All alone

My brother and I were already adults, but we knew little about life. Our father had always shielded us from everything. He ordered us not to leave the house until his return, no matter how long we had to wait. Even before the offensive began, he had stockpiled food. We had many canned goods and rusks in our basement. He forbade us from lighting a fire. There had been no electricity for a long time. Across the road was a water pump, and every two or three days we went with buckets to fetch water. That was the farthest we went. The street was deserted.

It was summer then. We counted the days and waited for him, probably a month, before we left the village. On a sunny day, we climbed a small

hill behind the vegetable gardens and looked around for a long time. The village seemed dead. We sat there for about three hours, and not a single car, not a single train passed below. The factory chimneys, towering on the horizon where the district center was, were not smoking.

Our house was one-story and very tiny: two rooms four by four meters each and a veranda. The first room was the kitchen, and among other things, it had a stove. The other room was the bedroom. Although, the house also had a low basement and an attic where we had never been.

We mostly read. There were many books on completely different topics in the bedroom. When it got dark outside, we were left in pitch darkness. We had a flashlight, but we saved its battery. So, with the onset of dusk, we had no choice but to talk to each other. We chatted and made up all sorts of stories, like in childhood. The only thing we never talked about was our father. We both diligently avoided that topic and steered clear of it.

By the beginning of winter, washing became completely impossible due to the cold. There was still water at the pump, but it couldn't get warm. When his shaving foam ran out, he stopped shaving and began to grow a bit of a beard. Around the same time, my supply of pads ran out, and during my next period, I leaked very heavily. It happened at night, and I soaked the entire bed, even the clothes he was wearing. I was terribly ashamed, and he yelled at me. He thought I had wet myself. I brought him clean clothes, changed myself, and washed everything. Only in the evening did I realize that, rushing to change, I had accidentally dropped my clothes right in front of him, and he had seen me naked from the back.

One morning I heard sounds and felt an unusual movement from his side. I woke up and looked at him. He was lying with his eyes closed and jerking his hand under the blanket. I guessed he was masturbating. I felt uncomfortable and got out of bed. In the evening, I found dried stains on the bed and argued with him. He said it was from me again, to which I pulled down my panties and, covering myself with the edge of my T-shirt, showed him they were dry. I wanted to make him re-wash the entire bed, but he refused, and I went to wash it myself. I smelled the stain and sensed a faint pleasant smell. Then it was like I was burned. I collapsed on the floor, sat sideways somehow, put my hand in my panties and masturbated. I wasn't thinking about anything, I just felt good. Before that, I had masturbated very rarely. He was in the room and didn't see what I was doing. I had to wash my panties too.

At night we were terribly cold and began to huddle together. At first, I felt awkward and somewhat ashamed to press against him, but by the third or fourth time I felt how warm and pleasant he was, I felt his breath. A couple of times towards morning I felt his penis pressing against my stomach or thigh. He seemed to understand this in his sleep and shyly moved away or turned over. During the day, he gave me back massages, just like before. He started giving me massages about two years ago, he did it very rarely, and I always waited for it. We both didn't seem to get any special pleasure from it, he was just good at it, and it felt nice. I would lie on my stomach and unclasp my bra, which I had only just started wearing then. Once he slipped his hand under me and touched my nipple. We both laughed, but from that moment I always clamped my elbows, thinking he would go for my breasts again.

When the snow stopped melting, we realized we couldn't go on like this any longer. We dragged firewood from the woodpile into the house and very carefully began to learn how to heat the stove. We heated it in the evening when it was already getting dark, so the column of smoke wouldn't be as noticeable. From that moment on, life became much easier. We heated water for washing and even started drinking tea from the supplies in the kitchen.

Our outhouse was behind the house. It had a raised seat, and you could sit comfortably on it, like on a toilet. Once late in the evening I went there and, after doing my business, suddenly started masturbating. I sat on the edge, pulled up my winter jacket, spread my legs, and with my other hand went under my sweater, touching my nipple with cold fingers. After about five minutes, I noticed my brother watching me through a crack. I shuddered and tensed up.

"Get out of here!" I shouted. He laughed and left. He couldn't make out anything except my dark moving silhouette, but I was terribly embarrassed and quickly left the outhouse.

