Just Jump

He had an easy enough time getting girls. It was too bad he could never get serious with any of them or pick one that was worth getting serious with. Personally, Taylor didn't care for any of the ones he did date. They were all tarts or tramps or vacuous sluts, or just plain bitches. None of them treated her big brother the way he deserved, even if he treated them worse.

At least, he never had much of anything nice to say about them to her. None of them lasted for more than a few months, and the way Andy talked he got them all into bed the very first night, or else he didn't give them a second chance.

His lips were just very slightly open as he rested. His chest rose and fell nicely. He had a pretty good chest, without much hair, and pretty good musculature. Taylor liked that, too.

She stood nearer to him, just watching him, without him knowing.

She wondered how he kissed. Was he as lame as some guys, or actually good at it? Was that why he got so many of them into bed so fast, or did he just know how to pick out the biggest whore in a group?

Taylor felt evil. She knew it was the wine talking, but it would be funny. He'd probably jump a mile.

She bent over. She hesitated for an instant, looking back to be sure no one was coming her way.

She planted her lips on his and pressed. She'd intended, at first, to just make it a quick peck, and then to laugh at him as he startled up and screamed "What the hell?"

That was her intention, at least. But he didn't move right away, not instantly. She kept her lips pressed against his. She even had a moment to move her lips on his, creating a wonderfully sensual feel. She was almost tempted, and almost had the time, to push her tongue between his parted lips.

He did lurch back away from her, eventually. Taylor grinned widely as she thought about how long he had taken to react. Too long. Long enough for her to know, for sure, that he actually knew what was happening and liked it and let it continue beyond reason.

"Taylor, what the hell?"

Taylor laughed, finishing with a wicked grin and a leer. He was so predictable.

"What? I got bored."

She kept grinning as he glared at her, until the glare melted into a sheepish smile. He did like it. There was no doubt.

"We've got to find you a boyfriend. You're losing it."

Taylor moved around to sit next to him on the couch, smoothing out her loose dress to keep it from riding too far up her thighs. She half expected him to move away, to make room for her, but he didn't. He was dead in the center, on a sofa that was really not big enough for three, with both arms stretched out across the back as if he were being crucified. She had to squeeze in between him and the sidearm. She wiggled her ass a few times to make room for herself.

"Who's winning?" she asked, as if she cared, while leaning her head on his shoulder. She could feel him look down at her, as he stiffened at her unexpected affection before relaxing himself.

"Dallas. But it won't stay that way for long."

Taylor took another sip of her wine, then closed her eyes to listen to the sound of his breathing and his heartbeat.

It wasn't a real kiss, but it was pretty good. She'd remember it for a while, just because it was so wickedly cheap and sinful. She might even warp the memory into pretending it was something more.

Sadly, it didn't scratch the itch, it only made it worse. She was going to have to do some serious predation when she got to work on Monday, maybe even pick out a grad student for a fling, someone safely into their last year so there was an eventual, easy and guaranteed escape.

Something had to be done. She just couldn't take it anymore. To hell with propriety and the rules, and to hell with her checklist.

Taylor needed to get laid.

* * *

It was almost time to call it a night. Instead of leaving now they were up here. It was a quick escape of sorts for Andy. He needed her.

"You okay?" she asked, as softly as she could while being certain that he heard her.

Andy kept his head down, rummaging with exaggerated carelessness through a pile of old framed paintings, throw rugs, flower vases, mirrors and such. He didn't answer, and Taylor hadn't expected him to. It was just a way to get started.

Everyone heard it all, of course. It hadn't helped, certainly, when Mom did as she always did, pretending to play peacemaker while coming in far too transparently on Brian's side, adding her weight to his. One would think that she'd learn. It always pissed Andy off, turned an argument into a battle, and ultimately lead to Andy either storming out, drinking more, or both.

In this case, he'd settled for having two more beers before declaring that he had to go up to the attic to find some things to take home for his apartment.

It wasn't lost on anyone that that subtle act put an exclamation point on his position to begin with.

"I think he's wrong, you know."

Andy glared at her.

"I do."

