The Great Blizzard of 1967

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What happens when a brother and sister are trapped in a one room apartment with plenty of beer, booze, and marijuana? Like in the old Ray Milland movie, “Panic in the Year Zero, societal rules are rewritten, the norms are pushed to the side.


I hadn’t seen most of my family in years. After my wife of 20 years died I went in to semi seclusion. I moved to the West Coast and bought a condominium on the Pacific. However, when I heard about my great aunt’s death I decided to attend the services. She lived a long and full life. Most of her siblings had gone before her.

Her funeral was like all funerals. It was a mixture of tears and funny reminisces. It also served as a get reacquainted opportunity for her relatives.

The assemblage was large. She had a large extended family and most of them chose to attend to pay final homage to the grand dame of the family. Afterwards, close family assembled at my great aunt’s home for a final repast in her honor.

I was balancing a plate of Hors d’oeuvres in one hand and an adult beverage in the other when I heard someone call my name.

“Joel Vincent! How are you doing? Get your ass over here!”

I turned and saw my sister, Joyce Adams, sitting on a couch. I placed the paper plate and drink on the lamp table next to me, and stoop to embrace her.

“Joyce! It has been too long. How are you?”

“I’m doing fine for an old woman. Come on, sit on the couch with me and let’s catch up.”

Joyce had not changed much in the 10 years since the last time I saw her. She was still a big woman. She stood about 5′ 8″ and maybe 180 pounds. The once substantial breasts hung heavy on her chest now. She wore a simple black below the knee frock with a white Peter Pan collar. Her stockings were the opaque support kind ending in sensible Cuban heel shoes.

“Where’s Henry,” I asked, giving the room a perfunctory scan. They were both 70 and married for 40+ years. He was never one of my favorite people though he was calmer than he had been early in their marriage.

“Find the bar and you’ll find Henry.”

I laughed as a niece brought Joyce a drink. She gave me a rueful smile and took a deep draught.

“When are you going to marry again? It’s not too late, you know.”

The last time I saw her was 10 years ago, when my wife Jill died.

“I’m waiting for you, Sis! You know you are the only woman for me.”

We both laughed and held each other’s eyes for a moment. Joyce leaned in and conspiratorially dropped her voice.

“Now THAT would have caused a scandal.”

“Yes,” I said nodding, “although we would have to move somewhere it snows a lot.”

Joyce laughed and placed her hand on my thigh as she drained her glass. She looked around, spotted her niece, and held up the empty glass for a refill. I gave my glass to the niece also.

“Lord, that was hot!” She squeezed my knee.

We both reflected for a moment. It all started with the Great Blizzard of 1967.


I was 20 years old, working as an order picker for a now defunct mail order house. Back then you got this huge catalogue by going to the store fronting the warehouse or having one mailed to you. You picked out your item, filled out the information and mailed it in. Some poor bastard picked your order, packaged it, and mailed to you. I was that poor bastard, an order picker.

Back in the day, it was hard physical work. The warehouse was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. There was no, that is zero, automation. You got your happy butt on a forklift and found the area where the item was stored. Then you would pull it and take it to a packing area. Depending on the season, and how busy it was, you and/or a helper packed and shipped the order.

It was hard physical work. However, it paid enough for a 20-year-old to have a kitchenette apartment. For the uninitiated, a kitchenette was a single room with small area for cooking, a narrow two chair table and a bed that folded into the wall, a Murphy bed. The common bathroom was down the hall.

I was in hog heaven. I’d work my 3-11 shift and head to the clubs afterward. There, if I was lucky, I’d pull a girl to take her back to my flat for a little horizontal mambo.

Joyce was 30 at the time, a boozer and married. She and Henry shared a love of alcohol, fighting and sex. They would get shitfaced, get into argument, then fuck and make up. Sometimes they only completed the first two legs of the three-legged stool. They would get drunk, fight and one or the other would storm out, only to return at some point to complete the third leg.

“Lawd, we ain’t never had a snow like that since then.”

“Thank god for that. I’m too old for that shit now.”

Joyce chuckled and squeezed my thigh again.

“The snow or what happened because of it,” she asked.

“Both,” I laughed, escort portalı placing my hand on her thigh and giving it a squeeze.


