Escape: A Stepbrother Romance

by Ashe, Jessica

I went straight from the park to the secondary school classroom that was used for adult education in the evenings. I arrived a little early and probably looked enthusiastic, but I had a plan to get me out of the course.

  I’d reviewed the materials provided and looked at the payment information. Dad would be billed for the classes after my initial attendance. After that there were no refunds and as far as I could tell no one bothered to track attendance. That meant all I had to do was attend this introduction, sign my name down somewhere, and then never show up again. Dad would be wasting his money, but what did I care?

  The course made it clear that because Mandarin was such a difficult language I wouldn’t be able to learn much in just a few months; that meant Dad could hardly expect me to hold a conversation in the language at the end of the summer. I planned to learn a few basic phrases in case he asked me to say anything, but other than that I would just use my nervousness and anxiety to avoid speaking it in front of him.

  When the next summer rolled around I planned to put my foot down and tell him where he could shove his Mandarin lessons. I had a year to grow a backbone and speak up to my father. It was probably nowhere near enough time, but I’d changed a lot in the last couple of weeks and hopefully university would change me even more.

  The few hours of introductory Mandarin had been a heck of a lot more interesting than I’d anticipated, and it was fun trying to construct all the different tones that were essential to communicating anything in Mandarin. Apparently there were only a few hundred words in the language, but when you changed the tone and combined the words you made new ones.

  It all sounded thoroughly confusing, but the teacher was enthusiastic and friendly and a couple of times I almost forgot I didn’t intend to come back. If Dad hadn’t been so insistent on me doing the course full-time I might have actually stuck it out. Even though I enjoyed the class, I knew I’d rather spend my summer developing recipes and trying to build a food blog.

  Just before I got in the car to drive home, a message came through on my phone from Sophie, one of the girls from the boarding school I’d just left. Sophie told me she was in the area with some other friends, a few of whom I was vaguely acquainted with, and insisted that I joined the group in the pub. I replied to say that I was too tired, but Sophie wouldn’t accept the excuse.

  She pointed out that the pub was so close to my home that I could just pop by for one drink and then leave. I knew full well she wouldn’t let me leave after one drink, but she knew where I lived and the last thing I wanted was her popping round to my house after a few drinks and bumping into Caiden who might be back from London now.

  The pub was quiet when I walked in, or at least it would have been if the girls were not there. Other than Sophie, Kathryn, Jane, and a few others I didn’t know, the only people in the pub were three men sat separately at the bar quietly drinking by themselves. Not exactly a busy evening, but the girls were drinking enough to keep the barman vaguely busy.

  “Do you know the barman?” Sophie asked, before I had even introduced myself to the others.

  “No, I don’t recognize him,” I replied. “He must be new.”

  “Damn. I wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better if you get my meaning.”

  I smiled and joined in the inappropriate comments about the barman, but I soon realized I didn’t fit in with this group anymore. Just a few years ago, we had all been alike. We joked around about boys a little, but it was always in jest. Now Sophie and her friends were talking about fucking random barman and they clearly weren’t joking.

  We didn’t even dress alike anymore. At some point the other girls had started wearing less and less to the point where they now went out in the evenings in skimpy skirts and high heels despite the cold—which they seemed to be immune to. I felt like the grumpy older sister in my light flowery dress and white cardigan.

  Sophie had been one of the first girls at boarding school to really start changing the way she acted and dressed. I told myself she was just rebelling, probably against her parents, but she genuinely seemed to be enjoying herself more than I was.

  “So, you’re going to Cambridge?” Jane asked, when the conversation turned to where we were all going in September.

  “Yes, I was accepted to study PPE.”

  “And you’re starting this year? You’re not doing a gap year?”

  “I start in September.”

  It sounded like a strange question, but it turned out that all the other girls had delayed the start date of university for a year so they could go on gap years and ‘find themselves.’ They all planned to work in poor countries for a few months for charity, before traveling the world and spending their parent’s money which was what they did best.

  They were annoyingly pretentious about the charity work considering you had to pay to do it and the locals got little real benefit out of it. The money would be better spent going directly to aid organizations, but then how would rich girls get to pad out their CVs?

  “I bet you’re just starting in September so you can hook up with that guy you met on the open day,” Sophie said. “What was his name again? Oliver, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, his name’s Oliver, but he’s not why I’m going to Cambridge.”

  “Oh come on,” Sophie teased, “you can tell us. You did have sex with him that night in Cambridge, didn’t you?”

  “No, we didn’t have sex. We just hung out.”

  “Does that mean you’re still… a virgin,” Jane said, whispering the last words as if they were too rude to voice aloud in the pub. The pub where they’d all been swearing at the top of their voices all evening.

  I didn’t know what to say. There didn’t seem to be a good answer. I’d never been ashamed of my virginity and only wanted to lose it to avoid an awkward experience at university, but if I said I wasn’t a virgin then I would have to give details of who I lost it to and when. The other girls had talked about their first times in explicit detail and I would be expected to do the same.

