Cindi's Top Tips for Sibling Success by Zenythmon

Rating: 42%, Read 63812 times, Posted Sep 09, 2007

Essay | Incest


by Cindi Barton with Holly Rennick


My friend Cindy Barton, supporting character in my fledgling “Writer’s Notebook” may have usurped my role as leading lady. Her science-teacher flippant friendliness was, I’ll admit, sometimes a challenge to transcribe. But readers seem to appreciate frank advice.

At the request of the critics (plural being a possible inflation), I’ve collected her “Notebook” insights on brotherly love and added what didn’t make it into that blockbuster. Royalties roll to writers who sell the same story over and over (Harlequin romances come to mind.), so there’s precedent for combing through my earlier effort, though no royalties to double.

Note the authorship’s “by” and “with”. Cindi has the ideas. There’s really no end to my friend’s banter, of course. I do the work. Guess who gets famous and guess who drafts her book-tour lectures?

‘Twas I who found the scholarly citations and persuaded Cindi to include them at the end. I also slipped her the Thurber quotation, which she thought was pretty good. She didn’t, of course, know who James Thurber was. She had the Woody Allen and Simpsons quotes, as you might guess.

This piece has the plot of a telephone directory and the character development of zip codes. It’s just a bunch of thoughts.

Some of you readers have one-track minds. I’m not referring to you perverts, but rather to those of you who expect life to be sequential. So here’s some guidance on four tracks. There are a couple dozen TOPICS, related, of course. Most contain four parts.

(1) Cindi’s thoughts and dialogs, mostly conversational, sometimes a bit pedantic. The first couple of topics lean toward the serious, but then Cindi loosens up.

(2) [Ghostwriter’s whatever: My (Holly’s) inability to hold my tongue about (1). Square brackets.]

(3) A hint that Mom might know something: Those seven words. Colon. Girls need moms.

(4) Psychiatrist: ”Bla, bla, bla,” and Sister: “Bla, bla, bla.” Sorry. You’ll see why.

Per always, my social life is stalled but my literary life’s a work in progress. Let me know your edits, suggestions and irritations. I’m talking about writing, not content. If you have a problem there (which maybe you should have), I’ll pass it on to Cindi, but she won’t care.

Thus, according to my friend Cindi...


Remember My Little Ponies, those cutesy pastel equine figurines that cluttered our dressers?

[Ghostwriter's admission: Cindi stopped at the comma, but I'm an English major.]

Each horsy (there were dozens) was of rubbery plastic with an exaggerated silky mane and tail begging to be combed. Today's action figures involve mutilation, but girlhood wasn't always so modern.

Being little then, the event itself sticks with me. Mom, Kyle and I were at a yard sale. Probably nobody made $30 for the effort, but income wasn't the reason for driveway commerce. Reclamation of closet space was. The collectible darlings smiled from the 25-cent box. The ponies probably went for $3.99 at K-Mart the year before. What makes the toy industry run is, of course the "year before". This must have been just after the fad peaked.

Mom was always good for a quarter. My Little Pony "Blossom", purple with purple hair and white flowers, was the best, the only one worth having. I shouldn't have announced it, though, because revealing my preference invited sibling challenge. Kyle didn't even want one because he's a boy, but then, of course, he had to have Blossom. Brothers!

I do know we ended up distraught and Mom said that Kyle got first choice for some stupid reason. Kyle smirked and I ended up with Cotton Candy, which I hated as soon as we drove off. When we got home, Kyle made an animal a parade with Blossom as leader. He invited dumb Cotton Candy to march as well because he knew I'd say no. To seal his victory he announced that the parade would be free to the public. I didn’t even watch Sesame Street with the jerk.

That night after supper, Kyle interrupted my Lego tower. Each row of bricks was just one color. "Cindi, Blossom feels sad and wants a friend to live with. If I give him to you, can he be Cotton Candy's best friend?"

I didn't even know how to answer. Kyle didn't even know that Blossom was a girl, but that wasn't why. "OK, if you help me make them a little barn," as I started to disassemble my tower. "Or should we make it a fort against the bad wolves?" If my Blossom was to be a boy, he'd be more interested in battlements.

It didn't matter that we lacked the Legos to give the castle a watchtower because we made them a secret escape door.

Psychiatrist: "Freud speaks of repressed memories."

Sister: "But doctor, I had sex with my brother just yesterday afternoon. I remember everything."

Psychiatrist: “But what if your mother finds out?"

Sister: "We're pretty sure that she does it with Dad already."

[Ghostwriter's disclaimer: Cindi insisted on these jokes. You may opt to skip them.]



Why do you think I started off about My Little Ponies instead of an orgasmic true fantasy of feigning slumber while brother ravaged my nubile body?

[Ghostwriter's note: Cindi said, "Fucked me," but I found that verb overly simplistic. After a while you'll sense where I've upgraded her literary style.]

Kyle was a pain in the butt, but I love the guy like a brother. After all, he is. Blossom told me that Kyle loved me too, that he’d never rape me, though at that age, of course, sex wouldn’t have even been in our imagination. Making love with Kyle, when it happened, had everything to do with My Little Ponies.

So let's be very clear. My thoughts deal with mutual affection between caring siblings.

You probably love your father too, but that's not the same. You and he aren't equal in deciding. If you're sexually active at home, odds are that it's with your father or other older male. Saying OK doesn't legitimize a damn thing; he’s still raping you. I said, RAPING YOU. Find a safer place to live. If you have a younger sister, go to your school counselor or the police. This is major.

[Ghostwriter's confirmation: This is major.]

If your brother is coercing you, it's hardly mutual. Tell Mom. Nothing that follows applies to bullying.

If we're just horny, there are millions of studs. As Woody Allen observed, "Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go, it's a pretty good one." So go to a singles bar. Put an ad in the paper, "Enjoy sunsets, classic rock, California wine and intercourse." If the "Women seeking Men", listings don't like that last word, then, "Ford trucks". You probably don't want to look for your guy at a contra dance.

[Ghostwriter's lament: When I phoned the one who responded, I said I just love the commercial where the guys drive their Silverado to fight the forest fire. He lost interest. Cindi's just being snotty about contra dancers. They just work so hard at their software firms that they sometimes don't have time to shower.]

Brothers and sisters get smashed and fuck, but what results isn't worth much. If you bed your brother the first time you get itchy, maybe you're a natural rabbit. That's too bad, because you'll end up eating lettuce. If it takes a while to share intimacy, let it. That can be just as exciting as proving it. More exciting, even.

Unless there’s love involved, you might as well just study some sex manual. Ever tried the Indonesian Helicopter? I’m not here to discuss mechanics. My whole theory, actually, is that the mechanics usually work out just fine.

My thoughts apply to those of us who were willing first time and remain so today. Enough romantic schmaltz. But it’s true.

Psychiatrist: "So maybe this is about unrequited affection."

Sister: "Maybe so. We get real noisy when we're home alone."

[Ghostwriter's I-told-you-so: I told you so.]


Sibling sex should be smart sex. Your IQ exceeds his penis length. Try this little survey on your girlfriends.

(1) Describe your first intercourse.

(2) Describe the foreplay that got you there.

You'll be lucky to get more than a few clinical sentences for (1). They move their penises in our vaginas, hardly much story there, other than for English majors to rouge up, “It was my first orgasm, drenching me with warm ecstasy, shivering me from toes to crown, leaving me limp.” If she’s honest, she’ll admit it was actually one big letdown. Mostly an exercise in cleaning up after him.

[Ghostwriter's retort: Cheap shot about English majors.]

Question (2), however, will invoke paragraphs about zippers, straps, kissing, lubricating, on and on, tactile memories mostly. When did he first touch her nipple? How were they pressing when she realized what it was? You'll hear how her underwear came off, how she got the courage to reach into his pants. See what this says? Sex is a journey, a continuum of delights, not just a penetration.

[Ghostwriter's amplification: His testicles can be very traumatic.]

So let's travel with our brother.

Psychiatrist: "This journey theme might be significant. Perhaps you feel abandoned in this world, longing for the security of home."

Sister: "I'm sure I put my address on the insurance form. It’s the same for us both, of course."


Of course you've got trepidation. If you didn’t, you'd have the integrity of that rabbit. Love’s scary sometimes. And of course your brother has his doubts too. It's not your job to make up his mind, but it’s something you can help by encouraging progressive possibilities.

You'd never ask, "Shall we have sex? Yes or No?"

But you might try, "A part of us wants to finish together, but a part of us is used to how it was before, as I see it. We're not trying to prove anything; we're just showing how we feel, right? Don’t push in unless you want to. Just a little bit."

