Krissy’s final Sister Sex column. Thanks for “Juning it up for June”, KK!

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I don’t want to have sex with her.  If I really think about it that isn’t what I want at all.  I hate her hard edges and her angry hair and I don’t want her to touch me at all.  She is like a broken thing with edges and I imagine her making love would be the same angry push and pull. I knew my place and I was prepared to stay in it. Never as good, never as strong, never as hard working.   

The truth is I imagine we made love.  Love as in sex. Sex as in getting closer, one body to another, getting so close that you are inside each other.  I pretend this because she is just a hard shell of a person and there is no soft place anywhere.  She fights her battles on all fronts.  She makes better paintings, she makes better friends with relatives.  She makes better love to the people who were once my lovers.   

I don’t want to have sex with her but she has sex to fight with me and I just roll over and let my neck become exposed even though I don’t want her to savage me and I don’t want her to kiss me and I don’t want her hugs which feel like she is all glass that has been broken. 

I want her to go away and not to touch me and not to hurt me but even her distance seems to cut just a little. 

I remember playing with a friend in the corridor at our house. Just some stupid game.  She called all my games stupid.  Baby games. But we were playing and it was fun because it wasn’t often I had someone come round to play with me.  She came from nowhere, swooping down like a condor and her fingers like talons to rip flesh, but she wasn’t ripping, she was scrambling and poking in my ribs so I would laugh uncontrollably only she didn’t stop when I laughed and I couldn’t get any breath in and my friend was watching me and she still didn’t stop even though I might die from lack of air and then my bladder straining tight, and letting loose, like it does when you are hanged. And her still tickling, hanging me as I wet myself right there in front of someone who had been my friend.   

I imagine we had sex because that would be the secret that makes us more together, like friends against the world, like dirty secrets that need to be kept by an ever-lasting bind.  I dream that we did things we never did because that would give us something to be together about. 

I call my sister on the phone but it goes straight to a message about how it is a wrong number and she is gone, just like that.  All the air is out of me and I can’t take anymore in and I need to pee so bad that I might let it all go right here, on the bench, on the street, in the middle of nowhere with a whole bunch of nobodies looking at me doing it.  But I don’t.  I am all grown up now.  I stand and put the phone back into my pocket and I go to find a public toilet and when I have gone I don’t feel all that relieved at all.