  The truth would have made an entertaining story but I still didn’t want to tell it. The other girls had confessed in detail about their first times. They told stories about being in pain ‘down there’ for days and having to wash the bed sheets without their parents noticing. None of them had told a story about fucking three times and coming just as often.

  “Oh shit,” Sophie exclaimed. “You are aren’t you? You’re still a virgin.”

  I opened my mouth but saw the girls all look behind me before I could speak. I turned around and saw Caiden standing behind me.

  “She’s no virgin, ladies,” Caiden said, smiling. “You can take my word on that.”

  Sheri had been at the house when I arrived home from London, so I dumped my bags and headed back out again. I could have just locked myself in my room, but even just being in the same house as the happy couple drove me nuts, especially without Vicky around to give me someone else to talk to.

  There wasn’t exactly a lot to do during the day in the part of town Vicky lived and there was even less to do at night. I walked over to the pub and, after taking a few wrong turns, I made it there for what looked like a quiet evening. When I peeked through the window all I could see were a few men sat at the bar staring at the bottom of the glass. It looked a little sad compared to where I had been last night, but it was just what I needed right now.

  I walked through the door and my ears were immediately assaulted by the screech of girls barely old enough to drink legally. They’d been tucked away at a large table in the corner and I hadn’t seen them from outside. I considered turning around and going back outside, but then where would I go? There was another pub somewhere, but it would likely be at least a thirty minute walk and right now I just wanted a drink.

  I walked towards the bar when I heard a familiar voice.

  “Yes, his name’s Oliver, but he’s not why I’m going to Cambridge.”

  Vicky. She must be here with friends. I could have snuck over to the bar and sa
t down without them noticing, but when I tried to order a drink my American accent would no doubt turn a few heads. I could do without the attention of a load of immature, screeching eighteen-year-olds tonight even if one of them was Vicky.

  My ears perked up at the word virgin. I caught the gist of the conversation pretty quickly. They were teasing Vicky for being a virgin. Pathetic. The other girls probably considered themselves sophisticated because they’d gotten laid when drunk at a party, but I would bet money that none of them were capable of fucking like Vicky. You’d think they were a little too old to be bullying someone for a perceived lack of sexual activity, but apparently not.

  Vicky was in a tough place. If she admitted to being a virgin she would get grief over it and word would probably spread quickly among her group of friends. If she denied being a virgin then the girls would ask for details and someone like Vicky was far too polite to talk about sex in public. She certainly had nothing to be ashamed of, but this was a girl who hardly ever swore out loud so she would hardly tell friends how she came in my face or how she rode my cock with the skill of someone far more experienced.

  I made a decision I knew I would regret. I walked over to the girls and told them that Vicky was definitely not a virgin. She turned and looked at me aghast and I worried that I might have done the wrong thing.

  “Who are you?” One of the girls asked with lust audible in her voice. She was drooling just looking at me.

  The girls would find out soon enough that Vicky had a new step-brother if they didn’t know already so I decided to tell them the truth.

  “I’m Caiden. My mom is marrying Vicky’s dad so I’m living at her house at the moment.”

  “Oh. So you’re not a virgin, Vicky?” the girl asked. “Why don’t you tell us all the details?”

  “You won’t get her to tell you,” I said. “She’s really secretive about all that stuff. I think she’s worried her father will find out. But trust me, my bedroom is next door to hers and when her father is out of the house that room is rocking. It’s not really what a new step-brother wants to hear, but I suppose it’s good she has a passionate sex life.”

  Vicky had gone bright red, but she appeared embarrassed more than angry. Hopefully that meant I’d done something good, but it was hard to tell with her. She’d certainly let me know later if I’d messed up.

  The girl asking Vicky questions about her virginity now looked quiet and taken aback. I knew what that look meant. That girl was either a virgin herself and was hoping Vicky was too or she’d gotten laid once and can’t even remember it.

  In some ways that was worse than being a virgin. At least when you were a virgin you had an excuse for being shit in bed. Once you’d been sexually active people assumed you knew what you were doing. If the sex was bad men were often cruel when they talked about it with their friends. Before you knew it, you had a reputation as a boring lay.

  I wasn’t exactly one for long-term relationships, but there was something to be said for losing your virginity to someone who would be more than a one night stand. Someone you could practice with a bit until you were half decent at it.

  The girls all introduced themselves to me, but I made no effort to remember their names. A few of the girls looked familiar from nights out in London though. Vicky had often gone out with her friends, so it wasn’t unusual that I recognized a few of them. One of the girls looked a little more familiar than most. She wouldn’t make eye contact with me and I knew why.

  She’d come on to me at the bar in London and had practically begged me to take her up to my penthouse. I refused her even though she was pretty enough to look at and had a cracking pair of tits, because she looked far too clingy and was probably a virgin. I had been horny as hell that evening but the golden rule was still clear in my mind at that point. Eventually I took her outside to a quiet back alley I knew and let her suck me off. I had rules, but at a certain point it was just cruel to keep your cock to yourself.

