Many thanks to Mriceman1964 for his help and valuable editorial assistance in putting this story together!


When I was 2 years old, my father married Anh, a lovely, tiny little Vietnamese lady. I always thought she was my mother, or at least until I was old enough to work out that she couldn’t possibly be. I still called her mum, though, because in every way I needed her to be, she was my mum. I had a sister, or rather a half-sister, Nguye’t, which means ‘moon’, I think, but we all called her Nia, and dad sometimes called her ‘nugget’, telling her she was his precious little golden moon. Mum usually called me Huyn’h, which means ‘Older Brother’ although it sounds like someone sneezing in a distant room, instead of my given name, James or Jamie. Nia usually called me anything she could think of if she thought it would annoy me.

We lived in South London, not far off the South Circular Road, that traffic nightmare that girdles South London like a ligature, and dad would curse it every evening after negotiating it for several hours. Mum would, quite reasonably, ask him why he didn’t just get a bus to Streatham and get the train into Central London, but dad was convinced that if he left his designated parking space at work unoccupied it would be given to someone else, and apparently status in his company was measured by whether or not you had your own parking space, and how close it was to the CEO’s parking space. It took me years to understand this; I used to wonder what happened to his parking space when he was on holiday, did they chain it up, or something? All very baffling. In the meantime, he’d come in every evening, exhausted, road-raged to the max, huffing about the London traffic planners, London buses, congestion, the people who play silly-buggers with the timing of the traffic lights in London, bus lanes, in fact, everything. We all learned to stop listening, or at least parallel-process, so we could drop-in reasonably apt comments in the spaces in the rant where one was called-for, while simultaneously watching TV, without actually paying the blindest bit of notice to what he was saying. After the requisite time ranting, dad would go off and sit in the greenhouse, talk to his geranium cuttings or secretly drink, or whatever it was he did in there, and reappear in time for dinner, usually in a good mood.

When he reappeared, he would be besieged by one or the other of us, needing help with our homework. Dad’s approach to homework was simple. “You should have learned this in school, what do the taxpayers pay teachers for, if we have to teach our kids at home at the end of the school day?” Not helpful. But when he was in a really good mood, he could be great fun.

He once boiled the last 1,000 years of English history down as follows. “All you need to know about English history is the following; for the last 1,000 years, English history has consisted of us annoying the French, beating-up the French, annoying the French while simultaneously beating them up, or watching and needling as the French beat themselves up. If you want a definition of how to lose a war, look up the word ‘French’ in any dictionary. Norman Schwarzkopf once said ‘Going to war without the French is like going hunting without your accordion’ – says it all, really!”

His attitude to mathematics was the same. “Have you ever seen a logarithm crawl out from under a chair, or bitten into a tangent? Or swung on a trapezium lately? No? That’s because they don’t exist. I refuse to be lectured on imaginary arithmetic by some Greek standing on a hillside 3,000 years ago dressed only in his underpants, and so should you!”

I dutifully wrote all this down, and then mum had to come to the school and pacify the headmaster, the mathematics teacher, the history teacher, and the history teacher’s French wife. The head gave her some parting advice.

“Mrs. Morrison, please ask your husband not to help Jamie or Nia with their homework in future; his definitions may be very nearly right, but he’s damaging their chances of passing their SAT’s, so please, I beg you, keep him away from their homework!”

I think dad was secretly a subversive, with anarchic tendencies, which is quite a stretch for a security manager in a huge American bank…

When she was young, Nia would take in all of dad’s pronouncements with wide-eyed acceptance, but at quite an early age she picked up on the fact that he may just be feeding her a line, playing her as straight-man for his latest stooge-gag, and she developed the habit of checking with mum when dad gave her some facts, sincerity blazing in his eyes; little Nia’s eyes would flick over to mum, and a tiny nod or headshake would be all she had to give for Nia to either buy it or back away and ask mum when dad had left the room.

She was a pretty little girl, fair skinned, with definite Anglo features, but with a nice mix of mum’s finely sculpted ivory-figurine features too, so no mistaking her heritage, with her long, straight, jet black hair and slanted almond eyes, bright blue, like dad’s and mine. When she was born, Mum had asked me to help her look after Nia, as I was her older brother now, and it was my job to watch over her. Nia had picked-up early on the fact that I was incapable of saying no to her, and used it to browbeat me into doing anything she didn’t want or couldn’t be bothered to do, and dad was no help, he just said “Jamie old son, you walked into that one eyes wide shut. Serves you right, next time I suggest you look before you step in the cacky!”

