extrem incest

My story begins ten-years-ago when my sister, Celia, phoned one winter evening. She was unemployed and seriously in debt with her credit cards. The phone company was threatening to cut off her phone, her car had been repossessed and the landlord was about to evict her.
I didn’t really like the woman but she was, after all, my sister. I listened to her tale of woe. A winter gale howled around the building. It was cold as the Arctic outside.
“Could you help me, please,” she pleaded?
Well, what could I do? “Sure, I replied, how much money do you need?”

“Oh Mike, I don’t want to take your money. I just need a place to stay for a few days.

Against my better judgment, I heard myself say she could use the spare bedroom with the one bathroom.
“Oh Mike, you are a sweetie,” she said.
The next day Celia arrived with half a truck-load of furniture, books, dishes and assorted cd’s. I had furnished my condo to suite me and didn’t appreciate her showing up with a load of junk but I figured she had enough trouble right then and didn’t complain. Looking back on it, I’m sure she knew I’d be upset but women have a way of getting around a man and she had me outsmarted from the start.
She stayed mostly out of sight for the first couple of months… I wondered where she went because she didn’t arrive home until after I was asleep. I discovered later that she was afraid I would think she was in the way. She stayed in bed, in the morning, until I left and then she went to the library or a movie in the evening. If she thought it too early to arrive at the apartment she would sit in a doughnut shop until she was sure I’d be asleep. She caught a nasty cold being out on winter nights. The cold became pneumonia.
Her coughing awakened me from a deep sleep. It was a deep, chesty, barking cough. Right in the lungs. Hell, I thought, she’s not going to make it through the night with that cough.

I dressed and knocked on her door. She opened it and one look was enough to prompt me to say: “Come on, we are going to emergency room to see a doctor.” She didn’t argue.
The doctor told me to confine her to bed for 10 days, make sure she took her antibiotic and keep her inside until the weather warmed. We arrived home at two in the morning. I phoned the office, left a message, said I had a family emergency, and took two weeks vacation time. The next day we slept till noon. I arose, cooked some hot cereal, made some coffee, poured some orange juice, put the whole works on a tray and went to her room. She looked bad. Her temperature was up, she was wet with perspiration and she was incoherent when I spoke to her-this was one sick woman. She took her medication, drank the orange juice and went to sleep.
I phoned my own doctor for advice. He said, give her aspirin, all the fluids she could drink and have someone give her an alcohol rub to bring her temperature down.
So there I was, standing in her room, with a bottle of methyl-alcohol, wondering where to begin. I poured some on the washcloth and proceeded to gently pat her forehead, cheeks and neck.
“Oh, that feels so cool,” she said.

Relieved to hear that she was coherent, I replied: “Doc Jones’ orders are aspirins and alcohol rubs till the temperature is normal.”
A couple of hours her temperature was still 104.5. I told her I’d have to use the alcohol again. To my surprise, she sat up and undid the buttons on her pajama top. In response to my surprised look she sighed and with resignation written all over her face, said: “If you are going to give me an alcohol rub then you must cover enough skin area to be effective.”
I protested that I wasn’t a pervert. I wasn’t into lusting after my own sister. I finished by saying I’d be embarrassed to rub her bosom.
Celia gave me a tired, sick look and said: “Oh, for heavens’ sake Mike. I’m too sick for this nonsense. I’m too sick for lust or sex or anything else. My temperature is at least 104. I need to bring it down. Close your eyes if you have to but give me an alcohol rub. You are my brother, for Pete’s sake.”
That’s exactly what I did. I closed my eyes and said to her: “Okay, take off your top and I’ll keep my eyes closed.” She wasn’t too sick to laugh out loud.