"Little Miss Perfect thinks Mr. Perfect is wrong. Whoop-dee-doo. Yay. I hate the fucker."

"Andy. You don't. He's your brother."

"Him and Mom both, sometimes, I do."

"You do not mean that."

He tossed a ripped painting across the floor to make a path to another pile, further back. Dust was starting to swirl through the dimly lit air. In Taylor's slightly giddy state it gave the space an otherworldly, almost literary feel. She shook her head to clear it, but that only reminded her how dizzy and unsteady she felt. She should have stopped at two herself.

"No, I don't, but I want to."

"And I'm not perfect."

"Oh yes you are. Don't for one minute pretend you're not."

"I'm not."

"You're the fucking favorite after Brian, Taylor. You're what all of us are supposed to be, so that Mom can show us off to the neighbors."

"I want to be like you, actually."

Andy stared at her, obviously looking for some sign that she was teasing him, or just sucking up. He maintained his stare, waiting for her to crack. She didn't. It was easy not to, feeling as drunk as she very suddenly did. It was as if the wine had been waiting for the right moment and now hit her all at once

"I do, Andy. I'm tired of never fucking up."

As soon as the words came out she almost tried to bite the air to pull them back. Instead she bit her lip, and worried that he'd ignore her from this point on.

Oddly, Andy's expression didn't change, at first. More oddly, when it did, he smiled.

"I can teach you."

He was so cute when he smiled. He really was just cute all the time, even when he was pissed. A guy like Andy would be perfect for her, even one as rebellious and cluelessly irresponsible as him.

In fact kissing him hadn't been at all bad, she had to admit. Not at all.

Andy turned away to look more closely at another painting, bending over to pull it from a stack and hold it up in the light. He had a cute ass, too.

That was only the wine talking, Taylor thought, as she continued to stare at his butt. She felt a wave of dizziness. She leaned on the musty old comfy chair beside her for support, still staring as he turned around abruptly to display the painting.

"What do you think?"

Taylor snapped her eyes up, trying to pretend she hadn't been doing what she had been doing, and knowing that by just thinking about it she was starting to blush. He could certainly read her face, if not her mind. He always could. It was like he was in her head, half the time.

He was showing her a really dumb, impressionist painting of a Victorian couple out in a rowboat on a lily covered pond, near a shore lined with weeping willows. They were joined on the water by a pair of white swans. A part of her knew he'd think it was awful, but she couldn't think of anything to say. Instead she looked dumbly at him, while telling herself that yes, he did have a nice ass.

"It's nice."

"You were thinking something."

"No. Nothing."

"Yes, you were. Tell me."

Taylor bit her lower lip. She kept trying to think of something acceptable to say, when finally, out of options, she settled for a version of the truth.

"I was thinking that you're cute."

"Oh?"

He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Yes. You are. I don't know why you're not married yet."

He laughed a laugh that said "not you, too," but said something else.

"Maybe I just haven't met the right girl."

"What are you looking for? Maybe I can help."

Andy stared at her then.

"Do you really want to fuck something up?"

That question caught her off guard. She didn't want him to think she'd just said it, that she had made it up. It really was true. She got so tired of always doing the right thing. She got tired of being bored, boring, and perfect, and it was really getting her nowhere fast.

Mom and Dad and Brian and Mary all said he fucked a lot of things up, but Andy never got into serious trouble as a result. Things always worked out just fine for him, but with a lot less hassle, and a lot less worrying and anxiety, and a whole lot less effort. Taylor wanted to be like that. She hated herself, sometimes, for the excess effort and care she put into everything from earning her doctorate to shopping for groceries. Or even sex, or choosing a partner to have sex with.

"Yes, I do."

He stepped up to her, so close that she could smell the beer on his breath. His eyes suddenly filled her entire field of vision. It was like they had suddenly grown to block out the whole room. They looked just like Dad's, but with a sinister twinkle that Dad had never shown.

"How badly do you want it?"

The way he'd phrased that made Taylor freeze. Had he figured out where her thoughts had been? That idea mortified her. Was he teasing her to torment her? He could do that, sometimes.

"Badly."

"You want to fuck something? Up?"

