Infatuation Ch. 02

I felt like a fool. The things I was saying were so corny they would have been cut from even the cheesiest daytime soap opera. But it was what I felt, and I've always thought that expressing your affection for someone requires a solid amount of clichés.

"What do you want from me?" Jemma asked, voicing the million-dollar question. I could have come up with just as many answers.

"I don't know," I said, looking down at our hands. It felt so good to be touching her, as though I was slowly drawing closer to home, or to some place that was ready to embrace me with pleasant familiarity. I looked up again, wondering what I could say.

"I'm not having sex with you," Jemma said frankly.

Just hearing her use that three-letter word made my cock jump in my pants. I hadn't even been hard until then. I'm not sure why I hadn't been, but perhaps I was simply too wrapped up in the details of our conversation.

I felt like the only way I could reply to that candid statement was to smile agreeably. And, truthfully, I wasn't sure whether that was what I wanted or not. "Can we just do something together?" I asked, hoping I no longer sounded corny. I'm pretty sure I did though.

"Like what?" Jemma asked, still a bit sceptical of my sincerity, and finally taking her hands back. My own hands felt empty now.

"I don't know," I replied. "Anything you want. It doesn't matter."

"You're such a horny little prick, you know that?" Jemma said with a smile.

"I'm not horny," I protested. "I told you ... I just want to spend some time with you."

"Whatever," said Jemma. "You can help me dust the living room, if you like."

It was the only time in my life that I'd agreed to do housework without a groan of irritation. I practically flew to the cupboard, snatched the duster, flew back to the lounge room and started dusting things. I think Jemma was amused. She was still smiling, and shaking her head, and – I just knew it – starting to see how she could use my silly crush to her advantage. She's intelligent like that, my sister.

I felt so lonely when Jemma left the room, but all she did was get another duster and start on the opposite side of the room. I pretty much gave up on my half after that, preferring instead to watch her bend over or bounce on her toes as she tried to dust a tall shelf. I knew that was my opening, because it always is in the movies. She couldn't reach something, her top was exposing her belly, and her loving brother was there to help her. So what did I do?

Nope, sorry ... you're wrong. I didn't offer to dust the shelf for her. How stupid do you think I am? (You don't have to answer that. Oh, you did anyway. Well, screw you then.) Instead, I reached out and held her hips to steady her. I didn't wrap my arms around them or anything; I just made sure they stopped swaying.

Well! Try telling that to Jemma! She spun around so fast I had to duck to avoid being hit by her duster. And yes, I know you were all hoping I wouldn't duck in time, so I'm sorry to disappoint. Bastards.

Anyway, as well as turning around, Jemma also shrieked, "JAMES!" again. I conjured a mental picture of her in bed with me and suddenly her scream wasn't so unpleasant. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

"I was just steadying you," I said innocently.

Jemma opened her mouth to reply, then sighed, and finally brandished her duster at me. "I swear to God..." she said menacingly.

I rolled my eyes and went back to my half of the room. "Drama queen," I added before I left.

"Pervert," Jemma snapped in retort.

It was hard to concentrate after that, mainly because I could still feel Jemma's phantom hips in my hands. There was also the small – I mean big; reallybig – problem of my cock being hard. I repeat: big!

Needless to say, after that little incident, Jemma began casting furtive looks at me every few seconds, to make sure I was where I was supposed to be. I don't think she realised that I wassupposed to be in her arms, and she in mine. If she had figured that out, it would have saved me a lot of trouble.

My blood was running so hot by now that all I wanted to do was toss the friggin' duster out the window and start groping Jemma. Of course, that wouldn't be a very honourable thing to do and I doubt my parents would have overlooked the broken window, so I chose to restrain myself. Which was really, really hard.

The only thing I could do was to steer my path towards Jemma's, so that, after she had finished dusting the coffee table and straightened up, she found herself face to face with me, without realising it.

"Shit!" she cried out, and jumped back a step or two. Then her eyes glazed over with fury. "James!"

"What?" I protested. Thiscertainlywasn't fair.

What Jemma did then was pretty awesome.No, she didn't strip down to her underwear and ask me to lather her up (although kudos on the imagery), instead, she grabbed me by the shoulders, pushed me down on the couch and stared at me from only a few inches away.

"James," she said slowly. "Will youplease stop harassing me?"

"Harassingyou!" I exclaimed, and opened my mouth to argue further, but Jemma cut me off.

"Whatever you want to call it," she said. "Just stop."

"I'm not doing anything," I replied, somewhat vacantly, because I'd just noticed how smooth her arms were.

