Showering With Sister
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Reluctant, Fiction, Sharing, Incest, Brother, Sister, First, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Petting, Pregnancy, Slow,
Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - With the title of a stroke story, this isn't. Rather it chronicles the story of an unplanned situation that slowly got weird, out of control, and took two people to a place neither expected. It wasn't beyond their wildest dreams. We're talking alternate reality, here. And then it got even crazier.
The only thing I knew about Descartes and Nietzsche, by the time I was sixteen, was that they were philosophers. What I mean is I’m not a philosopher, myself. I’ve never had deep thoughts about what life is all about or any of that stuff. And I never thought about fate or karma or any of a number of other platforms that try to help one come to grips with things that happen in life that seem to make no sense.
At least not until I was sixteen.
I have since learned a word for what happened to my sister and me. That word is ‘serendipity’ but I had never heard of it back then. I don’t know if Jennifer had ever heard of it then or not. And that’s a good example of how much things have changed for me. Back then, if I’d learned a new word, it would never have even occurred to me to ask her if she knew what it meant.
Now I would. Now we share everything with each other.
Even things we aren’t supposed to share.
I think you know what I mean already. I chose a place to tell our story that specializes in, shall we say, stories about things sexual. It was the accident - the serendipity - of finding that site that emboldened me enough to actually tell our story at all. This is not to say nobody else in the world knows about us. That’s not true, as you’ll find out. And really, as Jennifer reminded me pretty regularly while I wrote this, it isn’t anybody else’s business that we are closer as siblings than most people in the world would approve of.
But that’s the point, actually. The point is that in a world where there seems to be so little love, what there is should be celebrated instead of reviled. Oh, I get it that incestuous pairings in the past have created terrible and sad situations in terms of birth defects. The record is perfectly clear in a murky kind of way about that. What I mean by “murky” is there are no scholarly papers out there on why these defects happen in some cases of incest and don’t in others. There are theories galore, but no scientific studies to back them up. To me, that is like saying “There’s this incredible, mystifying behavior that can both create or destroy life but why that happens is something we’re not going to talk about.”
Now maybe you think I’m getting worked up about something that really makes very little difference in the grand scheme of things. After all, incest is an aberration in human life, right? Very few people are involved in that behavior, right? At least that we know about. We don’t need to talk about that perversion, right? It isn’t common. Incest only touches a fraction of a fraction of a given population.
Well ... let’s not even take up the discussion about Adam and Eve, or Noah and his minescule family, who repopulated the Earth after the flood. We’ll pretend that we’re not all the product of incest. At least if you ascribe to any number of religions that all pose an original pair that populated the Earth. But maybe you don’t. Maybe you think all manner of different humans evolved all at the same time, from different organisms. If that’s the way you think, we can go with the roughly 11,000 humans who survived the ice age (scattered hither and yon in tiny groups) and then repopulated the Earth. They had no choice but to inbreed to survive.
I know I said I wasn’t a philosopher, and a lot of that up above looks and sounds like philosophical ramblings, but what can I say? Stuff happened and I couldn’t help but think about it and wonder why it happened. I know how it happened ... sort of ... at least now in retrospect, but I sure had no idea what was going on while it was happening.
What all this rambling is supposed to be getting to is that maybe it happened to you, too. I have a sneaking suspicion that what happened between Jennifer and me has happened to a lot more people than anybody would admit. I use the words “would admit” intentionally, because of another sexual behavior that seems to happen a lot, but which very few people admit they engage in. Can you guess what it is?
Think back on that. If you masturbate (and everybody says everybody does) then how many people have you admitted that to? I’m not talking about how many people know you do it, or believe you do it. I’m talking about you formally announcing, “You know what? I masturbate frequently. Do you?”
Everybody allegedly does it, but nobody admits it to anyone but maybe one or two very close friends.
I’ll just tell you what happened. Maybe you’ll be able to explain it to me.
