SISSI AND ME

suppose I have always been in love with her.

My older half-sister, Elisabeth, is my goddess, and I adore her more than I can possibly express. My very earliest memories are of her: Sissi smiling in the sun, laughing with me; her gamely trying to help wash my hair, the two of us splashing about the tub as toddlers; Sissi and I curled to-gether like kittens, fast asleep on the built-in bench beneath the picture window.

Westermarck be damned. Growing up in such close proximity has not produced in us the famous Finn's fabled effect he described so well. Oh, it may have served to slow things down until we were older, mature enough to know bloody well what we were doing, I suppose. But only just. There were most unexpected precipitating factors that would conspire to throw us happily into each other's arms at last. And thereby hangs a tale.

My name is Franz Josef von Eberstein, and Elisabeth von Eberstein is my sister. We are respectively 18 and 19 years of age. We are German, though we were born in the States, and English is our first language. We reflexively pronounce our surname correctly as AY-ber-shtine, and we never Anglicise it. And yes, our father, Hans von Eberstein, really did name us after the penultimate Austrian kaiser and his lovely wife. Just as the kaiserin was called, my sweet sister is known to everyone as Sissi, though I sometimes call her Liesl as well. She calls me Joey or, if she feels playful or is teasing me affectionately, Josey. Our father calls me Sepp.

Sissi's mother was actually Welsh, and she worked in the London financial district, which is where she met our father. My mother was from the little Bavarian spa town of Bad Griesbach on the Austrian border, and she taught at the university in Heidelberg.

From her, I inherited my mop of blond hair, piercing blue eyes and angular features. For most of my teens, I was very thin, weighing in at less than 120 pounds dripping wet, due in part to a passionate penchant for running and cycling. With my lanky frame, just under six feet tall, my sister thought for some years that I strongly resembled David Bowie, circa 1979 and his "Look Back in Anger" period. She would kid me that it was me, not Bowie, in the video! (Like many young people these days, we despise modern "music" and prefer the real music of one or even two generations ago.)

But recently, in my 17th year, I undertook a bit of weight training. And with a doctor's dietary advice, I managed to get up to about 150 pounds----more muscular now but still trim. I think I like this look better.

As for Sissi, she is more gorgeous than ever I could possibly describe. Perhaps because she is my half-sister and thus genetically more like a cousin, we are as different physically as night and day. She is five-two and perhaps between 130 and 140 pounds. As no one could fail to notice, she is also very busty and curvy in all the right places. She looks very Welsh, like her mother, and she is possessed of the most beautiful brown eyes that ever I've seen. Her smile dazzles; her teeth are perfect and gleaming white.

And her hair is positively mediaeval, being nearly as long as she is tall. It is a deep brown in its lustrous colour, thick and more or less straightish to somewhat wavy (depending on the weather), and it plummets to her dainty feet in a cascading wave. She resembles no one so much as a combination of a young Crystal Gayle and someone famous called Lorna Morgan, apparently from Wales, according to an acquaintance that made the observation to me at a soirée once. I don't know who Miss Morgan is. But if she resembles my sexy sister, she must be truly special.

Dad is a prominent businessman, with many responsibilities scattered throughout German-speaking Europe and here in America, including a German company here in North Carolina. We grew up on Dad's mountainous, heavily forested estate near Asheville, not far from the Biltmore House. I can't say that our house and land rival that magnificent palace down the road, of course. But Dad is from Gernsbach, and he designed our home himself. As an in-joke, he named the mansion and estate Triebschen, after the district of Luzern where Wagner's famed three-storey villa is now a museum. Our home rather resembles a smaller version of some of the castles in Dad's native Black Forest. It's surrounded by thick woods, and it features a donjon with turrets and that distinctively Germanic half-timbered style on both storeys. There is a cosy library and study and an excellent wine cellar (more on that later). There is a small lake, full of fish, and it's completed by a very nice pier that Dad had built some years ago.

It's a marvellous place, where any kid would be happy and never bored. Sissi and I spent countless hours and indeed years running through and playing in those woods, playing hide-and-seek all over the house and occasionally playfully torturing the maid with our antics. In short, the place was our glorified playpen, truly a paradise.

It still is.

Dad is an older man, though he maintains a driven, dogged energy, and by virtue of his work, we don't see much of him. He has amply provided for us, and he wants what is best for us. And we know he loves us. But yes, he is distant, and I'm certain he still carries the pain of losing two young wives----Sissi's to a drunken driver; mine to cancer----close to his heart.

It was a cruel fate for our father and us, losing them both within several short years of each other, to the result that my sister and I both grew up motherless. We have no memories of them at all. Instead, it was always just the two of us: me and Sissi, Sissi and me; we two and a string of nannies, nurses and governesses over the years. We did everything to-gether, and we were rarely apart. And almost like twins, we didn't like it on the brief occasions when we were apart.

Even now, I can close my eyes and easily transport myself back to our early childhood, so many years ago.

"What would you like to play, Joey?"

"Anything you'd like to play, Sissi."

Her big, brown eyes would shine back at my own blue ones.

"I love you, little brother."

"I love you, too, big Sis!"

She would embrace me and kiss me upon the cheek, and I would reciprocate. It was as natural as breathing, for us, and it never occurred to us that so many siblings fought or even hated each other, however briefly. I do not remember a time that we ever fought about anything.

"When I grow up," I would proclaim in all childlike innocence, "I'm going to marry Sissi!"

The maids, upon hearing this, would smile indulgently, knowing this to be a childhood folly. They thought it was cute.

But for me, certainly years later, it was not a childish wish at all. It was a thing I meant with all my heart.

I didn't always tower over her, of course. Whilst I may be the better part of a foot taller than she is now, so often, when we were little, it was Sissi who was bigger than I. And so, she affectionately called me "little brother" or "little boy," and I called her "big Sis" of simply "Sissi," with its double meaning. But I think perhaps I liked it best when she just said my name. With others, of course, it meant nothing. But from Sissi's sweet lips, it was positively an incantation.

"Joey..."

She had but to whisper my name. She could say it so softly, so prettily. When we were small, she could summon me to look at a butterfly or a tadpole, or when we were older, to ride through the woods astride Siegmund and Sieglinde, the two retired racehorses Dad adopted.

Obviously I cannot speak for my sister in this, of course: but perhaps I imprinted on a maid, a governess or a tutoress, seeing them all, at one time or another, as surrogate mothers. Sissi and I were home-schooled, and we owe so very much to these dedicated women. But maybe my familiarity with them kept me from being attracted to them, even later as an adolescent. We saw few children our own age, but we didn't care. You can't miss what you don't know. And when you have a built-in best friend, who needs them?

No, the Westermarck effect was not very effective for us, as it turned out. Indeed, we were impervious. You'd think we might have been too familiar with each other, Sissi and I. But we didn't believe such a thing was possible. We were more than brother and sister; we were friends----pals, buddies. We had the agape love down pat.

Little did I dream it would ever grow into more----so much more.

***

But the idyll of childhood didn't last for ever. Once we were inseparable. But soon we would be parted and for painfully long.

I can remember Sissi teaching me how to finger-paint, when we were little. Messy fun! But out of such a seemingly inconsequential beginning, there grew a love for painting and indeed for all the arts. By the time I was 12, I was quite an accomplished painter, winning awards and exhibiting in Asheville art galleries.

Being home-schooled (our last tutoress was amazing), we had easily leapfrogged over the usual American academic requirements, passed the necessary state tests and were preparing to leave for university by the time early adolescence hit us. I wanted to attend London's Royal College of Art, the greatest art school in the world, and I was mad-keen on this.

Sissi wanted to attend Harvard to study English. We both love language and literature, but I think her love is even deeper than mine. So this course of study and action seemed a natural fit.

But when we received our acceptance notices, the realisation hit us like a load of bricks. This meant we would be headed off for opposite ends of the earth, separated for God only knew how long.

One summer afternoon when I was nearly 13, Sissi and I were in my studio. I had converted a section of Dad's old greenhouse into a place to paint, and it really worked quite well. There was a sink with a huge basin, where I could wash my hands and dirty brushes. The various flowers and plants were readymade models for my still-life works in water colours, oils or acrylics. And the light that poured in was fantastic. It was ideal.

I was painting Sissi. She was my favourite model, of course. I had painted our various teachers and even the maids in the past, often giving away my creations as Christmas presents. But the paintings of Sissi we framed and hung in our bedrooms. These images were ours and ours alone. Ours was a private world, and no one on earth could enter it.

For long years, we'd finished each other's sentences. We spoke something like the private language of twins, often a combination of English and German. Sometimes we even thought the same thoughts, at the same time. Others would have thought it spooky. But to us, it was simply natural. It was who we were.

It is who we are.

Sissi smiled sweetly at me and was the soul of patience as I worked upon the canvas with furious strokes. She wore a modest blouse and a peasant skirt (she never wore trousers). She sat upon her stool and seemed not to weary at all.

"You sure you wouldn't prefer the chair?" I asked, my brush fairly flying in my fingers.

"No. This is fine, little brother."

At 14, she was physically a grown woman. I would soon be 13, and I had begun to notice that my sister's beauty was something more than a merely aesthetically pleasing subject for a painting. Sissi was causing feelings to stir within me, sensations unfamiliar in more ways than one. I compared it, perhaps blasphemously, to Saul on the road to Damascus, knocked from his horse by his encounter with God. That was the only thing to which I could really liken it. My sister was not merely beautiful. She was empirically, easily demonstrably and without the shadow of any doubt the most beautiful woman on the broad face of the earth.