Or, "There are so many things to think about, right? But you know? Knowing that we want to do puts the rest of it in perspective. We can figure things out when we need to, right? So should I pick up some condoms in case we’d ever want to think about using them?"

Or even, "Part of you wants to love me like a woman, like I want to love you as a man, but part of you knows how I'm a girl too. Can't I be both? You should go really slowly if I’m a girl to help me get ready."

Did you catch how to elicit positive progressive responses? Psychology? You bet! Is psychology a science? No way! We don’t have to convince chemicals to react.

[Ghostwriter's suggestion: Those of us both hesitant and unpsychological can just slip a chemical into the cocoa. We each have a cup]

Hesitation isn't a one-time issue. You'll deal with it over and over, but each time hesitate about something a bit closer to where you want to end up.

The thing is, your mom’s hard to fool when the two of you are wondering about having sex. It would depend on how she grew up, if she had a brother herself, maybe. Mom’s easier fooled when you’re doing it than when it’s in your eyes.

A hint that Mom might know something: She points you to the progressive possibilities. “The thing is that you kids have a lot of years ahead, much less a long ride tonight. There’s lots of ways for two to sleep in the back seat. Like it’s the end of the world if you two might actually touch? My brother and I, we’ll snuggle now, but it took time. Why not give each other foot rubs? There’s the blanket to get under if the heater doesn’t do it back there.”

Psychiatrist: "So deep within, you hesitate about your brother having sex with you."

Sister: "Actually, that's where I like it best."

Psychiatrist: "A moment of hesitation is, of course, is natural when a doctor, say, rests his hand on a girl’s knee like this."

Sister: "It beats getting bonked by that little rubber hammer.”

Psychiatrist: "You’re psycho-developmentally where when I move my hand inward, your reflex moves your knee outward. See?"


When you and your brother first have sex, there are but four possibilities.

[Ghostwriter's frustration: Can’t you just see Cindi making this a two-by-two matrix on the board?]

(1) Virgins Both

The stuff of stories. If the two of you learn together, you’re luckier than hell. The act itself may be a disaster for a while, but you’ll love figuring it out. Oh, the grins you’ll share in later years! It wouldn’t be more rewarding just because one of you knew something Indonesian.

Ever see Blue Lagoon? Brook Shields was just 15 when she played the role in the nude! But then, she posed naked when she was 10, so maybe 15's no big deal. When I was 15, I looked about 10, so she beat me for the part. Anyway, seeing the movie will make you and your brother want to lose your innocence together.

[Ghostwriter's amazement: I never realized that Cindi was a child actor!]

A hint that Mom might know something: “Look, Cindi, I found Blue Lagoon in the Half-Off bin! You can’t go wrong with these National Geographic ones.”

(2) Virgin Brother, Experienced Sister

They say that guys find solace in not knowing too much. A lesbian lover, so I’m told, wants to know all your history. Fortunately, your brother’s not a lesbian unless your mom’s a transvestite or something.

You say that you've already been professionally reamed by a studly cock that drove you to twenty minutes of unabashed ecstasy? Well hot shit! That fucker’s probably right now wagging his magical dick for some slut who says she's twenty-one but rouges her nipples. Your brother has to start somewhere and you should be honored.

Don't instruct. A novice won't know about your clitoris (and even if he's ridden a few mares, so to speak, he might not know much). He'll learn about yours in good time, given a few pelvic thrusts when he’s getting close.

Put your other relationships on hold for a while. Your brother’s not going elsewhere yet, so reciprocate. He’ll improve in bed a lot faster if you need him.

A hint that Mom might know something: “If you want a boy, say, to carry your books, leave your backpack in your locker. Maybe Kyle just needs some experience about not being awkward with girls.”

(3) Virgin Sister, Experienced Brother

As sexist as it sounds, dear brother was just doing what society expects guys to do. If you’re part of his newly discovered "manly nature", though, adios. He'll be cavalier about you as well. "Oh yes, you're Kyle's sister," you'll hear from some leering drunk trying to look down your neckline. But if you find comfort in his care, give him you love.

A hint that Mom might know something: “I wouldn’t want you spending the day there with just any guy, Cindi, but Kyle will take good care of you.”

(4) Virgins Neither

This is the most common starting point. If both are already comfortable with sex, you’ll know what signals to pass. Dating closer to home, so to speak, enters the menu. Sibling sex is nature’s refuge from exhaustive casual sex with hardly-known partners. Though you still have the drudgery of being in two beds by morning, at least you can doze knowing you’ll be resting your cheek on his little mole forever.

Sexual prowess makes game playing less necessary. Too bad, but it’s the price we pay for lost innocence. The adult thing would be to discuss intercourse from informed vantage points and then execute the agreement. “Kyle, we’ve got 17 minutes and we don’t do oral on weekdays.” Well, we don’t have to be so grownup, for goodness sakes. Leave room for some seduction, some vacillation, some novelty. It’s your demarcation between being kids and being lovers. “Oh, Kyle, if we pretend it’s Saturday, I won’t have to go to my ballet lesson.” So it's still sort of a first time.

A hint that Mom might know something: “You’re both pretty grown up. You’ll wash your dishes while we’re gone. You’ll not have friends overnight. You’ll both head for bed at a decent hour. You’ll help each other stay safe, you hear?”

Psychiatrist: "Incestuously loosing your virginity can scar your psyche."

Sister: "Well, I guess I was sore for a couple of days."


[Ghostwriter's disclaimer: I explained to Cindi that math anxiety will make everybody stop reading. I'm very displeased. Just skip this section.]

You think I'm just making this up? In "Brothers & Sisters" (St. Martins, 1991), J. Mersky Leder estimates that 2.3 percent of us have sex with a brother before 18. Check me! Don't buy the book, though; just go to Borders and read it where they sell coffee.

I've summarized some other sister-brother studies at the end of what you're reading. One suggests that it might be 2 percent prior to age 14. Another estimates 17 percent prior to age 13. Another suggests 15 percent. And another, that 12 percent of our household partners are brothers. The last figure doesn't even approximately fit, but it's published. I like to study things, but let's not argue numbers here. We know we’re out there.

[Ghostwriter's research: Finding all the numbers and doing the divisions on my calculator.]

If you hate math, sorry. I teach science and like to illustrate how numbers fit together. Seventy-three percent of boys and 56 percent of girls have intercourse by age 18, according to the web (as if that makes it reliable). As 2 to 17 percent still isn't much compared to 56 percent, those of us who've slept with brother are way in the minority.

So take a moment to decide where you fit when you first made love together (or will fit when you do).

(1) Virgins Both

(2) Virgin Brother

(3) Virgin Sister

(4) Virgins Neither

How does our sorority divide into these four groups? We'll start by assuming that our brother's behavior is not related to ours (we call this "statistical independence"). We'll illustrate with 100 families, randomly pairing 73 sexually-experienced brothers plus 27 virgin brothers with 56 sexually-experienced sisters plus 44 virgins. We'd statistically expect to find 12, 15, 32 and 41 sister-brother couples in my 1-4 group order. See if you can figure out how I got those numbers.

It surely varies by age. My math shows the Virgin Brother group count to be 16, 15, and 14 when brother is younger, the same age, and older. There are fewer older virgin brothers for younger experienced sisters. Makes sense to me. Actually, no matter the age difference, our Virgin Brother group isn't that large.

But wait, you say! We aren’t independent. If my brother wasn't sexually active, maybe it's tied to our family values and I'm more likely to be a virgin too. So let's push that to its limit. Out of 100 sibling couples, you'll get 27, 0, 17 and 56 in my 1-4 group listing.

Q: Why are there now no brothers loosing their virginity to experienced sisters?

A: Because of the 73 already-experienced brothers, 56 sleep with already-experienced sisters. The remaining 17 experienced brothers get the virgins. Poor fellows!

Real life falls somewhere between pure statistical independence and perfect correlation. Do you really care? OK, no, if you're just into prose. On the other hand, it's kind of fun to see where you fall into the spectrum.

[Ghostwriter's disclaimer: I have no idea what she said. I just wrote what she told me.]

A hint that Mom might know something: In her desk you found hard copies of articles cited at the end of this document. The finding “Those with positive sibling experiences after age 9 have more sexual self-esteem.” was highlighted.

Psychiatrist: "Why are you so numeric about sibling sex?"

Sister: "I am not! I just have one brother."

Psychiatrist: "Speaking of numbers, I’ll just need to cup you here to monitor your heartbeat. Its intensity tells me when we’re touching on your most repressed desires."

Sister: "Gee, doctor. I guess it did just pick up speed."


