The Forbidden Family Game

by Ward Fulton

  "Of course, by that time my singlet couldn't quite contain my breasts-not that they were so big, really, but that the singlet was so brief. Boy's type. Which I suspect was one of Mother's gimmicks to maintain the 'twins' illusion. Or she may not even have noticed I was growing up. Mother wasn't very observant, except of critical reviews and our stage appearances. She had her image of us, and it was fixed. We were the famous musical twins, the child prodigies. And Mother gloried in having produced us, as if it were her talent on display.

  "So I was bouncing on the piano bench, beating the melody out-I believe it was one of the Wagnerian themes which take a lot of bounce and energy-with my breasts shaking and jiggling and popping out of the straps of the singlet, which were cutting into them and hurting. James was leading and watching me to give me the cues. Only he was watching my breasts bounce more than he was giving me the cues. So I missed a couple and had to fake several bars to get back.

  "I felt it was my fault, since I'd missed a day or so of practice, having my period, a rather heavy one, as I recall. And hated myself for being a girl, James never had that problem, because he was a boy. Besides, the singlet hurt my breasts, particularly irritating the nipples. So I stopped practice and peeled out of the singlet. Then we went on-for a while.

  "I never thought anything about the fact that I was-so far as James could see across the piano- completely naked. Or that my breasts were performing all sorts of gyrations as I worked on Wagner. I only knew I missed another cue-actually because James got so intrigued with my teats that he forgot to give it. And I burst into tears.

  "That ended the practice. James came around the pianos and sat on the bench beside me, cradling my head against his shoulder, patting and soothing me. I guess that's the first time anyone had really made any effort to comfort me. I don't even remember Mother except as a taskmaster, waving a baton. Perhaps when I was very young she used to cuddle me and pet me, but I don't remember. I had always been sort of-self-sufficient. A nice little music-producing machine. Tantrums weren't tolerated and tears were verboten.

  "So when I broke loose, I did a thorough flood job, sobbing against James's shoulder, with my chest heaving, and my teats rubbing up against his singlet. Not meaning to, and certainly not meaning to start anything, I honestly didn't know there was anything to start. At pretty close to fifteen I was a real dumbbell about everything except music.

  "I don't think James knew any more than I did. We were a real pair of babes. But sex doesn't seem to need an elaborate educational program. It's pretty basic. A boy and a girl-and opportunity-and things work out. Maybe not the best, but they work out. Practice, as we found out later, makes things better-richer and more satisfactory.

  "Right then it was pretty elemental. James was holding me, fondling me, and I was liking it. He put an arm around me and, more or less accidentally, cupped his hand over one of my teats. My own heaving and sobbing was enough to make my breast wiggle in his hand, make his fingers tease my nipples.

  "That started things for me. I began to feel warm and comforted-and warm in places that had no seeming relation to where his hand was-down in my stomach and pelvis. My nipples started getting hard, standing up. I know James felt that, because he slid his hand off my breast and looked, and then put it back, starting to work a little on my breast and nipple.

  "For lovemaking I guess it was pretty crude, awkward, really. But it was effective enough. I know I stopped crying and got interested in where his hand was playing with my breast, only drawing a long, shuddering breath every now and then that pushed my teat against his hand, the other against his chest.

  "By that time his other hand was wandering up and down my back and along my side. And from where I was-my head was-I could look right down at his boxer shorts and see his pecker just poking out. The reddish head of it. And it seemed to be growing-and quivering.

  "I'm not sure he was really conscious of it, right then. He was just lightly massaging my teat and talking-without really using words-and kissing my throat, right under my ear. I'm sure he didn't know that was one of the erogenous zones, as I heard -or maybe read;-later. It just happened to be near his mouth. But if he didn't know it, I was finding it out, because I was getting very warm and quite excited.

  "He was getting excited, too, I knew from the way his pecker kept pushing out of his boxer shorts-he was getting sexy. And that stirred me up even more, seeing his pecker.

  "It is difficult for me now to realize how ignorant and utterly innocent we were, at that time. Or to tell it well. So much has happened since.