Still, I had to admit, being Nia’s personal slave and chief bottle washer had its rewards. When she wanted to be, she could be absolutely adorable, and she was a very nice kid when she forgot she was a miniature fiend in human form. When I eventually moved to secondary school, at age 11, I felt a definite pang. My routine at primary school had been to wait for Nia until she’d finished her last class, then get laden down with all her stuff, projects, school bags, sports bags, welding equipment, bowling ball and spare sink, and schlep it all home for her like a good little Sherpa, while she would be off buying vast, clinically damaging quantities of sweets from her seemingly inexhaustible supply of pocket money.

Moving schools meant I’d only ever see her in the early evening, as I finished later, then would have to get two buses, so instead of getting home at about 3:45 pm, it would be nearer 6 o’clock before I got home, or later, if the buses were playing-up, just in time to say goodnight to her; her bedtime was 6:30 pm, even though she was 8 years old; mum and dad were a little old-fashioned about children and their bedtimes. The first day at my new school was traumatic enough without this sudden hole at the end of it, where I should be walking Nia home, and suddenly I wasn’t. It was a funny feeling, and not in a good way – I realised I actually missed the little swamp-donkey, missed her flaunting all her spending money, the sweets she’d bought, or, if her flying monkeys had slaughtered some munchkins in the next village and put her in a good mood, her prattling on about her day.

When I got home, mum sensed I’d had a mixed day, and sat me down, hugged me, asked about my day, and gave me a bowl of home-made mango ice cream as a reward for not imploding. As I was telling her all about the school, the sheer number of people there, she said “Nguye’t miss you today all day, she was crying for you.”

I looked at mum in disbelief. “No, really? Why? I was going to throw a broomstick gag in there, but I saw mum was serious, looked sad. “She is still only little girl, Huyn’h,” she said, in her careful English, “and she miss having older brother there in case she need him. You go and see her; she ask for you especially to come see her when you get in.” As I am constitutionally incapable of refusing mum anything, I went and knocked on Nia’s door, went in.

“Nia, it’s me, are you OK?”

“Jamie? JAMIE!!” and a little body hit me amidships, Nia jumping up and down, holding on to me, her hair braided in a thick queue at the nape of her neck, her long nighty all the way down to the ground, looking cute and wholesome, like a character in a Disney cartoon.

“Jamie, I missed you, mummy took me to school and had to come and get me, I missed you all day, why did you have to go to another school, can I come there with you tomorrow, I MISSED YOU!!”

I had to stop her and catch my breath, and I hadn’t said a word yet.

“All right, demon-child, calm down!”I told her. “First off, get back in bed it’s past your bedtime, and secondly, sorry, no you can’t come to school with me, you have a school of your own, and you’re not old enough to come to my school. You’ll see me every night, though, before you go to bed, and at weekends, isn’t that enough for you?”

She stared at me for a second, and started sniffling, then tears ran out of her eyes, and then her face rolled up and she really let rip with the crying. And it was real, Nia-in- distress crying, not her usual ‘I want my own way’ crying. What could I do, I’m a sucker for her when she does that, but I also knew the difference between when she really was sad and when she was being the manipulative little baggage that was her ground-state.

She hugged on to me, crying like her pet dog had died, so much so that mum poked her head round the door to see what was going on, backed out when she saw me cradling the little girl while she sobbed, excessively so, I thought. I fished out a handkerchief from my pocket and tried to mop off her face, but I was fighting a losing battle between her eyes and her nose, which was chugging out truly amazing quantities of something truly nasty.

“SSSHHH Nia, it’s alright, you’ll see me every evening, you’ll be OK, Monkey-girl, I promise!” I soothed her, once her crying had died down to hiccups, wondering at this sudden outburst of affection, and guided her back into bed, pulling up the bedclothes around her, before trying to leave.

“DON’T GO!” she shrieked, so I had to stop and sit on the bed and talk to her some more, tell her about my new school, all the boys there, how many people were at the school, while her eyes grew big. I ended up reading to her, ‘The Worst Witch’ or something like that, until she finally dozed off, then slipped out of her room, holding my bulging handkerchief at arm’s length.

