The Sister Ch. 03

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The date takes an odd turn.
1.9k words
4.22
22.5k
4

Part 3 of the 5 part series

Updated 11/01/2022
Created 08/06/2005
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After a fast half hour on the vibrating bike, I pulled into Maximilian's garage, waved at Stephen tending the counter, and we hoofed it a half block to the pub. The block had seen better times. It honestly looked like it was in it's last gaps before being pulled, kicking and screaming, into abject poverty. The railroad, once a big business back in the day, and the only transportation medium when the city was founded, has since dwindled off, leaving behind a high water mark of impressive old buildings harkening back to a better time, and a core of dilapidated buildings two steps away from turning into a ghetto outright.

The front of the pub was rather ramshackle. The buildings on either side were boarded up and empty, already graffiti'ed in black spray paint, the smell of cooking food wafted from the unseen vents on the roof, the front was boarded with plywood gray with age, and dappled with advertisements, playbills, and other advertising debris.

Ivy stopped outside, looking around. "I dunno about this, it looks like a stripclub."

"Ah, the outside's always deceptive," I said, pulling her slowly inside. The door opened and jazz music and chilly air conditioning washed over us.

"What is this place?"

"It's a pub. Easy, relaxed, the best food in town, and the bartender's a genius." I said pointing as Scotty behind the bar.

"Uh-huh." Ivy said, as I pulled her to a side table. The waitress appeared and dropped two menus on the table.

"How's it going sweetness?"

"Oh, hi Brandi, it's going okay. How's the kid?"

"Doc says it's just the flu."

"Thank God."

"Who's your friend?"

"Brandi, Ivy; Ivy, Brandi." I stood and smiled ruefully. "Brandi, get me the usual. I'll be right back. Sorry, nature calls." I said, and picked my way to the bathroom, and a few minutes later slid into the seat.

"What did you order?"

"Grilled fish."

"Which kind?"

"The edible kind." She said dryly.

I smiled back at her sarcasm. "So, what up?"

"Umm?"

"Why the sudden interest to get me a date?"

"Oh. Well, I just wanted to help you out."

"How kind of you." I said, fighting to keep habitual sarcasm out of my voice.

"I really am sorry she freaked out at the last minute."

"Eh," I shrudded my shoulders easily, leaning back, "Hakuna Matata."

Ivy paused, rubbing the rim of her glass absently for a moment, looking at me. "You're pretty relaxed about the whole thing. If someone turned me down I'd collapse in a little ball."

"Been there, done that, got bored with it. Besides, I should know that if it doesn't work, then it's better for the both of you to figure it out sooner, rather than later."

"Do I detect a trace of arrogance?"

My lips quirked into a crooked smile, "Lessons painfully learned, actually. So, what about you? Still lookin' at that guy you were talking about?"

"Yes, but I don't know to confess to him."

"Confess? Bleah, that sounds like you did something wrong."

"Hey, you're a guy, you could help me!"

"Help you what? Try to get a date?"

"Tell me what guys like in women."

"Oh no. Nonononono. I am not going to talk about that to you." I said, waving my finger warningly.

"Why not?"

"First," I raised my index finger, "you're too young. Second," my thumb shot out, "I don't want to unfairly pollute an innocent mind if I can help it. Third," my middle finger joined the other two, "there is no mystical one answer to that question. And fourth, my ring finger shot out, "I am not going to discuss something that private with you. No, go ask your brother he's a guy too, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Aww, you're no fun. What do you have some really kinky fetish? You like tying up little girls with their own panties and whipping them with licorice or something?"

"NO!" I squeaked.

"Well, if it's not so bad, why not?"

"Oh, Look. Something else." I said caustically, pointing to Brandi lugging a platter of food towards us.

"Brandi, could I ask you something?"

"Sure, hun." She said, pulling out plates off the huge platter and setting them neatly in front of us.

"What do men want in a women?"

"Big tits." She said automatically.

"That can't be everything."

"A pornstar in the bedroom, and big tits then."

Ivy turned to me, "Is that true?"

"No comment."

Ivy cupped her hands underneath her breasts and lifted, "Do men really go nuts over these?" She asked, softly bouncing them up and down.

I tried to be casual watching the metronome precision, but the effect was damn hypnotic, and an image that circumvented my brain and slammed directly into my brainstem. I watched for a long moment before I wrenched my eyes away with an almost physical pain, staring instead at the jazz mementos littering the walls.

"Oh, look, he's blushing." Ivy said mischievously, "So maybe there's something to the boobies after all."

"Told ya so, kid."

"Who knew that a few lumps of fat could bring a man to his knees."

"Certainly not everyone." I scoffed.

"Oh? Perhaps the men who like other men, but it works on you."

"It certainly does not."

"Then why are you looking away?"

"Because you are my best friend's sister, and if you want to...to...fondle yourself, then it is not my business to watch." I spluttered.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop."

I my eyes dropped for an instant; I saw Ivy, arched back, arms at her sides, hands shamelessly caressing her breasts pressed tightly against her shirt, smiling wickedly at me before my eyes shot up and I started counting holes in the ceiling.

