My Stepbrother, My Dom
Page 3
We are both laughing like children now, poking and grabbing, and now Cam reaches over and grabs a handful of my stomach flab and pinches me. It hurts, and I SCREECH and just SLAP Cam across the face, sending his head flying back against the window.
My dad jams on the brakes and swerves, and my stepmom whips her head around as the sound of my slap rings out like a gunshot in the closed area of the truck. Cam’s face is turning bright red, and I think one of my fingers got him on the eye, because it is already filling with tears as he blinks and gasps.
“Oh, shit,” I say. “Oh, shit, Cam. I am so, so sorry!”
“What the HELL is wrong with you kids?” my stepmom screams now as my dad regains control of the truck and keeps driving, though a lot slower now. “Are you guys insane? You want to cause an accident?”
“You all right, Cameron?” my dad asks, glancing at ME in the rearview mirror. “What the hell, Darcy? You don’t just slap people!”
“I know,” I say, almost in tears as I reach for Cam and try to look at his face. “I just reacted when he grabbed me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m SORRY! What do you want me to say!”
I am defensive and angry now, and the mood in the car has changed. Suddenly everyone is silent as we drive on, and I cross my arms over my boobs and slump down in my seat.
Cam is quiet, and I can tell he is angry. We’ve had a couple of fights over the years, and I’ve lashed out at him before, hit him a couple of times. He never hit back though. Not really. When we were younger, he pushed me a few times when we fought. Sometimes he’d grab me if I came at him. A couple of times we ended up wrestling it out. But he’s never hit me, although he’s come close a couple of times. Perhaps he came close today.
Yes, perhaps he came close today.
And I don’t know why, but the thought suddenly excites me, and as we take the next exit, the Harley-Davidson dealership sign glowing black and orange in the distance, I do my best to shake away a disturbingly arousing image of myself held against a wall, my brother Cam behind me, his arm raised as he punishes me for what I just did.
6
CAMERON
That little bitch! What the hell? Are we still kids? You can’t just slap a guy full-on in the face like that! I’ve taken a lot of shit from sis over the years without striking back, and maybe she just doesn’t understand what I’m capable of.
No, I think as I grit my teeth and tighten my jaw. She doesn’t fucking know what I’m capable of. She doesn’t know that my story about the skiing trip was complete bullshit. She doesn’t know the real reason Mindy and I aren’t together, that Mindy’s parents pulled her out of college and put her in a state school in their hometown because they wanted her to stay far away from me.
Of course, Mindy’s parents know that it wasn’t just me. It was Mindy too. In fact it was Mindy who started the whole thing—the role-playing, the light bondage, the playful spanking that quickly escalated. Sure, after being shocked when she first asked me to be her dom, I found myself sliding into that role very easily. Too easily. WAY too easily, I think as I remember the day her dad walked in on us at the ski lodge and saw his daughter tied up and blindfolded, pretending to beg for forgiveness while I spanked her, whipped her ass with those leather tassels, made her promise to be a good girl for her master, her daddy, her dom! Oh, fuck, the look on that guy’s face! It almost made it worth it to get caught!
I am slowly smiling now as we pull into the lot of the Harley-Davidson dealership. In all this drama, I had almost forgotten the reason we are all here! Holy shit, this is happening! This is fucking HAPPENING!
“Ready, Cam?” my stepdad says as we all tumble out of the car. “I hope you like it.”
“Hell, yes, I’m ready!” I say to him, smiling even as I wince from the swelling on my face. Oh, you little bitch, Darcy, I think as I glance at her and look back at my stepdad, keeping the smile on my face. “And I already know I’m going to like it!”
My stepdad nods and puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him and shaking me. I can feel him squeeze my upper arm, and now he whistles and raises his eyebrows.
“Been working out, son?” he says. “You got some GUNS on you, boy!”