I’ll start off by admitting to the whole world that I masturbate, and that I masturbated frequently before all this happened. I started when I was roughly twelve and I learned to do it completely by accident. I was in the shower and I was washing my penis, which was either already hard, or got that way while I was washing it. I don’t remember. That wasn’t a new thing, having an erection, I mean. It had been getting hard for a long time. But this was the first time I washed it with the now familiar stroking grip that every guy knows all about.
Or so I hear.
Anyway, it felt good so I just kept doing it. Then it felt great and I wouldn’t have stopped even if somebody pounded on the door and told me to hurry up. Nobody did, though, and suddenly there was this pain in my penis that was scary as hell, but still felt fantastic, and I spurted. Just like that. I knew squat about sex back then. I knew all the words associated with it, particularly the dirty words one never uttered in the hearing of an adult, but that’s kind of like all those kids in the spelling bee who can spell anything, but have no idea what it really means. After all, they always ask for the definition ... right?
By the time I was sixteen I was an expert at masturbation. I had my stash of pictures, most of them torn from girly mags I found in the trash. I found the first one by accident, in a dumpster. I was a confirmed dumpster diver after that. People throw away the coolest stuff, as it turns out. But never mind that. I was going to tell you how ‘it’ started, between my sister and me.
It started when I had to pee really bad and it was either go outside in the back yard, and hope that Mrs. Applebee wasn’t looking out her window, or go in the bathroom, where my sister, Jennifer, was taking a shower. Maybe your neighbor doesn’t stare out the window at your house, but Mrs. Applebee seemed to. She was always “just mentioning” things to my parents about stuff I did in the back yard. Like when I shot a bird with my BB gun, or when Roy Burke and I were throwing rocks at each other (we weren’t actually trying to score a hit), or when I accidentally ran the mower into my mom’s flower garden. There were a bunch of times she saw things and “bumped into” one of my parents and “just mentioned” what she’d seen, and I knew she’d have a conniption fit if I took a leak in the back yard. It was almost bedtime, but it was also summer, and it stayed light outside pretty late. Plus my dad wired in one of those motion sensor floodlights on the back wall of the house and didn’t bother to put a switch on the thing. It would come on if I went out there and that was sure to draw Mrs. Applebee’s attention.
So I opened the door to the bathroom and went in all ninja-like. Dad had renovated the shower and the new one had a frosted door so I was hoping Jennifer wouldn’t be able to see me. I had it all planned out. I was going to sit down on the toilet so things wouldn’t splash and make noise. When I was finished I’d put the lid down so she wouldn’t see the tint in the water. I wasn’t going to flush, of course, since that would be a dead giveaway. Besides, we use way too much water just to flush and it’s not like my pee was going to sit there all day. Somebody else would use it.
Now all this was unplanned, which is why it was a complete accident that, as I sat there feeling huge relief, I was facing the shower stall. I could see Jennifer’s form through that frosted glass. Just her overall form, a kind of flesh-colored blob that was vaguely humanoid in shape. But I knew what was making that shape, so it wasn’t hard to imagine I could sort of, kind of, almost see her breasts when she raised her arms to do something on top of her head.
And as my bladder got empty, my dick got hard.
Now I have to tell you this was a complete surprise. Jennifer was my younger, bratty sister. True, she was only a year younger, and true she got straight A’s in school, whereas C was my favorite letter. And there was nothing exactly wrong with her, other than the fact she was a pest and always thought she should be able to do whatever I got to do. But I’d never even thought about getting a boner because of her.
Sure I’d seen her running around in her bra and panties, or maybe the short robe she wore sometimes that showed her legs almost up to her butt, but she was ... Jennifer. She was my sister. And she wasn’t a raving beauty or anything. She had brown hair and brown eyes and wore glasses. She had contacts, but her allergies made them itch a lot so she only wore them about half the time. She had boobs, but they weren’t huge or anything. She had a “boyfriend” every so often, but she was too hard-headed and independent to let a boy tell her what to do so those relationships always kind of faded to black sooner or later. Mostly sooner.
