siblings, brother sister, brosis

This is the first chapter of a longer multi-part series. Among other things, this chapter features group sex, incest, women forcing themselves upon a reluctant male protagonist, and a dream featuring incestuous impregnation. Future chapters will include supernatural influence that borders on mind-control. There is a sexual focus to this story, but there are plenty of other things going on as well. If you’ve only got a few minutes for a quick masturbation session before getting ready for work, I would encourage you to come back to this story later when you’ve got more time. :-)



On page 4, I am sharing the recipe for a very tasty alcoholic drink called Apple Pie. It always goes over well at Halloween and Christmas parties, and as a nice bonus it makes the whole house smell great. Everything else that you might read here should be regarded as strictly a work of erotic fiction. Tools, techniques, and opinions among paranormal investigators vary widely, and those emphasized in this story are not all-inclusive. All sexually-active characters are 18 years of age or older. All rights reserved.




*** CHAPTER I ***



My name is John, and I attend a small, respectable private college in the American Midwest. Most people have no clue that our college has a ghost-hunting club, and the powers-that-be in our obscure little slice of American academia wish to keep it that way. For the sake of maintaining the respectability of our Alma Mater, the “paranormal research club” (as we describe ourselves) isn’t listed as an official on-campus organization. Our unofficial faculty adviser, Professor Morrison, is a well-respected authority on 18th century English Romantic poetry, and the author of several widely circulated books on the subject. She possesses enough tenure and seniority at the university that her famous idiosyncrasies and peccadilloes are largely ignored or tolerated by the other faculty members, and she also just happens to be the niece of a former dean as well as the aunt of one of the school’s biggest financial contributors. It was unequivocally understood that her eventual retirement would mark the end of any association, official or otherwise, between our university and anything as potentially embarrassing to the academic community as paranormal research. In the meanwhile, however, while other students spend their Friday nights out binge drinking or buried beneath research projects, the seven to ten of us that routinely attend the paranormal club meetings would spend our nights exploring decrepit old buildings with a variety of recording equipment, trying to catch evidence of supernatural activity on tape. We usually have a bunch of fun doing it, and it’s really a neat feeling when you catch a recording of something that you can’t rationally explain and you get to share it triumphantly with your friends over beer and pizza.



We’ve never gotten any sort of evidence that couldn’t have been faked by an unscrupulous attention-seeker, but most of the people in our club aren’t out to convince the rest of the world that ghosts, hauntings, or anything else supernatural really exists. Ghost hunting can be an expensive hobby, even when you make do with relatively inexpensive equipment, but it’s a hobby that we enjoy for its own sake. People are pretty much just going to believe what they choose to believe regarding the paranormal, and that’s fine with us. We’re all pretty good friends, and in reality, our paranormal research gives us an excuse to go around playing in creepy old abandoned buildings and hang out together.



It was Spring Break of last year, and one of the members of the club had spent most of the previous three years trying to persuade us to make the 13 hour trip to do an investigation at the church in southern Vermont where her father had been the pastor for the past 19 years. Erin was a petite, willowy young woman with sparkling green eyes, adorable freckles, and long brown hair. She was a senior this year majoring in Speech Pathology. As a senior, she viewed this year as her last chance to make an investigation of her father’s church happen. She told us that her interest in joining our paranormal club had been sparked by an entire childhood surrounded by the mysterious goings-on at that ancient house of prayer.



Erin was a bit of an anomaly in our club. She was deeply religious, and she seldom failed to be at the local church she attended multiple times a week unless she was deathly ill. She wasn’t pushy with her religion, but she was a virgin and planned to stay that way until she was married. It was hard to imagine her staying single for long. She was physically attractive, easy going, and she had a cheerful and good-natured personality that frequently lit her face up with a brilliant smile. She was just the sort of woman that any young man that was considering marriage might do well to pursue if the idea of having a large family didn’t scare him off. Both my sister and I liked Erin a great deal as a friend.



While organized religion generally tends to be skeptical at best when it comes to paranormal investigators such as ourselves, Erin’s father had enthusiastically welcomed the idea of us doing an investigation at his church. Over the phone, he and his wife had told stories of ghostly sounds, smells, objects moving on their own, and sights including full-body apparitions that rivaled the activity reported to occur in some of the most haunted castles in Europe. Lots of people exaggerate what goes on in a haunted house, sometimes because they’re frightened and other times because they want attention. Erin assured us that, if anything, her father was downplaying what went on in the old church in an effort to keep his stories from sounding too outrageous and difficult to believe. We had known her long enough and had been on enough investigations with her that none of us doubted her truthfulness.



The fact that Erin could vouch for everyone in our club’s character had encouraged her father in his decision to enlist our aid, just as our faith in Erin’s word had made us willing to make such a long trip. Her father, David, wished to avoid local notoriety and not earn his church any more of a supernatural reputation than it already had. The fact that we were all from out-of-state and might be able to verify what he and his family routinely saw, without compromising the local reputation of his venerable house of worship, was an absolute godsend from his perspective. He offered to pay for the fuel that our large gas-guzzling van full of people and equipment would need to get there and back. In addition, he and his wife were willing to put us up in his home and feed us home-cooked meals while we were there, so there would be no need to pay for hotel rooms or meals. If Erin’s mother, Naomi, was even half the cook that Erin described her as being then it was worth the trip for the food alone. David had generously offered to pay us each for our time, but through Erin we politely declined payment because we never take money from any interested party when we are researching a site. For a bunch of broke college kids with an interest in the paranormal, the whole trip appeared to be a remarkably good deal. It sounded like fun to me, and everyone liked Erin enough that it was no problem getting the club to commit to the investigation, much to her and her parents’ joy.



It was the night before we were scheduled to leave for our adventure in Vermont. Steve and Frank, two Industrial Design majors that you could just about always count on being a part of any adventure that the club participated in, were renting an old farmhouse about thirty minutes away from campus. On our investigations, we usually all drove to their house, loaded the equipment that we kept in their garage into a battered old van that we kept parked there, and then everyone rode in the van to wherever we were going to investigate. Their house was a natural staging area, and everyone had agreed to meet at Steve and Frank’s abode at 6:30 the next morning, load the van just like we always did, and hit the road at 7:00 sharp. Hopefully we would reach Erin’s parents’ house between eleven o’ clock at night and midnight. Six seasoned investigators had volunteered to go, which would be just enough people to effectively pull off a good investigation of the scope that the old church deserved.



Before going to sleep on the night before we were to leave, I carefully ensured that I had set my alarm clock for 5:30, and as always, I set my cell phone’s built in alarm to go off ten minutes later should the primary alarm clock fail. Back when I was enlisted in the Army, I had gotten into the habit of always setting a backup alarm in case my primary alarm stopped working for any reason, and the system had never failed me. I had the large internal-frame hiking rucksack that I used for my personal luggage at the foot of my bed, already packed and ready to go. I had my cargo pants laid out for the next day on my nightstand, the pockets already loaded so that all I had to do was pull the clothing on the next morning. Again, that was a habit I picked up when I was in the Army during those times when I had the luxury of sleeping undressed. I laid out a comfortable t-shirt, a pair of socks, and my favorite insulated vest to make sure I didn’t forget it. Even when it’s warm outside, it can get chilly when you’re ghost hunting at night, and vests are also great for the extra pockets they provide. I’ve always been a firm believer that you can never have too many pockets. Pulling my soft flannel sheets over myself, I quickly drifted off to sleep.



My dreams that night were both deeply disturbing and extremely erotic at once. In my dream, I was lying naked in the center of a large, circular clearing in a forest of immense and ancient trees. High above me, the stars twinkled and the full moon shone down brightly. The grassy clearing was brightly lit by moonlight and blazing torches, but the light seemed to end abruptly at the tree line, as though it could no longer sustain itself among the twisted and moss-covered branches of the dense woods. I had the distinct feeling that I was here as some sort of sacrificial offering. Strangely, the thought didn’t bother me. I didn’t think that I was bound, but my arms and legs hardly responded at all to any efforts I made to move them. I couldn’t turn my head at all. It was a rather helpless feeling, but not nearly as frightening as it could have been. Lying beneath me, I could feel a naked woman cradling me comfortably against her abdomen and chest, and even though I had no clue who she was, it was still a comforting feeling.



I was surrounded on all sides by a large ring of women that were dancing naked and barefoot on the soft green grass to the sound of discordant pipe music and sensually rhythmic drumbeats. Some of the women I recognized: friends, family members, even professors and classmates from college were among those present. Many other women looked entirely unfamiliar, but most of them looked like ordinary, everyday women that I would not expect to be taking part in the pagan dance that I saw occurring around me. Women of all ages, descriptions, and body types, and all of them completely nude and covered in sweat that glistened and reflected the flickering torchlight were pressing towards me in a tightening ring of dancing flesh, their bodies moving in a manner that seemed to mimic the flickering flames of the burning torches. Something seemed to be driving them and energizing them in a manner that imbued even the least athletic-looking among them with stamina that was sufficient for them to effortlessly exert themselves with tremendous vigor. Slowly, the ring of women began to tighten around me as they danced. Around and around they whirled and cavorted, closer and closer they came until I could hear their breathing and see every detail, every soft body hair, every orifice, and every drop of sultry sweat on the glistening female bodies. My penis stood at full attention, and my heart pounded in my chest.



Lying immobile on the ground, I soon felt hot, sweaty female flesh pressing and writhing against me from all directions, rubbing softly along every part of my body. The woman beneath me was now feverishly grinding her sopping wet vulva against the small of my back, her small, firm breasts rubbing against my shoulder blades from behind. I felt her chest rise and fall as her breathing became heavier, and I could even feel her heartbeat pounding against my back. I wanted to turn to see who she was, but my body refused to obey me. Everywhere I was surrounded by a seething mass of anonymous female flesh, warm, soft, moist, and writhing against me. The air was thick with the smell of incense, clean sweat, and the intense sexual musk of women that were sexually excited far beyond the level of arousal with which normal mortals could ever be familiar.



I have had erotic dreams before, but none have ever been even half as real to me as what I was experiencing at that time. The details of my surroundings were far too vivid, and everything seemed far too concrete for this to be part of any normal dream state. The old test of pinching myself to see if I was awake was impossible, since I could hardly move, but it wasn’t necessary. I could feel every detail of everything around me, and I have never had a dream where the sounds, smells, and tactile senses were this acutely influenced by my surroundings. Aside from the bizarre and impossible situation, this seemed to be real in every possible sense of the word.



The crowd of women around me parted slightly to permit a strikingly beautiful woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and a lusciously curvy body enough room to stand above me, and I was mesmerized as she swayed her hips above me, sweat and sexual moisture dripping from her body onto mine as she undulated seductively in time to the music. Her hypnotic movements were beautiful and unhurried, and her motions reminded me of a strange and exotic cross between belly-dancing and some sort of erotic ballet. As she danced, her large breasts jiggled temptingly and beautifully, hinting at their full softness, and the beauty that rested between her soft white thighs promised pleasures that I craved with unspeakable intensity.



I looked up with longing at her beautiful cleft and her perfect buttocks as they swayed above me, but I couldn’t move to touch her. Slowly, sensually, hypnotically, she moved her hips lower and lower as she danced to the pulsing drums, until the softness of her neat blonde pubic hair barely brushed and tickled my chest. Her muscular control was almost superhuman. My body demanded sexual release, and I cried out in need and desperation. Still, she was not nearly ready to be done with me yet.



The beautiful stranger lowered herself even more. The beautiful pink petals of her womanhood kissed my chest, and she slid herself slowly along my abdomen and up to my sternum. I felt her vaginal moisture, so plentiful that a trail of it seeped from her and marked everywhere on my chest she touched. Her perfect ass felt warm and firm as she ground her pussy against my chest. With maddening patience, she slowly and rhythmically slid herself incrementally in unhurried undulations towards my face. Soon I could smell her delicious pussy, and inhale the delightful aroma of her arousal. If only she would bring her body closer so that I could lick and taste her! I have always loved orally pleasing a woman, but I had never desired it before so fervently as I did then! Or, alternately, if only she would slide back, mount my painfully hard cock, and grant us both sexual release through intercourse! But, instead, she ground herself against my chest in a gracefully controlled motion, and my arousal was reaching levels where I feared for my crumbling sanity if this were to continue. The girl beneath me was not half as graceful or controlled, and was rubbing herself wildly against my back as though her own need for sexual release were driving her every bit as insane with desire as my own need for sexual release was driving me. I certainly understood her frustration. If only I could roll over and share blissful sexual release with her, whoever she was!



