My Homestay Hosts

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There is implied sibling incest and light sexual tension, but no sex in this story. Move on if you are looking for bruising, squealing, oozing sex.

I’m an only child. I guess I’ll never know at first hand what a sibling relationship is like. This is not about me personally. It’s about an incidental experience of mine in my backpacking travels.

Not so much embarrassing, but awkward, piquing, and an element of curious charm.

I was an avid traveler. I was planning to visit a particular region halfway across the world for the first time. I was traveling alone, on a modest, but mercifully, not shoestring budget. I searched the internet for good-value, affordable homestays, to conserve my budget, as well as to indulge in local immersion.

From the listings, I selected host Jack. He operated a homestay room in his small villa about a kilometer from the nearest village. From the pictures posted, his lofty perched villa, off a dizzy winding corniche, commanded a glorious mountain-thru-sea vista sweep of view. In the online feedback trail, the guests paid glowing fawning homage to Jack and his co-host. The co-host listed was Jill. Some of the guest feedback mentioned that Jack and Jill were cousins. Others referred to them as siblings. I looked forward to the immersion experience.

On my check-in day, I texted Jack. He promptly replied that his co-host, Jill would meet me at the village cafe.

Jill duly appeared at the appointed time. She was a girl in her twenties. Jill was wearing a casual loose flowing summery dress. She had chiseled model-like looks, but without the daunting piercing professional model killer aura. Although hard to glean precisely from her loose garments, her flowing body form flittingly hinted at slimness and fulsomeness simultaneously, as she moved. Jill introduced herself as Jack’s cousin. She had a cheeky mien about her that made interaction seamlessly connective from the get-go.

Jill drove me to the villa in her open Jeep.

Jack welcomed me. He showed me my room. He asked me to join him for a drink at the patio after I have settled in, if I had the time. I said, cool. Meanwhile, Jill beetled around the villa attending to chores.

My room was exactly as advertised, if not more. The sweep of view was the vista as had been playing in my mind. This was the reality I signed up for. The closest I will get to heaven without the inconvenience of dying.

I joined Jack at the patio. He asked me whether I would like a soft drink, a beer, or wine. I said beer would be cool. Hmmm… right off the bat, it looked like I picked the right homestay host.

Jack told me that his villa had three rooms. Two were on one side facing the sea. He occupied one of the two. Jill occupied the third room that had an oblique seaview, complementing the mountain view.

Jack said that Jill was his cousin. Jill helped him run the homestay operations. Jack and Jill had studied together in a foreign university. An educational and cultural immersion. Both worked for multinational tech corporations upon graduation, but later decided to run a homestay, as well as a couple of home businesses which aligned with their hobby passions. Self-actualization in flowering flourish.

I had a sense that Jack was from a well-connected influential family with more than modest means. Everything in the villa was discerningly curated, from furniture to appliance gizmos, bore a touch of understated minimalist class. But, Jack was the model of humility. He was totally grounded running the laundry, mopping the floor, after the homestay guests. If he was privileged and entitled, it didn’t show.

Jack said that he ran a couple of other home businesses, one of which was photography services, and then synergistically, an online media rendition internet service. Rendition of picture images, videos, audio, text into an artistic montage or collage whole. Both Jack and Jill wrote freelance in the realm of technological enablement of art.

Jack said Jill and him had a portfolio of their own photos, which they used as stock photos for their business. He said he’ll like to show them to me sometime. I said, cool.

Finally, Jack said I could knock on his or Jill’s door anytime I needed help. He said that if there was no response from Jill, she was likely to be in his room, as their mini business office, and IT equipment were there. He said they were night owls, so late night was fine.

I hardly saw Jack and Jill for the next three days as I was out traipsing from the morning, and back late at night. So much to do, so little time.

I received a text from Jack asking beşiktaş anal yapan escort me if I could join Jill and him for dinner. Jill was cooking. I picked up a bottle of white. This would pair well with the local cuisine.