My point is I’d never thought of Jennifer as a sexual being before. But seeing her vague, naked form behind that frosted glass, it was impossible not to imagine what she might look like if I opened that door.
Suffice to say I was confused that I got a boner while looking at her amorphous form. And a little weirded out, to be honest.
I didn’t just sit there and think about all this, by the way. I did what needed to be done and, pulling my pants back up as I stood, to get my boner covered, I snuck out as ninja-like as I had snuck in.
Things stayed confusing when I got back to my bedroom. When I got undressed that boner was still there, and it was throbbing. Always before I’d have happily jerked off and then read until I got sleepy. But this time I couldn’t get Jennifer’s cloudy form out of my mind. I needed to jerk off, to get some relief, but I knew if I did, I’d keep thinking about my sister and that would be just too weird.
I tried to read, but that damn boner wouldn’t deflate.
I got out my pictures and locked the door. My mother was a fan of breezing in to give good night kisses on foreheads and she didn’t know I abused myself. Nobody did. How could they? I’d never admitted it to anybody.
Anyway, Miss September saved the day because she was looking me right in the eye with that “You can have me if you want me” look that could get me to spurt within sixty seconds if I really wanted to hurry things along. And my eyes flitted from her eyes to her tits to her puffy pussy lips and I came and then I was able to read until I got sleepy.
Miss September, however, could not distract me the next morning when I went down to breakfast and Jennifer was sitting there, reading the comics in the morning paper. She was dressed like normal, in a tank top and shorts. She was barefoot and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. And damned if she didn’t look ... I don’t know ... interesting?
She looked up at me and her eyebrows formed a mild frown.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You’re staring at me,” she said.
“Stop staring at your sister,” my mother said, automatically. She was fussing with something in the skillet on the stove.
“I wasn’t staring at her!” I complained.
“Yes ... you were,” said Jennifer.
But the strangest thing was that she had this little smile on her face as she said it.
“I’ll stop,” I said, knowing this was the only way to get both of them off my case.
I got a bowl and a box of cereal from the cupboard, not wanting to wait for the more involved process of bacon and eggs. I was going to go shoot hoops with Dennis Green.
“I’m cooking, here,” complained my mother.
“I love you,” I said. Those are the magic words, especially when it comes to moms. “But I’m late to shoot hoops over at Dennis’s house.”
“How can you be late to shoot hoops?” asked Jennifer. “It’s just shooting hoops.”
I wanted to stick my tongue out at her, but I was sixteen and you can’t get away with that much after you’re ten, so I just inhaled my cereal (as my mother would have put it) and hurried out the back door.
I had a whole day planned of not thinking about my naked sister behind a shower door, and it would have come off that way too, had it not been Dennis Green I had decided to spend the day with. He had a thing for my sister. He’d had it since seventh grade, but he was too chicken to ask her out. He was too chicken to even talk to her, for that matter. But he’d talk to me about her. He was fond of saying, “She’s so hot. It must drive you crazy, living with her.” He was of the opinion that, since he thought she was a babe, all other males must think she was a babe, too, including her brother.
For years I’d happily pointed out why no man on the planet should be interested in Jennifer Chalmers, but all that bounced off him like water off a duck, so I’d given up a year or so past.
And of course, it was on this particular day that, as we played H.O.R.S.E, Dennis asked me if I’d ever seen Jennifer naked.
There was a conversation about that, but you don’t want to hear about that. All you need to know is that, by the time I got home, all I could think about was whether Jennifer would take another shower that night.
Of course I knew she would. Jennifer took a shower every night. If she got sweaty she took one during the day, too. Jennifer and sweat did not get along. I, on the other hand, might go two or three days between showers. I didn’t have a girlfriend, but I didn’t associate those two facts as having anything to do with each other.
