I was just sitting on my bed reading when my little sister burst into my room. She had a big smile and her face was glowing like the sun. "I have a great idea!" she announced.
For siblings, we got along pretty well, and though I didn't like to puncture her balloon, I was startled enough to exclaim, "Geez Marian, how about a knock first?"
That stopped her in her tracks, barely inside my room. She regrouped. "It's not like your door was shut."
True, but it's not like it was wide open either.
"And it's not like you're doing anything naughty," she continued, "unless that's a naughty book you're reading."
I rolled my eyes and showed her the cover. A stupid looking cyborg was in the foreground, against the backdrop of a futuristic looking city, enveloped in flames. My sister rolled her eyes. I could hardly blame her.
I plowed through a lot of science fiction. A couple chapters back some robots had been having sex. That idea was so ridiculous that not only had I not gotten hard, but I'd decided I wasn't going to bother buying any of the author's other books. Maybe I was just growing up, or maybe I'd read all the good books; the genre had started seeming kind of lame to me of late.
"So what's your great idea?" I asked sarcastically.
She refused to be deflated. "What we'll go as ... to the Anderson's party."
"Who cares about that stupid thing?" I was sixteen, and had quit trick-or-treating when I was twelve--the idea of getting up in a costume again held zero appeal to me.
"But I want to go to the party," she pleaded, "I don't want to get stuck at home handing out candy to all the brats."
Though she was just a year younger, she'd continued the tradition a lot longer. "You mean like you and your friends last year?" I asked.
She drew up and got a haughty look. "We were being ironic."
Fair enough. They'd gone as Marie Antoinette, the Tsarina Alexandra, and one of Henry the Eighth's ex-wives, I forget which one. All the moms manning the candy bowls had thought they were a gaggle of pretty princesses, when in fact they were a bunch of murdered queens.
Thinking back on that gave me a smile, which she misinterpreted. "See! You think it'll be fun, too! I've got these light green tights that'll probably fit you. I'll go as Batman, and you can be the Boy Wonder. Get it? Since you're really Robin..."
I started seething, an anger flaring up from my core. I slammed my book down and scrambled off my bed. "No way!" What sadism had possessed my parents to give me a name that was also a girl's name? Plus what with being a smart and nerdy boy, I'd been teased with that Boy Wonder crap for most my life. "If I'm Robin," I hissed, "then you have to go as Buttman."
She blanched in astonishment, unconsciously moving her hands to her hips. I was ready to be really cruel. From the way she filled her pants, I could tell my sister had a very pretty ass; I could tell I was right by the way other boys liked to look at it. But of course my sister was self-conscious about her rear, certain that her butt was too big, particularly compared to her less curvaceous friends.
I advanced upon her, "Get out of my room. That's a stupid idea." Her eyes were welling up, but her desire to go to the party was so strong that she tried to slip further into my room in a desperate attempt to stay and persuade me. I'd learned a bad lesson from my father when we were a lot younger that I was never to lay a hand on my sister, so I spread my arms wide to corral her out of my room. Soon I was chest-bumping her towards the door, which was actually pretty weird, feeling her breasts striking against my chest.
That was another thing she was embarrassed about--she had a much fuller bosom than any of her friends. Shoot, I wasn't a virgin, and hers seemed bigger than either of the two girls I'd gotten to fuck. I was right in her face. "Batman can't be shorter than Robin. And besides, Batman doesn't have boobs."
That was enough. My sister started crying and turned and ran off to her own damn room.
Dinner that night was pretty awkward, so I had to spout on and on about stupid school stuff to keep our parents from noticing how quiet Marian was being. I got some help from our little brother Johnny, who was barely five. He started babbling on and on about cars and trucks, his favorite subject. Towards the end of dinner he declared, "The reason firetrucks are so bright red is 'cause that way they're even redder than the fires so all the fires get scared and want to go away!"
"Oh, Little John," Mom started laughing, "you're so funny!"
After dinner, Marian went straight to her room while the rest of us settled in the livingroom to watch some t.v.
At one point, Mom turned to me. "Do you know why your sister is so grumpy tonight?"
