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She kissed the underside of his jaw line and they continued to cozy, watching the news and comfortably saying nothing.

An hour later, before leaving for her own apartment and still without a word between them regarding her glow, they bid goodnight with a loose embrace and an unhurried kiss, their tongues slowly swirling about at the heart of their incest.

In his place alone, sipping cold wine that he kept only for drinking with her (George always ordered out for food; one cupboard held surplus whiskey and cartons of cigarettes, and within the refrigerator the balance of room around the wine bottles was beer), Maggie would tune in an oldies station through the stereo and smoke kools and roam around the furniture from room to room, half-listening for the songs she and George had once recorded and lazily snooping through drawers and cabinets as a lover, albeit unconsummated, looking for evidence of infidelity.

§§§ George Lawrence & Geraldine Margaret (Maggie) Satellite were fraternal twins, rich and once celebrated, inarguably talented and intelligent if not particularly schooled, still young and, especially Maggie, attractive.

– a beered-up George gave Maggie’s ass cheek a lingering little squeeze and whispered to her “wish us luck …,” a gesture from then on that Maggie outwardly allowed with a smile but secretly welcomed).

Taking a long pull from her cigarette and then a longer swallow of wine, she set the magazine aside and pulled from the drawer from beneath some videotapes a framed photograph of herself.

She drew up a leg in acquiescence and he scratched and dabbed at her clitoris through the denim while she ground her hips between his legs, neither of them watching the television they were looking at, his erection threatening so much greater now than when they were kids; when they were both thirteen and George was outweighed and out-muscled by a coltish, teenaged Maggie and she could, and would regularly, wrestle him down at will; when he was still unaccustomed to wet dreams and a thought of sex, or arithmetic, or Spring, or the wind equally could make his penis stiffen, and Maggie’s breasts were still just blossoms and her cupcake-butt only boyish as his, and rough-housing with his boy-crazy sister at night in front of the t.v.

always happily resulted in her playfully dry-humping him through their nightwear during commercials and they had enjoyed each other’s company alone those evenings far too much for even their own comfort.

Indeed, given their affluence and influence, their beauty, and the requisite intelligence to rationalize any indulgence (or sacrifice) – that they at best were politely considerate of outsiders and all but worshipped themselves and each other; as one was the synonymous, opposite-sex approximate of the other and that they had long fought a peer-sibling rivalry as to whom would possess the other – it all may very well have been merely a matter of time.

§§§ Of course Maggie loved her brother, and was even in love with him, she supposed (her twin brother, she’d fondly emphasize, suggesting to herself a cosmic simpatico between them she hoped would absolve her of the stigma of her creepy lusts) and had so much as vaguely entertained a crush on him since they were teenagers; a seemingly innocuous crush that their fans and the media continued to dismiss, to her relief, as just the mutual affection of a brother-sister music act – just a couple of cute kids – still now and despite their maturity; a caress, a teasing squeeze, a quick kiss on the lips – the flirty, spirited one just being affectionately supportive of her brooding, reclusive brother (backstage before one performance many years ago, as the club emcee tried to assuage a half-drunk and rowdy, almost violently skeptical house – really, these kids rock!

These evenings had thrilled them both but despite their tacit practice of being always direct with each other, professionally and personally and regardless of how cruel the honesty – “Try not to re-write ‘Imagine’.” “Big talk, coming from the Cute Beatle.” “Genius is knowing ‘She loves you, yea-yea-yea’ works; you’d have written ‘She loves you, indeed’.

A man well old enough to be my father sat across from me – completely naked. I found it difficult to look at him. I kept smiling and trying to make it seem like I.… continue reading »

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