Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Anne

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

My door slowly creaked open and my older sister Kate slipped into the darkness of my room, slowly shutting the door behind her. I wasn’t asleep yet, and my eyes were already used to the dark. She was dressed for bed in a nightshirt. I couldn’t imagine why she came into my room. She never did that. We barely talked at all, except for when we had to. It’s not that we didn’t get along, we got along fine, we usually just had nothing to say to each other. She had her life, and I had mine.

Kate is two years older than me. She is away at college now, and we still don’t talk all that much but I think about her all the time. This story took place when I was fourteen.

“Cath, you asleep?”

“No.”

“Good.”

She walked over to my bed and crawled next to me. She kneeled down, resting her butt on her legs, and all I could smell was peppermint.

“What’s up?”

“I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

I thought she was going to ask me to lie for her about something. That wasn’t so uncommon. We may not have been really close, but we always covered for each other when it came to Mom and Dad.

“I need to get off.”

“What?”

“C’mon, Cath, I’m so horny. I need more than just myself… Please?”

“No way! I’m not doing that with you!”

“C’mon, it’s no big deal. You do it to yourself right? So what’s the difference? Please?”

“Are you drunk or something?”

She giggled. “A little… So?”

“So, no way! You’re my sister!”

“So what? What’s the matter, you scared?”

“No, I’m not scared, it’s just weird, that’s all.”

“What’s weird about it? Don’t you do it with your friends?”

“NO!… Wait, you do?”

“Yeah, all the time. It’s not like with guys. It’s just if you’re horny.”

“I don’t know, Kate. It’s still weird.”

“C’mon, Cath, please? Just touch me for a little bit, and if it’s too weird then we can stop. I’ll do you too… whenever you want… I just really need to come, please?”

I sat up in bed. I couldn’t believe she was asking me to do this. It wasn’t a secret that we both masturbated. I knew she did, and she knew I did. One of the few conversations we had was when I asked her what a dildo was almost two years ago. She played the big sister part and told me everything I needed to know about, well, everything.

When I finally started masturbating, shortly after that conversation, it seemed pointless to try and hide it from her. Not that we ever did it in front of each other or anything, but we both just kind of knew when the other was doing it, and respected the space. Most of the time it was before, during, or after a shower, in the bathroom, and it was usually obvious when we were at it, so we never rushed each other out when we thought that’s what was going on. A few times, we may have shared an awkward, knowing smile when we passed each other on the way in or out, but we never seriously talked about it. Sometimes when one of us was being bitchy, the other one would say something about going to the bathroom, but that’s about it.

So it was definitely no secret that we did it, but like I said, other than a snide remark here and there, we never talked about it, and we certainly never thought about doing it together or anything like that — until now, that is.

So I sat up, and I could really smell the peppermint on her breath. It was definitely schnapps, but I didn’t know that at the time.

I couldn’t believe I was actually thinking about doing this, but she seemed sincere, like she really wanted me to. I guessed that it really wasn’t such a big deal if she did it with her friends all the time. She is my sister, and I didn’t think she would ever tell me anything that wasn’t true, at least about stuff like this, and it probably wasn’t the worst thing we could do. It was just touching, the same as I do to myself, so it didn’t really seem like a big deal. She wasn’t asking me to do anything else, so it’s not like I was having sex with her. Also, I really wanted to know what it felt like to have someone else touch me, and she said she would. Even if it was Kate, it probably would still feel good. I could always pretend it was someone else.

“Okay, but…”

She smiled and quickly pulled off her nightshirt. She wasn’t wearing anything else, and it kind of threw me off that my sister was sitting there completely naked, but I tried not to seem surprised.

“I, uh… I’m not really sure… I… just what do you want me to do?”

“It’s easy. Just pretend you’re doing it to yourself. Just do whatever you would do to yourself to me. I’ll tell you if it’s good.”

She sat straight up, still on her knees, grabbed my hand and put it on her pussy. It felt strange at first. She had practically no hair there, and it was so warm and slippery. I knew that she was already excited. She started to move my hand and her hips back and forth, but it was kind of awkward for me. She knew what I was thinking.

“Wait, hold on…”

She laid down next to me and spread her legs wide.

“It’ll be easier this way.”

She put my hand back on her pussy, and it did feel better. I started to move my hand up and down between her lips, and she moaned softly.

“Is that good?”

“Yeah… keep going. I’ll tell you.”

I laughed a little because I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. It was kind of hot to see her there, though, completely naked and feeling pleasure from what I was doing to her. She had a really great body, and she was really sexy. I had never really thought about fooling around with another girl before, but I was starting to like it.

I moved my hand back and forth, just like I did to myself, and played with her clit. It was cool to watch her reaction, to hear her moan every time I touched it. I really wanted to know what it would feel like to have another person touch me like this. She reached up and started to play with her nipples. I laughed a little again, because I do the same thing when I masturbate.

She moaned again. I was still kind of nervous, and still not sure if I was doing a good job.

“Do you want me to, um, go in?”

“Yes… fuck my pussy. Finger me, Cath.”

It was kind of strange to hear her say “fuck me,” since I only thought of fucking as one thing at that time. I slipped my middle finger inside her hole. It felt really weird at first to be inside another pussy other than my own. I pushed it in and out, and then I put another finger in. She moaned loudly when my second finger went in, and she reached down and started to rub her clit.

“Yes Cath… that’s it. Keep doing that… fuck my pussy… faster!”

I moved my fingers as fast as I could, pushing in as far as I could go. I spread them apart and back together again, and I could feel her pussy tightening around them. Her hips were pumping up and down against my hand.

“Yes Cath, that’s it. Keep going…I’m… gonna come.”

Right after that, her whole body went stiff and she held her breath. I knew she was having an orgasm. I could feel her pussy grab my fingers, the way mine does. Finally she collapsed, and grabbed my wrist to make me stop.

I pulled my fingers out and wiped them on the sheets. Kate lay there for a second, breathing heavily. It was then that I realized how wet my own pussy was, and how turned on I was from watching my pretty sister come. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

Kate suddenly turned to me and smiled. “Wow, that was awesome, thanks.”

Suddenly I felt all awkward. Had I really just fingered my own sister? “Um, sure.”

She smiled. “Okay, your turn…”

“No, that’s okay.”

“C’mon, let me do you too. You’ll like it, I promise.”

“It’s okay, Kate, maybe another time, I’m really tired.”

She smiled. I think she could tell that I was nervous. “Okay, but just let me know. Whenever you want, okay?”

I smiled, and she kissed me on the cheek. She sat up and stretched, and all I could think of was that her body looked really good. She reached down to the floor for her shirt, put it back on and stood up.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“Okay, ‘nite, Cath.”

“Goodnight.”

She started to leave, but stopped. “You know you can’t say anything, right? Not to anyone.”

“I know, don’t worry.”

She smiled and slipped out the door.

As soon as she left I started to masturbate and came faster and harder than ever before, thinking about what just happened. I decided that the next time, I would let her do me too. Wrong or not, I wanted her to touch me.

I didn’t see her until after dinner the next day. We were all watching TV in the living room, but all I could think about was how badly I wanted Kate to masturbate me. I was getting so excited thinking about it. It seemed like the night was lasting forever, and I kept thinking that I was just going to go into the bathroom and do it myself. Finally, my sister got up.

“Where are you going?” I just blurted it out, and everyone looked at me strangely.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Oh, sorry.”

She left the room. I didn’t want her to do anything, so I told my parents I was going to bed and ran after her. She came out of the bathroom and smiled at me.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just… remember what you said last night?”

She grinned. “You got it, sis. When Mom and Dad go to bed.”

I nodded, then went to my room while she went back downstairs. I started to change for bed, and as I slipped on my pajamas I thought about last night and took them off, opting for just a nightshirt and nothing else, like Katie had worn, then slipped into bed.

I remember waiting for what seemed like hours. in fact, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, Kate was in my bed next to me, and her fingers were gently stroking my nipples under my nightshirt when I woke up.

I looked at her, and she smiled. “You still want me to get you off?”

I nodded. She got me into a sitting position and crawled behind me, wrapping her legs around mine. I could feel her pussy against my ass. She pulled off her nightshirt, then raised my arms in the air to remove mine as well. She threw both shirts on the floor, and we were both naked.

Kate pressed herself against me, and I could feel her breasts against my back. Without warning, she reached around, slipped a hand between my thighs and started to touch my pussy. It was the most incredible thing I’d ever felt. She played with my clit and fingered me with one hand while the other toyed with my nipples.

Suddenly I knew I was about to come, and I fell back into her, shaking from head to toe. I raised my ass into the air, thrusting against Kate’s fingers, coming so hard that she had to cover my mouth to keep me from screaming.

When I caught my breath, I got her to reverse our positions and returned the favor. Kate stayed in my room for a while that night. We just lay together in my bed, cuddling for a while, and then we fingered each other at the same time. I had never come twice in one day before that. She went back to her own room when we were done, so we wouldn’t get caught.

Up until the day Kate left for college, we masturbated each other almost every night. We never really did anything but use our fingers on each other, and until recently, I’d never thought about doing anything else with her.

Then I found out about my friend Anne, and her sister Danielle. She told me how they have sex together — real, honest-to-god lesbian sex — and I started to think about Kate. Anne was the first person I ever told about the things I did with my sister, and the only other girl I ever thought about in a sexual way. When she told me about her and Dani being lovers, I couldn’t  stop myself from masturbating right there in her room while she described all the things they did together.

I called Kate that night, and told her that I missed her. She said she missed me too, and that she’d be coming home to visit or so in a few weeks. I can’t wait. She’s going to be very surprised when she gets here.

The End

By Alfie Atkins

Marisa sat behind her sister Ebonie, drawing the soft brush through her long, light brown hair. The hair was baby-soft, and smelt deliciously of floral shampoo. Marisa loved to brush Ebonie’s hair. It was always so clean and shiny, so easy to brush, and it always had such a delightful skin-and-soap scent that really was like nothing else.

Ebonie always appreciated Marisa’s ministrations. Whether Marisa was showing Ebonie how to apply make-up, do her hair in a top-knot, clip up a halter neck top without tying her limbs in a knot — or brushing her hair, as she was now, the younger girl always listened intently and followed her sister’s instructions thoroughly. Ebonie was in awe of her elder sister, and Marisa was secretly thrilled with the adulation.

Just recently, Marisa had been spending a lot more time with Ebonie. Before, she would have spent every waking moment with Carlie, but Carlie had been ‘out’ an awful lot lately. Marisa was slightly confused by her older sibling’s sudden lack of appearance, and her slightly standoffish attitude when she was there.

One night when Carlie wasn’t staying out, Marisa crept into her big sister’s bed — but although Marisa sat so close to Carlie that she was almost atop her, wishing with every fibre of her being for her lovely sister to plant a steamy kiss on her lips, or reach under the covers to slide Marisa’s nightie up her thighs and draw her cotton knickers down, it never happened.

Marisa would sit next to Carlie, talk about boys and girls and life — aand as she talked, she would be aware of her pussy growing wetter and wetter and wetter. She so wanted to reach out, grab her sister’s hand and place it between her thighs, as they’d both done to one another on that fateful night, which had happened weeks ago.

Nothing had happened between them since that night, and they hadn’t discussed it. Marisa desperately wanted to broach the subject, but she was afraid that if she did, Carlie would tell her that what they’d done was a mistake. Or worse, deny anything had taken place between them at all.

Somehow, the power that had once been Marisa’s was now Carlie’s. The older girl had cruelly aroused Marisa’s passions, taken her to undreamt of levels of ecstasy, and now she was acting as if nothing at all had taken place between them. Marisa should have been angry, but she couldn’t be. She was totally and utterly infatuated with Carlie, sick and wrong as it seemed, and she could neither stop that or reverse it. Nor did she want to.

But Carlie was being infuriatingly aloof. Marisa suspected it might be one of the morbid games her big sister loved to play. On the other hand, if it wasn’t a game, what kind of a future did they have? How would this affect their relationship as sisters? Carlie would be living at home for at least another two years, probably, and Marisa didn’t think she could cope for that long, not with all of the latent passions and secret lust that would ensue.

As she continued to brush Ebonie’s hair in a trance-like state, Marisa reflected on the love that had passed between herself and Carlie on that special, wonderful night. Carlie had been fantastic, perfect, brilliant, more than Marisa could have ever hoped or dreamed for. Her touch was so juvenile, yet so expert. Her body, her reactions, her pledge of love had been so wonderful and magical that Marisa had felt transported to the stars.

As they had slept in each other’s arms, Marisa had dreamed of the life they would share together. People would accept their love in the end, if they saw how true, deep, and meaningful it was. They would get a flat together, spend each and every night in each others’ arms without feeling guilty or dirty or ashamed, and the lovemaking would only get better and better as they got older, if that was possible.

And yes, Marisa knew it was a wild fantasy that could never come true, yet at the same time, she wanted it so badly, and with such a passion, that she almost believed, if she wished for it hard enough, that her wish would come true. As she lay in those warm arms, feeling wanted, cherished, loved, she felt that nothing would ever match up to that precious moment.

But morning had to come. As the day dawned in, the sky red and vivid, Carlie shook Marisa softly from her dream world, and with a tender kiss, guided her back to her own bed.

After that night, Carlie hadn’t completely ignored Marisa, but she’d been distant, withdrawn, even slightly edgy in her younger sister’s company. Marisa had looked at Carlie with pleading eyes, but Carlie had merely ignored her.

And recently, Carlie had made sure to drop in plenty of anecdotes, during their late-night chats, of things she’d done with boys. Marisa didn’t want to hear about things like that any longer — she wanted Carlie all to herself. Still, she could not deny the lust that coursed through her when Carlie described the simplest of kisses or touches she had exchanged with a boy.

When Marisa returned to her own bed, she would lift her nightie and slide a hand into her knickers, rubbing her heated cleft almost desperately as she imagined Carlie’s tongue, lips and hands on her pliant body. As she came, her juices wetting her hand, Marisa would moan and whisper, “Oh, Carlie,” into the close air.

Later, as she slept, she would dream of those soft eyes smiling down at her, brown tresses brushing over her body, making her nipples pucker erect — while Carlie just grinned and repeatedly denied her what she wanted.

As Marisa would beg in her dreams for Carlie to set her free, Carlie would pout and grin — and suddenly, violently, she would run a hand down Marisa’s body, scraping with her fingernails along the way, then she would part the pouting lips of her pussy, slapping and rubbing the hot little clit, bringing Marisa off.

But when Marisa awoke, her knickers damp, she would sigh into the empty space and silently beg her sister to join her. But she was alone.

*****

Today was one of the rare occasions that Carlie was at home. She was no doubt downstairs talking to their parents, although Marisa longed for her to be up in the bedroom with them. She was sure she would not be as interested in Ebonie’s hair if she was. As she stroked the brush through Ebonie’s hair for the last time, she noticed it was full of loose hairs.

“There you are, kiddo,” Marisa said, exhaling a sigh. “All done. I’m just gonna clean this brush out, okay?” Ebonie nodded, and Marisa headed for the bathroom.

Opening the bathroom door, Marisa realised that the shower stall was clouded with steam. Silly Ebonie, probably forgot to turn it off again, Marisa told herself, and opened the stall doors to turn off the shower.

Carlie’s gleaming wet, naked body stared back at Marisa, and it was as perfect as she remembered. The rose-coloured nipples were pleasingly puckered, covered with soapsuds. The narrow thighs were glistening with soap and water droplets; the butt, high, rounded, and temptingly full, was half-tuned toward her, and it looked so inviting, Marisa wanted to pull it to her and suck on the shiny cheeks, biting and nipping, running her tongue down the crack. The dark bush of Carlie’s pussy, damp and inviting, looked so ready to be opened and explored, that Marisa had to physically force herself not to reach out and touch it.

Carlie turned toward Marisa in shock, but her hands did not try to cover her body in self defence, and a small smile hung on her lips. “Oh, Marisa, I thought you were someone else,” Carlie cried, then giggled softly. As she did so, she dropped the soap to the floor of the stall. “Oops,” Carlie giggled. “I seem to have dropped my soap. Excuse me.” And with that, Carlie bent down to pick up the soap. As she did so, she bent over so far that her butt cheeks opened wide, affording Marisa a splendid view of her tight little butthole, and the cleft of an open and water-wetted pussy.

Marisa’s pussy responded accordingly. Her heart began to pound, low and heavy, in her chest, and she felt the dampness begin to seep from her vaginal opening. She so wanted to lean forward and lick that sexy little crack, plunging her tongue deep in the forbidden hole, then slurping wetly down to prod at the other opening, that she almost did it, regardless of the hassle it might cause. Instead, she called on all of her willpower to refrain from doing so, and watched as Carlie slowly straightened up, arching her long back.

Marisa watched, mute, as Carlie began to soap her delightful breasts, rubbing the soap bar round and round her tempting little nipples, her eyes half closed in ecstasy. Then she slowly slid the soap down her body, right to the top of her bush, then stopped abruptly.

“Marisa,” she cooed, in a low, sexy and intimate voice, just for her. “I know you want to touch me… just as I know that all of these long nights you have wanted me to make love to you again. But I had to be sure that you meant what you said, that you truly wanted to be my lover.”

“I do, Carlie,” the younger girl whispered.

“I know that, Marisa… and I’m going to let you have what you want. Soon.”

Marisa thought she was hearing things. So Carlie did still want her. All of the teasing, all of the pain of the last few weeks, nothing mattered as it dawned on her what her sister was saying. She still wanted her, and that was good enough for her. And by God, did Marisa ever want Carlie. She wanted her so much that her cunt was throbbing with violent pulse-beats, and she was almost dripping with wetness. But ‘soon’? What did she mean? Was she going to make her wait even longer?

