ONLY WHEN WE DANCE

Three weeks prior to the end of season recital performance for my sister's dance studio, my sister caught her fiancé cheating. A week-long attempt as reconciliation ensued, led primarily by my forgiving and wonderful sister. It ended in her fiancée's sudden departure not just from their apartment, but from town altogether.

I had not been privy to any of this until our Aunt called me and blabbed about it. She was hunting for juicy details, but I had none to give. I texted my sister to say how sorry I was.

The next day, my sister called me to ask if I might perform in her recital in place of Nick, her ex-fiancée.

I did not want to, so I questioned her decisions. "Okay. You're the teacher. Why are you dancing?"

"It's kind of expected around here. The kids love it, and the parents and grandparents want to see just how good the instructor really is," she explained. "Plus, it builds my classes. People from the community come. Word of mouth spreads."

"Why not just do a solo?"

"The programs are already printed."

"Okay. So, who cares? Do a solo anyway."

"The music is for a partner. It wouldn't make sense."

"Okay. Change the music."

Silence followed—a very familiar, very miserable silence.

I knew I had made her cry.

A few seconds elapsed, and then I heard her ultra-soprano weeping voice. "If you don't want to help me, just say so, but please quit trying to tell me what to do. I need a partner, and you're a beautiful dancer. That's it."

"Okay. Okay. When?"

Sniffles.

"Really?" she asked, now sounding like a five-year-old just offered a free lollipop.

"I don't know, Gia. When?"

"The 17th at 6:30."

"That a Friday?"

"Yeah."

I didn't want to, but I could. I'd be home for a three-week summer break before I had to head back to campus for summer conditioning. I could do it. I should do it, but I was mad about it. I knew it would upset her when I grumbled, "Okay, I'll do it, for fuck's fuckin' fuck."

Silence. Sniffles.

I should not have said it. I tried to bypass the ugliness by quickly asking her a question. "I'm coming back tomorrow. When's our first practice?"

"No!" she cried. "Only do it if you want to!"

"I'm going to do it, Gia. When?"

"Do you want to or not?"

"I want to help you."

"Then, why did you say 'fucking fuck-fuck'?"

"I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have said it."

Sniffles. Silence. "Okay," she muttered. "My last class ends at nine. Can you come after that?"

"Yes," I said. "Wait. Gia, will I have to wear one of those tight-ass, flaming pirate-ice skater dance outfits?"

This description astonished and silenced Gia, and from frustrated tears, she suddenly burst out in laughter. I had hit upon a truth.

Even so, the answer was yes, that's exactly what I'd be wearing.

***

I was not a dancer anymore; I was a college football player.

To earn a starting position for the next season, my collegiate life had been downright monastic since January. I spent my days in class, lifting, studying, and doing conditioning drills. There was no time for a girlfriend or parties. In fact, the last time I made out with a girl was before finals last December. I wanted that starting position, even if it meant blue balls.

I loved football, but I had a sister and two parents who loved dance. So, much of my childhood was spent in dance studios. Gia was right; I had the skills to fill in for her ex.

When I walked into the studio at 9:15 pm, Gia called out for me. "I'm in the office!"

"Changing!" I replied. I slipped out of my trainers in the vestibule area, put on dance shoes, and then I walked through the door onto the shiny wood floor in my sweatpants and a tank top.

Gia emerged from the office like a cool summer breeze. Smiling, she skipped to me and jumped into my arms. "I'm so glad you're back!"

Holding her was like carrying a toddler. Her body was slight and weightless.

I set her down and got a look at her.

She wore a simple white leotard and nothing but canvas shoes. Her hair was drawn back to a high ponytail. I didn't understand it—the big break up was just a few days old—but she looked fresh and joyful.

My sister is a rare beauty. Olive-skinned, brown-haired, but with stunning aquamarine eyes. She never took a bad picture. Even when she made a ridiculous face, she looked gorgeous.

Always leggy and boney as a kid, when she hit her teens, she grew taller and stronger, but she never quite developed curves until after college. She had small, perky breasts and only the tiniest hint of feminine hips. She looked, simply put, like a professional dancer—a delighted professional dancer.

"You—you look great," I said, surprising myself. She really did.

"I do?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you!" She looked at my chest and arms. "You're a lot bigger."

"Conditioning," I responded. "Hey, you okay?"

"Mm-hmm," she said, nodding. "I'm past it. Now, you're here. Come on, let me show you what we're doing."

***

While Gia stretched on the dance floor, I watched a video on her tablet of her and her ex rehearsing. It was a contemporary medley performance.

The first section was a romp of athletic and technical moves, alternating between the partners. The music transitioned into a slow love song, and the dancers came together.

I glanced at Gia.

On the screen, my sister and her ex, bodies press together, executed supports and close partner steps with alarming sensuality.

I turned to her. "Hey, uh..."

"What's up?"

"This is a pretty intimate dance, Gia."

"You've done it all before."

"Okay. So have you, but not with each other. Won't people think it's inappropriate?" I turned back to the video. "Look at this!"

Gia and her partner caressed each other's faces lovingly. He spun her around, clutched her waist, and drew her back against his front. They moved across the floor, pressed together this way. Then, he lifted her above his head, and held her, spinning, with one hand on her butt.

Beside me, Gia looked at the screen. She said, "It's fine. Brothers and sisters dance like this all the time. Do you know how many Olympic ice dancers and pairs are brother-sister teams?"

"Okay. I suppose, but..."

"Come on. Let's get started."

***

An hour later, I had the rudiments of the first part memorized; we just needed to get our timing right.

She called it quits, and I walked past the office to the bathroom.

I had been in her studio before. She'd been running it for two years, but when I walked into the bathroom, I looked around, surprised. It was a small space, barely fitting a pedestal sink, a small toilet, and a stall shower. There were clothes strewn about the floor, the sink was a mess of toiletries, multiple towels hung on the shower door.

When I finished, I walked slowly past the storage room across from her office, peeking in the door. Plastic bins with clothes. Mattress on the floor.

"Gia, are you fucking living here?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"What about the apartment?"

Silence.

Oh, shit.

She didn't break down, but her voice definitely quavered when she said, "I can't afford it by myself. Nick...he left on the 31st, and I couldn't pay this month's rent."

"Okay. So, you get a loan from Mom and Dad."

"I'm an adult."

"Yeah. In a jam. You ask for help."

"I can't afford it without Nick. The studio doesn't make enough."

"Okay. Move-in back home. Don't live at your fucking job."

This sent her over. She burst into tears, sitting crosslegged on the shiny wood floor.

Not only was my sister strikingly beautiful, but when she cried, it was irresistibly heartrending. I swear, my sister could stand on a city block with an empty mug in her hand, cry for eight hours a day, 52 weeks a year, and make a six-figure salary, easy. Her ugly cry was most women's wedding picture day.

I went over to her and knelt in front of her. "I'm sorry, Gia. I didn't mean to..." I didn't finish.

Sobbing, she uncrossed her legs and laid back on the floor with her hands cupped over her heart. She wept, "He hurt me. He hurt me so much."

Any other girl and I would have been completely inarticulate at a moment like this, but with her, finding the words seemed easy. I said, "I know he did. He did. You deserve only good things, Gia. I'm so sorry."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and haltingly whispered, "Thank you for saying that."

Then, I glanced at her pussy.

I wasn't consciously looking for it. I was looking at her—seeing her—and my eyes just happened to fall between her legs for an instant.

She was on her back, on the floor, and her legs were spread wide with slightly bent knees. I was kneeling between those long legs. Then, yes, I glanced at my sister's crotch.

And I couldn't drag my eyes away. If I had turned my head completely sideways, my irises would have remained stock still. If I had tried to cover my face with my hands, my fingers would have risen up already divided so that my view could remain unbroken.

She wasn't naked, of course. She was in that white leotard. I could not see any pubic hairs; the crotch of her leotard was not ripped or out of place so as to reveal any of the precious flesh underneath.

There were three reasons why I could not look away from my sister's pussy.

First, by laying back, she had inadvertently drawn tight the front of her leotard, revealing the cleft of her labia—the camel toe, as my football buddies would have said. Hell, as I would have said had it been some other woman. Seeing it, my first thought was, "Oh, there's my sister's pussy." Nothing more.

Second, with her privates somewhat on display, her position on the floor became a kind of double image in my mind. On the one hand, it was a heartbreaking posture. On the other, I now saw, it was charged with sexuality. It was, my second thoughts indicated, how she probably looked when she awaited oral sex from a partner.

Third, and this may be a thing only heterosexual males—perhaps not all of them—can understand, was the absolute perfection of her blank.

