Cancel the Wedding

The house was chaos. Our whole family had returned, and their family too, and some idiot decided months ago that the church they wanted for the ceremony was in my dad's stupid small town. Since nobody had any idea about the convention coming the same weekend, nobody had a place to stay. Fifteen people in our house -- fifteen! It had a lake and a big yard for all the guests, but the house itself... small. Almost a cabin really.

My big sister Carla was getting married the next day. The rehearsal had gone off without a hitch, the only reception details left were going to be easy to solve, and the families were getting along great. Everyone was looking forward to a smooth, happy day tomorrow.

It's too bad for them I was about to ruin all that.

Carla's 28, tall, thin, and blonde. Guys think she's beautiful but I think her short little nose makes her look... well... okay I admit it, she's beautiful.

I guess you'd think I was jealous. Of her fiance, and her looks. I'm Emily. At 25, I'm still the black sheep of the family, and I look it. She's got 4 inches on me, and I just look... ordinary. I'm never going to be glamorous like her.

She's also my parents' favorite. It's not exactly that they give her everything she wants because of that. True, she has an expensive car, and a paid-for apartment, and an embarrassing supply of clothes and shoes. But the main reason I don't have those things is I for some reason think it's better to actually be an adult and make my own way.

Okay, I let my parents pay for college, I'm not stupid. But while I don't have fifty dresses or even the room for them in my closet, I do have the self-respect that comes with working to pay my own rent, and my own drinks with my own, real friends. And since mom and dad can't tell me to live near them, they don't get to hover, and I can actually pick my own friends instead of letting the churchy parents pick them for me.

Oh, and I think I look fine. My hair looks great, dyed black, framing my face. I've got piercing eyes and a soft little mouth, and if my makeup is more about black and red than Carla's all-natural palette, that's just what I look best in. I'm not super-goth or anything. I look fine. I look good.

Geez, who wants fifty dresses anyway?! She actually has that. Well, I didn't count. I estimated.

Mom had been calling me from the kitchen table to come help deal with the sleeping arrangements. Like I said, the house is not big, and we only had so many mats and cushions and air mattresses and cots. Matt the army guy insisted on sleeping on the floor, but that left fourteen people, some old, and if we pushed it, only eight real places to sleep in.

She sat me down, and with her pencil and paper we tried to get everyone a place. We squeezed two of the little kids head-to-toe, got John the teenager to take the back seat of the big car, and one by one worked it all out.

We finally got to the end, and the last detail was where Eric the fiance, Carla the fiancee, and Emily her little black-sheep sister were going to sleep.

Both families are super religious, and putting Eric and Carla together in the same bed, even the same room, the night before the wedding was completely out of the question. No one thought they would do anything -- but it would have been scandalous for everyone to think they might be tempted on accident.

The last three places were the tiny guest room bed, a cot in that same tiny room, and Carla's old bedroom. We couldn't put Eric in Carla's room, there were three of her super-uptight girlfriends crammed together in sleeping bags on her floor. That meant he was on the guest room cot -- and that meant Carla got her old bedroom with her uptight friends, and I got the guest room bed.

I assume the reason nobody had a problem with me sleeping in the same room as the fiance is that we weren't getting married, so of course nothing would happen. But I think with my dark eyeliner and loose clothes, and yes, maybe my reputation for being sarcastic and putting my feet up on the coffee table in a most unladylike manner, it just never crossed anyone's mind. Eric was marrying Carla, after all. Next to her, unladylike Emily was more like... furniture.

Or maybe since I hadn't been home much since college, they didn't realize I was a grown woman.

I changed into my sleeping clothes, which was an XL T-shirt and, tonight, pretty lace panties. I climbed under the covers into the twin bed. Man that bed was small. It was a good thing it sat up against the wall because that way I only had one side to worry about falling out of. A few minutes later, Eric stuck his head in the door to say he'd said good night to Carla, and he was just going to stay up talking with the men of the house for a little while before he came to bed.

Sure thing, I said.

An hour later, the house was quiet -- all the rest of the men had gone to bed, and Eric slipped back in after spending a while on the porch, just gazing at the stars I guess. He had to tiptoe through one room and one hallway full of sleeping people, stepping over them as he went. He squeezed into the guest room and stood a while with the door closed to adjust his eyes. There on the floor was his cot. He'd have to squeeze sideways to even get next to it, there was so little room between the bed and the opposite wall.