I had studied Bouguereau very carefully. The Impressionists were second nature to me. I knew Draper and Waterhouse. I even knew the movie stars of the good, old days, from the 1950's to the '80's. But no further; I hated modern films and shared my father's assessment of the modern world: "Always remember, my boy, nothing real has happened since 1989."

But Sissi surpassed them all.

I was labouring over her hair, trying to ensure that I caught the light just right as it fell upon her five-foot mane. Painting Sissi's hair was always a highlight in capturing her beautiful image. And her complexion----not too fair, not too tan and always bereft of blemishes----was simply flawless.

"Sis," I whispered in awe, "you're perfect."

I placed my brush upon the easel and stood up.

"And you're perfectly sweet, little boy," she replied, standing as well and stretching her arms over her head.

Our tutoress had recently introduced us to Dad's wine cellar ("You're German," she said sensibly, "so none of that silly, unrealistic, wait-till-you're-21 nonsense for you!"). Really is some excellent stuff down there. And sitting now before us on my work table was an opened bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, accompanied by two lovely glasses of Austrian crystal. I washed my hands thoroughly, drying them on a plush towel on a nearby rack. I then spritzed myself with a bit of German cologne to mitigate the smell of paint, before finally pouring two generous glasses of wine.

"Lovely fragrance," said Sissi, smiling and closing her eyes for a second. "Dad pick that up for you in Munich?"

"Yes," I replied, handing her a glass. "Glad you like it. Here's to you, Sis. Zum Wohl."

"Back atcha, Rembrandt."

We gazed into each other's eyes. Something unspoken passed between us, as it seemed to me. I reached down and brought her soft, delicate hand to my lips. As I did so, revelling in the glorious scent of her own delicious perfume, my eyes closed involuntarily, and I frowned slightly, betraying perhaps the true depth of my feeling. Sissi surely knew, for she could always read my thoughts.

"You are the perfect model, Mme Monet," I said, smiling.

She laughed lightly at my joking reference that nevertheless told the truth.

"Let me see," she said, her arm round my waist as she turned to look at my still-wet work. "Oh! Oh, Joey! It's wonderful. This is surely your best work yet. Oh, little brother, you've outdone yourself! Thank you. Thank you so much. This----this is beautiful."

And there was that word again: beautiful. When it comes to my beloved sister, it's a word that cannot be used enough.

She kissed my cheek tenderly, and I blushed. I thanked her for the compliment and downed two large gulps of the Cabernet, draining half the glass. The wine of late had become something of a solace. It helped to somewhat, however temporarily, quench the growing flames of an awesome ardour, a fire I feared was wrong. It helped keep at bay a desire that could not, should not be expressed. It helped me live with the realisation...

That I was in love----falling hard, head over heels in love----with my sister.

***

On my 13th birthday that September, my bags were packed into a taxi. Soon I would be at the aeroport in Charlotte, flying to London.

Tears stained our eyes as we said our goodbyes. Sissi was due to leave for Harvard the next day. She looked up at me, a tremble in her voice.

"Whatever shall I do without you, little boy?"

I smiled through my tears, brushing them away with the back of my hand.

"You'll be fine. Just fine. But I won't! What am I to do without you, Sis?"

"E-mail. Air mail. I shall require a stack of your letters every week. And your letters read like poetry, Joey. And there's always the 'phone, and of course there's Skype. It'll be----it'll be as if we're not even apart!"

"Yes. Of course. You're right. You're always right, Sis."

She reached up and flung her arms round me. I returned her embrace, and we held each other tight for a long moment that felt like an eternity. At last we kissed each other's cheeks, our love still pure and chaste.

She whispered in my ear:

"I'm as close as the next 'phone call, Josey, my love."

"Yes. I know, Liesl, meine Schwester und Liebchen. And your 'phone will be ringing off the hook, and I'll melt your computer with Skype chatting!"

"Master Josef! Master Josef!"

It was Marthe, our old German maid. She was running down the steps, trailing a scarf behind her. I smiled at her.

"Marthe, my dear! Have I forgotten something?"

"You need zis scarf," she said, frowning slightly. "I know. Is varm now, nicht wahr? But in England, soon comes de cold, und you vill need zis."

She reached up to me and hung the thing round my neck. It was multi-coloured and perhaps 12 feet long, a wraparound muffler, very like the one Tom Baker used as "Dr Who."

"Danke schön, Liebling," I told her, my arm round her back, and then casting a look at Sissi, I added, "Take care of my helpless sister, won't you?"

"Ja, natürlich," the old woman replied, her grey eyes disappearing into the wrinkles of her craggy, weathered face. "I love both you kinder!"

Sissi reached out, flung her arms tight round me and whispered:

"Don't go. Stay with me."

I smiled at her, trying to be strong.

"I love you, Sissi," I whispered softly in her ear.

"I love you more," she replied, her voice still hushed and delicate.

I felt her trembling as she wept, her little body, petite but already long voluptuous, shaking in my arms. For a moment, I didn't want to leave; I wanted only to remain like that, my sister and me both frozen like statues in an eternal embrace.

But in another moment, I was waving goodbye to Sissi and Marthe, gazing at them from the taxi's rear window. Soon I would be flying over the Atlantic, on the way to my future.

I had no idea just how my life was about to change.

***

Over the next five years, I saw Sissi in person only thrice.

Our lives now were simply headed in completely different directions. The trajectories of education, new experiences and new friends took us into dizzyingly rapid changes, to which I suppose we adapted well enough. We kept in touch as best we could, but living half a world away from each other didn't help.

Twice she came to London, as of course she had never been there. Once I came to Cambridge, Mass., and she enjoyed showing me Harvard. And on all three occasions, Dad was able to join us as well. Shopping, dinners and of course all the touristic stuff were very nice; all fun. Our reunions were short and sweet, and it was always so good to catch up. But we never seemed to have enough time.

It was just rotten, bloody luck. Our schedules never seemed to work out properly. Sissi and I were now seeing more people than ever we had before in our lives. There were new professors, new demands, new goals----new lives. It was hard, and there were so many challenges. Oh, yes, we e-mailed each other every day. We wrote real letters, delivered by air mail. Sissi's penmanship was positively calligraphic, and I returned the favour by including sketches of London life, sometimes by themselves, sometimes in the margins of my letters; sometimes I would simply enclose a large drawing and write a brief note at the bottom. We talked on the telephone on a regular basis, and Skype was always especially nice.

We were both precocious, and life had well and truly opened up for us. By the time I was 17, I found myself one of the most sought-after painters in the world. Even before graduation, I had exhibited in London several times to great acclaim, and I'd even been praised by Sir James Dyson himself. The Telegraph had written a major story about "the young American genius." I couldn't believe all that was happening.

And Sissi had found fame as a novelist. Her murder mystery, Ring a Distant Bell, was a huge hit, and there was now even talk of it being optioned for a movie. That she would find such success and a contract with Knopf, even before graduation, was nothing short of extra-ordinary. I was honoured to paint the cover for the book's US and UK editions, and Sissi was especially pleased by this.

But the fame and success were not going to her head. One afternoon on Skype, she told me how she was volunteering with the Massachusetts Coalition for the Homeless. She was teaching teen-aged mothers to hone job skills; teaching illiterate old men to read and write; and donating food, clothing, blankets and much of her own money in this worthy cause. My sister is a saint; I've always known that. Her altruism struck such a resonant chord with me, I was inspired to go out and do the same thing with a comparable organisation in East London.

The time flew by, and the months fell like autumn leaves. Before I knew it, Sissi and I were both graduated summa cum laude, and we were due to return to Triebschen. I was on the cusp of my 18th birthday, finally and officially a man in a couple of days, and there was to be a huge soirée in honour of the occasion. Dad was coming home, and he had arranged everything.

It was good to be home again, at long last. In our prolonged absence, Marthe had kept Triebschen running like a top. A local cowboy had been taking care of the horses and maintaining the fish in the lake. Marthe herself had decorated the house for our homecoming and my party. She greeted me warmly when I arrived.

Now I stood in the drive, breathless with anticipation. Sissi had called my cell 'phone to announce her own arrival. In a reversal of my departure, five years earlier, now it was I, waiting in the driveway for her to come.

At last, she was here. And when she emerged from her taxi, she took my breath away.

"Sissi!"

"Hi, Joey!"

Smiling and laughing, we ran into each other's arms. We collided happily to-gether and hugged each other tightly, our hands roaming firmly and fondly across each other's back.

She was somewhat tanner than she'd been when last I saw her, and she appeared even more voluptuous and delightfully so. Standing here before me now was no longer a girl but a 19-year-old woman, a princess----nay, a queen. She smiled at me and I, at her. Her chocolate eyes were aglow with happiness, and her perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth dazzled in the dusk. Her extra-ordinary hair was tied in a long queue behind her. In the setting sun, she seemed to look even more gorgeous than ever before.

"Welcome home, big sister!"

"Thank you, baby brother. It's so good to be home!"

She smelled wonderful, and I seemed enveloped in her perfume, a delicious fragrance that reminded me of French flowers. She was warm and soft and everything I remembered and cherished, everything I still carried privately in my heart ever since I first realised, all those years ago, that I loved her in a more than brotherly way. It seemed an eternity since then, yet somehow only yesterday.

"Ah, Sissi! Sissi!" I cried out, and I actually began to weep, tears of joy staining my cheeks as I whispered in her ear, "I've missed you so damned much. Oh, sweet Christ, I've missed you!"

"I've missed you, too, little boy," she said softly, "more than you realise."

She suddenly drew apart from me but not by much, only enough for me to gaze upon her beautiful face and see that she, too, was crying. Yet she flashed her million-watt smile at the same time as she gazed up at me in what I recognised was pure, utter love.

