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I want to make a bucket list with you then start checking off each item, one by one, but we need to start before we fall back to the old ways, we aren’t getting younger Carl, lets get adventurous.
On June 5th my sister called, “It’s been four years, are you okay?”

“You don’t have to remind me Marla, I already laid flowers on her headstone.”

Since my wife died Marla was always concerned for me, that I was managing without my spouse. For the first few months I was depressed, devastated and didn’t give a rotten fuck about anything. Marla helped me though the hardest six months I had ever lived. Then just two years after that her husband was killed in a work accident so I started consoling her. We talk to each other, rely on each other, offering support to keep the other from going into a funk.

Ever since childhood Marla and I have been close. Now as seniors we have a sibling bond nearer to friend and confidant than brother and sister. We are both close to our sons and daughters but they now have lives and families of their own so with the children grown and gone my sister and I gravitated to each other to ward off complete isolation.

“Can you meet me Asters for lunch, your treat?”


“About 12:30?”

She was upbeat, smiling and talking my ears off about a weekend with her daughter and two grand kids. “I wish Chuck could see Angie now, she was the stars in his sky before he died, now she would be the universe.” She continued sadly, “That little girl would be wrapped around his heart.”

Marla sat quiet long enough for me to say, “Hey, this is my anniversary, you don’t get to use it for your own downer.”

My sister shook off her melancholy then sipped some wine, “I hate being alone, my house is too big and empty. I want to sell it.”

“Wow, that’s a big decision, where would you move to? Are going to look for some guy on a senior dating site? Lonely widow will share living space with lonely widower?”

Marla was quiet for several long moments then asked softly, “Would you offer to let me move in with you? I mean you have that big house and much of it is closed off right now. And yes, I guess I would be a lonely widow looking to share living space with a lonely widower.”

I don’t know how she expected me to react to the question but I’m sure quiet reflection didn’t top the list. I sat back and looked long at my sister while my mind churned. I wasn’t shocked, scared, wary, upset, nervous or even surprised. I felt no more reaction than if she had asked to borrow my truck to haul something. After watching her face, evaluating her question, I replied “Do you need an intermediate answer or can I finish lunch before committing my future to my sister?”

Marla visibly relaxed her posture, smiled, then answered, “Sure, it took me two months to get the balls to ask, I guess you can have a few minutes to decide.”

I called her the next day, “Do Sharon and Crissy know what you asked me?” I started, “Would they be okay if you moved in with their uncle?”

“Crissy is a little puzzled as to why you rather than find another man but Sharon asked if I wanted her to ask you. She thinks it would be good for both of us but thought I might be to timid to ask.”

“Well, before I make any kind of deal with you I’d better talk to my kids.”

“Does that mean I should put my house on the market?”

“No, it means I want to talk to my family before I decide how much rent to charge you. I’ll call you back by Friday.”

It took two weeks for my sister and I to reach an arrangement that we and our families were comfortable with. After that she and her daughters spent weeks sorting, selecting and selling or donating furniture and possessions. It took me a couple of months to prepare living space for Marla. Fortunately my house was large enough to split, almost like two full apartments centered around one kitchen. My sons and I painted, repaired and replaced flooring to my sister’s standards and wishes. When moving day arrived she didn’t overload her space with ‘cherished’ minutia, she brought only her most loved memories. Her two daughters got to pick and choose from everything else then the leftovers went to Goodwill. She sold her house and put the money into an IRA.

It didn’t take long for my sister and I to assume domestic roles. She became my surrogate wife, me her surrogate husband. She fell quickly into homemaker mode while I became the provider. The assumption of those roles wasn’t conscience or purposeful, it just a natural adjustment to living with someone again. We quickly got used to the new living arrangements; to someone who didn’t know us we could have been a long married couple. The most major adjustment we had to make was what to watch on TV together.

Four months after she moved in Marla asked me during breakfast, “How many laptops to you have?”

“Three, why?”

“Well, mine died an ugly death, I can’t get it to do anything but stare at me with a blank screen. My computer guy says it’s fried. I’ll buy another but he doesn’t have the one I want right now, it’s on back-order. Can I borrow one?”

“So you can kill it too?”

My sister snuffled a laugh “I hope not, I just need to use it until my new one comes. Whatcha got?”

“I’ve an old Dell I don’t use very often, you’re welcome to it. It’s kind of slow and still has Vista on it but it’s functional.”