So he did, and he took off his shoes, and socks, and tie, and shirt, and belt. Then looked at me to make sure I was asleep.

Obviously I wasn't. In the dark, he couldn't see me looking.

Then he slid off his slacks, folded them neatly, and in his undershirt and boxers, climbed onto his cot.

There was a creak as he got on, and then, just as he laid his head on the throw-pillow we'd found for him, there was a creak, then a snapping noise, and as I cracked an eyelid open, I saw him sink out of sight as the crappy old cot gave way onto the floor.

"Oh, no," he said softly, and then I woke-up for real and asked what was going on and watched as he tried to...

...fold it back into its standing position (it wouldn't stay)...

...prop it back up by using the wall and the bed (no luck)...

...fold it all the way up so he could stand it up out of the way (it wouldn't budge)...

...and finally, take all the wooden struts and legs and pieces, which were now turning the thin canvas sheet into a relief map of the Alps, and push them under the bed, so he could at least lie down on the hardwood floor. No luck.

The tiny guest room was now a serious problem. One bed, zero floor space, and nowhere else to sleep in the house. It was past midnight, around freezing outside, and not too much warmer inside.

He stood there for a little while, until I made the obvious suggestion.

"No, I couldn't... sleep there with you, that's not possible," he said.

"Why not? It's late, we'll fall asleep, we wake up in the morning, we get on with our lives. Not a big deal."

"That's really not going to happen."

"Eric... you've got nowhere else to go. I know. I told everyone where to sleep and there's no more room. This whole house is jammed. Your next best place would literally be the bathtub. And you've got a long busy day tomorrow. You need your sleep." I folded back half the blanket. "Just squeeze in and we'll call it a night."

He saw the logic of it. "Well... there doesn't seem to be anything else does there." He wasn't about to ask me to take the bathtub.

And I wasn't about to volunteer, for reasons that would soon become apparent.

"And you know I won't tell Carla... or anyone, of course. We'll say the cot broke only when you got up in the morning."

He nodded, and gave a tiny little speech about respect that made him feel better, and carefully slid first one leg, then the other, under the covers.

The bedsprings squeaked as he laid down.

Now, Eric's six foot one. We were both on our backs. Him on the left, me on the right. His feet were at the end of the bed, I could see them sticking up. And it was so narrow, that despite our trying to stay as far separated as possible, even with our arms crossed, we were touching from shoulder to elbow.

"I guess that's as good as it gets," I said. "Good night."

"Good night, Emily," he said, and closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

I waited twenty minutes, until he was almost asleep, before I made my first move on my sister's fiance.

I shifted, as if in my sleep, turned on my side, and put my arm and leg over him.

I should probably explain that I knew from the start this was going to be easy. He wasn't a nice man, and he wasn't a stupid man. But he was an innocent man. Not like a virgin, I mean he was naive. He was 34 years old and though he'd been around a bit -- girls come easy when you're a trust fund kid -- he'd never been in a real relationship, he didn't know what people were capable of, he just didn't know much about the way this was going to work.

He and his wife were devoted to God, they had abstained from sex, or even heavy petting, before they were joined as one flesh. Amen.

But I knew he wanted other-girl pussy. Pussy that didn't belong to his beautiful, sexy, glamorous, Carla... soon his wife and the only sex he'd be getting for the rest of his life.

I knew he wanted it tonight, because I knew he wanted it every night. That's what men want, right? Well, he had no idea what he was in for.

He woke up instantly, of course, and whispered to me. "Emily! Emily!"

"Zhmmmm?" I asked, pretending to wake up.

"You're lying on me, Emily!" He kind of lifted and pushed at my arm.

"I'm tired," I said. "Let me sleep."

"You have to sleep on your back."

"I can't sleep on my back, I have to sleep on my side."

He sighed. "All right. Then sleep on your other side."

"Mmm-hmmm," I said, and rolled over. With my knees bent even a little, my butt rested firmly against his hips.

He thought about saying something about that, but didn't. "Good night," I said, and bent my knees a little more, pushing his hips just a little more. I didn't push him out of bed, but I canted him up sideways a little.