This became the pattern of my evenings. Come in, tuck Nia in if she was already in bed, answer her questions about my school, and read to her until she fell asleep. Some nights, though, she’d vary the routine. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and she’d be there, rolled up next to me, fast asleep, so I’d go and get her duvet, cover her up, and go back to sleep; the one time I tried to take her back to her own room, she made such a fuss she woke the house, and mum had to put her in bed with her just to get her to go back to sleep. It got so I became used to feeling this little body scrunched up next to me in the middle of the night, and took to keeping a spare duvet in my room, to throw over her when she sneaked in. Nia had won, again, she’d got her own way, and I had to share my room with her. Like I said, manipulative little baggage.

On weekends, though, she was almost tentative with me, never moving more than 6 feet or so away from wherever I was, one eye always cocked in my direction, never obviously trailing around after me, but always there; if I went to the bathroom, she’d be playing in the corridor outside when I came out, If I retreated to my room to read or watch TV, she’d find a thousand reasons to come in looking for something, or ask me a question or some other reason. She also became more touchy-feely, which weirded me out, as I usually took great pains to avoid having her sticky little paws on my clothes; usually whatever she had been eating was all over her hands, and now it would be all over me. The one time she leaned over to kiss me, I honestly thought she was going to bite me, going for the germ-warfare option, and I ducked backwards, causing her to fall over, start screaming, big family post mortem, why can’t you be nice to your sister, she’s only young, she only has you, etc, etc. Spoiled, conniving, manipulative little troll-spawn.

As she got older, the screaming for her own way tailed-off, and she actually became more tractable, easier to deal with. The sneaking into my room and sleeping next to me never stopped though, and it actually got to the point where I felt almost cheated if I woke up in the night and she wasn’t there. When she began secondary school, at 11, like me, I fully expected this to stop; there was more scope for friends, new people, new subjects to study, so I was confident her life would stop intersecting with mine quite so much. It didn’t stop, not at all.

I was 14 by then, and girls were definitely a subject of mucho interest, for me and all my friends, hell, my whole generation, so I was glad Nia was fully occupied with her own life, at last, and I could start hanging with my pals on weekends without Nia hovering in the background. I met a nice girl, Lisa Simons, sweet, cute, red hair, and we dated for a while. Dad just grinned, and said, in his own inimitable way “Behave yourself, you dirty little beast!” and mum was distressed that I was dating, she thought I was too young for entanglements, I was still just a little boy. Nia hated her, refused to speak to her, acknowledge her presence, or speak to me. Suited me fine. The chance of spending an evening in a dark cinema with a pretty girl, as opposed to spending it staring at Nia and her captive-troll expression, what do you think I fancied more?

And then, one afternoon I brought Lisa over, Nia saw her in the house, and was rude and nasty to her. At last I blew my top.

“What the hell’s your problem, Nia? All I’m doing is dating a girl, it’s not against the law, why do you have to make it so difficult, she’s only my girlfriend, for Chrissake!”

Nia reared right back.

“Why do you have to bring that…that girl to my house all the time, this is my house as well, and you’re my brother, and you belong to me, not her!”I looked at her in shock. Was she really that freaked-out by me having a girlfriend? Why? Lisa left after that, and wouldn’t see me anymore. Thanks, Nia.

Eventually, dad had to ask me what was going on with Nia and me. I confessed that I was baffled; she had her school friends, she had her own interests, she was in secondary school now, and I couldn’t understand why she had been so hostile towards my girlfriend – she acted like she was jealous, even though I could only ever see Lisa on weekends, and her curfew had been 9pm, so what was the problem? If she wanted me around, she had me every evening plus all day Sunday.

Dad thought about it for a while, then held forth.

“Jamie, she’s had you dancing attendance on her all her life, whether you liked it or not, and she thinks, quite rightly, that you’re getting too grown-up for her, school, and sports, and girlfriends and so on. Give her a chance to level off; she’ll eventually accept that you’re moving on from her to someone else. Just be patient with her, and try not to snap too much – she’s still only young, so ignore it, it will go away.”