“Mike, you are so straight,” she said.
I gently patted her chest, yes her breasts, with the alcohol soaked cloth and I guess I lingered longer than I should have. I mean, even with my eyes closed, I could feel that the cooling effect of the alcohol had made her nipples erect. Her breasts seemed firm and I could tell that the areola had swollen and the nipples had hardened. Okay, I confess, I opened my eyes-but just the tiniest bit. I must say, Celia has a spectacular bosom, so round, so high, so beautifully contoured, not even a hint of droop, white, flawless in every way. Just a hint of blue vein under translucent skin with pink nipples surrounded by dusty pink areola that puffed when I caressed it. Her breasts were like those of an adolescent girl, yielding yet inviting, firm yet soft.
When I had finished with her front she rolled on to her stomach and I rubbed her shoulders and slowly worked my way to her lower back. I was surprised that she began to tremble as I patted her just above her anus. Sick as she was, I noticed her hips move ever so slightly, just a flutter really, but more than a couple of times. No, I thought, I’m just a dirty old man. She was just getting comfortable-right? But, all the same, it appeared that she had almost begun to wriggle her hips and had trouble controlling the impulse.
I did notice that she has beautiful shoulders. Nicely rounded deltoids without being too muscular, firm lats and softly protruding shoulder blades. Her arms are like the arms of a Doulton figurine, not muscular but sweetly rounded and blemish free. Her upper back tapers downward to a beautifully slender waist which in its turn meets the sweetly feminine outward curve of her buttocks which her is firm and smooth, shaped like an inverted heart, not a hint of cellulite.
As I finished, she sighed contentedly and her slow even breathing told me she was asleep.

When I took her temperature a couple of hours later it had fallen to 100. I was mightily relieved.
I hadn’t ever thought of Celia in a sexual way. She had always been my brat sister. As I stood in the doorway of the bedroom I felt strange, lustful yet guilty, aroused yet embarrassed, at peace but troubled.
Celia recovered as the days passed. She kept her pajama tops on and I kept a respectful distance.
It was the contest that changed things. I had recently bought some new clothing at a trendy downtown men’s’ store and had been automatically entered into a contest in which the prize was two weeks in a secluded Bahamian resort. I won. The flight and accommodation was for two persons. I thought a trip to the Bahamas was just what Celia needed to fully recover from the pneumonia. Celia was thrilled. She had just celebrated her 30th birthday. I was 35. It was an apropos birthday present
Yes, I gave her my credit card to buy some vacation clothes. I have to admit, we seemed closer. Affection that I didn’t think we had for each other was suddenly there. If we were walking along a street together, she would impulsively squeeze my hand and when I looked at her, our eyes would meet and I would feel an intimacy I had not previously known. Sometimes she would hug my arm and pull me to her bosom. There were other times when she would think I wasn’t aware of her observing me and I would look up suddenly and surprise her and she would appear a little flustered, smile and look away. Times, when I would look at her when she was unaware and my stomach would do a slow roll as I saw the sweet contour of her breast, the line of her thighs and hips, the soft curve of her belly where it joined her thighs. Once or twice she stood on tiptoe, unexpectedly, say when we were in an elevator or waiting in a line, and lovingly kissed my cheek. When we were walking together we held hands, like lovers. I guess you could describe our relationship as loving, non-sexual. I think we grew comfortable with each other’s company.

She did, however, model some of her vacation clothes for my benefit. I guess the outfit that intrigued me was a cotton, print caftan with a zipper down the front. As she modeled it, with a seductive smile, she slowly lowered the zipper to reveal the soft curve of her bosom. Next, she modeled her Victoria’s Secret underwear and finally a bikini that covered the tips of breasts and provided a tiny triangle of fabric front and behind for the bottom. I could see her pubic hair curling around the front of her bikini. “Better shave,” I advised her. She made a face and stuck here tongue out and went off muttering about how men were so unromantic.
The vacation resort was paradise. A group of secluded Bahamian out-islands with a security guard to ward off uninvited visitors. We arrived about eleven in the morning and by noon had settled in… We decided to go for a swim. As we headed for the beach the conversation drifted into topless and nude bathing. I observed that in French locales the femmes either went topless or nude. She didn’t reply. When we arrived at the beach I noticed a big water-skiing raft about two-hundred yards from shore. “Let’s swim to the raft,” I suggested. About 100 yards out I stopped and turned around to see how Celia was making out. She was about 20 yards behind and swimming strongly. “Come on Celia, it’s now or never,” I said. A second later I heard her shouting, “Mike, Mike.”
Turning around I could see her, laughing gaily, her right arm high in the air swinging her bikini top. She had misunderstood my comment. I was merely urging her to swim not encouraging her to remove her top. I reached the raft and climbed on. Turning, I held my hand out for her and pulled her onto the raft. She lay on her back, in the sun. The raft was shielded by the skis which were placed vertically, like a fence, on the shore side. I lay on my belly. The waves gently rocked the raft and the sun was warm as it dried the water from our bodies. After a minute or two I propped myself on my elbows and looked at her. She lay with her eyes closed, sunning herself. She opened her eyes, looked at me and smiled. On impulse, I leaned over and kissed her. She returned the kiss and I could feel her tongue probing my lips. I sucked her tongue into my mouth. She responded eagerly. My hand found her breast, I heard the sound of her breathing, as though she was almost breathless, and I felt her nipple grow hard at my touch. I lowered my head and my mouth found her nipple, salty with the taste of the sea. I felt her hands, not quite pushing me away but restraining me gently, on each side of my head, “Oh Mike,” she softly sighed, “are you sure we are doing the right thing?”
“Celia, Celia, Celia,” I heard myself say, “I love you more than anyone in the world.”
Her hands pulled my head to her bosom and I heard her murmur, “Mike, darling, darling, lover, don’t ever stop loving me.” At that moment we started down the sunlit, joyous path of incestuous enlightenment and found the greatest happiness we have ever known.

