd task to have, given that they are both giving me such a hard time over this, but they want me to interpret how they spent that time, being utterly sexually devious and proudly incestuous and balancing it with being deeply introspective, loving and in love.

They were in love with each other, that summer. That’s the only way to describe it. They were in lock solid agreement that when it was time to end, it would end. They would leave each other with a lifetime of memories to use. That was the gift. But it couldn’t go further. Life didn’t work that way.

In the final few weeks, clothes were flung the moment the door to outside was closed. They assaulted one another, they coddled one another, they held one another. Each let the other do whatever she always wanted to do or try or even vaguely think about. Nothing was off-limits and all the while they talked and went over it all and made sure nobody else could know.

Last night at dinner, they both tried to explain to me the last two weeks, when they knew it was coming to an end. Although things became ever more frantic, neither felt any sense of sorrow, or, indeed, guilt. In fact, the way they describe it is the opposite of guilt. They did what they wanted to do and hoped to do. Neither of them has ever called it life-changing. It was a part of who they are and both are grateful they had the courage to do it.

Their last night together is a story for another time. That night alone deserves all the time it takes to tell, should they wish. What I will say now is that the next morning, the two sisters embraced as the taxi pulled up. They had a moment gazing closely at one another, both grinned and that was that. I’d like to add to the drama of the final moments but they actually won’t let me. Neither has ever told me much about the last morning and I respect their right to hold it back. So rather than guess, I’ll leave it simple.

So who am I to tell this story? I’m the one other person who knows, the husband of the younger sister. How and why I was told, and what happened as a result, is the stuff of a different story. The only reason I’m writing this now is because the two of them have asked me to. Apart from not using their names, I’ve changed nothing in the telling. They’ve gone through every detail before allowing me to submit this.

All they want is to know if they’re alone. Discreet responses, please. And thank you.

PS. Both women have asked me why I haven’t described them in greater physical detail. They are both currently in fits of giggles as they ask me to write this. My problem is that I don’t want this story to be pornographic. Erotic, yes. But psychologically enchanting, that’s the goal. It seems I’m failing.

But I’m being lambasted and random things are now being thrown at me. So here goes:

-They are both unconventionally beautiful. By which I mean conventions are boring and uncreative.

-One has full breasts and wide hips, the other slender.

-Both have the same dark hair but one wears it short and choppy, the other long and wavy.

-One woman is always bare, the other not. Neither have tattoos nor anything pierced but their ears.

-One looks stunning dressed for the opera and one would destroy you in a roadhouse bar and in each case it’s not the one you think.

-These are very intelligent women, independent and creative.

-One is exceptionally bad at telling jokes but thinks she’s not; The other once hushed a party with a belch.

-They are loyal to friends, fond of family, can hold a drink and maintain a healthy lack of respect for authority.

Enough. These are my loves.

Such is life.

Amen.

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