It was snowing hard that cold January night. The snow accumulated faster than the snow plows could handle. Gradually they fell behind.

In fact, the blizzard was historic. The city ground to a halt. The blizzard trapped people at work, on busses, in airports, etc. I left work at 11 and managed to get home in the wee hours of the morning.

I went down the hall, washed up and went back to my room. Fortunately, I had a case of Schlitz beer, a fifth of Christian Brothers brandy, and assorted snacks to eat. The beer was warm but what the hell!. I could ride out the storm.

I settled in to listen to music on the radio and get shitfaced. The DJ had just announced that a state of emergency was declared and travel was not recommended when my doorbell rang. I pushed the button on the intercom and my sister, Joyce, announced she was downstairs. I buzzed her in.

She was a mess. She and her husband completed two legs of that stool. They got into an argument. She stormed out of the house. She walked the 8 or so blocks in thigh deep snow from her place to mine. Her clothes were soaked through. She was cold, shivering and blubbering.


“I’m surprised I didn’t catch pneumonia. Hell, I walked a mile in that deep snow to get to your place. Everything I had was wet.”

“Everything?” I teased

Joyce slapped me on my thigh and chuckled. “THAT,” she said, glancing around the room, “was cold also. But we warmed it up.”


I gave her a towel, one of my t-shirts and sent her down the hall to the bathroom. Joyce was not a small girl. I have no idea what her measurements were then. However, I do know that the Pillsbury doughboy would look svelte next to her. Suffice it to say she was a big ass, big tit Black woman. My shirt barely covered her ass in back and exposed her hairy pussy in front. She wrapped the towel around her waist to cover herself.

When she returned from the bathroom I gave her a beer and three fingers of brandy in a water glass. We drank and I commiserated with her about her lousy husband. Several times I refilled her glass and gave her another beer. At some point, we were shitfaced. The commiseration turned to hugging for comfort. Hugging for comfort turned to cuddling in my overheated kitchenette.

We sat on the bed with Joyce’s head resting on my shoulder. My hand rested on her thigh. She still wore my t-shirt with a towel draped over her thighs for modesty. Her clothes were on the radiator drying. I began to stroke her thigh pushing the towel up as I did.

The alcohol and isolation lowered our inhibitions. I could feel the heat of her pussy as my hand pushed up her thigh. At first, she went with it. She cried softly, her hand caressing my bare chest. Suddenly she pushed my hand away.

“Stop feeling me up, Joel! I’m your sister!” Her lopsided grin belied her words.

“Shit, Joyce!” I waved my arm expansively at the winter wonderland just outside my fourth-floor apartment. “This may be the storm that signals the end of the world.”

“Yea right! You just want to get laid and your sister is the only available pussy.”

She and I had some candid sexual conversations over the years. She was an older sister slash confidant. In fact, she was the one who filled in the blanks after my father stumbled through a text book with pictures when we had “The Talk”.

She continued grinning drunkenly at me as I pushed the t-shirt up exposing her large breasts. They were full and plump, extending outside the frame of her body. Her nipples were like hard wrinkled raisins. I kneaded them while leaning down and taking her turgid nipple in my mouth. My sister sighed. She brought one hand up and stroked the back of my head.

My hand roamed her body. I slipped it back between her legs. I slid it up her warm thighs until I touched her pussy. I slid my index finger up and down her wet pulsating hole. Joyce sucked a long sibilant breath.

Her free hand rubbed up and down on my boxers. She pulled my cock from my boxers and stroked me. “We’re going to burn in hell for doing this!”

Joyce leaned back against the headboard. Her breathing was harsh, coming in big gasps. I began kissing my way down her body. I tongued her navel while finger fucking her pussy. Her large hips pumped spasmodically up and down. Suddenly, she stiffened and pushed me away.

“Joel, we need to stop. I’m drunk but not that drunk!”

“Aww sis!” My cock was painfully rigid.

She pushed my head away from her navel. With her other hand, she grasped my hand and pulled it from between her thighs. In the growing darkness, my finger glistened with her wetness. The tight confines of my one room apartment escort gaziantep portalı were redolent with the aroma of her arousal.

