I didn't walk in on my brother touching himself in the shower after sport. He didn't steal my soiled undies from the washing basket and sniff them while he masturbated. I didn't pretend to go to sleep with him on the couch in the basement so he could feel me up.We were perfectly ordinary k**s, two years apart who slowly grew more and more close. We knew what was happening, we talked about it. We stopped dating other people and even noticing other people. He took me to the high-school dances. People thought we were just odd, and that was fine by us.We didn't have sex until I was 17 and he was 19 and even then it just sort of happened and when it did it seemed so natural that it wasn't all that special. It became special once we got the hang of it. We did the usual things and they got better and better as time passed. He didn't make gallons of cum, I didn't mess his bed with squirting. Why am I telling you this? Because the reality of an i****tuous relationship is far, far removed from. The pleasure he had given her excelled any she had ever had with Maurice. This puzzled her a great deal for she had loved him and she believed he had also loved her. Were love and sex such alien territories? Alien to each other, that is… Days passed the way time passes when you wait for something you are unsure of until she lost track of them. There were times she asked herself if she had imagined the whole thing, but the marks on her skin were enough to remind her primal encounter with the shop owner had been real. One night the doorbell rang three times. She was surprised,no one ever visited her at night after Maurice had departed from her life. No one visited her, period. She was even more surprised to find her ex-lover at the door. He looked different, the way people do when you have not seen them for some time or when you have never thought you would meet them again. There was something more mature about him, something slightly ominous too. In the past, they had been able to.
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