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Miles and Shanna

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“I’m so fat,” Shanna complained, frowning at herself in her bedroom mirror.

I had to stop and push the door open when I heard that. She’d left it cracked and was pouting at her reflection, a t-shirt on over her bikini, her long brown hair back in a ponytail. The two of us were about to walk to the neighborhood pool.

“What are you talking about?” I asked my sister. “Have you been taken over by some alien from another planet? Are you trying to develop an eating disorder? You look great.”

I wasn’t lying. Shanna had curves, but not nearly enough to be called “fat,” or “heavy” or even “plump.”

“Miles! You can’t just barge in here,” she said, scowling. “I might have been naked.”

Don’t I wish, I thought. “Yeah, with the door half open. That would really be like you – geez, you can’t even wear a bathing suit without something on over it.”

I walked in and stood next to her, trying to see what she saw in the long mirror over her closet door.

“Where’s all this fat?” I asked. “I don’t see it.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Her hands went to her stomach, squeezing it through the fabric of her shirt. It was true that she could pinch some flesh there, but I’d seen her in just the bikini before, and in my view her belly had exactly the right gentle swell to be alluring. Unless you were the kind who liked his girls to have a rock-hard six-pack, it looked fine. But she went on anyway: “It’s like I’m wearing a tire made of blubber.”

I shook my head, glad that I was wearing baggy trunks and not something tighter. Shanna’s body drove me crazy, and I could feel myself thickening up in my shorts with every second that I examined her in the mirror.

“It’s a girl’s tummy,” I told her. “It’s supposed to be a little soft. Look at your waist. It curves in just like it ought to.”

“I’m starting to have a muffin top when I wear my jeans,” she insisted.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Well look at my thighs!”

I’m trying not to, I thought. But out loud, I said, “You’re just searching for an excuse to get out of going to the pool with me. If you don’t want to go, all you have to do is say so.”

She only stared down at her legs in the mirror – her perfectly rounded, sleek legs that curved seamlessly into glorious hips and an absolutely mouth-watering heart-shaped ass. What the hell was she seeing that I wasn’t?

Frustrated, I snapped, and crossed a barrier that common sense would say I probably shouldn’t have.

“Look,” I said, and without even thinking about it, I leaned over and ran the backs of two fingers up the smooth white arc of her outer thigh. The feel of her leg, soft against my knuckles, almost made me forget why I’d done it, and I had to blink a couple of times before I went on, “Not even a hint of cellulite. There are tons of girls who’d kill to have legs like these.”

With a twitch, she stepped to the side, away from me. Her expression had a strange look to it, and she took a minute to say, “Don’t touch me like that. What a perv.”

Her rich brown eyes didn’t look angry or offended, though. They held something deeper – uncertain and confused.

Suddenly, she narrowed her gaze out of that uncertainty and said, “You’re right.”

But just as my heart fluttered upward with the hope that I’d actually made her feel better about herself, she went on: “I don’t want to go to the pool after all. You have fun while I put on my fat pants and mope around here.”

***

At the pool, I stared at all the girls in their suits and tried to use their bodies to get my mind off of Shanna’s. My sister was a year older, nineteen and still in high school because she’d failed a grade during our “bad times,” as we called the years between sixth and eighth grades. I guess it was actually two grades that she failed, but she made one up in summer school once they put us in a better foster home and she got out of her depression. So we ended up in the same grade all through high school, and behaved ourselves well enough to stay with the same foster family, the Petersons. But as great as the Petersons were, we never really lowered our defenses around them – we knew all too well how bad it hurt to lose anyone you really cared about.

Celia Kwan and her sister Ilse were both laying out on lounge chairs when I walked in through the pool gate. The Kwans were amazing, exotic, luscious, unique, brilliant girls with a Chinese-American father and a Nigerian mother, and ordinarily I would have been drooling over them the entire time I was at the pool. But today their cream-and-coffee flesh and hourglass figures barely held my eye. As I walked past them, Celia was saying something to Ilse in French, and they both broke out laughing, but I didn’t even glance over for a look at their vast smiles and glittering teeth. The Kwans were untouchable – they’d both be going to Harvard in the fall, taking their voluptuous bodies and joyfully intellectual brains with them. I’d be going to community college, assuming I managed to scrape together izmir escort bayan the money. I’d spent a great many hours masturbating over fantasies of the two of them draping themselves naked upon me, roaming my body with their mouths and breasts and crotches – I’d even looked up on the internet how to say, “I’m coming,” in each of the four languages they spoke, just to give my jerk-off daydreams a greater level of realism. But they were so far out of my league that thinking about them almost always depressed me (after I finished getting off), and I expected that to be especially true today, so I mostly ignored them. To the extent that two bodies like that could be ignored, I mean.

