I Need to Process This

This is the second part of this story, and it would probably make more sense to read Chapter 1 first. I hope you enjoy the story which is, as I said previously, a complete fantasy, Please comment and vote. Thank you.

I drove down to the hospital in the morning and met up with Mel, who looked pale and tired, with red-rimmed eyes, and she struggled to raise a smile when she saw me. She still looked gorgeous, though. We went to see Mum again, this time in the Chapel of Rest, where she looked incredibly peaceful.

We stood a while, side-by-side but in our own private worlds. Breaking the silence, I said, “I’m glad she saw us together before she died.”

Mel turned and looked at me with a frown on her face. “Why?” she asked, in a slightly querulous tone.

“Um, I dunno. Well, she said so. She said it was what she wanted, and I’m glad. You know, glad she saw us together.”

“Oh. OK, yes, she did say that.”

I should have kept my mouth shut. We stood there for a few minutes more, then we went to sit with the bereavement team while they explained the processes we had to go through.

Unfortunately, because it was the weekend, we could do little or nothing. No undertakers were working, the local Registrar’s office was shut, the solicitor wasn’t there. Limbo, until Monday morning. Mel and I sat in the room set aside for bereaved relatives and talked about what to do next. I told her that I was going to stay and, at the very least, sort out Mum’s beloved garden, which I’d seen was in a bit of a mess.

“Do you want my help?” she asked.

“No, I really don’t, I don’t want to spend any time with you at all, thanks,” I didn’t say. Instead, I lied: “If you want to help, why not? But don’t you need to get back to Doug? Things to do? I mean, I can manage on my own. There’s not a lot to do, and it won’t take me long.” Did it sound obvious that I didn’t want her company?

Well, yes, apparently. “OK,” Mel said. “You’ll be better on your own, sorting it out. I’d just get in the way. I’ll get back. See you on Monday. Yeah? If you want me to help then, that is. Let me know, OK. Yeah?” She stood up quickly, walked to the door, then turned to face me. “I’ll come back Monday. Unless you’d sooner deal with it all on your own. Text me. Or call me. OK? Yeah.” Her face was flushed and she had tears in her eyes, but she turned on her heel and walked out of the door before I could say a word.

What the fuck? She’d have to come back on Monday because there were things to do, but I was already dreading the prospect. Had I been really rude and unkind to her? Yes, I know I had — it was a reaction to how rude and unkind she was to me. Although that didn’t make it right.

I followed Mel out of the room and out of the hospital building, but she must have been running, because she was nowhere to be seen. I sighed heavily, kicked myself for being such an arsehole, went to my car and drove back to Mum’s place, picking up some provisions on the way.

I spent the day in the garden, which wasn’t hard work, although I kept getting interrupted by neighbours either wanting to know what had happened or wanting to say sorry for what had happened. They all asked about the funeral arrangements, and I got them to write down their details so I could let them know once things were settled.

Most of them also wanted to know about Mel (“Such a lovely girl, such a credit to your mum” and all that bullshit) and in between these visitors, I thought about her. I’d like to know about her as well: for example, why couldn’t she treat me like a fellow member of the human race, never mind treating me as a family member. Maybe she was just one of those people who have always been blessed with good fortune and who have no idea what it’s like for the rest of us. And yes, you’re right — that was no excuse for me treating her so badly.

I’d checked the weather forecast and found it was going to be one of those typical English Summer weekends — warm and sunny on Saturday, then wet and miserable on the Sunday. So, I pushed on and I got everything in the garden sorted by early evening. Then I had a quick shower before heading off to a pub for fish-and-chips and a couple of pints. The pub filled up as I sat there like Billy No-Mates, and by the time I’d eaten I didn’t feel like having a third pint, so I walked back to the house, thinking of Mel on the way.

It was utterly depressing. I was now convinced that, whatever happened over the next week or so, once the funeral was over, I would never see her again. That shouldn’t have bothered me: she’d treated me like shit for as long as I could remember, so the fact that she was doing so now was hardly surprising. But she was my sister, my last living relative as I kept reminding myself… And, to repeat, although we’d never been close, I fancied her like fuck. It was not a good place to be.

