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Two and a half hours after we laid our mother to rest on that bright clear spring day in 1996, my sister Barbara and I pulled into the long gravel drive that led up to what is now our house. Our grandparents once owned the four-bedroom farmhouse, but after their death mom inherited it. Now that she was gone it was bequeathed to us. What we were going to do with it was something Barb and I hadn’t had a chance to figure out yet. I parked in front and we stepped out of the car into the noonday sun. We both just stood there staring at the place, reluctant to go inside and face the emotions of being in the place where mom had died.
Looking over at Barbara I felt a tug at my heart. She was the spitting image of our mother, tall, long legged with a slender waist, wide hips and rather large breasts. She had mom’s deep blue eyes, but instead of long jet-black hair Barb kept hers dyed blonde and short. I went around the car and put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her against me. I could feel her trembling slightly as I guided us into the house.
We both had been here just a few short months ago during Christmas. The place had been filled with love and warmth as everyone tore into their gifts and celebrated the holiday. No one, not even mom, had been aware of the aneurysm that was developing inside her brain. Now the house was deathly quiet as we made our way to the large open kitchen. I started a pot of coffee brewing while Barb sat at the dinning table and absently pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She stared at the pack for a couple of seconds, then went ahead and lit one. Removing my suit jacket and tie, I took a seat across from her and did the same thing. It has been a while since I smoked, but right now the need to steady my nerves outweighed the risks.
“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Barb murmured while blowing out a huge plume of smoke.
“Neither can I sis,” I replied, a catch in my voice.
“She was only sixty-seven for Christ sake.”
Glancing over I saw her red-rimmed eyes fill with tears. Getting up I walked over and stood behind her. Placing my hands on her shaking shoulders I began to knead the tight muscles while trying to say something soothing. Gradually her sobs died out and she tilted her head backwards resting it against my stomach. I stroked her hair and let her relax. Once the coffee finished brewing I fixed us both a cup and sat back down.
As I sipped the coffee I thought back over the years. Shortly after I had graduated from high school I had joined the army. Mom hadn’t been too pleased by my decision but didn’t try to talk me out of it. I think we both needed a break from each other at that time. I just didn’t know that I’d end up making a career out of the military. My first hitch took me to Nam. I survived that somehow and from then on nothing seemed to be too difficult. I flourished and rose up the ranks, and by the time I retired last year I had put in twenty-five years. The sad part of it all was I could count on two hands the number of times I’d been able to come home and visit. Now at the age of forty-six I wondered if it had all been worth it. I dearly wished I’d had more time to tell mom what she had meant to me.
“Wish I had something a little stronger than coffee,” I remarked, absently staring into the dark fluid in my cup.
“Me too,” Barb added.
As if a switch had been thrown our eyes locked and we both smiled. She jumped up before I had a chance and rushed over to the pantry. I watched eagerly as she dug around inside, moving things this way and that way before she found what she was looking for. With a triumphant smile on her face she spun around and showed me her prize. In her left hand she was holding a full bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label.
“Oh yeah, that’ll work,” I exclaimed.
Barb came and sat back down. She opened the bottle and poured a splash into each of our cups saying, “Here’s to the only vice Mom had.”
“Here, here,” I chimed in bringing my cup up and taking a healthy swig. The hot coffee burned my lips and the whiskey burned my throat.
“That’s more like it,” Barb said after taking a drink herself.
Quietly we sat there sipping the spiked coffee, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I noticed that her eyes had a faraway look to them each time I glanced in her direction. My eyes roamed about the kitchen but couldn’t really focus on any one thing in particular. I wondered if my sister was having the same thoughts of growing up in this house as I was.
Mom had moved us here when I was five and Barb was three. It was right after her and dad had gotten a divorce. My grandparents, mom’s parents, had insisted that she come live here. They told her that there was plenty of room and she wouldn’t have to worry about making ends meet. Being proud mom had returned but insisted on finding a job to help out. With the house situated out in the middle of the Kansas plains, twenty miles from town, it was difficult to find work. Grandpa took it upon himself to teach her how to become a farmer. With almost three hundred acres sincan escort to farm, most of it planted with corn, he told her she’d be doing him a big favor by helping there instead of trying to find outside work. For some reason mom took to farming better than anyone would have imagined. After only six months she had streamlined everything and had the farm poised to make more than it ever had before. The grandparents were ecstatic. They gave her a share of the place and the rest was history. Unfortunately, my grandparents died in a plane crash when I was ten, leaving mom with everything.