Sliding herself further back to sit on my abdomen, the beautiful stranger leaned forward to kiss me deeply on the mouth. I tasted her sweet kisses, and felt her soft breasts press firmly against my chest. Her perfect ass cheeks softly caressed the top of my penis between them, and her sweet womanhood rubbed against the muscles of my abdomen. I needed release desperately. She smiled at me with benign mockery, as though she were greatly amused by something that she knew and I didn’t.



It was with tremendous relief that I eventually felt the soft thighs of another woman straddle me behind the blonde stranger, and the head of my erect cock briefly brushed soft pubic hair and then touched moist, warm vaginal lips. Past the temptress that had cruelly tormented me with such unspeakable need, I saw wavy brown hair and had a brief feeling that there was something familiar about it.



The gorgeous blonde stranger cupped my head in her soft, warm hands and kissed me with a frightening, unnatural passion that spoke of madness and unspeakable need, and I felt her sweet, warm breath and soft blonde hair caress my face as the unseen woman behind her began vigorously fucking me. As I continued to kiss the anonymous blonde woman, her hot wet tongue plundered my mouth and my own tongue responded in kind as our needy lips drank passion from one another. My hand, at last free to move, traveled down to her nether region, and I saw her smile I as she moved her hips to grant me easier access to the most intimate part of her lovely body. Thank heavens! At last I can move, and at last my cock is getting the attention it needs!



As my fingers worked inside of the beautiful stranger’s tight wetness, the woman behind her rode me with wild abandon. The beautiful blonde moved her head to kiss my face and my neck, and then slid gracefully off of my body and lay beside me, smiling at me with something like mirthful amusement and chuckling as though she had just played a joke on me that she found intensely amusing. With her no longer blocking my view, I looked up to see the brunette woman that had mercifully mounted me and granted me the promise of sexual release. To my horror, I immediately recognized that the woman who had for several minutes now been relishing the feeling of my throbbing penis buried deep within her silky depths was my own mother!



I was shocked, but far too aroused to stop. She bucked wildly, the soft triangle of her dark brown pubic hair grinding my pelvis and her familiar, beloved face transformed and blazing with uncontrollable lust. Countless female hands from all directions roamed our bodies as the unholy, incestuous union took place. Fluids never intended to meet, the sexual nectar of a mother and her own son, were freely swapped as the head of my manhood ground hard against her cervix. I felt her fingernails gently caress the top of my throbbing shaft as she massaged her clitoris, her tunnel becoming impossibly wetter while our sexual organs furiously slapped together. She pounded herself down upon me, the wet sound of our coupling audible even above the crowd and the din of the insane pipes and drums. I couldn’t help myself. My penis had never before been as hard as it now was as my mother forced me back deep into the core of her womanhood, and I rejoiced in every sensual detail of my immoral return to the warm, humid depths of the very womb where I had been created. Every sight, every, sound, every scent, every taste of what I was experiencing was forever burned into my memory. My mother leaned down, her pendulous breasts crushing against my chest as she kissed me in a manner that no mother should ever kiss a son. My heart pounded in my chest like an industrial power-hammer, and my breathing was becoming increasingly rapid as I returned the kiss with equally scandalous passion.

I looked around me. My younger sister, Kim, a sprightly 18 year old pixie of a girl with short brown hair and sparkling eyes, was cuddling her nude body against me to my left, her small warm hands traveling my chest as she humped her mound against my leg, the perfect brown nipples of her small, firm breasts massaging the side of my arm. One of her hands reached over, lovingly stroking my penis and our mother’s vulva as she caressed the wet juncture where her brother and her mother were locked together in the most intimate of embraces. My sister’s wet, pink tongue traveled seductively along my neck and left a cool trail up the side of my face as I beheld my mother’s body undulating and swaying above me in time to the drumbeats, her sweat dripping from her breasts and reflecting the hellish torchlight.



Other anonymous women, and I now prayed that they would remain anonymous, pressed their warm and receptive feminine flesh against my vulnerable body from every direction. Someone I could not see was now grinding her clitoris against my shin, and while I could not see her face I felt the deliciously soft wetness of her slit and the supple cushions of her womanly ass, and I knew that I desired her. She felt amazing. Sitting on the grass near my head, I recognized my Aunt Cindy, who was still remarkably attractive despite her age. Her chest was heaving, her eyes half shut, her shapely legs spread and her hand working feverishly between them as she watched her nephew and her sister frantically rutting together so close that she could have reached out and touched us with her fingers which were glistening with slickness from her own feminine juices. I couldn’t see any more faces in the kaleidoscope of human flesh that whirled around me, and I feared who else I might recognize if I could.



Higher and higher into ecstasy I climbed, and the drums and pipes played faster and faster as though driven by our arousal. My mother and I were rapidly approaching the point of no return, and still our genitals merged with wild, passionate need. My mother shrieked triumphantly as a steaming hot climax wracked her body with shuddering, quivering, convulsive ecstasy. Her soft feminine thighs tightened around me like the jaws of a vice, and the velvet-soft walls of her wet, scalding-hot tunnel began to clench down in powerful spasmodic waves around my firm, throbbing manhood, and she drenched me in her gloriously fertile maternal fluids.



I could no longer prevent or even postpone the inevitable. My heart was pounding like race horse’s, and my breath came in ragged gasps as every nerve in my trembling body fired at once. My thoughts went blank as my brain was deliciously electrocuted by my own powerful orgasm. My body was flooded with far more pleasure than any human being was ever wired to experience, so much pleasure that it was almost painful to feel it all at once, as my own climax fertilized my mother’s ripe body. I felt defeat and the loss of so much more than sperm as jet after hot liquid jet of my potent seed spurted deeply into her eager womb. After her deliciously wicked vagina had milked me for all the cum that my body could provide her with, my mother kissed me tenderly on my lips and slid her slick, sweaty body from on top of me. Her hot, perspiration-drenched breasts dragged lewdly across my chest as the beautiful stranger on my right side- I now realized that my fingers were still deep inside of her body and she was just finishing an orgasm of her own while witnessing the incestuous act- stood up and moved away from us, making room for my mother to cuddle almost sweetly against my side.



My mother stared almost tenderly into my eyes as my sweet young sister climbed on top of me. I couldn’t get up, or even move. This was going to happen, and I couldn’t avoid it any more than I could have stopped what I had just done with my mother.



“It’s my turn now, brother,” my sister Kim whispered hotly into my ear.



My mother reached over and grasped my cock, which was still slippery and literally dripping with the sexual fluids of our own unholy union. Impossibly, my erection was still undiminished in hardness, and my body was already insistently demanding more sex. Now, with the same hands with which my mother had held us, calmed us, and fed us as children, my mother now placed the head of my cock at the opening of her own daughter’s still-virginal slit.



Kim looked into my eyes, her face glowing in the torchlight. Her pupils were dilated with adrenaline and her eyes wild with need and reflecting fire from the torches. “Prepare to feel my virginity poured out upon you. Make me a woman, brother.” Her words burned into my brain and her eyes smoldered with feverish madness as she forced her painfully tight vagina down upon my cock, a cock that was still slick with the natural lubrication from the wicked union of her brother and her mother. I slid partly into her sopping wet tunnel, then felt the barrier that had guarded her maidenhood for 18 years tear as she relentlessly and forcefully impaled herself on me with a need that overruled any level of discomfort. She leaned over, and again, Kim’s tongue softly caressed my neck. Looking over her shoulder, I had a brief glimpse of the woman who was grinding herself against my leg, and recognized my favorite cousin, Heather. Older and sweeter than her sister, Sarah, Heather had been my close friend since birth. She was sweet, restrained, and most definitely not someone that would ever take part in a blasphemous rite like this under any circumstances. But here she was nonetheless, and I had no doubt that it was only a matter of time before she replaced the leg she was humping with my hard cock. I had always loved Heather, but had never looked at her sexually before, and my heart ached with the thought of the innocent relationship that might be changed forever if I were to let Heather mount me. Over and over again I assured myself that this was only a dream. But it certainly did not feel like one.



Those thoughts were immediately obscured as Kim finished planting a decadently wet kiss on my neck, then moved her face to mine and she kissed me deeply and passionately on the mouth. I was unable to stop myself from returning the kiss; I needed her as desperately as she needed me. Our tongues writhed together, mimicking the similar union of of our drenched sexual organs. I felt my sister’s soft breath against my sweaty skin as she whispered fiercely, “Yesssss! You have made me a woman, now make me the mother of your child!” Her eyes blazed with wild intensity as I looked into the face of my sweet little sister. Even the knowledge that something had completely transformed my dear little sister with an infusion of unspeakable lust was not sufficient to save me from betrayal by my own body. I cried out in alarm as I erupted in orgasm yet again, knowing that I had just conceived a child with my own mother, and I was about to become a father to my own sister’s baby.



As my sister and I continued to cum together, our kisses became animalistic, deep, sloppy, and uncontrolled as her sweet vagina spasmed around my cock, milking me of far more sperm-rich semen than I would normally even be able to produce in a week. For several minutes my body and hers writhed together, struggling to force my ejaculating penis as deep into her receptive depths as possible. My sister’s nubile young body was demanding sperm to fill her fertile young womb and fallopian tubes, and my body was insistent upon claiming the privilege of fertilizing the ripe fruit of my own sister’s ovaries. Neither of our bodies were denied the fulfillment of their needs. When we were finally spent, Kim slid herself slowly off of my cock. Semen shot through with streaks of her sacred virginal blood slowly leaked from the no-longer-innocent orifice that in nine months would be giving birth to the natural product of an unnatural union between two siblings. I felt another woman move into position, and I didn’t have to look to know that it was my childhood friend and companion, Heather, that was about to forever change a lifetime of happy, innocent memories with an act of incestuous lust. Again I reminded myself that, although I was certain that this was by far the most realistic dream that I had ever experienced, this had to be a dream. None of this was real. It couldn’t be.



My sister slid out of the way, and now I found myself with my mother cuddled against my right side, my sister cuddled against my left side, and someone I couldn’t see lying directly beneath me, desperately grinding her drenched vulva against my back in a futile effort to achieve sexual satisfaction. She had been there the whole time, although I had been so distracted that I had hardly noticed her, and her sexual frustration was a palpable thing. Although I cold move almost freely once again, it was as though some invisible but irresistible force were physically preventing me from being able to turn my head to see who the girl underneath me was. Looking to my left, I saw my beautiful sister lying against me, her face glowing with satisfaction and my seed mingled with a hint of her virginal blood drooling from her freshly deflowered pussy. For the first time, I noticed a tattoo on her left hip. It was a small heart with the words “Love is Forever” written around it in flowing script, and I felt grateful for the confirmation that this wasn’t actually happening. I had seen Kim in a swimsuit just a few months ago. She had no tattoos, and surely she would have mentioned it if she had gotten one.



I looked down at Heather, seeing her familiar, round, friendly face, her long, straight blonde hair, and her beautiful smile. Her sky-blue eyes regarded me lovingly from behind the familiar prescription glasses that constituted the only thing she was currently wearing. Sweet, quiet, and bookish, with a wicked sense of humor that only reveals itself to those that she knows well, Heather has always been my closest confidant and my favorite family member. I had honestly never thought of her sexually before tonight, and I had never before seen her wearing any less than a conservative, one-piece swimsuit. My gaze traveled down from her familiar, beloved face to her chest. She was pleasantly plump, her pale, chubby body sporting respectably-sized breasts that might have sagged slightly more than those of most girls our age, but on Heather that characteristic only seemed cute and endearing. It was part of someone I had always loved. I noted the large, pink, puffy nipples and aureolas that adorned her succulent breasts, and the smooth, soft roundness of her belly. Then my gaze finally dared to travel downwards to her wide, womanly hips, the junction of Heather’s smooth white thighs, and the soft, heart-shaped nest of thick, dark-blonde curls that covered her most intimate parts. Her ass was facing away from me, but for the first time in my life I contemplated the healthy, perfectly-shaped roundness of her butt. I had never before seen my cousin as a sexual being, or contemplated the soft fullness of her beautiful womanly curves and ample femininity. Seeing her as I did now, I wondered why I had never noticed her in that way before. Everything about Heather seemed in one sense endearingly and charmingly familiar, but the sultry nakedness of her beautifully rubinesque body so close to mine filled me with excitement and need.



