A Little Yearning Ch. 04

William Bonney was under his jacked-up 1991 Camaro on a creeper, changing the oil, when his sister came into the garage. He finished torquing the drain-plug, and looked over the engine for leaks, ignoring her. She had on her cheerleader's uniform. He could see the pink tennis shoes with the matching little pompoms of her low-rider socks sticking out the back. She was standing there tapping one foot impatiently.

"Billy," she said, "You know I'm here."

Billy sighed. He came out here to work on his car when he didn't want to be bothered. Last night, after the encounter with Piglet behind the gym, he'd hardly slept at all. He felt like bugs were crawling up and down his spine and his brain was inflated with a dull, throbbing headache. He hadn't had a appetite for breakfast and his stomach was growling. Whatever his sister wanted, he knew it wasn't going to do wonders for his peace of mind. He slid out from under the car, squinting in the morning light angling in through the open garage door. She was standing close enough so that he was virtually looking up her short pleated skirt to where her pink tights outlined the mound of her pussy.

She shifted her legs open an almost imperceptible amount, letting him have a good look.

"I'd offer to help you up," she said, raising an eyebrow, "but I think you like the view better down there."

Chiclet teased him unmercifully. They were the only two children of their doting parents, and three years younger than Cathy, he'd always been under her sway. Their personalities were very different. Billy had always been shy. Like his sister, he wasn't academically gifted, but he had knack with machines and he was good musician--he played sax in the marching band now at Gusher. Chiclet, on the other hand, was outgoing and vivacious, a born leader. It had always been just second nature to boss her brother around. Indeed, you could say she'd cut her baby teeth on him.

When they were younger, she had been more physical with him. She didn't hesitate to grab him and thrown him to the ground, pull his hair, or lock her arm around his throat and choke him till he gave in. Their parents had laughed it off as the normal roughhousing that siblings engage in. However, that phase had stopped when he was about eleven. They'd been wrestling on the grass in the back yard one day and she had with some difficultly pinned him on his back. He was almost her size by then, but she was still stronger and more agile. They were both suddenly surprised by the hard lump of flesh that jutted up below where she straddled him, grinding her pelvis into him. Billy trembled with a strange sensation, and then he went limp, blushing. They both looked down at the stain spreading on his pants.

"Mommy!" Chiclet yelled, jumping up to run indoors, "Billy hurt my wrist!"

Since then, she had learned to depend on the more tradition feminine wiles to dominate her brother. But she could sense his growing resentment.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

"I need to borrow your car."

Billy sat up abruptly, just about braining himself on the edge of the open car door. "Not on your life! I can't believe you have the nerve to even ask me that after what you and Dwayne did to the Bug," he sputtered.

Chiclet had purchased the VW when she had started Jr. college. However, she wouldn't have known even where to find the dipstick, and considered a car to be the modern equivalent of a horse, i.e. a recalcitrant animal that needed to be broken to the will by dint of the hard use and measured neglect. When she blew up the engine after two years, Billy had rebuilt it. He'd also hammered out the dents, primed and painted it. Ostensibly, then, it had been theirs to share. That hadn't worked out so well. Eventually, he'd saved up enough from his part-time job bagging groceries to buy the old Camaro.

"That wasn't my fault," she insisted. "Besides, Dwayne said the steering was loose."

"The only thing loose in that car was you," he retorted, angry more than anything else at having his mechanical ability called into question.

She smiled at him sweetly. "Billy, you know I appreciate all the work you did on the Bug. I'm asking you nicely. Please, honey, it's just for the dance, and I'm really going to need it."

Straddling the creeper she squatted down over him, just brushing him lightly so he could feel the heat coming off her. "You know I'd do anything for you, Billy."

He frowned. Inexorably, he felt his cock start to harden.

He tried to push back under the car with his feet, but she bore down firmly on his erection, trapping him.

"Billy, that's disgusting, I'm your sister," she whispered, looking him right in the eyes. And then she said, with a knowing smile, "You were watching me, weren't you?"

Billy blushed beet red. He squirmed under her as his cock turned rigid as a spike.

He had indeed been watching her, and she knew it, and somehow that excited him even more.

It was last Thursday evening and their parents had gone out to the movies. Billy had come out of his room to use the upstairs bathroom. Chiclet was taking a shower--he'd heard the pipes running water. The water wasn't running any more, but he could tell she was still in there from the light coming under the door. He heard the hair-dryer go on. That meant she'd be in there for another hour at least, the thought disgruntledly.

Billy went downstairs to pee. Coming back up the stairs in his stocking feet, he decided to go into his parents bedroom and look through the stash of men's magazines that his father kept on the top shelf of their closet. It was dark in the room, but he didn't bother turning on the light. He wasn't really supposed to the be sneaking around in there and there was enough light coming in the window from the streetlamp outside to see his way around.

He crossed the room and opened the closet door. There was a box of books on the floor which he used as a stepping stool. He was sorting through the Playboys and a couple of Hustlers when he noticed a glint of light coming from the back of the closet.

Last summer the house had been repiped and the plumbers had cut out a section of the back wall of the closet to gain access to the plumbing behind the vanity in the bathroom. They had neglected to patch the drywall here in the closet, so his parents, after a number of fruitless attempts to get them to come back, had finally just taped up a square of cardboard to cover the hole. The cardboard was sagging loose now, Billy could see as he slid aside some of the clothes on hangers. Pushing it aside, Billy realized he was looking at the back of the wall-mounted mirror which surmounted two-sink vanity. Over the years the moisture had condensed on the back of the mirror, degrading the silvering, which was streaked and flaking away in places, especially along the bottom margin. The light was coming through the mirror, and he found that if he bent close, he could actually see right through it in places.