When I got back to the house, I had a glass of wine, watched TV for a while, then staggered up to bed. I fell more-or-less immediately into a slightly drunk sleep, woken up a couple of times by the need to go for a piss, and by claps of thunder announcing the arrival of Sunday’s wet weather. I was fully awake by six and lay there thinking about, well, guess who.

I wasn’t sure why I was so fixated on Mel. OK, she was absolutely gorgeous, and that was probably reason enough, even if she was my sister. I had only seen her once in over 12 years, but she’d hardly changed at all, other than to become even more beautiful to look at. She still had the luxuriant black hair, the soft, flawless complexion, the magnificently high and rounded breasts and a wonderfully strokeable arse. Sad that she was such a miserable sod — I really would have to stop thinking about her.

I spent Sunday morning sitting at Mum’s large kitchen table as the rain poured down outside, working out what needed to be done in the following days – whether or not I would be doing it on my own or sharing the jobs with Mel. There was a lot to think about, but I know my way around the internet so by mid-afternoon I was well ahead, albeit surrounded by pages of notes and printouts of websites, spreadsheets and the rest.

Then Mel arrived. It was just after three when her hire car pulled up outside, and I watched as she got out and walked almost hesitantly to the house. She came in and stood just inside the kitchen door, taking in the clutter of papers and markers covering the table, and me sitting at my laptop. We stared at each other for a moment, in a kind of instantaneous Mexican standoff. As usual, she looked superb, albeit slightly damp from the rain, in a tight green tee-shirt and tailored jeans, but she had a slightly aggressive yet uncertain look about her.

“Hi Mel. This is a pleasant surprise,” I lied. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Would you like tea? I was just going to make one.”

“Am I interrupting? You look busy. Do you want me to go? I came back because felt guilty about leaving it all to you.” She waved her hand around uncertainly, as if to indicate both my busy-ness and the ‘all’ that she had left to me.

I walked over to fill the kettle and put it on while saying, “No, of course there’s no reason for you to go. Thanks for coming back — we can talk about things we need to do. Tea?”

I waved a mug at her and she nodded. “Yes, thanks, tea would be nice. There’s a lot to do? I guess so. Where do we start? Do you want my help?” She sat down and looked at the papers on the kitchen table. “Or would you, um, well, do you want to look after it yourself? You say.” She looked at me as I poured the tea, and for a moment I thought she was going to cry. “I’ll do whatever you want. You say,” she repeated, speaking quietly and slightly shaking her head, then looking at me with that aggressive/uncertain look and shiny eyes. It was very disconcerting but also utterly heart-breaking.

As I sat down in the chair next to her, I said, “No, I’d much rather we did it together, Mel. I really would. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Doug’s father died three years ago, but Doug and his brother looked after that, with their mother. They didn’t want me involved.” Again, there was that look. I’d have to find out what bothered her, even if she never spoke to me again once I’d done so.

“OK. Well, none of this is easy for either of us, so I think if we stick together it would be much better. Yeah?” She nodded and half-smiled, and I raised my mug of tea in a mock toast. “Here’s to us, then.”

We spent the next few hours going through the stuff I’d found and talking about things we needed to do. It felt peculiarly close and intimate as we worked together, and Mel relaxed and smiled more, which was good. It was also great having a different mind on the issues, especially a mind as sharp as hers.

She was wearing what was probably expensive perfume, with a subtle delicate fragrance. As we worked close together, I kept getting traces of it and I had to work hard to keep my mind on the job — thinking about her could come later, once she’d gone.

When it got to about seven, we both decided we’d had enough for one day. “I’m going to get a pizza delivered,” I said, waving a leaflet I’d found. “Do you want one?”

Mel shook her head. “No, no thanks.” Then she stopped and thought some more. “Yes, OK. Yes, a pizza would be good.” She smiled, very briefly. “Thank you for asking me. The hotel doesn’t do room service.”

Ah OK, I thought. Not a burning desire for more of my company, then?

The pizzas arrived and we ate them in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of Mum’s wine — she had a fine stock of both reds and whites. We chatted a bit about what we needed to do over the following couple of days, and how we’d go about organising the funeral. We also made small talk about our private lives, but it was obvious Mel didn’t particularly want to share anything personal.

Still, I was grateful for her being there. It meant the next week or so didn’t seem quite so challenging, so I said “Thanks so much for coming back early, Mel. You didn’t have to, but I’m very glad you did.”