  "I don't really think I was consciously trying to work up anything when I reached down and caught his pecker, though perhaps subconsciously I knew, with a female's instinct, what I was starting.

  "James went rigid when I first took hold of his prick-I've learned a number of the more worldly words in the past few years for sex and parts of the body. For a moment he stopped kissing my neck and caressing my teat, sort of gasping and rearing back, then started again, with a sort of frenzy, moaning instead of talking. I think I was moaning, too, because I know I was very wrought up, really worked up.

  "When James reached a hand down, sliding it up my boxer shorts, I almost collapsed. He slid his hand onto my mound and one finger into the lips of my cunt, and, with his hand on my breast, I was both exhilarated and very, very weak. I don't think that, even for a moment, I was frightened. After all, James was my brother. He had never done anything to hurt me. And we had been very close, closer than most sister-brother relationships. And so isolated from the others of our age group.

  "So it seemed perfectly natural for him to pick me up, with his hand under my cunt and one arm around me, with his hand fondling my breast, and carry me to the couch. Somehow, by instinct, I suppose, since certainly I had never been told, I knew what was going to happen.

  "Oh, I knew it was wrong. I'm not making that excuse. Just how I knew it was wrong I couldn't tell you. I mean the sex-and what was going to happen. That there was anything especially wrong with sex between a brother and a sister had never occurred to me. Not to James, I'm sure.

  "We were really children, much younger than our years. And beginning our first experiment with sex. Or I think it was our first. I've read since that many siblings experiment with their organs when very young, six to eight, but I don't recall that we did.

  "James rested me on the couch and I just lay there, expectant, thrilled really, and calm for the first time in ages, it seemed. I must have been exceedingly tense without knowing it. But I lay there, feeling the tensions of our long hours of practice and the cumulative tension of our concerts drain away, leaving a strange languor that was both languor and anticipation, calm and intense stimulation.

  "I watched James slide my shorts down my legs. I suppose I could have helped but it seemed I couldn't move a muscle, even to draw up a leg. James lifted them, one at a time and slid my shorts off. He sat for a long time, looking at my body, at my young, jutting breasts, my flat stomach, my navel dimple, and my cunt.

  "It was thrilling to have him look. Waves of excitement washed over me, setting me shivering spasmodically. And I reached for his shorts.

  "James slid out of them quickly, dropping them on the floor, and sat beside me, his dong-prick-pecker?-standing straight up, its head seeming much larger than the shaft. I touched it and we both shivered. I know I whimpered. I closed my hand around it, feeling the heat of it, the pulsing throb of it. And new excitement sent shock waves through me.

  "Whatever James did, he must have done by instinct, for he had never been with a girl that way before. But he seemed to do it right At least, it was right for me. He played with my breasts, his sensitive musician's fingers gently teasing my nipples until they were stiff and quivering. He leaned over and kissed my throat, sliding his tongue down to touch my nipples and on down, slowly, tracing across my stomach, into my navel dimple-my belly button-and on down to my vulva, the lips of my cunt.

  "I held on to his prick, moving my hand just a li
ttle, squeezing lightly, without knowing why. It just seemed that was the thing to do. And we played with each other's bodies as if they were musical instruments, as if we could bring forth a melody.

  "Actually, I suspect we were quite crude, though perhaps not as crude as we might have been if we hadn't been musicians, schooled to a delicate touch, to produce throbbing tones.

  "I know I was throbbing throughout my body, with an intensely sharp pitch in my cunt, an ache that seemed to demand surcease, release.

  "I know my legs simply fell open as James's hands stroked the inner sides of my thighs and ran, with a delicious, exciting tingle, right up to my cunt. And when he'd reach there, I'd hump up, with a moan, pushing against his hand and finger.

  "How he knew when to take me-except that a musician must have an exquisitely tuned sense of timing-I'll never know. But just at the moment when I felt something had to give way inside, when tensions were unbearably tight, James rolled over, sliding between my legs, and aimed his prick at my cunt, pushing lightly, pumping back and forth. That brought a gush of moisture in my cunt and suddenly his shaft was riding on that moisture, thrusting deep into me.

