Chapter 2: Brotherly Love

My brother-from-another-mother described the members of our new expanded family pretty well, except for himself. I guess that's my job.

Greg said that he's 16, a damn good tennis player, and bit of a jerk. All true, but incomplete. He didn't mention that he has quite the hot athletic body and a cute/handsome face topped by short-ish dark hair. His good looks are a great disguise for his inner devious asshole. He's right – we really are a lot alike.

Greg also didn't describe my little brother Bobby very well. Could be because he's a guy, and Bobby's insane beauty is so totally irresistible that it makes Greg insecure in his heterosexuality. Could be.

Bobby has olive skin from our (biological) mom and a mop of shaggy, sandy-blonde hair from our dad, which makes for a nice contrast. And that face! With big brown eyes, cute dimples, and smooth cheeks, most girls would be happy to have Bobby's face; it's that perfectly formed. He's no pansy, tho, balancing his almost too-pretty looks with an effortless athletic masculinity, giving him a unique surfer-boy vibe that makes ALL the high school girls swoon, even though he's just a freshman.

Amazingly, either Bobby doesn't realize the affect he has on females or he's very good at pretending that he doesn't. He never seems to actively seek out their attention. He doesn't have to; they just naturally swarm around him like moths around a porch light. He's always gracious and good-natured about it, always seeming surprised and amused that they notice him at all. To most people, Bobby's a gorgeous, likeable enigma, floating though life in his own little world. As for myself, I think that's there's more going on under my little brother's shaggy head than he lets on.

Greg also was a little hard on my father. Sure, he can't seem to keep himself from humping anything with boobs. On the other hand, if not for his slippin' around, my siblings and I wouldn't exist, so I'm not complaining. Dad is a lot like Bobby in that he gives the impression of never taking anything too seriously. He's that cheerful scoundrel who everybody wants to be around because he's always ready for a good time.

True, he's never been much of a father figure to me and Cindy and Bobby. On the other hand, he clearly loves us. He's always extremely supportive and encouraging when he's around, and I've never heard him say anything unkind to any of us. There's something to be said for a father who gives his kids everything they need plus the independence to make their own way in the world.

Part of that independence is that he's always trusted us kids to be ok without him having to constantly check up on us. We were nice to all of our nannies, and now that we're teenagers, he has no problem leaving us alone when he and our step-mom are out on Saturday night. He also doesn't mind if we dip into his liquor cabinet as long as we imbibe at home and leave some for him. We're even allowed to invite a reasonable number of friends over as long as we clean up after ourselves and don't let anybody leave drunk.

Those rules extended to our new step-siblings when they joined the family. While the five of us deal with this freedom a little differently, we all respect it. Some people I know would throw a huge party every Saturday while the 'rents are out all night. We don't. My father almost never gets mad, and we keep it that way by not "overstepping our bounds", as he says. Why ruin a good thing?

We all tend to have a Saturday night routine. Dad and mom go out pretty much every week until really late. They don't tell us where they go or what they do and that's fine with me. They stay out of our business, so I'm not nosing into theirs.

As for the kids, Cindy usually goes to a movie with her friends. One of the other moms drives them to the mall Cineplex and brings her home around midnight, sometimes with a friend or two who live close enough to walk home. She's been doing this for a while, and she's seen more movies than anybody I know.

When Bobby's not busy with soccer, he usually hangs out with friends down the block, either playing basketball outside or video games inside. After that, he'll often bring home a couple buddies to play Xbox and drink a few beers.

Marcia works at a bookstore, and she often closes the place on Saturdays since she doesn't have anything else to do. Once she gets home, she'll watch TV or read a book, and she'll lock herself in her room if anybody gets too loud for her tender ears.

Me and Greg are less predictable. Sometimes we'll go out with groups of friends. Sometimes we'll invite people to the house to Xbox, drink, and generally hang out. And sometimes, we need a little lovin'.