So, for the next four years, I manfully held my patience. Nia never accepted any of my girlfriends, never tried to be nice, or even polite, and I took to not bringing them over to the house any more, making her even more incensed that I was dating someone she had no chance of sniping at. I followed dad’s advice and blithely ignored her artless little questions about whoever I was seeing at any given time, and it drove her bonkers. Other than that aspect of our lives together, we mostly got along just fine. Periodically, though, I would wake up and find her huddled against me, but thankfully, as her teen years progressed, this tailed-off and had stopped altogether by the time I left for university at 18.

I was studying Environmental Geosciences at Bristol, as I wanted to work in the Oil industry, and I was living in halls in Clifton. My days were pretty full; the course didn’t offer much latitude for spare time or socialising, which was pretty much what the Course Adviser at 6th Form College had told me, but I was enjoying myself. I didn’t get much opportunity to go home; lectures were usually scheduled on Saturdays, and funds were limited; after paying my expenses, a trip back to London was usually out of the question. Even my summer was no break, spending it as I did mentoring and coaching A-Level mathematics to earn enough money to get a deposit for a flat-share for year 2. At the end of my first year, I had been home a grand total of zero times. I felt guilty, but dad was breezy and unconcerned about it; he understood from his own student days. Mum just used to weep down the phone at me, and Nia refused to talk to me at all.

My second year, I got a job in a supermarket, unloading the trucks, tough work, but it was nights, so it didn’t cut into my classwork, and it enabled me to pay for an apartment-share in a student flats complex near the uni and feed myself. As it meant working weekends, plus my Saturday classes, again I couldn’t get home at all reliably. Luckily, dad’s bank had a regional office in Bristol, so he would come down every so often, pick me up and we’d have dinner, talk about the family, bring me mum’s letters and any home news, advice or messages mum had. Nothing from Nia, though. I was saddened by this. Although we squabbled about any and everything, often fought like two cats in a sack, I did love the bone-headed little cave-troll, and I couldn’t believe that she could be so offended by my going to uni as to cut me out completely. Dad was more pragmatic.

“She’s hurt by you going away; she thinks you deliberately left her, and she’s offended that her brother, (who she owns, by the way!) could actually walk away from her, and leave her alone. Let her work it out for herself. She’s a teenager, Jamie, she’s having it tough enough right now, she’ll find a way; in the meantime, get used to it!”

The third and last year was more difficult still; I had to spend part of the academic year working in industry, so I wangled a place with a geophysical exploration team, surveying the possible oil bearing strata off and around South Georgia, Elephant Island and the Falkland Islands, in the South Atlantic, 600km off the tip of Patagonia. It was a hard and arduous assignment, winter in the South Atlantic polar regions is rugged and treacherous, and we had to be protected by the Royal Navy picket ships as Argentina was claiming the area. We had several heated exchanges with Argentinian patrol boats until the Royal Navy boys unlimbered their 20mm Oerlikon cannons, at which point the Argentinians would remember pressing business elsewhere. 6 months of this, followed by 4 more months of analysing my findings, creating survey charts and drilling forecasts, estimating yields, and then writing the whole thing up as part of my Bachelors thesis, so a very hectic final year. I graduated with an Honours Degree in Environmental Geosciences, foregoing the graduation ceremony as I was eager to go home. I already had my degree and paperwork, and, as my sometime girlfriend/sex-partner/Friend with Benefits, Bev and I had finally broken it off permanently, I had no pressing need to remain. I left Bristol forever, glad to be finished, looking forward to a few weeks of lazing before I had to find a job; luckily I had some very good contacts from my months in the south Atlantic, so I’d contact them as soon as they were contactable.

When I arrived home, mum was all tears and hugs, reaching up to touch the top of my head in wonder at my height, marvelling that she couldn’t get her arms all the way around my waist anymore, fussing over me gratifyingly. There was no sign of Nia, which was crushing for me, a sharp pang echoing through me. Despite all our arguments and fights over the years, I still adored the malicious little goblin, although sometimes it was difficult to remember why! Dad was away at a security show in Birmingham, would be gone for a couple of days, so I had mum to myself, her wonderful cooking and warm presence. I was so glad to be home after 3 years, all that was missing now was the demon-child.

Mum filled me in on Nia.