I reached down and my hand found the place where her thighs joined her body. She spread her thighs slowly, as though she was savoring the moment, and I slipped my hand inside the bikini bottom. She was so very wet and her clitoris was erect and hard within the folds of her womanhood. My own erection was so hard it was painful and I had difficulty controlling the urge to ejaculate spontaneously. My fingers explored the soft opening of her outer labia and felt the sensitive skin of her vagina. She was moaning softly to herself and moving her hips in response to my caressing fingers. I looked up, to savor the moment, the sun sparkling on the blue water, the birds circling in the sky, the raft gently rocking, the faint sound of music from the shore, Celia lying beneath me, her eyes closed, her expression in peaceful repose… It seemed everything had begun to move in slow motion. I could feel the Caribbean sun on my shoulders and the heat of her body beneath me. She tugged at my swimsuit, and I removed her bikini bottom, hands on either side of her hips, felling the silken smooth skin, as I moved between her thighs and felt my penis, being guided by her hand, open the soft, warm, wet petals of her vagina. My penis jerked involuntarily and I was apprehensive that I might prematurely ejaculate, but will-power won out and I slipped smoothly into her silken sheath. I felt her vagina flutter, in tiny, pulsing contractions, around my shaft, as though she had spontaneously climaxed. She thrust her hips upward, her thighs spread and she raised her legs to lock her thighs around my waist. I moved within her for a couple of minutes then looked at her face. She wept softly, the tears streaming down her cheeks. I could feel the spasms coursing through her body as she trembled with orgasm, after orgasm which seemed to reach a peak and then subside until they were a gently flutter in her abdomen. I though my own orgasm was going to shake the fillings from my teeth. It wasn’t violent, for we are not violent persons but it was powerful.
Voices along the shore warned us of the afternoon water-skiing group and we quickly replaced our swimsuits all the while giggling like adolescents. We returned to shore and walked, hand-in-hand, as lovers, along the beach.
“Hungry,” I asked?
“Mmm,” she replied, “Hungry for you, Mike.” She gazed up at me shyly, her eyes sparkling yet loving with just a hint of mischief.
We returned to the dining hall and drank more wine than was wise with lunch. Relaxed, mellow and deeply in love, we returned to our room. She closed the door and set the latch.

