Very quietly, in stocking feet, I crept through the hallway. The wooden floors were hard and cold but that was not the focus of my attention. 

I knew without a doubt what she was doing. She did it all the time but especially on Friday nights in the summer. The August heat made it so hard to sleep. There was no air conditioning in those days. 

I tried the doorknob and, as usual, it was not locked. Pushing the door slowly so it wouldn't creak and give my presence away, I slipped into the shadows of her bedroom. The oil lamp glowed with the flickering of a yellow flame that danced atop its braided cotton wick. Shadows danced on the wood-paneled walls, dimmed by the smutty globe that protected the flame from a soft summer breeze. 

The chirps of millions of crickets were heard above her soft moans through a slightly opened wood frame window. Stepping to the side, avoiding the creaky boards of the floor, I quietly blended, invisibly, with the clothes she hung from hooks on her wall. Illuminated for a microsecond by the flashes of heat lightening far in the distance, she could have seen me lurking had her eyes been open. 

As it was, she faced away, toward the window on her left side. The glow of the lamp reflected by her skin, dampened with perspiration, like my own. Her sleeveless cotton gown was pulled up to her waist, exposing her firm buttocks, partially covered by white panties that disappeared between her honey-tan cheeks. 

I could see only the tips of her fingers in the dark, avocado-shaped gap between her thighs. She was softly pressing on the dampened crotch of her underwear, slowly rubbing, front to back. Her right hand had found its way to her breast, squeezing and twisting at her nipple. Soft gasps and moans drifted through the night from her lips to my ears.

I found my cock, hard and throbbing, after pushing my shorts to my knees and slowly, silently began stroking. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought she might hear it and I would be discovered. Relieved only by the lust of the moment and the realization that her heart must be pounding as violently as mine. As long as I contained my urges to moan and groan, I would remain undiscovered. My strokes were silent, tightly gripped, and oh-so-slow. 

Her right hand abandoned her breast, sliding slowly over her hip to her firm buttock. I watched her tug her gown higher, exposing the waistband of her panties. The white cotton was almost aglow in the dim amber light. Her chest rose and fell with a long, deep breath, “Oh, yes, mm yes,” she drew out in a long hissing moan. 

My movements stopped abruptly when she rolled onto her back, pulling her gown over her head, leaving it on the pillow under her long, hay-colored hair, lightened by so many hours in the summer sun. Her nipples, suddenly kissed by the cool air of the midnight breeze, stood firm and erect on her white breasts, reaching for the ceiling as if praying for attention. I realized that I was holding my breath when I dizzily swooned, sliding one foot forward to keep my balance.

Slipping both hands into the front of her panties, she began making small circles with her right hand while pushing down her elastic waistband with her left. Her eyes were tightly closed and her face was askew with a pleasure that looked longingly painful. I watched her head fall back onto her pillow, sinking into the goose down softness. Her mouth opened and her tongue pressed against her top lip, breathing loudly and deeply, sheets tangled damply around her body.

Her knees bent and she drew her ankles near to her bottom, spreading her legs wide. I closely watched the bend of her knuckles as they pushed against the softness of her cotton panties, only to sink in closer to her crotch over and over again. I knew what she was doing, even though her fingers were hidden by her panties. Those white cotton panties.

Again, I started to stroke my throbbing shaft ever so slowly, quietly, and timidly, watching her pleasure herself, pulling my foot back into the shadows. I wondered about her fantasy, what and who she desired. Did she have someone in her mind, giving her what she desired? Was it just an obscure image with no real face that she pictured? Had she ever thought of me? I thought, probably not, considering that we were siblings. 

I wondered how she would react if she knew I was watching. Then the questions enter my mind, “Does she know? Has she ever suspected? Has she ever seen me? Does she do this knowing that I watch?”