  "There was pain, tearing, searing pain for a moment. And then something else took over, a whole new sensation that flooded my entire body, filling me with an ecstasy that overrode the pain, yet left it as a minor theme, a counterpoint to the excitement that was the major music.

  "I could feel his head thrusting up my tube, opening it a little at a time-for James was slow and gentle-so that I could feel each separate movement, feeling it penetrating deep into my body, in a wildly exhilarating series of chords, each deeper and richer in tone than the last, building to some great crescendo.

  "As the excitement built, my breath became tighter in my chest, a minor counterpoint to the main theme of intense, exhilarating tension within. It was as if all my being were concentrated in the passage of his erection up my tube, as if, in spite of that intense, almost painful tension, I knew something even bigger, more stupendous, was going to happen, just as a minor chord presages a crashing, thunderous climax.

  "I was a little animal with my body, yet enjoying a rich emotional experience. I humped at James, driving his shaft deeper into me, until I could feel his slight pubic hairs against the lips of my cunt and the rhythmic tempo of his balls striking the cheeks of my ass.

  "We were in tune. In perfect accord, just as we had worked together so long in music. The tempo changed, the new beat more exciting than the last, until, animalistically, I was clawing at his shoulder, reaching down to grab the roundness of his buttocks to pull him closer, to get more of his dong deeper into me.

  "His tempo had grown frenzied, his driving harder and harder. Then, suddenly, breaking the rhythm, he stopped, drew his dong almost out, shivered and cried out-and drove deep into me. I rose to meet his plunge and then both of us slammed into the couch, grinding our pelvises together in a frenetic effort to reach for-something. A new crescendo beyond anything we had known.

  "It happened. I could feel his shaft swell, pulse and drive his semen to his head, which seemed to expand to unbelievable size-and explode in me, hot, wet, exciting. And I let go. The release was a magnificent diapason, a crashing of timpani, of chords too strong to be heard, only felt in the shuddering and shaking in my belly.

  "It seemed to me that I would come apart, all my limbs fling themselves wildly away, with my belly bursting with whatever had happened. Yet it was also wonderful, a release so sharp and intense it was close to pain, but a very delightful pain.

  "I know I just lay there, whimpering and feebly clutching at James as his dong deflated and came sliding out of my cunt, setting new but minor chords to ringing within me.

  "James rolled off me, flinging himself beside me, sighing, staring up at the ceiling, not saying anything. Nor did I want to talk. I just wanted to lie there and feel.

  "It seemed I knew more about my body-each separate part of it-than I had ever even realized before. As if each part was independently demanding attention in some new and miraculous way-right down to my fingertips.

  "I don't know how long we lay there, just glorying in the things that had happened within us. I know we weren't troubled about any possible interruptions. A maestro we had had for some time had warned Mother, with violent gestures and loud Germanic phrases, never to interrupt us at practice. I think he even frightened her a little by telling her she could spoil our rhythm, interfere with our concentration and perhaps ruin a concert. So we had absolute privacy during practice. And were happy with it at that particular moment.

  "Then James sat up suddenly, muttering-in German. He often switched to German when he was thinking of music. He swung his legs over the side of the couch and started almost blindly for the piano, saying, over his shoulder, 'I understand it now. Come.'

  "I got up and went to my piano as he sat down at his. And we played! Sweaty still from our sex, naked and almost wild with a new frenzy, we attacked the piece. It was wonderful to follow him, for he was working in a new technique, a stronger, more vibrant rhythm, reaching for something that had once been completely beyond either of us. And I could play right along with him, even anticipating some of his innovations.

  "There was new freedom, new understanding in us, as if through sex we had developed a wider knowledge of the music, which, as I recall, had little or nothing of sex inherent in it. I only know we went through the repertoire with almost no blunders-perhaps not perfectly (there are few, if any perfect musicians)-and wound up with James rushing around the piano and clasping me in his arms, exultant, neither of us the least aware that we were still naked. I think our only moment of embarrassment was when we finally did realize we were completely nude. And James carried that off well. He slapped my rump with a peculiarly vulgar sound and told me to run for a shower.