So, of course, she did take a shower.
And, of course I had to decide what to do.
I did not ninja in to get a peek, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I knew she was in there, and I knew she was naked, and I knew what it would look like if I did go in there for a peek.
And that’s all it took to give me another boner.
Even Miss September couldn’t do the trick that night. I went through the whole calendar, or at least the months I had, and none of them could keep me from imagining what my sister looked like behind that stupid door.
And that was the first night I just gave up and thought about Jennifer, rubbing her hands all over her slippery body ... across her breasts ... between her legs ... as she got all squeaky clean.
It was the first night that I suddenly wondered if she did, in the shower, the same thing I did, in the shower. Namely ... masturbate.
So it was the first night that I jerked off while thinking about my sister.
It was five days before I just couldn’t take it anymore. You do stupid things when you’re confused, like making sure you don’t go to the bathroom so you’ll have a “legitimate” excuse to ninja in and use the john while your sister is taking a shower. You’re not planning on getting caught, but you make sure you have a valid excuse, just in case.
And I changed into the cotton running shorts I sleep in every night, before I spied on my sister. I reasoned that I could pull them up faster than my regular pants. I knew I was going to have a boner. At least I was smart enough not to even think about beating off while I sat there. I figured the shorts would come up and cover said boner quickly and efficiently as I ninjaed back out of the bathroom.
I know this sounds stupid, particularly because I already mentioned that all you could see was the vague outline of a naked person behind the glass. I think maybe it was like some kind of drug. I tried it once, by accident, and it hooked me right away. So every so often I needed a fix, to keep me going.
That really does sound stupid, doesn’t it? But it’s all I got.
So I did it. I waited until she went in, and then stood by the door until the water had run long enough that I knew she’d be inside the shower. The door creaked as I opened it. I hadn’t noticed that the last time. I made a mental note to oil the hinges.
See how bad things were already?! I’d already turned into a pervert!
I tiptoed over to the toilet and shoved my shorts down. I already had a hardon and I had to bend it to get it into the space between my thighs and the toilet seat.
Then I couldn’t go. If you’re a guy, you know how that works. Or doesn’t work. If you have a great boner, you can’t piss through it. I don’t know why. It’s just the way things are.
So there I was, my bladder screaming, and me unable to get a stream going. And all the while I’m staring at the shower door, where Jennifer is soaping herself up.
Now, if you’re a guy, then you know the only way to coax piss out of a boner is to stroke it a little bit. For you ladies who haven’t fled screaming already, I’ll educate you. I’m not talking about a death grip, or choking the chicken, here. What you do is take your thumb and two fingertips and you just tease the shaft a little, kind of stroking it like you might pet a cat or something. It’s sort of like you’re milking your cock, except it’s nothing like milking a cow. Anyway, that’s what works. Somehow it relaxes things, at least for me, and within a minute I got things moving.
Of course I was in a mild panic while all this was going on, so I missed not hitting the water, at least at first. I looked down as I bent my cock to one side and the noise stopped. Then I looked back up at the shower door, to see if I was busted. I wasn’t, or at least she didn’t say anything, but she was standing still. It looked like her hand was in front of her, maybe covering her pussy? But she wasn’t saying anything and her other hand was on the wall of the shower, and not covering her breasts. So then, suddenly, that question about whether she did in the shower what I did in the shower popped back in my head.
I squinted, trying to see better, and it looked like her hand was moving. Was it moving between her legs?
I suddenly realized I’d been in there for a lot longer than planned. In fact, I wasn’t sure just how long I’d been in there. It could have been as much as three or four minutes, and there isn’t a guy in the world who needs three or four minutes to piss. Maybe to piss and then wash up and dry his hands and comb his hair and look at how handsome he is in the mirror, but not just to take a leak.
