Incest Love

Loving My Sister

Long, straight, smooth hair has always been my favorite.
First and foremost, I adored long blonde hair. My first infatuation was with a girl named Lexi who rode the school bus with the most gorgeous mane of golden locks. I used to stand just behind her in the hopes of "accidentally" brushing into her, or even better, stepping too near so her beautiful hair would caress my face. Nothing was malicious at all.
Maryen, my sister, came next. As far back as I can remember, she always sported a long hairstyle. Her waist-length, very dark brown hair was completely straight. It wasn't until my love affair with long hair began with Lexi on the school bus that I noticed it (and her). However, my perspective on Maryen shifted when I "found" long hair; I no longer "saw" her. At 21, Maryen had transformed from being an annoying jerk who micromanaged me all the time when I was 18 into someone with admirable traits. Although she continued to be rather bossy and quite aggravating to me, I also found myself sneaking glances at her whenever she brushed her hair or took her ponytail out to see how her locks fell loose.
Then everything in my life shifted. With her hairbrush held in her right hand, she walked downstairs, her hair still moist from being washed and blow-dried. She accompanied me into the room, and our parents were already there, taking a seat beside her. "Could someone kindly brush my hair for me?" Maryen politely requested. I remained silent for a while so as not to come across as overly eager, but when she glanced about to check whether anybody had seen her, it seemed like I was the only one who showed even the slightest interest—of course, it was all an act. "Alright, then," I said, somewhat shrugging my shoulders. After taking the brush from her, I began to brush very delicately. My hand felt a surge of energy as I ran my fingers through her locks. How amazingly smooth and velvety it felt! Her hair was so lovely that I combed it while caressing it. It appeared to reflect many colors as it swayed; it was so straight and polished. The aroma was just delicious. For the rest of my life, I fantasized about burying my head in her hair. She must have sensed my enjoyment because I kept brushing; I have no doubt she did the same. Every so often, I caught a glimpse of the smile that graced her face. I brushed for what felt like an eternity because I couldn't bring myself to stop. Because I was in so much discomfort from my erection, I was afraid to move for fear of seeming foolish. The exquisite beauty of Maryen's hair mesmerized me, and my mind was racing. At last, she whirled around to thank me, but she was in a hurry and needed to leave. I already stated my willingness to do it again whenever asked.
Things between Maryen and myself changed slightly after that. Whenever our eyes met, a far more genuine and loving smile spread across our faces. She began to treat me like a brother and even a friend, despite the fact that I was over three years her junior.
She returned to the basement two days later, this time with a brush and her hair that was just barely damp. She handed the brush to me and said, "Would you mind, Anthony?" She didn't have to continue the question. Even though our mom was in the room, she quickly responded with an "absolutely not" as she reached for the brush. Electricity, scent, touch, and an erection were the same outcomes each time I combed her hair. Sitting behind her, I stroked her lovely hair while petting it.
This occurred multiple times in the subsequent weeks, and with each occasion, I became slightly more at ease brushing Maryen's hair. I progressed from touching her hair only in the most necessary places to placing my hand on her waist or even gently massaging her head and neck while I brushed. Oh my, I was really aroused every time, and I suddenly realized how much I wanted Maryen sexually. She began to close her eyes and breathe more deeply and deliberately as I ran my fingers over her hair, which caught my attention. We also began to act more "playfully" with each other, exchanging "glances" that were less like brother and sister and more like tugs of hair or elbows as we passed each other. "Oh, Maryen, it looks like your hair needs some love," I'd remark while walking up behind her and stroking her hair; in most cases, she'd just turn and grin.
I would brush her hair on a regular basis for the whole duration of this, which was at least a year. The 'intimacy' we shared began to strengthen our bonds as siblings and friends. She wore her hair nearly to her waist and seldom had it trimmed. I felt terrible shame since I began to dream about her and thought she was ideal.
When I was home alone one day, I sought out a photo of her. I looked all around her room, the living room (where our parents kept most of the family photos), and the guest bedroom until I found it in a high-up storage cabinet. My parents had apparently thought these pictures weren't family portraits, but I uncovered a set of them, and one of them was perfect for me. It was a senior portrait of Maryen, who was probably around my age (18) at the time. She seemed stunning, with her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The discovery made me break out in a cold sweat. My excitement was overwhelming to the point that I sprang for my bedroom, where I masturbated to the sound of Maryen's name being sung.
After much deliberation, Maryen had finally located the apartment that she felt was perfect for her, and she had been planning to move out for some time. Like you, I had intended to leave for university. Our "pseudo-intimate" relationship was certain to come to an end, since we were both aware of it. It wasn't until I gave it some thought that I felt sad; I still hadn't grasped the full extent of my feelings for her. I frequently pondered her emotions.
After a few weeks, as she prepared to leave her parents' house and move into her own apartment, she stood at the sink and washed her hair, her locks flowing and glossy behind her back. Except for us, the home was deserted. She expressed her desire for my physical touch as soon as we began conversing. Even though she seemed emotional, I understood what she meant. I also expressed my sadness at parting ways with her and my hope that she would come see me at college. That was her word. I crept up behind her and began to stroke her hair as we continued talking. She continued to speak for a few more minutes as I sat mesmerized by the beauty of her features, voice, and hair. Afterwards, she ceased her actions and became silent, but she maintained her gaze fixed forward. Even though I saw that she was staring into space, I persisted in delicately stroking her hair. On top of that, I found myself gently massaging her neck from back to front. As her breath became labored, she rose to her feet, closing her eyes. I stoop down until my chin brushes against the nape of her neck. Now I could feel her hair brush against my cheek, but she still kept her eyes shut. I bet she could feel my breath on her neck. My pulse was racing as I tenderly drew her back to me, encircling her in my arms. Despite my fears, she offered no resistance, and I planted a delicate kiss behind her ear on her neck. With a barely audible grunt, she shifted her gaze to meet me. As soon as she opened her eyes, we locked gazes, only a few inches apart. Oh, the desire to passionately engage in intimate relations with her, to carry her to my chamber, and to give her a passionate kiss. However, just as things were about to escalate, our mother's voice boomed out, "Hello, I'm home." Recognizing that no one was around, I instinctively leaned in for a brief kiss on the lips with Maryen. I said under my breath, "I love you, Maryen; I want to see you again." It was a foolish statement, because I would certainly see her again—after all, she was my sister. She must have understood my reply since she nodded and murmured "OK." as I retreated to avoid appearing suspicious to passersby.
Agony ensued during the following two days. I simply desired some alone time with Maryen, particularly because she had expressed, in so many words, that her feelings for me were identical to mine for her. Our parents were always there for her when she moved out, assisting with packing, organizing her belongings, cleaning her new apartment, moving in, settling in, making herself at home, and just being there to keep her company. My sister's lack of a partner was puzzling at first, but I eventually learned that it was mostly due to her extremely tiny breasts, which caused her extreme self-consciousness and, in turn, her lack of confidence. She is an absolutely stunning girl; therefore, I've always thought this was strange. Therefore, dad was doing the part of a good parent by pitching in whenever he could. I tried my best to help out wherever I could, but I was really annoyed by how little time we had