  "That night, for the concert, I refused to wear Mother's bandeau to hold down my breasts, though Mother wailed and raved. I also wore a more mature dress that I had picked out late that afternoon at an exclusive dress shop. I didn't try for a really elaborate costume-not one of those black velvet creations that sweep the floor and seem to be especially designed for second-rate or aging artistes.

  "It was a soft, dove-gray velour with a very simple collar, knee-length-not halfway up my thighs like those my mother had been making me wear. And, of course, Mother howled over that. But at fifteen I was getting tired of the 'child prodigy' routine. And I wasn't a child any longer-though I could scarcely explain that to my mother.

  "James wore a regular dress suit, with full-length trousers instead of the knee britches Mother favored. Which set off new howls.

  "Until the reviews came out. Even Deems T-, the doyen of the music critic crowd, patted us on our heads and spoke of a new maturity in our work. One critic said, 'The "child prodigies" have outgrown their cute clothes and many of their cute mannerisms, to emerge as mature musicians who may eventually reach top rank.'

  "I can't say Mother was satisfied with what we had done that night-shedding our 'child prodigy' identity and coming on stage as mature people, willing to be judged, not on the basis of our youth, but as musicians. She kept saying, 'But suppose you hadn't-' and shake her head.

  "Mother would like to have kept us 'child prodigies' until arthritis-the dread disease of musicians-had crippled our hands, and James had a long gray beard.

  "I grant we had dared a lot. We risked our concert careers. But somehow we knew we were mature, with an adult approach to ourselves and to music.

  "I know how I felt-a sort of ambivalence. I am a musician, so naturally I want to continue as one-a good one. But also, James and I had been so isolated all our lives that I was quite prepared to accept the feet that we might fail-and, failing as concert musicians, turn toward more normal lives.

  "It wasn't to be. We did succeed in bridging that dreaded gap of all who are labeled 'child prodigies'-the transition from child to an adult musician. I have known a number who went into retirement at the ripe age of fourte
en or so-to emerge five to ten years later with the label almost forgotten, as mature adults and fine musicians. And I've known some who never made it back. The road back is long and hard.

  "In that respect James and I were fortunate. We did bridge the gap-in a single day. We were children-and very isolated, thoroughly guarded children, almost, you might say, preserved in childishness. If that had kept up it is quite possible our careers would have spun put into dismal, dwindling successes or failures. Mother would never have consented to 'retirement' so long as she was, reaping the vicarious thrills of a concert artist and the ancillary benefits of having produced us.

  "If we had lived more normal lives, perhaps sex would not have wrought so profound a change in us, We might just have developed normally. And had our normal difficulties bridging that gap. I think perhaps the completeness of our isolation-which, incidentally, isn't at all unusual among musical prodigies-focused us each on the other, without any real knowledge of ourselves or of sex.

  "We were probably at or close to our peak as 'child prodigies' when James fumbled the score, giving me bad cues. And I broke down. And we ended it all with sex.

  "Not that I recommend sex as a panacea for the failures of a musician. It happened to us just at a time when we needed something.

  "Sex matured our work. And we continued sex- never again in practice time, that's too important to a musician-but at night. We had connecting rooms adjoining the studio-our lives centered around the studio, even our sleeping hours. And our sex hours.

  "When we left on our concert tour, Mother was laid up with a broken leg. I didn't really believe James had pushed her down the stairs deliberately, but I accused him of it-and giggled. Actually, neither of us was at home the day it happened. But it certainly freed us from Mother's tight supervision while we were on the road and allowed us the freedom for sex. The notices were uniformly good, and the critics treated us as if we were people, not cute 'prodigies.' I even got mentioned in several reviews as 'charming' and once was called 'beautiful.' These soothed Mother somewhat. But she missed the glamour of traveling with celebrities, and I was afraid we'd never have that freedom again, the delicious freedom to roam each other's rooms, to know each other's bodies.