He started masturbating regularly. He was clearly embarrassed by me and did it when, in his opinion, I couldn't see. He did it when I left the house, but then I would find traces, or when I was in the kitchen, then I would hear quiet sounds, and a couple of times even saw the movement of his hands under the blanket. I decided it was natural and didn't say anything to him. Then I peeked and saw him finishing into the washbasin. At first, I was disgusted, and I thought for a long time that I should tell him, but then I remembered the smell of his stains, and the disgust immediately passed.

I had always loved him very much as a brother, and he reciprocated. In childhood, we sometimes argued and even fought a couple of times, but mostly we were friends and protected each other. Now, left alone together, we gradually became closer and closer. We had a lot of free time, and we talked a lot.

We counted dates on the calendar hanging on the wall, marking the past days with a cross. He tore branches from a pine tree growing on the neighboring plot, and we celebrated the new year. Around the same time, we both felt that we were no longer afraid and didn't yearn for the past. We shared this with each other and realized we had gotten used to it. It wasn't a very hard life. The canned goods had noticeably diminished, and we didn't know what we would do when they ran out. That was perhaps the only thing that worried us then.

He masturbated regularly now, usually twice a day—in the morning when I had already gotten up and left the bed, and at some time during the day. He seemed to sincerely believe I didn't notice. He did a lot of the stove-stoking, and I took on washing all the clothes. I regularly washed his stained underwear and T-shirts, but I completely stopped feeling disgusted. A couple of times I even caught myself thinking that I liked it.

In spring, when the snow melted, we stopped heating. We celebrated his birthday. From the small variety of products we had, I made several dishes as best I could. He ate everything with pleasure. Then we had fun all day.

We checked a few more houses, moving towards the station, and collected only quite a lot of canned goods. Most of the food was stored in refrigerators and had long since turned into compost, which then froze, and with the onset of spring began to thaw. No one, it seemed, had been as provident as our father.

The short road to the station went through a field. Snow still lay in clearings between tall last year's grass and in the tree belts. When we approached the tree belts, my brother suddenly shuddered and stopped, blocking my way with his hand.

"There," he pointed his hand towards the tree belts.

I peered for a couple of seconds, then said:

"Let's go."

"Go back?" he asked.

"They're dogs..." I said.

We crossed the tree belts and walked along the tracks.

"Look," I said. He nodded.

The top surface of the rails was covered with rust in places. Not a single train all winter.

There was no one at the station. Next to the station building stood an abandoned Lada. We broke into the station ticket office. More tea, a few dried bagels, and bandages.

"Someone was here, after," I said.

All the counters were ransacked, food packaging was torn and lying on the floor. The same in the store's warehouse. It seemed someone had eaten right on the floor. I thought about the dogs again. In the store, we only found soap and shampoo.

Finally, we checked the first-aid post, found rusks and a bunch of useful medications there, and headed back, this time along the main street.

Washing with soap and shampoo was fantastically pleasant. We replenished our supplies for a few more weeks. A month later, we repeated the foray. This time we examined houses along our street and collected more canned goods.

Soon we stopped heating. When spring turned into summer, it was my birthday. He tried very hard. He cleaned up and cooked food for me as best he could, mostly from the same canned goods.

When we went to bed, he kissed me on the lips. It was very gentle and pleasant, and I got aroused. He stroked my cheek and suddenly slipped his hand under my pants. I shuddered, clamped my legs, and tried to push him away. His hand lay on my vulva, it moved, and one finger penetrated my vagina.

We struggled silently, and I lost. He kneaded my crotch, and it was amazingly pleasant. Finally, I twisted and lay on my side, back to him. Desire fought within me with indignation and resentment. How dare he against my will... and besides, he's my brother. He lay next to me and shook the bed, masturbating. After lying for a bit, I fell asleep.

Usually we washed in the evening, and in the dark couldn't see each other naked. We washed in turns, and we had a strict rule not to enter the kitchen while the other was washing.

But this time, before bed, I didn't wash, and decided to wash in the morning. I got up before him, poured water into a basin, and undressed. It was warm enough now, we hadn't heated the stove or warmed water for a long time. The water was cold. I stood over the basin and rinsed myself. The soap and shampoo had long run out. I stood with my back to the room door. When I washed my crotch, squatting over the basin, I accidentally turned around.

