Oh Sister! When I Cum to Lie in You

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My sister lives in Kyoto, Japan. She’s been there for 3 years as a researcher at the Institute of Liberal Arts, Doshisha University. Over the last three years I had made at least a dozen trips to Japan but they were almost invariably to either Tokyo or Osaka, and they were always business trips that lasted no more than three days. In fact the last time I’d met her was when she was en route from Paris to Tokyo and had stopped at New Delhi. We’d spent a couple of days together and that was it.

I’ve seen her only over Skype on the two occasions we connected. But other than that, we’ve been in our own worlds. I’ve grown the Asian business for my firm almost a hundred fold in the last six years as Regional Director for the APac region. Although I had set up regional headquarters in New Delhi, India, the last few years have seen me spending most of time in Hanoi, Vietnam where I have relocated because of a crisis in 2013. I had originally planned to be in Vietnam for no more than a few months but then one thing led to another…..

My name is Hjjer and her’s sister is Halina. At 35, she’s a few years younger than I am. We were very close growing up as our parents moved from town to city to metropolis; our youngest memories in Annecy, then to Avignon, later to Marseilles and a few other cities, till we finally ended up in Paris during my first year at the École Normale Superieure.

While I worked towards my Masters degree in Paris, Halina finished school and decided to visit the Far East immediately after. She did odd jobs and worked her way through Singapore, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, South Korea, Hong Kong and Japan. After she got back, she entered the Institut Catholique De Paris but didn’t stay on beyond a year. She returned to Japan and for the next couple of years nobody knew what she was doing. We did however stay in touch via emails and so on, but only to say we were fine and life was good.

The years went by, I relocated to India, Halina returned to France, we all grew up.


“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Narita International Airport. The local time is 1:45 in the afternoon and the temperature outside is 23 degrees centigrade.

For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the Captain turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. This will indicate that we have parked at the gate and that it is safe for you to move about.

Please check around your seat for any personal belongings you may have brought on board with you and please use caution when opening the overhead bins, as heavy articles may have shifted around during the flight.

On behalf of Japan Airlines and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Have a nice evening!”

It was the first Friday of June, and if I didn’t catch any rain, this five day trip to Japan would be a pleasant experience; weather-wise, at least. I had decided to fly in just before the weekend so I could go and visit my sister. We had used WhatsApp to communicate my probable day of arrival because she refused to pick up her cellphone when I called. She may not have my number registered on her phone; or maybe she does and that’s why she didn’t pick up. Who knows with Halina?!

It was now almost six years that we hadn’t met. After collecting my single piece of baggage at Narita airport, I found my way to the railway station and was just in time to catch the Narita Express departing for Tokyo at 14:46. Instead of heading all the way to Tokyo station I decided to get off at Shinagawa, and once again my luck held out. I got in at 4:10 pm and had just enough time to buy a ticket on the superfast bullet train, the Nozomi 239 Tokaido-Sanyo Shinkansen which left at 16:27.

A little over two hours later, we pulled in to platform 2 at Kyoto station. I exited and tried to call Halina on her cellphone but she didn’t pick up. I was now getting worried thinking she may have forgotten about my planned visit and may have taken off for some other weekend destination. I knew her address so I stood at the taxi rank on the North side of the station for a few minutes before getting into a Yasaka cab.

As expected, the cabbie knew no English so I showed him the address on my mobile phone, which one of the office girls in Hanoi had helpfully translated into the Kanji script. “Hai, wakarimasu”, he exclaimed as he handed back my mobile device. I sat back and relaxed, knowing that he had understood where the address was. Anticipating that it would be a twenty minute drive, I tried to call Halima again but received no response.

I knew that the last train back to Tokyo would be around 9:00 pm and had decided that if my sister was not at home, I would head back to the station and go back to Tokyo. I thought of calling my friend Jean Printemps at the Four Seasons and warning him that I may do a late check-in but decided to first get to Halina’s house before figuring out my next course of action.

Twenty-five minutes later kaynarca escort I was ringing the bell at the entrance to her house. It was a neat looking double storied house in Kyoto-shi Kamigyo-ku; I could see the dark wooden slanted roof beyond the white boundary wall, and a couple of windows on the top floor with the curtains drawn. I pushed the buzzer again and waited. Nothing happened for five minutes.

