Krissy Kneen’s second SISTER SEX column.

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When we were young we liked each other enough to sleep in the same bed.  I liked the way her sleeping body smelled like caramel and when she turned over really quickly her hair whipped over and slapped me in the face.  Her hair was long and thick and I wish I had hair like that. I had my hair cut into a harsh bob because I could not look after my things and my sister could. 

Our room was divided by a strip of masking tape.  Her side of the room was all calm and organisation.  She put her books into alphabetical order and with fiction and non fiction on separate shelves.  I left my books in uneven piles by the bed and when one of the piles toppled I didn’t pick it up, but let the rest of the books pile up in a scrum, each novel left to fend for itself.

When we were young I was all squirmy in my body.  I rubbed myself up against the carpet and put jelly on my cheek because I liked the feel of it there.  I sat in mud and it was the best feeling when the mud warmed gently between my thighs and when the top crust hardened and I could pat it gently till it cracked.  If no one was looking I would heap the mud inside my knickers because I liked the way it felt, damp and heavy and with gritty bits of stone chafing against my private bit when I walked.  My private bit was the centre of the universe.  Those times when I was young and my sister liked me enough to let me sleep with her, I would lie there pretending I belonged on her side of the room, all tidied away and polite and organised, not straying onto her side of the bed at all, but really I was thinking about my private bit. I tried not to touch it when I was in her bed and not touching it would feed it.  I imagined all of the silence and the space being sucked up inside it’s damp mouth making it hungrier and bigger and hungrier until there was nothing left of me and all of me became my private bit.  One huge private monster, like the creature in The Thing by John Carpenter, pretending to be the dog, but really being that creature with all tentacles and teeth and shrieking if you didn’t keep a constant vigil.

You could tell she was asleep by the way her breath went.  Sometimes I would do that too, just to fool her, make my breath grow deep and long and smelling of my dinner in my guts, but I was just pretending and if I didn’t concentrate, I would breathe like a normal person not even close to being asleep.  I would wait to see if she was pretending too, because you couldn’t concentrate on doing the sleep breath for very long.  If I counted to 100 twice and my sister still had her guts breath going in and out then it was safe to become The Thing.  It would be easy by then, because feeding the private places with silence and not touching them made my whole body into one big private, and even brushing my stomach with the tip of my finger would be enough sometimes to coax the beast out. 

Sometimes it would be harder.  I would have to go in and find it, easing my thighs apart really slowly.  I would shuffle my head close to my sister’s arm where I could smell the caramel of her skin.  It was better in summer with the sheet kicked off her and sometimes her nightie just a bit askew.  I could never get to be close enough to lick them, her titties, but I wanted to.  Her titties were like my privates.  When The Thing came out it was just me being all privates and her being all titties. 

She had good ones.  Sometimes the boys at school talked about them with the grunting voice and I didn’t say anything, but I got to see them when she was asleep and they would have given me all their lunch money to swap places.  They were bigger titties than the other girls in her class and the nipples went from sleeping to alert all night.  Sometimes I would lie there and watch it go down then get all pimply and wrinkly and pull up into a big pointy finger.  I made my own finger into her nipple and put it against my privates and did it going all flat and then making it point up and into myself.  It would be easy to get her nipple into myself because after a long time of looking at her nipple and smelling the caramel flesh of her arm my privates go all slippery like I’ve put mud in my pants and my finger slips right in when I make it into the pointy nipple.

One summer night it got so hot that she kicked the sheet all off herself and there was just her nightie slipping close to being off her nipple, but not quite.  I could only see the very edge of it, and when it got pointy her nightie would rise up giving me an almost look at them.  I was saving the touching my privates for each time I almost got a good look and then when the nipple went down I was letting The Thing feed off the not touching and I was all swelled up with it and sweating and doing the sleep breath even though I was awake.  She had knickers on under her nightie but there was just a tangle of nightie around her waist and just her knickers glowing white in the light from the window.  The Thing was almost out and ripping the head off the dog when I noticed the dark stain spreading across the white cotton.  I paused with my nipple finger just poking up into myself and I thought maybe she had done a wee but it wasn’t wee. 

The blood had just started.  I watched it soak into the fabric till it was almost all red.  Her privates.  It was the first time I ever thought she might have privates too.  My sister, so tidy and neat and organised and still, hiding a Thing, just like my Thing, only now it was hungrier than mine even, so hungry it was spitting blood.  I was so close to the dog being eaten that even the thought of her Thing and my Thing in a fight with teeth bared and that wonderful furious pulsing angriness was enough to end it.  Her thing with the blood spitting out, my thing covered in blood like the nice warm mud and the slipperiness.  All of it fighting and snarling and my Thing rearing up and I thought maybe it was going to rip my head off and come out all tentacle and teeth. It was wonderful in my tummy but it shook the bed and woke her and she sat up, scared looking and teary and put her hand down where all the blood was and shouted at me to go back to my own bed.

Now I am too big to be in her bed and she doesn’t like me enough any more anyway.  Her side of the room all neat and proper, my side of the room all obstacle course.  I can’t smell her caramel from my bed, but she is here with me when I close my eyes and there are her titties all tight and raised and her Thing all angry with blood and sharp little teeth and it doesn’t take much to get my Thing out and rearing high and angry and gorgeous. My side of the room is for wild untamed Things and I can touch it under the covers all the time, in all places, all through the night because it is mine over here, in my own bed. So I do it again, and again and again and again.