[Ghostwriter's relief: Whew! That last section was heavy. Math! So let’s get to the physical stuff.]

Probably nothing has really occurred between you before. You just like each other and you think thoughts that come with age. There’s sure nothing weird about being attracted. So what makes something happen? It's our breasts that win them over. Brothers may initially shy away from sex with his sister, but none will miss the opportunity to check her out. So we start by making our breasts available.

Imagine asking your brother what color of blouse you wore yesterday? "Orange maybe." You don't even own orange because you're a Winter. Then ask what color of bra? "Black, I guess." It's no guess; he remembers exactly: lace trim, shows a little nipple, straps that slip. He checks out your back every day before school, but there’s no way to catch him.

Cups drive boys wild and it usually only takes a button. He’ll never get tired of your bra as long as it pretends to be covered. If you're small, hunch your shoulders enough together so the cups fall away to show the real deals. I loosen my strap for it to work well.

Upstairs, casually walk around without your blouse. His imagination starts with what you reveal. But don’t go walking around topless, Miss Perky. Leave his imagination room to travel. If it’s dim in the hall, though, it’s fun to streak from the bathroom with a towel just around your waist. Say, “Don’t look.”

When the folks are away, ditch your bra in favor of thin tops. He'll notice, but won't comment. It’s not just to show off, though. Once he makes the connection between folks out and bra off, he’ll salivate like Pascal’s dog. (Well, one of those dead white male scientists.) Act like it’s no big deal when you lean over to pick up a magazine, but watch his eyes.

[Ghostwriter's remorse: For some of us, this go-without option becomes uncomfortable if we have to run or anything.]

A hint that Mom might know something: She got you some cute Coldwater Creek crewneck tees a little on the big side. Or the time you, she and Uncle Rob were in the kitchen and she pulled off her sweater and put on a sweatshirt. Or when she and her brother went to shop for a lawnmower. When they got home (never having found the right one) there sure was nothing beneath Mom’s sweater but Mom. She was trussed, though, before Dad came up from the basement..

Psychiatrist: "Perhaps if we unhooked your strap, you could lay back more comfortably."

Sister: "It’s neat how you can dim the lights from right here."

Psychiatrist: "It's for eye exams. Can you read my license?"

Sister: "It’s cool you’re approved by the Office of Equal Opportunity."

Psychiatrist: "Picture a quiet pond, little nipples washing upon the sandy shore. I mean little ripples.”

Sister: "Were women shorter when Freud came up with this couch design?"


Fucking can be quite rapid. Lovemaking, on the other hand, takes time. It sounds silly, but something like teaching yourselves to dance can be a sweet way to start.

“No, it’s your right arm you wrap around me, dummy.”

“You said it was my job to lead.”

“And your left hand goes out here, except the last dance when it comes here.”

“What if somebody sees?”

“I cover your hand up with mine, like this.”

“You sure?”

“At the Prom, I’d have a low cut, so there wouldn’t be the fabric.”

Maybe it’s the first time he’s gotten hard against a girl and it’s the first time you’ve felt a boy against you. We’re talking fun!

Take his arm when you’re in public. Everybody seeing makes it better. People think that because you're related, neither of you is paying any attention. Big-breasted girls can deliver some nice shoves from the outside. Girls like me, however, are designed to push straight on. Give him a brush that draws his arm up your outside and down your inside. Bra or no bra works the same.

[Ghostwriter's addendum: Many males prefer those of us who are pleasantly soft.]

Feeling you up should give him an erection. Let him catch you noticing, but button your lips. If he seems anxious to let you rub it, he'll figure out a way. You'll be amazed how much smarter he gotten, now that he's older. We'll get to the fondling part in a bit. This is just about introductions.

A hint that Mom might know something: She’s teaching the two of you to tango. When she tangos with Kyle, she holds him the real way. “Chest forward, neck back. Feel each other’s tension.” She can feel his erection, you figure. You sure can, anyway, when she hands him over. You even made him come one time when Mom was talking you through the quebrada, where you hang on him. “She's all yours, Kyle.” As he began to climax, “Eyes together. Communicate.” When he sagged, Mom said that sometimes the "milonguera" (that's you) has to keep things on course, just don’t tell the judges. Fortunately she had to go check the stove before you separated. It’s OK that Dad has two left feet, she says, since Rob's a natural. “But even your uncle looses track sometimes of where he is sometimes.” Maybe the four of you can go to the tango convention in Las Vegas next year when Dad’s off to the national Elks.

Psychiatrist: "Once you understand your earliest feelings, we'll make some progress."

Sister: "OK. The first one, he was reaching across me for the syrup while Mom was watching the waffle iron. We could tell how long we had by the little red light."


If they think they’re seeing something that nobody else gets to see, it hardly matters what. Brothers don't expect exotics; they know we prefer cotton. A little contrast of color does wonders, though. A dark triangle behind pink briefs looks better than just the triangle sometimes. The detail is for later. Like they can’t see everything when we wear our little panties anyway?

If your nightgown rides up while watching TV or whatever, him seeing your panties doesn't matter because you're in your own house, tell him. If they’ve pulled up into you, just matter-of-factly pull them down.

And sometimes leave your door a little open. He shouldn’t enter your room uninvited with you half dressed, but so what if he happens to be passing? Watch how often he’s in the hall when he figures out your routine. “Hey, Kyle, when you come back from the bathroom, bring my hairbrush? The red one.” Stand in front of your mirror combing and ask him about who gets picked up when from school tomorrow.

Upskirt peeks are overrated; they really can’t see anything. Whatever we wear, it’s their job to take it off when that time comes. They’ll never complain that our panties wasted an extra minute before getting us on the bed.

A hint that Mom might know something: While you were combing your hair and telling Kyle that he had to bicycle if he wanted to stay for Astronomy Club, Mom came in and helped with your part. She agreed about bicycling. Like you, she was in her bra. Unlike you, though, not in her panties, since Kyle was there.

Psychiatrist: "So why do you say he slipped off your 'petit culottes'?"

Sister: "Because we were practicing vocabulary for a French test."

Psychiatrist: "I’m wondering how they say ‘button’ in French."

Sister: "Maybe ‘but-tone’. Why?"

Psychiatrist: "These must be so inhibiting."


Become his confidant, competitor and comforter. These three C's are what these sections are about.

[Ghostwriter's contribution: Cindi had “Secret Person, Enemy and Friend”, but I made them all C.]

Become his confidant. If we catch them in some transgression, we sympathize, not threaten. He may be mortified, but he'll know that his secret will be kept. There are a million stories about interrupted masturbation as the entrée to sex. Coercion might get you a fuck, but you'll loose a lover.

Think about this transaction.

"Get out!" He'll be horrified.

"OK. I didn't see anything." You'll be as embarrassed as is he. You really will.

But he'll know you saw. You wouldn't deny seeing what you didn't.

So confess, "It's natural. Everybody does it." Then causally add, "It's just different for girls." The key is to put yourself there with him, as if you'd been caught side by side.

Or some day when you're hauling laundry, "Kyle, there's this problem, I think," like sometimes you don't want to know stuff.

"What problem?"

"Your pajamas and bottom sheet sort of, well, show stuff."


"Well, you know. I'll wait to take stuff down when I can stuff it in the washer so Mom can’t tell." You’re his guardian, even.

"Oh," as he won't know what else to say.

"Could you use a towel or something?" Leave it at that, just a problem to be solved.

It's pretty easy to implicate him electronically. Check his browser history for sexually-explicit websites and open one when he's watching. "This one any good?"

He'll ask what you're talking about.

Ignore the question and give an opinion. "It's too posed. You gotta be made to think a little."

He'll still pretend not to understand, so just go back to whatever you were doing.

Pretty soon he'll return; it's too dangerous to leave open. "Are you going to tell?"

"Shoot, no." Don't infer that he owes you one.

Then add, “You try these links yet?”

Or, when the time is right, "I have a book."

"A book?"

"A book about doing it. How people do it different ways," to expand the subject.

That evening, put "The Joy of Sex" under his covers and tell him to put it back under yours the next night. It's too early to exchange it personally. Leaving it in each other's bed is sort of personal, anyway. Use bookmarks to show where you're reading. Don't discus the contents, though, until after you have sex. Don’t make your first time, “No, stupid, page 34 shows your knee goes here, not over there.”

[Ghostwriter's bibliophilia: The sketches are of the book's hippie art director, Charles Raymond, and his wife, Eldetraud.]

A hint that Mom might know something: The bookmark moved when Kyle was away. If you changed the book's hiding place, she'd know she was caught, so you just used a second bookmark, sometimes just trailing behind hers. When Kyle was at camp, the bookmark led you to the section on female masturbation.

