ONLY ONE BED, AGAIN!

Chris, my brother, was ten years older than me. We'd never really known each other much growing up; as soon as I was old enough to remember, he was first considered too unreliable to babysit me, then he'd be storming out of the house after an argument.

We did spend a lot of time together during his GCSE year. Playing chess with a smart-arse six year old was preferable to revision, I guessed, but after that I rarely saw him. Always out with his friends, until he went to university. I gathered he hadn't got in to any our parents approved of, but he was one of the last years to be able to attend without paying fees -- and even to get a grant to live on, the lucky bastard! -- so they hadn't argued over the ex-polytechnic he'd chosen to go to.

A decade on, I got the grades for a top red-brick uni, yet I'd be paying off loans for years. Our parents hadn't quite grasped the new financial order; they treated us equally, resulting in Chris having a nice nest-egg by his early thirties that I'd never be able to look forward to.

Persuade the folks? No, I had no chance. It was increasingly clear I was the failed attempt to keep their marriage together.

They separated during my first year at college, sold the house in my second, divorced during the third. I'd spent a few vacations with Chris, seeing as he was living with a girlfriend, though then that went south. It was like everything he touched; he didn't value anything enough to hang onto, Mum and Dad said. They fretted over his inability to keep a good stable job. Chris claimed they just didn't understand.

Dad is a good guy, but frankly clueless. He booked us all a cottage to stay in, for his seventieth. Chris and I were given adjacent rooms, sharing a Jack-and-Jill bathroom. Stupid layout, meaning you have to remember to lock the far door when you're desperate for the facilities.

But not as stupid an idea as Dad inviting Mum and her sister, and Mum's 'friend' Brian, who was obviously her new bloke. Dad was mortified when he realised. I'd be embarrassed too. I mean, I can understand her leaving Dad, whose bumbling and obsessions are as annoying as fuck, but you'd think she'd find someonenot a prize patronising idiot?

We all drank too much. We tried to keep our arguments limited to over Trivial Pursuit, not anything more important. It was a close-run thing. Chris just went quiet when all the older generation united by criticising us; I got gobby. Chris and I had changed roles as we got older, clearly.

I was now drinking heavily; he was the most sober there. The look on his face suggested his mind was elsewhere.

I'd had too many of the posh liqueurs Brian had plied me with. Way too many.

Next morning, I awoke and had to heave, urgently. I rushed into the bathroom, puked, then rapidly turned around to sit down. I looked up when I heard a rattling noise, my elbows still propped on my thighs.

It was Chris, stumbling out of the shower in a very small towel. I was just grateful he'd not locked my door, or it would have been an even more horrendous morning. I wasn't capable of even focusing on his body, let alone having any opinion on it.

I just sat still and hoped he'd not notice me. The bathroom was full of steam. I closed my eyes to blot out the light.

Suddenly I heard a yell, 'Aagh!' I glanced up.

Chris had been drying his hair with his towel, and suddenly noticed my presence. He'd moved to only a step away from me.

If he was now holding the towel to his head, what was down below?

I looked down, and was startled by the substantial cock in front of my face.

It was my turn to scream. 'Aagh!'

At which point Chris, startled, slipped on the tiled floor, and put his muscular arms out as he started to fall on top of me.

My brother managed to regain his footing by pushing against my shoulders, but not before his cock had stroked over my mouth.

I'd been panting, still feeling unwell, so my brother's dick had hit not only my lips, but also my dehydrated tongue.

All I could think about, as he grabbed his towel around him again and muttered, "Couldn't you ever fuckingknock?" was how that drop on the end of his cock-head tasted so much better than my acid-filled mouth had previously.

It was the sort of accident you couldn't even make up.

I tried to apologise, but he'd slammed the door before I could even groan.

I had a shower myself. I made myself look and feel more human for the rest of the weekend, but for some reason I was reluctant to brush my teeth.

I did, of course. I vigorously washed away all traces of my brother's cock with good old freshmint.

We never spoke about it.

I mean, how could you?

I stayed very sober the next few times I met up with Chris, which was more often than usual as he'd been dumped by a promising girlfriend, and my company seemed to be the only thing which got him out the house.

Then Mum decided to emigrate to New Zealand. With Brian. Brian had as much personality as the average sheep, so I guessed she'd be happy there.

Chris seemed to take it as a personal rejection.

Dad had a bright idea to cheer us up.

This was to enrol us all in a Three Peaks challenge -- not Ben Nevis, some lower Scottish peaks, involving simply lots of hillwalking. He even booked hotels for the nights before and after, and confirmed the group would shelter in a picturesque bothy for the night out in the wilds.

For me, it was the sort of thing I did for fun anyway. The southern Highlands, in good weather, would be beautiful, even with winter approaching. With Chris, who preferred weightlifting and working out in a gym to climbing mountains, not to mention Dad being in his seventies, we wouldn't be rushing to win, just enjoying the outdoors.

It sounded like one of Dad's better cunning plans.

When Chris saw the weather should be good, he agreed to come. "It'll be good to see you again, in nice hotels this time," he said. Good. He'd even stopped hitting the gym much, according to his flatmate.

I worried about him. He seemed depressed.

Still, Chris met me and my hefty backpack in Glasgow.

He brought the message that Dad had had to cancel -- he'd sprained his ankle mildly while raking leaves outside. A minor injury, but certainly not one he could participate with us with!