Marisa watched in a trance-like state as Carlie began to rub the soap in light circular motions over her pussy, her hand descending ever so slightly lower with each motion. As she came to almost clit level, Carlie paused, smiling at her confused and aroused sister. “Lock the door, Marisa,” she breathed.

Eagerly, Marisa did her bidding, and when she turned back to her sister, Carlie was beckoning at her with both hands to join her in the shower.

“I can’t, Carlie,” she said, every word an effort. She was so aroused that she could hardly speak. “Ebonie is in the bedroom. She will wonder where I am.” Even as she spoke, Marisa knew that she could easily get in that shower with Carlie, even if there was a possibility of getting caught.

Carlie grinned and said, “Good. You haven’t totally lost your head, then. If you and I are going to be together, I need to trust you to be careful. Maybe soon we won’t have to worry, but at the moment… If you like, you can wash my pussy for me instead.”

‘Like’ did not come close to describing how much Marisa wanted to wash that sweet little cunt. Slowly, Marisa pushed away from the wall and went to her sister. With a small laugh, Carlie squeezed the soap out of her grip, and it plopped into Marisa’s eager hand.

Gently and carefully, but with growing arousal, Marisa began to lightly rub at Carlie’s mound with the bar of soap. As soon as she had started, Carlie impatiently grabbed Marisa’s hand and forced her pussy open with the soap.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” Carlie croaked. “Rub harder, slip the soap right in.”

Marisa complied, parting Carlie’s slit with her free hand, while the other used the soap to rub roughly at her pussy. Marisa ran the bar up and down the cleft, all the way up and down, sliding from clit to hole, pressing with force into the clit with each stroke.

Carlie’s legs began to tremble, and she threw her head back, her eyes half shut, the long wet hair trailing down. Her top teeth nipped at her glistening underlip in ecstasy, and she began to pump her hips, pressing her pussy harder and harder against the soap and the hand.

Carlie suddenly pulled Marisa towards her, and a wet hand went out to roughly rub at her cunt through her tight jeans. The seam of the jeans pressed into Marisa’s pussy, and the rough texture of the seam was incredibly arousing.

As her legs buckled with the onset of a sudden and intense orgasm, the soap dropped from Marisa’s hands and fell to the floor unheeded.

Marisa’s soap-slippery fingers worked their way easily into Carlie’s pussy, one, two, then three, jabbing in and out, while her thumb pounded at her big sister’s clit, rubbing it side to side and round and round, making Carlie whimper in orgasm.

As Carlie found Marisa’s clit through her jeans, so hard and protruding that it could be felt even through the denim material, she began to rub hard at the protuberance.

Suddenly both girls began to climax. Carlie rubbed her pussy violently against the exploring hand, then cried out softly as her juices mingled with the water and soaked Marisa’s hand — while a trembling Marisa bit her lip as an orgasm flooded through her, her cunt pounding and pounding, the pulse beat in overload, making her head spin with the dizzying pleasure of it. Her own flood was unseen and not felt by Carlie, but Marisa could feel how heavy and wet her knickers were as it engulfed her.

The pounding within both girls slowly subsided. Marisa could not stop her legs from trembling, and she had to hold on to the shower stall door to keep herself upright. Carlie, a look of amazement and happiness on her face, laughed softly, and whispered, “Oh, boy,” before winking at Marisa, and starting to close the shower stall.

This time, Marisa wasn’t offended this time — she knew the score, knew what Carlie was trying to say. Silently, although her legs still trembled, she turned to the sink and began to empty the hairs out of the brush. The whole episode had lasted mere seconds.

They would not be discovered. And it was amazingly arousing to have this sexy secret between herself and Carlie. Marisa did not feel the need to change anything for the moment. Her brain buzzed with happiness and the afterglow of orgasm, and her rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes could not hide the delight her sister had evoked in her.

As Marisa turned to quietly leave the bathroom, she glanced one more time over to the cloudy shower stall and saw Carlie bending to pick up the soap. She grinned to herself, and reflected that this had felt just as good as that first time, probably even better. And shutting the door behind her, Marisa knew she did not need to worry. There’s plenty more where that came from.

The End

By Cassie

The week went terribly slowly, and Justine’s distraction made her less then popular at work but, on Saturday morning, as she showered and laid out some fresh clothes, she couldn’t deny how excited she was at the prospect of seeing Kelly — this easy-going, happy-go-lucky girl who could unlock the secrets of Justine’s long lost family.

Snapping out of another daydream, Justine looked at the clothes on her bed and decided on something sober for the meeting. Almost business-like. So she chose to wear a shortish plain skirt, her just-heeled black shoes and a white blouse.

She studied herself in the mirror and groaned. I look like I’m dressed for an interview!

Ditching the blouse, she picked out a simple red top with overly long sleeves that she liked to pull over her hands and grip in her palms. Then she unbound her long strawberry-red hair, clipping only the most unruly locks behind her head. She smiled at the image staring back at her. Much better. At least then, Kelly wouldn’t think there was some kind of business proposition in the works.

Resisting the urge for a large coffee before she left, Justine set the sat-nav in her car and began the drive along the southern English coast to Ashford. She passed through ancient Lewes and historic Hastings, then through the pretty town of Rye before branching inland to make her way into Ashford. The two women had agreed to meet in the town centre, at a coffee shop near a major car park.

As Justine settled her car into a space at the designated parking lot, she stopped and spent a few minutes trying to calm her nerves. She was, in fact, less nervous than she expected to be. It was as though the stage fright had suddenly evaporated and she was ready to face her audience. She checked her make-up in the mirror: a little lipstick, some eyeliner and a hint of green eye shadow. Not too much, just something to make her presentable. She got out and went down the steps through the exit, and onto the street.

She walked up the road a little way, eventually spying the Italian coffee place they’d agreed to meet at. She checked her watch. She was precisely five minutes late. So it was with that thought; the notion that after all this, the impeccably professional Justine Holloway was late for one of the most important meetings of her life, that she walked into the shop somewhat distracted. She didn’t even notice the other woman in the bar until Kelly Bracken turned her head to see who had arrived.

It was at that moment that Kelly’s face lit up, and Justine’s heart almost stopped.

Because the woman who Justine had come to visit, the woman who had replied to her about her mysterious birth parents Walter and Mary Jackson, the woman who did not share her own surname, or profess to any knowledge of “Amanda,” beyond the possession of a small copper bracelet with that name inscribed upon it, was Justine Holloway’s virtual double. Her doppelganger. In fact, her identical twin sister.

Justine could not speak. Her throat was literally contracting, almost choking her as she stared, stared, stared at the smiling woman rising up to greet her. It was like seeing a perverse mirror video as she drank in the image of Kelly Bracken — the long, curly red hair, the small, freckled nose, the slim form, the green eyes, even the shape of her mouth, now curling into a wide grin. Each of those things were part and parcel of Justine’s own features.

My God, she kept thinking to herself. My God. My God!

Her heart skipped several beats and she suddenly felt dizzy. She reached out for support but fumbled on the top of a nearby chair and began to feel her knees tremble, her legs fail. Fat, bright stars filled her vision and she felt close to collapse when two arms reached out to hold her upright.

“Are you okay?” said Kelly, stepping in close to put her arms around Justine.

Justine gazed up at her as though she were dazed or intoxicated, and then looked away. Her face had gone very pale and her legs had lost all their strength. Kelly helped Justine into the chair she’d been trying to grab hold of, then sat opposite her, holding the other woman’s hand.

Justine was aware of Kelly Bracken holding her hand, squeezing it gently while the soft, slightly coarse voice of the other woman asked her if she was all right. Justine was aware of sitting, feeling dizzy and light-headed, and being faintly embarrassed by it all, but was most aware of the touch and feel of the other woman’s hand on her own. In some strange way, the touch of Kelly’s skin on hers had a bizarre, rippling effect, as though there were a mild surge of electricity passing between them. Justine was also aware that her heart was beating very fast, and she was perilously close to fainting.

Kelly sat, holding the other woman’s hand for a few minutes, hoping that Justine Holloway — who looked so like her, as if she’d spied on Kelly to copy her every feature — would not collapse or be sick on her.

Eventually, Justine took a deep breath and sat up, focusing her eyes on Kelly, staring at her with an almost apologetic frown.

“How can you be—?” she said, but seemed unable to finish the question.

Kelly waited patiently while the other woman shook her head to gather her thoughts, only faintly aware that she was still holding the other woman’s hand, and how comfortable it felt to do so.

Eventually, after pinching the bridge of her nose while she kept her eyes shut to concentrate, Justine sighed. “I came here to ask about Mary and Walter Jackson,” she said, her words low and deliberate. “I came because I found out I was adopted, and the only thing I knew about my parents were their names, and a daughter they had called Amanda.”

Justine took a few deep breaths, still unable to meet Kelly Bracken’s eyes.

“When you said that you had a bracelet with ‘Amanda’ inscribed on it, I thought perhaps that you could help me find out who my family were. Who Amanda was. Your surname—”

“Bracken,” Kelly said, interrupting.

“I assumed that you had nothing to do with them. Nothing to do with me, certainly. I never once thought you could be my—my—”

“Bracken’s my married name,” said Kelly. “My maiden name was Jackson, like Mum and Dad. I never knew about no sister. They never told me.”

It was as Kelly mentioned the word “sister” that Justine finally looked up and studied the woman sitting so close to her, holding her hand. The two young women stared at each other for long minutes, Kelly smiling at the unexpected face of the woman so similar, to identical to her own; Justine searching Kelly’s identical features, hardly daring to believe that the sister she had so longed about was finally in front of her.

It was an almost involuntary motion that prompted Justine to raise her free hand a reach out to touch the face of her long lost sister. While not flinching, Kelly did stiffen a little as the other woman’s hand reached out. She felt Justine’s soft, warm fingertips touch her cheek in a very gentle, hesitant way. And she still did not move as she let the other woman place a warm palm against the side of her face. In fact, she felt her eyelids begin to close involuntarily at the touch of the other woman. There was something strangely calming and comforting about Justine’s touch, and Kelly found herself responding to it.

It was, eventually, Justine who broke the quiet reverie, by removing her hand and taking another of her customary deep breaths. “I can barely believe you’re real,” she said.

Kelly smiled. “I never knew you even existed.”

“So you knew Mary and Walter? My birth parents?”

“Our mum and dad, you mean?” Kelly laughed.

Justine smiled in return. “I suppose. It’s hard trying to think of them like that, though. There’s so much I don’t know!”

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” said Kelly.

“But you will, though?” said Justine, a hint of desperation in her voice. She found that she was gripping her twin sister’s hand as she said it. “You’ll tell me all about them, won’t you? All about them, you and everything?”

Kelly giggled and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“And — and you’re married?” Justine said, wondering at the sudden distaste she had at the thought of her new sister having a husband.

At this, Kelly looked away and smiled sadly. She didn’t speak for a few moments, and Justine had a sudden urge to pull the other woman into an embrace.

“I was,” Kelly said, eventually. The silence extended for a long moment. “Widowed now.”

“I’m sorry,” Justine said and, strangely, both meant it and found comfort at the thought. “I hardly know what to say, where to start.”

“You could start by telling me all about you,” Kelly said, looking up and smiling into the eyes of her new-found sister.

The two women sat for over two hours in that little shop, watching at least two rounds of coffee come and go as they laughed, smiled, and talked to each other. Their hands hardly parted during this time, and it was only when the barman asked if they wanted the dinner menu that the two women noticed the time and agreed to go.

Kelly offered to host Justine for dinner — but reluctantly, very reluctantly, Justine declined. She had to get back home to Brighton.

When Justine arrived home, it was with a mixture of both relief and regret. As an essentially individual person, she was pleased to be back in her own space once more. But the further she got from Kelly, this new and wonderful surprise in her life, the more she missed her.

If someone had asked Justine to explain it, she would not have been able to put it into words. She felt a desperate need to be close to Kelly; to make sure the Kent girl was not just a dream, to make sure no one would take her away after all these years of being alone. And the truth was that Justine couldn’t explain how she felt when Kelly touched her, or smiled at her. There was the same sensual frisson she got from being on a date, from the wonderful, heavy anticipation before sex.

Despite these stirrings, Justine assured herself that she didn’t have sexual feelings for Kelly. It was wrong to have such feelings. Wrong on two levels. She shouldn’t because Kelly was most definitely her sister—her twin, for goodness’ sake! And it was wrong because even if Kelly had been her type, and was everything she wanted in a romantic partner, love just didn’t strike that quickly. Not for Justine, anyhow. It wasn’t possible.

But thoughts of Kelly continued to prey on Justine’s mind. Every time she closed her eyes, there was her sister — smiling, biting the corner of her bottom lip, frowning with worry when Justine nearly broke down. She felt the touch of Kelly’s hand on her arm as the newfound sister tried to console her. She smelt the perfume of the Kent girl It was intoxicating. The whole experience almost seemed like some deep, deep rush from a powerful drug.

After making herself a light dinner, then ignoring it, Justine fired up her computer and checked her mail. Sifting through the usual, she hit the “compose” button and wrote a short note to her Portuguese friend Jan.

Hi Jan. Hope everything has been okay. Life has taken a huge turn for me. A huge turn. Two wonderful things have happened. I’ve tracked down my remaining family — my birth family, remember? That was incredible enough, but when I went to meet the woman who knew about this, I had an even bigger shock. She was my twin, Jan. My absolute twin! I have no doubt that we’re sisters.

I can hardly believe it. It’s an amazing thing. Too wired to explain it all fully.

Will write again soon, Justine

She hit the “send” button and carried on surfing her mail. She had just logged into Jan’s SIL site, when an e-mail popped up from Jan herself.

Hi Justine. Lovely to hear from you. Do you have a webcam?

Attached to the e-mail was a link. Justine, feeling another flush of excitement, adjusted the webcam on the top of her computer screen and activated the live chat. Jan’s face appeared in a small window on the top right part of Justine’s screen.

She smiled and waved at her new friend. “Hi, Jan! Don’t use this webcam much, but it’s great to see you. You look fantastic!”

Jan smiled back, her dark features settling into the middle of the mini-screen. “Hi, Justine. Thank you. I have a beautiful view of your left ear. It’s a very pretty ear….”

Justine flushed red with embarrassment, then squared the webcam so that it pointed in her direction.

“Sorry. Is that any better?”

“It’s fine, but I was enjoying the close-up of your ear. Maybe next time you can show me the other one.”

Justine smiled. “Har, har. I knew I couldn’t get through a chat without you teasing me. Didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

Jan shrugged, feigning ignorance. “What can I say? I have a thing for left ears.”

“What did you think of my news?” said Justine, eager to hear her friend’s advice.

Jan smiled — a little sadly, Justine thought. “Is it really your sister?” she asked, as though questioning Justine’s news.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let me put it like this. Have you slept well since you got back to England?”

“Slept well? What on earth has that got to do with it?”

Jan’s face fell a little. “I am worried about you, Justine, my friend. When you left Portugal, you seemed like something new and wonderful had happened, but I am worried that it had become too much.”

Justine sighed. Jan thought she was making it all up.

Of course she would think that, Justine reflected later. How much of an extraordinary coincidence it must seem to Jan that this English woman, who had only just experimented with lesbian sex, who was looking for a long-lost sister, and who had found out about the Sisters in Love site then suddenly then “discovered” her long lost sibling? It was the stuff of fantasy, of pure imaginative creation.

But at the time, Justine was too angry to think about that. She did not have the energy, the concentration for that kind of reflection. So she bit back at Jan, first asking her what the hell she meant, then attacking her for being petty and not wanting Justine to have any real happiness, then accusing Jan of being jealous, and that was why she hadn’t taken advantage of Justine’s offer to sleep with her back in Portugal.

Jan, for her part, was incredibly patient, listening to Justine’s rant and trying to calm the other woman down. Eventually, Jan suggested they talk again some other day, as she was tired.

Justine cut the communication immediately, hot with anger. She fumed for a few moments in front of her computer, just as she’d done a few weeks earlier, when confronted with the evidence of David’s infidelity. Finally, her anger spent, she slumped and began to cry. How had her life gone from being so… so… stable, to being this awful roller coaster where even being angry with a new acquaintance would make her upset?

Justine left her computer and sold herself to a bottle of red wine, before going clumsily to bed. And when she slept, she fell into a deep dream.

Justine was running, and running scared. Somehow it was all her fault, but that didn’t stop her being afraid, or help in any way. The rooms of the house were dark and had many shadows in them, but it was the girl coming behind her that frightened Justine the most. Justine knew the girl wanted to hurt her, and knew she had to get away. But her feet felt like blocks of ice, and her heart was pumping too hard. She was back in her old school uniform, inelegant and dowdy. Her long, curly red hair was plastered around her face and she was sweating so freely that the blouse on her back was damp with her exertions.

She ran toward a door — but it wouldn’t open. In desperation she tugged at the handle, crying and pleading with the door to open, but it held fast. She had the sense of everything behind her contracting, closing in on her somehow, and felt her throat begin to tighten. She shivered, slumping against the floor as the world closed in, no longer able to cry. Unable to breathe. She crumpled against the hard floor.

Shadows, dark shadows all around her. She—

Justine woke up abruptly, her heart pounding. The echo of a shout — her own cry — coming back to her. She thought about getting up; drinking some water or something similar, then felt strangely frightened and alone. She didn’t want to leave the bed.

