Dammit, but your brother is worthless.
That's the thought you have as you pull into his driveway, with a turkey casserole in your passenger seat and your evening out on your mind. Sure, Neil works more than full time at the factory and is a good provider for his wife, but he can't do anything useful around the house. He doesn't clean, he doesn't cook. He does mow the lawn regularly, but that's probably just because he thinks it's butch to play with any tool that has a gasoline engine. If the kitchen stove could be made to run at 250 hp with a two-stroke motor, maybe he'd finally learn how to make something more ambitious than mac'n'cheese.
And you're the baby sister, so it's up to you to bring him a hot dinner every weeknight. You planned to be out cutting loose with your girlfriends downtown, but Mom is conservative enough to make you do the girly errands. Dammit, but your brother is worthless.
You trot up the front stoop with the casserole held firmly in both hands. After nearly two weeks, you've learned not to worry about how you'll knock at the door without a free hand; Neil's watching for you. He throws the door open before you even hit the final step. "Come on in, Princess." He's wearing his pajama pants and a Hawaiian shirt, hanging untucked and unbuttoned.
"Don't call me that, Dorkface," you reprimand him. "Who do you get your fashion sense from, the back of the beer can? Your pus gut looks like a one-eyed walrus poking out of your shirt."
"What, this?" He slaps both hands on his naked abs. "This is a storage tank for all the excess testosterone. Come on, you want to cop a feel?"
You nudge your elbow into his belly and smirk over the rims of your glasses. "You only wish a girl like me would touch you. I'm way out of your league."
Neil grins at you. "It's shameless the way we flirt."
"Flirt?" You return his grin. This kind of banter has been going on since you were both in high school. "Maybe if you weren't my brother, and maybe if you weren't ugly as a cat's ass."
The first part of your comment is true. He's your brother, three years older and a great deal wiser. But he's not ugly. Despite your comment, he doesn't have a gut. He works out regularly, and the factory work he does makes sure his muscles are trim and useful, not the gross bulky monstrosities of most bodybuilders. And his baby-smooth face is gorgeous enough to merit the body it sits on. He kind of makes you jealous sometimes. All the good genes in the family went to him. Mom, Dad, your baby brother and you are all average. None of you are unattractive, but none of you are pretty either. You have an average face, average hair, average body. With your white blouse and your black plastic glasses, you look like a librarian straight out of Central Casting. Maybe you have big breasts, but that's because you don't watch your weight. Good men are only interested in skinny pretty women, and the only men who ask you out are breast fetishists.
"Yeah," Neil answers you, "maybe if I weren't ugly. And maybe if you weren't such a cold fish, Kendra. Come on in before the food gets cold."
He steps out of your way and you walk into his house. His head turns to follow you as you head back for the kitchen. Is it your imagination or did he just check out your tits? Ah, it's probably nothing. "I need the baking dish from the tuna steak last night. And you'd better have washed it, because Mom's about ready to go nuclear on you."
"I gave it a lick and a promise," Neil says.
"It's still filthy, isn't it?"
"I'm too sexy to do chores."
You give him a little snort of laughter. "Dammit, but you're worthless." He follows you into his kitchen, and you drop the casserole dish on the table. "Tell me you at least have a clean plate and a clean fork."
He waves a hand at the cabinets. "Check and see for yourself."
"Maybe I'd better," you say, and head that direction. "Do you need me to show you how to operate the dishwasher before I go?"
Neil usually lives better than this. His wife Bethany does most of the useful stuff around the house. But she's in southern Mexico, doing field research for her Master's thesis, and she'll be gone for about six more weeks. You still live at home with Mom and Dad, so you've been delegated to do a lot of housewife chores for Neil until Bethany gets back.
What the hell. You'll turn twenty-one this coming fall, and that's when you and Jessica mean to get a place together. You're a tough girl, you can wait that long.
When Bethany's gone, Neil's really on his own. They have this tiny starter house with one bedroom, and they have no kids. Neil admitted once that his sperm count was too low to conceive. You think that's kind of sad, because the two of them would make great parents. But with Bethany so far away, it's probably a good thing there are no children. Neil could never take care of them without a woman around the house.
