Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Jan Vincent

{ This story was originally posted at the long-defunct Sisters in Love story site }

“You cannot marry your sister, Brenda.”

“Why?” I was defiant, furious with my mother.

“Because sisters don’t marry their sisters.”

“And why not?”

My mother’s stern face was losing its patient expression. I was her ten-year-old daughter, dressed in white taffeta, the flower girl in my older cousin Louise’s wedding.

My grandmother Rose came to my rescue. She gave me a kindly look. “Oh, let them be, Grace. They’re so cute together.”

I smiled at Granny, so absolutely happy to have her confirm that I could wed my twin sister Sylvia.

Sounds naive, doesn’t it? But when you’re ten, a lot of things make sense in your head, even if they defy what’s socially acceptable. Because you’re ten, almost anything you do can be seen as innocent play. And ever since I was a child I’ve known to whom I wanted to get married, to share my entire life with. Not to a man, not to anyone else… only Sylvia.

As Sylvia and I got older and entered our teenage years, I realized how foolish I’d been. Marry my own twin sister? It was a ridiculous idea. Sylvia was interested in guys, I wasn’t. In a way, I envied the ease with which she accepted the flirtations of boys, while I was cast away in a dream world, alone, musing about things that could never be.

My infatuation for Sylvia was platonic at first. I didn’t want her sexually then, I just knew that I liked her company, loved her embraces and kisses on my ticklish cheek. I got jealous of other people being with her. It was childish, I know, but she meant so very much to me.

Soon I would realize that I was much more interested in love with girls, rather than guys — and from there it was only a small skip to the realization that my beautiful sister was the girl I wanted most of all. She quickly became the featured performer in my hottest fantasies.

I loved her. I wanted her. It made me ache inside.

I had my own group of friends, mostly girls who were into heavy stuff like punk rock, piercings, vampires, black leather and Goth paraphernalia — like metal-studded bracelets and belts, black-tinted makeup and ripped Bauhaus t-shirts. There were a few boys in the gang, but I usually hated them because they would all get crushes on Sylvia.

My sister was one of the most popular girls at our school — smart as a whip, charming, always pretty, always adorable. We were identical twins physically, but we couldn’t have been more different when it came to our styles and tastes.

Despite that, we always got along well, especially when we were by ourselves. Sylvia liked to tickle me, because she knew how sensitive I was around my ribs and under my arms. Tickling was a game that made us relax… and enabled me to be intimate and physical with my sister without crossing a dangerous line.

Did I really want more? It’s hard to say. All I knew was that I enjoyed her touch, her knowing fingers looking for the right spot, attacking me with no mercy. I loved her winning smile the most. She was gorgeous, with long blonde hair and shimmering blue eyes. She was a happy person, and her joy was contagious, the perfect remedy to bring me out of my morose nature and periods of self-imposed isolation and loneliness.

Sylvia and I completed each other. More than friends, more than sisters, we were soul mates. Soon we would become lovers, too.

It happened when we were fifteen, and we’d been invited to a party. I usually never bothered, but Sylvia didn’t want to go without me. She wanted to see Chad, this horrible boyfriend who had hit her more than once — out of jealousy, out of drunkenness. I’d argued with her so many times about him, not able to figure out why she still had feelings for that creep. She deserved better, I told her. But she wouldn’t listen to me.

“C’mon, Brenda… come with me, please?”

“No way, Syl.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause I hate those parties… I can’t go, really I can’t.”

She kept pleading with me. “C’mon, sis… don’t make me go on my own!”

“Why do you want me to go with you? Call your stupid friends and go with them.”

“They’re at the party already. I don’t want to go there alone.”

“You won’t be alone. All your friends are already there. You said so yourself.”

“I know,” she said, lowering her voice as she sat down on my bed, right next to me. She held my hand, her soft hands caressing my studded bracelet and wristbands. “But I want you to come with me. I feel… safe when you’re around.”

I was surprised by Sylvia’s confession of vulnerability, her willingness to accept my protection. And then she looked into my eyes and smiled at me, her expression dreamy. “And… if you come with me, I promise…”

“What?”

She giggled as if embarrassed, her face now near, her hands clutching mine. “I promise I will say yes.”

“Yes? To what?” I really didn’t know what she was talking about. So much for that myth that a twin knows everything the other twin is thinking of.

“Remember how you wanted us to get married when you were little?”

I must have grimaced, even winced, because she laughed easily at my expression.

“I know we were little,” she went on, “but I think that would be fun. I don’t know why I remembered that. It’s just… nice… to know you’re there for me, and that you’re my wonderful sister.”