Dinner was excellent. We had breezy banter on our travels and life experiences. Jack and Jill regaled me with stories of their more memorable homestay guests, without identifying them, to protect their privacy.

An immaculately behaved Japanese couple who was constantly bowing to them. Jack and Jill ached their backs dutifully reciprocating in harmony and in unison.

A zesty Brazilian couple who was a moveable feast of samba. They would be in their regulation barely-legal skimpy stringy swimsuits. The lady’s ass was presented uncased in their full twin glory. Her top cover was calibrated to her, not insignificant, chocolate smear of areola. The man’s goods inhabited a teardrop-shaped pouch. A penis sheath. A cock sock. When the couple returned to the villa after their beach frolic, still in their economical suits, they chilled at the patio, soaking the rays, sipping wine, taking in the glorious view.

Jill joked “Jack dislocated his eyeballs during that period, and had to seek treatment, he he!”

To which Jack countered “And Jill was busy checking out the package from Brazil, ha ha!”

A Scandinavian guest couple requested their permission to sunbathe nude in the patio. They just couldn’t let good sun scatter to waste, which Jack and Jill did not unreasonably disapprove, as gracious hosts who aimed to please. As they were going to be au naturel most of the day anyways at the patio and in their room, within the homely cozy confines of the small villa, after a couple of days, they asked if they could remain nude all day in the villa, since it was not going to make a big difference. They confided that they lived a home nudist lifestyle in their home country.

I teased “So, did you join them, he he?”

To which Jill extended her arm to me and said suggestively “See how tanned I am, he he!”

I countered “This evidence doesn’t count! You need to show more proof”. Laughter.

Jack said “You know, we joined them… so as not to make our guests uncomfortable, being the gracious hosts that we are… we met them halfway, suffice to say.” Wink, wink, then infectious laughter.

I came to appreciate that in their homestay business, they had the opportunity to orbit the world, week after week, engaging down-to-earth diverse people at close range, all from within the cosy confines of their villa. Perhaps one day, I may run a homestay business, to bring the world to me.

We bantered on about our hobbies and pastimes. I told them that I have interest in photography over many years. I have an entry-level Nikon DSLR plaything. But, I don’t seem to be making much headway in the technical and artistic dimensions, so my interest has been on the wane in recent years. Jack said that I have come to exactly the right place to reignite my hobby. I said that I would be pleased to learn from the grand master. Him.

After dinner, I helped Jill and Jack fetch the cutlery to the kitchen. I offered to do the dishes. Jill said they needed just to load the cutlery into the dishwashing machine. Shortly, we were done. We repaired to the lounge, wine bottle and glasses in short tow.

Jack said we would view his and Jill’s photography portfolio. He went into his room and brought out his Mac. He fired up the Mac, and strung it up to his huge TV monitor. His albums screen carried lots of folders, titled variously. Places. People. Animals Pets. Nature. Life. Food. Travel. Sports. Surreal. Uni Days. Jill. The titles themselves weaved a tapestry story of sorts.

We started the slideshow. We began with “Travel”. They had travelled broadly, including some far offroad marginal places like the Galapagos Islands, Cuba, Mongolia, Papeete and Kilimanjaro. Not your package tour carousel spin laundry list ticking tourists.

Jack had a keen aesthetic eye. It was apparent from the artfully angled perspective shots. Jack said that he considered still photography to be the most artistically demanding and exacting art form. You had to inform the essence of the story of the subject, object, place or experience in a singular moment of suspended animation. Just one shot. Unlike a video, a novel, a song, where you could express in a stream of consciousness. And Jack told stories…

We viewed other folders. The “Uni Days” folder presented their student days, and the places they visited in that foreign country. beşiktaş bdsm escort There were the obligatory cheesy, goofy pictures of student life. And then, there were family photos, presumably of their parents visiting them in uni. Jack and Jill probably forgot about these family pictures. They expressed a hint of suppressed surprise that these pictures were in the folder.