I laugh now, nodding and shrugging. Fuck yeah I got some guns on me. You wanna ride a Harley, you gotta be able to handle that monster. You gotta commit to your machine. You gotta be worthy of your ride.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I already knew I was going to like it. I mean, my stepdad knows better than to choose a bike for me without asking first. The only part that was a surprise was when he told me he was going to buy me a used Harley. After that, we scoped out all the models together, based on his budget, and I picked out the one I wanted.
I smile as we walk into the showroom. The smell of fresh grease, seat leather, and chrome-polish is strong in the air-conditioned room, and I take a deep breath. This is MY smell, baby! Hell, yeah!
“Hey, Karl,” my stepdad says to a leather-clad sales guy who walks up to us with a huge smile on his bearded face. “How’s it going?”
“How’s it going? That’s all youse got to say?” Karl looks at me and smiles. “On a day like this?”
I laugh and extend my hand to Karl. I know the guy, of course. Just because I couldn’t afford to buy a Harley doesn’t mean I didn’t come to this showroom every chance I got! I’d take my dirtbike down the back roads and make it here every couple of weeks just to smell the leather and grease, touch the handlebars, ogle at the chrome. In the early days the other sales guys would get annoyed that I was in here all the time, touching the machines, fucking DROOLING over them. But Karl told them to lay off me. Karl’s a smart sales guy. He could see that someday, somehow, I was going to ride a Harley, probably many Harleys over my lifetime. And he wanted to be there when I was finally in the market for my first—whether that was in two years or twenty years.
Turned out to be about five years, and now here I am, staring at a pristine, single-owner 2006 V-Rod Screamin Eagle. Got some miles on it, but the previous owner loved it like a prize racehorse, and it looks fucking gorgeous, better than in the pictures.
“I got no words, Karl,” I say to the man as I feel the excitement in my gut, my throat, my head. “No words.”
“I hear ya, Cam,” Karl says, smiling as he thumps my shoulder. “I remember my first, and I’m glad I’m here for this. I always knew you’d be riding outta here on one of these, one of mine. I always knew that skinny little kid with the buzzcut and the dirtbike would move up to the big leagues. You always had it in you, kid.”
I shrug, feeling some color rush to my face. Karl was good to me. I’m glad he’s the one making the sale.
“And wait . . . holy shit, is this little Darcy?” Karl says now. “The little runt who’d come in with her big brother all those years? Watch quietly as Cameron caressed these bikes like they was his girl, his lover?”
Darcy laughs now, and I turn to her, still feeling that pinch of annoyance as I touch my tender face. Wow, the girl got me good. And from the way Karl glanced at my eye, I’m pretty sure I’m getting a big fucking shiner. From my little sister. Great. Just great.
“Yeah,” Darcy says, blushing as she pulls at her jacket self-consciously.
“Well, you grew up quick, didn’t 'cha?” Karl says, and I see my stepdad frown as Karl clearly glances at my sister’s tits, at her cleavage peeking out through the jacket.
“We all set, Karl?” my stepdad says. “The payment went through, yes?”
“Oh, yeah,” Karl says, turning away from Darcy, nodding at my stepdad, and then looking at me and smiling again. “She’s all yours, Cowboy. Just need to sign a couple of things, and you can literally ride her outta here. I got her gassed up just for you. You could get to Mexico without stopping.”
I laugh now, taking a deep breath as I step up to my machine, my beautiful new ride. “You know, Karl. I just m
ight do that,” I say as I touch my eye once more and wince a little.
“How does the other guy look?” Karl asks me now, winking as he points at my eye.
I just shake my head and force a smile. “Don’t ask,” I say through clenched teeth, and from the corner of my eye I can see Darcy shift on her feet. No one says anything, and I’m glad they don’t. There’s no need to publicize our little bout of domestic violence.
Karl laughs and walks past my stepdad now, gesturing for him to follow. I guess they have a couple of things to sign. I glance at my stepdad as he turns, and I give him a heartfelt nod, feeling a tear well up in my good eye. He’s a decent man, I tell myself. I am lucky.
