Thursday, April 14, 2022; 3:03 PM

Sean opened the front door and stood aside to let Abbie enter. She immediately keyed in the code to the alarm, silencing the sharp beeps. She then let Sean enter and close the door. She was exceedingly nervous, hitching the backpack on her shoulder with both hands. With the door closed, both glanced around the foyer nervously, checking line-sights to the living room windows. Abby hiccuped suddenly and giggled. Sean rolled his eyes.

“You are such a dork.” She hiccuped again as he rubbed her hair through her hat.

Abbie had reason to be stressed. As the younger half of this exploit—and the girl—it would be her that lost her clothes today, not the other way around. She understood that perfectly. But it wouldn’t stop her disrobing in front of Sean this afternoon in her bedroom.

Sean removed her hat and smoothed her rumpled hair. She hiccuped again and watched him toss the hat on the foyer table. She was blonde like her mother, and Sean had light brown hair like their dad. He wore it short, the prevalent style for guys his age. Abbie’s hair hung just below her jaw line, a popular style last year that had seen a sudden resurgence this year for reasons unknown. Abbie’s hair looked decidedly better short, than long. Sean had never liked it long.

He cupped her cheek with his right hand and made her shiver.

“You promise we won’t get caught?” she asked anxiously. Sean caressed her cheek and nodded.

“We’re fine, as long as Mom doesn’t come home early and catch us, or we do something stupid to give it away.”

Abbie glanced around anxiously again. They’d discussed the possibility of mom or dad having unknown babysitter cams salted about the house, but she hadn’t needed babysitting in 8 years. Sean used to watch her when mom and dad were out, anyway. Twice he’d babysat her from Friday night until 3 PM Sunday afternoon, but no one was supposed to know about that.

“You can’t laugh at me,” she warned.

He scrunched his forehead as she started to blush. “What are you talking about?”

Her blush deepened and spread to her neck and what part of her chest could be seen through the unbuttoned top of her blouse. This was something they’d discussed, but Sean was still thrown off stride by her embarrassment. “Oh,” he said, suddenly getting it.

Uninvited, he unzipped her coat, opened the left side to reveal the front of her blouse. He kept his hand motionless until she relaxed. “You mean those.”

Her blush deepened, and she hiccuped again. She hated being so small. Not that Sean minded; he couldn’t wait to bare her “tweeny-sized” breasts as he called them. Being tiny partly drove his desire to see them, he said. He was a teen boy: he wanted to see her naked in any case.

“No touching,” she reminded him shakily. “This is just look and see today.”

He grinned and crossed his heart with a forefinger. He’d settle for seeing her naked this afternoon and take photos with his iPhone. If something else happened, that would be fine too, but he wouldn’t push her into anything she didn’t want to do. In fact, he wouldn’t even suggest it. Not when it had taken since their birthdays to talk her into this.

“Are you really 8” long?” she blurted.

He laughed as she hiccuped again. His actual measured length was 7-7/8”, but that was close enough to 8” to call it even. He wasn’t especially thick, measuring just under an inch in diameter, but Sean had a near-perfect erection for a 16-year-old: smooth and pink and circumcised. He imagined Abbie would freak when she saw the bare head her first time, whenever that was. He was so glad that his parents were old-fashioned in that regard. Several of his friends had loathsome foreskins.

His iPhone pinged. Irritated, he dug it free of his coat pocket, flipped the switch to silent mode, and indicated for Abbie to do the same. She pulled hers from her coat pocket also; she currently had no back pocket to carry it in, because, like every other girl at Saint Francis Academy, Abbie wore the compulsory school uniform of Navy-blue blazer, light blue blouse, and a blue and gray plaid skirt. Navy blue knee-highs and black leather flats completed her outfit.

Completing her assigned task, she fiddled with her blue tie. “What?” she enquired at his puzzled expression.

He looked up, perplexed. “I don’t know who this is. He knows my name, though.”

Anxious, she moved alongside him to view the screen, hiccuping. The text read: “Hey, Sean. I have a proposal for you. Text back OK if you are interested in finding things out about your little sister. Things you don’t know yet. This is not a scam. I know your birthday falls on August 28th, making you 16-1/2 years old, and your little sister exactly two years younger.”