Eventually, and in a fairly short space of time, she fell back into sleep.

Justine weaved through the people at her college party; trying to find a way out. It was hot, and busy, and Justine didn’t want to face her. She sent upstairs but when she got to the bedroom door, the other girl was waiting there for her.

“Bitch.”

Justine turned around, ready to bite back — but Pip looked both angry and upset, and Justine knew it was her fault. She eventually just hung her head and muttered, “Sorry.”

The slap, when it came, was both unexpected and painful. Justine raised a hand protectively to the left side of her face, feeling the pain of the blow Pip had just given her.

“Sorry?” shouted Pip, her woollen doll’s features contorted in anger. “Sorry? Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it, you sly, two-faced bitch. I should slap the hell out of you for what you’ve done!”

Justine wanted to argue, but had no strength for it. She didn’t know what she’d done, but knew somehow that she was at fault, and could not gainsay her childhood playmate.

“Sit down,” said Pip, her arms crossed over her flat doll’s chest. “I said, sit down!” she shouted. Justine did so, feeling tears well up.

“Oh, you can cry all right!” said Pip, leaning down and lifting Justine’s chin with surprising gentleness. “You might as well get started sooner rather than later, two-faced bitch.”

Pip slapped her again, and Justine felt the hot sting. Then came another slap, to her right cheek, and another to her left.

“Please!” she pleaded. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Pip was undressing in front of her, taking off her stitched clothes to reveal a gaunt doll’s frame underneath. Her face was a mixture of anger and something else, some other passionate, animal emotion. Justine was very scared of her, but could not move.

“Hurting you is the only way to make you pay,” said Pip, leaning down and slapping Justine’s face once more. “Take your clothes off.”

Justine shook her head. My God, was Pip going to rape her? What could she do? Pip was her oldest, closest companion. She couldn’t say no to her, could never refuse her, even if Pip threatened violence. Some things Justine knew she could not deny.

“Just like you can’t deny you deserve this!” said Pip, her lips trembling.

With a breaking heart, Justine peeled off her clothes. Once she was naked, Pip ordered her to kneel on the floor. She obeyed, then Pip stood behind her and began to spank Justine from behind, delivering hard, cruel strokes against her friend’s bare buttocks.

“Please, please stop,” said Justine, aware of the heat and pain as Pip delivered each stinging blow. “Please don’t.”

“Faithless bitch.”

“Please stop!” said Justine, as the two hurtled down the highway at car-crash speed. “I don’t want to die. Pip, stop it, please.”

The car ate and ate up the road without ever seeming to end. Justine thought she was going to die at any mo—

When she awakened, it was with a jolt and a lurch inside her chest. And God help her, the first thing she thought about was Kelly, her newly discovered, beautiful twin sister. Justine would have given anything to have held Kelly at that moment. She somehow needed to feel that contact with her twin; that reassurance that Kelly was there and wasn’t going to go away. Holding her sister would take away the nightmares, of that she was certain. Holding Kelly would make everything all right.

It was only as an afterthought, as she sank once more into a deep and formless sleep, that Justine remembered how she used to feel that way about her doll, Pip.

The following week was a roller coaster that twisted, turned, sped up and braked hard, all according to the whim of Justine’s emotions. She’d seldom been on to let her feelings run away with her. She was a methodical, professional woman, and needed her to be that for her job. So, with a desperate act of will, she tried to purge thoughts of Kelly from her mind while she was at work.

But even she couldn’t deny that the one thing keeping her going was the thought of sharing a phone call or an e-chat with her new sister during the evening. They’d arranged to meet up again the following Saturday. Kelly promised Justine a day’s outing to Dover, her favourite town.

By the time Friday evening came around, Justine was in a state of high excitement. She’d promised herself — like a child vowing not to open the presents before their parents woke up on Christmas day — that she wouldn’t call or e-mail Kelly. The only communication she allowed herself  to send was a single text, confirming that they would be meeting up for the day.

Kelly’s reply thrilled every excited fibre of Justine’s being.

Can’t wait! So looking forward to seeing you! Lotsa luv, K xxx

Justine spent the evening cooking herself a small pasta dish, which she enjoyed with a couple of bottles of beer. She followed that with a long, leisurely bath, then sat down at her computer.

She’d decided to try and make amends with her Portuguese friend Jan, feeling regretful about the set-to they’d had. Dressed loosely in her satin bathrobe with nothing underneath, she sat down and fired up the computer. She checked her e-mail — nothing from Kelly, but nothing from David either, so that cancelled things out, she supposed. Justine got rid of the obligatory spam, then logged on to Sisters in Love.

She checked the “What’s New” page and clicked on the testimonial of a new author who Jan had published on the site. This girl was telling the story of her secret love for her sister, and had described the sequence of events in very graphic detail.

As she read the story, Justine started to feel herself getting very aroused. The hot bath she’d had, the oils she’d used, and the soft, silken feel of the bathrobe against her skin all seemed to heighten her desire. With only the mildest pang of self-consciousness, she undid the loose knot at the front of her robe and relaxed back into the computer chair.

Letting the robe slip to her sides, she began to trace her fingers up and down the insides of her thighs. She looked down briefly at the patch of red pubic hair between her legs and, in quick succession, wondered first what it would be like if she were shaved; then, what it would feel like to kiss such a soft, red tuft.

She let her fingers play over the triangle of auburn curls, closing her eyes as the skin beneath became sensitised to her own touch. Using her thumb and middle finger, she prised apart her moist labia and eased her forefinger against the electric bud of flesh beneath. She felt a sigh escape her lips and knew that she was getting very turned on. She felt the first familiar little wave of pleasure waft through her — then felt it again, growing wet from her own touch.

Returning to the here and now, Justine looked up to the computer and carried on reading through the testimonial of the woman who loved her own sister. By then, the story and its sentiments resonated so deeply with her that the idea of feeling illicit passion for a sister seemed to make perfect sense.

Nor could she ignore how completely turned on she was becoming. Easing a finger between the cleft of her sex, she found that she was hot and wet to the touch. She curved one, then two fingers and slipped them inside herself. She felt her breathing deepen and closed her eyes, letting herself drift as she slowly worked her fingers in and out, then in and out again.

Almost urgently, she felt the need to be completely filled; to have her body rocked and invaded. She opened her eyes and looked for something appropriate to masturbate with. Her eyes fell onto the beer bottle she’d finished with her meal, then she grabbed it, marvelling at the cool glass beneath her hot fingers.

She rubbed the lip of the bottle against her clit, then began to slip it into herself. At first, the thin neck slid easily between the folds of her moist sex. But as the bottle widened, she needed to push more insistently, timing each push with the contractions of her muscles.

The glass surface was very cold inside her, at least at first — but Justine could only feel the huge eroticism of being filled, the sweet submission of allowing herself to be penetrated, and that made her hornier still. Feeling the bottle go deeper inside her, Justine let out a moan and moved her hips to accommodate its width more easily. With one hand pushing and teasing the glass bottle in and out of her vagina, she gave attention to her clitoris with the other — rubbing, flicking and tickling the sensitive bud.

As wave after wave of eroticism washed through her, Justine felt her sexual hunger rise even higher. Reclining back as far as she could on the chair, she began to fuck herself liberally with the makeshift glass dildo, driving the bottle deep inside herself. On impulse, she looked up to her desk, then reached for her “fat pen” that she used to make notes while she worked. Holding the bottle inside herself with one hand, she grasped the pen in the other, reached behind her leg and rubbed the tip of it against her anus.

Feeling the tight rosebud resist, she brought the pen back up to her mouth and moistened it, then returned it to the crack of her ass. Working slowly, she pushed the thick pen deep into her rectum and left it there, then began to fuck herself lustily with the bottle, now using both hands.

Her orgasm, when she gave into it, was extraordinary. Pulling out both the pen and the bottle and letting them fall to the floor, she jammed two fingers into her cunt and pressed down hard against her ripened clit.

Justine bucked and rocked in the chair, moving with the rhythm of ecstasy. Her mind, as it so often was in her dreams these days, had become a crazy jumble – a mishmash of images and thoughts. None coherent. Nothing tangible.

And that, after she had cleaned herself and lay quietly on the sofa, was all the more confusing for her. Justine loved to fantasise about certain things, even when she was still sleeping with David. There would be defined fantasy roles for her make-believe lovers, with certain face-types, body-types — even the sexual scenarios would be clear and defined.

But now her mind was a welter of confusion, leaving no clear direction for her desires. And there was no doubt that since the holiday in Portugal and her foggy sexual liaison with Rosa — not to mention her intimate chats with Jan — Justine had been thinking a lot more about sex.

No. That wasn’t right. Not just thinking more about sex; she was charged by it. Her orgasms were more powerful, her sexual needs greater. More dangerous, even — Justine had never done anything like fuck herself with a glass bottle before. It was all so very, very confusing.

She went to bed that night still a little excited, but confused… and somehow sad and disappointed in herself, for no particular reason.

*****

The next day, the meeting with Kelly washed away every iota of doubt, sadness, fear or worry. Justine got up early, worried about what to wear. Then, remembering that Kelly had suggested a day out, she picked a short-ish yellow flower-print summer dress. The dress was both pretty and cleverly under-wired, so that she didn’t need to wear a bra. It was also hideously expensive, so Justine didn’t wear it often.

Deciding on a bit of a wicked whim not to wear any underwear at all, Justine slipped on some flat-heeled slippers that went nicely with the dress. Then as an afterthought, she took a cardigan to put over her shoulders if the day grew cold.

Inspecting herself in the mirror, she checked her lipstick, eyeliner, pout and smile. All seemed to be in order.

The drive along the coast was uneventful, and when she parked her car in the drive of Kelly’s modest semi-detached house in Ashford, Justine felt the flutter of first-date nerves. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself but, when Kelly opened the door; a huge grin on her face, Justine turned into a teenage girl once again; grinning madly at nothing in particular. She got out of the car and nearly ran towards the front door. They briefly hugged, then went inside.

Once the door was closed, Justine put her bag down on the floor and looked at Kelly. The same face, same smile, same hair — bound in exactly the same way, she noticed. There was a clip at the top of her head to keep the massed hair in place, but the rest hung free.

Unable to check the happiness she felt, Justine threw her arms around Kelly’s neck and hugged her close.

“Feels like it’s been ages,” she said, burying her face in her newly found sister’s hair. She felt Kelly hug her back, but perhaps not as tightly as Justine did. She couldn’t help it. Justine wanted to hold her and hold her and hold her until she was sure that Kelly wouldn’t disappear. Nor could she help that her heart was beating crazily. It was a wonderful, magical feeling.

“Wow, you look great. I love that dress!” said Kelly.

Justine smiled broadly and looked over at her newly found sister. Kelly was dressed in grey combat trousers and a pink vest top and looked, in her own way, very good. “Thanks. I feel a bit overdressed now.”

Kelly shook her head, then inclined it over her shoulder. “Come on through. Want a cup of tea?”

Justine was grinning. She knew she was, but couldn’t help it. Somehow, in a way that she couldn’t properly describe, she felt happy. Contented. Blissful. Just being here in this unfamiliar location, with a woman she barely knew, she was at one with the universe.

“So are you still up for a day trip to Dover, then?” said Kelly, walking through the small lounge into her kitchen.

“Sounds great,” said Justine, taking a moment to look around. It was clear that Kelly wasn’t very well off, certainly much poorer than Justine herself was. But she made the best of what she had; everything was clean and well kept. In some way, it was very humbling for Justine to be in the house of someone who worked hard to make ends meet.

The two women chatted for a while as Kelly made the tea. They talked about nonsensical things: work, pets, the price of bloody train fares, etc. The sort of trifling details that really matter in a relationship. Taking their tea into Kelly’s front room, they sat on a pair of two-seater sofas angled closely next to each other. Both naturally drew their legs up beside them. As she did so, Justine became aware that her expensive yellow dress rode a long way up her thigh.

Kelly was quick to notice this and bit her lower lip. “If you carry on like that, I’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”

“What? Who?”

Kelly reached out and rested her fingers on Justine’s thigh, making the other woman’s mouth go dry. “Keep showing off these gorgeous pins, and I’ll have to take a stick to beat away all the blokes who’ll be gawping at you!” She sat back, her cheeks a little flushed.

Justine grinned. “No worries there,” she said. “As long as you keep an eye out for me.”

“That’s what sisters are for, right?”

They carried on talking, and Kelly outlined her thoughts for what she’d planned for the day. She wanted to take Justine to the great Dover Castle, and visit the 1940’s tunnels that had been built into the cliff during the Second World War. She’d planned on a picnic at the site overlooking the harbour, and then a drive around until it was time to go back.

Justine pulled a face and tugged at the hem of her yellow dress, raising it a little higher up her leg.

“Honestly, do you really think I’ll be all right in this dress? It seems like we’ll be doing a fair bit of walking, and if we’re in tunnels and stuff, maybe I should…”

“You can borrow some of my stuff, if you want to change,” Kelly offered, before Justine had finished her sentence.

“Do you mind?”

“No, not at all. We’re bound to be the same size, right? Come on up to my bedroom.”

The two women put down their cups and Justine followed Kelly upstairs to a small bedroom, with a double bed taking up most of the space on one side, and two large built-in wardrobes facing on the other.

“Plonk yourself down, then,” said Kelly, opening the farthest wardrobe. She took a few moments, rifling through the clothes, then said, “What d’ye fancy wearing?”

“I don’t know,” said Justine, “Shorts maybe? And any top that goes with it.”

“Okay.”

Kelly picked out a pair of combat shorts, and a ruffled yellow short-sleeved shirt. “Here, try these on.”

“Thanks.” Justine took the clothes and put on the shirt over her dress.

Kelly frowned. “Doesn’t look good with that dress on. Take that off first.”

Justine blanched. “I—er, I’m not wearing any—”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Kelly, dismissively.

“Sure?”

“I have been in the girls’ locker room at college, y’know,” said Kelly with a wry smile.

Justine hesitated for a moment, then stood up and slipped her expensive dress off her shoulders, and pulled it down her body. She looked up momentarily and caught Kelly looking her up and down. Kelly’s eyes dropped to the red-tufted triangle of Justine’s pubes.

“Oh, I’m really sorry,” said Justine. “Sometimes I don’t, um, wear any.”

Kelly, as though snapped out of a trance, looked away, embarrassed. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just, it’s — well, you’re just like me in every way, but I’ve never seen that.”

“What?” The thought that she was standing naked in Kelly’s bedroom barely registered anymore for Justine.

“Your, um, you know; our hair. I didn’t realise it was so red!”

Justine looked puzzled and Kelly’s blush reddened further. “I, uh, had an accident down there a long time ago. Had to have minor surgery and it, well, the hair never grew back.”

“You’re completely bare down there?” said Justine, fascinated.

“Yeah, I, uh — well, it was a long time ago. Do you, uh, do you want to try on that stuff?”

Justine wanted to ask a ton of questions, but was now becoming conscious of the uncomfortable atmosphere and, once more, very aware of her own nakedness. “Sure. Sorry. Didn’t mean to, you know.”

Kelly smiled tightly. “’S’alright. It was a long time ago.”

Justine tried on the shirt and shorts, and they fit perfectly. She could see that Kelly was a little upset, or perhaps uncomfortable. But shortly afterwards, she brightened up considerably. It marvelled Justine that there didn’t seem to be anything much that could keep down Kelly’s good spirits. It put her own hot temper to shame.

They went downstairs, Justine feeling curiously naughty wearing her sister’s clothes with no underwear. She’d decided against a bra, but agreed with Kelly that she should wear a tight vest top to hold what she had in place.

Kelly went to the kitchen and put together some things for the picnic she’d planned. “Do you, uh, mind if we go in your car?” she said, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Sure. Is yours broken?”

“It’s, um, well, yeah. It’s broken down a bit.”

“No problem. As long as you realise that I’ve got 9 points on my license and drive like a maniac — sometimes with my eyes closed.”

Kelly looked over her shoulder and flashed a girlish grin from behind her trailing curtain of red hair. “Tease.”

Justine had seen that look before. She recognised it as just like the one she practised in the mirror before going out on a date. It made her wonder, and tingle at the same time.

The two girls were soon on their way. Kelly was clearly impressed with Justine’s car, making comments about the interior, the quality and all the mod cons.

“Costing me a fortune, though,” said Justine, trying to concentrate on the winding road.

“In running costs?”

“In payments! I’ll be paying this bloody thing off for the next year and a half.”

“Wow. I’d have to go and sell my body or something to get a car like this. Not that I‘d make up enough money by doing that, anyway.”

Justine reached over and patted Kelly’s thigh. “I’d pay, honey,” she said, throwing a grin over at her.

She was about to take her hand away when Kelly, quite unexpectedly, put her hand over Justine’s. She squeezed it lightly, then drew it off her thigh. The two locked gazes briefly and smiled at each other.

They spent the rest of the journey in silence, or making the odd comment about the local countryside here and there.

They arrived at Dover Castle, and Kelly was keen to show a genuinely impressed Justine into the Castle grounds. At the entrance booth, the man looked into the vehicle and grinned.

“Hey. Are you two sisters?”

“Yup!” said Kelly.

“Haven’t I seen you on the telly?”

“I don’t think so!” Kelly laughed. They went through.

Kelly told Justine about the big, imposing medieval castle, then suggested they go to the WW2 tunnels first. Justine said she was happy with that, but was a little scared of tunnels, caves and exposed spaces.

“Don’t worry; I’ll look after you,” said Kelly.

