4-4-1 Guys at a Bar Pt. 02

But still. Sam did it, that much everyone knew. His sister, that is, not his hand.

We thought he'd been bragging hot air, but the way Tiffany blew up at him, it was too obviously true. Was it possible? Was it? And if that line could in fact be crossed, perhaps Sam's case wasn't unique. Perhaps Sadie, that hot-and-cold fox that thought of her brother more of a scratching post than a pillar of might, had in fact given herself to him, alcohol aside. Bill can be full of shit when it comes to women, but there was a twinkle in his eye that was indistinguishable from Sam's. Were there more? Would I get my turn? Could I?

Keeping my hand off my equipment was more painful than had imagined. I almost humped a hole into my sheet, but reminding myself that I'm not the one to do my own laundry seemed to save me. For that night, anyway. After that, images of Becky in her rare moments of simple booty shorts and my old wife beaters, sitting on the washing machine, swinging her bare feet and blowing bubble gum...

God, I've got it bad.

***

So much to do. So much to do, yet so difficult to choose. Rotterdale is a small place, so the townsfolk tend to know one-another, but since some of the biggest pioneers of the new wave green public transit movement lived in this town, we were wired in to the major tracks leading to the big cities.

Not just a tourist attraction for some of the boxing and modeling celebrities we'd grown here, but our Downtown was one of the best in the area, being outside of the local metropolitan influence, and we were something of a straight shot between Raleigh and the beach. Ergo, always someone new to look at. To hunt. I'm a headhunter. It's how I get down, baby.

Too many new faces. Too many options. Makes me freeze up. All an enterprising young malchik like myself wants is five or so fins to choose from, but I've got a hundred today it seems. To shorten my options, I'll stick in one spot: The beach.

Loveliest beaches on the east coast were right on our doorstep. It wasn't summertime, but who gives a shit? There was still shopping and walking to be done. Since this bit of land went environmentally friendly, people are on their feet more often, and the beach was practically dragged closer to their feet with the introduction of mass transportation without the heartbreak of public parking.

I found myself an empty seat on a tiny table in a French café. The owners were French, so they could give less of a fuck if you sat in their chair all damned day long, but it was a courtesy to buy at least a mug-full when you sat down. It was a small price to pay for delicious, quality product, what you come to expect being so close to Rotterdale Proper.

The primary advantage I was looking for from this spot was the view. If I stretched my legs just a bit, I'd get sand on my feet. I could see the whites of people's eyes when they got licked by the mild waves. There was decent trim this time of year, and it was a hot day.

This all seems like a rather do-withoutable bit.

Giggling drew my attention; a pair of blue eyes glanced at me from under a frame of dark red hair. Holly Childer, Dree's sister. Rumored to be turning eighteen in about eight minutes, but no one had the balls. Her older sister Kairi was more of a reclused, blond mouse that no one found attractive despite her credentials, but Holly looked like she'd break you in half with one innocent, blank stare.

Always wore the same style outfit: Long, black sleeve-gloves, black thigh-high socks under a pleated skirt or summer dress, and a black headband that kept her chin-length, straight red hair out of her face. Had one of those bodies that looked like it would break your heart when it dropped.

Our eyes locked. My crotch stirred. Firstly, she was Dree's sister. Second, she probably didn't know if she recognized me, even after I gave her a small nod of acknowledgment. Third, Ivy's as bad a sister as Sally, Becky, and Sadie, and therefore talks shit about me and the boys to everyone who'll listen, so my H-rating is probably ruined to Holly. Shame. Not that I needed it, but that's not a body you turn down, nor is the hair.

Her I know damn-well ain't eighteen yet. The last one, that was a mistake. Holly, I had my eye on, but so did half of the senior class of Rotterdale that would be freshmen in high school by the time she became of age, by which time she'd be (supposedly) working on her doctor title and probably helping teach whatever classes those boneheads taught. Me, I had an angle, being her brother's friend. But then that would be relationship territory, which spells death for my friendship with Bill. Why risk all that for a beautiful girl that I don't know? That, my friends, is the time you think with your upper brain. On with the story.

