Chapter 2

“What?” I blinked. I had just heard my sister admit she masturbated on my leg and groped me on purpose.

“When I say I love you, I mean I’m in love with you,” she said. “I’ve been in love with you since the first date I went on.”

“Oz, Honey, you’re talking crazy again,” I moaned.

“No, I’m not. I know I shouldn’t feel this way. I’ve always known it, but I couldn’t help it. I knew if I ever showed it, they’d send me to a convent or somewhere, so I hid it. Then, last night, I felt so relieved that you got me away from that guy, that everything just bubbled up inside me until I couldn’t control it. I know you’ll think I’m some kind of degenerate, but please don’t kick me out or tell Mom and Dad. I promise to try to work on it. I’ll even go to counseling, except I’m afraid they’ll tell the police. I mean they might have to, by law, or something. And the last thing I want anybody to think is that you molested me.”

“Well, thank you for that ... I guess,” I said. My mind was whirling. It was like I’d gone to sleep in dimension Alpha and woke up in dimension Bravo. The whole world was different. Well, my house was different. I hadn’t gone outside yet.

“Do you hate me?” she asked in a high, innocent voice.

“No,” I said. “I don’t hate you.”

“Do you think I’m a degenerate?”

“Let’s not back anybody into a corner,” I said, thinking briefly on how I had “appreciated” my sister’s naked body in that bathtub. “I need some time to think about all this.”

“I’d say you can do that while I go to the store to get some pie filling, except I’m afraid you’ll have changed the locks before I get back,” she said.

“I’m not going to change the locks,” I said. “I don’t even know how to do that and the landlord would probably throw us out if I did.” I looked at her. “Why are you making a pie at a time like this, anyway?” I asked.

“Baking helps calm me,” she said. “And I hoped I could bribe you not to throw me out if I baked you a pie.”

“You were going to try to bribe me with a pie?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, looking down at the floor.

“Get dressed,” I said. “We’ll go to the store together.”

“Thank you,” she said.

I held up my hand.

“No chatter. You’re not to say anything until I tell you to. I need to think. It’s not easy to think right now and your babbling would make it even harder.”

She mimed zipping her mouth.

She put the pie crust in the fridge and went to her room. She emerged wearing skinny jeans and a peasant top that was off her shoulders. It was obvious she didn’t have on a bra, even before I saw the dents of her nipples through the shirt.

“You’re wearing that?” I asked.

She looked down, at me, unzipped her mouth and said, “Sorry. Almost all my clothes were bought with you in mind. You want me to change?”

“With me in mind?”

“Yeah, stuff that I thought I’d look hot in. To tease you with. I’m not trying to tease you right now, though. I can go change if you want me to.”

Things in this dimension were getting stranger and stranger. I could tell she wasn’t just fucking with me. She meant the things she’d said. This was a more serious sister, somehow. All that flaky fun-girl shit she’d been doing was very out of character for the sister I was now dealing with. Or vice versa. I had even more to think about, now.

“Just put on a bra,” I said. “I don’t want guys staring at your chest.”

She turned without a word and went back to her room. When she came back she had on a purple silk blouse that had a lacy white bra under it. I could tell because the blouse was thin enough to sort of see through.

I sighed.

She didn’t speak as we got in the car and I started off to Wal-Mart.

I didn’t look at her as I drove the ten minutes to the store. Thank goodness she didn’t speak, either, because I really needed to think. I know ten minutes doesn’t sound like much time to think about something really important, but the human mind can outclass any computer ever built. Ten minutes of human thought is like a hundred years of time on a supercomputer.

I’m not tooting my own horn, here. My thought processes are quite average, I imagine. But in those ten minutes I was able to arrive at some conclusions about the situation that made it easier to think about.

1. My little sister, the one who had been such a pain in my ass for all these years, the one who acted like she hated me - that little sister - actually had a crush on me all those years.

2. Little sister though she might be, she was now almost nineteen and was plenty smart enough to recognize a crush.

3. She’d thought about all this for a long time and had decided it was not a crush at all. She decided, instead, that she was in love with me.

4. Because she was in love with me, she was willing – no, wanted - to have sex with me.

5. She was so sure about all of this in her mind that she admitted it to me. She knew the dangers of making that kind of admission and they went far beyond me saying, “Nah, no thanks.”

6. She wasn’t drunk when she admitted it.

7. And, finally, the ball was in my court.

Once I got there, I spent another few hundred super computer years trying to figure out what I was going to do. That took longer because that subject was vastly more complicated than reviewing simple facts, as presented by my sister. There were a lot more variables and it involved a lot of “what if” scenarios.