The man, their dad, was distinguished-looking, with an aura of a diplomat, or a corporate honcho. The lady was tai tai-like, a lady who no doubt did lunch, yet regally casual. They appeared to be urbane confident people with a measure of means.

There were imprinted captions on some of the family photos, presumably for the benefit of relatives and friends who would be receiving these pictures in their email.

Family group photo. Jill and mom cooking up a dinner storm of local cuisine ingredients. Jill and mom in a classic university campus blooming rose garden. Jack, Jill, dad and mom presiding over a local cuisine hearty dinner spread. Jack, Jill and dad precariously and heroically perched on an iconic geographical structure.

It was apparent from the pictures, and confirmed by the captions, that Jack and Jill were siblings. Jack the sensitive artist that he reliably was, perceived my moment of awareness.

He felt obliged to clarify. “Actually, Jill and I are bro and sis, as is apparent from these pictures. We were away from home for the first time in a foreign country for our studies at a young age. We watched out for each other. So, we are close.”

I sensed that he was, maybe, attempting to clarify and justify something, subtly, in the same verbal brush stroke. But, there was no awkwardness or sheepishness in the revelation. No explanation was needed, and none was offered, on the earlier cousin story. A relatively small leap from cousins to siblings.

Jack then said that there were some modeling pictures of Jill. I asked if Jill was cool with showing them to me. Jill disconnected the Mac from the TV monitor to review the folder.

She quipped “Just checking to see if there are any draft bad shots that should rightfully be deleted, since this is a working folder.”

She then added “Hmmm… some cheeky shots…, you wouldn’t be offended, he he?”

A teasing rhetorical question that was par for Jill’s insouciant course.

I joked “I’ll endeavor not to be. And when I am, I will duly close my eyes tight.”

Good natured laughter, buoyed by good wine, chorused in the cool lounge air, wafting into the patio. In an implicit show of approval, she passed the Mac back to Jack, to hook back to the TV monitor.

Jill’s pictures were methodically organized by genres. I guess for easy reference, for professional photography retrieval purposes.

The first set presented Jill in glamor dresses. Classy without being to-the-nines overbearing.

The second, Jill in casuals. Summery bold florals. Pastels. Breezy spaghetti strap tops.

The third, ahem! Jill in swimsuit. I felt a wave of awkwardness. But, Jill and Jack were completely nonchalant, like they were showing birthday party pictures. Maybe this was their professional attitude towards photography, in whatever form it may range.

Jill was in a series of high-cut 1-piece costumes. The high-cut accentuated her legs, flaring into hips. Loud and proud. Viscerally delectable. Her brother mapped and captured her contours with sensual precision. Jill appeared larger than life on the big screen. Which was odd because here she was sitting right in this lounge in the flesh. Most of the pictures were taken outdoors. The villa’s lounge and patio. The beach.

At this time, Jill snuggled up to her brother. Ironically, I had an odd intuition that their earlier revelation that they were siblings, and close ones at that, gave them a new lease of liberty, and a charge, to act siblingly. She squirmed a little in fine bodily adjustment, then lazed out, reclined on her brother as if he was a poolside lounge chair. Brother molded into sister, morphing into a sibling whole. Sister’s head nestled on brother’s upper chest, cocked up to view the TV monitor. Jack hugged her softly, as if buckling her down in a seatbelt that were his arms, held that position for a while, then released his hug, as if she was secured in place. It seemed like a body language that they were conversant in.

Next up was a mini-series of Jill in bikinis and tube bandeaus. In particular, the strapless bandeaus, gave a heightened sense of feminine vulnerability. They accentuated her cleavage to good effect.

And beşiktaş elit escort a series taken on a sunny holiday. The bikini tops did not flatter Jill as much as the strapless bandeaus. Perhaps the straps diminished the vulnerability factor of the costume.

Curiously, as if mining the depths of my mind, Jack observed “I prefer Jill in bandeaus. I find bikini straps intrusive on the body form. Bandeaus present cleaner liberated lines.”