Neither one of us has ever had a steady boy/girlfriend. This is not an accident or a problem – neither one of us wants that kind of commitment. Fortunately for us, we're both good at finding no-strings fuck buddies who are willing to knock boots and leave without guilt or entanglements.

I've developed a routine for sneaking male companions up to my bedroom on Saturday nights even if my siblings and their friends are hanging out downstairs. My secret entrance is the side door that leads into dad's home office. It's near the stairs, making it easy to slip up for a little bumpin' and grindin' while avoiding the living & entertainment rooms. After we're done and dressed, me and my "date" can sneak back out the side. If he wants to be sociable, we make a loud show of re-entering through the front door. If not, I send him on his way without anybody realizing that he was ever in the house.

Well, almost nobody. One Saturday night, I was showing a guy to the side door when Greg came in that way, a cute girl in tow. We nodded our hellos and smirked, both understanding what the deal was. I guess he'd noticed my plan and copied it, or maybe he came up with it himself. Either way, neither of us mentioned the accidental meeting, and we just kept doing it. Cindy and Marcia had no clue. Bobby might have suspected; I dunno. Like I said, it's hard to figure out what he's thinking.

These arrangements went along fine until one Saturday night last August, the night that changed everything around here. Summer vacation was almost over, and Cindy and Bobby were away at cheerleading and soccer camp (respectively). I had one of those annoying summer colds that forced me to miss checking out a new club with my friends. Marcia had a rare Saturday off and stayed home as usual. In an attempt to get to know my antisocial new step-sister, I joined her in the den to watch TV.

She really isn't very good company. I tried to start some casual small talk and got a lot of one syllable answers in return. So we watched the Travel Channel in silence for a while until I gave up and went to bed around 9 o'clock.

I hardly ever go to sleep so early. I guess that's why I woke up feeling disoriented, thinking that it was almost morning when it was only midnight. I had trouble getting back to sleep, so I went down to the kitchen for something to drink.

I was about to open the fridge when I noticed cheesy music and soft smacking sounds coming from the entertainment room. One of Bobby's friends likes to watch softcore porn on "Skinemax" when he's over at our house, so I figured that's who was in there. Then I remembered that Bobby was out of town. I couldn't help myself – I peeked into the den to see what was going on.

I was right about the softcore porn – a couple of lipstick lesbians were exaggeratedly kissing on the widescreen TV, pulling off each other's lacey lingerie to expose boobs that were even more fake than their moaning. As my eyes got used to the dark, though, I saw something a little more hardcore – Greg was boning some chick doggie-style right in the middle of the floor. My step-brother was shirtless with his shorts around his ankles, still wearing his sneakers. His lady-friend was bottomless with her shirt and bra hanging down loosely from her neck. They were facing the TV, their backsides facing me, Greg bopping her at a medium tempo while she stared at the plastic chicks on the screen and he stared at her ass.

You might think that by the way Greg and I have described our family's laissez-faire attitude about pretty much everything, walking in on him would be no big deal. You'd be wrong. I'd hardly even seen my step-brother without a shirt, much less half-naked and fornicating. Sure, Greg and I have active sex lives, especially for our age. Like everything else around here, tho, we always kept it to ourselves, kept it private.

And Greg had every reason to expect some privacy. Bobby and Cindy were away, Marcia was holed up in her bedroom / fortress of solitude, and our parents wouldn't be around until dawn. As for me, he thought I was still out with my friends like I'd planned; like I said, I almost never go to bed so early. So Greg wasn't trying to show off or anything; he had no idea that anyone was around to watch.

I did just that for a minute or two; I couldn't help it. Greg's muscular ass looked so sexy as he banged his chick, and the sound their bodies made when they smacked together, over and over ... well, I liked it, you know.

Eventually, I felt like a real pervert and tried to slip away silently. My ninja skills were weak – I stumbled into the wall, and I saw Greg's head start to turn just before I escaped around the corner. I didn't know if he'd spotted me, so I quickly snatched a water bottle from the stash in dad's office scurried upstairs.

