Sister is a Showoff

The sound of her laughter wasn't pretty, but it was heartening. She laughed like a person who was really enjoying herself. It was a refreshing change from the hollow halls of high school.

"Ha," she choked, "Oh man, ha ha," choking again, "Did you see him? Hahaha."

"Yeah," I lazily mused, "That was pretty funny."

"'I gotta go,'" she mimicked him, "God, he is such a horn dog."

I laughed. Or maybe I feigned laughter. It was hard to say, at that moment. I was certainly entranced watching her.

"He won't make it home," she laughed, quieter now, "He's going to break down and have to shuck it in his front yard."

"Yeah, haha," I finally managed to half-convincingly laugh. "You sure showed him."

Her face turned deadly serious, but in a way that I could tell she was sure she was only mocking me.

"What?" she asked, "You're not jealous that your friend got a little show, are you?"

"Me? What?" I asked, "No."

"Are you sure?" she asked, sitting up, "I wouldn't want you to feel left out, Ricky."

"I'm okay."

"Did you get to see? I don't think he saw much. I tried to keep my side turned to him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to give too much away for free."

"I don't think you did."

"Good. I only wanted to tease him a little. I think he lost a little bit of control there."

"I guess."

"I could see he was getting hard."

"Maybe."

"Yeah he was," she said, "Look, you're even getting hard."

Acting only on instinct, I kind of withdrew my loins and dropped my hands to cover my genitals. I can neither confirm nor deny that I was, in fact, getting hard.

"It's okay if you are," she said, "It's only natural."

I kept myself covered, despite how open we'd been the last few days.

"Here," she said. "Don't feel weird." She sat up on her bed, and unwrapped her towel. "It's okay. I like being looked at." She stood up, facing me, and let the towel fall behind her. She stood before me, bare-ass naked, her nipples jutting upwardly at me, stiff with the breeze from her fan. My whole head accompanied my eyes on a lecherous tour of the total of her body, starting obviously at her tits and running down to her toes; up from there over the tautness of her calves, the muscles and subtle fat of her thighs, the slit up the front of her vagina. There was not a hair to be spotted on the entirety of her mound. I was admiring her too intensely to even notice how I was behaving.

"Go on," she said, encouraging my almost subconscious response to her intolerable sexiness. "Take it out."

She knocked me out of my lustful survey. I refocused my gaze, caught her eye for an honest look for at least a second. God damn, she was beautiful. Still soaked from her shower, her hair was matted together in one long heavy strand weaving its way over her left shoulder. It was dripping onto her already dripping flesh. Her skin glistened where the sharp light reflected along her natural curvature. It really took quite a lot to keep my feet planted for how much I wanted to just rush forward and take her.

"Do it," she said. "I like watching men come for me."

It was muscle memory. My troubled mind can't be held responsible. Sometimes it's not the hand that plays the boner; it's the boner that plays the hand.

I was whipped out and stroking before I even knew what I was doing. I was certain not to last very long of myself, for how concussively my nuts were rattling in their sac. I was veiny and purple-headed and leaking precum like a faucet.

"Mmmm," she hummed, "You've grown into quite a large young man, haven't you?" she asked.

I was already fit to burst, but her comment on the size of my dick was driving me over the edge. They always do. But she saw that as well.

"Don't come on my carpet," she scolded.

And with no time to come up with any other viable alternatives, I wrapped up my throbbing head and came into the palm of my hand. It was the kind of intense, squirmy orgasm that clings on to parts of you and drags them out of you with it. The kind of orgasm that makes you lesser but in a way that feels better.

"Yeah," she said softly, smiling bright. She was staring either right at my cock (the thought made me come a little harder on third spurt), or else just admiring the fruits of her effort dripping in between my clenched fingers.

"That was good, yeah," she said like she was kind of asking but already knew what the answer was, which was a good thing because I was so exploited as to barely then be able to even speak. I believe I made a sound that came out like "Hhhmmmmmmyyyee"

"Ok good," she said, "That was fun. Get out of here."

I wanted to make a noise of protest, or some kind of question, but she turned me around by my shoulder and gently patted me out the door. It's a good thing my parents weren't about, because I walked down the hall to my room with my dick out held in my cum-soaked hand and my undone shorts halfway down around my ankles.