"Emily..." he said. I didn't respond. Unless you count smiling to myself.

"Emily, I have to be up early in the morning," he said. "You know I have to be out the door by six. Please..."

It wasn't five minutes later when he gave up, and turned himself on his side too -- the one side that he could fit on. He spooned me.

Oh, he tried his best not to touch me at all. But his left arm had to go somewhere. He didn't have enough room to lay it down. So, after some fiddling, he rested his left hand, gently, on my shoulder, his elbow nestled into the hollow of my waist.

This was going to be like taking candy from a baby. A thirty-something innocent baby. He fancied himself experienced, a sophisticated man. Which was why it would be easy.

I was sure he'd gotten zip from my sister since forever. She wasn't frigid but she was pretty religious. She'd have strung him along, made him wait. I could feel from his touch how nervous he was.

I was guessing he already had a hard-on.

And whether he'd had sex with a hundred girls or just a few... he was not ready for this.

I waited long enough for him to start drifting off again, then bent myself a little more. As my butt touched his crotch, I took his left hand in mine, and, like it was a favorite stuffed toy, cuddled it to my bosom.

I should mention that I actually have a bosom. I'm shorter, and just a wee bit plumper than my could-be-a-model sister. I'm a normal-sized woman. I have curves. I have hips and boobs, and despite being the little sister, I am womanly and she is more like a tall twig.

Of course Eric had gotten to second base before. But not, I didn't think, with my sister. Seriously. And he knew that starting tomorrow, in God's eyes and his father-in-law's, the only "bosom" he was ever going to touch again would just about fill her training bra.

So when I held his hand to my chest, and for a few seconds let him feel it pressed against the billowing warmth of my bountiful chest, he must have thought he'd stumbled on quite a stroke of luck.

Of course, his next thought was how awful this was, and he struggled for a second to pull his hand from my grasp. I held on and his straining back and forth made him his hard-on (yep!) bounce off my butt. He pushed on my boob.

Finally he pulled free, and from what must have been the very edge of the bed, explained to me: "Emily, you have to be more careful. We can't touch like that. Please try to behave yourself and let me get some sleep."

I rolled over to face him and gave him the sad voice. "Oh, Eric, I'm really sorry. I guess I was falling asleep and ... I thought I needed a man's touch for a second there."

"It's okay, but we have to be more careful." He started turning, degree by degree. There really was almost no room in this bed. "I'm turning on my other side now, and you probably should too. And let's please get some sleep."

We both turned on our left sides, me facing his neck. I rested my forehead against him. He didn't protest, just sighed.

This time I waited until he was actually asleep before I made my move, putting my arm, carefully, all the way over him.

I rested my right hand so that my fingers were touching his T-shirt, right on his chest. Just the lightest of touches.

I waited a minute -- I counted 60 seconds -- and slowly started rubbing him. With just my fingertips.

I could feel his lean muscles and his curly hair under his shirt. He was actually kind of hot. Well, I like tall guys, and he did really tower over me. Or would have, if we weren't lying down together.

I rubbed a little more, then started rubbing in circles, then using my whole hand. Still nice and gentle. Just sliding my hand around, enjoying the way a man's chest feels.

He didn't wake, but his breath caught a little. Was he dreaming?

When I was ready, I scooched into him, resting my inner thigh on his, my belly in his back, my boobs squished up against him, still stroking his chest.

He woke up, and of course he was mad. He couldn't turn around to talk to me, but he hissed at me. "Stop it!" he whispered, very angry.

I acted like I woke up. "Oh... Eric? Was I doing something?"

"Stop touching me, Emily."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Good night." Then I just stayed where I was, spooned right up against him, and a minute later started rubbing his chest again.

"Emily! Stop it!"

"Mmm? Oh, Eric, I'm so sorry. I think I was dreaming. I'll stop now."

Then I stayed right where I was, letting him still feel my boobs on his back, and my hips cradling his, and my bare thigh just barely resting on his.

And a minute later I started rubbing his chest again.

He was getting irritated. His hissing was getting louder. He lifted up my hand and started turning towards me, quick-like.

The bedsprings squeaked more. "Shhh," I said, "the walls are so thin here. If they hear us moving around they'll know we're both in the same bed."