The whole episode had been so surreal that when I got up (late) the next morning, I wasn't entirely sure if it had really happened. I was frying an egg for one of my patented breakfast sandwiches (another good part about being independent is that you learn to do things for yourself) when Greg padded into the kitchen with a severe case of bedhead. I refrained from laughing at his unkempt 'do and asked if he wanted me to make a sandwich for him, too.

Greg paused a beat before answering "Uh, ok,", his eyes full of questions, then turned away from my gaze. I knew right then that it hadn't been a dream – I'd really seen him having sex in the den, and he'd seen me trying to sneak away.

We're both usually blunt and confident, unafraid to say whatever to whomever. Not that morning. We were quiet and hesitant, unsure how to handle things. It was quite a strange little breakfast.

The strangeness continued for a few days, at least on Greg's side. I'd quickly decided that it wasn't a big deal – I knew that he'd been bringing home girls to bang, after all – and had gotten over it after that one awkward Sunday. Greg, on the other hand, continued to act shy and insecure around me. This was a side of him I'd never seen, and I thought it was kind of endearing.

While his attempts at communicating were uncertain, his attitude towards me became more aggressive in other ways. He'd been looking at me differently, and it took me a while to realize that he was discretely trying to check me out when he thought I wouldn't notice. On Thursday evening, he went so far as to "accidentally" barge into the bathroom while I was taking a shower. I'd never felt the need to lock the door, as personal space and privacy have always been top priorities in my family. Greg immediately apologized, but he let his eyes linger on the translucent shower curtain for every precious second that it took to close the door. I had to really fight to stifle my laughter until he was gone so that I wouldn't embarrass him.

Greg's bedroom door was closed when I got out of the shower, meaning that he was probably in there. I couldn't help myself – I decided to turn the tables. Instead of getting dressed in the bathroom like I usually do, I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped out into the hall, hurried down to Greg's room, and threw the door open.

"Oops, sorry! Wrong room!" I called out theatrically.

"Wha... ?" he sputtered. I'd been hoping to catch him whacking off to the memory of peeping at me in the buff. Unfortunately, he was fully clothed sitting on his bed typing away on his laptop. Still, he was so shocked by my sudden towel-clad intrusion that he didn't get out another word before I closed his door and scurried back to the safety of my own room. Fun fun fun!

Greg got the hint that I hadn't appreciated his bathroom intrusion and didn't repeat that silliness. However, my barging into his room had indicated that I was wise to his thoughts and was willing to play along. His temporary shyness disappeared, and our friendly relationship seemed back to normal. However, if you were watching closely, you might've noticed that while our words were the same as before, our expressions and body language had changed. Whenever we could get away with it, we gave each other very un-sibling-like looks, flirting with our eyes if not our words. Again, it was good fun.

Playing those games for a few days had me feeling really horny by the following Saturday, when I gathered up the appropriate friends to pick up a fuck partner. Let me explain. Like Greg, I have a lot of acquaintances but very few close friends. I'm pretty good at floating between different high school cliques and feeling comfortable in most of them. (Though I must admit; I just don't get the emo kids.) When I need some assistance or just want to have some fun, I'll tick down my long mental buddy list and choose the ones that can best do the job.

When I need some wing-women to join me on a guy-hunting expedition, I'll gather the Slut Team, which is what I call my friends who are good at attracting male attention. We dressed in our usual Slut Team outfits – everything a little too short, a little too low, a little too tight – and headed out to local a sports tavern, where we can mingle with slightly older people in a party-type atmosphere without having to come up with fake IDs and all that.

As usual, our quest was a success. I played the part of the streetwise schoolgirl and hooked a cute and slightly insecure college guy by asking him to drive me home. (That's my preferred profile when I want a quick "wham, bam; thank you, man" – they're grateful for the attention, they try hard to please, and they're easy to dismiss when the fucking is over.)