“She not do too well in her A-Levels, so she not going university this year. She want to re-sit in August, and start university at Easter, when she be 19. She want to study law at the London School of Economics, not move away from home, stay in London. Your father and I support her, we not want her off by herself in remote part of the country; she too young to be alone, need family nearby.”

I asked mum where Nia was, she looked sad. “I ask her to be here, she say she will, but I not see her since morning. Maybe she come back soon, gone out with friends, I think.”

I was feeling a little tired, so I asked mum if I could go and lie down, and she looked surprised. “Why you asking, Jamie, this your home, not need permission in own home! Your room is clean and ready for you, Nia tidy it for you, every week she tidy it for you!”

I raised an eyebrow at that, walked up to my room, and gasped. Nothing had been changed since the day I left, and I mean nothing. It was as though the room had been in a time-warp; even a handful of small change on the dresser was exactly where I’d spilled it, my books with their bookmarked pages still stacked on the ground next to the bed, my Sam Cooke CD still in the CD player, the case open on my dresser, my tennis racquet tossed carelessly on the bed where I’d left it, with a post-it note to Nia to use it as I wouldn’t need it still stuck to the case, and my CD’s all jumbled together on the corner of my wardrobe, again exactly where I’d left them; there were even the post-it notes with various notes-to-self still tacked to my desk. This was creepy; it was like a shrine to Jamie…

Felling very weird about this, I grabbed my clothes out of my case and dumped them in the laundry basket, shoving the case under the bed and peeling of my clothes, dumping them as well, and climbing into bed. The sheets and linens were all freshly laundered, so Nia must have stripped the bed, and re-made it exactly how I left it; that was slightly scary, I would need a talk with that girl. Thinking along those lines, I fell asleep, to dream of Nia when she was small, holding my hand as I walked her to school.

I woke with a start, checked my watch, discovered I’d been asleep for almost 3 hours.

“Finally, it stirs!” said a voice behind me. I spun around, and there was Nia, sitting on my study chair, grinning at me. But what a change! I’d last seen her as a surly, defensive 15 year old teen nightmare; lip always ready to curl in derision, eyes sullen and flat, hostility just below the surface.

Now she’d changed beyond all recognition; I’d have walked right past her without recognising her! She was tall, I could see that even sitting down, a slender, willowy, but shapely figure, hair waved and teased into a riotous tumble of black curls, long slender legs encased in skin-tight black leggings, flat-soled harem-slippers on her feet and wearing a loose, boat-neck cream pullover top that left one shoulder bare. Her skin still had that pale, fresh complexion, her almond eyes were large bright blue sapphires, or maybe cornflowers, expressive and beautiful, surrounded by sooty lashes, and her mouth was wide, generous, made for smiling. Her lips were naturally coral pink, her face heart-shaped and perfectly symmetrical, her fine oriental features highlighted perfectly by her Caucasian genes. She was beautiful! Following on the heels of that was the realisation that I was checking-out my sister! Eewww!

“Close your mouth, Jamie, you’re drooling!” she giggled, and my mouth snapped shut, flushing as I realised I was busted, ogling my sister, although, to be fair, she was eminently worth the ogle!

“Nia, you surprised me! I came home and you weren’t here…!” I trailed off.

Nia stood up in one lithe move, and slid onto the bed next to me, to slid her arms around my neck and press her cheek against mine.

“Welcome home, Jamie, I missed you so much…!” she said softly, and I hugged her close, then something made me pull away to look at her, seeing she was crying.

“Nia, what…why…don’t do that, you troll, you know what you look like when you cry!” I grinned at her, and she slapped me on the upper arm, trying to smile as two big tears escaped her brimming eyes and ran down her cheeks. I pulled a tissue out from the nightstand, gave it to her, and waited while she dabbed her eyes dry again.

I hugged her again, glad to be holding her again after all this time. “I missed you Nia, more than you know!” I said, and I meant it. “Why were you so mad, that you had to cut me off for three whole years? I asked dad about you every time I called home. I missed you very much Nguye’t!”

Nia tried to speak, and started crying again instead, and all at once she was 8 years old, and this was Nia-in-distress crying again, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. I gathered her into me, soothing her as I used to when she was small, the act of doing that reuniting us again, the intervening years dropping away.

At last she slowed down, her sobbing giving way to silent tears, with me holding her against my shoulder and silently feeding her paper tissues; I’d been here before so I knew, when she was ready to talk, she’d talk.