What he saw held him in rapt fascination. Chiclet was standing in front of the mirror with the hair dryer in one hand, brushing her hair with the other. She didn't have a stitch of clothes on and her skin was pink and flushed from the shower.

As Billy pressed his eye to the back of the mirror, he brushed up against the hot water pipe and burned his shoulder. He flinched and let out an involuntary "Ouch," and then froze. Had she heard him?

Carefully, he looked again. She hadn't reacted. She put down the hair dryer and pulled up a high stool and, leaning forward, started plucking her eyebrows with a pair of little tweezers. Her full breasts were hanging almost right in front of him. Billy licked his dry lips. She got some Q-tips from the drawer and teased some earwax out of her ears. He was beginning to see why she took so long in the bathroom.

Then, however, she did something which quite literally took his breath away. She got a hand mirror out of the drawer and set it on the vanity and seated herself on the edge of the stool with legs spread wide. She was examining her pussy in the mirror, and coincidentally, giving him an excellent view as well. He shifted uncomfortably on his knees as his cock strained against his jeans. She reached in the drawer again and came up with the electric clippers that their mother had used to trim his hair when he was a kid. She snapped a comb on the end and started to trim her pubic hair, stopping periodically to brush through it with her fingers.

Billy unzipped his jeans and let his cock spring out. This was too good to the true. Her pussy was nothing like the air-brushed artifacts in men's magazines. It looked as fresh and pink and pretty as rosebud after a rainstorm.

Then she did something that didn't make any sense to him at first. She was rubbing up and down on her pussy, but with the smooth back of the clippers. She spread her legs some more and he saw moisture glistening there. Then he understood. The clippers got quite warm when you used them, and they vibrated. It was sensation he had always enjoyed as a kid when he got a crew-cut.

Now she moved the clippers down lower, stroking the folds of her labia. The skin on her chest flushed as she breathed deeply, pushing out her breasts, and he could see her nipples harden and swell. A thin line of sweat beaded her forehead just below the hairline. She gave a low involuntary groan, pushing the vibrating clippers firmly into place, and then suddenly she was mewling like a kitten as her legs trembled, reaching out to grasp the edge of the counter as she almost came off the stool.

Billy gasped and shook as his cock exploded, spattering cum into the back wall of the closet.

Giving a contented sigh, she calmly wiped between her legs with a washcloth, then began to clip her toenails.

Billy didn't sleep much that night.

Now as she squatted over him in the garage, he felt that familiar feeling of helplessness wash over him.

"You were watching me in the bathroom," she repeated. "I heard you." Taking his silence for assent she put her hand out, "Now give me the keys, Billy."

Billy didn't need to be prescient to see exactly what was going to happen. She and Dwayne would get drunk like they always did, and the first time one of them put the pedal to the metal, that would be the end of the Camaro.

"No!" he yelled, pushing her off of him and getting awkwardly to his feet. He looked at her and he blanched.

Chiclet was going to make some snide remark about him copping a feel, but then she looked down to where his eyes were fixed. Outlined against the swell of her full breasts, there were two big greasy handprints staining the pink fabric of her top.

"Look what you did!" she shrieked.

Uh-oh, Billy thought. Now the claws come out.

"I tried to do this the nice way," she said, biting off a string of profanity and controlling herself with a visible effort, "But I can see that's just not going to work. So we'll just have to do this hard way. One way or the other, Billy, I'm having that car."

He shook his head.

"I want to show you something. She grabbed her backpack from where she had set it on the workbench and took out a video-cam.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Never mind." Opening the little screen, she fiddled for the moment with the buttons on the control panel, then held it up to him. He had to strain at first to see the images, but suddenly he understood what he was looking at, and he felt a cold sweat wash over him.

"Last n-n-night," he managed to stammer. "You were there?"

"You're such a dork! You really don't have a clue, do you? Of course I was there. I set the whole thing up. Did you really think little Miss Hotpants would be so eager to meet you behind the gym? I doubt she even knows you exist."

"But. . ."

"Piglet thought she was meeting Dwayne, you moron. I was just hoping to get something to show him what a little tramp she was. I hardly expected you to jump her like that. What on earth were you thinking? But it's just as well. In the dark, as quick as you were, apparently she mistook you for Dwayne. You can bet she'll stay away from him now, and I doubt she'll tell a soul what happened."

"Dwayne?" There was long pause while the world rearranged itself under his feet. "Oh," he said in a small voice, "You wrote the note."

"What, now you're going to cry? Christ, I could almost feel sorry for you."

"But. . ."

"Damn it, just give me the keys! I have copies of this tape, and I could be very careless where I left them lying around, you know? You're lucky you're not in worse trouble."

"But how am I going to get to school?"

"That's not my problem," she stuck out her hand. "Ride your bicycle."

Billy fished the keys out of his pocket. He didn't have the will to resist anymore. She stashed the video-cam in her backpack and tossed it in the car. Starting up the Camaro, she revved the engine for a moment, shooting him a defiant grin. She yelled something over the bass beat of the mufflers. It sounded like, "What had Masso kissed?"

He cupped his hand to his ear. "What?" Who was Masso, he wondered?

She burned rubber down the driveway before fishtailing onto the street and roaring off. What could he do? Who could he turn to? He tried to concentrate, but he couldn't fit his thoughts into any coherent pattern, the emotions and images that welled up in him were so strong. He brushed away the tears running down his face, smearing his cheeks with grease.