About two weeks after I gave Marla my spare laptop she cornered me, “We need to talk.”

“What’s up?”

She sat next to me on the sofa then reached into a computer bag and pulled out my old Dell. She set it up on the coffee table so we could both see the screen then turned it on. It took maybe 45 seconds for the desktop to come up. I was curious but didn’t ask what she was doing, I would find out shortly.

“I have to ask you something.” She opened the start button, started my document processor then clicked open a file. I knew immediately what was on her mind, what her questions would be. I was looking at something I had written several years earlier; a story. A story she was never supposed to find. My heart fluttered with angst when I looked into my sister’s eyes. She challenged “What the hell is this, and this isn’t the only one.”

I’d forgotten to set the hidden properties of my files before I gave her the laptop and now she was showing me that she had found the folders with over a hundred sexual orientated stories I had written over several years. She wasn’t waiting my explanation, “Did you write these or did you copy them from somewhere?”

No sense in hiding the truth, at 58 she was old enough to know the facts of life. “I wrote them, all of them. I sometimes just sat and let my thoughts go and these are what I came up with.”

Marla sat back and studied my face for several long seconds, “This is a little surprising. I mean the writing is not bad but the topics are pretty gross, not all, but some.”

“You read them, how many?”

She looked at me with accusation in her eyes, “Once I got over the shock, I read a lot of them, maybe half.” I wanted to grab my computer and flee from my sister and what I imagined she was going to say to me. I wanted to, but it was too late so I sat and waited for the storm to begin. “I know for sure some of this is pure fantastical bullshit but are they all? Is any of this about your own under the blanket adventures?”

“I changed names but some are real life, some are fiction.”

“Not fiction, fantasies”

“Is there a difference?”

“Fiction is something plausible but made up, fantasy is more like a dream or desire for something that can’t or won’t happen.” Marla paused, “Those stories about you and me are pure fantasy. How in hell could you even write things like that? I would never fuck you, not even in my nightmares and you should know that, I slapped you down too many times.”

As we were growing through puberty my sister turned from a unisex stick figure into an alluring young woman and as my balls got hairier I approached her several times to experiment with me, to play around and have sex. I was a horny beginner and girls scared the crap out of me but Marla was always near and for some reason making passes at her didn’t scare me. I persisted over three years, she rejected me every time. “They’re just stories Marla, they don’t mean anything.”

She countered sharply, “Don't tell me they don’t mean anything; to me they mean you still want to get me into the sack. I have to tell you Carl, this is a little unsettling, especially at our age. Are you still writing, do you let other people read them? Do your friends think you and I screwed all the way through high school?”

“Those are old, I haven’t done a story in maybe ten years.” Our coffee sat on the table cooling untouched as my sister heated up.

“But you kept them, do you still read them?” I shook my head, I hadn’t even thought about my story files since long before Kathleen died. “I deleted your sister fuck stories, all except this one because I wanted to show you what I found, now this one goes too. She closed the document, then with a couple more key strokes deleted my tale about her and me doing it while she talked to our mother on the phone. She closed the lid then pushed my laptop to me, “I bought another, keep this piece of crap” she declared angrily then left the room.

I sat abashed, my day was shot, I couldn’t think of anything except how ruined my relationship with my only sibling was now. She had found my stories about her and me fucking and was so disgusted she disowned me.

I couldn’t concentrate so I left the house to get a beer and think. After a couple of hours my conscience began to calm, my thoughts reverted to years past and I started to get pissed that Marla had deleted my stories. She didn’t have to do that, they were my private thoughts and it was a lot of work to put them in print, to give my thoughts coherency. I was entitled to think any fucking thing I wanted, about life, sex and her. Other than to write down my teen-aged daydreams I hadn’t thought about screwing her since I started screwing other girls. If she was offended by them, tough!

Marla wasn’t a computer whiz and didn’t know that deleted files stay on the hard drive so that night I set up my laptop and went to the recycle bin and found every document she had deleted. I highlighted them then clicked ‘restore’ and my stories were back, right where they belonged. Then, just because I could, I sat for the next couple of hours and re-read some of my tales of sisterly love. I hadn’t seen them in years and had forgotten how fertile my mind had once been.

She avoided me for four days and I was beginning to think she was making plans to live somewhere else. On the fifth morning she filled a cup with coffee then sat with me at the breakfast table. Since it was the first time she’d even been in the same room with me I asked “Are you okay?”

