The alarm woke my tired ass up at 9 am that Sunday morning, and I was in no fucking mood for that! I had just moved back into my family home after losing everything but my shirt, or so it felt, in a nasty divorce. Probably the only reason that my ex didn’t go after alimony was that she knew that if she pushed that far, the judge would realize that I had less coming in than she did, thanks to her cushy job given to her by Dear Old Dad. Too much of that, and she might end up having to pay ME alimony, which was not something that Courtney was prepared to do, thank you very much!
As it was, she got the marital home, though she had to cover it herself, plus three out of four vehicles (Her Honor being generous enough to leave me my Harley ... how nice of her!), eighty percent of the joint-bank account and my 401 k (remind me next time I get divorced to loot them first, but I stupidly listened to my lawyer and didn’t do that), and the vacation home as well. It was a good thing that I sold the business before she filed. I didn’t have to pay her lawyer, just mine, and the proceeds from the sale of my firm went mostly to him.
We didn’t have kids, though she was pregnant when the judge ruled on my case and she backed down from her demand for child support when I insisted upon a paternity test first. I think that she knew that it would prove the baby that she sired while I was away on National Guard duty was not mine (interestingly, given her complaint about my being away so much, she waited until I was almost done with my term of enlistment to serve me). That was a narrow escape and at least that cokehead lawyer did that much for me.
One thing was sure, I was burned-out on marriage and in no mood to deal with people in general. I had plans to go out that morning and do things, but as I awoke, I wasn’t energized or rejuvenated. I was just fucking down and drained. I was depressed about how dismal things had gotten, mostly about the failure of my first attempt at marriage, though to be fair to me, I had tried to make it work in spite of my misgivings. I had given it every honest attempt, including the mutual decision (her idea, but I tolerated it) to become monogamous early on, in spite of my serious reservations about the wisdom of monogamy. It was Courtney who couldn’t live by her own principles of fidelity, wasn’t it, the fucking hypocritical bitch!
That was the real cause of my despair, of course. I had foolishly chosen a very bad companion for me, one sure to make me miserable, not happy with my life, though I couldn’t see past her dimples and her goddamn dirty blonde hair! Fuck my luck, I thought, as I tried to get dressed for a bit in spite of myself, and then promptly changed back into my pajamas and slid back into bed. I couldn’t bring myself to face the day just yet. It was only 9 plus something, after all. Maybe if I reset the alarm and got up at 11 or something, I’d be better and readier ... or maybe I should just shoot for tomorrow after all, I told myself.
I had just started to drift back to sleep, when I heard the door to my old (and new again) bedroom crack open and someone try to steal their way in, at which point they actually slipped under the covers with me. I didn’t know who they were or what their intentions were, but I was too fucking tired and down on myself to give a shit, figuring that I would learn the truth when I awoke later.
Well, I awoke again and I had apparently missed or messed up the alarm, because it was slightly past noon and I only awakened due to my full bladder, which was about to burst. I rushed to the john, emptied my bladder half-sleepily, pulled up my jammies, and washed my hands in my own lazy, groggy fashion, barely remembering to turn off the faucet and dry them. My brain still half-asleep, I jumped into the shower, letting the hot water jar me fully into consciousness. It did the trick, of course, and that was when I felt someone slip into the shower behind, putting an obviously feminine pair of hands on my body.
“Woah, who is this?” I asked aloud, as I felt the mysterious person’s skin move along mine, as she began washing me in earnest.
“It’s me, bro. Just me,” my sister, Vicky, told me, as she started feeling my cock with her soft, smooth hands.
“Sis, must you do this? It feels good, but it’s fucking wrong, okay? This is a bit too intimate for a brother and sister to be with each other, Victoria,” I reminded her.
“Hey, you’re not the only person lonely here, bro,” my younger sister assured me as she cupped my buns.
“Yes, well, that may be true, but what would our parents say? This ... is awfully close to incest for their comfort, I imagine,” I reminded my sister.
“So what? Look, bro, it’s not like we can produce a baby together, which is the only upside of my assigned gender. I still fucking wish that we could, of course,” my sister, who had been born Victor, pointed out, “Come on, Roger Martin. How about it?”
“You just want to use me for sex, I see now,” I teased her, prompting a searing hot kiss as I began washing her, yes, including her pre-operative dick and balls.
“Baby, you have no idea how much I want to use you that way, but at least a girl can be a good friend to her bro, right? Or am I not blonde enough for you? Not the right shade of blonde?” my fair-haired sister dared me, causing me to ease a finger into her bottom, much to her delight.
“Oh ... fuck, bro! That feels terrific! I would love to get fucked by you, whenever you wish it, just so you know. Call it whatever you want. Friends with benefits, siblings with benefits, whatever. Can’t we make a deal ... until we both agree to stop, we have sex with each other on demand?” Vicky asked me now.