"That." I squeaked, stopped, swallowed some spit, and choked out in a more normal tone of voice, "That is not 'stop'."

"I was just having a little fun with ya."

I sighed, and muttered something about young women and boiling lakes of hormones making people stupid under my breath, which caused Brandi to chuckle and Ivy to grin at me.

The food was excellent, as usual, the music was good, and as the night wore on, the place filled with the idle, the music lovers, couples, singles, just about anyone and everyone. People talked quietly, eating, drinking, dancing occasionally, most just watching the group finish their set and take a break.

"Wow. What is that?" Ivy asked a little breathlessly.

"Jazz, little bit of Elvis, rock and roll, little swing. I try to catch all their shows when they swing by town."

"I like it."

"I can loan you some of their CD's, if you want."

"Yes! Yes!" She exclaimed as the drummer came over.

"Hey, dude." He said presenting his fist.

I knocked fists together lightly, "Pretty good, how 'bout you?"

"Broke my sticks, man. Bad juju been ridin' me for weeks."

"Aw, the red ones?"

"Yeah, man."

"I thought they were pretty. Oh, Ivy, this dude is Snowflake, the drummer."

"Snowflake?"

"Dude, whatever you do, just don't name your kids baked." Snowflake said sheepishly.

"I heard that thing you did in the middle of the second song, what was that?"

"Dude, Steve wanted to try it a little more drummy, so I did it a little more drummy. Wha'd ya think?"

"Liked the original."

"Dude." Snowflake grunted in assent, nodding.

"Dude!" Steve called from the band's huddle near the stage.

Snowflake looked sheepish, "Sorry dude, I gotta run. The dude's callin' me."

"See ya, good luck!"

"Good bye!" Ivy said.

"Thanks dude!"

After Snowflake had ambled out of earshot, Ivy sniggered.

"What?"

"I didn't think anyone actually talked like that. Does he surf, too?"

"Nah, he hates the ocean. Saw Jaws once, and gave up on it. Only swims in pools he can see in."

"Really?"

"Yep. Besides, the man is a klutz when he doesn't have drumsticks in his hand. If he did surf, he'd probably drown."

"Could you do me a favor?"

"Depends."

"Could you go to the bar and get me a Irish Car Bomb?"

"In about three years, sure."

Ivy stuck her lounge out at me. "What, you don't want to get me liquored up and take advantage of poor widdle helpless Ivy?" she said in a childish voice.

"In a word, no. Even if I did, and I don't, your brother, my best friend, would cheerfully gut me, and pay to have me stuffed and mounted. Maybe as a table. So while you're crying your eyes out over my demise, I'll be furniture."

"I'd get over it quickly."

"Oh thanks."

The band retook the stage as the guitarist stubbed out his cigarette. Steve started the intro of the next song, his voice booming out of the speakers for a moment before the sound guy, ensconced behind his castle of softly lit dials and switches, lowered the volume with a practiced flick of his wrist.

The rest of the night went well, and while Ivy asked me to dance a few times, I shook my head. I would spare myself the needless embarrassment of that ordeal, thank you very much. After another hour, the last set wound to a close with a roar of applause from the gathered crowd. Ivy was one of them, lips parted, breathing hard in excitement. If she was someone else, she'd look beautiful... reminding me how alone I was, which rather thoroughly killed the mood.

I waited for the crowd leaving to ebb, Ivy and I congratulated snowflake and the rest of the band, and we made our departure. The night was cool, but felt almost brisk coming out of the humid heat of the pub. We walked slowly, together, looking upwards and pointing as we tried to name the constellations in the sky. I could get the really obvious ones, but she surprised me by pointing out a handful of seemingly random stars here and there.

The drive back was quiet, made at a slower speed than the drive there, with her entire body pressed against mine, her the left side of her face pressed into my shoulder blade. I stopped at the theater, and looked around, not seeing a car.

"Where'd you park?"

"Owen dropped me off."

I rolled my eyes and grunted, mumbling dire implications about not telling me things I might possibly need to know as I turned the bike around and merged back into cross-town traffic.

I pulled up to the house, killed the engine, and flipped the kickstand down, but waited for Ivy to scramble off before I got off. And waited.

"Um, Ivy? We're here."

"We are?" she asked muzzily.

"Yes. Wanna get off?"

"If I must." Ivy sighed and scrambled off; pausing to straighten her clothes before she put her hand out.

"What's this?" I asked.

"You still have to escort me to the door."

I shrugged and theatrically rolled my eyes as I levered myself off easily, pocketing the keys. I took her arm and walked her the ten yards to the door, ringing the doorbell myself. We turned to face each other looking at each other silently, and bemused part of me wanted to kiss her right there, and damn the consequences. Just as my hands started forward, the door popped open, and the of sound from the tv in the living room washed over us as Owen smiled at me, moving away from the door. I blinked and shook my head, bade everyone a good night, and walked back to my bike in a daze.

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snoopersnooperover 18 years ago
Oh dear

Another good story ruined by carelessness.

Just two examples: "implications" instead of "imprecations", and "lounge" instead of "tounge" which, as we all know, is the Literotica English for "tongue".

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