"Typical. Ah well, free rooms and meals. I've packed plenty of rations," I told Chris.

"Mm. Nice to see you again. May as well go along. 'I've started, so I'll finish.' Maybe not finish all my whisky, though."

If he wasn't drinking too heavily, that was good. I hoped this weekend would be good for him.

We sat mostly quietly on the trains, reading. In due course we emerged at the two-trains-a-day station in the middle of Scotland. As did fifty other hikers, presumably for the same event. We plodded the mile to our small hotel. A large pub with rooms, really.

"A twin room, aye, yes, here's your key. Sorry, is something wrong? Mr Grierson said one of the party of three had had to cancel. Is that no' right? The second room has gone, I'm afraid. We're fully booked this night, wi' the walkers. So is everywhere in town, mind."

I glanced at Chris. "Two beds? That's fine." He nodded. "It's just the two of us."

"Och, that's a relief! You're in number five, up yon wee stairs, hen."

"Thank you so much! Come on, Chris! The Scottish voices all round us brought back some of Dad's classic phrases, and I used one, "Don't leave yer mouth hanging open; you're letting a draft in!"

Chris nearly retorted with one of the very rude phrases he knew, but grunted, picked up his pack, and headed upstairs.

The narrow wooden corridor had a runner of carpet down it. My pack touched both walls. Our small room had two beds, true, both tucked under sloping ceilings on either side of the room. A white-wood bedside table with a bright begonia separated the two. The position of the wall lamps proved the usual layout was the beds pushed together, to make a pretend double.

Chris sat, stretched, hit his head, and swore. I rubbed it, as a peace offering. He cursed again, at me. I sat carefully on my bed, but the light wasn't in the right spot for reading. Despite watching as I stood up, I clonked my head, too.

"Let's push them back together," I said.

"You want me in the bed right next to you?"

"You want to hurt your head again?" I retorted.

"Whatever. If you don't mind my naked body two feet away."

"You sleepnaked?"

"Well, duh! How many men do you know who don't? Or boys over twelve, even?"

I hadn't thought about it. I guess I'd assumed Scotland, snow, cold: warm pyjamas. "Hang on! You're not going to go naked in the bothy are you? There's probably going to be two or four strangers in the room!"

"A warm woodstove, with dancing flames in the front room of a 'but and ben'? Of course I'll be nude and enjoy the heat on my bare skin!" He clarified, "No, ya divvy, I'll be sleeping in my clothes like everyone else, after a hard day's hike! You daft muppet!"

We scraped the second bed into its usual position.

"Daft lavvy-heid yourself." I accused Chris of talking shit. It was probably unfair to the good people of Scotland that we'd only picked up their insults from our parents. On the other hand, Scots insultswere epic.

We both flopped onto the beds, thankful they were comfortable, and grinned at each other. Our faces were only a foot apart.

In any other circs, lying down with a gorgeous man, that close, you'd end up kissing, right?

I swear I could feel Chris's breath. Warm, whisky-scented. I was horribly tempted to kiss him anyway.

He was being so sweet. If even my lumpen brother could grow into a kind, loving man, what excuse did Carlos have for being an arsehole? I'd been trying to convince myself to break up with the guy for a while.

As if reading my mind, Chris gave me a tiny peck of a kiss -- not on my lips, but not an inch away. "Almost like being a couple on holiday, isn't it? You've set the alarm so we've got plenty of time in the morning? Grand. I have to say, I'm looking forward to this twelve-mile hike in the glens. It's good to be away from the city, sometimes."

"It is. Easy on the kisses, mate. We're not a couple! Don't you be forgetting that in the night! No sneaking over to my side of the bed!"

"I won't."

Was it my imagination, or was it not just me now thinking about that idea?

I certainly fantasised about it, as I tried to sleep. My big brother, his fit body under his golden curls, who knew me like no-one else...

Come morning, an organiser explained that we were in a group of twelve, listed as not planning to race, just enjoy our hike. The leader would ensure we all reached the bothy that night -- a stone shelter, a basic building that was always kept free, unlocked, with a code of being welcoming to all -- and raise the alarm if we didn't.

We reached the first minor summit with no problem. The views over the loch were stunning. Soft green, some purple still mixed in with the copper sheen from fading heather, the water a garish blue you'd think was unrealistic in a painting. Even when cloud drifted in, muting the shades to a watercolour effect, the Scottish countryside's beauty was unsurpassable.

Colder clouds settled above us, so everyone pulled on extra layers. Then the classic mizzle -- mist and drizzle -- evolved into drizzle, and later, a freezing, penetrating rain.

It was the total epitome of that Scots word 'dreich': cold, damp, and miserable. The wind picked up to howl round us, adding to the cold, preventing any conversation.

We started plodding up the final ascent. This was still hill-walking rather than climbing, similar to the paths up Snowdon in Wales. Not normally dangerous, but you still have to treat mountains with respect.

Especially with changeable British weather.

And with the sheer cliffs above or below the stony path. A severe gust made it clear; this was not the day to go up this hill. Or mountain; I couldn't remember how it was classified. Either way, it was steep, slippery, and a liability in this weather.

The leaders called it, so we didn't have to feel chicken. Time to switch to our 'escape route'. An extra seven miles added to the day, but more sheltered, going around the base of the mountain instead of up and down.