“I’ve always thought that the two of you would make an adorable couple,” my Aunt Cindy whispered to us as she continued to play with herself. Her legs were shaking, and her pretty face was drawn and tight with barely controlled lust. She looked at Heather. “Do it, Sweety,” she said to her daughter in an urgent whisper. “Breed with your cousin. Make beautiful grandchildren for me.” Taking my penis in a warm, soft hand that was still wet from rubbing her own sodden vagina, Aunt Cindy placed the head of my cock against her daughter’s moist opening.



Heather looked into my eyes as she allowed her aroused, engorged vaginal lips to gently kiss the head of my penis. I felt the heat and moisture radiating from my cousin’s fertile core as, for the first time, I breached the most intimate part of my beloved cousin’s body. My heart pounded as though it would explode in my chest. Still, my beautiful cousin held her ample hips high, so that I saw only her outer lips spread by my cock head. Looking down, Heather smiled at me lovingly. I couldn’t resist returning the smile; the silliness and impossibility of our situation immediately amusing to us both. We both knew that this couldn’t be happening. This was impossible; our mothers would never act like this. It was as though we were both aware that we were sharing an impossibly vivid dream, but we had always cared deeply for one another and were determined to enjoy it while it lasted. Both of us wanted to enjoy the secret embrace that was available to us in this dream; we could have what we wanted with no repercussions or consequences, and no one would ever know. We wouldn’t even have to risk confessing our forbidden lust to each other.



My own mother, so recently fertilized from making love to me, reached out with a trembling hand and reverently caressed my cock, running her hand up to stroke Heather’s beautiful opening, and then lingering at the place where my cousin and I were joined by only the slightest bit of penetration. Heather gasped quietly as she allowed her body to slide down less than a centimeter, still taking only about half of the head of my cock inside of her. She was so wet that she could have claimed my full length easily with a single motion, but she didn’t. Heather loved me and needed the reassurance that I needed her as badly as she needed me, and both of us wanted this moment to last forever.



As my mother lovingly stroked the genitals of her son and her niece, she looked at me and smiled. “You’re ready for this. Now, let your cousin show you how much she has always cared for you.”



I smiled at my beloved cousin. “I love you, Heather. Please give yourself to me. This is just a dream, right? It’s totally safe.”



She kissed me tenderly, still keeping just the tip of my penis inside of her. “I never thought I could have this,” she said with a voice choked with emotion. She sounded as though she might cry. “This dream just feels so real. It’s hard to believe that I’ll wake up tomorrow feeling like I’ve gotten to make love to you, and you won’t know that anything has happened.”



She thought that this was her dream? Why would I be dreaming that? “I’ll never forget anything about what we’re about to do, Heather. I promise. Please, give yourself to me and let me give myself to you.”



Heather didn’t claim my body as violently as my mother and sister had. Instead, she lowered herself upon me slowly, as though intent on savoring every minute detail of the experience, feeling herself being penetrated by a beloved friend that she had never thought she could have as a lover. Tenderly, with love and compassion in her eyes, she leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips. She still gently held the very tip of my hardness inside of herself, as though she wanted to make the moment that I first penetrated her, the instant that we first gained sexual knowledge of our beloved cousin, last forever. Her breasts, as soft as clouds, dragged hard nipples across my chest. She reached her soft white arms around me and embraced me lovingly. Planting a soft, almost chaste kiss upon my lips, she whispered the words, “I have always loved you.” Then her eyes closed halfway and she sighed sweetly as she began slowly lowering her pelvis upon me. Heat and moisture encased my rampant member until I was entirely sheathed inside of my beloved cousin’s fleshy warmth. Her pure, sweet, sexual fluids washed over my cock, bathing it in a steamy, sacred baptism of liquid love. I felt the tip of my penis rub against her cervix as we slowly mated, and contemplated the fact that I was actually touching the entrance to the sacred chamber where the fruit of our love would implant and grow.



Aunt Cindy, Heather’s mother, moved over and took my sister’s place lying by our side, one of her hands lovingly caressing the joined bodies of her daughter and her nephew, the other hand moving between her legs in time to the motions that Heather and I were making. She wanted to be as close as she could to her daughter and her nephew as we engaged in this beautiful, if taboo, act. She wanted to be part of the act that would create new life within her daughter, and make her a grandmother. On our other side, my own mother was gently stroking Heather’s body and my own as she rubbed her sopping pussy. She was about to become a grandmother, and even as Heather and I were mating, deep within my mother, a sperm was fertilizing a ripe egg within her own fallopian tubes. The sexual ecstasy of my union with Heather combined with the love and friendship that my cousin and I had always shared, and brought us both to unbearable heights of passion. I knew that it was only a short matter of time before our union reached its natural culmination in a white-hot explosion of pure love and sexual energy.



Our shared climax was like a great dam that burst, and both my cousin and I felt ourselves being willingly swept away by the raw power that was unleashed within us. Heather’s body and my own felt transported by an impossible pinnacle of rapturous ecstasy; we felt sexual fulfillment with such immense force that it transcended my entire concept of the word “orgasm”. Neither of us were aware of anything else. Our eyes were clenched shut, and her mouth opened wide in a gasping, uninhibited scream of unbridled pleasure and joy. Our bodies quivered and shook, and we embraced each other with all of our trembling strength as I poured myself deep into my beloved cousin’s fertile depths. Two more arms belonging to my mother and Aunt Cindy were wrapped tightly around us, and both of them cried out with wild, joyous triumph as all four of us experienced earth-shatteringly powerful orgasms, all at the exact same moment.



It was almost 7:00 when I awoke in a panic, my head swimming with the aftereffects of such a bizarre dream. I was lucky that I had packed for the trip the night before, because in an unprecedented stroke of bad luck both of my alarm clocks had somehow failed me. I was already supposed to be at Steve and Frank’s house helping to load gear, and in just a few moments they were likely to be leaving without me. Grabbing my cellphone and tossing the charger into a side pouch of my rucksack, I tried calling Diana’s cellphone. Diana, or Diane as we sometimes call her, is a close friend of mine, and together she and I are the unofficial leaders of the paranormal research club. We semi-jokingly compare our roles to the positions of a platoon leader and a platoon sergeant, although both of us claimed that we were the NCO and jokingly accused the other of fulfilling the role of a clueless lieutenant. We were, in reality, normally both very competent and reliable individuals. I cursed my luck. Diana’s phone was busy, and my call went directly to voice mail.



I skipped breakfast, hurriedly brushed my teeth, threw my rucksack in my car. While driving, although I knew that it wasn’t safe, I tried calling Steve’s cellphone, then Frank’s. Neither of them answered. I tried Diana’s phone again, and it was still busy.



Most policemen will tolerate someone driving up to five miles an hour over the speed limit, and I did so all the way over to Steve and Frank’s house. I still didn’t manage to get there until 7:30. The paranormal research club, unlike most organizations of the sort, usually left on time and being late often meant being left behind. Especially if you showed up an hour later than you were supposed to, and thirty minutes after the group was scheduled to leave, like I was today. Many of the sites we research involve either a limited time period of access to a privately owned site that is often someone’s home, or they involve meeting the property’s owners at a prearranged time and it’s rude and unprofessional for us to be late. Paranormal researchers get enough of a bad rap among the general public that we are very careful not to do anything to appear unprofessional or inconsiderate, especially towards someone that has kindly allowed us access to a reputedly haunted site. And today, with a trip of well over 13 hours ahead of us that would already have us awakening Erin’s parents at midnight with our arrival, the club would have certainly wanted to leave on schedule.

I wondered briefly why Diane or someone else hadn’t called me like they normally would have, but then I realized that if I had somehow slept through two alarms going off then I probably would have slept right through my phone ringing as well. How had this happened? I’m usually a very light sleeper.



I pulled into the gravel driveway, stirring up a cloud of gray dust and startling a large flock of boisterous black birds that had congregated around a crooked old pecan tree in the front lawn. There were only two other cars in the driveway aside from those that belonged to Steve and Frank. The battered white van was still parked in its customary place beneath a gnarled old oak tree, so I knew with some relief that I hadn’t missed the trip. I recognized one of the parked cars as Erin’s. The other car belonged to Diana.



Diana was tall, with short black hair and piercing sapphire-blue eyes. She was one of those people that looked a bit chubby at first glance, but she moved with a grace that spoke of natural strength and athleticism that stemmed from a lifetime of martial arts training and other competitive sports. Most of her extra mass was truly muscle, not fat. Her sturdy limbs had earned her a softball scholarship for her first two years of college before she had injured her shoulder in a motorcycle accident and had to stop playing. She was a staff sergeant in a local National Guard military police unit, and had served tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. As a fellow veteran of those wars, I was one of the few friends that she would discuss them with, but neither of us liked the topic and we usually tried to avoid it unless one or both of us was extremely drunk. Yes, we have both had to shoot and kill people. I’m not trying to be rude or unfriendly, but neither of us wish to discuss it with anyone.



Twice a week, when she could spare the time, Diana served as an assistant instructor at a local martial arts school that taught traditional aikido, a Japanese martial art that focuses on throwing and joint locks. Despite the fact that she talked less than most girls her age and she spoke with a maturity and an air of authority that marked her as a natural leader, she was friendly, well-liked, and had numerous tasteful but brilliantly executed tattoos that she had drawn herself. I had never gotten to see all of them, which I regarded as very unfortunate. Some of Diana’s tattoos were, if I were to believe her playful hints, in some very interesting locations on her body. Like me, Diana didn’t like crowds or enjoy socializing much, and I think that the paranormal club gave her a good social outlet that didn’t make her feel too uncomfortable or demand excessive interaction with people that she didn’t know well. Even when we weren’t ghost hunting, it wasn’t unusual for Diana or I to be spending time together. We were always over at each others’ house for one reason or another, and we meant the world to each other. But, despite the fact that some people thought we were dating or thought that we should start dating, our close friendship combined with the fact that both she and I had a tendency towards romantic relationships that ended disastrously had long ago caused us to agree to never risk our friendship by becoming romantically entangled together.



I parked my car, shouldered my rucksack, and walked rapidly across the gravel driveway towards the battered wooden door that served as the side entrance to Steve and Frank’s house. On the way, I glanced through the back windows of the van, and noticed that it hadn’t yet even been loaded with suitcases or gear. I knocked as I pressed through the white wooden door with its loose old doorknob, and I strode into the familiar old farmhouse kitchen which served as our unofficial meeting room and headquarters. On the ancient, cracked, and stained black-and-white tiled floor stood a large old-fashioned kitchen table, made of well-worn oak and suitable for dinner with a huge 19th century farming family. Erin and Diana were sitting at the table quietly sipping coffee. While I was relieved that there would still be time for my morning caffeine kick, I immediately picked up on the aura of disappointment that emanated from the two young ladies.



“Sorry I’m late. Would you believe that neither of my two alarm clocks went off? So, where is everyone?” I asked Erin and Diana as I dropped my rucksack in a corner beside Erin’s suitcase and Diana’s duffel bag.



Erin stared at her cold coffee in glum silence, and made small clinking sounds as she absently stirred it with a spoon. I hadn’t seen her look that sad since her dog had died the previous summer.



Diana smiled tightly as she looked up at me. “Thanks for coming, John, but we’re everyone. Steve and Frank tried the new Mexican place over by the park last night, and now they’re both sick with food poisoning. Mark woke up this morning with his basement flooded from a broken water pipe. I would have called you earlier, but he was pretty upset and I’ve been on the phone with him. Apparently a lot of his stuff has been ruined, including most of his books and art supplies, and most of his thesis project has been destroyed. I finally got off the phone with him and I was just about to call you to tell you not to bother coming when we looked out the window and saw your car approaching down the road. Sorry, but I don’t think we’ll be able to do it this year.”