Nearby, Leila Auden lay face-down with her top undone, which I thought should have been against the rules. Not the pool rules, but the don’t-deliberately-drive-boys-crazy rules. Lying on her front, she mostly concealed her unbelievable breasts (widely considered the best rack in our senior class), and to have her bikini bra untied just seemed like taunting. I didn’t more than glance at her, though, despite her back and ass being almost as perfect as her boobs – her twin brother Dane was sitting next to her, and he had a habit of glaring at any guy who ogled his sister too long.

Dropping my towel on a chair well away from the Kwans and the Audens, I turned to the pool and saw Julie Plunkett splashing her little brother in the shallow end. Unlike Shanna, Julie really was overweight, with a waist that barely crinkled in at the middle instead of curving, and enough of a belly that most people would have said she shouldn’t wear a bikini in public. But she also had enormous knockers and an ass that would not stop – hence her nickname around school, Junkett in the Trunkett. It was mean, and I would certainly never have said it to her face, but that’s how all the guys talked about her. I’m pretty sure it reflected the fact that every one of them would secretly have loved to bend Julie over and plow into her from behind, with both hands on that broad, smooth, ample bottom, watching her long blond hair swing forward and back with every bump of his groin against her snatch. I had gotten myself off to thoughts like that of Julie even more often than the Kwans – Julie wasn’t out of my league the way they were. But she’d had a steady boyfriend since tenth grade, Scott Fester, so I’d never asked her out. I’d just looked plenty, like I was looking today.

Her brother was splashing back now, and she shrieked and giggled, trying to block the spray with her hands held out. Julie always wrinkled her face up when she laughed, in a cute way – and it was a pretty face, and that full, pale, sleek body of hers definitely made me hot as it glistened under a sheen of chlorinated water and sun-block. I sat on the edge of the pool with my lower legs in the water and pretended to be casually looking around while I kept my eyes mostly on Julie’s bobbling, splashing breastiness.

Unfortunately, seeing an actual semi-fat chick only made me more baffled at Shanna’s complaints about her weight. Julie looked great, and I’d envied Scott Fester ever since I found out they were a couple, and I knew for a fact that half the guys in school wished they were Scott so that they could get a piece of that oh-so-generous tail. Shanna, meanwhile, probably weighed twenty or thirty pounds less than Julie, despite being taller, and had an even prettier face besides. How in the world could she think there was anything wrong with how she looked?

Maybe she doesn’t, I thought. Maybe she just tells herself that, for the same reason you probably wouldn’t ask Julie out even if Scott was nowhere in the picture.

I held my breath and slid off the rim of the pool into the water. The cold shock managed to distract me for a bit, and I swam several laps thinking about nothing at all – which was good, because that last thought wouldn’t have led anywhere productive. The bad years had done something to me and Shanna both: first losing our parents, then living with Uncle Sal for six months while he drank away half our inheritance before disappearing with the rest – and finally, the series of nightmare foster homes that we went through before having the good luck to land at the Petersons’ near the end of eighth grade.

We just weren’t cut out for getting close to people anymore. We had friends, but no best friends. And the handful of dates we’d either one of us been on always turned into disasters.

It was no wonder I had the hots for my sister. In the whole world, there wasn’t anyone else I could trust well enough to want to touch.

***

When I got home the house was quiet. The Petersons had gone off for the weekend, to a marathon for some charity halfway across the state. Not for the first time, I felt guilty walking into the place and knowing how much they had done for us, how much they cared about us, and how much faith they put in us. Now that I’d turned eighteen, neither one of us brought them a foster-care subsidy escort izmir from the state. Shanna hadn’t done so in over a year. But they’d told us we could stay until we graduated, and even though we both worked part-time, they wouldn’t let us pay rent. The Petersons were great people, and we liked and respected them.