Justine changed her expensive shoes for some trainers she kept in the boot of her car, then the two sisters set off. They stopped at a small souvenir shop until the next tour party arrived, then joined in with a handful of other people into the tunnels carved out beneath the famous chalk cliffs.

As they descended into some poorly-lit tunnels, Justine made a show of shivering, and hung back a little. Kelly noticed this and went back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s—it’s just I’m a little afraid of the dark still. And these tunnels….”

“Come on,” said Kelly, pulling at Justine’s arm. “Nothing to worry about here.”

As they rejoined the rear of the small tour group, Justine felt Kelly’s hand slip into her own, their fingers interlaced. She felt a quickening of her heartbeat and turned her head in the dim, shadowy light. Thanks, her smile said. Thank you for the comfort. Justine kept hold of Kelly’s hand all the way through the tunnels.

After they emerged into the outside, the two girls went back to the car and got out their picnic. They picked a spot overlooking the harbour and sat down, talking idly about this and that, nibbling at the food Kelly had brought. Try as she might, Justine had little appetite. Her stomach was churning a little from both the fear and the excitement of holding her sister’s hand.

“Have you always been afraid of the dark?” said Kelly, as the two stretched out beside one another and leaned back onto the soft grass.

Justine nodded. “As far as I can remember. I used to have this doll when I was younger; Pip was her name. I used to cuddle her in my sleep.”

“Do you still have her?”

“No,” said Justine, faltering a little. “She’s — ah — she’s gone now. Sometimes I just cuddle up to a pillow nowadays.”

“I do that! I cuddle cushions when I’m lounging on the sofa watching a film.”

“I used to cuddle up to my boyfriend,” said Justine, staring out at the big passenger boats as they navigated in and out of the gap in the huge harbour wall below them.

“I miss Dave,” said Kelly, in a small voice.

“Dave?” said Justine, automatically thinking of her cheating ex-boyfriend.

“My husband. He wasn’t very romantic. But he used to let me cuddle up now and again.”

“He must have been mad. Sorry–” said Justine, hastily; not wanting to offend her newfound sister. “I mean, if I was him, I’d be romantic to you all the time.”

Kelly shifted sideways and looked over at Justine, strands of her red curly hair covering one eye. She smiled. “Would you?”

“Absolutely!” said Justine, all conviction. She glanced sidelong at her sister, then stared back out to the harbour. “If I were your — you know — I’d buy you flowers, I’d take you to the theatre—”

“Would you write me poems?” said Kelly, stifling a giggle.

“All the time. Until you were sick of me reading them to you in bed.” She cleared her throat. “Roses are red, violets are blue; Kelly’s so pretty, this poem’s for you.”

Kelly laughed out loud and lay back onto the grass. “Then I’d have to do one for you.”

“Go on, then.”

Kelly took a deep breath and scrunched her features in concentration. “Roses are red,” she began, then hesitated, “and violets are blue…” She shook her head, not knowing what next to say.

“Uh-huh,” said Justine, teasing her and prodding Kelly’s tummy with her finger.

Kelly giggled and squirmed. Eventually she blurted out, “You’re wearing my clothes, but you’ve got your own shoe.”

“Agh! That’s terrible!” Justine said, tickling Kelly with a fury. The other woman rolled on the grass and laughed hard, offering only halfhearted attempts to stop Justine from tickling her. Eventually, the two lay back again, and Justine realised she’d squashed the roule cheese with her leg and now had the soft creamy stuff on her thigh. This brought about another fit of laughing as they cleared away the picnic.

Meanwhile, the sun dipped in the sky, and the boats sailed in, sailed out of the harbour. For Justine, it was the perfect picnic, the perfect day. And she knew, with a growing fear at the pit of her stomach, that she was falling desperately in love with her newly-found twin sister.

Continue on to Chapter 4

By Alfie Atkins

Marisa felt the softness of Carlie’s lips on her own. Felt the gentle pressure of her mouth, the warm wetness of those tasty lips, and it felt like she was sinking into some deep dreamland.

She had waited and dreamed of this moment for so long. But now that the moment was upon her, she was tense with apprehension, unsure of how to deal with it. As Carlie tried to take the kiss deeper, part of Marisa complied, part of her resisted. She wanted this, yet she knew it was wrong. The fact that her body was wracked with helpless desire only made the guilt worse. She had to stop this now, before it went any further.

Carlie, mistaking Marisa’s reluctance for fear, drew slowly away from her sister’s lips, and leaned in close to her ear. Her warm breath on Marisa’s earlobe was enough to send a fresh flood of desire leaking from the younger sibling’s pussy, and she struggled to resist it.

“Oh, Marisa, my sweet baby sister, love of my life, don’t be scared,” Carlie murmured in her husky voice, so soft and sexy in Marisa’s throbbing ear. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to love you? All of those nights with you sitting next to me, I could feel your sweet thigh against mine, and I wanted you so badly I was almost bursting. You’re so beautiful, so perfect. I want to cherish you and love you, Marisa. I want your first time to be with me.”

Carlie’s words were soothing and arousing — and as she whispered them, Marisa felt her body melting, drifting. She yearned to let go, to allow Carlie to take control of her body, her desires, her passion, her life. It felt so right, yet at the same time so wrong. But Marisa could not deny the effect Carlie was having on her, and wasn’t sure if she even wanted to.

Is it really a sin to love? Marisa asked herself.

Reaching out, Carlie switched off the light. The cloak of darkness shrouded the girls. It had the effect of making Marisa feel safe, somehow, but a hint of fear still lingered. Carlie put out a hand and cupped Marisa’s face, and Marisa reveled in the feel of her big sister’s touch — the silky softness of her palm, the scent of Carlie’s desire still fresh on her fingers.

Lightly, yet so arousingly, Carlie traced the outline of Marisa’s mouth with her moist finger, sliding the tip ever so slightly between her younger sister’s lips, causing Marisa to shudder a little in mixed excitement and pleasure. It was the single most erotic moment of Marisa’s life thus far, and she was shocked at how a single touch could arouse her so thoroughly.

So close to her ear Carlie’s tongue was grazing it, Marisa felt the sensation before she heard the words. “Oh, Marisa, let me love you. Let me show you the joys of love. I’ve wanted you for so long. I want to be your first, Marisa. Will you let me?”

Marisa’s head was a muddle of confusion, but she was aware of two things above all: Carlie’s hand cupping her face, and a searing desire that seemed to rush through her body in steady surges.

“But what about Ebonie?” Marisa whispered, glancing nervously at their sleeping baby sister, across the room in her own bed. “If she saw us doing this, she’ll tell Mum and Dad for sure, you know that — and they’d murder us!” She knew that this was nothing but a last ditch effort to stall Carlie’s seduction, even though, in her heart of hearts, Marisa wasn’t sure she even wanted her older sibling to stop.

Carlie glanced over at where Ebonie lay in the darkness, and Marisa did the same; from the blurry shadow revealed, the youngest sibling was still deep in slumber.

“Oh, Marisa… when she’s asleep, almost nothing can wake Ebonie, you know that,” Carlie coaxed. “Don’t worry about her. Just give in to the pleasure. Let me guide you.”

Carlie was tender with her, yet eager and desperate too, so there was an element of rough passion in their lovemaking. The older sister immediately took charge, enjoying the responses of Marisa’s healthy virgin body. Carlie’s mouth pressed against Marisa’s, and it became immediately apparent that she’d had a lot of practice at kissing.

With gentle expertise, Carlie planted her parted lips on Marisa’s, drawing the kiss out — and within seconds, her sly tongue had eagerly worked its way into her sister’s innocent mouth, circling and parrying with Marisa’s tongue. As they kissed, Carlie extended both hands to touch Marisa’s bare breasts, which she cupped and squeezed gently, her thumbs and forefingers pinching the nipples, lightly tugging them, making her younger sister’s pussy pulse in response.

Wave after wave of desire washed over Marisa. She had now capitulated entirely to her sister’s expert caresses, and her hot pussy was throbbing its approval. But God, what Marisa wouldn’t give at that moment to feel Carlie’s expert fingers sliding roughly in and out of her wetness, thumb flicking her clit, just as the older girl had done while Marisa watched her masturbate. She was trembling with the need for release — surely if Carlie continued to shower affection of her breasts, she would come without having had so much as a finger laid upon her pussy.

But then Carlie paused, broke away from their kiss, and gazed down at her sister. All Marisa could see of the girl’s face in the darkness was the gleam of her eyes. Suddenly, Carlie ducked her head down to Marisa’s body, licking her neck, nibbling and sucking gently. Marisa squirmed on the bedsheets, feeling the wetness of her pussy seeping onto them. Her thighs parted wider and wider, as she waited to feel the hands and tongue of her big sister.

Carlie lay between the girl’s open thighs, letting her tongue roam from Marisa’s swan-like neck down to the firm and throbbing breasts that seemed to beg her to kiss them. She took hold of a soft breast and began to suckle the tip, her tongue swirling about the areole, pushing the puckering nipple from side to side.

Marisa emitted a breathy gasp, almost swooning with pleasure. As Carlie sucked, she ran her free hand gently down her sister’s flat stomach, swirling her fingernails lightly over the soft flesh, tickling in a way that made Marisa’s head spin. Her hand went slowly lower and lower, nearer and nearer to the pussy that awaited her touch.

Just as she reached the top of Marisa’s bush, Carlie removed her teasing hand, took her mouth away from the younger girl’s breast, and rolled over onto her back.

Marisa gazed imploringly at her sister in the darkness, positive that she could hear her laughing lightly. “Damn it, Carlie!” she whispered, frustrated beyond endurance.

Whatever protests the girl intended to make died on her lips when Carlie took Marisa’s hand, brought it to her face and took two fingers into her warm, moist mouth. As she nibbled and sucked at them, Carlie reached down to lightly place her hand lightly on Marisa’s sex. Not rubbing or touching, just resting there, cupping the moist, heated flesh.

“I’m going to give you exactly what you want in a minute, baby sister,” Carlie cooed. “But first, I want you to do something for me. No fair, you getting all the pleasure.” Marisa lay so close to Carlie that her nipples were brushing the older girl’s side.

Gently licking her sister’s fingertips, Carlie whispered, “Touch me, Marisa. Now.”

Marisa shivered at the hint of iron in her sister’s voice — and it wasn’t because she was scared.

Nervous but still eager, Marisa reached out to caress Carlie’s plump, wet little pussy.

“Like this?” she asked, as she lightly separated the lips, finding them wet and hot, ready for her.

“Oh yes. Like that, Marisa,” Carlie moaned, bucking her hips. “Slide your fingers inside me now, then open my cunt and find my clit.”

Spurred on by this dirty talk, Marisa parted the lips of her sister’s pussy, immediately finding the engorged clit. She quickly became aware that Carlie was imitating these actions on her own sex.

As Carlie’s fingers found her own clitoris, Marisa was finding it harder to concentrate. She began to rub at the little button — slowly at first, sliding in the juices of Carlie’s pussy, then faster and faster, circling the tiny nub with deft, rapid strokes.

Carlie copied this on her sister, and Marisa felt the orgasm already begin to sweep through her prone body, her cunt throbbing so violently she seriously expected to pass out. As she continued to finger her sister’s pussy, feeling the heat rising in her body, hearing Carlie gasp and moan, she was suddenly aware of rough hands pushing her away, throwing her back down on the bed.

Shock turned to violent passion when she felt Carlie’s hands pressing her arms down to the bed, the older girl’s face thrusting between her parted thighs. Carlie’s tongue lashed out at her pussy and began to lick eagerly at the wetness there.

Marisa closed her eyes, crying out loud as Carlie pressed her tongue found her clit and began to flick at it. Then her sister’s tongue darted down to the opening, plunged deep within, making Marisa gasp — then out again, licking furiously at the clit once more.

It was all Marisa could do to stop herself from screaming as an orgasm overcame her, one so powerful it felt as if her heart might well burst through her chest. Carlie was sucking at her clit while one finger, then two, easily slid deep into her vagina — plunging in and out, roughly and rapidly, driving her over the edge.

“Oh. Oh, fuck!” she croaked, as monstrous waves of pleasure built up and burst over the overwhelmed girl, making her body shake helplessly.

Before she could begin to recover, Carlie had pounced upon her, seizing her hand and thrusting it between her legs, forcing two fingers into her own pussy. Dazed, but eager to please her sister as Carlie had done for her, Marisa fucked her big sister hard, plunging brutally in and out. Instinctively, her thumb went out and began to rub Carlie’s clit.

Within seconds, Carlie was coming too, her body shuddering, legs twitching as she hissed out obscenities. As the contractions flooded over her body, her buttocks clenching and unclenching, Carlie gasped out, “Oh, Marisa, you are so fuckin’ perfect. Make me come. Touch me, that’s it. Oh, fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming now, c-can you feel it?”

Sure enough, Marisa felt the force of Carlie’s release; felt the contractions deep within her as the older girl’s cunt sucked hungrily at her fingers, the hot, wet flesh pulsing and throbbing, thick, warm juices flowing like wine.

Carlie moaned softly as the last of the contractions died away, and her thighs, squeezing Marisa’s hand in a vice-like grip, softened their hold, slackening, then falling limply to either side. Marisa was shocked at the intensity of her sister’s explosion; although her own orgasm had been massive, she’d never seen a reaction like that!

Carlie turned to her sister in the darkness and threw both arms around her, pressing their bodies together. Marisa felt the slickness of their embrace as she held Carlie close, squeezing her so tightly that the older girl felt short of breath. Carlie’s breasts were damp with sweat, the nipples still hard from their lovemaking.

Gentle hands reached out and brushed Marisa’s hair away from her damp face, tenderly cupping her chin. With love and deep understanding, Carlie planted the gentlest of kisses on her glistening brow. There was so much love in that kiss that Marisa was shocked by it. She’d thought that now their passion had been sated, at least for the time being, Carlie would ask her to leave the bed, tell her that what they’d done had to remain ‘our little secret’, and that would be the end of that.

But Carlie was holding her with so much tenderness and warmth that Marisa felt herself falling into an even deeper infatuation with her beautiful, sexy sister.

“Oh, Marisa,” Carlie whispered, “that was so wonderful. I’ve never, ever come like that before. You’re the only person who can make me feel this way. And I know it’s wrong, but I also know that I could never love anyone else like this. I’ve wanted you for so long, I want you now, and I’ll never stop wanting you. Please say that I can explore that beautiful body of yours again… and that you and I will make love many, many more times?” Carlie fell silent, still holding Marisa close, waiting for an answer.

Marisa lay in the dark, studying the silhouette of her sister’s face, wondering what she would be getting herself in for if she let this whole crazy affair continue. But she had to admit that Carlie was right — she, too, had never felt anything like that before, and she wanted more of it. Much more.

Right or wrong, she didn’t want to lose these feelings, or refuse the chance to explore them again and again with her beloved big sister. So when she said, “Yes, Carlie… I want that too,” Marisa knew that she was making the right decision.

Carlie snuggled contentedly into her sister and, lying side by side, snuggled close together, the girls both fell asleep.

Continue on to Part Three

By Cassie

Justine woke up with a start — hot, flushed, and feeling incredibly horny. She hadn’t had an erotic dream for months, years even. And this one; this strange lesbian dream with her old childhood doll Pip mysteriously come to life, seemed to have strange undertones of incest about it.

Justine lay on the bed trying to think about the dream, to analyse it in her usual fashion, but eventually she succumbed to the desperate need to masturbate. She got up, walked to the shower unit and absently grabbed her long-handled hairbrush as she went. She held the hairbrush loosely in her hand as she stepped naked into the cubicle and turned on the water, patiently adjusting the temperature so that it was hot, but not scalding. She gripped and loosened the hairbrush in her hand. It had a slightly bulbous end, ridged and indented like a scored golf ball, and a longish handle leading to the brush. It had grown to be one of the things she used as a sex toy when aroused and in a hurry.

The shower gel made her skin soapy and slippery, and it was then that she leaned back against the wall of the cubicle, water spraying gently over her. She began to rub the tip of her hairbrush with the heavily scored edges against the soft and sensitive hood of her clitoris, moaning a little as the first wave of eroticism began to build within her. She used the fingers of her left hand to spread open the soft folds of her labia, then worked the handle of the hairbrush inside herself as she began to orgasm. In sexual matters, Justine had always been blessed with two things: the ability to orgasm quickly — within minutes, sometimes, when she felt very horny with David — and her capacity for sexual activity.

Although she was not adventurous with her own sexual explorations, Justine had always been a willing sexual partner. On occasion, when she was very horny, Justine liked to be tied or restrained a little, and didn’t mind at all if she were spanked. She also liked to be filled, and had once been stretched so far that David had slipped his whole hand inside her.

She remembered that time now and, thinking about it, removed the hairbrush from herself and reached up, grabbing the much larger, dome-capped shampoo bottle. It was not an obvious sex toy, being a little more than two inches wide down the mainly cylindrical bottle. But Justine was feeling very horny and began to work the large bottle inside herself.

She closed her eyes, feeling and hearing the splash of the water around her, thinking about sex. She tried to think about David, but his face wouldn’t come. She tried to think about others in her masturbation fantasy — the airline assistant Rosa whose short blond hair Justine had touched and caressed as they kissed outside Columbus Bar. But the woman’s image wouldn’t come either. She tried thinking about Pip, but could only see in her mind’s eye the inert, lifeless doll of her memory, not the vibrant, wanton and utterly irresistible young girl of her recent dream. She even tried thinking of Jan, the dark-haired girl by the pool, laughing and smiling with that crooked smile of hers and taking off the bikini she wore to ask Justine to rub oil onto her skin.