“How does he know that?” she gasped.

Sean pointed out the originating phone number.

“329-34?” she questioned.

Sean explained sourly: “It’s an SMS Short Code. What’s this fucker want, and how did he get my phone number, Abs?”

“Short Code?”

Sean flicked the text to the left and started to hit Delete.

“No wait!”

He frowned at her, perplexed.

“What did he mean, ‘finding things out about your little sister. Things you don’t know yet.’?”

“How should I know?” he said irritably as she hiccuped again. “It’s a scam.” He jerked as she covered the phone with her hand.

“He said it isn’t, though!”

Sean laughed gruffly. “Of course, he did, Abs! Every scammer says it ain’t a scam.” Which wasn’t true, as no scammer wants to raise suspicions in his intended victim’s mind. “He probably got my name and number from the phone company. They sell our personal shit to make money, you know.”

Abbie’s eyes opened wide. “They do?”

Sean rolled his eyes. “How do you think they make their money, doofus?”

While Abbie pondered this unfortunate truth, biting her lower lip and hiccuping again, Sean deleted the text and pocketed his phone. “You want something to eat?”

Abbie started. Food was out of the question with her anxious stomach, but she had to do something about these hiccups. She was certainly thirsty, so maybe a Diet Coke. Hitching her backpack and clutching the strap with both hands, she said, “Okay” and followed him into the kitchen.

Abbie was a normal 14-year-old in all respects but one. She stood 5’4” tall and weighed 108 pounds. Every fellow freshman at SFA was bigger than Abbie in the chest department, however. She wore size 32AAA bras, which didn’t convey her actual, tiny breast-size. Most 6th-graders and many 5th-graders at SFA were better endowed than Abbie Morton. She hated taking off her bra in front of anyone, even her closest friends, who always showed surprise and sympathy (dismay) in their eyes. “Tweeny-sized” breasts as her brother called them, was an exaggeration on his part. She was the flattest girl in school.

Sean’s phone buzzed again; Abbie heard it through his coat pocket. Glowering, he dug it out again and glared at the screen. His expression mellowed immediately upon seeing that it wasn’t from the deleted texter. “Just Jeremy,” he said, pocketing the phone again. “I’ll text him back later.”

Something about the timing of the text and Sean’s feigned disinterest struck her as bogus. Unbeknownst to Abbie, Sean had promised to share any pictures her took of her this afternoon with his best friend Jeremy, even (especially) any pictures of her with widespread legs or showing her backside doggie. Jeremy had a hard-on for Abbie a mile long and had so since 6th grade. She had no idea at all. She liked Jeremy well enough but couldn’t imagine hooking up with Sean’s best friend. No Way! Ew, gross!

“What’s the matter?” he questioned.

“Nothing,” she said, hiccuping.

She would die if any boy—Jeremy especially—ever saw how tiny she was up top. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of Sean snapping photos—or worse, recording a video of her undressing or posing nude for him in her bedroom this afternoon. She had agreed (in theory, at least) to posing nude, if he wanted her to, which he had professed to being unsure of that last night. Maybe that decision merited additional consideration, she thought.

“What’s wrong?” Sean queried, obviously suspicious.

“Nothing,” she repeated tightly, and then jumped when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

“We don’t have time for that now,” he said, watching her dig out her iPhone.

She felt put-upon. It wasn’t her fault that friends kept sending them texts. Only, this wasn’t a friend. Alarmed, she un-shouldered her backpack and dropped it onto the counter, and then held out her phone for Sean to see. The person had sent a text to her, this time: “Tell your brother not to be pig-headed, Abbie. I’m offering a chance to understand things about you. You could at least listen to what I have to say.”

Sean cursed angrily, grabbed the phone from her hand—”Hey!” she protested, hiccuping—and poked the notification with his fingertip. He then shocked her by using his thumb to unlock her iPhone.

“Hey!” She tried to grab her phone back, but he turned away and used his elbow to keep her out of reach.

She couldn’t believe her eyes! He’d entered his thumbprint into her phone! When had he done that? How many times had he been into her phone? What had he found there?

“Sean!” she complained shrilly, angry and panicked.