It was grim. The wet paths, increasingly soggy with watery mud, seemed endless.

It got dark. Even with all our torches, we slowed down.

The rain stepped up.

Actually, it might have been sleet. I was too cold to care. All I could think of was whether the bothy would be warm. Normally, we'd have reached it in daylight, and some of the group would have continued a couple more miles to a hotel, but tonight we'd have to all cram in and make do.

At last, we bumped into the grey granite building, set into a hill. Its peeling black-painted door and windowless walls promised a welcome haven, not intimidating as windowless edifices might appear normally.

It looked exactly as I'd expected -- one stone room with the fireplace, chimney going up the middle of the building, then the smaller room behind it with a wooden platform, keeping you raised off the ground. Nothing else, bar a basket of kindling and one split log, a rustic shelf holding two cans of beans, hooks in the walls, and the inevitable spade and bucket.

The Bothy Code reminds you that bothies have no toilet facilities -- everything must be buried 100 yards from the building, even when the ground is frozen.

The only promise of a bothy is a watertight windproof shelter, and a warm welcome to any visitor. If there were only two of you in this bothy, enjoying the fire on a summer's night, then adjourning to the 'bedroom', wrapping up in your bedding you'd brought, it might be romantic, if no-one else dropped in.

Add ten extra sweating damp bodies, and a chilly evening boding a freezing night, and it really wasn't. The twelve of us huddled in the space, waiting for the fire to get going before bringing in more wood from the cold.

The leader ticked our names off. "Cathy Grierson? Chris Grierson? Both here? Good! That would look bad, if we'd lost one half of a couple!"

Neither of us corrected that misapprehension.

I swapped my socks for dry ones, and put a clean base layer on my top half. Once I'd replaced the four other layers over it, hanging my fleece jacket and waterproofs up to dry, I felt much better.

The fire was working to boil a kettle, as well as heating water in a pot, ready to cook pasta. I pulled out my contributions to the feast.

The crowd figured out how best to fit into the main room, many of us sitting on our rucksacks. The leader passed round his hip flask. "One wee nip each, mind!"

Then a bearded bloke pulled out his own. "Here's some proper whisky!" Another sip for each of us.

Mugs of black tea circulated. One woman had sachets of milk for hers, and shared with a friend, but not enough to go round. Sugar was shaken into all the mugs. I never took sugar normally, but this was an emergency.

"I hope that's sugar, and no' cocaine!"

"If it were, d'ye think I'd be sharing?"

"Aye, stingy bastard!" The banter continued.

I had a fair bit of food and emergency chocolate I could share, but no drinks beyond water. But Chris was hospitable enough for the both of us there, pulling out a plastic bottle of yellow liquid.

"Ah, we don't want see your pish!" exclaimed the joker.

"That's fine. I'll share this Tobermory with those with taste," Chris countered.

Someone thought decanting a single malt into a plastic water bottle was sacrilege, but the majority were with Chris; only an idiot would cart glass bottles around the mountains.

A hot meal, a mess of mixed pasta and instant rice and some rehydrated sauces, revived everyone's spirits. We were safe, and sheltered, and the mountains wouldn't beat us down.

The atmosphere of bothy bonhomie, often spoken of, grew. We played poker for pieces of trail mix, listened to various tall stories. One guy described his work as a diver, working various lochs, so vividly that I almost began to believe in the Loch Ness Monster. I yawned.

Some of the older men were getting drunk and wanting to stay up, but the leader and his wife, one lone woman, and Chris and I decided it was time to crash. We assembled all our bedrolls and sleeping bags and space blankets, but it would be our body heat and the back of the fireplace keeping the small room warm.

I let the woman sleep next to me. Then me and Chris, who everyone still assumed were a couple. "We're not married," was all Chris had said. The two leaders lay on the far side of Chris. The room was about six foot by eight. While wecould have fit someone else in, in an emergency, with our packs on the floor we were snugly packed in, the men's knees bent.

"I'm sorry my hospitality isn't quite what I'd planned," Chris told me.

"That's OK. We're warm and safe."

"That we are, love." The endearment had slipped out of him. He hadn't called me that in nearly 20 years.

"Good night, big buddy." The childhood nickname escaped my mouth, too.

"Aw, aren't they sweet," the female leader said to her husband. "Go on, kiss him goodnight, don't mind the rest of us. Night-night both of you, and you, dear," to the quiet girl on my far side.

I raised a cheeky eyebrow at Chris, wondering if he would take the dare.

He'd got into trouble many times as a teenager, taking on reckless dares. Surfing downstairs, on an ironing board, was one I recalled well. Mum had nearly exploded, until realising Chris reallywas concussed.

Chris gave me an equally knowing smile. He hadn't really changed, just by growing up.

He wasn't going to back down.

Nor was I.

I let my lips touch his, first just a delicate brush, then a firm, proper kiss as soon as I realised he was responding.

I'd have stopped there. Honest. He was my brother, for goodness sake!

But Chris slipped his tongue between my lips, probably expecting I'd recoil in horror.

I'd meant to.

Really. I mean, snogging your brother? With an audience, no less?

Problem was, it felt so good. Not just the firmness of his tongue and the heat of his face, though it would have been a good first kiss from any guy.

Chris loved me, I knew, and I wanted him to feel loved too. But those were minor considerations compared to the simple fact of my older brother being a well fit and cute guy, enthusiastically making out with me.