It was lovely; she was lovely. My beloved twin sister still remembered my early obsession, long forgotten by common sense and the acquired knowledge of what society expects from us. How could I say no to her?

So I went to the party with Sylvia, as if I were her boyfriend, the perfect escort. She wanted me to come in with her and — despite my uncertainty — I tagged along.

An hour after we got there, I caught a glimpse of my sister and Chad talking at the end of the main hallway of the house. It was obvious that it was escalating into an argument. I know my sister very well, and she was getting mad at him. Secretly, selfishly, I hoped to God it was true. I was jealous of him — so absolutely, unequivocally jealous of that goddamned creep.

I watched them from the doorway of the den until Sylvia spotted me. Before I could speak, she pounced on my arm and dragged me with her, while Chad came after us, vociferating, spewing out a stream of vicious insults, intended to hurt. There was one that I remember clearly: “Fuckin’ dykes.”

Sylvia urged me to leave with her, clasping my arm so tightly that it hurt.

We were at least one hundred yards away from the party when she wilted and burst into tears. I was surprised by her sudden crying fit. I wanted to hug her, to make her feel better, but I didn’t want people staring at us, getting into our business.

I looked around in the deserted street, illuminated by lampposts and the headlights of an occasional car. I hunkered down on the sidewalk, brushing my sister’s satin-like hair away from her flushed face.

“He doesn’t deserve your tears, Syl. He doesn’t deserve you.”

With puffy eyes and a damp face, she gazed at me. Her long arms snaked around my neck and she kissed my cheek. I think I heard her whisper “Thank you,” but I wasn’t positive. The only thing I knew for sure is that I smiled at her and made her stand up.

It took us an eternity to reach home, as Syl wanted us to walk slowly, very slowly, as though our arrival was the final admission that she’d lost Chad forever.

When we arrived home our parents were still awake, watching TV in the den. They were surprised by our early return, but I was able to explain the whole situation without raising the painful subject of Chad.

We silently undressed in our room, brushed our teeth and went to our respective beds. In the darkness surrounding us, I could hear and feel her hushed whimpers.

“Syl?”

“Yes?”

“Come get in bed with me. Otherwise I won’t be able to sleep, what with you crying all night.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

There was a moment of absolute silence, as though we both had stopped breathing. I heard and felt a shadow rise on her bed and scuttle toward mine.

“Thanks, sis.” She hugged me and kissed me, my cheek becoming moist with her own tears. “You’re too sweet.”

She turned over, her right hand draping my arm around her waist, her back pressing against my breasts. We remained in that position for a while, my other hand playing with her golden locks, which smelled nice and felt good between my fingers.

“Syl?”

She raised her head slightly. “Yeah?…”

“I want you to look at me. I want to ask you something.”

She did as she was told, her eyes glimmering in the darkness. I wanted her to forget Chad, ease her pain, soothe it all away.

“What?” she asked, curious.

“Will you marry me?”

I could feel her surprise in the way that she gasped right next to me. Then she giggled. “You didn’t forget.”

“Of course not.”

“Then I have to say yes, I will marry you. I promised, didn’t I? You, my future husband.”

“No, silly,” I protested. “I’m not a man. I’ll be your wife.”

“But I’m not a man, either. So, who’s gonna be the groom?”

“No groom… just two beautiful brides, me and you.”

“Yeah,” she said, giggling again. “Two twin brides. That would be something.”

I laughed as well, feeling incredibly excited, getting damp between my legs. I wanted to cover Sylvia with kisses, making her mine, all mine. Almost involuntarily, my hand left her waist and touched my sex.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a giggle dying in her mouth.

“Nothing,” I said, removing my hand from between my legs.

“Are you hot?” she asked, with a deceivingly innocent intonation.

“Well… yes. All this stuff is making me… hot.”

She laughed. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” I said, losing all fear, overcome by the moment and my growing lust. I began to rub myself in earnest. “Probably because we’d be so beautiful in our matching wedding gowns, I’d hitch up your veil and you would mine, and we’d kiss…”

“That would be so frigging cool,” she exclaimed, slowly becoming excited as well.

“But before that we would dress each other. I would help with your petticoat and garter belt, and you’d give me a hand with mine.”

I kept describing to her the whole process of getting a bride ready, the soft feel of lace and satin against our bodies, as I kept fondling my pussy with one hand, stroking her hair with the other. I could tell that she was getting turned on by my shameless act, but it didn’t matter if she wasn’t. Nobody could stop me. I was so close to coming.