Psychiatrist: "It's good for his mental health to share his darkest secrets with someone he can trust."

Sister: "If you say so, doctor, but I don't understand Doonesbury either."

Psychiatrist: "No, I was thinking that maybe you should tell me how you and your brother masturbate each other."

Sister: "Like we learned in ‘The Joy of Sex’. The pictures helped a lot."

Psychiatrist: "You can share your innermost fantasies with me, like how you imagine what I sleep in. Want to guess?"

Sister: "Red plaid PJ’s like Dad’s? With a pocket."


It’s sibling nature to compete. I can think of nothing more intimate than orgasm between kids who once fought over the 64 Crayola set Mom said to share.

Invent little private games. Kyle used to tease about how flat I was. He wasn't trying to be mean, but I didn't like it. He told me that he had growth lotion that was one hundred percent guaranteed. When I pretended to believe it, he put some cold cream in a green jar and had me take off my shirt. I must have had ten treatments. He knew that I wasn't that dumb. We were just having fun. After then, I wasn't as shy about him looking down my top or maybe doing a little something if we were horsing around. A few years later I offered to apply some guaranteed growth lotion on him and we laughed at his trickery.

It’s neat when nobody else knows the games you’re playing. One time at a picnic I was minding my own business and Kyle squeezed a wet watermelon seed between his fingers and shot me right in the tit. I don’t know if he was even aiming there or not, but he thought it was pretty funny how nobody around us saw. So I took a seed and when he stood up, popped him right in his crotch. Nobody saw that either. No great sex story there, just two kids shooting watermelon seeds.

Wrestle. If he touches your breast in the match, raise your arm before trying to escape. If he touches your butt, giggle that he better not spank you. He'll brush between your legs when he's pinning you, but not long enough to do anything. His touches aren't all accidental, you know.

If a button comes loose and a boob pops out, claim it doesn't matter because you used to take baths together anyway. Say he undid it on purpose and make him button you back in. He'll deny and comply.

Work your leg between his, or maybe your arm will get there. Like with your chest, if it seems accidental he'll go along. End up with your thigh on his cock, his hip against your mound, more-or-less even for a makeout, anyway. Watch his breathing to see what's working. If he comes anyway, play it be ear.

“Oh, Jesus!”

“Hey, Kyle, it’s natural.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“It happens to girls too when they get more particularly rubbed.”

I just don’t think that strip poker or some party game where couples have to kiss, etc. works for two people. Those types of games need others watching.

Whatever contests you two might devise, think of them as games, not foreplay. I’m all for close cooperation when the stadium lights go out, but let’s leave a little room for competitive spirit getting there. You and your brother have competed for about everything over the years. So keep it up. You'll win each other.

A hint that Mom might know something: She showed Kyle a Scientific American article claiming that females are stronger than males, pound for pound excluding fatty tissue. She’s studied the male ego for years.

Psychiatrist: "Don't feel alone. For so many sisters, victimization is by power and dominance."

Sister: "Oh, but I try to let him win half the time."


There's comfort in proximity. Here’s a family camping example. They say that more sibling relationships start in sleeping bags than on beds.

[Ghostwriter's question: Who are “They”? Cindi considers this a source, apparently.]

There's something liberating about fresh air and change of venue. The folks will have put your tent away from theirs, as fresh air and change of venue invigorate Mom and Dad too. It will be dark enough to get into your PJ's without seeing, no problem. The two of you can whisper whoppers after lights out.

"Cindi?” Let him start.


“There was this guy with an axe who’d chop the heads off people.” It might be a pretty short tale, but so what?

“Why?” to keep it going.

“I don’t know. He was a psycho.”

“Like the one that just escaped from jail?” you suggest. He's just making his story op.

“I think so.” He won't want to sound uninformed. “He had a really, really a big axe and would sneak around at night.” Brothers are quick on details.

“Would he peek into tents?” you wonder.

“I think so.”

“It’s not windy and the flap just moved,” you notice. He'll look behind him, but it will be gone.

“Maybe it was a owl or something,” he'll offer hopefully.

“It sounded more thumpy, like steps,” signing him to listen. But the danger will be too quiet.


“What, Kyle?” knowing that you'd pulled it off.

“Can I scoot over there a little, in case you need anybody?”

“OK, but don’t mess up how I arranged my shoes, in case I have to go to the bathroom.”

“I won’t.”



“Did you hear that sound?” Just whisper.

“What sound?”

“Probably nothing’s out there. It's crowded in here, but there's room in mine if you're cold,” you the accommodating sister.

“Good idea. Just ask me if you want me to shine the flashlight anywhere."

There will definitely be some “thump thumps” out there, but you'll find no tracks in the morning.

He’ll be warm and cuddled in your sleeping bag. Sure he’ll end up with an arm around your chest and your butt will probably feel the lump in his PJ's. That’s plenty.

Think about it. In normal dating, you’ve probably already had sex before you take the time to figure out how to share a pillow. With a brother we have years to learn about holding each other, whispering stories, giggling. Proving our love thus has all that to build upon.

A hint that Mom might know something: She told Kyle that she’s really proud how he's watching out for you. When the two of you figured out how to zipper your bags as one, she noted that it makes a good cushion for when you read after lunch. She never asked if you separate them for sleeping.

Psychiatrist: "So you’ve become his mother figure?"

Sister: "No, because then I'd by my own mother too because he’s my brother and that would be very confusing because I don't know psychology."

Psychiatrist: "I’m thinking of Pachamama, the Mother Goddess, her breasts the mountains, the Earth her womb."

Sister: "Well I’m pretty flat, as maybe you’re noticing from my heartbeat."


We're to the delicate step of deliberate fondling, the transition from non-erotic touch to intercourse.

So let me share a few hands-on snippets.

[Ghostwriter's compliment: Her “hands-on” adjective I call it Cindiesque.]

It's next year's camping trip. Your tent will be just a bit smaller in relation to the both of you. Scoot your pad right against his because you need room on the outside for your duffel. You probably brought too many clothes.

After marshmallows and a trip to the smelly restroom and you've zipped the flap shut, remind your brother about the psychos. "Remember how we heard one last year? Well, we have to stick together is all."

When he finally drifts off, poke him awake, "Hey Kyle, do you need to go pee?"


"Well I do, but I'm not going out there alone."

"Why not?"

"Weirdoes. You come too."

"To pee?"

"Just to the place."

"Go yourself."

"I'm scared," which, of course you aren't.

"Just go."

"Then I'll pee in the tent," as best you can pout.

"You better not!"

"We should pee together." He'll wear down.

"You can't because there's a Men's and a Women's," if he's a by-the-book boy.

"No, I mean do it in the woods. It’s closer."

"Well, I don't need to."

"Well, I do. Come on!"

So you sneak over in the trees. You squat and he stands where each can hear the other. You want him to think about pajamas being down.

"Can I aim you?" ask in your most natural voice.

"No." That's a for-sure answer.

"I'll hold it really carefully," tell him. Him in your hand is the idea you're fostering.

"No, I said!"

"When you're finished, can I practice aim?"


"Then I get to hold it in the tent." Don't even bother to justify why.

"You better not!"

"You have to let me. You can touch mine," not a concession you'll mind giving, actually.

"Your what?"

"You know. Where I pee?"

"For how long?"

"We'll take turns, the same."

"You won't tell?"

So back to your tent you creep. Let him go first because you woke him up. Put his hand on your chest and undo some buttons. Your tits will be hard and pointy. After a minute or two, put his hand on your stomach and push it to the elastic. Then guide him to what makes us girls. Let him touch while you free his underpants. (So much for the take-turns agreement.) Play together until you get sleepy, which mightn't be that long because camping takes lots of energy.

A hint that Mom might know something: She suggested that you two “tent mates” pitch your shelter in the next campsite so you'd have more room. When she’d get up to pee, she'd never use her flashlight and sometimes quietly stop at your picnic table to enjoy the stars.

[Ghostwriter's observation: Could her mom’s choice of “tent mates” be a subliminal acknowledgement of “tent mating”?]

Psychiatrist: "The role of urination very significant here, especially if feces were also involved. You didn't, per chance, urinate on each other, did you? Just a small amount, even. Sometimes you forget such incidents until a licensed professional like me reminds you. You might have even been talking about something else and hardly noticed. Think so?"

Sister: "I pee in the swimming pool, I guess."

Psychiatrist: "So tell me how it makes you feel.”


