Date: Tue, 29 Jan 2008 13:52:19 -0800 (PST) From: Gale Adams Subject: f/f incest "She Came to Me" Chapter 4 She Came to Me by Gale Adams Chapter 4 We held each other and I kept apologizing and she kept crying. Everything was nerve jangling. Everything was wrong. She told me she loved me more than ever. I told her it was my fault, I should have done it for her, and she kept telling me not to ever think badly of myself. It is late at night as I write this. We have been in school session for one month. School is a place where they accumulate time that sits there and stares at you like a hop toad. It is a time where time is stolen, and does not move. It is enervating and it is full of stealth and the heat of the classroom there down in the valley in the old school house is impossible to endure. I have begun setting down on paper what my sister and I have been doing. It started with fear. It progressed to sexuality and wonder. It grew into a pure kind of love. And now it comes with dissolution. For two nights ago, Melody took a broom handle and pushed it into herself to break her Hymen. Which she did? And bled quite a lot. Tonight was the first time she had told me. She had come into my room some hour ago, when we were supposed to be scribbling arithmetic problems on our little chalkboards, and had said this thing and I had held her and massaged her front, which she said was still sore. She asked why God gave girls Hymens. Did the Almighty hate girls that much, that he has to hurt them, and the period too and the attendant uncomfortable ness and the horror of blood pouring out of one's body? She said He should have forgiven Eve long before now, for she had done the best she could, the best anyone could. I thought to tell her my severe beginning doubts about The Good Book. It seemed to be a penny dreadful that took pieces of everybody to task, but especially girls and women. The idea--if a girl is raped, and does not scream to be helped, if she knows any one would hear her, and then she is stoned to death, while the rapist puts a ram's horn at the Temple and goes blithely on his way. What utter madness. What tides of cruelty run through that book that is meant to be of love? I see very little in it. Very little indeed. I am also angry at Melody. She broke my Hymen and it hurt very little compared to hers. I am also scared. The broom handle being phallic enough and does this mean she will leave me for a boy. How sick that makes me as well--such a horrid thing to do to one's self and cold and hard this thing she jutted into her vagina. Preferring even that stick to me? Over her sister she said she loved? I remember how I worried that she would fall in love with me. Now I worry she will fall out of love with me. Why are we given these feelings, this sexuality, and these bodies if they are so wrong? If what do with them and what we harbor inside them tosses us into hellfire and brimstone? We have just come through this monstrous Civil War, which has drenched out land with blood and sorrow and mutilations and deaths and brother against brother. Melody remembers little of it. I remember a bit more of it. I remember the cannons firing. And the guns. And the fears our very house would be invaded by soldiers and we would be raped and shot. This is better, this is the glory, while a little girl puts a broom handle up herself to break her Hymen because she doesn't want her sister anymore? All the guilt has come crashing into me. Moses led his people through the wilderness for forty years and because he displeased the Almighty for some reason, never got to enter it himself? And God saying to the men and boys in the wilderness to stop and those who still have foreskins, cut them off and put them in a pile, in a hill, to me as worship. My Holy Lord, how sickness infests these immortal words that are somehow supposed to show us the way. The way to what? I ask. I finish my diary, key the lock and put it in my desk drawer. I lie on the bed in the darkness and I cry. We poor little humans. Whatever is to become of us? In time I drift off into an uneasy sleep. I am awakened by Melody who has pushed into my narrow bed and is beside me. I turn to her and kiss her cheek. She is naked. As am I soon. She says she has some pubic hair, a bit of fuzz, distractedly, as though she needs something to feel for, to fall toward. Oh God, let it please be me. "Will you nurse me, Ivory?" And I say certainly and put a breast to her mouth. I kiss her hand and I love to feel her mouth her tongue her teeth on my tit, as she takes her hand and massages my pussy and puts two fingers inside me. I am caught on sparks like lightning bolts inside me. She bites hard. Then she pushes her fingers in deeply. And I feel the sexuality, the sheer enormity of being finger fucked and titty sucked by my beauty, Melody. We have learned to talk of sexuality like that. It has made it even more exciting. As the guilt has made it more exciting because--because it is our revenge on a world that has made momma a drudge and has sucked the soul out of her and a Father Daddy who, with the turning of each calendar page a bit more and more of a tyrant. A scared tyrant. A man who exudes fear. Fear of what I do not know. But he is not keeping the fear extant any kind of secret. Though he thinks he does. I hunch into my darling as she takes her other hand and rubs my chest and stomach and abdomen. I reach around her and hold to her as she fucks me. It is such a hot night, even here in this cool house on this tall hill, and I sigh and pant and sweat against her. We might be two rutting animals, as opposed to the angels making love in the past that seems so very distant/recent. I hold to her buttocks and I pull the cheeks of them open. I proceed. And she gasps and lets go my breast, but not my pussy lips. Our legs entangle. Our hearts beat erratically as I take my fingers and push into her as we help each other tumble to the floor, for more room. I finger fuck her as deeply as I can, fearful of hurting her, but needing to show that she could have asked me to break it, and I am the horse trying to get into the barn door now the barn door needs no getting into. I feel her clitoris and I put my mouth to her neck and suck and kiss as she holds her legs apart and allows me to straddle her and move up to her chest and to her mouth. As she kisses my pubic hair and puts her tongue to my opening and begins chewing me. It is so deliciously animal like now. We are going at each other like I imagine boys go at girls. The moonlight casts us as bony white creatures desperate to get into one another and stay there hie there forevermore. As she fingers and sucks my pussy. As I have my hand behind me and sticking into her, and we are close to that rapturous feeling that only sex, and only love, can bring. And we cum. And we cum. And there is liquid and we taste each other's and ours. And that is how it is, Mr. God Almighty, sir..if we should not do such things, why are we able to, and through that to show our love and rapture for one another? Go play with your mountain of foreskins Sir. We choose to make each other happy, if that is all right with you. And even if it is not. We lie sweaty and close and slick and our hair is matted and tangled and we are breathing fast and hard like beasts in the field on a hot hot day. "Melody," I say in a weak voice, pushing some of her hair away from my mouth. She looks at me as I say, "The broom handle. Melody, I would have done it. I would have been gentle." My voice trembles a bit. I am hoarse and will have to go for water to drink soon after we take our bath where we shall no doubt play with each other some more. Melody contemplates for a while, and then says, kind of gaspy, "I didn't want you to think badly of me, if I had cried." Ivory touched her younger sister's hair and whispered, "If you cry, you come to me; if you are sad; you come to me; if you are alone, you shall always have me. I am your sister, your lover, for as long evermore as you should want." After they touched and held some more, it was time for a bath and a cleaning up. Tomorrow was already here, though it was still very dark. Today the school toad would sit and stare at the children all in the same grade regardless of their age. Melody and Ivory would look at each other. And at the stopped toad of time. And bide theirs. For night would surely come again. For in it, rest assured, there would be again, the making of love.