Over the next eight years I helped as much as possible. At the age of thirteen I hit a growth spurt that didn’t stop until I was just a shade over six-foot two inches tall. I was long and lean, and about as clumsy as a kid could get. To mom’s great relief I outgrew my clumsy stage by the time I was sixteen. By the time I was seventeen I had become a young man bristling with muscles. Unfortunately the time needed to tend to the farm had prevented me from having any sort of social life. As soon as school let out I would rush home and begin working. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I saw my first naked woman, sort of. A friend of mine had brought a well-used girlie magazine to school and let me look through it in the restroom. That memory brought a smile to my face.
“What ya thinking so hard about Brian?” Barb’s voice snapped me back to the present.
Laughing I said, “You don’t want to know.”
“That good hmm?” she snickered.
In response I just showed her a smirk while my eyebrows bounced up and down on my face. She laughed and poured more whiskey into our cups.
“God, I need to get out of this dress,” she said, running her fingers under the neck high collar.
“You’re the same size as mom, why not see what’s in her closet?”
“Oh, I don’t know if I could wear any of her stuff, that might be weird,” she replied.
“Don’t be silly. I think mom would want you to,” I told her.
“Well okay, but I don’t want to go up there by myself,” she said softly.
That was perfectly understandable to me. I volunteered to go with her to look through mom’s stuff. We both downed our drinks, which had ceased being coffee two shots back, and headed up the stairs to the bedrooms. Climbing the stairs behind her gave me an excellent view up the knee-length black dress she was wearing. Her nylon-covered legs were long and finely toned. I could only see as far as the middle of her thighs, but the effect her swaying round ass was having on me was overwhelming. By the time I reached the top of the stairs I was sporting wood. “What the fuck are you thinking, that’s your sister idiot!” I chastised myself. Still, at forty-four I couldn’t deny the fact that she was hot. She had mom’s genes, and mom had remained hot clear up to her death.
We entered mom’s room and Barb went over and opened the closet. Mom wasn’t a fashionista; most of the clothes were well-worn housedresses that looked as if they’d been bought back in the early sixties. Barb thumbed through a few before moving on to the dresser. One drawer held panties and bras; it was dismissed immediately. Several others held socks and shorts and whatnots. The last drawer Barb opened revealed mom’s stash of knee-length slips. Mom had loved wearing them around the house when she wasn’t working in the fields. Barb held a silky black one up by the thin shoulder straps and examined it.
Turning to show me the slip she asked, “Remember when mom used to wear these around the house?”
“Yeah. She really loved those things,” I said, flashes of memories of her walking around in them drifted in and out of my head.
“I wonder what her fascination with them was?” Barb pondered aloud.
“Maybe they’re comfortable,” I offered.
“Could be. Say, we’re not going to do anything else today are we?” she asked, still gazing at the slip.
“Naw. Why don’t we just relax the rest of the day. We can take care of things tomorrow as far as I’m concerned.”
“Would it bother you if I wore this around the house for the rest of the day? I want to see what mom saw in them.”
Clearing my throat I said, “Be my guest, but don’t blame me if I stare at you. A lot.”
“You’re funny. Besides, you’re my brother, why on earth would you want to stare at me?”
Before I could answer she turned to face the dresser’s mirror and held the slip up in front of her. I stepped up behind her and we gazed at our reflections in the glass. I placed my hands on her shoulders and told her I would stare at her because she looked so much like mom. A nervous smile appeared on her lips as she gazed into the mirror. She leaned back against me with the slip in front of her.
“You really think I look like mom?”
“Except for the hair color, you could pass as her twin. You’re as beautiful as she was sis.” I let my hands roam down her upper arms and felt her shudder.
“Thanks. Now be a dear and help me out of this confining dress.”
“What?” I croaked.
“Help sincan escort bayan me with the zipper silly.”