“I’m heading for the shower. Want to join me, Mike?
“Sure,” I said, “I’m covered in salt from the ocean.”
We stood in the shower as the water cascaded over us. I washed her as a loving parent washes a child. I shampooed her hair and rinsed it with the hand-held shower head. I soaped her face, her cheeks, her sweet upturned nose, her lips, her chin, all the while exchanging loving kisses. Descending, I alternately kissed and soaped the lovely white column of her neck, then her softly rounded shoulders and then the sweet, soft breasts that held themselves proudly like white roses in a summer breeze. Their tips with a hint of blushing pink which sweetly converged to the deeper dusty rose that are her areola and nipple. Her breasts trembled as I bestowed kiss after kiss upon that soft and yielding garden of delight. Her nipples hardened and erect thrust outward and her areola puffed a darker pink to blend with the nipples… I knelt and, half in worship of her, soaped her abdomen and as I placed a kiss upon that dear place where her thighs join her body, she sighed a sigh of love and her hands were around my head pulling me softly to her womanhood. I felt the curl of her pubic hair against my face. I could not help myself, my tongue penetrated the soft lips of her labia and tasting the female nectar that emanated from her vagina, my tongue found her clitoris. She shivered, she trembled, she shuddered and uttering a sharp cry she collapsed against me as she tumbled through the swirling tunnels and endless canyons of her orgasms. Her clitoris stood out hard and her labia were puffed with desire. I stood up, looked at her face and once again she was weeping tears of happiness and release as she hugged me to her body. I turned her gently and soaped her back, how beautifully her waist tapered to her buttocks which were firm and round. She leaned forward slightly, from the waist, and my soap covered hand slipped between the silken cleavage of her bottom. Gently I probed for her anus and, when I found it, even more gently I slipped my finger into her. I heard her breath a short sharp intake of air. She looked back at me, over her shoulder and it was a look of complete surrender, submission and sensual pleasure. Gently, I slipped my finger back and forth in an anal caress. She began to move her buttocks in time with my finger. Tiny shivers of sexual pleasure caused her body to tremble. She moaned and whispered my name, “OOOhhh, Mike, Mike.”
She looked at me and said: “My turn now.” She shampooed my hair and washed my face and neck with soap. Then she soaped my shoulders, chest and abdomen. I held my breath in anticipation of her hands upon my genitals. Gently, as a lover, she took my penis and testicles in her hands, caressing me with her finger tips and my erection jerked uncontrollably and tiny spurts of semen shot from it in a kind of semi-ejaculation. She stopped, looked at my penis, jerking with a life of its own, then at me and said, “Okay bath-time is over. Lets dry-off.”
The sweet, sensual pleasure of drying her and seeing her eyes half-closed as she swooned in sexual-surrender, oblivious to anything but the sexual moment, like Eve first tasting of the tree of knowledge; of softly patting her face with the towel, then her neck, in which the blood pulsed in time with her breathing, her beautiful breasts which were like pink tipped pendants with the areola puffed until the nipple had disappeared in the swollen tip. Her stomach muscles contracted involuntarily as I wiped water from her abdomen and when I descended to the blossom between her thighs, she spread her legs and moved her pelvis toward my hand in short, forward and backward motions, wriggling to position her clitoris to be caressed by my hand. As I dried her thighs and lower legs I could see that she was almost comatose with sexual desire. At that moment we were all the lovers of all the world, Romeo and Juliet, Eloise and Abelard, Tristan and Isolde.

She knew I was gazing at her with a questioning look and I seemed to be asking: “What’s next?”
She placed the towel on the floor in front of me and knelt upon it. She then reached up, toward me, and took my penis in her hand while gently pulling me toward her. She took my penis in her mouth and began to suck. Her tongue found the sensitive underside where the foreskin joins the glans and as she drew me into her mouth it seemed the most loving and natural thing in the world. I gently placed my hands behind her head and pulled her toward me. The tip of her tongue stimulated the underside and her lips clamped around the shaft and her teeth gently raked the skin. Aroused as I was, I orgasmed in seconds. I shook to the depths of my being as I ejaculated streams of semen in her beautiful mouth, which she swallowed as a loving partner who greedily drank the sweet, liquid proof of our love and lust. Licking the semen from her lips, with the evidence of our oral copulation in a small, white streak slipping from the corner of her mouth, she smiled and said; “Mike, I want you to know that you are the only man with whom I have ever done that”
So we lived each perfect hour after each perfect hour. The honeyed days seemed to be infinite and we were young and deeply in love. We went to sleep in each others arms. We awoke sometimes in the act of sexual intercourse. Me, with a morning erection, and Celia wet with erotic dreams of our coupling. How I remember the tropic nights, sweet-scented with the perfume of the wild flowers, the warm breeze wafting through the window and the sound of the ocean swishing and murmuring as it advanced and retreated on the shore. I recall one night clearly. I awakened about two o’clock, it seemed a perfect night, warm and languorous, the sound of the ocean in the distance, Celia lying naked, asleep beside me. A bright, full moon shone through the window and I could see her golden body, her bosom rising and falling with her breath… Her face so beautiful in sleep and her mouth slightly curved in the cupid’s bow that she had retained from infancy. Her blonde hair, was golden in the moonlight, her lips were rose colored from the lip color she wore and her eyes shaded with just a hint of violet from her eye-shadow. Her face relaxed in innocent repose. Love overwhelmed me as I lay, raised up on one elbow to admire her beauty. Her lovely abdomen, flat with the outline of her stomach muscles, her hips widening in feminine beauty. I gazed at the blonde, delicately curled loveliness of her pubic hair which covered the sweetly scented feminine rose between her thighs and the moist cleft of her labia. As my gaze fell upon the place where her thighs joined her body and then to her long, tapered legs, I was overcome with desire. My erection was so hard it hurt. I positioned myself on top of her and even though she was asleep, she spread her thighs and I entered her sweetly, yielding body. I can still remember the softness of her vagina, my hard penis entering her, how the labia parted, how wet and inviting she was, how her hips adjusted in sleep, shifting to accommodate my entry. The peace and tranquility of the moment, the relaxed, passion free, yet love by love overwhelmed, joining of our souls was so exquisitely beautiful that it is the outstanding memory of my life. She awakened and placed her arms around my neck and pulled her body close to mine, saying “Oh, lover, oh lover, oh lover.” Then she thrust her thighs toward me and locked her legs around my waist tilting her buttocks to meet my thrusting penis. When she orgasmed she pushed her face against my shoulder and bit me, her sharp, white teeth leaving small blue bruises like two curved lines on the skin. Later, as she knelt on the bed, with her thighs spread, like a naked love goddess, I could see the semen dripping from her labia. Self-consciously she looked down, at the discharge, then up at me, her eyes big with love and sexual-surrender and I overwhelmed with love enclosed her in my arms and hugged her to my body. We were immersed in love. It flowed from me to Celia and from Celia to me. Love was all around us. The room throbbed and pulsed with love. Love enfolded as a cocoon. It seemed we alone had found another dimension to love. A dimension that was ours exclusively, that illuminated only our world. She molded herself to me and gently kissed my neck. I lowered my head and hungrily sucked at her breasts while my hand caressed her vagina and I felt the slippery wetness of her portal. That night we made love again and again and again until slick with the secretions of love we fell asleep, exhausted…
We did not feel guilty. There would be no children, or so we thought, and we were after all, consenting adults who had fallen in love and were deeply into our physical relationship. As the days went by Celia tanned golden in the summer sun. We found a secluded, deserted beach away from the resort and bathed naked as children. Sometimes, when we were in the water she would put her arms around my neck and wrap her thighs around my waist. I would maneuver my penis into her vagina and we would cling to each other, enjoying the intimacy as she gently moved against me to achieve her orgasm.
It has been many, many years but in my memory I can still taste the sweet juices of her vagina and see the love swollen lips of her outer labia, like the two halves of a soft, succulent peach with the pink petals of her inner labia peeking between and dripping her wetness in physical confirmation of her sexual desire.