Sure enough, Neil has clean cutlery waiting in the cupboard. "Yeah, you have enough to get you by. I'd better get out of here." You turn around and yelp with fear. Neil's standing right in your face. "Jesus," you sigh, putting a hand on your breast to calm your rushing heart. "I didn't hear you coming up behind me."
"It's okay, Princess," he says. "I don't want to scare you or anything. Can you stay for a few minutes?"
"Not really." Your brother is standing right in your space. You can feel his hot breath on your forehead. "I promised Jessica and Dawn we could go see the new chick flick at the multiplex tonight."
"Come on, Kendra," he begs, making a sad puppy-dog face. "I'm lonely. I need a friend tonight."
You start to feel a little sisterly sympathy for him, but then he steps even closer. He's got you backed against the lip of counter, and he leans his face in so you have to bend backward away from him. This is starting to creep you out. "Jessica and Dawn are waiting on me. They'll worry if I don't show up." You slide sideways against the counter to get away.
He puts a hand on your cheek and starts to draw light circles with his fingertips. "Please, Kendra. Please."
The hand on your cheek is connected to a thick arm that's definitely stronger than you are, so you can't escape that way. And if you go the other way you'll smack into the refrigerator. The only way out of this scary situation is to talk your way past Neil. "Listen to me," you say. "You have friends, people at work--"
"People at work," he sneers. "A bunch of muscleheads whose greatest accomplishment is slamming down six whole beers without having to run to the john. No, Kendra, I've never been able to talk to another human being the way I can talk to you. Not even Bethany." He looks deep in your eyes. He takes several deep husky breaths, and the hand petting your cheek starts to tremble. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Then don't," you tell him. "Stop this while you still can."
Your brother answers by putting both hands flat on your cheeks and kissing you hard on the lips. Your eyes are wide with shock. His tongue licks out of his mouth and pushes between your lips, sliding over your teeth, exploring your mouth. You're too scared to breathe. His tongue is thick and tough, and his jaw works up and down while he's kissing you. Your mind races, trying to figure out what to do, but it's like your body isn't responding. All you can do is stand there, rigid as a board, while your brother kisses you like a long-lost lover. Or like a whore in the bathroom of a public park.
After what seems like several hours he breaks the kiss and lifts his face off yours. He still holds your face in his hands. You feel a single tear running down the corner of your nose, and he leans in and licks the tear away. Your heart is pounding furiously against your ribs.
Neil smiles at you. "Now you can't tell me you don't feel anything when I do that."
His words break whatever spell it was he had over you. You raise your leg and kick at his package. The kick misses, but your foot connects with his kneecap. He bawls in pain, and he takes his hands off you and stumbles back several paces. You turn and sprint for the door.
Neil catches up with you in the living room and wraps both arms around your waist, lifting you up off the ground. "Please, Kendra," he begs, while you swing your arms and legs in a vain attempt to hit him. "I need you to be here with me tonight. I need you to be my Princess."
After a moment you stop struggling, because it's doing no good. He sets you down, and you whirl around and slap him across the face. "Grow up, Neil," you say, and you reach out to slap him back the other way.
He catches your hand in his and yanks. You whirl into the wall with such force that you feel the drywall flex under the impact. You fall down and smack your forehead on the hardwood floor. White flowers dance in front of your eyes, and you can't make your arms and legs move.
Your brother scoops you up with both arms and places you gently on the couch. "I told you, Kendra, I don't want to hurt you." He reaches down, grabs your blouse in both hands, and rips. Buttons go flying. His hands begin to glide over your breasts, but you're too dazed to resist. Finally he slips his hands up under the cups of your bra and pushes them up, exposing the skin of your breasts. His thumbs trace broad lazy circles around your nipples.
"Neil, please," you whimper. "I'm your sister. Don't do this."
"I have to," he says, as he leans his face into your cleavage.
"No," you whisper. "You don't have to." Your voice sounds so feeble, even to yourself.
.... There is more of this story ...