“I didn’t go home” she said, staring me in the eyes – with that look, of course.

“Ah. OK, well…” I was at a loss for words. What was I supposed to say?

She spoke urgently, her eyes flicking between me and something — anything – on the kitchen wall. “Yesterday, I thought you didn’t want me around, so I pretended to go home, but I went for a drive instead. I drove all over, up into the hills. Went for a walk. Walks. I sat in my car and thought. Then I went back to the hotel, to the Lodge. I nearly came over here last night but I thought you would sooner be on your own.” She said all this very quickly, tears running slowly down her cheeks which she brushed furiously away. “But I felt guilty today, so I decided to come anyway.” She looked down at her plate and tore off a piece of pizza, although she didn’t eat it.

“I wish you had come over last night,” I said with a smile. “I just went to the pub for a meal, but it was quite lonely. And I’m really glad you came over today.”

She said in a quiet voice, “Yeah, well, I’m glad I did too. But I’m sorry for lying to you. Sorry for going off on my own and leaving it all to you, the garden and all. And all this sorting.” She waved her hand to take in the neat piles of paperwork on the table.

I smiled and reached out to take her hand. She flinched slightly, and I thought she was going to snatch her hand away, but she didn’t. “Look Mel, we’ve both been through shit in the past couple of days and maybe you just needed that break, that time driving around, walking, all that stuff. Maybe I needed the gardening and the sorting out. We deal with things in our own way but, like I said, I’m really glad you’re here now.”

“Yeah,” she said, “me too.”

She didn’t look at me when she said this, and I felt awkward continuing to hold her hand, so I let go and grabbed the wine bottle. “Refill?” I asked.

She shook her head, then quickly drained what was left in her glass and abruptly stood up. “No, thanks. I’ll be going. We meet at the hospital in the morning? Nine?”

The intimacy between us was shattered. I was slightly taken aback, although I was kind-of getting used to these sudden changes of direction on Mel’s part, so I stood up and said, “Yes, nine at the hospital. Outside the almoner’s office?”

“Yeah, good. Thanks for being understanding, Davie,” she said, and then stepped quickly towards me and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks. See you tomorrow. Sleep well.”

That kiss completely threw me, as did the shy smile that accompanied it, and all I could do was nod and say, “Yeah, you too” before she disappeared off into the night. I stood there listening to the echo of her car driving away, trying to work out what the fuck had happened – and failing miserably. But I could still feel her soft lips on my face and the smell of her subtle perfume lingered in the air. Again, I thought: what the fuck?

I poured myself another glass of wine and sat at the table, sipping the wine and surveying the piles of paper, most with annotations in Mel’s neat handwriting. I really couldn’t get my head round the enigma that was my sister. Part of the time she was friendly, close and involved, but then she would withdraw into her shell at the drop of a hat.

I thought that might be a front, hiding a certain vulnerability. Which would be strange, because she was someone who, when I was growing up, had always been so completely invulnerable — always successful at everything she tried, always full of confidence. Yeah, it was probably wishful thinking on my part: I had enjoyed holding her hand — it made me feel close to her for a short while, although I don’t know that she had enjoyed it.

I reflected on the conflicts in my own feelings toward her. When we were kids, I had always wanted to be close to her, to be her friend, and that was made more difficult because she clearly didn’t want to be close to me. It did piss me off, and after she had married, I was probably happy that we completely lost touch, other than through the medium of our mother, who shared news about her with me — and presumably with her about me.

But we studiously avoided any direct contact: she didn’t come to my graduation, just as I had not been to hers, and Christmases and other ‘family’ holidays were also spent apart. Sometimes I worked — I earned good money manning a help desk at Christmas for my first employer — and once I even invented a girlfriend with whom I pretended to spend the festive season.

It was all terribly sad, but perhaps not that unusual. And now, through the death of our mother, we were sharing grief and, who knows, rebuilding our relationship. I hoped we would. In a strange way, and despite everything, I found myself wanting to take care of her: and whatever you think, that had nothing to do with the fact that I fancied the fuck out of her. Well, not just that.

OK, I thought, I’ll just get through the next few days and then see. It was going to be a trying time for both of us. The suddenness of our mother’s death was shocking, but I suspect it might have had a bigger impact on Mel than me, and I’d have to be there for her. There you go again — me wanting to care for Mel. More wishful thinking.