He was grinning now. He grinned for an instant, and then his expression got all scary serious. He did know, Taylor thought. He knew and she couldn't back out. Not now. She wanted him to believe in her. She'd worked her whole life at getting people to believe in her, at doing the right thing so they'd come to her when they needed her, or know that if she said she'd do something she would.

She moved her face closer to Andy's, silently accepting his dare.

She wanted everyone to believe in her, but Andy most of all. She didn't know why, but out of all of her siblings, she had special feelings for Andy. He was more of a big brother to her than Brian, even though Brian tried harder to protect her and help her. She and Andy were closer. There was more of a connection.

She closed her eyes, silently daring him in turn.

"Is this what you want? Is this how you want to fuck up?" he asked.

His words, in the blackness behind her closed lids, sounded like they came from inside her own head. She could feel herself swaying, losing her balance, as the wine coursed through her blood and threatened to tip her over, just for fun.

Everything was just for fun. She needed to have some fun. Damn it, she needed any sort of wicked fun, and she needed it now.

Before she knew it, they were kissing. It wasn't that lingering, pretend to kiss peck that she'd given him before. It was deep and soulful. It was the sort of kiss they never should have shared, and in a way it was a sort of kiss she felt she'd never experienced before and always wanted.

Andy could kiss. She felt her own body pressing hard against his. She felt her nipples, suddenly hard, tingling with electric shocks of pleasure. She felt his lips massaging her own, not rough or demanding, but instead surprisingly soft and gentle. He didn't kiss the way she would have expected.

She really liked it.

When his arms slipped behind her back, to pull her close, she felt a sudden lurch. It was like the whole world flipped upside down, or maybe it had been upside down and it flipped right side up.

He held her against him, kissing her back, as their tongues timidly met between barely parted lips. They touched like that, only barely pressing against each other before moving and circling in a quiet, shy, delightful dance.

She felt his cock. In a sudden moment of clarity, with her mind suddenly working again, if only for a brief series of instants, she realized that he was hard and pressing against her.

More than that, she was wet. She didn't know if she already had been, or if the sudden feel of him, his cock, had drawn it from her. But she was. He had made her wet.

His tongue forced its way into her mouth, or maybe she had invited it in. Maybe she opened her mouth wide, luring and sucking him in. She didn't know. The clarity left her, and the fog overwhelmed her. She felt drunken, happy, reckless, and totally out of control. She didn't remember where or who she was, only that she shouldn't be doing this, and so she would.

She broke the kiss, slipping slowly to her knees, smelling the pleasing, familiar odor on his torso as she kissed her way down his chest, then down his belly.

There, on her knees, eyes closed, she rubbed her face against his crotch. He was so hard! She didn't know if he qualified as big. She hadn't had that many men, but it felt right. It would do the job, she thought, or felt. From then on there was no more thinking involved.

She might have expected anyone else to push her away, but she heard a low moan in the air above her head as his hands fell to rest on her head. That was Andy, alright.

For her own part, she should have been hesitating or something. She'd ask herself later a million times why she hadn't, and never know why. It didn't matter.

Without even knowing she was doing it, she was fumbling at his pants. In her stupor she had a difficult time, but his hand was quickly there to expertly help. His pants slid down easily, followed by soft cotton boxers that she dragged artlessly but eagerly down with two hands. Her eyes were closed as she quickly and thoughtlessly took him into her mouth.

It felt so good.

* * *

Andy tried to convince himself he was too drunk to really know what he was doing, even as he languished under the most amazing mouth he'd ever felt on his cock. Even as he tried to tell himself that it wasn't and it couldn't be she descended on him with the ring of her mouth squeezing, bathing and torturing his cock in the most marvelous way he'd ever experienced.

He sat in the chair now, with Taylor on her knees before him, the straps of her pretty little dress pushed off of her now bare shoulders. He couldn't see anything really worth seeing, anything more than he'd already seen before, as much as he ached to. He loved watching her work on him while so clearly enjoying it, but it kept reminding him that she was the darling younger sister that he so loved. He enjoyed the sight of her, and that appalled him, or he told himself that it should, so he tipped his head back to rest against the soft, musty, dusty chair. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and imagined how beautiful her round, firm, pert breasts must look.