Sean turned his back on her. “Will you relax! I’m just telling the guy to fuck off.”

Jesus, had he seen the topless selfies she’d taken in her bedroom? What about the completely nude photos she’d snapped standing before her full-length mirror? She had them in her photo-vault, but the vault app had the same 6-digit passcode as her iPhone: 222436. (For ABBIEM, which explains how Sean had hacked her phone so easily.) She had other secret stuff hidden in there, as well, like her diary, and the list of boys with whom she’d like to have sex. (Not that she ever would. She’d never even been kissed properly, much less fondled or fucked.)

She hiccuped loudly again.

“Would you please open that Diet Coke and drink it!” he said hotly.

Peeved and agitated, she did as he ordered, twisting off the cap and then fumbling it clumsily. She dropped and then kicked the cap across the kitchen floor, ran after it and bent to pick it up, sloshing cold cola onto her hand. “Fusk!” she cried, earning herself a slap on the rear from Sean.

“Hey!” She shot upright and whirled. “I didn’t cuss!” Hiccup.

“You sure as hell did!”

Incensed, she smacked his arm and cried, “I said fusk, not fuck!” which earned her another slap on the rear end, this one twice as hard. It didn’t hurt through her coat, but she’d still been slapped twice on her bottom. “Will you stop that!” Hiccup.

He handed back her iPhone. Hiccuping maddeningly, she snatched it away, fumbling it like she had the cap, so that it flew from her fingertips across the kitchen. Comically, the phone ended up right beside the bottle cap, under the small round, kitchen table. Furious, she stomped over and bent to pick it up, hiccuping, leaving the bottle cap where it lay.

“Leaving it there for spite shows how childish you are,” he said. He laughed when she thrust up her middle finger at him and hiccuped again.

“Will you please drink the soda and get rid of those hiccups! You’re driving me crazy.”

“Fusk you!” she said hotly, hiccuping and giving him the finger again. “You have no business grabbing my phone from my hand or having your thumbprint in it in the first place! When did you do that?”

He walked past her to the table, stooped and retrieved her bottle cap. Smirking at her outraged expression, he went to the sink and rinsed the cap beneath cold water, shook it a few times, and then held it out. “Only you would use the same pass-code on your photo-vault as you do on your phone. You know—” He laughed at her furious expression. “You know you can open the photo-vault with your thumbprint, right?”

She didn’t know that and hiccuped at this latest horrendous news. It meant he didn’t even have to enter her passcode to see her secret photos. The app let him it with a fucking fingerprint scan! She blushed red as a fire engine, knowing what he’d seen in those photos. She wanted to throw up, die. This despite her agreement to let him undress her this afternoon and pose for him nude. Maybe. Hiccup.

Her iPhone buzzed again. This time she whirled to read what it said before he could take it away and then yelped as he wrapped an arm around her, locking her arms to her sides. He snatched the phone away with his other hand.

“Will you please stop that!” Hiccuping, she struggled against his hold, but he easily kept her immobilized. He’d always been like this, the huge, big brother, able to subdue her physically and make her do anything he wanted. Once he even put her over his knee after school and spanked her for nothing more than mouthing off to him on the bus. It didn’t stop her from mouthing off the next day--but he’d promised not to spank her again when she didn’t talk to him for a week. She might not talk to him for two weeks, now, if he didn’t stop with the big-brother shit.

“Do you want to see me naked?” she spat.

He handed back the phone. “It’s just your girlfriend anyway.”

Unhanding herself angrily, she said through clenched teeth: “You are such a bully, Sean Morton!” Hiccuping, she confirmed the text came from Jennifer and stuck the phone back in her pocket.

“I’m really mad at you, Sean!”

“I love when you’re mad at me, Abbie.”

She wanted to punch him, and almost did. He’d only deflect it though, because in addition to being twice her size and strong as Dwayne Johnson, he was ten times as fast. Also, graceless was her middle name. Things in her hand could be considered lethal weapons under the law. God help the neighborhood when she got her learner’s permit in a year and a half and climbed behind the wheel. They’d classify her a weapon of mass destruction then.