They just weren’t our parents.

I tossed my damp, chlorine-scented towel into the laundry room, went down the hall to shower, dried off with a house towel and got dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. Then I lay on my bed with a book I wasn’t reading and tried to think about what it would be like to date Julie Plunkett and get a hand inside her voluminous bra – or one of the Kwans, whose full, dark lips would surely taste like some distant corner of the world when I kissed them.

Shanna knocked on my door and interrupted, banishing all thoughts of Julie, Celia, Ilse, the book, the room. She looked unhappy, maybe irritated, maybe frustrated, maybe unable to make up her mind which one. Her t-shirt and bikini top were still on, but true to her word, she’d tugged a pair of sweatpants over her bottom half.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Can I come in a second?” Her voice had a weirdly ambivalent tone as well.

I scooted up against the headboard of my bed and shrugged. “Sure.”

“Look,” she said, stepping in and winding one finger into her brown hair, her eyebrows low and her mouth wrinkled, “I was shitty to you earlier, and I wanted to say I was sorry. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” I asked, giving her a look of mock suspicion. “How can that be all? Doesn’t saying, ‘I’m sorry,’ violate the Secret Order of Big Sisters Oath or something?”

She rolled her eyes and then moved her hand from her hair to her forehead. “You know, Miles, could you not be a dick about this? I mean …”

Oh shit, she’s about to cry.

I put my book aside and slid my feet off the bed, though I was still sitting down. “Jeez, Shanna, I’m sorry. What is it? What’s the problem?”

Her hands went to her sides and clenched and unclenched. “You were trying to be nice to me earlier, and I was a bitch. I just kept arguing with you when you were only trying to make me feel better, and … I mean, what’s wrong with me?”

I wanted to get up and hold her, hug her. But as generous and caring and overwhelming as that instinct was, a splinter of my brain thought at the same time that if I did, I would get to feel those amazing, pillowy breasts of hers pressing against my chest. And that made me stay where I was, because it terrified me that she might somehow sense that thought – or, worse, brush against the hard-on I would surely get and sense that.

“Sis, it’s no big deal,” I said, trying to sound casual. “You’re a girl, you’re upset about your weight, I’m your brother, I said something – it’s perfectly normal for that not to go well.”

“Normal,” she said, as though the word tasted like rusty nails. She stepped and turned and sat on the bed next to me, leaning forward on her knees, shoulders slumped. “That’s the thing, Miles. I’m not normal. I don’t even know what normal is.”

Her hip had come down all but touching mine, and the edge of the mattress bowed under our combined weight, bringing us into contact. I could smell her hair and her deodorant – light, clean, feminine. The softness and faintness of them and the press of her thigh against mine made the room somehow expand and contract with every breath I took.

Carefully, I said, “There’s really no such thing as normal. Everybody just has to figure out how to be themselves.”

Did my voice shake or squeak as I said it? I couldn’t tell for sure. I thought it sounded pretty level.

She closed her eyes. As I watched, her shoulders started trembling and a big fat tear rolled the cheek that was facing me.

“Aw, cripes, Shanna,” I said, putting an arm across her back and giving her a single, gentle shake. “Snap out of it. You’re a beautiful, smart, fun girl, and sooner or later things are going to be great for you. You just have to hang in there.”

We sat there quietly for a moment, my arm light against the back of her shirt. Then Shanna rose up from leaning on her knees and draped her head sideways across me, her cheek to my collarbone, her hair brushing my neck. Her right arm hooked in under mine and her left circled around my waist to meet it – loosely at first, then tighter and tighter. I could feel her quivering, and a dampness spread out through my shirt where her cheek lay.

I didn’t know what to do except rock back and forth and make stupid Shhshing noises. I guess it worked though, because she eventually stopped shaking and let out a deep sigh. I became aware, then, that the curve of her right breast had eased into contact with my chest while we’d sat there.

Think about something else, you asshole, I told myself. But there wasn’t anything else – just the delicate warmth of my sister’s breast next to my flesh, separated only by a few layers of cloth. Against every izmir escort appropriate instinct in my brain, I felt an erection stirring between my legs, swelling and hardening within my shorts. Her face was turned down from mine, and her hair hung across it – I couldn’t see if her eyes were open. But if they were, was there any way she could miss what was happening in my crotch?