I moved lower and kissed first her right cheek and then the left, brushing away her tears with my lips.

"Just like when we were little," she said, her voice so soft.

"Just like when we were little," I repeated, smiling as she reached up a delicate hand to wipe away my own tears.

Her hands now moved from my back to my arms. She felt a bicep, bulging somewhat now beneath my polo shirt.

"You've put on weight. Muscle! I like that. Let me look at you some more."

She moved back and regarded me approvingly.

"Josey, kiddo, you've never looked so good. My handsome baby brother----all grown up now!"

"Thank you, Sis," I replied, grinning at her.

She reached up and playfully tousled my moppish hair.

"You need a haircut," she teased, her voice breaking into musical laughter as she raked her soft hand several times through my bangs and the top of my head.

"Mmmm, I s'pose I do," I replied, smiling back at her. "Well, the party's to-morrow night. Dad's coming. Big crowd. You'll love it. Stacey and Tracey, your favourite twins, are coming, too."

"Oh, goodie! It'll be nice to see them again. Golly, how long has it been?"

"Not sure. Y'know, come to think of it, won't they be jealous? Here you are, already graduated from Harvard and a famous, published novelist. And they're only sophomores at Montreat!"

"Yeah, well----"

"Oh, yes. And Georg Silberbauer is coming, too. Sorry!"

"What? That creep?"

"Well, he is the son of Dad's old business partner. Marthe made up the guest list. I'm sure she doesn't know about----"

"No, of course not."

"Look, don't worry. I'll stick to you like glue. He'll never have a chance to----"

She pressed her right index finger to my lips. It was soft, and I could smell the gorgeous perfume on her wrist.

"You're sweet, baby boy. And I love you."

"And speaking of Marthe, she's making dinner right now. She can't wait to see you! Here, let me carry your stuff."

I picked up two suitcases, while Sissi hoiked a duffel bag over her shoulder. I shifted the smaller suitcase between my right arm and chest, holding the other case in my right hand, while with my left I grabbed the duffel bag from my sister.

"Joey, let me----"

"Nope. Sorry, Milady," I said, imitating a Cockney servant, "but the only thing you should carry is yourself with grace."

"Ha-ha! Well, thank you, kind sir."

My birthday was actually two days hence. But the following day was Saturday, hence Dad's choice for the party. I couldn't wait.

The next evening finally arrived, and Triebschen was filled with guests. Dad and I were in matching tuxedoes with white tie and tails, and about 50 or so guests in formal attire looked wonderful, the men in gleaming black and white and their wives and girlfriends in glittering ball gowns.

But outshining them all was Sissi. My sister had styled and piled her luxuriant hair atop her head, so that she resembled nothing so much as a Victorian Era countess or perhaps some noblewoman from the Kaiser's Germany. She wore a designer evening gown in electric blue, which only brought out her skin tones. It also featured a pronounced décolletage, accentuating my sister's beautiful bosom.

She turned many heads when she descended the staircase. But none more so than mine. She stood before me, beaming both at me and our guests. A collective "good evening" and other greetings rose from the crowd, and Sissi politely reciprocated.

"Happy birthday, dear brother," she said softly, her dewy eyes sparkling at me as she kissed my cheek.

I tenderly kissed her soft hand.

"You look ravishing," I whispered in her ear.

Suddenly, our father came striding up, his long German legs moving very fast for his age. With his short, greying hair and trimmed moustache, he looked very professorial or perhaps like an aristocrat from former, happier times. And he, too, bent and kissed my sister's hand.

"Sissi, my dear, you look beautiful zis evening," he said with a smile. "Maestro, music, plees!"

Dad waved his hand, and a pianist in one corner of the room began to play one of those understated Austrian pieces from the glorious late 1800's, the time of the zenith of Western civilisation. He was accompanied by a cellist and two violinists, all of them set up in front of the grand piano. Soon the crowd was dancing gracefully, swaying slightly to the gentle music. I couldn't place the composer, but the piece was lovely.

"May I have this dance, miss?" I asked my sister.

"I've been waiting on you my whole life, little boy," she replied, her eyes flashing.

Soon the musicians struck up a Strauss waltz, specially arranged for their four instruments. Sissi and I whirled round the room, both of us becoming positively giddy. Quite what our guests thought, I could only guess. But truthfully, I neither knew, nor cared. After all, it was all very innocent in appearances. And up to now, Sissi and I had been very innocent in every respect. Perhaps we were not----well, I was not----unimpeachable in private behaviour in every way. I was crazy about my own sister, truly, madly, deeply, irresponsibly and passionately over-the-moon in love with her, and I didn't give a damn about the right or wrong of it all. But that was between us, Sissi and me, and it was none of the rude outside world's bloody business.

Still, even as we danced, I couldn't help overhearing some of our family friends, murmuring among themselves.

"Don't they make a lovely couple?"

"How charming. Such innocence!"

"I don't know. They seem a bit too close for a brother and sister, if you know what I mean."

"But they've grown up to-gether. Practically twins!"

"Different mothers. I don't know."

"Nonsense! What a dirty mind you have. Hark at you!"

"He doesn't have a girlfriend. She doesn't have a boyfriend. Apparently, neither of them ever has. I'm just saying that----"

"You're saying too much. Now shut up! You're drunk."

"Maybe. Maybe I just need a little more Merlot. Hey, isn't that Uwe Silberbauer's boy?"

"Yes, I think it is."

"What's his name? Johann, Joachim..."

"Georg."

"Yeah, that's it. Didn't he used to have a thing for Sissi?"

"Hush! He's too old for her."

"Only in his late 20's."

"Well, at least that's what Sissi says."

"Wonder what the real reason is?"

"Look at him scowling! Pure jealousy, I'd say."

"Where is he? I don't----oh. There he goes. He's headed down to the wine cellar!"

"Drunken son of a bitch. There's an accident waiting to happen."

Twirling like a colourful top, Sissi at last spun round and sat down upon a bench. I joined her, collapsing against the wall.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "That was fun. Baby brother, you're gonna wear me out! You're gonna kill me, Fred."

"What a way to go, Ginger," I observed, grinning.

"I propose a toast. It is your birthday."

"Well, to-morrow, at any rate."

"Let's have some wine. Dad has a nice bottle of Henkell sparkling wine put by in the cellar fridge. Even better, there's a yummy-looking bottle of spätburgunder----basically a German pinot noir----and from a good house, too. Saw it down there the other day. What do you say?"

I scanned the room uncomfortably, looking for the hulking Georg.

"Umm, I don't think that's such a good----"

"Oh, come on, Joey," she replied, slapping my shoulder and giving me the impression that she'd had at least two glasses of something already. "It's your day. Let's celebrate!"

Against my better judgement, we soon found ourselves down in the wine cellar. I looked round, and to my relief, Georg was nowhere to be found.

Thank God, I thought.

It was cooler down there. The heavy door, left only slightly ajar, managed to muffle much of the noise from upstairs. We were surrounded by innumerable bottles of the best German, French and Italian vintages, all well taken care of year-round in perfect, temperature-controlled conditions.

"Hmmm," said Sissi, her chocolate eyes sparkling in the dim overhead light. "Where was it? Ah! I just saw it the other day."

I stood beside a barrel of Bavarian schwarzbier and felt a sudden urge to sit down. The barrel was enormous and made a fine stool as I looked over at Sissi. I was privately amused, watching my petite sister stand upon her tiptoes as she strained to reach the top rows of bottles. This inadvertently caused more of her ample cleavage to come out from her gown----a thing which at first she didn't notice.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, frowning slightly in frustration and jumping up and down several times in her girlish impatience, causing her breasts to jiggle even more. "Where on earth is it?"

I couldn't take any more of this. I got up and strode over to the section in question. Reaching up easily, I retrieved the requested bottle. There was a folded cocktail napkin in my vest pocket, and I removed it to wipe a small amount of dust from the bottle's neck and label.

"Here we are."

"Look at you! You're just the perfect boyfriend, aren't you? Killer of bugs, grabber of high-shelf objects. Thanks, little brother. Hail, King Josey of Wales! Hahaha!"

She pulled me down and kissed my cheek. I grinned reflexively, and a shiver of delight went up my spine. And quite involuntarily, my lower body felt a thrill as well. There was suddenly a growing bulge in my trousers, and so I held the bottle strategically in front of them, pretending to still wipe a schmutz or two from the glass.

"You're most welcome," I softly replied, somewhat nervously repeating, "Well, here we are!"

"And here I am!"

Sissi and I turned round, our hearts pounding with astonishment. Suddenly standing before us was the immense Georg Silberbauer. Emerging from his evident hiding place behind one of the cellar's large brick columns, he lumbered toward us, the gaze of his bloodshot eyes squarely fixed on my sister. He was obviously drunk. He was also a good six inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier than I.

"Vell, Sissi," the Bavarian behemoth bellowed, his accent thick and his words slurred. "Here ve are, alone at last!"

"But you're not alone with her, you crazy Kraut," I shouted back, "and you never will be. I'm here. Now leave her alone!"

With a will of their own, both my arms wrapped themselves protectively around Sissi. Tears stung her eyes, and she shook dreadfully.

"It's OK," I said softly. "I'm here, darling. He can't hurt you."

"Look at you!" Georg shouted with a sneer etched into his ugly, pock-marked face. "Are you her bruzzer or her lover? You are sick, Franz Josef. Sick!"

"I will not take your nasty insinuations, Georg," I replied, reflexively yet mistakenly moving away from my sister, preparing to challenge him.

"Vat do you intend to do about zat, you Americanised mongrel?"