I think of it as the stirring in the guts when I see, for example, a woman in panties or a bikini, but really, any clothes that hug a woman's crotch can work. One sees no hideous bulge in the front, only flat emptiness. The suit narrows toward the crotch and runs straight down, tucking neatly between her legs. There's nothing there in front. That emptiness or absence—that blank—is thrilling, and it is a small, but exciting part of a woman's sexual attractiveness.

Having lived through to nineteen, I can say that, in the same way I discern a great ass or awesome tits, I can spot a nice blank. And, I should add, spotting one does not require visible "camel toe." That would just be frosting on the cake.

Gia's blank mesmerized me. It was perfect. It was compact. Her body was fit and tight, and the shape of everything down there—how her legs melded into her ass, how her inner thigh curved into her crotch—struck me by its sexual efficiency and allure.

That, I thought, is where my hand is going to be tomorrow night when we begin working on the second section of the dance medley when I lift her up in the air over my head.

Gia sighed.

It awoke me. I had no idea how long I had been gazing, but it was long enough, I suddenly realized, for me to feel the onset of an erection. It was automatic; I hadn't touched a girl in six months.

At the moment, I didn't care. I returned my eyes to Gia's pussy. I began to remember several of my girlfriends, comparing Gia's body to each one as I fixated.

There was no comparison. Gia's was...

Her legs closed before me.

I blinked and glanced at her face.

She had seen me staring.

I turned away.

She cleared her throat, wiped her eyes, and asked me to help her up.

My new erection was a problem. Some are more tenuous than others and can diminish in thirty seconds. Others can take minutes to abate. This one raged, and I knew it would linger. It appallingly distended the front of my sweatpants. My tank top would be no help in covering it; it fit me snugly and barely tugged down to the waistband of my sweats. My knee jutted out, hiding it from her, but the moment I rose...

Gia's hands reached up. She was waiting for me.

Maybe she won't look. I stood, took her hands, and quickly lifted her.

She flew up and landed on her feet gracefully. I instantly turned away.

"Is something the matter?" she asked.

"No," I snapped, regretting the tone immediately after I'd used it. I cleared my throat and more gently said, "No, I'm fine."

"Hey," she said, approaching me. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not, Gia."

"I really appreciate your help," she offered.

"I know."

"Will you look at me?" she asked.

I turned my head and nothing else.

She put her hand on my shoulder and tugged.

I spun toward her, resigned to the imminent shame.

She studied my face; I was spared for the moment.

I said, "It's cool, Gia. We're going to be great."

She smiled and threw her arms around me. As our bodies came together, I pivoted myself so my engorged erection missed her body. My hands came up to reciprocate the hug just a bit late.

She noticed and drew back, glancing down.

I looked, too, and I didn't know whether to laugh, curse, or be ashamed. Shame seemed appropriate, but this boner was so monstrous that I choked back a guffaw when I saw it. It was hard enough that the waistband of my sweatpants and underwear had been drawn away from my stomach. I saw my pubic hairs; she probably could, too.

Gia's hands fell away from me.

Her eyes found mine.

I shrugged and said, "Sorry?" Then, a short, coughing burst of laughter erupted out of me.

Gia's face alternated between confusion and amusement. She looked at my erection again, and it seemed she settled on finding the situation humorous. "Is that...why are you hard?"

Her question awakened my shame. I could not possibly admit to my own sister that her body so aroused me. "Fuck, I—I'm sorry, Gia." I turned away, shaking my head.

Despite my embarrassment, the erection remained achingly turgid. I glanced at it and saw, again, just how ridiculous I looked.

"Don't be embarrassed," Gia urged. "It's nothing."

When I glanced back at her, Gia's eyes grew wide. She waved off her previous words, saying, "I didn't mean it's nothing like its small. It's not. It's really big." She pinched her eyes closed, shaking her head. "What I mean is it's no big deal—it doesn't matter."

Now she was mortified.

I stifled a grin. "I know what you meant, Gia. Geez."

Her lower lip trembled, and she coughed. Her hand covered her mouth. Then, she tried to say, "I'm so sorry," but she was laughing too hard.

I smiled and chuckled a bit.

"Were you staring at my crotch before?" she asked through fits and convulsions.

I nodded, and a new bout of cackling ensued for both of us.

"And is that what...is that why...?" she stammered.

Nodding again, I erupted in more laughter. "I'm sorry, Gia."

Gia still laughed, but in a diminished way. "And I said you had a big dick," she remarked. By the time she completed the thought, it didn't seem like true laughter anymore. It seemed feigned.

The mirth in the studio slowly evaporated; discomfort replaced it.

I cleared my throat. "Hey, I'm going to roll. You need anything?"

"Oh. No, I should be fine. Thanks, though."

I walked toward the door into the vestibule area, erection bouncing along. I stopped and turned. "Yeah, what time tomorrow?"

She glanced at the tent in my pants. "If you're free, you can come by anytime in the morning. Just text me before you come. Classes start at two. If not, then same time tomorrow night. Nine o'clock."

"I'll swing by in the morning. See you, Gia."

"Bye."

***

I really had nothing better to do, so I texted Gia outside the door or her studio at eight the next morning. It took her several minutes before she unlocked the door to let me in.

I brought her favorite coffee and a danish. When she grinned, I knew the boner incident could be forgotten.

"Give me fifteen minutes to get ready?"

I nodded, changing my shoes.

I practiced the first section on my own a few times. Gia came out twenty-five minutes later in a light grey leotard, and after she stretched out—which I did not watch even a little—we rehearsed it together. She seemed satisfied, so she began leading me in a walkthrough of the second—romantic—portion of the medley.

During a performance walkthrough, dancers are not expected to adopt their dance persona. It is about learning the order or the routine—where are you, when are you there, and what are you doing—for both partners. Once practicing and rehearsing begins, a qualified dancer puts away the self and becomes the persona.

Persona is part of dance theory. The idea is that when one dances, he or she needs to become some "other." What that "other" is depends on the dance. Maybe you're a snowflake. Maybe you're a warrior. It all depends on the music and the dance. So, for those who subscribe to Persona Theory, dancing becomes a bit like acting. To put on the absolute best performance, the dancer must become the persona.

In this case, my persona was Gia's lover--that was my take on it, at least. I'm sure it was Gia's, too. Some dance professor might have said, "Oh, no. You're not lovers. You're butterflies" or some other crazy horseshit. The simple answer was lovers. In the first part of the medley, we're showing off for one another. In the second, we fall in love. The third and final section is the expression of our newfound love.

The music during the second section, the falling in love part, was a really old love song from the 1980s called "Take My Breath Away." Not the whole thing, but a two-minute excerpt. The sound of this song was super retro—totally an 80's love song—but I had to admit it was smooth. It was sexy.

I could tell Gia loved it. After the walkthrough, she played it for me the first time. We sat on the dance floor and listened. She mouthed some of the lyrics. She tilted her head back and swayed. When it ended, she watched me expectantly—with a kind of "didn't you just love it" look in her eyes.

I gave her a thumbs up.

We began rehearsing. I had to look into Gia's eyes like Romeo into Juliet's at the balcony. Vice-versa for her. It is nearly impossible to describe how it feels when eyes like Gia's gaze into yours so passionately—big, aquamarine, and fully capable of raising or crushing a man's dreams. I forgot my part of the routine several times because those eyes so entrapped me.

The more challenging part, however, was keeping her body off mine.

In theory, the routine called for close contact almost throughout. We had to move together, and where we went, our bodies needed to be in contact—her chest against mine or her back to my front. When we parted, it was always with a sliding, lingering touch—across my chest and outstretched arm or down my leg. Her hands would be all over my body, and mine on hers.

In practice, I did my absolute best to keep us apart when, finally, she stopped me.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Just—you know—the inside partner step."

"But, you're pushing me. Let me come to you. Why are you pushing?"

I hesitated.

She went on. "You did the same thing on the cross-body lead. Is something wrong?"

She had me. I explained, "I'm just trying to keep a natural space between us."

Waving that off, she said, "If I weren't your sister, would you be pushing?"

She had me again. I shrugged and said, "No."

"It's an intimate dance. The natural distance is zero. Do it right," she said flatly.

She reset the music, and we started again. Our bodies mashed together. I felt her soft skin and the taut muscles underneath. A thin layer of perspiration infused her skin. I smelled her face, neck, and hair. My hands slid up and down her hips; they clutched her waist. Her butt rubbed against my pelvis and slid down my thigh.Her hands groped my stomach, chest, and shoulders. They slid down my back. They caressed my face.

We skipped the tricky parts—the advanced supports and all of the lifts, leaving those to the end because they would need a fair amount of practice. In the end, we ran through the routine four times, and by the end of the fourth, Gia genuinely smiled.

She enjoyed herself. This was fun for her.

