I'm Not Me

As it was Monday, I would be heading into work at 9:30. I worked clean-up at our town's three-screen movie theater during the summer. The first showings began just after ten in the morning. The job didn't pay well, but it helped fill the Jerkoff Mobile with gas and let me save a few bucks.

Before I left, I dropped by Kiley's room.

"Figure out how to upload that video yet?" I asked.

Adopting a thoughtful posture, she said, "I don't know. I've been thinking maybe I should hold paid viewings." Grinning, she rubbed her fingers together greedily.

"Kiley!"

"You work at a movie theater!" she argued. "You of all people should understand."

"Come on, Kiley."

She shrugged. "Maybe there'll be a showing tonight. Bring twenty bucks."

I needed to get moving, so I shook my head and left, but not before noticing those same bikini bottoms on her nightstand. I couldn't tell whether they had been washed or not.

***

Theater clean-up is a lonely job. At ten in the morning on a Monday, it's easy and boring, too. Nobody comes, or if they do, there's one or two people, max. There was no one in any of the early showings that morning.

I'd seen all the films before, so I chilled out in our emergency exit tunnel, pretending to sweep and thinking about all that had happened.

There had been a moment with Kiley in my bedroom; she had even asked me about it right when it happened. It was difficult to explain. It happened after I asked Kiley exactly when she had started filming our neighbors. Looking at me with a spectacular grin, she replied with one word: blowjob.

It wasn't Kiley's weight loss. It wasn't her freshly unblemished face, and it wasn't her big new tits. It wasn't the happiness that I saw on her face from the minute she returned home or the sense of self-possession that she seemed to have gained during her first year of college.

All of those things may have laid a kind of foundation, but it was my sister turning to me and saying "blowjob" with such smiling ease that had triggered everything that followed.

I knew in my guts that if I had never seen her say that word that way, I never would have asked for her bikini bottoms, and I never would have jerked off with thoughts of her pussy streaming through my mind.

If she never turns to me with a knock-you-on-your-ass smile and says, "blowjob," I never begin to imagine what it would be like to have a sexual relationship with my sister. And I knew that after you begin to imagine--a truck you always dreamed of owning, for example--you begin to seek.

My phone buzzed. Theater 2's showing was ending soon. I left the exit tunnel and made my way back through the ticket counter and snack area to the front doors of the theater. When I heard the end credits roll, I wedged open the double doors and waited.

Seeing no one emerge, I walked in and confirmed that it was empty. As always, I had to check every seat and every row in case someone had come late and left early.

As I scanned, I decided I wished the human brain had a delete button for memories. If I could erase "blowjob," then I could see her as my sister--and only my sister--once more.

As I moved past the disabled row toward the front, I found myself replacing the previous night's memories of Dewey and Deanna with me and Kiley. My sister was green, and I was eating her pussy on the kitchen table. The thought made my cock surge.

I quit working. I was not supposed to think that way. "Fuck!" I spat, and even though it wasn't a yell, the sound echoed in the empty theater.

As the hours of the workday wore on, I thought of trying to set Kiley up with a friend. I could, I thought, invite my bud, Patrick, over to play some video games in the basement. Kiley would show up at some point, and Patrick would see her anew. Then, chatting with Patrick here and Kiley there, I might be able to get one of them to ask the other on a date.

I could set up free tickets, I realized as I swept popcorn from underneath a seat.

A movie date.

Perfect.

And then, like a broken projector, my mind spat out disjointed images of Patrick's head between Kiley's legs on our kitchen table.

This time, I really did yell.

***

I was not quite myself at dinner back home. Mom and Kiley remained in a glow of happiness. I ate and played cards, doing my best not to think about Kiley and sex. We played three-person hearts, and I somehow won.

As the winner, I cleared the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. After finishing, I excused myself and went to the basement to fire up one of my favorite computer games. Of those remaining friends I still had, none would be going out on a Monday night, even in the summer. It was a good night to chill at home, and the game would pull my mind away from my sister.

It worked.

Then, at around ten-thirty, Kiley came down. I paused the game and greeted her.

She told me she had looked for me in my room, and with a grin, she added, "I kind of thought you might be watching the Lawrence's back windows."

I couldn't stop myself from a double-take. She was in tiny shorts and a tank-top. Her hair was back in those cute pigtails.

"No, I came down here after cards," I said.

"Care if I hang out with you?"