Erin sighed, but didn’t respond. She was graduating in a few months, and moving away to take a job back in Vermont. This was likely to be the last chance she would have to coordinate an investigation at her parents’ church. She had really been looking forward to this, and she really hated to disappoint her parents. More than once she had talked about how much our willingness to research the old church and document what we found there would mean to her father.



“Hey, how about this: we can put off leaving until tomorrow so we can spend today seeing if we can scrape together anyone to fill the empty slots, then head up there a day late?” I offered. “For now, how about breakfast at that little hole-in-the-wall mom-and-pop place that Erin likes over by Main street? I don’t know about you two, but I skipped breakfast this morning.”



Diana smiled at me. “That’s a great thought, but I don’t know if we’ll have enough time for a good investigation if we loose a day. Mark has to stick around until his landlord can get a plumber out to his place, and even then he said that he has to re-do most of his thesis project on top of getting everything squared away with his renter’s insurance. And based on the noises that I’ve heard come out of the bathroom this morning, I don’t know if Steve and Frank are going to be up to a long car trip for a good long while. Most of the other regular members either have to work or are out of town for Spring Break. If Erin’s parents are going to pay for us to drive that gas-guzzling behemoth halfway across the country and then take care of us all while we’re there, we owe them a good, professional-quality investigation. So, barring a miracle, the trip isn’t happening.” She looked at Erin. “So, how does some nice artery-clogging breakfast food sound? Come on, it will cheer you up.”



Erin smiled at her friends and smiled thinly. “Sure! Let’s go.”



We took Diana’s car over to the restaurant, and sat in our customary booth in the back. Feeling gallant, I offered to pay for the two ladies.



“Hey, John!” cried a familiar voice from across the room.



I looked over to a table by the window, and saw my sister, Kim, sitting with my cousins Heather and Sarah. They had just been served breakfast, and looked like they were all just sitting down to eat. Across the table from them was my mother, Alice. She had met my friends in the club before, and she smiled and waved at us.



While etiquette would normally require that we join them, since they were here first and already had their food, the booth where we were sitting was more than spacious enough to accommodate 7 people if my mother sat at a chair on the end of the table, and the table that my family sat at would barely accommodate the four trays that already crowded it.



“Hey, y’all! Why don’t you come over and join us?” I offered. I felt a bit awkward facing my relatives after such a vivid, realistic dream about them the previous night, but I determined to simply get over it. It was just a dream, right?



“So why aren’t you guys halfway to Vermont by now? I thought that you were pretty excited to be doing this.” My mother asked the group as she approached us. Maybe it was my imagination, but were my mother and Kim avoiding eye contact with me? Heather looked happier and healthier than normal, and she smiled me with even more than her usual warmth. Sarah leered at me like a tiger eying a steak. Kim seemed to be walking in a way that was almost imperceptibly unusual. I put the thought of her loosing her virginity in last night’s dream out of my mind.



Erin smiled sadly and answered for the group of us. “It clearly just wasn’t meant to be. We’re three people short, and that means that we don’t have enough people to do a good job investigating my dad’s church.”



Kim looked at me, then back to Erin. Kim had occasionally tagged along on our ghost-hunting excursions, and she and Erin had developed a pretty close friendship on their own. “I was just over there talking to my Mom and cousins about this awesome trip that John was going to get to go on, and that I didn’t get to go because you already had everyone you needed! If I can go, count me in! Not to mention, Heather and Sarah thought it sounded awesome. I could totally throw my stuff in a bag and be ready to go in an hour!” Kim glanced at Heather and Sarah. “If you come, we’ll have just as many people as they were originally planning to have, and I can explain everything you need to know about what to do on the way there. Come on! You were both just talking about how you didn’t have any major plans for Spring Break, and this is going to be awesome!”



Sarah was short and slender, with a cute pixie-cut that was somewhere between blonde and light brown, tanned skin, and adorable little freckles on her nose and cheeks. Upon hearing Kim’s offer, she immediately squealed an excited “Hell yeah!” and then looked at her sister, Heather, expectantly.



After the dream last night, I saw Heather differently than I previously had. She really was a very pretty woman, and her pale complexion and light blond hair all made her even more beautiful in my eyes. I briefly reminisced about how she had looked and felt in my dream from the previous night as I looked admiringly at her face, remembering how it had felt to kiss her, to touch her, and to make love to her. I looked at her and felt my breathing quicken. I could almost feel myself inside of her again. For a long moment, Heather met my gaze. Then she blushed a deep crimson then shyly averted the sky-blue eyes that peeked out from behind her thick glasses. That was definitely abnormal behavior on her part, but I suppose that the way I had been looking at her might have been unusual as well.



While Heather didn’t usually volunteer for this sort of crazy adventure, she was the sort of person that never liked to disappoint anyone. If her sister and cousins needed her for this, then she was going to Vermont. Still, she glanced at my mother before making a decision.



My mother, Alice, smiled sweetly at Heather. “You run on with your sister and cousin. I love you all, but from what John and Kim have been saying this sounds like you’re going to have a lot of fun, and, frankly I think it will be nice to have the house to myself for a few days!”



“I love you too, Mom!” Kim said with such saccharine sweetness and playfully feigned rejection.



Heather smiled, and her sweet round face lit up as she displayed a pretty row of clean, white, evenly spaced teeth. “I’m in.” She looked at me, as though looking forward to spending time together, then she looked at Alice. “Are you sure you won’t be lonely until Mom gets back from that business trip to Seattle?”



My mother, Alice, looked at her with a sweet smile. “I’m sure. It will be nice to get caught up on my writing. As a matter of fact, if you guys come back with some good scary experiences, tell me about them and they might give me some ideas for my next book!” She winked at us, giving the impression that she was joking. But despite being a moderately successful author that would never lack for money due to the success of her first several books, she had been having a hard time producing the same quality of material since my father had died. He had been a healthy 50-year-old man with a body that most men would have envied when they were 20. He had been out running early in the morning before work when a drunk driver, who had only then been leaving the bar, swerved across the road and struck my father from behind despite the bright yellow reflective vest that Dad always wore when running before it was light. Shortly after the tragedy, we had moved here to be closer to my maternal Aunt Cindy and her daughters. When Aunt Cindy’s husband left her, they had moved into our large house with us while the courts got everything settled from the divorce, and then they just stayed on as permanent roommates. I half-jokingly complained that I was surrounded by an unhealthy level of estrogen, but it was still nice to have so much family around.



I briefly considered what it would mean for Kim, Heather, and Sarah to tag along on this investigation. Kim had been on a few of our excursions, but nothing quite like this before. This was definitely not an ideal investigation to take beginners on, both because Erin’s family was counting on a professional investigation and because the particulars of what Erin and her family had told us about the site sounded like this was a very active intelligent haunting that might be very frightening even for seasoned investigators, and it might possibly even be dangerous for beginners. Our discussions with Professor Morrison had us very interested in the site, but also a bit frightened of it. We couldn’t categorize the haunting except to say that there were most definitely several very active intelligent entities involved, but there were also several very unusual features of this haunting that made it almost impossible to categorize.



My family sounded excited about coming, and I hated to disappoint them. I told myself that everything would probably be fine if we put each less experienced person with a more experienced person, and it sounded like my family had already made the decision to come with us anyway. To forbid them from coming would probably disappoint everyone here, and hauntings that are physically dangerous to people are rare enough that I could probably get away with taking a chance on a site just this once. After all, Erin and her family were all just fine, right?



Sarah got up from the table and walked towards the restroom, still smiling. “Be right back. I’m so excited that we’re going to get to go!” She giggled excitedly and did a little dance as she walked to the door into the ladies’ room.



“So the three of you can come? Great!” Diana beamed towards Kim. “After we eat, why don’t you three go home, pack your bags, and then meet us at Steve and Frank’s house as soon as you can get ready! Kim, you know how to get there, right? Good! Be sure to pack sleeping bags, since we’ll be camping tonight on the way there. Also, pack warmer clothes than you usually would for this time of year, and a small flashlight or two if you’ve got one. Preferably something that runs off of double or triple A batteries, and if not then bring lots of extra batteries to make sure you don’t run out. If you need sleeping bags, flashlights, or anything else, tell us and we’ll bring extras.”



The directions we had printed off from the internet said that the trip to the parsonage where Erin’s parents’ lived, and the haunted church directly beside it, would be about thirteen and a half hours away from our hometown. That said, the internet doesn’t have to stop to eat, use the restroom, or refill the constantly draining gas tank. The big van was as comfortable as a large boat on the ocean, gently creaking and rocking as it sped down the interstate. We were getting a late start, so Diana had wisely decided to make the trip over the course of the next two days and get into Erin’s parents’ place at a reasonable hour tomorrow. That way there would be plenty of time for Erin and her family to give us a tour of the place, point out areas where things frequently happened and tell us what to expect, and we would have time to set up our equipment before it got dark. As we headed down the road, Diana at the wheel and Erin in the front passenger seat, Erin explained to Kim, Heather, and Sarah what the rest of us already knew about the old church where her father preached.



“The original structure that stood where my father’s church now sits was a Roman Catholic church that was built by the French some time about 1743. Like a lot of churches in the area at that time, it was also one of the sturdier log buildings in town, and it doubled as something like a little fort when the community was threatened. During the French and Indian War, a company of British Rangers attacked the settlement while on their way to raid a larger French trading post to the north. When the French settlers barricaded themselves in the church, the British left a squad of their best riflemen behind to watch the church and ensure that nobody escaped alive to warn the trading post that British troops were coming. For the next two days the British riflemen watched the place like hawks, and their snipers picked off anyone that showed themselves. A total of five men and two women are said to have been killed in or near the church by the British. The French couldn’t leave the church, so they chose to bury their dead beneath its earthen floor. On the third day, the main body of the British returned through the town laden with scalps and trade goods they had recovered from the trading post. The riflemen rejoined the main body, and they disappeared into the forest as a unit.”



“At the end of the French and Indian War, the land was ceded to Great Britain. The small church became Anglican, and it’s still Episcopalian to this day. In 1782 the original structure was badly damaged during a skirmish between American patriots and British loyalists. Remembering the fate of the Frenchmen that had died defending the church, the Americans buried the dead Tories beneath what had been the earthen floor of the humble old church, disturbing the bones of several long-dead French settlers in the process. And so the church lay desecrated and in disrepair for over thirty years. In 1813, immediately following the War of 1812, the church was rebuilt out of locally made bricks by a wealthy local gentleman. I suppose, more realistically, it was rebuilt by his slaves. When constructing what is currently the basement of the church, the bones of the Frenchmen and British loyalists were, of necessity, disinterred. Disdain for the British was running high at that time, and the locals refused to have the bones buried in the same churchyard where their friends and family lay. The first pastor of the rebuilt church was afraid that burying the bones outside of the graveyard would result in the graves being desecrated by angry locals, so remembering the charnel houses of old Europe, he consolidated the bones into neat piles in a small room in the back of the basement. He was an elderly veteran of the French and Indian War and the Revolution, and while he apparently approved of his old enemies’ bones being artfully arranged behind closed doors as a sufficiently respectful alternative to traditional burial, he adamantly refused to ever go into the basement himself, and he would not even go near the church at night. The pages of his diary that have survived are the first written documents that imply that the church is haunted.”

Kim smiled. “So, tell me if I’ve got this right: we’ve got lots of people dying suddenly and violently in the prime of their lives, the French wanted to warn their countrymen about the British attack so you have people that died with unfinished business, you’ve got desecrated graves… wow! Any one of these things can make a place haunted, right? Hey, when John was telling me about this place, he was saying that there was some priest who killed himself in the church protecting buried treasure?”



