Michael Smith - Siblings

And I, too, included candid accounts of my sexual experiences, both the casual flirtations I enjoyed with girls I met on campus and the deeply emotional and satisfying relationship I reveled in with Alex. I was careful not to divulge The Secret, though.

Naturally, I had related my one-night affair with Connie to my sister, who – predictably – was both pleased for me and curious about this girl I found so fascinating. After I asked for and received Connie's permission, Alex read all her letters and was impressed both by her imagination and intellect and by her obvious charms, as evidenced in those snapshots. For I should mention that the photos Connie sent were often of the "private" variety, featuring her very own self in very erotic poses. (I wondered who had taken them for her.)

Soon, Alex began including brief notes and then longer missives in my letters to Connie, and Connie answered with evident delight. I felt a growing conviction that these two wonderful ladies would get along just fine, if we could ever arrange another meeting.

Then the opportunity suddenly arrived, in the form of an invitation from the Humboldt Museum at the University of California to the Museum of the Pacific, to send someone for two weeks of concentrated training in some arcane specialty of Polynesian anthropology. Connie wangled the invite for herself, on the grounds that being part-Chinese, part-Japanese, part-Oceanic, and part-European gave her special qualifications. Then she called us that evening to say she would be arriving at Oakland International the next Friday. Alex was sharing the earpiece and listening in; she beat me to it by insisting that Connie would stay with us – and no arguments!

Now, here we were, waiting for the lady to deplane. I had missed her, for reasons of friendship as well as lustful memories. I prayed fervently that she and Alex would hit it off as well as I hoped. And I was nervous about this new turning point in my relationship with Connie. It*had* been fourteen months, all our correspondence notwithstanding, and this wasn't an unexpected interlude in San Diego; I doubted we could simply pick up where we had left off.

Nor did I*really* know how my sister would react when she saw how Connie so obviously affected me. Alex knew I loved her, no doubt about that. And we both had had our flings over the years (including Alex's "crisis of faith" in our relationship during her sophomore year in college). But we were older now and this thing with Connie might be different. Or maybe not – but I was still nervous.

I spotted Connie walking along behind the velvet rope from the passageway; she was scanning the crowd that was waiting to greet the passengers but she hadn't seen me yet; being under five feet in height has some disadvantages. She was wearing tight, bright red shorts, a sleeveless white cotton shirt, and white woven leather sandals with heels. All the colors contrasted nicely with her glowing sandalwood complexion. Her gleaming black hair swirled as she looked about; she had let it grow much longer than it had been in her last photo, and she looked younger than Alex though she was actually almost two years older than me. Alex saw her, too, and squeezed my hand.

"Michael! She's absolutely beautiful!" my sister whispered. The admiration in her voice didn't ease my edginess, though.

Then I raised my hand and waved and Connie saw me. Her eyes lit up and her smile flashed as she wove her way through the crowd. I was a little hesitant in moving forward to meet her, and she saw it and slowed to a stop. She raised those expressive eyebrows in a question that I wasn't sure I could answer. Alex saved me by walloping me on the arm in exasperation.

"Michael? Go and*kiss* her, you idiot! She'll think you don't want her!"

That got us a few odd looks from bystanders but it broke through my uncertainty. I closed the distance between us and swept little Connie up in my arms and swung her around, like in the movies. She hung onto my neck and laughed that tinkly laugh I remembered so well. When I set her down she kissed me so vigorously I heard a ringing in my ears. Only now was I realizing just how*much* I had missed her.

When we came out of our clinch, Alex was standing close to both of us, grinning ear to ear. She hooked her arms through mine and Connie's and we found ourselves in a warm three-way hug. Then Alex put her arms around our so-welcome visitor, and squeezed, and bent to whisper something in her ear, I couldn't hear what. Connie beamed and whispered something back. Obviously, I wasn't going to be let in on this one. But my relief was profound.

When we got back to our "lost" brownstone on the margin of the Berkeley hills, I lugged Connie's bags up the steps while Alex gave her the standard tour, upstairs and down – together with a mock-stern warning that she would not tolerate our guest thinking of this place as anything less than her own home for as long as she wished. Watching them interact so easily, I knew for certain that any fears I had had of Connie complicating the relationship between my sister and myself were groundless.

Neither Alex nor I had ever had more than a very few close friends -our preference as well as a practical necessity – but the two of them were already behaving as if they had known each other all their lives. Maybe that was inevitable; anyone about whom I felt so strongly almost had to rank highly with Alex, as well. Our minds functioned that closely.

Our bed was full-size, elderly but serviceable, with wooden posts at the corners. My first thought had been to let the girls share it while I unfolded the double-width sofa/futon downstairs in the living room.

Connie flatly refused the offer, pointing out that she was part-Japanese, after all, and smaller, and probably in better physical shape than I was. She would take the futon and we would keep our own bed. When I tried to protest, she retorted that if this was really "her own home," then she would sleep where she pleased, so there. I threw up my hands in surrender; I already knew that trying to argue with a decision she had made was pointless.

It was only about nine in the evening, and Connie's internal clock insisted it was even earlier than that, but Hawaii-to-California is a long, tiring flight. We had planned on a light supper and early to bed, to let her erase her reverse-jet-lag. But after supper, the girls became so engrossed in their first face-to-face conversation in the bedroom that after an hour or so I finally gave it up and unfolded the futon for myself. I hadn't worn pajamas in years, so I just stripped down, flung a spare sheet over my body, and dozed off within minutes.

I was awakened in the dark by the presence of a warm body cuddling up to mine and the feathery touch of long fingernails drifting across my cheek. It was Connie, wearing a very short, bright yellow nightshirt – obviously intended for a much younger girl, since it had a portrait of Bullwinkle on the front.

I looked over at her and registered the soft smile she gave me. Then it dawned on me that Alex must still be in the bedroom, asleep. This wouldn't do. As much as I might desire Connie, I wouldn't do anything behind my sister's back. I took her hand and opened my mouth to explain, but she laid a finger across my lips.

"I know what you're thinking, Michael, but you don't have to worry," she whispered. "Alex suggested I come in and claim my futon. Actually, she ordered me to! I understand now why you love her so much. You were worried that I might come between the two of you, even without meaning to, weren't you?" She saw the embarrassed admission in my eyes.

"You shouldn't have worried, you know. Michael, you*must* know how much she loves*you* – it's in her eyes and her voice every time she mentions your name. Didn't you know that? Maybe it just takes an 'outsider' to notice." She smiled again.