Some night when the folks are at the Elks, slip into a summer nightgown and put on a videocassette. Wear your bra. Just hop into his lap in the middle of the movie and get him to wrap his arms under your boobs. Snuggle deeper so his erection fits against your crack. He'll get one.

To get more comfy, move his arms up. If he cups you through your nightie, he won't act intentional. He can bump your nip, but shouldn't squeeze, if you get the difference. Tug your neckline out enough for him look over her shoulder. He's seen your bra a million times, but not when you're laying back into him. Let him see that you're looking too.

Maybe you'll have sex right away, but probably not. Enjoy your little movie watching routine for the movie too. Most X-rated stuff tends to gross; R is sufficiently engaging. In X, they really have sex. In R, they just act like they are.

Heck, there’s enough in a PG-13. Wasn't it fun to watch how Tom Hanks played Forrest Gump?

Jenny: "Have you ever been with a girl, Forrest?"

Forrest: "I see them in my Home Economics class all the time."

Would you have rather watched a truly handicapped fellow? Of course not. We enjoy the art of drama. Sort of like you two, right? Am I stuck on some sort of theme here? Your brother needs ideas is all. Jenny gave Forrest enough of an idea for him to start her baby.

[Ghostwriter's review: But Tom Hanks was really good in the way he fell in love with Meg Ryan in "You've Got Mail." To show you what she knows, Cindi says that his worst movie since "Sleepless in Seattle", which was also very romantic.]

A hint that Mom might know something: The video store wanted an extra dollar because the last rental wasn't rewound, but you know you did. And it sure as heck wasn’t Forrest Gump! You and Kyle watched it Tuesday and you returned it on Thursday. Wednesday when you were at school was when Uncle Rob delivered all those apples that you kids had to peel.

Psychiatrist: "I have 'Cheerleader Countercharge' right here on my machine. You're going to go to college, right? I'd like to participatorally observe how you react. Let me cancel my next appointment."

Sister: "We saw it. My brother thought theirs were real, even. You can tell where they ran out of money and had to splice in another film for the alien impregnation part."


Sex can get going in the strangest places, say in the back of your car, dozing on a long trip. He's up against you, his arm just a little too much across your front. Your knee’s a little too much against his. It's nervy at first and you'll both be cautious, but after a bit you'll both figure that the other's asleep and you'll get closer. When your nipples get hard, he'll realize you're letting him.

It's quiet, except for the car radio. Dad will be calculating the last possible place to get gas. Probably you should pull a coat or something over your laps. Your brother will be cautious because he's still not really sure. Undo a button to tell him where. It's a magic moment when he slips up inside your camisole. His giveaway is when he rolls toward you, knees apart. Brush a finger beside his zipper; he wants you to know. Like he'd be stiff if he weren’t pleased?

Leave him zipped. If you can pull a blanket over, rub him really slowly, just fingertips on the outside, not push-pull. Don't stop, even if he shakes his head. It takes longer on the outside, but he'll love you for it. His pulse is a good way to tell what's coming. Did I say that? Naughty me! The pulse thing only works when he's motionless, not a normal boy-milking. Help him hide his wet spot when you get out of the car. You made him do it, right?

A hint that Mom might know something: When caught glancing back, she told Dad something like, "They're cuddled up just like when we'd put them in the stroller together. Remember?"

Psychiatrist: "We know that the automobile is the modern world's phallic symbol, just like obelisk in Egypt."

Sister: "Well Dad always buys American cars, so we do end up with a little extra room in the back."

Psychiatrist: "Speaking of phallic symbology, you’re aware, I sure that a man should never be judged by his size."

Sister: "Shoot, doctor. My brother was tiny when we started, but we learned where to rub it."


I'll stick with the family trip venue, since I can envision it pretty well. But basically I'm moving us from touching to the act itself. My main point is that it's seamless. It's where the journey leads, not some starting or stopping point.

If it's a family vacation, the motels usually have two queen-sized beds, one for the folks and the other where the two of you glare and stake out very opposite edges. Nighttime changes things. It's really risky doing it in the same room, but kids are a little stupid sometimes. Dad sleeps like a log after all that driving; Mom's your challenge.

[Ghostwriter's warning: Describing risky behavior gives it some legitimacy, I fear. I would have chosen not to document this episode.]

Run the air conditioner for the hum. They say that for every sound, there is a frequency that will cancel it. Claim the bed away from the window, since light from the parking lot can silhouette you if you get two deep, so to speak. Quietest is you on your back, one knee up, his thighs under it and scissored around your other. Your heads are way apart. You're in good positions to coordinate. Plus it doesn't hurt your back. By the third night you'll have it to a science. TV off after the weather. Thirty minutes till Mom's out of it. Underpants down. The main thing isn't that you screw; anybody can do that. It's that you pull it off together.

Whatever gets the bedding wet doesn't matter because the motel people deal with stains all the time. The maid never knows who was where. As if she doesn't change other kids' beds afterwards!

If you're not on the pill, you should be using a rubber. Just leave it in the sheets for the maid to toss. She'll hardly speak English, anyway. If you threw it in the wastebasket, Mom would see it right off. Dad, if he ever looked in the trash, would probably fill out that little "How'd we do?" card on the table and note that this is supposed to be a family motel.

[Ghostwriter's apology: Hospitality staff are often undocumented because American citizens prefer higher pay. Cindi is being somewhat condescending regarding linguistic ability. All the custodial staff at our school really like her, though, because she goes to the religious ceremonies for all their kids and dances at the fiestas afterwards.]

A hint that Mom might know something: She'd always claim the side of their bed next to yours, blocking Dad’s view. For sure she'd know the one-knee-up. When you checked out, she’d never pull down your sheets to see if you’d forgotten anything.

Psychiatrist: "You know? There's a Motel 6 not far from here. Sometimes it's good to do therapy in a less-formal setting."

Sister: "Kinda like being in a tent?""

Psychiatrist: "It might give you a sense of male security to rest your hand right here."

Sister: "I see what you meant about the size thing. My brother is hardly starting his growth spurt and already he's..."

Psychiatrist: "So tell me a dream or something."


Wherever you started, you'll end up on your bed or his. Sibling love is about being at home. Know why we know all the John Denver songs? Because they're about home. Have any of us actually lived in West Virginia? I started off with "What's love go to do with it?" Well, let's make that, "What's home got to do with it." Same answer. Everything.

A sister and brother can sleep together a bunch if their folks' bedroom is downstairs.

(1) Avoid creaky floorboards.

(2) Whose bed is the quietist? You may have started on good motel springs, but your set’s been in the family forever. If need be, do you have a thick rug?

(3) Set an alarm to get back, especially if Dad gets up early to read the paper.

(4) Mom does the sheets, so put something down like a dark towel.

(5) One time, turn around so your heads are at the foot of the bed. For some reason, it’s amazing.

An established bedroom routine ensues. Codeword it something like, "Upstairs." "Did you use my towel upstairs?" or "I'll bet I left that Newsweek upstairs," casually at the dinner table suffices.

A hint that Mom might know something: She dutifully washes the dark blue towel that’s never on the towel bar but keeps turning up in the hamper. At the odd use of "upstairs" in your table talk, she smiles and her nipples show.

Psychiatrist: "Close your eyes, pretend that you’re floating and murmur to me like you'd murmur to your brother. Visualize that this is his hand holding your lovely breast."

Sister: "OK, doctor. Kyle, just because you didn't help rake the leaves doesn't mean that I have to bag them all by myself. And don't pinch so much!"


Did you catch "Top Tips" in the title of this document? Take turns who gets to be on top. Being the guy doesn't make him always the boss. He may be able to kowtow a girlfriend, but not his sister. We owe the top thing to the bra burners. A guy can shoot while riding a bicycle. For us, it's the little changes in pressure, the modulation, the eye contact, how you got there, what you'll do afterwards. Looking down, you see the synergy.

[Ghostwriter's confirmation: Women of the world, arise!]

The first time you look down to where your hair is mashed together, you'll realize it's perfectly matched and just start laughing. Siblings don't need to explain stuff or act cool with each other. He'll steady your boobs even, not because squeezing is such a big deal by this point, but so you'll not get sore bouncing around. Mine don't bounce much because of their size problem, so I'm just talking generally. Plus, a guy always becomes a better fucker when he realizes it's not just a male thing.

Did you ever see Leaving Las Vegas? It's R. It’s not about siblings, but at the end, Elisabeth Shue does a dying Nicolas Cage from on top in a long and haunting love scene. I'd said to see Blue Lagoon with your brother, but if you want to see an adult side of love, this one's sadder and better.

A hint that Mom might know something: She suggested that you do your book report on Lilith. The patriarchal scribes replaced Lilith with Eve in Genesis, she revealed, but made you read the book to see why.