But, in the end, as her orgasm grew and deepened, Justine saw within her mind a sexual nobody — a formless, faceless figure with thick hair, a slim lissome figure and outstretched arms. She imagined being embraced by those arms, kissing red lips, and touching soft, secret places on another’s body. She imagined the hands of a woman caressing her, enfolding her and touching her most intimate places. She imagined—

“Oh! Oh! Yes!! Oh—”

Justine did not remember what she called out as the powerful wave of orgasm hit her. She only remembered having nearly swallowed the shampoo bottle entirely within her vagina as that wonderful, frightening moment of orgasm stretched time itself. She remembered desperately pushing the large bottle out of her body, and the feeling of glorious sexual release as it slid out between her pussy lips and into her hand. She rubbed vigorously at her sensitized clit as the bottle came free, feeling wave after wave after wave of pleasure flush her body.

Eventually, after recovering and soaping herself once again, she got out of the shower, wondering why the image of an unknown, unseen woman was the most powerful one in her masturbation fantasy.

She dressed lightly, in a short summer skirt and blouse, and went down to the pool to find Jan. She had more questions to ask the enigmatic Portuguese girl. A lot more questions.

Jan was not there. Nor, according to the hotel reception desk, in her room.

“I’m sorry,” said the clerk. “There’s no answer at all.” He put down the receiver, having twice called Jan’s room at Justine’s insistence.

Justine thought for a moment, tapping her manicured fingernail on top of the desk. “What room is she in?” she asked.

The man instinctively reached behind him, then stopped, turning round. “Am sorry,” he said, in his heavily accented voice. “I cannot tell room numbers. Is security.”

“That’s okay,” said Justine, smiling brightly for him, and waving a hand in dismissal. Besides, she had already seen his hand hover over the key for room C12. Justine turned around, and left the reception. She would find Jan herself.

But throughout that day, she did not see the dark-haired Portuguese woman. She gave up, after a light lunch in a tavern near the sea front, and went shopping instead, finding a few trinkets for herself and her friends. Buying them, she couldn’t help thinking about those mysterious birth parents and the even more tantalizing prospect of a sister. Were they real? The conversations she’d had with Jan had somehow materialized them in Justine’s head. She felt a renewed energy to find them, discover who they were.

Reaching the point where she had too many bags to carry, Justine quit the markets and went back to her hotel to drop them off and take a rest before going out to dinner. As she went into the hotel, she asked again at the desk if Jan was in. The clerk there tried once more and, once more, got no reply. Justine wrote a short note, and asked the clerk to leave it for Jan. Then she went back to her modest room and collapsed on the bed, closing her eyes for a few moments.

The telephone bell was a harsh ringing alarm that woke her out of her slumber with a start. Justine rolled over the bed and picked up the receiver, long strands of red hair getting in her eyes.

“Hello?”

“Ms Holloway, you have a call,” said the clerk. Justine sat up and rubbed her eyes. A call? Her immediate thought was that David had somehow tracked her down and was now badgering her and pestering her about his blonde mistress. But when the phone line clicked, and a new voice filled the earpiece, Justine relaxed.

“I never answer the phone,” said the voice on the other end of the line. Justine smiled, recognizing Jan’s voice already despite their very recent acquaintance. “When on holiday, at least. That is why it seemed I was out.”

“Yeah, I should have guessed. Maybe I should have done the same.”

“Ha! Too late. You’re a serial phone answerer, I can tell already!”

Justine smiled again, glad of a friendly voice.

“I got your note,” said Jan. “And wondered if you still wanted to go, or if it’s too late?”

“Too late? I—”

And then Justine recalled that she had penned a short note for Jan, asking if the Portuguese woman wanted to share her company for dinner that night. Justine also realized, with a start, that she had fallen into a much deeper sleep than she expected, and that the day had long slipped away. The digital clock on her bedside table read 20:54 and, seeing that, Justine felt the twin sensations of mild panic and rumbling hunger.

“Ohmyygosh! I didn’t realize — Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you by reception.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Justine rubbed her eyes, went into the bathroom and splashed her face with water. Then she changed clothes, pulling on a long white gypsy skirt, a turquoise blue vest top and light summer shirt before donning sandals, grabbing her handbag before she left.

When she got down to reception, Jan was waiting for her; dressed in three-quarter length trousers, a white and pink top, with her dark hair gathered up in a ponytail. She looked very 1950’s American. The two women embraced and kissed briefly, on the cheek.

“Hey,” Jan said, squeezing Justine’s hand. “You were pretty out of it, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Justine said. “It’s this late summer sun. Makes me sleepy.”

“Hungry?”

“You bet. Know anywhere good to eat?”

The two women went into town and, after having a gorgeous seafood meal at a little backstreet restaurant Jan had discovered, moved on to a bar in the old quarter of town and sat drinking long, tall cocktails until the early hours. It seemed they had no end of subjects to talk about, but eventually, as though they had gravitated toward it, they talked about Jan’s involvement with her sister-sister website, and the whole concept of sexual love between siblings.

“I’ve heard from a few women who say they’ve enjoyed sex with their brothers,” said Jan.

“They were raped?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in women.”

“Obviously!” said Justine, butting in. The two women giggled.

“In women who share a consensual love with their sister. I’ve been amazed at how many wonderful, strong women there are who have admitted this.”

“It seems unreal to me. Still. That two siblings — two sisters — would want to have sex with each other.”

“But it’s never as simple as that,” said Jan. “I’ve never had someone just e-mail me and say ‘Hi, Jan. I’m a beautiful twenty-something, and me and my twin sister have been fucking happily for years’. It just doesn’t happen like that.”

“So how does it happen?”

“Usually,” said Jan, pausing to sip her drink, “the hard way. Like all stories of love, sex between sisters can be a very painful and damaging thing, even when it’s consensual. But that’s not to say it’s wrong, or people should repress such feelings.”

“And if your sister suddenly told you she had feelings for you?”

Jan smiled. “She wouldn’t. She’s very happily married, and not gay.”

“But if she did anyway,” Justine said, pressing for an answer. “If she were still single, and a lesbian?”

“She would have to be a lesbian?” said Jan. This threw Justine somewhat.

“Well, yeah. I mean, she’d have to be—”

“A lesbian? You want to pigeonhole all of us together?”

Justine was confused. Sexual love between sisters meant they had to be lesbians, or at least ‘lez-curious’, surely? How could they not be? It was a prerequisite for the situation, right?

She voiced these thoughts to Jan, who only smiled sadly and shrugged. “Do you not think the path to love is sometimes a very rocky place?”

“Oh, yes,” said Justine, dripping with heavy irony. “Very.”

“And so, would it not be even more difficult if two sisters had feelings for each other that were a) believed to be immoral and incestuous, and b) opposite to their sexual preference?”

The thought struck Justine like a blow. She had not considered the complexity, or difficulty, of such a thing. She had assumed, up until that point, that all incestuous relationships were immoral and wrong, and had also assumed that all relationships between same-sex partners meant that they were homosexual.

“But that can’t be,” she said, rather unconvincingly.

“Why not? I have read accounts from women who say they have no homosexual desires whatsoever, and indeed have ordinary relationships with men or husbands, and yet feel strong sexual desires to their sisters, or close female relatives. How can this be easily explained?”

It could not, and Justine accepted that. She was about to ask more when her ear caught the tune of a new song being played, one that reminded her of her teenage clubbing years, and she put down her drink, smiling.

“Gotta dance!” she said brightly. She moved out into the small throng of people dancing in the centre of the floor, and started to move with the music. Jan left both hers and Justine’s handbags behind the bar, then moved out, joining her English friend on the dance floor.

Several dance tracks later and the girls were hot and thirsty. They drank some cold water first, then had one more cocktail before going back to the hotel.

They arrived, arm in arm, singing the tune of American Pie — which neither knew all the words to — both feeling lightheaded. That was when Justine made a mistake.

“Hey,” she said, smiling and whirling to take hold of both of Jan’s hands. “Do you want to come to my room for a bit?”

Jan smiled, but shook her head. “No, I am too tired. I need to go to sleep. I have to pack tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” said Justine, sad that her new friend was leaving so soon. “Jan, don’t go. Stay a few more days. Till the weekend.”

Jan smiled sadly. “I can’t. But this has been great fun!”

Justine bit her lower lip. “Stay with me tonight?”

There was an awkward pause, and Jan reached out to stroke the side of Justine’s face. “Thank you. It’s very flattering, and you’re very pretty. But I must sleep, and get ready to go home.”

Justine, ignoring this, leaned forward to kiss her new friend. Jan turned her head at the last moment, as their lips almost met, and hugged Justine instead.

“Keep in touch with me, Justine,” she whispered into the Englishwoman’s ear. Justine felt her new friend hold her tight for a moment, and then she left.

Feeling a little dejected, but suddenly tired, Justine stumbled back to her room and, within minutes, fell asleep on her bed.

She awoke late into the morning, with a bad hangover, and began the slow process of recovery; starting with lots of water, then coffee. By the time she went down to the reception to ask about Jan, the enigmatic Portuguese woman had already checked out.

Justine spent the last few days of her holiday quietly, soaking up the late summer sun and finding the time, at last, to relax properly. But one thing she could not shake was the persistent strange dreams she’d been having about her childhood, mixed with dark erotic thoughts. Nor could she dismiss the idea that she had to trace what she could of her birth family. It suddenly seemed more important than ever.

The flight back home was uneventful and, for the first week back at work, Justine managed to forget about the bizarre yet intriguing conversations she’d had with Jan. David had moved his things out of her flat, and the only communication she’d had with him was a series of curt, almost aggressive e-mails where he suggested that they try to patch things up so that he could “explain things” to her, and where Justine suggested he could go fuck himself — or his blonde mistress, if she’d still have him. He didn’t press the point.

It was on the second week that Justine was prompted into action. And it was a spam e-mail, of all things, that did it. She’d logged on, delighted to have received an e-mail a few days earlier from Jan, and was hoping for a further one when she decided to clear her spam e-tray. By chance, the top e-mail caught her eye. She didn’t open it, but stared at the title for a long while.

NEED HELP LOOKING FOR THAT SPECIAL ONE? read the title. The sender was named “Amanda Pullen”. It was probably junk of the lowest matchmaking variety. And yet.

Amanda. The other name relating to her birth parents that Justine had found. Was it her sister? Did Justine really need help finding out for sure?

She decided, right there and then, to take some leave from work. Her boss was understanding, given that she too knew about Justine’s break-up with David. And Justine, wasting no further time, spent the next few days researching the best way to find out about her long lost family. For some reason, although she knew more notionally about her birth parents, it was the promise of a long lost sister—this unknown “Amanda” which drove her on.

A week into her research, Justine had unearthed many new details about her parents. Her father, Walter, had died nine years ago, with heart failure recorded as the cause of death. A year later, Mary had emigrated to Australia and could not be traced, beyond a hint that she was living near Adelaide. The Jacksons, Justine’s birth parents, had left a house in Ashford, Kent, but that had been sold going on eight years ago.

But about her possible sister, this other daughter of Mary and Walter Jackson, Justine had found nothing.

Frustration began to set in, and Justine felt herself staring down a chasm of depression. She’d sent out hundreds of e-mails to various companies and individuals, in the hope of tracking down someone or something to give her a new lead.

After two weeks of fruitless searching, she went back to work. She refused offers from her girlfriends to go out for a drink, and also refused a dinner date with Marco; one of the newer guys in the administrative division. He was cute, no doubt, but Justine was in no mood for socializing, and people quickly saw that. Justine felt her depression getting worse, and would find herself some evenings crying whilst watching the TV, clutching onto a cushion and not knowing why she was sobbing so hard.

One silver lining to her current state was the occasional e-mails she got from Jan. Justine had browsed Jan’s internet site Sisters in Love and read some of the testimonials and forum topics, but had not contributed anything herself. She found some of the stories there fairly wild, but many of them were incredibly moving. These were women who had not only the strength to live through their incestuous feelings, but to share them with others.

It was November 15, in the commercial build-up to the Christmas season, when Justine received an e-mail that would change her life. It was marked as “Unknown Sender” and automatically placed in her spam e-tray. She was going through her e-mails, ready to delete them all, when her eye caught the e-mail title:

WALTER AND MARY JACKSON

Justine stopped, feeling that incredible sensation of butterflies as her finger hovered over the “Open” key. Of course, it could be a piece of spam, turned around from one of the many she’d sent out. But there was something undeniably desperate about her search for her lost family, so Justine opened the e-mail and read the short message:

Hello. You don’t know me, but your e-mail was sent to me by a company tracing old family names. I’m not sure if this is going to help you in your search, but my father is named Walter Jackson, and my mother’s middle name is Mary, though no one ever called her that. My dad died some years ago, and my mum left England. I don’t know who Amanda Jackson might be, but I’ve always had as a keepsake from my father a copper bracelet with the name ‘Mandy’ engraved on it. This may or may not help you, but I’d be happy to talk more about it.

The e-mail was signed by “Kelly Bracken,” who supplied her phone number.

Justine read the e-mail several times, then began laughing and crying, at the same time. She felt elated, like she’d won the biggest prize at school or the best bonus at work, then suddenly scared about what to do next. Part of her wanted to ring up Kelly Bracken immediately, and part of her wanted to square it all away; rationalize that her parents had gone, and that so had Amanda.

Then another thought struck her: could this Kelly Bracken actually be her mysterious Amanda?

Once the idea made itself known, Justine held it at arm’s distance. Don’t get your hopes up too high, she told herself. Maybe she is, maybe not. Are you even certain that these are your birth parents? If you put too much hope in this and it doesn’t pan out, you’ll be completely undone.

Elated, yet frustrated, she decided to sleep on the matter and hope for some kind of inspiration.

Justine was sitting yet again at her school desk, scratching geometric designs into the wooden surface. It was one of those old-fashioned school desks with a lift-up lid and an inkwell at the back. She was bored, and could only hear Mr Everrard’s voice drone indistinctly as he talked about the end of the Tudor period.

Pip was sitting on the desk beside her; sitting on the knee of Kevin Bradman and snogging him relentlessly. Her doll’s legs were draped over Kevin’s thighs, and her arms hung limp at her side, just as a good doll’s arms should. But her red-painted cheeks, usually so uniform, were flushed with sexual excitement as she and Kevin kissed and kissed.

Justine was bored. She didn’t like Kevin, and she resented Pip snogging him so much.

“Well, why don’t you snog me instead?” said Pip, swinging free of Kevin, who disappeared along with the rest of the classroom. Justine sighed and walked over to the window by her room, staring out at the red-dappled leaves on the autumn trees in her garden.

“Because it’s wrong,” she said, stubbornly.

“Hmph. It’s only wrong because you’ve never kissed a doll before.”

“Of course I’ve kissed you before,” said Justine, smiling, and thinking of the times gone by when she and Pip shared an intimate kiss in bed together.

“So why not now? Aren’t I pretty enough?” Pip said, pouting her pretty doll’s face.

“Oh, of course you’re pretty,” said Justine, coming over to lay her hand on Pip’s cheek, feeling the soft warmth of her doll’s woven skin. “Much prettier than me.”

“No, I’m not!” said Pip, hotly. The doll reached out and adjusted the towel at the side of the pool they were both lying beside. Justine was not surprised to recall that it was the pool at the hotel where she stayed in Portugal. Pip let her doll’s hand drift over to Justine’s body and began to caress her childhood playmate’s thighs. “We’re just the same, you and I,” Pip remarked, allowing her hand to travel between Justine’s hot thighs. “We’re practically sisters.”

Justine felt Pip’s soft hand delve beneath the fabric of her bikini, and sighed, closing her eyes to the sweet, erotic sensations the doll was giving her.

“Like sisters,” she echoed, opening her legs and feeling Pip move closer to her.

Justine woke up horny. Again. She showered, went to work and then came back, feeling distracted all that day.

That evening, after wrangling with the subject in her head, Justine composed an e-mail reply to Kelly Bracken, asking if she could phone her the next evening. The reply, when it came a couple of hours later, was short and to the point;

I left you my number.
Call anytime after 7.
Kelly

Justine sighed and finished the bottle of wine she’d opened before going to bed. She slept deeply, with no recollection of her dreams.

The next day, she could not wait for seven o’clock to arrive and, when it eventually did, she found that she couldn’t pick up her phone to dial the number. She had to remind herself that this might be her sister, possibly just a link to her parents, perhaps a clue to finding out who Amanda really was… or another dead end.

Anything was possible.

It was that thought, more than anything, that gave her the strength to call. For Justine, finding out about Amanda had become an obsession that she simply had to resolve.

“Hello?”

“….”

“Hello?”

“Is, uh, is that Kelly Bracken?”

“Yes, who’s speaking?”

“It’s, um, it’s Justine Holloway. You sent me a reply to my e-mail about—”

“Oh, yes, hi! You called. I didn’t think you would call!”

The voice was sweet, quite young, and a little on the rough side as far as Justine knew anything about voices.

“Huh. Yeah, I feel a bit silly really, calling you and and bothering you…”

“Oh, it’s no bother. You’ve just saved me from another bloody episode of Eastenders. You could slit your wrists watching that stuff. So how are you? I mean, who are you…?”

Justine barely knew where to begin. And, after twenty minutes of almost constant chatter about nothing in particular, Justine closed the call with a smile on her face. And an invitation to meet Kelly the next weekend. She felt light-headed and dizzy, like a teenager waiting for her first hot date.

She’d felt the temptation to find out, then and there, if Kelly was her actual birth sister… but in the end, couldn’t bring herself to ask such intimate questions over the phone. Too impersonal. She had to meet this woman face to face.