Which is why I stood up somewhat precipitously, meaning I didn’t have a boner management plan in place, which meant my rampant rod waved in the air in front of me like Harry Potter’s wand doing an Alohomora unlocking spell. Then I had to bend over to pull up my shorts, and I guess all that getting up fast and then bending over and getting up fast again caused me to get light-headed, because I staggered to the door and exited in a decidedly un-ninja fashion.
Five minutes later I was lying in bed with my shorts down to my thighs, beating off in the dark and imagining my sister masturbating in the shower.
It bothered me.
Maybe that sounds dumb, but it did. And the reason it bothered me was because when I came, imagining Jennifer with a finger plugged into her pussy, it was a really hard, really enjoyable cum. Really enjoyable. It was so enjoyable, in fact, that it kind of convinced me I really was a pervert. I didn’t know how I’d become a pervert, but the fact was unavoidable as I found myself gripping my softening penis and discovered that the sock I’d planned to shoot on hadn’t even come close to being up to the task.
I got up and cleaned up the stripe of cum on my floor, and tried to sop up what had gotten on the bedspread. I kept imagining my mother coming in the door and finding me cleaning up cum spots. I hadn’t locked the door because I had the lights out.
Basically I was a mess. I suddenly had the hots for my sister, or at least for my sister when she was in the shower. The rest of the time she was the same old Jennifer, except that now I noticed the bulge of her breasts, and imagined what was packed into her shorts. Of course I couldn’t look her in the eyes. If I did, she’d know instantly that her pervy brother was thinking forbidden thoughts. But I didn’t think she’d notice. We tried to have as little to do with each other as possible, usually.
I felt so bad that I managed to wait an entire week before I just had to see that vague image again.
It was a repeat of the previous time, though things went much better, assuming you can call sneaking in to peek at your sister in the shower as being any kind of okay. But this time I was prepared for everything. Again I’d refrained from going to the john so I actually had to go in there. I knew I’d have to get the stream going, so I teased my cock right away. This time I kept an eye on the shower door while I did it, and this time it was aimed at the porcelain instead of the water when something started happening. I sat there, kind of hunched over, watching her indistinct, tantalizing form move around in the shower. I could see she was washing her breasts. She washed them a long time and it was impossible not to imagine her doing it for purposes other than getting them clean.
I was still rock hard when I finished peeing, and I honestly think it was unconscious that I kind of teased my cock some more. I mean I always milked it to get the last drops of pee out, whether it was hard or soft, but I milked it a lot more than was necessary. Anyway, I suddenly realized I was almost jerking off, watching her hands slide all over her chest like that. That kind of freaked me out. I mean it was one thing to lie on my bed and imagine seeing her, but it seemed like another thing to actually stare at her vague image while I did that.
So I got up and ninjaed back out of the bathroom. I didn’t even make it to my bed before I was beating my meat like it owed me money and couldn’t pay. I came so fast I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t have anything to shoot my spooge into. I gave about half a second to thinking about just cumming in my free hand, but that seemed gross, so I just squeezed it hard when I felt it coming.
Man! Have you ever done that? It’s crazy! First it was painful. I know cumming is always painful ... in a happy kind of way ... but this was over the top. It didn’t stop my orgasm. I mean I still had one, but without the soothing part. It was intense. It’s hard to come up with a description of how it felt, but it wasn’t on the bad side of things at all. I’ve done it a couple of times since then just because it feels so different. Good different.
Yeah, I know, it’s crazy. But the whole situation was crazy. And it was making me a little crazy, too.
Which is why, the next time I peeked at her, I just sort of ... well ... jerked off while I did it.
It started weird.
What I mean is that Jennifer and I were watching America’s Got Talent in the family room, and when it was over, she stood up and stretched and said, “I’m going to go take a shower.” That sounds pretty normal, except Jennifer wasn’t in the habit of telling me much of anything about her life. I mean why did she care whether I knew what she was going to do in the next ten minutes? It was just out of character for her. Weird.
And of course I started getting a boner almost as soon as she said it.