Psychiatrist: "Being the superior is a common feminine fantasy. Do you think in a previous life you might have been a Native American princess?"

Sister: "Nah, my job was to torture captive braves, but it doesn't fit in our school's multicultural curriculum. Anyway, what I'd do was get this flaming hot tomahawk and dance naked in front of him until he got, you know, and then chop off about an inch and then do it all over again. If he was really brave, I'd let him do me with his last inch and that would make our next Chief. Then I'd take...."

Psychiatrist: "That's surely enough. So show me how fast you like to go by raising your hips. I’ll need to slide my hand up a little to help steady you. ... That was a very good reflex you just showed."

Sister: "My other job was to have ceremonial sex with buffaloes."


Don’t let some wet-dreamer trick you about orgasms suitable for the back shelf at Video World. If you were counting on verbosity about unfettered male penetration, female liquids and star-studded visions, skip to my thoughts about the Internet. Your brother probably doesn’t have a throbbing 14-inch cock dripping with tasty pre-cum, anyway. So let’s just stay real, girl.

You’ll have a great time, even if you muff the climax a little at first. The guy’s your brother, for heaven sakes, not some implanted actor. This I promise: it will get better and better and better. And I’m not talking for six times (my average, I suppose, before my date and I get a little tired of each other’s personalities). I'm talking about for six years. Better and better.

Basically aim for about half speed. The best thing about with your brother is that caution forces you to find the quiet ways. You’d never get a regular boyfriend to go slow with you because you're probably in his apartment. At home there's maybe someone who'd wonder about thumping sounds. You can't be vibrating your bed around the room.

As siblings are genetically the same, you naturally climax right at the same minute even while you're learning. DNA is the reason. We have a double helix model in my classroom that we made with foam balls and wires. Visuals are very important for their learning experience. Genes explain why twins can sometimes tell when the other one is in trouble. If you don’t climax at the same time, other factors may be involved.

[Ghostwriter's disbelief: I don't care if Cindi does teach science. Our hormones make us do it, not our DNA. That spiral thing somehow vibrates?]

Keep in mind that as a female, you can climax and climax. His orgasm is about six squirts worth, so getting there was most of his fun. A brother will stick with you all the way up and all the way down. It's about caring.

A hint that Mom might know something: She put some water-soluble lubricant in your medicine cabinet in case you new pumps chaff your toes.

Psychiatrist: "It must be difficult for you."

Sister: "Well, not so much after we got to puberty."

Psychiatrist: "I mean that it's not normal."

Sister: "We realized that, trying 'Lizards on the Ceiling', so we stick with positions 1, 2 and 4."

Psychiatrist: "So tell me about your brother's penis. How long, how thick, how he likes it held, that sort of thing. Sometimes it's good to psychoanalyze both partners, I find. I could fit him in Tuesdays and Thursdays until we set up something regular."

Sister: "Do you have an itch down there, or something?"


(1) On the couch, or hand-in-hand up to your room? It's more special where you can see all your girly things like Raggedy Anne.

(2) Use Mom and Dad’s bed because that's where they made you two. Squeak City!

(3) If you try new stuff, now's the time. Untested ideas sometimes turn out to break items like lawn chairs.

(4) It's bath time. You did it together when your were little. Put towels around the tub because you'll slosh. Turn off the lights and burn a candle so it doesn't look so much like a bathroom. It's romantic, even if he is your relative. There'll be bubble bath in the cupboard from when you were ten. And if you spill your wine in the tub, who cares? If your brother's cool, he'll let you finger-paint a tux on him first. Get him really soapy. It's hard to use a rubber, though, so bathe together at the right time of the month.

A hint that Mom might know something: She made a big racket at the front door when they came home earlier than expected.

Psychiatrist: "On your parents' bed makes it Oedipal."

Sister: "I think it still tastes yucky."

[Ghostwriter's admission: Of all these ridiculous two-liners, this one is OK.]


“Kara? Hi, this is Cindi. ... Not much. ... Hey, our folks are out this evening and Kyle and me were wondering if you and Andrew wanted to come over and watch a movie? ... Blue Lagoon, I was thinking. ... Maybe that’s smart. We’ll say Rocky VI and change it. ... I agree. Brothers can be so unromantic sometimes, but as they say, they're convenient. ... No, I read it somewhere. ... OK, but just four cans. We’ve got Pringles. ... I was thinking maybe together on the sofa, right with the movie. Whattaya think? Let’s try to hold hands... You wearing your black one? We should be the same. ... Whenever. Sooner the better, though.”

Hey, girls, I get to dream a little too.

[Ghostwriter's admonishment: Cindi, my friend, if you didn’t dream so much, you’d have finished your M.Ed.]

A hint that Mom might know something: She found Kara's bra on the floor the next morning and acted like it was yours that must have fallen out of the basket on the way to the laundry. Kara's already a C.

Psychiatrist: "Are you saying that you’d deceive them about the movie?"

Sister: "Is that bad?"

Psychiatrist: "Morality is one’s own construct. What I’m suggesting is that if you don’t see Rocky VI, you’ll not understand Balboa’s angst at the start of Rocky VII."


Want brother-sister pictures, movie clips and stories? Hello, www. You'll find the graphical stuff near the grandmother+dog selection. Talk about bullshit! Do they look like siblings? Why would siblings want to get filmed? We’re talking class B porn where they just changed the title. Sick. Worse thing is that people pay to see it. "Wow, man! Here's a jpeg where the brother is shoving his big black dick right up the wazoo of his gorgeous blond sister! Look at her tits! We can talk to her while she’s doing it at this phone number!"

Sex story sites have captured the market for unlikely similes and metaphors. In science we just say what happens. "The rotifer eats the bacteria," not, "The slathering voracious rotifer pulls the weakened and trembling bacteria into its consuming jaws." They like that last style for sex stories. Pretty stupid, if you ask me.

[Ghostwriter's response: To the contrary, the imagery of such microbial error is gripping.]

For explicit sex prose, who gives a hoot if they're related? So strip out all the pathologic paragraphs about big cocks and hungry holes. What's left in brother+sister stories is that watching a dirty movie, or whatever, somehow makes brother start screwing sister and she discovers that she loves it. Am I right? Only the pre-copulation stuff and the post-copulation stuff can make it a sibling story. Only one out of 50 even tries.

I did come across a questionnaire from the early web days, discussion group style, about siblings' personal history. There were frank responses for a while and then the perverts started sending fantasy fiction. “From this close, the aroma is making my head spin into total euphoria. I move even closer and lick gently up and down. I can hear Linda moan, so I jerk upright; her eyes are still shut tight, although she is writhing and humping her lower body slightly.” Verbatim. Those young Earnest Hemingways killed the survey.

[Ghostwriter's correction: I read the complete Hemingway and never found it.]

Anyway, the responses indicated that:

(1) Almost always it's the brother responding,

(2) The sister was the older nearly half the time, and

(3) There are few regrets.

Conclusion (1) surely biases (3). Let's wonder about (2) because most other studies suggest that the girl is usually the younger. So let’s not call this scientific.

[Ghostwriter's concern: Cindi surfs when the students are working at their desks. Somebody’s going to see. She says that a few have and they trade http: addresses.]

No camera. Things can travel electronically. Your brother e-mails his digitals to somebody who "doesn't know you". This somebody has a distribution list. You discover yourself on the Internet. Why you'd even be looking, I don't know, but it would be terrible, especially if you've got a give-away tattoo on you tit or someplace. An ex-boyfriend of mine found his sister in "Russian Nymphets". She had this little log cabin on her ass because they were from Illinois. Maybe the Webmaster thought it was a dacha. I'm not sure how my boyfriend knew she had it, though.

The web has lots of sites dealing with abuse. If you were sexually abused, you’ve got resources.

A hint that Mom might know something: The sibling sex site cookies on your computer keep being modified when you and Kyle are at school.

Psychiatrist: "I suspect you may have been influenced by"

Sister: "Didn't fool me one bit. A real sister would undress before her brother did it."


I am a good Catholic, and not just because I went to a parochial school (which I did) and go to Mass every week (which I do). The Church has some very good values and basic truths. Where would civilization be without them? Being a good Catholic includes being (or at least trying to be) a good person. So how to deal with sex? Two points:

(1) God created it.

(2) Do it in love.

So why's what a brother and sister do a religious issue? Two reasons:

(1) Biblical mention. But wait! Almost all the Biblical prohibitions deal with girls and fathers, boys and mothers. There are just a few references to siblings, to wit, "The nakedness of thy sister, the daughter of thy father, or daughter of thy mother, whether she be born at home, or born abroad, even their nakedness thou shalt not uncover." (Leviticus 18:9) “Uncovering” his partner is rape, perhaps. Everything I’ve talked about deals with mutuality, how sisters might encourage the process.