Justine couldn’t wait for the weekend to arrive.

Continue on to Chapter 3

By Alfie Atkins

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

Marisa Bartlett came from a big family. This had its upsides and its downsides, as she had learned over her fifteen years of life so far.

With ten children, herself included, there was more than enough to keep their parents busy. And despite the massive population, their home was always clean and well-kept, their mother attentive and devoted, their father sometimes brusk but always well-meaning, and all of the children got on exceptionally well, especially considering the amount of teenage hormones flying about the house, with the family members in various stages of puberty.

Marisa shared a room with her sisters Ebonie, who was thirteen, and Carlie, who was sixteen. For the most part, this was a comfortable arrangement. Ebonie was a softly-spoken, rather shy girl who very seldom voiced an opinion, leaving Marisa and Carlie pretty much in charge, which was just the way Marisa liked it.

She and Carlie, being so similar in age, shared such similar tastes that sometimes they surprised themselves with how alike they were. They enjoyed the same food, the same television programmes, the same music, they both loved cats, and both hoped to work in the fashion industry when they left home. Marisa and Carlie spent many hours chatting to each other about life in general, sometimes talking long into the night. They were more like very best friends than sisters, although a lot of people had commented on how alike they looked.

Marisa loved all of her family, but she had a special endearment to Carlie. She often felt that it was only she and Carlie in the house, in the room, cuddled up in bed together in flannel nightshirts as they discussed the sexiest boys and the best celebrities in minute detail.

Carlie would often sneak into Marisa’s bed in the dead of the night when Ebonie was asleep, or vice-versa. Sometimes Marisa would lie awake throughout the night, waiting to feel the cover being pulled back, letting in a blast of cold air — then feeling the warm silky flesh of Carlie’s thighs pressed against hers as she snuggled in tightly.

Marisa loved it when Carlie joined her in bed. It brought them somehow closer, to be snuggled together so tightly that you could not slip a piece of paper between them. It was also somewhat more intimate then a chat sat at a table, or on the sofa. This gave them the perfect opportunity to discuss all of the things that would normally be too taboo to discuss under everyday circumstances. Boys, sex, alcohol, drugs even, nothing was forbidden.

As the years passed, the chats had become more focused on sexual content. Marisa had heard in great detail about Carlie’s ‘first time’, and as she lay there, thigh to thigh with her sister, for a fleeting second she had felt a warmth course through her that was frightening in its enormity. It was wrong to feel that way, even for the briefest of instants, so she shoved it to the back of her mind and concentrated firmly on being her sister’s best friend and confidante, without any kind of weird sexual feelings getting in the way.

Ebonie would snore softly, deep in dreamland as the two of them carried out these secret trysts. Marisa found something quite thrilling in sitting up at 2 a.m., when they should have been asleep, talking in ways that should surely be forbidden. It was kind of cool to have this as their own ‘little secret’, and Carlie, sixteen going on thirteen, seemed to agree.

Both seemed to know instinctively that their parents would not be happy about how attached to each other they had become, and would restrain their affection for each other in public. But as soon as they were snuggled up together, Marisa would lay her head on the soft pillows of  Carlie’s breasts, while Carlie would absently massage Marisa’s slender shoulders. They always enjoyed this bonding time.

In the golden sunny days of summer, Marisa would run hand in hand with Carlie through the wide cornfield near their house. Feeling the wind whip her honey-golden hair around her face, Marisa would feel like the heroine in an romantic novel as they rolled and larked about in the soft yellow corn. They made a little den, and would go and sit on the flattened down corn, one using the other’s tummy as a pillow as they basked in the golden glow of the sun.

Marisa often thought that she would never find anyone as like-minded as Carlie to share her life with. Who else would run through cornfields like a little girl, hand in hand with her, or sit in a den and discuss useless nonsense, when she should have been out frolicking with boys or hanging ’round bike sheds smoking with other sixteen-year-old girls?

Marisa suspected that they both knew more than they cared to admit, though. She certainly did. When she had turned fifteen, Marisa had suddenly felt aware of her body and sexuality in a way she never had before. It wasn’t that she had any interest in any of the boys she met. Quite the opposite, in fact — it was more that she felt her feminine nature radiate from her body. She felt womanly. Her breasts were softening and forming nicely, the nipples tight and coral-pink, her hips were smooth, her thighs gently curving, her centre softly furred, the pulse deep within her secret flesh becoming more prominent.

When Marisa looked in the mirror, she saw a young, attractive, desirable woman, not a silly, soppy little girl. Boys had noticed this desirability, and she was taking advantage of it. She loved to lead them on, tease them, allow them little tidbits before denying them the prize they really craved. She suspected that Carlie would probably approve of this.

So far, Marisa had not actually let any boy go the ‘full way’ with her, although there had been much kissing and fooling around. She delighted in telling Carlie what these things felt like, how she enjoyed the teasing feel of boys’ hands riding up her thighs, grabbing with juvenile abandon at her breasts, poking clumsily at her softness. All this added up to considerable delight, though Marisa felt certain that she enjoyed recounting the experiences to Carlie more than the actual experiences themselves. Her big sister would sit and listen open-mouthed, the tip of her juicy pink tongue on show, her rosebud lips pursed in delight or arousal.

It was around this time that the girls’ began to wonder more about each other’s bodies. One night, Carlie suggested that they masturbate in front of each other, to see what turned them both on. Marisa was a little dubious about this, but also wildly excited. In fact, as soon as Carlie had suggested it, Marisa felt her slick pussy lips rubbing together in eager anticipation. Carlie declared that there was only one rule: they had to do it totally naked, so they could both get a good view of everything.

Side-by-side in Carlie’s single bed, lying so close their sides were touching, they began to remove their nighties and knickers. Marisa glanced nervously over to Ebonie — fast asleep, head lolling, mouth wide open, blissfully oblivious.

By the glow of the lamp by Carlie’s bed, they both examined each other’s bodies thoroughly before starting to masturbate. Marisa thought Carlie had a fascinatingly beautiful body. Her breasts were surprisingly full and curvy, the nipples puckering in the cool air. Carlie’s body had a silky shimmery sheen to it that was most inviting. Marisa could smell the older girl’s sweet skin and desire from where she was.

As Carlie opened her thighs slightly, Marisa’s attention zeroed in on the lush pubic thatch in front of her, its whorl of sandy-brown hair, then the pouting lips, the clitoris just peeking from the top. Marisa felt a jolt of lust course through her sex before she even realised it, and this both frightened and excited her in equal measure. Wasn’t it wrong to be excited by the sight of your sister’s vagina? Marisa decided that she didn’t care. Hell, it was normal to be curious, and besides, they weren’t doing anything really wrong, were they? After all, she was curious to see if what she was doing was the proper way to masturbate… and who better to experiment with than her trusted friend, sister and confidante?

Slowly and nervously, but with growing excitement, Marisa opened the slick flesh of her vagina, feeling the moisture already coat her fingers. Her eyes were focused entirely on Carlie’s pussy. Copying her younger sister, Carlie parted the flesh of her sex, giving Marisa a clear view of her girlish secrets.

Marisa could see the slickness, smell the desire of her older sibling. Wild lust coursed through her body in manic jolts as Carlie began to slide a finger up and down the whole length of her slit, trailing her juices up to her hard, prominent little clitoris. Marisa watched in fascination as Carlie ran her finger lightly around the opening, dipping it into her body just slightly before travelling back up to the clit, then running it back down again.

Marisa wondered if this was all Carlie did. If so, how on earth did she ever come? It would take Marisa hours to bring herself off like that. She had begun to masturbate, too — her finger jerked in rapid circular motions over the whole area of her clit, round and round in a dizzying but totally satisfying manner. This was how she always brought herself off; Marisa had explored her own body enough to know exactly what turned her on. Her finger was wet and sliding about, losing traction on her clit. Marisa could hear the sounds of wetness, the little slapping sounds of her rapidly working finger, but she didn’t care. She was awash with desire, and she realised that watching Carlie getting herself off was utterly thrilling.

Carlie began to pick up the pace of her fingering. Slick flesh shining, she slid her long index finger all the way up inside her juicy softness, while her thumb began to jerk spasmodically on her little button.

Marisa thought to herself that she had to try that — it looked absolutely delicious! As Carlie’s finger slid in and out of her pussy, Marisa watched the glistening juices on it, shining in the lamplight, getting wetter with each stroke. She looks so hot, so gorgeous. Marisa felt a flood of desire leak from her pussy, and her own finger slipped down to play with her virginal opening.

Gently prodding, Marisa knew that she was very, very close to coming. Her finger returned to her clit, and she began to rub furiously, fingers sliding all over the wet flesh, clit so hard and engorged that she thought it might burst. Carlie had begun to moan softly, and this spurred Marisa on even more.

Carlie’s legs were jerking spasmodically as she tensed her calf muscles in readiness for the explosion. Her hips jerked up towards her pumping hand — the finger probing her pussy went into overload, thrusting in and out, in and out, forceful and frenzied.

Marisa felt an orgasm approaching; her nipples began to tingle and throb, and her free hand went out to pinch at them absently. Her pussy began to throb dizzily — slowly and rhythmically at first, then faster and faster, until it descended on her — the biggest climax of her life so far.

She looked over at Carlie, who was moaning in the throes of her own delight, and she was both shocked and aroused beyond endurance to see Carlie’s free hand reach out and prod a finger into her bottom hole.

This was too much for Marisa. “Carlie, I’m coming,” she whispered, feeling the pulse beat burst anew upon her, her pussy throbbing violently, her empty opening sucking hungrily at nothing.

Carlie hissed, “Me too!” through gritted teeth, then jerked spasmodically — her whole body twitching, muscles tensing, then she was suddenly still and limp.

Marisa lay still for a long moment, feeling the last throes of her intense orgasm dying away. Her body felt slick with sweat and heated to almost a burning point. She removed her fingers from her pussy and brought them up to her face to smell them, finding she was excited by this action, and hoping that Carlie was watching her.

She was. Carlie had turned her head toward her sister on the pillow and was gazing at Marisa. The seriousness in Carlie’s eyes was shocking to the younger girl. Her slightly plump cheeks were flushed and her blue eyes glistened, and Marisa thought that she had never looked as beautiful as she did at this moment. Her brown hair swirled around her head in silky swathes, and Marisa felt an intensely powerful desire to reach out and brush it away from Carlie’s face.

But Marisa carefully restrained herself, worried that what she felt for her sister was wrong, frightened that this strange desire would only increase as time went by until they both ended up doing something they regretted. Distracted, Marisa absently began to suck her wet fingers.

Then, when Carlie gently removed those fingers from Marisa’s mouth and took her hand, Marisa was shocked, but didn’t want to move. Carlie pulled her sister’s body into her own, and Marisa delighted in the feel of Carlie’s slick and warm flesh against hers, breast to breast, pubes tickling pubes.

And when Carlie pulled Marisa’s face towards hers and kissed her full on the mouth, Marisa wasn’t sure she could make her stop — or if she even wanted her to…

Continue on to Part Two

By Cassie

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

Justine Holloway sat at her computer terminal and stared, willing herself to smother the helpless anger she felt. It wasn’t working.

“Bastard!” she shouted, the word bursting from her mouth before she’d even had time to think about it. “You bloody bastard!”

Accompanying the shouted swear word, Justine smashed a closed fist against the desktop on which her expensive keyboard and monitor sat. She felt like smashing the screen in front of her, deliberately hitting and destroying the image staring back at her. This time, she restrained herself. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the monitor.

The woman in the screen stared back at her and smiled serenely. Justine wanted to talk to her; reach out to the woman. Speak to her, shout at her, hit her. But all the woman could do was gaze into Justine’s eyes and smile at her. Bitch. Utter, utter fucking bitch.

Justine closed her eyes, reached out with her hand and, by feel alone, pressed the button at the bottom of the monitor to blank out the image. The beautiful blonde woman who was on the screen still stared back at her; the afterimage imprinted inside Justine’s eyelids.

In her mind’s eye, Justine didn’t even see David in the picture, even though he was standing right next to the woman; one arm snaked around her slim waist while the other held aloft a large margarita. Cheers! said the image, with David’s smiling face beaming toward the camera. Cheers! Isn’t my bit on the side beautiful?

Justine had known, for some months, that her relationship with David was less than perfect. She knew her own shortcomings were as much to blame as David’s frequent “long evenings at the office,” or his excuses to spend less time with her at the weekends. But she’d assumed that neither of them wanted to give up on three years’ worth of being together. Three years’ worth of moving back and forward between one flat and another. Three years’ of planning weekends away, of dealing with each other’s friends and family. And yes: three years of occasional romance and wanton sex. But now, looking back at those three years with every effort to wipe the gloss away, Justine knew that she was more upset by the lies than she was about losing David.

Truth be told, her feelings and emotions had been in complete turmoil since the day, almost a year ago, when she found out that as a baby, she had been adopted.

How should she have coped with the knowledge that the parents who brought her up were no more than just two wonderful people who had taken in a cuckoo, yet her birth parents were some distant, anonymous pair who had abandoned or rejected her? What were those birth parents like? What character traits did they have that would explain why Justine suddenly flared up in anger, or broke down in passionate sobs? Justine knew that she was a creature of extremes, and neither of her adopted parents had ever shown such traits.

Frantic searches in government and local records, hours upon hours upon hours of surfing on the internet, whole afternoons spent sitting in dusty libraries had told her only three things; her parents were called Walter and Mary Jackson; they were alive twelve years ago and living in Kent, England, and they had a daughter called Amanda. More than this she could not find out.

It was as if Walter and Mary had fallen off the face of the planet — and of the mysterious Amanda, Justine could find no further evidence. Was she herself the girl called Amanda? Or did she have a long-lost sister waiting to be found?

Despite repeated searches, Justine could not tell. And the effort she poured into this took her away from other things. Her work suffered, her friends became marginal acquaintances, and of course, there was David.

So her relationship with David became distant, even though they plastered over the cracks. Damn it all, she thought, sitting with her eyes tightly shut. It was the lies that hurt more than anything else. So when she had found out the David was seeing someone else, it stung, but not as much as she would have thought. When she found out that the other woman was a beautiful socialite with both brains and money, she could have been jealous, but she wasn’t. When she found the e-mails David had been sending this woman, and had recovered the pictures he thought he’d deleted from her computer, she’d been angry, but controllably so. It was realizing how many times he’d lied to her over the last eight months. How he’d deceived her time and time again, that was the thing that hurt.

Justine realized she was crying. She shut her eyes as tightly as she could, trying to squeeze the tears back inside. But they wouldn’t be denied and eventually, deflated, she relaxed her self-will and began to weep. She sat for a long time at the computer desk in her flat and cried for long, long minutes. She sobbed and heaved all the hurt and grief and pain that David had caused her.

And then she stopped. She looked up and saw her reflection in the dark, blank screen of the monitor. Her curly, fiery red hair, usually caught up and tamed in a functional ponytail, was in a mess. Strands of it hung loose down the sides of her face, bobbing up and down gently. Her face was bereft of any make-up, even the spare lipstick and eyeliner she usually wore. Her pale, freckled cheeks looked gaunt, and her stunning green eyes were red-rimmed and angry.

“God, I look a mess!” she said to herself, dabbing at the corners of her eyes to stop them getting too puffy. On impulse, she reached out and turned on the computer screen. She stared for a long moment at the beautiful blonde woman who was about to become the sole object of David’s affection and attention.

“Your funeral, bitch.” she murmured. But she knew that she hardly meant to insult the woman. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she pitied her. It wouldn’t be long, she felt sure, before David would repeat his antics with someone else.

Justine clicked on her mouse and the image on the screen disappeared. Navigating through her desktop, Justine fired up her internet connection and began to browse. She was moving swiftly from upset, to angry, to abandon. What her best friend, Beth, would call “a ‘fuck-it’ moment”. She clicked onto a number of travel websites, looking for a destination to catch some late-summer sun. One place in particular stood out more than any others. It promised long beaches with a small tourist population. Beautiful scenery, wonderful food and the best European wine.

“Portugal,” Justine said, clicking on the button to book some tickets. What she needed was a break from it all. And that was damn well what she was going to give herself.

[Justine’s journal]

The plane is noisy, and hot. There had been a problem with the air conditioning, the pilot had said. Ever so sorry, the stuck-up stewardess had said. Not much we can do about it, the junior steward told us at last. So for two hours we’ve been fanning ourselves with booklets and magazines, drinking iced water and trying to ignore the heat. I tried to sleep, couldn’t, then tried to think about my situation as objectively as I could. Maybe I could patch things up with David? No. It had gone too far. I’d never trust him again. Would I trust anyone, after finding out I had parents who would abandon me at birth??

I have a seat by the window, and watched all of five minutes scenery between breaks in the grey clouds. The Bay of Biscay, stretching out a blue carpet of unbroken blue, lay far below me. I hope that Portugal won’t be cloudy.

The sun, when the plane landed, scorched Justine’s delicate skin with a mid-summer intensity even though it was the beginning of October. The Englishwoman quickly dabbed on some sun cream and took off the long sleeved top she had just put on after getting out of the hot plane. She grumbled at the heat, then checked herself and grumbled at her own bad temper. Just travelling to Portugal hadn’t stopped her anger with David, nor solved whatever other demons were lurking in her mind.

Not having been to Portugal before, and not having one word of the language to her credit, she did what most people would do and went to the information desk in the main terminal.

“Hello. Hola. Do you speak any English?” she asked, her voice exaggerated and slow. The middle-aged, moustachioed man behind the desk smiled woodenly and shrugged.