The warmth of his body on the unheated wooden platform didn't go amiss, either.

As Chris put his hand round my head, seeing I wasn't pulling away, it couldn't be clearer that he was loving it too.

Fuck.

I managed to pull away. Any couple would limit their kissing in front of strangers, right?

Chris smiled at me, with a little guilty pout. He couldn't go 'Ha-ha! Did your dare!' in front of strangers now, even if that was how he felt. But he seemed happy. Content, even. As if he'd been repressing something for a long time and now let it out.

That was certainly how I felt. That urge had been there ever since my older brother had fallen out of that shower.

The big question was, what next?

Apart from trying to sleep.

*

I got a few hours rest, despite the rowdy lot next door, and before a call of nature meant I had to venture outside into the snowy darkness. At least I hadn't needed the spade.Breakfast was a more meagre meal, in case of needing our emergency rations later, but some of my Angel Delight made with dried milk seemed an appropriate treat, everyone taking a few spoonfuls of the butterscotch-flavoured whip. It improved upon the crackers and nuts and raisins, for sure, though several mugs of boiling tea raised everyone's morale.

We checked the bothy was clean, replaced some firewood, confirmed nothing needed burying with the spade, and stomped wearily into the ice-cold rain. Some snow still lay on the ground off the path, but on the wet trail, it had mostly melted.

It was a grim, but not dangerous, few hours trek to the inn, where we'd be staying for our final night in Scotland.

We trudged through a particularly boggy bit of the valley bottom, where mud and reeds were thinking about becoming quicksand or even a stream.

"Oh, arse," Chris exclaimed, getting wet muddy water over the top of his boot from a hidden hole. I helped pull him out.

"Ta." Morose. My humming, "He ain't heavy, he's my brother," didn't help.

"Only five miles to the pub," I tried to cheer him up, but I didn't sound very cheery myself. I was thinking my boyfriend Carlos would have been a nightmare on this trip, whinging every few minutes. Chris, however, was mostly stoically bearing everything a Scottish winter could throw at us.

I figured I really had to dump Carlos' sorry arse when I got home. He just didn't have enough redeeming features to counteract his whinging. Everything always had to be about him.

Chris was coming out of the comparison well. Human, not perfect by any means, but he was trying to be a good companion. I was enjoying hanging out with him -- though not the rain and mud -- more than I'd enjoyed any recent date with Carlos.

I tried very hard not to think about either of their dicks. Chris came out of that comparison pretty well, too.

"Yeah. Five miles." He tried a weak whistle of the Proclaimers' hit, then resorted to humming, mumbling the chorus under his breath. "I would walk five (la-la) miles, just to be the man who lies down next to you..."

"And a warm, dry, hotel!" That was my inspiration, as I trudged on through the driving rain.

"And a hot dinner!"

"And a shower!"

"Bet there's only one bed again,' Chris grumbled.

"I don't care if there is." I was exhausted.

"Oh, yeah? You want to share a bed with me? I suppose I am well fit and gorgeous..."

It was good to see his humour back. So I ran with it.

"Mm. A well lush man, sleeping in his boxers? How could any woman resist?"

"Even a sister," he teased.

"Especially a sister," I told him. I took a deep breath. I got the impression I'd regret it forever, should I say nothing.

Chris needed the facts, right? "Consensual incest doesn't lead to trauma, not like child abuse. It's a thing, you know. Siblings who grow up separately, then meet as adults, are actually more likely to be attracted to each other than not. Happens all the time, according to research. All those similar desirable genes, or something. I practically grew up without you, so I think you'd qualify."

I tried to keep my voice flat, scientific, continuing the joke. "They did quite a bit about it in my Psychology degree."

"You find me attractive, then? Yeah, right."

The depressive thoughts were getting to him again.

"Chris? I know you're my brother, but fuck that. You really are an attractive man."

"Keep your voice down! Everyone here thinks we're married, remember?" We both laughed at that absurdity.

"Not married. You said. Just let them all believe we're a couple."

"A long-established couple, probably," he agreed.

"Like long-established couples don't find each other attractive?"

He grinned shyly at me. "Sometimes, they do."

It was him who reached for my hand, not me initiating anything.

Like any other loving couple, we held hands and helped each other through the tough terrain leading to the next hostelry. Slowly we descended towards a minor road, and then a village, all grey and black in the rain.

Welcome lights in the stone building's narrow windows lured us into walking faster for the last few yards. I unclipped my hip strap, let my rucksack fall to the floor, and collapsed onto a Chesterfield sofa. Heaven!

They'd had delays getting our rooms ready -- some cleaners hadn't shown up or there'd been too much partying needing cleaning, or something.

We didn't really care. Either way, all any of the group wanted to do was sit in the cosy bar, get warm, have enormous Sunday dinners brought to us, and drink.

We ate. Glorious Aberdeen Angus roast beef with potent horseradish; roast potatoes (tatties, the menu said), carrots, cabbage, peas, and giant Yorkshire puddings on side plates, for optimum titrating with the gravy. Between those and a few bottles of house wine round the table, we were restored.

An hour later, we enquired as to our room.

Of course, there was only one double bed in it. Dad hadn't considered such things when booking.

"We can upgrade you to our Honey... a large suite, but that's all. Hold on! I suppose, that room does have space for a camp bed. I'll have one sent up, directly."