"What comes at the end of a sentence?" I shrugged.
Dad guffawed, then immediately composed himself when he saw the stern look she was giving me.
"Just guessing," I said. "You're the one who asked."
Once again, my smart mouth got me sent to my room. That was okay, since the runt was getting restless about the dummy t.v. and whining about getting to watch his stupid trucks videotape. The baby always got his way. I'd seen the damn thing about a million times and had the narration memorized. My favorite thing to do when I was forced to watch it was to recite the exact words with the wrong trucks. Which always made my little brother start screaming and shrieking and crying, so I would've been sent to my room anyway.
In the quiet of my room I began feeling bad about how I'd treated my sister. Not enough that I felt like capitulating and dressing up for some dumb party. She really was a sweet and smart girl; it wasn't her fault she'd developed ahead of her friends. She was also rather funny. Three or four years ago, when I'd first begun understanding about such things, I'd started privately, between the two of us, referring to Johnny as The Mistake. She was the one who'd shortened it to Stake. And then the time Mom overheard us, Marian was the one to bail us out. "Steak, Mom, like sirloin or T-bone, 'cause he's so luscious don't you just wanna eat him up?"
As I sat on my bed, thinking back to dinner, a thought struck me about us kids. Me, Robin. Poor Marian was just a vowel away from being a boy's name. And then Little John? Were our parents really that twisted? What if they wound up having another mistake--would they name him/her Tucker, Tuck for short?
And then I had a brilliant idea. Of course it would mean going to the party after all, but by that point I was so steeped in contrition I wanted to make my sister happy, or at least make her quit being mad at me. Make her quit thinking her big brother was a total ogre.
I left my room and padded silently down the hall. I noticed that Stake's room was dark; not even the nightlight was on. I proceeded at a snail's pace, until I had just the peep enough to see my father was alone in the livingroom watching the late news.
"Hey, Dad?" I quietly spoke.
"What's up, champ?"
"May I leave my room long enough to grab a snack and something to drink from the kitchen?"
He nodded and smiled. "Your punishment is hereby commuted to time already served. But nothing with caffeine, understood?"
"Yes sir," I saluted.
"End of a sentence," he chortled, "that was a good one. But you really need to watch your mouth."
"I know, I know," I nodded, "think first, and then speak. It'll save me a lot of grief. I'm trying to work on it."
I came back from the kitchen with a handful of hard pretzels and a glass of juice. "So is Johnny already in the big bed?" I jerked my head in the direction of the other hall leading to the master bedroom.
Dad gave a resigned nod. He'd probably fall asleep on the sofa tonight. I suddenly saw that in a new light. Stake's insistence on climbing into the mommydaddy bed was great insurance against there ever being a Tucker in the house.
Nevertheless, I rolled my eyes in sympathy. "Okay, goodnight Dad--see you in the morning."
Just as I was about to leave the room, he interrupted me. "And Robin? Were you mean to your sister earlier?"
I sheepishly looked at my feet. "Yea."
"Would you please apologize to her tonight, so she won't still be all sullen tomorrow. Keeping the peace, you know. A happy little household."
"That was next on my agenda. Before I have my snack. I was just going to put this stuff in my room and then go say I'm sorry."
I stowed my snacks in my room, stepped back out into the hall, and took a deep breath. Time to go eat some humble pie. I took the few steps and tapped lightly on my sister's door.
"Who is it?" came her muffled response.
"It's me, your horrible brother."
"Go away!" she said much more distinctly.
"Marian, may I please come in? I want to apologize."
She gave no reply.
"Please," I begged.
I heard a big exaggerated sigh, sounding like a gust of wind in a huge storm. "Okay," she eventually said, as though it was a torture and she didn't at all mean it.
I opened the door, entered her room, and closed the door behind me, though I hung back by the door.
She was in bed and dressed for it in a long t-shirt. The covers were kicked down and she was sitting up reading. Her knees were bent but she quickly lowered her legs flat and tugged down the hem of her shirt. My sister had really lovely legs, and I tried not to look at them. "Well?" she stared me in the eyes.
"May I come in in?"