It was a heady ponderance. I didn't dwell on it though. It only served as a distraction from why I was there. I'd been there so many times—too many to count but it never got old. I didn't look away when she pushed her panties to her knees, the hair that covered her sex became visible. I imagine that it was so soft as I inhaled her scent that wafted across the room from where she lay. Pulling her left foot from her panties, she left them tangled on her right knee, turning back to the window.

The distant lightning brightened the night with irregular flashes that spiderwebbed across the clouds. I watch her bend her right knee, pulling her foot up to her left and spreading her legs. This gave me a much better view of what was between.

My strokes were quicker, and I squeezed my shaft tighter, emboldened by the elevated volume of her moans and the fact that her back was again turned toward me. Still being as quiet as possible, I brought myself closer to orgasm. Having watched her so many times, I knew from her movements that she was close as well. She was breathing faster and deeper; her moans now coming from a deeper lust. Sliding her right hand over her hip again, she spread her sex with her fingers, giving her left hand freedom to delve. 

She pushed two then three fingers deep into herself, pulling them out and bringing them to her lips for a taste. She seemed to savor the essence of her sex on her pink tongue, licking each glistening finger. Trembling in anticipation, she returned her right hand to the task. Three fingers slid in and out in the dim light, dripping with her juices. 

My juices flowed as well, hanging in a strand that danced with every jerky stroke of my shaft. If she were silent, I'm sure she would hear the slap of my scrotum with every motion of my hand. 

Too far gone, as I knew she was as well. I threw caution to the wind. My strokes were faster, like hers, the tapping sound of lust gently strumming from my nether. The wet sounds from her sex and her sighs and moans masked and noise that I made. Her fingers drove deeper with every push. She was in a frenzy, bringing herself very quickly to climax. 

I was getting to that point very quickly as well, timing her movements, as I so often had, to achieve simultaneous effect. I watched her fingers, her body, even the way she turned her face into her pillow, muffling her moans, which grew louder with the eternity of each passing second. 

The flash of lightning through the dirty panes of her window strobed over her body, brightly illuminating every shadowy detail. Her fingers were pressed deep, no longer thrusting in and out but rather curled and straightened inside her hungry sex. Her scent grew stronger and her body jerked and trembled violently. Her wetness was very evident, flickering the reflections of her bedside lamp.

Again realizing that I was holding my breath, I involuntarily exhaled with a low moan. It was as if I wanted to be discovered. I pushed my cock down, pointing it at the floor when my ejaculation started. Not wanting to leave evidence of my voyeuristic presence on her floor, I felt it soaking into my socks. It was warm as it ran down the side of my leg and soaked onto my foot. I would take the evidence with me. 

She rolled onto her back, exhausted and satisfied, breathing as if she had run a mile. I was stroking out the dregs of my seed, quietly and slowly. Second only to entering her room, that was the most dangerous time to be there. She was silent, contemplating the remnants of orgasm that still tingled her flesh. Her hands lay at her sides and her legs spread wide, as if to cool the heat between them. 

My palm was flat atop my shaft, pressing it straight down, slowly massaging it with only the tips of my fingers, feeling the hardness of my erection begin to fade. No more did the lightning flash, gone like the waves of our mutual orgasms. It was as if it was never there. My heart, nonetheless, still pounded, almost audibly.

Her head rolled in my direction and her eyes glowed in the lamplight, “Is someone there?” she whispered.

I stood still, hidden by the shadows, thankful that the lightning had died away. No more words would be spoken that night. After several seconds, she pressed the lever, lifting the lamp globe, then extinguished the fire with a quick puff of breath. As still as a statue, I waited, contemplating my escape. I knew the route, and I knew the boards that would creak if I stepped on them. 

Patience and determination brought me the opportunity. Her breathing had changed and a soft purring snore told me it was time. Like a ghost, I quietly faded into the dimness of the hallway, not bothering to fully close her door. Chances taken and rewarded were not to be fouled by the chance of discovery from a noisy door. 

I was safely in my bed again like so many nights before.