You know how it is. You keep doing the day-by-day because that's what you do, that's what's familiar. It's what you're good at. It's your little life, but by god it's all yours.

You're just going on, living your life. It's not much, but it's your life.

Everyday ... it might not be much, but at least it's your own goddamn life. You own it. Or, so you think...

Imagine the day you wake up as usual, and then suddenly your life has turned into a Country song. One with many sad, sordid verses.

My first clue was when I went into work, and was nearly immediately called into my boss's office. I reported and he began talking about the deep ditch the economy had recently rolled into. I knew; I watched t.v. The deep ditch was the start of a mass grave.

The severance package was generous, but still I was flummoxed. I'd been a forklift jockey in the warehouse for ten years. Fresh out of college, I'd stumbled upon a summer job that became permanent. I was still Baby Bob to my co-workers. They'd all come to work fresh out of high school, Class of Before-I-was-born. They were a crusty cadre.

I gave my boss a last gasp. "I understand last hired--first fired. But still! Every day I move ten-times the product as any of them."

He looked at me. "Like I don't know. Won't be the first time Seniority sucked. But I don't make the rules. I just make fun of them. But I do have to abide by them."

He supplied me with an enthusiastic Letter of Reference. And a final check generous enough I was glad I'd kept my cool and hadn't gone all Johnny Paycheck on the dude. Otherwise he might've given me the other check, straight hours owed and not a spit of severance, and some lie about how all my unused sick-days hadn't actually accrued over the years.

Me? I was out of a job. I grabbed my stuff and went out to my car. I could've sat out there for ten or twenty minutes shedding tears, but I thought it best to remove myself from temptation. It would've been just as easy an outcome for me to sit there and stew, deciding to come back with a gun. Just kidding!

I drove home. Go to work; home by 10:30. I tried to remember if my wife, Fran, had any special schedule that day. I was sort of starting to hoping about drowning my sorrows by waking her up, and then et cetera

But then I returned home and everything changed even more. The front door was wide open. Inside our little rental house, not only was my wife gone, but so was most of the good stuff we owned.

In the kitchen, there was a note. On top of one of the built-in counters. Usually such notes are left on the kitchen table. But that table and all its chairs were gone. Just like the old goddamn fridge.

The note spoke swiftly about how she and my best friend Al had run off together. Divorce papers forthcoming. The funny thing was that I didn't have a best friend named Al. Why would I be best friends with a guy who'd steal my wife? I was disappointed to learn my renter's insurance didn't cover loss of spouse.

It was then that I realized I was naked in my apartment. Generally by now my dog would be so happy to see me he'd be humping my leg until I kicked him off and away.

I'd had the dog when we married, and she'd always hated it, so I knew no way would she have stolen it. The door was open, and that dog loved to run. But he always stayed nearby.

So there I was, striding up and down the street, wishing I hadn't been so impetuous in naming the damn dog. "Dickwad, c'mere Dickwad--there's a good boy!"

The dog was across the street, investigating various bushes, when he rebounded at my call. Dickwad ran across the street without looking first. A battered pickup came screaming down our street. The truck braked after hitting the dog just long enough for the body to fly up off the bumper, over the cab, and then Dickwad landed in the bed of the truck.

Tires squealed. Not only was my dog dead, but his body had been unknowingly spirited away. As dark as things were getting, I tried to look on any bright side I could. At least I didn't have to spend the next hour with a shovel in the backyard. The dead Dickwad was someone else's problem now.

Then the repo dudes showed up with their tow truck. I thought I owned the piece of junk, but apparently Fran had used it as collateral for a PayDay loan. The repo guys acted like they'd watched a lot of that famous Repo series on t.v. They wanted to know if I was gonna get tough. I reached in my pockets, then winged the keys smack at his forehead. I'd thought about clearing out my stuff. But it was just the couple crappy CDs I kept in the car. The trash I kept meaning to clear out. Shoved under the driver's seat was a brown bag I hoped they didn't discover for awhile. The tuna salad sandwich for my unneeded work lunch. And a couple hardboiled eggs that had to have cracked when I angrily shove the whole under the seat.

