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Author’s note: This introductory episode of an extended romantic memoir includes punishment sex, and incest (coupled and group), and mezcal. Each episode can stand alone. The story is probably fairly fictional. All sexual acts involve live humans of age 18+. For readers’ convenience, most non-Anglish language communications are presented in loose Anglish translation. Your feedback is appreciated.
***** THE BOOK OF RUTH: Before Ruth *****
— 1978 — early summer
It is all my big sister’s fault.
If only Jill had been dumb, or cautious, or sedentary, or asexual, my life would be totally different. I could have lived a nice calm ordinary mainstream sub/urban Gringo existence.
But that did not happen.
I was always smart as a whip. Jill was always smarter. I was always adventurous. Jill went to seemingly reckless extremes. I always had a travel lust. Jill was as peripatetic and restless as a cranked-up ferret. I had good ears and eyes. Hers were better.
I look pretty good. Jill looks super. Everything I am, Jill is always more of, except taller and physically stronger. At least I exceed her there.
Jill was way ahead of me on domination.
“Oh, don’t be a whining wussy, kid! You know you’ll love it!”
“But Jill, we’ll get killed or raped or robbed or worse!”
“That’s not gonna happen, little brother. And you are NOT ducking out of this.”
“But why does it have to be me? Why don’t you take that asshole Alan?”
“Alan is out of the picture. And this is shit YOU need to learn and do. Now, get your stuff together. We’ll be up at first light. Be ready, or suffer.”
And so she forced me into her faded blue Volkswagen Bug. Well, she did not force me at gunpoint or anything, but I really had no choice, not when Jill gave orders. Like I said, she knows how to dominate. She will probably be a dictator some day.
No, I am NOT a wuss. But with Jill, obedience is the better part of survival.
I will admit I was both apprehensive and excited about our upcoming adventure.
Worried, because it was in (to me) strange, exotic, dangerous foreign territory. Thrilled, by the prospects of delving into the unknown, and meeting and fucking new people, and spending lots of quality time with Jill.
The equation: Fear vs Fun.
It is sort of like rock-climbing in the high desert.
I love scrambling over big piles of monster boulders. But a prudent rock-scrambler always carries a stick. Before stretching for the next handhold just over a ledge, poke and tap that spot with the stick. Listen for signs of life. We don’t REALLY want to reach the rattlesnake curled up there, marginally out of sight.
Any adventure is like that. We want the thrill, but prudence dictates caution. The name of the game is Survivable Adventures. Don’t grab the rattlesnake.
So, I let Jill maneuver me into this journey. It should be fun, and exciting, and I just hope we manage to avoid the (metaphorical) snakes.
As the song goes, “Please allow me to introduce myself…” and my big sister.
I am Randy. (And I am randy a lot, too.) She is Jill, except in Spanish-speaking lands, in which case she is Julia, because Jill is pronounced HEEL and she does not much like that. South of the border, we are just Randall y Julia.
Jill and I are tall slender youths with dark brown hair and hazel eyes that shade from dirt-ochre to chlorine-green, depending on our moods. She stands almost six feet high and I have a few inches on her. We are said to be good-looking.
We are both firmly muscled. We have sharp features, high cheekbones, dimpled chins, good teeth, and all-over tans. Jill has great firm tits and I do not, so we are pretty easy to tell apart. Her deep walnut hair is rather longer, too.
Jill is my slavemaster, and my muse, and my best friend forever and ever, amen.
Jill has always been crazy. When she was younger, she raised tarantulas, which was okay until they got loose and infested our house. No, they are not poisonous or dangerous to humans. But I sure lost a lot of friends because they or their parents freaked out and/or pissed or shat themselves.
I do not know how Mom took it for so long.
Jill has also always been bossy, and a bit sneaky, and quite determined. When Jill wants something to happen, it happens. Not always as planned, but something happens anyway. She sure keeps life frightening, and exciting.
— Across Southern California —
This trip began in late June 1978. I had recently celebrated my 18th birthday. Jill and I had both just graduated, me from our high school’s AP program, she with a junior college AA business degree.
We had the whole summer before us. We were stepping out.
Jill and I packed and lounged till Mom returned home from her 11pm-to-7am dispatch shift, and we showered. We all embraced in a nice full-contact bare-skin hug under the swirling spray. I felt so loved! And only a little randy.
I should mention this: We had been raised naked. We güvenilir bahis did not wear clothes inside our home. We had slept together naked all our lives, Jill and I, and often with Mom. No fucking, just cuddling, warmth, and togetherness. Our little family was close, very close, even closer since Dad ran off with a Thai waitress ten years earlier.