“Um. I, er, need a hotel to stay in? A hotel?”

“Hotel?”

“Yes, hotel. Can you recommend me a hotel?”

“You at hotel?”

“Yes please. A hotel.”

“Which hotel?”

“Pardon?”

“Which hotel you at?”

Justine felt a headache coming on. “I would like a hotel. To stay in. Can you help me?”

“Help me?”

Justine sighed. “You need help,” she muttered. She fumbled around in her large handbag for the battered old 1950’s Portuguese phrase book she picked up at her local charity shop. It was at that point that the moustachioed man smiled at her again and walked away.

“Wait! No, don’t go. I’ve got a book. I-”

“Can I assist you?”

Justine turned at the voice. It was low, but distinctly female, with a very cultured, clipped accent that only just gave it away as coming from a foreigner. Standing to the left of where the moustachioed man was, closing a panel door behind her, was a tall, smart and very attractive woman.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Justine said, putting the book down by the table top. “I thought I wasn’t going to get anywhere.”

The woman smiled, dark red lipstick stretching across her full lips to make a slightly sardonic look. She had short blonde hair, tied up in a strict bob, and long, slender fingers unadorned with rings. Justine thought there was something ever so slightly masculine about the woman, but couldn’t pinpoint it on such an attractive frame.

“José can help with lots of things, mainly electrical problems… but his English isn’t so good.”

Justine felt her cheeks begin to redden in sympathy with her hair. She had just been trying to negotiate with one of the maintenance crew. “Oh gosh. I feel really silly!” she said.

The blonde woman shook her head slightly, indicating it was nothing. “You were looking for a hotel, perhaps?”

“Yes, please. I’ve just come out for a week at the last minute, and haven’t booked anywhere.”

The blonde woman tapped lightly at an unseen computer keyboard beneath the desk and checked the monitor in front of her. “You’re in luck,” she said. “Three weeks ago I’d have struggled to get you a spare bed in the YWCA.”

Justine barked a laugh. She felt the stress and tension begin to slip from her shoulders. The blonde woman carried on tapping at her keyboard for a few moments, then looked up.

“Okay,” she said, “there’s a couple of places with decent rooms available. What’s your price range?”

“Um, something more than budget, but less than presidential suite.”

The blonde woman smiled again, probably having heard that line more than a few times in the past, and looked back at her monitor. “Are you travelling alone?”

“Oh, yes. Most definitely.” Justine couldn’t help the acid in her own comment.

The woman looked up at Justine, locking eyes with her for the briefest of moments, and smiled crookedly. “Shame,” she said, returning her gaze to the monitor in an instant.

With a start, Justine realized what the woman had just said. Was she coming on to me? Oh my God, that woman was coming on to me! Justine shelved that thought, wondering why she was more flattered than concerned.

“There’s the Alsacon,” the blonde woman said. “It’s a very nice place, with good value rooms, but it’s a bit out of the way of the beaches. There’s the Pino Sol, which is close to the main town. It gets pretty noisy at night, but is close to all the main bars, etc. Or there’s the Puerta Riggio; a much bigger hotel with a large pool and lots of in-house facilities.”

Justine bit her lower lip, thinking. “Which one would you go for?”

The blonde woman raised an eyebrow. “If it were me, I’d go for the Pino Sol, but only because my favourite bar is very close to there.”

“What’s it called, this bar?”

“The—the Columbus,” said the blonde woman, momentarily flustered by the question.

“Pino Sol it is, then,” said Justine, brightly. “I’ve come here to get away from the humdrum, so a little noise and life would be good.”

The blonde woman smiled again and made some more delicate tapping on the keyboard. Within a few moments, she printed out a receipt and took Justine’s card, her manicured finger brushing against Justine’s.

She’s definitely coming on to me! Justine thought, giggling inside. For the first time in weeks, she actually felt butterflies in her tummy. God, I need for this break to be fun, she thought.

The blonde woman finished her admin, and returned Justine’s credit card, then leaned across the desk a little, pushing a brochure toward the Englishwoman. She turned a few pages and indicated toward a small map of the town.

“It’s here, by the main strip of shops, which is handy by day, and the bars along this street,” she said, tracing her painted fingernail along a small town map. “The hotel has a small pool, but is close enough to the beach so most people use that instead. They have a restaurant, but there are many places nearby that serve good food. I think you’ll like it.”

“Thanks.” Justine put the papers into her bag, along with the battered old Portuguese phrase book. “Maybe I’ll see you at the Columbus bar then,” she added, smiling.

“Maybe,” smiled the blonde woman. She held out her hand. “I’m Rosa.”

Justine took her hand and shook it, noting that it was a strange kind of masculine way to end a meeting. Rosa’s fingers were soft, and a little longer than Justine’s, and the blonde woman squeezed Justine’s hand just a little bit before breaking off. Not for the first time, she was a little shocked, but kind of liked the feeling.

“Bye,” she said, smiling for the last time. She was sure she saw Rosa wink back at her.

Justine, buoyed now by a much better mood, walked out toward the main doors to catch a cab, passing Maintenance Mario on the way. “Goodbye!” she called to him, waving.

He looked up, puzzled, raised a hand and probably wondered why all the strange foreigners picked on him.

The Pino Sol was not, it had to be said, the finest hotel in the world. Nor in Portugal. Nor in town.

In fact, Justine reflected, looking at the peeling paint on her bedroom wall, it probably ranks in the lower quarter of local hotels. The shower looked like it needed replacing, and the TV was a very old model, but the sheets were clean and it was, as Rosa had indicated, close enough to the main strip where all the clubs and restaurants were.

Justine, her good mood slightly deflated, unpacked her things and sat down on her bed to collect her thoughts. Shopping or beach? Walk about or catch up on her sleep?

In the end, she decided to head down to the hotel pool, small though it was, and chill out there for a while. It was late afternoon, and although the sun was still blazing in a clear blue sky, it had lost its intensity from the day, and Justine thought it was an ideal time to start working on the beginnings of a tan for her pale, creamy skin.

She changed into a bikini David had bought for her last year; a simple yellow outfit with gold edging that she thought she looked okay in. It showed off her legs (which she considered her best asset, given the pounding she gave them on the street during her daily jogs), and the bikini top pushed up and together her smallish breasts, giving her a slight cleavage to be proud of. She wrapped a sarong around her waist, picked up her towel, book, sun cream and water bottle, and set off for the pool.

It was quiet down by the pool. An older couple were snoring quietly on sun loungers, and a dark-haired girl was sitting on another lounger, shaded by a large parasol, working on a laptop computer. She was slim, but with a bigger bust than Justine’s, wearing a small white vest top and black shorts, cut high to her hip. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes and her dark hair fell around the young woman’s face.

Justine set up her towel on a sun lounger a few feet away from the brunette, and started to cover her skin with the protective cream. When she had done enough, she lay back and picked up her book. She started feeling drowsy almost straight away, and put the book down, turned over and lay on her tummy. Reaching behind, she unclasped her bikini top and let the straps fall to her sides. She rested her head sideways, toward the older couple snoring on their loungers. She was just thinking about what to do for dinner when sleep stole up and claimed her for its own.

She woke up, sometime later, with the sun dipping down toward the rooftops of the houses nearby, and heard a noise behind her. She twisted on the lounger and saw that the brunette had gone, replaced with a nervous young man who was fiddling with the brunette’s laptop.

Justine squinted, rousing herself from her slumber, and the man saw her. He smiled nervously and said a few words in Portuguese. Justine, aware of how close he was, re-clasped her bikini top and sat up. At this movement, the man struggled furiously with a CD or DVD tray on the side of the laptop.

“Hey, is that yours?” Justine said.

The man, sensing a problem, got up from the lounger, checked over his left and right shoulders, smiled at Justine, and wandered off in a hurry. Presently, the brunette came back to the lounger and began to frown. She tapped a few keys in irritation, and started looking around her.

“There was a man here a moment ago,” Justine said.

The brunette looked round at her. “Pardon?”

“I said there was a man here a moment ago. A young man. He was fiddling with the DVD tray. I think—oh, sorry. I don’t even know if you speak English.”

“I speak English,” said the brunette. “You said there was a man here?”

“Yes. He was trying to open the DVD tray. He looked a bit nervous.”

The brunette swore in what might have been Portuguese, then sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Justine said, feeling for the woman. “I didn’t know—”

The brunette shook her head and offered Justine a conciliatory smile. “It’s not you,” she said. “Thank you for looking out for it. I suspect he was after the stuff on my hard drive.”

“Oh.” Justine ran out of words. The brunette closed her laptop lid and looked round, smiling anew. Another pretty girl, thought Justine.

“Are you staying here at the hotel?” asked the brunette.

“Yes. I only got here this afternoon.”

Justine sat up and, remembering the blonde woman at the airport, held out her hand. “I’m Justine.”

The brunette barked a small laugh and reached out to take Justine’s hand. “Very formal!” she said, slipping her fingers against the white skin of the Englishwoman. “My name’s Jan.”

“Are you on holiday too?” asked Justine. Jan smiled a slightly crooked smile. Her sunglasses still hid most of her features.

“Kind of,” she said. “I’m Portuguese, but used the late sun to get away for a while.”

“Just needed a break?”

“Yeah. I run a website and never have enough time to keep it up to speed, so I decided to get away for a while.”

Justine picked up her water bottle and took a swig. “Tell me about it. I know a webmaster at work who is always — always — complaining about not having enough time. What kind of website is it?”

Jan smiled, almost shyly, and looked at Justine through her sunglasses. “It’s a — it’s a kind of self-help group for women. It — um. Actually, that’s not explaining it very well. It’s a forum, basically, for women to share ideas, stories and testimonials. It’s — it’s –”

“Complicated?”

Jan laughed again. “Yes, complicated! Where are you from?”

“Brighton, in England. They call it ‘Little London’ over there because it’s so similar to the capital.”

“I’ve heard of it. I have a webpal who comes from there, I think. It has the big Indian palace there, yes?”

“That’s it!” said Justine, smiling. “The Brighton Pavilion. Awful place. Full of tourists.” The two women saw the unintended joke in that at the same time, and laughed.

They talked for a while, until the sky darkened a little, then Jan said she had to go. She said she’d be out by the pool the next day, if Justine wanted to catch up or go shopping or something.

Justine said goodbye, read some of her book, then went back to her room to get changed. The air was still warm, so she changed into shorts and a vest top like Jan, then went out looking first for some food, and then to get a drink. Without thinking about it, she had the Columbus bar in her mind.

It was a hot and noisy bar, everything Justine expected she would find at a Mediterranean resort packed with young tourists. The floor was hardwood, but slicked with so much spilled drink she had to keep steady on her high-heeled sandals.

After retiring back to her modest room from the pool, Justine had changed into a new little red summer dress she had bought just the other day. It was cut high on her right leg, slanted so that the hem drew down to her mid thigh on her left. It was a simple design, with elegant straps over her shoulders and a Lycra underbodice that kept her breasts in place without the need for a bra. Cool, a little stylish and definitely club-wear. She’d decided against any fancy hair or make-up arrangement, just tying her hair back in a ponytail whilst applying her best lip-lock red lipstick and a little mascara. After all, she wasn’t an eighteen-year old on the pull anymore, right?

Justine reached the bar and caught the eye of the young barman serving the drinks. He gave her a quick, professional nod of acknowledgement. “Sol?” he asked, reaching behind him to the refrigerator stocked with the favourite gold coloured lager.

Until that moment, Justine was going to order her usual tipple; a vodka and orange but, hearing the barman say the word, she suddenly felt a flash or Latin impetuousness and nodded, smiling. “Sol, gracias,” she added.

The barman threw her a tired smile. “There you go,” he said, handing her the bottle, a thin slice of lime corked into the top of it. Justine handed him 5 euros and he didn’t return any change. She was about to question it when she had second thoughts and decided that fighting over the price of a drink wasn’t the first thing she wanted to do that evening. She’d just have to pace herself.

She turned round to the main bar area, and scanned the beautiful young things dancing, talking, shouting and snogging shamelessly. It reminded her exactly of a trip she went on five years ago to Ibiza; lots and lots of young people, mainly tourists, getting as drunk as they could, as quick as they could. It brought back a lot of memories for Justine, but somehow she felt that she’d moved on as a person since then.

She finished her drink thinking about this, and ordered another one. Again the barman gave her a chilled Sol, and again she gave him a 5 Euro note without change. She drank that one too, slowly feeling the effect of the alcohol begin to loosen her senses, and inhibitions. She finished her drink, then got up to dance to some retro 1980’s track the DJ was playing.

She stayed out on the dance floor for a while, losing herself to the music and the crush of the people dancing around her. When, eventually, she went back to the bar, the lazy-eye barman pulled out another bottle of Sol and handed it to her. Somewhat flustered, Justin went to open the tiny handbag slung securely over her shoulder when the barman held out a hand.

“No, no,” he said. “Is from your friend.”

Justine frowned, then looked over to where the barman was now pointing. Her gaze drifted, then locked onto the eyes of Rosa, the woman from the airport. Her face lit up with the recognition of a recent friend.

“Rosa!” she waved. The blonde raised her hand in reply, then beckoned Justine over. After grabbing her drink, Justine pushed her way over to the other woman.

“Is good, no?” said Rosa, smiling sardonically as the Englishwoman made her way next to her. They kissed on the cheek and Justine felt that tingle of something — something almost naughty about being so forward with someone. The two women looked one another up and down.

Despite the heat of the evening, Rosa was wearing a body-hugging mini-dress, in soft lime green with a shoulder-less top. She had on open-toed high heel sandals like Justine, and looked fabulous. Justine told her so. Rosa beamed at her and reached out, brushing the side of her hand against Justine’s hair.

“You too, I think!” she shouted as the music boomed around them. The two women beamed at each other, then Rosa beckoned Justine closer.

“Would you like to dance?” she shouted, into Justine’s ear. Justine nodded, and the two women put their bottles down and headed off to the main dance floor.

The 80’s tracks were still booming, and Justine felt herself letting go to the music; reacting to the beat and rhythm of the tunes. She and Rosa danced around each other for some time and, at the end of one song when Rosa slipped her arm around Justine’s waist, the Englishwoman didn’t mind. She didn’t mind at all.

Another spell dancing, and two Sols each later, and Justine was perfectly happy with the way Rosa’s manicured, painted fingers had slipped from her waist to rest across the curve of Justine’s ass. Justine caught herself smiling and staring into the eyes of the attractive Portuguese woman, and it came almost as a relief when Rosa leaned forward and brushed her lips against Justine’s lips, returned there and kissed her more deliberately.

Justine’s heart was racing. She had only ever kissed one girl before; at a party in university where she and Amy McDonald had dressed up as identical twins for Amy’s fancy dress party. The two had got drunk and, in front of a whole bunch of Uni friends, snogged as a dare for the boys.

But this time was no dare, and as Justine welcomed Rosa’s tongue into her mouth, and felt Rosa’s hand tighten its grip on her ass cheek, Justine felt her resolve drift away.

They kissed for a long time, then Rosa placed her lips beside Justine’s ear and shouted in a loud whisper;

“Is too hot. Want to grab some air?”

Justine nodded, shivering despite the heat as Rosa took the opportunity to nibble Justine’s ear.

They walked out, hand in hand, and when they spilled out into the street, the cool night air hit Justine almost immediately.

“Whooo,” she said, steadying herself on her feet. Rosa laughed and caught her up in a clinch.

“Too much Sol, yes?”

Justine giggled, then closed her eyes in the hope to stop the world spinning. She felt Rosa’s lips against her neck and suddenly felt a wave of eroticism wash through her.

“Is too cold?” said Rosa, whispering into Justine’s ear. “You want to go somewhere else?”

Justine grinned, thinking that she wouldn’t mind taking Rosa back to her hotel room. As it happened, she didn’t have to.

When Justine woke up the next morning, in a different bed in an unfamiliar room with her head beginning to beat out a tattoo of revenge inside her skull, she wondered briefly who the fuck the other woman in bed with her was.

Justine lay back down for a moment, trying to shake the angry cobwebs from her mind. She felt down her body and wasn’t surprised to find that she was naked. Reaching out gingerly beneath the sheet, she touched the woman beside her and felt the soft warm skin of the woman’s ass. She pulled her hand back, only then realizing that the woman was Rosa, the attendant from the airport, and that she and Rosa had danced and drunk together, then kissed, walked through the streets hand in hand and—

Justine felt the dryness in her mouth. She shifted a little in bed and felt an ache in her groin. Jesus! she thought. It felt like she’d been fucked by an elephant! And her pussy was not the only place her body felt used. She brought her hand up to her left breast and gingerly touched the nipple. It was tender, much more so than usual, and reacted to her own touch. What had she been doing? How drunk had she gotten?

She slipped out of bed, away from the woman lying next to her, and carefully stood up. With this last movement she felt the final part of her intimacy call her attention. Justine had only anal sex twice before. It was not an experience she would choose on a regular basis, but both times she’d enjoyed it, despite the discomfort both during and after the sex. Her ass felt just the same as it did after those two times, and Justine felt her face begin to redden at the thought of what debauchery she’d got up to.

She gathered her clothes — strewn carelessly on the floor — and crept out. Mercifully, Rosa was still asleep, and did not wake even when the bedroom door creaked.

Justine dressed herself in the unfamiliar hallway outside, then chose some steps to descend in order to find a way out. She walked down the narrow staircase and saw, with some relief, a front door at the bottom of it. She stepped toward it but was stopped by some movement behind her.