***

I spent the afternoon in a goofy haze. I might have fallen asleep a little bit and not even known it. The whole thing was a dreamy experience, is I guess the best way to put it. I was vaguely aware that things existed, that out there was stuff like human beings and carnival rides and math homework, but I was only the existential experience of bliss confused, or conflicted happiness, or maybe shameful pleasure.

It was weird. I was revolted at my own glee.

I don't know how long I lay there, thinking about trying not to think too hard, before a knock on the door arose me. I was used to expecting it to be Mom announcing dinner, and I called out an invitation without even thinking about it. The sight of Lauren in my room shocked me out of my reverie.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," I said, bounding out of bed and kind of just absently hoping I'd thought to do my pants up. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she said. "Not your fly, at least."

No such luck. Worse, when I went to do my fly up I found my belt unbuckled as well, but didn't want to make a scene fiddling with it.

"It's just easier to lie down that way," I excused myself. I wondered for the first time what the view of Britt's room looked like through Lauren's window.

"Yeah, I bet," she said. She tucked a loose strand of her long dark hair behind her ear.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize."

"You?" I asked, "What do you have to apologize for?"

"For not giving you the benefit of the doubt," she said, "Plus I was kind of a bitch earlier."

"Your words," I shrugged. She sat down next to me on my bed, and she took my hands in hers.

"I'm sorry, Ricky. I immediately thought the worst of you. That wasn't fair. I should have thought the worst of Joel."

"He's an okay guy. A bit of a horn dog."

"Tell me about it," she said. "You should have seen him looking at me in gym class today. Ugh."

"I'll talk to him. He's a good kid." Calling Joel a kid was a running joke of mine. I was just a few days older than him, but he had skyrocketed through puberty when I was still in my chubby fat kid phase.

"You're so sweet, Ricky," she said. She smiled kind of sweetly, and meekly leaned in and kissed my cheek. "But you're still not off the hook," she continued, her expression shifting into a suspicious glare, "I can't believe you'd just let Joel peep on your sister like that? That's pretty gross. What even made you think that was okay?"

"I don't know," I said, rubbing the back of my neck with my palm. "She just seems kind of open about that kind of stuff. I mean, you saw her asking about her interview shirt."

"Is that what she was doing? I thought she was asking which top made her stupid big tits look huger."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"No, it's the kind of thing I don't think she minds. She said she didn't care when I apologized about seeing her at the beach."

"You saw her at the beach?"

"Oh," I started, "Yeah, I guess I did. By accident, though." Lauren's face shook for an instant, threatening to drop into a frown.

"She didn't mind you seeing her naked?"

"I really don't think she cared," I said, "In fact, she told me she even puts pictures of herself on the Internet."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah. She said there were some. Somebody must be putting them out there."

"Wow," she said, "I don't know where she gets the confidence. I never even showed anybody my boobs until... well, you know. You were there."

"Beats me," I said. "Whatever. I say to each their own. If that's what she does to get off in her private life, I don't care as long as it doesn't affect me."

Suddenly the doorknob turned, and who should appear but the devil in the flesh herself, Britt. She was clad only in towels, like before, but her hair was wrapped in one and her body was dressed in an absurdly tight and tiny towel that barely dropped to the bottom of her ass cheeks and still had an open slit running up her side almost up to her under-boob.

"I'm getting dressed for my interview," she said matter-of-factly, "Have you seen my lucky panties?"

She marched straight into my room, right in front of Lauren and I, and opened my dresser underneath the TV across the room. She opened each of the top drawers at once, bending forward to look inside. Lauren and I were each staring googly-eyed as the hem of her towel rode up above the crest of her ass cheeks. Just the bottom of her bare ass was visible to us, and hard as I was concentrating, I couldn't really tell if I saw a hint of labia between her legs.

"Oh, here they are," she said, producing a lacy red thong from my drawer. "Geez, right?" Immediately she stood up, her towel falling back to its original, still somewhat scandalous length. "Wish me luck," she said, striding out and shutting the door behind her.

I took a moment to return to earth, and when I did, you can bet that Lauren was giving me a hell of a stinkeye.

"What?" I asked, "She's open. It's just like I told you!"

"You have your sister's panties in your underwear drawer?" she asked.

"It happens. My Mom does the laundry. You know how she's kind of... spacey..."

The spacey Mom bit was completely true, by the way. When the big split happened 10 or so years ago, Mom almost went to jail for assaulting my Uncle Hoyt with a fork. She copped a plea for anger management therapy, got on the Xanax, and then she gradually morphed into your garden-variety pill-popping suburban housewife. Sunrise, sunset.