She shrugged, so I walked over to the foot of her bed. I looked down and around, staring at my feet until I finally worked up the nerve to meet her eyes. "Marian, I'm truly sorry about those mean and hateful things I said to you earlier. If I didn't want to go to the Anderson's party, I should have just said so and left it that. What I don't understand is why you think there's anything wrong with your body. You're a really cute girl, and if you're a bit curvier than your friends, it's just because they haven't caught up yet."
"You think I'm cute?" she asked in a tiny voice.
I was sailing in dangerous waters, so I charted my course most carefully. I sat down on the foot of the bed and gave her foot a little squeeze. "I don't want you to think your brother is some creepy pervert or anything, but hell, yea. You're way more than just cute. I know there are guys who think you're a total babe."
"Really?" she looked at me in astonishment.
I had an ace up my sleeve, but I wasn't sure if I should play it. I knew for a fact that she wasn't a virgin, that she'd done it with a couple different guys.
"I know that those pills you take aren't just for cramps anymore."
Marian blushed deeply and she got fire in her eyes. I tried waving that away. "And all that is totally none of my business. I'm just saying that there are obviously guys who find you very attractive."
"Those jerks," she spat out. And then she attacked. "Are you as big a jerk to the girls you have sex with?!!"
I sighed and looked away, shaking my head. After awhile, I felt her foot nudging my thigh. When I looked back, her face had softened completely and she was slowly nodding her head. "I guess girls can be jerks, too, huh?"
I gave a wan smile.
"Anyway," I gave her foot a pat, "do you think those green tights of yours would really fit me?"
Marian looked confused, surprised. Then she got a funny little smile and poked me with her toe again. "What? So you can prance around the house in them?--I thought you said you weren't a pervert!"
I smacked her foot. "Ow!" she cried in exaggeration, pulling her foot away at enough of an angle that I caught a brief glimpse of her panties. I quickly glanced away as though deep in thought, giving her time to move her leg back and tuck the hem of her shirt between her thighs.
"Well," I continued, "I still think your idea was terrible--you're much too pretty a girl to go dressed as some dumb superdude. So I came up with a truly great idea."
"Well, given our names, let's go as Robin Hood and Maid Marian! I have a green t-shirt, and there's that roll of green felt Mom has leftover from Stake's Christmas pageant last year ... I don't know how to sew or anything but there should be enough material that I could use safety pins or something to fake up a tunic..."
Marian scooted and sat up straight, cross-legged, her eyes bright with excitement. "I could sew that for you easy, make you the cute little hat."
The way she was now sitting, I could clearly see her panties, how they were a light turquoise patterned with little magenta flowers. I could even see the little indentation the fabric made in the exact midpoint between her thighs, at the very bottom. Knowing what girls looked like, and even though it was my sister, some part of my brain started thinking about pussy, which of course got me stirring between my legs. But I wasn't really a pervert! It was just that the last time I'd gotten lucky with a girl had been way back in the summer. I quickly started trying to distract myself, looking away and babbling, "And I still have that old bow and arrow set from when I was a kid--I could spray-paint the quiver green ... and ... and..."
Fortunately my sister's hands had come to rest in her lap, pushing her shirt deep between her thighs, returning modesty to the room. "But aren't those arrows tipped with suction cups?"
"Sure, but no one will see that. It'll be sort of ironic, don't you see? Any arrows I might let fly couldn't hurt a fly, unless they hit you in the eye."
After all that excitement, silence descended into the room, broken only by our twin sighs.
But then I remembered something else. "I have no idea what we'll do for your costume."
"Don't you worry, I'll get all that figured out," she smiled sweetly. "Girls are good at things like that."
Her face changed and she gave me a quizzical look. "But I thought you didn't want to go to the party."
I wobbled my head and shrugged. "Why stay holed up in the house all the time? Besides, who wants to sit around and listen to that dumb ding-dong ding-dong all night long? And who knows? Maybe I'll meet a girl who's not a jerk."
Marian pouted her lips. "Uh, uh, buster. You're my date--you have to leave the party with me!"