"You bastard! I'll get----"

But I didn't get to finish my raging riposte. The brew-sodden brute was suddenly upon me, and he picked me up as if I weighed nothing. He hurled me against the back wall, and I crashed into it, knocking loose several shelves. A dozen or more bottles shattered, including several above my head, and I felt my face, neck and hands cut by tiny shards of glass.

"Joey!" Sissi screamed. "You monster! You've killed him! Jooo-eeee!"

She ran to me, but Georg leapt with long legs, drunken yet still sure of his mark. He caught my sister, grabbing her by the waist and holding her against her will.

"Vat do you vant viss him, Sissi? He is choost an artist. An Untermensch. Shtay mit me, and ve vill leaf for Germany to-night! Ve can haf breakfast in Bavaria. A-hahahahaha!"

I was not unconscious, though perhaps I should have been. What I was, was lucky. The back of my head throbbed, and I felt like a broken marionette. Could I move?

My sister continued to struggle against our unwelcome guest.

"Take your filthy hands off of me, Georg! I don't want you! I never have!"

"Don't lie to me, you vicked bitch!"

And with that, he crossed the final line. In a quick, drunken movement, he reached down and tore Sissi's beautiful gown, ripping the top open and off her. My sister stood there in shock, humiliated and naked from the waist up. She screamed and reflexively covered her breasts with her hands. In a split-second, I finally beheld her beautiful breasts, and they were every bit as gorgeous as I had always supposed. But Georg Silberbauer had seen them, too, and that was unacceptable.

What occurred next seemingly happened in slow-motion, though it, too, was only another split-second. Renewed energy and life came rushing back into me, the adrenaline that so often blesses human beings in times of emergency and great stress. I stood, making a computer-like computation about Georg's ribcage and his ursine jaw line. As an artist, I had acquired a profound knowledge of human anatomy. And I knew that a blow to a man's jaw, placed correctly, could render him unconscious.

"You animal!" I roared and flew through the air.

My left hand struck him hard in the ribs, and I heard something snap. My right then came up and struck his jaw, and he fell back upon the floor. I found myself on top of him, straddling his barrel-like chest, and I landed another blow across his face for good measure, dislodging two of his yellowing teeth in the process. They clattered to the floor like marbles. But Georg was already out like a light.

Sissi was awash in profound relief.

"Joey! Oh, thank God! Thank you!"

She knelt and flung her arms round me, crying and covering my cheeks with kisses. The swell of her breasts crushed against my chest. For an instant, I returned her embrace, running my hands across her back and through her hair, now undone and cascading round her shoulders and down to her feet. But then I remembered myself and immediately shucked off my jacket, trying, out of a sense of honour, not to look at my gorgeous sister's bounteous, beauteous bosom, even though it was obscured by an angelic avalanche of brown hair. I looked away as I thrust my jacket at her.

"Here. Take this. It's all right now."

We stood up, and she turned her back to me, thus helping me to cover her and preserve her modesty. Still sniffling, she held the jacket as I placed it round her shoulders, and she then slipped her arms into the sleeves. She embraced me again, her petite yet voluptuous body quivering in my arms.

There then came a pounding of footsteps, and our father flung open the cellar door. Marthe and several guests were behind him.

"Vat's all dis noyce?" Dad shouted. "Vat----"

And then he saw. He raced down the stairs, Marthe right behind him.

Again, Dad shouted:

"Sissi! Sepp! Are you both all right?"

We looked at him and nodded slowly.

"Georg," he said, assessing the situation as he glared at the mess of broken bottles, shattered shelves and one ugly, hulking brute, knocked colder than the floor where he lay, "did he----"

"Yes, Vati," I replied gravely. "He tried. But he did not succeed."

"Zat bastard. I vill kill him for zis!" he growled, and he whipped out his cellular 'phone to call nine-one-one.

Marthe put her arms around us both.

"Gott sei dank," she murmured.

"Yes," said Sissi, softly, as she looked up at me adoringly. "Thank God for my little brother; my big, little brother, the hero!"

Dad turned to his guests, several of them now coming down the stairs toward us, concern and a sincere desire to help in their voices."Plees," he said, gesturing to them to go back up the stairs and leave us alone. "Zis is a private matter. I vill take care of zis. Plees leaf, I beg you all, and I vill----Hallo, police? Zis is Hans von Eberstein, calling from my house, Triebschen."

Marthe turned, escorting the guests up the stairs and out of the cellar. She closed the door behind her as Dad paused, flustered in the moment and fumbling to recollect our home's precise address, so seldom was he there.

"Yes, yes, I want to report an assault and----and..." he paused again, his face ashen as he looked at Sissi, "an attempted rape. Dat's right. Ve haf de suspect in custody. He is subdued...Ja, ja...Ja...Plees come kvickly. Sank you very much."

He replaced the 'phone back into his jacket. With a look of intense worry, he then turned to us both, his hands on our shoulders.

"You are sure you are OK?"

We both nodded once more. Dad spread his arms round us, hugging us both as emotion choked his voice.

"Mein Gott. Sank Him zat you are all right. Zat stupid Silberbauer. Uwe was an excellent business partner. But Georg vas alvays----how ze Americans say----a ne'er-do-well. Neo-Nazi pig, God damn zat boy! I vas villing to gif him a second chance, for Uwe's sake, you know, und so, I invited him here. Zis is all my fault."

"Dad, you couldn't have known. I heard how he got drunk and ruined your soirée in New York. But that was years ago. And as for this evening, you had no way of knowing. Sissi is OK, and Georg didn't...I mean----I would have died before I let anything like that happen!"

"You damned near did, little brother," she said softly, gazing up at me now with what I dared to hope was a look of commingled admiration, yearning and growing love as she dabbed at my cuts with a cocktail napkin.

I kissed my sister's forehead, brushing back a waterfall of hair. She looked up at me again and smiled wanly. Dad said:

"Vell, I shall see to it zat he goes to prison for a very long time. I shall make ze rest of his vorthless life a misery. Do not worry, Liebchen!"

He touched Sissi's cheek, trying to reassure her.

"I vill cancel my trip. I vill shtay here with you. Marthe, too."

Dad was scheduled, later that night, to take a red-eye to New York on business that wouldn't wait. Marthe was going to go with him, intending to vacation with her sister in Canada.

I thought quickly.

"No, Dad. That's OK. I know this trip is critical to your business, and Marthe hasn't seen Katharina in so long. You two go on. Don't worry about us. I think Sissi needs to be alone. Too many people, too much excitement. I think it's best that we're both alone, here with some peace and quiet."

Dad raised a brow and gave me a knowing look, patting my shoulder firmly.

"All right, my boy. Hmmm...Happy birthday! Ich wünsche dir zu deinem Geburtstag alles Liebe und Gute----verbringe einen wunderschönen Tag im Kreise deiner Lieben."

Out of long years of habit, I translated his German automatically in my head:

"I wish you all the best on your birthday. May you spend a wonderful day with those you love."

I blinked.

Does he know? I wondered fleetingly. No. Don't be ridiculous. How could he?

He hugged Sissi.

"Take care, Liebchen."

"Thank you, Daddy."

Her voice seemed so small, like that of a hurt little girl, somehow, as she fought back tears.

"Thanks, Dad," I said, shaking his hand.

He gave me a bear hug.

"Take care of your little, big sister," he said, turning to Sissi and adding, "And you, Liebchen, let your big, little bruzzer take care of you."

***

In a trice, the police arrived, and Georg revived. He was cuffed and led away, and as we later discovered, Dad did indeed use his powerful influence and connexions to get the bastard the maximum sentence, much to our relief. There was a round of questions, and statements were given. As one officer observed, the case was easily open-and-shut, because Georg had a record in New York, unbeknown to us, and thank God we weren't seriously hurt. The back of my head was somewhat sore, and I soon found myself nursing it with an icepack. But the EMT's at the scene earlier had found no knots or bruises, and they said I was very lucky. Small cuts from the broken glass dotted my hands, neck and, to a mercifully lesser extent, my forehead as well. But I knew damned well that it could have been far, far worse.

Soon the guests and Dad and Marthe were all gone, and Sissi and I were alone at last, sitting in the breakfast nook. I removed my vest, clad now only in my black trousers and white shirt. It was unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up, my cufflinks laid I knew not where, my bowtie undone and askew. Sissi had changed into one of my favourite old T-shirts, and I didn't think she was wearing anything else under it, as I couldn't help noticing. That lucky T-shirt was quite oversized on her and very fetching, and, with her hair once again done up in that Gibson girl style I love so well, she looked a bit like a 1980's pop star, as I thought.

She applied alcohol-laden cotton balls to my cuts. That burned a lot, and she seemed to take a perverse pleasure in hurting me.

"Hold still, hero," she said, giggling.

"Aaahhhh! Damn it!"

Still, it was worth it. She needed a laugh and a reprieve, however seemingly temporary.

She was very sweet to me. She kissed my hands and the cuts upon them.

"There," she said. "Big Sissi will make it all better for baby brother."

"Mmmm," I responded. "Ouch! Fingers hurt, where I hit that jerk."

"Well, nothing is broken, thank goodness. Or else you couldn't bend them. See?"

"Hey! Oww!"

"Sorry."

She then kissed my cheeks and looked at me with those soulful eyes, those pools of melted chocolate full of gratitude and wonder.

"Joey, I...I don't know how to thank you. You----you saved my life, little brother. Or at least you certainly saved me from a fate worse than death. That brute! His hands. Yuck! Those awful hands..."

I hugged her again, and she nuzzled her head beneath my chin. She snuggled against me. She was warm and wonderful, and her perfume was intoxicating.

"Sis, Sis, don't think about it. Forget it. Put it out of your mind, OK? Relax. I'm here. And no will ever hurt you again. Ever."