Strolling through the house, at first I thought a bulb was burned out. After a couple more switches, I gathered the power was turned off. Just then the landlord stepped in the opened front door. Apparently we were three months in arrears. He apologized, saying he'd called first, but it was no longer a working number. I wondered what the result would be if I decided to take a nice hot shower.

But this was all impossible! Fran was always punctual in paying the bills. She was good at that stuff. I didn't have to be the one to balance the checkbook.

I found where the checkbook was always kept. I showed him the register. There clearly was the amount and date for the latest monthly. He was the one to move his finger back down the line of the entry to the payee column. Fran was never a concerted liar. I quickly flipped and learned that every bill for the past three months she'd written an exact check, payable to Cash. The ledger showed a decent enough balance, but I bet that had changed an hour or two ago.

I looked at the guy. He was a good guy. "I'll be gone in the morning. Do you have a business card or something?" He did, and I took it from him. "The minute I get an address or number on the bitch, you'll be the first to know. Take her to court; I'll be your witness."

"Thanks."

"Least I can do, since you didn't get my signature on the lease."

Then some guys walked in. They were heavies from the Rent-a-Crap Center. They took the sofa, big chairs, and the fucking bedroom set. They wanted the flatscreen and other electronics, but Fran was now wanted for theft. I got a business card from them, too.

I'd had shitty credit when we met due to my student loans. My name was on nothing.

Finally I was left alone. I tried to think of where I could go stay for awhile, even just a night or two. I hated the idea of crashing with my folks. I liked a bed, not a sleeping bag; plus, I doubted you could get away more than one night pitching a tent on your parents' double-plot. It seemed logical to me, especially given the extra space of the two empty plots beside them that they'd bought for me and my sister. It was Family Land, like a country retreat, though no doubt the cemetery association would take a differing view.

I was left with two small bags and barely enough cash to hop the city bus down to the Greyhound station and afford a further ticket. I bought it, and then called my sister in the destination several hours away from the payphone. I got her answering machine; pled my case, then boarded the bus.

It'd been about four years since my sister had gotten transferred back from the coast to the small town a few hours away. Like many small towns at the time, they'd cleared some cornfields and built the emptiness of a future industrial park. Her new town got lucky. She landed there because she had a great job with a logistics company that took advantage of the cheap land and tax credits to build a huge new warehouse.

I knew that much, despite all my efforts. I prided myself on being a good big brother to Jill. Moreso, I wanted to be the cool uncle to my niece. Which I had been until they originally moved to the coast, shortly after I got married. But I'd only driven up there for long visits twice in the time they'd been back. But then, we had plenty of space at our house; Jill had driven down with Steffi only once.

I got off the goddamn bus and snagged my two bags. While I'd been in this town twice before, I'd been in my own car, and hadn't detoured to see the bleak old downtown.

It wasn't that the bus station was located in a dangerous part of town--it was located in an entirely dead part of town. All around were nothing but abandoned several-story buildings that hadn't quite managed yet to collapse in on themselves.

I was a tough guy. I went inside with my stuff long enough to pee into a toilet that was anchored to the planet. Then I went back out onto the asphalt, with my bags in my hands.

I was standing on a lonely planet. I had a nice severance check in my pocket; maybe I could find a bank willing to cash it. Maybe lose the percent to one of those Payday Loan places. That way I could buy a ticket on a different bus going somewhere else.

It was too late for any of those transactions. All that would have to happen tomorrow. Which left me scrambling for a hole to crawl into for the night. I tried to remember if there were any nearby underpasses that would fit my budget.

The thought of spending a night like that, after the day I'd been through, had me wondering why I was still alive, still allowing myself that perversion.

Just then I was blinded by headlights. I kept waiting for them to shunt down the nearby street. Then I jumped aside when instead the headlights just kept coming at me like a clumsy mob hit.

The passenger door opened. The dome light went on, but it shed no identification. I was still deer-eyed. I didn't recognize the slim-but-curved figure swaying towards me until it was Steffi, speaking, "Mom says to shut the fuck up and just get in the car."

