And her p***y. I'd seen it before, far closer than this. But framed by her totality, it seemed ever more incredible. Full, pouting lips. That tuft of dark hair. Warm, wanting, welcoming.
I could have stared at her for hours like that. It may have been hours for all the time that I spent sitting there, agape. I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come. I had to hope that the look on my face, the clear appearance of supplicant worship, would be enough for my sister would understand.
Something must have been communicated, because Betsy reached her hand down to me -- like God reaching to Adam in the Sistine Chapel.
"Come here," she said, and pulled me up to the bed. I lay back on the comforter, the softness of the mattress feeling like a cloud after the hard, scratchy floor. Bet