She kissed my cheeks once more, her lips this time tantalisingly close to my own. Her breath was cool and clean, refreshing like mint, and I sensed she had sneaked a shot of peppermint schnaps to steady her frayed nerves. I ached for her to kiss me, to really kiss me upon the lips. But she did not. She returned to my hands, kissing them again.

"All better," she repeated, whispering gently in my ear.

She rose gracefully and disappeared. I listened to her soft footfalls and guessed she had gone into the den.

***

Triebschen may be in the mountains, and the weather is often more like that of southern Canada. But it was still only September and not that cold. Nonetheless, I lit a fire in the enormous main fireplace. I knew this would comfort Sissi, and she was now my total focus----my whole world.

I found myself disturbed and really quite worried when, a short while later, I found her shivering, even as she sat before the fire, her legs curled beneath her on an ample ottoman. I had gotten up to pour us both two generous glasses of Rémy Martin. Brandy would surely warm her up, and this cognac was the best in the world. I knew she loved it.

Ah, I thought. She's not cold. She's still scared, feeling the aftershock. God damn that Georg.

"Hey," I said gently, offering her the snifter.

"Hey," she replied.

I fetched a blanket from the sofa. It was big enough for us both, and I wrapped it round us. I nudged her gently from the ottoman, and we sat propped against it, side by side on the floor. I took a big gulp of the brandy and winced as its fire warmed me up inside. I'm not big on liquor, but I knew this would help deaden the pain.

"Not too much of that stuff," Sissi warned gently. "You hurt your head. You don't want to----"

"Shhhhh," I replied, my index finger softly touching her softer lips. "I'll be fine. That EMT said so, remember? And it looks worse than it feels. Besides, you let me worry about me. And you let me worry about you."

Our heads touched. Our arms were now round each other, the brandy snifters on the hearth. Now I knew for certain that she was naked beneath my T-shirt. I could not feel the strap of her brassière beneath it, but I knew she wanted to relax. And I was the only person on earth round whom she was truly relaxed, with whom she could truly let her hair hang down.

And her bountiful hair was at that moment actually still done up atop her head, where she had reset it, probably to accommodate the T-shirt, as I thought. This meant that her neck was exposed, inviting my kiss. But I paused, noticing that she in fact seemed somehow both afraid and physically cold. Gooseflesh popped along her arms, and I saw that her nipples were hard. Cold, surely, as I told myself, not arousal. Again she wept gently.

"Shhhh," I repeated, my lips light upon her lower neck. "He's gone, Sissi. He'll never hurt you again. And for that matter, I'll never leave you again. I'll stay with you for ever."

She drew apart from me a little, her wet eyes now meeting mine. Her lips parted slightly, yet nothing did she say. I took both her hands gently in my own, as I continued:

"I will protect you always, dearest Sis, and no harm will ever come to you again. These past few years without you have been pure Hell, darling. And now, to-night, I've realised with painful clarity what I've really known all along: that I don't ever want to be separated from you, ever again. Never."

She looked down at our hands, clasped and united as if by invisible bonds. Then she looked up at me again, her eyes wider and shining. A smile of hope hesitated, playing about her succulent lips.

"Joey...Joey, are you saying----O dearest God, dearest baby brother----are you saying what I think you're saying? What I hope and pray that you're saying?"

I smiled back at her, and it all came out. Long years of the purest love----a love that dared not express itself----suddenly came flooding out, a gushing torrent that could not be resisted. I could deny the truth no longer, not to myself, not to my own sweet sister, my goddess and the love of my life.

"Yes, Sissi. I love you. I love you. As a sister, as a friend...All of that and so much more. I love you as a man loves a woman----as a husband, his wife."

She exhaled hard, smiling but speechless.

"Sissi, I have carried a torch for you, a thing of much more than brotherly love, for long years. You are all that I ever think about! As Cyrano loved his cousin, Roxane, and his heart swung like a bell, pealing out her name, so, too, it is with me. You are constantly in my thoughts, and my giddy heart hourly swings and rings, 'Sissi! Sissi! Sissi!'"

She laughed a little, a wave of relief seeming to rush over her.

"Oh, Joey----Joey, baby," she began, smiling so prettily as she brushed away a tear before taking my hands again. "Oh, honey, darling brother...I----I feel the same way about you! I love you, too, baby boy!"

I moved in closer, at long last doing what I'd burned and yearned to do for so many years. I threw my arms round my beautiful sister, and I kissed her; a real kiss, this time, not just an affectionate brushing of our lips against our cheeks. No, I kissed my beloved Sissi as a lover. Our tongues met at last, and they wrestled as one, encircling each other, our passion only rising and rising. We struggled for breath, but we didn't care. Our hands roamed across each other's face and back and shoulders as we held each other so tightly, locked in an incestuous embrace for what felt like for ever.

At last, we parted, coming up for air, a long strand of my sister's saliva sexily connecting our mouths.

"Mmmmf," she moaned. "Ah. Ah! Oh, wow. O my God, Joey. You're----you're a wonderful kisser! Ah. O God! But----dear Lord, this is wrong. I mean, isn't it? You do realise----you do realise, baby brother: this is incest."

I cocked a defiant brow at her.

"Do you care?"

She released a breath, something between one of her heavenly sighs and soft laughter.

"Not a Welsh damn. C'mere, you!"

And she drew me into her, and we kissed again. This time I kissed her cheeks and her eyes, drying her remaining tears. I trailed fire down her neck before returning to her delicious mouth.

"Mmmm----oh, Joey. Oh, yes, Joey!"

"Oh, Sissi!"

And then suddenly, from down the hall in our father's library, we heard the grandfather clock chiming the hour. Twelve metallic bongs rang out, piercing the stillness of the night.

Midnight. At last.

With something of a perverse Pavlovian response, we turned our heads in the library's direction. Before the final peal, my sister turned to me and grinned widely.

"It's to-morrow! Your birthday! The big one-eight. My handsome baby brother is finally a man. Your 18th natal anniversary, ha-ha! Happy birthday, Joey!"

She hugged me again, her body crushed against mine. It felt so good, so natural and so right. She cradled my chin in her soft hands.

"Kiss me, Joey."

And I did, this time tenderly----softly, gently and without rush. Our tongues danced and darted but more briefly, this time, as we knew there was so much more to come. I gazed deeply into my sister's eyes, which were filled with reflected firelight and brimming with love.

"My first kiss," I said softly.

Sissi chuckled, moving closer to me.

"I think that came a moment ago, silly boy."

"Sissi, what I mean is----you are my first kiss. My first love. My only love."

She blinked in slight disbelief.

"Whoa, you mean you've never kissed a girl until now? Not even in London? All those female artists and models and all the women you knew that----"

"Were only friends. Every last one. One or two wanted more, sure. But you know what I did? I showed them your picture. I never said you were my sister. I told them you were my girlfriend!"

She laughed, her hand massaging her brow. Gently yet firmly, I grabbed her shoulders and said:

"I've been saving myself for you, Sissi. I've wanted you for so long, and I've dreamt of this moment for years. And all this time, I never gave up hope that my dream might one day come true."

She blushed slightly. Colour came into her cheeks so prettily. She looked down for a second and then back at me.

"Oh, wow, Joey. Oh, God. This is...you won't believe this. I did the same thing!"

"You did?"

"Yeah! And baby brother----you unfathomably special boy, you wonderfully sexy man----you are my first, too! Oh, Joey, I've been saving myself for you!"

I smiled.

"Ah! So I am your first kiss, too, Sis?"

I caressed her cheek, tears stinging my eyes now.

"Yes, darling. Truth is, I could never so much as imagine being with anyone but you, Joey."

The enormity of all this----the profound sense of joy and wonder----was descending over me, wrapping me in a warm blanket of delight, indeed euphoria. This was the happiest moment of my life. I cradled my sister's chin, our eyes locked.

"Then be my first, Sissi."

Her lips touched my hand in the softest kiss.

"Be my only, Joey."

I smiled, taking in the significance of all that this meant and would mean.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Yes," my sister repeated.

I rose, drawing her up with me, all the time our eyes locked as if we were mutually mesmerised. Sissi simultaneously stood on her dainty tiptoes and bent me down to her mouth, fairly assaulting my tongue with her own. I broke our kiss to hug her, embracing her as tightly as I could. I just wanted to hold her and hold her and hold her, never letting go, for ever.

"Oh, God, I've missed you so much."

"And I've missed you more, little brother. Let's make a pact. Let's resolve to never, ever be apart from each other. Never again."

"A new life. To-gether."

"Yes, a new life. A new----aaahhh! Hey! Jo-eeee!"

I scooped her into my arms, picking her up and carrying her as a groom does his bride. I carried her upstairs, her arms round my neck, her smooth legs soft in my right arm.

"Wow," she observed, gazing into my eyes. "I think this just may be the best elevator I've ever ridden on."

"Oh, you're going to ride it, all right," I teased.

She tossed back her head and laughed.

"I hope so, handsome!"

In seconds, we were in her bedroom. I playfully threw her down upon her bed, and she bounced with girlish glee.

"Ahhh! Jo----Joeeee! Whee-eeee! Hahaha!"

I jumped on the bed beside her. It was an enormous, elegant four-poster bed, a king-sized thing with lots of room.

I rained down kisses upon Sissi's cheeks, her forehead, her neck, her eyes and back to her luscious lips. But suddenly she stopped me, placing a finger against my own lips.

"Wait," she whispered. "Wait."

"What? What is it? Dear God, did I hurt you? Oh, Sissi, I----"

She laughed lightly.

"No, no, silly. Nothing like that. Get up."