I was energized, and I played my part, but it was a struggle. I could not relax as she could. My brain kept asking for barriers and walls—for separation. My body, however, loved the intimacy. Hell, wanted more. The push and pull were stressful.

Especially at the end.

The final movement as the love song ends included a relatively complex support that we actually practiced, called the Reverse Fyodorov. Gia is in front of me, bodies touching. Both of our right legs are extended to the side, parallel to each other, and we lean left. My left leg remains planted, knee bent, but her left leg goes over the top of mine and wraps around my waist behind my butt. I help carry the weight of her left leg with my left hand curled under her thigh. My right arm wraps around her torso, just under her breasts. Her right arm grasps mine at the forearm, holding me close. Gia's left arm rises up and wraps around the back of my head as if drawing me in for a kiss. Her head is thrown back as if waiting for that kiss.

So, for the nearly eight seconds we hold this position, her tits rest on my arm, my hand grasps her inner thigh, the soft cheek of Gia's ass presses against my dick, and our lips are an inch apart, and she pulls my face towards hers.

And, according to my persona, I'm in love with this woman.

And we're both breathing hard, staring into one another's eyes.

And, since I once again brandished an erection, it is clearer to say that we stared into one another's eyes while my hard cock rested against Gia's ass.

She must have felt its onset while we practiced the movement. When you do a movement often enough with a partner, especially a support or lift, the tiniest of changes stand out. So, even when I was semi-soft, she knew.

Plus, she had to have seen, when we broke to reset and try again, how visibly agitated I was by the situation. Before our second to last attempt, I had become utterly rigid down there. I turned away from Gia, reached into my underwear and drew the erection vertical, hoping to pin the fucker to my tummy by the waistband.

This left the head of my cock exposed, so I untied the string of my pants, hiked them to my navel, and retied them tightly around my waist to cover it up. When I finished, I looked up.

Mirrors. Everything I had done had been visible to Gia in the mirrors. She may have been watching me, for the first movement I caught when I glanced into the mirrors was Gia's eyes darting down toward the floor.

"Ready?" she asked.

We did it again, and we did it so well, that Gia smiled under me. My erection was like a bedpost against her ass. My sister, chest heaving, kissed me on the lips and smiled.

It was a peck, a happy little peck.

Still holding her, I smiled, but it was a struggle because I wanted her. At that moment, she wasn't my sister. She was the sexiest, most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and she was in my arms, letting my body press against hers.

I was going to kiss her, and I didn't plan on a peck. Reason fought against my desires. My mind wanted to scream. I let her go.

"The first time you get it right...," she began, waiting on my response.

"You do it again to make it tight," I finished.

We reset for the conclusion, and when we came together, one of us lowered. It may have been me; I was thinking about it. I wanted to. But, I didn't think that I actually did it. It had to have been her, but I was uncertain.

Whatever the case, the change put my arm across Gia's breasts; the extended fingers of my right hand completely covered her left tit. It also put my left hand much closer to the crotch of her leotard. In fact, my index and middle fingers were on the fabric.

Our faces were further apart, so I bent toward her, and she drew herself higher by pulling on the back of my head.

Gia was not smiling this time; neither was I. Her face looked flushed, her eyes eager. Those were her lovemaking eyes; I knew it in my heart.

I kissed her, and I held it. For the briefest of moments, the tips of our tongues touched.

The bell on the front door chimed. Someone had arrived.

We broke apart without even giving each other a last look. She marched into her office. I sat on the floor, tugging my shirt over my erection.

The inside of her office looked out onto the dance floor through a one-way mirror. I looked into the mirror, wondering what she might be thinking and doing in there.

A woman cautiously opened the door onto the dance floor. When she saw me, she asked if I were the owner. Said she was thinking of enrolling her daughter in dance classes and happened to see the lights on in the studio.

Before I could direct her to the office, Gia came out with her business-like smile.

New customer, guaranteed.

No one—not even women—can resist her eyes.

Erection gone, I left while they chatted about class options.

***

I came back at 9:00 pm. I don't think Gia expected me, but I came.

We didn't practice; we sat against the walls on opposite sides of the dance floor.

"I got carried away by my persona," I said, "I'm sorry."

"I did, too," she admitted.

Silence. She seemed deep in thought.

I asked, "Apart from that lapse, didn't we do pretty well?"

"Yes, I think we were amazing."

More silence.

Then, she rose, walked over, and sat beside me. "Long day. Sorry, if I stink."

"You don't stink, Gia. Your b.o. is other women's Chanel."

She smirked, saying, "Yeah, right." Then, she sat up a bit, donning her professional face, and asked, "What about your erections?"

A flood erupted from me. Twice while I spoke, I sensed Gia attempting to interject, but I would not be stopped. I had to explain myself. "I'm sorry, Gia. I can't help it. I've got to act like your boyfriend, and so there's that. Add to that I haven't even touched a girl in half a year and so—fuck!—you're looking at me with these eyes that just—they'd drive any man wild. Then, there's your body. I know you're my sister and all, but it doesn't matter when our skin is pressed together and I'm touching you. I'm just a fucking man, for fuck's sake. There's nothing I can do, you know?"

She absorbed this for a moment, and then said, "I meant is there something you can do to stop them from happening. Something before you come to practice, maybe?"

"You mean...?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes. Get it out of your system."

"Oh."

"Will it work?" she asked. "I've never had to deal with anything like this before. We can't have this happened at the recital."

"No. Fuck, no," I agreed. "It won't."

"I mean, has this happened to you before—during dance?"

"No."

"But, you've done most of the movements before—with partners."

"Yes."

"I've seen you do them, and the girls were pretty. You never had an unattractive partner, did you?"

"No," I said.

"Am I just...your type or something?"

"I don't know, Gia. Fuck." How the hell do I respond to that question from my own sister?

She seemed to understand my frustration. "It doesn't matter. Forget I asked. What about what we talked about before? What about getting it out of your system?"

This is what we had come to: my sister was asking me to jerk off before we practiced dance so that I wouldn't get a hard-on dancing with her.

I said, "Okay, that's what I'll do." Then, I left.

***

I didn't do it, though. Not because I didn't mean what I told her. Not because I actually wanted to pop a woody when we danced. The real reason was that, even alone in my old bedroom, I was so embarrassed about the situation that I couldn't get hard, even when I used porn as a distraction.

So, I needed to try something else. I had a jockstrap and a cup in my dresser from back in high school. They were tight; I had put on twenty-five pounds of muscle over the last few years. But, I thought, the tighter the better. This will keep everything contained.

I wore a fresh set of sweatpants over them and left for the studio at nine that morning.

Gia let me in. She said, "I'm really sorry about yesterday."

"Forget it."

"Let me say this," she explained. "I thought about it last night. I thought about what if it were me being told by my brother the I should masturbate before dance. How would I feel?"

I waited.

She went on. "Embarrassed and ashamed is how. I'm sorry about that, and I want you to know that I think of it as a compliment to me. It's just saying that I am an attractive woman, and I should feel grateful for that gift. And, it's saying that you're not my kid brother anymore, but a man in every way, and I need to acknowledge that and be happy for you."

"Okay. Thanks, Gia."

We stretched and got ready. I noticed something in the mirror, glancing at her.

Gia was wearing a pink leotard today, but I could not see the line of any panties underneath. Maybe, I thought, she had some skimpier ones—ones made out of a thinner material. I forgot about it and finished my stretching.

Then, Gia asked, "Did you do it? What we talked about?"

I sighed. "I couldn't."

She didn't respond.

I said, "But, look, I'm wearing a jock—you know, the ones with the cups in them?—and that should keep everything bottled up. So, there's the solution."

"Oh," she said. "Okay, great." She didn't sound all that pleased. She walked to the center and invited me to join. "Ready?"

I went to her.

We practiced the first part over three times, and we were getting really good. Then, we moved to the second part, and my problems got worse because I was almost 100% certain that Gia was not wearing any panties. The outline of her pussy—the camel toe—became more and more apparent the longer we went.

So, it seemed like a good idea at the time—the cup and supporter.

It wasn't.

The cup is designed to contain the whole package when it's soft. It has nowhere near the capacity for an erection. Between iterations, I moved away and adjusted the cup, trying to fit things back in there. It came to a point where Gia asked if everything was alright.

"Yeah," I said, but they weren't.

On our third run-through of the romantic section, my growing boner slid out of the cup and became wedged between my body and the cup's lip—extremely uncomfortable. I had to call a stop.

"Just take it off," she said.

I went to the bathroom. With no underwear, I came back sporting what looked like a baton under my sweatpants.

"It is what it is," Gia said. "Let's go."

I cannot lie. Everything felt even better and more exciting without underwear, with nothing except the cotton of those sweatpants separating my erection from her body.