“Aww sis, my ass. We need to get some sleep and sober up! No way I’m going to fuck my younger brother” My cock stuck through the slit of my shorts. It bobbed and pulsed. “And put that damn thing away!”

I stuffed my cock back in my boxers and lay down on the bed. I pulled the sheet over my and turned to face the wall. “I’m going to sleep.”

Joyce lay down and spooned me. She threw her arm over my waist. “Stop sulking,” she laughed, “and good night!”

Sometime during the night, we rolled over and I was spooning her. My head lay against her warm back. My hand lay across her waist. Slowly, tentatively, I cupped her breast. She sighed and wriggled her butt against my hard on and never woke up.

I could feel the scratch of her pubic hair against my cock. I slowly dry humped her ass, my cock sliding up and down the pillows of her bare ass. Joyce leaned forward slightly. My cock slid down. I could feel the heat and wetness of her pussy against my cockhead. I leaned back and pressed forward. Joyce sighed as my tool slid effortlessly into her.

The first time your cock slides into a new pussy is always different. There’s a different feel, a different smell, etc. That first time my cock slid into my sister’s love canal was all of that and more. There was a sense of forbidden fruit. It was my older sister’s pussy.

There was enough of a gap between our ages that we never had the usual sibling rivalries. She was an adult, married and gone by the time I reached puberty. There were no latent sexual interests. She was an adult, to be respected and avoided because they asked embarrassing questions about your sex life.

We were both drunk and it was a long time ago. I do recall the tightness of her pussy, the whimper deep in her throat as I penetrated her. I gripped her hips, pulling her into my thrusting cock. Her whimpers turned to guttural moans.

I was like a drunken energizer bunny. The slap of flesh on flesh echoed in the tight confines of my kitchenette apartment.

“Easy, Joel, Easy! Take your…” Oh fuck!”

I popped, squirting a geyser of youthful sperm into my mature sister’s pussy. Afterwards I leaned on her back as my cock slowly softened. It fell from her pussy followed by my cum.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

“It’s okay, baby! Let’s get some sleep.”


“I’m glad you learned to go slow,” Joyce chuckled. “Just when I was getting into fucking you, it was over.”

“Stop! You know I got better control the next day.” Surreptitiously I squeezed her thigh.

She placed her hand over mine and patted it. “Yeah, you did,” she murmured. “I don’t want it to go to your head, but even after all of these years, those three days were my best sexual experience ever.”

I nodded. “It was incredible!” Did you ever tell anyone?”

“Lord no! How does that come up in a conversation? I mean while you’re discussing politics or a recipe you say, ‘by the way, I spent three days fucking my brother during the blizzard.’

“I told Jill.”

Joyce sat up and turned toward me. “What did she say?”

“She was understanding. She said it was a natural occurrence caused by the feeling of being cut off from the world. She also asked if it ever happened again…after the snowstorm.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I lied!”

Joyce took a sip of her drink, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “What do you drink now?”

“Martell rocks!”

“I remember that cheap brandy and Schlitz beer! Do they still make that stuff?”

“God, I don’t know!”

“They should,” Joyce chuckled, “I think either it or the brandy were an aphrodisiac.”

“We didn’t need an aphrodisiac. We were young, dumb and full of cum. Cold stone sober we would have done the same thing.”

“Keep your voice down,” Joyce said sotto voce, “WE don’t want all this people to know we what we did. Especially Henry!”


Thirty inches of snow covered the city. Blizzard force winds created four feet high drifts.

I guess at this point, I should say that having broken the ice, we went at it like bunnies on an aphrodisiac. We did not.

We were embarrassed the next morning. Joyce put her coat on over naked body and went down the hall to clean up.

On the way back, she used the pay phone in the hall to call Henry to pick her up. It wasn’t going to happen. He was glad she was safe. His car was snowed in. He told her to stay there until the roads were cleared.

When she came back, we had “The Talk.” The jist of it was what we did was wrong. Even though she and her husband fought, she never cheated on him. We were brother and sister, etc., etc., etc. We can never do that again. Tell no one. We promised over a nip of brandy and a couple of beers.


“You know, I still haven’t fuck anybody else.”

We watched Henry move across the living room with some cousins. He raised his glass to us as he passed through.

“Is that from loyalty or lack of opportunity?”

