One of the wonderful things about being a child was that I truly had no idea how poor my family really was. I knew we didn't have nice things like some of my friends from school, but we weren't homeless and we ate everyday. So I thought we were pretty well off.
I grew up during the 1970s. My family lived in a little adobe style house on the outskirts of a farm town in California's rural San Joaquin Valley.
There was my dad, a mechanic by trade but he spent most of his time in the fields picking crops alongside his Mexican friends. My mother, who worked as a waitress in the diner of a truck stop not too far from where we lived. My older brother, who at age fourteen was already fed up with living like we did and would soon runaway from home, not to be see again until our father was dead and he himself was an adult with a family of his own. Myself, and my little sister.
I guess most folks considered us poor white trash. Just a bunch of rednecks from the Ozarks who had moved all the way out to California looking for greener pastures only to fall neck deep into the same stinking hog sty that we had run from.
They would have been right on two of those three assumptions. We were poor, we were white, but we were never trashy. My parents worked from sunrise to sunset and barely made ends meet. Yet they never turned away a friend in need or begrudged a beggar a few coins if we could possibly spare them.

We rented our home from a fat cigar smoking Armenian farmer by the name of Tutunjian. We only ever saw him once a month, when the rent was due. If anything needed to be repaired he'd promise to get someone on it and then we'd never hear back from him. Luckily dad was a jack of all trades and could fix just about anything under the sun.
The house had four rooms. The front door opened onto my parents room, which was a space barely large enough to shove a twin-size bed between the walls with no room to spare on either side. Walking past the foot of their bed you'd enter the living room which accounted for more than half of the house's square footage. It had a hard cement floor. My brother slept on a ratty old couch we'd stolen from the donation area outside the local Goodwill, while I and my sister shared a mattress our dad had fished out of a garbage bin. The kitchen was barely large enough for the refrigerator and a single basin sink with a small counter to one side. Mom kept a hot plate and an old toaster on the counter for cooking. The bathroom had a toilet that was prone to backing up and no bathtub or shower. We kept clean by heating up a pot of water on the hot plate and then using a bar of soap and a wash cloth on ourselves in the bathroom.

I guess it was the summer of '75 when I first started going through puberty. I was a few months shy of my eleventh birthday and I was still fascinated by the changes happening to my body. The first time I'd gotten an erection it had scared me. But a few months on, I was used to it and even looked forward to it.
My brother caught me playing with myself while sitting on the toilet one day and he went around joyfully telling anyone he could find that he'd caught me jerking off. I was totally humiliated and wouldn't leave the house. It finally stopped when our dad told him to knock it the hell off before he spilled some of his secrets. I don't know what those secrets were, but the threat sure shut my brother up quick. Still, for the longest time friends and neighbors would snigger when they saw me and crack jokes about hairy palms, Hannah and her sisters etc. They were a laugh a minute (sarcasm).
Now my sleeping arrangement with my sister went like this. I always got the inside of the mattress facing the wall. I also slept with my head facing east (directly against the wall separating my parents bedroom from the living room). While she slept on the outside edge nearest the floor with her head pointing west toward the kitchen. That way my feet were about even with her face while her feet came down to about my elbows. We only had the one blanket so we shared it. We didn't have pillows at all, so we'd take some of our clothes and roll them into a ball and use that for pillows.

At night the house was as dark as pitch. We literally couldn't see our hands in front of our faces. We didn't have a TV but we did have a transistor radio. Most nights dad would leave it on a country station and turn it down low and we'd all drift off to sleep to the songs of Glen Campbell, Loretta Lynn or my dad's favorite, Charley Pride.
But on the particular night I want to tell you about, the house was quiet. The batteries had died and we didn't have money to replace them. We'd been in bed about half an hour and I was still awake, staring up into the dark and thinking. Just lately I'd been thinking about girls. Only a year or so earlier I had been convinced that just touching them would give me some horrible disease. Now all I wanted to do was touch them. So I thought and relaxed with my hands clasped behind my head and got a hardon, glad for the dark because nobody would see it.
I'd been hard about 5 minutes when I felt my sister's hand bump against my hardon. I immediately stopped thinking and focused on what was happening beneath the covers. I waited... a moment after the initial bump, I felt her hand sneak back and gingerly touch my erection and then pull away. A moment later another quick feel. I wasn't sure what she was doing, but I liked her touching it. I remained stock still. I felt her hand slowly enclose it, squeeze gently then let go. Every few seconds for several minutes she'd risk a quick touch and then slink away. Finally she stopped and after several more minutes I could tell by her breathing that she had fallen asleep.
The next day she didn't mention it and I figured I'd dreamed the whole thing. So I was pleasantly surprised later that night when once again, lying in the dark and hard from my nightly fantasies I felt her hand touch me again. She gently groped the head of my cock and I jerked slightly despite myself because of the little electric jolt that shot through me when she touched it.
"Brother," she whispered. "What is that??"
"It's me you dork," I whispered back.
"Naw aw," she replied and wrapped her hand firmly around my cock and squeezed, then let go. "It ain't either."
"It is so," I told her.
She was quiet a minute, then she gingerly touched it again. "Is that... is that your thing??"
"Yep," I replied.
"Why is it all hard??"
"I don't know," I shrugged. "It just does that sometimes."
"That's stupid," she muttered. "I'm glad mine don't do that."
"Oh you ain't even got one," I frowned.
"I'm glad for that too!" She shot back.
Then our dad grumbled sleepily from his bed "You kids quiet down and go to bed!"
We shut up and settled down for a few minutes, then I felt her curious little hand start fondling me again. It was turning me on, so I reached down beneath the blanket and slipped my hand between her legs and touched her pussy, rubbing it through the soft material of her panties (she'd gone to bed in a long t-shirt and panties, me in pajama bottoms). She giggled and clenched her legs shut, trapping my hand between them. I continued rubbing her pussy with one hand, then snuck my free hand into my PJ's and jerked off. After a few minutes I shot off inside my pajamas. It felt great. I pulled my hand free of her legs and wiped my other hand on the side of the mattress facing the wall.
It became a game for us over the next couple of nights. I'd pull my pajama bottoms down and she'd reach down and play with my cock, while I'd slide my fingers inside her panties and play with her butt and pussy. I'd jerk off to it every night. But eventually my mom noticed the cum stains on the blanket and in my pajamas. I heard them talking in bed one night.
"He's growing up," my dad said. "He can't stay a baby forever."
"I know that," mom replied. "But maybe the sleeping arrangements should change."
"Yeah, I guess so," dad told her. "Well, tomorrow stick both boys on the bed and put Sissy up on the couch."
And so they did.