"I guess," she said, "Your Mom is kind of weird."

"She has her way." She hugged my very suddenly, very closely, very tightly.

"I'm sorry, Ricky," she said.

"It's okay," I said, patting her.

And very naturally, we fell backwards into my bed, crashed into my pillows together, grasped tighter at each other, and started clawing at each other lustfully. When I worked my hands under her t-shirt, where normally she would stop me, this time she allowed me. For the first time I had the pleasure of taking the top off my long-time on-again-off-again girl nest door cliché. She was wearing her Wal-Mart bra, which I wrestled off her immediately. For the first time, I grasped her breasts in my hand. They were in the same room as I, close enough to touch. I gripped them tightly, rolled her nipples into the pressure of my thumb and forefinger, pulled on them so they stretched out to my will.

She was arching her back in pleasure before all of the sudden she collapsed herself onto me. She kissed my lips, my neck, made her way down my chest til she was struggling with the belt round my waist.

"Woah," I said.

"Yeah?" she asked excitedly, "Are you ready for this?"

"Baby, I'm so ready."

"Good," she said, "You better be ready. I'm going to blow your mind."

I give her an A for effort. She really tried hard. Very hard. But it was her first time, and people very rarely walk into anything being an expert.

She made me wonder if maybe there was Dunning-Kruger effect for blowjobs. She couldn't really handle the girth, I guess, and only got close to taking maybe the first half. But she tried her toothy best, and maybe on a bad day it would have got me there, but being freshly exorcised from Britt's blatant exhibitionism I just couldn't be made to finish. I think she kind of realized that it wasn't working though, after maybe twenty minutes, and when I was slapping my semi-hard cock against her open bottom lip.

"You can just come on my face if you want," she said. She had me at my most intently alert and at the same time incredibly frustrated. I stroked up and in less than a minute I was spurting happily on her face while she made an effort to be game, pretending to really try to catch the jets of come I was spraying all over her.

I was far too blissed out to even be present. I was so far gone I barely even felt that I was rubbing my erupting erection over her nose and face, leaving a snail's trail of semen in its wake. By the time I was finished and had noticed that I'd finished, she was covered. I looked down and was stunned to see a Rorschach of my cum on Lauren's face. But worse, though, is that what stunned me was that it was Lauren's face instead of Britt's. I hate to admit it, but for the moment I had to disappear into fantasy, it was Britt's tongue playing with the tip of my cock while I was releasing. She smiled at me.

"Did you like that?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," I said, "I fucking loved that."

"Good," she said, "Now get me a Kleenex so I can clean up."

***

I can tell you that that night sleep came for me easily, but the dreams came for me hard. And in my dream I was being given a blowjob, only it wasn't from a human person. I was fucking the smiley yellow face that once bid us all to have a nice day and later became the default facial contortion of emoji. Only the emoji had no eyes, nor slits nor punctuation indicating their presence. And instead what eyes could be seen were detached from anything, floating in the sky above me, and they were the gross protuberant and trumpet-shaped eyes of a frightened cartoon character, only pointed at me and demanding 'Is this real?' And all the while the smiley yellow eyeless face is blowing me, and blowing me harder and harder until it was blowing too deep, and my legs folded back as the smiley eyeless thing snapped me and swallowed me like a snake. And then I came to and I was conscious, and I was aware that the quickly fading memories were just a dream, but still one of the deep hard heart-rate quickening dream experiences that are all fantasy and mystery and still somehow gripping and insistent on the really scary point that this experience is, in fact, real.

***

Joel had lacrosse practice after school the next day, so I walked home alone. Usually I'd be at lacrosse practice with him, but I'd broken a bone in my ankle pretty bad in football season and missed lacrosse tryouts, and even then I was still under a 'no-strenuous exercise' doctor's order.

When I got home I was surprised to find my Mom sprawled out on the couch. It was just after school, and she was usually in bed by then. She was lying on her towel in a pale green bikini. She looked half asleep. Just kind of instinctually by then I checked to see if she was breathing. I knelt at her side, patted her gently on the cheek.

"Mom?" I asked, "Hey Mom? You awake?"

She stirred. I patted her more and she stirred more. I started rubbing her arms.

"Wake up, Mom," I said.

She lolled her head to face towards me. Her neck muscles started to engage. Her eyes still wouldn't open. I patted her on the cheek again til she came back to life.

