I feel myself blush as I realize that I am THRILLED to hear him say that. Truth is, I HAVE put on a few pounds, all of it on my ass, thighs, and tits, and I’m still getting used to having my parts bounce so much when I walk. So it feels good to hear Cam say I haven’t put on weight.
“Yeah,” he continues, leaning back in his chair and looking me up and down as I put my plate in the sink and turn around. “More like the Freshman Ten, I think. Maybe Twelve.”
Now I open my mouth wide in mock horror, and I grab the used-up peel of a grapefruit and hurl it at him.
“Asshole!” I say, shrieking as I feel my boobs shiver from my throwing action. “You’re SUCH an asshole, Cam!”
Cam is laughing now, his mouth wide open, his long, lean body shaking as he covers his mouth with his right hand. I can see his bicep flex as he does that, and I can’t help but take a quick breath when I see the edges of a black tattoo peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. When did that happen, I wonder.
But Cam isn’t stopping, and he finally takes his hand away from his face and shrugs again, his eyes still gleaming as he looks at me with a vicious smile. “Oh, come on, sis. You can’t deny that your ass is a lot bigger now. And so are your—”
“STOP IT!” my stepmom shouts, and this time she means it and Cam shuts the hell up immediately.
Cam knows he’s pushed it too far, and his smile is gone and his eyes are narrowed and focused again. I take a deep breath and turn away from the table and start to rinse off my plate. What was he going to say, I wonder? “And so are your . . .” what? Cheeks? Thighs? Ankles?
Boobs?
I watch the water run in the sink as I stare down at my boobs. I am by no means HUGE, but considering I had the chest of a twelve-year-old boy for most of my teenage years, I am certainly noticeably larger now. But still, what the hell? Although growing up Cam teased me now and then, was mean to me once in a while, by and large he never really made jokes about my body. I mean sure, he called me “mosquito tits” a couple of times here and there, mostly after I turned sixteen, but not often enough for it to have really stood out in my memory. Now, though, I sense something is different—the comment about being a virgin, my ass getting bigger, my whatever getting bigger . . . it’s weird, and it’s making me feel weird.
But now I tell myself I am just being self-conscious because I have put on a couple of pounds. Perhaps I am also sensitive because I haven’t seen Cam in so long. Maybe there’s a part of me that’s sort of hurt because Cam and I drifted apart once he left for college. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
Everyone is done with breakfast now, and my stepmom comes to the sink and takes over from me. I smile at her and back away, drying my hands as I look over at the breakfast table. There is still a bunch of stuff on the table, so I walk over and start to clear it.
My dad has left the kitchen, and I can hear him on the phone in the living room, so it’s just the three of us in here. The water is running in the sink, and my stepmom is focused on the dishes and is humming a tune under her breath. I grab two empty coffee cups and turn, but Cam is standing right in front of me.
His expression is soft, and he is looking me directly in the eye. He comes close now, leans in towards my ear, and whispers, “I was just kidding, sis. You look great.”
And he leans in and hugs me again as I stand there like a moron with two coffee cups in my hands. I feel his breath on my face as he kisses me tenderly on the cheek, and I feel a disturbing tingle between my legs as I feel the friction of his jeans against my thin cotton shorts.
“I missed you, sis,” he says softly. “I’m really glad you came down over break. It’ll be fun, I think. We’ll have some fun, I promise.”
“Thanks, Cam,” I say as I turn my head and give him a quick kiss on his broad neck. “I missed you too, and I’m glad I’m back. But you’re still an asshole.”
Cam laughs now as he squeezes me tight once more and then lets go. His face looks a bit red, and I wonder if he is blushing. And then, as we step past each other in our warm, cozy kitchen, our mom at the sink, our dad standing outside, Cam turns and quietly smacks me on the bottom before striding out of the room without looking back.
4
CAMERON
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and try to focus. There’s no doubt now, I have a goddamn hard-on. My cock is stiff inside my black jeans, and I feel the blood in my head. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I really getting aroused by my goddamn SISTER?