I sat down on a concrete ledge that lined the short 4-metre walkway from the street to the wooden entrance portal and contemplated my next steps. I pulled my cellphone out and started searching for Sean’s number. As I tapped his name on the iPhone screen, I heard my name almost being screeched in the distance; a high piercing “Hjjjeeeer!” I looked up and saw her about 100 metres down the road, a bus disappearing past her beyond the bus stand. She was waving frantically and running down the middle of the empty street when I heard “Hello?” from my phone. I knew Sean had picked up but I quickly switched off the phone, pushed it into my pocket and started walking towards her.

There were shopping bags hanging from her forearm, a leather handbag strapped across her chest and over one shoulder, and she clutched a large brown paper bag in one arm. I picked up the pace as I now jogged towards her, worried about her still in the middle of the road, fearing that a mad Kyoto driver may come careening around the bend. I was now running towards my sister who was about twenty meters away. She wore a light top and a dark skirt, her dark hair flying behind her.

In a few seconds she was in my arms, as were the grocery bags and her handbag, all in one tangled mess between our chests. In the next 30 seconds she continued an uninterrupted free-flow monologue about why I hadn’t called her and how long had I been waiting and why I didn’t send her an email and how nice it was to see me and why I never come to Kyoto when I visit Japan…. We were still in the middle of the street when I heard a blaring honk and tyres screeching as I turned to see a No.59 “Ryoanji via Kinkakuji” stop 10 metres away from us.

I bowed towards the front of the light green coloured bus in apology and pulled my sister on to the footpath as a glaring bus driver continued past us. “Halina!” I said finally, “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get through to you for the last 24 hours!” but then decided it was pointless. “Anyway, how are you? Its so wonderful to see you and be with you. Mon dieu, ça fait si longtemps.”

I took the large brown paper bag and the other grocery bags from her as we walked back to her house. She locked arms with me as we walked and continued her monologue. When we got to the entrance, she unlocked the door and I entered before her, placing the bags on the tatami matted floor four inches raised from the wooden base where shoes are removed and stored. I went back out and dragged in my suitcase, leaving it next to where I removed my shoes.

We talked, mostly her, non-stop for the next hour or so. She had gone out shopping for my dinner; of course she hadn’t forgotten about my visit, how could I think that. She had been really really busy the last few months, enjoying her work tremendously, traveling to all parts of the country, mainly to small towns and villages. The professors were wonderful at the University. How was my work? Was I planning to go back to India? Why was I in Vietnam for so long? When do I plan to get married?

Then she busied herself in the open kitchen. I asked if she wanted help but she said to go and have a shower, freshen up, the bedroom upstairs had been readied for me, there was an ensuite bathroom and fresh towels were on the rack. How long was I staying for? Why don’t I come back from Tokyo after my work was done, take a few days off. We can travel around for a few days. Or just hang out together. I kissed her on the cheek as she faced the kitchen sink, washing vegetables.

It was a 8 o’clock in the evening. I went up the wooden stairs in my socks, but left my suitcase down by the entrance. In twenty minutes I had showered and shaved, dried myself, and then realized I hadn’t unpacked any clothes. In the wardrobe I found a Yukata which I donned over my briefs, tied the cloth belt around my waist and went down to the ground floor again. Halina was still at the kitchen but there was a bottle of red wine and a couple of glasses on the counter.

I walked up to my sister and slipped my arms around her, kissing the back of her head and asked her how she was. She turned around, kissed me on the cheek and said how happy she was that I had decided to visit her. Then she pointed at the wine silently. I sensed a shift in her mood; she was more contemplative now and there was no stream of consciousness flow of words emanating from her mouth any more. I wondered. Then I went to the counter top, took the bottle and corkscrew to the table, and began to open the bottle.

It was a Muscat Bailey A, a Japanese red wine from the Iwanohara winery. I uncorked the bottle and left it to breathe orhanlı escort for a few minutes. Sitting on one of the chairs around the six-seat dining table, I watched as Halina continued to busy herself at he kitchen. She still hadn’t said a word after I came down from the upstairs bedroom. “What’s the matter, Hali?” I asked softly.