"Hmmm?"

"Nothing. Just humour me. Stand up and go wait in the hallway."

"But----"

"Do as your big sister tells you."

I sighed.

"Very well. Your wish is my command, Milady."

I was an obedient little brother. I got up and did as she bade me. I stood in the hall and she, at the threshold of her bedroom.

"I want to show you something, Rembrandt. I want you paint me again, and this is what I want you to see. But first, turn your back."

Again, I did as she commanded. But Sissi had forgotten, as it seemed, about the large mirror on the wall near the landing above the stairs. The hall was but dimly lit, yet I could see everything:

She moved my T-shirt up her body, slowly uncovering every delicious inch of her glorious flesh. I heard the soft rustle of cotton fabric against her skin. In the mirror, I saw first her sanctum sanctorum, her virgin sex, hairless, neat and inviting. Then she moved the shirt above her narrow waist. Next, she quickly pulled it over her breasts and her head, affording me only a split-second's glance at her heaving bosom. She immediately covered her breasts again with the shirt.

Can she see that I can see? I wondered. Is she teasing me?

Then she began to slowly move the T-shirt down. Cleavage. More cleavage. The swell of her breasts rising as she mashed them to-gether. At last, her nipples were exposed, and she tossed the shirt to the floor.

I was awestruck. My sister's breasts are as perfect as she is. Each one is larger than her head, and each areola is, I think, nearly a third the size of her face. They are like coasters or small saucers and an amazing five inches or so in diameter. She pushed her breasts to-gether, as I could see in the mirror, and she roamed her hands freely over both of them. She simultaneously grabbed both nipples, pulling them a surprising distance. But they needed no help, as I could tell they were already rock-hard. Fully erect, each nipple is at least an inch long. And at that glorious moment, I could see by my sweet sister's nipples that she was as aroused as it is possible for a woman to be.

Indeed, she was in apparent ecstasy. She closed her eyes and moved her hands to her head. She undid her magnificent hair, and it fell to the floor, cascading round and past her shoulders, covering them, her breasts and her sex. She looked like Lady Godiva, as I thought.

"OK, Joey," she said softly. "You can turn around now."

I did so, and I gasped in awe.

"Oh, Sis. Sis..."

Gazing directly at her, my mouth slightly agape, I was aware that I was well and truly in the presence of the most beautiful woman ever I'd beheld. No artists' models that I'd encountered; no actresses in West End plays or BBC films; no noblewomen at a hundred soirées----no one----no one could match my beloved sister. I am convinced that she is demonstrably and absolutely the loveliest woman in all the world.

"Oh, sweet God, Sissi. You are so beautiful, I could weep. This is----you are----this, this is the image of you that I must paint. I must capture this. I want to paint you, Sissi."

"And so you shall," she replied, her chin and eyes lowered as she gave me a sideways, seductive look. "Come here, little brother."

I was hypnotised, magnetised by her beauty and her power over me. I would cheerfully surrender my will to my sister, and I knew we would both love that. I seemed to glide across the floor, walking on clouds in her direction. Standing in the doorway, she placed her hands on my open shirt and began to slowly undo the remaining buttons.

"You shall paint me, Joey, just like this," she whispered, gazing up at me, a look of commingling love and lust in her brown eyes. "But not the way you think, not now. Right now, I want you to paint me in another way. Make my body your canvas, using but a single colour. I want you to paint me white."

"Oh, you dirty, little girl!" I replied, grinning.

She stood atiptoe and pulled me down to her, kissing me hungrily for a full minute, her hands and mine roaming across each other's back. Then she drew away from me, yet another strand of saliva connecting our lips.

"Yes, I am. And you, little brother, are about to find out just how dirty your big sister is. And I've saved up all my naughty, wicked love and lust for you. If this is wrong, I don't care."

"I honestly don't believe it is. How could it be? What I feel for you is so natural, Sissi. I think I've known all along, for long years now, that one day we would be to-gether."

"To-gether for ever."

"Yes."

As I led her to the bed, I saw that whilst I'd been in the hallway, she had lighted many candles all about her room. The large, rectangular mirror attached to her long chest of drawers multiplied the candlelight, making the room surprisingly bright, and I saw that she had drawn back the bedcovers for us. Still, as we both sat down upon the cool cotton of her ample mattress, I couldn't resist turning on the Tiffany lamp beside her bed. It cast a soft glow upon the bed and everything in the room, really a perfect Rembrandt light.

"I'm an artist," I said softly, caressing her cheek. "I must see you. And you are the one person in all the world I'd rather gaze upon than anyone or anything."

"I feel the same way about you, little brother," she said, her hand upon my shoulder. "You're an Adonis, a statue come to life. And I love you."

"I love you more," I teased, smiling as I lightly took her hair in my hands and brushed it gently back, over her shoulders.

At last, for the first time up close, I beheld her bounteous breasts. Her nipples were hard and aching for my touch, as I knew. My eyes widened, and my heart raced faster.

"My God..."

"You like them?" she asked with seeming shyness.

"No. I love them. Oh, God, Sissi!"

And I fell upon them, fairly attacking them with my mouth and hands. My lips found her right nipple and then her left. I sucked and pulled, suckling one nipple as I tugged on the other with eager fingers. I roamed my tongue around each enormous areola and roamed my hands across the melon-like surface of her flesh.

"Oh, Joey! Oh, Joey, yes! Yes!"

I bit down gently on first one nipple and then the other, simultaneously pushing her down upon the bed and into a recumbent position. I continued suckling, tugging and nibbling, playing with her breasts as I'd longed to do for all these years.

"Oh, God, Joey! You're gonna make me cum! Oh, yes! Don't stop, baby!"

Again, in my anatomical studies (amazing how "way leads on to way," as Frost wrote), I knew that some women possessed nipples so sensitive that they could climax merely from having them sucked and played with vigorously. It was this I had in mind as I suckled Sissi. And to add to her pleasure (and to my own, for I delighted in giving her pleasure), at the same time I laid sexy siege to her breasts I also reached down to her sex.

She's keeping herself very modern, I fleetingly thought, recalling artists' models similarly smooth, bald and bereft of pubic hair, and that just makes this all the easier.

Her clitoris was engorged. She was very excited and very wet. I was thrilled, knowing I had aroused my own sister to this extent, and that only added to the overall piquancy of our delicious experience. I moved my fingers, first one and then two, in and out of her steaming sex. I couldn't believe how wet and sticky my sister's vagina was. Once or twice, I brought my fingers to my lips to both moisten them for further assault and to taste Sissi's wonderful vaginal juices, so salty and delicious. Knowing that I was tasting the juice of such forbidden fruit only made it all the sweeter.

She was writhing now, her eyes shut and her head rolling back and forth upon her pillow. She was moaning to the point of shouting, crying out in sheer ecstasy as I drove her closer and closer to climax.

"Ah! Mmmmf-aaah! Joey! Oh, my God! Oh! Ah! Oh, wow, my own baby brother! Oh, Joey! Joey! Jo-eeee! I'm cumming! I'm cumming! I'm----aaaa-aaaahhhhhhhhhh!"

She trembled, then shook violently, and she grabbed my head, moaning loudly into my mouth as she kissed me with fiery passion. Our arms enfolded round each other. For a moment, we simply lay there: Sissi breathing hard and I, enraptured by the rising and falling of her breasts as she inhaled and exhaled.

"I love you, Joey," she said softly at last, her eyes locked on mine. "I love you."

"And I love you, Sissi, my sweetest princess. More than you know. And we're only getting started!"

I didn't hesitate. I rose immediately and parted her legs.

"Ahhh! Joey!"

In a second, my tongue was lapping at her sex. She was so wet. Feminine lubricity greeted every thrust of my tongue into her urethral opening. I wrapped my whole mouth around most of her vulva, sucking hard on her clitoris, clitoral hood and labia minora. She squealed in delight when I sucked on her perineum.

"Oooooh! Oh, little brother, you're gonna make your big sister cum again! Oh, Joey! I'm----so close! You're gonna----you're----ah-haaaaaaaaaaa-nnnhhh-gaaaahh!"

She shook with even greater violence this time, and my face was rewarded with a small shower of her spend. I grabbed her legs as they sandwiched my head between them, and she rocked back and forth upon the wrinkled sheets. Sissi continued to moan most prettily, and it fell upon my ears as the most exquisite music. Her vulva was covered in lubricity now, and I played with it, moving my hand all across her sex and rubbing it along her inner thighs and up to her navel.

"Come here, you," she whispered.

Ever obedient, I heeded her command. Our faces were now parallel on her thick pillows, and I gazed smilingly across the white, somewhat tanned expanse of her own enormous pillows.

"No tan lines," I observed softly. "Is there no end to your perfection?"

"The pool, silly," she replied, kissing me gently, "when no one's around. Mmmm, I can taste myself on your lips and tongue, baby brother."

"You taste delicious, Sis."

"That tongue of yours should be registered as a lethal weapon. And hey, you're the only one with clothes on still," she noted, adding with a giggle, "That's not fair!"

She was very fast. She suddenly grabbed my wrists and turned me over on to my back, fairly ripping my shirt away. She then pulled my trousers down and off, reducing me to only my boxers, which now rather resembled a circus tent. She straddled me, dangling her enormous breasts in my face, teasing me as she moved. She slapped me playfully, striking my cheeks with both breasts as she laughed musically.

Wap, wap, wap!

"Ha-ha! Hey, you're gonna kill me with these things. These are the real lethal weapons, Sis!"

Reaching upward, I grabbed them and mashed them to-gether. I suckled Sissi's delicious breasts again, and she giggled with delight. Then she began to move downward, but I stopped her. I grabbed her shoulders and looked at her earnestly.