Well, I tell myself as I gargle with some mouthwash to get the taste of coffee out of my mouth, she’s my stepsister, right? She’s not my blood. But still, we grew up together like brother and sister. All those years of little Darcy sitting there and watching me fix up my bikes, passing snide remarks that always made me laugh. That’s what brothers and sisters do, right?
Or do they, I think now as I struggle to take a piss through my stiff cock. Do real brothers and sisters WILLINGLY spend so much time together growing up? Are most brothers and sisters really such good friends, companions, soulmates even? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.
Anyway, I think as I zip up and walk out of the bathroom. Forget about it now. Remember what’s about to happen, Cam. You’re about to get a goddamn HARLEY! Oh, hell, YES, man!
I am back downstairs in a couple of minutes, my leather jacket slung over my shoulder. Mom and my stepdad aren’t down yet, and I stand in the living room, tapping my foot impatiently as I stare at the “Happy Birthday” balloons swaying at the far end of the room.
Now I hear footsteps and I turn and it is Darcy. She’s changed clothes, and I do a double-take when I see her. Those white cotton shorts are gone, and she’s wearing tight black jeans tucked into knee-length leather boots that look brand spanking new. She’s got a dull red tank-top on, and I have to blink and look away when I catch myself gaping at her boobs that are sticking straight out, bouncing gently as she comes into the living room and stops suddenly when she sees me.
She’s got a leather jacket in her hand, and I think she is surprised to see me standing in the dimly lit living room, because she turns almost as red as her shirt.
“Oh, hey, Cam,” she says hurriedly, and she crosses one arm over her chest and nervously scratches an imaginary itch on the other arm. The motion pushes her boobs up a bit, exposing some cleavage, and I rub my eye and look away, cursing myself as I feel my cock move again in my pants.
You fucking freak, I think as I exhale in relief when I see that Darcy is putting her jacket on. You’re looking at your SISTER’S tits? Who does that?
“Nice boots, sis,” I manage to say with surprising nonchalance even though my head is buzzing. I am so fucking glad I said boots and not boobs. “New?”
“Uh, yeah, kinda,” Darcy says, smiling and blinking as she looks down at her boots. “Got them over Christmas. You would have seen them if you had been here, you know.”
Now I shrug and take a breath. “I wish I had come home, sis. Christmas at Mindy’s was a disaster. I’d probably still be with her if I hadn’t spent the holidays with her folks down in Aspen.”
Darcy’s expression changes drastically when I mention Mindy’s name. What, is Darcy jealous that I said that? Does she think I’m still not over Mindy? Why does Darcy care, anyway? Does Darcy care? Do I care that she cares? What the hell is wrong with me?
“Yeah, what happened there?” Darcy asks now, and I can tell she is trying hard to act casual. “You get drunk and throw up? You hit on her mom in front of the family?”
“Hah!” I say, my face breaking into a smile. My little sis has still got it, doesn’t she? The ability to COMPLETELY surprise me with the shit she says. God, I missed her.
“Nah,” I say after we both laugh for a moment. “It just wasn’t my scene in Aspen. Mindy and her parents are all big skiers, and I can’t stand that shit. So I just stayed in the lodge when the rest of the f
amily hit the slopes, and after a few days it seemed to be a real issue. They were all, ‘We can’t believe you don’t ski, Cameron. We’re a skiing family, Cameron. You haven’t lived if you haven’t experienced the wind against your face as you fly down a mountain, Cameron!’ ”
Darcy nods, looking at me directly in the eye, her arms now dropping down to her sides. I can tell she is relaxing a bit, and I can see her straighten her back now, making her tits rise up under that leather jacket that’s looking a bit tight for her these days.
But I keep talking. “So I just lost it finally, and I told them that THEY haven’t lived until they feel the wind against their face while riding down Highway 41, the sun on your back, your wheels eating up road. I told them that there’s nothing like the ride. Nothing like the ride. You know, sis?”
“I know, Cam,” Darcy says, and she takes a step closer to me, her head tilted to one side, her eyes looking slightly misty in the strange light of this wood-paneled living room. “Of course I know.”