Erin smiled back at her, but the smile seemed forced, as though it were more of a mask to hide something else than a reflection of real happiness. “There are a lot of stories about that old place, and I’ve seldom researched any of them that didn’t turn out to be based on truth. You see, during the mid 1700s, an Anglican bishop brought a large chest full of valuables from St. Bride’s and other churches in London over to decorate the fledgeling churches here in the colonies. His writings seem to indicate that he thought that somehow prettier churches would have a civilizing effect on the unruly, rough-and-ready colonists. Most of what he brought ended up at King’s Chapel in Boston, which had been founded during the 1600′s. That church is still standing, by the way, but it’s Unitarian now. Anyway, when the Revolution began, all property of the crown was considered fair game for confiscation by the United States in order to support their own underfunded war effort, and property of the Anglican church was sometimes regarded as something of a gray area depending on how underfunded the local Patriots were at the moment. But some members of the Anglican clergy viewed the Revolution as treason and refused to support it. The valuables were discreetly smuggled out of Boston shortly after the Boston Massacre, when it became apparent that there would be trouble. Thinking that an inconspicuous hiding place in a more remote location would make the treasure as difficult to find as possible, as well as easier for a small force of British troops to recover without running into massed resistance, the treasure was smuggled into Vermont and is reputed to be hidden somewhere near my father’s church. When an American colonel showed up at the church demanding to know the location of the treasure in order to pay his bedraggled, half-starved battalion of American infantrymen, the crazed local priest told him that he would rather go to the Devil than see His Majesty’s gold fall into the hands of the Patriots. Then, right in the middle of the church in front of the horrified soldiers, he pulled a horse pistol from beneath his robes and shot himself through the head. The church wasn’t used as a religious structure again until after it was rebuilt in 1813. By the end of the war, everyone that had known where the treasure was hidden was dead, and to this day the treasure hasn’t been found. There are plenty of written records that my Daddy has photocopied and collected over the years to support everything I’ve just said.”



Heather looked at Sarah and raised an eyebrow as though silently asking what she had gotten herself into. Sarah ignored her sister and smiled excitedly at Erin. “Wow, this place must be crawling with ghosts!”



Erin looked at her with a sad smile touched with an almost invisible hint of brooding terror. “Oh, it is crawling with ghosts. Take my word for it. If more people knew what goes on around there, the congregation would be afraid to show up on Sunday and my poor parents would be besieged by every ghost-hunter wannabe within a thousand miles. You can’t do anything to get my father to go into that place after dark, and he’s not afraid of anything. Daddy was a Navy Corpsman that got a whole pile of medals for valor while serving with the Marines in Vietnam. That’s why a discreet group from out-of-state is perfect for handling this. My father just wants to have someone outside of his own family tell him he’s not crazy.”



Diana drove most of the way to Cleveland, then I took over just before the Interstate began paralleling the southern shore of Lake Erie. I handed the keys to Kim near Buffalo in New York, and then I fell asleep as she drove in the dark.



I slept fitfully, often awakening as the van moved down the long road. These dreams lacked the vivid, lifelike quality of the dream the night before, and were more in keeping with what one would normally expect from a dream in every way aside from their content and memorability. I dreamed that I saw a robed king sipping wine from a heavy flagon, and he was surrounded by dancing satyrs that played shrill pan-pipes and beat wildly on drums around him. Wildly gyrating to the music, I saw legions of women dancing nude in the torchlight. Driven by a strange, ecstatic, trance-like madness, they gyrated with a manic enthusiasm that had a vaguely disturbing quality to it which I would be hard pressed to quantify or put to words. The wild drumbeats and the frantic piping were all identical to the music from my dream the night before. This was the tune to which I had mated with my own flesh and blood. Had the dream continued, without a doubt other women would have followed suit. I scanned the female faces before me, each one wild with animal passion.



The king looked at me and smiled pleasantly. He looked sincerely happy, but something about his gaze sent a chill down my spine. Among the dancers, I recognized my dear friend Diana, her body looking like a tattooed angel, and I took a moment to admire her nude body. Yes, she did have some very nice tattoos in some very interesting places. I was shocked to see Erin’s saintly, virginal body exposed to the world as she gyrated merrily among the other women. To my left, I saw my mother, my sister, my cousins, and my aunt dancing, swaying nude in the firelight.



The king, a well-muscled, bearded man with long white hair and flowing reddish-purple robes of shimmering, iridescent silk, approached me. “Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. You seemed… shall I say, occupied? I am Acratophorus, the giver of unmixed wine. Please forgive me for skipping the usual pleasantries and getting right to the point. In just a few minutes, the van you’re in is going to hit a pothole in the road and you’ll wake up, so we don’t have much time.” He spoke English with an accent that almost would have passed for a well-educated 21st century American, but layered beneath that accent I thought I detected almost imperceptible hints of British pronunciations and some strange vestiges of another accent that I could not place. He had used the word “van” with the same sort of emphasis that the elderly sometimes use when showcasing their knowledge of contemporary slang terms to younger people. It was as though he felt more pride in his ability to correctly identify the type of modern vehicle I was riding in than he did in his casual prediction that I would soon awaken because it would hit a pothole.



“I need some minor assistance with a small problem that I have, and in return I promise that I will bless you as I have not blessed anyone in centuries. You see, a few years ago, as a very good friend of mine, John Wilmot, the Second Earl of Rochester lay on his deathbed, a priest named Gilbert Burnet took something from him that belonged to me. When Bishop Burnet realized that he lacked the means to physically destroy it, he had it hidden in hopes that it would never be found again. Later, when I was hopeful that another worthy heir would find it, the priests moved the hiding place to yet another remote location. For four hundred years my hopes have been frustrated. And what have I ever wished for anyone other than happiness and freedom?” He gestured expansively and smiled at me. “You have one more test before I give my treasure to you along with all the honor and responsibilities that come with being my high priest. I’m an excellent judge of people, and I dare say that I know more about you than you know about yourself. After last night, I have no doubt that you’ll enjoy the nature of this test and you’ll meet my expectations with no difficulty at all, but you can’t blame me for being too careful. I’ve been betrayed before, and I want to see how you will act when we raise the stakes a bit. Oh, yes, last night was only a very special and very realistic dream. Your little adventures last night didn’t actually make anyone pregnant, although your sister found the experience realistic enough that she checked her hymen to make certain that it was still intact this morning, and she still felt a few aches as she went through today although that was entirely in her own mind. And if you want to start a family with your cousin Heather, then you will have to take care of that later. I just let you and a few other people share a very special dream in a separate reality that I personally created just for the occasion. For now, I need you to recover what was stolen from me. Oh, you’ll know it when you see it, don’t worry about that. I would describe it, but I am very certain that I would hate to ruin the surprise. I have great need for someone that I can trust to have this and put it to its proper use, and after last night I feel confident that you will serve my needs perfectly. I’m certain that this is an arrangement that will benefit us both.” He winked at me with conspiratorial mirth, then glanced up at the sky with the air of a man checking his watch. “It was a pleasure speaking to you, but I must let you go. Your vehicle is moving with frightful rapidity, and you are only a few stadia away from the pothole that will awaken you. I shall see you again very soon. I promise.” He smiled at me with the kindly pride of an elderly man regarding a grandchild’s modest accomplishments in school. “For now, brace yourself. The moment I leave, these ladies will be upon you like the wild Maenads that you have read about in your book on Greek mythology. If you’ve forgotten what you read there, then please consider this a brief refresher course, minus some of the less pleasant details that I hope you will never need to worry about.”



I briefly wondered how far a “stadia” was, and while I remembered the word “Maenads” from Greek Mythology, I couldn’t quite place it. I was about to ask him for some clarification when he turned his back and begin striding away from me and my thoughts left the subject immediately. The women that had been patiently standing nearby fell upon me like a pack of wolves. Their pretty faces were wild, twisted with insane lust. Their claw-like fingers, some carefully manicured with delicately painted nails, were clawing and tearing at my clothes. Their faces were set with savage intent, and I began looking forward to being raped by these women.



We had plans to camp for the night at the Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge in the Finger Lakes region of New York State. Apparently Erin’s parents enjoyed birdwatching and had found a nice, out-of-the-way place to camp where we could park the van and get some sleep for the night without anyone bothering us. A large bump awakened me as the van ran over some hidden unevenness in the road. I didn’t know how long I had been asleep, but it was pitch dark outside. Outside I saw dark trees framing a purple, starlit sky. Erin directed Kim to turn down a rough road that dead-ended in a grassy clearing surrounded by thick reeds and water. The moonlight was bright enough that we could see without our flashlights.



We made a small campfire. Erin had brought graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows, and I had packed an earthenware jug of “Apple Pie”, a beverage so named because despite its wicked alcohol content it was sweet enough that it tasted like molten homemade apple pie, especially when served warm. You can hardly tell the alcohol is there, which makes this a bit of a dangerous drink for the uninitiated.



(I make my Apple Pie drink a little differently every time, but I’ll share the recipe with you if you keep it just between us. I use a half-gallon of apple cider, about a quart of apple juice, between three and five cinnamon sticks, just enough pumpkin pie spice that you can hardly taste it, and a splash of good vanilla extract that a friend of mine brought back from Mexico. Sweeten it to suit yourself, but I use roughly two cups of white sugar. My uncle, a crazy old bachelor that lives in a wooden shack by himself in the mountains of western North Carolina, prefers to use brown sugar, but I don’t. Let it simmer in a slow cooker for a day or two on low, then fish out the cinnamon sticks or the cinnamon will get to overpowering the rest of the drink. Now, let it cool down so that the alcohol doesn’t evaporate out after you add it, and if you want you can let it age for another one or two days in the refrigerator. Then decide how potent of a drink you want. I add about a quarter of a bottle of decent rum, about a quarter cup of cheap brandy, and then top it off with about a half-cup of any respectable vodka. My uncle prefers to just dump in half of a bottle of pure, 190-proof grain alcohol or spike it with a canning jar full of his homemade moonshine. Now, I love my uncle and I hate to sound cocky, but my uncle is crazy and you should make this drink my way because my way tastes better. Serve the drink warm, especially during the Fall and Winter. I use a slow-cooker on low, with the lid kept on so that the alcohol will re-condense instead of evaporating out, and we ladle it into coffee-cups. During the wintertime, I also make a homemade mulled wine that I ferment myself, but my family brought the recipe and the original yeast cultures over from Europe many years ago, and I’m not sharing the recipe with anyone.)



I built a small fire from oak twigs, then I loosened the cork in the jug of Apple Pie so that it wouldn’t shoot out when the beverage began to heat up, and I set it down close to the fire. As I did this, Diana used her pocket knife to whittle some sticks into forks for the rest of the crew to use in roasting hot dogs and making s’mores. I knew Diana well enough to know that she would want to re-sharpen her knife after using it, and I also knew her well enough to know that she never packed a whetstone or a ceramic stick. Retrieving them from my rucksack, I wordlessly slipped them into the back pocket of her tight blue jeans.



“Thanks!” Diana said as she smiled at me brilliantly. She didn’t need to be told what I had just put in her back pocket. I had clearly read her mind.



Wedged in between the luggage and plastic storage bins full of the rest of our gear in the back of the van, we had a few folding chairs which the other ladies helped to set up in a ring around the campfire. Soon we were munching our dinner and sipping the hot, sweet apple-flavored beverage from the battered and fire-stained tin cups we used for camping. The faces around the campfire reflected the flickering light, and the memory of the torchlit scenes from my dreams came unbidden to my mind.



Kim walked over to the van, and pulled out a blue plastic storage bin. Diana and I both instantly began to rise to help her. “No, I’ve got it!” she grunted as she lugged the plastic chest over to where Sarah and Heather were sitting. Both of the cousins glanced expectantly at the plastic chest.



Plopping herself down on the ground near the fire, Kim pried the lid off the storage bin and began pulling out items.



“Hey, Kim,” Sarah asked. “Did you get a tattoo?”



My heart seemed to stop and a chill ran down my spine as I remembered the tattoo on my sister’s left hip from my previous night’s dream. I looked over, and as my sister had bent over to open the container her t-shirt had ridden up just enough to reveal the top of a tattoo on her left hip. Her pants covered most of it, but the part I saw looked dreadfully familiar.



Kim smiled at Sarah. “Yep!” And then she erased any further doubt in my mind by pulling the waistband of her jeans aside and showing Sarah her new tattoo, a small heart with the words “Love is Forever” written around it in flowing script. My heart pounded inside of my chest. I didn’t know what was going on, but there is no way that I could have known about that tattoo last night when I had seen it in my dream, looking exactly as it now did in real life.