When I got to the hospital almoner’s office a few minutes before nine the following morning, Mel was already there, wearing a fitted shirt — a deep maroon colour this time — and a mid-length skirt. She looked lovely (when didn’t she?) and gave me a pretty welcoming smile.

The woman we saw in the almoner’s office could not have been nicer — I guess she was used to this kind of thing, but it was still reassuring to be given chapter and verse on what needed to be done. She even rang the registrar and got us an appointment within a couple of hours.

The rest of the morning was a whirl of phone-calls and meetings as we registered the death, then went to see the undertaker and told him Mum had always wanted to be cremated in a non-religious setting. He said he would arrange the funeral for the end of the following week, and we agreed to go and see him again in a couple of days. We retrieved mum’s bike from the security people who had taken it for safe keeping, and went to see the staff of mum’s ward to be told how much they would miss her. As if we wouldn’t.

After a quick sandwich and coffee for lunch, Mel and I ended up mid-afternoon at Mum’s house (our house now?) sorting through paperwork and stuff like that. We went through the clothes in Mum’s bedroom and the food in her kitchen and freezer, deciding what to do with it all: there were going to be some happy charity shops the following week.

I could manage to do all this dispassionately — Mum was dead, and nothing else mattered very much – and because she didn’t say much apart from “yes” and “no” when I made suggestions, I assumed Mel was dealing with it just as easily. But we were going through Mum’s store of home-made jam and marmalade when she suddenly burst into tears, putting her face in her hands and sobbing uncontrollably.

She’d turned and was nearly facing me, and I instinctively took a step towards her, putting my arms round her shoulders, pulling her close towards me, making comforting noises. If I’d had time to think about it, I’d probably just have given her my handkerchief, but I didn’t think.

She was still sobbing into her hands, and on to my shoulder. I gently stroked her hair, hoping it would help to calm her down. Her face was close to mine and I could smell her perfume and her hair, feel her soft breasts full against my chest, and almost inevitably I started to get an erection. Oh, for fuck’s sake, I thought — time and place, Davie, time and fucking place.

The tears subsided and Mel pulled slightly away from me, looking up at my face. For a moment I thought she was going to bawl me out for getting hard, but she just gave a brave smile, and apologised for being silly. If she had felt my boner, she was hiding the fact very well. “It just seems so sad,” she whispered. “Her life is all here, and it’s being dismantled. I know we’ve got to do it, but it just got to me. Sorry for being such a girl, Davie.”

I gave her my handkerchief and smiled in what I hoped was an encouraging manner. “It’s fine. I like you being a girl, Mel. One unfeeling male about the place is enough.” Not bad, eh?

I made us some tea, and we sat in silence as we drank it while Mel calmed down a bit. After that, we spent another hour or so sorting stuff into piles, but by early evening we were both tired. We debated about going out for a meal, but neither of us had the energy, so we decided to get a Chinese take-out — another leaflet I’d found among Mum’s post. It took about 20 minutes to work out our order, but it was fun to sit with our heads close together, reading the menu, debating the merits of different dishes.

I phoned in the order and went off to get it while Mel laid the table. All very domesticated. The food was actually very good and we washed it down with another bottle of Mum’s wine while we talked about arrangements for the funeral and when we should send out the notifications. Later, as we were clearing the plates away, Mel asked if I needed to get back to Manchester before the funeral. I told her I’d spoken to my partner Jim and that he was happy for me to stay as long as necessary.

In turn, I asked her about Doug, and whether he would be coming at the weekend, or whether we would not see him until the funeral at the end of the following week. “Erm, no,” said Mel hesitantly. “No, he won’t be coming.” She was standing near the table. She picked up her wine glass, took a sip, and looked at me in a challenging way. “He won’t be coming at all. We’ve split up. He left me.”

I was astonished. Whenever I’d asked, as I did to be polite, Mum had always said that Mel and Doug were incredibly happy. “I’m really sorry, Mel. When did that happen?”

“Six months ago. About.” She gave a humourless smile. “He’s traded me in for a newer version. Left me for a 25-year-old trader whose tits don’t sag, and who’s got no wrinkles.” She finished her wine, put down her glass and stared at me: there was that look again – slightly defiant, but with tears in her eyes.

