Reciprocal Needs
by Paul Phenomenon

This is a love story about a brother and sister. The siblings are consenting adults, and the plot explores the pros and cons of a devoted incestuous relationship. If you are looking for a steamy sex scene by page two with another on page four, look elsewhere. That isn't to say the story contains no sex scenes because an incestuous love story must explore the sexual side of the relationship in depth. Also, the characters don't hop from one bed with one partner into another bed with another partner. That isn't love; it's sex.
I have posted the first four chapters, and the next two are outlined and will be posted within a few days. The main characters should be developed by then, and the reader should be able to predict how the characters will react in any given situation. Also, the plot should be far enough along to point in various directions for needed conflict.
Beyond these first six chapters, I'd like reader input. For instance, should the incestuous affair be discovered, and if so, when and by whom? How would the person discovering the affair react, and how would the brother and sister react to the discovery? Should the siblings be separated? If they are separated, will they ever get back together? Or should the siblings thumb their noses at conventional standards and continue their relationship? If they do, should the "authorities" become involved? All input will be considered, but I will make the final decision as to the ongoing development of the story. Perhaps, the plot lines will diverge and take two different paths. If this happens, I will present both plots.
I'm interested in this approach in the creation of a story. Unlike print media, the Internet allows the reader to become involved in the development of a story. I have posted "Reciprocal Needs" to Stories Online only for a couple of reasons. My other stories have provided a fair amount of reader feedback, which is imperative with this approach, and the higher rated stories on the site indicate the readership enjoys a storyline, character development, setting, conflict and other elements of good story telling along with some steamy sex scenes.
So, get to know Darrin and Carrie, and then let me know what direction the story should take. If a reader suggests a direction or idea used in the story, I'll give credit should the reader want credit. Enjoy.
Chapter One
The wind was blowing, not an unusual event, not in Milltown, a small mining town situated on a mountain slope in the Sierras in the state of Nevada. Most mountain ranges in the Sierras ran north and south, and the wind, unimpeded for hundreds of miles, had plenty room to roar through the valleys.
A tailings pond covered the valley below the town. Tailings were residue from the mill and smelter, and small, dirty streams carried this waste byproduct to the valley floor. The sun evaporated the water, leaving a flat surface of sand and fine dirt, and when the wind blew, dust storms ensued.
The storm underway was a doozy, and reminded Darrin Cannon why he had left Milltown shortly after graduating from high school to go out into the world to make his fortune. Poverty still plagued him, though. Moving out of poverty wasn't easy if one chose fine art as a vocation. His life's work had overwhelmed his mind and soul, so he slapped paint to canvas nearly everyday to hone his craft, and he saw progress, evolution and promise in his work. Though convinced someday he would break out of the starving-artist syndrome, he didn't daydream about fame and fortune, not any longer. His dreams now entailed solutions to problems he faced with his work. If the truth were known, Darrin Cannon didn't give a rat's ass about fame and fortune. He cared only about his art.
He had returned to his humble beginnings at Carrie's request to attend her high school graduation ceremony. He had never been able to tell his younger sister no, not when he lived at home, or since, but she didn't ask the impossible or take undue advantage of any situation, so when she asked, he rearranged his not-so-busy schedule and made the trek to his parent's home.
Raised as an only child until Carrie was born nine years after his birth, Darrin resented all the attention his sister attracted and demanded - at first. Then he fell in love with her. She seemed so perfect to him, smiling up at him, gurgling happily and content when he held her in his skinny arms. He didn't recognize his love for her at the time, but the baby did, and as all babies do, if they're loved, they love right back, only twice as much. To Darrin, the sun rose and set for his little sister. He cuddled her, changed her diapers, fed her, and read her stories - and made hundreds of sketches of her. They both cried when he left nine years later, Carrie more than he, but then he was trying to appear manly. He'd visited Milltown since he left, but not often. Regardless, brother and sister had remained close. Carrie wanted to be a writer, and she sent him many letters. He cherished and saved all of them and felt guilty because he rarely wrote to her, but he did send her drawings from time to time. Last summer during a short visit, he noted she had pinned up his drawings in her room instead of posters of rock stars, which pleased him.
Darrin had the peculiar talent of looking at something or someone and rendering it in realistic detail, including light and shade and in three dimensions. His mother first noticed the ability when he was about four years old, and encouraged him to explore his talent. The little town offered no tutors, so he worked on his own, sketching everything and everyone around him. They couldn't afford paint or canvas, and even if they could, it wouldn't have dawned on Darrin to move from paper and pencil or ink to color. At his age, he saw the world in black and white. Only later, after he left his humble beginnings did he discover the wonderful world of color, and still he didn't seek out a teacher. He sold his first painting two years ago for a sum that didn't cover his weekly food expense, but the sale offered validation, and he redoubled his efforts, cutting back on the crap jobs he took to pay the rent and purchase his art supplies. Soon, he hoped he could paint fulltime. He'd be poor, but he didn't care, not if his art could support him.
Sitting alone in the tiny home of his youth, he gazed out the living room window and saw a dust-blurred scene that included railroad tracks and the run-down wooden homes of the neighborhood. Greenery was sparse, and obscured by the dust, he saw only shades of brown. It's no wonder color didn't intrigue me when I lived here, he thought. Carrie represents the only beauty in this God forsaken place. His mother, too, he conceded. Darrin had always loved his mother. She was feminine but tough, and unlike Darrin's father, accepted and encouraged her son's need to explore his art. He heard sounds on the front porch, and Carrie burst in with a flurry of dust.
"Goddamn day," she muttered out loud to herself, not realizing Darrin could hear and see her. "Shit!" Anger glinted in her dark eyes.
"Having a bad-hair day, sis?" he asked.
She spun toward him and blushed.
He patted the sofa next to him. "Come here and tell me about it." He loved the sound of her voice, surprisingly low in timbre considering her size.
"Just a sec. I want to wash first. I feel grimy. Damned dust."
He watched her prance away from him toward the one bathroom in the house. Yep, he decided yet again, she's utterly beautiful, both in body and spirit. Small, a size four, with an alluring little body, she'd never be a runway model, but her face could enhance the cover of any magazine. He loved her dark-chocolate-hued eyes capped with perfectly shaped eyebrows. Her long, mahogany hair framed an oval face with prominent cheekbones and a thin, pert nose. Her mouth was a touch too narrow, but her lips were full, and he had brushed his lips to hers so many times in their youth their sibling-like kisses had become commonplace. Her perky breasts excited Darrin more than he'd like, but her legs were her best feature. They appeared long in proportion to the rest of her less-than-average height. To Darrin, Carrie's overall look presented a perfect package. He smiled knowing he was prejudiced in the extreme.
She returned and flopped on the sofa next to him, her short skirt flying high and then settling demurely on her thighs. She crossed her ankles and held one hand with the other on her lap - a practiced, ladylike pose, no doubt taught to her by her mother.
"What's the problem?" he asked.
"I just found out I won't have a summer job like I planned. The company gave the job to Ellen Maxwell."
"Ah, that's a shame, Carrie."
She had told him she felt sure she'd be hired as a lifeguard at the spring-fed swimming facility the company maintained for the use of its employees. The pool was more like a pond, about one hundred by fifty yards in size, and required at least two lifeguards whenever open to the public. Carrie had been a substitute lifeguard last year, and graduating seniors usually earned a permanent position for the summer.
She grimaced. "I don't know what I'm going to do. If I want to go to college this fall, and I do, I need a job. I was awarded a little scholarship, and I've saved like crazy, but I'm still short. I figured I'd sponge off the parents this summer and save every penny I made at the job to get me through the first year. Mom and Dad will help, but they can't help much." Tears welled in her eyes. "Damn it! I counted on that job. It's not fair!"
He took her hand in his. "You'll find another job."
"No, that's the problem. No other jobs are available, not temporary ones, at least. If I planned to stay in this God forsaken hole the rest of my life, I could probably wrangle a job, but... ah hell! It's not fair. Ellen's daddy is a foreman. That's why she got the job instead of me."
No one in Milltown was rich, but still a caste system had formed many years ago and flourished even in the current more enlightened times. Sons and daughters of management didn't socialized with children of union employees, and the small town even had areas designated by ethnic groups like Greek town and Austrian town. Darrin understood his sister's dilemma. He'd been subjected to the system in his youth, and fighting the issue would be a no-win situation.
Darrin had an idea, but he didn't know if either Carrie or the parents would go for it. What the hell, he thought. "Carrie, sponge off me for the summer. Vegas offers lots of jobs, and you could go to college in Las Vegas instead of Reno. Is the scholarship transferable?"
Her face brightened and she smiled, lighting up the dust-filled day. Darrin loved her smiles. "Yes!" Then, she grimaced. "Daddy will never go for it."
"Why not?"
She chuckled. "He's seen that hovel you live in."
"For your information, young lady, I've moved, or rather I'm in the process of moving. Just before I left Vegas, I rented a warehouse for a studio, and it has a loft where I'll live, and the loft has an extra room. The room isn't large, but it's larger than the tiny bedroom you're using here. I have to pay the rent anyway, so you could live there rent-free this summer while you work, and while you go to school, too, for that matter, though you'd probably need transportation. The university isn't close enough to walk, and I don't think the bus service would work for you, though it's a possibility."
"Really?"
"Yep. Waddaya think?"
She squealed, hopped on his lap and gave him a big hug. "That's what I think," she said with a happy expression. "You saved my life, big bro!" She hugged his neck again and then kissed him, and the kiss wasn't like all the many kisses they had shared over the years, not by a long shot. Darrin felt his toes curling. The embrace shocked him, as did his reaction when he started to become aroused. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he left them at her waist.
"Ahem."
Darrin's eyes snapped open. His mother stood at the entrance to the living room. Carrie hopped off his lap as if nothing unusual had just happened and rushed to her mother, giving her a hug as well. "I didn't get the lifeguard job, Mom, but Darrin has a solution. He's going to let me live with him, so I can... 
"Whoa, young lady. Slow down. Start at the beginning. Join us in the kitchen, Darrin."
The three of them sat around the kitchen table, where all family meetings and discussions took place, and Carrie brought her mother up to date.
"He says the loft has an extra room, Mom."
Harriet Cannon turned to her son. "Describe this loft for me, Darrin."
"Well, it isn't much. It has a tiny kitchen, a small bath, and three small rooms. One of the rooms opens to the kitchen and the studio below, and I'd planned to use it as a living room. One of the other rooms will be my bedroom, and Carrie can use the other room for her bedroom."
"Vegas gets hot in the summer, hotter than here. Is the loft air conditioned?"
"No, and if it was, I couldn't afford it. It's a large studio, Mom, actually a warehouse."
"What about heat?"
"No, come winter I planned to buy electric space heaters that can be moved from room to room. We're not talking luxury, Mom, but it's adequate." He smiled. "It does have running water."
"That's nice," she said sarcastically. "Is it clean?"
"No, right now it's a sty. I rented it just before I left Vegas. I planned to clean it up, paint the rooms in the loft, toss some area rugs on the floor and call it home. I rented it mostly for the studio space. I like to work on more than one painting at a time, and I'm doing large paintings now, so I needed the space. Carrie explained her problem to me, and I offered a possible solution. That's all."
Harriet's expression softened. "I know, son." She turned to Carrie. "Your dad will have a conniption."
"Yeah, but if you help, we can turn him around, Mom."
"Uh-uh, but here's what I suggest. Tell your father you want to drive back to Vegas with Darrin to look the place over, not move in, just look it over. If you want to live there, the two of you clean it up, and I mean from top to bottom. Paint it, like you planned, Darrin. Then call me, and I'll drive down with your father to check it out. It wouldn't hurt if you had a job by then, Carrie."
"Yes!" She hopped on her mother's lap gave her a hug and a kiss, and then did the same with Darrin again, only this time the kiss was toned down - a sister-type kiss.

Four days later, Darrin's car was loaded to the gills not only with Carrie's belongings but also household items contributed by her mother. Carrie looked across the seat at her brother. She couldn't believe her good fortune. She was going to live with the only man she'd ever love. Carrie didn't know when she fell in love with her big brother, but she had. She'd dated, but none of the boys attracted her, not like Darrin. She had hoped she'd grown out of the crush she had on him, but when he visited for a few days last summer, she discovered her feelings for him were even more powerful than she realized. She melted when she looked at him, and when he touched her her blood ran hot. She'd told no one how she felt, not even Darrin - especially Darrin. And she nearly blew everything when she kissed him last week. The kiss started innocently enough, but reason momentarily escaped her, and she went with her feelings. Fortunately her mother's arrival had brought her back from the brink. She'd need to be very careful. If Darrin found out how she felt about him, he'd send her away.
She had a plan. She'd help him set up their home, cook for him, be like a wife for him in every way but one. But for the accident of her birth, she could be like a wife for him in every way. Hell, she could be his wife. Life just wasn't fair, but at the moment, she couldn't complain. She was going to set up housekeeping with the love of her life!
"I'm so excited, bro. I just realized I'm no longer a resident of Milltown!"
He laughed. "I know how you feel. When I left nine years ago, I felt the same way, except I hated how sad you were about my leaving."
"I remember. I gave you a bad time, huh?"
"Uh-huh. Leaving you wasn't easy for me, either. I loved you, sis. Still do."
He reached and took her hand in his, giving it a little squeeze, and she felt her heart start to race. She'd need to get a handle on the affects of his brotherly touches, or she'd be a basket case before the trip to Vegas ended, let alone the months and years ahead.
Incest. What a shame it was such a dirty word. She'd researched the subject over the last two years, but the material available in her small town was meager. Most of the information on the subject she'd gleaned from a computer at the high school that had a connection to the Internet. Surprisingly, she discovered not everyone reviled the practice. Some even celebrated incest as a way of life. Another glance at her brother's masculine profile made her realize if he ever wanted her, she'd willingly accept him as a lover, incestuous, or not. She grimaced. Of course, she couldn't be the one to start anything. He'd reject her for sure, and she couldn't live with the rejection.
"Did you leave a boyfriend behind?" Darrin asked with a sly grin.
"One or two. No one special." I'm looking at my boyfriend, she thought. "What about you? Anyone special?" Please, please, say no.
"No. I have neither the time nor the money to nurture a relationship, sis. I know I'll sound pompous, but right now I'm committed to my art."
She relaxed, but decided to push the issue. "You're not celibate, are you?"
He laughed. "Almost."
She loved his laugh. The low rumble animated his normally intense expression and his eyes glinted with mischief.
"Well, I don't want to hamper what little love life you have, so if you need some time alone at the loft with someone, let me know, and I'll make myself scarce." Right after I scratch the slut's eyes out, she added silently.
He grinned and turned to her. "What about you? To use your word, do you plan to be celibate?"
"Yep. I need to work and save this summer. College is important to me, Darrin. Besides, I plan to write and improved my writing abilities in my spare time."
"The male usually pays for the date."
"Yeah, and expects payment in return, the kind of payment I'm not interested in at the moment."
He snickered. "We should get along famously. A couple of celibate siblings, plying and perfecting our crafts."
They chatted. He told her about his work. She listened avidly because she wanted to know everything about him. They talked about her writing, their parents, Milltown, and many other subjects, and Carrie couldn't remember a more pleasant trip.
When they pulled into Las Vegas, Darrin said, "We'll need a cheap room for the night. It's too late to set up anything at the loft, and it's too dirty to sleep in. I can't afford two rooms, Carrie. Would you be opposed to staying in a room with me? I'll find one with two beds, of course."
She smiled. You've got to be kidding, bro. I can't think of anything I'd rather do, except maybe stay in a room with you with only one bed. "No problem. We might as well get used to bumping into each other," she said with a chuckle.
A half hour later, Darrin opened the door to a small room. "It isn't much, but it's just for sleeping, and it does have a private bath and two beds. Do you want to go out to eat or shall I get some take out, Chinese or something? I know a place nearby."
"Chinese would be fine. I'll shower and get ready for bed while you pick up the food. We should try to get an early start in the morning."
After the shower, she pulled on a pair of panties and a t-shirt. She had a robe, but decided to leave it in the suitcase. It was hot. Darrin would just have to understand. Besides, she wanted to test his reaction to her dressed as she was. She wiped the fog from the mirror with a towel, brushed her hair, and applied new lipstick. She heard the door to the motel room open and close. Darrin had arrived with the food.
He looked up at her when she entered the room and whistled. "Sexy," he said. "You have the greatest legs, sis. Let's eat while it's hot, then I'll shower."
His compliment pleased her more than it should. She beamed and performed a graceful pirouette. "This is how I sleep? Do you mind?" She loved his eyes on her. The panties were sheer and the t-shirt tight.
"Not at all. I usually sleep naked, but tonight I'll leave my boxers on."
Go naked, bro. It's okay with me. Glancing at the small table in the corner of the room with one chair, she could see eating would be difficult. "Get the picnic basket from the car, Darrin. It has paper plates and other things we'll need."
He groaned. "Where is it?"
"In back on the floor behind the driver's side, easy to get at. It's under some linen and blankets. Oh, and there's a folded camp chair on top of everything in the trunk." She had packed the car with her mother's help.
He returned with the basket and chair, and she quickly setup the table so they could eat. She could feel his eyes on her while she busied herself. Did he like what he saw?
When he started to sit in the camp chair, she said, "Uh-uh. You take that chair. As big as you are, the camp chair might not hold you."
They settled down and dove into the food. "Good," Carrie commented between bites.
"I eat Chinese at least once a week. MacDonald's gets old real quick."
"Well, I need to earn my keep. I'll cook for you once in a while." Every night, if that's what he wants.
He laughed. "Careful, you'll spoil me."
That's my plan, big guy. She reached with her napkin and wiped his chin. "Spoil you and civilize you. Have you ever lived with a woman, bro?"
"Once, for about a week, but she didn't try to spoil or civilize me. She was beautiful and sexy and a complete slob. Without trying, she made messes everywhere and never picked up after herself. Living alone, I've learned some short cuts to keep my house neat, not necessarily clean, but at least neat."
"Did you toss her out, or did she leave?"
"I tossed her out. I'm not a neat freak, but I couldn't stand the messes she made, and after only a few days, I didn't like her anymore, either. She came home from her job, and I had her bags packed, which wasn't easy with her things spread all over the place." He chuckled. "I kept finding her stuff for days after she left."
"Well, I'll try not to make messes."
He laughed heartily. "Carrie, you wouldn't know how to make a mess. You're like, Mom. Organized to the max. A place for everything and everything in its place. I only hope I'm not too messy for you."
If you are, I'll just pick up after you, she thought. That's part of my plan, too.

When he returned to the bedroom after his shower, Carrie was lying on top of the bed reading. Her t-shirt had slipped up on her cute body, giving him a view of her flat stomach and endearing bellybutton. The flesh around the button looked so soft he wanted to nuzzle his face on her satiny skin. He could also see a hint of her pubic hair through the sheer fabric of her cotton panties, and he felt the beginnings of an erection.
She looked up at him and smiled. "I'd whistle like you did," she said, "but I don't know how. You're a hunk, bro."
You're sick, he told himself. She's your sister, for Christ's sake. She shouldn't excite you sexually. Besides she's going to live with you. As she said, you'll need to get used to seeing her half naked and bumping into her.
She laid her book down, and rolled one leg to the floor and then the other one, and with the movement gave him a brief open view of her panty-clad pussy. Dark pubic hairs poked out from the edges of the fabric, and the gusset appeared damp, which made it translucent. He decided he'd better crawl under the sheets quickly before his growing erection became too noticeable.
He groaned inwardly as she bent with her cute butt pointed toward him as she pulled down the covers on her bed. She turned to him and quickly moved up against him. Could she feel him? Of course she could. She'd have to be paralyzed from the neck down to avoid knowing he was fully erect. He wanted to die.
"Goodnight, bro," she said with a smile as her arms wrapped his waist. "Thank you for inviting me to live with you. You saved my life."
His arms automatically went around her, and she turned her head flat against his chest and hugged him. He hugged her back. "Goodnight," he said, feeling so embarrassed he wanted to crawl under the bed, not in it.
She went up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss, a sisterly kiss, thank God, turned and crawled into her bed, which was one of the sexiest sights he'd ever seen.
Blushing, he quickly pulled back the covers on his bed and climbed inside. Shit, the overhead light was still on. Well, he wasn't about to get up to turn it off and let her watch his hard-on bounce as he moved to the door.
"Would you get the light, sis?"
He's embarrassed, she thought as she pushed back the covers and pranced to the door. She could feel his eyes on her again, so she exaggerated her wiggle just a bit. Just before she turned out the light, she turned to him again. Yep, he was watching her butt. "Goodnight," she repeated as the room went dark. On her return trip, she stumbled over the camp chair and cursed. "Sorry," she said. She couldn't believe she had said the "F" word, but she had. What would he think? Would he think her crude?
Finally in bed again, she turned toward him. The room was very dark, so she couldn't see him. She wished some light from the street streamed into the room. She wanted to watch him sleep.
Shivering with passion, she remembered how he had looked at her when he exited the bathroom after his shower. Seeing her lying on the bed had excited him, and his penis had started to lengthen, which reminded her of the previous week when she had kissed him, that infamous kiss that went too far. He had become partially erect then, too, which thrilled her because she had the power to arouse him. But tonight was special. He stood gazing at her, studying her, and he obviously liked what he saw. She had moved off the bed and hugged him because she wanted to feel his erection against her again, and a sisterly goodnight hug and kiss gave her the perfect excuse. It felt so long, and it throbbed, and she had wanted desperately to grasp it in her hand, to fondle its length, and then stroke it - for starters.
She reached between her legs and rubbed the gusset of her panties. They were wet, very wet. Pushing her panties to the side, she ran her fingers over her pussy, dipping one inside, and then rolling the tip of her finger over her swollen clitoris. She wanted to give herself an orgasm. Without release it would be difficult to sleep, but she couldn't, not with Darrin only a few feet from her. If she tried, she knew she couldn't remain completely silent. Reluctantly, she pulled her fingers away, and rolled onto her side so she faced him.
Darrin reached down and wrapped his hand around his hard-on, which was now poking out the slit in his boxers. She knew I was hard, he thought, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, I think she made a point of rubbing up against it when she hugged me goodnight. God, she's sexy. What are you going to do? How can you live with her if she gives you a hard-on every time you see her? He stroked his hard shaft once, and groaned silently. God, he needed to make himself come. Without some relief, he didn't think he could sleep, and tomorrow would be a busy day. They'd left a wakeup call for six o'clock. Pulling his hand away from his erection, he rolled to his side facing her. He wished some light filtered in through the windows from outside so he could see her. He'd love to watch her sleep. He closed his eyes and listened to her breathing, and soon his breathing became synchronized with hers, becoming slower and deeper... 

Chapter Two
The telephone jangled, a hateful, raucous sound. Darrin opened one eye and glared at the offensive instrument disturbing his sleep.
"Answer the damn phone, Darrin."
Who? Carrie. Suddenly, he remembered. Carrie was in the bed across the room. He reached and picked up the phone. "Yeah."
"It's six o'clock, sir."
"Yeah, thanks." When he tried to replace the phone on the receiver, he missed and it fell to the floor. "Fuck!" Then he remembered Carrie. "Sorry."
"Sokay. I'll get it." She pushed the covers off her and rolled her feet to the floor. After hanging up the phone, she stretched, pulling her hands high, and arching her back.
Now that's a sight I'd like to wake up to every morning, he thought, and his morning erection throbbed. He watched as she rubbed her eyes with her fists.
"I'll brush my teeth first. Okay?"
"Yeah." His eyes never left her as she rummaged in her luggage and pulled out a bag containing her makeup and toiletries. When the bathroom door closed, he grabbed his hard-on and stroked it. One stroke turned into two, and then three. He heard the toilet flush, and he picked up the pace. Did he have time? Could he come before she returned? No, she didn't take any clothes in the bathroom with her, just her toiletries. He groaned with disappointment, and pulled his hand from his throbbing shaft.
In the bathroom, Carrie reminisced about the previous evening and felt a twinge of arousal. After brushing her teeth, she noticed her nipples were hard, creating noticeable points in the t-shirt. She shrugged. He had seen the same points in the cotton stretched over her breasts last night. Smiling wickedly, she reached and pinched each nipple, making the points even more noticeable. She opened the door and returned to the bedroom. "Do you want the bathroom before I dress?" she asked.
"No, go ahead."
Bending to pull clothes from her suitcase, she glanced over her shoulder. His eyes were fixed on her behind. Cool. She smiled. "I'm wearing old clothes today, okay?"
"Definitely appropriate. You have a great butt, sis."
She looked back at him and smiled. "Thanks. I hope I'm not grossing you out."
"Not at all. I'm enjoying the scenery."
"Perv." As soon as she said the word, she wanted to take it back. With the clothes in her hands, she turned to him. "I didn't mean that, bro. It was just a joke."
"I know. Get dressed. I'm going to need the bathroom soon."
The door closed again, and he rolled his feet to the floor. Looking down, he slapped his hard-on. "Perv," he said and laughed out loud. He shook his head. She's going to live with you, perv, he told himself, so get a grip. She's your sister, not a potential lover. You're supposed to protect her from perverts like you.
He stood and pulled the drapery open. Bright sunlight filled the room. His mouth tasted like wool, and he wanted a cup of coffee badly. He'd left his trousers on the back of a chair, so he pulled them on. Gathering the garbage from their meal, he opened the door and found a trash receptacle to dump the bag. The door was locked when he returned, and his key was atop the dresser inside. Great! Are you going to fuck up all day, perv? He knocked on the door. He could see the bathroom through the window. He knocked again. The bathroom door opened, and Carrie stood wearing nothing but an old pair of shorts. Her naked, pert breasts were perfectly shaped, high and proud on her chest. He captured the sight in his photographic mind. Simply magnificent!
"What?" she hollered, and then she saw him through the window. With a squeal, she hopped back into the bathroom.
"I locked myself out," he shouted.
"Just a minute. Let me put something on and I'll let you in." Jeez, first I call him a pervert, and then I expose myself like an exhibitionist. No, she decided with a grin. Last night I was an exhibitionist. This morning was an accident - a good accident. She'd noticed her brother had enjoyed the accidental view. Perhaps she could engineer some similar accidents. She threw on a t-shirt and let him in.
"Nice tits, sis."
"I like your chest, too. Sorry about being an exhibitionist. I'll try to be more ladylike for the rest of the day."
Too, bad, he thought.
To hell with ladylike, she decided. She'd reserve ladylike for another time, like when in public with him. He was responding to her as a woman, not as his sister - her preferred response. Glancing furtively at his bare chest, she had an urge to rain kisses across its expanse. Were his nipples as sensitive as hers?

Carrie's heart sank when they arrived at the studio and loft. Dirty didn't describe it. Years and years of dirt and grime covered every surface.
"I rented the place for the studio, sis, and it came cheap," Darrin said.
"I wonder why," she quipped sardonically. Careful, she warned herself. He'll think you're ungrateful.
He pointed at some grimy windows near the ceiling on one wall. "The clerestory glass on the north wall provides perfect light for painting during daylight, and I have space to work on a dozen paintings all at once if I want to. The industrial sink and counter over there are perfect. With some long worktables scattered here and there, I couldn't ask for a better environment for a studio."
He sees only the potential of the studio of his dreams, she thought. He doesn't give a damn about the living space, only the studio. Lord knows what the loft looks like. "Show me the loft, Darrin."
They trudged up the rickety stairs. "I'll need to tighten up the railing," he said. "I hope you're not too disheartened, Carrie. The loft isn't much, but we can make it work."
At the landing, she gazed around. "Not much" had been a gross exaggeration. He had piled his furniture and belongings in the center of what was to become their living room and covered his meager possessions with a sheet of plastic to protect them from the dirt and grime until he returned. Turning to the kitchen, if what she saw could be termed a kitchen, she groaned with disappointment. A single, chipped and yellow-stained sink had a small counter to its left, maybe two feet long - the only counter space in the kitchen. A tiny refrigerator rested next to the counter to the left, and she could see a small freestanding range and oven to the right of the sink. That was all. The entire kitchen ran along one wall and couldn't be more than eight feet wide, if that. No cabinets, no pantry.
When she turned to Darrin, he looked ashamed, as he should, but she smiled and said, "We'll make it work." And she would, too. She'd noticed a metal cabinet down in the studio. It would make do for a pantry, but if Darrin needed it for art supplies, she'd find something like it at a garage sale. And a rolling butcher-block cabinet would give her more workspace. She could pick up a used one. She'd make it work. It would take a while and some expense was involved, but she'd make it work, damn it! "Show me the bathroom."
He shrugged. "It's a tub, sink and toilet," he said and pointed her in the right direction.
He didn't exaggerate this time. That's exactly what the bathroom was: a tub, sink and toilet. That's all. No linen closet, no counter, no shower, and the floor was... she couldn't decide what made up the floor. It was too dirty to make an informed judgment. "Do we have hot water?" she asked.
"Yes. When I asked, the real estate agent said there was a hot water heater. I checked, and it didn't work, so the lease called for a new water heater. They were supposed to put it in while I was gone."
She stepped to the sink and turned on the hot water faucet. Brown water gurgled out, but soon cleared. She waited, slipping her fingers under the water from time to time, but the water didn't get any warmer. She turned on the faucet marked cold to check the possibility the faucets were mixed. No hot water. "You'll need to call the landlord, Darrin."
"Shit! They promised. Come on, I'll show you the other two rooms. You pick one for your bedroom, and I'll take the other. There's a Seven Eleven at the corner with a pay phone. I'll call the landlord from there."
"Uh-uh. You pick. I'm the guest." Accordingly, she selected the smaller room, the one without a window.
While he was out making the call to the landlord, she pulled up the corner of the plastic covering his furniture and noted a ratty sofa, a small kitchen table and two chairs, a lamp, a mattress and bedsprings, and a few odds and ends. One bed, she noted. Interesting. Maybe he expects me to sleep on the sofa tonight. No way. Darrin was a big man, and the mattress appeared to be king sized. She'd sleep with him tonight. She smiled. Something good had surfaced amidst the disaster.
Where to start? His bedroom, she decided. He had pulled his car inside the studio, which boasted an overhead door. She found the cleaning stuff she'd packed in the car, filled a bucket with soap and cold water in the industrial sink in the studio and trudged back upstairs.
After he returned from making his call, they worked together and made progress, but it was slow. Two hours later, they set up his bed in his room. "We'll need to find a bed for you," he said, finally realizing she had no place to sleep.
"Yeah, but later. I'll camp out with you tonight. That's a big bed, bro, and I don't take up much space."
His eyes widened. "I can sleep on the couch."
"Hah! You're too tall. You won't fit. Besides, I trust you." I don't trust myself, but I trust you, bro.
"We'll see," he said, obviously uncomfortable with her suggestion.
"I'll do the bathroom next. There's not room for both of us in there. Why don't you work on your studio?"
He smiled, and she knew she had guessed where his heart was.
At lunchtime, he went out for burgers, and they sat around the kitchen table and talked while they ate. "I told you it wasn't much, Carrie. I hope you're not too disappointed."
She smiled. "If the landlord puts in a water heater like he promised, we'll make do."
He blushed. "The water heater is scheduled for tomorrow. Maybe we should get another room for the night."
"No, we'll wash in cold water. We'll need every spare penny to make this place livable, Darrin. We'll stay here tonight."
A determined look entered his face. "I had not planned to go back to work until next week, but you're right. We're going to need some extra money. I'll call my boss and work tonight, if he'll let me. I paint during the day, Carrie, and work as a dealer for one of the casinos at night three or four days a week. My boss likes me and within reason lets me choose my hours. Will you feel comfortable alone here tonight?"
No, I'll only feel comfortable if you're lying next to me in your big bed. She smiled. "I'll be fine, but you don't need to go back to work early just for me."
He left for work at two o'clock that afternoon. His shift started at three, and he planned to shower and dress at the casino. "I'll be back by one in the morning, sis. If you need me for anything, call this number." He gave her a slip of paper with a phone number scribbled on it. "Don't call unless there's an emergency. Whoever answers that number will need to track me down. I'll make enough on tips to buy you a bed tomorrow."
Ah, shucks, she thought, as she watched him go out the door. She worked in the kitchen until about six o'clock when she heard a knock. Had Darrin forgotten his key? She rushed downstairs and yelled through the door, "Who is it?"
"Pizza delivery, ma'am. I'm supposed to tell you it's from Darrin."
She opened the door, and took the box after paying for the pizza. How thoughtful of Darrin, she thought. She had wondered what she'd do for dinner and had decided her only option was a hotdog from the Seven Eleven.
As she moved through the studio to go back up to the loft, she noticed a large painting on an easel. It faced away from her, but she wanted to see it. Seconds later, she nearly dropped the pizza. She was stunned! She had never seen such a powerful painting before. Obviously a Las Vegas scene, the faces on the subjects in the painting exposed their souls. A fat woman pulled the handle on a one-armed bandit, and she looked like she'd been on the same stool for her entire life. Well past her prime, the change lady in a short skirt looked harried and bored. Her legs were too skinny and an industrial-strength bra held her augmented breasts aloft. A couple, obviously from out of town, was arguing. She could almost hear their angry words. Carrie gathered from the scene that her husband had lost too much at the tables, and his wife was ragging him unmercifully. The husband looked shamefaced and pissed at the same time. The painting as a whole reflected the decadence of a casino with its tawdry daily occupants.
After glancing around the studio, she set the pizza box on the table next to the painting and strolled to a pile of paintings leaning against one wall. She found nearly thirty finished paintings, and most of them were as powerful as the one on the easel. The tone and emotions depicted varied. Some were happy scenes of revelers. One showed a fat old man with a gorgeous woman on his arm, probably a hooker, stepping over a homeless drunk. Powerful!
Her goals changed at that moment. She made a vow to support her brother in his life work. Oh, she'd attend the university, and she'd work at her writing skills, but Darrin was the genius in the family, not her.
The pizza was cold when she finally set it on the kitchen table. She didn't care, and she no longer felt badly about her surroundings. She'd make a home for her genius brother, make it as pleasant as she could with their meager income. She knew how. She'd observed her mother get by with half of nothing all the days of her life.
Still awake when Darrin returned shortly before one in the morning, she pretended to be sound asleep. She could feel his eyes on her, which pleased and aroused her. It was warm in the loft, and she had kicked the sheets off her body. Peeking through slits in her eyes, she watched him shrug. He removed his clothing, except for his boxers, and climbed as carefully as possible onto the bed with her. She wanted desperately to take him into her arms and tell him what a genius he was, wanted to hug him and give him a goodnight kiss, but she continued her subterfuge, purposefully breathing deeply and slowly as if she were asleep. She could feel him gazing at her for a while, and finally he rolled to his side away from her. Fifteen minutes later, she knew he was asleep, and she carefully slid over next to him, cuddling next to him spoon-fashioned. She loved her body next to his. Laying her cheek on his strong back, she relaxed, and soon sleep took her away.

"What do you think of Darrin's paintings, Daddy?" Carrie asked. Before their parents arrived, Carrie and Darrin had hung his finished paintings around the loft and studio. They brightened up the place more than her meager efforts. The siblings had worked like dervishes for over a week to make the loft as livable as possible. She took time out only to attend interviews for a job. Finally, Darrin had introduced her to a friend of a friend who owned an upscale restaurant, and the man had hired her to be a hostess. The restaurant was close to the casino where Darrin worked part time, and with almost the same working hours, he could drop her off and pick her up after her shift. On those nights when she worked and he didn't, he told her she could use his car. She planned to start work the day after the parents left to return to Milltown.
"I'd be happier if he'd concentrate on a career that paid better," Evan Cannon said, ignoring her question.
"Ah, Dad, that would be such a waste. He's a true artistic genius. Someday, his paintings will sell for a lot of money."
"When? After he's dead like that dumbbell that cut off his ear, Van Gogg, I think his name was. I saw the movie about him."
"Evan, you're incorrigible," Harriet said with a chuckle from the kitchen.
Carrie appreciated her mother's good sense and the skill with which she handled her father. The old-fashioned man wasn't completely happy about her staying with Darrin, but with her mother's help, he had grudgingly caved in, at least for the summer. He wasn't as gracious about her staying with Darrin while she went to school.
"You'll have enough saved for a room in a dormitory, won't you?" he had asked.
"Maybe," she had replied. She had no intention of moving out of the loft, not as long as Darrin would let her stay, but she didn't want that conversation with her father, not yet.
"I happen to agree with Carrie. Our son is a genius, Evan," Harriet added as she entered the room. "Honey, there's a plastic bag in the trunk of the car. Would you please bring it up here?" She turned to Carrie with a grin. "Curtains. Mrs. Edgar had a yard sale. I bought them for half of nothing. I think they'll be perfect at the window over the kitchen sink."
"Yes, just what the little kitchen needs!" Carrie exclaimed. "Now the loft is cleaned up and painted, I had planned to visit some yard sales here in Vegas. We need quite a few things."
"Good way to go," her mother quipped.
"Don't spend too much," her father grumbled. "You'll need your money for college. Make Darrin chip in."
Carrie was happy Darrin was working at the casino so he didn't have to listen to his father put him down.

