I couldn't control my tears. I had shamelessly given in to Rudra. I was shaken by a sudden tremor, because I thought I was going to lose my brother. I adored him as my kid brother.

Papa, on his deathbed, made me promise to take care of Rudra until he's old enough to take the responsibility of his life. That solemn oath had formed a deeper bond between us and kindled in me a passionate maternal feel for him. Until now, Rudra had been my guide and company in difficult times. Now in this trouble, which concerned him, I had none to talk with. I thought of Rajesh. He was the most useless person in this dilemma.

Disheveled and sprawled, I lay on my back. My tears had waned. My t-shirt rode up, showing my curvy midriffs. The white-pleated skirt I wore for the evening rolled up on my thighs. My big, conical breasts were brooding with twisted anticipation.

After an hour or two, Rudra entered my room. He switched on the light. My morose, piercing look failed to diminish his spirit. Sitting at my feet, facing me, he held my right foot and put it on his lap. My handsome brother gazed at me lustfully.

I was not decent at all. My brother's shameless eyes were making me sexier every moment. He had been staring at my panties. This evening I put the best pair from my generous wardrobe. They were pink, shiny, and silky. They didn't have a lace. But they're a nicely-cut pair of undergarments. They didn't make much contrast with the tone of my thigh muscles. That's why I wore them this evening.

I, of course, hadn't thought I would open my legs in front of my brother. But the sheer desire he expressed in his diary had made me feel sexy all over. And I couldn't but wore my best panties and best, matching bra, just to feel erotic.

The panties felt good, especially on my ass, because of their satiny smoothness. My clitoris became extra sensitive under their silky friction and it was almost oppression for my love-bud as I was being aroused. The crotch was still dry, but hot and humid.

Under the stroke of my brother's gentle hands on my feet, my entire body was radiating the heat of desire. I felt it in my armpits. I felt the heat of my breaths on my cheeks.

I was most aware of my genitals: their sweet throbbing under my brother's lustful eyes. Yes, the mark of the first patch of my secretion was there, on my silk panties.

A wicked spirit enticed me to behave wickedly. I wanted to shed shyness. I wanted to act like an erotic goddess and took my brother along the course of my perversion. I wanted to give him the best of my sisterly and maternal self, the tenderest erotic pleasure I could muster. I would dance naked if it pleased him. I'd talk dirty. I'd be bitchy. Because he would give me his virginity.

Aha. The thought of his virginity, my pussy tunnel around his virgin cock, made me hotter. I gave mine to Rajesh who had given his to a distant aunt who had forced him when he was younger. I wished I had been a virgin myself, for my brother: his touch on my virgin nipples, on my virgin sex.

It was not possible. What could I do? I would compensate for the lack of my virginity with my experience. The young poet wouldn't want to fuck a shy girl. He needed an experienced one. The boy who had red Odyssey and Iliad and all the novels by D. H. Lawrence and Iris Murdoch and who dreamed Lady Lamb's pubic hair in Lord Byron's tiffin box mustn't have had his life's first hug from a banal virgin. Yes, he'd get what he deserved. "Has Rajesh ever told how beautiful are you, Anita?" My brother said. His agile fingers crawled on my feet and spiraled across my toes. "See," he said, "how soft and shapely your heel is."

"This is not decent, baby. To invite your sister's heel to embrace your penis," I smirked and pressed my heel onto his growing manhood which agitated from across his jeans. His concealed organ seems to have no limit.

We were making the same effort. Trying to see inside of each other's. I knew what he was thinking was not much different from my thoughts. We were thinking of a life-long relationship, of forming a domestic couple, we were considering marriage, children, society. As if we were old lovers. I couldn't but laugh that this new course of our relation was sparked off by the sight of a pair of my panties.

The solid muscles on my brother's chest and arms were pushing against his shirt. I'd never seen my brother happier. He's looking at the naked parts of my body. He was not trying to hide the blush of his anticipation as he was gazing at my breasts.

I fell prey to a sudden temptation to uncover my breasts. I was positively troubled that my personality was sexually responding to Rudra's overture. My nipples straightened as a reaction to his stare. The hollow of my navel cringed and the soft muscles around it quivered. A whispering air wafted on my naked thighs. I was no less happy than my brother.