She turned, heart in her mouth, and stared at the tall young man standing bare-chested at the other end of the hall. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and a lean, well-toned figure.

“Don’t look so frightened,” the man said, with a smile. “There are no ghosts here.”

Justine recovered herself a little, but inched closer to the door, just in case.

“‘I’m, er, I’m Justine,” she said, smiling as best she could. The man nodded in reply.

“Ah, so that’s your name. Rosa didn’t even tell me. But then again, she does not always know her girlfriends’ names herself.”

“I’m not sure, I—I mean, I don’t know what you mean,” Justine stammered. The young man grinned.

“She was right, though. You are a pretty one.”

Justine reached for the door handle behind her. “I have to go.”

The door opened, and Justine darted through it to the street beyond.

“Hey!” shouted the man, behind her. “Hey, what do I tell my sister?”

Justine fled down the street, clutching her bag to her chest and trying to breathe normally. What the hell had she done? What the hell had she gotten into? She’d never had sex with a woman before! Never! And now, not only did it feel like she’d been fucked by an access-all-areas elephant, but someone’s brother was involved, too. Had the man who said he was Rosa’s brother had sex with her too?

Justine had no way of knowing. She would never have accused herself of a one-night stand before. She would never have thought she’d had sex with another woman before. But last night seemed to change everything.

She went back to her hotel, trudged up to her room and took a shower. She cleaned and probed her sensitive areas, worried sick. But, on closer examination, she had no cuts, bruises, welts or scratches. If she’d had sex — as she was sure she had, in several intimate places — it was certainly not forced on her.

And that made Justine reconsider. She had come to get away from her old life. To get away from the humdrum, and the shit of a relationship turned sour. So was this her liberation? Was this a new chapter? Was she now able to abandon herself to guilty pleasure? It seemed so, but despite the shower, Justine felt fuzzy and sore.

She locked her room shut from the inside and went to bed. She slept for another eight hours, and it was late afternoon when she awoke feeling much fresher.

Justine decided to head down to the hotel swimming pool and cool off a little. She took her towel, book and water bottle with her, and made her way down. The poolside was empty when she got there, and the weather was just as hot and sunny as the climate promised. Justine set herself down on one of the hotel loungers and read her book for a while. She’d worn her gold bikini and a sarong, and the warm air began to make her feel drowsy, despite the sleep she’d only just had. She put down her book and lay back on the sun lounger, covering her eyes with her dark sunglasses and dozing.

She came to some time later, as the sun’s rays were dipping below the line of the houses around her. She heard splashing and, for one moment, thought it was the waves of the sea come to tickle her toes. She had been sunbathing once, on the beach in Brighton, and had fallen asleep only for the rising tide to wash over her belongings and soak both them and her. She was quite sensitive to the splashing of water since that time.

But here it was not the sea, but only the water in the hotel swimming pool catching her ear. She sat up, grabbing her water to take a swig. In the pool was another young woman, swimming away from her with a powerful breaststroke movement. Justine watched the other woman reach the end and turn, swimming back toward her. The other woman reached for Justine’s side of the pool and stopped. She bobbed up and down in the water, dipping underneath the warmish waters to cool her brow. She made eye contact with Justine and smiled, folding her forearms over the pool edge to steady herself.

“Olá!” she said. “Justine, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said the Englishwoman. “And you are… Jean?”

“Jan,” corrected the other. She raised an eyebrow to the sky. “It seems this is the time for us to meet, when the sun is going down, isn’t it?”

Justine smiled and nodded. There was something quite friendly and reassuring about Jan. Justine had only met her once, but they seemed to get on, and there was no dangerous sexual frisson between them, unlike the other woman, Rosa. Even thinking about the tall, handsome blonde made Justine feel uncomfortable.

“You will guard my computer for me?” asked Jan, giving a crooked smile and nodding toward a sun-lounger to Justine’s left.

“That’s my job,” Justine replied. “Computer security system.”

Jan laughed and bobbed back down into the water. “Two more laps,” she said, “then I can pretend I’ve done some exercise.”

Jan finished her swim, then climbed out of the pool close to where Justine was lying. Justine watched her emerge dripping out of the water, wearing a stylish one-piece bathing suit. With her dark hair and olive skin, Jan seemed every bit the local girl, and Justine wondered if Jan knew of the places like Columbus, whether she too had succumbed to some wild holiday romance in her own country.

Justine watched out of the corner of her eye as Jan wrapped a towel around her body, dabbing at her hips and torso. She let her eyes wander up and down the dark-haired woman’s form and wondered first if Jan ever gave strangers such cool appraisal. Then Justine caught herself and wondered why she was now checking out other women when, a couple of weeks ago, she would never have entertained the thought, let alone get up to whatever it was she did with Rosa last night.

“Have you had any more problems with your laptop?” Justine asked, once Jan had settled into her own lounger.

Jan looked across and turned toward Justine, smiling a little. “Not so much people as time,” she said, mysteriously. “I find that people are difficult, yes. But time is the thing that is the biggest problem. Too many things, not enough time, right?”

“They used to say that about women; ‘too many women, not enough time’.”

“You said this?”

Justine shook her head. “No, I think it was George Burns, the old actor. I — I wouldn’t know what to think.”

Jan paused for a moment before saying, “Is a bad time for you?”

Justine didn’t answer at first. She was thinking about the whirlwind of the last few days; the revelation of David’s lies, the gnawing problems of her missing birth parents and the mysterious “Amanda” and, of course, the fairly shocking recent memories of being seduced by a lesbian and getting up to some serious sexual play with the woman — which she couldn’t even remember!

Jan, taking this hesitation as a message that she had overstepped the mark, held up a hand. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” She turned away from the Englishwoman and reached for her laptop.

“No,” said Justine, “Wait. I—” She faltered again, grappling for the words she wanted to say. Really, she wanted to let it all out; wanted to unburden her troubles just to clear them a little from her mind. But that would be unfair on this poor lady who had just come down to the hotel for a swim. Or maybe Justine should use this as an opportunity to confide in someone. She was hardly going to see this Portuguese lady again after the holiday, right? And Jan didn’t have to listen if she didn’t want to.

“I’ve recently broken up with my boyfriend. Actually, my almost-fiancée,” Justine said, at last. Jan gave her a tight smile and inclined her head. “Is never easy breaking up,” she said, non-committal.

Justine barked a laugh. “To be honest, that was the easy part! I’ve just — I’ve just had a — you know, holiday fling with someone. Here.”

“Already?” Jan asked, eyebrow arched. “Very quick work. You must work in stocks and shares, right?”

Justine laughed, feeling the burden across her shoulders beginning to lift already. “Not just any fling,” said Justine, smiling. The next words from her mouth came almost involuntarily. “One with a woman.”

There was a pause, and Jan gave the Englishwoman a cool look. “Your first time?”

Justine paused, then nodded. “I was so drunk I can’t even remember it!”

“What was she like? This mystery woman?”

“Oh tall, blonde. Short hair. Great, you know—” Justine cupped her breasts for emphasis. Jan held up a hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle.

“I am sorry. I don’t mean to tease. But you must know this is an incredible thing. Your first time — with another woman, right?”

Justine smiled distantly. “Yeah.” The gravity of it still hadn’t really sunk in. She had been thinking all along about whatever unknown sex acts she’d got up to without thinking much about the fact that Rosa was her first girl-girl liaison. Surely that didn’t make her a lesbian now, after one erotic night’s work? Justine’s head could not yet process that thought. Instead, she went on the offensive. It was a cold, business like tactic. But it backfired somewhat.

“Have you had a holiday fling yet?” she asked.

“No,” Jan said, smiling impishly. “But it would not be for the first time with a woman.”

“Not for the fir— Oh.” Justine was taken aback, but only a little. She found she was more intrigued about the prospect of this new friendship with Jan than about the thought of her being a predatory lesbian.

“You have a girlfriend?” she asked the dark Portuguese girl.

Jan went to answer, then stopped. “You have a boyfriend?” she asked in reply.

Justine looked down for a moment. “I, uh—I was engaged, to be married. Until very recently. But my boyfriend was seeing someone else. For quite some time, I think. It’s all a bit complicated.”

“Such is life,” said Jan. “Some things are more complicated than others. And now there is your fling too, right?”

Justine groaned. “Oh, don’t remind me. Things couldn’t get more complicated!”

Jan shifted on her lounger, drawing her tanned legs up to her belly. “You have a sister?”

“A sister?” asked Justine, frowning.

“Yes. Do you have a sister?”

Justine narrowed her eyes. “Wow,” she muttered. “You really know which buttons to press. Uh — I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“Because things could be much more complicated than your current situation,” replied Jan, a note of seriousness in her soft voice.

Justine gave her a quizzical look, and Jan seemed to pause for a long moment before answering. She was, perhaps, having similar thoughts to the Englishwoman’s earlier ones: Here is someone who I can speak to quite easily. She is on holiday and I’m unlikely to see her again. Perhaps I can be open with her.

“My work,” continued Jan, shifting again to face Justine more directly, “is more complicated than I suggested.”

Justine wracked her memory for what she could recall Jan had said the other day. Some kind of… self-help website?

“I run a website for women to talk and share about the love they have with other women. A love that — how you say — ‘dare not speak its name’.”

Justine nodded absently. So Jan runs a lesbian website? It certainly didn’t sound very taboo, not in this day and age. “I see,” she said.

Jan smiled crookedly, a stray lock of her dark hair spilling over her right eye and giving her a sultry look. “No, you don’t, I think.”

She paused again before continuing. “You said your love life was complicated, and I asked if you had a sister.”

“Yes, but I don’t see what — Oh.”

Justine and Jan looked at each other for a long while in the deepening Portuguese shadows.

“Do you—” asked Justine, in a small voice, “do you have a… a complicated sister?”

Jan laughed brightly; a soft, pretty laugh that lit up her face. “Si! I have a very complicated sister! But not one whom I consider complicated in that way. But many of the women on my website have sisters, and yes; there is love between them that some would say is wrong.”

“Well, it is wrong,” said Justine, flatly.

Jan arched her eyebrow. “Is it?” she asked. Her gaze bored into Justine’s eyes and the Englishwoman found she could not easily look away. What was this foreign girl saying, that love between two sisters was acceptable? That this kind of incest was okay?

“I mean, I suppose that sometimes sisters can be close, and maybe — maybe when growing up there is some, you know, experimentation or something.” Justine was desperately trying to think of any articles or news stories she had read about this kind of thing. “But that’s kind of normal, I suppose.”

“And other love isn’t?” asked Jan.

“Well — I mean, it’s just wrong!” Justine said, hitting a mental brick wall.

“Okay, let us put it this way. Women are naturally more affectionate. And passionate. And the bond between sisters is a very close one, right?”

“I — well, I suppose,” said Justine.

“Good. So we agree. And sisters can fight and bitch like no others, right? I do with my own sister sometimes!”

“Okaay.”

“So why is it so strange to think that two sisters can express their love, their passion, in sexual ways? If there is no coercion, if there is no rape, and if there is no chance of a genetic mismatch to make children, so what of it is wrong?”

Once again, the two women stared across the short distance between them for a long moment, taking in the quiet rustles of the early Portuguese evening.

“You’re serious?” said the Englishwoman.

Jan nodded. “Yes. I am. The Internet is not just good for news sites and conspiracy sites and pornography. There were many doors opened for people to talk to each other, about even the most taboo of subjects like this one.”

“There are really sisters who sleep with each other?”

“Yes! Not many, I suppose, and for many different reasons, but still they do. And it is not all about rampant sex like in adult films. Sometimes, the people on my website have a very quiet love for their sister, and do nothing more than hug, or kiss.”

“So this site is like one of those social networking websites?”

“Not quite,” said Jan, the twinkle in her eye. “But I have tried to fit as many things in it as I can. There are the testimonials of women brave enough to share their own, true stories. There are others who invent or write fictitious stories. Reviews of books and films that cover the subject of love between sisters. Many things.”

Justine was, admittedly, a little taken aback. Had it been in her own home, on an ordinary day, without the knowledge and hurt of David’s infidelity, she would not have listened to the pretty Portuguese woman. To be honest, she would probably not even listened as much right then had she not been thinking about her memory-blocked antics of the previous night. But she couldn’t deny that she’d changed a little since coming to Portugal.

She had let herself be seduced by another woman — unthinkable! — she had gone back for a one-night stand and felt sore in numerous sexual places — unheard of! — without any proper recollection of her evening, and she may even have slept with the woman’s brother  — unimaginable! So, given that, listening to an ordinary, young and slightly serious young woman talking about her website for women who sleep with their sisters didn’t turn her away. In fact, she felt strangely drawn to the subject.

Justine and Jan talked a little more about the many scenarios Jan had heard of regarding the love between two sisters. They talked until the shadows in the sky filled the air with darkness, and overhead lamps buzzed into life around them.

Jan excused herself after a long while, and Justine went back to her room to shower and change. She decided to go on a more quiet, sober night out that evening. Away from the main strip, finding a bar, maybe, or a restaurant on the seafront.

She only took a quick shower then, wrapped in nothing but a towel, went back to her bed and sat on the edge. She’d meant to go to her wardrobe to look for some clothes to put on, but her head felt fuzzy and a sudden wave of tiredness swept over her. She lay back onto the bed, and then drew herself up to the pillows. She pulled the soft towel open, exposing herself to the cool air of the room, closing her eyes to the feeling of the warm moisture on her skin evaporating into the air. Her red hair spilled out like a corona around her head and, as she trailed a fingernail up and down her bare belly, sleep stole up and claimed her.

Justine was running down a corridor, like the one she remembered from her secondary school days, and she was late. She looked around her, thinking how much the corridor reminded her of her school, then realized that she was wearing her old school uniform again. That drab, dreary pleated tartan skirt. The formless, drab white shirt and the plain white socks and flat court shoes.

She also knew, without checking, that she was wearing a thong; that mildly exciting, mildly naughty piece of underwear that was her only rebellion to the drab uniform. Her hair streamed out behind her; caught fast in a ponytail with a thick band. She had no bag or case in her hand, but she was late and knew she’d be in trouble.

Without rhyme or reason, the corridor changed into the wood from her mind’s eye when she read The Hobbit many, many years earlier. She peered round the bole of a huge tree and looked to see if there were any monsters there. Her heart was pounding, and she was anxious that the other girl behind her didn’t lag. Justine reached down and brushed the hilt of her long dagger, sheathed down the outside of her knee-length calfskin boot. It was there, safe and secure. The hem of her short skirt tugged at the top of her thighs, and Justine felt the tickle of a leaf against her leg.

“Come on!” she hissed, glancing behind her.

The other girl was there, smaller yet similar to Justine, with long straw-blonde hair. It was Pip, Justine’s favourite doll from her childhood. The doll with the long hair and no knickers when Justine had dared to first peek under the skirt the doll wore. But this time, Pip wore a long, pleated skirt like the ones Justine wore at school, and it was slowing her progress in the undergrowth.

“I can’t!” said Pip, and Justine immediately felt somehow annoyed at the tinny voice. But she could not leave her.

“It’s not far now,” she said, as encouragingly as she could.

“I just want to go home!” said Pip. “I just want to go to bed and get cuddled.”

“Too late for that. Look! I can see the cabin!”

And there, through a clearing in the woods, Justine saw the log cabin that she knew was their sanctuary. “Come on!”

She took the now-alive doll by the hand and ran through the trees into the clearing and up to the door of the solid wooden cabin. She flung open the door, pulled Pip through and slammed it shut, ramming the sturdy bolt home. The two girls stood there for a moment, catching their breath. Pip kept whispering, “Thank you! Thank you!”

“That’s okay, Pip,” Justine said, smiling. The two women embraced, Justine grabbing up her living doll in a cuddle like she always used to in bed at night. Strands of fiery red-gold hair spilled and mixed together as the two girls cuddled into each other’s embrace.

“That’s it, now. We’re safe now,” Justine murmured.

Pip looked up at her momentarily; a dreamy smile on her face. “Thank you, ‘Stina,” she said, leaning forward to kiss the other girl lightly. Justine smiled back, suddenly very warm and happy. She felt Pip’s arms around her waist, felt the crush of Pip’s small but perfectly rounded doll-like breasts against her own, and knew that the hug was leading somewhere.

Pip trailed her hands down the small of Justine’s back until the Englishwoman felt them slide down the curve of her buttocks to the edge of the hem on her short skirt. She buried her face into Pip’s neck, tightening her arms around the living doll and breathing in the soft, sweet smell of the girl’s straw hair. She felt Pip’s fingers tug at the hem of her skirt, and lift it up over her buttocks, exposing them and the red thong she wore. Pip’s hands smoothed over Justine’s bare backside, then delved between them, teasing the little bud of skin at Justine’s anus.

“We can’t ever tell Mummy,” said Pip, as she probed her fingers between Justine’s legs.

“Of course not, Pip,” breathed Justine, feeling Pip’s soft fingers explore her most tender regions. “Of course we can’t.”

Pip shifted her head and the two met each other’s lips, kissing. At first their kisses were soft, wisp-like; the tender red skin barely touching. But the nearness of such intimacy gave them a passion neither girl could ignore. Their lips met, and crushed, more passionately and, as the day turned to dark around them, Justine felt that she was losing herself to Pip in the most extraordinary way; reveling in the touch and taste of the doll-girl’s tongue snaking and exploring inside her mouth.

It was so natural. So taboo and yet so natural making love to Pip. Of course they were young. Of course they were both only girls. And of course, Mummy should never know. That would be terrible.

Continue on to Chapter 2