Gia looked visibly agitated when we finished with the support position. I was practically gasping. Our lips were close, and she looked almost shocked when she looked me in the eyes and uttered, "It's really hard."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "It's okay."

We separated and Gia excused herself for the bathroom with odd haste.

I took a break, sitting on the floor and hoping the time apart might help my erection fade.

Gia returned wearing a new black leotard.

I raised an eyebrow.

"This one is more comfortable," she said.

When I stood, I found that I barely had even half of an erection, and I felt the urge to piss. I excused myself.

Gia glanced at my crotch as I passed her, looking, I supposed, to see if my arousal had finally flagged.

In the bathroom, a pink shadow on the floor of the shower stall beside me caught my attention. Was that her leotard? I wondered.

When I flushed the toilet, I opened the glass door. Looking, I realized that, in fact, it was the leotard she'd been wearing. I thought about her not wearing underwear, and my heart started pounding in my chest.

I reached down and picked it up. Finding the shoulders, I unfurled the skimpy thing and glanced at the crotch. There was something...I brought the crotch into my hands.

The thin stretch of fabric that covered Gia's vagina was a darker shade of pink. I rubbed it between my fingers—it was wet.

I brought it to my nose, tentatively sniffing once. Then, I muttered, "Oh, fuck." Instantly, I pressed the fabric to my nostrils and inhaled the fragrance. Again, I did it.

The crotch of Gia's leotard was saturated with her sexual essence, and Gia's pussy smelled like hardcore sex. Without thinking, I flipped the fabric inside out and dragged my tongue over the wetness. I pressed my lips against it and sucked.

It yielded up only a hint of Gia's taste. I wanted more, but even so, I leaned against the wall of the bathroom and let her taste linger in my mouth. I swallowed, and it felt a bit like alcohol in that my body grew warm. I muttered, "Holy shit."

I tossed the leotard back in the shower. Then, I washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom, newly restored erection jutting. I didn't care about it anymore.

She saw it, and she looked up at me.

"Pink leotard," I declared.

Gia's face went red.

I continued, "You weren't wearing underwear. You were just as turned on as I was. You kissed me back yesterday, and you used your tongue, too."

She shook her head. "It's not like that. I..."

"Gia, come on," I argued. "Don't leave me alone like this. Don't."

She sagged to the floor.

I sat beside her.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"We can't...do anything about it, can we?"

"Probably not," I said. "But, what if we did?"

She looked at me. "Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa Dee, Grandma Jo, our aunts and uncles and cousins...we can't do that to them."

"No, we can't, but what if they didn't know?"

She looked at me and said, "You really want me?"


I nodded. "You me?"

"Yes," she replied. Then, Gia looked at the tent in my pants and asked, "Show it to me? Just a peek."

I pulled the waistband from my stomach, and Gia bent her head over, staring down at it.

She said, "I've wanted to see it since the first time."

I let the waistband close. Most guys wouldn't, but I figured my cock was more precious the more scarce.

"So, you found the leotards?" she asked.

"It seemed strange—you changing during the middle of our practice. Why didn't you wear underwear?"

"Everything feels sexier without it," she said.

"You were really wet."

"I know, and we were going to start doing our lifts. I didn't want you to find out," she explained. Then, she asked, "Did you feel them?"

I nodded. "Don't freak out, but I smelled them, too. And, once I did, I had to lick them."

"You did?" she asked, sounding, for the second time since I'd come home from school, like a naive little girl. "You liked it?"

"Yeah."

"But, I'm your sister. You liked how your sister's vagina smells and tastes?"

I pointed to my boner.

A smile appeared and vanished on Gia's face. Several seconds of silence passed. Then, she asked, "Why couldn't you masturbate this morning before you came here?"

I sighed. "I was so embarrassed about last night I couldn't get the mood."

"But, you've got it now."

I nodded. "You, too?"

"Yes," she said, and she looked thoughtful.

"What?"

"I was just thinking."

"What?"

She turned to me. "Wait."

She rose and left through the door to the vestibule. Returning a few seconds later, she said, "I locked the door." She ran back and sat across from me. "Okay, here's what: we know we shouldn't really do anything, yes?"

"Yeah?"

"And you—well—you had trouble this morning, but now, you seem ready to do it, yes?"

"Yeah."

"So, what if we take care of ourselves here and now?"

I couldn't think of anything to say.

"And, when we're finished, we haven't done anything wrong, and maybe we'll be ready to keep practicing."

"Do you want to?"

"The doors are locked."

We waited, staring at each other. I could see her excitement.

She said, "You start."

I hesitated. "Gia, it would be nice if...if I had some inspiration." I gestured to the leotard.

"Oh. Okay."

I pulled off my shoes, and then I slipped out of my pants, kicking them to the side.

Gia slid the steps from her leotard and pulled her arms through. She pulled it down over her chest, revealing a white sports bra.

I grabbed my penis.

She pulled the bra over her head, revealing two of the tiniest, loveliest olive tits I had ever seen.

"Oh, shit, Gia. They're perfect."

I stroked my cock.

She watched it for a few moments, and then she pulled off her shoes. Grinning, she began to slide the leotard down her hips. Her eyes never left my erection as she slipped the leotard down her legs and kicked them away.

When she spread her legs, my jaw fell open.

There were no panties, and Gia's pussy was faultlessly shorn, neither hair nor stubble in view. The slit shined with her lubricant. She opened herself with her left hand; the middle finger of her right dipped inside.

"Ooh, shit. This is so fucking hot," she moaned, alternately rubbing and fingering herself.

I loved her fixation on my cock. Her eyes never left it except to close when she felt something particularly heavenly.

"Gia," I muttered, "I want every part of you."

She fingered herself and said, "I want your cock inside me."

My heart leaped. My cock throbbed in my fist.

Gia continued. "I want it in my mouth so I can taste it."

I groaned.

"I want it in my pussy," she said, panting.

"Oh, shit. Oh, fuck," I grunted.

"I want it in my..."

I interrupted her. "I'm coming, Gia."

She moaned, fingering herself and watching sperm jettison and spill from my cock. Her fingers became a blur on her pussy. Her head sagged and she gasped for breath. Finally, she collapsed on her back, her legs twisted together and her chest heaved as she let forth a dozen or so huge soundless breaths, each accompanied by a faint whimper.

Her hand fell away and she rolled on her side, laughing.

Then, I did.

We didn't say a word.

A minute passed this way, then I mopped up the dance floor. We cleaned ourselves, dressed, and then finished practicing, both smiling the whole time.

***

Gia was waiting for me in the vestibule area that night at nine-fifteen. She locked the door behind me and practically skipped into the dance floor. My heart raced with excitement.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her to me. Her eyes shined; her smile glowed. I kissed her, and then asked, "I can give my sister a kiss, can't I?"

She said, "I think kisses are okay."

We kissed again, and I felt her excitement and passion through her lips. Her fingers dragged up and down my back. I opened her lips and tasted her tongue with mine. She gave hers to me. My hands slid from her hips to her waist and back.

We came apart, and she searched my eyes. "Did you like it?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, my chest rising and falling.

"Me, too." Gia grinned and leaned toward me, looking down. She hooked her finger under the waistband of my pants and drew it back. She peeked at my growing erection and smiled at me.

"Do you want to do it again?" I asked.

"Yes!" she cried, letting my pants snap back. "Come on." She led me into the makeshift bedroom in what used to be the supply space.

Gia had cleaned the space since I had last seen it. Her double mattress lay on the floor, covered with red pillows and blankets, and a white comforter. It smelled like perfume.

"Let me see it?" she asked.

I took off my pants and underwear. "You," I said.

She slid out of her white leotard and laid on the bed, gesturing for me to join. I climbed in beside her. Gia spread her legs, letting one rest against my bare leg. I ran my fingertips along her smooth skin there."Mmm, that's nice," she moaned. She turned to me, saying, "Kiss me while you do it?"

"Okay."

I grabbed myself and began stroking.

She watched. Satisfied, she turned back to me and our lips and tongues came together.

She moaned into my mouth.

"Are you doing it?" I broke away to ask.

Eyes closed in pleasure, she nodded, uttering, "Nn-hnn."

"Let me taste your fingers?"

Her eyes opened. A moment later, I saw her hand moving toward me. I took it. Seeing two that glistened, I brought them to my mouth and sucked on them.

"Do you like it?"

"A lot."

"I do, too," she responded. Her hand disappeared between her legs for a moment, then it returned. Gia sucked on the same two fingers. When she withdrew them, she sighed, "Kiss me again."

Our lips rejoined. She moaned, and I felt the warmth of her breath cascading from her nose on my upper lip.

Pulling apart, she glanced down at my efforts. "Is that pre-cum?"

I looked. "Yeah."

"Give it to me," she said.