Darrin and Carrie settled into their new home, and a routine of sorts developed. Carrie worked Tuesday through Saturday from four in the afternoon until midnight, so Darrin arranged his work schedule to match hers, except he didn't go to the casino on Tuesdays, and if his painting efforts were progressing, he often didn't work at the casino on Wednesdays.
Carrie pushed herself out of bed early on Friday and Saturday mornings and hit the garage sales, making careful purchases for needed personal and household items, including clothing she could even wear to work. She was amazed at the quality of the "junk" in yard sales in Vegas compared to Milltown.
She also noticed the owner of the restaurant where she worked threw out perfectly fine food, like produce that had lost its freshness below the quality he liked to serve but still remaining very edible. She asked if he'd mind if she took some of it home. He nodded but appeared reticent, so she was careful to ask before she took anything. It didn't take him long to trust her implicitly. The food from her workplace reduced their weekly grocery bill considerably.
As hostess, she shared in tips, and the amount she earned each night pleasantly surprised her. She was making at least twice what she would have made as a lifeguard. Financially, she was much better off than if she'd stayed in Milltown. If she were careful, by the end of the summer, she could purchase her own used car for the commute to the university.
She cooked breakfast for Darrin and herself, made sandwiches or something else quick for lunches, and prepared a rather elaborate home-cooked meal every Sunday. The tiny refrigerator/freezer in the loft was a disaster, but she found a used one she picked up cheap at a garage sale. Now with adequate freezer space, she prepared meals on Mondays she could freeze for Darrin to pop into the oven or warm on top of the stove on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. She also found a microwave at a yard sale that was still in the box from the manufacturer.
A month after she had arrived with Darrin in Las Vegas, she sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and looked around. She smiled and congratulated herself. She had created a home out of the grimy, dreary space she had entered not long ago.
Hearing Darrin climbing the stairs, she turned toward him and smiled. The first sight of him each morning still thrilled her. What the hell, every sight of him thrilled her - morning, noon, or night. She didn't know when he had roused from his bed. Perhaps he didn't go to bed at all. Sometimes when he came home from the casino, he changed clothes and went to work on his paintings, working all night, only to crash sometime the next day when he ran out of steam. From the look of him, that's what he had done the previous night. She wanted to advise him to be more careful about his health but didn't want to sound like a nag.
"I just made a fresh pot of coffee, Darrin."
"Just what I need."
She hopped up and poured him a cup and set it on the table in front of him. His eyes lingered on her. She had not dressed yet, merely brushed her teeth and hair, and still wore only a t-shirt and panties.
"I wish you wouldn't bounce around the loft dressed like that, Carrie. You give me un-brotherly ideas."
"To start with, bro, I don't bounce. I'm very firm, thank you. About how I'm dressed. I have a flannel nightgown that covers me from my neck to my feet. I'll wear it come winter. Until then, it's just too damned hot, and I'll sleep dressed like this. Regarding your un-brotherly ideas, when you strut around in your boxers, I admit to un-sisterly ideas. Neither of us will act on our ideas, so lets just live with them. Okay?"
His eyes widened. "You have un-sisterly ideas?"
"Sure. I'm not blind, and although I'm committed to temporary celibacy, you turn me on - big time."
He started to say something, and then slammed his mouth shut. Finally, he said, "I don't strut. I stride; I lumber sometimes, and I walk. I do not strut!"
Carrie laughed with delight. "Looks like a strut to me."
"Well, you have a wiggle."
"I do not wiggle. I glide - gracefully, I might add."
He laughed. "Looks like a wiggle to me." When she frowned, he added, "To be fair, sometimes you glide, and regardless, you are always graceful."
She grinned. "Thanks, and I love your strut." She sipped her coffee. "You worked all night again, didn't you?"
"Uh-huh. I finished a painting. It's one of my best, Carrie, if not the best."
"Show it to me."
"Bring your coffee."
A minute later, Carrie stepped in front of the painting and gasped. The powerful emotions emanating from the canvas astounded her. She saw greed, addiction, joy, boredom, desolation, and more.
"It's wonderful, Darrin, and I agree with you. It's your best work yet. Tell me, how many paintings with the Las Vegas theme do you have finished?"
"I don't know - fifteen to twenty."
"Enough for a one-man show?"
"I don't know. I've never been to a one-man show."
"What?"
"You heard me." He looked angry. "The works of other artists don't interest me, Carrie. I went to an art museum in Los Angeles once. From what I saw there, art is an individual thing. I saw so many different styles and approaches to art I became confused. Christ, one painting depicted a Campbell's tomato soup can. Another painting had a few slashes of black paint on a white canvas. For what it's worth, I liked that one. Unlike the soup can, it somehow pulled some emotion from me, though I didn't recognize the emotion. I left the museum no longer able to define art. I've never had a teacher; I taught myself everything I know, but I now know what art is to me. That's a Darrin Cannon painting, Carrie, and its art, damn it!"
Unbelievable. "I couldn't agree more, bro. You told me you've sold a few of your paintings. How?"
"I took a couple of my paintings to a large furniture store. They framed them and hung them with furniture groupings. If the paintings sell, they take half and deduct the cost of the frame and give me the rest, and I give them another to sell."
More than unbelievable. "How many paintings have you sold this way?"
"Six."
"How much do they pay you when one of your paintings sell?"
"The last one was the largest amount. I made $300," he said somewhat proudly.
"So it sold for around $700. Correct?"
"Yeah, thereabouts. I think the frame was a hundred and a half, which would make it $750."
"In a furniture store?"
"Yeah. Why do you look so shocked?"
"Sorry. I don't know how the art world works, bro, but I'm going to find out. You need a keeper."
His face fell. He probably felt she had put him down. She set her coffee down and moved up against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I love you, bro." She reached on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "You're an artistic genius, but you don't know shit about how to market your art. I suspect selling your paintings in a furniture store on consignment isn't the way it should be done. I also suspect you don't give a damn whether you sell your paintings or not. Correct?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"I also suspect selling one of your paintings, even for $300, thrilled you. Didn't it?"
He grinned. "Uh-huh."
His large hands moved to the center of her back, and she could feel him start to get excited. She wanted to stay in his arms, but she had an idea she wanted to explore and needed a clear head. She stepped away from him, and took his hand in hers. They stood side by side gazing at the painting.
"Would you mind terribly if I looked into art from a marketing point of view?"
"Not at all."
"Good. Your paintings are too large for me to lug around. Do you know anyone with a good camera who will photograph your paintings for us, sort of create a portfolio?"
"I had a girlfriend last year who was a fair amateur photographer. She might do it."
That's all I need around here - an old girlfriend. "Are you still on decent terms with her?"
"I don't know. She got pissed because I didn't pay enough attention to her."
"Well, give me her name and phone number, and I'll call her."
"Okay. What do you have in mind, sis?"
"I'm not sure. I know I need the use of a computer and a connection to the Internet, and I need a photographic portfolio of your work." She squeezed his hands. "You keep working, bro. Create more paintings like this one. I'll figure out how to sell them for you. If a furniture store can sell a few of your paintings for $750 dollars, I suspect with the right promotional effort, you can sell them for much more."
During her spare time in the next week, she went to the library at the university and surfed the Internet. She discovered art galleries represented artists of note. Some galleries even had exclusive rights to sell an artist's works. She wondered whether exclusivity helped or harmed the artist. Intuitively, she decided to avoid exclusivity, if possible. She also discovered many artists used agents just like writers. She'd be his agent until she could attract a professional.
Carrie couldn't find Darrin's old girlfriend. Her phone number was no longer in service, and she wasn't listed in the phone book. She spoke with a professional photographer, and quickly determined she couldn't afford his services, and she was getting impatient. One night at work, she overheard a couple talking while they dined. The woman was telling her companion about a new camera she had just purchased and the amazing results she had obtained with it. During her break, she introduced herself to the couple and apologized for interrupting their meal.
"I overheard you talking about your new camera. Would you mind terribly if I asked you a few questions?"
The woman was gracious. "Not at all, Ms. Cannon. Please have a seat."
Carrie quickly outlined her problem. "Ms. Terrance, I need photographs of my brother's paintings, but I don't have enough money to pay a professional photographer. I checked."
"I'm a professional photographer, Ms. Cannon."
Carrie blushed and started to slide out of the booth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I've intruded..."
Ms. Terrance stopped her by taking her arm. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll visit your brother's studio and view his paintings. If I like what I see, I'll take the photographs and create the portfolio you need. You work as a hostess in this fine restaurant and are paid for your services. I expect to be paid for my services, too. I'll either defer payment until after your brother's first one-man show, or I'll take one of his paintings in payment. I will select the payment method after viewing the paintings."
"Really?"
The woman laughed. "Ms. Cannon. I can't lose. If I don't see any promising talent, I won't take the photographs. Being in a creative field myself, I can recognize talent. If your brother is as talented as you say, I'll eventually be paid for my services. If I believe the paintings are more valuable than my services, I'll come out way ahead. Why shouldn't I make such an offer?"
Carrie grinned. "I see what you mean. I could learn from you, Ms. Terrance. When can you come to the studio?"
"How about tomorrow afternoon? Say two o'clock."
"Perfect." Carrie jotted the studio's address on a cocktail napkin.

Bouncing around in those sexy little panties and tight t-shirts, she's driving me up the walls. She says she doesn't bounce, but damn it, she bounces. She's right though, she is firm. He groaned, wanting desperately to test her firmness with his hands - with his lips.
Thoroughly confused by her statement that she had un-sibling-like ideas, too, he wondered what direction her ideas took. Did she dream of him in bed with her, curled up spoon-fashioned behind him like he found her the first morning they woke up together in his bed? Did she get excited every time she saw him, whether scantily clad or fully clothed, like she excited him? My God, what a woman! In about a month she had turned a pigsty into a home, and she did it spending half of what he thought it would take to make the place half as livable as it was now. She cooks like a gourmet chef and they spend less on food together than he did alone before she joined him. And now, she's applying her organizational talent to market his paintings. She had a professional photographer coming this afternoon to create a portfolio of his work, and it would cost him nothing except a painting or the cost would be deferred until he could afford to pay it. Amazing!
He shook his head. This fall he would force her to move out into a dormitory. On this point, Darrin agreed with his father. If she didn't, he'd do something he'd regret for the rest of his life. He wanted her! He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any woman - ten times more. And his need involved more than sex. He wanted her as a companion, as a life's mate. He loved her, and his love for her had transcended sibling love. He didn't know the moment his deep love for her as a sister moved to an even deeper love for her as a woman, but he couldn't deceive himself any longer. He was in love with her, fully and completely in love with her.
She did everything for him. And what had he done for her? Diddly shit! Well that had to change! Today, in fact. He flipped through the classifieds in the newspaper to the section he sought. Using a pen he circled a few ads.
"Carrie, I'm going out for a while," he yelled. She was in the bathroom.
"Okay. Don't forget Ms. Terrance will be here at two this afternoon."
"I remember." How could I forget? "I'll be back well before two."
"Should I plan on you for lunch?"
"Yes."
She heard him lumber down the stairs and smiled. He was correct he did lumber sometimes. Wrapping the towel she had used to dry off after her cold shower she stepped from the bathroom. Detesting the time it took to fill the old tub, she had purchased a shower kit, and Darrin had installed it. Moving to the living room, she watched him go out the front door.
She had taken a cold shower for two reasons. One, it was hot in the loft. Before the summer ended it would be sweltering. She'd need to do something about the problem soon, or it would be too hot to sleep comfortably at night, especially in her room. Darrin could open the window in his room, but hers would become a sweatbox. She chuckled. Maybe he'd let her share his bed again, which reminded her of the second reason for the cold shower. Hot as it was, they ate breakfast together half naked. Darrin wore only his boxer shorts. She'd been in her standard morning attire - a t-shirt and panties. She informed him about Ms. Terrance and the agreement she had made, slightly fearful at first because she had agreed to give away one of his paintings for Terrance's services without consulting him. How would he react? Had she gone too far? She smiled again remembering his reaction. He had loved the idea immediately and insisted on giving her a hug. She had melted into his strong arms, and nearly lost control again. He rarely insisted on a hug. She usually initiated them, not him. And, he had kissed her, too, and the kiss had almost exceeded the bounds of propriety. His hands had roamed over her back, and the kiss had lingered more than normal. God, she loved his lips on hers. She had wanted to press her tongue between his lips, explore his mouth, taste him, plunge her tongue inside, and suck his tongue into her mouth. It had been so tempting. With the slightest indication on his part, she would have done it, too, willingly and enthusiastically.
So she had taken a cold shower.
She returned to the bathroom and hung up the towel. He'd be gone for a while. Striding to his bedroom, she reclined atop the unmade bed where he slept and searched for his warmth and his odors. She loved the way he smelled, even if he were sweating. An evil chuckle escaped her lips. She'd love to be the cause of his sweating as he moved on top of her, filling her with his long, hard cock. She reached and touched herself, spreading her labia with her fingers, and dipping a finger inside. She imagined her finger were her brother's long penis. In her mind's eye, he was looking down at her with love and lust in his eyes as he thrust into her.
The fantasy and her fingers quickly took her arousal close to a peak. It was exciting to be in his bed, to whiff his lingering odors and imagine him fucking her - so exciting she didn't want the feelings and daydream to end too soon. She slowed her fingers at her swollen little clitoris, but her fantasy took his lips to hers, like this morning, only now, he tasted her, and she tasted him, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth!
She climaxed shouting his name.
The jerks and pulsations of her orgasm slowed, becoming wider and wider apart, and the relaxed lethargy following her orgasm took her consciousness into a deep sleep.
Later, Carrie heard noises somewhere way off in the distance, and her slumbering brain started to come alive. Her half-asleep state was pleasant, though, so she resisted full consciousness.
Darrin rushed up the stairs. His mission had been successful, and he couldn't wait to present Carrie with the gift he had purchased for her. She wasn't in the kitchen or living room, and when he looked through the open door to her room, it was vacant, too. The bathroom door was open. She wasn't there, either. He felt disappointed. She must have stepped out, probably to the Seven Eleven. He felt sweaty, and he had not showered that morning, so he moved to his bedroom to strip for a shower. He opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks.
His little sister was lying in his bed naked as the day she was born! He couldn't take his eyes off her. Gorgeous! Stunning! Beautiful! All inadequate words. Even his artist's brain could not have conceived such beauty. He felt himself becoming very aroused. One of her hands nestled in the dark forest of her mound. He wished she'd move it so he could see the details of her vulva. He sniffed and detected her fragrances, and something else. The scent of sex! In his befuddled state, he felt confused. The lingering scent in the room was female - Carrie's aromas. And the smells indicated she'd been excited. Not now, earlier, sometime after he left to buy her a present. She'd been in the bathroom when he left. For some reason, she had come into his bedroom and lay down on his bed - naked. And she'd become excited in this room, excited enough to fill the stagnant air with the fragrances of her arousal. What actually had happened struck him with the force of a blow! She'd masturbated! Right there on his bed! He groaned and grabbed his throbbing cock over his trousers.
Her hand moved and her legs spread slightly. The sight burned into his brain to be revisited many times for the rest of his life. He was so focused on the sight of her beautiful cunt he didn't notice her eyes fluttering open.
She moved from sleep to consciousness. A cracked ceiling greeted her, and then she heard a groan. She swung her eyes to the sound and saw her brother. He was staring at her but not at her eyes. She followed his gaze.
My God, I'm naked! He's staring at my pussy!
Then she remembered where she was and what she had done! She wanted to die! She'd ruined everything. She felt tears sting her eyes as she reached and quickly pulled the sheet over her.
"Get out!" she shouted in anger, but the anger wasn't for her brother. She was furious with herself. How could she have fallen asleep naked in his bed and allowed him to find her? He'd ask her to move! She'd ruined everything. "Get out!" She was afraid to look him in his eyes, afraid she would see revulsion and disgust gazing back at her. She rolled to her side and started to cry.
"Get dressed and meet me at the kitchen table, Carrie," he said.
An order.
She finally dared to look toward him, but he had already left the room and closed the door. An order was just what she needed to gain control of her self-pity. She wiped her face on the sheet and rolled her feet to the floor. Tears still streamed down her cheeks, but she no longer sobbed. She moved to the door and cracked it open. He must be in the kitchen, she thought as she hurried to her room and dressed.
Chapter Three
Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door and walked from her room. She'd fucked up big time. If he asked her to move, what would she do? She'd have to move back with her parents. She would have no other choice. She'd also need to forget college for a year, at least. Damn it! Life just wasn't fair.
Darrin sat dejected at the kitchen table. She was pissed at him. Understandingly pissed. He'd stood at the door to his bedroom and gawked at her like a teenager who had never seen a naked woman. He had willed her to move her hand so he could see her cunt, for Christ's sake! Sick! You're a sick, perverted fuck who wants to fuck his sister. Incest! Even the thought of the word stung him. She'll move out for sure, move back to Milltown and tell her parents she could no longer live with her brother, not with the way he looked at her, lusted after her. She'd tell them how sick he was, and she'd have every right to inform them about his perverted desires. If she wanted to move, he wouldn't try to stop her.
He looked up as she walked toward him. He had expected an angry look, or a look of condemnation, but she looked frightened, not angry. Why? She had nothing to fear. He was at fault, not her.
He looks so unhappy, she thought. I caused that look. My unhealthy, immoral desire for him... wait! Why is he merely unhappy? He should look disgusted. He should be angry and revolted. She pulled up a chair and sat across from him.
"I'm sorry," they both said at the same time.
Stunned by what they heard, each studied the other. Both looked confused. Both wondered if they had misread the situation. And they both started to speak again at the same time, which caused them to pull back into silence yet again. Neither looked at the other. Instead Darrin studied the top of the kitchen table. Carrie studied her hands folded demurely in her lap.
"Why are you sorry, sis?" Darrin finally asked. "I was at fault, not you. You have no reason to be sorry about anything. You were angry with me. You screamed at me, told me to get out, and you had every right..."
"Oh, Darrin, I wasn't angry with you. I was angry with myself. I was on your bed naked and asleep - definitely inappropriate. I'm very sorry."
What's happening here, Carrie asked herself. Maybe what happened wasn't a complete disaster after all; maybe he won't ask me to move. Looking back, she realized he didn't know she had gone to his bed and masturbated thinking about him. How could he know? She had felt so guilty she had hated herself and projected her self-revulsion onto him. But he didn't know how much she wanted him. He only saw her naked on his bed, and she had yelled at him to leave his own room, and her voice was angry because she was angry with herself. No wonder he thought she was angry with him.
I'm thoroughly confused, Darrin thought. Maybe she won't leave me and move back to Milltown. Why isn't she angry with me? I... 
Suddenly it dawned on him why she wasn't angry. She had not seen how excited he was. She had come out of a deep sleep confused, like he was now, and didn't notice how he was looking at her. But why was she angry with herself? She said it was inappropriate to be in his bed naked and asleep. He smiled inwardly. I guess it was, and she had masturbated, too, if the lingering scents he detected in the room were accurate. She had no reason to feel guilty about masturbating. Everyone did it. He did. God, he'd never masturbated so much as during the last month since she moved in with him. Without those daily releases of his sexual tension, he would have inappropriately jumped her lovely bones long ago.
Darrin pondered the situation. What should he do about what happened? Should he admit how much he wanted her, how much he loved her? No! She'd move out for sure, and he didn't know if he could live without her, not after seeing her and talking with her and being with her every day for a month. He decided to ignore the situation as if it had never happened. If he saw her naked again, he vowed he would turn from her and leave her to her privacy.
What should I do, Carrie asked herself. I can tell him the truth, tell him I love him more than life itself, but that would only get me tossed out on my butt. No, I should probably ignore what happened, make sure he knows I'm not angry with him and go on as before.
"I'm sorry," they both said, again at the same time, and this time they both cracked up in laughter. They laughed until tears ran from their eyes. One of them would finally get a handle on the jollity, but the other's continued laughter would pull the other back to laughing again. Finally, they both controlled themselves at the same time.
Carrie wiped the tears from her eyes, happy laughter-caused tears. "I love you, bro. Let's just forget what just happened as if it never happened."
"You've got a deal."
Carrie glanced at the clock. "It's almost one. Ms. Terrance will be here at two. I'd better fix us some lunch, and we'll eat before she arrives."
Suddenly, Darrin remembered the gift she had purchased for her. "Carrie, you've been so wonderful, done so much for me over the past month. You cook for me, keep the house clean and orderly, and now you plan to market my paintings. You've saved so much on the food bill, I put away a little money, and I bought you a gift today to show you my appreciation. It isn't much, and it's used, but it's something I think you need. I didn't know where you would want to set it up, so I left it in the car. Come and see, and then you can tell me where you want it, and I'll set it up for you."
"A present? Oh, Darrin you didn't need..."
"Hush, say thank you, Darrin, and hush."
She smiled. "Thank you, Darrin."
He took her hand and hurried her down the stairs. As they approached the car, he said, "I don't know much about these things, but the seller said it was a good one, almost new, but if it's too old and not adequate for you, he said I could take it back and he'd refund my money."
"I'm sure it's fine, Darrin."
He opened the rear driver's-side door, and she saw a computer monitor. Then she saw the computer itself, and a keyboard and mouse. She squealed. "Oh, Darrin, it's perfect! Just what I need! Thank you! Thank you!"
She was so excited she couldn't stop herself. She literally jumped into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him! God, did she ever kiss him! It was twice the kiss she had feared had ruined everything when he offered to let her live with him a month or so ago. When she finally came to her senses, she suddenly feared she had ruined everything yet again. He had a raging erection, which she had rubbed against with her pussy through the crotch of her jeans, not just once either, but quite a few times. She had dry-humped him, for Christ's sake! And she had plunged her tongue into his mouth. How could she have done such a thing when she had barely escaped his revulsion only minutes before? Embarrassed and fearful, she pulled back from the embrace, quickly dropped her feet to the floor, turned her back to him and leaned into the car to look at the computer. She'd ignore what she had done. Perhaps he'd do the same. Please, she silently begged, please ignore what just happened.
Jesus! No one had ever kissed him with such passion in his entire life. Shocked at first, Darrin had tried to keep the kiss brotherly. After all, he had just avoided driving her away from him. But, as the kiss continued and became even more passionate, he couldn't stop himself and went with his feelings, giving everything to the embrace, like Carrie. He felt her rub her pussy against his hard cock, and when she plunged her tongue into his mouth, he had done the same to her. He tasted her, explored every nook and cranny of her mouth, and rubbed the crotch of her jeans with his erection, just like she was rubbing the front of his jeans with her pussy. God, he was hot! He wanted her desperately. For a few seconds, he believed she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He almost lost control, almost walked her to a table and stripped her jeans from her and fucked her! But she had more sense than he. She had gained a semblance of control and moved away from him.
Now he watched her jean-covered, round, firm butt as she leaned into the car admiring the computer in the back seat. He sucked in a massive amount of air. Get a grip, he ordered. She's ignoring what just happened. Do the same.
She looked over her shoulder at him with a big grin, but he could see fear in her eyes.
"It's perfect, Darrin. Just perfect! Help me carry it upstairs. I have just the spot for it next to the bookcase in the living room. Of course, if you don't want it in the living room, I'll put it in my room, but it is getting hot in there already. In another month, it'll be too hot to work in there, so the living room would be better, if you don't mind." God, I'm babbling like an idiot.
"Anywhere you want it is fine with me, sis." Good, she's going to ignore what happened. He moved by her, bumping her slightly. "I'll carry the monitor. It's heavy and awkward. Will you bring the keyboard and mouse? I'll come back for the computer."
"I'll need a little table or a computer desk to put it on. I'll find something at a yard sale this weekend. In the meantime, I'll use the table at the top of the stairs. Let me go ahead of you, and put the table where I want it." Is he going to let me get away with my brazen behavior? It appears he is. Thank you, Darrin. Thank you, not just for the computer, but also for letting me off the hook for the kiss. She knew she would dream about that kiss many times, and every time she did, she would become excited all over again. She set the vase and dried-flower arrangement from the tale to the floor and hurried with the table, setting it by the bookcase in the corner of the living room. Perfect, she thought. I can look over the railing while I'm writing and watch Darrin down in the studio. Perfect!

"What will it be? Will you create a portfolio for us, or not," Carrie asked.
Barbara Terrance was stunned. She had never seen such talent before and had attended at least fifty one-man shows not only in Las Vegas but also in Los Angeles and New York City.
"I'll take a painting. That one," she said softly, trying to appear nonchalant while pointing at Darrin's latest, the one still wet and the best of the lot.
"Uh-uh. Any other is acceptable. Darrin gave that one to me," Carrie said. She glanced at her brother. He raised a quizzical eyebrow but said nothing.
"I understand. Then I'll take the one hanging in your living room."
"Agreed," Darrin said. "When will you take the pictures, and when can we expect the portfolio?"
"I'll do the shoot tomorrow, and the portfolio will be ready by the end of the week." She turned away from viewing the painting toward the artist. "You're very talented, Darrin. I have no doubt the value of the painting will far exceed what I would normally charge for the photo shoot, and I'm not cheap. Accordingly, I'll also provide additional prints should you need them to send to various galleries."
Darrin grinned but turned to his sister. He raised one eyebrow - a silent query. Interesting, Barbara thought. He defers to his sister. She doesn't dominate him though, and they love each other a lot, which pleased her. She wished she could be as close with her brother, but they barely tolerated one another. She shrugged.
"I'll take the painting when I deliver the portfolio."
"You may take it now, if you wish. We trust you, Barbara," Carrie said. "Darrin would you put the painting in Barbara's van?"
Another quizzical look, but again he said nothing and bounded up the stairs. When he was gone, Carrie asked, "Do you know any gallery owners who might be interested in showing Darrin's work?"
Barbara grinned. So, that's why she's letting me take the painting now. She wants more from me than just the portfolio. "Yes, I believe I do. I noticed a computer upstairs. I'll make a list and e-mail it to you."
"Sorry, Darrin gave me the computer as a gift just before you arrived this afternoon. It's not connected to the Internet yet. Could you bring the list with you when you come for the photo shoot tomorrow?"
"Certainly."
"And could I use your name when I talk with the gallery owners you recommend?"
Barbara chuckled. She told me last night she could learn from me. Last night I agreed with her. I'm not so sure today. "Of course, but I don't know if my name will do you any good."
Carrie grinned. "I'm sure you're being modest, Barbara. I also plan to pick your mind about the world of art as it relates to the marketing process. You'll help me, too, because if Darrin's paintings start to sell, your painting will increase in value."
She's young but sharp, a nimble thinker, Barbara Terrance thought. With her help, her brother has a good chance to make it big. The photographer watched the artist lug her newly acquired painting down the stairs. She hoped it was small enough to fit in her van. She wanted to hang it this afternoon, and she had the perfect place for it.

"Why didn't you let her select my latest painting to pay for the portfolio?" Darrin asked after the photographer left.
"Because it is your best painting, which told me a few things. Barbara Terrance is a successful professional photographer. She knows artistic talent when she sees it, and she selected your best painting. I wanted to test her, but it was more a test for me than her. I wanted to see what painting she considered your second best, and she picked the one I would have picked, which validated my understanding of the value of your paintings. Besides, I want your best hanging in your first one-man show not on Barbara's living room wall."
Darrin grinned. "Okay, why did you let her take the painting away today instead of waiting until she delivered the portfolio?"
"Because when she took it doesn't matter. While you were upstairs, I asked her to give me a list of gallery owners who would be interested in your paintings, and she quickly agreed, even offering to e-mail the list. It is in her best interest to see your paintings for sale in a quality art gallery. Until you are well known as an artist and your paintings sell for a lot of money, your painting is worth little to her except for her own enjoyment."
Darrin shook his head. "You're amazing, sis. You can't possibly know how relieved I am you're handling the marketing of my work. I wouldn't know where to start, and I have little or no interest in pursuing the process. Thank you. Come here and give me a hung."
He held his arms out for her, and she glided into them warning herself not to let this hug get out of hand.
He hugged her and without removing his hands, gazed down at her. "About the kiss..."
Carrie blushed. "Let's not talk about that kiss, Darrin. Let's just say we both lost control briefly. Neither of us was at fault. I don't really want to talk about it."
He pursed his lips and nodded. "As you wish," he said and released her.
Later that afternoon, Carrie said, "Darrin, we need a phone, or rather I do. I need to be able to connect with the Internet, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a phone anyway. Can we afford one?"
"I think so, but doesn't a connection to the Internet cost money, too?"
She grimaced. "Yes, but if I'm going to be your agent, I'll need to communicate with the galleries, send and receive e-mail, those sorts of things. A connection to the Internet is about $20 a month, which I'll pay for if you'll take care of the phone bill."
"All right. Agent, huh? What do agents charge?"
"This agent charges nothing. I owe you so much already, Darrin. Without your help, I wouldn't be able to go to college this fall."
"You owe me nothing, Carrie," he said with an angry glint in his eyes. "What does an agent normally charge an artist, damn it!"
"Fifteen to twenty percent of the gross income he or she generates for the artist or writer."
"You're green, new at the job. I'll pay you the bottom end of the scale - fifteen percent."
She grinned. "Agreed."

She started it, not me, Darrin concluded after reviewing the sequence of events of the passionate kiss after he showed Carrie his gift. Does she want me as much as I want her? If so, what should I do about it, if anything?
He had tried to talk with her about what happened, but she had shut him up immediately, didn't even allow him to finish his question, and then told him she didn't want to talk about it. At the time, he agreed with her, but upon reflection he believed a discussion about the way they felt about each other needed to take place. He loved her as a sister, but more he loved her as a woman, and wanted her desperately. If she wanted him as a man, they needed to talk about it, to short-circuit their intense and potentially self-destructive feelings somehow. They were brother and sister, not potential lovers. They were brother and sister thrown together by reciprocal needs. Carrie needed a place to stay rent-free so she could work and save and go to college, and at first he had not recognized his need for her. Now he knew his needs were just as compelling as hers, maybe more so, and he didn't include his need for her as a woman in the mix. He needed her to run the place, to keep it operating smoothly so he could paint without the distractions of the necessary chores of day-to-day living, and she had satisfied that need and much more. Now she was trying to sell his paintings. She'd become his agent. Yes, now their needs were reciprocal.
If they ignored how they felt about each other, they could become sexually involved. A set of circumstances could escalate without volition on the part of either of them into the forbidden area of incestuous behavior. This afternoon had been a prime example of such a circumstance. If she had not come to her senses, he would have... he didn't want to think what he would have done, and if her feelings matched his at all, and he now believed they did, she would not have stopped him if he had escalated the kiss into something much more. Somehow, they had to face this problem and deal with it, or they could destroy each other.
Darrin's personal debate took place as he was building six more easels out of scrap lumber Carrie had picked up at a lumberyard at his request. He had two easels now, and he needed more. When he could no longer work on a painting until the paint dried, he wanted to be able to work on another. The delays irritated him. With eight easels, no delays should occur. When the easels were finished, he'd stretch about ten canvases over different sized frames he also planned to construct, and then prepare them for paint by slapping gesso over the canvas surface. The canvases would need more than one coat of the sizing. He'd purchased a large army surplus tent cheap. It was torn in areas, but he planned to cut up the canvas anyway. By the time Carrie returned from work the tasks should be done, and he would have seven blank canvases sitting on seven easels and an unfinished painting on the remaining easel. He estimated he could complete eight paintings this way in the time it took him to complete two or three before. Carrie would need to learn how to sell his paintings soon, or he'd need a larger studio just to store the unsold paintings.
As he worked, he questioned his previous conclusions. Perhaps she didn't feel as strongly about him as he felt about her. He shook his head. It didn't matter. The problem didn't really change even if she didn't want him as a man. If she felt the same way, they needed to work together to avoid falling unconsciously into an incestuous relationship. If she didn't feel the same way, she needed to help him stay away from her. He vowed to bring up the subject when she returned home from work, or at breakfast tomorrow morning at the latest. If she felt she had to leave to avoid destroying each other, he'd support her decision, somehow. He'd be devastated, but if moving out were her decision, he'd understand.

It was twelve-thirty in the morning as Carrie guided Darrin's car toward home. Home, she thought. Yes, the loft was her home as much as it was her brother's, maybe more. Every nook and cranny in the loft bore her stamp. Tomorrow, Barbara would to her thing, and Carrie would have a portfolio and a list of art gallery owners she could contact next week. Tomorrow, she would also pick Barbara's brain about the world of art, how it worked, about the various players in the game, and what each did. By this time next week, she hoped to bring a local gallery owner to the studio to see Darrin's paintings. Like Darrin, she had no real concept of the value of his paintings. She'd never attended an opening at an art gallery, and his one visit to an art museum in Los Angeles exceeded her visits to an art museum by one. Not many galleries and museums existed anywhere near Milltown. She felt out of her depth, very ignorant, but she'd persevere and learn how everything worked. She just wouldn't give up, ever. Darrin deserved to be well known and well paid for his astonishing talent, and damn it she'd make sure he was.
Today, no it was yesterday now, had been so filled with events. He had seen her naked, and she had feared he would send her away. Instead, in the same breath they had told each other how sorry they were. She chuckled when she recalled that confusing interchange. Then he had surprised her with the computer, and she had been so pleased with his thoughtfulness, she had jumped into his arms and kissed him, and with the kiss she had lost all control. Her frozen smile widened. He lost control, too, though. When she thought about it, she had no doubts that he had wanted her as much as she wanted him. She could have pushed him into taking her. He could have set her on one of the tables in the studio and taken her virginity, and she would have let him. She would have gladly encouraged him to invade her body with his and make a woman out of her. She shivered with passion.
Fear had stopped her this afternoon, fear of rejection, or perhaps fear of the consequences of an incestuous coupling. Even if he had taken her, he might have felt so much revulsion afterwards he would have sent her away from him so he could somehow handle the conflicts that would surely besiege his mind and soul. Incest couldn't be taken lightly, not by either of them. What was she to do? He had wanted to talk about it this afternoon after Barbara left them, but she had shushed him, told him she didn't want to discuss the issue. She still felt ignoring the event had been the proper course of action, but how long could either of them ignore what appeared to be happening between them. Her frozen smile broke and turned into a scowl.
She sensed trouble ahead.
Chapter Four
She noticed Darrin was still working when she pushed up the overhead door to move the car inside the studio. Their neighborhood wasn't the best, and Darrin thought it prudent to pull the car inside each night. He waved at her and told her he would lower the door after she drove the vehicle inside.
"Hi, sis, how are you?" he asked as she stepped out of the car.
"My feet hurt, but it was a good-tip night."
"Are you going right to bed?"
Damn, he wants to talk. "Soon. I'm pretty tired."
"Waddaya think?" he asked as he waved his hand toward the studio.
"Oh, Darrin, you built the new easels."
"Uh-huh, and stretched ten canvases. I also sized the canvases on the easels. I had a good night, too. Let's celebrate."
"Celebrate?"
"I'm not a drinker, but I feel like a drink. Want to join me?"
She grinned. "Are you trying to corrupt me? I'm not old enough to imbibe, not according to Nevada law."
"Law, smaw. Don't tell me you've never had a drink."
She laughed. "No, that would be a lie. Okay, let's celebrate. What do you have to drink? I don't like beer."
"Brandy. You'll love it. It'll warm you clear down to your toes."
She settled on Darrin's ratty sofa, the sofa she had recovered - one of many projects she'd conceived and executed to make the place livable before the parents visited to check out her living conditions. After she kicked off her shoes, she pulled her feet up to the sofa and rubbed them.
"Brandy should be sipped from snifters after its warmed by a candle," he said as he set a bottle on the coffee table.
She chuckled. "No snifters, but I have a candle, and a couple of the glasses I bought at a garage sale almost look like snifters. I'll get them."
"Sit, I'll get them. I'll wait on you tonight for a change. Where do you keep the candles?"
"On the top shelf of the pantry. You should find a box of kitchen matches with the candles." She had painted a freestanding metal cabinet she'd swiped from the studio and turned it into a pantry. White paint transformed its industrial appearance, and she used stencils to add flowers here and there on the doors. The pantry enhanced and brightened the room and was quite functional.
Darrin settled onto the sofa next to her, poured two glasses with about two inches of brandy, lit a candle and warmed one of the glasses briefly. He handed it to her. "Appreciate its aroma," he instructed.
She did enjoy the scent, but the whiff stung her eyes a little, and she suspected brandy was a strong drink. Was he trying to get her drunk so he could have his way with her? With a sly grin, she hoped so.
He clicked her glass with his. "To you, Carrie. I didn't know when I offered to help you that in the end you would help me more than I helped you. Over the past month I have come to rely on you in so many ways. You run this place like a well-oiled machine, and you do it at almost half the cost I would have spent."
"Thank you, Darrin." Cool, my plan is working.
"Sip," he ordered.
He'd been correct. The brandy warmed her to her toes. "Nice," she said.
He sighed. Here it comes, she thought.
"We have a problem, Carrie."
She didn't respond. He'd need to define the problem before she'd react.
"I love you," he said.
"What's the problem? I love you, too."
"The problem is I love you more than I should," he said.
She gazed adoringly at him. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I love you more than I should love a sister."
Yes! She sipped the brandy again. What should she say? Should she admit she had the same feelings for him?
"If you feel uncomfortable with my feelings," he said, "I'll understand if you want to move out. I'll go back to work five or six days a week, whatever it takes, and help you as much as I can. I don't want my feelings for you to stop you from going to college this fall. In a couple of months you can move into a room on the college campus, and I'll help you financially then, too. I know how I feel about you is wrong, and I promise I will not act on my feelings, but I felt strongly that you needed to know. It is my hope you will keep how I feel about you between us, and not inform Mom and Dad, but if you feel compelled to tell them about my perverted love, I'll understand."
He's babbling. She put her hand on his cheek. "Hush, Darrin. I love you the same way."
Tears welled in his eyes. "I was afraid you'd say that. Damn it! What are we to do?" He squeezed his eyes shut, and a silent tear rolled out of one eye and streamed down his cheek.
She leaned and brushed her lips to his, a heartfelt, soft kiss. "I've loved you, Darrin, for as long as I can remember. When my love for you turned into something deeper, I can't tell you because I don't know myself, but it's been at least a year, since your visit to Milltown last summer. When you asked me to live with you so I could go to college, you made me the happiest woman in the world. I couldn't believe my good fortune. I had come to believe I would spend the rest of my life loving you without the opportunity to express it. I love you, Darrin, with all my heart, mind and body. I will not move out of our home, a home we created together with half of nothing. You called your love perverted..."
"It is perverted, Carrie. It's called incest!" He took a gulp of the brandy.
"I know what it's called. I've loved you much longer than you've loved me. You fell in love with me during the last month. I fell in love with you a year ago. I tried to ignore how I felt. I dated others, both boys my age and older men, much to Mom and Dad's chagrin. I really tried to find someone else I could love, but when all was said and done, I still loved only you." She took his hand in hers. "I realized a year ago you were my one great love, and perverted or not, I would love you all the days of my life. I didn't believe I would ever have the opportunity to tell how much I truly love you and had planned to go through the rest of my life keeping the secret to myself. But know this, perverted or not, I love you, Darrin Cannon, and I want you more than you can possibly know or imagine."
"Don't be so sure, Carrie. I want you, too." He squeezed her hand. "But if we consummate our love, we'll destroy each other."
"How? Why?"
"We are brother and sister. We cannot marry. We cannot have children. Don't you want to have children? And what would our parents say? Our friends? Besides, incest is against the law. We could be arrested."
"A choice between you and children is easy. I choose you. Our parents and others don't need to know. I'm staying with you to save money and go college. We'll have a minimum of four years, Darrin, before the parents even become suspicious, and I can stretch that time by skipping a semester or two, claiming poverty. I don't need a marriage ceremony to feel like your wife. I've been your wife in every way but one for the last month. And finally, fuck the law!"
He shook his head, obviously not convinced, which didn't surprise her. "I'm going to bed, Darrin," she said, and when he looked up at her with a torn expression she added, "to my bed, alone. I've had more time than you to work through my personal demons and the potential conflicts of an incestuous relationship. Take your time. I'm in no rush, and if you want to talk, I'll talk with you. I'm not going anywhere; I'm certainly not moving out of my home. I'll try not to put any pressure on you, but don't take that as a promise. I want you. I want you as a lover and a life's companion, with the emphasis on the latter." She placed her hand on his cheek again. "I'm going to kiss you goodnight, Darrin, and it's going to be a romantic kiss, not a passionate one, and certainly not sisterly." She leaned forward and placed her lips on his, sighed and melted into the embrace. Her heart raced as it always did when she kissed him, but she had promised romance not passion, and that's all she offered. He didn't draw away from her and returned the kiss in the same spirit it had been offered. She leaned back and whispered, "Goodnight. I love you, bro. I love you as a sister and as a lover." She smiled. "You're just going to have to learn to live with it."
She rose and left him, and Darrin sat and drank another brandy, and then another. Carrie's revelations had stunned him. She wanted everything he wanted and more. One moment he reveled in the fact she loved him like he loved her. The next, he despaired because he strongly believed any incestuous relationship was doomed. He had never felt so conflicted. In comparison, all other life altering decisions had been easy to make. Finally he decided to heed her advice. He'd take his time, and he'd talk with her about it - a lot. He pushed himself to his feet and lumbered away to bed.

