Chapter 2

For the rest of the week, Olivia refused to get off.

These thoughts were starting to get out of hand. When she’d been comparing the strange men she was hooking up with to her brother ... well, she’d just been using him as a baseline. She may as well have been comparing the man to a randomly-selected New Zealander, or co-worker.

But what had happened when she’d played with herself ... It made her uncomfortable.

And so for the next few days, Olivia tried very hard not to think about sex. It wasn’t easy; going from picking up every night to not letting it be on her mind at all was quite a jump, but she managed. She tried not to think about it as she scurried between the large, humming machines that surrounded her all day.

Despite the fact that sex wasn’t on her mind, however, she continued to compare people to her brother.

One of her bosses opened the door for her on the way into work one morning.

My brother would be better, she thought, even as she thanked them. Not that there was anything wrong with the way the door had been opened, per se. She just knew; her brother would have been more polite. Faster.

Better.

He’s always been very polite, Olivia reflected, and then didn’t give it another thought.

The next day, she was given a fistful of coins by a cashier.

My brother would be better, she reminded herself. He was, after all, a whiz at math. He would have counted it up much quicker, and probably dropped it in her hand more accurately.

That night, she was honked at by a random driver.

My brother would be better. She’d only driven with him a handful of times, and only seen him use the horn once, but he’d been... better at it.

Somehow.

When the weekend arrived, Olivia’s refusal to get off was starting to get to her. She was more aroused than she’d been in a long while, and couldn’t stop comparing almost everyone she met to her brother.

My brother would be better, she thought, as she turned on the TV to someone reading the news. She wasn’t quite sure how - the journalist was clearly an accomplished public speaker, whereas her brother had never been particularly confident. The anchor was well-dressed, suave, handsome ... Yet Olivia knew that her brother outclassed him in almost every way.

My brother would be better, she realized, as she passed a mall Santa. Her brother was younger, thinner, and didn’t have a beard ... but she knew he’d be better, nonetheless.

My brother would be better, she observed, as she looked at the logo on her new headphones. The logo was a pirate sporting a big blue beard. Her brother would ... he would be a better logo, somehow.

This, she knew.

She considered going out, meeting someone, but she decided against it.

No matter who she met, she knew they’d fall short.

My brother would be better. And so, after a day of reading (and concluding that her brother would be better than the model on the cover, the author, and every single character within the book) she decided to cease her self-imposed masturbation break, and try to relieve the tension that had been building inside her all week.

As soon as her hand reached between her legs, however, the thought was back.

My brother would be better. She stopped, rolled over, sighed, and tried to work out what the thought even meant.

Her brother would be better at ... touching her?

The more Olivia thought about it, the more she realized it was true.

After all: she was straight. He was a man. Ignoring the fact that he was her brother, Olivia would always rather be touched by someone else. Given the choice between masturbation and having someone else get her off, she’d take the other person every time.

He was a man, roughly her age. He was fairly attractive (again, ignoring that they were related) and probably had some sexual experience. Quite a lot, perhaps.

Her brother would be better.

Olivia rolled onto her back once more, and reached between her legs.

My brother would be better. Yes, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t there - she was.

She licked her fingers, and moved them to her clit.

My brother would be better. He would probably play her clit like an instrument, instead of the clumsy rubbing Olivia partook in when she just wanted to get off.

Her other hand reached up and grabbed her nipple.

My brother would be better. If nothing else, he’d be able to use his mouth. Olivia loved having her nipples bitten. Sucked.

She pinched her nipple, harder.

My brother would be better. Her new penchant for rough play just highlighted what masturbation wasn’t able to provide.

If her brother had been there, he would have been able to slap her, to blindfold her.

To surprise her.

Just like it’s impossible to tickle yourself, you can’t really dominate yourself in the bedroom.

But her brother would be able to.

He’d be better.

After forty-five minutes of attempted masturbation, Olivia finally gave up.

The more she played with herself, the more her hands roamed around her body and got her all worked up, the more inadequate she felt.

Yes, she could have gotten herself off ... but it would have been a clumsy attempt, compared to what her brother would have been capable of.

My brother would be better.

“How can I help you?” the manager asked as Olivia walked through the door.

My brother would be better, she thought. He’d had a job in retail for a few months during high-school.

Yes, he’d been fired ... but he was a smart guy. He’d probably used that as a wake-up call to improve. By now, he probably would have vastly surpassed this manager’s customer service skills, solid as they were.

“Hi,” Olivia replied, slightly flustered. She’d never been to a sex store before.

“Let me know if you need a hand,” the manager replied.

My brother would be better. He was ... intuitive. He would have known whether she needed help, without forcing her to ask.

“Actually, yeah,” Olivia murmured. “I’m after...”

My brother would be better, she thought, as the manager waited patiently for her to finish her thought.

Her brother wouldn’t have stammered over the request as she had, or waited silently, like the manager was. He would have finished this conversation already, and probably been driving home by now.

“ ... uh, a toy.”

“Of course,” the manager smiled. “A vibrator, perhaps?”

My brother would be better, Olivia thought, but she wasn’t quite sure why she felt that way.

After all, that was how she’d decided to go with a sex toy - because they had capabilities her brother didn’t. He couldn’t pleasure her like a vibrating machine, specifically designed to get women off.

Not that he’d ever try, of course.

“Yes,” she said, blushing furiously. “Please.”

When she’d gotten home, Olivia sat down with a smile and opened the box.

Five speeds - her brother didn’t have that - and the ability to download patterns.