At last her breathing started sounding normal, so I asked her “What brought that on, Troll-Child, why the waterworks?”

She buried her face in my shoulder, and started speaking. “When you left, I was so horrible, I thought you were going because you didn’t want to stay with us, with me, any longer, and that you were paying me back for all the mean things I did. I thought you hated me! And I was going to hate you back, but all I could do was miss you, and then I didn’t know how to say suh…suh…sorry! You were gone and I wanted you back!” She swallowed, obviously near tears again.

I was thunderstruck. Had I really come across like that, given her the impression I hated her?

She continued. “I was there every time you called, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you, I didn’t know what to say, and ‘sorry’ was too hard to say. Or not enough, I don’t know. And the longer it went on, the harder it was to stop it. I tried to make myself believe I didn’t need you around, but that didn’t work, I never realised just how much of my day was spent around you!”

I eased her up so I could look at her. “And this?” I asked, indicating my room, “was this all part of that as well?”

She nodded. “I thought if your room looked just like it did when you left, I could pretend you’d just gone out, and were coming back any minute, it would feel like you were still around. Can you understand that?”

I did.

I looked into her eyes. “Listen to me, I have never hated you, or wanted to leave you, or mum and dad, ever. I just wanted to go to the university that gave me the best degree. You’re my little sister, and while I admit, yes, I did sometimes want Dorothy to drop a house on you, I never hated you, even when you were being your brattiest! Mum told me that being your older brother came with responsibilities, and I said yes, and took them on, because I wanted to. I wanted to then, and I want to now. OK?”

Nia looked sideways at me. “When did mum ask you this, Jamie?”

“When you were born, Nia, when she brought you home.” I replied

“And you stuck to it, after all the shit I put you through? Really?” I nodded. Her eyes welled-up again, and I hastily grabbed a tissue.

“Jamie, poor you, you let me do all those horrid things, say all those horrid things, all those years, because of a promise to mum? You promised to look after me and I took so much advantage of you; I don’t deserve you!”

I grinned. “I’ll say! But in your defence, it was a lot of fun too! True, being your guardian angel was no bed of roses, but it wasn’t exactly the death of a thousand cuts either! Watching you learn to skate, for one; I actually laughed ’til I was sick!”

She looked at me, seemed to make a decision, grabbed my face and kissed me on the cheek, a long smacker. I was a little surprised, and a little wistful as well – she used to do that a lot when she was small, and I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed it.

Then she really surprised me. Still holding my face, she planted a firm kiss right on my lips. For a stunned second I enjoyed it, then reality blinked back on and I reared back, pulling away from her and sliding off my bed and onto the floor. I peered up at her over the edge of the bed, like the world’s most reluctant bridegroom, to see her still sitting there, looking at me strangely. “Jamie, you look ridiculous down there, come back up here, I won’t bite, you know!”

It wasn’t the biting I was afraid of, although what I was afraid of I didn’t know, just that something had suddenly changed between us. I shook my head emphatically.

“Jamie! I said, ‘come back up here’!” she snapped, eyes darkening as she ordered me back next to her. 15 years of conditioning took over, and I crept back up onto the bed, as far from her as I could. We stared at each other, Nia looking ever so slightly pleased with herself; I shudder to think what I looked like.

Nia grinned at me. “Calm, down, Jamie, I said, I’m not going to bite you. You can relax, seriously. You look like someone just gave your scrotum a really big tweak!”

Some sort of response was needed here, I felt. “Glaarrrkk!” was the best I could do, good for an opener, but needed more. I cleared my throat, and tried again.

“What the fu… um, hell did you do, Nia, why did you do that?” I croaked.

Nia smiled. “I did it because I always wanted to do it, I wanted to see what it would be like, and I liked it! How was it for you?” she twinkled mischievously.

“God, Nia, I’m your brother, you can’t go doing stuff like that…!” I trailed of as she failed to look the least bit contrite.

“Oh balls, Jamie, I’m a big girl, and I wanted to see what it would be like to snog my cute man-tottie big brother; don’t say you didn’t like it – you kissed me back! Besides, you were the one practically peeling down my panties with your eyes a couple of minutes ago!”

