Emma had taken the photo, on top of a mountain they had climbed together, four years earlier.
It was August. Emma was 18 and on her way to her first year of college. Aaron was about to start medical school. They decided to hike to the top of nearby mountain together, before either left for school.
Aaron drove his beat-up Hyundai for an hour and a half to the trailhead, arriving by early afternoon. He carried sandwiches and water for Emma and himself in his backpack. Clambering up the mountain, Aaron was struck by Emma’s high energy. Aaron walked at a steady pace, but Emma was everywhere — lagging behind him, pacing at his side, dashing ahead of him on gamine legs and nimble feet. When she went ahead, Aaron could not help but notice the perfect sculpture of her ass under the tight and brief blue Lululemon shorts, though he felt guilty about noticing. He tried to look away, but he could not. More than once he thought he noticed Emma’s ass wiggle as she hiked directly in front of him.
Aaron could not remember spending a more joyous day with his sister. They talked nonstop the whole way up the mountain, the August heat and sunshine beating down on them. Halfway up they sat down for a long lunch under the dappled shade of an oak. Emma talked about starting college in a few weeks. Aaron shared his worries about medical school. When done with eating lunch and talking about school, Emma thanked Aaron for bringing food for the hike. She told him she’d make it up to him sometime. They continued up the steep, dusty trail.
A coat of grime and sweat lay over their bodies by the time they reached the peak. They stood alone on the top. Already, the sun perched low in the sky, and it bathed the surrounding hills in a golden glow broken at irregular intervals by the shadows winding through the valleys below them. On its north side, the peak gave way abruptly to a cliff, hundreds of feet high, and Aaron and Emma walked to the edge and stood silently looking to its foot below.
Emma pulled out her little camera from Aaron’s backpack, asked Aaron to pose near the edge, and took a photo of him. He took a photo of her. She put the camera away and they walked again to the edge of the cliff, eyes scanning the olive mountains that rolled and rumbled to a hazy horizon in every direction.
Emma took Aaron’s hand, then, and she squeezed it hard. Whether it was from fear or joy or sheer impulsiveness, Aaron did not know, but he squeezed her hand back, and they glanced at each other.
The glance became something else, and before Aaron knew what he was doing he took hold of Emma by her hips and he kissed her, his lips barely brushing hers. Suddenly aware that he was kissing his sister, he started to pull away, but Emma grabbed him and pulled him back to her. She pushed her face toward his. They kissed again, this time harder and longer.
Kissing one’s sister was supposed to be disgusting, or boring. But kissing Emma was neither. When his lips touched hers, Aaron’s loins stirred, and his heart soared. A hundred feelings crowded his mind and his body, all of them bathed in warmth and golden light from the sun in the west. Best of all, Emma kissed him back. Her lips mashed against his and his arms went around her, cradling her back and shoulders. Somewhere in the back of Aaron’s mind the thought popped up that what he was doing was wrong, but the desire to kiss his sister pushed the thought back down. Aaron and Emma stood on the top of the mountain, lips and bodies together, with the sun going down, heedless of time and of other people and of other people’s rules.