Fuck yes, I am lucky, I think as I run my fingers along the smooth black seat leather of my new ride. I touch the smooth metal of the red-and-yellow fuel tank. I bend down and stare close at the engine, the exhaust pipes, the mudguards. Now I caress the handlebars, slowly, carefully, like it’s foreplay. And finally, with a feeling that makes my gut wrench up and my eyes well up again with tears, I straddle my ride, gasping as I feel my ass touch the seat. This is my ride, I realize instantly. I was born to ride this machine.
I take a moment to collect myself, and when I focus back on the world outside, I almost laugh when I realize that my family is surrounding me, all of them taking pictures on their phones! I smile and shake my head, but I feel like a kid getting his first toy and I just grin wide like a doofus.
Now I catch Darcy looking at me as she snaps another pic, and I smile at her. We’re cool, I think. You’re lucky this happened now, or who knows what I would have done, little sis. Who knows what I would have made you do.
Darcy puts her phone away now, and I can see her expression change. And suddenly a chill passes through me as I look into her eyes. She’s got that same look on her face, doesn’t she. That same look, that look that wore me down over the years, that look that says, “Hey big brother, when are you going to ask me the question? I’m ready now, Cam. I’m ready to ride with you.”
I look at her boots and jeans, her leather jacket, her hair all pulled back. She was expecting to ride out of here with me, wasn’t she. Yeah, she was. Well, you know what, sis . . . it ain’t happening. Not today. You’re my sister and I love you, but you need to learn some respect, bitch.
And now Karl is here with the registration papers, and I sign them without hesitation, grab the keys, and slide them into my machine, my baby, my ride. Then I push myself off the stand, and get ready to start my beast. But Karl waves his hands and points at the door to the showroom.
“Roll ‘er down the ramp first, Cowboy,” he says hurriedly. “You can’t start ‘er up in here. Gotta roll your machine outside first.”
But I am feeling a fire burning in me now, especially because I can see how Darcy’s face has fallen as she realizes that I’m not going to ask her what she’s waiting for me to ask. Nope. Learn your lesson, sis. You’re not ENTITLED to any part of me.
And I just look at Karl, shrug, and mutter, “Fuck that,” as I hit the electronic ignition and kick my engine to life, flooding the room with the sound of thunder, the smell of fresh gasoline, the vibrations of a goddamn freight train. Karl and my parents shout out, and the other salesfolk come rushing out of the back to see what the hell is going on. But there’s nothing they can do, and finally Karl just steps back and waves me over to the exit ramp, shaking his head and smiling.
And just like that I am gone in a cloud of smoke and a rumble of thunder, the wind already hitting my face, my little sister’s dismayed expression getting smaller in my shiny new sideview mirror as I hit the road.
7
DARCY
I am biting my lip so hard that I feel blood in my mouth. That asshole. That fucking ASSHOLE! He knew I wanted to ride out of there with him. He KNEW it!
My parents are talking in the front seat as we take the long drive home, but I cannot make out what they’re saying. I am almost in tears, feeling like a child again, like I did that very first time, ten years ago, when I saw Cam with his BMX. He called me a girl then, told me I didn’t belong near his machine. He was a man and I was a girl.
Well, I’m not a girl anymore, I tell myself as I take a deep breath and hastily wipe my eyes before tears roll down my face. I’m not going to cry, and I’m not going to sulk. That’s what little girls do, and I’m not a little girl.
I look down at myself, feeling like a fool all dressed up in my boots and leather. It’s like showing up at a party in a ballroom gown when everyone else is in jeans and hoodies. What a moron.
But I pull back my embarrassment and disappointment, swallow my anger and humiliation, and by the time we pull into our driveway, I am feeling calm. Now I tell myself that you know what, I DID slap Cam across the face. And I hit him hard, got him in the eye too. I’ve only been slapped in the face once, by my real mom, many years ago, but I remember it well. There’s something about getting slapped in the face that makes your blood boil, your anger rise up, your rage erupt. It’s like insult to injury, or something like that.
