Over the past few years I have repeatedly been asked to write another brother/sister story. The subject is not exactly in my personal wheelhouse, but this holiday season I tried my best to author a decent tale regardless. Hope this works for you bro/sis fans.
As always, I am very grateful to my friend Gayle for her willingness to edit my work. You deserve a medal!
I have to admit, I've always loved my older sister, Karen, dearly, even though at times she can be very neurotic. More so than anyone else I've ever met; she overanalyzes even the most miniscule details of her life, particularly when it comes to dating. Over the years we've spent many hours on the phone together, with her asking me question after question, usually things like, "What do you think he meant by that?"
In spite of this, I've always shown her loads of patience as she was such a great big sister. Both our parents worked when we were growing up, and since Karen was almost six years older than I, there were many days when she was left to look after me. I'm sure most sisters would have rapidly grown tired of having their little brother around all the time, but she didn't really seem to mind at all. Well, that is until she began dating as a teen.
By that point I was pretty self-sufficient, so it really was no big deal. I had a few really good friends, and in a pinch their mothers usually jumped in if I needed anything. Karen, being very attractive, was a social butterfly, so we didn't spend much time together for years. It wasn't until her divorce seven years ago that we finally began to reconnect once more.
We grew up in the Portland, Oregon area, where I lived for most of my life. Just about six years ago, I was introduced, by a friend, to an adorable girl named Megan. She was down from Seattle for a long weekend, and we hit it off right away. She was three years older than I, and already had a decent job in marketing at the headquarters of a major worldwide corporation. I, on the other hand, had gotten out of the Navy a year or so before and really hadn't figured out what I was going to do with my life. Since we seemed to fall in love quickly and wanted to see more of one another, the next thing I knew we were living together in her condo in Seattle.
Given my background in the Navy, firefighting seemed like it might make a really good fit. With Megan's encouragement, hard work on my part, and a bit of good fortune, I ended up with a high standing among applicants and soon landed a job with the SFD. My station house was staffed with good guys and I couldn't be happier in my new home.
Things went great for about a year and a half, when I slowly started seeing subtle differences in Megan's behavior. At first she loved showing off her big, firefighter boyfriend to her friends and colleagues, but that seemed to change over time. Suddenly I didn't wear the right clothes, or drive the right car, like the guys in her office did. She then began to insinuate I didn't make enough money, and hinted very pointedly that I should go back to school to earn my degree. By the end of our relationship, she made it clear that if she was going to stay home and raise kids, I simply needed a better job.
I think it's fair to say by that time the bloom was off the rose for me too. Constantly hearing Megan's little digs and jabs had really grown tiresome for me. I had risked my life first for my country, and then for the citizens of the Emerald City, so I believed I'd earned a little more respect than she seemed capable of giving. On numerous occasions I attempted to address the situation with her, but her attitude never changed.
I really had grown to love my job, and simply no longer cared what she thought. Checking the paper daily, I began looking for an apartment closer to work and just days later found a small but comfortable place to call my own. With the help of a couple buddies, we moved all my stuff in one single afternoon while Megan was at work. I left her a brief note on the kitchen table, along with my copies of the keys, and I was gone.
Megan called me, upset, that evening, but the die had been cast. My friends told me I should have blasted her for being so rude, but I didn't really see any upside in that for either of us. She clearly wanted an executive type to provide for her, while I needed someone who would simply respect me for me. After listening to her tears for a while, we hung up and I've barely heard from her since.
After that little misadventure, I embraced the single life in Seattle for all it was worth. I've long had a thing for healthy, outdoorsy girls, and here they seemed to grow on trees. I dated many women, a couple fairly seriously over the last few years, but I really preferred the single life to being otherwise tied down.
During all that time, I stayed in close contact with my sister, Karen. At times even our historical roles were reversed, with me asking her questions about my relationship with Megan. In fact, Karen was one of the people telling me to blast her, as nobody treated her little brother that way!