"I love you," I said again simply.

"I love you, too!"

"Hurt me."

"Hmmm?"

"Abuse me. Molest me. Do with me as you will."

She giggled again.

"Silly boy. I love you. I could never hurt you...much!"

She bit my arm, sinking her teeth deep into my flesh.

"Aaaa-oowww! Sissi!"

"Mmmm, you taste good, little brother. Wonder what other parts of you also taste good..."

And with that, she nearly ripped my shorts away and pulled them completely off. My legs offered no resistance, and she pulled the boxers away, tossing them through the air. Thus released, my phallus sprang out like a coiled spring, and it struck her in the face with a sudden whap! She gasped and smiled.

"Oh, my God...Oh, my, my...My little brother is not so little anymore! Not so little at all!"

I gasped as she wrapped one hand and then both round my throbbing tumescence.

"My baby brother with the nice cock," she cooed, moving her hands up and down, all the while her eyes locked upon mine.

"Aaaahh! Oh, Sissi!"

She drooled upon my penis, getting it incredibly wet in seconds. She moved a hand up and down. Now it was my turn to writhe.

"Who owns your cock now, little brother?" she teased, her voice dripping with mock-wickedness.

"You do," I moaned.

"You'll do anything I tell you to, won't you?"

"Yes, Sissi."

"What if I say you need to cum? What if I say that you need to cum for your big sister?"

"Mmmmm...yessss..."

Suddenly she stopped masturbating me and stretched to her bedside table, her breasts slapping my chest as she did so. She retrieved a bottle of massage oil. A split-second's glance at the label told me this curious substance was edible.

"Sis----"

"Shhhh. Not a word. Watch."

She opened the bottle and splashed a great quantity of the stuff all over her ballooning breasts. Several stray drops struck my cock as well.

"Sit up."

I did so, as she scrambled over the bed and knelt on the floor. She directed me to move to a low bedside chair. I did so, and in a second, she encased my throbbing member between her oily breasts. She began moving up and down. This was Heaven, the goal I'd dreamt of and fantasised about for so long.

"You like that, baby?"

"Oh, God, Sissi! Sissi!"

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

She increased her speed slightly. And now each time she moved her glistening globes up and down upon my shaft, she darted her tongue outward, lightly flicking my glans. At last, she took the whole head into her mouth, purring like a kitten as she did so.

"Sissseeee..."

I moaned in ecstasy. She spent what felt like a full minute, suckling the crown of my cock just as I had suckled her mountainous mounds. Then all at once, she engulfed the entire shaft, her mouth going all the way down to touch my pubic hair. I could feel the back of her throat, and I fleetingly worried about hurting her or making her gag.

"Aaahhh!" she gasped, pulling off and away slowly as multiple long, thick strands of her sexy saliva connected her lips with my cock.

She repeated this several times, her tongue teasing and tickling me. Then, with a wicked grin, she resumed moving her magnificent mammaries up and down, allowing me to tit-fuck her to my heart's content. She moved her breasts up and parallel with her cheeks, so that each time I thrust home, she took me inside her mouth again. Then she engulfed my shaft once more, simultaneously fellating me whilst I fucked her gorgeous tits.

Eventually, I realised I could last no longer.

"Ooooh, Sis...You're gonna make me cummm..."

"That's what I want, baby! Give me all your cum. I want you to explode all over your big sister."

"Sissi...Sissi, I'm close."

"Then give it to me, darling. Shower big Sissi with all of your love. Cum all over me. Cum for your sister, like a good boy."

"Oh, Sissi...Sissi...Ah! Oh! Sissseee! I love you! I love you, Sissi!"

"Ooh, yes, baby boy. That's it!"

The cum came out of me like a rocket blast. Four mighty bursts shot out of me, followed by a weaker fifth and several aftershocks. The first two landed upon Sissi's beautiful face and mouth, the second pair on her bounteous breasts themselves. She closed her eyes and smiled as I painted her delicious skin white.

It was the orgasm of a lifetime----a short lifetime's worth of pent-up, stored-up love and lust for the woman who was and is and always will be the love of my life: my goddess, my love, my all, my big sister.

"That's a good boy," she whispered, rubbing my semen all over her mouth, her lips and her breasts. "That's a very good boy. Mmmm..."

She rubbed her fingers through my cum. She then purred as she licked the spend off her delicious digits: a beautiful sight. As she grabbed a folded towel beside her nightstand, I vaguely wondered whether she hadn't prepared all of this, an elaborate plan to seduce her little brother. But honestly, at that moment, I didn't care. I still don't. She wiped her mouth and face and smiled at me.

"That was yummy," she observed, as I took her by the hand and gently led her back to bed.

For a moment, we lay in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of our orgasms. We whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears as we stroked each other's hair. Sissi caressed my cheek and I, hers. But eventually, my hand wandered back to her sex, and I began slowly rubbing her vulva, followed by slow and gentle cunnidigitus. She grew wetter and wetter.

"Oh, God, Joey," she moaned. "That feels so goooood!"

"I love you," I said simply.

"And I love you. And I'll love you even more if you put that big weapon inside of me!"

"Oh, darling. I've waited all my life for that, for you and this moment. But----I----I don't want to hurt you."

She grabbed me by both cheeks and kissed me passionately. She gazed into my eyes.

"You're sweet, little brother. Very sweet. But don't worry. Remember the time I fell off Sieglinde, a few years back?"

I squinted, casting my mind back to the time her horse threw her. I had a vision of her lying in the meadow, her face a mask of pain.

"You mean----"

"That's right. Marthe took care of me at the time, and she never said anything. She kept the secret. That fall shattered my hymen. So there's no maidenhead for you to take, technically speaking, and you needn't worry about hurting me."

"Ah."

"But you are still my first, Joey."

She kissed me again, her tongue fairly molesting my own.

"And I want you to be my only," she added with emphatic seriousness, her eyes locked upon mine.

"I don't want anyone else, Sissi. Only you. But----you must forgive me. I'm not----not entirely sure what to do."

She chuckled.

"With all your anatomical knowledge? The great painter?"

"Well," I said, smiling as I blushed, "I know, but I don't know, if that makes any sense."

She gave me an almost motherly smile as she looked up at me and caressed my cheek once more.

"Not quite sure myself. But that is perhaps as it should be: two innocents, exploring each other and giving ourselves to each other. They say that experience is overrated, and it can be more than made up for by curiosity, enthusiasm and passion. So let us learn to-gether, you and I."

"Yes. Yes, my love."

"Then take me. I'm yours. Fuck me, little brother. Make love to your sister, now and for evermore."

She spread her legs wide, moving me toward my greatest goal. Once more but in a new and wonderfully different way, I was intoxicated by her scent as I rubbed my hardness against the velvety smooth entrance to my sister's womb. She was so wet, she glistened in the soft light.

I rubbed the crown of my cock against her flesh. She gently parted her labia with the fingers of one hand, while with the other she grabbed me, teasing both my cock and her pussy as she moved me against her. I was in awe and in ecstasy.

"Oh, God, darling."

"That's it, Joey. Now. Move forward. Slowly. That's the way. Good boy!"

"Aahh! Sisseee!"

"Joeeee! Oh, Joey! Oh, fuck!"

There was no blood. But she was unbelievably tight. I could feel her womb stretching to accommodate my length and girth. Her velvety vaginal walls were at once so silky soft yet so deliciously tight. My sister's most intimate, fleshy caress was Heaven on earth.

It was for this moment that I was born.

I bent down and kissed her with unbridled passion, our mouths and tongues crashing into each other as I rocked back and forth. Instinctively, I moved faster, and Sissi's bounteous, bouncing breasts shook with ever greater force. I kissed her again, our lips grinding to-gether, our heat, sweat and scents mingling as we gyrated and undulated with mounting passion.

"O my God! My own baby brother! Yes! That's it! Fuck your big sister, baby! Fuck your sister, hard!"

"Oh, Sissi! Oh, darling! I love you!"

And again I kissed my darling sister.

"I love you, too—mmmfff!"

"Your pussy—oh, God, Sis, it was made for me!"

"And your cock was made for your big sister's tight pussy, little brother! You're a perfect fit! Oh, Joey, you were made for me!"

Her beautiful breasts, each one as large as or maybe even slightly larger than her head, were now striking her chin and cheeks with every thrust of my hips. I grabbed them, the nipples so hard beneath my palms. This was more pleasure than I knew I could stand, and I realised I was nearing a thunderous climax.

"Oh, Sissi—you're gonna make me cum! I should—"

"No! Don't you dare!"

She wrapped her legs round the small of my back, locking me into her. With one hand upon my shoulder, she grabbed the back of my head with the other, entwining her fingers in my hair.

"I want you to cum inside of me."

"But—"

"Do as I say, little boy. Listen to big Sissi."

"Ah...OK."

"Trust me. Now cum, Joey. Fill me with all of your hot cum. Shoot it up inside of me. Cum for me, Joey! Cum for me!"

Her command was like a magical incantation, and before it I was delightfully powerless to resist.

"Oh, Sis! Oh, Sissi! Sisseeee! Ah! Sissseeeeee! Yessss!"

And I was released at last. I came hard inside of my beloved, sweet sister, five pulsating jets going off in her virgin vagina. I would swear that I saw the face of Almighty God Himself as I bathed my sister's womb with my hot cum. Sweat dripped from us both. I reached for the towel, wiping first Sissi's face and then my own as she smiled at me. It was, I think, the most beautiful, beatific smile I had yet seen upon her holy face.