“Oh, uh yeah, I can do that,” I replied nervously. She laughed at my discomfort.
The zipper went from the tight collar all the way down her back, ending just below where her ass began to swell out. Fumbling with nervous fingers I managed to grasp the zippers clasp and began to slowly lower it down her back. I expected her to stop me before I had it all the way down to her butt. She didn’t. The halves of the dress parted exposing her flawless back and the black lacy bra’s hooks underneath. The lower I dragged the zipper, the more I could see of her smooth soft skin. The wood in my pants threatened to become a mighty oak. By the time I had the zipper all the way down my hand was shaking uncontrollably.
“I can finish Brian, thanks,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome,” I croaked, then turned and started to leave.
Just before passing the door out into the hall I turned back to ask her something. The sight that greeted me made me forget why I’d turned back in the first place. Barb had placed the slip on the dresser and was bent over stepping out of her dress. I could see lacy black panties underneath the flesh-toned fabric of her pantyhose. I stood there transfixed, unable to move let alone say anything. She stepped out of the dress and reached behind her back to unhook the bra. Her nimble fingers had the bra unhooked in no time and she deftly shrugged it off her shoulders. I became aware that I could still see her in the mirror. My mouth gaped open as my eyes took in the luscious round globes of her firm large breasts. Twin circles of dark brown capped the mounds in perfect symmetry. The oak in my trousers was fully-grown. Just as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pantyhose her eyes glanced into the mirror and spotted me watching. Slowly she turned and faced me, an odd look on her face. We stared at each other for what felt like ages. She was taking in my stunned look, while I took in those gorgeous mounds sitting firm and proud on her chest. I was the first to give in.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and swiftly backed out into the hall. I had to adjust the stiffness in my pants before I was able to make a hasty retreat back to the kitchen and take a gulp of whiskey from the bottle.
I was nursing another cup of spiked coffee when Barb returned. She had on a pair of mom’s fuzzy house shoes, and of course the black slip. Her breasts swayed from side to side as she walked, and I could see her nipples pushing out the smooth silky fabric. An involuntary groan escaped my lips. She didn’t utter a word; she just sat back down in her chair and gave me a tentative smile. I poured some whiskey into her cup and smiled back.
“I’m sorry for staring at you sis. I was gonna ask you something, but forgot what when I saw your…you know,” I weakly explained.
Taking a small sip from her cup she fixed me with a stare and asked, “So, what did you think of the girls?”
“Seriously?” I almost spit out the sip I’d just taken.
“Seriously. What did you think?”
“They’re, uh, absolutely marvelous,” I gulped.
Laughing she said, “So you’re a tit man huh?”
“Now who’s being funny?” I shot back with a chuckle of my own.
“Guess what I found in mom’s dresser,” she said, a strange smile on her lips.
“Apparently mom liked to wear sexy panties. She has a whole collection of naughty ones; I’m wearing a pair right now,” she whispered conspiratorially.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, while the bulge in my britches grew.
Out of the blue Barb reached over and placed her hand on mine. “Do you know I love you big brother?”
Raising my eyes to meet hers, I smiled and told her I loved her too. As she was leaning forward over the table the neck of her slip dipped down revealing the valley between her magnificent breasts. The tree in my trousers began to take root again. I knew if I stared too hard she might become uncomfortable. I stood and backed away from the table. I wanted to go check out something I hadn’t seen in the last twenty-odd years. Barb’s eyes locked onto the bulge at my crotch and her lips spread into a knowing grin. Taking my cup with me I headed out the front door.
Stepping off the porch I turned to the right and went around the side of the house. There I followed a well-defined path for about forty yards until I came to what I’d wanted to see. In front of me stood a door set into a mound of earth approximately ten feet high. The door was made of steel and swung outward easily as I pulled the handle. This particular door had been counterbalanced and was always kept greased at the hinges. It also sat at a ninety-degree angle whereas the previous one had been put in at a forty-five degree slant. What lay beyond the door was a marvel of engineering; at least it had been in 1962.