“I guess so, I’ve been thinking about that junk and the shock is wearing off. I think I can talk now without being afraid of you. My first reaction was to get the hell out of this house, to put some distance between us again.”

“But you won’t?”

“No, our arrangement suits me fine and you being a fucking pervert won’t drive me out. I’ll just have to get new locks on my bedroom door and maybe a huge guard cat trained to rip your throat out if you get too near. Maybe you should register as a sibling sex offender.” I began to come off my high level of anxiety. Marla was speaking with a tease in her voice, she was resuming her normal self. No more was said and she stopped avoiding me, by the end of a week we’d settled back into our normal relationship.

Three months after she confronted me we went to dinner with my son and his family. It was his 33rd birthday and we celebrated with him. On the way home Marla asked me a question that surprised me, “Carl, when is the last time you got laid?”

Even though I was startled I knew the answer without thinking, “Six days before Kat died.”

“You haven’t dated, had a girlfriend since then?”

“No, not had the urge. How about you? Been getting any lately?”

As we sat at a stop light she answered, “I haven’t even had anybody ask me on a date much less screw me. Haven’t been looking either.”

Nothing more was said and she let the short exchange die as the light turned green.

It was past midnight and I was in bed reading Playing for Pizza by John Grisham when Marla opened my bedroom door unannounced then stepped to the bed. She reached over and turned off the nightstand lamp, dropped her robe to the floor, lifted the blanket then came to bed with me naked. She felt into my shorts and encircled my limp cock with all five fingers then whispered “It’s been too long for both of us.”

It took only seconds to react, my prick became an erection under her soft ministrations. I pulled my boxers off then rolled to face her. Marla eased to her side so I was spooned against her back then she lifted her leg over my thigh giving me access. Less than a minute after my sister came to me quietly, my balls were caressing her cunt.

We didn’t explode into a hot and heavy joining of sexually driven new lovers. We didn’t tear the bed apart in a frenzy of lust and overheated sex. She was quiet, almost motionless while I held her hip and thrust and pulled in and out of her. Since she was my first intimate encounter in five years it took just a few minutes before my balls gave into long dormant sensations and ended years of sorrowful abstinence. I came into Marla, holding her tight against me, pulsing deep into her. She was long past menopause so there was no risk to filling her with sperm.

She pulled away, got off the bed then turned to look down on me. We locked eyes for a few moments then my sister picked up her robe and left my room. I spent the next two hours wondering and thinking about what we had done, actually, more about what she had done. And why?

I was already up so I heard her stirring. When she came into the kitchen her coffee mug was on the table, filled with fresh hot brew. She sat, wrapped her fingers around the cup, took a sip then looked up at me with tired eyes, she hadn’t slept either, “It was an experiment.”

“What do you mean, an experiment?”

She didn’t explain but took a tangent. “I’m almost 59 years old, for many people our age life is dull, boring, there are no more challenges, made or taken. Ever since Chuck died I’ve felt myself slipping into an existence of just existing and it bothered me. I saw in you the exact same thing I felt, you were becoming an old man before your time. Once I realized I was stagnant I’ve been trying to motivate myself to get out of the doldrums and do something. I think moving in with you was the first step. I was able to break my down slide and do something different and by letting me move in you changed your outlook too even though you might not realize it.”

“I’m not sure I understand, what has changed?”

“We have changed, you and me. I didn’t think so until Sharon said something to me about my appearance. I’ve lost 17 pounds since I moved in. I didn’t notice, you didn’t notice but my girls did and asked me if I was working out. That started me thinking about other stuff and it finally dawned on me that I like life again and that I’ve finally moved past my grief. I still love Chuck but I’m not clinging to him anymore. Once I figured that out I watched you. When you started rebuilding that old Ford in the garage is when I knew you were beginning to rebuild yourself too. That car has been under a tarp for years but now it’s running again, and so are you. I think it’s time we admit that living together is a lot more beneficial than just saving money.”

I poured my second cup, Marla deferred a refill, “So what has that got to do with last night?”

My sister blushed and averted her eyes for a moment. She deftly avoided the question with more of her own, “How much vacation can you take from work? At one time, a week, two weeks? More?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t taken more than a couple of days since Kat passed away, before that, usually a week at a time, why?”