I followed, in shock. The last time I'd seen my niece, we'd played board games, and she was as flat as board. When did she grow that nice round ass? She came by it honestly, from her mother.

I got in the car. Jill looked at me. After a few minutes, she leaned in towards me for a quick hug. She leaned right back and asked, "So what the fuck is going on? Your voicemail was a little garbled."

I paused to find words. Steffi had her own from the backseat. "Can you guys save this 'til later? Like, until we get home. Or at least once we're actually moving. If we can get home in ten minutes, I won't miss my t.v. show."

Jill put it into gear. I gave her my synopsis of my great day. There was a short pause, then she responded, "That's like, so fucking Biblical."

"I know. It's like I woke up this morning wearing a polyester crew shirt pinned with a Walmart name-tag. Hi, my name is motherfuckin' Job, and I'm here to serve you."

Steffi laughed from the backseat. "It's like you woke up and your life had suddenly gotten written into being the most clichéd Country song ever written!"

I could tell Steffi was pleased with her observation. I was pleased for her. And let her know. It was all really funny--I imagined--if it didn't happen to directly describe your own life.

The drive took longer than I expected. I had to be coaxed out of the car and into the house. I was ready to lie down in dirt. Jill was fading just as fast. "Long day," she murmured, "and more of the same tomorrow."

The couch in the livingroom was my new bed. Jill was going down fast. "I'm sure there're sheets somewhere," she laughed. "There's the afghan if you get cold."

I was stretching out, in my clothes, when Steffi started barking about how she'd been planning on watching this movie on t.v. that night. Jill waved then walked to her room, bailing on the issue.

Not wanting to get off on the wrong foot, I offered Steffi a compromise.

"I can scrunch up, no problem. Plenty of sofa for you. Give me an afghan, and trust me: no t.v. will keep me awake tonight."

I fell asleep listening to television dialogue. I woke up with lots of leg room.

I was welcomed into their house, but it was a very small house. I was grateful for the couch in their livingroom. But it was weird to land into a female household, even if it was just the two of them. There was just the one bathroom. I found room for my toothbrush, but all my shaving supplies I kept in my kit for lack of room.

The weirdest thing was having to adjust--adjust myself!--to the rather casual dress code they had going in the house. I quickly saw that bras were something they considered wearing, like shoes, when going out the front door.

My sister tended to like to lounge around her own home in not much more than an oversized men's button down shirt, never buttoned very modestly, maintained as easy to slip on over your head. Depending on the length of the shirttails, every glimpse I did get suggested she always wore panties underneath. In keeping with being a 15 year-old girl, Steffi was sometimes demure, and sometimes decidedly not.

It was a Saturday night, long after dinner. We were all hanging out separately. Jill had a small t.v. and compact stereo in her bedroom, plus a stack of magazines she wanted to catch up on. Steffi was in her room. Distant swells of Love you baby / With all my heart type songs kept drifting down the hall from her jambox--but just barely, as Jill had already banged for her to turn it down twice.

Me, I was sitting on the sofa watching some stupid old fucking movie on t.v. Drinking a few beers and thinking about what a stupid fucking loser I was--sleeping on my sister's sofa. I'd quit tracking the movie, so I stood up and went down the hall to the bathroom. I had a long and loud horse piss. And while I did, it was like the horse metaphor gate opened fully: I heard the light gallop of a filly down the hall outside my stall door.

I finished up, and then headed into the kitchen for another beer. Steffi was already there, staring into the opened refrigerator. She was wearing this tiny pink top with spaghetti straps that ended, hem-less, just below her ribs. The fabric looked designed thin, basically molding the firmness of her young breasts. The shirt had an appliqué of a cartoon kitten. It was obviously from the Hello Pussy line of apparel.

The look down from there was her taut tanned tummy V-ing down to the brief cut of her panties. When she saw me, Steffi gave a fake squeal and crossed her arms in front of her. She straightened up laughing. "I was getting a soda. Want one?"

"Actually, I was coming in for a beer. Care to fetch me one?"