We kissed Mom goodbye, then dressed in our usual summer clothes: huarache sandals, cutoff jeans, tees. A long black-and-silver Led Zeppelin tee draped my tall torso that dull morning. Jill’s impressive chest was covered by a bright orange PHI KRAPPA ZAPPA tee of naked Frank Zappa squatting on a toilet. Yeah, slightly retro.
As the sun oozed up through the polluted skies to shine feebly on the smogberry trees, we left our little family bungalow in Santa Monica, near the Pacific Ocean. We drove east to EL Paso, then south to our destination: Taxco, Guerrero, Mexico.
(Yeah, the drive took a few days. No, we did not get killed, or raped, or robbed, or worse. Yeah, we got drunk along the way, and got fucked, and otherwise had fun.)
Fighting 150 miles of commute traffic took most of that first morning. Yuck. I only screamed at fucktard moron drivers a couple times. No need to pile on the stress, right?
The summer sun was high and mighty by the time we crested Whitewater Pass, the two-mile-deep gap in the coastal mountains, and dropped past sultry Palm Springs into the low Colorado Desert above the Salton Sea.
“Whew! It’s good to be out of suburbia. I love being on the desert again.”
“Yeah, and someday we’ll have to roll out here to Desert Hot Springs, get soaked and stroked and toked, all that good stuff.”
“What, you like D-H-S? I always thought it was tacky there. And all those wrinkly retirees! You know I prefer that bathhouse in Rancho Mirage.”
“I didn’t think you swung that way?” Jill smirked.
“Swung which way? I’m not queer!” I protested.
“Oh, don’t you know the saying? Out here they ask, ‘Are you straight, or do you live in Rancho Mirage?'” Jill chortled. “Nobody in Rancho Mirage has to go without a date on Friday night.”
“Nobody goes without dates around here anyway. This is where they grow’em.”
“Not date-shake kinda dates, dummy.”
“Mmmm, a Medjool date shake, that sounds good. You getting hungry?”
Belly-growls in stereo answered the question.
We stopped in grubby sun-baked Indio for Chinese lunch, then grabbed a couple date shakes for dessert. Time to refuel, too. I bought a mummified horny toad as a souvenir. It reminded me of Dad.
Heading east again, we saw a scrawny young denim-clad blond guy hitchhiking at the freeway onramp, clutching a small pack and a three-quarter-size guitar in a cheap vinyl case. I spun the wheel and pulled over next to him.
“Hi, I’m Hal, thanks for the ride,” he said as he squeezed himself and his gear into the Bug’s passenger-side back seat. My sister twisted around to talk to him.
“No problem. I’m Jill, this is Randy, and we’re off to see the world. Where you coming from, where you going?”
“I made pretty good time from San Bernardino. I got a summer job waiting for me in Flagstaff.”
“Well, we can get you to Phoenix, and Flag is just a few hours up the road from there. You’ll make it in no time, really,” I said.
We passed the SEA LEVEL sign, climbing out of the sunken Salton Sea basin.
“Groovy! So where you guys going?”
“The future awaits us in central Mexico,” Jill intoned dramatically.
“Oh, you gonna be sneaking back with some keys of weed maybe?” Hal leered.
“No, I have a little jewelry business. We’re going to Taxco (TOSS-koh) to work with my suppliers there.”
“Taxco? I’ve heard of that place. They got silver or something there, right?”
“Yeah, it used to have the world’s richest silver mines. They all were sabotaged and shut down a few revolutions ago. But now some of the world’s best silverwork and folk arts comes from Taxco. I find or commission designs, then bring it back to the states to sell. It’s really nifty stuff.”
“Wow, sounds great! How did you get into this gig?”
Jill took a breath and re-told her story.
“I finished high school in Santa Monica a couple summers ago and Randy is just now out. We’re around the beach-and-boardwalk scene around there, hanging with surfers and bunnies and sidewalk trinket vendors. Some of the surfdawgs and hodads wear silverwork with Taxco designs. I got the idea a Taxco link could bring me fun and money.
“A girlfriend and I drove down. She had family there and knew who to see. I showed some surf-type designs to the artisans. The pieces sold well, so now I have this business thing going. I’m back in Taxco a few times a year, during school breaks now. This is the first time I’ve managed to get this big shy lunk to come along.”
Jill punched my shoulder and smiled.
“So how do you sell the stuff you bring back?”
“I have a couple things going on. I have booths at the big winter gem and jewelry shows türkçe bahis in Quartzite and Tucson. I have a little storefront on the Venice pier. And I have a few vendors in places with high pedestrian traffic around Los Angeles. Randy here is gonna run that part of the business, once I break him in.”