It was about ten years later, in late 1984. Dad was buried and gone, my brother lived in a different state altogether and mom was crippled up from a car accident and getting by on social security disability. I'd dropped out of high school at sixteen and started working whatever jobs I could get. I eventually got hired on to a crew that cleaned and refurbished rental units for landlords in town. It was relatively good pay. Sissy was in her teens now and in high school. We had a much nicer home and more money then we'd once had.
Mom was asleep in her room and I was sitting on the living room couch watching TV. Sissy was sitting beside me. We'd been cracking jokes all night and were both in a good mood. I'd recently made a lot of money at work. It was good times.
Sissy had grown into a pretty girl. She was short and full figured (what guys would call a thick Shawty nowadays) with cornsilk blonde hair and bright green eyes. I shoved her, she shoved me back. Pretty soon it was a play fight and she was sitting on my lap punching my shoulder. I couldn't help myself, I got hard and she noticed.
"Pervert!"
"Sorry," I said. "You shouldn't jump on me like that."
"I'm your sister weirdo," she smiled, moving away and kicking at me. "It shouldn't matter if I sit on your lap."
I laughed and brought up when we'd been little. "Do you remember any of that??"
She did.
"Then mom saw those stains and got worried and moved you and stuck both of us boys in bed together," I sighed. "That was awful. I was always getting my cover snatched and he farted constantly."
She laughed. "Aww poor baby."
"You ever miss being kids??" I asked.
"Oh yeah," she grinned. "I just pine away for the good old days when we'd grab each other's junk under the covers."
"No," I shook my head. "I just mean being kids."
"I know what you meant," she said. "And no, not really. Eating pinto beans and rice 5 times a week, watching mom and dad work themselves to death for chump change."
"I guess your right," I said. "It wasn't all bad though."
"No it wasn't," she said and started humming one of our dad's favorite country songs. Whenever it came on the radio he'd sing along to it.
I said goodnight and went to bed. About twenty minutes later, Sissy slid into bed beside me.
"What the heck are you doin??" I asked.
"Wait," she giggled. "I'm not doing it right." She moved, so that her head was at my feet. "Like this right??"
I burst out laughing. "Your nuts girl."
"Naw aw!" She pretended to pout, then reached up and grabbed between my legs. I was naked except for my boxers.
"Hey now," I said. "Don't be starting nothing you won't want to finish or you'll feel weird about tomorrow."
"You ain't doing it right," she said. "Your supposed to grab me back."
I shook my head and smiled. "The room ain't dark enough."
"That can't be helped," she said. It couldn't.
I reached between her legs and rubbed her pussy. She pulled my cock out of my boxers and began stroking it.
"This is for kids," I said and stood up, my suddenly rock hard cock sticking out. I shed my boxers and walked to the door locking it. "We got to be quiet. Mom's sleeping."
Sissy got undressed and crawled up beside me when I got back into bed, she leaned in and kissed me. I kissed her back. There was no more talking. We just acted on instinct. My hands and mouth roamed over her body. I sucked on her nipples, planted kisses down her belly and worked my way down to her pussy where I spent considerable time fingering and eating her out. She moaned softly and arched her hips, pushing herself into my face. After a while we traded places and she gave me head, sucking on my cock hungrily, taking me deep time and again. We finished with anal sex. I fucked her in the ass, pounding my cock into her again and again while she grit her teeth and groaned, eyes shut tight. Afterwards we lay there a while, her head on my chest.
"Well I guess we're both just a couple of incestuous hillbillies ain't we," she murmured, a smile on her face.
"Yep," I nodded.

Sissy and I continued to have sex off and on through our lives. Usually when one of us has just been through a bad relationship or we just need some comfort and support for whatever reason. It's now 2014 and I'm the last one left. My parents are gone. My brother is passed away. Even Sissy is gone. She left behind a little boy, my nephew and I raised him as best I could. He's a grown man now and a college graduate. So I guess I didn't do too bad. I'm all alone now and most nights I sit up and think about the past. I miss my family. I really do. But I'm glad I can still go back through the stories I write about us (this being the only one sexual in nature). Hope you liked it.