I wiped the bead from the tip onto the back of my index finger. Bringing it to her, I watched her lips close around the little drop and the rest on my finger. Her tongue caressed the digit. I heard her swallow.

When she pulled the fingers out, I kissed her. The taste of pre-cum seemed to energize her, and our lips and tongues had never been more aggressive.

She broke the kiss. "I'm getting close," she huffed.

"Yeah," I agreed.

A vision sprouted in my mind, and the desire that grew from it urged me to make it real.

I sat up, and before Gia could react, I maneuvered my body between her legs in one fluid movement. Leaning toward her, I held my weight with one arm. I stroked myself with the other.

Gia looked down and saw my erection. She looked up at me and smiled.

When I thrust between her legs, rocking her body, she jaw fell open, and she gasped with astonished joy.

I thrust again, and she cried out.

Again, and I felt the feverish pace of her fingers every time I stroked.

She moaned that she was cumming.

I thrust again. Her little breasts bounced.

She cried, "Keep fucking me like that!"

I rammed my hips into her, and she hit her climax. The barely audible whimpers surrounded by huge, gasping breaths commenced. Fuck, it was sexy.

"Me, too," I groaned.

She urged me to cum on her, and I did. I grunted and slung volleys of semen on her soft little tummy.

My supporting arm was exhausted, I switched to the other one, holding myself over her.

Gia put her hands on my shoulders and drew me closer. She whispered, "Let go."

I let my body come to hers and we kissed. It was a tender and loving kiss, ending with a tiny and very wet smack.

"It was beautiful," she whispered in my ear.

A few minutes later, we stepped into the little stall shower together. My cum was all over both of our stomachs. We cleaned and rinsed one another, easily rationalizing that washing, too, was technically a safe act between brother and sister.

Things became less certain not long after we started when I grew hard in her hands as she washed my penis. Gia was on her knees in front of me. She looked up at me, unsure.

I shrugged.

Her head nuzzled between my legs. She kissed my balls and the side of my penis. Then, she stood.

I was my turn.

Seeing the naked splendor of Gia's body was one thing. Seeing it glistening with hot water and rubbing suds over every inch is something vastly more erotic.

It wasn't just the shape of her body—the perky little mounds on her chest, the shapeliness of her legs, the shorn, compact beauty of her blank, or even the heart-stopping curves of her little dancer's ass—it was the texture of her flesh. Her skin was supple as a warm blanket, and that alone might have enthralled any man. Underneath that smooth, velvety layer of skin, however, was the feminine muscle tone and rigidity of an athlete.

She is perfection, I thought, running a soapy pink poof over her butt.

Other men might have raised the question of her breasts: weren't they too small?

Put those men in this shower stall, I thought. Let them work suds into those tits and across those little brown nipples with their bare hands. See what they say then.

Large breasts would have given Gia a more sexualized figure, but they also might have robbed her of what made her such an incredibly talented dancer—her light, slender grace and her ability to project youthful exuberance. Take that away, and she's someone else.

She turned toward me in the shower, letting the stream rinse her back. Fuck, she was beautiful, and my reaction upon seeing her face was like pure instinct: I kissed her. That she kissed me back with equal desire, it seemed, made my heart soar.

When our lips drew apart, those aquamarine eyes found mine, and the vulnerability in them was agonizing when she said that sleeping together might be okay, too and when she asked me to stay with her that night.

I nodded.

Drying off, I texted home to let them know I wouldn't be back that night. Then, I brushed and dried her long, brown hair as she sat, telling me about the recital and the young dancers of her studio who made her so proud.

My chest pounded with nervous excitement when we climbed into bed together, neither of us wearing a thing. Gia shut off her lamp and drew near me. We kissed for a long, long time. When my erection grew to a point where it rode up her tummy, she stopped.

She whispered, "I know it's against our rules, but I need to do something."

"Okay."

"Just remember: it's what I want. You never did anything wrong."

Confused, I was about to ask what she meant, but I stopped myself. Gia gently tossed the sheets and blankets toward our feet. Then, she edged under me, downwards.

Further down.

I drew a breath.

She kissed my stomach.

Down her body slid. "Don't stop me," she whispered, "I need this."

Down, and she stopped.

I waited—stunned and in absolute denial. This isn't what I think. It couldn't possibly...

I gasped in astonishment.

Without the slightest touch of her hands, Gia had taken the front bulb of my penis into her mouth. Then, I felt her hands. One settled on my ass, the other slid between my hip and the mattress, finding purchase on the other cheek. I felt her clutch me there. She pulled—not to draw my pelvis to her, but to tow her lips further down my erection.

I cursed. It felt so good, it hurt.

Her head began to undulate, and I felt her soft lips lazily slide back and forth. Her mouth was warm and wet. She went deep, taking more than half of my length, and then she held. Her tongue reached, pressed against the underside, and undulated there as if she were trying to loosen or coax something free. When her tongue stopped, I felt strong suction, and I heard her throat's wet gulp.

I said, "Oh, fuck, Gia." Then, her lips began to slide along the shaft again. Her hands never left my ass, and often, I felt her caress me there as if it were a part of my body that excited her.

On the second time she held me deep and worked her tongue against me, Gia swallowed, drew off, and whispered, "I can taste your pre-cum now."

The blowjob resumed, with Gia alternating between slow, gentle bobbing and that deep, hungry suction.

I did not last long, and when I warned her, she dove deep.

I warned her again, more urgently because the tugging undulations of her tongue were ushering me so rapidly toward a climax.

Still, she ignored me. I waited for her to pull off, pinching my eyes shut. I knew in a moment, my cock would feel the fresh air, and then her hands would grasp the shaft to complete the act. I did everything in my power to stave off the rush.

Hurry, Gia! my mind hollered.

I grunted her name.

Then, finally, her lips slid back toward the tip.

But, she didn't pull off. Instead, she held the bulb tightly in her lips.

Nothing could be stopped. I gasped, feeling my cock throb and vent semen into her mouth. She didn't pull off. My mind romped at the miraculous ecstasy of the sensation, at the wonder of Gia's gift to me.

The thoughts raced across my mind: Cuming in her mouth. I'm coming in Gia's mouth. She's letting me.

The pulses ebbed. Gia hummed, and a moment later, her lips slipped off. I groaned, and in the silence that followed, I heard a throaty gulp and a soft sigh.

"Gia," I whispered in a kind of daze. She had somehow bled me to a comfortable stupor. I didn't want to move.

"Hmm?" she responded, gently kissing my penis. Now here. Now there. And again. She kissed my testicles, once for each, and then she came up to me. She kissed my cheek and whispered, "Sleep."

She rubbed my tummy and chest. I slept.

***

She was on her stomach when I woke, one of her hands still rested on my chest. I rolled on my side, facing her.

She seemed to be sleeping comfortably. She looked peaceful, her face so beautifully serene that I smiled.

Dreaming about dance, I thought.

Gia told me once that her favorite dreams always involved her dancing.

Under the blanket, I touched her back. Her skin felt so warm and smooth that I left my hand there, letting in caress in light, sweeping figure eights. Moving lower, my fingertips followed the downward slope of her lower back. I brought my hand back and traced a wider set of loops. This time, my fingers found the place where the shape of her body curved back upward.

Gia's beautiful little ass, I thought.

I let my hand trace the entire curve, from its highest crest and down to her thigh.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Putting my palm squarely on one of the cheeks, I began lightly massaging it. I slid to the other side and did the same.

Gia sighed.

I slid the side of my index finger along the crevasse where the two bulbous halves met, riding that line from where it began at the small of her back, over the great curve, and down between her legs, stopping just before her vagina. My finger slid back and forth, back and forth, dipping slightly more each time until it was between those turgid globes.

Gia spread her legs.

On the next pass, I slid my finger down until it passed through the slit, picking up wetness. I switched to my middle finger. When it was sufficiently lubricated by her fluids, I pushed it inside her. The heat, the wetness, and the supple flesh were enough to fire images in my mind—scenarios of fucking Gia, thoughts of how good her body would feel.

I fucked her with my finger, thrusting it inside her as I would have my cock. When she moaned, I added my ring finger and continued.

Gia arched her back, putting that little ass in the air. I watched the blanket rise. I watched her body absorb the thrusts.

She must have found an angle she liked. It was but a minute or so before she vented her orgasm in those beautiful airy breaths.

The room smelled like sex—female sex. My erection was like a column of marble.

Gia dozed off; I laid on my back, stared at the pipes in the unfinished ceiling, and imagined fucking my sister.

When I began thinking about Mom and Dad, I got up and showered. Then, I left to pick up a cup of coffee and a sweet roll for Gia—her favorite breakfast.

She waited for me in the vestibule.

Taking her breakfast, she thanked me, and we walked into the office. She sat behind the desk; I sat across in one of the two chairs.