She was with a couple friends. They saw our mutual recognition, and they possibly inquired after me. I'd probably get the "friend-of-a-brother" treatment on her word, which wasn't the best of situations, but it wasn't impossible. Still, when you're out hunting heads, it's best to keep it simple. Find someone who doesn't know anyone you know. It can get hard after a while when you're on the same college scene, hence the beach.

I only wanted to do some studying today to see if the same faces popped up a few times. They were either regulars, or vacationers. I wanted someone who was just passing through, who was either staying at a hotel or had a place another town over.

So it vexed me a little bit when I saw a face I couldn't resist. Dark brown hair and icy blue eyes. Her outfit was more typical of the cityfolk, but the resemblance to my sister was only too obvious. I threw the idea away, but it kept jabbing at the backs of my eyeballs over the next few hours.

The café served a few food items, so I kept my hunger sated while I watched. I came with money to spend on a good date with a carefully-selected female, and snacking was part of that budget. One of the few times I would eat out, no matter how good the victuals are in this town. "May I sit down?"

I looked up into a pair of icy blue eyes. Eyes so clear and colorful amidst a sea of dark hair, your own eyes were drawn right to them. Breasts, not bad. Her hips were grown in. Dressed smart, but a little flashy: A young professional who hadn't forgotten how to have fun. She could be wild on the weekends and pop however many Vicaden she needed to appear immaculate for her board meeting first thing Monday morning.

"Please," I offered, standing up and pulling a chair out for her. This display of male-to-female respect was more of a learned behavior than a personal preference. Besides, I was shopping. This is when you're supposed to be charming, and who am I to turn a dolphin down that comes to my shore?

"Have you eaten here before?" I asked her when I passed her a menu.

"No," she said as I guessed she would. "I work in Raleigh, but I decided that I was finally gonna use the train pass I have to go to the beach and relax, seeing as it's pretty much right next door."

"On a Monday?" I called the garçon over and selected a pair of samplers I thought she might enjoy.

"My days are odd," she explained, "and I've only got four shifts in a week."

"Must be a nice job."

"It's a start; I don't know if I'm gonna stay in the company, though."

She was easygoing and not a complete idiot. Add that she wasn't hard on the eyes and didn't live in town, and I'd say I'd already found a winner.

"You got tomorrow off, too?" I asked boldly. The ice wasn't exactly broken, but if I wasn't going to get anywhere with this chick, I wanted to know now so I could move forward or move on.

"...Yeah, why?"

"I was just thinking, I was gonna go chill out up north for a bit, poke around a bit. Since you've already got a train pass, thought you could come along and goof off if you weren't up to anything too serious." Bless those train passes. I heard horror stories of it taking half a day to get a few dozen miles south on those horrid buses they used to have a few years ago. Now that the new mag-lev was installed coast-to-coast, you could get across the damn country in seven hours with a universal train pass.

"Aaand... what does that have to do with me taking tomorrow off?" she asked coyly, but her absent-minded, slow stirring of her coffee was a green light for me.

"You know; maybe if you wanted to get a couple drinks, make a night of it..." Ooh, I was playing it cool. Her eyes were doing the little "decision" dance. She needed more bait.

"Thing is, I usually go up there anyways, maybe once a month, treat myself a little bit. Wouldn't hurt nothin' to have a little company."

Her eye movements quickened; she was considering. Bingo. "Sure, why not?"

***

"It's kinda nice, you know? Causal dates like this."

"Totally." Turns out she had been pretty good company while I did my usual thing walking through the lesser city of "up north a ways." She didn't complain about anything, didn't spend the entire time on the phone, shared in the experience rather than just follow me everywhere or drag me everywhere. We ended up in the big hotel where all the big-scale parties end up that Rotterdizzle can't facilitate. They employ a pretty good executive chef; part of the fun about having such a budget is that you can get a room and dinner. I offered to pay for hers, but she picked up hers and mine since I had already reserved the room.

"You can just have a good time with someone you don't know, then forget about it the next day if you want to. Unless there's something special, you know?"

"Pretty much," I agreed. How nice. I didn't have to explain anything the next morning before we parted ways.

"Unless... you know, you're looking for a steady thing?" Always a catch.

"With you? Nah." Whoops. Made her frown. "I mean, you're really cool, but I think my sister would kill me if she saw you."

"Did I anger her god or something?" she asked with a short laugh.

"Nah; it's just you kind of look like her." I leaned in close to whisper, "I kinda have this thing for her. Awkward."