I took a pace towards her and wrapped her in my arms for the second time that day. “He’s a fucking moron,” I said quietly into her ear. “I haven’t seen you for a dozen years or more, but I can tell you, you’re even more beautiful now than you were before, and you were bloody gorgeous then.” I drew her closer and she lowered her head to my shoulder, crying softly, and she put her arms round me. Again, her smell, her softness, her closeness had the predictable effect, but this time my cock came up even harder, and I could feel it prodding into her stomach.

I pulled my groin away from her so that I was no longer pressing myself hard against her, although I could still feel her belly on my cock. She let go of me and stepped back. I muttered that I was sorry and she shrugged, shaking her head slightly, looking downwards. “It’s OK. It’s men. Not all men. Just… Anyway, don’t worry about it.”

Again, the spell was broken and intimacy between us had gone, blown away into the night. And whatever she said, I was going to worry about it. “So no,” she said with a humourless smile, “Doug’s not coming. He doesn’t even know that Mum is dead yet, not that he’ll be too worried.” She took a deep breath and stepped further back. “Anyway, I’d better be going. Lots to do tomorrow. Shall we meet up here in the morning? Nine-ish?”

I mumbled my assent, and she leant forward and kissed my cheek. “Thanks for being kind to me today, Davie. It means a lot.” And with that, she was gone.

The silence after she’d left was deafening. I was kind of relieved that she’d thanked me for being kind, because without that I would have been appalled at what had happened. I was still worried about it, though: it was bad enough having private fantasies about Mel, but actually getting an erection when I was trying to comfort her was dreadful. It had happened twice within few hours, and her saying “It’s men” showed she must have felt at least one of them. It would have been impossible not to. Oh, for fuck’s sake!

I grabbed the wine bottle and poured the last half-glassful and drank it slowly. I’d have to apologise to her, promise not to let it happen again, and from now on behave myself and keep my fantasies to myself. Mind you, once I’d stripped off, had a shower and climbed into bed, the thoughts of Mel came washing over me again. I’d had my arms around her because she was sad, so maybe that is why she was so meltingly soft, but the sensation of holding her was utterly wonderful, and it all came flooding back.

Immediately I was hard, and as I closed my eyes, I could again feel her body, smell her hair, sense once again the soft fullness of her breasts, her thighs against mine, my cock prodding into her stomach. It was all so real, and I lasted no more than a minute before the exquisite relief came and I shot cum all over my belly. But as soon as I had finished, the full horror of what had happened during the day came back to me.

I buried my head in my pillow, groaning out loud at the thought. No use, I would just have to avoid holding her again, because I knew I was going to get hard every time and if I did it a third time, Mel would probably knee me in the balls. Or cut them off. I’d apologise to her tomorrow. I just had to find the right time.

In fact, the following day was really busy. We rang the solicitor and arranged to meet him the following day, then we went and had a look at possible venues for the post-funeral buffet lunch. After that it was back to the house for more sorting out, so that by early evening, we were well on top of the various things we had to do.

We had talked about cooking one of Mum’s frozen meals — she had lots – but decided to leave that until for another day, and instead went out for something to eat. There was an Italian place not far from Mel’s hotel, so we drove there in Mel’s car — I’d walk home after the meal — then strolled over to the restaurant and settled down at a corner table. It was quite early, so it wasn’t crowded.

We ordered drinks, and there followed a slightly awkward silence that ended when we both started speaking at once and then went into one of those “Sorry, after you,” “No, after you” exchanges. Mel insisted that I speak first, so I took a deep breath and said “We, erm, well it’s embarrassing for me, and I guess, well, for you as well, but maybe not.” Hardly the most articulate way to discuss not-very-random boners. Another deep breath, and I continued, “The thing is, I just wanted to talk about, you know, about the elephant in the room… about, you know…”

Before I could apologise for my involuntary erections, Mel said, “Yes. It’s something we need to talk about, and I’ve been trying to find the right time, ever since, you know, the hospital.” She had tears in her eyes, and I was completely confused: did I have a hard-on at the hospital? “It’s more difficult because you’ve been so nice, and I know I don’t deserve it, the way I treated you.”