"Oh, absolutely! But maybe I'll get a phone number for later. And who knows, maybe you'll meet a guy who's not a jerk."
My sister cocked her head and got a wry little smile. "Maybe so."
I stood up. "Well, now that we've got that all settled, I guess it's probably time to go hit the hay. Goodnight, and see you in the morning!"
I thought I'd be turning and leaving her room, but instead my sister was rocking up onto her knees and moving across the mattress towards me. She held her arms out for a hug so I leaned down to accept the embrace, my arms moving around to her back. Once again her breasts were pressed against my chest, but I relaxed and simply enjoyed the sensation. "Thank you so much Robin. I know you're just doing this for me."
"Oh ... no, I'm doing it for both of us."
"No you're not. You're a terrible liar. You're doing it just to please me."
"Well, I'm sure we'll both have lots of fun at the party."
"I'm sure we will."
Marian hugged me even tighter, crushing her breasts against me. I started getting a little turgid. One of my hands gave a little circular rub to her back, a couple quick pats as I kissed the top of her head. She released me from the embrace, beaming as she watched me head to the door. As I closed the door behind me she lifted a forearm and gave me a cute finger wave.
Safely in the hall, I went and brushed my teeth before returning to my room, closing that door behind me. I looked where I'd left my snacks, but I wasn't at all interested. I was suddenly overwhelmed and utterly exhausted. I slung off my clothes and slipped on a pair of sleep boxers and crawled into bed.
See, I wasn't such a terrible brother after all. Except I was. Especially after I turned off my bedside lamp. I was the worst brother in the world, and I was heartily ashamed of it. But I couldn't help myself. My cock was throbbing and wasn't to be denied. I shucked my shorts down past my hips and grabbed my shaft. I was an awful, awful brother, stroking myself as I thought of my sweet little sister. The way her soft breasts had felt mashed against me. That pretty patch of panties between her legs. The heavenly scent of her hair when I'd kissed the top of her head. I barely had time to find my discarded shirt on the floor before I soaked it with spurts of my spunk. They just kept coming and coming and coming until finally I was left gasping in the darkness, my chest thumping so hard I was sure I was going to have a heart attack as punishment for my evil thoughts and deed.
I thought I would never be able to go to sleep, as did my cock--I wound up having to do it again. Finally I was able to drift off, feeling like an utter wretch.
The very next evening we were all in the livingroom watching t.v., except for Marian. Stake wasn't exactly watching--he was sitting on the floor with a big pile of Lego's, building these stupid little things he called trucks. At least he was too preoccupied to be thinking about his dumb video, though the subject matter was dangerously close.
"Where's your sister?" Mom asked.
"I dunno," I shrugged.
As though on cue, she waltzed into the room, dumping the bolt of green felt in an empty chair and laying scissors, needles, pins and spools of threads on top. She advanced towards me with Mom's cloth measuring tape in one hand, a notebook and pen in the other. "Okay buster, stand up so I can take some measurements."
I did as told, and then it was weird having my sister touching me and pressing against me, using the tape and writing down numbers.
It was easy to see that Mom was totally focused on the fact that Marian was using her sewing supplies. That left Dad the most baffled. "What're you doing?" he asked.
"I'm going to sew Robin a costume: we're going to the Anderson's Halloween party."
"I'm going to the party, too! I'm going to be a truck!" Stake announced.
"It's not a party for babies," my sister dared say aloud.
"I'm NOT a baby," he started.
Dad was quick-thinking, "You don't want to go to that dumb party anyway--you'd miss trick-or-treat."
The little troll got that stupid squared face he always got when he was determined. "Sorry, I don't want to go to your dumb party anyway."
Dad addressed Marian directly, "Honey, the Anderson's ... that's a grown-ups only party."
"Well, yea, duh! But their parents said it was okay them to have some of us kids over for our own costume party in the basement."
"In the basement?" Mom looked horrified.
"Mom," I interjected, "it's the kind of basement with wall-to-wall carpet-- the expensive kind. The t.v. down there makes the one we're watching look like a portable. They have genuine leather sofas, plural, down there."