"We have to talk about this."

"I know," I said.

"It's gone too far, too fast."

"I know."

"I don't feel in control anymore."

"I know."

"I mean," she said, and then she leaned forward and whispered, "I should not have a belly full of my brother's semen. And you—you should not know what my orgasm sounds like or what my vagina feels like or—or any of it."

"I know—listen."

She waited.

I gathered my thoughts and began. "Look. You're right—about all of it. So, I've been thinking: we stop, cold. We focus on the dance. We stay busy. When we're together, we're dancing."

She sat back in her chair, considering the idea.

I went on. "I've got the first section down, just need to tighten it up. The second, well, I know the second even better than the first. We just have to work the last few lifts and supports. But, the third? I hardly know it, and it's the hardest. I say we hit the gas and just pound out the third section. We do the supports, the lifts, the jumps, the throws, all of it."

She nodded.

I finished. "No more of the other stuff. Nothing. We focus on the dance."

"We dance?"

"Dance."

"Okay!" She said, springing to her feet, and we danced all morning and through lunch until her first class began arriving just before two in the afternoon.

***

After dinner with Mom and Dad, I texted Gia to ask if I should come at the usual evening time.

"Yes!" was the immediate response.

Two minutes later: "Wait. No. Best not. Sorry!"

A minutes after that: "What do you think?"

I wrote, "Do you want to dance or not?"

She wrote, "Tomorrow morning's better. Let's go then."

"OK."

I went to a movie with some friends. Afterward, one of the guys offered for everyone to hang out in his basement and play cards.

I thought about Gia and told the fellas I might be back later. It was after ten in the evening when I drove past the strip mall where her dance studio resided.

Her car was there. The vestibule lights were off, but I could see a glow from the dance floor through a small window on the door.

I pulled in and texted her. "Waiting outside your door."

She came out. Sighing, she said, "You shouldn't have come."

"I'm not here to screw up our new plan. What are you doing right now?"

"Watching film."

"Your dancers? Rehearsing?"

"Yes."

"Go get dressed, shut down the place, and come out with me. Bunch of fellas are playing cards at—you remember Hank Munny?"

"Yes," she said with hesitation.

"His parents' place. In the basement. Totally safe for us. Just fun."

Gia turned her head very slightly, raised one eyebrow, and asked, "You think I want to play cards with your old high school friends?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. Come on. It'll be fun."

"I'm twenty-four," she explained. "I'm not going to hang out in someone's parents' basement."

"Gia, there's only going to be three of us. With you, we have a foursome, and we can play Spades."

She thought about it.

"These guys all know you. They love you. You were like a Goddess to them—a senior when we were all in eighth grade. Please, come."

"Okay. Hang on." She left to change.

I texted my friend to let them know Gia was coming with me, and that we now had four players.

"Cool," Hank wrote back.

But, I think I know what they were really saying and doing over there in Hank's basement: High fives, "Oh, fuck, yes!" and "Dude, she is so hot!"

I suppose I was a rare brother. I actually liked it that my friends all thought my sister was super hot. Bringing Gia would win me some forgiveness points for how much I would be gone over the summer because of conditioning.

She had a great time. Gia loves being the center of attention, and the boys fawned over her. The only problem was how much cologne and air freshener had been used in anticipation of our arrival. I could taste that shit in the air.

She and Hank partnered once, and on one deal they bid the Big Moe and got it, thanks to Gia's savvy. They won the game.

She and my other friend, Ben, won the next game.

We finished with a few games of Pitch at Gia's insistence, and I had forgotten how much fun that one can be.

I watched my friends as we played. They told stories, joked, and teased each other and me, always looking for Gia's reaction, always trying to one-up the other in order to get a bigger laugh from my sister. They were in love.

At one in the morning, Gia told them we needed to go, and the boys protested but understood. She gave them both a hug and kiss on the cheek. It was gratuitous flirting, and she knew it. She also probably knew it would put smiles on their faces for the next day or so. When I escorted her out, I felt like the luckiest guy in town.

When I parked at the studio, we talked about the night. She thanked me, and then we sat side by side in silence.

Finally, I said, "If you don't want to be alone..."

"We won't do anything," she interrupted. "Just sleep."

"Yes."

"No touching."

"Nope."

"You're my brother. I'm your sister. We love each other, but not that way."

"Not that way."

"It's like camping. Families do that together."

"Exactly."

"And when we wake up, you're already here for practice."

"Makes it easy."

She looked at me, and there was desperation in her eyes. She said, "I just don't want to be alone."

"Let's go."

Gia locked the door behind us, and she explained the order of bedtime events to me on the way in.

I was to use the bathroom first to change.

"I don't have pajamas on me."

"You can wear your underwear."

Having sorted out that part, she went on. Once ready for bed, I would climb in on the right side. She would then use the bathroom to change and get ready. When she came back, she would turn out the lights and get in on the left. She would turn out the night light. Then, if we wanted, we could talk. No kiss goodnight. No touching.

"Gia, it's not a king-size bed."

"You know what I mean. Accidental doesn't matter."

"Okay."

We followed her routine. I slid under the covers and waited for her in my boxer-briefs. I knew we were not going to do anything. Still, my heart drummed in my chest. My mouth felt dry. Nerves fluttered in my belly.

I caught movement at the door. Her hand searched for and switched off the overhead lights.

"Close your eyes," I heard her say.

"Okay." I heard her enter.

I waited for a beat, and then I risked a glimpse.

With the night light still on, I saw her. White body-hugging tank top. Navy bikini-style panties. Nothing else.

I felt the covers rise. I heard her slide in beside me, and when the covers fell, her fragrance enveloped me in floral beauty.

"You can open your eyes."

I did, but I didn't turn towards her until she spun away and reached for the night light. The act exposed her ass in those panties, and I bit my lips at the sight.

The room went black and I turned away.

"Goodnight, Gia."

"Goodnight."

I rolled away from her to my right side. I felt her move. I wasn't certain, but it seemed she rolled to face me.

Should I turn around? Didn't she say she didn't want to be alone? Was turning my back on her basically the same thing? Isolating her?

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. My eyes began to adjust to the low light. I peeked to my left and made out her form. I turned and looked.

Her back was to me.

I spun my body over to face her. I preferred my left side, anyhow.

A few minutes elapsed.

She wasn't sleeping. Her breathing hadn't fallen into that rhythm.

Neither had mine.

She pivoted, coming to rest on her back. I heard her sigh.

Nothing even remotely sexual had happened, but I had an erection like a barre.

"Are you asleep?" she whispered.

"No,"

"I'm getting hot. Care if I throw off the covers?"

"No."

She did, and the ambient light in the room was enough to see the shades of light and dark on her body—where her tank top ended, where her panties began, where they ended and her legs began. I could see the tiny mounds of her breasts.

My erection, hidden under black boxer-style briefs as I lay on my side, was well camouflaged in the darkness.

I watched Gia's chest rise and fall. She didn't look at me. A minute ticked away.

Suddenly, she rolled and turned the night light on. "I can't sleep," she muttered.

I threw my right hand over my pelvis.

She resettled facing me. "You, too?" she asked.

I nodded.

She glanced down at my right hand. A smirk came and went like a passing cloud. "Is it because you're horny?"

I said, "Being in bed with you—even with these rules—is too exciting."

She smiled for a moment, and then she looked at my hand and said, "You don't have to cover yourself."

I drew my hand away, resting it on my hip.

She looked long and hard at it, and then she asked, "Is it uncomfortable being in your underwear?"

"I'll be okay."

"It looks like it's straining."

I glanced down. The fabric where the head of my cock pushed was so taut I could see its skin between the knittings.

"I don't like seeing it that way," she said. "Here." Gia's left hand reached out, and she lifted the waistband over my cock. I spread my legs and raised my hip. She tugged them down my legs, and I kicked them off. "Better?"



"Yeah."

She sighed, alternating her glances between my eyes and my penis. Finally, she asked, "If we could, what would you do?"

Stick it in your pussy and fuck your brains out, I thought without an instant's hesitation, but I knew better than to say that. "I would throw out our rules," I said. "Then, I would kiss you."

Gia smiled.

"You?" I asked. "What would you do?"

"Everything," she said. "What's the sexiest moment of your life?"

"Is now included?"

"No."

I said, "In the shower with you yesterday."

"Without me, I mean."

I hesitated.

She assured me it wouldn't make her jealous.

I knew my answer. "I caught a pass during an away game last fall..."

She interrupted, "Your sexiest moment is during a football game?"

"Will you let me finish, for fuck's fucking fuck?"

It was too late, we both started laughing really hard.

