Date: Tue, 29 Jan 2008 13:52:19 -0800 (PST)
From: Gale Adams <tothestable@yahoo.com>
Subject: f/f incest "She Came to Me" Chapter 4

			      She Came to Me
				    by
				Gale Adams


				 Chapter 4


      We held each other and I kept apologizing and she kept crying.
Everything was nerve jangling. Everything was wrong. She told me she loved
me more than ever. I told her it was my fault, I should have done it for
her, and she kept telling me not to ever think badly of myself.

      It is late at night as I write this. We have been in school session
for one month. School is a place where they accumulate time that sits there
and stares at you like a hop toad. It is a time where time is stolen, and
does not move. It is enervating and it is full of stealth and the heat of
the classroom there down in the valley in the old school house is
impossible to endure.

      I have begun setting down on paper what my sister and I have been
doing. It started with fear. It progressed to sexuality and wonder. It grew
into a pure kind of love. And now it comes with dissolution. For two nights
ago, Melody took a broom handle and pushed it into herself to break her
Hymen. Which she did? And bled quite a lot.

      Tonight was the first time she had told me. She had come into my room
some hour ago, when we were supposed to be scribbling arithmetic problems
on our little chalkboards, and had said this thing and I had held her and
massaged her front, which she said was still sore. She asked why God gave
girls Hymens. Did the Almighty hate girls that much, that he has to hurt
them, and the period too and the attendant uncomfortable ness and the
horror of blood pouring out of one's body? She said He should have forgiven
Eve long before now, for she had done the best she could, the best anyone
could.

      I thought to tell her my severe beginning doubts about The Good
Book. It seemed to be a penny dreadful that took pieces of everybody to
task, but especially girls and women. The idea--if a girl is raped, and
does not scream to be helped, if she knows any one would hear her, and then
she is stoned to death, while the rapist puts a ram's horn at the Temple
and goes blithely on his way. What utter madness. What tides of cruelty run
through that book that is meant to be of love? I see very little in
it. Very little indeed.

      I am also angry at Melody. She broke my Hymen and it hurt very little
compared to hers. I am also scared. The broom handle being phallic enough
and does this mean she will leave me for a boy. How sick that makes me as
well--such a horrid thing to do to one's self and cold and hard this
thing she jutted into her vagina. Preferring even that stick to me? Over
her sister she said she loved? I remember how I worried that she would fall
in love with me. Now I worry she will fall out of love with me.

      Why are we given these feelings, this sexuality, and these bodies if
they are so wrong? If what do with them and what we harbor inside them
tosses us into hellfire and brimstone? We have just come through this
monstrous Civil War, which has drenched out land with blood and sorrow and
mutilations and deaths and brother against brother. Melody remembers little
of it. I remember a bit more of it. I remember the cannons firing. And the
guns.  And the fears our very house would be invaded by soldiers and we
would be raped and shot.

      This is better, this is the glory, while a little girl puts a broom
handle up herself to break her Hymen because she doesn't want her sister
anymore? All the guilt has come crashing into me. Moses led his people
through the wilderness for forty years and because he displeased the
Almighty for some reason, never got to enter it himself? And God saying to
the men and boys in the wilderness to stop and those who still have
foreskins, cut them off and put them in a pile, in a hill, to me as
worship. My Holy Lord, how sickness infests these immortal words that are
somehow supposed to show us the way. The way to what? I ask.

      I finish my diary, key the lock and put it in my desk drawer. I lie
on the bed in the darkness and I cry. We poor little humans.  Whatever is
to become of us? In time I drift off into an uneasy sleep. I am awakened by
Melody who has pushed into my narrow bed and is beside me. I turn to her
and kiss her cheek. She is naked. As am I soon. She says she has some pubic
hair, a bit of fuzz, distractedly, as though she needs something to feel
for, to fall toward. Oh God, let it please be me.

      "Will you nurse me, Ivory?" And I say certainly and put a breast to
her mouth. I kiss her hand and I love to feel her mouth her tongue her
teeth on my tit, as she takes her hand and massages my pussy and puts two
fingers inside me. I am caught on sparks like lightning bolts inside
me. She bites hard. Then she pushes her fingers in deeply. And I feel the
sexuality, the sheer enormity of being finger fucked and titty sucked by my
beauty, Melody.

      We have learned to talk of sexuality like that. It has made it even
more exciting. As the guilt has made it more exciting because--because it
is our revenge on a world that has made momma a drudge and has sucked the
soul out of her and a Father Daddy who, with the turning of each calendar
page a bit more and more of a tyrant. A scared tyrant. A man who exudes
fear. Fear of what I do not know. But he is not keeping the fear extant any
kind of secret. Though he thinks he does.

      I hunch into my darling as she takes her other hand and rubs my chest
and stomach and abdomen. I reach around her and hold to her as she fucks
me. It is such a hot night, even here in this cool house on this tall hill,
and I sigh and pant and sweat against her. We might be two rutting animals,
as opposed to the angels making love in the past that seems so very
distant/recent. I hold to her buttocks and I pull the cheeks of them
open. I proceed. And she gasps and lets go my breast, but not my pussy
lips.

      Our legs entangle. Our hearts beat erratically as I take my fingers
and push into her as we help each other tumble to the floor, for more
room. I finger fuck her as deeply as I can, fearful of hurting her, but
needing to show that she could have asked me to break it, and I am the
horse trying to get into the barn door now the barn door needs no getting
into. I feel her clitoris and I put my mouth to her neck and suck and kiss
as she holds her legs apart and allows me to straddle her and move up to
her chest and to her mouth.

      As she kisses my pubic hair and puts her tongue to my opening and
begins chewing me. It is so deliciously animal like now. We are going at
each other like I imagine boys go at girls. The moonlight casts us as bony
white creatures desperate to get into one another and stay there hie there
forevermore. As she fingers and sucks my pussy. As I have my hand behind me
and sticking into her, and we are close to that rapturous feeling that only
sex, and only love, can bring. And we cum. And we cum. And there is liquid
and we taste each other's and ours. And that is how it is, Mr. God
Almighty, sir..if we should not do such things, why are we able to, and
through that to show our love and rapture for one another? Go play with
your mountain of foreskins Sir.  We choose to make each other happy, if
that is all right with you.

      And even if it is not.

      We lie sweaty and close and slick and our hair is matted and tangled
and we are breathing fast and hard like beasts in the field on a hot hot
day.

      "Melody," I say in a weak voice, pushing some of her hair away from
my mouth.

      She looks at me as I say, "The broom handle. Melody, I would have
done it. I would have been gentle." My voice trembles a bit. I am hoarse
and will have to go for water to drink soon after we take our bath where we
shall no doubt play with each other some more.

      Melody contemplates for a while, and then says, kind of gaspy, "I
didn't want you to think badly of me, if I had cried."

      Ivory touched her younger sister's hair and whispered, "If you cry,
you come to me; if you are sad; you come to me; if you are alone, you shall
always have me. I am your sister, your lover, for as long evermore as you
should want."

      After they touched and held some more, it was time for a bath and a
cleaning up. Tomorrow was already here, though it was still very dark.
Today the school toad would sit and stare at the children all in the same
grade regardless of their age. Melody and Ivory would look at each
other. And at the stopped toad of time. And bide theirs. For night would
surely come again. For in it, rest assured, there would be again, the
making of love.