He loved the way she'd stop every so often to run her tongue and lips the full length of his shaft, starting at the bottom, before working slowly, but not too slowly, up to the tip, where she'd either run her tongue around the base of his cock head, or just envelop him with her mouth and make her way back down, consuming his entire cock between tight, pursed lips as she went.

He tried to tell himself it only felt so good because he was angry and drunk. He tried to tell himself it had just been too long, and that he needed to fly home and call Kristen or Tamara right away.

He tried to tell himself a lot of things, to avoid thinking about the fact that this was his own sister, making his cock feel like no other woman had in his life.

"Oh, Taylor..."

He stiffened as the words left his lips. He hadn't meant to say it. He'd been trying not to make a sound, as if letting his pleasure show would be the most sinful thing that he could do, or as if hiding that pleasure meant it wasn't really wrong to be doing it.

If he was at all afraid she'd stop at his words, he was mistaken. She redoubled her efforts, moving quickly over his cock now, bobbing her head, moving him in and out of her mouth as if he were frantically fucking her, and that was exactly what she really wanted.

Kristen couldn't suck cock like this. She was willing to do anything and as eager to please him as any woman he'd ever met. He didn't even want to think about how much experience she'd had and how many men she'd had to attain that skill.

But she couldn't do this. She was a fun fuck to call and not too annoying to wake up to, as long as it was only for one day at a time. Her, and Tammy, and Mimi, and all of the others. He put up with them and assumed they were doing the same with him, until he could pound his frustrated urges into their soft, tight, little bodies and fall asleep, all while hoping they didn't try to use the L-word on him, and worse than that to mean it when they said it.

It always felt good, but it made him feel shitty doing it. It felt more wrong than this.

Taylor was different. He couldn't think about Taylor the way he thought about them.

Fuck, he shouldn't be thinking about her this way. And yet the word "love" kept coming into his head, as it never had with anyone else.

She slowed again, with her hand holding his cock in a tight, constricting grip, as her mouth and tongue went zealously to work on his cock head, making him crazy with intense feelings. Where the hell had she learned to do this? She did it like she did everything, fucking perfectly.

He grinned at the thought. He could never be like her, but he admired her so much for that. He wanted to try to do something, anything the way she did everything, with that much intensity and forethought and passion and care, but he just didn't have the patience, or the focus. He was always in too much of a hurry, or he just didn't care.

Not now, though. He knew this was a one time thing, and it was amazing. He wanted this to last for as long as it possibly could, because he knew that neither of them would ever even speak of this, or admit to it, let alone try again.

Fuck, she felt good. She felt different. She felt real. It was like other women weren't really there with him. It was like they weren't people, they were just actresses in a skit, brought in to play a part and then move on to their next performance.

Taylor was real. She was so fucking real. He felt the cum building in his balls as her mouth frantically covered the hard length of his shaft from every angle. It was as if she were in his head, and knew exactly what he wanted and when. He felt himself building to an explosive orgasm.

He knew it would be amazing. He didn't want to come in her mouth. Not hers. She was too perfect. She was his little sister, the one sibling he had that he truly loved and respected and cared for. He wanted something better for her than to coat her mouth, or her face, with his cum.

And just that thought almost sent him over the edge. She was so beautiful. Maybe not to everyone, but she was to him. She was perfect. Little Miss Perfect.

He didn't want to foul that perfect, innocent, and always so intense face with his cum, but at the same time the image of it excited him like nothing else. She'd look so sexy with his cum on her face, or with her mouth closed, clamped down on his cock as he came, and afterward greedily holding it all inside.

He tried to banish the thought, knowing where it would lead. He could feel his cock stiffen in her mouth.

She was going to make him come. He was going to come in his little sister's beautiful, wonderful, loving, perfect mouth.

* * *

Way Back When

Andy and Taylor both still spent summers at home. That was to be expected of Taylor. Every college student did that. It was childish of Andy. A graduate student should have developed his own life by now, and stay in his apartment while assisting the professors with summer school or research. Or something. He should long ago have stopped spending summers at home. But that was Andy for you.