I shook my head.

She came around the couch, absently letting me know that Mom was in bed. Flopping beside me, something caught my eye.

It was her breasts. Kiley wasn't wearing a bra. Fuck, I thought, those are some big, beautiful tits.

Kiley's voice broke the trance. "I guess I better get used to guys looking at my boobs, huh?"

I turned away. "Sorry, Kiley."

"I don't mind. It's nice to be appreciated for a change."

"Don't you think," I said, "those things are a bit too big to leave--untamed?"

She giggled, replying, "I'm still getting used to them, you know, and sometimes a bra is absolutely necessary. Other times, I can't wait to take it off."

"Since we're talking about your new boobs, do you care if I ask what size you went to?"

Shaking her head, she said, "I don't mind. No. I went from an A to a double D."

"Why--again, if you don't mind me asking--so big?"

"I told my doctor about Mom and Renee--becoming overweight. She explained that a double D might seem excessive at my current weight, but that it would look more normal the larger I grew."

I nodded.

"Can I ask you something now?" she queried.

"Yeah."

"At the time I never wanted to upset you, so I kept away from the subject, but do you care if I ask about the incident at school last fall?"

I blew out a big sigh.

"I'm sorry!" she said quickly. "You don't have to--."

"It's alright," I told her. "No, you were great about it. It was Renee who kept rubbing it in my face. I swear, almost eleven months after the fact, she can still find ways to bring it up and rub my nose in it."

"So? What happened?"

I told her the awful tale.

When got to the part where I started jerking off, she asked me why I had chosen to do it there and then.

"I was excited. I was horny--sorry. I had some sexy pics on my phone, so I sort of fed into my own desires. Then, because it was basically still dark, and I had at least fifteen minutes before anyone showed up, I just went for it."

"But in your car? In public?"

"I know. I know," I said. "It felt private. It--it was kind of a thrill, I guess, deciding to do it. Whipping it out in my car, it was like an extra dose of excitement."

She nodded. I went on with the story. I didn't need to go into how shitty my senior year was. She probably knew from our phone conversations throughout the year.

"What was Mom like?"

"Oh, that was almost as bad as school," I explained. "She was totally embarrassed. Everyone in town--I mean everyone--knew the story. I think she wanted to move. And you know how anti-judgy she is--how proper. To see other people judging her because of me? For doing that? Yeesh. Ugly."

"I felt so bad for you and Mom," Kiley offered, "but mostly you."

"Thanks."

"Plus, it sounds like you didn't even get to cum."

I froze for a second, gaping at her. Then, we were laughing. Kiley fell into me, leaning against my shoulder.

"Nope," I replied, chuckling. "That might have made it a tiny bit better." As Kiley pushed off me, I added, "I should have made the whole incident the subject of my college application essay."

This sent her into a new round of uproarious laughter.

Remembering one of the potential topics, I said, "'Recount a time when you faced a challenge and tell what you learned from the experience.' I think it would have worked. Title: 'Jerkoff Jerks Off.'"

Sending howling bursts of laughter across the basement, Kiley wiped tears from her eyes. Haltingly, she asked if I had gone to the principal for a letter of recommendation.

"'I can recommend this young man,'" I mimicked, "'for his penis, but not his character.'"

We poked fun at me for a bit; I didn't mind.

Once things settled, Kiley said, "I'm going to tell you something, and I don't want you to be mad."

"What?"

"After you'd grown so much during my senior year, I was mad because you were so skinny. And then, last summer, when you weren't working you were working out, and you kind of got ripped. Then, you got your truck. I was jealous, and you--."

I nodded, saying, "Yeah. I was getting cocky."

"You were. So, when I heard from Mom what happened--."

"You didn't mind it so much?"

"I hated it for you. I hated it for Mom, but there was this tiny part of me that felt like you needed something to happen."

"It's crazy you say that," I replied, "because, looking back, even though I absolutely hate it, I think I needed to get put in my place."

"You're not mad at me?"

"No."

She sighed. "So a crappy senior year?"

"Yeah."

"And you're still a virgin?"

I guffawed. "Yeah. You?" I asked.

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"No. Look, Kiley, I told you--before I even knew about your boob job, incidentally--that you look amazing. And you do."

"I thank you for it, but yes, I am still a virgin. Pure and unblemished."

"Okay."

"Ever seen a girl's tits?"

I shook my head.