I collapsed on top of her before, a second later, rolling over, off of her and out of her, a trail of my semen briefly connecting my phallus and her labia. We embraced, hugging each other tightly, our arms enfolding our bodies, our legs happily entwined. The room now smelled of our passion, and it seemed to me a scent as exquisite as my sister's perfume. Our faces parallel upon fluffy pillows, we smiled silently and gazed at each other, my hand lovingly caressing my sister's own fluffy pillows as she in turn stroked my cheek and ran several fingers lightly through my hair. My eyes closed for an instant. This—this was Paradise at last.

"You were magnificent, little boy," she whispered.

I opened my eyes.

"I adore you, Sis. I worship you. You are my angel, my goddess."

She smiled again, the loveliest smile in all the world.

"I feel the same way about you, little brother. You are a Nordic god, Joey. And it's your heart, your mind, your very soul as much as your body. I want you to know that. I could never love anyone else. You've spoilt me for all other men. Fate has brought us to-gether—indeed, to the point of sharing the same father, if not the same mother, and growing up to-gether, sharing the same home and now, the same bed and as I hope and pray, the same future. And it's almost as if we really were twins, you know: the same soul in two different bodies."

I gently kissed her delicate hand.

"Thou art a poetess, meine Schwester. And I only have eyes for thee. No one else. Ever. I swear."

She laughed gently and rubbed her right foot against my left.

"Sounds like a marriage proposal, my prince."

She smiled at me, rubbing her nose against mine, Eskimo style.

"Well—what if it is, Sis?"

She drew back, her eyes wide and her grin wider still.

"Then the answer is 'yes,' Joey! Yes!"

She grabbed my cheeks and kissed me passionately, climbing on top of me, her bouncing breasts once more in my face, her hard nipples aching for my mouth and tongue. Before I knew it, my sister and I were making love again, her breasts slapping and flapping up and down, as we both came again, over and over and over.

***

In the morning, after only several hours of sleep, I awoke tired but happy. Sissi was naked beside me, and I leaned over to gently brush her cheek with my lips. She did not stir, her breath slow and even, still in the arms of Morpheus and dreaming pleasantly as I was certain.

I slipped out of the bed, taking as much care as I could not to disturb her. Pulling on a T-shirt and a crumpled pair of cargo shorts, I crept downstairs and padded into the kitchen, making a large pot of coffee for us. The Krups machine filled nearly the whole downstairs with a delicious aroma, and I thought this might eventually awaken my beloved angel from her sweet slumber.

It was now late morning. I raised a brow as I glanced at Marthe's cuckoo clock (im Schwarzwald gemacht) upon the wall. I was already planning to whisk Sissi away for lunch in Asheville and to spend the rest of the day with her.

And to spend the rest of my life with her.

I pondered this as I walked out on to the pier, gazing with squinting eyes at the bright sun upon our little lake. I marvelled slightly at two seagulls, very far from home, flitting some 20 feet above the water. There, I thought, might be a profound visual metaphor for Sissi and me.

Beneath the gazebo at the end of the pier, a weathered wooden table and two padded chairs beckoned me. I sat down, my hand reflexively patting the object—a palm-sized square box—inside the voluminous pocket of my cargo shorts. I looked at the two cups of steaming coffee before me: cream and sugar for Sissi, black for me.

Eventually, I heard the sound my thirsty ears craved: the delicate padding of my sexy sister's beautiful bare feet upon the planks of the pier. I smiled but did not turn round. Instead, I waited for her, and she did not disappoint. She did exactly what I thought she would: she said nothing as she approached but only came up behind me and put her beautiful arms round me, enfolding me in her love. I sighed with delight.

"Morning, handsome."

"Morning, sexy. Made your coffee just the way you like it."

She turned to face me, and she smiled and gazed at me, her brown eyes bright. She bent down and kissed me softly.

"You make everything the way I like it, little brother."

She sat beside me, moving her chair so that it was right bang against my own. She leaned her head against my shoulder. She was close but not close enough.

"C'mere, you," I said, gently guiding her upward.

Each chair was large, indeed large enough for two, if you squeezed in tight, and that was just what I wanted to do with my beloved sister. I pulled her down to me, sitting her upon my lap. My reaction to her was immediate, and she squealed with delight as she ground her pussy against my growing hardness. She, too, was clad in a T-shirt, albeit one far too small, forcing her naked nipples into prominence and erection, and cargo shorts. I slipped a hand up her shirt and ran playful fingers along her spine, delighted that she wore no bra beneath the thin fabric.

Her eyes closed, and she kissed me, hugging me tight. She wriggled again atop me, and I heard a curious, slightly crinkling sound, very faint. I raised a brow at her, and she smiled, reading my thoughts.

"Wearing a pad. So, you want to be my scarlet knight to-day?"

I laughed.

"Started my period this morning," she continued. "Knew that I would. That's why I had you cum inside me last night. Knew nothing would happen, and I wanted to know the feeling of my having my own baby brother's delicious cum inside of me! But I'll tell you the truth, Joey, the full truth. I would be honoured—thrilled beyond belief and my wildest dreams—to be pregnant by you. I'm only your half-sister, y'know, so genetically we're more like cousins. So it's even likelier that we'd have wonderful, normal children."

I smiled, suddenly filled with a desire to have an army of kids—20 at least! —with my own sweet sister. My mind was racing now. In a foreign country, we could find a priest, someone who didn't know us, to marry us. And we could then live happily ever after.

"Well, we have 'world enough and time,'" I observed, quoting Andrew Marvell, "and certainly a king's ransom to make it all possible, Sis. Talking of which..."

I gently pushed her, and she rose from her delightful position astride me. I stood as well.

"Last night, I didn't say this right. Not the way I should. The heat of the moment, you know...And you were wonderful, Sissi! I've never...I want you to know that—"

"I know, little brother. You don't have to—"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

I knelt, and I took both her hands in mine. I looked up at her, and her eyes widened. Her lips parted, and she gasped.

"Elisabeth Constanze Theresia Anna von Eberstein," I said solemnly, "my own dearest Sissi, you are the love of my life and indeed the only love I could ever have or desire. I love your smile, your eyes, your body, your mind, your heart and your soul. You complete me, and we are indeed one soul in two bodies. I cannot imagine my life without you, Sissi. I love you beyond all measure. And you can make your little brother the happiest man on the broad face of the earth. Sissi—my queen, my love, my all—will you marry me?"

Tears were now freely flowing down her beautiful face. Indeed, my own eyes were now stung with tears, too, as she replied:

"Franz Josef Anton Thomas von Eberstein, my own darling baby brother, I have loved you since you were born. My love for you knows no bounds. You are my brother, my hero and my lover. And yes, you shall be my husband. I do, Joey, I do!"

I smiled and closed my eyes for a second.

"'Bone of my bone,'" I said, repeating the words of Adam in Genesis.

"'And flesh of my flesh,'" Sissi finished.

"Yes. Flesh of your glorious flesh, darling!" I said, unable to resist.

She laughed, bidding me rise.

"Yes, Joey," she said, looking up at me now as I gently dabbed at her eyes with a napkin from my pocket. "Yes, I will marry you. There can be no one else. We've grown up to-gether. Now let us grow old to-gether!"

We threw our arms round each other and kissed deeply. The napkin fell to the pier. But as one bulge in the centre of my shorts pressed against my sister's voluptuous body, another package in my right-hand pocket came suddenly to mind.

"Ah! How could I forget? Sissi, my love..."

I reached into my pocket and withdrew the small box. And from the box in turn I withdrew a lovely ring, though whatever loveliness it possessed was poor indeed compared with the infinite loveliness of my sexy sister. Sissi gasped as I placed it upon her finger. It fit perfectly.

"An amethyst! My birthstone!" she exclaimed, referring to her February 13 birthday. "Oh, Joey, it's beautiful! Thank you so much!"

She kissed me, her tongue fairly attacking mine. I could get used to such happy assaults from such an amorous attacker, as I thought once again. She reached up, her arms tight round me, and then she turned away slightly, her breasts bouncing delightfully beneath that very lucky T-shirt as she bounced up and down with girlish glee.

The noonday sun caught the ring most prettily. A large amethyst was set off by a cluster of diamonds on a ring of 24-karat gold.

"I love it! And I love you, Joey! I shall wear it always. And I have something here for you."

She reached into her own pocket and withdrew an identical box. Inside was another ring of the purest gold, surmounted by a large sapphire, my own birthstone, surrounded by another cluster of diamonds. The ring itself was of a larger, manlier style. Now it was my turn to gasp as Sissi placed it upon my finger.

"Oh, honey! Oh, my own dearest Sis! I love you!"

"I guess that great minds think alike!" she observed as we held our bejewelled hands to-gether.

I leaned down, kissing her hotly before whispering in her delectable ear:

"I want to paint you again. Naked this time."

"And so you shall, my dearest," she whispered back.

I picked her up in my arms, supporting her beneath her shoulder blades and the back of her knees, holding her happily against me once more in the manner of a groom with his bride. She squealed with delight as I spun her round in several circles before setting her down upon the pier again.

"Race you back to the house!" I sang out, merrily recalling our childhood.

"No, wait," said Sissi suddenly, her hand on my waistband as her brown eyes gazed up into my blue ones. "Let's do it to-gether."

She reached out her soft hand, which I cheerfully took.

"Yes. Let's. Everything to-gether. From now on. You and me, Sis, contra mundum."

"Yes, baby brother. You and me, against the world."

"I love you, Sissi."

"And I love you, Joey. C'mon!"

And with that, we ran, hand in hand, up the pier and back to the house and into a new life to-gether. Our whole lives were ahead of us, and we would share them, brother and sister, hand in hand: two bodies but one heart, one soul and one perfect love.

For ever.