"That will do nicely, thank you," Chris said, showing more of his charm than I'd seen from him in the last few years.

We hauled our backpacks to their honeymoon suite, though it was merely named, like all the rooms, after a nearby peak. Ben Macdui, in this case. It had white and cream decor, a luxurious mirrored en-suite, heavy blue curtains to keep in the heat, and a four-poster bed. The black oak-turned spindles held up a billowy muslin canopy.

"Romantic," Chris told me, trying to be sarcastic, but not quite hitting the right tone.

"You wanted to get together with a girl, right?" If I were quizzed later, I would swear on five holy books and my mother's life that that had been sarcasm, as well.

Chris didn't answer. So after dessert -- cranachan made from bottled raspberries, cream, oats and of course a wee tot of local whisky, followed by another wee dram from a nearby distillery -- and we'd returned to the room, I asked him again.

Still no straight answer, but he beckoned me into the large glass-fronted shower cubicle with him.

And I went.

We tugged off our own mucky clothes, not looking at each other. We each stepped under the shower. My brother Chris unleashed the torrents of blissful hot water.

"Aaah..." I think we both moaned in bliss simultaneously. I suspect it wasn't just me thinking of other things which might make us both moan.

I moved so I could thoroughly soak my hair. My back was to him. Or more crudely, my bum was brushing Chris's cock.

He was still silent, but he wrapped his arms around my wet naked body.

I continued teasing out my hair, getting water, then shampoo, into every tangle.

Chris's penis stiffened against me.

Neither of us moved away. He helped rinse out my hair, instead.

Still wordless, I passed him my conditioner sachet. He could wrestle the bloody thing open.

In a moment, he was smoothing the soothing goo through my hair. And then his hands ran down the rest of my body.

I turned, and ran my hands down his back, too. His bum felt so right in my hands. Firm from exercise, but not a body-builder obsessed with his looks.

Chris helped tuck the towel in around my hair. He wrapped another round his waist. All decent again.

Nothing dodgy going on between us.

Except we totally ignored that foldaway bed in the corner, and both collapsed on the huge, wonderfully inviting, double bed. We scurried under the layers of fluffy duvet, instantly. Not even a powerful radiator could make damp bodies warm in a cold Scottish winter.

Lying right alongside each other, on the same mattress, faces alongside, feeling eat other's irresistible warmth... The kiss felt inevitable.

Slow, soft yet powerful, we drank in each other's faces, exploring with our lips. I gave Chris a small reassuring smile when we came up for air.

"You're great," I told him. "Why are you so reluctant to get it on with anyone?"

He shrugged. "Angst over getting together with anyone? All those emotions. It's easy, like this... God, what am I doing? This is so wrong!"

He looked at me, miserable again. I had to comfort him.

"Oh, buddy! There's nothing wrong with consensual..." I skipped the word 'incest', too reminiscent of misery-lit novels. "Psych issues that people get arise from when there's use of force, or from a power differential. Parent-child, dodgy uncles, that kind of thing. If there's no coercion, apparently there's not psychological effects. I'll spare you the quotes from the literature!

"But seriously, apparently 'siblings experimenting as teenagers or young adults' is way more common than anyone would believe -- even researchers didn't believe it for years, until survey results were replicated quite a few times, and they couldn't deny it any more."

"Uh-huh. Well. There's not much else to do, here, is there?"

True, no television in the building. It was more drinking in the bar -- where, really, we'd had enough of the loud raucous chaps -- or staying in our room. In our large, wonderfully comfortable, double bed.

"You say the most romantic things, bruv."

"Hey! Just because you might fuck me doesn't mean you get romance! Screw that! I'm your fucking brother, not your boyfriend." I suspected he was trying to force me to reject him, with his crude words.

"You know something? It makes it crystal clear, if I'd rather fuck you than him..."

"Him? That Carlos? You are going to ditch him, then?"

"Yeah. I suppose I should do it now."

"Why now?"

"Oh, no phone reception. Never mind. I suppose it doesn't matter. I was just thinking, cheating would be even worse?"

"You say that, like doing this is bad?" His hand ran over the towel I'd wrapped round my body, and untucked it, exposing my breasts and crotch to his touch.

It wasn't bad. It really wasn't.

I'd run out of excuses.

I wanted to cheat on my about-to-be-dumped boyfriend, by fucking my big brother.

Fucking hell, I was fucked up!

There was a buzz. I must have intermittent phone signal after all.

One bar. Maybe enough for sending a text? Something like, 'Dear Carlos, don't worry about spending any more weekends with me -- you're now single. Byee!'

Instead, there was a new message.

From Carlos, telling me precisely that.

The bastard!

Then the shock followed the anger. Chris took me in his arms as I cried.

I felt more loved than I had in months. His comforting body heat, pressed all down my naked body.

Chris helped me send my succinct reply: 'Good'.

But that was the point we knew we were going to do this. The God of Beds, whoever that was -- Sleepeezi the Great? -- had played their hand, and we'd lost all our attempts to convince ourselves not to.

I lay, nestled in my big brother's arms. Big in all senses. He might only be four inches taller, possibly shy of the six foot he claimed to be, but he was broad-shouldered as well as built. And that great cock was making its presence known, too, despite the white towel over it.

"Your big cock is poking me, brother." I wasn't going to let him pretend he'd forgotten we were related or anything.