“It just finished healing up,” Kim said. “I’ve been waiting until it was healed up to tell people about it, since people always want to see a new tattoo and before it healed it just looked kind of gross.” She reached into the container and pulled out a battered fanny pack made of nearly indestructible fake leather. A stencil on the top of the bag identified it as kit number 3 of the five spare kits of basic ghost-hunting gear that we keep on hand to loan out to people that don’t have their own gear.



Kim began: “First things first: when you’re ghost-hunting, you’ll always be with a partner at all times. That way someone else can verify everything you see, and it’s also important for safety reasons. Now, most people that do ghost-hunting a lot have their own kit, but you’ll be using one of the club’s extras. We keep everything together in a fanny pack for easy access.” Kim unzipped the main pocket of the fanny pack. “In this pocket, there’s a small notepad and two mechanical pencils for taking notes. Record anything unusual you encounter in the notepad as specifically as possible. For example, if you get a sudden temperature change, record the time, the starting temperature, the ending temperature, and the amount of time that elapsed. Whenever you see or hear anything unusual, write down specific times so that we can look for possible causes that aren’t supernatural. Too much data is far better than not enough. Some people also use the notepads for automatic writing, but our club doesn’t have anyone in it that really does that, and since both of you are just starting out with this I would really discourage trying it for now. For one thing, I don’t like the idea of letting just any old spirit out there use my body for any reason, and for another thing it’s too easy to get results that you either deliberately or unconsciously influenced.”



She held up a narrow, foil-wrapped cylinder. “This is a chemlight. If the batteries in both your primary and alternate flashlights go dead, this will give you enough light to safely find your way out. You might find that batteries sometimes die a lot faster when you’re ghost hunting than they usually do under normal circumstances. In this pocket, we’ve got spare double and triple A batteries. Almost all of our portable equipment runs off of one of those two types, and at least one of the two flashlights that everyone carries should take one of those two types of battery. That way we can all share batteries.” She held up a small digital camera. “This is a cheap little digital camera. I’m sure you know how to use it. Whenever something unusual is going on, feel free to start snapping a few photos even if you don’t see anything. Sometimes you might luck out and get a picture of something that was in the room with you that you couldn’t see. I know that some of the regular members of the team like to carry their fancy infrared cameras, and those usually do work a lot better for catching pictures of paranormal activity, but they’re also a lot more expensive. There’s a spare memory card in the same pocket as the camera. Don’t be afraid to take lots of pictures, and don’t hesitate to use the video feature if you think you might catch something interesting. This is a digital voice recorder,” she said while holding up the same sort of recorder that some students at school use to record the lectures. “Some people use it as an alternative to the notepad when it’s too dark to write things down, but the main thing we have them in the kit for is for use while looking for EVPs, or, oh, what does that stand for?”



Heather looked at Kim and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know how I feel about all of this ‘something in the room with me that I didn’t see’ stuff.”

I answered Kim. “EVP stands for Electronic Voice Phenomenon. You ask questions or talk into an empty room, and sometimes something will answer you. You won’t hear anything while you’re asking the questions, but when you play back the voice recording you’ll hear it. Most of the time it’s so garbled that it’s hard to tell what it’s saying, but on rare occasions you can hear it loud and clear. It’s pretty cool when they answer the question, but don’t be surprised when say something entirely irrelevant or incoherent. Don’t ever try to contact any spirit that you suspect might be evil or demonic using EVP or anything else. If you’re getting EVP recordings and start getting a feeling you really don’t like, it’s usually a good idea to stay calm and in control, stop what you’re doing, tell your partner, and leave. There’s no point in taking any chance of getting a negative spirit attached to you if you can help it. Oh, and don’t ever try to get EVP recordings anywhere but where you’re investigating. We don’t pretend to understand much about how exactly this works, and most of the people that do think they understand it are too cocky for their own good. But if you look for EVPs in a place that isn’t already reputed to be haunted, there’s a good chance that spirits that want to communicate with you will move in looking for you, and they’ll likely be hard to get rid of. And you don’t want that. Some people might disagree with me, but I say to never look for EVPs in your own home under any circumstances.”



Kim smiled at me. “Thanks, Egon.”



Diane chuckled. “I think the clearest EVP we’ve ever gotten was a man’s voice saying ‘it’s dark in here’. We were in a private residence, asking if he was the spirit of a man that had killed himself in that room, but apparently he thought that it was more important to make sure that we had noticed that the lights in the room weren’t on. If I were personally ever going to go through the trouble of returning from the grave and I finally got a chance to communicate with the living from the other side, I would hope that I would have something better to say than that!”



Several members of the party chuckled. Heather wasn’t among them. I smiled at the reference to the EVP, and sipped my warm apple-flavored drink. There was a lot of alcohol in it, and I felt a warm flush in my face. The fire popped loudly. Neither Diana nor I like sudden, loud noises, and we both flinched. But Heather was already trembling slightly, and at the sudden sound she spilled a bit of her drink on her lap. Sarah giggled at her sister, and Heather responded to her with a withering glare.



Kim continued digging through the bag. “Use the walkie-talkie to communicate with the rest of us. We keep them all on channel 3, unless we are getting too much interference. We probably won’t have cell phone reception where we’ll be going. Turn the walkie-talkies off when anyone around you is looking for EVPs, for obvious reasons. Most people carry their own EMF detector, but you don’t really need one. The plastic hiking compass in your bag is also affected by electromagnetic abnormalities, but it doesn’t have batteries that can die and, far more importantly for our purposes, it’s cheaper. Compasses are one of the oldest pieces of ghost hunting equipment that people still regularly use. If the needle quits pointing north or starts to spin, it generally indicates that something freaky is going on. Or it can mean that you’re near metal or something that generates electricity, so don’t just chalk up your compass acting up to anything abnormal. Record what your compass did and the time it happened in your notebook. By itself, most people don’t consider EMF readings or a compass acting up to be clear evidence of the paranormal, but it can give you a strong indication of where to look for it. Now, this is a digital thermometer that can quantify and assist in documenting sudden temperature changes. Again, a sudden temperature change isn’t evidence by itself, but it can help you find evidence by letting you know that something unusual might be going on. Some people say that it gets colder when spirits suck heat out of the air or they can take power from electrical equipment so that they can get the energy to manifest themselves. The little spool of masking tape is for marking locations without damaging surfaces, and the plastic bag with toilet paper and adhesive bandages is there for your comfort. The whistle is in case your radio quits working and you need help immediately, so only blow it in an emergency.”



Sarah spoke up. “Are we going to use Ouija boards and stuff like that? I tried one of those at a party once, and it just spelled something that looked like someone had a cat walk across the keyboard of their computer.”



Erin answered her from her seat across the fire. “Some people like those, but nobody in our club is much of a fan. I’ve heard of too many people that have played around with those boards and have had trouble with negative, harmful spirits afterwords. The Ouija boards don’t guarantee contact with anything evil or demonic, and choosing not to use one doesn’t guarantee that you won’t encounter evil or demonic entities. It’s a tool like any other, and it’s neither inherently good nor evil. But I’ve known about enough people that have been hurt using it that I’m personally not interested in giving it a try.”



Sarah looked at her. “But you are going to go after EVP recordings? What’s the difference?”



“There really isn’t much of one from the standpoint of, either way, you’re trying to contact spirits and you never know with any certainty who or what, if anything, is going to answer you. But Ouija boards can be manipulated by people moving the planchette to what they either deliberately want it to point to, or to what they subconsciously expect it to point to, so the results aren’t as objective or empirical as we would like them to be. We try as much as possible to keep the techniques that we use limited to ones that we can’t either deliberately or unconsciously manipulate. That’s part of why our own club doesn’t rely much on psychics or mediums that claim to talk to the dead, although some other clubs find them very useful. You can’t usually prove whether the experience is genuine, or whether they believe themselves to be channeling a spirit when in fact it’s wishful thinking on their part. We’ll listen to psychics or mediums that feel like sharing things with us and we’re always respectful of them, but we take what they say with a grain of salt.”



Reaching back into the storage bin, Kim dug out one of our stationary cameras. “Obviously we can’t be everywhere at once. This is an infrared video camera that we leave running all night. We’re going to have several of these set up in potentially active areas where we won’t have people. We used to use motion activated ones, but apparently they aren’t always sensitive enough to get triggered by ghosts. A camera can’t pick up everything, but it’s a lot better than just leaving spots that we can’t monitor entirely blind. Also, they are good for detecting animals, people that aren’t related to the investigation, or anything else in the area that might help us to account for things that would otherwise be hard to explain. On every investigation, our goal is to go in with the assumption that there is a logical explanation for anything that happens, and we only assign a supernatural cause for things that we cannot find any other possible explanation for. As far as the specifics of what you’ll be doing tomorrow night, I’m sure that either John or Diane will give you all of the specifics after we break up in teams to begin the investigation. Any questions so far?”



Sarah and Heather regarded her soberly. “I don’t think so,” said Heather. Then she got up and poured herself another cup of warm, alcohol-laden apple drink. Her face looked white, and her hands were trembling.



“Heather, are you sure you want to do this?” Erin asked.



“Yeah, it’s not too late for you to sit out the investigation if you’re not comfortable doing it,” Diana offered. Prior to the last minute personnel shortage that we experienced, Diana and I had agreed that this would be an excursion that only experienced members of the club would be coming on. Partly, that was because we wanted to do the most professional job for Erin’s parents that we could. Partly, our decision was because this was not going to be an easy haunting. If half of what Erin and her family said about the old church was true, this was going to be one hell of a wild ride.



There are two major types of hauntings, depending on how you classify such things. Residual hauntings are by far the most common. You could compare them to watching an old recording of something that has happened in the past. They’re usually more-or-less predictable, and you may encounter sights, sounds, smells, feelings, or other phenomena that don’t have any rational explanation. Even so, residual hauntings are typically absolutely harmless. Whatever is happening there, it doesn’t involve any sort of spirit that knows you’re there or is interested in interacting with you for good or ill. They’re usually good hauntings to use for training beginners.



Intelligent hauntings are different from residual ones. With intelligent hauntings, the spirit knows you’re there and may be interested in interacting or sometimes even communicating with you. These are the hauntings that most people think of when they’re thinking about ghosts. They can interact with objects, open and close doors, and they can also interact with people. Sometimes these hauntings are playful and harmless, and at other times they can be horrifying or even downright physically dangerous. There are some types of intelligent hauntings, such as demonic activity, that beginners should definitely not ever be involved with investigating. We didn’t know for certain what we were getting into here. There were definitely going to be multiple spirits involved, and categorizing a haunting like this one is well-neigh impossible. The persistent fear that the haunting had seemed to inspire for over two centuries now was not a good sign at all. My sister was probably experienced enough to hold her own, especially if there was someone more experienced than herself paired with her. I began to feel guilty for allowing my cousins to come with us and not speaking up in the restaurant this morning. Heather might get herself into trouble by panicking. Sarah could get herself into trouble by failing to take things seriously enough.



Sarah started to say something that probably would have been sarcastic, but Heather cut her off. “I’m fine. Really, I am. It’s just that this stuff sounds a lot more… I don’t know. It’s creepier talking about this here in the woods in the dark than it was back at the restaurant this morning. And I thought we were just all walking around together looking for ghosts, but this is like your focus isn’t on whether or not this stuff is real, but you’re actually bringing along stuff to measure it, and acting like you know what you’re looking for. That EVP thing really creeps me out, and I don’t like the idea of being able to take pictures of stuff that I can’t see but it’s in the room with me.”



“It’s OK, Heather.” I offered. I walked over and hugged my cousin. She hugged me back fiercely, her warm face brushed my own and her soft, slightly chubby body was pressing against me through her soft pink sweater. She trembled in my arms, and I felt her breath against my neck. I had been feeling guilty about letting her come along. Now, as my erection began to grow in my pants, I began to feel guilty about that as well. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I said as soothingly as I could.



“I’ll be fine. Promise me you won’t let me chicken out” Heather said to me with a nervous, mirthless chuckle.