She bent over and reached in with both hands. She turned bearing her soda and my beer. She kicked back with her foot to close the fridge door behind her. She handed over my beverage. "You poor man, it's your last beer."

I'd been swallowing dregs, and about shot it out my nose. "Alas," I answered, "and probably just as well."

I stood there just looking at my niece; not leering, just looking.

"What?" she quietly asked.

"How come you never wear shirts more like your Mom's?"

Steffi shrugged.

"I mean, she has plenty..."

"We have different comfort levels, I guess. Oh, wait!" She got a mischievous look. "I see where you're going! You're going fishing!" She leaned over and patted my forearm. "Don't worry, you're not cramping Mom's style by staying with us. She used to date some when I was younger, but she was always the perfect mother. Never brought the guy home. And I must say she was pretty efficient. Go to dinner, get her rocks off, and always home well before her carriage was in any danger of turning back into a pumpkin. She'd get in her jams, make us some popcorn and we'd stay up to watch the late movies. She never talked about her dates, though, so I gave up any hope of having any sort of father. So, to answer your question, Mom buys the shirts herself. And I wouldn't read too much into that. But they're all hers. As a matter of fact," she fixed me with a matter-of-fact look, "not only are you the only man to live with us, you're the only guy to ever spend the night."

"Must've been tough growing up, never knowing your dad, never having a father. I always wondered why Jill never met some guy to marry."

Steffi got a little teary. "Yea, I thought stuff like that myself." She smiled and brushed the corners of her eyes dry. "It was tough."

"But you're tougher."

"Yea! By this point, things work fine. God, can you imagine if Mom brought some guy home and said, 'Steffi, I'd like you to meet your new father.' I'd be all like, oh no you don't. And how weird would it be if my actual Daddy showed up at this date."

I laughed. "Very funny. And yea, weird. And Steffi? I'm not keeping any secrets. If I had any clue, I would've told you ages ago. It's a mystery to us all. My sister was your age when she wound up pregnant with you. No gallant youth stepped forward to claim his issue, and Jill would never say a word, except to allow how it did involve someone's sperm. I thought I'd let you know at least that, just in case you were harboring any fantasies about being an immaculate conception."

Steffi laughed. "See, that's what I did have," she rubbed her hand up and down my forearm. "I had a really funny and cool uncle who was around a lot in the critical years when I needed a guy figure."

"I remember your favorite puzzle from when you were like four. The frog on water-skis."

"No," she giggled, "he was waterskiing on his webbed feet."

I'd forgotten that detail. "Well, you just remember that, because, god, last time we did that puzzle, you were like ten. Wasn't it like an 8-piece puzzle? I was so disturbed, thinking, oh my, my wonderful niece has turned out to be a bit slow."

I got the punch I deserved. "It was 12 pieces. I guess my uncle has gotten so senile he can't remember double-digit numbers."

"Touché," I echoed.

"It made me feel safe. You did a good job."

I was touched, and said as much, "Well, I'm touched. The cool uncle for the cool niece, that's one of the few things I've done right. Until, of course." I flapped my hand that wasn't clutching the beer.

"You swirled down into the vortex of the clutches of the stupid bitch."

"Language, please."

"Look it up in the dictionary. A dumb slut who'll fuck over a guy as sweet as you."

"Well," I staggered backwards. Then there was silence all around.

Steffi grabbed my hands in hers. "Thank-you. This has been a really good talk."

I squeezed back and let her go. "It has been a good talk."

I was resolute that I would not gawk at my niece as she walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to her bedroom. But then she said bye! as she stopped before stepping on down the hall. I looked up and saw her bright smile, and returned her wave as she turned and walked away. I watched her little panty-clad ass swaying the whole way down the hall. When she reached her room, she turned back and caught me. She signaled with another much tinier wave as she moved out of view into her room.

I had broached the subject of clothing obliquely, a few days in. Perhaps I should revisit my terms for obliqueness. Jill gave me a look over from the pan of bacon she was perfecting. "You're the guest; get used to the native ways." With that as a given, I could watch her fry bacon all day and all night.