She didn’t say anything. Pushed a tray into the oven, turned a few knobs, washed her hands in the sink, dried them, put something into the refrigerator, and finally turned around. “Do you want to sit upstairs or here or in the tatami room?” The upstairs, I had noticed earlier, was furnished in western style, with a leather sofa set and a recliner. I chose the traditional Japanese style room at the back of the house.

I took the wine bottle and glasses and headed towards the rear of the house. Halina pushed aside the sliding door and we entered a beautiful Washitsu room that was decorated in classic tradition. It was an 8-mat room with another sliding door opening into a small Japanese garden with a pond zen like flora. There were cushions on the floor and my sister rearranged them around the low lacquer table so that we sat at right angles to one another. I poured the wine as she sat down, allowing me the side with a view of the garden.


I looked at her, startled that her voice had been so soft and almost in pain. Her eyes glistened as she looked at me. “You’re my brother. We have such a long history, and it all came back to me when I saw you. We are family, yet we have strayed. we have drifted. Have we gone too far to come back? I was thinking only about when you go away on Monday. Instead of enjoying your presence here for the weekend, all I can think about is your going away. Why is that?”

The mood had turned sombre. I tried to answer her question philosophically, but layered with strong doses of practicality. The conversation drifted to more mundane matters like our jobs, the countries we were living in, the people and their cultures, food and art, her studies. But we kept going back to her original question. It was difficult for me to relate to this aspect of Halina; I had rarely or never known her like this. She seemed homesick, but at the same time determined to continue the life of her choosing. I resisted the urge to psychoanalyze.

The wine went down fast and smooth. We got up after about an hour; she to the kitchen while I extracted another bottle of the Muscat. Halina busied herself laying the dining table; not a Japanese style low Chabudai that many homes and restaurants have, but a regular 6-seater next to the kitchen. I put some music on her stereo and settled down at the table where we ate and we drank; the mood had lifted and my sister was seemingly happy. We joked about the old days, we laughed at anecdotes from our lives, and we promised that we would see each other at least twice a year. I promised I would visit during my trips to Japan.

The food was delicious and I heaped praises on Halina’s cooking, telling her that she did a far better job than Mom. She probably didn’t believe me but it helped further lighten the atmosphere. We kept sitting long after dinner was over, enjoying each other’s company. I looked at her across the table as an overhead lantern shone its hue over her head and face. I had never stopped to think how beautiful my sister looked, especially when she smiled or laughed.

Her hair looked smooth and shiny; jet black and long till the middle of her upper arms. She had bundled it up over her head in a twist and a knot but every once in a while it would unravel and cascade down in wispy light bounces. Then she would bunch it up again, almost automatically. Her skin was fair as always, not tanned or anything. And smooth; I couldn’t detect any signs of aging, no fold and wrinkles; no frown lines on her forehead.

Her lips looked soft; not overly full but definitely on the fuller side. I looked at them as she talked, the minute curves and stretches, the shapes of her mouth as she broke into French occasionally; it was absolutely mesmerizing. There was a soft coloration, a dainty pink like a cherry blossom that shone off her lips, glistening when her saliva moistened them.

There was a strange sensation running through my body as I looked at her face while she spoke. A sensation that I suddenly became aware of and had to check myself, wondering if there were any giveaway telltale signs on my face that she might catch. I was a little startled at the fact that my attention had drifted from her words to the visual effects her beauty was having on me. I pulled myself together and began to pay attention again to what Halina was saying.

“Where were you, Hjjer. Your mind drifted away there. What were you thinking of?” I had been caught out. I didn’t know what to say. Maybe this was casual banter and I could get away with some commonplace response like I was thinking of work, or I was thinking of what we should do tomorrow, or something equally prosaic. I looked into my sister’s eyes and she seemed deadly tepeören escort serious. She had got a vibe; it wasn’t just observing any giveaway details on my facial expression.

“I was admiring your beauty, that’s what I was doing.” It was the truth but in my Machiavellian way, I thought that she would accept the compliment and stop probing too deeply into what exactly I was going through. In fact, I myself wasn’t so clear about what exactly had just happened to my brain, and where it had drifted.