Carrie squared her shoulders and walked into the gallery. She had spoken to the owner, a Mr. Kensington, on the telephone and had an appointment. She was dressed in a business suit she had picked up at a yard sale, along with two others similar to the one she wore. She looked good in a professional sort of way and carried Darrin's portfolio under her arm.
"Mr. Kensington, please," Carrie told the attractive receptionist. "My name is Carrie Cannon. I have an appointment."
"He's on the phone, Ms. Cannon. Why don't you stroll through the gallery? I'll let you know when he's free."
Ten minutes later, Carrie knew she had selected the wrong gallery. Nothing in the showrooms approached Darrin's style. All the art displayed seemed fussy to her, certainly not large and bold like Darrin's paintings. She decided to meet with the owner anyway - for practice, if nothing else.
Soon, the receptionist showed her into the owner's office, and when Kensington shook her hand, Carrie decided if the gallery owner wasn't gay, he was missing a hell of an opportunity. Christ, he floated a foot above the floor.
She sat in front of a Queen Anne desk and waited for Kensington to say something.
"You called me, Ms. Cannon."
"Yes, sorry. As I said on the phone, I represent my brother, Darrin Cannon. Barbara..."
"I know all that. You don't need to repeat yourself. Is that the artist's portfolio you have with you?"
"Yes."
"Well, let me see it, please."
Rude little fucker, Carrie thought but rose to her feet and set the portfolio on his desk. She remained standing and flipped the portfolio open. Barbara had showcased his best painting with a large photograph on the first page.
"Darrin paints Las Vegas scenes," she said.
"I can see that," Kensington said and flipped the page, and then flipped to the next one, hurrying through the portfolio.
She studied his expressions. Poker-faced, he didn't appear to like or dislike what he saw. "I walked through your gallery before stepping into you office, Mr. Kensington. I don't believe Darrin's work is appropriate for your gallery. His paintings are large - the first one in the book is five feet by seven feet, and they're bold, colorful and full of emotion."
Kensington looked up at her over his half glasses. "You're correct, Ms. Cannon. I'd never show your brother's painting in this gallery."
She reached for the portfolio. "I'm sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Kensington. I'm new at this. I should have visited your gallery before I made an appointment."
He laughed. "Possibly, Ms. Cannon. I said I'd never show the artist's work in this gallery, but it's quite possible I'll set up a show for him in one of my galleries on the strip. I own four galleries, Ms. Cannon."
Carrie's eyes widened, and then she blushed. He must think I'm a real hick, she thought. Well, I am a bumpkin. I'm from Milltown.
"I'd love to show you the paintings, Mr. Kensington. They're at my brother's studio or hanging in the loft above the studio."
"All right. When would be a good time?"
"Now, anytime. I'm at your disposal."
He glanced at his wristwatch. "I have a lunch meeting. I can stop by after, say two o'clock."
"Excellent."
"Will I meet the artist?"
"Yes, he'll be there."
She reached for the portfolio. "Leave it," he said. "I'll bring it with me at two."
"Very well. Thank you, Mr. Kensington. You made the right decision."
He laughed again. "I haven't made any decision except to look at your brother's paintings. I like what I see in these photographs, but Barbara can do magic with a camera. We'll see."
Carrie nodded and turned to leave. "Ahem, Ms. Cannon."
She turned back to him.
"Where is the studio?"
"Oh, sorry." She was still blushing after writing down the address.
Carrie hurried home. She was so excited she could scream. In fact she did squeal happily a few times, and pounded the steering wheel with glee at a stoplight. At the studio, she left the car parked outside and rushed through the front door. Running to Darrin, who had a paintbrush in his hand, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him. The embrace went from a happy kiss, to romantic, and finally to passionate in a matter of seconds. Before she lost control she leaned back with her arms around his waist.
"Guess what, lover? A gallery owner will be here at two this afternoon to see your paintings. He owns four art galleries, Darrin. Count them - four! Cool, huh?" She mashed her mouth to his again before he could say anything. "God, I'm so excited! He said he's interested in setting up a show for you in one of his galleries on the strip!"
"Yes!" Darrin shouted as he threw the paintbrush in his hand to the floor. He lifted and spun her around. "You're amazing, Carrie!" He kissed her then, mashed his mouth to hers.
"Uh-uh," she said when she could breathe again. "You're amazing. I was such a bumpkin, Darrin. Your work caught his interest. I had nothing to do with it. You're the genius! Not me."
They stood in the center of the studio gazing at each other. Carrie was out of breath from the excitement of her meeting with Kensington and from Darrin's kisses.
"Kiss me again, damn it!" she said. And he did. Oh, did he ever kiss her! Her heart raced and the blood in her veins heated. When he moaned into her mouth, she jammed her tongue into his. Her fingers slipped through his thick hair, and she felt his tongue invade her mouth as his hands roamed over her body. He boldly touched her everywhere! And everywhere he touched burned with desire. She could feel his erection throbbing against her, and she couldn't resist. She reached and grasped it in her hand.
Groaning with passion, he lifted her off her feet, and carried her to a table. He pushed her legs apart as far as her skirt would allow, which wasn't far enough for him, so he pushed it up to her hips and moved between her legs. He kissed her, and she grabbed his erection again. His hand moved between her legs and cupped her mound. She couldn't remember ever being so excited. With both of her hands, she pushed the painting smock he wore to the side, and fumbled with his belt and button and zipper, and finally his pants dropped to the floor. She didn't hesitate and ripped his boxer's down. Finally, she could see his cock. It was huge and swollen and throbbing and angry looking and the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. While she had eliminated his pants, he had pulled her pantyhose and panties off, and his fingers had moved immediately back to her cunt. She was so hot, she felt as if she were on fire. She was gasping and moaning.
"Please, Darrin! Please!" she begged, pulling on his shaft, lining it up with her cunt. When she had the head of his monster at the approximate entrance to her body, she humped her hips toward him. At the same time, his thrust pushed the head of his cock inside her. Tears stung her eyes, tears of pain and tears of happiness. Soon she would be a woman!
She wrapped her legs around his back and pulled him almost violently toward her, and his beautiful cock moved inside her, tearing through her hymen with only a tiny hesitation, and for the first time in her life, Carrie Cannon felt a cock fully embedded inside her, and it was Darrin's cock, the wonderful, beautiful cock of the man she loved, her brother's cock!
"Yes!" she screamed. "Finally!"
She felt him start to move inside her, felt him thrust and retreat.
"Oh, Darrin, you feel so utterly right inside me," she said while gazing up at him. His eyes were full of lust and love. "I love you, Darrin. I love you with all my heart." She had never fucked before but she moved instinctively with his thrusts, took him inside her, and expelled him. They became synchronized, not only with the movements of their hips, but also how they breathed, even the rhythmic beating of their hearts.
"And I love you. I tried, Carrie. I really tried, but I couldn't resist you."
"Doesn't this feel right to you, bro?"
"Yes! God help us, nothing has ever felt more right to me. I love you, sis!"
She felt an orgasm gathering deep inside her and start to spread. "Oh, bro, I'm going to come!" Her blood felt like it was boiling; she felt flushed over her entire body, and tiny exquisite sensations were building into the first massive, gut-wrenching contraction.
"Is this all right, Carrie? Are you protected?"
"Yes, the pill. Oh, Darrin, come in me. I want to feel your seed inside me! Oh, I'm coming. I'm coming. Ah! Ah! Ah!" She gave a mighty groan, and suddenly Darrin bellowed, too, as they climaxed together. Their bodies stiffened simultaneously as Darrin buried his wonderful, beautiful cock as deeply inside her as it could go. She felt semen splash out of his cock into her. "Yes! I can feel it! I can feel it!" Suddenly another orgasm hit her, this one more powerful than the one she had just experienced. She had never had two climaxes before, one almost on top of the other, and this one took her away, took away all her senses. For a brief time she couldn't see the studio around her, couldn't see Darrin, or hear him, or smell him. She couldn't even feel his wonderful cock inside her. She could only feel the blissful sensations of an orgasm so utterly delicate and lovely she wanted them to never end, but a second or two later, she tumbled back from wherever she had traveled, back to Darrin, her love and her lover.
Tears streamed down her face, happy tears, tears of fulfillment. She reached and pulled her lover's mouth to hers, mashed his lips to her lips and kissed him with all the passion she felt. "Oh, I love you so much, Darrin. So very, very much."
He touched the side of her face with his large hand, and brushed the happy tears away. "I love you, too. This was your first time, wasn't it, Carrie?"
"Yes. I never wanted anyone but you." Suddenly she felt him slip from inside her. "What happened?" she asked, dismayed.
"I became soft. Males usually lose their erection after climaxing."
"Oh, I didn't want you to leave me."
"Sorry. I've ruined your new dress."
She giggled. "Ruined me, too." She turned from happy to serious. "No, you didn't ruin me. You made me a woman, your woman. You're stuck with me now, bro, whether you like it or not."
"Oh, I like it. And you're just as stuck with me. We crossed the line today, Carrie."
"Yeah, I know. What time is it?"
He looked up at the cheap clock on the wall she had found in a yard sale. "Ten 'til one."
"Yikes. Kensington will be here in an hour! Let me up, you brute!" She laughed gaily.
He looked down at her when he stepped back. "My God, Carrie, you're bleeding."
"You popped my cherry, bro. What did you expect?"
"Are you all right?"
"Fine. Look, you're bloody, too. Let's take a quick shower together and wash away the evidence. No messing around, just a shower, and a fast one at that. Okay?"
He shook his head. "Uh-uh. If I get in the shower with your luscious, naked body, we'll miss Kensington completely. Go clean up. I'll jump in the shower when you're finished. Go on, don't argue with me, woman."
"Okay," she said and gave him a quick kiss. "After Kensington leaves, you and I are going to get naked and see if the second time can be anywhere as good as the first."
"Go!"
At the top of the stairs, she turned to Darrin. "Kensington is gay, Darrin."
"So?"
"If he makes a pass at you, I'll scratch his eyes out."
"Go!"
The low rumble of his laugh followed her to the bathroom.
Chapter Five
"All right," Kensington said, "Here's what I'll do. I have a three-man show scheduled next month. One of the artists will not be ready. He's never ready, and I've decided to drop him. I can't abide lazy artists, drunks or addicts. I'll select five or six of these paintings for the show and include Darrin Cannon in the advertising. If the paintings sell out during the show, including the week following the show, I'll represent your brother on an exclusive basis."
"Acceptable," Carrie said, "except we will not sign with any gallery on a worldwide exclusive basis. We will give you exclusive rights in Las Vegas." She glanced at Darrin. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he was going to say something. She shook her head and frowned, and he settled down.
Kensington stared at her, and she stared right back. Intuitively, she knew the first of them to speak would lose. She waited patiently. Finally, he shuffled his feet and said, "The exclusivity is a deal breaker, Ms. Cannon."
"Do you own galleries outside Las Vegas?"
"No, but I have reciprocity with a number of galleries worldwide."
"But not all of them, correct?"
"Of course not," he said as if she were stupid.
She ignored the implication. "How many other galleries do you work with on this basis and where are they located?"
A sheepish look crossed his face, but he squared his shoulders defiantly, puffed up his skinny chest and stated, "Five. Two in Los Angeles, one in Phoenix, one in Houston, and one in Denver."
"Hardly worldwide. We will give you exclusivity in Las Vegas and with these galleries, but that's all."
She watched anger glint in his eyes, but he nodded. "I'll want fifty percent then," he added.
"Forty. Fifty just isn't done."
Kensington stared at her again but suddenly grinned. "You've done your homework, young lady. Forty it is. What price for the paintings?"
She had feared this question. If she quoted the value of Darrin's paintings too low, he would lose interest. If her estimate was too high, he might back out of the deal, and she didn't have the slightest idea of their true value. "What's the average price for the paintings of the other two artists who will be included in the show?"
"Around $5,000."
"I know nothing about the other artists. How do Darrin's paintings compare?"
"To my mind they're better. Much better. And I believe the collectors, art lovers and critics who will attend the show will agree. Let's price them at an average of $10,000."
Carrie nodded and tried to appear calm. Inside she was a bubbling cauldron. She glanced at her brother. He stood with his jaw agape, completely dumbfounded.
"Agreed," she said. "How many paintings do you usually display for a one-man show?"
"Paintings this size, say fifteen to twenty."
"If Darrin's paintings sell out, I want a guarantee of a one-man show within a year."
"Agreed."
"At thirty-five percent with a higher price for the paintings."
"Forty, but the increased price is acceptable."
Carrie nodded.
"Have you selected the paintings for the show?"
"Yes." He pointed out six paintings, the best of the finished paintings, except one, which Carrie placed at fifteenth to twentieth in the hierarchy of value.
She knew she had telegraphed her confusion. "Why that one?"
Kensington grinned. "You're right, of course. Switch that one with the one over there," he said pointing.
Was he testing her? Whether he was or not didn't matter. Her estimate of value had been validated yet again. Carrie grinned. "When do you want them delivered?" she asked.
"Two weeks from today. We'll use Barbara's photographs for the brochure and other promos. I'll have the paintings framed. The cost of the frames..."
"Will be your expense, not ours, unless a painting isn't sold and you return it to us. Then we'll reimburse you for the frame."
He grinned. "Yes, you've done your homework. I'll have a contract drawn up reflecting our verbal agreement and send it to you next week."
"Very well. Please e-mail me any copy about Darrin and his paintings for the brochure and other promos. I'm a fair writer, and I want editing privileges."
Anger glinted briefly in Kensington's eyes again. "That could cause delays, which I won't tolerate."
"I promise a one-day turnaround, Mr. Kensington. If I don't keep the promise, you can proceed with what you have."
"All right. You're tough, young lady." He turned to Darrin. "I don't know if you realize it or not, but you are well represented, Mr. Cannon."
"She's the best, Mr. Kensington."
"Call me Phil, both of you. We just started a long-term, mutually beneficial relationship. We should be on a first-name basis."
Carrie stuck out her hand, and Phil took it. She expected a limp handshake, but he surprised her with a firm grip. "It's been a pleasure, Phil."
After they walked the gallery owner to the door, Carrie turned back into the gallery and started up the stairs. As she climbed she started to remove her clothing. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, "Negotiating excites me, Darrin. God, what a rush! Come on! I need you. I need you now!" She turned and continued to strip. By the time she reached the landing, she was naked. She turned back to Darrin who was still standing at the base of the stairs gazing up at her with lust and love in his eyes. She placed her hands on her hips with her legs spread slightly. "Well, do you want me or not?"
He nodded, skipped every two stairs and took her in his arms, swinging her around. "You did it, Carrie! You did it! God, ten thousand dollars!"
"Six is our share. Six thousand dollars! Times six! Thirty-six thousand!"
He kissed her as he carried her down the hall to his bedroom. After laying her on the bed, he started to rip off his clothes. She watched him and reveled in his body, in his talent, in him. God, she was hot. He wasn't, though. His lovely dick was elongated but still soft.
Grinning like a Cheshire cat eyeing a canary, she took it in her hands when he settled next to her. "I've wanted to try this for a long time. Tell me if do it wrong." She slid down and dipped her head. After pushing his foreskin back, she licked around the crown. It started to grow. She wanted to feel it grow in her mouth, so she opened wide and dropped her head, sucking him, tasting him, feeling him grow from mostly soft to throbbing hard in her mouth.
He groaned. "Oh, God, Carrie, that feels wonderful!"
She adored him in her mouth, which surprised her, and loved the taste of him. She licked and sucked and licked some more, then she licked while she sucked. He took her hand and placed it at the base of his shaft.
"Jack on me at the same time as you suck," he gasped. "Yes! Like that! Just like that!" His hips rotated slightly pushing his cock into her mouth and retracting it.
He's fucking my mouth, she thought and bobbed her head to the timing of his short thrusts. She wanted him inside her, inside her cunt, but she wanted him in her mouth, too. She released him from her mouth with a slurp. "Come in my mouth, Darrin. I want to feel you come in my mouth."
"Yes!" he gushed. "And then I'll do the same for you. I've been dying to taste you."
"Perfect!" Her head dipped again, and she explored every inch of his lovely shaft with her lips and her tongue and the inside of her mouth. She brought her other hand to his large balls and fondled them tenderly as she bobbed her head and sucked and licked and jacked on his hard-on.
"My God, you're a natural, sis! No woman has ever sucked me like you!"
And no woman ever will, she vowed. You're mine, Darrin Cannon. Mine! A few minutes later she felt his large cock suddenly become longer and thicker in her mouth.
"I'm coming, sis! Oh, God, I'm coming!"
She wanted to see his semen jet out so she pulled back. He groaned mightily, and ratcheted his hips up completely off the bed. The end of his cock hit her on the nose, and at the same instant, his come flew, splashing over her face. Quickly sucking his cock back into her mouth, she felt the second spurt hit the back of her throat, and she swallowed, gulped down his seed like it was a milkshake. Another surprise! She loved the taste of his semen. She swallowed again and again, milking him with her mouth and hand, and all of a sudden her lover collapsed back to the bed as if all the energy inside him whooshed out like a blowout on a tire. She looked up at him. He lay limply with his eyes closed and a small smile at his lips. Come was still drooling from the end of his cock, so she licked it off. She felt his seed across her face where his first spurt had struck her, and with a finger, she wiped it away and sucked the juices into her mouth. She adored the taste! His semen was slightly slimy, like an oyster, but sliminess didn't bother her. Another lick at the end of his cock, and she felt it softening in her hand.
Sliding up next to him, she kissed him softly. "I love you, Darrin Cannon, artist extraordinaire. I love you so very, very much." His smile widened and his eyes fluttered open. "And if you don't do the same for me right now, I'm going to scream," she added.
He laughed and rolled her to her back. Sliding down, he settled between her legs, his long legs dangling off the end of the bed. He pushed her knees up, and his hands caressed the inside of her thighs. "Has anyone ever tasted you before?"
"No, I've done a little petting, Darrin, that's all. I never wanted anyone but you. Do it, damn it!"
Her loud sigh of pleasure stretched out as his mouth covered her vulva and his tongue rasped up through her crease. When his tongue rolled over her clitoris, she climaxed. She didn't know an orgasm would happen. It didn't creep up on her, as usual. It overwhelmed her all at once, swooping like a roller coaster moving at full speed and hitting the bottom of a dip, only to be taken aloft again. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound exited. Her eyes snapped wide, but they couldn't focus. Without realizing what she was doing, she grabbed the back of her brother's head with her hands and jerked him forcefully to her, and at the same time, clamped her thighs tightly against his ears. Her entire body stiffened, rising from the bed. The orgasm continued, becoming stronger with each passing second. No sounds escaped her lips. She didn't breathe or move. It was as if her body had become a rigid, unbending mass of solid steel. The sensations didn't roll or pulsate, just struck and gripped her with continuous ever-increasing blissful pleasure, filling every molecule in her body.
Finally, the orgasm released her, and she screamed. She relaxed her grip on her brother, and he jerked his head to the side so he could breathe, but she grabbed his head again when another contraction hit her, and a second later another struck - and another. On and on, one pulsating grip followed the other, and she jerked with each assault, whimpering between the pulsations. She didn't know pleasure of such magnitude could exist. At last, she calmed with only soft pulsations striking her, each of them softer and farther apart. Like Darrin, she collapsed. Every muscled in her body gave up its hold, and she had never felt so limp before, so completely relaxed. Tears streamed from her eyes, and her clitoris became so sensitive she had to push Darrin away. She pushed at him, but then pulled at him, pulled him up so she could kiss him.
When she could, she mashed her lips to his and moaned. "My God, what did you do to me?" she asked when he pulled back from her kiss.
He laughed. "I licked you once, just once. I've never seen anything like it. You have a hair trigger. I take it you like my mouth on you."
"You can taste me anytime you want, bro. Anytime."
"I suspect it won't be like that every time."
"Probably not. If it were, I'd never let your face from between my legs."
He laughed again, and she felt his erection pushing at her cunt.
"Are you hard again?"
"Uh-huh."
"Wanna fuck?" she asked with a mischievous grin.
"Uh-huh."
"Well, fuck me then."

"You earned a raise today, Carrie" Darrin said.
They sat naked on the ratty, recovered sofa in the living room sipping brandy. Carrie was cuddled up next to him, feeling relaxed and happy. "Oh, how so."
"Your cut as my agent should be 20%, not 15%. Green at the job or not, you earned the top end of the scale. I still can't believe how you beat Kensington at his own game and won point after point in my favor. You were amazing, Carrie."
She leaned and kissed him. "Thanks, bro. How many paintings can you finish in a year?"
"I don't know. With eight easels, I can finish quite a few."
"Give me an educated guess."
"I'd guess twenty-five to thirty, closer to twenty-five than thirty."
"Would additional easels create more output?"
"To a point, probably. Why are you asking?"
"Do you think you can do forty a year without sacrificing quality?"
"No, not if I continue to work three or four days at the casino. It's a function of time, Carrie. You didn't answer my question. Why are you asking?"
"Besides the one-man show for Kensington, I'm trying to decide if I should set up another one-man show for you with another gallery this year. Will you still need to work at the casino if you sell all six paintings in your show next month?"
"I don't think so, but I'd be reluctant to give up the job until after the one-man show. I'd need to feel very secure before I quit it completely."
"What is it? A security blanket, of sorts?"
"Yeah. As jobs go, it's perfect for me, sis. They let me work my own hours, let me work part-time, and I can make as much part-time as I could fulltime in the other crap jobs I've had. About the two one-man shows this year, remember I'll still have twenty-five or so finished paintings after sending Phil his six."
"True, but only twelve of them represent the Las Vegas theme. The landscape I love so much hanging in my room may be a Darrin Cannon painting, but it doesn't have the same demand as the Vegas paintings, and demand equates to value. I figure you and I will enjoy your older paintings. If we put them in a show, it would out of necessity be a retrospective, and you have years and years ahead of you before a retrospective would be appropriate. I'm not pushing you to paint forty paintings a year, but that's the number we'd need to do a one-man shows every six months."
"I see what you mean. We can do two this year regardless. I only need to paint twenty-eight new ones."
"Thirty-two," Carrie said with a grin.
"Why thirty-two?"
"Twelve plus thirty-two is forty-four. Forty paintings to sell and four for a ten percent savings account, or an old-age fund - call it what you like. What happens if you get sick or hurt, Darrin?"
"I could merely put some of my earnings in a savings account."
"True, but you heard Kensington. He's dropping one of his artists for poor productivity. What happens if you have a show scheduled and you get sick? If you have a stock of finished paintings like you have now, you could still do the show. Besides, your paintings will go up in value with each new show you do. That's why I called the extras an old-age fund. Let's say you accumulate forty paintings in the fund over a ten-year period. Your average price for your first show is $10,000. For the next show, let's say the average price is $12,000, the one after, $14,000, and so forth and so on. Don't hold me to those numbers. I'm just guessing. Anyway, your paintings could be selling for $30,000 or more in ten years, which would make you a millionaire before you're forty, Darrin. Also, if you sell every painting you finish, you must pay taxes on the earnings. The old-age fund is tax-free until you sell the paintings. I'm not sure my reasoning is anywhere near correct, but for some reason squirreling away paintings makes sense to me."
"I followed your reasoning, and it makes sense to me, too. A millionaire, huh?" he asked with a sly grin?
"Yeah, do the math. Thirty thousand dollars time forty paintings equals one point two million."
He laughed. "Wouldn't that frost Dad's ass?"
Carrie giggled. "Yeah."
"Let me up." He suddenly felt the urge to work, to paint.
"Why, I like it here? I feel so relaxed, Darrin, so happy and relaxed." She sipped the brandy. "And I've decided I like brandy."
"After my first one-man show, we'll buy some of the really good stuff, a Napoleon brandy at least a hundred years old. Now let me up. If you want thirty-four paintings out of me with a Vegas theme over the next year, I'll need to go to work."
"Stay where you are. I'll make do with thirty-three."
She felt his body stiffen, like he was angry all of a sudden. She leaned forward and spun toward him. Yes, she could see anger in his eyes. "You're pissed, Darrin. Why?"
"I'm not pissed. I just want to go to work." He clipped each word short.
She shrugged. "Then go to work, for heaven's sake. You have no need to get pissed at me."
"I told you I'm not pissed." He stood and set the snifter of brandy on the coffee table. "I'm going to work." With no further explanation he walked away.
Carrie sat stunned. What had she done? Why was he angry with her? Thoroughly confused, she reviewed their conversation. His anger had flushed to the surface all at once at the moment when he wanted her to let him up and she ignored him. She couldn't understand why that would make him so angry.
She was still sitting on the sofa sipping brandy when he walked through the living room dressed in his work clothes and stomped down the stairs without saying a word to her.
In his studio, Darrin stared at a blank canvas. He held a piece of charcoal in his hand ready to sketch the scene he would paint. Normally, this was one of his favorite tasks in the creation of a painting. He had spent many years drawing, not painting, but sketching what he saw or held in his memory, and his memory for scenes was like exposed film - almost permanent. For years, he had sketched on a piece of paper with a pencil or ink, creating a world composed of black and white, the world of his youth. So when he gazed at the white expanse of a blank canvas with charcoal in hand, he was taken back to that time, back to the simple days when he had rendered a scene in black and white and it was finished. Now, the rendered scene in black and white was the beginning.
He couldn't wrap his mind around the simple joy sketching usually gave him. Tonight, he was angry, perhaps unreasonably angry, but angry nonetheless. He couldn't believe it! Carrie had started to act like every other woman he had ever known. Once they let him between their thighs, they started to make demands, demands on his time, demands on his emotions. Like a vampire, they sucked him dry so he didn't have the time, the energy, or the clarity of thought needed for the creative process.
He forced himself to concentrate and pull a scene from memory. His creative process involved putting one scene on the canvas, and then adding another, and another, composing like a musician, but rendering the composition first in black and white. Once the overall painting had been blocked out in charcoal, he started to add color, recomposing, improving, and constantly changing the painting as it progressed. The resulting finished work of art contained balance and tension and strong emotion - a Darrin Cannon painting. One scene, one idea, coalesced in his mind, and he reached with the charcoal, moving it swiftly and surely over the canvas. The charcoal broke and he cursed. Stepping back, he studied the drawing. Wrong! All wrong! Fuck! He reared back and threw the remainder of the charcoal at the opposite wall of the studio as hard as he could.
Leaning on the railing overlooking the studio, Carrie couldn't believe what she witnessed. She had never seen her brother so angry. And, he's angry with me, she thought shaking her head. His anger confused her. Fearing he would look up and see her watching him, which she assumed would increase his anger, she stepped back and padded to her room to get dressed. They had not eaten, so before moving to the kitchen she looked over the railing again. He was still angry, she saw, so she decided to fix herself some dinner. If he became hungry and asked about food later, she'd prepare something for him.
Soon, she'll start complaining I don't spend enough time with her, Darrin told himself. She'll say I never take her anywhere. She'll whine and nag, nag and whine. Christ! And if my paintings sell in the three-man show she set up, I'll have money, more money than I can spend. I can hear her now carping at me, whining that I never take her anywhere, and I won't be able to use the excuse I always had available in the past - poverty. She doesn't understand. I don't care about the fucking money. She wants to make me a millionaire, for Christ's sake. Wants to sip one hundred year-old brandy. Next she'll want caviar for Christ's sake. Fucking fish eggs. What I used for bait when I went fishing as a boy.
He stepped to a new blank canvas and his hand guided charcoal over the surface. Christ! Forty paintings a year! What does she think I am? What does she think I do? I don't mass-produce paintings! Eight easels might make it appear that's what I do, but each is different, each is a creation, an original, and creating is painful. It saps my strength and requires intense, uninterrupted concentration. And she wants to know if I added more easels if I could produce more paintings. Fuck! Money-grubbing female. I'm not an automaton. I don't produce paintings under orders. They come to me one at a time. Each is an original. I take what I know and what I've seen and put them together, compose them, instill emotion into the subjects and bring them alive. I use the tools of the artist to represent the emotion. I use form, mass, texture and color! And color has so many variables I'll never get a grasp on all of them. How one color reacts next to another? Should the edges be soft or scream with tension? Fuck. Forty more Las Vegas scenes! Forty this year, and forty next. I don't have forty more Las Vegas scenes in me. Fuck her. Fuck Kensington. I'll paint what I goddamn want to paint.
Carrie glanced over the railing. He still looked angry, and he was working like a dervish. She elected to leave him alone, and curled up with a book on the sofa with another snifter of brandy. She kept wondering why he had suddenly become so upset with her, but without answers, unless he would talk with her about it she would only be guessing. She started to get sleepy. Should she sleep in his bed or her own? As angry as he was, she elected to leave him alone for the rest of the night. She stripped, took a quick, cold shower and tumbled onto her own bed. The room was hot, so she slept naked atop the sheets.
Darrin moved back to take in the whole of the drawing he'd been working on. Jesus! While ranting inwardly, he had instilled his feelings onto the canvas. He was stunned! Anger! He'd sketched pure, unadulterated rage. The emotions from one subject depicted in the sketch to the next didn't vary. Every person in the drawing was angry in varying degrees. He'd always mixed the emotions in the subjects on a canvas. He'd juxtaposed anger with compassion, and then added revulsion next to unbridled joy, for instance, giving the viewer a choice of emotions to experience. Those paintings worked, but not like this one. This one he could name RAGE! Yes! Finally, he had a new direction! His art was evolving again! His heart raced, and he felt energized.
Darrin's art had been on a plateau for over a year, and the repetition had started to grate on him. RAGE! He'd projected his own emotions onto the canvas instead of allowing the emotions to project outward from the subjects. He'd projected emotion, his own emotion, into the subjects. The concentrated result was powerful! Much more forceful than a painting offering many emotions. This painting wouldn't let the viewer wander. It would grab his attention and force him to feel what the artist intended, what Darrin intended. The viewer couldn't pick and choose. This painting would suck him in and make him angry! The viewer wouldn't have a choice. He'd be pissed!
Darrin quickly stepped to another blank canvas. Could he create a different emotion? He'd been so angry when he created the last drawing his rage had jumped onto the canvas. Could he create a scene as powerful if he didn't intensely feel the emotion he wanted to portray at the time? Could he switch, sketch a different emotion - say addiction? No, addiction wasn't an emotion. It was a state of being that produced emotion, though. He remembered when he had experienced the first stages of a gambling addiction, how he had waited with bated breath for the next turn of the card, the joy and satisfaction when he won, the depression when he lost, and finally as the addiction became more pronounced how whether he won or lost didn't really matter, how only the turn of the card mattered, how the act of gambling itself became a driving addictive need in and of itself. He'd quickly realized the path he was taking, and stepping back he'd never placed money on a table or in a slot machine again. He didn't want his life to revolve around the turn of a card or the roll of the dice. He had watched many others go down that path, eventually losing everything - their loved ones, all their material possessions, and ultimately their self-respect.
The charcoal moved over the canvas creating a broad outline of one of the scenes to be including in the painting. He added another, tied the two together and repeating the process yet again, until the final composition had been rendered. He stepped back and sighed with relief. Yes! Gambling addiction! Addiction and all the emotions it contained screamed back at him from the canvas. Color would only enhance what he saw. And Darrin preferred this canvas to the one he had created that spoke to rage. The canvas he'd named RAGE was blatant - in your face passion. ADDICTION contained subtleties and depth, more satisfying for the artist in him.
God, he was excited. He moved to the next blank canvas and stared at its stark white surface, the largest canvas he'd ever stretched, measuring ten feet by fifteen feet. It couldn't hang in a normal home. It would take a voluminous space to accept and display a canvas this size, and it demanded a subject worthy of its size. He asked himself what emotion contained the most complex set of feelings. Of course! With a smile, his arm moved. Charcoal made sensuous lines, and a scene in the lower middle of the canvas came to life. He pulled an eight-foot ladder next to the painting, and his arm and hand moved again. Stepping up and down the ladder and moving it from one side to the next, Darrin sketched. Three hours later, he stepped back.
Love!
He felt intense love emanating from the canvas, the love of a mother for a child, the love of a sister for a brother, romantic love, passionate love, first love, and mature love. The painting actually made him feel the emotion in all of its forms. It was as if he were gazing at Carrie.
Carrie!
He suddenly felt compelled to share his discovery with her, to show her the drawing that represented his love for her. He turned to go to her and stopped abruptly. A few hours ago, he'd been so angry with her, he had wanted to growl like an old bear with a sore butt and strike out at something. She'd impeded him from his work, demanded his time - consumed him like every woman he had ever known. And he'd become enraged. Unreasonably enraged? Or was his rage justified? Before he could share his discovery, he had to know. A new compulsion overwhelmed the old one.
Glancing up at the loft, he detected no light. The clock on the wall told him he'd been working without a break for seven hours, maybe longer. It was four o'clock in the morning. Suddenly, he, too, felt weary.
He straightened up the studio, turned out the lights and trudged up the stairs. Both compulsions would need to wait before they could be satisfied. He stumbled into his bedroom expecting to see Carrie, but the bed was empty. Pulling off his clothes, he fell across his bed naked. Two minutes later, his consciousness shut down.
Chapter Six
Carrie woke with a headache, and her mouth felt as if her tongue had been licking a cat. She wondered if she were coming down with something. Then she remembered the brandy she had consumed the night before and suspected she was experiencing her first, and hopefully last, hangover. She pushed herself out of bed and did her bathroom chores, which made her feel a little better but didn't improve her headache.
Looking in on Darrin, she found him stretched out naked diagonally across his bed. He looked sound asleep, and she wondered what time he had gone to bed the night before.
She dressed, put on a pot of coffee, and decided to walk to the Seven Eleven for some aspirin. Some Alka-Seltzer wouldn't hurt either. Deep in thought, she didn't notice the weather, and it started to rain just before she arrived at the convenience store. She had to run the last twenty yards, and even then she was wet by the time she rushed through the entrance doors.
The rain and the exercise had invigorated her, and she emitted a pleasant sigh as she wiped the rain from her face with her hands. That's when the man in front of the counter turned to her and shoved a gun in her face.
"On the floor, bitch!" he growled.
Shocked and terrified, rooted to the floor like an old tree in the forest, Carrie didn't respond. No one had ever pointing a gun at her before, and she wasn't sure what "on the floor" meant. Before she could react, the man reared back and sliced the weapon across her cheek. Like her assailant demanded, the blow took her to the floor.
Stunned, she rolled to her side and started to sit up.
"Don't get up or I'll shoot you!" her assailant shouted. "Are you stupid, or something?"
The headache bringing her to the store was nothing compared to the excruciating pain she now felt. Ignoring the threat because it hadn't registered in her brain, she finished sitting up with her legs stretched out in front of her and brought her hand to her cheek. Blood! Shocked by the blood, her senses started to revive. She could feel the throbbing pain from the blow and smell the coppery, sweet scent of the warm blood streaming through her fingers and rolling down her forearm.
Looking up through glazed eyes, she took in the scene. A grubby man, the one who had struck her with the gun, was obviously robbing the store. The Korean man behind the counter, a man she had spoken to a number of times, held a gun in his hand, too, and when the robber turned away from her back toward the shopkeeper, the Korean pulled the trigger and the weapon exploded. The loud sound startled Carrie, and she screamed. The robber staggered, and the shopkeeper fired again. The second shot hit the robber in the chest and threw him backwards. He crumpled finally, falling on top of Carrie, knocking the wind out of her briefly. When she regained her breath, she screamed in terror and tried to get away from the man, pushed at him, tried to squirm out from under him, but he was too heavy. She screamed again, a high-pitched horrified sound, even to her, and struggled mightily to get away from the dead weight crushing her - bleeding on her.
Suddenly she saw the Korean standing over them. He still held the gun, and it was pointing at the robber's head. Carrie believed he planned to pull the trigger again, that he would shoot the man on top of her in the head, and she envisioned blood, pieces of bone and brain spraying her face. The vision revolted her, and she couldn't stop screaming.
Finally, the Korean leaned down and rolled the robber's body off her. She scrambled away, scuttled back across the floor like an upside-down crab, gasping and whimpering, utterly terrified. Her back slammed into a floor display and knocked it over, which caused her to scream again.
She had to get away! She couldn't stay in the store another second. She jumped up and ran, crashing through the entrance doors, running into the pouring rainstorm. She didn't stop running until she came to the door of her home, but she didn't have her purse with her. She had lost it somewhere back at the store, and the door was locked. While jabbing the doorbell, she banged on the door. "Darrin!" she screamed. "Darrin!" Over and over she screamed his name while ringing the doorbell and beating on the door. Terror still filled her eyes, and she kept looking over her shoulder expecting to see the robber after her, which didn't make sense, even to her befuddled mind, but that's what she expected nonetheless.
Upstairs, Darrin finally roused. He'd been sound asleep. Fuck, he thought. What now? The fucking doorbell kept ringing, and someone - no not someone. Carrie! Carrie was calling his name. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his fists.
"Darrin!" The doorbell rang. "Darrin!" Carrie pounded on the door.
She sounded terrified! He jumped naked from the bed and rushed through the loft and down the stairs. He threw open the door, and Carrie fell into his arms sobbing.
My God! What happened? She's soaking wet! She's bleeding! Covered in blood!
"Carrie, calm down. It's all right. You're safe now. You're safe." I've got to stop the bleeding, he thought. She has so much blood on her. What the fuck happened? Where is she bleeding? Her face! He saw the ragged cut on her face, and looked for more damage. She needed to go to the hospital. "Let me dress. I'll take you to the hospital."
"No, don't leave me!"
He picked her up and bounded up the stairs to his bedroom. Laying her gently on the bed he pulled on his jeans, skipping his underwear. He pulled on a t-shirt over his bloody chest, bloody from when Carrie had fallen into his arms. Slipping his shoes over his feet without socks, he felt his pockets. Yes, he had his keys and wallet. He picked her up and hurried as fast as he could. It was still raining hard, and he was soaked like Carrie before he could get her into the passenger seat of the car. Wracking his brain, he tried to remember where an emergency room was located and finally remembered. As he drove, he kept glancing at Carrie. She was still sobbing, curled up in the corner by the door. He kept touching her trying to reassure her, muttering silly words like you're going to be all right, it's fine, you're okay, whatever he could think of that would calm her. Nothing he said helped.
Ten minutes later, he screeched to a stop under the canopy to the entrance of an emergency room. Leaving the car running, he ran around and opened the passenger door. Carrie had been leaning against the door, and he had to catch her before she fell to the ground. He pulled her up and into his arms and carried her inside.
A man and a woman took her from his arms and placed her on a gurney. He tried to follow as they wheeled her away, but a fat nurse grabbed his arm.
"We'll need information for admittance, sir. She's in good hands now."
"But..."
She eyed him. "Is that her blood all over you, or are you hurt, too?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Have a seat. Thank you, sir. The injured woman, what is her name?"
The admitting nurse asked question after question, and Darrin answered them when he could, and the mundane necessity of completing hospital forms brought him back from his own terror. His hands started to tremble, and he kept looking down the hall where the doctor's had taken his sister. He needed desperately to know how badly injured she was. And anger started to fill him again. Someone had harmed her. His anger increased until he realized he'd never felt such rage. He wanted to find whoever had hurt his sister and kill him. His trembling turned into tremors, and he had to sit on his hands to hide his shakes.
Finally the questions ended, and the nurse pointed out a seating area and instructed Darrin to wait. "A doctor will speak with you as soon as possible."
A half-hour later, he remembered he'd left his car with the engine running in front of the emergency room. He walked outside and found the car still running with passenger door wide open. He parked and locked the car and hurried back inside. A doctor standing in the waiting area walked up to him. "Darrin Cannon?"
"Yes."
"Your sister will be fine. She had quite a scare. From what we could gather before we put her to sleep she walked into a robbery at a convenience store, and the thief pistol-whipped her. That's the only injury she sustained. She wasn't rendered unconscious, and the tests indicate she doesn't have a concussion. Unfortunately, the proprietor of the store shot the thief, killing him, and he fell on top of your sister pinning her to the floor. She couldn't get out from under his dead weight, which traumatized her mentally. We stitched the cut on her face, but we'd recommend a plastic surgeon to minimize the scaring. Also, she should consider therapy to help her with the mental trauma."
"When can I see her?"
"Right now, if you wish, but she's asleep, will be for at least another hour. We can release her to your care when she regains consciousness."