"Mm-hm? Tell me, dirty little sister, do you really want my cock?" Last chance, he was warning me, to say no.

"You're hard, poking my arse. Yeah," I rummaged under the crisp bedding, gripped his offending member hard. "You're the kind of guy who wants to fuck his little sister, aren't you?"

Chris gazed into my eyes. I realised he really was deadly serious. "Only the kind of sisters who are holding their big brother's cock."

He breathed, as close to silent as he could, "Like you. You're still holding me. I bet you want me in your mouth again. My cocksucking, little, sister."

I inhaled. I'd always wondered if he remembered that moment in the holiday cottage.

He was saying nothing untrue. I did want him again, to suck him off properly, this time. But, weakened as it was, there was still that barrier. Propriety on one side; on the other -- filthy, shocking, illegal incest. I didn't want to cross it without him at the same time. Guaranteeing we were as both as dirty as each other, nothing could be held against the other one of us.

"You want my mouth round your cock?" I breathed into his ear. "Not just my hand? Make it worth my while. Seduce me."

He turned his head, confused, but that meant our lips were only an inch apart.

It wasn't just one of us who moved, then, to bring us into a kiss.

Chris's towel disappeared as I dragged him on top of me. He climbed, just as much. His hips pressed into mine, his chest hair rubbed against my nipple.

My brother panted, in between planting kisses all round my shoulder. I nuzzled his curly hair, gasping as his chin stubble scraped my breast.

"Oh, god, bruv," I mumbled.

"Yeah. Dirty little sister, hanging onto her big brother's big cock..."

I rubbed his cock up and down. It was rock hard, in my hand.

Chris moved his face down further, planting his mouth over one of my breasts. When he lifted his head a moment, he grinned, wickedly. "You like that! Moaning away. Getting extra hot because it's your big brother going down on you," he accused.

"Going down? That's not what you're doing, big buddy."

That grin became a full-on smirk. "Yet."

He left my breast, pinching the other until I squirmed, then blew where he'd been sucking, laughing when I yelped from the cold. Then he was as good as his word, kissing down my stomach, bending his back to get his nose to my neat landing strip.

A perfect touchdown. But he called out, "You'll have to let go, if you want more, filthy wee sister."

"Get your face in there, then you might just get that cock-sucking, O brother mine."

Chris flung himself about, throwing his legs up to the pillows. His cock was near my face, again. So, so much better than that previous time.

"Mm, sweet sister cunt." Any possible cringe I'd normally have had from that word 'cunt' vanished, as my brother forced my soft thighs apart and plunged his face in it.

My big brother may have been single for a few years, but he hadn't forgotten what someone must have taught him. He flung my leg over his head and hung onto my other thigh, forcing his lips to my own lower lips, then teased me with his tongue.

"Oh! Bit higher!"

"Get your mouth round my cock, then, sweetheart. Sister."

It was undeniable: we were getting off from breaking that ultimate taboo. Sex between sister and brother.

Must have been. I pulled Chris's dick to my lips, licked the drops he'd leaked already, and it was tastier than any jizz I'd ever encountered.

I opened my mouth wide, stretching, to take the whole head of my brother's cock into it.

Like a right slut.

"God! You dirty, slutty, cock-sucking sister." He thrust into my mouth as much as I'd let him. "Ah!"

I'd merely stroked his balls, but already my brother was desperate not to come. In some ways, we'd had 24 hours of foreplay...

I tried to take more of Chris's fat shaft into my mouth, but my brother's meat was too much.

Especially when he was still going down on me. It was great, but a distraction. I pulled my lower body away, and made him lie on his back. I sat up, the duvet like a cape over my shoulders, keeping me warm. Then I straddled his manly thighs so I could bend down over him.

My brother's cock really was the most beautiful I'd ever seen. Surely, I wasn't biased?

I sank my face down over it. Chris groaned, begging his body not to come, not yet. "Please, Cat. Mercy? Kit-Kat? God!" Those nicknames I'd long-outgrown were suddenly amazing. Cat and Kit-Kat, I mean. Not God. No brother ever calls his sister God.

Not until he's filling her mouth with his cock, and eventually having to send his sperm whooshing into her throat, anyway. Pressing with one fingertip on the suede-soft sensitive skin behind my brother's cock had been too much for him.

Or I really was his God.

I coughed. His copious come had been a bit much for me.

"Sorry, Kit-Kat." He raised himself on an elbow and wiped up his come with a finger.

"It's fine."

"It's not fine. I've come, and you haven't."

"That's fixable! And that's the right attitude! Horribly rare in a man... Why the hell are you single, again?"

"Hm. Maybe I have some redeeming features."

"And talents. Go on, prove it some more."

"You, my sweet little sister, you want your big brother's tongue on your clit?"

God, did I!

"Hell, yes."

"Language! That's not the kind of words our parents taught us, is it?"

He was right. Our parents would be more likely to tell each other such things with way more swearing and Scots words. Something like, "Get tae fuckin work, ya clarty bastard, suck ma fuckin cunt! Doan be a wee glaikit bawbag, and but!" I told him.

"Ah'm on it, ya dobber! Actually, no. Not until you ask me, nicely. In English."

I giggled. "Go on, get to it. Filthy bastard big brother, forcing his poor little sister to wait to get an orgasm off him. Take pity on your wee deprived sis, yeah? Suck my wee clit? Like you want to, anyhow."