I remember wondering what it would be like to take her anally. I was very hesitant to ask her. One evening, about ten-days into our vacation, we had been drinking Island rum and were quite uninhibited. I decided to tell her the story of Madeleine, the beautiful Parisienne. The important part of the story was Madeleine’s love of anal intercourse. In fact the first night I met her she asked me if I had ever enjoyed a woman anally. When I said I hadn’t ever. Her eyes flashed and she asked me if I would like to with her. Madeleine was a strikingly beautiful French girl. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. That night she taught me how to please a woman anally. It was pleasurable for me, as well.
When I had finished my story, Celia looked at me thoughtfully and asked: “Mike, would you like to have anal intercourse with me? Because I’ve been thinking of it ever since you caressed me in the shower, with you know, your finger.”
I took her hands in mine, pulled her towards me, kissed her tenderly on the cheek, and said: “I would consider it to be the outstanding event of my life.”
“I’ve never done it with anyone, but I’ll do it with you, Mike. Only… please be patient and especially please, be gentle.”
That night, when we returned to our room, I carried her over the threshold, as a groom carries his bride. ‘She looked up at me and asked, with a smile: “Mike, am I to be your anal bride on this night?”

“Yes, my dearest Celia, yes my dearest love,” I said.
“Then let me prepare,” she said, and added: “phone room-service and have them send up a bottle of their best champagne. If we are going to do this, let’s do it with class.”
She emerged from the bathroom, showered, powdered, scented, wearing a sheer white negligee she had been saving for a special evening. She had groomed her hair and applied her make-up carefully. She looked at me, her rose colored lips in a happy smile, her eyes sparkling, her arms akimbo, legs slightly spread and said: ” I hope you like what you see, Mike. ‘Cause what you see is what you get.”
I popped the champagne and as we drank, she said: “Well here’s to the surrender of my anal virginity. I surrender to you, Mike. You shall have me.”
I removed her negligee and led her towards the bed.