"The hell you aren't," Jemma exclaimed. "Touching me, asking to spendtime with me, trying to see me ... JAMES!"

She snatched her arm away just as I had begun to caress it. She looked horrified again. "You little...." She was, apparently, too furious to speak.

I made a show of rolling my eyes. "You're such a prude."

"A prude?" Jemma cried, her eyes widening to the size of ping-pong balls. "Because I won't let my brother feel me up?"

"I'm not trying to 'feel you up'," I replied defensively. "I was just caressing you."

"Well, do me a favour and don't do it again, okay?"

I scooted forward on the couch, so that I was within reaching distance of Jemma's hips. I didn't touch them though, because, let's face it, you don't prolong a conversation with your enraged sister by doing the thing she's enraged about. I wanted to though. Ireally wanted to.

"I can't help it," I said plaintively. "Whenever I look at you I just want to—"

"Don't!" Jemma exclaimed, pointing a stern finger at me. "Don't finish that sentence."

"...touch you," I said, thinking that the only reason she wanted me to stop talking was because she thought I'd say "have sex with you". But "touch you" wasn't gross; it was romantic, if anything. And she'd see that.

Well, Ithought she'd see that. But instead of seeing it, she kind of shuddered and turned away from me, as though someone had just force fed her rat droppings. "Just ... stop talking," she said pleadingly, as she collected her duster again.

"But..."

"NO, James!" she yelled, brandishing her duster at me. "I saidstop –talking!" I paused for a moment, and then opened my mouth. "STOP!" Jemma interrupted me, widening her eyes and giving me a look that was, I could tell, predicated on amusement. So I shut my mouth like a good boy, and sat back on the couch, and waited for her to turn around. Once she had, I said quickly, "I think you're really pretty."

"Arrgh!" she replied, and stormed out of the room. And suddenly the lounge room was a lonely, foreboding place that I no longer wished to be in. And wheredid I wish to be? Why, wherever Jemma was, of course. So I set off in search of her, hoping that maybe I could persuade her to spend some more time with me.

She was in her room, of course, dusting, and of course she looked incredible. I could just picture her in a skimpy little maid's outfit and a pair of heels. Although, truthfully, I didn't think it was possible to make her look any sexier than she already did.

I simply waited in her doorway until she turned around to dust her bookshelf and finally caught sight of me. She didn't jump this time, probably because she was expecting me. "Getout, James!" she snapped, starting forward to shut her door, but before she could, I jumped inside. "James!" she roared, and started towards me instead.

The first thing I did was to run around the other side of her bed, and then, as Jemma followed me, I leapt over it. Or, rather, I staggered over it and managed to keep my footing. All Jemma did, though, was bound smoothly over it and continue to chase me, around and around in circles until I was dizzy down to my bones. I'd always known (well, I'd known for a little while) that my sister was perfect in every way, but I hadn't given much thought to her athletic ability. Until now, that is, when she was tearing after me like a hungry cheetah. I actually got tired before she did. And all the while she was shouting, "James, you shit head! James, you stupid prick! Get out of my room!" I knew, obviously, that she didn't mean those things, so I let them slide.

Something else I let slide was my foot, as I was rounding the end of Jemma's bed. My sock bunched up and suddenly I went crashing to the ground, which hurt. But it was one of those silver lining moments, for you see, when one crashes miserably to the earth, one usually gets crushed by any people following closely at one's heels; which is basically a fancy way of saying Jemma fell on top of me.

I rolled over straight away and tried to get up (this was before my brain had acknowledged the benefits of my situation), but Jemma dug her knuckles into my chest and pinned me down with her knees. She was panting too, which ... you know ... was really cool.

I knew there was a big tirade coming, a big diatribe on how perverted I was and how much I was annoying her, but before she had even enunciated the first syllable, my arms went gently around her torso as though it was their natural occupation to do so.

"James!" Jemma screamed, and tried to writhe free. But, as you all know, writhing is a very sexual action, and not at all designed to get youout of someone's arms.

But let's pause for a second here and remind everyone that, contrary to what you've read, I'm not actually a depraved pervert who would hold a girl in place for his own benefit. (And no, I don't want to hear what you think. I'm stating the facts here, bub, and I say that I'm not a monster.) On the other hand, though, I didn't want to let go. Hence my predicament: I couldn't hold her on me against her will, but neither could I just give up this amazingly sensual moment. So, naturally, I tickled her.