“Then we will walk down the aisle together, hand in hand, and the priest will bless our union. And then we will have our own party, and a cake. You’ll grab my hand and we will cut the cake together. We will feed each other, then drink champagne together. Then a limousine will pick us up and take us to our honeymoon suite. And when the door closes behind us, you and I will hold hands and gaze deep, deep into each other’s eyes…”

“Go on,” she murmured. I felt her touch herself for the first time — first her own breasts, then between her thighs. “Go on, please…”

“And you will draw me into your arms and hold me close… I’ll nuzzle your neck, brushing your skin with my lips. Then I will tilt my face up to meet yours, and we’ll kiss… softly, at first.” I could feel Sylvia’s hand steal down between her thighs and slip into those French-cut panties she wore. “But the feel of our mouths as they touch is so incredible that we both want more. Your lips part enough for my tongue to slide between them, and suddenly you and I are French kissing…”

“Yes, go on,” she said with urgency, her hand making squishing sounds in her panties. “Oh, yes… Go on, Brenda… please…”

“We kiss for a long, lovely time,” I whisper in her ear. “Then we break apart and smile at each other, all shy because this is our first night together as wives. Then we begin undressing one another, a piece of clothing at a time.”

“Oh, Brenda,” she moaned. “You’re m-making me…” She didn’t continue, her breath coming in gasps as though she was on the verge of an orgasm.

I press my body against hers. “Soon you and I are completely naked, Sylvia. We look at one another for a long, sweet moment. God, you are beautiful.” My sister was trembling with excitement. “Then you pad over to our bed and lie down, waiting for me… and I climb onto the bed and kneel next to you, giving you a hot kiss before I take you in my arms…”

“Oh…” Sylvia moaned softly, “oh…”

“And we will make love, two newlyweds on their wedding night. Only we’ll make love the way girls do, our naked bodies fitting together so perfectly…”

That did it. I felt an explosion of pleasure hitting me, the heat radiating outward from my sex  and into my stretched thighs, my breasts, my nipples. I moaned low, like an animal, like a wolf.

“Oh, Brenda… that’s so…”

“Let me,” I said, displacing the hand between her legs with my own, giving away the secret hunger I had for my twin sister, heedless of the consequences.

“Brenda,” she said, her eyes wide.

“I love you,” I breathed.

When I touched Sylvia there for the first time, she moaned into my mouth. “Oh, Brenda… Brenda…” Her voice went weak, her arms encircled my neck. “Oh yes, Brenda… yes…. oh…. oooh… oh, my love.”

Overcome with passion, she gave me our very first lover’s kiss. “Oh baby, you make me so hot, so hot…”

I trailed my fingers through her outer lips and to her clitoris. “Yes… oh, yes. Like that.” She kissed me eagerly as I masturbated her. “Ooohhh!” she squealed as I gave her clit a tiny tweak. “Yes, yes. Please, baby, more. Keep doing my clit, yes, just like that.”

I felt her body move against mine, her essence coating my busy fingers while she covered my face with hot kisses, filling my ears with sounds of pleasure as she drew nearer and nearer to release.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, d-don’t stop,” she begged me. “I’m almost there…”

She came with a howl that rose from the bottom of her throat, squeezing my neck so tightly that I saw stars for a moment. But then, as her ecstasy subsided, her grip loosened and I was able to breathe again.

Sylvia lay quietly for a long time, her eyes closed, the rise and fall of her chest and an occasional twitch of her mouth the only movement she made.

Finally, I saw her eyelids flutter open, She began to caress my cheeks, staring at me in disbelief. I could see her questions, maybe even doubts, but I could also see something different in her. My sister loved me, was falling in love with me. Sylvia was able to accept the fact that we had crossed the barrier of what was acceptable in our society — and she didn’t care any more than I did.

And to that she pulled me to her, and we kissed for ages. My twin sister was untiring, as though she’d waited for this moment all her life.

***

Now Sylvia and I are twenty-three years old, fresh out of college, and still very much in love with each other. We have decided to make my childhood wish come true. We’ve already ordered the cake, the champagne, the limousine and the honeymoon suite. Sylvia looks absolutely amazing in her wedding gown.

As in my impossible dream, I wear an exact replica of her dress. I wanted us to look exactly the same — even our hairdos are identical. In just over an hour, we will be joined together as twin brides, wife and wife. I am lucky enough to have a sister who’s crazy enough to take me as her one and only.

We have no guests… this wedding is only for Sylvia and me. It’s our way of declaring our love for each other, making it clear that no one — and I mean no one — will ever come between us.

The End