"How do you know all that?" Dad asked genuinely puzzled.
"Um, um, I was down there a couple times in the early summer." Just thinking about the leather sofas got me blushing.
Mom ran through her mental calendar. "Oh, right, so that was it. You were so happy for a couple weeks it was almost sickening, and then you got all mopey for a month."
"Mom!" I exclaimed.
"I don't blame you--she is a pretty girl. Maybe a little stuck-up if you ask me. And speaking of asking, how come we haven't heard anything about this party before?"
I watched my sister freeze. She managed to gather up all her stuff while still looking cornered. "You can call Mrs. Anderson and ask if you don't believe me."
"I believe the proper thing would be for Mrs. Anderson to call me and ask."
"What?" Marian lost it. "I'm supposed to call up Mrs. Anderson and say, 'Could you please hold on, my Mommy wants to talk to you?'" She bolted out of the room, bolt and all, thundering down the hall, into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her so hard the pictures on the wall in the livingroom rattled lightly.
Guess we wouldn't be going to the party after all. That thought left me standing there in the middle of the room smiling like a dummy. Which left everyone else in the room, even Stake, giving me accusing looks.
I held up my hands. "Whoa! First I heard was yesterday when she came into my room babbling about it. That's why she was so mad yesterday--because I'd been mean when I told her no way." I nodded at Dad, "And then I apologized to her and told her I would go. That's all I know about it. Honestly, it's no skin off my nose if we don't get to go to the party."
Mom puffed out her cheeks. "What a typical boy response. Don't you even see how excited your little sister is about going to a party with her big brother--for heaven's sake, she's making you a costume."
I was astonished! And too deep in to reverse. "Hey, I'm the big brother who said yes I'll go to the party. I'm not the one who's going to be saying you can't go to the party because you didn't tell us and then you got all smart-mouthed about it."
Dad gave me a secret thumbs-up. "Point well-taken, son."
I'd set the stage, inadvertently. Guess maybe we might be going to the party after all.
My sister was no dummy. She knew she had only one hand to play. And she'd been standing quietly in the hall long enough to know exactly how to play it. She walked into the room with her hands behind her back, wearing her best contrite costume. "I'm sorry about getting so mouthy. And I know I should have said something about the party sooner, but I just got so excited I forgot to. Here's the invitation."
She pulled the trump card out from behind her back. It was my first view of it, too. I saw enough to see it'd been properly mailed, and had a prominent RSVP number. Mom handed it back with a gracious smile. She telegraphed the decision to Dad.
Even little Stake got in on the activity, standing there swiveling like a retarded toy you wanted to just rip the batteries out. He stood there on his stocky legs, turning at the waist to wag his finger at everyone. I wanted to dress him up in a Santa suit and stick him out on the lawn, with the hope that some drunken guys might drive by and decide to steal him.
"You can go to the party, on one condition," she declared with a stern twist.
We waited. "When you're done making costumes, I want you to put all my sewing stuff back exactly where you found it."
We were going to the party. Marian ran and gave Mom a hug, crossed the room to give Dad a hug, and even stopped to stoop and give the fireplug one, too. She smacked my shoulder, "Well, I better get crackin'!" and ran back to her room.
It only took them a couple minutes to then start making little snide remarks about the Andersons. It was like Stake and his trucks video. I'd heard the conversation a million times, so before I made a smart remark, I decided to go hang out in my room. My parents thought the Andersons were snobs, what with all their money. Which they were, even the kids. I certainly didn't want to hear any more about the leather sofas in the basement.
The Anderson's annual party had gotten to be a big deal. Who got invited and attended was a neighborhood bone of contention. While the lines had something to do with society, there were also the practical aspects. It was a grown-up only party. The Andersons had had their two children, and then stopped. Unlike some families in the neighborhood who just kept popping them out every year or two--no wonder they didn't have any money! Unlike some other families in the neighborhood, their kids didn't, years later, have to suddenly deal with a third Stake.
At long last I did see the silver lining. Thank god they thought the Andersons were snobs. If they'd ever gone to the parties and become friends, one guess who'd get stuck at home dealing with the trick-or-treat crap?!!