And then, a series of obliquely angled cleavage shots. Jack told me in an advisory professional tone that for this type of shots, it is usual to insert silicone lift-pads into the model’s garment. And then, cosmetically brush-blacken the cleavage ever so lightly, to heighten the visual impact. He added that this presented better natural tonal contrast effect than photo-editing. What was unstated was whether these very photographs we were viewing in cinematic splendor benefited from this rendition.

But, Jill implicitly put this mystery to rest. “Hmmm… what my bro is saying is that I’ve small tits, he he!”

To which her brother countered authoritatively “No tits are ever too small or big”.

I said: “You’re my gracious host. I have to respectfully concur”.

Jill shrieked “Men!”

She playfully smacked her brother’s chin in mock disapproval. But, it was apparent that Jill was enjoying the attention moment, and I sensed more so from her brother than from me. They collectively drew from me, a third party they hardly knew, the oblique thrill of sharing their implied sibling intimacy in two dimensions. An intimacy expressed in the brother-photographer and model-sister telegenic tension of photography, and on the sofa.

What followed was a series of delicately angled back shots. Some with the top on, others without. Jack said that there was something about a woman’s back that defied aesthetic logic. A bland expanse of flesh bounded by clean artful body lines. And yet, the sum total of imagery stirred senses. Akin to the sublime beauty of a stark desert landscape. Hmmm… these were veering into the far margins, approaching the province of lite erotica. I peered over. Brother had this hand on his sister’s stomach, fingers in a toying motion on her navel. Nonchalant.

If that back shots series was somewhat awkward, the last series blew me away. The classic hands-cupping-breasts pose.

When the first picture flashed up, Jack said “Fasten your seatbelt!”

Now, how did I get to be installed here on this balmy night? I was seated on this sofa, sipping wine, my senses in free spirited levitation, viewing a huge screen of a picture of a girl cupping her breasts, in a photograph taken by her brother, and these same siblings were seated right next to me, sister nestled on her brother’s front, and we were conversing casually on the high art form of photography?

I couldn’t help but blurted “Nice…”

Jill teased “My bro’s photography, or my body, he he?”

Curiously, Jack answered on my behalf without a hint of awkwardness “My sis is hot! If I may say so myself!” And he duly confirmed that assessment with a spontaneous kindling peck on his sister’s lips.

The slideshow had run its course. The spell ended. Our wine bottle looked forlornly empty. This marked the conclusion of our aesthetic journey.

Jack suggested we watch a Netflix movie. He fired up a recent movie on screen. Jill fetched three beers from the kitchen.

Jill went back to luxuriate on the sofa. This time, she lazed out lengthwise, and rested her head on her brother’s lap. In the sedate quieter sequences of the movie, Jack’s hand, in a musical motion, stroked his sister’s hair. They were at peace in a spacetime of their own delineation.

Later, I retired to my room. The bro and sis continued watching the movie.

I had little interaction with the siblings after that night. My schedule was full. And I didn’t wish to further impose on them, much as I enjoyed their effervescent company.

There was a 2003 French movie by the famous director, Bernardo Bertolucci. The Dreamers.

An American student, Matthew, was on a year of immersion in Paris in the tumultuous 1960’s. He was a film buff. Somewhat of a loner. Matthew made friends with a pair of Parisian siblings, brother and sister twins, Theo and Isabelle, from the film enthusiast crowd hanging out at the arty Cinémathèque Française. Upon the twin’s invitation, as their parents were out of town, Matthew moved into their apartment.

Theo and Isabelle had a liberal attitude towards nudity. Matthew chanced upon seeing them sleep in the nude one night.

Was this commonplace French casual attitude on nudity? Or, was it just the twins? Was there anything going on? American puritanism was juxtaposed disconcertingly against European chill liberty. Curiously, Matthew learnt that Isabelle was still a virgin…

I wondered if Jack and Jill had watched this film before?

The End

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