"I'm fine, Darrin. I just have a headache." She chuckled. "That's what caused all my troubles in the first place. I woke up with my first-ever hangover and went to the Seven Eleven for some aspirin, which reminds me. I left my purse at the store. That's why I had to wake you up to get inside."
"I'll pick up your purse later," Darrin said as he pulled the car in front of the overhead door. He jumped out and raised the door, and then pulled the car inside. By the time he'd closed the door, Carrie was halfway up the stairs.
"I'm going to get out of these clothes and take a bath," she told him from the top of the stairs. "Do you want to shower first, wash off all my blood on you and..." She grimaced. "... the other guy's?"
"Let's get you settled first. I'll wash up in the big sink in the studio later, and then pick up your purse. The police will probably want to talk with you, too."
When Darrin stepped into the Seven Eleven an hour later, the police were still there. He noticed the floor had been mopped and was happy the body had been removed. He nodded at the Korean shopkeeper. "Hi, Mr. Kim. My sister left her purse here this morning."
"Yes, yes. I have it!" He turned and squatted, opened a cabinet and pulled the purse from inside.
"Thanks, and I need some aspirin. She has quite a headache."
"Is she okay? I worry about her."
"She's going to need plastic surgery."
"Oh, so sorry. I will help. I have liability insurance. I already talked with them." He rummaged in a drawer behind the counter and pulled out a business card. After writing the information on a piece of paper, he handed it to Darrin. "Call them. They will help."
Maybe, maybe not, Darrin thought.
"The detective wants to talk with her," the Korean said and nodded toward a man in a short-sleeved shirt talking with a uniformed officer. Mr. Kim hurried around the corner, and as Darrin moved by him, he handed him a large bottle of aspirin. "Free," he said.
"Thanks."
Darrin introduced himself to the detective and told him about Carrie. "She's home now. The hospital released her. Mr. Kim said you wanted to talk with her."
"Yes. When would be a good time?"
"Give her an hour. She's cleaning up now. She was covered in blood from head to foot. When I opened the door to let her in our home, she damned near scared the life out of me. Is the bad guy dead? If he's not, I'll be happy to help Mr. Kim finish the job."
"He's dead."
An hour later, the detective and his partner, a man Darrin had not met, arrived and took Carrie's statement. Darrin listened to her story and decided the doctor had probably been correct about getting her into therapy. He suggested as much after the police left.
"I don't need therapy, Darrin, but I do need a plastic surgeon. Call that insurance company. Plastic surgeons don't come cheap."
A half-hour later, Darrin knew the insurance company would do nothing for Carrie. After searching through his address book, he dialed again. "Tom, it's Darrin Cannon... Yeah, it's been a while. Listen, my sister is living with me, and this morning..."
Carrie listened to Darrin describe what happened to her. Before the conversation ended, she deduced the party on the line with Darrin was an attorney. Darrin hung up and turned to Carrie. "That was a friend of mine, Tom Wilson, a personal injury lawyer. He took your case on contingency and will stop by later with a contract. If anyone can get action out of the insurance company, he can. In the meantime, go ahead and make an appointment with a plastic surgeon. With the show coming up next month, we'll be able to afford whatever it costs, even if the insurance company doesn't come through."
Carrie's eyes brightened. "Oh, thank you, Darrin. I've been worried about two things - scars being least of the two. The other is Dad. We'll need to tell the parents what happened, and they'll drive to Vegas tomorrow. Mom will mother-hen me to death, and Dad will demand I move. They'll be more troublesome than the cut on my face."
Darrin groaned. "You're right."
"I'll call them. Maybe, I can make them realize I'm fine. Hand me the phone." She took a deep breath and dialed. "Hello, Mom."
"Well, speak of the devil. Your Dad and I were just talking about you. Were your ears burning?"
"No, but my cheek is. I don't want you and Dad to get in an uproar, but I had a problem this morning. I went to the Seven Eleven to buy something, and walked into a robbery in progress. The robber pistol-whipped me. I'm fine, just a few stitches, but I thought you ought to know."
"Oh, no, Carrie! Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine. Really. I don't even have a headache." She rolled her eyes at Darrin. "Darrin took me to the emergency room, and a doctor stitched my cheek and released me. It was no big deal."
"Just a sec, sweetie."
Carrie put her hand over the phone. "She's telling Dad now," she said to Darrin.
"Carrie?" her father said a few minutes later.
"Yes, Dad, how are you?"
"I'm fine. We'll drive down tomorrow. You can't live in a neighborhood that dangerous. I was against you living there from the start."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Dad, you'll be wasting a trip. I'm fine, and I will not move. I'm eighteen. I can make my own decisions now. I'm not your little girl anymore. I have a good job, and I'm saving more than I would if I'd gotten the lifeguard job. I'll be able to go to college like I planned, so I will not move! Let me talk with Mom!"
"He's full of 'I told you soes'," Carrie said with her hand over the mouthpiece again.
"Carrie, I won't be able to stop him," Her mother said. "We'll be driving down tomorrow."
"I won't move Mom. He's wasting his time. Did he tell you what I told him?"
"No. He just cursed and gave me the phone."
"I told him I was eighteen, that I wasn't his little girl anymore, and he couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to do. I mean it, Mom. I'm not moving. I have a good paying job, and I'll be able to start school this fall. Besides, I've become Darrin's agent. I didn't tell Dad about being Darrin's agent, but I'll tell you now. A prominent art gallery will be showing six of his paintings in a three-man show next month, and get this, Mom, they'll be priced at $10,000 each. The gallery owner expects to sell all six of them within a week. As Darrin's agent I need to work with the gallery and make sure everything is just right. My share from the show is $7,200, and Darrin will make four times that amount, and as his agent, I set up a one-man show to take place within a year. Darrin will make at least $100,000 from that show, and I'll make $25,000, or more, which will take care of my college education if I'm careful. Your son and my brother is a genius, Mom, and he needs my help as his agent. I will not abandon him at Daddy's whim. Explain all this to Dad, please."
Silence.
"Mom, are you there?"
"I'm here. Is everything you told me the truth? You're not making any of this up, are you?"
"No, I'm not that imaginative, Mom."
"What about your cheek? Won't you have a scar?"
Carrie laughed. "Darrin has an attorney friend. Tom, that's his name, is talking with the Seven Eleven owner's insurance company. They'll take care of any plastic surgery I need. If they don't, we'll handle the surgeon ourselves out of the proceeds from the three-man show. I'm fine, Mom. Really."
"Okay, I'll talk to your father. Call me back in an hour. Okay."
"You can call me, Mom. We have a phone now. As Darrin's agent, I needed a phone. I have a computer, too." She laughed. "I even have business cards. They say, 'C. Cannon, Artist Agency.'" She gave her mother the number. "Talk to him. There's really no need for the two of you to come to Vegas. If you want, I'll talk to you every day for a week. I'm fine."
"I'll call you back. Bye, sweetie."
Carrie hung up and shrugged. "Knowing Dad, they'll be here tomorrow, but I gave it my best shot."
"I know."
A half-hour later, Carrie picked up the phone when it rang.
"Carrie, it's your father. We'll be driving to Vegas tomorrow. We should be there by two in the afternoon."
"Do what you have to do, Dad, but you're wasting your time and money. You'll need a room. Do you want me to arrange one for you?"
"That would be nice, Carrie. Nothing expensive."
"There's a Motel 6 nearby."
"Perfect."
She said goodbye and disconnected the call.
Darrin, who had been listening, grimaced and said, "Perfect."

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Carrie reluctantly pulled the bandage back. She had not seen her injury and, although afraid of what she'd see, needed to know. She gasped and tears stung her eyes, including the eye that was black and blue. Her cheek was swollen and red, and a jagged cut about three inches long had been haphazardly stitched together. Ugly! She'd have an ugly scar! Would Darrin still love her if she were ugly? Their incestuous relationship had enough problems without an ugly scar to worry about.
She felt compelled to show him and test his reaction, so she pulled the bandage off and walked down to the studio.
"Darrin," she said to get his attention. He was working on one of his canvasses.
He turned to her and gasped. "Oh, my God, Carrie!"
The tears welled in her eyes overflowed and ran down her cheeks. He was revolted! She turned and ran, ran up the stairs and into her bedroom, throwing herself across her bed.
Suddenly she felt his arms around her. He pulled her up and held her tenderly. "We'll get it fixed, Carrie. I promise," he whispered and brushed her hair from her eyes. "You'll be as good as new after the plastic surgeon does his thing."
"What if he can't fix it? I'll be ugly! Ugly! You won't love me anymore!"
"Carrie! What a thing to say. Do you really think I'm that shallow? I'm in love with you, with the emphasis on 'you', all of you, not just your pretty face."
"My face isn't pretty anymore," she sobbed. "It's ugly. Scared! You were revolted when you saw me. I could see it in your eyes."
"I was shocked, but not revolted, Carrie. Your face is swollen and red, and you have a black eye. The swelling will go down; the black eye will go away, and so will the redness, and you'll be left with a little scar, a scar that will be minimized by the plastic surgeon we'll hire. I feel so sorry this happened to you, and I've been feeling responsible. If I hadn't asked you to come and live with me, this never would have happened. Dad's right in that respect."
His statement sobered her, and she wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, wincing when she touched her wound. She turned and placed a hand on each side of her brother's face. "You feel responsible? How utterly silly! Only one person is responsible, and he's dead. And don't go siding with Dad now. We have a battle ahead of us tomorrow. He wants me to move, and we'll have to stand together. Mother will back him. She has to; she's his wife. She might not agree with him, but she will stand with him. I'll need your help, Darrin. Don't you go all wishy-washy on me now. Promise!"
He chuckled. "I promise. Stay here. I'll be right back."
He returned a few minutes later with a warm washcloth and carefully washed her face. "No more crying. If you end up with a little scar, so what? The beauty inside you will shine through and no one will notice, especially me. I wasn't revolted, not by your appearance. I was revolted by what that slimy, violent man did to you. I love you, Carrie. Don't ever forget I love you! Okay?"
She nodded and kissed him. "Let me up. I need to find the right plastic surgeon. I want a good one, not one of those guys who advertise boob jobs in those sleazy periodicals. Maybe Barbara can give me a referral."
An hour later she had an appointment for the next morning with a plastic surgeon Barbara had recommended.
She suddenly realized she had not eaten that day, which meant Darrin hadn't eaten either. She hurried to the kitchen and made some sandwiches and called to him over the railing in the living room. While they ate, they talked.
"Barbara says the surgeon isn't cheap, Darrin. Do you think I made a mistake setting the appointment?"
"Let's not worry about money. You worry about money too much, Carrie."
She blushed. "I know. You don't really care that much about money, do you?"
"No. I care about my work, and I care about you. Everything else is superfluous, which reminds me. I need to apologize for being angry last night."
"I've been meaning to ask you about that, Darrin. I pissed you off, and not just a little bit, and for the life of me, I don't know why. You don't need to apologize, but I'd like to know what I did so I won't do it again."
He blushed. "You didn't do all that much."
"Tell me, damn it!"
He sighed. "While I was waiting in the hospital to talk to a doctor about your injuries, I went over in my mind what happened last night. Seeing you injured terrified me. The thought of losing you nearly drove me insane. As I sat in the waiting room of the hospital worrying about you, my anger and attitude from the previous night suddenly seemed petty to me. It seemed petty, because it was. Carrie, every relationship I've ever had with a woman has gone to hell in a hand basket because she demanded more of me than I wanted to give. Last night, when I wanted you to let me up so I could go to work, you didn't want me to leave, and in my mind all at once you became just like every other woman I have ever known. You wanted my attention and time to the detriment of my work, and in my mind I wrongly equated you with these other women. It was wrong for me to feel as I did because you are the opposite of all those women. You nurture me, actually free up my time, not take it. Looking back I think I became angry, not because you wanted my attention, but because I feared I would lose you because I wouldn't pay enough attention to you."
"Oh, Darrin, you could ignore me completely, and you'd never lose me."
"Liar," he said and laughed.
She blushed. "A little lie, I guess. I can't deny I need you, need your attention and your time. And, yes, last night I needed you close to me. I was celebrating, Darrin. I know how important your work is to you, and for the first time I realized my work is important to me, too - my work as your agent. I'd been successful. I'd achieved beyond my wildest expectations, and I was celebrating my success. Do you realize I discovered my life's work yesterday, Darrin? I am an artists' agent, and I'm a good one."
"The best," Darrin said.
"No, I'm still learning, but before I'm finished I will be the best. Look, sweetheart, I..."
"Uh-uh, don't call me sweetheart. It could become a habit, and you'll blurt it out unconsciously at an inappropriate moment, like when the folks are visiting, for instance."
Her eyes widened. "You're right. Okay, I'll call you Darrin or bro, but know this when I call you bro I will consider the word an endearing expression like sweetheart. Okay?"
"Sure, and when I call you sis, understand the word has a lot of love in it. I love you, sis."
"About my need for your attention and time. If I become too demanding, just tell me, and I'll back off. There's no reason for you get your underpants in a twist over the issue. Okay?"
"You've got a deal. By the way, something good came out of my anger last night." He explained the new direction his paintings were taking. "One of the things that pissed me off was thinking about doing forty paintings with the same old theme, over and over again like an automaton. With the new direction I'm taking, if I can, I'll be happy to produce forty paintings over the coming year, but I won't promise a specific number, Carrie. I won't rush, and I won't do paintings just because I can sell them for a lot of money. I'll move at my own pace. Oh, I'll work hard and put in a lot of hours, but the quality of what I produce is more important to me than the quantity."
She smiled. "As it should be. Listen, I mentioned forty only so I could gauge when I should set up your second one-man show. If you can produce only enough paintings for a one-man show every eight or nine months instead of six, then that's the way it will be. Don't ever let me pressure you to do something you know in your heart you shouldn't do. You are the creator, not me. I'm the marketer. I suspect creators and marketers have been at odds since time immemorial."
He wiped his face with a napkin. "Back to work. I'm really excited about my new paintings, Carrie. Drop down a little later, and I'll show you what I'm doing."
"Will do. I want to straighten up the house for the parent's visit tomorrow."
"Don't overdo it. Remember, you were pistol-whipped this morning."
"I'm not likely to forget - ever."

"Darrin, may I interrupt you?" Carrie said leaning over the railing overlooking the studio.
He smiled up at her. "Yeah, what is it?"
"I took the rest of the week off work. My boss wasn't happy, but he understood. I'm a little concerned about the job. He hired me mostly for my looks, and he's been pleased with his decision, but if I'm badly scarred, he won't stay pleased."
"After your visit with the plastic surgeon tomorrow, you'll know if you have a problem. Don't worry about something before you have a reason to worry about it. Besides, this town is full of jobs."
"Okay. Are you ready to show me your new... what did you call it?"
"Direction. The next step in the evolution of my work. Yes, come on down."
She hurried down the stairs, and when she stepped up to him, he took her hand in his and turned her toward the largest painting she'd ever seen.
"It's still a Las Vegas scene, but parts of it steps out of the casino environment into other Vegas icons like Lake Meade and a Las Vegas wedding chapel," he said. "They're just charcoal sketches right now. I'll start painting them soon. Waddaya think?"
"Love," she whispered reverently.
"Yes! Precisely." He pulled her in front of another canvas.
"Anger! This is the one you started when you were angry with me, isn't it?"
"Yes, except I call it RAGE. This one I call ADDICTION."
She twisted her face a little, and then smiled. "I know why I don't get it. I don't know anything about addiction except my addiction for you, and I see that in the one about love."
He laughed. "How about this one?"
She chuckled. "Easy. Lust. I know about lust." She squeezed his hand.
He stood her in front of the next one.
She frowned. "I'm not sure. Fun?"
"Yes! I called it HAPPINESS, but FUN is better. And this one?"
"I don't know, but it makes me feel tired."
He smiled. "I call it WEARINESS. And this one is the last one of this group."
She snickered. "Drunkenness?"
"Sort of. How about DISSOLUTION."
"Your name is better. Oh, Darrin these are marvelous. I can't wait to see them finished. I think they're better than the ones Kensington selected for the show."
"Thanks. I agree. I've maintained the Las Vegas theme but changed the emphasis to a specific state of mind. I started with an emotion, but when I created ADDICTION I discovered I could not only present an emotion but also a human condition. The approach excites me, Carrie, and it was the next logical step in the evolution of my work."
She nodded and stepped back to LOVE. She pointed, "That's me as a little girl, and that's you when you were a boy."
"Yes, the boy and girl represent sibling love. I wanted to use us to represent romantic love but reconsidered because it would be too dangerous. Then I remembered a wedding I attended, one of those strange Las Vegas weddings. The wedding was silly - an Elvis wannabe married the couple, for Christ's sake - but the bride and groom were completely and joyfully in love."
"This painting will make you famous, Darrin."
"God, I hope not. Fame is the last thing I want. I enjoy my anonymity. And now I'm in love with my sister, anonymity has become more important than ever."
"I see what you mean." She shook her head. "Speaking of anonymity, you and I must hide how we feel about each other while the parents are here. We'll need to be on our best behavior, which means no tender touches, no loving gazes, no lustful looks, that sort of thing. And we'll need to be fully dressed before we leave our rooms. Do you think we can pull it off?"
"I can if you can."
"Hah! I knew you loved me way before you knew you loved me. Do you know how I knew?"
"How?"
"By the way you looked at me. Your face is like a book, Darrin, a book with large print. It's easily read. Dad won't notice, but Mom has radar about these things. If she makes an accusation, act shocked, very shocked she could even think we'd be involved beyond the normal love a brother has for a sister, and then express your absolute disgust about the possibility we could be in an incestuous relationship. For hell sake whatever you do don't look guilty, and remember, no matter what she says, deny, deny, deny."

"Carrie's right, you know. If she doesn't want to move, you can't force her," Harriet Cannon commented out of the blue. She was crocheting. Her husband was reading one of his Western novels.
Evan looked up from his book and smiled. "I know. Let's just drive down to Vegas and check on her. I want to see the extent of her injury for myself, and we'll help her with the plastic surgeon's expense. If we need to, we'll charge it on a credit card and pay it back over time."
"It sounds as if they have the expense handled, Evan."
"Maybe, maybe not."
He went back to his book. The crochet needle flashed.
"What about the art show? Do you think it's real?" she asked.
"Do I think Darrin can sell his paintings for $10,000 apiece? Not hardly. Sounds like a pipe dream to me."
Why does he always put our son down, Harriet wondered for the millionth time. If she brought it up, she knew he would point out he wasn't putting Darrin down, merely suggesting his paintings wouldn't sell for that much money, and she wouldn't be able to argue with him because she didn't think they would sell for that much either.
She sighed. "You know what I'd like to do?"
"What?"
"I'd rather wait and go down to Vegas so we could see Darrin's show. I'm sure Carrie could wrangle an invite for us, and it's only a month from now, less than that even. In the meantime, we can talk to Carrie everyday now they have a phone, and..."
"I need to see her, Harriet. She says she's not my little girl anymore, but in my mind she is." He laughed. "Hell, if I'm still around when she's forty years old, she'll still be my little girl. I love her, honey, and I miss her. I miss her so much sometimes I want to cry. I need to see how badly she's hurt, and if I need to do something about it, I will. If you want to, we'll go back for the art show. I'd like that, and nothing could make me happier than to see Darrin's paintings sell for a lot of money. He's a good kid and deserves a break. He works hard, doesn't drink or gamble too much, hasn't got into drugs, is serious about his art, and whether you believe it or not when he left nine years ago I missed him as much as I'm missing Carrie now. I want to look their place over, check their locks, see where Carrie is working and how she goes back and forth to work, and generally check out how dangerous her situation really is. I'm not naïve. I know kids grow up and leave the nest, and Carrie left the nest a little over a month ago. I was very opposed to her leaving when she did, almost unreasonable about it. Do you know why?"
"I can guess, but tell me."
"Because she left so abruptly. I thought she'd be with us for the rest of the summer before she went off to college. I wasn't prepared mentally. I lost my little girl before I was ready to lose her, damn it, and now she's been hurt, and I have to go see how badly she's hurt, and I need to do something about it if I can."
"We'll leave early in the morning, sweetheart."

He won't come to me, or ask me to come to him, Carrie thought. He'll think I'm hurting, that I'll need my rest, but the parents are coming tomorrow, and they'll stay a day or two... 
She rolled her feet to the floor and pulled off her t-shirt. Leaving her panties on, she walked from her room into the hall. Besides, she decided, it's too damn hot to sleep in my room. She didn't knock, opened the door and walked up to the bed, hoping he wasn't asleep already.
"Darrin," she whispered.
He rolled toward her and his eyes softened. Reaching he pulled back the sheet, and she hurried into the bed, cuddling next to him. He pulled the sheet up over her and hugged her.
"I was hoping you'd come to me tonight," he said, his voice husky. "I thought you might still be in pain."
Moonlight shined through the open window, and she could see his dark eyes, eyes filled with love and lust, eyes that would give away their incestuous relationship if he didn't learn how to camouflage his feelings. She didn't speak and placed her hand on the side of his face. Leaning, she kissed him, a heartfelt kiss, but not passionate.
"My head still aches a little, but I needed you, wanted to sleep with you tonight and wake up in the morning next to you," she whispered.
"Why are you whispering?"
She laughed, but even her laugh was soft. "Perhaps I'm projecting the parents' visit tomorrow. I actually tiptoed down the hall to your room tonight. I didn't want Mom and Dad to hear us. Silly, huh?" She kissed him again before he could answer, and as the kiss deepened she reached for him. He was long and hard, which pleased her because she was already excited. "Last summer and again when you came up to Milltown for my graduation, I wanted to sneak into your bed and touch you like this. I'd lay in my bed dreaming of sneaking into yours, kissing you, touching you, making you so excited you would kiss me back, touch me, and finally make love with me." She giggled. "Sometimes we wouldn't make love. Sometimes we'd just plain fuck! And while I dreamed of being with you, I touched myself. Seeing you all day, actually seeing you, and touching you... God, sometimes you touched me, Darrin! You'd reach with your hand and touch my arm or hand, even squeeze whatever you touched, or brush my hair from my eyes and smile at me, and I'd melt."
She pushed back the sheet and rolled on top of him, still holding his erection and rained kisses across his chest. "I was constantly wet when you were around. I worried you could smell my arousal, you or Mom. I went to the bathroom a lot and washed myself, trying to hide what you did to me."
Moving to her knees, she sat up with both of her hands around his long shaft and stroked it lovingly. "Did you ever smell me, bro?"
"Uh-uh."
"I think Mom did a few times, at least she gave me a few curious looks. I'm wet now, very aroused. Can you smell me now?"
He grasped her hips and pulled. She knee-walked, helping him slide her up over his stomach and chest, and finally he nestled his nose in the crease of her vulva over the crotch of her panties. She could feel his hot breath on her, and she moaned with pleasure.
"Yes, I can smell you now," he said as he pulled her panties to the side with his fingers and then raked his tongue through the crease between her labia.
She gasped.
"What? No hair trigger."
"Do it again. Yes. Oh, that's so nice. Again. Uh-huh." She looked down and watched as his tongue moved through her and rolled around her clitoris. "God, that's sexy, but I want you inside me." She scooted back, reached behind her, and grasped his shaft again. Squirming a little, she moved back further, and his crown slipped into her. She sucked in air. "Yes!" Pushing back, she straightened her back, sat up and he slipped fully inside her. "Oh, Darrin, this feels so right. I can't imagine another man inside me. Incestuous or not, right or wrong, you are my love, my one great love."
"Take off your panties."
"No, I'd need to move off of you."
"I know, but only for a second or two. Stand up; stand all the way up. I want to see you standing above me and watch you strip off your panties. Then I want to see kneel back down and take me back inside you."
"Since you put it that way." She stood and looked down at him and slowly lowered her panties.
"You're foreshortened. I've never seen you like this before, not in that position, not even in my mind's eye. I wonder if I can draw you like you are now?"
"Uh-uh," she said as she kicked her panties away and kneeled again. "That would be like using us to show romantic love in the LOVE painting - very dangerous."
"No, I'll do the drawing and then destroy it. Usually a foreshortened object loses some of its appeal, but you were gorgeous."
"I'm not gorgeous. I have a black eye and a bandage over my swollen face."
"A temporary state. Put me back inside you now. The moonlight is perfect. I can see everything. I'm very visual, Carrie."
"I know." She rolled his crown around her vulva, finally settling it at just the right place and dropped down around it. "Ah!" A long drawn out sigh of pleasure. She closed her eyes and let herself feel, feel how he filled her, feel how he throbbed inside her, feel how her membranes clamped around him and trembled. Then she started to move on him. At first she started to bounce, but she felt awkward bouncing, so she rested her hands on his strong chest and started to slide up off him, and then back down around him.
"Graceful, sis. You move so gracefully."
"Uh-huh." She bit her lower lip with her upper teeth and shuddered. "God, I'm hot. When I slide back, I drag my clitoris through your pubic hair and over the top of your... your cock. What do you call your thing?"
He chuckled, which to her mind caused his cock to do wonderful things inside her. "Cock is fine."
"Do you think I'm crude saying words like cock and cunt and fuck?"
"No, I think it's sexy."
"Yeah, me, too. If I wanted you to fuck me at least once every day for the rest of my life, would that be putting too many demands on you? Would it be keeping you from your work?"
"No, but some days I'd want you to fuck me, instead of me fucking you. I'd want you to fuck me, like you're fucking me now."
"Hmm, agreed."
She increased the rate of her slide, and he matched her speed with his thrusts. Minutes later, Darrin felt sweat seep from his pores, and her body started to glisten as she moved over him, gaining speed with each slide, moving faster and faster.
"Would... you... be... upset..." she panted, "... if... I... came... right... now? Ah!" She grunted as her body stiffened, and she took him as deeply as she could inside her.
The question was obviously rhetorical, Darrin thought as he watched her move into an orgasm. He was very aroused, but not ready to climax, not yet, but he wasn't upset. As he watched, his sister's face twisted into a beautiful grimace, and she threw her head back and groaned loudly. He felt her fingers rake his chest, felt her cunt start to flutter around his cock, milking at it, grasping and releasing it, and although she wasn't moving on him now, it almost felt as if she were still sliding on and off him.
Her wonderful, pulsating cunt demanded he join her with a climax of his own, so he let it happen, let the lurking sensations take over. They started deep inside him and spread, pushing outward from a tightly bound core. Like the big bang, the knot of pleasure exploded and moved to every part of his body with amazing speed. He could no longer watch his sister experience her orgasm, and for one brief moment, he regretted the loss, but the exquisite sensations replacing his voyeuristic pleasures more than compensated for the loss.
She was telling him to come inside her, but he didn't hear her as he came inside her. He was telling her he was coming, but she didn't hear him as she felt his semen fill her. The sensations of love momentarily took away their senses of sound, and soon they collapsed together. They held each other, kissed each other with soft kisses, and whispered endearing words as their hands caressed wherever they could reach.
Finally, she rolled off him and rolled to her side away from him. Joyful tears welled in her eyes. He wrapped her in his strong arms, and they lay together spoon-fashioned. She could feel his wet, flaccid penis against her. She could feel his juices and hers dribbling from inside her onto the sheets. Just before she went to sleep, she reminded herself to gather up the sheets in the morning before her mother arrived and take a trip to the Laundromat.
Chapter Seven
"She's something else, Mom," Darrin said. "You should have seen Carrie negotiate with the art gallery owner. It was amazing. She won point after point, and the resulting agreement wasn't near as one-sided as it would have been otherwise. I'll be perfectly frank, I would not have known where to start, let alone where to end up."
Alone with her son, Harriet wondered how Evan was getting along with Carrie. Her husband had asked Carrie to drive him to the restaurant where she worked. He wanted to scope out any problems related to his little girl's safety.
"Carrie said the gallery would sell all of your paintings within a week, and they would be priced at $10,000 apiece. Correct?" Harriet asked.
He blushed. "The price is correct, though it's an average price. I assume some will be a little higher and some a little lower, but the gallery owner didn't guarantee all of them would sell in a week. Let's wait and see. Carrie exaggerated a little. She's a glass-is-half-full kind of girl."
Harriet laughed. "Yes, she is. How have the two of you been getting along?" Stupid question, she thought. Her son and daughter obviously adored each other. Maybe a little too much. No, she told herself. Don't go there. Give them the benefit of the doubt. They've always been close. Darrin doted on her when he lived at home, took better care of her than I did. Now she's taking better care of him than I did when he lived at home.
"Fine. When I offered to help her so she could go to college, I didn't realize she'd end up helping me more than I helped her. I guess you could say we have reciprocal needs."
"It's hot up here, Darrin. You should consider some ceiling fans and maybe a window air conditioning unit, though Carrie doesn't even have a window in her bedroom. I walked in her room a while back, and it was a sweatbox."
"Good idea. I think I can wire the fans for the ceiling, but if I can't we'll buy some floor fans, and if it gets too bad in her room, I'll trade with her, say every other night or something like that."
Glib. Too, glib. Not like Darrin at all. He's normally uncaring when it comes to his own comfort let alone someone else's comfort.