I tried to bluster and protest, but she’d scored a direct hit, and she knew it. She patted the bed beside her, and I shook my head. She patted the bed harder, her eyes narrowing, so I, reluctantly, slid up next to her.

“Now Jamie, I kissed you. Accept it. Get past it. Because I want to kiss you again, and you need to put some effort into it, OK?” I was listening to this in a daze; there was no way I was going to accede to this, but an entirely different part of me was clamouring for attention; apparently he thought it was a very good idea! Nia noticed, glancing pointedly at the bulge in my boxers as I tried to cover my…condition with my bed sheet.

“The consensus is in my favour, Jamie; at least two of us in here think it’s a good idea, so stop squirming like a girly and pucker-up; and do it like you mean it!”

Defeated, sure this was a very bad idea, I gave up and let her lean against me again, wrapping my arm around her so she was looking up at me. She really was a beautiful girl, and if she weren’t my sister I’d have moved in for the kill like a rat up a drainpipe, but it still felt wrong, wrong, wrong.

Obviously Nia didn’t feel the same way, and, fed-up with waiting for me to make a move, took hold of my face and pulled my head down, to kiss me square on the lips. After a second of adjusting to the feeling, it dawned on me that she had really soft lips, gentle and very sexy. I felt her tongue rubbing gently against my lips, and opened my lips, her tongue slipping inside to lightly fence with mine as we kissed long and deep. I felt myself responding more urgently to her kiss, pulling her closer to me as our kiss intensified, my tongue exploring her as she clamped her lips against mine. My arms went around her more fully, enjoying the feel of her moulding against me as her arms wrapped around my neck.

Nia broke off our kiss, eyes dancing as she grinned at me. “There now, that wasn’t so bad was it?” she asked, fingers still interlaced at the back of my neck. I had to agree, not bad at all! It had also been extremely stimulating; I felt slightly sand-bagged by how sexy my kid sister was, and how well she kissed.

Nia seemed to come to a decision, and hoisted herself onto my lap, straddling me, looking into my eyes as she leaned in and kissed me again. My hands automatically went to her waist, holding her as she kissed me, our tongues fencing and sliding against each other again. As we kissed, I felt her breathing deepen, and she began to shift her weight, sliding herself back and forth across my by now sizeable erection inside my shorts, frotting herself against me. I began pushing against her as she slid back and forth, and her eyes narrowed as she realised what I was doing, smiling as her face flushed, throwing her head back as her pace increased, rubbing and gyrating on me as she worked herself up.

Suddenly she stopped, face and neck flushed, her breathing shallow and fast. “No…not like this, not now…!” she gasped, sliding off me to stand and begin sliding down her leggings!

“Uh, Nia, what are you doing?” I enquired, although I was well aware where our session was heading.

“Getting naked, Jamie, like you, what else?” she grinned. She yanked off her leggings, kicking them across the room, and pulled her top over her head, standing before me in just a black thong and tiny brassiere. Objectively speaking, I had to admit she had a superb figure; long, endless legs, perfectly formed, slender and toned, flat stomach and, when she turned, taut shapely little buttocks, springy and firm, and small, high breasts, maybe 34B, just enough to fit in a cupped hand.

I could feel myself hardening even further as I saw more and more of her, and when she peeled of her thong and shrugged off her bra, her nipples dancing as she moved, my cock made a determined effort to burst right out of my shorts and slap me on the chin.

I had one last question. “Nia, what about mum, she might come in!”

Nia grinned down at me. “She went out to play Mah Jongg at Mrs. Vinh’s place; she left while you were still asleep, I told her I’d give you dinner when you woke up. Relax; she’ll be gone for at least another 3 hours!”

With that, Nia slid into the bed next to me, her hand on my erection as she looked at me questioningly. I obliged, sliding off my shorts to allow my cock to spring out, all 7 inches, solid and fat. Nia looked appreciatively at me, licking her lips. “That’s lovely Jamie, oh yes, very nice!” she complimented me, gently encircling me to test the girth. I will be the first to admit I don’t have a porn-star, giganto-dick, nor can I shag for hours then come like a fire hose, but neither am I afflicted with ‘teeny-peeny’ disease, and to date, I’ve had no complaints, and even a couple of half-serious testimonials from Bev, my former FWB at university.