She had leaned in to listen, and she backed up when I had done, and with a laugh. "That's kinda cool, a little kinky." She was smiling widely, her tongue moving through her teeth to taste my scent in the air. Slightly narrowed eyes of a satisfied lioness. Bingo. Loosen the bolts a little bit. Keeps things open if you want to get a little more rompy at night.

"But I'm having a great time with you, really," I added. "I'm glad you sat down with me earlier today."

"How could I not, you staring at me for who knows how long?"

"Was I?"

She paid the check, and up we went. This hotel is really cool, by the way. The rooms all have themes. There are time-zone ones and cultural ones. We were staying in eighteen-fifties France since we met in the French café.

"This place is great!" she exclaimed. "Do you come here often?"

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" I joked. But honestly, does a girl really have to ask how often a guy stays in a hotel? Odd point real quick: They know you're no virgin, but do they really want to think you've got a new bed buddy every week? No, they want to feel rare and special. Funny thing, being that they're not, and they wouldn't keep you around a moment longer than it took them to figure out you weren't placed on the planet for advancing them in the world. It's a sickness women have.

Instead of bantering with her, I turned her around and kissed her. She was open to the idea, and held me gently as our heat worked up together. We had been building on sexual tension all day, and it was steaming out from both of us. I would have loved to undress her out of working pumps and a skirt, but I had to deal with boring white sneakers and day jeans.

Once she was de-pantsed, I set her on the bed and got to rubbing her pussy through her boring patterned panties.

"My my, you work fast, don't you?"

"Not really," I countered, "I just thought I'd do something different."

"Your room; you're the boss."

I like this girl's attitude. I might even get her number.

I kept rubbing her panties and kissing her, and her hands were equally quick to get to my own pants. Once I got her decently wet, I dropped down in front of her, slid one leg out of her panties, and went to work on her pussy.

Sweet, this girl. You never know if they shower the day before or what, but she was neatly trimmed, clean, and fresh. Very delicious. Some girls look alright on the outside, but they forget to take care of the basics.

I ate her with a bit of vigor. It's not my favorite, but I wanted to do something special to this girl.

She took it for a while, but in about three minutes she was calling for my cock. "Stay right there," I suggested, and I crawled up to the head of the bed and stuck my dick in her mouth, telling her, "touch yourself."

From my position, I could get things moving a little faster if I wanted to, plus I liked to touch her arm to feel her fingers moving inside herself. There's just not enough female masturbation in the world.

Then I fucked her, and I came in her mouth. She said she liked the taste.

"I don't normally do this, but turn over."

"I'm not that kinky."

"Come on, we've got all night. I want to give you a massage."

And so I did. When I didn't go anywhere near her tail end, she was quite surprised, though I can guarantee you that by that time she was looking for it subconsciously. We were ready for another one, but all I would do was eat her out again, which I kept up until she came pretty hard. She said she'd suck me off for a while more, but I encouraged her to keep it up once she got started, so she got me to come again, and again she swallowed.

"I like the taste," she shrugged.

"Believe me, I'm not complaining. Shower before our third go?"

"Love one. They got a spa tub?"

"Bubbles and sparkling wine included."

**************

"I fucking hate men!" Slamming doors, ect.

Hmm.

Hi, people. Me again. It's a few days or something since the hotel, now I'm back home, enjoying some quiet moments of reflection. Then my sister comes home, shouting because she'll cry if she doesn't.

A few ways to go, here. One, I play the sensitive brother who's "different" from the rest of the assholes my poor, disillusioned sister knows. Two, I can be one of the assholes by way of taunting her for been a poor, teenage victim to the more mature caste of our sick little town. Three, I can mind my own business, knowing full well that my sister in a bad mood is enough to make a grown man (me, in this case) cry.

Knock knock...

"WHAT?"

Only for her. Still, makes you wonder whether this was such a good idea. "Beck? Do you wanna talk?"

I know; I'm asking for it. But try to understand, this girl, this sister of mine, has been starting to infiltrate my dreams at school.

"No." The rejection had come fast and hard. With our parents gone, I knew she was doomed to cry in her room for the next twelve hours, possibly running up the electricity bill in the meantime.