I took my last beer back to the stupid old movie. I sat on my sister's sofa. Not only was I a loser, but I was also a pervert. The beer was done, so I killed the t.v. I stripped down to my boxers and tee, and then slipped into my cocoon. The afghan kept me warm enough; Steffi had found me some sheets.

I had that spine-chilling sensation of being sort of alone. I didn't have much opportunity to masturbate, so when it seemed the planets were aligning, I always got hard really fast. I'd take quick advantage every chance I got. Brain would throw up a slide-show of the recent hot stuff. I felt awful that it was all panty shots of my sister and her daughter. It was terrible, and I felt awful, but I shot off into a dirty t-shirt nonetheless.

It was about a week later that I began to worry about how well I was fitting into the household. My girls were huggers. I didn't remember our growing up being all that huggy. But I was getting big full ones from Jill. I mean, guys live their lives worrying about pressing inappropriate boners against girls--unless it proves precipitously appropriate--so surely they know when they're pressing their boobs against your chest. My reward for having unclogged a sink, or fixed a bad downspout, mind you.

Like how for a year or two after my wife and I married, me mowing the lawn would earn me a sexy shower-for-two, and the rest of the afternoon gone bouncing on the mattress.

I got a big Friday hug, a sort of TGIF and maybe my-brother's-got-a-job hug. I'd spent the week making some efforts, filling out forms and applications. I was hoping to land another dumb warehouse job, but the lead proving most live was as a sub for the local schools. I had a stupid fucking BFA.

Steffi laughed as that embrace subsided. "That's what they do these days. The subs are permanent, but not on paper. They roam the halls like ghosts. One week you have the creep for Algebra; next week he's teaching French. Parley vous scary?"

Then she ran up and gave me an even tighter hug. "I'm so sorry to hear you're going to turn into one of them." She ran off giggling.

The girl was giving me way too many impromptu hugs. She liked having me in the house. Having me here made her feel safe, I understood that. I felt good about filling the role, a man in the house to keep the monsters at bay. But for days now, nights now, she'd insisted on getting a good-night hug before she went off to bed. A big hug long enough to last the night.

Since it was Friday evening, my girls were exhausted from their work/school weeks. I told them to wind down and get in their comfies. I called up a monster pizza from Luigi's, then set up tray tables in the livingroom. There was a great old movie on t.v. That was followed by enthusiasm for another one, which wasn't at all great, though we kept watching it. I didn't wait for commercials to clean up and put away the tray tables. I was glad for something to do. When I sat back down with my sister and my niece to enjoy the movie, I just joined them in yawning.

Finally the damn thing was done, leaving all of us a bit stunned. Some more than others.

Steffi announced that she was tired and ready to turn in. I waved my good-nights, but then she walked over determined to get her hug good-night. It was an awkward procedure as I was sitting back on the couch. Basically she straddled me, knees on the cushion, fairly sitting in my lap as she leaned down for the hug. Her breasts were pressed firmly against my chest. I was left with my head over her shoulder, peering down her back, seeing clearly how her t-shirt had ridden up revealing the skin of panties concealing her tight little bottom. I really didn't know how to respond, especially since my sister was sitting over in her chair with a furrowed brow. I gave my niece a couple quick very decent uncle-style pats between her shoulder blades. I was definitely hoping she'd hop up quick and be on her way. Because one part of me definitely did know how to respond.

I was ashamed how my cock rose up and nudged against her belly. There was no way she could've missed that prodding hardness. Maybe I was misinterpreting, but Steffi did seem to linger. Then, thank god, she bounced back onto her feet, hugged and kissed her mom, and went off to her bedroom.

I crossed my legs to hide my erection and picked up something to read--mimic reading, really. Jill was throwing me eye-darts the whole time. Finally she decided to straighten up before going to bed herself. But every thing she did to straighten up involved her bending over, and then there was another lovely panty-clad ass for my viewing pleasure.

What I really needed, I decided--other than a piece of ass--was to get my life in order. Get a job, and then get my own place. To remove myself from this realm of unnatural distraction.