"Tell me what the plastic surgeon told you this morning, Carrie," Evan Cannon said.
With Carrie behind the wheel of Darrin's car, she and her father were returning to the studio and loft. He had wanted to see where she worked, where she had to park, and how she moved to and from the restaurant from the car. Carrie had explained the parking lot was well lighted and usually someone accompanied her to her car after her shift, the bartender more often than not, and still the worried man had wanted to see for himself.
"He did a little more than talk to me. He took one look at my wound and cursed, and then replaced the stitches made by the doctors at the hospital with what he called neat little monofilament, non-absorbable sutures. I'm to see him again in six days, and he will remove the stitches. Then we wait. He wants the wound to heal completely, which could take from three to six months, before he recommends further treatment."
"Did you ask what it would cost?"
"Yeah, but he said he couldn't tell me until he sees what he'll need to do."
"Well, let me know when you know, and I'll help with the expense. We can put it on a credit card and pay for it over time."
"We'll see, Dad. I believe the insurance company will take care of the expense. If not, I think I can handle whatever it costs myself."
"Well, if you can't handle it all, call on me, and I'll pony-up whatever you need. Okay?"
She pursed her lips and nodded.
"Okay?"
"Yes, Dad."
"It looks like you're fairly safe at the restaurant, but I want you to promise me you won't go to the parking lot alone at the end of your shift."
"Okay, I promise."
"And while I'm here, I'm probably going to piss you and Darrin off, but I have a few recommendations about the studio and loft. I don't like it that you have to get out of the car to open the overhead door, especially considering you don't get home until the wee hours in the morning. It's not so bad when Darrin drives you to and from work, but when you're alone, that's the most dangerous time for you. I want an automatic door opener installed so you can pull into the studio and then close the door before you get out of the car. Also I want some lights installed that will come on automatically when you pull up to the door. You need a deadbolt lock on the entrance door, a peephole in the door and a security chain so you'll be safe opening the door to a stranger. And lastly, I think a home alarm system is necessary. If you'll do these few things, I'll get off your back about moving."
"Okay, I promise I'll do them, but I can't afford them right now. I'll do them after Darrin's show next month."
"No, we'll get them ordered today. I'll pay for them, and you don't need to pay me back. I just need to feel you are safe, sweetie." He gave her shoulder a loving squeeze. "I know you think you're not my little girl any more, but in my mind you are, and I need to feel you're relatively safe."
She glanced toward him and smiled. "Okay, but Darrin and I will pay you back after the show."
"We'll see. And another thing, while you're driving around, like now for instance, you should have the car doors locked."
She reached and pushed the button that locked all the doors. "I usually do, Daddy. Just forgot."
"And for hell sake, don't walk to the Seven Eleven alone anymore."
"That's a promise, for sure." She touched the bandage on her cheek.

"Mother suspects, Darrin," Carrie said as they waved and watched their parents drive away. It had been a hectic three days. Her father had supervised all the workmen installing all the security devices he had ordered. He also helped Darrin wire and install the ceiling fans in the living room and the two bedrooms. Darrin put his foot down about the window air conditioning unit, but promised to buy one after the show.
"Really? Why?" Darrin asked, obviously surprised.
"For one thing, they're coming back for the show. I also noticed Mom looking at both of us a number of times, watching us intently like she was studying how we reacted with each other. She even pursed her lips and shook her head once when you looked at me with too much love in your eyes."
When their parents' car drove out of sight, they moved back into the studio. Carrie locked the door, fastened the chain and set the alarm. Her father had nagged her so much the action had become automatic.
"Besides," Carrie added, "she talked to me about moving into a dormitory when I start school. That's always been Dad's big thing. Mother didn't care one way or the other before. She suspects, Darrin. Take my work for it."
"What should we do about it?" he asked with concern as he flopped down onto the worn-out recliner he kept in the studio after Carrie had ejected it from the living room.
She settled onto his lap. "Nothing. When they come back for the show, we'll just keep denying, denying, denying. Unless they catch us with our pants down, all they can do is make caustic comments or accusations, which we'll rebut and deny." She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him, and the kiss soon became passionate. "I needed that," Carrie said when they leaned back for air.
Suddenly the doorbell rang, which made them both jump. Carrie reached and rubbed her lipstick from Darrin's lips. "Wash your face. I'll answer the door. I suspect it will be Dad or Mom or both of them with one more tidbit of advice."
Darrin was at the studio sink when he heard Carrie say, "Mother, did you forget something?"
"I didn't. Your father did. I'll swear he'd lose his head if it weren't attached. Your father left his toolbox here. Ah, there it is, right where he said it would be. Darrin would you take it out to the car for me?"
"Sure, Mom."
After Darrin walked outside with the toolbox, Harriet turned to her daughter. She gave her a serious look and said, "You're being a good girl, aren't you, Carrie?"
She just couldn't resist, Carrie thought with a smile. "Mom, I haven't even had a date since I moved here. Of course, I've been a good girl."
"It's all right to date, you know. It's healthy - normal. Go ahead and date."
"I haven't had much time, but things are easier now. There's a good-looking guy at work I think is going to ask me out soon. He's been flirting with me, and I like him. And no doubt I'll date when I start college. I'm a little confused, though. You want to know if I've been a good girl, and in the next breath tell me I should start dating again."
"What about Darrin? Does he have a girlfriend?"
Damn! She couldn't be more obvious unless she came right out and asked if Darrin and I were committing incest. Remember, deny, deny, deny. "He's been busy, too, but a few women have called him since we had the phone installed. I know a woman broke up with him just before he came up for my graduation, and he feels a little burned. You'd have to ask, Darrin, Mom. He hasn't told me much about his love life."
Harriet raised one eyebrow, a genetic thing she'd passed onto Darrin, but not Carrie.
"Well, both of you should date. One of these days, I want some grandchildren to spoil."
"Mother! I have no intention of getting married anytime soon. I want an education so I don't have to be too dependent on any man. Besides, I think I'm going to make a career out of being an artists' agent, so I've been thinking about changing my major to business with a minor in English. Waddaya think?" Carrie flashed a wide smile at her mother.
She shook her head. "Sounds right."
Darrin came back inside. "Dad's getting impatient, Mom."
"Okay, okay." She gave her children another hug and kiss, and they walked her to the door and out to the car, once again waving until the car drove out of sight.
Back inside the studio with the door locked and chained, Carrie pushed Darrin back onto the recliner. "Now, where were we when we were so rudely interrupted?" she asked as she settled back on his lap. She kissed him again and said, "Mom thinks we should be dating, and I don't mean with each other. She gave me quite a lecture while you took Dad the toolbox."
"Jesus!"
"Yeah. So here's my plan. We will both have dates for the show."
He nodded.
"Just dates, not lovers, Darrin. I have no intention of sharing you with anyone, and I certainly don't want another man. But we'll need dates to perfect the subterfuge. Agreed?"
"Yes."
"Good. Which presents a dilemma, at least for me. I told Mom a man at work seemed interested in me - the bartender, by the way - but he isn't the type I'd take to an art gallery, a demolition derby perhaps but not to your three-man show."
Darrin laughed. "Let me guess. He drives a pickup truck with oversized wheels."
"Yep. What about your lawyer friend, Tom? When he brought the contract over for me to sign, I looked like death warmed over, but he didn't appear too repulsed by what he saw."
Darrin had noticed the way his friend looked at his sister. No doubt Tom would jump at the chance for a date with her if Darrin gave him the green light. But he had reservations. "Revolted! Hah! He undressed you with his eyes. Tom is quite the lady's man, Carrie."
"Just the type I want, the type that will fool Mom. A lady's man will be attentive and try to impress me. Besides, we'll be double dating that night, Darrin. I think I can handle Tom, and when the parents return to Milltown, I'll give him the cold shoulder."
He grinned. "Double dating, huh?"
"Yep. I want to keep an eye on you."
"Which might defeat the purpose of the subterfuge, at least in Mom's eyes."
She grimaced. "You might be right."
"Don't you trust me?" he asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"I trust you implicitly. I don't trust Tom or the bimbo you'll be taking."
"Bimbo?" His dark eyes teased. "I thought I'd ask Barbara. She might turn me down, though, might be in a committed relationship for all I know. Do you think she's a bimbo?"
Carrie's eyes widened. "Barbara?"
"Yeah. She's a few years older than me, but not too old. I'm guessing she's in her early thirties, like Tom. She'll be going the show anyway, and she's the type that will impress Mom as much as Tom."
"Are you interested in Barbara?"
"Are you interested in Tom?"
"No. Answer my question, damn it!"
"I'm in love with you, sis. If you were asking if I'd be interested in Barbara if I wasn't in love with you, I'd have to say yes. She has class, is attractive and she's interested in me. Tom falls into the same categories relative to you. Carrie, you suggested the subterfuge, not me, and you selected a man for your date that immediately set the green-eyed monster called jealousy on my shoulder."
"Barbara makes me jealous, too."
"You could go to the show with the guy with the pickup, and I could rustle up a bimbo, but if we're going to pull this off, we need to do it right."
She grimaced. "Yeah, I suppose so. Damn it! Okay. I'll call Tom, and you give Barbara a call, and we won't double date, but with this decision we'll have one more thing to worry about when the parents return."
"Such as?"
"It's difficult enough not to cast loving glances at you when Mom and Dad are around. Now I'll need to be careful not to shoot daggers with my eyes into Barbara's lovely back during the show."
"And I'll need to quell my urges to choke Tom with my bare hands when he touches you."
Carrie sighed. Incest was complicated. If they weren't brother and sister, they could be each other's date, and she wouldn't need to worry about Darrin alone with a classy beauty like Barbara. Still, she either trusted him or she didn't. She shrugged inwardly. She trusted him. He loved her. She had nothing to worry about. She felt her brother's hand caress her leg, and his touched thrilled her. "I know you want to get back to work, but could we please go up to your bed for an hour or so first?"
He grinned. "My sentiments exactly."

Harriet gazed unseeing through the windshield of the car as her husband guided it toward home. Deep in thought, she wondered yet again if her son and daughter had become intimate with each other. Images flashed through her mind. Darrin's loving glance when his sister entered the kitchen. Carrie's lust-filled eyes fixed on her brother when she didn't realize her mother could see her. She remembered Carrie on Darrin's lap when he visited Milltown for her graduation. She was kissing him, and the kiss didn't appear innocent, certainly not a brother-sister kiss. Then later after she had given Carrie permission to live with her brother in Vegas, her daughter had hopped on her son's lap and kissed him again, and that kiss didn't appear innocent either, but it was. Carrie had just kissed her the same way. Shaking her head, she still had doubts. Carrie and Darrin had always adored each other, more than most siblings.
"You're awfully quiet," Evan said. "Are you worried about the kids?"
"No, not really. Just doing a little wool gathering about my youth." Yeah, I'm worried, she thought, very worried, but I'm not worried about them in the same way you're worried about them, dear, sweet, naïve husband. She debated whether to announce her suspicions, but knowing Evan like she did, he would turn the car around and tear back to Vegas. He'd bodily remove Carrie and take her back to Milltown with them. Lord only knew what he would do to Darrin. The scene would be a disaster, especially if what Harriet suspected weren't true, and she didn't have proof, only suspicions. Surely her children wouldn't be so foolish as to become involved in an incestuous relationship.
She remembered a girlfriend of hers named Rhonda from her youth. Rhonda had become sexually active with her brother. When her parents discovered the incestuous relationship, they had shipped her brother to another state to separate them. Rhonda had been devastated for a while and had finally confided in Harriet. Harriet remembered how shocked she'd been with the revelation. Rhonda didn't seem the type to do what she did, and Harriet would have never guessed the source of her friend's unhappiness. The two girls had talked about what happened, discussed sex and incest and love. Yes, they talked about love because more than sex was involved. Rhonda had announced she loved her brother. A year later, Rhonda came to terms with what happened and started to date. She was a bit wild, and Harriet, still a virgin, had enjoyed Rhonda's sex life vicariously for a while.
But Rhonda's situation was different, Harriet added silently. She was fifteen at the time, and her brother was two years older. They were still under parental control. What would she do if what she suspected were true? Could she really do anything? Darrin and Carrie were, after all, consenting adults. What worried her more than anything was her husband's probable reaction. She wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have his son arrested.
Rhonda had married while still in high school, but she had flat out told Harriet if she ever got an opportunity to fuck her brother again that she'd jump at the chance. To Rhonda's mind, incest was no more immoral than adultery, and she knew her father had cheated on her mother and suspected her mother had cheated on her father. Had Rhonda and her brother ever had sex again? Probably, Harriet guessed.
She glanced at her husband and thanked her lucky stars she had fallen in love with him, as he had her. She believed he'd never cheated on her, and she had never wanted another man besides him. She loved him more today than she did on their wedding day.
"What about your youth?" he asked.
She grinned wickedly. One thing about an empty nest, opportunities for sex with her husband and multiplied exponentially. "I was thinking about the first time we made love in the back seat of your father's car."
"Oh." He blushed. "I was pretty clumsy."
"Which made you that much more endearing. Besides, I was even less experienced than you." She reached and ran her hand up his thigh. "If you spy a road that doesn't go anywhere and will give us some privacy, why don't you take it? We can crawl into the back seat and get naked and nostalgic."
His wicked grin matched hers. "Sounds like a plan."

It had taken Darrin and Carrie less than a minute to hurry up the stairs, rip off their clothes and tumble onto his bed.
"God, I've missed holding you like this, sis." His hands roamed over her body as he kissed her. One hand slid sensuously over the round, firm cheeks of her ass and reached in from behind. She's wet already, he thought as his fingers explored her pussy from the rear spreading her folds and slipping a finger inside its slick depth. The active membranes inside squeezed his finger, grasped it tightly and then suddenly released it. She did the same thing with his tongue in her mouth.
"I know what you mean," Carrie said between kisses. "Today, I don't want to make love, Darrin. I'm so fucking hot I just want to fuck! I feel like fucking. I feel like being naughty and nasty. Okay?"
"Fucking is good. Naughty and nasty are great."
She pushed his hands away and rose first to her knees and then to her feet. Looking down at him, she said, "Roll over onto your back." After he complied with her demand, she straddled his head with her feet and squatted, finally falling back to her knees with her cunt over his face. "Eat me, bro. Put her mouth on my cunt and lick my clit."
Guiding her to him with his hands on her hips, he raised his mouth a little and covered her entire cunt with his open mouth. Breathing out through his mouth, he decided nasty was better than great. He didn't feel like making love either. He wanted to fuck and suck his sister. The thought itself was nasty. Fuck and suck his sister! Talk about nasty! His tongue spread her lips and rasped up through the crease, finally rolling over her clitoris, which felt swollen, certainly poking out from under its hood.
Carrie groaned and gazed lustfully at the connection of her cunt and his mouth. "God, that's sexy. Would you mind if I played with my tits while you suck me off?"
He shook his head and mumbled a no, which caused Carrie's eyes to roll back in her head as her hands slipped sensuously up her sides and under her pert breasts. Her palms rolled her nipples around, and then she pinched them between her fingers and applied pressure, squeezing and releasing them, and then squeezing them again.
Her hips started to move just a little, autonomous gyrations designed to increase sexual tension without moving too much, which would cause his mouth to lose its connection with her cunt.
"Ah!" A drawn out expression of pleasure escaped her mouth when he sucked her clit and lashed it with his tongue. "Good! So good. You sure do know how to eat cunt, bro." She reached behind her with one hand blindly searching for his erection. She found it and stroked it, felt it throb in her hand and anticipated how it would feel inside her. "I want to come on your mouth, bro, and then I want you to fuck me. I want to be on my hands and knees, and I want you to fuck me from the rear. I want you to fuck me hard and fast and come in me. Doggy-style. You've never fucked me like that, and it's been a fantasy of mine. Oh! God, your tongue... your tongue... oh! Ah! Ah! I'm coming! Coming!"
Darrin watched a bright pink splotch develop and spread across her chest and up the left side of her neck. She clamped her jaw shut, and the muscles in her neck strained as her orgasm overwhelmed her. Her hands left her breasts and his cock and gripped his hair just above his ears. She jerked his mouth tightly to her cunt as her hip movements became too forceful for him to suck on her clit, so he flattened his tongue and let her move over it as she wished. He thought she would collapse, but when her contractions diminished, she continued to slowly move her cunt over his flattened tongue.
"Nice," she muttered with a soft smile. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed down at him. "I could come again like this," she said, "but I want to be fucked now. Doggy-style." She rolled off him and scrambled onto her knees. "Come on, bro. Pretend I'm a bitch in heat and fuck me."

The scraggly cedar tree provided some shade, and the breeze drifting through the open car windows helped. Still, the heat and the activity in the back seat caused rivulets of sweat to roll down both Harriet's body and her husband's. Grunting, she raised her hips and let them fall, and her swollen, wet cunt swallowed her husband's long cock. His face was buried between her sweaty breasts. He leaned back and gazed into her eyes. Harriet felt chills run up and down her spine, caused by the love and lust in her man's eyes.
"God, I love you, Evan. You sure aren't clumsy anymore."
This is what Carrie needs, she thought. She needs a man she can love openly who will love her just as much and give her a good life and children to raise and cherish. If she's involved sexually with Darrin, I'll need to put a stop to it somehow. Then an image flashed in her mind, an image of her children locked in an embrace like hers. Darrin gazed at Carrie with lust and love in his eyes, just like the look Evan had just given her. Curiously, the image increased her arousal. It certainly didn't disgust her. When she was as excited as she was now, her fantasy world often became depraved and disgusting, albeit very arousing. She'd never shared this world with anyone, and she often felt guilty about her thoughts after her orgasms diminished and gave her back her reason.
"Do you think Carrie is sexually active yet?" she asked as her hips continued to bounce. She was getting close and knew her husband had been waiting patiently for her arousal to match his. The idea of fucking in the back seat of the car in the middle of nowhere had excited him.
"No!"
What happened next proved him a liar. His cock grew longer and thicker, and he jammed it as deeply as possible inside her with a massive groan. Without his practiced control, Harriet knew he would have climaxed. Evan could wait for her, had always waited for her. Some of her current friends sometimes complained about their husbands' hair triggers. Not, Harriet. She always gloated inwardly when she heard such complaints. She decided it was time to let her husband come, a feat she accomplished by allowing her imagination to flow free, allowing her fantasy world to become downright nasty. Nasty had never failed her.
Images flashed. Rhonda and her brother. Her childhood friend had told her enough about what she did with her brother to create vivid images in Harriet's mind.
Darrin and Carrie.
"Oh, Jesus! Oh, God!"
Darrin and Carrie! Rhonda became Carrie. Her brother became Darrin! She shook away the powerful erotic images and felt guilty for enjoying them. She purposefully pulled some other images from her memory. The first sight of Evan's beautiful, long cock. The first time she took it in her mouth. The first time... 
Unaccountably an image of Evan and Carrie swooped up out of the depths of her innermost depraved thoughts. A fantasy. Only a fantasy, but God, what a fantasy! What she saw in her mind's eye would never happen, she knew, but the images gathered the sensations of an orgasm into a tight knot deep inside her. Then more depraved images struck, even nastier than those of father and daughter. What took her over the top were images of her and her son. He was inside her. God! He was coming in her, coming in her like Evan was coming in her!
She wailed, and her scream of pleasure echoed through the cedar forest. One of the most powerful orgasms she'd ever experienced inundated every molecule of her body. She mashed her mouth to her husband's and jammed her tongue inside, jammed it deep like his throbbing cock was jammed deep inside her.

So beautiful, Darrin thought as he gazed down at his sister's gorgeous backside. Her hips had not become womanly yet. They were still narrow, and her cheeks were so round and firm. He grasped them with his large hands as Carrie reached between her legs and grasped his cock. She pulled on it and rolled its bulbous head up and down through the crease of her cunt.
She glanced over her shoulder. "Fuck me now, bro. Fuck me as hard and fast as you want. Don't worry about me. Just think about yourself, about your own pleasure. Just fuck me, and fuck me, and fuck me!"
He groaned and thrust into her, reared back and thrust again, and the second thrust buried his cock into her cunt as far as it would go. With the thrust, he felt his balls slap where the top part of her cunt would be, but her fingers were busy at her clitoris. She was touching herself, masturbating while he fucked her. The concept and the act excited him.
"Yes! Like that, bro!"
She dropped her head to the pillow, which raised her cute butt, and he thrust again and again and again.
"Yeah, that's it. Yes! Fuck me, bro. Harder!"
He threw his hips at her, and when he reared back to plunge into her again, he felt the membranes inside her cunt grasp his receding cock as if it didn't want it to leave.
"Faster!" she demanded, and he complied.
Sweat stung his eyes as he pounded her. His throbbing cock flashed in and out of her grasping cunt. Faster and faster. Harder and harder. Was he hurting her? Maybe. Probably not. God, it didn't matter. He couldn't stop now, didn't want to stop. He gasped for breath. She moaned with pleasure. He felt her fingers flashing over her clitoris with each inward thrust, and his balls started to tighten. She had said not to worry about her. Should he wait for her? No, he couldn't wait, not for another second.
"I'm coming," he bellowed.
"Yes! Me, too! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck... !"
Sound failed him; then sight as he tumbled into the black void of his orgasm. Normally he would have jammed his cock into her and let his come fly, but the almost violent rhythm of the fuck continued. Sometimes semen spurted as he withdrew. Other times it jetted at the deepest point. He couldn't stop. He fucked her faster and harder, fucked her until the end of his cock became so sensitive he couldn't stand the friction, and then he collapsed on top of her and heard the whoosh of her breath leaving her. His cock slipped out of her as he rolled to her side so she could breathe.
"Did you come," he asked between gasps.
"Oh, yeah," she replied and shuddered when a small contraction gripped her. "Big time."

Harriet dipped a washcloth into the ice-and-water-filled cooler and squeezed the rag until it was as dry as her twisting hands could make it.
"God, that feels good," Evan said as she ran the cold washcloth over his sweaty body. "Here, let me do you now."
"Yeah, that is nice," she said and reveled in the simple pleasures of the cool cloth and the lethargy that followed a satisfying climax. Satisfying reciprocal needs, she thought. That's what marriage is all about. Darrin had mentioned he and Carrie satisfied reciprocal needs. She needed a free place to live so she could work and save to attend college. He needed someone to act as his agent. Perhaps that's all it was. Surely they weren't committing incest. No. It's just that you let your imagination run wild again, she told herself.
She also felt guilty. The images her mind conjured just before and during her orgasms often made her feel guilty. She knew she would never act on any of her fantasies, and would certainly never tell anyone about them, but still, even allowing them to invade her mind made her regret them after the fact. An inward grimace avoided a personal vow she knew she would break during her next climax. She'd made and broken the vow too many times in the past to be so foolish as to promise herself to quell her fantasies yet again. For years she had let whatever images her imagination created flow without hindrance. They excited her, allowing her to achieve a climax almost upon demand, and Harriet loved to climax.
"I love you, Evan Cannon," she said just before she brushed his lips with hers.
"Yeah, me, too. We'd better get dressed and get on down the road."

"Stay there, Darrin," Carrie said. "I'll be right back." She returned a minute later with a cold washcloth in her hand.
"Nice," Darrin said as she wiped away the drying sweat and semen around his groin. When she finished, she bent and gave his flaccid cock a quick, little kiss.
"I love your cock, bro." Suddenly a concerned look entered her eyes. "Was I too nasty for you?"
He laughed. "Not at all. Nasty is nice. You're the sexiest woman I've ever known, sis. I love you when you're nasty and want to fuck. I love you when you're romantic and want to make love. I love you in all your many guises."
"Guises? For your information, bro, what you see is what you get. I'm never pretentious around you."
He laughed. "Liar. You told me you secretly loved me for more than a year. Secrecy implies deception, Carrie."
"Yeah, well, that was different. I'm talking about now."
"Are you saying you will never deceive me even a little ever again?"
"Yes. No. Damn you! Of course, I'll deceive you, but the deceptions won't be serious." She grinned. "A girl has to have some secrets."
He gathered her into his arms. "I know. It's yin and yang, Venus and Mars, the differences in the genders. I'll deceive you, too, and like you, I promise the secrets I keep will carry with them a deep and abiding love for you."
She smiled broadly and hugged him. "I couldn't have said it better myself."
Chapter Eight
"Good timing, Carrie. Tom called while you were out. He has a settlement offer from the insurance company. He'll be here..." Darrin glanced at his wristwatch and smiled. "... any minute." He took the grocery bags from her hands, and she bent into the trunk of the car and removed the other two.
"Cool. Did he say what the offer was?" she asked as they trudged up the stairs.
"No, and I asked. You're his client. He wouldn't discuss it with me." He helped her put away the groceries, and they sat at the kitchen table. He reached, pushed her hair to the side and caressed her cheek. "You don't need to hide the wound with your hair, sis."
"Around you, no, but I don't like little kids pointing at me at the grocery store."
"Actually, it's looking better every day. I think you're more conscious about the scar than anyone."
Chuckling, she said, "Probably."
The doorbell rang, and Darrin jumped up. "That'll be Tom. I'll let him in."
Carrie watched Tom Wilson walk up the stairs. A tall man, but very slim on the verge of being skinny, he wore an expensive dark-blue suit, a crisp, starched white shirt, gold cufflinks and a paisley tie. A fashion conscious man, Carrie thought. At the top of the stairs, he spied Carrie and gave her a bright smile, displaying perfect, very white teeth, which Carrie suspected were mostly caps. She did like his dimples, though, and returned his smile.
She jumped up, greeted him and extended her hand. He took it and gave it a shake. Soft hands, no calluses and a weak handshake, Carrie thought. He's not strong, not like Darrin. The men wanted a beer, and Carrie opened a cola for her. They gathered in the living room.
"Darrin tells me the insurance company made a settlement offer," Carrie said.
"Yes, but I don't think you should accept it. The offer includes medical expenses, loss of income from your work at the restaurant for a couple of weeks, and $5,000 for pain and suffering. This is their opening offer. I think we can do much better."
"Do the medical expenses include therapy?" Darrin asked. "Carrie keeps saying she doesn't need therapy, but she's been plagued with nightmares about the event."
"Yes, the medical expenses include the initial visit to the emergency room, plastic surgery and therapy. The insurance company will place limits on the surgery and therapy expenses, though."
Carrie grinned. "I see the problem. What's in it for you, Tom?"
He laughed. "The $5,000. The insurance company calculated the pain and suffering offer carefully. If you add up the total estimated medical expenses, your loss of income for a couple of weeks, plus the $5,000 for pain and suffering, and then multiply the sum by my firm's 35%, it comes almost to exactly $5,000, which means you'd get no cash, Carrie."
"But my medical bills would be taken care of."
"Yes, in a limited fashion."
"I lost my job," Carrie said. "Does that make a difference?"
"What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"It happened recently. My boss took one look at me two nights ago when I went to work and sent me home. He didn't actually fire me, but he doesn't want me showing his customers to their tables until I'm completely healed. In the meantime, I have no doubt he'll replace me."
Tom grinned. "This puts a whole new wrinkle into the negotiations." He pulled out his cell phone. "Excuse me," he said as he dialed. "Yes, this is Tom Wilson. I'd like to speak to Aaron Levitz please." He turned to Carrie, and his smile widened. "We've got them now." Turning back to the phone, he said, "Aaron, my client refused your offer... Of course, I presented it. I'm with the client now. You have a new problem to deal with, Aaron. Her work requires a pretty face. She no longer has her job, she was fired because her pretty face isn't pretty anymore and may never be pretty again, certainly not as pretty as it was before the incident, so your two-week time frame for loss of income no longer applies. This is an eighteen-year-old gorgeous girl, Aaron, horribly disfigured in her youth." He winked at Carrie. "She'll suffer with that disfigurement for the rest of her life, say sixty or more years, and you offered only $5,000 for this suffering. Get real, Aaron. Unless you give her a reasonable offer, my firm is committed to taking this to a jury. You saw the photographs, Aaron. You don't have a prayer, and on top of everything, she can't do her job anymore... Hold a minute, Aaron. I'll ask her." He put his hand over the mouthpiece on the phone. "He wants a counter offer," Tom said.
"What would you suggest?" Carrie asked.
"Estimated medical expenses doubled. Six months loss of income, and $3,000 a year for fifty years for pain and suffering. He'll counter, but I think I can get unlimited actual medical expenses, three months loss of income, and $2,000 a year for pain and suffering."
"Do it," Carrie said.
Tom presented the counter offer and hung up. "You heard. I limited the time the counter would be open to twenty-four hours. We should settle this tomorrow. Do I have your permission to settle under the final terms I mentioned or better?"
"Yes." Carrie chuckled and a mischievous glint entered her eyes. "On another matter, Tom. I know I'm horribly disfigured, but I need an escort to Darrin's three-man show. Would you take pity on this daughter of Frankenstein and be my escort for the evening?"
Tom's eyes widened, and he glanced furtively toward Darrin, who nodded. The lawyer smiled. "Daughter of Frankenstein. Disfigured. Phooey! It would be my pleasure to attend Darrin's show with you, Carrie, and thank you for taking pity on this lowly ambulance chaser by asking me. When is it scheduled?" He took out his day timer.
"A week from tomorrow. Our parents will be in town for the show, so we're planning an early dinner, say six o'clock."
Tom jotted down the particulars in his book. "Great. Listen, I'll get back with you tomorrow about the settlement. If it goes through, let's celebrate. I'll take you out to dinner."
Carrie shook her head and smiled. "How about a rain check. I'm so busy preparing for the show I don't have an extra minute."
"You're involved with the show?" Tom asked somewhat surprised.
"Carrie set it up, Tom. She's my manager and agent," Darrin said.
Tom's soft blue eyes widened.
Carrie stood. "Tom, I really appreciate all you've done to help me with the insurance company. Call me as soon as you hear anything, good or bad."
She guided the lawyer down the stairs and said goodbye at the door. When she returned upstairs, she asked, "What did you mean by manager?"
"You handle money better than me. Besides, I hate bill paying and all the irritating details involved with money and taxes and all that stuff. I looked into manager fees. They run from five to ten percent. Let's start with five and move it to ten when you get good at it, which you will." He held out his arms. "You know all this division of fees is a bit much. What I have is yours, Carrie. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. We're partners for life, richer or poorer, etcetera."
Carrie rushed into his arms. "Oh, Darrin, you're the most wonderful man in the world. I love you so damned much!" She kissed him, and then grinned mischievously. "You're not after my money, are you?"
Darrin looked confused, and then suddenly realized what she meant. "No, of course..."
"Just kidding, fool. What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours, richer or poorer. Okay?"
He nodded. "I need a break. Care for some quality time?"
"Wanna fuck, huh?" she asked with a crooked grin.
"No, I want to make love."
"Even better."

"Carrie, your line has been busy for an hour," Tom said, obviously frustrated.
"Sorry, I was on the Internet, and we only have one phone line."
"Oh. You should get a cell phone. They're cheap nowadays, but even if they were expensive, I'm happy to say you can now afford one. I didn't do as well as I thought, but I'd still recommend you accept the offer."
"I'll follow your advice, Tom. What's the offer?"
"$10,000 for loss of income plus $50,000 for pain and suffering, which is half what I hoped to get for you. The medical expenses will still be limited, but I doubled the upside limitations. It's highly unlikely you'll be out of pocket for the plastic surgeon or therapist."
"As I said, I'll accept the offer, Tom, but I'm curious. Why $50,000 instead of $100,000?"
"The amount relates to court costs added to the insurance company's estimate of any potential award. You don't have a strong case, Carrie. The insurance company believes they can go to court and their expenses including any award would not exceed their offer. If we refuse the offer, they'll force us to litigate to get anything."
"I see. What I don't understand is why my case is weak."
"It wasn't Seven Eleven's fault you were pistol whipped, not completely. You were as culpable as the owner of the convenience store. You casually walked into a robbery in progress, but when Mr. Kim killed the thief in front of you, and the dead man fell on you and traumatized you, Kim became liable."
"I see. I never blamed Mr. Kim, so it's probably a good thing we don't need to take this to trial. I'd have made a poor witness. When will I receive the money and what's my share?"
"I'll call Aaron after we hang up, and they'll prepare the settlement documents. If they don't drag their feet, money should change hands Tuesday or Wednesday next week. The total settlement is estimated at $90,000. $30,000 of that number is for medical expenses, which will be escrowed and paid when invoiced by the hospital, doctors and therapist involved. As agreed, my firm took the case on contingency for 35% of the settlement, which equates to $31,500 and will come out of the $60,000 un-escrowed award. You'll receive $28,500 cash at the time of settlement, plus we'll immediately reimburse Darrin for his out-of-pocket expenses for the emergency room out of the $30,000 set aside for medical expenses. Your subsequent medical bills will be paid as they accrue."
A chill went down Carrie's back. She now had the money for her college education.
"Tom, you did an excellent job. Thank you."
"Are you sure you don't have time to go out and celebrate?"
Yes, I have time, but if I'm going to celebrate it will be with Darrin, not you, Tom Wilson.
"Sorry, I have an early appointment at the gallery tomorrow. Phil, that's the gallery owner, will be hanging Darrin's paintings for the show, and I need to make sure he's treated fairly. Call me when the papers are ready for me to sign and I can pick up my check. I'll see you next Friday, Tom, and once again, thank you."
Tom persisted, which irritated Carrie, and she cut him off as pleasantly as possible and disconnected the call. Thirty seconds later she threw herself into Darrin's arms.
"We're rich!" she squealed and mashed her mouth to his.
"Whoa! What do you mean?"
She explained.
"Carrie, $28,500 doesn't make you rich."
She stuck her tongue out at him and grinned. "Spoilsport. As far as this bumpkin from Milltown is concerned, I'm rich! I now have the money for my college education, bro."
Not quite, he thought. She'll need to pay taxes on 65% of the $90,000 settlement, which will wipe out a good chunk of the cash she's getting, but now isn't the time to take her down. After all she's been through, she deserves some moments of happiness.
"I think we should celebrate," he said. "I'll call in sick, and we'll go out on the town."
"Yes!"
"What would you like to do?"
"Dinner and dancing! Darrin, I've never been to a really fine restaurant. I feel like being pampered. I want my every whim satisfied while we dine. I want to taste fine food and sip fine wine and gaze at you with all the love I feel for you. So pick a place where no one will know us. And then, I want you to hold me in your arms while we sway to the soft sounds of music." She giggled. "I want to feel sexy and desirable, so while we dance I want you to get all hard and rub against me and touch me and kiss me and get me so hot I'll want you to take me right there on the dance floor. Do you realize tonight will be our first date, bro? I want to have so much fun I'll remember our first date for the rest of my life!"

The beat changed, and Darrin watched Carrie step back, close her eyes and let the beat take hold of her. She started with slow movements, undulating to the new beat, an insistent rhythm at first, which became more intense as the song progressed. She went with the sounds, and they became part of her.
Then he changed his mind. For him, it appeared as if she controlled the thuds and hums and echoes like a conductor guiding an orchestra, rather than moving to and reacting to the music. She tossed her head and her mahogany tresses flew, counterbalanced by the graceful movement of her arms and hands and the sway of her perky breasts, moving freely under the satiny bodice that tried to contain them, barely succeeding. She spun and her mini-skirt twirled up a little, and her hips swished to the syncopated beat, controlling it, forcing it to move faster and faster. She danced alone, feeling the music, using it like a lover, letting it caress her, moving against it and stepping coyly away.
He stood and watched her. Carrie appreciated sound and music while his world had always been visual, and he decided he'd never seen anything so beautiful as his sister making love with the reverberating beats.
And he wasn't alone. Other occupants of the dance floor stopped and watched her. She had become a symphony that demanded an audience, an aria to be appreciated and adored for its beauty and perfection. And Darrin adored her, felt so much joy and pride he wanted to let the world know the gorgeous creature unknowingly demanding adoration was his, wanted to shout up at the heavens that he loved her and she loved him!
The music stopped abruptly, and Carrie opened her eyes. She saw only her lover standing looking at her with sheer adoration. She rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, kissed him with all the passion the music had helped her feel, all the passion the fairytale evening had slowly built up inside her, all the passion her love needed to express. His strong arms wrapped her waist, and he lifted her from her feet. He kissed her back, and she felt his love flow from his mouth to hers, from his body to hers.
"Take me home," she whispered. "Now!"
He didn't speak, merely nodded, and they turned to their table to gather their things. Strangely, a couple next to them applauded, which confused Carrie, but Darrin understood. They applauded his lover. She had unknowingly performed for them. Another couple joined the first couple's applause, and then another.
Carrie blushed.
"Take a bow," Darrin whispered.
"What? Why?"
"Bow to your audience."
"Audience?"
"Just bow. You deserve the applause. Please, just bow."
Carrie smiled. Her lover wanted her to bow, so she'd bow, and she remembered how some stage actresses bowed at the end of a performance. She stepped away from Darrin, and bowed deeply dropping her hand in front of her acknowledging the audience, and the applause deepened. Her smile widened, and she spun back to Darrin.
"Now," she said softly but insistently. "Take me to our home. I need you now."
They hurried from the club and clamored into the car. Before Darrin could start the engine, he found Carrie in his arms, kissing him again.
"This has been the best first date a girl ever had," she said and then licked his ear.
He groaned. "And it isn't over yet," he said as he felt her dainty fingers grope between his legs. He'd been erect off and on for hours. "If you don't let go, I'll take you right here in the car."
"Yes! I've never made love in a car, only petted with bumpkins. Let's do it! Right here! Right now!"