I decided to drop across the hall and share my revelation with Marian. Her door was half open and I could see her measuring out fabric on her bed, but I stopped to knock.
She waved me in and I told her what I'd been thinking.
My sister paused and got a pensive look. "I never thought about it like that. Imagine that, saved by the Stake."
There was something else that was itching at me.
"Spit it out," she said.
"Are you sure I'm invited. It looked like just your name on the address."
"Are you trying to pull out?"
"No, no, no, I'm just saying ... I don't want to show up unless I'm actually invited."
"Silly, it says so right on the invitation. In fact, I can't go if you don't." She handed me the invitation. "Kelly sent them out to just us girls."
I'd never seen an invitation with rules. Rule number one was You have to bring your brother. The other one was You two must dress as some sort of pair. The bonus was that there was a fifty dollar prize for Best Couple.
"I... " I hesitated, "I still feel sort of awkward about going."
"Because of the leather sofas?" she laughed. "So you and Kelly hooked up a couple times last summer, big deal. Stuff like that happens all the time. And then she was a jerk and dumped you. Like that's something unique. Your best revenge would be to go to the party and act like it never happened, that it wasn't a big deal to you, that you don't really care anymore. Which you shouldn't, 'cause it was like six months ago, geez!"
"B-b-but," I spluttered, "I don't care. I'm just saying it might be a little awkward."
"It'll only be awkward if you make it awkward," she looked at me sternly. "You're not planning on making it awkward, are you? Because if you are, I'll just go ahead and put all of Mom's sewing stuff back right now."
"Not at all." I hadn't even thought about it. And having listened to my sister's wise words, no way would I entertain such a thing.
"Good! Then let's go have fun, eat all their food, and then win fifty bucks off them rich snobs!"
It was just two evenings later that my sister snuck up on me in my room. I'd already brushed teeth and was thinking if I wanted to grab something to read in bed for a little while. I was just standing there, and suddenly she popped up behind me. "Time for a fitting," she announced.
"A fitting," she turned and went to her room and back, returning with my finished tunic, except it was inside out.
"Is it done?" I asked in amazement.
"Close, but I want to do a final fitting before I sew the finished seams."
I just stood there. "Ahem," she declared, tugging at my hoody, "you need to lose this."
"Can I keep my t-shirt on?"
"Of course! You'll be wearing your green t-shirt underneath this." She tugged the tunic over my head and let me wrestle my way into the armholes. As she tried to pull it fully down, she got a dissatisfied look. "Your jeans are way too lumpy." My jeans were getting a little lumpy. "Drop your drawers, boy, otherwise this'll wind up making you look like you have womanly hips. And that'd be worse than Batman-with-boobs."
I couldn't believe my sister was telling me to take off my pants. I mean, it was for the sake of the fitting and all, but still. I reached up under the skirty part and undid my belt. I pushed my pants down to my knees. I did not want womanly hips, but I sure as hell wasn't stepping out of my pants. "Good enough," she announced and then started running her hands all over my body, smoothing and cinching the felt. She was just doing it for the fitting, but still. She made some marks with a piece of chalk, and closed some gaps with straight pins. She finished facing me. After a couple last adjustments, she jerked her head. "Done," she called brightly. Then her face cracked and she looked down laughing.
"You look so silly with your pants like that!"
She started to try tugging the tunic up and off, but I interrupted, pulling my pants up first. She got the garment, and headed out of my room. In the doorway, she started laughing again. "You looked like you'd just let someone molest you!"
I fast grabbed a pillow and threw it at her, but she was even faster. The pillow just made my door slam shut. I locked the door and got ready for bed. With my pants and underwear off, I looked like I was ready to molest someone. I got into jams and got into bed and turned out the light. It didn't take me a minute to start thinking about how what if after she first laughed at me, she'd then crept a hand up under the tunic and touched me. I touched myself lightly, the way I thought it would feel if it were her small soft hands doing the touching.
I was a terrible terrible brother until I finally managed to fall asleep.