I didn’t reply. I’m not making any promises that I can’t keep, and if Heather is scared then I’m not going to try to get her to come along. I love my cousin, I won’t hold her accountable for halfhearted bravery when she’s getting a bit drunk and discussing something that she only halfway understands. I also don’t want to take someone along on an investigation that might freak out, no matter how much they mean to me. I’ve seen people that are new to ghost-hunting that go absolutely bananas the first time they see something they weren’t expecting, and it’s never fun to try to deal with them. One hysterical person can easily accidentally hurt themselves or someone else, or they can ruin an entire investigation. It almost inevitably happens right when you are finding precisely what you came to look for. That’s one of the many reasons that I like ghost-hunting with the seasoned crew that I’m used to.



Diana got up and refilled a large tin camping mug, the outside of which had been stained black by the flames of many campfires before this one. I wondered how many cups she had consumed already. She sure did look beautiful in the firelight. As a matter of fact, I think all of my companions did. I could tell that, as usually was the case on matters like this, Diana and I were thinking similarly about Heather. “We’ll see how you feel tomorrow. I’m sure Erin still has friends in Vermont that she can call if we need someone to replace you.” She glanced at me. “Hey, John, are you ready to help me set up the tent?”



As I walked off to assist Diana with the tent, I heard Erin assure Heather that not only would her elder sister be visiting from out-of-town, but she still had two or three good friends in the area that she could trust to help out without them talking too much about what they found to the rest of the locals.



The van is large enough to comfortably sleep three people on the floor and bench seats, but for a party of this size we usually set up a small tent that can comfortably sleep several more. As usual when we camped, I planned to sleep by myself in a jungle hammock I kept in my rucksack. It’s quick and easy to set up if you know how to use it, it has a waterproof roof, mosquito netting on the side, and it keeps you from having to share a tent with other people, since I’m rather easily awakened. Diana and I took the clear storage container that contained the tent out of the van and moved towards a flat piece of ground a bit off of the road and safely away from the fire.



“That was pretty sweet how you were with your cousin. You’re a pretty good guy, John.” Diana said.



“Thanks.” I responded as I began laying out the tent stakes and organizing shock-corded fiberglass poles. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”



“John, we’ve been friends for a pretty long time.” Diana’s speech was a bit slurred. I loved her dearly, but I really did wish that she would get help with her drinking problem. Considering some of the things she’d been through in her life, I don’t suppose that I can blame her.



“Yep. You’re probably the closest buddy I’ve got.” I was telling the truth.



“John, I love you. You know that, right?”



Friends always say thing like that, especially when they’re drunk. I clapped her cordially on her shoulder in a you’re-one-of-the-guys sort of way. “I love you too, buddy.” I was feeling a bit uncomfortable, but, again, I was telling the truth. I loved her, definitely as a friend. Perhaps as something more than that if I were being completely honest. She was undoubtedly an extremely attractive woman. And I would be lying if I said that I didn’t fantasize about making love to her on a fairly regular basis.



Diana is my closest friend, and we had made the commitment several years ago not to mess up our friendship with romance. Neither one of us had a good track record for romantic relationships that didn’t end in complete disaster. She had been married before her first deployment with the military, and her husband had left her for another woman before she had returned. She had been faithful to him while she was enduring some of the most hellish conditions imaginable, and comfort could have been available to her in the form of any one of hundreds of healthy young men that hadn’t had sex in a year and a half. Despite her healthy sex drive, she had remained chaste and loyal to her husband, and only discovered his perfidy after her return to the States. He had taken just about all of the money she had earned while overseas and spent it on himself and his new girlfriend. It was an understatement to say that he had clearly never deserved her.



Four months ago, Diana’s most recent boyfriend had been lying in bed beside her one night when she was having nightmares, which isn’t uncommon for either Diana or myself. Anyhow, the fool tried to wake her up by grabbing her face and shaking her. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she was in the midst of a dream in which she had been fighting for her life, and she awoke not knowing at first where she was, who he was, or that he wasn’t an enemy trying to kill, capture, or rape her. There was still a hole in the drywall about five feet from the bed where the top of his head had struck it. Luckily he didn’t press charges, but he had angrily grabbed his stuff and left after screaming “You need help!” at her. I didn’t want to agree with him, but I have been trying to get her to come to counseling at the VA for several years. If nothing else, she needed to get her drinking under control. Oh, I’m talking about her demons but trust me, I’ve got plenty of issues of my own.



Diana finished arranging the fabric portion of the tent, so that now all we had to do was stake it down and slide the flexible fiberglass poles through some loops in the tent and it would be ready, unless we felt the need to bother with rain fly which I didn’t think we needed tonight.



I walked over to the tent with a handful of stakes, and Diana met me beside the tent and wrapped me into a warm hug. We were friends, and as such we hugged each other regularly, but this time the energy felt entirely different. She pressed more of her body against mine than usual, and buried her face in my neck. I couldn’t tell for certain whether or not I felt light kisses against the side of my neck, but my cock immediately began to strain against the front of my pants. My heart was in my throat. She was pressed so close to me that I knew she could feel my hardness through her blue jeans. I found myself wishing that someone would come over from the fire to help us with the tent, saving me from an awkward situation. And, paradoxically, I found myself wishing that Diana and I would be able to spend the entire night alone together fulfilling dreams that we had both nurtured for far too long.



I told myself that I would definitely have to go into the woods and masturbate later; my penis was painfully erect, and I was so horny that it was physically painful. Diana moved her face from my neck, and began slowly moving her lips towards mine. I wanted to kiss her desperately, but she was drunk and I couldn’t allow anything to happen that would jeopardize our friendship. With a herculean exercise of raw willpower, I released my hold on the beautiful woman that I wanted just as badly as she wanted me. If Diana and I were going to go here in our relationship, it would be well-thought-out, discussed rationally, and we would most definitely make the decision together while we were sober. No drunken make out session or quick fuck was worth messing up my closest friendship.



I released Diana, but her arms remained wrapped around me as though she were drowning and clinging to me for dear life. I didn’t want to, but I had to end the embrace before I kissed her or worse. I’m not the sort of man to take advantage of any drunken woman. And I would rather die myself than hurt Diana. Gently, I applied pressure to her shoulders to guide her away from me.



Without warning, my world spun around me. Wind rushed in my ears, and in far less than a second I found myself flat on my back on the tent fabric. As a martial artist myself, I had instinctively reacted to Diana’s artful throw, and I had executed a breakfall. Diana had thrown me and now had me pinned to the fabric of the tent, her sweet body pressing hard against mine. My martial arts experience is predominantly in taekwondo, which is great if you want to kill or injure someone. While, like most modern martial artists, I get a more well-rounded education than some people give us credit for (hence knowing how to take the throw without getting hurt), taekwondo is almost useless against an aikido expert unless you’re willing to hurt or kill them. And I would never do anything to harm Diana. I felt her full weight pressing down upon me, her face less than an inch from mine, her warm breath caressing my face. She was heavier than she looked. I was acutely aware of the crotch of her tight blue jeans pressing against my rock-hard dick through my pants.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” she breathed. “But first, I am going to kiss you. And if I have ever meant anything to you, even as a friend, then please, I need you to kiss me back. Just once. It won’t kill us. Then we can go back to the way things have always been.” I felt her warm, soft, slightly moist lips brush mine.



“Diana, I’m sure that would be awesome, but you’re drunk and I’m not-” I started to reply before her soft lips touched mine again, this time planting an airy, chaste kiss that sent electricity through my whole body and caused my heart to skip a beat. Then, my capacity for rational thought was obliterated as her lips crushed against mine. I felt her crotch grind hard against my own, and a sudden, overpowering flood of testosterone in my bloodstream washed away my ability to think like a flash flood carrying away a pile of twigs. Madly, I reached behind her, my hand feeling her soft dark hair as I pulled her sweet, precious face to mine.



Diana’s hot, wet tongue and mine mingled together, and I savored everything about how the kiss tasted and felt. Every drop of her saliva that she shared with me was a gift more precious than diamonds. With my left hand, I pulled her face closer to mine, wanting this kiss to be as deep as possible, to last as long as it possibly could. Our teeth clicked together painlessly. My other hand went lower, and cupped the delicious curve of an ample butt cheek. If this was the only kiss I was ever going to get from her, and it was too late to avoid it, then I may as well make sure that it would be worth remembering and count on the strength of our friendship to avoid letting things get awkward tomorrow. She now ground herself rhythmically against me, her soft, sensual, feminine curves driving me wild with desire. Any pretense that this was not sexual was long gone. If she kept this up I was pretty sure that we were both going to cum, even if the clothing between us remained in place. And our clothing remaining on for much longer seemed highly unlikely.



I flipped her onto her back and pinned her to the tent fabric without breaking the kiss, and she voiced her approval with an appreciative hum. I felt her soft hands press under my shirt and roam my back. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Our tongues ravaged each others’ mouth as my hand lifted the hem of her t-shirt, caressing the smooth milky softness of her belly. Beneath her shirt, my hand went higher. My heart pounded in my chest as I felt the satin softness of a bra-clad breast. Her hand caressed my turgid bulge through the cloth of my cargo pants. My heart was in my throat as my hand slipped under the wire that supported the bottom of her bra, and I ran my calloused fingers across her exquisitely soft breast and rubbery nipple. She gasped sweetly, and I kissed her gently on the neck. It is anyone’s guess where this would have led had we not been interrupted.



“Hey, horndogs!” I heard my cousin Sarah’s voice. “If that’s how you’re trying to get the tent set up, then I think you read the directions wrong.” I have always loved my cousin, and while I would never literally throw her into a wood-chipper, there are times when joking about it isn’t out of the question. Although I was as sexually frustrated as I had ever been in my life, I knew that Sarah was probably saving Diana and I both from making a very significant mistake. I would never want to be something that Diana regretted the next morning. Diana and I looked over and saw Sarah and Heather standing there together.



“Uh… do you need some help putting the tent together?” Heather asked in an unusually husky-sounding voice. Was she turned on by watching us?



Diana smiled at me ruefully as we struggled to our feet, dusted ourselves off, and rearranged our clothing.



“We would love some help putting the tent together,” I offered with a voice that came out in something like a croak. I was pretty worked up.



With four people working at it, the tent was set up rapidly. For good measure, since we had extra help, we even attached the rain fly.



“Where do you guys have the sleeping bags?” asked Sarah. She had been in the bathroom when we were talking about that. Hadn’t anyone gotten the word to her?



“We were supposed to bring our own. I just brought some sheets, a pillow, and some blankets,” Heather responded.



“Well, that’s crap!” Sarah said with annoyance. “I thought that there were some extra sleeping bags that belonged to the club! I just brought my own pillow for sleeping in the van.”



“There are extra sleeping bags,” I offered, “but we needed to know that you needed to borrow one before we left, so that we would know to pack one for you.” I still felt lightheaded from the encounter with Diana, and I didn’t think my voice sounded quite right yet. My erection still hadn’t entirely subsided.



It wasn’t too cold outside, but a sleeping bag would probably help Sarah to sleep more comfortably. Yes, I’m closer to my sister and Heather, but I still love Sarah dearly and she’ll always be my cousin. The weather wasn’t particularly bad for upstate New York. I had an insulated vest and a jacket, and I supposed that if worst comes to worst I could use the hammock as a blanket. “Here, just use my sleeping bag for tonight. I’m sure that when we get to Erin’s parents’ place they’ll have all the sheets and blankets we need.”



“You’re awesome, cousin!” Sarah beamed at me cheerfully.



“What about John? What’s he going to do tonight?” Heather asked her sister reproachfully.



“I’m tough, don’t worry about me. And it’s not too cold out, considering,” I said. I glanced around. Where had Diana gone? I headed for the van to get my sleeping bag for Sarah, and I caught up with Diana. She was busy hauling her own gear out of the back of the van.



“Hey, Diana”



Diana smiled at me. Reaching out, she sweetly patted me on the side of the face. “Sorry about that. I know it’s confusing. Thanks for everything: both telling me no because I’m drunk and for letting me kiss you. I needed both.”



“Well, my main concern is that you’re my best friend, and I can’t risk anything screwing that up. And, if we do get physical, I want us to both be sober when we do it.”