"You liked that, huh?" Terry said to her date as she slid her hand up his thigh and found him fully erect. They had come into the club and taken a table just before the music started, and the dancing young woman had captured their attention. Curiously Terry was as excited as her date. The young woman who had put on a show was the sexiest female she'd ever seen. She wasn't perfect; her face was scarred, but she oozed sex with a capital S. Terry wasn't opposed to sex with another woman, and as the sexy woman danced, Terry felt herself getting wet. She had taken her date's hand and pushed it up under her skirt until he cupped her mound. His fingers, hidden by the tablecloth, obligingly played with her pussy, but his eyes never left the young woman gyrating on the dance floor. His gaze had devoured her, and Terry understood, wasn't even jealous. She wanted her, too.
He had not responded to her question, so she added, "You wanted to fuck her, didn't you?"
"God, yes, and I know her. She's the woman I told you about, my client in the convenience store case."
"Jesus!"
"Yeah." And I have a date with her next Friday, which won't do me a bit of good. He groaned with disappointment.
"I know how you feel. I want to fuck her, too, but she's in love with the man she was with. They're probably out in the parking lot now fucking each other."
"No doubt," Tom said. Her brother! She's in the parking lot fucking her brother! A germ of an idea began to form.
I'd fuck him, too, Terry thought as she fondled Tom's cock over his trousers. God, what a hunk! A picture formed in her mind. The hunk and the sexy woman naked and fucking! God, I'd love to see them, watch them fuck each other!"
"Let's go see if what we think is happening is really happening," Terry said.
Tom nodded.

Carrie reached under her short skirt and peeled off her panties, tossing them to Darrin.
"Put them in your suit pocket," she said with a husky voice, and then pulled his belt loose and unzipped his trousers. She reached through the hole in his boxers and grasped his hard-on. The boxers were wet from pre-cum, as was the end of his cock. She rubbed her palm over the head, smearing his juices. "God, I'm so hot, bro. I'll come as soon as you enter me."
He raised his hips and helped her push his pants down. His cock bobbed up and struck the steering wheel.
Carrie scooted back to the passenger door, pulled her skirt up to her waist and threw her left leg up over the seat. "Come on! Fuck me! Just fuck me, now. We'll make love when we get home."
Darrin rolled, kneeled on the seat and grasped her hips. She reached out and grabbed his erection, pulling on it as he scrambled up next to her. She placed the crown at the entrance to her cunt and hunched forward, pulling him into her.
He lifted her hips off the seat and plunged into her.
"Yes!" she screamed.
She felt like animated liquid heat around him. He reared back and thrust forcefully back inside her, pulling her to him with his hands grasping the cheeks of her ass.
"Again!" she shouted.
When deep inside her she grabbed his hips and wouldn't let him move back.
"Uh!" she grunted as her hips ratcheted up and then back down. "Uh!" Again. "Uh!" Yet again. "Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!"
He felt her cunt start to flutter around his cock, trembling at first, and then grasping and repelling.
"Come in me, bro! Now! Come in me!"
An easy demand to satisfy. He groaned mightily and pushed as deeply in her as he could go. He felt semen rush down through his shaft and jet out into her.
"Yes!" she screamed and her hips took off.
He'd never felt any woman, including Carrie, move so fast against him before. She had climaxed before him, he knew, but another orgasm hit her. Still, her hips continued to fly. He didn't do anything, just let her do whatever she wanted, and she surprised him by moving into yet another climax. Finally she collapsed and slowly moved her hands from his hips, moving them to each side of his face and then pushing her fingers through his hair. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed at him with so much love in her eyes, he wanted to shout with joy. He mashed his mouth on hers, kissed her passionately at first, but the kiss soon softened to romantic. Then he gave her soft little kisses, murmuring how much he loved her between each kiss, and she did the same.
She groaned with disappointment when his softening cock slipped out of her and fell to the seat of the car.

"The show's over, Tom," Terry whispered and jerked at his sleeve. "Come on. I want to you to fuck me now in your car, fuck me just like that man fucked your client. Now, damn it!"
Jesus, she fucks her brother! I didn't really believe it before, but they're lovers. Christ! Incest!
"Get your pants down," Terry ordered after they had scrambled into his car.
"You're too late, Terry," Tom said. "Sorry. I came in my pants five minutes ago."
"Then eat me, damn it! I need to come! I need to come right now!"
Why not? I'll pretend she's Carrie. Maybe I'll get hard again. Then I'll fuck her and pretend she's Carrie then, too. God, I have a date with her next Friday, he thought as his mouth descended on Terry's sloppy cunt. I'll fuck her then. She'll fuck me, too. She won't have a choice, not if she wants to keep her secret a secret.
"Yes! Lick my cunt, you fucker. Lick it good!" I'll pretend he's that sexy bitch licking me, chewing on my cunt. "Oh, God! Eat me, you sweet sexy thing! Eat me!"

"You look happy today, Carrie," Phil Kensington remarked.
"I am. The insurance company settled my claim. I'll be able to get the plastic surgery I'll need to get rid of this ugly scar." Though I'm happier about my first date with the love of my life last night. She shivered with pleasure when the thought reminded her of the slow passionate love making in the loft after the quick, thoroughly satisfying fuck in Darrin's car.
"Congratulations!"
Over the next few hours, Carrie learned some of the secrets of marketing art. Phil described how he selected the placement of the paintings on walls or dividers, how he handled the lighting not only on the paintings but also in the various rooms of the gallery, and how the arrangement of the rooms forced people to move through the gallery or provided places for them to gather in groups - all the details that played important roles in the success or failure of an art show. She also soon realized Phil was showcasing Darrin's paintings over the other two artists, which pleased her.
"Of course," Phil said, "waitresses will move through the crowd offering drinks, mostly wine, but mixed drinks can be ordered. I'll have one open bar. An art show should be a big event, Carrie." Then Phil showed her where the musicians would be stationed, where he planned to set up the buffet table, and what foods he would offer the crowd.
What he didn't tell her was the success or failure of every show depended mostly on two things: the quality of the artwork on display and the guest list. Phil treated his guest list like a well-guarded secret, and the list would vary depending on the artwork being shown. Regardless, the right mix of collectors, critics and art lovers was imperative to insure the success of a show.
They took a break, and Phil suggested raspberry iced-tea, which she accepted. They sat in his office.
"When can you schedule Darrin's one-man show, Phil?" Carrie asked.
He smiled. "Assuming his work sells as quickly as I think it will, I'd like to do a pre-Christmas show. Can he have fifteen to twenty paintings finished by then?"
"I think so. As you saw when you visited the studio, he has twelve more paintings with the Vegas theme already finished, and he's working on eight new paintings simultaneously. They should be finished early in December."
"A few of the twelve already finished aren't up to the quality of the paintings in this show, Carrie."
"I know, but wait until you see the new paintings! We'll price the older paintings so they'll sell, and with the new paintings, the show will be a rousing success. Next week or the week after, come out to the studio and see the new ones. I know you'll be impressed."
"All right. The gallery owner from L.A. will be at the show Friday. If he likes what he sees, I can set up a one-man show in L.A. for Darrin's paintings in June next year."
"Perfect. He'll have at least sixteen new paintings ready to show by then. I know it's none of my business, but what's your cut with galleries where you have reciprocity?"
"I don't mind telling you. It's just a referral fee - five percent."
Carrie grinned. "Not bad. When do you think Darrin will be ready for the Big Apple?"
"Let's see what happens Friday first. If he gets good reviews from the critics and his paintings sell out, you might be able to attract a prominent gallery in New York by the end of next year."

"Barbara, it's Darrin Cannon," he said into the phone.
"Darrin, it's good to hear from you. You must be getting excited. You have your first show this Friday, don't you?"
"Yes, but I'm also nervous. I've never been to a show at a gallery. Does the artist have any unusual obligations beyond showing up relatively sober and recently bathed?"
She laughed gaily. "You should wear a bath towel, at least." Wait a minute. Did I hear him correctly? Did he say he's never been to a show at a gallery? Surely... 
"See, that's why I called you. I knew I could count on you for some good advice. Are you planning to attend the show?"
"Yes. I wouldn't miss it."
"Do you have an escort?"
Whoa, she thought. What is he asking? Surely, he... 
"If you don't, Barbara," Darrin said when she hesitated, "you would make me very happy if you would attend the show with me."
I can get out of my commitment with Harry, Barbara thought, but should I? Why the hell not? Live a little, Barbara. Darrin Cannon is a hunk, as my niece would say. A bit young for me, perhaps, but what the hell. Besides, I had to twist Harry's arm to go with me. He won't mind if I cancel, not much, at least. She smiled. "I'd love to go with you, Darrin."
"Great. My parents will be in town for the show, and we've planned an early dinner. Carrie and her escort will be joining us for dinner, too. Is six o'clock too early for you?"
"No, six is fine."
He asked for her address and made arrangements to pick her up. Barbara found herself still smiling when she disconnected the call and immediately dialed another number.
"Harry, guess what?"
"Why do you ask unanswerable questions before you even say hello?"
"A man just called me and asked me to attend the opening at Phil's gallery Friday. You won't need to be my escort."
"Thank heavens for small favors. Sweetie, you just made my day. Timmy called me. He'll be in town Friday, and you know how I look forward to Timmy's visits. Hang on. I'll call him on another line and tell him I can see him after all, and then you can tell me all about this man. Is he handsome and debonair or a redneck wanted by the police in three states?"
"Darrin Cannon is one of the artists represented in the show. He's handsome but not debonair. He might be a redneck, but I doubt it."
"The same artist who created that marvelous painting hanging in your living room?"
"The very same."
"Ooh, sweetie, hang on. I want to hear more."
Chapter Nine
As soon as Carrie logged off the Internet the phone rang.
"Carrie, it's Tom. You've been on the Internet again, haven't you?"
"Yes, sorry."
"I have the insurance company agreements for you to sign, and I can give you your check."
"Great, I can leave now. What's the address?"
He gave her directions, and she hung up. At the bottom of the stairs, she hollered at Darrin, who appeared hard at work. "Tom has my check, bro. I'll pick it up, make a deposit at the bank, and then I'm going to shop for a new dress for the show. Do you need anything?"
"No. Have fun."
Twenty minutes later, Carrie sat impatiently in the waiting area of the law firm where Tom worked.
Inside his office, Tom sat and debated whether to start his campaign to seduce Carrie now or wait until Friday evening. He didn't want to use Darrin and Carrie's incestuous relationship to achieve his purpose, but if he needed to play that card he would. He couldn't stop the images that frequently invaded his mind, images of Carrie moving sensuously to the beat of the music, images of Carrie's legs wrapped around her brother's hips while he fucked her, and the image he relived most often, the image of her expression when she climaxed. Watching her climax had excited him so much he had climaxed, as well, came in his pants like a teenager without even touching himself. Tom Wilson never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Carrie Cannon.
"Whatever it takes," he muttered. "If she'll fuck her brother, for Christ's sake, she'll fuck me. She should be easy." He reached for the phone and dialed the receptionist. "Please bring Ms. Cannon back to my office," he said.
I won't be able to stand and greet her, he thought, not with this hard-on. He picked up the phone and was talking to the dial tone when Carrie entered his office. Waving her to a seat in front of his desk, he pretended to close out his telephone conversation.
"Carrie, you look lovely today."
"Thanks, Tom."
He picked up an envelope and waved it in the air. With a big smile, he said, "This is your check. $28,500!" He pushed the envelope to the front of his desk and watched as Carrie bent forward to retrieve it. She wasn't wearing a bra, he realized as his eyes fixed on the top part of her breasts.
Damn, he's undressing me with his eyes, Carrie thought when she noted his gaze. She didn't like his lustful expression, either, and decided it might have been a bad idea to ask him to be her escort for the art show.
"You mentioned some papers I needed to sign," she said.
"Yes." He smiled and licked his lips. "Sorry. You're quite a distraction, you know." He hunted around on his desk and found the file. Opening it, he laid out the agreements she needed to sign. "Why don't you come around to this side of the desk, and I'll show you where you need to sign each document."
"Shouldn't I read them first?"
Another smile. "That's my job as your lawyer. They're fine. The insurance company dotted every 'I' and crossed every 'T', but the documents represent the final settlement we discussed."
Carrie shrugged, stood and walked around his desk. He handed her a pen and pointed to the first document. She bent forward and signed her name.
"Date it, too," he instructed, his eyes now fixed on her backside as she bent over to scribble the date. Carrie could feel his eyes on her, and she didn't like it.
A minute later, she signed and dated the last document. That's when she felt his hand on the inside of her leg just above the knee.
"Your legs are phenomenal, Carrie. So smooth, so shapely."
As she started to step to the side to get away from his intrusive hand, he squeezed her thigh and pulled her toward him.
"Get your filthy hands off me, Tom!" She pushed at his hand and with a jump pulled away from him and hurried to the other side of the desk. Angry, she picked up the check and placed it in her purse.
"Forget the art show. I've decided I don't like you very much." She turned and started to leave the room.
"You let Darrin put his hands all over you, though, don't you?"
Shocked, she stopped and turned to him. Swallowing, she reminded herself to deny, deny, deny. "You have a filthy mind. Darrin is my brother. He's never touched me inappropriately."
"He not only touches you, he fucks you!" Tom stated forcefully. "I saw the two of you last Friday, even watched him fuck you in the front seat of his car a parking lot."
Deny, deny, deny. "Liar! You're sick, Tom. You need therapy, not me." She turned to leave the room again, but he jumped up and pushed the door closed before she could escape.
"Sit down, slut! I wasn't the only one to see you. I have a witness. If you want to keep your secret a secret you'll do as I say."
"Like hell I will!"
Witness or not, exposure or not, she'd never let him touch her again. She raked her nails across his face, and then threw her knee at his crotch as hard as she could. He screamed, grabbed his scratched face and doubled up in pain at the same time. As she tried to move around him to open the door, he reached for her, clasping her blouse. She jerked away from him, and her blouse ripped.
Wanting nothing but to get away from Tom, her hand found the doorknob, but he pulled at her, ripping her blouse further. "Let go of me!" she screamed as loud as she could. Turning the knob, the door opened a little. "Help!" she screamed through the partially opened door before he slammed it shut again.
"Bitch!" he shouted and backhanded her, striking her injured cheek.
She spun from the blow and nearly fell. Kicking out at him, the toe of her shoe connected with his shinbone. He winced but closed his fist and reared back to slug her just as the door flew open.
"What the hell is going on in here?" a man asked.
"He hit me and tore off my blouse," Carrie stated as she tried to arrange the tattered shreds of her shirt to cover her exposed breasts.
A woman stood behind the man at the door, and then another man appeared. Tears stung Carrie's eyes. The men and woman were staring at her. She pushed past them, and as she rushed down the hall, more doors opened, more men and woman could see her nakedness. She felt mortified. What could she do? She couldn't leave the building and go out to her car, not with her breasts exposed. In the elevator lobby, she noticed a ladies room and hurried inside.
Seconds after she entered the restroom, the door opened. Carrie spun toward the intruder, unaccountably thinking it would be Tom, but it was a woman, a woman with a sympathetic look on her face.
"Are you all right?" the woman asked.
"No, I'm not all right. The son of a bitch hit me and tore my blouse. What will I do? I can't leave here like this?"
"Do you want to call the police?"
"No! I just want to leave."
"I'll find something for you to wear. I'll be right back."
"Please get my purse from his room. I dropped it when he attacked me."
A few minutes later, the woman reentered the restroom. She carried Carrie's purse, some papers and a man's white shirt.
"Will this do?" she asked holding out the shirt.
Carrie nodded and took the shirt. Looking into the purse, she noted the check was still inside. After removing the remains of her blouse, she pulled on the man's shirt. It was much too large for her, but at least it covered her naked chest.
"Thank you," Carrie said. "What is your name?"
"Marilyn. Marilyn Short. What's yours?"
"Carrie Cannon. Tom Wilson was my attorney. I received a fairly large settlement today. I guess he thought I should have been more appreciative than I was."
"He's a pig. This is your copy of the settlement," Marilyn stated and handed Carrie the documents. "Are you sure you don't want to call the police?"
"No police," Carrie said as she stuffed the documents in her purse. "I just want this to end. Does Tom have a boss?"
"Yeah, me, but had a boss would more accurate. I just fired him."
"Good! Marilyn, part of my settlement included some funds escrowed for medical expenses. May I deal with you regarding those funds?"
"Of course." She reached into her pocket and handed Carrie her card. "You can probably sue my firm and win."
"I don't want to sue anyone, Marilyn. I would not have sued the Seven Eleven except I needed the money for plastic surgery because of this scar." She touched the side of her face and winced. "Damn! I'm bruised again." She walked to the mirror. Not too bad, she decided, not like being pistol-whipped. She wasn't bleeding, but wondered if she'd have another black eye. That's all she'd need - another black eye when her parents arrived in a couple of days. Damn!
"I'm familiar with your case. You deserved every penny you received and more. If you'll sign a release absolving the firm from any responsibility for this matter this afternoon, I'll..."
"Marilyn, I made a deal with your firm. The deal was fair then, and it's fair now. I don't want your money, and I don't want to sue." But I do need to give her an incentive to help me, Carrie reasoned. She added, "I also won't sign a release. Put a leash on your boy and muzzle him. If I don't see him or hear his voice for a year, I'll sign your release. Otherwise, I'll sue the hell out of him and you. I'll have the shirt laundered and will return it to you by courier."
Thoroughly pissed, Carrie pushed by Marilyn, opened the restroom door, stomped to the elevator lobby and jabbed the down button. When the elevator didn't arrive immediately, she remembered she was only on the third floor, so she moved into the stairwell and hurried down the stairs.
Her anger dissipated with each clack of her high heels on the metal treads of the stairs. By the time she stepped from the stairwell into the main lobby of the building, she was more worried than angry. Would Tom follow up on his threat? She didn't know him well enough to predict. Darrin knew the man, called him a friend. Perhaps her brother could foretell what Tom would do. She dreaded telling Darrin what had happened, but he needed to know, and needed to know now. She hoped Darrin wouldn't go off half-cocked and do something stupid like attacking Tom. More violence wasn't the answer. She and Darrin needed to put their heads together to minimize the fallout.

"He hit you?" Darrin said. Anger glinted in his eyes and his face became flushed.
"Yeah, but only after I made his face bloody with my fingernails and kneed him in his nuts. And after he hit me, I kicked him. I got more licks in than he did, Darrin."
"Good for you. I'd have beaten the son of a bitch to a bloody pulp!"
Carrie finished telling her brother the details of her conversation with Tom's boss and asked, "What do you think? Did I give her enough incentive to make sure Tom leaves us alone and keeps his mouth shut?"
Darrin pursed his lips. "I don't know, sis." He reached and brushed the pads of his fingers over her cheek. "How badly did he hurt you?"
"Just a bruise. I hope I don't get another black eye. Dad would have a conniption."
Darrin chuckled. "Yeah."
"And I don't have a date for the show now. Maybe Barbara or Phil knows someone who would like to be my escort."
"One of Phil's gay friends would make me happy," Darrin said with a grin.
"Sure. While you're out with classy, beautiful Barbara. Damn it! I won't be able to help it, Darrin. When I see you with her, I'll get jealous. I know I will."
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her. Gazing down at her, he said, "No need for jealousy, sis. I don't want Barbara. I want you, only you. Got it?"
Carrie smiled. "Got it." She gave him a quick kiss.
"Did you do the banking?"
"No, I forgot. Actually, I came right home to tell you what happened. I'll do the banking now and go shopping for the dress. Although, I can probably wear the dress I wore Friday night."
"Get a new dress. You deserve it. Go take off that silly shirt, and I'll go with you to the bank. I need some art supplies. I'll drop you off at the mall so you can shop and meet you after I purchase the art supplies. Maybe we can take in a movie or something while we're out."
"Be still my heart. A second date. I was starting to think I was a one-night stand."
"Get, woman!"
She laughed while climbing the stairs. At the landing, she turned and said, "I love you, bro - a lot."
"Yeah, and I love you, too."
When she turned and moved out of sight, Darrin went to a cabinet, unlocked a drawer and pulled out a revolver. He took it to the car and slid it under the front seat. He was washing his hands in the industrial sink in the studio when Carrie came bounding down the stairs.
"Let's go, bro."
"Be right with you." He dried off his hands. Carrie's ploy wouldn't work. Tom was a mean son of a bitch. He'd want to get even. Darrin had decided to give him a little more incentive to keep his mouth shut.
They used the drive-up facility at the bank to deposit Carrie's check, and Darrin dropped her off at the mall, stipulating when and where he would meet her and giving her ample time to shop. A half-hour later he stopped the car at the curb in front of Tom's house. He'd been to the house a couple of times for parties and knew its floor plan. Pulling his shirt from his pants, he stuffed the gun under his belt at the small of his back and let the shirt fall over it. Stepping from the car, he walked up the front walk and rang the doorbell.
"Who is it?" Tom asked from behind the door.
"Darrin Cannon. We need to talk, Tom."
"Fuck you! That bitch of a sister of yours got me fired."
"You got yourself fired, Tom. Let me in. We need to talk."
"No way! You probably just want to beat the crap out of me."
"I promise I won't hit you, Tom. I'd advise you to talk to me. If you don't, Carrie will swear out a complaint against you. You assaulted her, and she has at least a dozen witnesses. If you don't want to spend the night in jail, I'd advise you to let me in so we can talk about everything."
The door opened a crack, stopped by a security chain.
"Go ahead and talk."
Darrin noticed Tom's face was bandaged. Carrie had done a pretty good job on him. "Uh-uh, not out here. Let me in. I don't want the neighbors hearing what I have to say. I promise you I will not hit you, Tom."
"Just a minute." He returned in a few seconds and slipped the chain off the door. Stepping back, he said, "Come in, but I warn you I have a gun in my hand, and I know how to use it."
Darrin walked inside, holding his hands out, showing Tom he held nothing in his hands. He wanted Tom to feel safe. "Fix me a drink, Tom. Scotch will be fine. Over ice." He strode by Tom, moved into the den and plunked down on a barstool.
Tom followed him, looking confused.
"Carrie tells me you watched us in the parking lot of the club Friday night."
"That's right, and someone was with me. I have a witness, so it's not just my word against yours."
"What do you plan to do about Carrie and me, Tom? Fix me that drink. Scotch on ice, in case you didn't hear me the first time."
"I haven't decided yet. Incest is against the law, even in the State of Nevada. I could turn you in, or..."
"Or what? Make me that drink, damn it!"
He set the gun on the back bar and tipped a bottle of scotch, splashing the amber liquid into a cocktail glass. "Well, I am out of work. I'm going to need money until I can find a new job."
Darrin reached behind his back and pulled out his gun. When Tom turned to set the drink in front of him, Darrin shoved the gun in his face.
"I have a gun, too, you cock sucker! And, like you, I know how to use it. Put your hands behind your head. Good. Now walk around the bar. Slowly! Good. Kneel down on the floor. Do it! If you don't do what I say when I say it, I'll kill you, and I'd like nothing more than to kill you right now." Holding the weapon on Tom, Darrin walked behind the bar and retrieved Tom's gun. He emptied the shells from the gun and threw it across the room, knocking over a lamp. With a sweep of his arm, he cleared all the bottles off the back bar. They fell to the floor, many of them breaking. "Be happy, Tom," Darrin said. "Breaking things made me feel a little better. I might not kill you after all. Then again..."
He placed the end of the gun at the back of Tom's neck.
"Oh, God, Darrin. Please! Please, don't kill me! I'll do anything you want!"
Suddenly Darrin detected the odor of urine. The man had peed his pants! Darrin chuckled and plopped back on the bar stool. "You're a pitiful excuse for a man, Tom. I'm sickened that I ever counted you as a friend. Stand up and take off your pants."
"What?"
"You heard me, damn it! You just peed your pants. Take them off. Your shorts, too. No, don't look at me. Look the other direction."
Soon he stood naked from the waist down.
"Thank you. Now turn around and face me. No. Don't look me in the eye or I'll kill you. Look at your pitiful cock. After today, you might not ever see it again. You have two choices, Tom. One, you will promise me under penalty of death that you will never say anything about Carrie and me to a living soul, or two, I'll shoot your slimy cock off." He pointed the gun at Tom's dangling penis. "Well, what's your choice?"
"I'll never say anything to anyone about you and Carrie."
"Why don't I believe you?" Darrin asked and pushed the hammer back on the gun.
"I promise, Darrin! I promise!"
"Naw! I don't believe you." Darrin moved the gun up to Tom's chest and pulled the trigger.
The explosion was deafening, and Tom flopped over backwards. Grabbing his chest, he groaned.
"Damn, I forgot the first bullet in my gun was a rubber bullet. How about that, Tom? God, you're lucky."
Darrin walked over to Tom and kicked him as hard as he could between his legs. Tom curled up into a ball, his hands between his legs, screaming in pain.
"That's for hitting my sister, you fuck!" Darrin shouted and shoved the gun in Tom's face. "Here's what I suggest you do! By this time tomorrow, you should be in another state. I suggest the East coast, because if I ever see your ugly face again, you no good cock sucker, I'll kill you. Do you believe me, Tom?"
When he didn't respond immediately, Darrin kicked his ribs viciously. "I asked you a fucking question. Do you believe me?"
"Yes," Tom said with a gasp.
"Good. God, I want to kill you right now. I want to pull this trigger again and put a real bullet in you, but I promised Carrie I wouldn't kill you today. Otherwise, you'd be dead. Do you believe me?"
"Yes. Please, no more, Darrin. Please!"
"I keep my promises, Tom. I promised Carrie I wouldn't kill you today. I promised you I wouldn't hit you, and I haven't. I kicked you a couple of times, but I haven't hit you. I keep my promises, and I promise you this. I'll be by here tomorrow. If you're still here, I'll kill you. I didn't promise Carrie I wouldn't kill you tomorrow. My promise to her was only for today." Darrin kicked him in his side again, producing another painful scream. "You put your filthy hands on my sister, you fuck! God, I want to kill you!" He stomped on Tom's hand. "Kill you!" He kicked Tom again. "Kill you!"
Darrin felt himself losing control. He took a deep breath and stepped back. Another deep breath helped. He was enraged, so full of anger he truly wanted to kill. "Get out of Vegas, Tom, or I swear I'll kill you."
Darrin turned on his heels, shoved the gun under his belt and covered it with his shirt. He took two paces and turned back to the man groveling in pain on the floor. "Frankly, I hope you're still here tomorrow, Tom. I'd really rather kill you than let you live. It's your choice." He strode from the house, stepped into his car, did his shopping at the art supply store, and met Carrie as promised. Later he held his sister's hand while they watched a movie.
Tom's house was vacant the next day. When Darrin drove by, a young man was installing a "For Sale" sign.

"Phil, it's Carrie. A couple of things. First, I have a cell phone now, and I bought one for Darrin, too." She gave him the numbers. Propped up on pillows on Darrin's bed, she basked in the cool air blown into the room by the window air conditioner. "Secondly, I have a problem. I had a date for the show, but... let's just say I no longer have an escort. Do you know anyone who would be kind enough to be my escort for the evening on such short notice? I'll come alone if I must, but as you know, the parents will be here for the show, and we're having an early dinner. Darrin is taking Barbara, and I don't want to be the odd single."
Phil chuckled. "I know just the person. He's an art critic, perhaps a little old for you, but he'll be a perfect gentleman."
"How old?"
"Late thirties, I think, but looks younger. Quite handsome, actually. He's gay but you'd never suspect his preference by the way he acts. His name is Sid Westbrook."
An art critic would be ideal, Carrie thought. And the fact that he's gay will make Darrin happy. "Sounds perfect, Phil. You're a real friend."
"I'll have him call you at your new number."
An hour later, Carrie had an escort. She hung up the phone and hurried to the railing. Darrin was busy slapping paint on canvas.
"I have a new date for the show, bro. An art critic named Sid Westbrook."
He looked up at her. "Put some clothes on, you hussy!"
Carrie giggled. "Why? Is my body ugly?"
He threw his paintbrush in a can of solvent and wiped his hands on a rag. "No, but it is a distraction."
"Tough."
"Is this Westbrook guy gay?"
"Yes, unfortunately for our purposes, but Phil tells me he doesn't act gay, and the fact he's an art critic helps, providing a reason for accepting his invitation. He's a bit long in the tooth for me, Darrin, late thirties, Phil said."
"Good," he said and removed his smock. He bounded up the stairs and pulled Carrie into his arms. After he kissed her, he said, "The folks will be here in four hours or so. I feel like being nasty. Would you like to get naughty and nasty with me while we have a chance?"
"Oh, yeah! Nasty and naughty sounds nice." She spun away from him. "I'll be on your bed getting ready for you. Get naked, bro." She rushed down the hall.

"There's the turn off to the road that goes nowhere that gave us some privacy on the trip up from Vegas a few weeks ago," Harriet said.
"By golly, I think you're right," Evan said. "Want to dally and take another side trip?" He had a wicked gleam in his eyes.
She chuckled. "Not now, maybe on the way back."
His wife's negative reaction didn't upset him. In fact, her decision fit his mood perfectly. Oh, he'd have taken the side trip if she'd expressed interest, but he wanted to have a conversation with her about their children, a conversation he'd been avoiding for quite a while.
"During the side trip, you asked me a curious question," he said. "You asked me if I thought Carrie were sexually active. Why did you ask the question?"
"Because I wanted your opinion, silly. If I remember correctly, you didn't give me an answer. How about an answer now? Is she or isn't she?"
"What do you think?"
"That's so like you - answering a question with a question, but unlike you I'll be polite and answer your question. Yes, I think she's sexually active. She's on the pill. Ostensibly, she went on the pill to regulate her periods, but..."
"How long has she been on the pill?" he asked interrupting her.
His wife's comment about Carrie being on the pill relieved him. He'd been unaware of the fact, and like his wife, he believed Carrie was sexually active, too.
"About a year, maybe a little longer. Well, what's your opinion? Is she sexually active or not?"
"I'd say yes. You told me you became sexually active at the age of sixteen, and those days were less accepting of sex outside the marriage bed than nowadays. She's eighteen, and she's dated some older men. Yes, I'd guess she's sexually active." And she's living with an older man, he thought. He asked himself how he could broach the subject he wanted to talk about without looking like a fool if he were wrong. He had been opposed to Carrie living with Darrin for the reason he had given his wife. Plain and simple, he had not been prepared to lose his little girl so suddenly, but after the last trip to visit the kids, he had started to worry Carrie and Darrin felt too strongly about each other. Also, they seemed so isolated from others. Neither had expressed having any close friends other than each other, and the loving looks that passed back and forth between them concerned him. He had not seen anything overt that led him to the conclusion that his children could be sexually involved with each other, but his gut told him it was possible.
Harriet reached and squeezed his thigh. "How does that make you feel?"
He shrugged. "That's life. I think being sexually active at her age is... well, normal, but I'm worried... damn, I don't know how to say what I want to say."
"Yeah, I'm worried, too."
Evan swung his head and looked intently at his wife. "Do you think Darrin and Carrie... ?"
"Maybe. I've never seen a brother and sister love each other as much as they do."
Evan slammed his palm against the steering wheel of the car. "Fuck!"
Harriet's eyes widened. She had feared Evan would react with anger, and when his temper flared he became impossible to deal with. "Anger and violence isn't the answer, Evan. Besides, we aren't sure they're involved. A noticed a sign about a rest stop. Pull in and we'll talk. Okay?"
"Yeah. Fuck!"

When Darrin entered the bedroom, Carrie was lying on the bed, propped up on pillows. Her legs were spread with her knees raised and the heels of her feet up against her cute ass. Her fingers were busy at her pussy.
"I've been playing with myself. Do you mind?" she asked with a mischievous look.
"Sexy. Very sexy," he said and quickly undressed.
"Do you still masturbate?"
"Rarely, since you and I became lovers. Before that, frequently."
Carrie eyed his hard-on as he tumbled onto the bed.
"I still masturbate a lot. Once I figured out how to make myself come, I couldn't leave my pussy alone. When I lived at home, I used to give myself a couple of comes every day, sometimes more. Do you think I'm oversexed?"
He laughed as he stroked his shaft while watching her manipulate her pussy. "When I was your age, I think my record for one day was ten times. Do you think I'm oversexed?"
"No, my record is twice that, at least, though I don't remember counting them. It happened while you visited last summer. I was wet and horny every second during your visit. The record before that was fifteen times or so when I discovered Mom's vibrator. It wasn't a cock-type vibrator. It was one of those you strap to the back of your hand. Dad had back problems for a while. I think they purchased it for massage purposes, but it could make me come in three seconds flat. For a few days, I damned near wore it out. I didn't put it at he back of my hand. Instead, I removed the straps and placed the flat part of the vibrator directly against my pussy. I came and came and came that first day, and I was thinking about you every time I came." She bit her lower lip. "God, I'm hot." She took his free hand. "Feel how wet I am."
With the fingers of one of her hands still caressing her clit, Darrin used his fingers to rub her cunt around the entrance, and then slipped his large middle finger inside her.
She gasped. "Your finger is bigger than mine. I love it."
"You said you did a little petting. Did anyone ever finger fuck you?"
She giggled. "You do want to be nasty, don't you?"
"Answer my question, damn it!"
"Yeah, a couple of times. I never went beyond mutual masturbation, Darrin."
"Did you come?"
"Yeah, both times. It was with an older guy. I trusted him not to break my cherry with his finger. He was gentle and understood, and I came big time." She giggled. "So did he, all over the place. God, what a mess!" She pushed his hand away from her pussy and rolled over on top of him. "Enough of my early nasty days. I want to be nasty with you." Sitting up, she slid back and guided his cock into her. "Ah!" A long, drawn-out sigh. She started her graceful slide. "Okay, I've confessed. What about you? How old were you when you lost your virginity?"
"Sixteen. An older woman, Mrs. April King, seduced me. At the time I believed I did the seducing. Hah!"
"Mrs. King? Mom's friend?"
"Yeah. I did the King's lawn one summer, and April did me. Looking back, she did me a real favor. She was patient and kind and an excellent teacher."
"I wondered who helped you become such a good lover. Now I know." She started to move faster.
He grabbed her hips and helped her increase their rhythm. "I'm a good lover because of you, sis. Love makes all the difference in the world. Sex is good, but sex with love is the best!"
"Uh-huh. Did she teach you to eat pussy?"
"Yes. I'm hot sis! Are you close?"
"Uh-huh. Did you do anything with her you haven't done with me?"
"No. Yes."
"What?"
"Anal sex."
The image that flashed into Carrie's mind suddenly took her over the edge. "Christ! That's sexy. I'm coming, bro. Coming!" Her slide moved from graceful to an intense, almost violent demand for every fraction of inch of his shaft. She jammed her cunt down around him, rose up and then threw herself back down around his cock. "Coming!" she shouted. "Coming!" Her shouts became a mantra timed to the moment she took him as deeply as she could inside her. "Coming!"
When Darrin climaxed, he did so on one of her downward energetic thrusts. Each time she threw herself down he spurted inside her. He joined her mantra with his own, and they shouted, "Coming!" at the same time over and over again until she collapsed onto his chest.
When they recovered, Carrie asked, "Did you enjoy anal sex?"
"Yes. It's different."
"Would you like to have anal sex with me?"
"Only if you want to try it."
"Oh, I want to try it. After the parents leave, we'll set aside a special night just to try it. Okay?"
He didn't say no.
Chapter Ten
Evan and Harriet Cannon sat at a concrete picnic table at a rest stop - in the shade, fortunately. A hot breeze washed over them, kicking up alkaline dust from time to time. They were close enough to Vegas the dirt appeared more white than tan. The barren landscape seemed so desolate, untouched by nutrients, like Harriet's mood. When she noticed most of the flush to her husband's angry face had dissipated, she took his hand in hers and said, "You know we could be wrong, Evan."
"I know. If I had proof I'd jerk Carrie out of that loft so fast her head would swim."
"And what would you do with Darrin?"
"Beat the crap out of him."
"Beautiful! Sometimes you have the sensitivity of a rock, Evan," she said sarcastically as she pulled her hand from his. "So your solution to this potentially life-altering problem is to bodily jerk your daughter out of the loft and tear into your son physically. Surely you jest."
He turned to her with an intense look, staring at her for a few seconds. "What would you do?"
"What WE do depends on the circumstances, and I do mean WE, not me alone or you alone. We'll decide what to do, and we'll stand together on this, Evan. Let me ask you a question. If our kids are involved sexually, which of them do you blame?"
"Without question, Darrin."
"Why?"
"He's older and should know better." He looked at his wife as if she were stupid.
She ignored the look and stated, "Age shouldn't be the criteria used to judge them? Why should Darrin know better than Carrie? Did we teach him better than Carrie? And don't tell me Carrie is too young to know right from wrong. We probably taught her more about proper morals than we did Darrin. And she's not your little girl anymore. She's a consenting adult, Evan. They both are. So get off the age kick. Discounting age, whom do you blame?"
"Darrin, damn it!"
"I disagree. If they're involved, I'd be willing to bet - in fact, I'll give you ten to one odds - that Carrie seduced Darrin, not the other way around. Wanna bet? Ten bucks for a hundred."
"I'm not a gambler," he grumbled. She had won every bet he had ever agreed to make with her.
"If she did the seducing, not Darrin, will you still blame your son?"
"Yes, damn it, and don't ask me why, except I believe age and gender are relevant."
"Uh-uh, you just can't see your little girl at fault regardless of the circumstances. In your eyes, Carrie can do no wrong. You favor your daughter over your son, Evan. You always have, and you're often not very subtle about your preference. Let's look at the ramifications of your solution, the first part of your solution, that is. I strongly discourage you from the second part of your scenario involving violent behavior toward your son. Frankly, Evan, if you try to beat the crap out of Darrin, using your words, you'd only get away with it to a point, and God help you after that point is crossed. Once Darrin starts to fight back, I'd give his youth and strength the edge." She took a big breath. "The ramifications of your solution depend on how strongly they feel about each other. If they're sexually involved but not in love, we might be able to jerk Carrie out of the loft, as you put it, and get away with it. We'd probably lose the love of our son, but we might be able to keep our daughter's love, but if they are in love, as I suspect, we'd lose both of them. At the first opportunity, Carrie would merely run away, meet up with Darrin somewhere, and the two of them would most likely disappear. We'd never see either of them again. Do you agree or disagree with my assessment?"
He grimaced. He knew she was right but hated to admit it. He did favor Carrie, but then Harriet favored Darrin. He's her little boy, and Carrie is my little girl. And the not-so-little boy is probably fucking the not-so-little girl. Christ! What a can of worms!
"Okay, so my solution sucks. What do you suggest we do about the problem?"
"Before we do anything, I think we need to define the problem. First, we need some proof they're in fact sexually involved. And with the security devices you installed in their home, it's not likely we'll catch them naked in bed together. We can make accusations, but if they deny being involved, what can we do? Not a lot. By the way, I'm with you all the way about insisting that Carrie moves into a dormitory room when she starts school. If they're involved sexually but not in love, the problem could take care of itself with the move. Frankly, I wouldn't be at all unhappy if Carrie fell in love with a nice college boy and married him right away. On the other hand, if Darrin and Carrie are truly in love, we wouldn't be able to move Carrie out of that loft with a forklift. A third possibility exists, Evan, and you're not going to like this one. Carrie could be in love with Darrin, but he might not be in love with her."
"Why can't it be the other way around, too?" Evan asked.
"It can, but it's not nearly as likely. Carrie has always been in love with the idea of love. Darrin, on the other hand, like most males, puts love a far distant second or third or even lower priority to other important elements of his life, like career, for instance. Anyway, if Carrie is in love, but Darrin isn't, we'll need his help to separate them. In fact, if they're not in love with each other, Darrin will still be the key, and we certainly won't be able to get him on our side if you resort to fisticuffs."
"So, you think a solution is possible if they're not in love or if only one of them is in love. Correct?"
"Yes."
"What happens if they're both in love?"
"We're fucked."
His eyes widened with shock. Harriet never used the "F" word indiscriminately, so she was definitely serious. "What do you mean?"
"I don't have a solution if they're deeply in love. If they're truly in love, they'll tell us and the rest of the world to take a flying leap, and there's not much we can do except turn them into the authorities, and if you do that, Evan, I swear, I'll leave you. I love you. You're the love of my life, but if you alert the authorities to our children's incestuous behavior, I'll never speak to you again."
"Jesus, Harriet! What have I ever done to make you think I'd do something so drastic to our kids? I love them as much as you, damn it! I won't have you even thinking I would do something like that! Take it back!"
She bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I know you love them, but I also know you have a hair-trigger temper. Sometimes you go off half-cocked. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted. So our plan of action this trip is to find out if they're sexually involved, and if they are, whether they're seriously in love with each other or just playing around."
"Yeah."
"Furthermore, if they're not both truly in love, our goal is to separate them, preferably now but certainly no later than when Carrie starts college."
"Yes."
"If Carrie is in love, but Darrin isn't, then we'll enlist Darrin's help to stop the relationship. What do we do in the unlikely event that Darrin is in love, but Carrie isn't? Enlist Carrie's help to stop the relationship?"
"Yes."
"And if they're deeply in love with each other, what do we do?"
"I haven't the slightest idea, and what's more, if I know my kids, and I do, if they're sexually involved at all, they will be deeply, irrevocably in love with each other, and that's what worries me."
"Fuck!"
"Yeah. Let's get on down the road. There was a method to my madness when I pushed you to leave so early. I want to surprise them by arriving way early. I want to see the sheets on Darrin's bed and Carrie's soiled panties in the laundry basket before Carrie has a chance to take them to the Laundromat to eliminate the evidence. I want to see if she's been sleeping in the sweatbox she calls a room. And while we're in Vegas, let's work together to keep them off balance so they can't work together to deceive us. We'll divide and conquer. If you see an iota of guilt in either of them, zero in and take advantage of it. I'll do the same. Remember, they'll deny any incestuous involvement, especially Carrie. She's the more accomplished liar of the two. Our goal is to wear them down and get one of them to admit their incestuous behavior, that is, if what we believe is true. There's still a chance they're not sexually involved, but if we give them the benefit of the doubt, we'll never know for sure and won't be able to do anything about it."
"Jesus! Remind me never to cheat on you, Harriet. I wouldn't have a chance."
"You've got it, buster." With a wide grin, she leaned and kissed him. "I love you, you know. Whatever you do, I'll back you. You're my husband, and I love you. I ask only one thing. Whatever decision you make, whatever action you take, please consider the whole of our family. The four of us are family, Evan. You and me, Darrin and Carrie, we're family, damn it! And we'll always be family."