It was the Friday the weekend before the party, after dinner, and we were all hanging out in the livingroom watching the t.v. Actually, the t.v. was mostly being ignored. Dad was in control of the remote, so we were banging between news and sports. I was idly watching. Mom was flipping through a magazine while Stake was busy on the floor with his collection of tiny vehicles, creating a world that was doomed to either cause someone less observant to slip and trip or step and crush.
"Where's Marian?" I asked.
"Getting something special ready for you," Mom answered with a thin coy smile. I nearly blushed, given the terrible thoughts I'd been having of my sister of late. I relaxed once I realized Mom wasn't reading my mind.
Soon after, my sister bounced into the room and crooked a finger at me. "Come on, your costume's done." I groaned to the rest of the room and followed. Once we were in the shelter of the hallway, her hand grabbed mine and pulled me faster to my room. Her small soft hand tugging mine made me think terrible thoughts about her small soft tugging hand.
Once at my room, she shoved me in and closed the door. "Give a shout when you're decent."
Laid out on my made bed was the finished tunic on a hanger. Beside it were the shriveled legs of my sister's tights. The bow and arrows and plastic quiver I'd left lying a week ago in the garage on the sheets of newspapers after spray painting them were artfully arranged on the bedspread. As well, she'd gone through my drawers to find my green t-shirt. There was even a jaunty felt cap, complete with feather. There were also a pair of felt things that probably had to do with my feet, but I wasn't sure how.
I had no choice. I stripped down to my briefs and socks and started dressing. I was most the way done, when I called out, "What are these foot things for?"
Marian was instantly in my room. "You didn't think I was going to make you wear little elf booties, did you?" She grabbed them off the bed and knelt down, fitting them over my socks. "They're just uppers to cover your shoes." Each one was secured with a wide elastic band to slip under the sole to hold it in place.
She stood back up and instantly her small soft hand was tugging at mine. "Come on! Let's go show them." I barely got a glimpse in my dresser mirror--I did look convincing. My sister had done a great job.
Back in the livingroom, Stake's eyes went wide, his vehicles no competition for the sight he beheld. "It's Robbing Hood!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands, "except you're not a fox." What can you say about a kid raised on cartoons?
Dad could barely keep his tongue in his cheek. "Never thought I'd see the day when I'd say my son looked good in a dress."
I had an arrow out and fitted, bow drawn and looking his way. His hands went up in surrender as Marian icily intoned in my defense, "It's a tunic, Dad, not a dress."
Mom broke the ice. "Oh, Marian, what an excellent job--you've created a masterpiece. You did put all my sewing stuff back, right?"
Marian rolled her eyes, and then I started to squirm. "Can I get back into my real clothes now? This felt is kind of itchy."
My sister led me back down the hall to my room, her hand in mine again. Once we were at my door, she cautioned me, "Just be sure to put the tunic back on the hanger, and hang it up. And don't just leave the tights crumpled on the floor."
"What about your costume?" I queried.
"Oh, I have all that all taken care of," she gave her head a lilt.
"So how come you're not modeling it tonight? When do I get to see it?"
"The night of the party."
"That's not fair!" I declared.
"So what?" she answered. "It's called girls' prerogative."
"Don't you know anything? It's like the groom gets his tux, but he doesn't get to see his bride in her dress until she walks down the aisle to join him at the altar. That's just the way things work."
I was utterly dumbfounded, but so terribly entranced by the turn of her head and coy smile that I hated how we had to go back into the livingroom. The hours were an agony to me until I could finally go to bed and prove yet again that I was the worst, most perverted brother on the planet.
Halloween night we had an early light dinner. The doorbell was already ringing, and Stake was fussing about his truck costume, when I went to my room to dress for the party. Once I was finished, I studied myself in the mirror. I felt like a total dork, and was already perspiring thinking about having to be around Kelly Anderson, but I had to admit I did look pretty dashing.
I stepped out of my room right as my sister stepped out of hers, approaching with her hands clasped behind her back. She was wearing a long gossamer nightgown she rarely wore. On top of that was a much shorter one I barely remembered from when she was much younger, and much less curvier. The outfit was tight, and adorned with glue-gunned trim and lace and gems. She looked not just sexy, but absolutely stunning. She wore a complicated headpiece that looked period, draping her shoulders in even more gauziness. "Like?" she asked.