And boy did I tickle her. Angry people usually have a very high tickle threshold, and unless you break that threshold, they're not going to laugh. Jemma didn't laugh at the start, but I moved my fingers around so quickly that eventually she started to spasm against me and cry out with furious, teary-eyed laughter. Listening to her, and watching her, I felt warm inside.

And I was hard, too, but I chose to ignore that.

So a person who's having the stuffing tickled out of them generally doesn't pay much attention to anything else. Which is why I was able to pull my sister closer and feel those lovely, rounded breasts pressed up against my chest. I'm telling you ... it was heaven. Heaven! Pure, unadulterated bliss. I could have lain there for eternity.

But I wasso hard, and this was the most intimate thing I'd ever done with a girl before. The lack of stimulation on my cock was almost painful. I usually had a hand on it when I was this horny, but now it was just sitting there all alone. A few times, Jemma's knee brushed it, but the sensation this produced was short-lived and far from orgasmic.

So I slowly abated with my tickling and instead slid the tips of my fingers – just the tips! – underneath Jemma's top, to caress her belly. There was no way anyone could construe that as a wanton act of lust, but Jemma seemed to take heavy offence to it. She grabbed my wrists and tried to yank them away, but she couldn't exactly move them. "James!" she said warningly, though the smile that still graced her lips – from the tickling, of course – belied some of her anger.

"I'm just caressing you," I said, and gently stroked her skin again, as best I could.

"James!" she admonished me, and finally wrenched my hands out.

I just smiled at up her with perfect serenity. "You're so cute when you're angry."

Jemma scoffed and tried to respond, but my hands were free again and I was running them along her sides again. "Jaaaaaames!" she groaned, but not from pleasure.

She was about to pull away from me, so I pushed myself into a sitting position and wrapped my arms all the way around her. We were now locked in a fierce, sitting embrace, which felt even more erotic than our prone embrace had been. "James!" Jemma kept saying, about as often as she tried to wrest my hands from her body, which was pretty damn often. But as she was twisting from side to side and trying to get free – albeit with far less effort than shecould have used, in my opinion – her neck exposed itself to me and suddenly I was leaning into, pursing my lips and planting the softest possible kiss on her bare flesh. Jemma didn't notice the first one, but I kissed her again, and again, and again, until she gave up on my hands and squealed with fright. "JAMES!"

I looked right into her eyes and smiled. And not the deranged smile you're all picturing either. This whole story is making me come off as a decadent jerk, isn't it? Well, anyway ... this is what I said to her:

"I'll let you go if you kiss me."

Her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open and suddenly she was snarling and spitting and trying to twist herself out of my arms. I held onto though and tried to kiss her neck again. "Jaaaames," she moaned, as though she was on the verge of tears. She wasn't, of course, because I would have known if she was, and I would have let her go immediately. But I still had an inkling that she was enjoying this as much as I was, so I held fast.

It didn't take long for her to give up, having spent all her energy on that last desperate escape attempt, the way crocodiles tire themselves out before submitting themselves to the unfortunate fate of having Steve Irwin leap on top of them. But, needless to say, Jemma felt a lot better than a crocodile. And now she was practically sitting on my lap, her head above my own and her eyes looking down into mine. They had a furious expression in them, but at least she was looking at me. I smiled a little and gently tickled her sides.

A muffled groan, or growl, or protest, orsomething, escaped Jemma's lips, and then she leant down and pecked me quickly on the mouth. It was so quick I didn't have time to register it, but I felt it – briefly – and my arms were already loosening of their own accord.

"Pervert," Jemma said sharply as she got to her feet, and kicked me in the shin. But I was oblivious to pain right then, because my body was suffused by a blissful calm that seemed to resonate through every nerve and blood vessel within me. I was only vaguely aware of Jemma staring down at me, a blurry, yet still attractive, shadow.

"Get out of my room!" she snapped, and started kicking me in the back. I finally recovered enough of my senses to stagger to my feet and walk drunkenly out of the room.

Now, that was probably the best moment of my life. I know it wasn't exactly an ideal kiss ... in the sense that she waswilling to kiss me, but I'm pretty sure she could have screamed and kicked and clawed at me to get away, rather than kissing me. So I was left to wonder: just howdoes Jemma feel about me? But I knew the answer right away. Her irritation was genuine. Her disgust though ... well, that was open to analysis.

So, where did we go from there? Well, as it just so happens, that part comes next chapter. So if you're curious to find out whether I actually got my dream girl and Jemma's walls of resistance came crashing down around her, you'll have to tune in next time for some more forbidden treats. Remember: same taboo time, same taboo channel. See you then!