Jill punched my shoulder again.
“Quit that, or I’ll tie you up on the first saguaro cactus I see,” I warned.
“Yeah right,” she said, punching me again, then leaning over to kiss my bruises.
“So there’s good money in this?”
I glanced in the rearview mirror as Hal asked this. His expression did not look dangerous. I was not really worried anyway; Jill and I both knew how to fight.
“Well, once expenses are paid, everything I make goes into savings. Someday I’ll be able to afford a better car than this old Bug. No, I’m not rich yet.”
No, not rich yet. But she was working on it.
— Across Arizona, With Benefits —
We crossed the Colorado River at Blythe. We spotted our first giant saguaro cactus, its bent arms reaching skyward. No, I did not tie Jill to it. But I was tempted!
We dropped off Hal in Phoenix. Jill flashed her tits at him as we drove off.
We picked up a couple of little Chicana hitchers heading for Tucson. One girl had to sit in the other’s lap in the VW’s cramped back. (My and Jill’s duffels were squashed in behind the driver’s seat.)
We chatted about happenings around the border region.
“So you’re going south?” Juanita said. “You sure don’t want to cross at Douglas, no way. That’s a bad route right now.” Her cute dark face showed worry.
“Yeah,” Muriel echoed, “some banditos like to set up between Piedras Negras and Nuevo Casas Grandes. That’s a lonely road. The cops don’t bother them ’cause they are, like, owned. The army ain’t around, they’re busy chasing rebels in Michoacan.”
“You’d do best to cross on the main El Paso-Juarez bridge. The Federales keep that route pretty clear and safe,” Juanita said. “And they only want little bribes.”
Muriel twitched her skinny butt in Juanita’s thin lap and sighed. “Nothing happens without la mordita. It’s all pay-for-play. Keep a pile of dollars handy.”
First rule of exploration: Gather as much local information as possible.
We dropped the girls in Tucson, stopped at a seafood place for dinner, and zoomed on — well, as zoomy as a fairly stock VW Bug can go. We ended our first long day just over the Arizona-New Mexico line in Lordsburg.
We took a one-queen-bed room at an offramp motel. We drank some wine, showered together, drank some more wine, and crawled into bed, pretty damn tired. Jill’s naked body felt good as she spooned into me. I love to feel her breath on my neck.
Neon flickered dimly through the Lordsburg motel-room window’s thin faded curtains. Truck and train noises echoed across the night. We were not quite asleep yet.
“Where are you directing your dreams tonight, sis?”
Sure, we had read about directed dreaming, and practiced it for a while. Focus on what you WANT to dream about. That sure is better than trying to sleep with futile fretting over yesterday and tomorrow.
Jill wrapped me tighter in her arms and spooned closer.
“Well, I’d thought I’d maybe focus on mazes and labyrinths. They make interesting designs and good dreams. But I have a better idea. Reality, not dreams.”
She tweaked my nipples. I twitched and chuckled, and reached back and tweaked hers, harder. She pushed my hands away and I laughed.
Jill pulled me onto my back. She rolled on top of me and straddled my waist. Her damp bush dusted my navel. She leaned down and softly kissed me.
“Sorry I wasn’t there for your eighteenth birthday party; I just had to be in Reno then. I couldn’t give you your reaching-adulthood present then. I’ll fix that now, okay?”
Jill leaned down again and kissed me more thoroughly. Her warm wonderful breasts pressed against my chest. Her vulva slid downwards; our pubic hair mixed together.
I moved my lips away from hers.
“Umm, Jill girl, I’m a bit nervous here. You sure you want this?”
“Nothing to worry about, guy. Really. Happy coming-of-age!”
“Well sure sis, we aren’t newbies or naive,” I pontificated. “We’ve had our lovers. And we’ve been close, and touched each other — but nothing further yet.”
Jill’s lips brushed my cheek. My lips said, “You’re my big sister. Where are we now? Where are we going?”
“Where we’re going, little brother, is ALL THE WAY!”
“Well yeah, that’s kinda obvious,” I whispered.
“Randy, you know I’ve loved you since forever. I know you really love me too. We don’t need to seal our love; it’s ours, it’s there, it’s forever. We’re just going to another level. We’re both adults now. I want this. I know you want this too, ’cause you’re not stupid, not nuts, and you ARE really horny.”
Truth be told, I was more nervous than freaked, more startled than guilty, about where we were headed.