She looked at me and smiled. “First,” she said, “I’m going to lie on my stomach and you can, you know, with the KY, lubricate me there. I’d like you to prepare me Mike. I’d like to feel your finger there again. I have a confession: I have dreams of you taking me anally. I awaken in the middle of the night when I have had a dream and I can feel you big and hard in my bottom, but it’s only a dream. I’d like you to do it, knowing that I’m surrendering to you, lovingly and willingly, and yes even desiring that you should complete the penetration of my body’s places of entry. Do it now, Mike,” she said, as she downed her champagne with a devil-may-care flourish.
“Listen,” I said, “In order to let you control the penetration, I am going to lie on my back and you are going to sit on me. That way, you will not be forced to accommodate my penis before you are fully prepared.”
She lay face-down on the bed and spread her thighs. I leaned over her and gently pulled her cheeks wide so that I could see the sweet rosette of her anus. Bending down, I kissed her there -a first for both of us because she had never been kissed, nor had I kissed anyone, so intimately and it was one of the sweetest kisses of my life. Lovingly I applied the KY to her rosette, easing my finger in, and hoping to insert generous amounts of lubricant. Lingering, I slipped my finger in-and-out rhythmically. She responded by moving her hips in time with my finger and softly moaning to herself.
“Okay,” I asked?
“Never better,” she responded.

“Want to do it now,” I asked?
“Very much,” she said.
I lay down on the bed, my erection standing straight up, big and hard.
“I hope I don’t hurt her,” I thought as she positioned herself astride me.
She squeezed a generous gob of KY into her hand and with smeared it over the tip of my now jerking penis. Then she grasped it and with look of combined determination and sexual desire, settled her hips so that my shaft was just below her anal opening. Slowly she settled on it until I could feel the tip invading her tight tunnel. It was very tight. There was a delicious feeling of warmth as I invaded her most secret and personal portal
“It’s a little tight,” she said. “Better give me a minute to adjust.”
The outer sphincter yielded, then a few moments and a couple of inches later, the inner sphincter yielded. She was so tight, so snug, so warm. After a few minutes my penis was entirely within her. I could see tiny droplets of perspiration on her forehead.
“How does it feel,” I asked?
“It doesn’t hurt at all,” she said, and began slowly to rise and descend on my erect member.
The increased diameter of my penis and the its spasmodic jerking as I climaxed produced some discomfort for her but, like a trooper, she bore the pain bravely. My respect and love for her increased greatly that night. I was impressed by her desire, indeed her determination, to be the complete, loving sexual partner. It was with great tenderness that I caressed her face and sweetly kissed her lips as we lay together, our passion spent.
“How do you feel, now that you have lost your anal maidenhead,” I asked.
“Oh, I’m a little tender back there. But it’s what I expected. Besides, it won’t be tender forever. There will be a day when I am all open to you, Mike, I promise,” she said.
A couple of nights later she wanted to repeat her anal experience but this time she would lie face down while I lay on top of her. I lubricated my penis and knelt above and behind her. I spread her cheeks and leaned forward to kiss the puckered, pink rose of her anus. Carefully, I lubricated her entrance. I smeared a generous gob on the end of my penis and taking the shaft in my hand I guided it to her rear opening. I was surprised by how relaxed and accepting she was. My penis slipped in and although Celia was tight she was not experiencing discomfort. There were two occurrences which thrilled me: The first, as I looked down at her body, observing my hard shaft slipping into and out of her behind, I saw to my delight that her gluteus muscles, those large muscles of the buttocks, were relaxing and contracting in time with our movements. Celia was enjoying anal intercourse. The second, occurred when she unexpectedly raised her behind, to take the whole length of my penis in her bottom, and I felt the sinfully, delicious contact of her buttocks against my hip bones. I thought I would die of pleasure as we bounced against each other. When I orgasmed, she cried out in surprise: “Oh darling, your semen feels so warm.”
Everything comes to an end and so it was with our island paradise. We returned to the city and I knew that I had to make some decisions. Celia had, not unexpectedly, conceived. We were overjoyed. However, Celia needed a new identify if we were to remain together. I found a man, who for an exorbitant price, provided Celia with a new birth certificate, social insurance number and passport, all of which would be legitimately recorded. So it was that Celia became Lydia and we were married. As the days passed Lydia’s pregnancy began to show. She blossomed like a rose. I had never seen her look so healthy.
I had been lucky as a stock-broker. Not only had my commissions been good but I had investments which made me a wealthy man. We had enough money to live in luxury. Lydia and I settled in Roussillon in the south of France. We live, on a hilltop, in a pink villa overlooking the Mediterranean. We have three children, two girls and a boy and a fourth on the way… They seem normal enough in their little world. I suppose time will tell. Ten years have passed and Lydia and I are still very much in love.