James's fingers clutched at the bedsheets. He breathed shallowly and I watched him like a bird of prey. I leaned over him as I bent his prick back against his groin and jiggled the spheres beneath. His eyes all but started from their sockets. I relented, then. I did want to hear the rest about Albertine. I let his purveyor of seed rest lightly in the palm of my hand and told him to go on with his tale of Mother's personal maid. He swallowed and composed himself as best he could. “You're quite certain you want me to continue?” he said.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “Well, Clarissa, how could I possibly tell Albertine what I wanted-there at Mother's closet? It seemed a sacrilege, somehow, there with Mother's things. Anyhow, I did mumble something, but it was unintelligible, and I stood there, shaking, really out of control-a most distressing sensation for a boy of twelve! Albertine came very close to me, she said she couldn't make a word out of what I had said. The scent she was using made me dizzy-I swear it, Clarissa!” “I don't doubt you, James.” “Thank you.
In any case, there I was, in a vertigo. The closet began to spin about me. I threw out my hands and found them at once entangled with Albertine. She made a soft cry and together we tumbled to the floor of Mother's closet. I think I went mad, then, to find myself so close to her blondness. I felt compelled-nay, obligated-to reach the heart of her and, after several ineffectual forays during which Albertine tossed and threshed, I managed it. It was a fantastic discovery, Clarissa!” “How do you mean?” “She's positively matted-the curls grow practically to her navel-she's marvellously wooly. Terribly dense, the whole locus, but even so it could not conceal her swollen outcroppings, so to speak. She cursed me in French as I learnt very quickly how to handle them. Then she tried to push me away, alarmed that we might be found in so compromising a position in an unlocked room. I refused to be pushed away. Albertine struck at me and with one hand I fended her off while with the other I kept my purchase to become the recipient of the increasing distillations produced by the powers of her sweetest orifices. We continued to wrestle although I was at a distinct disadvantage, and rapidly becoming more and more frustrated. “Not so Mademoiselle Lassez, no, not our Albertine Lassez…” My own head was awhirl when James paused. I gazed down at him. Even in the dimness, his was the most handsome countenance I had ever laid eyes on. There was something silkily sensual to his face, even as there is to mine-or was, I should say. And, curiously, gazing at him was something like gazing into a mirror, so much did we resemble one another. At any rate, I continued to curve my fingers around the sinew of his virility. Occasionally I tightened my grasp, occasionally I lightened it-all in a rhythm. I sensed that if I continued to apply myself in this manner, James could do me little harm, even if I wanted him to, which would always be a danger. My brother sighed gustily at my ministrations but, at my insistence, resumed his account. “As I said, I was becoming rapidly more frustrated. Albertine, on the other hand-as Harwell puts it to us about satellites in our physics lessons-was approaching her apogee while ostensibly she continued wrestling with me. Her breathing was labored and her skin was highly flushed. Even as she was contending with me, she gave me the sickliest kind of grin. I think I could cheerfully have put her out of this life had I not been so intent on gaining my own satisfactions. These, however, Albertine continued to deny me. Furious, I was about to withdraw my hand from the palpitations of her quintessential velvet and give her a rousing mauling with both my hands, slap her about, if necessary, to prepare her for a skewering-when, suddenly, she suspended combat, thrust at my dabbling digits with her hips, shivered convulsively, arched, twitched and fell away from me. Trembling, I vowed to myself I would take her then and there. I hoisted all her layers of petticoat, exposed her to the belly- thick blond mat and all-and was about, I swear, to lose my virginity and violate Albertine, when the voice of our housekeeper was then heard, and not from afar. Mrs. Manyjohn was calling for Mademoiselle Lassez and was obviously nearing my mother's room. It was then that I cursed in fluent English and rapidly disengaged. I told Albertine I would hide in the closet whilst she disposed of Mrs.
Manyjohn, which would then give me the opportunity of slipping out of Mother's quarters unobserved. I then exacted a promise from Albertine to rendezvous in the south wing, but she never appeared there. I therefore found it impossible to sleep, Clarissa-and I believe you understand why…” My brother's voice trailed off. His eyes closed. I kept fondling his still flexible instrument and then I whispered, “I should like to, James, but we really mustn't.” “I know,” he said. “I really couldn't, anyway, not so long as you continue to have him in your grasp-that quite disarms me.” “Only that?” “Well, I suppose one really shouldn't do it to one's sister, although, as our histories show us, the royal lines did do incest in various parts of the world. One thinks of the Egyptians, for example,” he finished sadly. “The Egyptians did various things,”
I said. I drew back the foreskin from the glans of James's pre-doughty reamer. My nipples felt as though they were sparkling. “Did they, Clarissa?” James's voice held a note of irony as he lay stretched out quite passively. “Such as what you're doing?” “Such as.” “I guess they showed it in their bas-reliefs-half an arse at a time.”
“Oh, James. Really.”
“Clarissa-” “Yes, James?” “You've learnt a great deal from those Egyptians. The head on your shoulders knows exactly what to do with the head on my prick.” I giggled. “Two heads are better than one,” I said. Then I pulled at one of them. The owner groaned. I ran a finger from head to root at first slowly, then swiftly, then slowly again. It became as hard and as elevated as a catapult. “You are going to launch something, Clarissa,” James said in a very low tone. “But this projectile will explode on the moment of launching.” “Mmm,” I said. “You are a mad Egyptian,” my brother said. Egyptian-Cornish-English-it did not matter. I was now beside myself. I flung back the bedcovers, chill or no chill. As far as I was concerned, my bedroom had become as torrid as the tropics. If there were certain consummations I could not accomplish with my brother, there were certainly alternatives. To that end I divested myself of my nightgown, and once again took hold of James's spice-shaker. James looked up at me and said with something like awe, “You will have an extraordinary body, Clarissa. It is already fantastically lissome and sweet, all milk-and-ivory. You are indeed beautiful, my sister.” It was then that I flung all caution to the winds, wherever they were. Well, perhaps not all caution. What I did do was to rub my feverish nipples-first one, then the other-along the base of James's vaulting pole. Said pole was throbbing. I saw it mark off time by the battering it took from its blood supply. So for the first of many times in my life I went berserk. It would happen again and again at the sight and feel of the male phallus, whatever its dimensions. My brother's at twelve was certainly no massive engine. It was no colossus commanding the female harbor. On the other hand, for the lad's age, it was a most respectable size. Now I took it in both of my hands. I squeezed it gently. James smiled. I squeezed it roughly.