My sister worked in sales for a major investment firm in Portland, and covered the Pacific Northwest territory as their internal sales person. They had an external sales guy who was on the road constantly visiting major clients, while Karen traveled only on occasion to the smaller offices he couldn't be bothered with. As such, she came to town every couple of months, so we tried to grab a bite to eat or a drink while she was here.
Just a couple months ago I received a call on my cell from her one evening to let me know she was going to be here for a couple meetings the following Friday, and hoped we could get together. I had a rolling schedule like many in my profession, and I just so happened to be off that day. By that time, I was living in an apartment atop Queen Anne hill, so we arranged to meet at a small Mexican place I knew she could find, directly at the bottom of the hill.
I arrived first and selected a table in the bar. Karen walked in about ten minutes later, looking as good as I'd ever seen her. For a thirty six year old mother of one, she really had it going on. My sister stands about five foot seven, with long curly brown hair and the largest brown eyes you've ever seen. Her skin is flawless, and on the darker side, I assume due to our Mediterranean heritage. She also has a full chest, about a 36 C I'd guess, maybe even a D, with a slim waist, perky butt and long legs. If I were being completely honest, I'd have to tell you that she was my dream girl.
After giving each other a long hug, we settled in and began chatting about our lives as we sipped our drinks. Being the big sister, at first Karen asked me a load of questions until she was satisfied things were going well for me. As usual, I didn't have to wait long until she began sharing many of the smallest details of her life.
I was happy to learn that her daughter, my niece Allison, was doing great and loving her sophomore year of high school. Apparently she was already the star of the varsity soccer team, and may even make captain of the squad as a junior. Her marks were high too, so things on that front seemed good all around.
As was usually the case when the two of us got together, our conversation became animated as we had more to drink. After Karen killed her second margarita and ordered a third, I knew she'd be spending the night in my guest bedroom and not making the long drive back to Portland. She called Allison to break the news, then the mother of Ally's best friend requesting she keep an eye out for her. After that, the conversation heated up even more.
Karen then let me know that her most recent relationship had just come to an end. I was surprised to learn that it had actually lasted almost nine months, because from what she had told me on the phone from time to time, it appeared in jeopardy almost from day one. Many nights while I sat on my couch at home, from the other end of the line I listened as she articulated all of Justin's shortcomings.
From what I learned, he was a nice guy and for the most part treated her like a queen, yet according to my sister that just wasn't good enough. I heard many variations on, "He was too wishy-washy," so she finally had to dump him. Of course most of this was not new to me, so I wondered aloud why it took so long to finally pull the ejector seat.
Karen once again reiterated that Justin had treated her very well, so for a while she was willing to give him second, third and forth chances, but finally she had had enough. She then surprised me when she said, "It's too bad because he had a really big penis."
I must say, I was a little taken aback by her comment. At times we had shared some minor intimate details of our romantic life, but never anything so bold. I almost spit out the sip of beer I had just taken, and said, "Excuse me?"
"Oh, god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud," she responded, just before she broke into a slight giggle. She then took a sip of her drink as well, and asked, "You probably didn't need to hear that, did you?"
I gave her my best understanding smile, and replied, "Well Karen, you're a thirty six year old mom. I kind of assumed you weren't exactly a virgin."
She rolled her eyes a bit and said, "No, I guess not."
I had killed only three beers, which for me was not a lot, but for some reason I was compelled to ask about her comment, "So, how big is really big?"
Karen laughed, and asked, "Why do you want to know, little brother? Thinking about changing teams?"
Suddenly I was embarrassed, assuming my sister had misunderstood the intent of my question, and stammered, "Sorry, ah, forget I even asked."
My sister broke out in a hearty laugh, and then cackled, "God, I was just teasing, Wayne! You're so easy sometimes."
I was still feeling pretty silly, particularly with her looking at me so thoroughly amused. "So, have you spoken with Mom and Dad lately?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
Karen smiled, and asked, "Do you really want to know?"