"Sis, I have never thought I would get you," Rudra said, stroking my calf muscles. "The night outside is serenading my love for you. Don't fidget on it, Anita. I understand how troubled you are. I am taking -- from now on until my death -- the responsibility of all your troubles, including the present one, on my shoulders."

Rudra's shoulders were broad and strong. He flexed them fatherly. He had achieved this easy way of synchronizing all his words with his body. In the past I had been protective of him and never thought of my own protection. Now Rudra was making my worries disappear with his knightly presence. He was reviving -- or just giving life to the hidden woman in me -- the feminine self which was hidden under my sisterly and motherly responsibilities as an older sibling.

Rajesh had never kindled this kind of feel in me. It's a shame that I had to compare Rudra with Rajesh, who could, at best, be a dream-groom to only an ambitious careerist woman whose entire tenderness was squandered for the favor of the superior people, leaving nothing for her man except her disused womanhood. Rudra surpassed every young man in our little town in every way: personality, physical structure, health, education, and maturity. My father entertained himself with Wordsworth. Rudra could recite half of Keats' and Shelley's poetry from memory. Rudra's world was without limit or horizon. It's pity that he was craving me as his woman.

'What if someday he finds me unworthy of him, like other girls, with no depth, no inclination to finer things like poetry.' I sudden fear jolted my feminine soul.

Rajesh would come to me only to fuck, because he'd not learned to masturbate. Now it was clear that he was after me only to take care of his groins, to calm his hard penis with whatever provisions my impromptu womanhood could produce. The rest of his body had no want, no response, so it could not satisfy my need for love. Now Rudra, my brother, was here, ready to satisfy my need for love. The doors to the hidden caves in the depth of my heart were opening. I was afraid to expose them to Rudra.

"Rudra," I retorted. "What made you think that you have got me? You have got me, but only as your sister. You may also take note of the fact that you have got your mother in me. That's the way I have been taking care of you. I am not much older than you, yet I have a deep maternal feel for you. But how come have you thought that you have got me as your lover only because that you have sucked on a pair of my discarded panties and taken custody of a strand of my pubic hair?"

I gasped for air after this polemic. Rudra was agitated. I hurt him.

"Anita," he whined. "Do you know how you have been behaving since the afternoon? You have been behaving like a confused teenager. By now you should know that we are predestined to be lovers. I am younger, so you should lead me. What you are doing is unbecoming of a mature lady who claims to be protective of me with maternal consciousness. I didn't expect you to read my diary. Now that you have read, now that you know my infatuation, you can't escape me. You don't know how I felt when I was out this evening. Aha, sis. This is love. No matter this love is for my sister, an utterly wrong person. But this is love which commands this world, which burns in heaven and freezes in hell. If only you knew how I felt about everything, how the streets slid under my feet, how the crackle of leaves in the trees levitated me, how my heart became liquid of an ocean in my chest. I shed some drops of tears for those who do not have what I have: a sister like you. Yes, this is how I got you. I got you in my love and it is eternal. You don't have the right to dismiss me, Anita. The ecstatic feel I had outside this evening is worth my life: now either that feel is nourished or I lose my life. There is only one way that feel can be nourished and that way is your requital of my love. Otherwise, I'll kill myself. The only thing I don't know how many people will I kill, how much life and property will I destroy, before I destroy myself. Your calm, temperate brother has died. He will revive if only you reciprocate his love."

My brother was an orator. I had always been a strong girl. He now made me a mess of jelly with his soliloquy. I had never seen him in such a tumultuous state. He was torn between his craving for me and fear of unattainability of his craving. He, therefore, wanted to attain it be sheer force of expressing his feel for me.

I was scared. It was love, I thought, that made me brood so much. I could easily deal with this unforeseen trouble in my life. I could threw my garments, opened my legs, pour a bottle of olive-oil in my cunt, and ask Rudra to satisfy his need as many times as he could. Then when he needed me no more, he could forget the whole drama. But I knew Rudra. It would have been as much an insult to him to fuck his sister like a whore or use her cunt one or two times as it was to me to be a one-time whore for my brother. Like Rudra, I had valued love above everything.