I’d number all of them for you, but it would take half a ream of paper. Instead, I’ll try to summarize.

Since I was still persona non gratis with Shantelle (and most likely any girls she knew and would talk to about me) and since I hadn’t found a replacement for her, I was adrift on my sea of testosterone. My sister might be a genius who could still get straight A’s while skipping classes (I found out later she did), but I had to study hard all the time just to maintain B’s and C’s. It took time to cultivate relationships. It also took money, and while I had a work study job with the school, I was only allowed ten hours a week. That added up to being able to go to Taco Bell once in a while, not dazzle some girl on frequent dates to the steak house.

That’s the thirty super computer year way of saying I was lonely and horny.

And being lonely and horny, I was vulnerable. I was treading water okay on that sea of testosterone. I jacked off once a day and the semen I jetted out of my lonely, horny penis thickened the sea and made it easier to float.

Hmmm. That sea of semen thing looked better in my mind than it does on paper. Sorry. It’s just one of the things that flashed through my mind.

Anyway, now there was another option to just treading ... water.

The fact that I realized Oz was hot was because my body told me to realize it. Halfway to Wal-Mart I had a boner that would, if it didn’t subside, prevent me from going into Wal-Mart. I was pretty sure the greeter would say something like, “Sorry, we don’t allow pistols in pockets in this store. Please take that thing out to the car and dispose of it before returning. Thank you.”

Now we got to the meat of the matter, no pun intended.

I wanted to fuck my sister.

The problem was ... why? I knew I shouldn’t want to. She shouldn’t want me to, either, but I couldn’t control her situation. I could control mine, though. So what the fuck was wrong with me that I was suddenly - and this was sudden - into incest? I knew full well that the vast majority of brothers wouldn’t entertain the idea of fucking their sisters, even if they were babes.

So what was wrong with me?

That led me off on a tangent for a few hundred years of super computer time. Did the vast majority of brothers think fucking their hot sisters was anathema? Maybe brothers and sisters were happily fornicating all around me! Maybe sisters all over the place were lying back, naked, spreading their legs and reaching out and saying, “Come here, Brother. I have an itch and I want you to scratch it,” and the brothers were saying, “No problem. I love you so much I’ll risk prison time to pop off in your sweet pussy.”

The computer in my mind burped almost immediately. No. If that was happening it would be impossible to hide. It would come out in the news. Somebody I knew would have admitted it to me. I would have seen the signs of that kind of relationship.

That got me to thinking about the brothers and sisters I knew. That wasn’t very productive, though, because everyone I could think of either had a sister who was waaay too young to be doing that shit, or who was older by three or four years and was in college (or married) when I knew the guy. There was Randy Wheeler, back in high school, who had three sisters who were all clustered around him in age. Stephanie was two years older. Marie and Melody were twins and two years younger than him. But Randy was on the football team and never wanted for a date. He had girls crawling all over him. I wondered where he was, now. Had he joined Stephanie at college, like Oz had joined me?

And that led me down another rabbit hole in which I imagined that Randy was fucking all his sisters and had been for years. That’s why he was so popular with the girls. He knew how to please them ... sexually ... because he had so much practice at home.

“We’re here, Bobby,” came Oz’s voice, interrupting my train of thought.

I realized I was in a parking spot at Wally World. The car was still in drive and my foot was on the brake. I had no idea how long this situation had been in place. I also couldn’t remember making the drive that got us there.

As I put the car in park I decided Oz had driven me insane. There was no way in the world that Randy Wheeler was fucking his sisters. There just wasn’t. Now that I thought about him, I remembered that Randy had gone to Florida State on a football scholarship. Stephanie was two years ahead of me and all I could remember about her was that she had had gone to college somewhere else. I only knew that because Randy had complained, “She gets to go skiing every weekend and I’m stuck with dodging alligators when I go for a run.”

“Are we going in or what?” asked Oz.

I finally looked at her. I noticed things about her that, before, I had kind of glossed over in my mind.

She had a pug nose, and a spray of freckles across it from one cheek to the other. Her hair was dark blond and went three or four inches past her shoulders when she didn’t have it up in a ponytail, like it was, now. At five foot three, she was shorter than most girls her age. I knew what she looked like naked, thanks to her stupidity at the frat party, but the memory of that wasn’t crystal clear. I’d been pretty agitated at the time, and more concerned with getting her out of there than examining and remembering her nudity. Still, the memory of her pink-capped breasts in that bathtub was fresh. I vaguely remembered seeing a lack of pubic hair. I also remembered looking away from that, feeling guilty.

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Blackmailed Brother

Lubrican

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