I did, but mostly I couldn't ignore her breasts. I knew that girls' nipples pointing out meant they were either cold, or hot. It was a chilly night, even in the house, though no doubt she was excited about the prospects of the party. "You're not wearing a bra," I hissed.
"They weren't invented back then, silly," was her response.
"Mom's not going to let you out of the house looking like that!"
She blushed but gave me a smug smile, showing her hands, revealing her hand. She was holding a filmy but opaque lace shawl. She drew it over her shoulders, attaching the ends in front with a little gold brooch. It perfectly complimented the outfit, an over-garment disguising the lack of undergarment. "Ta-da," she announced, giving it a final strategic straightening. "And it also looks cute just tied around my waist," she added with a saucy toss of her hair.
In truth, her accessorizing hardly mattered. Mom was already pretty frazzled with front door duties. "Don't you look lovely," she barely glanced over at Marian. "When will you two be home?"
"When the party's over," she called gaily back, halfway to the sidewalk. I ran to catch up with her. "But don't worry, it'll be long before he turns into a pumpkin," she garbled her tales.
A few houses down, I gave the shawl a light tug. "Just make sure it's around your shoulders when you're upstairs at the Anderson's."
"Eww, gross, of course so. I don't want any of those dirty drunk dads staring at me."
Since I didn't know the kids' guest-list, I had no idea who she was hoping to impress tonight. I kept quiet on the matter. I didn't feel comfortable thinking about my sister flaunting herself at some boy, but I also didn't want to wind up walking home with her in tears if her plans didn't work out the way she wanted.
We rang the front doorbell, and nearly immediately Mrs. Anderson swept the door wide open. The adult party was going full swing. "Robin and Marian," she chuckled, "come in. Don't you two look lovely. And how clever!"
Mr. Anderson was in the archway to the livingroom. His eyes lit up looking at my sister. He raised his drink and exclaimed loudly to the adjacent room, "Ah, look! A gorgeous princess has entered our midst." Quickly he was hardly the only dirty drunk dad leering at Marian.
"The other kids are in the basement," she instructed us, glaring at her husband. "The door downstairs is right in the kitchen. Have fun!"
Out of earshot, Marian mumbled, "Like son, like father."
I guessed I could cross Kyle off her list.
We went down the stairs, and were apparently the last kids to arrive. Kyle was Luke Skywalker; Kelly made a very fetching Princess Leia. I kind of knew Anthony from school, but I'd never met his little sister Cleopatra. There were bookish siblings I learned were F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, looking like they were going for extra-credit. Of course there was like Ares and Athena, though maybe they were superheroes.
Mrs. Anderson came down the stairs far enough to bend forward, and not stumble, admonishing her kids, "Just a kissing party, nothing else." They were all like gross, Mom. She replied, "Just don't make me come down there with the fire-hose."
There was a Batman and Cat Woman I didn't know. Marian shot me a glance of great thanks.
The party was ridiculous. Their basement was ridiculous. There were the leather sofas of note. Music was going and it was like snack heaven on the bar. The centerpiece was a silver dessert plate bearing the bill for best costume.
A stack of boxes of delivered pizza came downstairs.
And they did have everything down there--pinball, darts, movies and tables: ping-pong, foosball, air hockey...
Marian and I were on the pool table, at her insistence, playing couples against the Greek gods. It was my sister's turn. As she leaned to take a long shot, her shawl fell to the floor. One of the girls gasped, "Marian doesn't have on any panties!"
My sister sort of twitched her ass. It was a very gorgeous twitch to view. "Panties weren't invented back in Days of Yore," she giggled.
"You mean, back in the days of whores!"--Kyle thought he was being funny, but you could hear crickets afterwards.
Marian glared at him so ferociously I immediately understood. He'd had her pussy, but never again. When my sister had been making me blush about the leather sofas, she'd been working it from her own experience.
I wanted to hit the guy. His sister was just as much a jerk, but you don't hit girls.