It was a standoff, Abbie infuriated and humiliated, Sean amused. She remembered the conversation two nights ago when he’d hinted that he’d make love to her, if she ever let him. She’d rather fuck a duck now, she thought.

Hiccup.

Laughing, Sean grabbed her bottle off the counter and thrust it into her hand. “Drink bitch! One more hiccup, and I’ll pour it down your throat. Or put you out the front door naked for everybody to gawk at.”

Bristling at this toothless threat, she nonetheless put the bottle to her lips and chugged half the contents. She only stopped when the burning made her gag and snort soda up her nose. “Fuck!’ she choked, as Sean continued to laugh. She banged the bottle down on the counter and rubbed her nose and eyes furiously, hiccuping. “You asshole!” she choked, making him laugh even harder.

It took a minute for her nose to stop burning and her eyes to stop leaking tears down her cheeks. Why did she conspire to humiliate herself so? Why did every action she take put her deeper into a hole she dug for herself? It was so infuriating! It was so effing unfair! She almost batted away his hand, when he cupped her left cheek, but she didn’t.

“You were in my photo-vault!” she complained bitterly.

“Your pictures blew me away, girl. I couldn’t believe how beautiful you looked. It’s why I gotta to see you naked with my bare eyes, Abbie.”

She glared at him, hiccuping. He’d seen her nude. Seen her naked in pictures she took herself, for God’s sakes! She’d deleted the worst photos, Thank God, the ones she deemed too dangerous to allow on her iPhone, even locked in the vault. Of course, anyone naïve enough to use her name as the passcode to her iPhone wouldn’t know that her phone automatically backed up to her iCloud account whenever she plugged it in to charge. She’d unwittingly divulged this ignorance of backup protocols the same day that Sean decided to hack her phone in the first place. Lamentably, that conversation took place a week prior to her deleting her most dangerous selfies. Sean had them all.

Wanting to change the subject, she asked: “What do you think he wants? The texter?”

Sean finally appeared to consider the question. “Don’t know. It aggravates me like hell that he has both of our cell phone numbers, though.” It didn’t surprise him that the texter had Abbie’s: that could almost be expected with an empty-headed klutz like her. But how the fuck did he tumble to his number? That one he couldn’t understand, not unless the fucker had hacked her iPhone too. Which meant doing it remotely; making him a dangerous fucking adversary if that’s what it came to. It made him angry, knowing the fucker probably had access to Abbie’s useless vault. He pulled out his phone.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, hiccuping.

“Drink some more Diet Coke, or get something to eat,” he said distractedly. He knew it was useless. Apple made it impossible to retrieve deleted text messages on the iPhone. He’d tried it before and wasted hours online trying to get them back. It couldn’t be done if the texts weren’t saved to your iCloud account. He cursed Apple’s effing stupidity, and his own for deleting them.

She hiccuped on the way to the fridge, opened the door, and grabbed the open package of Oscar Meyer Wieners from the meat drawer. Reconsidering that choice—Sean would certainly enjoy her putting a raw hot dog in her mouth—she exchanged the package for the unopened tub of Oscar Meyer Bologna. While a famous tune ran through her head, she pulled back the lid and extracted 2 pieces of bologna. Liquids never defeated her persistent hiccups; only meat did that. Quickly she folded both pieces in half and stuck them into her mouth.

“Smart going,” he said, patting her behind through her coat. He instantly stepped back as she whirled and complained stridently through her mouthful of bologna. It was the 3rd time he’d done that today, touching her intimately (semi-intimately, anyway, through her coat), and she didn’t like it. Other than removing her clothing, he’d promised to be “hands-off” today. (Cupping her cheek earlier should also have triggered a reaction, and she didn’t understand why it hadn’t. He’d done it twice, in fact.)

He held up his hands. “OK. OK. Unwind. I won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t do it again!” she tried to say. Then hiccuped again, which did nothing for her frame of mind. She thrust out her finger and tried to say: “Stop touching me!”

He snickered, which only made her madder.

“I’m not kidding, Sean!” This proved somewhat more decipherable as she had chewed and swallowed half the bologna.

“Stop getting bent, will you? It’s kinda silly, considering, Abbadoo.”

She knew it was, but that didn’t stop her from being mad. Being the girl was so unfair!