Where had this come from? Had she really not felt my erections? It felt massive to me, but maybe my dick’s not that big? She paused for a moment, looking down at the wine glass in her hand. I waited – all will be revealed, I thought. She took a sip of wine and said, “I was shitty to you when we were growing up, and I know that I hurt you a lot. Especially when… when… you know. I’m really sorry about everything, but especially about that.”

Oh, that. I looked at her and smiled. I hope my relief didn’t translate into smugness. “Honestly, Mel, don’t be. OK, so it was a bit embarrassing at the time, but I don’t think it harmed me — it was no more than what I did to myself if you think about it. I got over it. The really sad thing is that we didn’t really talk for all those years, when I should have been there for you. All it would have taken is a phone call from me, but I wasn’t man enough.”

The waiter loomed over us, and we quickly ordered before carrying on. I said, “I feel dreadful because Mum tried so hard to get me to speak to you, but I never did, and I’m sorry for that. She’d love to have seen us out together like this.”

Mel smiled and said, “Yes, it would have been good. As you said on Saturday, it was good she saw us together before she died.” She paused. “I was shitty to you about that as well, wasn’t I? I am sorry, so sorry for everything I did to you. I promise I’ll try to make it up to you. I promise not to be shitty again. Promise. Mind you, I might break my promise, but if I do, remind me.”

I reached out and stroked the back of her hand. “It’s in the past, Mel. I was just as nasty to you, but we’re not going to let it happen again. We need to stay close, for both our sakes. So, forget it. Yes?”

She picked up her glass, raised it slightly towards me and said, “I won’t forget it, but yes, here’s to us. We need to be there for each other.” We chinked glasses, and Mel said “So how about you? You’re still not married?”

“Nope,” I said with a smile. “Still resolutely single.”

She stared at me with a slight frown. “Umm. Do you mind me asking? Er, are you, well, not that it matters of course, but are you gay?”

I laughed, probably too loudly, and said, “Me? Gay? Hell no! I’ve had a few girlfriends, just nothing special.” Another pause.

She looked unsure of whether to continue, but took a breath and said, “OK. It’s just, with you not being married and so on. And at the wedding, I know it was a long time ago, but you didn’t really dance with any of the girls. And Mum never mentioned any girlfriends. Then yesterday, you said you had spoken to your partner, Jim you said, to say you’d have to stay another week. I mean, what’s that about?”

I laughed. “Jim’s my business partner. Jim the nerd. We work together and make money.” I laughed. “Even if I were gay, I wouldn’t fancy him. He’s ugly as sin!”

She smiled, but looked slightly puzzled. “Ah, OK. But when you held me, yesterday, when I was being silly, it felt so unthreatening, so natural. I mean, I know it should be like that, you being my brother and so on, but it felt like you were gay.”

I shook my head and laughed. “Well, that’s good. You obviously didn’t feel my erection?” Fuuuuck! Where did that come from? Where’s the delete button? “I’m really sorry, Mel. So sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I apologise. I’m really sorry.”

Mel sat back in her seat, and looked down at her glass. I thought she was going to throw her wine all over me, but instead she said in a serious voice, “It’s OK, Davie. No problem.” She took another sip of the wine and looked at me, leaning forward with her arms on the table. “But maybe not talk about that? It’s not a problem, honestly it’s not. It’s just a bit of a surprise, and I need to kind of, well, I need to process it. OK?” I nodded, and she said in a bright, somewhat brittle voice, “Change the subject, eh? Good idea?”

“Yes. Very good idea.” As I said this, the waiter — with impeccable timing — arrived with our food, giving me time to hide my blushes. Once he’d served and gone away, I asked Mel if she wanted to talk about Doug, and what had happened there. “No problem if not,” I said, “but just to talk about it might help.” Anything to take the subject away from me and my over-active cock. Fuck!

“There’s nothing to talk about, really,” said Mel. “He just stopped loving me, assuming he ever really loved me in the first place.” Mel paused, looking at her plate and moving a piece of avocado around. “Well, it was OK to start with, but it got worse five or six years ago. Six. We’d been trying for kids, unsuccessfully, and we went for tests. You know, sperm count and so on. And… Well…”

She put down her knife and fork and wiped her eyes with a tissue. “They found out I had a problem with my ovaries. It meant I couldn’t have children. Doug’s sperm was a hundred percent. You know, all man.” She looked at me and gave a humourless smile, then shook her head, almost angrily. She didn’t speak for a few minutes, and I put my hand out and stroked the back of hers. She looked up, smiled, and squeezed my hand.