Nia started slowly rubbing my cock, pumping her hand slowly up and down, kissing me while my hands found her lovely firm breasts and taut solid little nipples. She began gasping gently as I tweaked and twirled her nipples, her free hand reaching down to touch and caress herself, slipping into herself as I continued to touch and stimulate her.

I felt her start to move down and I stopped her, looking at her questioningly. So far, all we had done was touch and explore; if this went any further, we’d be crossing a line, and there was no way back across that line. Nia smiled, accepting the consequences, slid down to gently lick the tip of my cock, the touch of her tongue like an electric charge through me. I groaned and lay back as she continued to run her tongue up and down my length, swirling her tongue around and behind the head, before slipping her lips over the end and sliding me into her mouth, still pumping me as she sucked and lapped, her head bobbing. The sensation was exquisite, the head swelling as she sucked, and when she slipped her tongue into the slit in the end and rasped lightly, I lost all control.

“Nia…I’m….Oh God!” she looked at me with those huge blue eyes, grinning around my cock, and sucked harder, and I came in a burst of ecstasy that made my ears ring and my vision blur, my cock lurching as I shot jet after jet of spunk into her hot, avidly sucking mouth, coating her tongue and the roof of her mouth with my seed. Her cheeks bulged and hollowed with the effort of keeping up with my ejaculation, swallowing as fast as she could as I continued to spray my spunk into her mouth, her hand gently squeezing and milking my balls, stimulating me even further.

At last, I was drained, my cock twitching as I hovered on the trailing-edge of my climax, heart thudding in my chest, my chest heaving as I fought for breath. I slumped back, Nia sliding up to lie alongside me, grinning like a monkey.

“So, how was that then, big brother, am I forgiven for being such an obnoxious little cow?”

I pulled her against me, kissing her and tasting myself on her lips. “Nothing to forgive, ever, baby sis, I told you, looking out for you was my pleasure. Speaking of which…”

I trailed my fingers down between her delectable little breasts, on down across her flat tummy, to drift through her sparse pubic hair and stroke her pussy gently. Nia gasped and smiled, lying back as I continued to pet her pussy with feather-light strokes, running my finger the length of the inviting crease between her labia from back to front, caressing her hooded clitoris and making her jump and quiver.

I followed my finger-trail with my lips, licking each of her nipples in turn, drawing the stiff little nubs gently between my teeth, Nia murmuring in appreciation. I continued nibbling and flicking her nipples, and she responded with gasps and sighs as her arousal climbed, her nipples darkening as they engorged. I slipped one finger into her moistening little slit, then two, rubbing them in and out of her, stimulating her clitoris, Nia pushing against my hand to encourage me to frig her harder as I sucked her lovely tits. Then I began kissing her in a trail down her body, following my fingers, dipping my tongue briefly into her navel and swirling it around before heading further down. I trailed my tongue through her small trimmed heart-shaped patch of silky pubic hair, feeling the fine, short hairs brushing against my tongue as I worked my way down to her pussy.

I changed position so I could lie between her thighs, my tongue darting in to begin lapping and teasing at her sweet, flawlessly waxed little pussy. Nia sighed and quivered, her head thrown back as I licked and probed with my tongue, her soft, neat outer lips swelling and opening against my tongue as her arousal climbed. Her scent washed over me, fresh, alluring and soft, and her sweet, tangy nectar ran and dripped into my mouth as I pulled her in closer to me, licking her from her anus to her clitoris, and she moaned and writhed against me as I touched and tasted her most secret places. She gasped when I pulled her bum cheeks apart and probed her puckered little pink hole, eyes screwed tightly shut, her fingers twining in my hair and her hands forcing my mouth tight against her as she trembled and shuddered in a series of orgasms, coming almost continuously as I licked and sucked at her, and when I took her clitoris in my mouth and licked and sucked it, she finally exploded into a massive orgasm, a high, whistling groan escaping from her as her heels dug into the bed, her thighs flexing and quivering against my head, her tendons thrumming like guitar strings with the force of her release.

At last, her tremors died down, and her legs released me from their prison. I laid my head against her belly for a moment before I slid back up the bed to lie next to her and took a moment to wipe my face with a pillow case; her juices were all over my face and neck, and I wanted to kiss her some more, feel her lips against mine again.

September 2018
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