He turned all the way to face me. "Emily, you need to turn the other way. Please, I need you to face the wall."

"Okay," I said. And did. It was ten minutes later that I took his left hand and placed it palm-flat against my belly.

He hissed at me and took his hand back. Five minutes later I took it again and had it between my breasts before he yanked it back.

I turned my head to half-face him and whisper to him. "Gosh, Eric, I'm so sorry. I used to sleep with my old boyfriend like this all the time. I don't know why I keep doing that when I fall asleep. Of course we're just friends. You know I don't think of you that way. You're so much older... and you're going to be my brother-in-law. I'll try to stop now and just sleep."

I think he took that seriously.

So I gave him some extra time.

And twenty minutes later, just as his breathing slowed, I took his left hand and slid it between my legs.

Now, you may be thinking at this point that I'm a real vicious bitch. That I'm basically raping my sister's husband-to-be. You probably think I deserve to get caught, and deserve to be kicked out of the family.

What you don't know is that just one week ago, I was picking up some cereal and milk 50 miles from here, in the town where I live, when I heard Eric's voice in the next aisle over. That's strange, I thought, I thought he was still out of state. I walked around the corner to say hi, and saw, from behind, Eric... and some strange girl.

I froze, then ducked back, but I'd seen enough already. This curvy brunette was probably still in college. She was wearing such a short miniskirt -- which didn't look good with her figure -- that I seriously considered whether she might be a prostitute. And she had her hand in Eric's back pocket.

I snuck around the other aisle until I could hear what they were saying, and it was pretty clear they were either lovers, or about to become lovers. Giggling and mmmm-ing, and teasing each other with sexual innuendo. I heard her say "Sto-o-o-o-p," that stretched-out "stop" that giggly little sluts use when they just got groped, and what it means is "don't stop... but let's take it somewhere else."

I had closed my eyes and thought of Carla, and what she would say. Well, she wouldn't believe me, the whole family was convinced I was jealous of her. My cellphone was a cheap piece of shit, I couldn't take pictures. Nobody else I knew was in the store to back up my story.

But having seen what I saw, I couldn't let her marry this fucker.

I snuck around after them. Got a good look at the bitch's big bouncy tits, her full hips, her vapid silly face. Saw the two of them touching the way friends do not: hands, shoulders, hips. And I watched as they checked out and left the store. I had seen what was in their basket, that they bought, here in the town where the cashiers didn't know them. It was what they were picking up in that first aisle I'd seen them in, where they were flirting like sex-crazed idiots.

Condoms and lube.

So yeah. I'm vicious. But I'm not a bitch. I have a plan. And I care about my sister. You'll see.

He woke up instantly to feel his hand pushed between my thighs, his fingers held in that warm private area, pushed against the lace of my panties.

At the same time, I slid back again, and pushed my ass hard against the hard-on I knew was still there. I wanted him to know I knew. And I wanted to give him to feel my body, to get an idea of what kind of body he was in bed with. To remind him while I may be a lot younger than him, I'm still a grown woman.

He yanked his hand back, but was too shocked to say anything at all. Now he knew I was fucking with him.

He kind of huffed. Then rolled on his back and sat up. And thought. And swore, and swore again, and laid back down on his left side, back-to-back, him shoving me over and still almost falling out of bed.

I turned back to face him and he turned to face me instead, I think to give me a lecture. Instead I put my head on his shoulder, right arm firmly around his waist, right leg over his in almost a wrestling hold. "Wha--" he started, and I nuzzled into the hollow of his shoulder, and wiggled around to get myself comfortable (and to let him feel me wiggle).

"Move! Move!" he was hissing. "What is wrong with you!" And he tried shoving me by force, but I had enough of a grip, and the bedsprings made enough of a racket, that he gave that up.

He whispered, lecturing me, pleading with me, reasoning with me. He asked me if I was insane. Finally I loosed my grip and looked him in the eye for a second before he turned his back and pulled the covers tight around him.

I wasn't even bothering saying anything anymore. I spooned him tightly. I made a flat wedge of my hand and pushed it under his arm, holding his belly. He tried to push me away but I just rubbed his belly, and gave him little tickles with my fingers.