Adam and Eve begat Cain and Able and they had to have begot some daughters too, when you consider that there was a next generation. So sex with sister is a Biblical fact. Figured it out in Sunday school. After the Flood, eight people populated the world again, but cousins could have done that.

(2) It’s about power. Matt Groening (creator of the Simpsons) says, "When the authorities warn you of the dangers of having sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities." The Pope regulates sex to enhance his own authority. If you let him decide who you can make love with (or in case of clergy, that you can’t make love at all), you’ve made him your master. He's not God, just His spokesperson.

Parish priests don’t have much of a problem about lovers as long as you aren’t already married. Just don’t confess which lover. Have your brother use another confessor, just in case both of you let slip something like, "We we're just picking plumbs and..."

Like we're going to get out of bed with our brother, rob a bank, file a fraudulent 1040 and park in the disabled zone? We’ve got bigger issues to worry about.

[Ghostwriter's disclaimer: Like the math section, I don’t follow this part either. The Catholic religion seems very complicated.]

A hint that Mom might know something: She’s adamant that the Church needs to halt this priest pedophilia. “And if we're going to build our new Parish Gym/Drug-Rehabilitation Outreach Center, we can't keep making our Church a weekly guilt trip.”

Psychiatrist: "What about the Church, a self-imposed impediment to our actualization?”

Sister: "We just have wooden pews."

Psychiatrist: "I was going to be a Priest, but they’re so worried about lawsuits these days. Here, let me help you with that button.”


That inbreeding thing is exaggerated. Everybody's DNA is pretty much the same anyway. Did you know that humans and chimpanzees are 99.4 percent identical? When I say so in my class, some parent always complains to the Board that I'm advocating sex with animals. Ridiculous! That's why we've got each other.

You don’t want to get pregnant because you don’t want to get pregnant. But if you really need sex and he’s afraid about a baby, tell him you’re on the rhythm method. Basically, we’re not fertile a bunch of the time.

Brothers subconsciously want to get us pregnant; it's natural instinct to expand the clan. I heard about this guy who would give his sister a sleeping pill so she wouldn't know who'd knocked her up. She'd have an orgasm, though, even asleep. If your brother brings you a nice hot chocolate and you’re having these wonderful dreams, it's maybe too late.

[Ghostwriter's correction: The account I heard said that she was simultaneously pulling the same stunt on him. It depended on who got to the kitchen first to make the cocoa.]

He won't always remember to bring a condom, so keep some handy. It's a pain to have to dig under your sweaters every time, though. Look for someplace more convenient. Big girls still put their doll on their bed and I had my favorite Raggedy Anne. I used her drawers and put the foil and the used ones back in the same place. It was easier than having to get rid of the stuff every time.

A hint that Mom might know something: She gave you the “When a girl starts heavy dating, she’s in charge of consequences” talk when you weren't even going out. She suggested using the pill just to make your periods more predictable. “When I was your age, sometimes it would just happen when I wasn’t expecting. When I got on the pill, planning got simpler. Want to give it a try?” And no matter how many times she’s moved Raggedy Anne to change your linen, she’s never suggested putting Raggedy up on your shelf. “Girls like our doll where we can always find her, right Cindi?”

Psychiatrist: "Do you take precautions? Like something you might have brought in your purse?"

Sister: "We always, always lock the door."

Psychiatrist: "What about your genes?"

Sister: "We always take them off."

Psychiatrist: "Well, I think you have a psychosis."

Sister: "No way, because we practice safe sex."


Go together like a horse and carriage. In a poem, anyway. You can still date around because of course you'll never marry each other.

Then sooner or later one of you will probably say, ”I do.”

Say you get married. James Thurber wrote a great line, "She said he proposed something on their wedding night that even her own brother wouldn't have suggested." If sex with your brother is still more fun than sex with your husband, we're talking sibling addition. (It being an "addiction" may qualify you for some sort of mental health benefit. Ask your HMO.) You can’t claim a headache forever. Get creative with hubby.

Say your brother ties the knot. If you like your sister-in-law, stop screwing her husband. You may be better than she is, but you’re not worth a marital disintegration, sister. So for sure, anyway, don’t get caught in her bed. If you end up there anyway (engrained habits are so hard to break), don’t let him compare the two of you. Of course you're more understanding or whatever; you don’t have to deal with him 24/7. We can tell our brothers to get real with their fantasies. Women are smarter about reality.

Your brother just won't be your "hot date" any more. He'll be the someone you can fall back to for something a bit more relaxed.

[Ghostwriter's request: Maybe if some girls didn’t take both a husband and a brother out of circulation, the rest of us would have a better chance. It’s kind of like bigamy.]

A hint that Mom might know something: She reflects how wonderful it is to be married to Dad and how lucky she is that your Uncle Rob lives so close. “It’s so easy for him to stop by to help out when Dad’s tied up.” If there’s a late movie on HBO that conflicts with “the guys” (that means Dad and Kyle) watching WWF, she can just run over to his place. You know that she keeps a toothbrush and a few of her favorite CD’s there. “Your dad and Uncle Rob, the both treat me like their Queen.”

Psychiatrist: “So what would you tell your spouse about your intrafamilial dalliances?"

Sister: "Positions 1, 2, 3, and 4. I’ll pretend that we stumble onto 18. What are you doing now?"

Psychiatrist: "This is what we call the Marmoreal Fulfillment Test to see if you have anxiety about (how can I phrase this?) breastfeeding. I’m not sure if I remember 18."


So they say. We're going to keep seeing these brothers of ours for a long time; it's not like a relationship we can dump. We’re talking about a bond. How very Egyptian!

Think thirty years, slipping away from the family reunion for a half-hour. You’ll catch his eye across the living room. Even if they see you go in the bedroom and shut the door, they’ll assume it’s to discuss something like Uncle Rudy’s alcoholism. You'll be entwined on the guest bed, going nice and slowly, giggling about that early time on the sofa when the folks came home early. He didn't have time to put his underpants back on, so you stuffed his drawers into your jogging pants.

If someone passing the bedroom door hears panting, they'll assume that the two or you are rearranging the furniture or something. They call our affection "a hidden love". Well, it's not because we hide it that well. It's because they hide from knowing.

So take care of the guy and let him take care of you.

A hint that Mom might know something: The more you listened, it sure didn't sound like she and Uncle Rob were discussing Uncle Rudy. Mom wouldn’t breath that way if she were moving furniture. So when Dad appeared at the end of the hall, you sent him back to look for an extension cord. You’d come to realize that Rob was not competing for Mom’s affection. Her love for Dad would never waver; it made you happy how sweetly your folks enjoyed each other, culminating in their unabashedly ill-disguised sexuality. Mom would sneak you a wink when Dad would say it’s been a long day and she’d take his hand as they retired. Her brother was part of her essence too, a youthful part that needed to be preserved. As they say, you can’t run out of love.

Psychiatrist: "So you don't want help stopping? My, how petit are your coquilles!”

Sister: “Culottes. It’s weird how this couch bends my head up."

Psychiatrist: “It’s therapeutic for you to watch me release your sexual tensions.”

Sister: "What I really need therapy for is my consuming urge to automatic weapon my fellow Postal Service employees."

Psychiatrist: "So how long did you say your brother’s penis is? I need to complete my file, is all."

Sister: "Seven inches maybe. Does K-Mart still sell ammo?"

Psychiatrist: "Just hang your skirt on the chair. But before you stretch out, why don’t you bend over the end of the couch so I can check for carcinogenic moles. Me being in psychiatry, I can eliminate the psychosomatic ones."


So there, you know what I think.

[Ghostwriter's clarification: Thanks to my thematic organization, word choice, paring of redundancies, elimination of objectionable allusions, source confirmations, dialog compression, etc. I don’t mind Cindi getting all the credit.]

A hint that Mom might know something: Actually, we're pretty much beyond hints, aren’t we? To wit:

Mom didn't want to go to the Elk's convention in Denver, so Dad flew ahead and you three drove to pick him up for camping afterwards. Uncle Rob helped drive to Colorado and flew on to Salt Lake City because he’d become a Latter Day Saint. So the first night on the Interstate, you and Kyle claimed opposite sides of your queen size, glaring distance. Mom took the near side of the bed by the window.