We had not been brainwashed güvenilir bahis siteleri about sex and arbitrary rules. Yes, we DID have rules. The moral values Mom had inculcated in us were simple: Do not be assholes. Do not hurt others. Be respectful, responsible, and caring. And do not blab.
But Mom had not taught us the usual sexual neuroses. She encouraged masturbation, and up-close anatomy study, and being comfortable with our own and each other’s bodies as they are. No anorexia, no body shame, no fear of sex, not in THIS house.
So I was not really surprised my sister wanted to fuck me, and I should not have been surprised by the timing. Now was as good a time as any. It’s just that before now, fucking each other had not been an issue either way, not to me anyhow. “Nothing to get hung about…” as the song goes.
So yes, Jill wanted to fuck me, and I wanted to fuck her, and we were both adults, and we were naked in bed together, and she was rubbing her pussy on me, and…
…and she picked herself up, held my stiff cock in position, and lowered herself onto me. I gasped. She gasped. She stared intently into my eyes. I nodded to her. She nodded back, and raised herself up again, and dropped again. Her beautiful butt rested atop my thighs.
Our breathing and pulses synchronized. Our bodies throbbed in time to our hearts beating together as one, a deeper beat, a primordial rhythm.
My heart pounded and felt like it would explode. My blood roared in my ears. “I love you, Jill,” I whispered.
My big sister leaned forward, her breasts against my chest, and kissed me softly. “I love you too, baby.”
I thought Jill and I wanted to fuck each other. I was wrong.
We did not fuck. No, we joined. We made love. Long, slow, physical love. Deep, infinite, mental and spiritual love. We merged fully. We stayed joined all night. With our mouths and groins locked together, we drifted away into our shared dream. Zzzz…
— To Mexico And Back —
We put on less flamboyant clothes the next morning, suitable to slide past the icy-eyed border guards. We spun down through Las Cruces to El Paso and Ciudad Juarez, did the needed paperwork, passed the needed bribes — and we were IN!
I will omit the details of the drives to and from Taxco and the border. Not relevant here. Suffice to say, we made it to Taxco’s location on a steep mountainside way west of Mexico City with no major hassles, and none on the return trip either.
(Well OK, so we stopped over in a few towns, and got cheap rooms, and got drunk, and fucked a lot, and maybe scared some burros and goats and turkeys staked to graze outside our windows. It is not like that has never happened before, right?)
We shared driving the whole way, of course. Gotta stay alert at the wheel.
We spent three weeks in the decayed hilltop Taxco hotel Jill partly owned. Yes, her business had done well already, enough to make her a patrona. Her slightly decrepit owner’s suite was the perfect place for interfacing with locals.
Ah yes, interfacing. Business, yes. And some close personal interfacing. Jill knew people here now. People worth interfacing with.
Jill’s owner’s suite had living space and two bedrooms. The main room was her office, with desk, cabinets, one of those new costly electronic calculators, and even a phone. The bedrooms held noisy beds. Beds that stayed busy every night of our stay.
We arrived in Taxco whipped from the long drive. We only had strength to eat and shower and crash.
We crawled into bed and talked for just a few minutes before we passed out.
“After we do business during the day, you can expect guests every evening.”
“Yeah? Who’s coming tonight, Jill?”
“Getting antsy, huh? Carlos is my buddy here. He’s bringing his cousin Lucia for dinner with us, and for after dinner, too. Be nice to her, okay?”
“Hey, I’m always nice. Especially to girls. Especially when they look good. She look good? Better than you? Close, maybe?”
“Don’t go there, kid. Just be glad I have friends.”
We settled down and soon filled the room with our gentle snoring.
Carlos and Lucia were nice young folks. Slim, dark, good-looking. And horny. We kept those beds creaking that night, and following nights too.
After the hotel’s kitchen staff had served a great dinner and cleared the debris from the outside table on the owner’s suite’s rooftop terrace, we four lounged and sipped and toked and chatted, and gazed down at vertical Taxco’s night lights.
The jewel-like parrochia is the city’s shining gem, a spindly masterpiece of Mexican Baroque church architecture, looming over the tiny central plaza. A deacon at a nearer church launched the evening’s skyrockets with explosions echoing off the steep villa-lined hillsides. We heard the engine rumbles and tire squeals of Volkswagens climbing the near-vertical cobbled streets. Various musics drifted in from unknown sources.
I not-so-sneakily refilled our Mexican coffees, easy on the mezcal.
Jill was engrossed in conversation with solid stocky Carlos. His dark eyes often locked on hers, which had gone nearly candy green with suppressed excitement. I focused on Lucia’s olive aquiline features as she sipped at her loaded cup.
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