“Because we need excitement, something that will keep us from getting stale. Since I moved in we’ve both gotten a refreshed outlook on life, we need keep building on that. I don’t want to fall back into another dull routine of nonexistence. We have enough money between us to travel, play, do new things. I want to make a bucket list with you then start checking off each item, one by one, but we need to start before we fall back to the old ways, we aren’t getting younger Carl, lets get adventurous."

Wow, my sister piled a heap of new and different revelations, philosophy and dreams on me all in the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee. “A bucket list? We just pack up and take off on a world tour with fun stops along the way?” She didn’t respond. “Okay, let’s say we do that, take vacations, see the sights, sample foreign food and jump out of airplanes, would this be as travel partners or as a couple? Is that what last night was about?”

Marla shifted on the chair and waved her cup at me. When I topped it off she said “Sit.” I sat opposite her at the table then waited.

“When we were teens you hit on me every once in a while. Even though you are my brother I was never really repulsed by you, I took your passes as normal, part of the grind of having a big brother. Some of my friends had the same crap going with their brothers so we assumed it was just another aspect of being a sister. You never got mad, ugly or persistent so I got through puberty without hating you.

“When I got married sex was the apex thrill of my life. For a couple of years Chuck and I lived in a sexual fantasy land then Sharon and Crissy were born. After the girls arrived our sex life became more sensual, not so turbulent. We still had gratifying sex but we were more sedate, more loving and casual. That stage lasted for years then as Chuck entered his 50s, sex became more occasional, still extremely satisfying but by then we were so comfortable we could go weeks without physical satisfaction. After Chuck was killed my libido went into hibernation, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t even notice.

“When I found those stories on your computer I thought at first you had copied them from somewhere. I read maybe six or seven before I realized that they were written by you. Your thoughts, words and experiences. It was interesting reading, until I opened one about me. You changed the name but the words ‘my sister’ leaped off the page and burned my eyes. I read several stories about us and as I read I thought back to all those times you hit on me and realized you would actually have screwed me if I said yes, that you wanted to practice for a real girlfriend. I never, ever imagined that you would or could do all the stuff you wrote.” Marla paused to hold my eyes prisoner with hers, “You wrote about things I never even dreamed of until I got married. After I gave you the laptop back I gradually got over the shock of what was in your head when you were 16. After all that was almost 50 years ago, I’m pretty sure your hormones have settled down some.”

I didn’t bother to tell her that the 16 year old me just wanted to get his dick wet, the fantasies and imagination were a product of the writer, years later. “So what does that have to do with a bucket list?”

“Your stories made me think, made me realize that we might have sex and it wouldn’t be repugnant or base, but another phase, another aspect of life. Since there is no drive to reproduce it shouldn’t matter who our partner is as long as it is satisfying. What we would do, things we see would be far from here. If we went on a Rhine River cruise through Europe we would by gone for weeks. It doesn’t make sense to make double lodging arrangements for a trip. We would travel as a couple, not a two person tour group. As a couple sharing the same room the urge for sex would be inevitable, even as siblings as old as we are. I think the closeness and intimacy of the situation would overcome any aversion.”

I sat back on my chair and studied my sister as her proposition mixed and blended with my own thoughts. “Then last night was more than an experiment. You needed to break the ice, to have sex with me to find out if you could do it, to find out if you could share a bed with me without feeling shame or depravity? So---?”

Marla’s cheeks were shaded embarrassment pink when she whispered “So, I found out that the teen-aged girl could have screwed her teen-aged brother and not die of guilt or disgrace.” She paused, “I didn’t want to go back to my room. I would have stayed if you had asked.”

I set my cup on the table then abruptly stood. Marla looked up at me startled, worry clouded her eyes, had she gone too far? I held out my left hand which she looked at tentatively then put her fingers on mine. I pulled her from the chair then led her to my room.

We stopped next to the bed which was still rumpled. I turned Marla to face me, dropped her hand then gripped the hem of her house dress and pulled it up, she raised her arms to let it slide up and off. When it fell from my hands to the floor she lifted the bed spread then got under it still wearing bra and panties. I shed my clothing then wearing just my boxers joined my sister.

We lay face to face, hers was beet red, I reached under the covers to pull her briefs down. When they were at her ankles she kicked free of them then helped me pull my underwear off. There was a time that the mere act of disrobing a woman would have stiffened me to forged steel but those days were long gone. My prick didn’t grow into a weapon instantaneously but I could feel it swelling, gaining length and weight as I rolled up and over, between her legs. Marla reached for my half hard cock then encouraged it more with a few strong strokes. When I was man enough for her she tugged me into place then fit the head of my erection to her body. She moved her hand and I drove deep into her.