  I didn’t know for sure whether she was a virgin or not, but she certainly didn’t have a lot of experience at sucking dick. She licked it a lot, but barely made any effort to suck it. Eventually, I told her to stop and went back inside with a serious case of blue balls. She clearly still remembered what happened and couldn’t look at me. At least that was one girl not making a lame attempt at flirting with me right now.

  The girls made room for me at the table, but I could tell Vicky didn’t want me there so I went to the bar and ordered a drink before pulling out a chair in front of one of the gambling machines. Gambling was legal everywhere in the UK and these machines were in every bar, pub, and club I’d been in since I arrived in the country. The locals called them ‘fruit machines.’ They looked a little like the one armed bandits you saw in Vegas, except there were many more lights and buttons to press.

  The machines looked confusing and I’d seen people pump tons of money in for little reward. Occasionally you heard the odd jackpot winner, but a label on the machine made it clear that it’s only paid out 72% of what went in. Gambling was for mugs. Mugs and bored people. Right now I was bored, so I pumped £20 into the machine and started playing around with it.

  At the bottom of the machine were three reels which contained fruits like cherries—presumably how the machines got their name—but also a lot of icons associated with a television show that the machine was themed after.

  After the first spin, lots of lights lit up and the machine told me I had a bonus spin and could hold some of the items. I’d been to Vegas a few times and recalled that getting three cherries in a row meant you won something. I pressed the button to hold one of the cherries in place and then spun the wheel again.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” Vicky asked behind me.

  I turned to see her looking over my shoulder. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long, but long enough to see that you’ve never used one of these before.”

  “And you have? You don’t really look like the gambling type.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Vicky said. “For one thing this show,” she tapped the name of the TV show at the top of fruit machine, “is my favorites of all time.”

  “Dad’s Army? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s old, but brilliant. It aired before I was even born, but that kind of comedy survives for decades. I still don’t know if any funnier show has ever been made. I’m so obsessed with the show I even play the fruities that have its name on it.”

  “Okay then,” I said, stepping to the side to allow Vicky to help. “Why don’t you show me how to play this thing.”

  “First of all, you want to get the icons with numbers. Those numbers help you get on the board up the top. That’s where you make the real money. Spin the wheels again and I’ll show you.”

  I spun the reels a few more times until I got the option to hold them again. “So, I should hold these two here because that gets me to six. If the other wheel spins again and comes through with two or more then I get on the board. Is that correct?”

  “Blimey, you actually catch on quite quickly. Go on, spin the reel.”

  The wheel spun but no numbers came up.

  “Shit.”

  “We have nudges,” Vicky said. She bent down to look closely at the wheel. I think she was looking to see what would come round next if I pressed the nudge button, but she had her face down near my crotch so I could only think entirely inappropriate thoughts. “Press this button twice.”

  I did what she said. Another number came round and lots of lights flashed. We’d made it up onto the board. The game didn’t get any less confusing, but Vicky helped explain things and I ended up getting £5 back. We kept playing and won a few more small prizes, but eventually my money ran out and I wasn’t about to pump more in.

  “How about the trivia machine?” I asked, pointing to a machine against the wall near where the girls were sat. “Seems like that involves less luck.”

 
; “We can give it a go, but the machine is still fixed. You’ll get a few easy questions at the beginning and then they will ramp up quickly.”

  “I’m feeling confident,” I said as I strolled over and put £5 into the machine.

  My confidence rapidly disappeared. The questions were probably easy if you’d lived in England for longer than I had, but I knew nothing about cricket or soap operas so I quickly lost two lives.

  “Want me to help you?” Vicky asked.

  “I think I’m going to need it.” Another sports question came up, this time about soccer. “Who did Ryan Giggs play for?” I asked.

  I’d forgotten how close we were standing to the other girls and they burst out laughing at my ignorance. “Man United,” at least three of them shouted out but once.

  “Ignore them,” Vicky said quietly.

  “Don’t worry, I intend to.” I assumed she was talking about their laughter because the answer they yelled out was correct. It spoke more to their stupidity than mine that they assumed an American would know much about soccer. Okay, so some people back home liked it, but it wasn’t exactly popular. We soon lost the money and I reluctantly went and sat down with the girls at Vicky’s request.

  A few of them decided they would show how clever they were by taking my place at the quiz machine and winning some money. They were probably doing better than me, but the absence of coins dropping out at the bottom of the machine made it clear they hadn’t won anything yet.

  “Sophie,” one of the girls at the quiz machine yelled out to the girl sat next to me. “You’re the expert on English history. Who was known as the wisest fool in Christendom?”

  “Oh that’s a tough one,” Sophie replied. “What are the options?”

  “Richard the Lionheart, Henry VIII, George III...”

  “That’s it,” Sophie said confidently. “George III. He was known as a fool and a little mad, but he was actually very wise.”

  “You sure? This is our last life.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said loud enough for the girls at the machine to hear. “It’s James I. That’s the fourth option isn’t it?”