“I’m really sorry Mel,” I said. I waited a moment before asking, “So what happened?”

“He, well, he was sympathetic to start with, but it bothered him, especially as his mother and father kept going on about it, asking when they would hear the patter of little feet and all that shit. He didn’t want to tell them. Like he was ashamed. You know, the biblical thing? The barren wife?”

“Cowardly prick,” I snorted. “He didn’t deserve someone as lovely as you.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Davie.” She sipped her wine, and waved her hand to one side, almost dismissively. “It wasn’t how he saw it. Then, about three months later, the doctors said I should have a hysterectomy, to prevent any longer-term problems. And that’s what they did, and that made it final.”

“I didn’t know, Mel. I am so sorry. I had no idea. Mum never mentioned it.”

“No, I know. She didn’t know. I didn’t tell her. Not sure why. Maybe I was ashamed as well. But nobody knew, and Doug and I never talked about it. You’re the only person I’ve ever told. Sorry for burdening you.”

“It’s not a burden, Mel, absolutely not. I’m glad you told me. I just wish I had known before. Just wish we could have talked about these things.”

She sighed deeply. “Yeah, it would have been good to have someone to talk to. Someone nice.” She looked down at her plate, and shook her head. “I’d like to have talked to you. I mean, it’s good to tell you now. Anyway, now you know.” She looked up and smiled at me and nodded. “Now you know.”

“You really are incredible, Mel. So brave, and you handled it all on your own.” I reached out and squeezed her hand again. “That never happens again, OK?” I said urgently. “You don’t do stuff on your own. You’ve always got me, understand? Always.”

She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. “Yeah. That’s good.” She laughed. “Even if you’re not gay.”

We finished our meal, talked some more about Doug and his new 20-something child-bride, about my business and my non-gay partner Jim, and then we walked slowly back to Mel’s hotel. Saying goodnight could have been an issue, but Mel simply put her arm round me, kissed me quickly on the cheek and said “Thanks, Davie, thanks for everything. It’s been lovely. Take care and sleep well.” Then she waved, and walked into the hotel before I had the chance to say anything.

The following day we had a meeting with Mum’s solicitor, an elderly man called Barrett whom she had been using all her married life. Mum had planned it all out, including paying his bill several years previously. “There was an annual augmentation,” he said, “an arrangement which suited us both. Of course,” he smiled mordantly, “I must now start to earn my keep.”

He was quite sharp, though, and to be fair he had the initial paperwork sorted out, ready for us to deal with. It took an hour to get everything out of the way, at the end of which Barrett announced, rather portentously, that we should convene the following week for the reading of Mum’s will: “On Thursday afternoon, if I may suggest, unless that coincides with the obsequies?” I’d seen that word written down before, but never heard it used, so I just shook my head. We didn’t know exactly when the funeral would be, but we’d keep Thursday afternoon free. Barrett nodded slightly to show his approval.

After a quick lunch, we went back to the house to carry on with sorting things out. Mel seemed happier much today, and pottered around humming to herself, dealing with different rooms. Meanwhile, I had managed to hack Mum’s computer — not difficult, given that I’d set it up for her — and put together an email list for the funeral invitations.

We stopped at around seven and, having discussed and discounted the idea of going out for a meal again, we ate one of Mum’s fish pies that I had defrosted earlier in the day. We raided mum’s collection of wine, and drank a very nice Pinot Grigio with the fish. We’d cleared the plates away, and were sitting on the sofa in silence, listening to music, when Mel turned to me and said, “So can I ask you? You know, what you said yesterday about getting, sort of excited, when you gave me a hug?”

Bloody hell, this was going to be so embarrassing. “Yes, Mel, I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s OK, Davie. Just a bit of a shock, that’s all. You know, after what’s gone on before?”

I looked down at my wine glass. What do I say now? I looked back at her, and in the half-light she looked utterly beautiful. I took a deep breath. “To tell you the truth Mel, I usually get an erection when I think about you. And I think about you a lot.”

Her eyes were open wide, and once more I thought she was going to sling the dregs of her wine all over me. “Gosh, so you’re definitely not gay!” She smiled, sadly. “It’s a pity we’re brother and sister, isn’t it?”