“You know, I really don’t know! If I wanted to stroke your ego, I’d say that what we did was so good, I was afraid I could not duplicate it.”

“Yeah right,” I laughed stroking her thigh through her black frock.

“No really,” her tone was serious. She turned and looked me in the eye. “Those were an amazing three days.”


Cabin fever set in. To kill the time, we drank and talked. At some point, we got into a giggling conversation about how quick I came. I took exception, pointing out we were both drunk. She teased me asking if my girlfriends complain about my hair trigger. We get to tussling on the bed and….!

I pinned her to the bed with her arms above her head and my legs entwined with hers forcing them open. Her eyes grew wide and she struggled. I moved my hips up and down, rubbing my cock along her increasingly dripping hole.

“Stop, dammit! You know we can’t do this.”

Something about her protest did not seem genuine. Even as she struggled under me, her hips ground against my crotch. Later she would tell me that she and Henry were into light bondage. She liked to be restrained and taken.

I used one hand to grip her face. I leaned down and forced my tongue between her moist parted lips. For a moment, she gave herself up to the moment. Her tongue dueled with mine. Then She turned her head away.

“Let me up. We can’t do this.”

“Yes, we can and we will.”

I rubbed the head of my cock up and down her swollen slit. Again, her eyes widened. Her tongue snaked out and moistened her lips.

“I’m married. I’m your sister. I…!”

I let the head of my cock slide between her engorged pussy lips then I stopped. I felt her hips pump up taking more of my cock into her pussy. I pulled back.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“You bastard,” she spat at me. Her hips rotated slowly moving up and down my cock.

“You said we can’t do this.”

“You know you’re an asshole, right?”

“I’m the asshole whose dick you want!”

I sank effortlessly into her dripping wet pussy. We silently stared at each other as we slowly ground our hips together. My sister’s pussy was amazing. I could feel it pulsing, almost caressing my cock.

“Oh fuck! Keep moving just like that. I can feel your cock sliding through me.”

“Mmmm, I love that thing you do with your pussy.”

Joyce flexed her Kegel muscles, drawing my cock into her then pushing it back. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” I hissed, “That feels amazing.”

We settled into a slow languid rhythm, thrusting and grinding. Our kisses were long and wet. Our tongues found a home in each other’s mouths.

“I love how your cock fills me. I can feel it sliding slowly through my cunt.”

I leaned down, took her turgid nipple in my mouth. I nibbled lightly and sucked hard. Joyce locked her legs around my back forming a cradle. She rocked us back and forth. Her hands held my head to her breast.

I raised up and looked into her lust distorted face. “Better this time?”

Joyce snarl of lust turned to a smirk. “Yes! You asshole! Much better!”

“You keep calling me an asshole and I’m going to flip you over and take yours!”

“You fuck my ass as good as you fuck my pussy and I may never go home!”

“Now?” I’d never fucked anally. Some of the guys talked about it. I suspected it was all brag and no fact.

“No! Just keeping fucking me for now.” She closed her eyes. Her thrusting against me grew more urgent. The squishy sounds of hard cock in wet pussy filled the room. I felt her pussy spasm, clamping down on my tool.

Joyce’s body began to tremble and shake. Her hands fell from my neck to the bed. Her fingers clawed at the sheet as her hips thrust violently.

“Oh fuck! FUCK! FUCK! I’m cumming!”

Her convulsing pussy clamped and I came with her. We thrusted against each other. I pumped my baby batter deep in my sister’s womb. Our howls of lust would have woken the dead.

After we lay in each other’s arms. We kissed long and slow. Joyce pulled her head back and looked into my eyes. “What if my husband finds out,” she moaned. “What if mom finds out?”

“I hadn’t plan on telling Henry, mom or dad.”

She giggled.” Neither did I! But you know what I mean. What if someone finds out.”

“Knowing our parents and what an idiot your husband is, they would disown us.”

“So, you’re saying it would just be you and me and we could do this all of the time? Where’s the phone,” she laughed.

With brief breaks to eat and use the bathroom, fucked all day. So help me god, we just ground our crotches together and stared at each other. Joyce had a trick she did where she could flex her Kegel muscles, tightening her pussy. It felt incredible.


“Joel, at 70, I still get wet when I remember that day.”

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