Once he was applying his mouth usefully again, holding my legs to his ears, I exhaled, happily.

"Oh, yeah. Man, you're good at this! Right, I'm recommending you! Ah! No, not saying I've got first-hand knowledge! I'm not fucking stupid! Ah, so good..."

Any words dwindled into inarticulate squeaks as my brother successfully brought me off. My arse and pussy both pulsed, excited, desperate for more.

More? Hey, why not. We'd come this far.

"Shit. Did you bring any condoms? It didn't occur to me I'd get a chance to use them!"

Chris was calm as ever, or as ever since he'd matured into an adult from an explosive teenager.. "Should be some in my emergency pack. Yes! Still in date, even."

"Still the 'Be Prepared' Boy Scout, then?"

"I was always more prepared than the parents gave me credit for. You want to double up on your Pill, then? Actually, yeah, probably best in the circs..."

We didn't want to dwell on that. I gazed into my brother's eyes as I rubbered him up, him rubbing himself to stay totally hard.

A hard-on for his little sister. I could see why Chris was finding this such a boost to his confidence -- if I was so attractive that my brother was fighting thirty years of conditioning, to fuck his adult sister, the girl he'd known longer than any other... yeah, that certainly bolstered my spirit!

Chris fingered me, stepping our filthy illegal activities up a notch. "God, you're so wet, little sister. Oh, sweet little sister, what have you done?" He intoned the words, invoking Billy Idol.

I continued the lyrics. "And there's nothin' pure in this world. Look for something left in this world." I wasn't pure, that's for sure.

Chris went back to the previous verse. "Hey little sister, who's the only one? I've been away for so long, so long. I've been away for so long, so long. I let you go for so long..

It's a nice day to start agai-ain..."

"And now you're back in my life. And you're fingers are inside me."

"Yeah, inside you. I'm fingering your sweet dripping cunt, sweet little sis. Dirty wee sister, wanting me so bad. Hell, wanting someone so bad, you don't care I'm your brother."

"No! No, that's not it. Not just anyone. You're -- you're Chris. That's who I want."

"Your brother."

"Yeah. I want my brother."

I might have blushed horribly, but Chris leant down to kiss me. "Good. You're my sweet little sexy sister, and don't you forget it."

"I won't. Thanks, big handsome brother."

He kissed me passionately again, hot against my tongue, my lips, fuzzy chest hair over my breasts, and I couldn't help responding. My legs fell open even wider, and I arched myself up into his body.Feeling his cock land on my pussy, him still rock-hard, aroused me more and more.

"Chris? I need you, love. Your wee sister needs you."

"Thank fuck. I need you too, little sister."

"Do it."

My brother Chris slid his fat cock into my soaked slippery pussy. He filled it.

"Oh, man! You're so hot, Kit-Kat. Like I'm burning, only so good..."

Perhaps we would both end up burning in hell? Perhaps it would be this good? I was long past caring.

"God, yes! Your cock! So hot, inside me! So big!"

"I'm your... big... brother," he panted, thrusting his great cock into me, sharing his body heat, both of us moving against each other as one, under the white snowy duvet.

So perfect. Perfect pleasure, from fucking my brother.

Fucking hell.

He lifted my legs so they rested on his shoulders. It meant his cock sank even deeper inside me.

"Fuck, yes! Yes!"

"Dirty little sister, screaming how much she likes her brother's big cock?" Chris was pleased, and knowing.

"Yes! God, yes! Please, don't stop..."

I begged and whimpered at him, as my ecstasy washed over me. The supreme pleasure had an added mental factor, that extreme naughtiness, of who I'd just fucked. My older brother, who I'd known my entire life. The ultimate connection.

"Yeah, baby. Baby sister," Chris breathed, spent, as he collapsed on top of me.

"Mm." Some time later, I was awake again. "We did it."

"Mm-hm. Do you think we'll ever do it again?" Chris asked.

I considered. "Not after this weekend, no."

"I think you're right. What happens in -- where the fuck are we? -- stays in Glen Fuck-are-we. What?It must be a Gaelic placename..."

He was still gazing at me.

"Once more, for luck?" I suggested.

We tried that doggy-style, normally my favourite, but it didn't feel right. I was doing this to feel closer to Chris, not just to get penetrated. I stopped him, and climbed on top of him, instead.

"I've got you, big brother."

"Good." He folded his hands behind his head, as smug as ever. "Nowhere else I'd rather be. Impaling my gorgeous little sister, you doing all the work. I'll just lie here and admire your breasts bouncing up and down. God, they're fantastic tits..."

I felt their heaviness as they moved, my nipples all hot and aroused. "Yeah. You make my tits tingle. And my pussy..." I thrusted down as much as I could, feeling the whole length of my brother's cock slide against my pussy wall.

His face tipped back as he began to groan.

I had to fall forward, to let him fuck me as hard as we both needed.

"That was fucking fantastic."

"Wasn't it just," I agreed with him. "What a talented brother I have!"

"Definitely. It's easy, though, when you're shagging a beautiful, skilled, amazing little sister."

"Oh, you and your silver tongue!"

"Yeah, that's part of the talent." He stuck his tongue out and undulated it, erotically.

"Come here, you daft wee beastie," I told him.