“You’re my best friend, too.” she whispered. “And I don’t want anything to screw up our friendship, either. If we’re just friends from here on out, then that’s just fine and I’m glad that we both got to share the kiss. I don’t regret it and I don’t think I would have ever regretted what we were about to do if we hadn’t been interrupted, either.” She winked at me. “But you’re right. At least for now, until I get myself sorted out, can we go back to the way things were?”



“So you want to be just friends for now, and maybe talk it over later?”



“Sounds great.” she sounded relieved. “You’re not mad at me for how I acted? First I damned near raped you, and now I’m leaving you with a killer boner and no relief! You know that I didn’t plan any of that.”



“If you couldn’t tell, I didn’t exactly mind.” I said, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted. Apparently any threat to our friendship had passed.



“You’ll always be my buddy, John.”



“And I’ll always be yours.”



“So do you think your boner is going to kill you?”



I laughed. “I’ll live. And you’ve given me some memories to help me take care of it myself in the woods later.”



She laughed, but I suspected that she was thinking similarly. She hugged me, this time just a friendly hug. “Good night, John. We’ll talk about this some time later, when we’re both sober and well-rested.”



“Good night, Diana.”



That night I shared the tent with Sarah and Kim, both of whom looked snug and warm beneath their ample bedding. It usually gets a little chilly at night in upstate New York in the spring, but there was something unnatural in the air that night. As soon as we were all lying down to go to sleep, the temperature seemed to perceptibly plummet at a rate that defied any rational explanation. Within a few minutes of lying down, I could clearly see my breath. Within an hour, I felt very certain that the temperature was well below freezing. Soon the thick night air had become bitterly, unnaturally cold. Through the windows, I could see a dense, foggy miasma that had rolled in off of the lake, and it glowed eerily in the dim moonlight. I was wishing that I had asked to sleep in the van, but I didn’t wish to disturb Diane, Heather, and Erin. The temperature had suddenly dropped to such an extreme low that I was genuinely worried about frostbite, and the frigid air that flowed in from the lake made certain that the icy, biting fangs of razor-sharp cold easily penetrated my futile attempts to insulate myself. And how the hell was a breeze blowing inside of a tent, when there were no apparent winds outside? Despite my jacket and vest, and having covered myself with a thin Army poncho and the jungle hammock, I was huddled into a fetal position and shivering uncontrollably. Worse yet, the waterproof nylon fabric that made up the poncho and the roof of the hammock rustled with the slightest movement when it wasn’t being suspended from a tree, and I was afraid of disturbing my companions.



I didn’t know what time it was when I heard Kim moving in her sleeping bag. I was about to head to the van to see if I could find a warmer place to sleep, when Kim spoke. “Screw this, guys. I have never seen the temperature drop so much so quickly before in my life, and I’m headed to the van to get warm. John, you’re tougher than turtle tits for taking this damned cold without a sleeping bag! I’m freezing my ass off, even with one! I don’t know why the hell you gave yours to Sarah. She’s the one who didn’t pack a sleeping bag.” Kim was normally much kinder than that, but people sometimes say things they normally wouldn’t when they’re exhausted and uncomfortable. With that, she dragged her sleeping bag over to the door and I felt a severely bitter rush of even more brutally frigid air as she unzipped the door to the tent. Her numb fingers had difficulty grasping the zipper, and it took her several tries to get it open. She never did succeed in getting it entirely shut before she shuffled off on stiff, frozen legs for the van.



“Yeah, well, that’s because your brother is nicer than you are!” Sarah yelled drowsily after Kim. She didn’t sound cold at all, which surprised me. The sleeping bag that I had packed for myself was only of medium weight, and it still should have felt a bit chilly in there.



The fact that my sister had just paid me a compliment regarding my toughness delayed my joining her by mere seconds. Before I could get up and follow Kim, a flashlight clicked on from where Sarah lay on the floor and shone in my face. I covered my eyes against the glare of the sudden light, and was aware of frozen condensation glittering from the surface of my poncho. Looking around, the inside of the tent was covered with a thick dusting of sparkling crystalline frost that gave it some resemblance to the inside of an icebox. I have camped with tents many times over the years, and no matter how thick the frost gets outside of the tent I have never seen it form like this inside of one, even when the temperature is well below zero. Condensation might freeze inside of a tent, but frost just plain can’t form like this. I had checked the weather before we left, and I felt certain that I had read that tonight was only supposed to have a low of 45 degrees Fahrenheit. It wasn’t even supposed to get down to freezing tonight, and just a few hours ago it had been downright pleasant outside. Something bizarre was going on here.



“So, John, you really must be freezing your ass off. I feel like crap for taking your sleeping bag.” Sarah said.



“I’m a bit cold.” I stammered laconically, trying to keep my voice even. I’m sure it trembled despite my best efforts. I was most definitely well into a state of mild hypothermia. Even with the sleeping bag, I wondered how Sarah wasn’t freezing her butt off. Looking around, I saw that the frost had formed everywhere in the tent with the exception of the immediate area where Sarah was sleeping. Could it have possibly been physically colder where Kim and I were lying than it was where Sarah was? What was going on here?



“Come over here. There’s room in your sleeping bag for both of us if we scrunch in close,” Sarah offered.



I was in no position to refuse her. Gratefully abandoning the hammock and poncho that I had been attempting to use as a blanket, I climbed across the slippery frost-covered tent floor, took my shoes off, and began climbing into my sleeping bag with Sarah.



“Holy shit, your jacket is freezing!” Sarah exclaimed. Sarah, as usual, was sleeping in a well-worn oversized T-shirt and her socks and underwear. Apparently that was insufficient protection against precisely how cold my jacket had gotten.



“Sorry, Sarah.” I peeled off the jacket and my vest, and placed them on the floor beside the sleeping bag. I immediately felt the warmth of her body heat, and it was a definite improvement.



“John, the outside of your pants is pretty cold, too. Especially your belt buckle and the buttons on your pants. Can’t you just sleep in your underwear?”



“You’ve done the laundry over at our house enough times to know that I don’t wear it.” I replied. There was a long moment of silence as we huddled together inside of the sleeping bag. My body felt as though it was thawing out from being frozen, and it felt amazingly good to be warming up again. My fingers tingled painfully as feeling returned to them.



“So, John,” Sarah whispered in a vaguely accusatory tone, “I thought that you and Diana weren’t dating.”



“We’re not. We’re just really good friends. What you saw was… well, she was drunk, and she said that she just wanted to kiss just once. I suppose just to see what it was like. She didn’t really give me much of a choice in the matter, but we’re still just good friends.”



“You looked like awfully good friends from what I saw.”



I was confused enough on my own regarding what had happened. My cousin’s interest was understandable, but she wasn’t helping me to feel any better about what had happened. “We are very good friends, but it’s not like what you seem to think. I love her dearly, but we agreed a long time ago that we’re not going to date each other. We’ll discuss it later, but she’s never acted like that before and it’s likely she never will again now that she’s gotten that out of her system. To tell you the truth, Sarah, if I’m only going to get one chance in my life to make out with my best friend, I wish that you and Heather had been kind enough to at least give me a few more minutes. I suppose that it’s pretty obvious that she and I have romantic feeling for each other, but our friendship is more important to us, and if we are going to risk what we’ve already got between us to start dating then there’s no need to rush the thought process.”



“Oh, I’m sure that you’ll have other opportunities to kiss her. I’ve tried that just-kiss-once thing before, and it never works. I think that the very fact that you are both trying something new and exciting while saying that you’ll never get to do it again at the same time is a pretty sure formula for keeping you thinking about it and wanting more of it for a long while afterwords.”



I chuckled. “Not always, Sarah. Remember when we were kids and wanted to be able to tell people that we had kissed someone, so we made a deal to kiss each other on the lips for five seconds straight, and then never tell anyone who our first kiss had been with? That was totally innocent.” Maybe I was being a bit clueless, and maybe I was being less than entirely honest. I had been young, but not so young that locking lips with my attractive cousin hadn’t excited me. I have always been closer friends with her older sister, Heather, but Sarah was always by far the wilder of the two, and was more likely to go along with things that could potentially get us into trouble. Heather was definitely the good one, but Sarah was always up for crazy adventures.



“Of course I remember that. And, at the risk of freaking you out, especially considering our sleeping arrangement for the night, that really did… impact me. And don’t pretend that it didn’t change the way you looked at me for a long time afterwords! I still sometimes catch you checking out my ass, which I don’t think you ever did before that kiss, so don’t pretend otherwise!”



I started to reply, but Sarah continued. “Now, don’t start apologizing or trying to deny it! It makes me feel good that you look at me in that way. And, you know what? The first time I really did kiss a guy, I was wishing that it could be you.”



I smiled. “That’s pretty cool. Thanks for telling me that. You know, in all honesty, I enjoyed our kiss together more than I’ve ever let on. I suppose that there have been a couple of times over the years when I’ve been kissing a girl and I’ve thought of that first kiss with you back when we were kids.”



In the dark, she turned and looked at me for a long moment. She reached over and put an arm across me. “Do you think we could try that kiss again?”



I chuckled. “Sure. Five seconds again?” I naively thought that she was interested in playfully re-living a cute, innocent event from our childhood. Rolling over, I gave her a light peck on the cheek.



“Yep. Five seconds,” she murmured as our lips brushed in the dark.



For a moment, we just held our lips together, moving them ever so slightly in slow kisses that somehow seemed all the more erotic because of their deliberate innocence. She inhaled deeply as her lithe arms encircled my back, crushing me to her. Her lips moved slowly against mine, and I immediately felt myself melt into a kiss that was anything but a childish stunt. Her hands traveled under my shirt, her warm skin feeling soft against my back. Her wet lips parted, and I tasted her mouth for the first time. Her saliva was like an intoxicating beverage as our moist tongues caressed each other. We were well over five seconds already, and this kiss was in every way different from the last one so many years earlier. We broke the kiss as she pulled my shirt over my head and climbed on top of me, her soft cotton panties pressing hard against the crotch of my pants, and I could feel my cousin’s rock-hard nipples crushing against my chest. Through the two thin layers of fabric that separated our genitalia, I felt her warmth and knew that I was pressing into the softness of her nether region. Even that miniscule amount of penetration, so slight as to be nothing but symbolic in scale, seemed to flood my heart with thoughts that we had already crossed some nameless boundary.



I don’t know which of us initiated the next kiss, but it was even more passionate than the one before it. Wet, delicious, and wicked, the incestuous kiss between cousins quickly had my head swimming in delightful hormones. With one hand I pulled her face to mine, deepening the forbidden kiss, and with the other hand I reached down, cupping the firm, pert roundness of her butt against me. Her over-sized t-shirt had ridden up, and through the soft cotton panties I could feel her ass with enough detail to fuel my fantasies. And the areas that her panties didn’t cover ensured that in some areas I was feeling actual butt-cheek. Going for broke, I slid my hand inside of her panties, savoring the feel of her soft round ass. We continued to kiss, and I needed more. This might be the only time I would ever get to be with Sarah. Pulling her face hard against mine, I reached with some difficulty between our writhing bodies, and was soon feeling her pussy through her panties. She gasped into my mouth as I pushed the crotch of her panties aside. I felt the soft, trimmed pubic hair of her vulva, and then my heart and mind felt as they might explode as I touched my cousin’s moist vaginal entrance for the first time. Sarah broke this kiss, and gently pushed my head down upon the pillow we were sharing. In the dimness of the tent I saw my cousin’s head silhouetted black against the barely glowing fabric of the tent roof above her. Again, for a very long moment, we simply looked at each other, and I halfway expected a gentle rebuke for my lack of self-control. Instead, she lowered her face to mine. This kiss was softer, gentler, and sweeter than its predecessors. As we kissed, I slowly worked a finger into her moistening tightness, savoring every detail of how she felt. Soon, the few drops of water-like liquid inside of her were replaced with a large quantity of a thicker lubrication. Sarah’s body had figured out what was coming even before I knew for sure myself, and was preparing her for the wicked incestuous act that was now all but inevitable. I felt almost crushed when she raised her hips, reached down, and gently removed my hand from her vagina. Returning her crotch to mine she began slowly, rhythmically rocking herself against me.

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