When it finally passed, I explained. "So, I catch this pass and went out of bounds on the opponent's sideline, just short of the end zone. I almost run into the cheerleaders. Anyways, one of them—the cheerleaders, I mean—this blonde, she and I catch one another's eye, and she smiles. Damn, it's beautiful. I feel great—we were losing, and I feel great, instantly. Made my day. So, it's a night game and our flight out isn't 'till the next morning, and a bunch of us guys go to campus that night to party. We meet up with fellas from the other team, and they take us to sorority row. We go into one of the houses—I can't remember which one—and I see this girl, same one, the cheerleader. She recognizes me, and she smiles."

I stopped there.

Gia said, "And then...?"

"A gentleman never tells," I announced.

She laughed. "But tell me."

I waited.

She turned up her eyebrows. "You're not going to tell me?"

Those eyes could get the nuclear codes from the President. "Alright, alright," I said, "but, there's not much to tell. I already gave you the best part."

"What?"

"Yeah. I already told you the sexiest part."

"You mean the sex wasn't the sexiest part?"

"It wasn't," I said.

Gia threw up a time-out sign. "Wait a second, wait a second. You are the first guy I have ever asked that question who didn't describe the actual sex. I mean, for all of them, the sex was the moment. Every one."

"I guess I'm different."

She shook her head in astonishment. "I guess so."

"So, tell me yours."

She grinned. "When we kissed in the Reverse Fyodorov." She was referring to the advanced support position ending the second section of our dance.

"Me not included," I insisted.

She sighed. "The one I always used to tell happened in Freshman Chem Lab."

"Chem Lab!?"

She guffawed and nodded. "You know how in the first hour, you're in a classroom observing the experiment before you head out to the stations and do it yourself?"

"Yeah."

"We had those desks—tables, really—that sat two chairs. Black and about, I don't know, four feet wide."

"I know the ones."

"The seating chart put me next to this guy who never said a word to me. Totally ignored me, really. He was a tall red-head with short hair. Super hairy arms. Always smelled really good and he had dark brown eyes, almost black. He was beautiful."

I nodded.

"But, he was the first guy who never gave me the time of day. It annoyed me. Anyways, toward the end of the semester, I put my hand on his leg—on his jeans right on his thigh, you know. I don't know why. I just did. I knew no one could see what I was doing under those fat tables. I just wanted to see what he would do."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing. He didn't flinch; he didn't look at me. He just let my hand stay."

"Huh."

"Well, the next lab day came, and I had given up on him. But, all of a sudden, he put his hand on my leg, and he started rubbing. A few minutes later, he stopped. So, I rubbed his leg. Class ended and we went to the lab, and we never said a word to each other."

"Nothing?"

She shook her head. "The next week came. This time, he put his hand on the top of my leg, you know, right here." Gia pointed to the place where her leg met her stomach. "He rubbed me there for a while, and then he started sliding his hand inward, closer and closer. So, I did the same to him, and I could feel his hard-on. Class ended and still, we never talked."

"Weird."

"I know, right? The next lab was our last one of the term. Final lab, big complex experiment involving just about everything. The whole week leading up to that lab, every spare moment I was looking forward to that hour in the classroom, imagining what he might do to me and what I might do to him. I got wet thinking about it. I masturbated in my dorm room imagining it."

"And?"

"And it happened again," she said, only her voice had lost that dreamy, sensual undertone, becoming more matter-of-fact. "This time he rubbed between my legs, and I rubbed his cock. Class ended, and I never saw him again."

"That's it?"

She nodded. "But, don't you see? It wasn't the final event. It was the anticipation of it—the slow build-up over months with this stranger. I don't even remember his name."

"He never tried to slip you his number?"

"No, and believe me, I would have called."


I shook my head in disbelief.

"That entire week I was horny, and I know if I had seen him—anywhere—I would have fucked him. Anywhere, I would have. And, if we had one more lab after that one—I remember thinking this—I would not have worn underwear, and I was going to wear a skirt, and this was in December."

"How far would you have gone—in class, I mean?"

She drew her head back, saying, "No one has ever asked me that. I like that question." Gia drew in a long breath. Finally, she said, "I don't think I would have jerked him off, and I wouldn't have wanted to have an orgasm, not during class. I don't know. Maybe I would have excused myself to go to the bathroom and given him a little wink."

I chuckled, then said, "Well, your story was better than mine."

"No. Come on. I liked it," she argued.

Silence followed.

She sighed, asking, "What should we do?"

"Gia, I want you right now, but—and I hate myself for saying this—if we can't make it through one day, we're never going to get control of this thing."

"I know."

"And the guilt..."

"I know."

I sighed. "I just don't know."

"I do," Gia announced. "I'm going to do myself." She slipped her panties off. Leaving her tank top on, she rolled onto her stomach. She drew a pillow under her chest and popped onto her knees. Her little ass rose into the air. Gia wiggled her knees well past shoulder-width apart. Thrusting her arm underneath, I watched her hand rise between her legs and begin touching. Her body visibly relaxed—her lower back fell, leaving her ass high in the air.

She looked like a woman waiting to get fucked doggy-style.

Gia turned her head on the pillow to face me and murmured, "You can watch if you want."

I sat up; adrenaline pumped through my veins. Beside me, Gia masturbated.

"If you stay, I can see you stroke your cock for me," she uttered with a satisfied sigh.

"I need to look," I responded.

She hummed. "Then get behind me. Hold my waist and let me feel your thighs on mine—for inspiration."

I crawled across the bed and rose up to my knees. Behind her, the view was a knife plunged into my heart. A curse rose to my throat, but the excruciating beauty of Gia's body choked it back.

She could not have looked more sexually exposed, vulnerable, and submissive. Her face turned back to watch me approach.

I edged closer on my knees, alternately watching her eager eyes and her probing fingers. When my thighs pressed again the back of hers, Gia moaned. When I took her waist into my hands, she cried, "Oh!" My erection hovered over her ass; my testicles pressed against its soft flesh.

I let go with one hand.

When she felt the tremors of my strokes, she purred, "Yes." Her eyes closed in what looked like bliss, and she murmured, "You can cum on my ass if you want."

I grunted.

A silent beat passed. Gia whispered, "Or on my asshole."

The desire to thrust—to involve my entire body and not just my hand in this act—rose in me like gasoline poured into a fire. With her hip and ass in one hand, I urged her body forward and drew mine back.

Gia held her breath.

I brought us together with an audible slap.

She cried, "Yes!"

Again, harder.

Again, still harder.

Our skin walloped together; the shock waves moved across the muscles of her ass and back in tiny ripples.

"Fuck me!" she hollered.

On my testicles, I could feel Gia rapidly jamming her fingers inside herself. I told her I was going to cum on her asshole.

"Yes!" she cried.

If not for the sound of damp flesh smacking together, the rapid, unrelenting thrusts might have been mistaken for some kind of machine.

Gia cried out that she was cumming. Her head briefly rose from the pillow. She looked back at me, and her eyes were a mixture of anguish and bliss. Then, the front of her body collapsed to the mattress. She drew bounteous gulps of air and huffed them out. Each was accompanied by an almost silent cry—as if the pleasure, itself, was so abundant that it stifled even her voice.

In the midst of her climax, I felt the pulses rising from my balls. I held her body still, parted her ass with my thumb and index finger, and watched my erection hurl salvos of sperm upon her anus.

Gia gasped, "Yes!"

With the last of my energy, I gently urged the front of my cock against Gia's taut, wrinkled skin and let the final gobs coat her there, flesh on flesh.

The release complete, I sat back on my heels and collapsed sideways onto the mattress. Gia's legs slowly pushed out, and I watched her ass sink to the bed like a torpedoed gunship.

We panted in silence.

Finally, I huffed, "Wow."

Gia shut off the lamp and said, "I know." She sighed.

Neither of us spoke, and the sound of Gia's breathing was like a blanket of its own. My body felt warm and, though spent, still somehow satisfied.

Gia broke the silence. "It's not fair."

"Hmm?"

"It isn't fair," she repeated, and her tone was less a pointed complaint and more an exhausted lamentation.

I waited for her to explain.

"We can't fuck, but our bodies are perfect for fucking each other," she whispered. "I know it. There's not a doubt in my mind. That—what we just did—would have been the best sex of my life. Don't you sense it, too?"

"Yeah. I do."

"But, we can't ever do it."

"Yeah."

She didn't say anything more, and a few minutes later, I fell asleep.

***

It was Friday morning.

The dream I remembered when I awakened meant something, but I needed to think about it for a bit.

In it, I was dancing with Gia on a football field. The grass wasn't grass, but polished wood painted green. It was night. All of the stadium lights were on, but the stands were empty. Gia smiled at me and laughed. Then, as if he were already and always there, Gia's ex, Nick, swept in and took her from me. I went to the bench and watched them from a distance.