I lay upon his shoulder, his arm round me, feeling as safe and cared for as I ever had. It was like Chris had taken on the mantle of parenting me, boosting me up, in a way they'd never really done. The sex was just a medium for showing that care. I ran a finger up and down the line of hair from his navel to his groin.

"We'd better get some sleep, lovely Kit-Kat."

"Night-night, big buddy," I told him as I kissed him.

*

Rarely had I slept ten hours straight, but my alarm said it was so. I enjoyed wriggling up to Chris's solid warmth, but more because he was there, than because he was naked.

"Morning, Cath. Do you want the shower first?"

"In a bit. Ah, this is a nice room! I wish I could afford weekends away, like this."

"Reminds me. Seeing as you had to pay uni fees and I didn't, can I pay some of your loan off?"

"Are you serious?"

"Or just give you ten grand, whichever. It probably doesn't cover what I got off the parents what you didn't, but that's what I've got."

"Oh, Christopher!"

"Oi, don't get all sentimental!" I wondered what he'd call what we'd been doing for hours. "I'm not just saying it for a shag, either. I don't do sex workers, thank you."

"Good. God. Chris, I'm stunned! You've actually got that kind of money?"

"Rumours of my debts are greatly exaggerated. And my unemployment." He nearly spat, in disgust.

"What? So when Dad or Mum fret about you not having a job, they're plain wrong?"

Chris sighed. "They really don't understand contracting. It's what I did that specialist degree for, but it wasn't a subject or place they'd heard of, didn't count. Self employment, they just about understand, but working my arse off for six months, then two months off? Doesn't compute."

It sounded more like 'Disnae', thanks to the Scots we'd been surrounded with for the weekend.

"I'm... speechless." When I regained speech, "Are you sure? You don't need it?"

"Not particularly. You do. You wanted to get those professional qualifications, didn't you? Besides," he grinned at me, just like when he'd been eighteen and driven up, having passed his driving test which none of us had known he was taking, "I've got to look after my sweet little sister, right? Big brothers need to look after kid sisters, when parents are too crap to do it, right?"

"I'm not going to argue, big brother."

"One more time for luck?"

"For old times' sake? Don't even think about fucking singing." Auld Lang Syne was a dirge even without Chris butchering the tune.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

I insisted he come on top of me, missionary style, just so I could keep kissing him and make sure of it.

We knew it was the last time. Both of us were tender and gentle, wanting to savour every moment, before going out in the cold again.

Sweet, comfortable, loving sex. With my brother.

Even if he did keep murmuring a Skid Row song over breakfast.

"I know, a thing or two, about a sweet little sister. Her mom would kill her, if she knew what she do. Sweet little sister..."

In a way, it was reassuring. Chris was still very much my exasperating big brother.

*

We didn't have sex again. We'd scratched the itch; the curiosity was gone. We did remain very close, though, and didn't complain if circumstances ever made us share rooms in future.

Obviously, we didn't feel the need to cover up when going to the bathroom! We liked looking, sure, but big hugs were enough physical closeness for us.

Chris's self-confidence came back and he'd had some good relationships. Might even be married, soon. Same for me, actually. Two more happy data points for those psychologists.

Five years later, I didn't really ever think about having had sex with Chris. Not until a girls' night party, with my friends.

We played 'I've Never'.

A friend of a friend giggled. "I've got one, but I don't want people to be too shocked, if I say."

"We're unshockable," Sonya cried.

"OK, then. I've shagged my cousin..."

"What!" The women around me shrieked. "Oh, my god! That's sick, man!"

"I mean, it's not like we grew up like close or anything," the poor lass back-pedalled. "He was eighteen, I was twenty, we'd only met twice..."

"Over-age. Legal," I commented. "Oh come on, guys! That's not even incest! Cousins are legal to marry, even!"

"No! No way! That can't be," Jennifer exclaimed.

"You're American," someone told her. "They say cousins is incest. Something about discouraging royalty, I reckon. Fair game, here."

"It's still weird," Sonya muttered.

"I'm not saying it's not weird! Just, that it's not totally perverted or sick," I insisted. I had to make myself sound casual. "Well. That depends. What does he look like?"

Poor girl was crimson. "I don't have any photos, but he's well fit. Crying shame, really, but even if it's legal, there's no way I'd want to deal with all that reaction... He is single, though, and a real sweetheart, so if any of you are interested in a muscley guy called Dean, truck driver from Norwich..."

"Norwich! Normal for Norfolk, eh?" Norfolk's one of those places where people are accused of having rather overlapping family trees.

"OK! Jeez, sorry I told you..."

"Don't worry," Sonya said. "It's not like you fucked your brother, or something. And I'd say that even if your brother was hot! Which he isn't..."

"Ugh! That would be sick!"

"God, yeah. Even if he looked like Cathy's brother, that would be disgusting, man."

"For Cathy, anyway! Hey, Cathy! Did you say Chris was single again?"

"No, he's got someone." Even if he hadn't, I couldn't have let him get together with anyone who might ever guess our secret.

Some secrets needed to be taken to the grave. Like how good my brother felt inside me. So wrong, but so, so good...

*

If you enjoyed this, please vote! Also please look at some of my other stories, though note they cover a wide range of topics, so do check the categories and the tags, if there's things you don't want to see.

The bothy is similar to the outside view of Lairig Leacach Bothy, Lochaber. Chris and Cathy's hike is probably somewhere in the Cairngorms.