Eric Courtney - The married sister

It was a lovely morning. But, then, it was always a lovely morning in San Diego. A Mr. Branson, retired, henpecked, was out tending his garden bright and early. His wife was pleased with his sudden interest in gardening. Actually, old Branson didn't care a hang about flowers or lawns, they were all weeds to him. What he did care about and why he was out in the garden bright and early every morning was for the pleasure and excitement of seeing their neighbor, young Gail Hanover, walk out of her house and down to the mailbox and then back up the path again.

On what Branson called "good days" she would open the mail then walk slowly back up the path to the house. The slower, the better, for Branson's interests. This particular morning, he positioned himself in a corner of the yard, crouching over a bed of marigolds and pretending to dig while his eyes looked through his bushy eyebrows and he waited.

And Gail was well worth the waiting. Yesterday, she had come down to the mailbox dressed in a lounging gown and old Branson had gritted his teeth against his anger at being disappointed then almost fell in a bed of tulips as, while she was opening the mail, her gown fell open and he saw one leg up to the hip bone. It was an indelible image he would savor late at night while lying next to his snoring wife. She was wearing high heels under the gown and her leg showed itself off beautifully with slim tapered ankles curving out into well-rounded calves. Then – and every time Branson thought of it, his mouth went dry – a thigh. Not just any thigh, but full, voluptuous thighs that seemed to swoop out in pure white firmness. And all she was wearing was a rose-red bikini panty!

Branson had to close his eyes when he thought of how the panties stretched tight across her hips, revealing the soft bulge of one pelvic bone and the way the material caught tight and was tense at the V of her crotch.

It was only for a split second, but old Branson had seen it and found himself shaking. "By God, if I were only twenty years younger!" he had muttered.

The postman had delivered the mail, turned the flag up and Branson was in position. His only regret was the fact that he couldn't get closer.

Gail Hanover came out of the house. She had risen early, determined to clean. It was such a bright and sunny day, she saw no reason for wearing a lot of clothes. A pair of shorts and one of Rod's old white shirts pulled and knotted around her slim waist seemed enough. She came from the house barefoot and old Branson crouched like some old satyr and peered through his white picket fence.

Gail came down the path tossing her hair. It was beautiful jet-black hair and contrasted sharply with her pale blue eyes. The tights were old and rose high on her hips, almost revealing her hip bones. A pair of hip huggers she had cut off, they slung low, revealing her navel which Branson saw with rippling flesh. The V of the huggers fit tight over her crotch. Gail enjoyed the slight pressure and excitement they afforded her and walked in a hip undulating fashion to heighten the sensation.

Old Branson fell to one knee as he craned forward, his now sweating face no more than three inches from the fence as he saw her bending to open the mailbox. My God! he thought, that young chippie isn't wearing a bra!

It was true. Her ample breasts seemed to shift under her husband's shirt and the nipples made little reverse indentations on the cotton, sticking out in a provocative way.

Branson quickly swiped at his upper lip, removing perspiration. Gail was a lovely thing to look at: slim, big breasted, long legs, thick hair and a lovely face with a small nose, almost snub-nosed, and a large, sensuous mouth. She looked just like the girls he saw in Playboy magazine whenever he went down to the drugstore to get prescriptions filled. She was better than anything he had ever seen in a magazine. She was real! And she was across the street, tearing open a letter and practically naked.

As he watched, she read a letter hastily, a smile coming over her face. Then, in a spontaneous movement, she jumped up and down with glee, her breasts shaking and quivering.

To his disappointment, she turned to run to her house. Then, his luck holding, she dropped a letter and bent over, her back to him, and picked it up. For one moment of glorious agony, Branson saw her hips and buttocks fan out and her shorts ride high up and be caught in the deep crevice between her legs. She straightened and walked on to the house, the two smooth, undulating cheeks of her buttocks in plain sight bouncing up and down.

If it had been any other day and any other letter, Gail might have heard a moan from the yard across the way and looked to see what was happening. But, not today. She held in her hand THE letter. Everybody gets at least one letter in their life which they can deem important. They can look back to that time and say, "My life changed that day."

So it was for Gail. She ran into the house excited, not knowing what she was going to do or if there was anything she should do.

She stood in their living room and laughed softly. She read the letter again, taking in every word. It was so very brief.

DARLING, LEAVING THIS HELLHOLE IN ONE WEEK AND FLYING BACK HOME TO YOU. LOVE, ROD.

Airmailed and postmarked two days ago. A quick calculation told her he might be home by next weekend. Gail felt good, better than she had felt in weeks. If old Branson hadn't been so interested in her body and his own frustrated thoughts, he would have noticed that Gail wasn't a happy girl; that she was, in fact, a deeply troubled human being. If horny old Branson had looked closely, he would have seen the telltale signs of much drinking the night before.

Rod had been in Vietnam a year and she had lived alone, having few friends and occasionally working for the Kelly Girls, taking office jobs when they seemed suitable and the mood hit her. Most of her friends were the wives of servicemen, like herself, waiting for their men to come home.

Then Lee, her younger brother came to visit her and stay. Although a warm day, Gail shivered, thinking about him and his visit. At home, when they were growing up, Lee, one year younger, had always been a wild one, getting into all sorts of trouble. At first, it had been dismissed as "coltish behavior", and "sowing his wild oats". Later, it had gotten more serious: drinking escapades and stories of wild parties. Lee ran with a crowd that was considered disreputable and Gail had nothing to do with them. One night Lee had come home drunk and surprised Gail as she lay in bed reading a book. He had attacked her. The word "attack" was never really mentioned and the whole thing was smoothed over as a joke. Lee being so drunk he "didn't know where he was." At least that is what Gail's mother had said. Her mother had a special attachment to Lee that Gail used to wonder about. Near forty, her mother was still a fine looking woman.

When Rod came along, the whole world changed and it wasn't long before they were married and moved to San Diego. And then Gail's mother wrote to say that Lee was coming out to see her right after school let out. Lee was attending an eastern college. In his first year, he had been almost kicked out. Several students had been arrested in an apartment off campus. Seems a sex party had been going on and one girl claimed that she had been raped.

And Lee had come to visit Gail.

Despite his sardonic and unpredictable ways, Gail loved her brother. His aggressiveness and his sharp tongue didn't bother her; she thought, that with time, he would change. When he first came, she had been struck by how different they were. She was to learn, to her horror and shame, how very much alike they were in at least one way.