So when it gets down to it, I suppose I had it coming. Cam was just teasing me and I lashed out a little too hard. Okay, fine. It’s my fault. You happy, Cam? So, what do you want me to do? I already said I’m sorry. You saw my face. You knew I was upset. You knew I didn’t mean it. What do want me to do to make it up to you? What can I do?
My dad pulls the truck into the garage now and turns off the engine. We are all quiet for a moment, and I wonder if my parents can sense how upset I was. But when I look at them I can see that they are focused on each other. My stepmom has a loving smile on her face and tears in her eyes, and I think maybe my folks need a moment together. I know my dad paid for the bike, and although he does okay, we’re not a rich family or anything. And considering that my stepmom and Cam were poor as hell in the early days, this is a huge deal for my stepmom.
“See you guys at dinner,” I say as I get out of the car.
“What about lunch?” my dad says as I head for the house.
“I’m not hungry right now,” I shout back without turning. “And I’m going to head to the mall with Tessa and Jen in a bit, so maybe I’ll get something there.”
“Okay,” my dad says. “You can take your mom’s car if you want. I may need the truck.”
I wave at him as I leave the garage, and I run into the house and race upstairs. I cannot wait to get out of these clothes, especially this jacket, which is WAY too fucking tight around my chest now.
Yeah, I think as I hurl my old jacket at the closet door. We’re done with this jacket. And you know what means, right? It means I need a NEW jacket!
And suddenly I feel a spark of energy and excitement. A new jacket? New clothes? Shopping? What’s a better cure for the blues than shopping, right? I’ve been working twenty hours a week at college, and I’ve got a couple hundred dollars to blow. So let’s do it. Away we go!
Thirty minutes later I am in my stepmom’s Honda and cruising down the highway. I told Tessa and Jen I’d meet them later, maybe tomorrow. I kinda want to be alone right now. Just do some window shopping, take my time choosing what to get.
I see the mall coming up on my left, and I check my sideview mirror as I start to change lanes. But now I see two bikes on my left and I wait for them to pass. I watch them as they rumble by me. They are both Harleys, big and shiny, headlamps bright even though it is sunny outside. The engines sound like goddamn jet planes as they roll on by, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of emotion when I think of Cam out there right now, riding free, while I am stuck in this crappy old Honda, about to go shopping at the mall like a little girl.
And now, without realizing it, I have missed the turn to the mall.
“Shit,” I say as I start to move to my right so I can take the next side road and circle round. But something inside me keeps me driving straight, right behind those two Harleys.
These riders have no major logo on the backs of their jackets, so clearly they aren’t part of some major motorcycle club. Obviously not a biker gang, I think as I laugh at a sudden thought of my brother Cam joining an outlaw biker gang, one of those underground clubs that isn’t sanctioned by the AMA, the American Motorcyclist Association.
Of course, most of those “outlaw” gangs aren’t really full of criminals and psychopaths, despite how tough and mean they try to look. Mostly they are peaceful men and women who believe in a greater level of freedom than the average American cares to explore. I’ve read enough about them, and so has Cam over the years. Sure, there are those serious, hardcore gangs that deal meth and cocaine and bust kneecaps and skulls or whatever, but they mostly stay under the radar and you’re not going to run into any trouble with them unless you go looking for it.
The riders in front of me have their headsets on, and I can tell they are talking to each other. They are smiling and laughing, hair flying in the wind, sunglasses shining in the sun. Oh, Cam, you asshole. I should be out there with you, and you know it.
Finally the bikers move over to the right, where I can see a gas station and a strip mall, and I watch them turn as I pass them. I drive for a couple more miles before deciding it’s time to turn around and head back to the mall. New jacket, remember?