She sniffled loudly just then, and released her left arm from around my waist to reach up and rub her nose.

Okay, I thought. Now we’ll disengage, and she’ll be like, “Thank you for being so nice,” and she’ll go to her room and I’ll bang off and that will be that.

But she didn’t. Instead, she finished her snuffling, looped her hand back around me and settled back in.

It was actually one of the most loving, peaceful, tender moments of my entire life – except that my cock was raging so hard against my underpants that I could practically hear the seams popping.

Shit, then, just be here, I told myself. Just be here for her and enjoy feeling this way with her and enjoy the fact that her tit is making you burst your shorts. You spend so much time getting crapped on in this world, and here’s a short time where you know how much you love your sister and how much she loves you, and as a bonus, you’re getting to cop a feel with your pecs. So just let things ride here.

Her hair continued to smell amazing. I leaned my head sideways against hers until I was pretty much breathing directly through those wavy brown locks. She breathed slowly in and out, her exhalation warming the front of my shirt. I’m not sure how long we sat that way. All I knew was that it was wonderful and I didn’t want it to stop.

But eventually, Shanna said, “Miles?”

Reluctantly, I answered. “Yeah?”

She didn’t say anything immediately.

“What?” I asked as the silence dragged on.

“Are you … hard?”

“Uh,” I said, lifting my head up from hers, ready to pull away if her arms let go of my waist. But they didn’t. “Look, it’s … that’s biological. I’m not …”

“Right, no, I know,” she said quickly. “Sorry I said anything.”

We lapsed back into silence. But her arms seemed tenser than they’d been before, and her cheek felt less relaxed against my shoulder.

“Miles?”

“Um, yeah?”

She took a really deep breath. Then she let it back out.

“Nothing.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Miles, I’m really wet.”

“Excuse me?”

I twisted my neck to look at her, and she slowly raised her face until her eyes met mine. Her bottom lip was stuck between her teeth.

Then those sensuous brown irises flashed and she said, “I’m dripping, oozing wet. I’ve never been this horny in my life.”

“Jesus, Shanna, you should not be telling me this.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. Then she put her head back on my shoulder. But not at the same angle. This time, her lips and nose were almost touching my neck, and I felt her breath gliding warm down along my throat. Her arms remained firmly around me, but strong now, not just tense. “Miles, I want to do things.”

Her lips brushed my skin just above the carotid artery.

“Shanna –”

“No, Miles, listen,” she said. She kissed the muscle along the edge of my throat and continued, “I want to do things, and I’m – I’m just never going to be able to let myself get close enough to anyone to do them. I just can’t. I can’t open up to being hurt any more.”

I’d thought my dick was hard before, but apparently I had no idea just how hard it could get. My pulse barreled along in my ears at the feel of her mouth against my neck, her arms around me, that one breast flattened along the side of my chest.

“So your solution is to ‘do things’ with me? You know what that’s called, don’t you?”

“Come on, you know you want to too,” she said, steaming her breath against the pulse in my neck. “Miles, you’re the one person in the whole world that I love. That I love and trust completely. And there’s a giant boner in your pants that says you’ve been thinking the same thing.”

I swallowed and just sat there.

“Lie down,” she whispered across my skin. “Lie down, and I’m going to make out with you and dry hump you until we both come.”

Now her arms unclasped from around me, brought her hands up to my shoulders, and pressed me backward toward the bed.

I gave in and fell against the mattress with my head spinning. My legs moved up onto the covers as though they belonged to someone else.

Suddenly, she was above me, her whole body, and I was spread across the sheets watching her lean down to clasp her lips to mine in a hot, sensual kiss unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Her eyes closed and her tongue shot into my mouth, twisting and searching – I shut my eyes too and kissed her back. The whole length of her settled into place atop me, her legs spread outside of mine, her hips easing down until the crux of her, the joining place between her thighs, made contact with my pubic arch right at the root of my cock.

“Llmmm!” I said around her tongue. She rolled her pelvis and laughed in response, her mouth releasing mine just long enough to express her joy before closing back down with its soft, wet, questing embrace.

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