During the height of the cold war grandpa’s paranoia had been at a fever pitch. He was convinced that the escort sincan U.S. and the Russians were going to annihilate the planet. He took what used to be an ordinary storm cellar and turned it into his personal fallout bunker. He had stocked it with food, medicines and other supplies he deemed essential for survival. He even had a construction company come in and completely line the walls, floors and ceiling with concrete. Of course no one would have been able to stay in it long enough to live through a nuclear attack. Another thing he didn’t change at that time was the way the door sloped over at an angle.
I stepped inside and flipped the switch on the wall near the entrance. Instantly the place was ablaze with light from a bulb that hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. The place consisted of a single room that was fifteen feet long by ten feet wide. A privacy area had been bricked up chest high in the far right corner that housed a chemical toilet. One whole wall was lined with shelves that held can goods, bottled water, batteries for flashlights, and an assortment of everyday supplies to help in a prolonged stay. Against the opposite wall stood a single bed just big enough for two people, as long as the two people didn’t mind being close together. There was a single woolen blanket on the bed. Several kerosene lanterns were placed about the place in case the power being routed from the house went out. Grandpa had referred to this place as his and grandma’s salvation for when the bombs fell. Anyone who knew anything about fallout shelters would’ve deemed it a death trap.
Leaving the door open I trudged into the center of the room and looked around. Other than a stock of newer looking can goods, the place looked just like it had the last time I’d set foot in it back in 1969. It was obvious that mom had kept the place up. I was still living here when she’d had the new door installed. Walking over to the shelves I idly picked through the stuff. Near the back on one of the lower shelves I spotted two more bottles of Johnny Walker Red Label. Mom must have wanted to be prepared I mused as I continued to finger through the shelves contents. I took a sip from my cup and bent down to fetch one of the full bottles. I held the bottle up and gazed absently at it. Barb’s voice snapped me out of my reverie.
“Mom told me you haven’t come out here since that time you and her were trapped in here,” she stated matter of factly.
“Yeah, it has been awhile…” I replied keeping my back to her.
“I thought you might need a refill, but I see you found mom’s stash.”
I turned and faced her. She was holding up the bottle we’d started and was swinging it from side to side by the neck. Glancing in my cup I noticed it was empty. Smiling I held it out and watched as she walked forward and tipped the top over filling my cup full. She did the same to hers then went over and sat on the bed. Once she placed the bottle on the floor near her feet, she patted the bed next to her wanting me to come sit by her. Something compelled me to do it.
“I’m curious,” she said once I sat down.
“What was it like being trapped in here for almost a week with mom?”
“Scary…and wonderful at the same time,” I told her staring into my cup of amber liquid.
Taking a sip from her cup, she reached over and placed her hand on my thigh. “I’ve never heard the full story. Mom wouldn’t talk about it. Would you tell me about it?”
“Not much to tell,” I remarked. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her down her drink, then sit her cup on the bed. She reached over, cupped my face in her hands and forced me to look at her. There was a pleading look in her eyes.
“You and mom where never the same people after that happened. I want to know why. I need to know why Brian. What happened in here?”
I took a long pull on my drink, picked the bottle off the floor and filled both our cups. My shaking hands didn’t go unnoticed. Barb let go of my face and placed her hand back on my thigh. Softly she urged me to tell her what she wanted to hear. Tears began to well up in my eyes as I thought back to that time so long ago. I looked into my sister’s eyes and before I knew it I was blubbering out what had happened that fateful summer.
In 1969, two days after my eighteenth birthday the weather took a turn for the worse. Mom and I were at the house alone; Barb had gone with aunt Jane to the big apple. Mom and I were supposed to have gone too, but mom changed her mind at the last minute. I never wanted to go in the first place, so I stayed behind to keep mom company. That summer there was a rash of tornados, but they were always to the east of us. That hadn’t stopped mom and I from keeping a close eye on the skies. Around noon we were sitting on the porch watching as dark ominous clouds built up along the horizon. They looked like they could be headed our way. When evening hit we were getting a spattering of rain, but nothing bad enough to worry about. By the time mom and I went to bed about ten, the wind had picked up along with the rain. I wasn’t worried, but I could tell mom was a little unnerved. I lay there for I don’t know how long listening to the rain lash against the window as the wind howled outside. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew mom was screaming for me to get up.
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