Since Mom watched Cheers in her bra and changed afterwards into her nightgown, so did you. Emerging from the bathroom, her breasts swayed within the summer cotton, her nipples wide on their orbs. Yours were erect as well, but high and close. When Mom leaned across their bed to kiss Rob goodnight, you watched how she pressed against him as they drew up their covers. You rolled against your own brother, smacked him a ”Sweet dreams” and to his surprise, barely rolled back.

TV off after the weather. Thirty minutes. Underpants down. But before you embraced Kyle, a headlight illuminated the motel window. Mom’s silhouetted head was thrust back, the sheet rising as her hips lifted her brother, then falling as he drove her back down. As you watched them make love, her every fiber seemed to resonate with his every muscle. You’d never realized how grace and passion might so intersect. You heard what the air-conditioner couldn’t mute -- the music of hungry breath, seeking flesh and yielding mattress. You remembered hearing Mom breathe that way before, at that time suspecting the sexual. But lying in the same room, you knew that intercourse was but a facet of their union. You felt the tremble of Mom’s chin, the beads of sweat evaporate from her brow. You signaled Kyle to go ahead and get under your knee. Your own chin was trembling too. Do twin muffled melodies make a secret symphony?

In the morning, all four volunteered how quickly you fell asleep. The maid found evidence to the contrary, however. Mom didn’t put on her bra that day, so you took the cue. In the backseat, you helped Kyle notice, almost bringing him to climax before Rob pulled into a Denny’s. Something for him to look forward to, you figured.

You could have made Denver for supper, but by 2:00 it was hot, so you pulled into a Holiday Inn. Mom and Uncle Rob were pretty tired so you kids went to the pool for an hour. You said, "an hour." They were bathed and rested on you return, so they went to swim for their hour. Mom also announced, "an hour."

That evening, you and Mom were in panties. It felt weird having Uncle Rob see you, but then Mom probably felt the same having Kyle there. Watching Cheers, you taunted Kyle under your sheet, denying the finish of what was uncompleted in the car. His reflexive begging only made you tease him more. You knew, of course, that he’d extract his revenge. Under their sheet, Rob was curled behind Mom like a half shell about a walnut, her backward wiggles confirming their conformity. As Rob’s view was blocked and Kyle’s back was to her, Mom lifted the cover so you could watch her lover massage her breast. You drew Kyle’s hand up to your own, hoping that Mom would read the movement of his elbow.

TV off after the weather, but no reason to wait thirty minutes to disrobe Mom’s panties were already on the floor where she’d pushed them from under the bed linen. When you ejected yours where she’d likewise notice, she blew you your goodnight kiss. The two wads of colored cotton formed a connect-the-dots line between your beds.

When Kyle approached for his subdued entrance, you instead pulled him above and within with exhilarating near-violence. Kyle at first resisted, it being so obvious, but you gave him little choice. You know Mom witnessed because only after you throes subsided did she take Rob with equal ferocity.

Next morning while Uncle Rob was shaving, Mom went in the bathroom and shut the door. Pretty soon you could hear the shower and after a while the two, Rob the more sheepish, came out with wet hair. "Next," suggested Mom. You had Kyle give you a shampoo. Traveling affords intimacy beyond the erotic.

Since checkout wasn't till 11:00, you posted the "Do Not Disturb", pulled the drapes, hopped back under the sheets and turned up Discovery Channel. This would be their last time together before you all got back home.

You were being a stinker, remoting the TV volume down when Mom's breathing picked up, but she afterwards giggled that she had the same idea for you. At Mom's “Lilith,” the two of you claimed top positions, breasts bared. You'd never discussed your book report, but you knew. In the TV illumination, you and she grinned and waved at one another before attending to your lovers below.

In the car, the four of you made plans for the tango convention next year. You and Mom really like the outfits, but Rob and Kyle wouldn’t be caught dead in those tight pants. “Shoot,” sighed Mom. “Cindi and I know a way in front of the judges’ table to get you guys to earn us a bunch of interpretive points.”

Psychiatrist: "It’s so hard to keep up with all these scientific studies about our topic. Let’s just work on the practical part."

Sister: "You really think this therapy works better naked, doctor?"

Psychiatrist: "The standard procedure for clitoral confirmation is digital, but I prefer visual verification. An overlooked clitoridectomy might explain your dissatisfaction with your brother."

Sister: "Who says I’m dissatisfied?"

Psychiatrist: "Your weeping inner ego. I’ll play the role of your twin brother who got adopted away and you just got reunited on Oprah."

Sister: "Wow! And we’re castaways, like what happened to Brook Shields!"

Psychiatrist: "And patient-client confidentially requires that your actual brother can’t be told. Aha, this slipperiness signifies recognition of a repressed longing.”

Sister: "I was thinking of something else."

Psychiatrist: "Is your brother's hair really this color?"

Sister: "Same. Maybe position 17 has this weird-shaped couch in mind, you think?"

Psychiatrist: "Oh no. At our therapeutic highlight, my healthcare-provision capacity’s failing! Envisioning your brother requires me to meet the pederast within!”

Sister: "Actually, he doesn’t collect stamps any more."

Psychiatrist: "No, no, the desire of an older male to engage in sex with boys. We can’t even be Scoutmasters or anything anymore!”

Sister: "You know? The more I look at this couch you've got, the more I see it as guy-guy furniture anyway."

[Ghostwriter's contribution: I broke down and penned the doc’s “Oh, no” line. If you can’t beat ‘em, you know the rest.]


In case you missed it, those were just my opinions. But what do I know? I just have one brother. Here are some alleged experts. Unlike real science, however, behavioral science is flaky.

[Ghostwriter's certainty: Cindi just skimmed the titles. Please don’t trust these numbers for your term paper without confirming the source.]

Finkelhor, D., 1980, Sex among Siblings: a Survey on Prevalence, Variety, and Effects, Archives of Sexual Behavior, 9:3, June, pp. 171-194.

In a survey of 796 undergraduates at six New England colleges and universities, 15% of the females and 10% of the males reported some type of sexual experience involving a sibling. Fondling and touching of the genitals were the most common activities in all age categories. One-fourth of the experiences could be described as exploitative either because force was used or because there was a large age disparity between the partners. Reactions to the experiences were equally divided among those who considered them positive and those who considered them negative. Females were more likely to have been exploited and feel badly about it. Few of either sex ever told anyone. The research finds that such experience may have long-term effects on sexual development. Females who report sibling sexual experiences, both positive and negative, have substantially higher levels of current sexual activity. Their level of sexual self-esteem may also have been affected, but more selectively. Those with positive sibling experiences after age 9 have more sexual self-esteem. However, experiences with much older siblings taking place before age 9 are associated with generally lower levels of self-esteem and no increase in current sexual activity.

Symonds, C.L., Mendoza, M.J. and Harrell, W.C., 1981, Forbidden Sexual Behavior among Kin: a Study of Self-Selected Respondents, in L.L. Constantine and F.M. Martinson (eds.), Children and Sex, New Findings, New Perspectives, Little, Brown & Co., Boston.

Questionnaire data were collected from 526 undergraduate college students. Of this sample, 5% reported having had only a sibling sexual encounter, 12% reported having had both a sibling and a nonsibling childhood sexual experience, 45% reported having had only a nonsibling sexual experience, and 39% reported no sexual experience with another child prior to age 13. No differences were found between the sibling, nonsibling, and no-experience groups on a variety of adult sexual behavior and sexual adjustment measures, including incidence of premarital intercourse, age at first intercourse, number of partners, sexual satisfaction, sexual arousal and sexual dysfunctions. It was concluded that adult sexual adjustment is not negatively or positively influenced by typical early childhood sexual experiences among similar-aged siblings.

Russell, D., 1983, The Incidence and Prevalence of Intrafamilial and Extrafamilial Sexual Abuse of Female Children, Child Abuse and Neglect, 7, pp. 133-146.

A random household survey of 930 adult women in the San Francisco area, personally interviewed by trained female interviewers, found that 16% of the women had experienced at least one incident of intrafamilial sexual abuse prior to age 18, and 12% had at least one such experience prior to age 14. Further analysis of the 16% revealed incestuous relationships with biological fathers (2.5%), stepfathers (2%), uncles (4.9%), cousins (3%) and brothers (2%).

Russell, D., 1986, The Secret Trauma: Incest in the Lives of Girls and Women, Basic Books, New York, pp. 216.

Of incest cases with females, uncles accounted for 25% of the perpetrators, followed in frequency by fathers (15%), brothers (12%) and stepfathers (8%). The nature of the remaining 40% isn't clear, but the relative magnitudes tell a story, in any case.

Rating: 42%, Read 63812 times, Posted Sep 09, 2007

Essay | Incest


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