My brother was standing right behind me and watching. I screamed and covered myself. He came over and hugged me from behind, raised his hands higher and cupped my breasts. I tried to break free and that seemed to provoke him. He took me by the shoulders and sharply turned me around.

"No!" I shouted.

He was already bigger and stronger than me, though younger. He pushed me down, forcing me to sit, then lie on the floor. He clumsily freed himself from his pants, and I glimpsed his penis. I hit him in the cheekbone with my fist, he gasped and grabbed my right hand. I clamped my legs and writhed under him like a snake. With his right hand, he lifted my left leg, thrust his wet, hot penis into my crotch twice, and on the third time entered me. He entered quickly, as if piercing me. I cried out in pain. He moved inside me. To my horror, I instantly became wet, just flowed, and the pain immediately lessened.

"No..." I whispered.

I came to my senses a bit and hit him with my left hand, though not as hard as the first time.

He pinned both my hands to the floor and lay on me with his whole body, not letting me free myself from under him or close my legs. It hurt and was hard.

After a couple of minutes, he pulled out his penis as quickly as he had entered. I looked at him. My brother was jerking his hand and came on my stomach. He got up, put on his pants, and went into the room.

I lay on the floor naked and splattered with his semen. It all happened very quickly. I was in pain and disgusted. I cursed him in a whisper. Finally, I got up and started washing, rinsing off his semen. I washed my crotch and tried to wash inside, but nothing came out. I got dressed and sat by the basin of dirty water. After sitting for a bit, I cried.

I sat by the stove for many hours, unable to make myself get up. The pain had long stopped. He came out of the room a couple of times and silently took food, once went to the outhouse.

When it got dark, I also went to the outhouse and stayed there for a long time. I sat with my shorts and panties down and thought. I felt melancholy and somehow ashamed. What a horror this all was. After all, he is my brother, my beloved little brother. I saw a shadow and clamped my legs, though it was already dark, and he couldn't make me out. The outhouse shook a little—he climbed onto it, and suddenly a flower fell on me from above, right on the top of my head. The outhouse shook again, and he left. The flower fell to the floor. I picked it up and tried to see. It was a chamomile, my favorite flower.

Coming into the house, I prepared food for myself, ate, cleaned up, and after finishing everything, sat at the dining table.

I sat and thought for a long time. He didn't do anything bad to me. On the contrary, we are adults. Of course, this shouldn't have been done, but we are completely alone. If we are alone and both want each other and love each other, is that so bad? We feel good when we are together. And I provoked him myself. After all, we sleep next to each other, and how many times has he seen me half-naked and how many times has he given me massages, touching my naked body. We haven't been able to restrain ourselves for a long time, and I am to blame for what finally happened.

I went into the room. He was lying on the bed and seemed to be asleep. I lay down next to him, on the very edge, and pulled the blanket over me, covering myself.

In the morning, he went to the outhouse, then I went. He lay down and continued sleeping. A bruise was visible on his cheekbone. I went to the kitchen and wet a towel. I gently woke him by kissing his lips and applied the cold towel to his bruise. He shuddered and opened his eyes.

He looked at my face, I smiled at him, then he looked lower. His eyes opened in surprise, he sat up. I stood before him completely naked. He examined my body carefully. I sat next to him and stroked his head.

"Why didn't you finish inside me?" I asked.

"Are you stupid? That makes babies."

He pounced on me again and laid me on the bed. He kissed me on the lips, then kneaded my breasts with one hand and sucked them, and with the other hand stroked my crotch. I helped him take off his pants and underwear, and guided his penis into me.

He moved quickly and sharply, and it hurt again. I was all wet and soaked the bed. I cried out hoarsely simultaneously from pain and pleasure and squeezed his shoulders with my hands or kneaded my breasts. When he pulled out, he sort of climbed on top of me and came right on my face, some got on the pillow.

"Oh, you bastard..." I whispered.

He lay down next to me on his side. I lay on my back with my face splattered with semen. Feeling its warmth and sharp, pleasant smell, I kneaded both breasts alternately with one hand, and with the other I masturbated fiercely. He watched me. When I came, he went to wash. I lay naked for a long time in pleasant semi-oblivion. When I got up, the semen on my face had already dried into a thin, unpleasant crust.

A couple of weeks later, we made another foray into the village. We walked along the main street and collected quite a lot of valuable things, including canned goods.__P_END