"Maybe I can help," I offered anyways. "I couldn't help notice that it was the demon known as 'man' that you're upset at. Being one of them, I may be able to shed some light. Maybe help you understand a little? Might make you feel better?"

We haven't been scribing all our adventures, the boys and I, but I think that was the sappiest thing I've ever said. One of the reasons we don't tally is because we boys don't share these more "tender" sides of ourselves with one-another.

The door clicked open. There's my sister, looking like a goddamned beauty queen. Eyes red, but not teary. Breaks my heart in half, really it does. I may wave an "anti-woman" flag once in a while, but my sister doesn't count. She's way too cool.

She stared me down as though I was really "one of them," but I used every ounce of compassion I usually stow away and threw my arms around her.

"Derrick, what the fuck?" she exclaimed in alarm, but I ignored and hugged. It took a few seconds, but she ended up giving me a few pats on the back of her own, if only to get me off. "Away," I should say.

She parted from me and took a seat on her bed, asking, "What I wanna know is, what gives you fuckwads the right to..."

Instead of letting her build up a head of steam that might work against me, I hushed her up. "Let's go downstairs," I suggested quickly. "Mom and Assfest won't be back for a long time."

"What the fuck for?"

I asked her again, and she resisted more, but eventually she warmed up to the idea of doing something productive rather than tear up on her own for some endless hours like had happened plenty of times already. Me, I've shed a few tears of my own back in my high school days. Wasn't pretty. Becky, she was always pretty cool about it.

I sat her at the kitchen table and got a big-ass bottle of vodka. Good stuff that we boys get when we want to do some real drinking. Bill's place has every kind of good stuff; but over here, we're not supposed to drink. I get myself cranberry juice, tomato juice, shit like that you can put vodka in.

After taking a few shots, Becky seemed to be more relaxed. I was getting there as well, and at some point I put my hand on her thigh. A harmless gesture, the part of me wanting to provide physical comfort for her.

"Who was it?" I asked in due time.

"Some prick from your school," she spat, instigating Laurel University in the crime. "Why the fuck don't you guys pick on girls your own age?"

Oh dear. It seems as though my once-innocent little sister, while knowing full-well she plays the game as I do, has discovered the deeper secrets that plague our town: The Rotterdale Sickness. Do I tell her about it, or do I shush her with more comfort and more booze, then put her to bed?

"Because girls our age are all fucking their professors or their managers," I said simply. "Or the upperclassmen if everyone else is taken.

"Go fuck yourself."

I patted her on her thigh a bit, and the alcohol was helping her slouch in her chair. "I'm serious, Beck. Guys in this town are evil, but so are the girls. In college, all the chicks are taken up by older guys, usually married, or jocks or whatever. So yeah, you high school girls are kind of all there is left."

She scoffed.

"What? Like you're so busy dating high school boys?"

"At least college boys are out for an education or something," she admitted. "High school boys, they're just trying to get into the college parties, but they're not afraid to talk to girls like me, but only to get into our pants."

"So we're agreed? Everyone's equal trash all around?"

She agreed. We both drank to it and laughed it off. With a serious look in her hooded eyes, she asked, "Why can't I meet any nice guys like you, Derrick?" I got nervous about my hand being on her thigh, but she placed her hand atop it, encouraging me to grip her. This was getting dangerous.

But I couldn't help but scoff at her ridiculous claim. "Me? Nice?"

"Yes, you." Those adorable blue eyes again. That outfit, those boots...

"I gave up being a nice guy a long time ago."

"How come?" For once, she looked like she wasn't thinking about her own problems. She had turned her chair towards mine and scooted in, effectively driving my hand further up her naked thigh, dangerously close to her "I'm too mature for high school to cover my legs" skirt.

It was difficult for me to think, what with her warm skin resonating with her heartbeat under my hand. She and I, we didn't do much bonding like this, but there've been occasions. But her, gazing up at me, genuinely interested in what I had to say, leaning forward just so slightly, I just couldn't concentrate.

I purposefully rubbed her thigh some more instead, giving me something to concentrate on. "I donno, Beck." The frill of her skirt was in reach. Alcohol or whatever, I started playing with it; her fingers slid around my wrist so she could still hold my hand without disrupting me. She watched with me, but she was still curious to what I had to say. "I guess I got tired of looking and never finding a catch like you."