"Want to?"

My head snapped around. I stared at her.

"Do you?" she invited.

"Kiley--what?"

She grinned and shrugged girlishly. "I like my new boobies, and I want to show them off to someone."

I glanced around the basement and up the stairs.

"She's sleeping," Kiley declared. "So, do you?"

"Yeah."

She rose from the couch and stepped around the coffee table between me and the television. With her back to me, she pulled the tank top over her head and tossed it onto the coffee table. She looked over her shoulder at me very coyly, and then spun toward me with a flourish--arms wide and one hip popping to the side.

My hand shot up to cover my mouth. I slowly brought it down and uttered, "Holy shit, Kiley."

"Like 'em?"

Blinking and trying to prize my eyes from them, I said, "Yeah. Yeah, those are some incredible tits."

She cheered for herself and danced a bit.

My eyes locked upon them as they swayed. If you have never seen an attractive blonde in pigtails with huge tits do a little shirtless dance, you haven't lived.

When she stopped, she laughed, saying, "And they don't hurt anymore, so I can do that now, too."

I shook my head, trying to look away.

"You're embarrassed, aren't you? I'm sorry."

"No. I just--they're amazing, and I am a man, you know?"

"Oh. Oh, right. Well, before I put them away, do you have any questions?" She threw her arms wide and turned around.

"One, actually. You said they hurt. Is that because of the surgery or the weight of them?"

"Ooh, good one. Both. Post-op hurt like hell. After a few weeks, that went away, and I could move around, and then it was their weight. I was all out of balance, and they got real, real sore. My back was sore. My chest, of course. It hurt."

"Did they change your nipples?"

"Same."

It was difficult for me to imagine those fat pink nipples on Kiley when she had tiny tits. "Are you happy with how they feel?"

"Yes, I'm good now."

"No, I mean to the touch. They feel natural to you?"

"Oh, totally. One of my roommates had big ones, and she let me feel hers before I decided on mine. They're just like hers for feels."

I nodded.

She watched me for a second and said, "Here." She walked around the coffee table and sat beside me. Turning slightly, she presented her breasts and said, "You can feel them. I don't mind."

"I better not."

She sighed. "Okay, raise your arms up high."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

I did, and Kiley pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it on the coffee table beside her tank-top.

"Okay," I said, not sure what the hell was going on.

A moment later, Kiley's hands were on my chest. She squeezed my pecs and dragged her thumbs over my nipples. "See?" she said, exploring my chest. "Now I've felt yours."

I couldn't find my voice. When I raised my hands toward her body, Kiley let her arms fall to her side and waited.

I cupped them both. I stretched my fingers over them, seeing how much I could fit in my hands. Then, I gently squeezed. It felt so good that I changed my grip and squeezed again. Like her, I dragged my thumb over her fat, jutting nipples. They were like the Dots candy we sold at the theater, only pink and slightly puckered. I took her nipples between my fingers and softly pinched them.

Then, I let go.

Kiley stared at me. I saw her throat gulp, and she quietly asked, "What did you think?"

I decided I still couldn't speak. I nodded.

"You have nice hands," she said. Then, she looked at my shorts. I did, too.

These weren't the khakis I had been wearing the night before; these shorts were loose and stretchy. It looked like I was storing the gearshift for my truck under there.

"Did I do that to you?" Kiley asked. "My boobs, I mean?"

I cleared my throat. "Yeah."

I liked seeing her eyes fixed on my hard-on.

Maybe my cock made me reckless. Maybe it was that I had planned on getting a lot of pussy during my senior year and actually gotten zero. Somehow the words just spilled from me. "I'll show it to you if you want," I offered.

She looked at me, blinking in surprise. Then, she nodded.

I rose and turned toward her, and then I drew the waistband of my shorts and boxer-briefs over my cock and down to my hips.

Her eyes took it in, but her expression was indecipherable. She was so silent for so long that I was on the verge of putting the fucker away. But, a shy grin curled on her lips. She looked at me and said, "I think you have an amazing cock."

I cleared my throat. "Thanks, Kiley."

"Show me your ass, too?" she said. "While you're already up."

I shrugged and turned around.

"Very cute," she said. A few seconds later, she said, "And one more time, your cock?"

I turned again.

"Yeah," she said, "That's really cool." Her eyes moved up my body, and when they found my face, she said, "I suppose I owe you now."