I said that we don't take advantage of our parents' Saturday night absences by throwing big parties. Well, we didn't plan it, but that's pretty much what happened that Saturday. It was the last weekend of summer vacation, and Bobby and Cindy and Greg independently invited over a bunch of friends. (Not Marcia.) There were so many people around that me and my fuck buddy blended right in when we did the usual side door sneak. From the volume of sound coming from the entertainment room, dad's liquor and beer stores were taking a major hit.

We somehow got up to my room unspotted, which was even more difficult because he was a little high and couldn't stop giggling. I almost giggled myself as I rolled a condom over his disappointingly small boner. Oh well, I thought, it'll have to do.

Unfortunately, his technique wasn't much better. I was so bored with his inept missionary style "lovin'" that I noticed when somebody walked by my room. There's a nightlight across the hall that sends a sliver of light under the door, so I see a quick shadow when somebody goes by. The shadow flitted by in the direction of the shared upstairs bathroom, so I didn't think much of it. A minute later, tho, it was back, and this time it stopped; somebody was standing right outside my bedroom door. I had a good idea who it was.

Like I said, Greg and I knew about each other's "secret" Saturday night routine but never spoke about it, choosing to mind our own business. At first, I was pissed that Greg had apparently broken our unspoken agreement and was aurally spying on me. Then I realized that I had done the same thing the previous Saturday, only I'd gotten to see his cute butt as he bopped some girl, so he was actually "spying" less than I had. I decided to throw my step-brother a bone, so to speak.

Meanwhile, the sex continued to be a yawn-fest, which is why I could lay back and think about Greg while the poor college boy ineffectually jabbed me with his little cock. Both to get him going and to give my listening step-brother something to hear, I slapped his bare ass and started giving him some verbal encouragement.

"C'mon, Don, harder, fuck me harder...", I said, punctuating my command with another ass slap.

"My name is Doug," he answered breathlessly, but he followed my orders and banged with a little more energy.

"Whatever, stud. Fuck me, fuck me, make me come, make me come..." I chanted loud enough to be heard through the door, humping my crotch up against Doug's while trying to talk myself into an orgasm.

I was actually getting close when my lousy lover squeaked like an angry guinea pig, froze stiff as a board, and filled the condom. Doug was the worse lay ever; it was like having sex with a creaky mannequin, the kind with a little mound where its jewels should be. Pathetic. I still wanted to put on a show for Greg, tho, so I gasped and cried out and generally faked it, which I've never bothered to do before. The shadow remained in place until a few seconds after I'd finished my act, at which point it turned towards the stairs. Mission accomplished, I thought.

Then I noticed Doug/Don/Mannequin Boy grinning like an idiot, obviously not realizing that my screaming orgasm had been phony as hell and feeling proud of himself for getting me off so hard. I felt a little guilty until he asked, "Good one, huh?" while wearing this ridiculously smug look. It was hard to keep from laughing in his face.

I nodded; I'm not a great liar, and verbally agreeing to his self-assured statement was beyond my powers. Then I explained that my parents were expected home "in minutes", encouraging him to get going. (Technically, this was not a lie, since they were expected home in about 4 to 5 hours, which is the same as 240 to 300 minutes.) We got dressed and rushed downstairs, still trying to avoid being spotted by anybody I knew. Why didn't Doug realize that with a big party going on, my parents probably wouldn't be coming home any time soon? Because he's an idiot, that's why.

He paused on the way out to ask for my name and phone #. What a jerk; he didn't remember my name at all. Don, oops, I mean, Doug was such a mindless twit that I didn't feel guilty about telling him that my name was "Margie" or giving him the phone number of a personal injury attorney that I read off the cover of an old phone book on the shelf behind his head. That must've been an interesting phone call.

Finally, he was gone. Laughing to myself, I made an appletini before finally joining the crowd in the den. There were about a dozen guys in there playing or watching the Xbox, mainly Greg's buddies and Bobby's soccer teammates. Cindy and her small troupe of friends seemed really happy to have a little more female company after being so badly outnumbered.