"Hi Ricky," she said.

"Hey Mom. What are you doing on the couch?"

"What?" she asked, rubbing her head, "I don't... what?"

"Have you been drinking, Mom? You know you're not supposed to drink when you're taking your pills."

"I just had a little," she said, "I just had a little bit."

"Were you swimming?" I asked, "Just tanning?"

"I went to Jeff's," she said.

Jeff is the cool neighbor with the pool and the classic car. He had a reputation of being a bit of a womanizer and my Mom liked to hang around him. You can see how the rumours might get around. We had a pretty gossipy alley.

"Yeah?" I asked, "Did you go for a swim?"

"Yeah, I went for a swim. That's why I'm all wet."

She wasn't really wet, but she was damp. She'd probably been passed out for a while.

"Were you drinking while you were swimming?" I asked, "Was he there? You know you can't drink if you're taking your pills and you definitely can't swim. What if you fall asleep?"

"He was there," she scoffed, "With that woman."

"The ice cream lady?"

"No. The one with the Jaguar."

"I don't know that one," I said.

"I just wanted to swim," Mom said, "She made him kick me out. She made him."

"What?" I asked. Asking my Mom to tell a story was almost always a bad idea, but sometimes she just managed to hook you in.

"I was just in the tanning chair and then they were just there. He was saying something. She was pointing. It was hard to tell what he was saying. She kept pointing at me. She was saying inappropriate."

"Was she saying you were being inappropriate?" I asked, fearing the worst. My Mom paused to think, and I was afraid she might nod off again.

"No," she finally said.

"That's great," I said.

"So then I shouted, 'I'll show you inappropriate! I don't know you!' and I pushed her in the pool."

"You what?"

"I pushed her. I pushed her right in. I tried to push her," she said. "I think I did. I remember slipping. I remember swimming. I probably pulled her in."

"Mom," I said, "What the fuck?"

"It's okay," she said, "I remember Jeff pulling me out. Heck, that's probably how I got here!" She laughed.

"Did you drink a lot today?"

"I don't know," she said, "I didn't want to go swimming."

"You need to sleep."

She opened her arms wide as if to greet me, or maybe to pull me in.

"Take me to bed," she said.

***

I'm an impatient man, and it always takes my Mom way too long for my tastes to kind of hobble anywhere on my shoulders. She has a gait like I did when I broke my ankle. Even when I was barely off crutches, it was always easier for me to just pick her up if I ever needed to take her anywhere. So I grabbed her under her shoulders and knees and carried her over the threshold of the master bedroom and deposited her in the master bed. She squirmed.

"No," she said, "No. I can't sleep like this." It was weird seeing her come to life so suddenly. She at up, probably way too quickly, and I could see her head swimming.

"Like what?"

"I'm wearing a soaked bikini," she said.

"You were sleeping just fine before on the couch."

"I don't want to soak my sheets."

"Fine," I said, "Strip." I turned my back on her and started casually searching for half-full or nearly empty bottles of tequila stored in her night table. In an Irish family of beer and whiskey it always confused me that my Mom ended up kissing our Mexican cousin.

"Ricky," she said, "I used to be a Jaguar."

"What?"

"I was a top model, baby," she said, "I made 'em purr."

"Okay."

"Look at me."

"Are you in bed?"

"Look at me," she repeated more forcefully. When I couldn't distract myself fumbling unevenly through her hiding places, I turned to face her.

She was standing next to her bed, stripped of her pale green bikini. It was an unflattering colour, and she looked much better with it pooled in a crumpled pile at her feet. Not that my Mom ever looked really bad, speaking strictly physically. You could see the perfect cloth Brittany had been cut from. Mom had Brittany when she was only 18, and for a woman of 40 with two kids she had held up very well. Her breasts were only in the beginning stages of sag, and her nipples looked less defeated than desperate, as if they were just begging for a stern reminder of how it felt to be a woman aroused. I remember seeing my Mom in old photos in better bikinis, and feeling conflicted about her tits. I would stroke them absently on the photo paper, knowing only that they were female things taboo, and that my Mom had a pair of the best of them. I had to reconcile craving and not being able to crave them. Her tummy was stretched and had the marks to show for it, but even after two children its paunchiness was minimal. The sparse auburn of her trimmed pubic hair betrayed the hidden natural color of the hair on her head. She had the matriarchal alternative to the Dadbod. She was a textbook MILF.