Marla jostled around a bit, getting more comfortable then put her hands around my neck with her fingers laced together. She bit her lower lip when I thrust against her then her mouth turned up as a faint smile while I fucked her, as our stomachs chafed the tips of her bra were rubbing on my chest. She pulled her legs up, bent at the knees, forming a cradle to hold me in place while I concentrated on the feel of a warm willing cunt. The longer we coupled the discouraging thoughts I’d been having about being too old for sex were rapidly fading.

I screwed my sister for less than ten minutes, the entire time I felt her becoming more responsive, more active, more engaged with me. By the time my balls overloaded and I spasmed a torrent into her, we were totally involved with each other. I collapsed down on her causing her to say “Uff, get off.”

I was on my back next to her, my chest heaving for fresh air, hoping I wouldn’t have a heart attack. Marla sat up, took her bra off then lay back down with her head resting my chest. I put an arm over her back and softly rubbed her skin while she caressed my chest with finger tips.

We were still, nothing was said for a couple of minutes then she lifted her head, kissed my cheek and smiled, “So, does this mean we can travel as a couple, not a two person tour group?”

“I guess, anything to save money.”

She sighed with satisfaction, “Just think of all the places we can go, this is going to be so much fun.” She paused then added, “But don’t think we will spend the nights doing everything you wrote about in your stories.”

“Why not?”

Marla smiled at me “I’m not that flexible anymore.”

“But we could try?”

Her eyes sparked briefly as she grinned, “Well, maybe.”

I put my lips to hers, the first sexually motivated kiss we ever shared. I rolled off the bed and as I stood my sister saw my complete nudity for the first time in her life, “Where are you going?”

“To get a note pad and pen, start thinking, when I get back we’ll start the bucket list.”

When I returned with paper and pen Marla was just coming out of the adjoining bath. It was my turn to see her Au Natural. As a teen I tried unsuccessfully for years to see my sister naked, now as she came back to bed I checked her out thoroughly. She may have been a few pounds past sleek, her tits wern’t proudly jutting anymore but then her nipples weren’t pointed at the floor either. The smoothness of youth was no longer a feature of her skin; her mature body still held the same curves and appeal, but those features were fuller, softer, actually very alluring for an older man’s eyes. I knew what she saw when she looked at me too. I have a job that keeps me on my feet and active so at 60 my chest was still thicker than my waist, my arms and legs weren’t atrophied from idleness and my hair, though shot through with gray, was still thick enough to be unruly in a wind. She settled to bed with her back propped up on the pillows, I went to her side. We didn’t bother to hide under the blankets as we talked.

She took the pad and pen and started, “I want to go to England.”

“What’s in England?”

As she explained why our first trip should be England I slipped a hand onto her leg and started caressing it. I worked from her knee up her thigh then wrapped my fingers around then between her legs, rubbing the crack of her body with the side of my hand. While extolling the wonders we would see in Merry ole England her legs sort of moved apart and she shuddered. I pressed my long finger into her, the passage was slick with my discharge so she accepted me easily. I fingered Marla until her words were more sporadic, less intense then I shifted my focus to the top of her cunt and the button hidden there. She stopped talking then rested her head back. It took only about a minute of massaging her clit to release the sexual tension that had built up over the years. Marla dropped the pen, grabbed my wrist and held my hand against her as she climaxed.

She slid off the pillows to her back, let the note pad fall to the floor then put her arms around me and pulled me into a full body hug. She was breathing heavily and rolling against me, encouraging me, seducing me. I was surprised and overjoyed when my cock stiffened again. I hadn’t had three organically grown erections in 12 hours for at least 30 years. Marla felt the result of her nearness then pushed me to my back and rose up over my lap, I held my erection so she could slide down on it. Once I was fully encased in her she bent forward, pinned my arms to the bed then began rolling her back, sliding on me. My sister and I fucked like that for several minutes then we repositioned so I was over her, again between her legs. The second time she peaked that morning she arched her back off the bed then started panting soft cries of rapture as my cock convulsed.

We didn’t bother to clean up the second time. The intensity of sex after so long without exhausted us both so we slipped into a much needed nap, lying close, arms and legs entangled as new lovers tend to do. As I drifted to sleep a thought slipped into my mind; if I wrote any more stories about Marla and me, they would be neither fiction, nor fantasy.
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