Of course she does, I think as I look into my sister’s eyes. And now I am taken back to all those evenings and weekends when little Darcy would sit and watch me obsess over my bikes, watch me polish and shine, change the oil, make little adjustments, clean and shine once more. And I can never forget how those eyes used to light up when I would finally say those words that I knew made her so happy, so goddamn happy: “Let’s ride, sis.”
Now I look down at her boots again, up at her leather jacket once more. She’s got her hair tied back, her smooth, pretty face in full view. But those boots, that jacket, the change of clothes . . .
“So what happened then?” she asks me, breaking me out of my daydream.
“What?” I say, blinking away an image of me ripping it down the highway, the sound of Harley thunder between my legs, the feeling of my sister’s arms tight around my waist and stomach, her breath hot against my neck, her sweet smell coming through to me even though the wind is howling . . .
Darcy giggles now. “Hello?” she says. “What happened in Aspen? What was the disaster?”
Now I refocus and shake my head. “Well, after I told them about riding, about my passion, my obsession with bikes, my dream of having a garage full of Harleys, they just laughed at me.”
“Seriously?” Darcy says. “Even your girlfriend?”
She doesn’t call Mindy by name, and for some reason this stands out to me. “Yeah,” I say. “Mindy was a different person around her parents and family. It was weird.” I roll my eyes and shrug as I hear footsteps above us and the voices of my mom and stepdad coming down the stairs. “So Mindy’s parents said that anyone who rides motorcycles is basically an idiot. So that was that.”
“Wow,” Darcy says, her eyes wide as she looks at me. “And you freaked, right? Told them to go fuck themselves?”
I laugh again now, surprised at my sister throwing out the f-bomb so casually. “No,” I say, still laughing a bit. “I mean, I still had to stay there five more days with them. It would have been too expensive to change my ticket, so I didn’t want to create a huge scene and leave or get kicked out for saying something stupid.” I am done laughing now. “But Mindy and I were finished by the end of that trip. And honestly, I’m glad it happened now. They can have their ski vacations or whatever. I don’t need that shit. All I need is—”
“—a V-twin engine and miles of empty road,” Darcy says, finishing my sentence for me, finishing my thought like only she can.
I feel a tingle go through my body again, but now our parents are here and they call out to us. So I take a deep breath, glance once more at Darcy’s boots and leather, her round ass in those black jeans, and then wink at her as we head for the garage and the truck.
“Ready to ride, sis?” I say in her ear just before we step out of the house.
And I swear I see the tiny hairs on her neck stand up as I say it, and as I feel myself stiffen once again, I ask myself why the most exciting thing about today isn’t the fact that I am about to get a new bike.
No, that isn’t the most exciting thing about today. Nowhere close.
5
DARCY
Why am I so excited? I mean, sure, I’m excited because it’s been a fun day and it’s going to be awesome to watch my brother get the Harley he’s dreamed about for as long as I’ve known him. But that’s not what I mean. That’s not the kind of excitement I’m talking about. Not the wholesome, family-friendly, PG-13 kind of excitement. No. HELL, no.
Now I may be just nineteen, but I’m not a kid. Sure, I didn’t date much in high school, but that doesn’t mean I was an asexual prude. I did go on a few dates, and I messed around a decent amount, mostly my junior and senior year. Got my V-card punched my senior year. It was all right. It was Jimmy K., and he did end up asking me to senior prom. I guess he was sort of a boyfriend—at least HE thought he was my boyfriend.
It’s funny, I say to myself as I sit in the backseat of my dad’s truck and put my seatbelt on, now that I think about it, I barely even made out with a guy until my junior year in high school. All my girlfriends were doing it by then, but I wasn’t. No, I wasn’t, I think as I glance over at Cam, who is in the seat next to me. He smells nice, and I feel his warmth next to me as my dad starts the car. Yes, I feel his warmth . . . or is it my warmth?
I shake my head and look out the window as we pull out of our driveway. It’s just the four of us, one happy family, the classic modern American family. I look over at Cam again, but he is staring out the window, a faraway look in his eyes as we drive past our old high-school, the mall where we’d play video games and watch movies, the park where Cam used to ride his BMX. It’s all still here, still the same. And now we’re here again, Cam and me. Are we the same? Is this strange excitement something new, or was it always there?