I poured wine into our glasses, hoping to distract us both from what was getting to be an awkward conversation. But Halina pushed her chair back and started carry the dishes and crockery back to the kitchen. She went back and forth a couple of times while I just sat and stared at her, not getting up to help. She came over to my side of the table and gathered my plate and the cutlery I had used. I smelt the gentle fragrance of an expensive perfume that surrounded her like a misty bouquet.

As I sipped my wine, I felt the aura of my sister’s presence enshroud me. I was beginning to lose control of logical thought as I looked at her walk back to the kitchen sink, carrying her own glass of wine. She took a sip and placed it on the side, adjusted the temperature of the water and began rinsing the dishes.

Her hair had unbundled itself and fell down her back. She was wearing a light blue top and a dark blue skirt. The top didn’t quite reach the skirt, leaving an inch of bare skin around her waist. The skirt fit her well and I stared unashamed at the well rounded contours of her arse. I thought I could discern the faint panty line low on her hips but wasn’t very sure. Through her top, however, the white brassiere was clearly visible.

Halina hadn’t said a word since I told her that I had been admiring her beauty; there had been no verbal exchange for the last ten minutes as she cleaned the plates and knives and forks, dried them lightly, and placed them in their holders and cabinet drawers. Suddenly, I was very concerned. Had I just screwed up our weekend? Did I just ruin our coming together after all these years. Now there was a fear running through me. I stood up and, taking the bottle and wineglass with me, I walked up to my sister and stood behind her. “I’m sorry, Sis; I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything. I’m sorry, I was just being stupid.”

Still standing behind her, I placed my glass of wine next to hers and held her by her upper arms lightly. “Hal?” I said in a rather plaintive enquiry. She still didn’t say a word, and when I murmured her name again, she reached for her glass and drank the entire contents in two gulps. I thought she was finally going to turn around and berate me for what I had said. But she didn’t. Instead, she reached for the bottle and poured herself the last of the wine.

Still holding her by her upper arms, I bent my head and whispered her name again into the back of her ear, letting my lips brush aside her hair. My nose was next to her skin and I breathed in the sweet aroma as I whispered her name, “Halina?” I rubbed my palms along her upper arms and up to her shoulders, pulling her back so as to expose one side of her neck. I let my lips touch the soft white skin and breathed her name again, barely audible.

What was I doing? This was wrong and a sudden memory from two decades ago flashed through my mind. I subdued it, pushing it back to the dark recesses of my brain as I continued to feel the smooth skin of her arms. Sharp goose pimples erupted on her skin as I breathed against the side of her neck. I heard an almost silent moan escape from my sister’s throat as she bent her neck and faced the depth of her kitchen sink. I could feel a stirring in my groin as I closed the gap between our bodies.

I placed my palms on her shoulders and gently stroked over the light fabric of her top, letting my fingers stray on to the bare skin of her neck. I rubbed my nose and face against the soft lustre of her black hair, breathing in the aroma. “Hjjer!”, my sister whispered, “My darling Hjjer, why have you stayed away from me so long?” I could barely hear her voice, even though my ears were only inches away from her lips.

My erection was now solid and hard in my undies and behind the folds of my yukata as it pressed against the fitting skirt that hugged her rump and hips. My fingers trickled to the front of her neck as I ran them delicately along her throat. Halina’s hands rested on the edge of the kitchen sink as my face pressed against hers. I drew aside her hair and nuzzled her jawline and cheek from one side. She turned slightly and tilted her head back at a small angle, allowing my lips to drift just below her jaw.

As I kissed the side of her neck, I let my hands drop down her front, gently grazing the swell of her bosom before encircling her waist and pressing myself against her. She reached for her glass and took another sip of wine. My mind was filling with the utmost pleasure of sexual anticipation, white flashes of surrealistic visions snapping against the soft ambient light. Visions of my sister’s breasts, the hard stand out nipples, her naked torso and the swell of her hips, the perfectly contoured arse, black curly pubic hair in a thick undergrowth with soft tendrils escaping the sides of her panties. Just lightening bolt type of visions.

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