With the rest of the house dark, I turned the livingroom down to a small-watt lamp beside the couch. I pretended to read. Every time I started to fade I'd just touch myself slightly, and my cock would spring back full force. It was terrible. The lines of words were a ruse. I couldn't fucking read 'em. My brain was otherwise engaged with the sensation of my niece's breasts pressed against me, and the brilliant sight of my sister's ass. It was all so terrible, but still, there it was. I was ready to go total lights out and lay there on the sofa in my bedding, maybe get in a jack-off real quiet like. I pulled off my shirt to have something to catch the offering.

But then my sister came back in the room. She was supposed to be finishing up or done in the bath, and then done for the night. She came dressed for bed--but this time the shirt was much smaller. I was so focused on how it was so short it barely brushed against the top of her slim panties ... well, it took me some time to recognize it. It was a favored shirt that'd gone missing when I was 17. The years had thinned the fabric considerably.

She looked really hot. I was so wishing she wasn't my sister. Though that factor made it all the hotter. I cursed my imagination, especially since the discovered flagging was starting to reverse.

Jill walked over towards me. "I see it," she said.

"See what?" I answered, so fucking glad I hadn't drawn down my pants yet.

"Your response."

I pretended like I didn't know what she was talking about, my boner safely hidden under the afghan. Then she reached down and pulled away my full blanket of covers. I was still safely contained, but my arousal could not be missed.

Jill knelt down before the sofa. I had no idea what she was up to, but then I did.

"I won't have you molesting my daughter, so I guess I better take care of the problem myself." With that she grabbed my legs and swung them roughly from the sofa more towards the floor. And then she undid and yanked down my pants so rudely my underpants too left in a huff. The result had my erection swaying just inches from her face. My sister gave a little laugh, and then grabbed it. She gave me a few firm pumps, then pushed her lips past the plump head.

"What are you doing?!" I sort of moaned.

Jill rose up from my lap a moment. "Keeping you from molesting my daughter. Don't worry," she said, "I love to suck dick. It's been awhile, I admit, but I think it's like riding a bike."

"But wait, Steffi might be awake."

My sister smiled. "She drops off like a log. Or else she's in her room shoving fingers up her cunt while thinking of her uncle. And that's why I'm here right now, to keep anything like that from actually happening."

She went back to town. I was freaking out because it felt so good. Jill paused, huffing, "Just relax. Close your eyes. It's okay with me if you want to pretend my mouth is Fran's."

I gave a groan to keep my eyes open. "If I did that," I stammered, "I'd lose my erection."

"I can understand that," she said, pausing for a breath, continuing to stroke me, "the break-up and all."

"No," I moaned, as she resumed, "Fran never did this."

She spit me out of her mouth to laugh. "You married a chick that don't suck dick? I never figured you for that much of a loser!"

"Well," I murmured, "the first couple of years it didn't matter, since we were always at each other."

"So what happened?" she smirked. "You didn't get that because you wouldn't eat her pussy?"

My sister was still stroking my cock, starting and then stopping, leaving me gasping. "Wrong," I mustered. "Do you want the confession?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well, Fran got fixated on boy-on-girl oral. And I totally learned to love that. I'd lick her 'til she creamed all over my face, and then I'd do it again. But then she'd be worn out. She jacked me off the first few times, but then she was like just yank yourself off on my tits and then bring me a towel."

"God, you are a total loser."

"Oh, no fucking way. I learned fast. Round 2, I'd stop licking and leave her hanging, wanting, willing, and crawl up and stick it in."

Jill laughed at that, "You dirty dog you!--getting what you want!"

And then I was getting what I wanted. The best blow job of my life. With the exciting twisted visuals of watching my sister's lips moving up and down my cock. Just when I was getting ready to blow, she stopped. She gave me a little grin. "I know boys like to see tits when they're getting blown."

With that she reached for the hem of my old shirt, then slowly pulled it off over her head. Just the sight of her luscious breasts made my dick twitch like a retard. My sister was very right--all I did was look. I didn't even get to touch them. Her mouth was back on me, and within a minute or two I was shooting off.