“Fucker!” she croaked.

He laughed, rolling his eyes. But backed as she advanced on him with a balled left fist. “You hit like a girl,” he reminded her.

“I am a girl!” she shouted, swinging wildly at his arm. He blocked it easily, exactly as expected, spun her about, and pushed her flat against the refrigerator door.

“This is so stupid,” he said mildly.

She hiccuped maddeningly and struggled to get free.

“If I wanted, I could strip off your clothes right here in the kitchen and put you over my knee and spank you until you begged me to throw you outside.”

Hiccuping, seething and humiliated, she breathed deeply and spat: “Do it and see what happens to you, fucker!”

“I don’t want to do it and see what happens,” he said, stepping back as she tried to kick his skins. “I want to fuck you, Abbie.”

She held still. He said what she thought he had said, she thought. He actually said it.

“Like you didn’t know,” he scoffed.

Of course, she knew; that wasn’t the point.

“I can’t fuck you, Sean! I’m your sister! I’m also only 14 months old!”

He laughed, removed the hand from between her shoulder blades and stepped away. “You are such a dork.”

Disheveled in her uniform, she turned around and clamped her arms tight over her chest. Her face was brick red, her breathing ragged. It angered her to have said something so nonsensical, and now she did it again.

“Fuck you, and the corn you rode in on!”

He laughed and said: “I’ll make a deal with you. Let me kiss you, once, and I’ll say screw this until you get older. We don’t ever have to mention it again, if you don’t want to. I’ll be 18 in a year and a half, anyway, and gone.” He shrugged. “What do you say?”

Hiccuping, Abbie eyed him furiously. She hated that he made her feel stupid, needful, wanton, and subservient, all at the same time. She really wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to carry her upstairs to her bedroom and take off her clothes and put his Cookie Monster between her legs and blast her virginity into the Twilight Zone. She wanted to experience orgasm and have him blast hot sperm into her vagina; she wanted her cervix pounded by his big cock, wanted to be pounded into submission by his big cock. Mostly, she just wanted to be naked in bed with her brother.

“I’m in trouble,” she muttered.

Sean laughed, obviously relieved. “Can I come hold you without be punched?”

She shook her whole body back and forth. “Not yet. I’m confused.” She cocked her head, hiccuped, and asked: “What if I say yes? To everything, Sean?”

He cocked his head in the opposite direction and pursed his lips. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but right now, all I want to do is kiss you.” He watched her reaction. “I don’t think you’re ready for anything else, Abbiecakes. Despite what I want to believe.”

She tightened her hold on her chest, hiccuped, and said: “Kissing is fine. I’m okay with kissing, I think.”

Sean crossed to her and slipped his arms around her waist. She didn’t ease the clampdown on her chest, but she was okay to kiss him. She thought so, anyway. She hoped so. She could imagine this leading right up to her bedroom, and right into her bed. That scared her. Fuck that: it terrified her.

“I still want to undress you,” he whispered. “At least to your underwear.”

That lasted all of two seconds, she thought. Hiccuping, she nodded anyway.

“I won’t touch you, though.” He tilted his head. “Would you maybe let me touch your nipples though? With the tip of my finger?” He held his forefinger up. “I really want to know what they feel like.”

Sure, might as well take off my panties while you’re at it and fuck me on the floor. Wanna take me up my butt? Let me get on my hands and knees for you, Sean. Oh, wait ... you only wanted to kiss me, right?

Letting him draw her close, she tilted her head back and half closed her eyes, waiting as his lips descended toward hers. She’d never kissed a boy before, not like she thought Sean would kiss her, and she feared her inexperience. Clutching herself tight, she raised onto her tiptoes to meet him, catching her breath as her lips touched his. For a long moment the world froze. Then his mouth pressed against hers, he pulled her tight against his chest, and she melted into him with her arms still crossed. Her lips worked instinctively, opening to let the tip of his tongue touch hers. She moaned, and then laughed as he lifted her off her feet and sat her on the counter beside the refrigerator like she weighed nothing at all, which she hardly did. She breathed through her open mouth, heart banging against her breastbone, laughing as she hiccuped.

“I can’t believe you still have those fucking hiccups.”