And I am taken back to my unfinished thought of why I waited until junior year to start messing around with the guys. Why? What changed junior year?
Of course, I know the answer, I think as I glance over at Cam once more, allowing my gaze to drift down his lean, hard body, his tight biceps, those low-rise black jeans, his riding boots. He shifts in his seat for a moment, and I blink and take a deep breath as I find myself staring at his crotch. What is wrong with me, I think as I look away and get back to my thoughts.
Yes, I know what changed my junior year in high school. Everything changed. Everything changed, because Cam went away to college. He left me and went away.
Not that I really felt abandoned or anything at the time. Cam and I kept in touch pretty well his first semester there. But then the phone calls became less frequent, the texts became shorter and less newsy, and soon I’d only hear from Cam when the entire family was Skyping with him or something.
It’s not like I was pissed off or anything. It seemed like a natural-enough process—just part of growing up. And it was good for me—it forced me to get out there and spend more time with my girlfriends, more time with boys . . . yes, with boys.
I only had sex three times in high school, all with Jimmy K., but I did a lot of stuff besides full-on sex. And things have certainly picked up in college. A lot of us hook up after parties, and I enjoy it. I like giving blowjobs. I like feeling a guy get hard in my mouth. I like pulling on his balls, feeling his body tense up as he groans and comes in my mouth. And I do like to get fucked now, now that I’ve figured out how to get myself to orgasm when I have sex. It didn’t happen the first couple of times in high school, probably because neither Jimmy nor I knew what the hell we were doing. But that third time, the night after prom, some of us drank some tequila—just a couple of shots that almost made me puke, but also got me buzzed in a way I enjoyed. And then, when we got to the motel where a bunch of the guys had rented rooms, I remember reaching down and playing with my clit as Jimmy fucked me as hard as he could. It hurt a bit, but I liked feeling him thrust with all his strength, feeling my body getting pounded again
st the headboard of that motel bed. It felt dirty, and it turned me on like hell, the hard pumping along with the pressure on my clit.
So now in college, whenever I fuck a guy I make him do me from behind, sometimes standing up, with my hands flat against a wall or door. I show him where to put his finger, where my clit is, how to flick it, massage it, grind it. Then I make him start slow until I get nice and wet, and finally I ask him to go full-throttle, fuck me as hard as he can.
I’m sounding like a slut, I know. But screw that. Guys can sleep with five different women a week and they’re studs, but a woman sleeps with two different guys in a month and she’s a slut? Not that anyone’s called me a slut—certainly not to my face, and I’m pretty sure that’s not how my friends see me in college. I mean, hooking up in college is so casual now that it’s not a big deal. And it shouldn’t be.
No, it shouldn’t be, I think as I glance at Cam once more and realize what I am thinking. What am I thinking? What are you thinking, Darcy? Oh, you are a freak! What, you want to suck your brother’s cock? You want to taste your brother’s cum? You want him to fuck you hard? Full-throttle?
I am so far into the depths of my sick thoughts that I am shaking my head without realizing it, and I am startled when I hear Cam speak.
“Yo, sis,” he’s saying as he playfully slaps at my arm. “What’s going on? You look like you’re having a seizure.”
“What?” I say, smiling and blinking in embarrassment, pressing my legs together as I worry that the smell of my sex will fill the closed space of this car. “No, I was just thinking.”
“Yeah? What about?” Cam says. He has stopped hitting my arm and now he pulls on the sleeve of my jacket and then lets go. “Lunch? You hungry again?”
I slap his arm as hard as I can now, and he laughs and shouts as I hit him again, poking him in the stomach, the chest, the stomach again. He is laughing and tensing up as he tries to defend himself, but I keep going, grabbing at his body, poking again. He is hard all over, I realize as I feel my fingers hit his rock-solid abs, his stonewall chest, those tight biceps. Jesus, my brother got ripped over the past couple of years!
My Stepbrother, My Dom Page 2