Anger welled up inside me. I didn't want to her dance with that bastard, and I ran to the sideline and screamed at Nick. I called him a cheating fuck. I told Gia to dance with me. She stopped and waved me over. Just as I took the field, Mom, in a referee's uniform, appeared in front of me. She waved me back, saying, "It's too soon."

I don't remember what I did after that. I made a choice. I know I did, but I couldn't recall what it was.

But, I remembered the rest, and I thought hard about it while I listened to Gia in the shower.

I rolled on my side and ran my hand across the sheet where Gia had lain. My fingers came across a wet, sticky area.

Then, the dream took shape in my mind as an idea, a warning: was it too soon?

Was Gia's attraction to me all based on the very recent and traumatizing break up with Nick? Was this a rebound tryst? Was it too soon?

What if, I wondered, Gia and Nick had broken up months ago? If that had been the case, I doubted that I would be sleeping in Gia's bed lying next to a puddle of my own sperm—sperm that spent the evening seeping down Gia's ass, over her vagina to the bedding.

Add to that, I thought, that the recent break-up wasn't just the end of a period of dating; the two had been engaged.

Not for long. It was true. The wedding was only in the earliest planning stages as far as I knew. Nothing but rings had been purchased.

Still, they had been planning on spending the rest of their lives together.

***

We practiced hard for two hours. I was glad our focus was on perfecting the first section. I didn't think pressing my body against hers was going to help anything.

I stripped Gia's bed down and took her sheets and the rest of her laundry to a wash and fold place, paying the extra to have it all back before close. Gia protested, but I knew she appreciated it.

Back home, Mom asked me about the recital—how practices were going. Then, she asked where I'd been sleeping. She wanted to know if I had a new girlfriend.

I told her a gentleman never tells.

She pursued it, asking if it was someone she knew.

I hugged her and said when it was worth reporting, I'd not only let her and Dad know, I would bring the girl over to meet them.

This information satisfied her.

But, it made me feel even worse.

Having picked up Gia's laundry earlier, I returned with them after her evening classes ended.

She told me she was going out with friends.

I made her bed while she showered. When I finished, I went over to the bathroom and let her know I was taking off.

"Are you coming back later?" she asked from the stall.

"I don't think so."

"What? No," she protested. When I didn't respond, she called out, "Wait. Come in. Come in here and talk to me."

I didn't want to. Seeing her naked, wet body through that glass door would take a sledgehammer to my resolve. "Nah, I'm good. Have fun tonight, Gia!"

I left to meet up with some friends of my own, although I wouldn't be drinking—football team rules.

She started texting me from a bar about an hour minutes later, asking if everything was okay, asking if I was upset about anything, and so on.

To each of these, I courteously deflected matters: "We're good," "No worries."

As the night grew late, I knew she was getting buzzed by the tone and content her texts. They went from friendly interest to curiosity to alarm. No longer asking about my feelings, she was now asking if she'd done something to upset me.

I redirected and tried to soothe and allay fears.

She was persistent.

When she insisted several times that I meet her at the studio when the bars closed, I let slip my doubts. "Gia, I love you, but let's just dance. I can't be your rebound."

She did not immediately respond.

She's upset.

In the wait for her response, I could hear in my mind the silence and sniffles.

Shit.

I debated sending another text but ultimately decided against it.

Five minutes later, her response came—cold, and with that eerie drunken calculation: "No one who loved me would send me that text, dance partner."

At a friend's apartment, I excused myself from a conversation and went outside. I called her, but she didn't answer. Denied—straight to voicemail. I followed up with a text, asking her to call me or let me call her. No response.

For the next forty-five minutes, I tried to enjoy myself with my friends, but I couldn't stop second-guessing my choices and decisions. Just as I was about to excuse myself, I got a text from her—or, more accurately, from her phone: "Hey, this is Fiona. Can you come to O'Brien's at 34th & Maple? We need your help."

"On my way."

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the small parking lot. Two young women were standing beside Gia's little electric blue coupe. Gia was laying across the trunk, feet on the ground.

I parked and jogged over.

One stayed with Gia; the other approached me. After introductions, she said, "Thank you for coming."

"What's up?"

"Well, for starters, she's fucked up."

"Yeah, looks like it."

"No way we're letting her drive, right? Thing is, she won't get in my car so I can take her back to her apartment."

I nodded. Evidently, Gia had not told her friends about living at the dance studio.

Her friend went on. "She finally gave up wanting to drive, but then she started ordering us to call you, so..."

"Yeah. I gotcha. It's no problem."

"And since what happened with Nick, I think she's just..." Gia's friend did not finish.

Gia's voice broke through. "He's here? Where?"

Gia's friend and I glanced over. She saw me and fell off the trunk onto the ground.

I ran over and picked her up.

Gia mumbled, "You two know my brother, don't you?"

The ladies nodded, glancing at me.

"He's a beautiful dancer, and his cock is like a hunk of hot steel."

My body couldn't move, but my eyes darted to each of Gia's friends in turn. I felt blood rush to my face. I stammered, "Uh...that's...uh...really..."

"Or...so I'm told," Gia interjected, "by a couple of his exes." She waved her hand dismissively and added, "In case either of you is interested in getting laid tonight."

Gia's friends smiled at me uncomfortably.

"Okay!" I said. "I'll take it from here. Thank you both."

Her friends hugged her good-bye, and I waved to them.

Out of earshot, I turned on Gia. "Are you fucking kidding me? A 'hunk of hot steel?'"

"Sorry, Dance Partner. I told them I fucking heard it from your ex-girlfriends."

"Come on," I said.

She stumbled, so I carried her to my car.

Two minutes later, I was driving her back to the studio. Gia, however, continued the conversation. "Which, you know, I didn't," she suddenly blurted.

"What?"

"I didn't hear about it from them."

"Gia, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I didn't hear about your cock from your ex-girlfriends."

"Okay."

Her head lolled against the passenger side window. A minute later, she muttered, "You hate me now."

"Of course that's not true, Gia. I love you. All I was saying was that—that we should focus on our dance." I thought about my words and added, "And being a brother and sister who are best friends, help each other out, always there for each other."

"I am not on a rebound."

"Okay."

Suddenly, her voice rose into a protest. Her head came off the window. She argued, "We are best friends! You're helping me! I'm there for you!"

I drew a deep breath, saying, "Hey, Gia?"

"Yeah?"

"If the situation was reversed—me for you—and I had just broken things off with my fiancee, how long would you tell me to wait before seeing anyone?"

"Six months," she said without hesitating. "Three, if it was a short engagement."

"Or what?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

I clarified, "What if I didn't wait? What would you tell me?"

"I'd tell you to wait for six months."

"Why?"

She hesitated. "Ooh! You're trying to trick me, but there's a big difference."

"Okay, what?"

"Same roles again. I'm you; you're me."

"Okay."

"How long should I tell you to wait before spending time with people you love and trust, like your sister?"But, Gia we're...we're not hanging out like brothers and sisters do!"

"Yes, we do. We talk and tell each other things. Secrets. We hang out together. We help each other. We dance."

"And other things," I said, "that we probably shouldn't be doing, that brothers and sisters don't do."

"That's the tiniest, smallest part of it. Like nothing."

"But..."

She interrupted, "How long would I tell you to wait?" She looked at me like as attorney resting her case.

Those blue-green eyes mesmerized me, and I smiled. A burst of laughter shot from me. I shook my head in resignation. I said, "Not long."

She put her hand on my shoulder. "See?"

I was not convinced, but I nodded.

Back at the studio, I helped her inside. Switching on the dance floor lights, I finally got a good look at her attire. She wore a white collared tank top over blue jeans.

"I have to pee," she said.

Seeing her from behind was like getting a painful shot. I winced and snatched up a breath.

Those jeans!

They were not the painted-on, disco-style jeans. These were regular ones—loose in places, for sure—the cuffs, the knees. Tight in others. Her long, strong dancer's thighs pulled the fabric tight around her thighs and calves. What stunned me was how Gia's ass filled the butt of those jeans to the brim. The fabric had been cut and mended to follow the curves and contours of a fantastic backside, and Gia's made those jeans bloom with perfection.

"Don't take off your jeans when you're done," I heard myself blurt.

Gia turned. Her face curled into a look that said, "Huh?" She shook her head and continued to the bathroom.

Why had I said that? I watched Gia's butt disappear inside the door and thought, "Yeah, that's why. Fuck me."

I knew I needed to go, but I wanted to see her ass in those jeans one more time. So, I waited.

And waited.

Been in there a pretty long time, I thought.

I went to the door and listened. Nothing.

I knocked. Nothing. "Gia?"

No response.

I opened the door.

She was on the floor, passed out—passed out in those jeans. At the sight of her curvy bottom, that sharp pain coursed through me again.