"Your pussy and ass. Please, Kiley?"

She rose and spun away from me. Slowly, like a peepshow, she pulled her tiny shorts down over her butt. No tan line appeared; she was richly bronzed all the way down. I saw the dark line through the middle appear. Soon, her shorts went over the point of maximum girth.

I held my breath.

Then, it was all there before me. Kiley's chubbiness had endowed her with an unbelievable ass. "No fucking around, Kiley," I said. "Your ass is wet dream material."

She giggled. Then, she turned around.

I stared at her crotch.

No bush. Nothing but a tiny cleft, tucking between her legs.

"You shave, huh?"

She nodded.

If you haven't seen a shirtless young blonde woman in pigtails pull down her shorts just enough to show you her pussy, you have not lived.

"Yeah," I said. "You're not going to have any trouble finding boyfriends. None. Zero."

Kiley smiled.

The grin on her face slowly faded, and then we were staring at one another. Both of us remained exposed, tugging our shorts down. Our bodies were about six feet apart.

I slowly stepped toward her. "If you'd let me kiss you," I said, arriving before her, "then maybe you could tell me if I was any good at it."

She nodded as if in a trance. I leaned down, and she closed her eyes. Something about the puffiness of her face and the trepidation in her eyes before she shut them urged me to be gentle in a way I never imagined possible.

In my mind, a man's kiss needed to be strong, firm, and aggressive. But for some reason, I didn't want to kiss Kiley that way. The first touch between our lips was more like a soft graze.

I felt her breath and the warmth of her body. I could smell her, and I had no idea whether it was make-up or perfume or her body, but I liked it. The fragrance assured me that being next to her was exactly where I needed to be.

Our second kiss was real. Our lips didn't lightly drag over one another's, they met. They joined together seamlessly. Strange as it may seem, I was grateful. I didn't know who to thank for women's lips being absolute perfection.

If the Lawrences had been watching our kiss, it might have looked both natural and stilted. While our lips met in a kind of archetypal male-female union, our hands remained on our hips, frozen in the act of keeping our parts exposed to one another.

I drew back. Kiley opened her eyes. Our faces remained close. "Tongues this time," I whispered.

She nodded.

We kissed again. Our mouths opened; our tongues touched. Kiley's yielded to mine, and I explored her mouth with it. Then, she made a sound so sexy, my hands let go of my shorts. One darted for her breast; the other for her ass. The moment I had her body in my grip, the landline phone rang.

We shot apart, almost shoving one another. Her eyes greedily bored into mine for a moment. The phone rang again, and she seemed to awaken as if from a hypnotic trance. She darted to the receiver.

Kiley gave me a shy grin when she answered. Then, the smile vanished as if it had never been there.

It was Renee.

Kylie pulled up her shorts. She grabbed her tank-top from the coffee table and began pulling it on, switching the phone from hand to hand and ear to ear.

Renee was like that. If she called while you were robbing a bank, you'd put the money back into the safe and leave.

Or, think of her personality like this: imagine climbing out of a hot tub after a long soak on a cold day. The chill in the air feels almost welcome. You grab a warm towel and blot yourself dry. Just as you feel the cold is about to gain a foothold and spread throughout your body, you see a crackling fire inside the house. You walk towards the door with a smile. Just then, someone walks up beside you, locks that door with a key, and tosses a giant bucket of slushy ice water all over you.

That's Renee.

The default tone of her voice is an accusation. Her questions--even the most benign, like "How are you?"--seemed designed to trap you in a lie. It should come as no surprise that she is a county prosecutor.

It didn't surprise me to find myself pulling up my shorts and putting on my tee-shirt. Renee killed the moment. Renee made me feel ashamed. Probably Kiley, too.

I trudged upstairs, feeling sick with guilt. I had made out with my sister. What kind of hideous fucker was I?

***

Kiley dropped by my room that night. She looked troubled.

"Hey," I muttered.

Sighing she said, "I wanted to talk to you about today and last night--since I've been home."

"Yeah."

"You know what I mean?" she asked.

"I do."

"I just feel like things have--have escalated in a way I didn't expect, and I want to get things back to normal between us."

"Yeah. Normal would be good."

"I mean--we never actually--"

"No. No way," I said.

"Right? And not that I would, either. No."

"I know."

"Not that you're not good-looking, though," she quickly added. "Not that nobody would want you. Plenty of girls would."