“Okay,” I said, like my approval mattered.
“Night,” she said.
That was weird, too. She never wished me good night.
Jennifer took some of her showers in the morning. I didn’t know why. I always took a shower when I got up, rather than when I went to bed. Most of that was because I stayed up until I was sleepy, and a shower kind of invigorates you, you know? So I chose to be invigorated in the morning, rather than just before I went to bed.
But Jenn had some secret system where she took some showers in the morning and some at night. And I was pretty sure she’d taken one that morning.
But I didn’t stop to think about it then. I just thought about how I hadn’t prepared, and didn’t have to pee. Of course you can force yourself to pee just about anytime if it’s been a little while since you did it last, but I had gone to the john during one of the commercials, so I didn’t really have to go. Don’t ask me why I had this twisted thought process, but I felt kind of nervous because if I went in there, I had no excuse at all except that I wanted to see Jenn’s nakedness through that frosted glass.
I was too far gone, though. I knew I’d sneak in there anyway, and feeling bad about it didn’t stop me from doing it.
So I gave her time to get in the shower and did my ninja thing, carefully opening the door and going in on tiptoes. I had, in fact, oiled the hinges but I always left the door a few inches open in case I had to make a fast escape. I sat down on the toilet, like usual, but since I didn’t have to pee, all I did was stroke my cock. Jennifer was humming a tune, but I didn’t pay any attention to what it was.
The next thing I knew I was jerking off, staring at Jenn’s form through the glass. She’d been washing her breasts when I got in there. The fact that she was facing the door didn’t make an impression on me. She usually turned and faced every direction sooner or later. And when I started doing it ... actually masturbating while I watched her ... both of her hands slid down and started washing between her legs. I convinced myself she was masturbating too, and it was so hot that I only lasted maybe two minutes. When it happened, since the toilet bowl was right there, I just aimed it down and let it blast.
Almost instantly I realized how stupid I’d been. I should have choked it off. Now there were strings of cum in the bowl, some of it floating on the water, and I couldn’t flush the stool.
All I could do was put the lid down, which I did, and then fled. I figured I could go back in after she left and get rid of the evidence.
I’m telling you, it was like a drug. And, like a closet drug addict, I was living two lives. In one I acted as normal around my sister as I could. Nothing about that life was any different than before. We still barely spoke and never did anything together. She still complained about things I did, or didn’t do, and I still called her a brat. And in that life she didn’t complain to our parents that there was some stringy white stuff in the toilet after she took a shower. Or maybe she didn’t see it. I don’t know. Maybe she just dried off and left without lifting the lid and never saw it.
In my other life, though, our relationship was completely different. At least in my mind. In that life I resisted the drug as long as I could and then snuck in to jerk off, staring at her pale form through the glass, wondering what she’d look like if she stepped out and I could actually see the details. In my real life there was no way to assuage that desire - to see her naked. We weren’t nudists, and didn’t run around the house in nothing or even next to nothing.
That fantasy life intruded on my real one in other ways, too. She was popular and got invited to parties and sleepovers all the time. She wasn’t allowed to date yet, but I knew that day would come and she’d go out with a lot of guys. Being a guy myself, I knew what guys tried to get away with when they got a girl alone.
Basically, I knew there were other guys out there who wanted to see her soft, creamy naked skin too, and her pink nipples. Were they pink? It didn’t matter. I couldn’t help but wonder how far she let them get. Would she let any of them between her legs? Would she give up her virginity to her prom date? That seemed to be the common plan, at least if you believed the rumors.
It made my blood boil.
Okay, well maybe not boil. But it did make me jealous and I realized I was jealous, which was crazy because none of it had even happened yet. It was just one more push to get me on my way to the loony bin.
I knew I’d get there some day. The loony bin, I mean. I had fantasies about that, too. In one of them I was at Burger King and some guy came in with a gun and said he was robbing the place. Then he demanded that all the girls kiss him and he started feeling them up. In this particular deluded imagining my sister wasn’t even there, but I defended her anyway. I went all apeshit on the guy and went into ninja mode and almost killed him.
