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Sister's lifestyle change leads to love with brother.

Looking at him with soft eyes, she scooted up his body until she could kiss him. She continued looking at him with an expression he couldn't figure and stroked his hair.

"Tell me," she said, burying her face in his neck, "why are we getting a divorce?" He snorted. She knew damn good and well why.

"Because seven months ago you decided you wanted to, 'Experience other men outside of marriage.' You wanted to, 'See if there was something more for you out there,' besides growing old with me," he said, his voice gruff. He hoped she wasn't going to start some shit with him, he was kind of liking these booty calls and would hate for them to end. Whoever she had been fucking since their breakup had obviously taught her much. Her enthusiasm and repertoire had improved a lot, too.

"Because I loved you enough to let you go and be happy," he finished lamely, feeling like a pussy.

It had hurt him, to be rejected by his life-long companion, lover, and wife. To this day he wasn't sure if she really hadn't fucked anybody else before cutting him loose though she had told him repeatedly she had not. Most of the time he knew she hadn't, it just wasn't her style, but, oh, those lonely nights early on!

"Well," she said, her voice soft and low against his neck, "that was severely stupid of me."

"Oh," he said, keeping his voice even, neutral, "is it not working out for you the way you wanted?" He felt a pang of satisfaction, then felt guilty at his pleasure in her pain. "Not enough hot studs to keep you occupied?" he asked lightly as if joking.

She sat up and took his hand in hers. Her eyes looked at him, trying to telepathically transmit a message about what was going on with her. After twenty-three years of marriage, he had a good idea. He cocked an eyebrow at her and remained silent. Let her explain herself if she would.

"I went out with exactly four men," she said matter-of-factly. "Of those, I went out with only two of them more than once. A grand total of one hand job, one intense finger-banging, and a half-assed tittie-suck." She snorted, laughing. "It was the most pathetic thing I've done since I was fourteen." She laid back down, looking up at the ceiling of his (their) bedroom, her arm, side, and hip touching his.

"It sounds like a slow beginning," he said, teasing her. He didn't really want to hear about her lovers. It kind of pissed him off, in fact.

"It's just...there just wasn't any connection with them," she said, glancing at him then returning her eyes to the ceiling. "There was a bit of naughty lust, at first, but that...died once we got into it. The one orgasm I had wasn't worth all the effort it took to get to that point. I just...I don't know."

"Maybe you're hung up on me," he said softly after a while. He felt a low-grade sadness in his gut at the thought they might have to stop these booty-calls so she could get over him and move on with dating.

"You think?" she said. She took his hand in hers and held it, fingers intertwined. So familiar, so comforting. "How about you? You getting any? Beside me, I mean?" Her voice trembled a bit at the question.

He looked at her sharply for a moment but decided she wasn't poking at him. She was trying to see how well he was handling their separation.

"Once word got around that a middle-aged executive with all his hair was separated from his wife, the come-on's flooded in," he said. "I had two, ah, 'dates' with one young admin from accounting. She wore my ass out all night long. I'm pretty sure we did everything in the Kama Sutra." He stopped at that, not wanting to hurt her too much.

"Everything?" she asked, giving him a worried look.

"Young women today don't seem to have many sexual restrictions," he said. He laughed. "I had to look some of the things we did up on the Internet!" She giggled, then sobered.

"I guess one broke-down middle-aged booty-call girl can't compete with that," she said, that tremble back in her voice again.

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