I laughed. “Yeah. I wish you’d been telling the truth when you told everyone I was adopted.”

“I suppose so. It is kind of flattering, though. Maybe it shouldn’t but it makes me feel like a woman. More of a woman. Makes me feel attractive.” She laughed. “So, when do you think about me? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

“When I masturbate. I think about you when I wank. Think about you wanking me.” Did I just say that out loud? Oh, come on, get a fucking grip, Davie.

There was a ringing in my ears and I waited for her to come flying at me with a kitchen knife. But instead she just cocked her head on one side and said “Really? You think of me? Doing it to you? I know when, you know… but that was a long time ago. Isn’t that a bit, well, weird, to think about it now? You know, your sister doing it?”

“I think we should stop talking about it, Mel. I’m really sorry… I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I think the wine has loosened my tongue. Sorry. We should stop.”

“I don’t mind. It’s intriguing. Like I say, a bit weird maybe, but not too much.” She laughed lightly.

“More than a bit weird, Mel. Definitely weird.” I shook my head. “But I never stopped thinking of you, even when you avoided me. I don’t think I’ve every masturbated without thinking about you. Every time. Sorry, too much information there, but you did ask.” I could hear the words, but couldn’t believe I was saying them. This was going to end badly. I just knew it.

Mel smiled and shook her head. “Yes, I did ask, and you answered.” She paused for a moment, as if thinking. “It’s OK. Just a bit of a shock to the system. But at least there’s one man in the world who finds me sexy, even if it is my own brother.” She finished her wine and put down her glass on the table and looked straight at me, her head on one side. “You think about me literally every time? Wow!” She laughed. “Sorry, Davie, I shouldn’t pester you about it.”

“Yep, every time. I think about you every time. Last night, the night before. Tonight.” Oh, shut the fuck up, will you.

“Amazing. I can’t believe it. And all these years I thought you hated me.”

“Like I said, my only regret is that you are my sister.” Oh hell, what a nasty thing to say. “Sorry, Mel, I shouldn’t have said that. I like having you as my sister.”

She looked at me as if hearing it for the first time. “No, it’s OK.” She paused, looking at me. “Right,” she said. “So, I’ll probably regret this in the morning, but let’s go upstairs.” Abruptly she got to her feet and stood close to me. “Come on, before I change my mind.” I got shakily to my feet and followed her out of the room. As she started up the stairs, she turned to me. She was slightly looking down on me. “No sex, OK? I’ll play with you, but nothing else. Yes?”

She turned and carried on walking upstairs. I muttered my agreement and stumbled after her up the stairs. Did she really say she was going to play with me? Was this really happening? I followed her into my room. Good job I had made the bed. She said “OK, are you going to lie down?”

I was breathing deeply and I nodded, not able to speak. I undid my belt, and started to take down my trousers. “Lie down,” Mel said, taking charge. “I’ll do that.” I lay on the bed, and Mel knelt to pull off my shoes and socks. Now she eased my trousers down and neatly folded them over the foot of the bed. How bizarre was that? She pulled off my shirt, put a pillow under my head, and then knelt down between my outstretched legs, stroking my cock through my boxers. She smiled, and said softly, “You get hard very quickly.” I nodded. I didn’t dare speak, in case the spell was broken.

Slowly she eased down my shorts and my dick spilled out. I had been for a wax the previous weekend, and it was smooth and clean. “Wow, it’s lovely,” Mel said. She smiled at me. “Though I am not an expert.” Slowly she began to run her fingernails up and down my cock, using her other hand to do the same on my ball-sac. Then she wrapped one hand round the shaft, using the other to cup my balls with a fondling motion. Slowly she moved her hand up and down, round and round. The pleasure came in waves, a growing feeling of sheer ecstasy. I found myself holding my breath, and Mel stroked my belly with the flat of her hands, whispering in a husky voice, “Breathe, Davie, just relax.”

Her hands were everywhere on my body, one moment tweaking my nipples, the next between my thighs and playing with my arse. She pressed behind my ball-sac, stimulated my prostate, she stroked my inner thighs, she fondled my balls and she rubbed the palm of her hand gently over the head of my cock. The feelings continued to grow, and she alternated the speeds of her movements, one moment hard and quickly, then slowing down to an almost imperceptible touch of her palms.