I know nothing about being a ninja, by the way. Just what I’ve seen in Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan movies. Which amounts to nothing. But I was unhinged so that didn’t bother me.
It got so bad that I actually thought about going to my parents and telling them about this unhealthy fixation I had on my sister and asking them to get me to a shrink. And I might have done that, too, had not something even crazier happened.
It was on a Saturday morning. I’d slept late, after sneaking in on Jennifer and jacking off again, the night before. I’d almost gotten caught that time because she suddenly turned the water off. I had been right on the cusp of spurting, so my body didn’t like the fact I just stopped and jumped up off the throne. I didn’t have time to put the cover down and my shorts were only up to my thighs when I made it out the door. I just scooted before she could open the shower door and find me there.
I had gone to bed, then and I had a case of blue balls because what they’d been about to get rid of got all bottled up. Plus I was having a fantasy about how it could have happened if she did catch me. It was a really stupid fantasy. In it, she opened the door and found me with my dick in my hand, whaling away. Her eyes got all big and she squeaked, “Is that because of me?” And of course she got all warm and fuzzy that her brother, her most harsh critic, actually thought she was a babe and all that. And of course it went on from there, while I laid back and stroked and dreamed and finally shot a quart of spunk into a sock.
Yeah, I know it wasn’t a quart. A quart wouldn’t even fit in a sock. I was just using what Mrs. Tinsdale taught us about in English last year. It’s called hyperbole.
Anyway, I slept late the next morning, maybe because of the stress of almost being caught or from a doozy of a cum. Then again, I slept late most Saturdays. I’m a teenager after all. Mr. Grinnel, in Social Studies, went into this whole thing about how evolution designed things that teenagers stay up late, tending the fire while the hunters have sex and sleep. Then the teens sleep until noon the next day while the women get the day going and the men go out to hunt again. He didn’t say anything about the teens having sex while they stayed up late, but it makes sense to me. If the parents are asleep in the cave or stick shelter or whatever, and the teens are all up sitting around the campfire, what else are they going to do?
So I got up and went to the bathroom, to get rid of my morning wood, and I decided to get something to eat before I took my shower. Jennifer was sitting at the kitchen table leafing through a glamour magazine. She looked up when I came in the room.
“Hey,” she said.
“Isn’t that supposed to be ‘Hey, dickhead?’” I quipped. Don’t ask me why I did that. It was stupid. But I did and once something is out, you can’t get it back in.
“Okay,” she said, amiably. “Hey, dickhead.”
“Where’s Mom?” I asked. Some Saturdays Mom got up and made pancakes. I had hoped this was such a Saturday.
“She and Daddy went over to Porter’s Landing to visit some sick person,” she said. “They’re also going to go shopping and go to a movie while they’re there.”
“Oh,” I said. “I was hoping for pancakes.”
“Make them yourself,” she said.
“I don’t know how,” I admitted.
“It’s not rocket science,” she snorted.
You have to understand that this was probably the longest conversation we’d had in a long time. We didn’t just chat about stuff.
I opted not to engage in any science at all, rocket or otherwise, and got down a box of Fruity Pebbles. I poured a bowl and got the milk and sat down.
“Gee,” said Jennifer. “Did you get enough? Why not just eat straight out of the box?”
This was the more normal Jennifer. I ignored her.
Later, while I was eating, she noted, “Don’t be such a pig when you eat. Ewww. You’re so gross.”
“Takes one to know one,” I mumbled through a mouthful of colorful puffed cereal. I know, it was lame, but it was all I could come up with on the spur of the moment.
She sat there and ignored me, going back to her magazine. I ate, put the dishes in the sink and then left.
After an aberrant probably-one-time-only spurt of actual conversation, we had stopped talking to each other again.
Things were back to normal.