I thought her question was odd, but I said, "Of course."
She smiled even deeper and asked, "About Mom and Dad, or about Justin?"
"Jesus, Karen!" I barked, just before she once again broke down in a fit of laughter.
After she calmed down a bit, my sister replied, "Okay, I'll answer both. First, yes I have spoken to our parents and they are doing well." She stared directly into my eyes and added, "And second, Justin's penis is almost eight inches long." Karen took another slow sip of her drink and coyly asked, "Happy now?"
Suddenly I felt relieved, and gazed back at her with a newfound smirk of my own. My sister obviously did not know that I was packing a bit more than that downstairs, but how could she? One of my last girlfriends had measured me, and my cock came in at just over nine inches when hard.
Not a word was spoken for a while, when Karen finally asked, "What's with the stupid grin, little bro?"
I'm not sure why I said it, but I think it was to put her in her place. In a calm voice, I replied, "Well, almost eight inches is a big cock, but not a really big cock," with emphasis on 'almost' and 'really.'
Karen smiled back at me and said, "Like you'd know anything about big cocks, little brother." Much like I had done, she too placed emphasis on a word, in her case the word 'little.'
I casually took a sip of my beer, and then as calmly as possible, said, "Well, if a seven plus inch cock is really big, then I'm fucking huge."
My sister seemed momentarily taken aback, but then burst out laughing. As she wiped her lips, Karen said, "Boy, you really had me there for a minute." I just sat stone faced, staring back at her. Before long her chuckling died our as she gazed across the table at me. Her eyes went wide as she asked, "You are joking, aren't you?"
I finally relaxed my face a bit and responded, "Got you." Even though I wasn't kidding, I guess there were just some things my big sister didn't really need to know about me, so I let it go. I didn't know why she found the thought so surprising anyway. I was almost six foot two, so I was larger than most men already. Would it be such a stretch to think I may be bigger in other areas too?
To be honest, having a large penis isn't always what it's cracked up to be. I've had a number of dates over the years take one look at my junk and pretty much run away. One girl in college saw me naked for the first time and said, "Don't even think about touching me with that thing." I doubt I'll get any sympathy from most guys, but it's true.
Later that evening, after making up my guest bed for her and saying goodnight, Karen responded with a soft, "Goodnight, needle dick."
I thought about saying something like, "Goodnight yourself, tiny tits," but just let it go. I could still hear her laughing heartily when I climbed under my own covers just before my head hit the pillow.
We enjoyed breakfast together on upper Queen Anne the next morning, yet little was said. Karen clearly was not feeling herself, as I'd never seen her shovel down greasy food and gulp black coffee the way she did that morning. We said our goodbyes in front of the diner, near her car parked along Queen Anne Ave. Of course we promised each other we'd get together soon, with me hoping to catch one of my niece's high school soccer games. I was a bit worried that Karen might not be in the best mental and physical state for the long drive to Portland, yet she assured me she was fine. After a brief hug, her car sped away and she was gone.
As luck would have it, we were unable to get together for some time. The only work trips Karen had planned in the ensuing months were to Northern California and Alaska. And my hopes of getting back to Portland were dashed when I learned that two men in my company would be out with extended illnesses. Pete, my best friend, had contacted mono and would be down for a good two months. More importantly, Carl, the glue of our firehouse, was heading into the hospital to begin treatment for cancer. Obviously, I was needed here at home, as much for the job as for the support of my brothers.
It was almost four full months after our last night out, when Karen e-mailed to say she was going to be in Seattle again. Pete was back at work, as was Carl, but Carl could only work limited hours as he had yet to regain his strength. I had been covering most of Carl's hours the previous few months, so when my buds learned I had family coming to town, they insisted I take the day off.
Karen did not know her way around Seattle very well, so after we went back and forth trying to choose a place to meet, we reluctantly settled upon the same Mexican joint as before. I knew most women hated sitting in bars alone, so again I intentionally got there first. She arrived about forty minutes later, looking somewhat disheveled and highly agitated.