"What are you doing?" Darrin asked as Carrie started to strip his bed.
Carrie grinned. "Destroying evidence. The sheets are covered with pecker and pussy tracks, and as suspicious as Mom is, she's devious enough to look for such things. The parents will be here in a couple of hours, and I need to go to the Laundromat before they arrive. If we make a little money tomorrow night, let's consider buying a washer and dryer."
"We'll see. Carrie, I've been meaning to tell you, but I waited because I didn't want to pop your balloon over the insurance settlement. Be careful what you spend. You'll have to pay taxes on the $90,000 award, which will no doubt eat up a good chunk of the cash portion of the settlement."
"Hah! It's a good thing I'm the money manager around here and will be handling our taxes. I checked with the IRS on the Internet. I received only compensatory damages, not punitive damages, and only punitive damages are taxable."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes."
He smiled and gave her a salute. "Great! I'm happy for you, and yes, go ahead and buy a washer and dryer, if you want. I'm going to work. After the parents arrive, they'll kill my concentration."
"Okay. What about dinner? I haven't prepared anything. Let's take Mom and Dad out. They like Chinese."
"Sounds good."
He turned and left the room, and Carrie stuffed the sheets in a pillowcase. Rushing around, she gathered up the other dirty laundry, deciding she might as well wash everything. Tossing the dirty clothes in the back of the car, she dashed back up the stairs to get the soap, softener and bleach.
"Bye, lover," she hollered as she started the car and pushed the garage door opener. "I'll be back in about an hour."
He waved and she backed out of the studio.

"Say, isn't that Darrin's car?" Harriet said turning around in the seat.
"I didn't notice."
"Yes, it looks like Darrin's car," Harriet said. "Turn around."
"Why? We're almost to their place now."
"I think it turned into a Laundromat, the one Carrie uses to wash their clothes."
"Oh, okay. Damn, I can't change lanes right now. I'll have to go through this light when it turns green. I'll get in the left lane after the light and turn back as soon as I can."
Harriet kept glancing back. If they couldn't turn back soon, it would be too late. Carrie would have all the clothes in the machines. The light changed, and Evan gunned the car, but the vehicle on his left kept pace, which forced Evan to slow down to change lanes. The delay caused him to miss the only turn around point before the next light. Harriet groaned.
"We're too late, damn it. Okay, lets go to the studio. They aren't expecting us for two more hours. We'll surprise Darrin, and I'll go nosing around the loft while you keep him busy. Okay?"
"Shall we synchronize our watches?" Evan asked with a grin.

Who the hell can that be, Darrin asked himself. Irritated by the interruption, he threw the brush in his hand into a can of solvent. The doorbell rang again as he wiped his hands on a paint-splattered rag.
"Keep your pants on," he yelled as he strode to the door. "Mom, Dad, you're early!" he exclaimed after he threw open the door. "Come in! Come in."
"Give your old mom a hug, son," Harriet said and held out her arms.
"Let me get this smock off first, or you'll have paint all over your pretty dress." He hurriedly removed the smock and gave her a hug and kiss. He shook his father's hand. "You just missed Carrie. She went to the Laundromat. I'll give her a call and let her know you're here. We have cell phones now. Radical, huh? Mom, take Dad upstairs. We have soft drinks and beer. Take your choice. Let me clean up down here, and I'll be right with you."
He's nervous as a whore in church, Harriet thought. Good.
"Go ahead, Harriet," Evan said. "I'll stay with Darrin. I want to see his paintings. It looks like he's working on a bunch of them."
"Okay. Cola or beer?" she asked.
"Beer," Darrin and his father said simultaneously.
Harriet chuckled. "I don't know why I asked."
Darrin picked up the cell phone and pushed speed-dial number one. "Carrie, the folks are here. You must have passed them on the way to the Laundromat."
"Damn! I didn't strip my bed. I thought I had time to do the laundry and make your bed before they arrived. Don't let Mom upstairs until I get home."
"Sorry, no can do."
"She's already up in the loft, isn't she?"
"Yep."
Carrie groaned audibly. "Remember, bro, deny, deny, deny, and for hell sakes don't look guilty. I'll be there as soon as I can, but I'll be gone at least a half-hour, maybe a little longer. I love you."
"I... yeah. See you soon, sis." Damn, I almost slipped, Darrin thought. Deception is a bitch. "Mom, Carrie says hi," Darrin yelled up the stairs. "She'll be here as soon as the laundry is finished."
"Okay," Harriet yelled back. It was time to snoop. She hurried to Darrin's bedroom. Surprise, surprise, the bed is stripped, she thought sardonically. She examined the mattress pad. Lot's of stains, but nothing she could point to as recent or damning. Kneeling, she looked under the bed. Nothing. Opening the closet door, she looked for signs of Carrie's clothes mixed with Darrin's.
They're being careful - very careful. They shared the bathroom, so she didn't expect to find anything damning there and went directly to Carrie's room. Hot! So hot she started to sweat as soon as she entered the room. Then she realized Darrin's room had been cool. She returned to his room and noted the window air conditioning unit. They've got to be sleeping together in here, she decided.
Suddenly, she knew without a doubt they were sleeping together! Darrin's bed was stripped, but Carrie's bed was made. If Carrie slept in her room, she'd be washing those sheets, too! Returning to Carrie's room, she looked for signs of recent habitation that would dispel her suspicions. She pulled back the bed. The sheets were clean and fresh. After remaking the bed, she looked in the closet. Carrie's clothes were there, hanging neatly, and her robe was on a hook on the backside of the door. The dirty clothesbasket on the floor of her closet was empty. Nothing. Nothing except the made-up bed. Not proof positive, but certainly damning. She debated whether to approach Darrin or Carrie to ask why his sheets were being washed and not hers. Carrie, she decided. Darrin would merely shrug. He doesn't have anything to do with the laundry.
She strode from the room, grabbed two beers and a cola from the refrigerator, and carried them down the stairs. The men were standing in front of a huge painting.
"Honey, come and see this painting. It's really something," Evan said when he spied her.
What's this? Evan is praising his son's art. That's got to be a first. When she joined the men, she glanced up at the painting and gasped. "My God, Darrin, it's magnificent!"
"I call it LOVE."
She stood and gawked, forgetting to give the men their beers. Darrin relieved her of their burden without her realizing he had taken them from her. She pointed. "That's you when you were a boy, and that's Carrie."
"Yes, they represent the love between a brother and sister."
"Yes," Harriet muttered.
"Look up there, honey," Evan said after taking a big gulp of beer from the can. "Can you see us? It's a scene from years ago, but it's us, our family."
Harriet smiled. "Yes, I see."
"The two of you represent love between a husband and a wife with a family," Darrin said proudly.
"Oh, my God, there's my mother and father!" Harriet exclaimed. "They look just like they did on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. I have a photo of the event in an album at home."
"They represent mature love, Mom," Darrin said. "I went to that party. I was just a boy, but I remembered thinking how much in love they were at the time, which surprised me. As a boy, I didn't realize love transcended time, not until I watched them and saw how much affection they truly felt for each other. I made a mental note of the scene at the time and pulled it up from my memories for this painting."
"And there I am with Carrie, when she was a newborn!" Harriet exclaimed again. "And there you are, Darrin, with your father playing catch."
"Parental love," Darrin commented.
Harriet reached and took his hand without taking her eyes off the painting. "It's beyond magnificent, Darrin."
"It's not finished. I'll be working on it for another month or two, but I'm very pleased with it."
"You should be." She turned to her husband. "Admit it, Evan. Your son is an artistic genius."
He grinned. "I never said he wasn't. My gripe has always been his inability to make any money with his art, but it looks like that's about to change. Check out the rest of paintings, honey. This is the best of the bunch, but they're all good. I like the one he calls RAGE. I understand anger, and he sure has captured the emotion with that painting. Just looking at it pisses me off."
Harriet couldn't take her eyes off LOVE. "In a minute, Evan. This painting will make you famous, Darrin."
"That's what Carrie said, which didn't please me. I enjoy my anonymity. It let's me work and create without a lot of hoopla. A little money wouldn't hurt, as Dad just pointed out, but the last thing I want is fame."
I understand, son, Harriet thought. Your anonymity lets you live with your sister as if you were man and wife. If you become famous, your incestuous relationship will become public knowledge. Damn it, my son and daughter are in love, deeply, gut-wrenchingly in love. This painting says it all. Darrin could not have created it without being deeply in love.
She suddenly felt so sad she wanted to cry. In fact, her eyes became shiny with tears. She glanced at her husband. Each gave the other a little nod. Yes, he knew, too. They had lived with each other and loved each other for so many years they knew each other's thoughts much of the time. Evan looked as sad as she felt.
What were they to do?

"Mother knows, Darrin," Carrie said as she pulled her dress up over her head. She shook her lustrous hair to untangle the muss caused by the removal of the dress. She'd been braless and without hose, so she stood in front of him wearing only her cotton panties. "I'll be right back," she added. Picking up the dress, she carried it to her room and dropped it in the dirty-clothes basket in her closet along with her panties. As an afterthought, she pulled down the covers on her bed, reminding herself to spend an hour or two in it before morning so it looked and smelled slept in.
"I assume you mean Mother knows about us," Darrin commented when she returned. He was down to his boxers. He stripped them off and dropped them in his basket. Carrie reached and fondled his flaccid penis, and it started to lengthen as she brushed his lips with hers.
"Uh-huh. We had quite a conversation in the ladies room at the restaurant," she said. "Do you want the bathroom first?"
"No. Go ahead." He stood in the doorway and watched her brush her teeth. "God, your beautiful. I love the way your tits sway just a little as you brush your teeth, and your cute, little ass provides syncopation and balance. It would make an interesting painting if I could somehow capture the totality of the form and movement. Alas, it's probably not possible."
She smiled at him through the froth of the toothpaste, and he noticed her nipples harden and lengthen. She leaned, and using her hand to cup the running water, sucked some into her mouth and swished it around. He couldn't resist and caressed her lovely ass while she was bent over. He adored the feel of her satiny skin and the strength of the muscle just under the surface.
"Tell me about the conversation in the ladies room," he said when she straightened.
She wiped her mouth with a hand towel and hung it up. "She started with, and I quote, 'Carrie, how can you possible sleep in your bedroom? I walked into it this afternoon and started to sweat immediately. It was like a sauna. No one could sleep in that room.'" Carrie stepped to the toilet and sat on it. "Then she said, 'Of course, you don't sleep in it, do you?'" She relaxed and urine stated to flow.
Darrin had started to brush his teeth, and he chocked on the froth, spraying it across the mirror. "Jesus! She does know!" He wiped the mirror with the hand towel, leaving it on the counter.
"Yeah," Carrie said as she wadded toilet tissue. She reached between her legs and wiped herself, dropping the tissue into the toilet. Glancing up, she noticed Darrin brushing his teeth. She giggled. "Talk about swaying. Your lovely cock sways more than my tits when you brush." She flushed the toilet, rose to her feet and walked by her brother. She couldn't resist any more than he and brushed her hand over his butt. "Nice butt, bro." She reached and grasped his cock, pushing the foreskin back. It lengthened appreciatively. She released it and stepped to the door. Touching him had heated her blood. God, how could she live if she couldn't touch him all the time? Kiss him? Fuck him? Make love with him? Talk to him? See him? She'd die, that's what she'd do. She'd shrivel up and die.
"What did you say when Mom accused you of not sleeping in your room?" He rinsed his mouth and spat.
"I told her I often slept in your bed."
"You what?" Standing in front of the toilet, her comment had stopped his urine flow. It started again.
"I told her, 'If you're referring to last night, Darrin worked most of the night, so I slept in his bed. When he wanted the bed, I got up and cleaned the house.'"
He shook the last few drops of urine from his penis and turned to her with a grin. "Fast thinking, sis."
"Thanks. I worried she'd query you about working all night, but she didn't, although if she'd had a moment alone with you without Dad around, I'm sure she would have." She walked from the bathroom and pulled down the covers on the bed. "Fast thinking didn't do me much good, though," she said laying her hand on her brother's cheek after he joined her on the bed. She leaned and kissed him, a short, soft kiss. "The next thing she said was the clincher. She said, 'If you slept in your bed, even for a few hours, Carrie, your sheets would be a mess. You'd sweat all over them. But they were clean when your father and I arrived this afternoon, as clean as if you'd just put them on the bed after washing them.' Like I feared, bro, she noticed the made-up bed in my room. Then she asked, 'Why didn't you wash your sheets at the same time you washed Darrin's?' I started to tell her I had washed them the day before, but she interrupted me. 'Don't lie to me, Carrie,' she said. 'Tell me the truth. Are you sleeping with your brother?'"
"Christ Almighty! What did you say?" The excitement he had been feeling as she fondled his cock suddenly diminished. Fear replaced arousal.
"I lied through my teeth, became indignant and stomped out of the bathroom. I'm going shopping with Mother tomorrow to help her buy a new dress for the show, and I'm dreading the time alone with her. I love you, bro. I love you so much I don't care if Mom knows about us. Dad either. I'll never leave you. If Mom starts in on you, you lie, too. Remember, deny, deny, deny."

A quiver started between Harriet's legs and grew into a massive flush of desire, which spread in all directions from her center, especially to her puckered nipples. They begged to be touched, and Evan touched them, pinched them softly at first, just like she preferred, and then he increased the pressure, which sent jolts of desire to her pussy. She groaned with pleasure. Her husband understood her body so well, knew the location of all her buttons and how to push them.
"What did she say when you asked flat out if she was sleeping with Darrin?" Evan asked just before he dipped his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth.
"You're making me hot, sweetie."
Evan chuckled.
"Okay, okay. Don't tease. You know what I meant. Of course, she didn't tell me I was making her hot. Instead, she exclaimed, 'Mother!' You know, that expression of hers that implies shock and indignation. 'How can you even think such a thing?' she said and rushed from the room. She'll continue to deny everything, Evan."
He had moved down and now snuggled his face in her soft belly. After twirling his tongue around her bellybutton, he said, "I love the feel of your soft skin and the tastes all your flavors. You excite me as much today as when we first met, honey." He rolled between her legs and pushed her knees up, which opened her vulva. He gazed at her large, gaping cunt, stretched by the birth of their children but maintained firm inside by daily Kegel exercises. He knew from experience she'd be tight around him when he entered her, as tight as the very first time so many years ago. Over the years her inner labia had grown, finally becoming larger than her outer lips. They were thin but long and tended to fold into flaps, and he could see the round entrance to her cunt. As he looked at it, it appeared to wink at him. Evan preferred her mature cunt to her youthful one.
She shaved her outer labia but let her pubic hair grow wild on her mound. The hairs weren't kinky. They were curly and soft, and he nuzzled his nose in them, sniffing the fragrance of her arousal wafting from below. "I think I'll eat you," he muttered aloud, as if the decision were personal, not shared, and covered her entire vulva with his mouth. His tongue flattened and pressed against her folds, and her subtle flavors burst on his taste buds, making his mouth salivate profusely.
Harriet groaned and reached to run her fingers through his thinning hair.
He loved the sounds of her pleasure, too. God, he loved every thing about this woman, and the more he learned about her the more he loved. He hoped he'd leave this earth before her because he couldn't imagine life without her, knew he couldn't live even one day with the concept that he could never see her again, touch her again. Did Darrin feel the same way about Carrie? If he did, Harriet was correct. They would tell their parents and the rest of the world to go fuck themselves. What they were doing was wrong; of that there was no doubt. Incest was frowned upon by society. Christ, the powers that be had even enacted laws condemning his children's behavior, making their acts a crime. What would he do, he asked himself, if it suddenly became against the law for him to make love with his wife? He'd tell the lawmakers to go fuck themselves. That's what he'd do.
His tongue reached inside and lapped up Harriet's copious juices, and she moaned again. He had not been with another woman since the day he met her, and he'd never tasted another pussy, never wanted to actually. Oh, he'd wondered if different women tasted differently but other than through fantasy, had never really wanted to satisfy his curiosity with a personal test. Like Harriet, he had not been a virgin when they met, but neither of them were seriously experienced sexually, and in truth, he suspected his wife was more experienced than him at the time, which proved accurate later when they were finally comfortable and confident enough with their love to discuss the sexual experiences each had stumbled through before they met. Harriet had let him between her lovely legs on their third date, and afterwards informed him he was an exceptional lover, which was a little white lie, he knew, but still he had reveled in her words of praise.
After twirling his tongue around the entrance to her pussy, he sucked one of her inner labia into his mouth, and then the other one.
"Yes," she muttered. "I love your mouth on me, sweetheart."
Her words pleased him, but his mind wandered again. Like most men, nasty thoughts entered his mind frequently every day, some days every waking hour produced naughty thoughts and images in his mind. The last few years, he was ashamed to admit his daughter had been the subject of many of his fantasies. Christ, she had bounced around their house wearing half of nothing half the time. What did she expect? He wasn't made of stone, though sometimes she made his cock feel like marble. He'd never act on any of his fantasies regarding Carrie, not in a million years, but that didn't stop the thoughts and images from invading his mind. His wife had been the happy recipient of the results of his fantasies about his daughter many times, and Harriet had never complained, not even when he suspected she knew what had caused his arousal in the first place. Not much escaped Harriet's uncanny ability to observe and deduct. In fact, a few times she had teased him, making him aware in no uncertain terms she knew what had caused his aroused libido.
"Quit fooling around and lick my clit, Evan," Harriet muttered with frustration.
He chuckled into her pussy, an act she appeared to appreciate, and sucked her clitoris into his mouth while lashing it with his tongue.
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "More! Don't stop! Yes!"
Evan wondered if his wife ever had naughty fantasies about Darrin, and suspected she did. She'd never admit to them, though, like he'd never admit to his fantasies about Carrie. Using his fingers, he massaged her clitoris above the bud while he licked and sucked the nubbin. She was close now. Her clit throbbed, and he could feel her cunt clasp at his chin, which was nestled in her cunt below. He pushed with his chin, pushing it inside her a little, and at the same time, lashed her clit with his tongue again.
She groaned massively, loud enough to go through the thin walls at the Motel 6, he decided, but he didn't care. Listen neighbors! Listen well. I know how to make my wife come! I'm good at it, and I love it!
Her hands grasped his head, the signal he had been waiting for. Flattening his tongue, she moved her pussy against it, ratcheting her hips, moving faster and faster, using his flattened tongue for friction to take her arousal higher and higher until it soared. She screamed with joy and jerked him forcefully to her, grunting, jerking his face to her with each contraction. He breathed through his nose and let her fuck his face. It would be his turn in a minute. She'd take some time to recover a little, and then she would want him inside her.
While she was recovering from her climax, Evan whispered, "If they're in love, if they love each other desperately like we do, we'll have to help them, honey."
"Yes! You understand. Finally, you understand." She grabbed him and kissed him passionately. "Thank you, Evan. I love you, oh God, how I love you."

"Wait, lover," Carrie said, jumped off the bed and rushed from the room. She returned seconds later with a bath towel in hand. Grinning, she said, "I'll put this under me. When mother checks the sheets tomorrow, which she will, she won't find any pecker tracks."
Darrin chuckled and said, "Women are more deceptive than men."
Carrie settled on the bed with the towel under her. "Too true, bro." She held out her arms as she spread her legs and raised her knees. "Come here and make love to me. I'm truly tired of talking about Mother and her incessant suspicions. I want the love of my life over me and inside me."
Darrin kneeled at the foot of the bed and gazed at her. "You look deliciously obscene," he said, "and I've never seen you look more beautiful. God, that's a sight! So open! So inviting!"
"An open invitation, that's me when it comes to you, bro."
He slid forward and pushed his erection down, rolling its head around her vulva.
She groaned with delight. "Nice, so very nice, much better than a finger on my clitoris. Soft, yet hard, and very wet, wet from your juices and mine. Put it in now, bro."
Darrin felt his shaft enter the liquid heat of her vagina. It nibbled at him as if trying to get a firm enough hold to suck him fully inside in one big gulp. He resisted for a few seconds to savor the hot sensations of her interior pulsating membranes, and then pushed again. The nibble became a grasp, gripping him, pulling him deeper into her. Without retracting, he pushed again, and the inner muscles of his sister's pussy relaxed all at once, and suddenly he was fully surrounded with no more length to give her. The nibbling started again, though, and he groaned with utter joy.
Looking down on her, he rejoiced in her beauty, in the lust and love in her eyes. "I love you," he whispered so softly he wondered if she had heard.
"Uh-huh, me, too," she whispered back as her petite breasts heaved.
He lowered himself to connect with the hard little points of her nipples. They fleetingly rubbed his chest as they heaved up and down timed to his thrusts. He felt her legs over his thighs pull at him, and he assumed the slow rhythm she demanded. She'd signal a desired change in the rhythm in the same way, he knew, and he'd wait for her signal.
She reached and weaved her fingers through his thick hair and then pulled his mouth down to hers. Her lips parted, and he felt her tongue explore his lips and teeth until he opened his mouth and she plunged her tongue inside, tasting him, savoring him. A moan escaped from deep inside her and rushed into his mouth. He swallowed the sound of her pleasure, wanting to take it inside him as she was taking him inside her. He wanted to be one with her. Always. Forever. He whispered this desire to her, and her eyes widened, not with shock but with the pleasure his words provoked.
His hands roamed, searching for tiny places that evoked a sensuous response. She was particularly sensitive at the soft skin behind her knees, but he preferred the roundness of a shoulder or the firm yet satiny feel of a thigh. She didn't like her feet touched, so he avoided them, but he knew of no other unwanted touch, and his touches were continuous and varied. Sometimes he touched aggressively; other times his touches were so light he wondered if she could feel them at all. Surprisingly, he touched her mostly for his pleasure, not hers. All other women he'd been with, he'd tried to please first, ignoring his own pleasure, which he knew would ultimately come about anyway. But with Carrie he felt comfortable enough to frequently please himself first and her second, and he suspected this could not be without the love he felt for her.
His mouth went to her ear, and he explored the intricate folds with his tongue, which evoked a passionate shiver. He tasted her neck, and then dipped to savor a hard, little nipple. Down one side, up the other, he kissed and tasted and savored. He particularly enjoyed the spot just below her jawbone under her ear. So flavorful! Not directly where she touched the tip of her perfume dispenser, but lower. The exact spot she applied perfume tasted too strong, too much of the manufactured scent and not enough of her. The mixture was perfect.
Carrie was perfect. Their bodies were molded together, moving, feeling, searching for pleasure, and Darrin believed he had found more pleasure than any man ever deserved. Her legs at his thighs demanded more speed. She was reaching now, rasping her clitoris through his pubic hair, mashing it against the bone of his mound and at the top of his erection. Gasping and panting, she started to cry out. Her cries weren't intelligible, just sounds that expressed her bliss and the degree of her arousal, sounds than sent his arousal soaring because soon she would demand his seed. He'd be ready to satisfy the demand. He'd been ready for some time. He'd always be ready. Always. Forever.
She stiffened and he pushed up from her so he could watch her move through her orgasm, a sight he would never grow tired to seeing. The crimson blotch appeared at her upper chest and spread, and the muscles in her neck strained as her expression became a beautiful grimace. Her body felt pleasure, not pain, he knew, and the painful grimace became beautiful through understanding what she felt.
"Now!" she cried.
Yes, he'd been ready. Suddenly, he tumbled as if falling through endless dark space, losing his sense of reality as his orgasm took him away. Exquisite, intense sensations assaulted him, and he grabbed her hips with both hands and jerked her forcefully to him as he splashed semen inside her to satisfy her demand. He wished they could make a child together, but that was never to be, an unsatisfied desire he had easily abandoned. Like her, given the choice between Carrie and children, he chose the woman looking up at him with so much love in her eyes he wanted to cry.
Later as they cuddled in sated lethargy, he said, "I will not let anyone, including the parents, take you away from me, Carrie. Mother can berate me, inflict her form of guilt and apply reason and logic to make us stop our incestuous behavior, but she cannot make me stop loving you. Dad can exorcise his rage on me, beat me until I cannot stand, and I will not defend myself from his wrath, but in the end, I will still love you, and I will not allow either of them or anyone else take you away from me."
Chapter Eleven
Carrie loved her tiny home office. The actual office area was small but the space around her was voluminous affording her a view to the kitchen through the living room and that part of the studio not under the loft. Glancing down, she watched her brother at work, which to her mind made the office location perfect. Darrin had risen early determined to put some productive hours into his paintings before all hell broke loose with the dinner and show scheduled that evening. He didn't look happy.
Carrie smiled. He's pissed again, unreasonably pissed, but not at me this time, she thought. He's pissed because he's afraid, afraid the parents will find out about us, afraid his paintings won't sell, and afraid the critics won't like his work. It's not manly to be afraid, but it is manly to be angry, so he's angry. Carrie had never understood this obvious contradiction in behavior and attributed her lack of understanding to yin and yang. Besides, Darrin's father had taught him how to camouflage fear with anger long ago. Whether her brother knew or not, he was a product of his genes and his early environment.
The artist cursed and threw the paintbrush in his hand across the room.
"Darrin Cannon," Carrie said, standing at the railing, "get your butt up here right now! We need to talk!"
"I'm working! Leave me the fuck alone!"
"You're not working. You're pissed, which is okay. You have a right to be pissed, but we still need to talk. No more work, not today. Please, Darrin."
He glared up at her. She stuck her tongue out at him. He grinned. "Okay. You're right. Let me clean up down here."
When she saw him start up the stairs, she logged off the Internet and turned off her computer.
"Sit down on the sofa," she said. "Please," she added as an afterthought.
"You're a bossy bitch, today," he said, but with a grin.
"I did say please." After he plunked down on the sofa, she rose and walked to him. Standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, she said, "Darrin Cannon, love of my life, the parents will either find out about us or not. If they do, he'll handle whatever they throw at us, and our life together will go on. Your show will be successful or not. Either way we'll have problems to deal with, and we'll deal with them. The critics will be kind or scathing with their reviews, and whether they're complimentary or derogatory doesn't matter, not in the total scheme of things, because Sunday after the parents leave, life for you and me will become normal again, and you'll be able to concentrate on your work to your heart's content. Trying to work today is downright dumb. The parents will be here in an hour. Mom and I are going shopping, which means you'll be stuck with Dad. Later this afternoon, we'll need to get all gussied up for dates neither of us want, attend a dinner we'd both like to avoid, and then we must be sociable and witty at the gallery. God, what a chore! If I were you I'd be pissed, too."
She dropped down to her knees in front of him and pushed his knees apart. "With all you have to put up with today, you deserve a reward." She reached and pulled off his shoes. "I'm going to give you a blow job, a down and dirty blow job. Take off your pants."
"You were right earlier. I'm pissed. I'm not in the mood for sex."
"Who said anything about sex? I'm not asking for sex. I'm not asking for anything. You're tied up in knots, so full of tension and stress you're ready to explode, so go ahead and explode - in my mouth. Take off your fucking pants!" She stuck her tongue out at him, and then wiggled it.
Against his will, he grinned, and then unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them along with his boxers to the floor, finally kicking them away.
"I see my reward isn't entirely distasteful to you," Carrie said. He looked about half-hard. She reached, pushed the foreskin back and exposed the head of his cock. Grinning, she looked up at him and wiggled her tongue again, and then licked all around the crown. She'd recently done some research on the Internet regarding fellatio secrets and decided to experiment with a few of them. She started with what one article called the cock pull. Circling the base of his cock with her thumb and index finger, she pulled up, sliding her fingers along the shaft. Before that hand moved completely off his cock, her other hand did the same thing, creating a constant upward pull. Darrin groaned, and his cock stiffened a bit more. She continued the pull, quickly pulling one hand after the other until he was fully erect.
"Who taught you how to do that?" he asked with a gasp.
"I can read, and the Internet is a veritable font of information. That's called the cock pull. Did you like it?"
"Silly question. What else did you learn?"
"Uh-uh. This is a down and dirty blow job, not a test of my knowledge of fellatio techniques. Don't hold back. When you're ready to come, just let it fly. How soon do you think I can make you come? Ten seconds? Twenty? A minute? Take a guess?"
"Five minutes."
"Wanna bet I can make you come before then?" she asked, her expression full of mischief. She had started the cock pull again, only in reverse, a cock push, she guessed.
He groaned. "Hell no."
"Ah, come on. If you win, I'll owe you one down and dirty blow job at the time of your choosing. If I win, you'll have to go down on me at the time of my choosing." She had reversed the flow of her hands, returning to the cock pull again.
He laughed. "Okay. Either way I win."
She glanced up at the clock in the kitchen. "I'm checking the time, which starts right... now!" Dipping her head she sucked in half of his cock and jacked down on it with one of her hands at the same time. Twirling her tongue around the shaft, she moved up until only the crown was in her mouth. She lashed the crown with her tongue, and with the fingernails of her other hand, she gently scratched the underside of his scrotum, which extracted an excited moan from him.
Switching to another technique, while rhythmically massaging the root of his cock with her fingers just in front of his anus, the spot a different article indicated affected his prostrate, she dipped back down taking his shaft into her mouth until she gagged a little. She quickly bobbed her head up and down, keeping her tongue busy, sucking hard on each down stroke while continuing to massage his prostrate.
An article about deep-throat techniques came to mind, so on the next down stroke when she started to gag, instead of pulling back, she swallowed and took the head of his cock into her throat. It worked! Three more attempts and she had taken his entire length into her mouth and throat.
"Jesus! You're deep throating me!"
A split-second later when she had his entire cock in her mouth again, she looked up at him and winked. At the same time, she moved a finger to his anus and gently rubbed its puckered surface. She felt his cock start to expand and his body become more rigid on the next down stroke. He groaned loudly and his hips rose off the sofa. Without moving back up, she sucked hard, and her tongue felt semen flying up the large vein on the underside of his cock. The elixir spurted into her throat. Swallowing continuously, she milked him dry.
Leaning back, she looked up at the clock.
"I win!" she exclaimed with a grin. "Eighteen seconds. Talk about a hair trigger, bro." She licked her lips. With his semen flying directly into her throat, she couldn't taste him, which disappointed her. She enjoyed the flavors of his semen, which varied from time to time, depending on his diet that day, she'd guessed. Then she noted some come dribbling from the end of his cock, so she licked it off and savored its flavor.
"Good God, sis. That was amazing."
"Thanks. Are you still pissed?"
"Uh-uh." He sighed. "I feel good; no, I feel great!"
The doorbell rang. Carrie groaned. "Damn, that will be the folks. You answer the door. I'll need to brush my teeth. I can't hug and kiss Mom and Dad with come breath.
"What about... ?" he pointed toward his hard-on.
"Ah hell, that'll be soft before you reach the bottom of the stairs."
He laughed. "True."
Carrie hurried away to brush her teeth, and Darrin answered the door on the third ring.
"You're early," he said to his parents. "Come in."
"We're early because we need to talk, son," his father said. He didn't look happy. "Is Carrie here?"
"Yes, she's up in the loft."
"The kitchen table would be good," Harriet said.
Oh, oh, Darrin thought. Here it comes.
Carrie greeted her parents as they started up the stairs. "I just put a pot of coffee on to perk. Did you guys sleep well?"
"Yes," Harriet said.
"No," Evan remarked.
They settled around the kitchen table. The original two chairs had been expanded to four from a purchase at a garage sale. Though different in design, Carrie had painted all the chairs white and purchased matching cushions.
"They want to talk, Carrie," Darrin said with a worried look on his face.
Her heart raced, but she forced a smile. "Then we'll talk. Any particular subject?"
"Yes," her father said. "Your incestuous behavior."
Before Carrie could look outraged and deny, deny, deny, her mother added, "We know you're involved sexually with each other, Carrie, so don't 'Mother!' me and get all indignant and lie through your teeth. It's time to be honest."
Carrie looked at Darrin. He nodded. "Okay," she said. "Darrin and I are in love, and yes, we're sexually involved."
Harriet gave Darrin an intense look. "Are you in love with your sister?"
"Deeply," Darrin said passionately. She had made loving Carrie sound repugnant, and he didn't appreciate it.
"Then why do you have a date tonight with another woman?"
"The date is a subterfuge to throw you off the scent. Christ, Mom, you did everything but inspect our genitals."
"Don't be a smart ass, son," Evan remarked with a scowl.
"That wasn't my intent." He turned to his mother. "Sorry, Mom. After your last visit, we knew you were suspicious, so we felt it prudent for each of us to have dates tonight."
"Who came up with that brilliant idea?" Harriet asked.
"Me," Carrie said.
"I thought as much. We're here to ask you both to stop your destructive behavior," Harriet said.
"Then you're wasting your time," Carrie stated and glared at her mother. Tuning to her father, she said, "Darrin and I love each other as deeply as you love Mom, as deeply as she loves you. If we could marry, we would, Dad. The law won't let us, so we'll live together as man and wife without the sanctity of marriage."
"Like hell you will!" His face flushed full of anger.
"What are you going to do, Dad?" Darrin asked. "Kidnap Carrie and beat the crap out of me?"
"That was my solution until your mother and I talked."
"For what it's worth, Dad, I agree wholeheartedly with Carrie's statement. In my mind, she is my wife as in hers I am her husband, and we will live as such together for the rest of our lives."
Evan Cannon slumped in his chair and glanced at his wife. "It's as we feared, Harriet."
"Yeah. Now what?"
It was as if Darrin and Carrie weren't in the room.
"We do as we discussed, but I have an added suggestion," Evan said.
"Which is?" Harriet asked.
"They should have a ceremony and exchange vows, which we will witness," he said.
"What a marvelous idea!" Harriet exclaimed. She turned to her children. "Now you know why I love your father so much."
Darrin and Carrie sat thoroughly confused. Carrie's jaw gaped and Darrin's scowl matched that of his father's a few minutes before.
"What are you saying? I don't understand," Darrin said.
"Evan and I started talking about this problem early this morning," Harriet said. "We agreed we needed to define the problem before we proceeded. If the two of you were involved sexually, we had to know if you were both in love; if one of you was in love, and not the other; or if neither of you were in love, and you were merely playing dirty, little sex games. Accordingly, Evan and I designed the scene we all just played. If only one or neither of you was in love, we planned to separate you as soon as possible. But we also understood if you were both deeply in love, separating you would not be possible."
"Don't misunderstand," Evan said. "We aren't condoning your behavior. It's against the laws of nature and man, but if you're both completely and irrevocably committed to each other, as you appear to be, you leave us only two choices. One, we can condemn both you and your behavior, leave you to your own devices and never speak to you again, or two, condemn your behavior without condemning you personally and somehow understand and accept the situation."
"We love you. The four of us are family, so we chose the latter course," Harriet said, "because as deeply as you love each other, we don't believe either of you is capable of changing your behavior. With that choice, we elected to help you and protect you from the condemnation of others, including the authorities, if we could. We didn't discuss a private, unsanctioned wedding ceremony, but I, for one, think it's a marvelous idea."
"Make that two, honey," Evan said. "It was my idea, after all."
"Make it three, Mom," Carrie said with a happy squeal, jumped up and landed on her father's lap. He gave him a big hug and kiss. "Thank you for understanding, Daddy! You, too, Mom."
"Add a fourth," Darrin quipped, grinning from ear to ear.
"When and where?" Harriet asked. "The ceremony, I mean.
"Tomorrow evening or Sunday morning, here in the loft, depending how long it takes to prepare for it," Carrie said. "Daddy can give me away, and Mom can be my Matron of Honor."
"And Dad can be my Best Man," Darrin added.
"Let's go shopping, Mom. You need a new dress for the show tonight, and I need a wedding dress."
"What about flowers?"
"Yes! What else? Oh, we'll talk about everything while we shop. I have a cell phone. We can call and order things, like flowers, while we shop. Should we have a cake?"
Darrin looked at his father. "You did this. You've created a couple of monsters."
He grinned sheepishly. "I know. I'm sorry."
After the women left, Darrin said, "Dad, I want to buy wedding rings for Carrie and me. We can't wear them, but I want them for the ceremony and for special occasions where they won't cause problems. May I use your car?"
"How about I tag along?"
"I'd like that."

