As the alarm went off I became aware of the stirring in my shorts. Not as much of a stirring as I would have liked. Certainly not the kind of raging hard on I’d get when I was in my teens or right up until my forties. Let me tell you, a man likes his morning wood. And when it starts to become a rare thing, it hits him, hard, if you’ll forgive that limp pun.
I’m 57. Indian. As in, Asian Indian, not among the Indians that Columbus mistakenly named.
Up until the age of 53 I was single. Yeah, yeah, that’s a rare thing among Indian men. Most of us bow down to Mummy and get married by the age of 30 or so. Because, you know, Mummy wants some grandkids.
But I was a maverick. Not for me the regular; marry by 30, have kids, then “drink yourself into oblivion as you curse your fate” route that most Indian men take. I had seen my father drink and smoke himself to death at the age of 58.
Anyway, I kept myself away from marriage until I was 53. Then I thought I needed a companion. So I jumped into marriage. The worst thing I had ever done.
She was a docile thing until the marriage certificate was inked.
We’d fucked before marriage, of course.
But after the certificate was issued she turned into some kind of Harpie who let me know in no uncertain terms that she had married me for my sperm. She wanted a kid within a marriage. I was expected to impregnate her and then she’d leave me as she raised OUR kid.
Well, I’m all kinds of a romantic fool but even I knew that it was a recipe for disaster. There was no way I was going to let a narcissist raise MY child. There had been episodes of violence on her part — a dining table she demolished with her bare hands when she got angry with me, a mobile phone she slammed on the floor, again, when she got angry with me… It was clear that I was dealing with someone who might slam our child to the floor in a killing rage if it innocently transgressed her boundaries.
The divorce went off pretty smoothly, all things considered. travesti gaziantep She decided that my sperm was not good enough, mainly because I couldn’t bring myself to fuck her any more. She was a beauty, no question about that. But beauty flies out the window when she calls you an impotent motherfucker. Yeah, I couldn’t get it up for her. She pranced naked for me but there was no love and I wasn’t 20 anymore, an age when I would gladly have humped her without regard to the consequences. She left me the house, declaring that she wouldn’t take away the only erection I had. She intended that to hurt and it did. But at least I had a roof over my head.
And so there I was, shamefully divorced, dealing with a dick that wouldn’t stand up any more. Or so I thought.
* * *
“Hey Bro, drinking yourself into a stupor?”
“Vanks? What you doing here? Well yeah, what else can I do? Got no money, no car, no hope,” I retorted.
It was my sister Vandita, fondly called Vanks (not why you think) who had walked into my house unannounced. She had a key to the house. It was a tradition in our home. We all had keys to each other’s houses and it was no big deal if a sibling came over.
“Porn not good enough for you?” she giggled as she opened the fridge and took out a pint of beer.
Now let me tell you, it wasn’t a thing in our home to discuss sex. We were a good Catholic family (yes, those exist in India) and porn was something we all knew existed but never acknowledged.
“Oh c’mon, Vanks, we aren’t teens any more!”
“How you coping after Shreya left you?” she asked, drinking straight from the bottle. My little sis wasn’t the kind to ask for a glass when a bottle would do just as well.
“Getting any pussy?”
I hiccupped. That kind of straightforward question wasn’t something I’d ever experienced in our family. But Vanks was a woman of the world. Married to a man who had business interests across gaziantep travesti the continents, she had travelled. And expanded her mind and vocabulary, I supposed.
“Oh come on, Bro. I know what a man needs.”
“Well, even if there was one available, I wouldn’t be able to fill it,” the bitter words slipped out. My impotence was certainly not something I wanted to discuss with my sister.
“Come here,” she said, sitting on the overstuffed sofa, “tell me everything.”
“What’s to tell?” I said bitterly as I sat next to her, “she destroyed my life. My sex life.”
“It won’t stand?”
“Then maybe you need some TLC.”
With that, she began to caress my head. There was nothing sexual about it. She’d done that for me many times when we were growing up together.
We sat like that, she sipping her beer, me sipping from my glass of whisky.
I don’t know how she did it but she had my head against her breasts after a while. It just seemed right.
“Shhh,” she said as she flipped her left breast out of her dress, “just do what you want.”
Without even thinking about it, I began to suck her nipple.
I felt her hand slide down my body. Her fingers unzipped me and took my flaccid penis out of my jockey shorts.
I felt her soft hand slide my foreskin back. In spite of myself, my cock had started to make precum, so the foreskin slid back quite easily. Her finger began to tease my cock head.
I felt her hand cup my balls as her finger continued to rub my sensitive cock head.
And then she grabbed my hair, turned my face upwards and kissed me full on the lips. I had not had that kind of kiss for a long, long time. It didn’t even occur to me at the time that it was my sister who was kissing me so sexually.
My tongue parted her lips and thrust into her mouth. It was welcomed and engaged lovingly. I felt her suck gaziantep travestileri my tongue.
My cock started to harden.
And then she disengaged from me.
I groaned in frustration.
“Trust me, big brother,” she said in a sultry voice, “I know what you need.”
She sat back opposite me. I couldn’t help but look at her thighs. This was my baby sister… now nearing fifty, but still my baby sis, still fucking sexy!
She slowly hiked her skirt upwards. I saw her panties. That was forbidden, right? A man had no right to see his grown sister’s panties.
And then she slid her panties down and off and opened her legs.
Her bush was trimmed. Vague images from dad’s porn mags in the seventies came to mind.
“Do you like my cunt?”
My cock came to full mast. Hearing my little sis talk like that had me going.
“Do you want to be a bahen chod?” she asked.
Bahen chod is a cuss phrase in India. It means sister-fucker. To hear my sister use the phrase made my cock throb.
She parted her pussy lips.
“I know you’ve wanted to get into my choot (pussy),” she purred, “I know you watched me in the bath.”
I was no longer myself.
“Come fuck me, big bro,” she commanded.
I threw myself onto her. She expertly caught my cock and guided it into her wet pussy. I felt her vaginal walls grip my cock. That hadn’t been what I had felt when I had fucked my ex-wife.
I felt her breasts against my chest as her pussy gripped my cock.
All the while she talked dirty to me.
“Remember how you peeked at me, big bro? Remember how you stroked your cock as you saw me naked in the bath?”
“A girl always knows. Now fuck me, you sister-fucker! Shoot your cum into my cunt!”
I felt her cunt walls grip my cock as I thrust into her. Her bare legs wrapped around my hips. Her hand was slapping my lower back. Her cunt peeled my foreskin and my sensitive cock head was rubbing against her cunt walls. It was the most erotic experience I’d had in a long, long time.
“Vanks!” I screamed as my cock shot its load into her. Her cunt milked my cock until there was nothing left to give and I collapsed on her, my mouth seeking her nipple again.
“See, big bro?” she purred as she tenderly scratched my head, “All you needed was some TLC to make your cock work again.”