From years of experience, I knew what to expect almost before my sister even uttered a word. No more than two seconds after taking her seat across the table from me, she barked, "God, I'm so fucking pissed." From there Karen went into a tirade about the two meetings she had in the Seattle area that day and why they were complete disasters.
I was a bit surprised when Karen ordered two shots of tequila and a margarita from our waitress. When the drinks came, she looked at me and said, "In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm getting drunk tonight and staying over your place again."
Karen slid one of the shots across the table towards me, and then lifted the other to her lips. She said something I couldn't make out, before she tossed her head back and sucked the entire glass down in one quick gulp. Her body shivered and she groaned, "Oh fuck," just before slamming the glass back down upon the table.
My sister's eyes almost seemed like they were drilling into me as she waited for me to hoist my shot as well. I raised it to my lips, and then rapidly knocked it back. I think it was the house tequila, so it wasn't the best thing I'd ever tasted, but the warmth that spread through my belly moments thereafter hinted that the evening was about to get interesting.
Karen began almost gulping her margarita as she filled me in on her terrible day. Apparently, after driving all the way from Portland, her morning meeting was with two young brokers who talked a better game on the phone than they could deliver in person. I was pretty sure they were in her permanent doghouse when she exclaimed, "Those fuckers better do some major business with me, or the next time I'm up here I'll cut their balls off!" My sister is a wonderful woman, but you wouldn't want to make her angry!
Apparently her afternoon meeting was only marginally more successful. Karen went on and on about how the day was a total bust. She dreaded the conversation she was going to have with her boss on Monday morning, but that would have to wait.
We stayed at the bar for another couple hours, and Karen downed three more margaritas. We nibbled on chips and salsa, but otherwise did our drinking on an empty stomach. I'm a lot bigger than her and only had four beers and the shot, so I actually felt in pretty good shape. She on the other hand was losing her train of thought from time to time, so I knew she was getting quite drunk.
The bar was only three-quarters of a mile or so from my place, but I called for a cab as I was pretty sure she couldn't make it up the hill on foot in her condition. When we arrived at my apartment, Karen settled on the couch and made herself comfortable, before I too joined her.
We bandied about dating in general for some time, and Karen surprised me with some of her frank questions. At one point, she smiled at me and asked, "Why can't I ever meet a guy like you?"
She was seated right alongside me, and peered at me through somewhat glassy eyes. I responded, "A guy like me?"
"Yes, a guy like you." she answered, clearly feeling no pain.
I was suddenly wondering where things might be going, and my skin tingled with an illicit thought. Many evenings as I lay alone in bed, I had dreamed about something just like this happening between us, but assumed it could only happen in a dream. Not sure what to say, I somehow responded, "Karen, you can do much better than me."
A soft smile broke out across her face, just before she chuckled and quipped, "Well, duh, I know that." My fleeting hopes were once again dashed.
With that we began watching television while Karen controlled the clicker. She turned the channel from one show to another, before she finally settled on some reality program I'd never even heard of before. I watched the show for some time, convinced at some point Karen was going to pass out next to me and I was going to have to carry her to bed.
I was surprised when she rallied, and got up to make a batch of microwave popcorn. She once again sat down beside me, and we shared a bowl of the warm, buttery kernels. After the popcorn was gone, Karen turned towards me and looked at me intently. She had a stern look upon her face, and I knew something was on her mind. After taking a sip of water, she asked, "Were you really serious about what you said last time I was here?"
I kind of had a feeling what she might be talking about, yet since I was unsure I played it close to the vest, "About what?"
"You know, um, about your package," she slurred. I noticed her eyes briefly went towards my crotch, before she quickly returned them to my face.
My sister was fairly predictable. For some reason, I just knew the topic was going to come up again at some point, and there it was. "Do you really want to know?" I asked.
She nodded her head, "Yup."
There was no point beating around the bush, so I just said, "Yes."