She couldn’t believe it, either. They just wouldn’t go away.

“I shoulda let you swallow the bologna when I had the chance.” He patted her thigh lightly, opened the refrigerator door and said: “What about a hot dog, instead.”

I’d rather eat your hot dog, she thought breathlessly, and then blushed. The next moment she hiccuped again. “Fuck!” she choked. “Give me the damned hot dog!”

Yanking open the meat drawer, he extracted an Oscar Meyer frank from the package and held it out. Hiccup. “I like kissing you even more that I thought I would,” he said as she took it. “I can’t believe you’re only 12 years old, Abs.”

She laughed, hiccuping again. I feel 12 years old, she thought frustratedly. Why couldn’t she be like other 14-year old’s, with boobs to show him this afternoon instead of her frustratingly flat chest. (It would distress her to know that, barring an unexpected circumstance, the title Flattest Girl in School would accompany her all the way through high school, and then through college. Without intervention, she’d never develop a bust size bigger than 32AA in her life. Her brother would never care, though, loving her immature ‘tweeny-sized’ boobs as they were.)

Hiccup. Sighing, she took a bite of hotdog and chewed. These persistent hiccups happened to her once or twice a year. Sometimes they lasted for hours on end. Nothing got rid of them. Over Christmas they had lasted half an effing day, over 14 fucking hours, and had reduced her to tears. Mom had just talked Dad into taking her to the hospital when they stopped. They stopped because Sean grabbed her by the neck and shook her scrawny little ass in her bedroom. He stuck a finger in her face and hissed: “I will shove my cock up your ass if you don’t stop these fucking hiccups and make you suck it afterwards. You want my dirty cock in your mouth, Abigail?”

She had stared at him wide-eyed, horrified and panicked. He never called her Abigail when he was mad. Never. She knew enough about sex to know she didn’t want his cock up her ass, and she certainly didn’t want it in her mouth afterwards. She recognized the repellant act by the acronym A2M. Guys expected girls to do it. Guys liked fucking girls in the ass. Sean might even expect it.

“Swallow, will ya.”

“Before you take me over your knee and spank me and throw me out the front door?” she said around the bite of hotdog.

“Exactly,” he said, as she hiccuped.

“Why do boys get off on that, anyway? Watching girls get spanked?”

Sean gave a sigh. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all afternoon, dummy.”

“Because you’re guys?” she ventured.

He waited patiently for her to swallow the bite of dog. It would do no good, and they both knew it. She finally swallowed, anyway, and hiccuped.

“Have you ever spanked a girl before?” He’d spanked her the once, not on her bare behind.

“The next girl I spank will also be Number One,” he said, making her blush even harder. “You want it on your bare bottom, next time?”

“Will I have a choice?” she asked defiantly.

“You always have a choice, Abs. Except for how long and hard I spank you.”

She couldn’t get any brighter red than this. Clearing her throat, she asked: “What do you think that guy wants?” She took another big bite and chewed uselessly. Maybe if he threatened her with sexual assault again, she thought. Was his cock bigger now than at Christmas? Probably. He’d grown 2” the last year, he’d told her the other night. She couldn’t verify that, of course; she’d never seen his penis, erect, or otherwise.

He shook his head. “What did you think of the kiss?”

Embarrassed, she thought, I’d enjoy it a lot more without these damned hiccups.

“Am I the first girl you kissed like that?” Hiccup.

“Believe it or not, you are.” She’d be shocked to discover that he’d never gotten a kiss anywhere near as good as the one he’d just shared with her. He’d wanted to rip off her clothes and bang her right where she sat on the counter. Then throw her on the floor and fuck her some more. And then drag her upstairs by the hair for a furious banging on her bed. On her hands and knees, doggie.

“You liked it then?”

Hiccup.

“I’m 12 years old,” she quipped. “No one ever kissed me before.”

Looking at her with a jaundiced eye, she looked only 12 years old, he thought, maybe even 10 or 11. Certainly not 14, not with that fucking flat chest. Not unless she wore a skin-tight top, like last night. Otherwise, she might as well be in 5th grade. A 5th-grader who took stupid selfies of herself, he thought. He pushed that damned thought away hotly.