The doorbell rang and Carrie glanced through the peephole - a tall, handsome man. Carrie's date had arrived. She opened the door. "Sid Westbrook?"
"Yes, you must be Carrie Cannon. For once, Phil was correct. You are a pretty sight."
"Why thank you Sid, if I may call you Sid?"
"Sid is fine."
"Come in for a moment. Phil tells me you're an art critic, correct?"
"Yes, I'm a columnist for the 'Las Vegas Review-Journal'."
"Have you seen my brother's work yet?"
"No. I'll see his paintings for the first time at Phil's gallery this evening."
"Darrin has been working on some new paintings using a slightly different direction. As an expert in art, I'd appreciate your opinion. Do you mind? They're on easels in the gallery just inside."
"Not at all. Lead the way?"
Carrie had forced Darrin to help her arrange the painting and lighting so they could be viewed in the best possible manner considering their unfinished condition. He had objected to showing them at all because they were unfinished, but had ultimately bowed to her wishes.
LOVE was closer to being finished than any of them and was placed in a prominent position close to the entrance to the studio. Carrie knew when the paintings came into view for the critic when she heard a stutter-step behind her.
"Of course, the paintings on the easels are not finished," Carrie said. "Darren tells me he'll need two or three months to finish them, but I think you can get the general idea now. What do you think?"
Westbrook didn't comment.
"Darrin calls the large painting LOVE," Carrie said.
"Appropriately named," Westbrook muttered. He tore his eyes from LOVE and moved them to RAGE.
"Does he call this one RAGE?"
"Yes. When I first saw the painting, it was only a charcoal sketch, and I called it anger. Darrin had already named it RAGE."
He moved from RAGE to ADDICTION, then to FUN, and on down the line until he came to the last painting, which was only a few days from being finished.
"Does this painting represent his previous work?"
"Yes, its very similar to those being shown tonight."
Westbrook took a moment to study the painting. "I like it a lot," he said. "These others..." He swung his arm toward the other paintings. "... I love! Your brother has a very promising future in the arts, Carrie. I'm happy I'm having dinner with him this evening. I'd like to discuss his education and training, and what artists influenced him the most."
Oh, oh, Carrie thought, perhaps I should clarify those points right now. "Sid, Darrin is completely self-taught. He's never had a teacher."
"You've got to be kidding!"
"And I don't believe any artist has ever influenced his work. Tonight will be the first opening at a gallery he's ever attended. He told me he did visit an art museum once years ago - in L.A. I think it was - but all the different styles of art, what various experts and curators considered art, only confused him. To him, his paintings represent art, art according to Darrin Cannon, and that's all that matters to him." She chuckled. "Once not long ago, he pointed at one of his paintings and told me, 'That's a Darrin Cannon painting, and damn it, that's art!'"
And damn it, that's damned good copy, Mr. Westbrook, but do you get it? Westbrook look confused, glancing from one painting to another, and finally he smiled. The gleam in his eyes told Carrie he had finally realized the amazing story he could tell. By gosh, I think he's got it!

"I feel like a bumpkin in this place, Harriet," Evan complained. He glanced around Le Cirque, a plush French restaurant in MGM's Bellagio Hotel. Harriet had warned him the restaurant required coat and tie, so he was dressed in his finest, which wasn't much, he knew. He felt uncomfortable and out of his depth. He'd be happy when he and Harriet returned to Milltown where he could be himself in an environment he understood.
The table for six overlooked the lake. Harriet had commented on the décor earlier, calling it elegant and plush but playful with the circus theme, which he supposed it was. He and Harriet had been the first to arrive.
"Hush! The kids are showing off. Let them. This is a special night for them."
"Are we going to split up the check? I don't think I could handle the whole thing."
"Carrie prepaid for everything. She's planned well. Everyone is getting the five-course tasting dinner, and she pre-ordered the wines. She tells me we're in for a culinary treat, whatever that is. I hope the dinner isn't fish. You know I don't like fish."
"Now look who's complaining. Do you think we went overboard by suggesting the private wedding?"
Tears stung Harriet's eyes. "No!" She took her husband's hand and gave it a loving squeeze. "I've never seen Carrie so excited. We'll probably never have grandchildren to love and cherish, darling, but by damn we'll have a wedding."
"Darrin was just as excited, though he tried to hide his feelings. This afternoon, he went out and bought wedding rings for the ceremony."
"What? They can't wear rings!"
"He knows that, Harriet. They're for the ceremony and special occasions when they won't be noticed."
"Oh." She thought a moment. "That's nice, actually, very nice."
Looking up, she saw Darrin and his date moving toward the table. Always the gentleman, Evan rose from his chair to greet them, so Harriet did likewise.
"Mom, Dad, this is Barbara Terrance. Barbara, this is my mother, Harriet, and my father, Evan."
Everyone murmured their pleasure at meeting each other, and the men held out chairs for the ladies, finally taking a seat themselves. Harriet surreptitiously checked out Darrin's date. A good-looking woman, maybe a bit old for her son, but classy, definitely classy. Too bad she couldn't be the one for her son. She'd give her grandchildren.
No sooner had they taken their seats than Carrie arrived with her date. Introductions ensued, and the other members of the dinner party discovered Sid and Barbara knew each other. Harriet gathered the art critic had given Barbara good reviews on some photographs she had shown in a gallery sometime. Carrie had told her Sid was gay, which Harriet thought was a damned shame. He was very masculine and quite handsome. He could have been a real lady's man. Harriet sighed. The world as a whole was just too complicated for her. She was happy living the simple life in Milltown. She took her husband's hand and squeezed it again, mouthing an, "I love you."
He beamed.

What the hell is going on, Barbara asked herself. Darrin has paid more attention to his sister than me, and when he isn't gazing adoringly at his sister or vice versa, Sid has pestered him with questions. She knew one thing; she wouldn't go out with Darrin Cannon again.
She also started to wonder what kind of relationship he had with his sister. She had noticed they loved each other a lot when she did the photo shoot for their portfolio, but their glances tonight seemed more than loving glances between a brother and sister.
For the next half-hour she studied the siblings while she nibbled on the delightful food and sipped superior wine, and finally decided if Darrin and Carrie weren't in an incestuous relationship they were missing a hell of an opportunity. Shrugging, she elected to enjoy the rest of the evening with no expectations for any romance later, which was more of a disappointment than she cared to admit. She chuckled. Hell, an incestuous artist and agent living as man and wife would fit right in with the other weirdoes making up the world of art with hardly anyone raising an eyebrow. That Darrin was using her to hide the fact he and his sister were lovers made her angry, though. Some of her gay male friends used her the same way, but at least they were open and above board about it, and they gave her the opportunity to decline their offer.
Deciding to get even a bit, she reached and placed her hand on Darrin's thigh under the table. His eyes widened, but he ignored her hand, no doubt hoping it would go away. Instead, her hand traveled upward, finally cupping his crotch. She squeezed. He jumped like he'd been goosed, reached and removed her hand, placing it on her lap. Barbara glanced at Carrie. She had not missed the inappropriate grope. Barbara guessed she wouldn't miss much when it came to her brother - her lover. With a wicked grin, Barbara winked at Carrie to counterbalance the daggers flying in Barbara's direction from the young woman's eyes.
"I'm going to the ladies room," Barbara whispered to Carrie. "Join me, please."
Carrie nodded. The men rose when the ladies stood.
In the ladies room, Carrie said, "You know, don't you?"
"Yes. You and Darrin might think you're being careful, but frankly the two of you couldn't fool anyone, at least not the way you've acted toward each other tonight. Sorry about the grope, but you both deserved it."
"True. I apologize for both of us, Barbara. It wasn't very nice of Darrin and I to use you like we have, but our parents didn't know about us until today, and we needed the subterfuge."
"No problem - now. I was upset for a while, but..."
"Are you shocked? I mean..."
"Not really. Love comes in many flavors. You are in love, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes, very much."
Barbara smiled. "I'm happy for you. I was in love once, a couple of times, in fact, but I can't seem to make it stick. Too career oriented, I think. Does Sid know?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Listen, why don't I ask Sid to take me home. The misdirection is no longer necessary, and I'd feel more comfortable."
"All right, if it's all right with Sid."
"He'll be fine with it. You know he's gay, don't you?"
"Yes. Barbara, may Darrin and I still consider you a friend?"
"With your situation, you'll need all the friends you can find. Yes, please consider me a friend, and I'll do likewise. Darrin has an exciting career ahead of him, and I'd like to be an observer as it unfolds, a close observer. Besides, I think observing how your relationship unfolds will be just as interesting. You know Darrin probably would not succeed without you to handle the mundane marketing details."
Carrie grinned. "I disagree, but thanks. Darrin is an artistic genius. Someday someone would have discovered him. I merely made it happen a little sooner. Tomorrow evening, Darrin and I are having a private wedding ceremony, without the benefit of clergy or justice of peace, of course. So far the only guests are our parents, would you please join us?"
Whew! They are in love. No wonder they couldn't keep their eyes off each other tonight. "I'd love to! What are friends for if not to stand witness to an illegal marriage? What time and where?"
"Seven o'clock, in the studio."
Suddenly, Barbara found herself being hugged, and after the initial shock, she hugged Carrie right back. She needed friends, too.
Chapter Twelve
Kensington Galleries was located on W. Sahara Avenue near the Las Vegas Art Museum. Phil boasted of showing fifty contemporary artists, offering originals, mixed-medium, limited edition signed/numbered prints, as well as sculptures in bronze, marble and alabaster.
The gallery normally closed at 6:00 PM, but tonight the lights inside the gallery shined brightly and gave evidence to what looked like a celebration inside. When Darrin and Barbara drove up and stopped in front of the gallery, a parking valet whisked his car away.
"Thank you for being so gracious about being used for propaganda purposes, tonight," Darrin said while they waited outside for the rest of the group to arrive. "I want to add my apology to Carrie's. Believe it or not, I feel badly about what I did."
"Apology accepted, Darrin. It's none of my business, but were you and Carrie lovers when I did the photo shoot?"
"No. We were in love but not lovers at the time." He chuckled. "We were still resisting our baser instincts. Carrie tells me you plan to attend our wedding tomorrow evening."
"Yes. I'm curious. How did you convince your parents to accept your... ah, relationship with your sister?"
"We didn't. From what I can deduce, they would have tried to split us up if we had not been deeply in love, but because my parents are still in love with each other after all these years, they understood. As Dad said, he doesn't condone our behavior - in fact, he condemns it - but he and Mother love us, and they'd rather accept and try to understand than walk away in anger and disgust never to see us again. It was Dad who suggested we recite private wedding vows. He believes in the sanctity of marriage, not necessarily from a religious point of view, but more because he believes promises should be made and kept."
"Remarkable. Speak of the devil - or should I say saints? Your parents have arrived."
Evan Cannon's five-year-old Chevrolet stopped at the curb. A parking attendant opened the door, and Evan stepped from the car looking confused.
"Give him your keys, Dad. Take the ticket he gives you, give him a dollar tip, and he'll park your car for you."
Evan nodded.
"He's a sweet man," Darrin whispered to Barbara, "but not very worldly."
"I find him utterly charming, your mother, too. She's an earth mother, nurturing, but smart."
The next vehicle belonged to Westbrook - a Mercedes. He knew what to do. The artist, his agent, their parents, an art critic and a well-known photographer entered the gallery.
"There you are, you dear boy!" Phil exclaimed when he saw Darrin. "Good news! Very good news! All of your paintings have been sold!"
"What? The show hasn't even started yet."
"I always set up a pre-show for some of my collectors and some special guests. Didn't Carrie tell you? Anyway, one of my guests is the general manager of a new hotel and casino under construction on the strip. He purchased all of your paintings except one. A collector purchased that one before the hotelier arrived. I'm so excited! Carrie, there you are! Sweetie, we need to talk. Come with me." He grabbed Carrie by the arm and hustled her away.
"Where... ?"
"My office. We'll talk briefly. Then I want to introduce you to Mr. Sam Jeffery. What a night! And it's just begun."
"Congratulations, Darrin," Barbara said and squeezed his arm with hers as they watched Phil and Carrie disappear into the gallery owner's office.
"Did I hear what I thought I heard?" Harriet asked. "Did that little man say all your paintings have been sold already, Darrin?"
"That's what he said, Mom," Darrin stated with a wide smile. "That little man is Phil Kensington, the owner of this gallery and three others."
Harriet squealed and hugged her son. She kissed him and leaned back to wipe a smudge of lipstick from his lips with her thumb. "I'm so happy for you, Darrin, so very, very happy!"
Evan Cannon slapped his son's back and shook his hand. "Ah, hell," he said and hugged Darrin, too, which was awkward for Darrin for a second until the young man returned the hug as enthusiastically as his father was hugging him. "Congratulations, Son!"
"Thanks, Dad."
Barbara turned to Westbrook. "Sid, let's go take a gander at the paintings."
He nodded and Barbara took his arm. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, "See you tomorrow evening, everyone." She snagged a glass of white wine from a tray a waitress carried aloft, took in the soft sounds of a string quartet, sipped the wine and smiled. "Sid, ain't life grand? I'm going to need a ride home tonight. How about giving me a ride?"
"What about... ?"
"The date's over, Sid. We've done our job. Let's enjoy the rest of the evening, just you and me. Damn, you're good looking. I wish... ah, hell, I just wish. I do a lot of wishing lately."

Carrie remembered her first visit to Phil's office. She'd considered him a rude, little fucker. Now she wanted to kiss him.
"Okay, here's the deal," Phil said. "Jeffery is the general manager of a hotel/casino that is currently in the decorating phase of construction. He went wild over Darrin's paintings, absolutely wild! How many Vegas paintings does Darrin have finished right now?"
"Twelve, plus one that's all but finished," Carrie said.
"Would you sell them for $12,000 apiece?"
"Certainly!"
"I get my cut, of course."
"Thirty-five percent."
"Forty."
"Uh-uh. Thirty-five. You'll have no expenses except frames, Phil. Be fair."
He grinned. "Okay, okay. It's a deal. What a night! Jeffery wants to meet Darrin, and he'll want to see the paintings, but he said he'd buy all the Vegas paintings up to a total of twenty that are currently finished. Grab Darrin and bring him in here. I'll find Jeffery, and we'll make the deal." He jumped up.
As Carrie looked for Darrin, she ran the numbers in her head. God, a $216,000 night! Our share is... $137,400, and my 25% equates to... $34,350. Darrin will make $103,050. In one night! No, not one night. It took my lover years to create all those paintings, and many more years to learn his art form before that. He deserves every penny I can get for him, and then some.
She spied him with their parents. All three looked happy but lost. She wanted to ran full speed to Darrin, throw her arms around him and kiss him, kiss him with all the love she had in her. She took some quick steps, then slowed, took a few deep breaths, and walked calmly to the group.
"I have good news and bad news," she said, taking Darrin's arm in hers, pressing her breast against him. "The bad news is we can no longer do a pre-Christmas one-man show. The bad news is a result of the good news. The good news is Phil sold all the Vegas-theme paintings, not only the ones in show but also the twelve in the stacks or hanging at home and the one you have almost finished on an easel."
Darrin's eyes widened. "For $10,000 each?"
Carrie shook her head. "Only the ones in the show. The rest of them are priced at $12,000 each. Plus I negotiated Phil down a little for the paintings in the studio. His cut is only 35% for those paintings. Come, Phil wants you to meet the buyer, a hotelier named Jeffery."
"Wait!" Evan exclaimed. "Did I just hear you correctly, Carrie? Did you just say Darrin sold nineteen of his paintings in one night for over $200,000?"
"$216,000 to be exact," Carrie said with a wide grin. "$216,000 is the total price, Dad. Darrin gets a net of about $100,000. My share as his manager and agent comes to about $34,000, and Phil gets the rest." Carrie grinned. "Not bad for a couple of bumpkins from Milltown, huh?"
"Jesus!" Evan said. "I'm proud of you, son. You, too, Carrie. Come on, Harriet, let's go look at the paintings. I want to brag a little. Tell some of the people in here my son painted some of the paintings."
"Okay, but don't get carried away, and for hell sakes don't bring up the money involved."
Darrin's eyes shined. His father finally appreciated his work! He had believed he'd go through life with his father putting him down for what he did. He did feel miffed money changed his father's attitude, not the quality of his work, but the young man would take his father's acceptance and praise any way he could get it.
Phil rushed up to them. "Come, you two," he said. "Mr. Jeffery is waiting in my office."

The show ended at ten o'clock, and the stragglers had all departed by ten-thirty. Phil asked Darrin and Carrie to stay so they could have a private celebration after the doors were locked.
"What a night!" Phil exclaimed for the millionth time. "Let's have a drink and a toast! What is your preference?"
"Brandy," Carrie said. "A toast this late should be made with brandy."
"Ah, a woman after my own heart," Phil quipped. "I have a bottle of Napoleon brandy for just such occasions. It's as least a hundred years old."
"The good stuff," Darrin remarked.
They settled in a seating area surrounded by Darrin's paintings, and Phil gingerly poured brandy into crystal snifters.
"We need a candle to warm the brandy," Carrie said.
"Right! I have some! Just a minute," Phil said, jumped up and returned in a few seconds with three small candles. Using a cigarette lighter, flames soon danced from the ends of the candles, and each of them warmed the liquor.
"To Darrin Cannon," Phil announced. "An artist of extraordinary talent! And to Carrie Cannon, a young lady providing the necessary other talents to make her artist client successful!"
They sipped brandy. The dark, warm liquid heated Carrie's blood, and Phil's words warmed her heart.
"To Phil Kensington," Darrin stated formally. "An astounding marketer of art and a friend."
"To the three of us," Carrie toasted. "We make a hell of a team."
"Here, here!"
"What a night!" Phil said yet again. "I broke records tonight, grossing slightly more than $300,000. Everything sold out! This is the best show I've ever had. I can't wait until I do a one-man show for you, Darrin."
"The one-man show tentatively scheduled pre-Christmas will need to be postponed, Phil," Carrie said. "We won't have enough paintings for a one-man show until early spring."
"I understand. By the way, the gallery owner from L.A., one of the galleries with which I have reciprocity, stopped by the show briefly tonight. He expressed a desire to sponsor a one-man show for your work, Darrin, but I get first dibs."
"Without doubt, Phil," Carrie agreed. "Wait until you see Darrin's new paintings tomorrow morning. Come early for our meeting with Jeffery. I think you'll be truly excited. They aren't finished yet, but Sid previewed them earlier tonight, and he said he loved them. He said he liked those you sold tonight, but loved the new ones." Carrie reached and squeezed her brother's hands. "I think Sid will give you rave reviews, Darrin." Darrin's eyes shined as he gazed at her. His eyes locked with hers, and they forgot they weren't alone.
"Ahem," Phil cleared his throat.
Carrie's mahogany tresses danced as she shook her head to clear the passion she felt for Darrin at the moment. "Sorry," she murmured.
I've never seen so much love between a brother and sister, Phil thought. They can't keep their eyes and hands off each other. The love between them warmed him as much as the brandy, but... 
Incest had always been repugnant to him. His mother... 
His mother had not sexually abused him, not overtly, but her constant, grasping touches and slobbery kisses had repelled him. Then her fatal automobile accident brought out so much guilt, years of therapy were required to alleviate the pain and confusion. The one other brush he had had with incest involved brothers, not a brother and sister, and he had considered that relationships abhorrent, but for some reason Carrie and Darrin affected him differently. For one thing, the brothers had not loved each other; they merely had sex with each other and any other interested male. No question about it, they were sluts. Not these two. They were in love, and Phil appreciated love. He'd been in love once, head-over-heels in love, but the so-called loved ones of his lover had destroyed everything, and his lover had committed suicide. Even more years of therapy were needed to calm his tortured soul after that event. Phil's personal struggle to accept or reject Carrie and Darrin's incestuous relationship was brief. Carrie had become his friend, and he appreciated Darrin's talent.
"The two of you are in love, aren't you?" Phil asked with a smile.
Carrie glanced at Darrin, who raised an eyebrow - a query filled with doubt, but Carrie had no doubt. While working with Phil to prepare for the show, she had come to know him. He'd accept them.
"Yes, very," Carrie said. "Are you shocked or repelled?"
"Curiously, no. I know your love warms me, makes me feel good. That it is incestuous doesn't seem to matter, which surprises me. No I'm not shocked or repelled. I'm happy for you, both of you."
"Tomorrow evening at seven o'clock, Darrin and I will exchange wedding vows in a very private ceremony. Only our parents and Barbara will be there. We'd be honored if you would stand witness to an illegal marriage, as Barbara put it earlier tonight. The ceremony will take place in the studio."
Phil had attended a similar ceremony between two of his gay friends. Why not do the same for a brother and sister so much in love they'd defy the wrath and condemnation of most of the world around them? As a gay man, he understood such defiance.
"I'd love to be there, and thank you so much for inviting me."

Carrie rolled over on top of Darrin. Rising up, she gazed down at him as she slid back taking him fully inside her again. "So nice. I love you inside me, bro. Can you believe all that happened today?"
"Not in a million years, and we have almost as big a day tomorrow. When the dust settles next week, let's take a short trip, somewhere where no one knows us. We'll travel as man and wife, a honeymoon of sorts."
"Yes! But it won't be a honeymoon of sorts. It will be a real honeymoon, our honeymoon. God, I love you, Darrin Cannon, soon to be my husband. My emotions are on overload; I'm so happy I want to explode. The parents have accepted us! Barbara and Phil, too! We're rich! Rich with love! Rich with more money than we'll know what to do with, so we'll probably do nothing, not for a while."
She picked up the rhythm of their lovemaking and leaned down to kiss him. Her breasts mashed against his chest, and she stopped moving to enjoy his mouth on hers.
"We won't be rich, Carrie, at least as far as money goes. We'll just make a very good living," he said when she pulled back from the embrace.
"I know, but compared to Milltown's standards we'll be rich."
He chuckled. "True. We'll certainly be rich enough to buy a house. I'd like to buy a house for you, Carrie, one with a decent kitchen, air conditioning, other..."
"No! This is our home. Let's buy this building, Darrin. Would the owner's sell it to us?"
"Yes, it was for sale when I leased it. I think they'd sell, but it..."
She stopped him with a kiss. "Then we'll buy this place and fix it up. You need a studio, Darrin. You love this studio; I know you do, and I don't want your studio to be located away from where we live. We'll hire an architect, and we'll design the perfect home for us. The loft can be expanded, and we can put in air conditioning. I can almost see the new kitchen in my mind. We'll pay cash for everything, make changes as we can. This is my home, Darrin, our home!"
"Okay. One last question, then I'm going to roll over on top of you and fuck you to pieces. Where should we go on our honeymoon?"
"I don't know. A resort somewhere; a place where we'll be pampered. Someplace cool, high in the mountains. I need a respite from the heat."
"I know just the place. Telluride, New Mexico. It's a ski resort in the winter, and an artists' community in the summer."
"Perfect! Maybe I can find another artist to represent. I'll jump on the Internet tomorrow and make the arrangements."
"Enough!" He rolled her over, staying inside her. He had planned to pound her, fuck her and fuck her, but one look at her eyes told him she didn't want to be fucked. She wanted him to make love to her. A small flickering candle on the nightstand provided the only light in the room, giving the room and Carrie's skin a soft glow and a loving glint to her eyes.
"Make love to me," she whispered breathlessly, proving his assumption. She reached with one hand and caressed the cheek of his face while her other hand brushed the cheek of his butt. She had raised her knees and pulled them back toward her shoulder as far as she could - open, accepting, submissive.
He kissed her full lips as she pulled him tightly to her body, pressing her perky nipples to his chest. They were hard now, engorged with passion. Her breathing quickened, as did his, and he slid his tongue between her slightly parted lips. Their tongues intermingled, exciting their mouths, which sent erotic signals to the places joined below. While they kissed, they maintained eye contact, expressing their love and their growing arousal with their eyes.
As he moved from her lips to lazily meander to her long, gorgeous neck, he sucked lightly at that spot he loved so much to taste. She eased her fingers through his hair, and pushed him down toward her breasts. He licked and gently nibbled her erect nipples, and as her arousal increased she pulled at his hair, demanding more, which he gave her, lashing the engorged buttons with his tongue. She murmured her pleasure, and he returned to her mouth with his, plunging his tongue inside as he thrust his throbbing cock inside her, no longer gentle, but she didn't want gentleness any longer. He sensed she wanted him to be aggressive, and she rewarded his effort with a louder moan. Her hips demanded he thrust faster, so he increased the pace of their rhythm.
"Yes!" she exclaimed breathlessly.
He noticed a slight sheen of perspiration on her brow and her skin was slicker under his roaming hands. She felt warmer to him, and he could feel the thumping of her heart close to his chest. She had a look of muted elation, but then she whispered, "Faster! Harder!"
He could feel his balls slapping her as his thrusts increased in speed and power. He moved his face next to hers and concentrated on the sensations her pulsing cunt evoked as he pounded her. He was gasping when she whispered provocatively, "Come in me, bro. Come in your little sister!"
He was close but it took him a minute to move from waiting mode to letting go, and during that time, her pleas became more enthusiastic, more demanding. Suddenly she wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs and pulled him forcefully to her, unleashing a stream of unintelligible sounds of pleasure. She was coming, he knew. Her vaginal walls contracted around him, fluttered and trembled, grabbing at him, and expelling him. Abruptly, he climaxed, spurting a deluge of semen into her, giving her what she wanted, what she demanded, what he wanted to give her. They shuddered together, gasped for air as their beating hearts synchronized. Their breathing slowed, as did their thundering heartbeats, and he kissed her softly.
"I love you," she whispered. "Tomorrow I will become your wife, and you will become my husband, and we will live as man and wife for the rest of our lives."

"I found just the place for our honeymoon, Darrin," Carrie yelled down to the studio from the loft. "The Franz Klammer Lodge in Telluride's Mountain Village. It's a luxury resort with private pool and spa facilities. Waddaya think?"
"Do it!"
"We'll need a credit card to make the reservation. Should I use your debit card?"
"Yes, it's also a credit card, but we'd better put some money in the bank account first."
"I already did, yesterday."
The doorbell rang.
"That'll be Phil. I'll be right down," Carrie said. "Let him in."
Carrie hit the bottom of the stairs just as Darrin and Phil walked into the studio. Carrie greeted him with a quick hug, which he appeared to appreciate. "Come and see," she said. "You're going to love the direction Darrin has taken with his paintings."
Carrie watched as Phil stood in front of each painting for a few minutes. Like the time she'd watched him look over Darrin's photographic portfolio, he didn't telegraph his feelings. Finally, he returned to LOVE. After gazing at it for a few seconds, he turned to Darrin and said, "Would you like to sell this painting today?"
"It's not finished. It will take me another month to finish it."
"I understand. Regardless, if you don't want to sell it, you'll need to lean it against the wall backwards. Jeffery will go bonkers over this painting."
"If we sold it today, how much could we get for it?" Carrie asked.
"Say a ridiculous number," he replied.
"I don't know. $25,000."
"Double that number. I wouldn't sell that painting for a penny less than $50,000. In twenty-five years it will be worth a million dollars!"
"Jesus!" Darrin exclaimed.
"Well," Phil asked, "do you want to sell it or not?"
"Waddaya think, Darrin?" Carrie asked.
"Sell it. I can do another one, bigger, better. I've been thinking about doing a whole series of love paintings."
Phil grinned. "That's what I wanted to hear! Okay, here's how we're going to handle Jeffery. We'll..."

Before Jeffery arrived, Darrin stacked all the paintings he was working on against the wall backwards, except for LOVE and the unfinished painting similar to those Jeffery had purchased at the show. Six of the twelve finished paintings ended up on easels, and the other six they wanted Jeffery to buy were hung on the walls of the studio. Phil fussed around rearranging lighting, complaining that Darrin didn't have the right kind of lighting to display his paintings properly.
Finally, Jeffery arrived. Phil greeted him and hurried him into the studio, apologizing for the inadequate lighting, the mess, and anything else he could think of like the lack of frames, explaining a studio wasn't the best place to view paintings.
They had located LOVE in a corner away from the other easels.
Jeffery stepped from painting to painting, exclaiming his pleasure with each of them. He stopped and counted. "Thirteen. I'll take all of them."
"Great," Phil said and pointed, "but that painting isn't quite finished."
"Looks finished to me."
"I'll need a few more days to finish it, Mr. Jeffery," Darrin said. "Then it will need some time to dry before it's framed. We can deliver it in two weeks. The rest of them can be framed and delivered to you next week. Will that be acceptable?"
"Certainly! With the five I bought at the show last night that's a total of eighteen. I'd like to buy a total of twenty. Do you have any others close to being finished?"
"One, but it's six weeks away, what with drying time and framing," Darrin said.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jeffery," Phil said. "I can't sell you the painting Darrin is referring to at the price we sold these. For one thing, it's much larger, and..."
"I'd like to see it."
"It's not finished, Mr. Jeffery," Carrie said. "It would be best if you returned a month from now and looked at it then."
"Is that the painting over there?" Jeffery asked pointing at the backside of LOVE.
"Yes, but..."
Jeffery walked away from the group toward the large painting. Phil winked at Carrie. The reticence to sell the painting had been planned. Phil hurried after the buyer. "You're too close, Mr. Jeffery! Step back a few more feet."
"Oh, my God," Jeffery whispered. He had not moved as Phil had requested.
"Darrin calls it LOVE," Phil said, his voice sounding loud compared to the buyer's whisper.
"I want it!" Jeffery exclaimed. "I have just the place for it in the main lobby of the hotel." He turned to Phil. "How much?"
"$100,000," Phil said. "I know that sounds high, but..."
"I'll give you $50,000 for it."
"$75,000."
"Deal." He stuck his hand out. Phil took it, and the two men closed the deal with a handshake. "I'll expect it delivered and framed in six weeks," Jeffery said to the artist.
Too stunned to speak, Darrin nodded.

"Evan and I will read the Blessing of the Apaches," Harriet said and cleared her throat. "Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other. Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you. May beauty surround you both in the journey ahead and through all the years. May happiness be your companion and your days together be good and long upon the earth."
Evan read, "Treat yourselves and each other with respect, and remind yourselves often of what brought you together. Give the highest priority to the tenderness, gentleness and kindness that your connection deserves. When frustration, difficulty and fear assail your relationship - as they threaten all relationships at one time or another - remember to focus on what is right between you, not only the part which seems wrong. In this way, you can ride out the storms when clouds hide the face of the sun in your lives - remembering that even if you lose sight of it for a moment, the sun is still there. And if each of you takes responsibility for the quality of your life together, it will be marked by abundance and delight."
And so the ceremony began. The bride wore white, the groom a dark suit. So many flowers filled the studio with enough fragrance the noxious odors of paint and thinners and solvents could only be detected with effort.
Carrie turned to Darrin.
"My Beloved," she said with feeling.

"I first knew you as a baby.
You nurtured me. You loved me.
I knew you as a girl.
You protected me. You loved me.

"Then you went away and my heart went with you.
But still, you loved me.

"I loved you as a baby loves when it's loved.
I loved you as a girl loves a loving big brother.
I loved you, and you went away.
But always, I loved you.

"Then you returned, and my heart quickened.
You still loved me. I still loved you.

"Then I tried not to love you.
I couldn't love you, not the way I loved you.
I tried to love others.
But my heart could love only you.

"Then I lived with you, and my love deepened.
I rejoiced. You loved me as I loved you.

"Darrin Cannon, you are my brother.
And I love you as a brother.
But my love has burst the bounds of brotherly love.
I love you as a lover. I love you as a wife.

"You will be my brother forever.
You will be my lover forever.
You will be my husband forever.
And I will love you forever."
"My darling Carrie," Darrin said. "I have loved you from the time you looked up at me with your big dark eyes as a newborn. The first time you smiled at me, I melted. Mother said it was colic, but it was a smile, a Carrie smile. You have always been my favorite person. I am your brother, and you are my sister, and I've always loved you more than I should. Then one day you needed my help. You needed a place to live, and I offered you a hovel, which you gladly accepted and promptly turned it into a home. You are amazing! You nurtured me. You loved me. I tried not to love you too much. I truly made the effort, but finally I could no longer lie to myself. I loved you deeply. I loved you as a brother, but I also loved you as a woman. And soon I will love you as a wife. Plain and simple, I love you. I have always loved you and always will."
Darrin turned to Phil, who handed him a ring.
Darrin joined his hand with his bride's. "I, Darrin Cannon, take you Carrie Cannon, to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love. I promise to love you, comfort you, honor and keep you, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. And forsaking all others, I will be faithful only to you so long as we both shall live. I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever. Whatever may come I will always be there for you. As I give you this ring to wear in privacy and as a symbol of our vows, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you. I give you my life to keep. I do so swear." He placed the ring on her finger.
Carrie turned to Barbara, who handed her a ring.
"I, Carrie Cannon, take you Darrin Cannon, to be my husband, my partner in life and my one true love. I promise to love you, comfort you, honor and keep you, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. And forsaking all others, I will be faithful only to you so long as we both shall live. I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever. Whatever may come I will always be there for you. As I give you this ring to wear in privacy and as a symbol of our vows, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you. I give you my life to keep. I do so swear." She placed the ring on his finger.
They turned together and faced their witnesses. In unison they said, "Forasmuch as we have consented together in wedlock, and have witnessed the same before this company, and thereto have given and pledged our troth, each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving a ring, and by joining hands, we pronounce that we are Man and Wife."
They turned to each other and gazed in each other eyes. They kissed each other as brother and sister. They kissed each other as lovers. They kissed each other as husband and wife.