Jess was a Bitch

She must be doing it on purpose. She's teasing me.

She stands up and my eyes go down. She turns. I look back up. Her hands are behind her back. With a practiced movement, she unfastens her bra and slips it off her shoulders. She turns back towards the bed and I dip my eyes again, but not as much as before.

Her breasts leave me holding my breath. Mom's are fake; you can tell it through her clothes, a softball cut in half and shoved under her skin. Not Jess's. Jesus. I know she's my sister but Jesus.

They aren't huge. Like her nose and mouth, they're just right. Even leaning over the bed, you can see how firm they are. When she stands, I can see the way they slope toward her nipples. Her areoles are smooth and pink. I realize I'm staring at the same moment Jess gives a faint gasp and turns her back toward me, hands going toward her breasts. Her face, in the mirror, is red. Her hands don't make it to her breasts. She lets them fall back to her side. She looks up and meets my gaze in the mirror.

My face burns. My body burns; but I don't, can't, look away.

Her ass is as firm as her boobs. I can see all of it. That's the only thing that tears my eyes away from the mirror and her breasts. As I stare at her butt, she reaches for the top of her thong. She hesitates, and then, as if she's made her decision, she yanks off the thong. When she turns, I don't even pretend to look down at the book in my lap. All the book is good for at this point is hiding my erection.

She's shaved, just a small strip, not even a landing strip, of hair, points like an arrow at her clitoris and slit.

I shake my head. What the fuck am I doing and look quickly away, face flaming. I've been staring at my naked sister. Fucking pervert. Jesus.

I go back to staring at my book. I force myself to think of Ms. Latham. She taught art in junior high. She thought it was 1967. She didn't use deodorant. She didn't shave her legs or pits. She had scraggly nails, that were never clean and when she lectured, flecks of white spit foam gathered at the corners of her mouth. If there was any vision in the world capable of shrinking a nineteen-year-old dude's boner, she was it. Sorry, mean but true.

I hear Jess go into the bathroom, water runs and I hear splashing. When she comes out she's patting her face dry with a towel. When she lowers the towel, she drives the vision of Ms. Latham right out of my head. She looks unbelievable in her bikini. I can see her nipples poking out through the cotton. Damn.

I grab my towel as I stand and hold it in front of me. My face is on fire.

"Ready," she asks as she pulls on a flimsy linen cover up, that covers very little since it's basically transparent.

All I can do is nod.

***

Dad gives us a funny look when we stop to get the sunscreen. Or maybe it's just my guilty conscience. Mom, not surprisingly, doesn't appear to notice a thing. She does however tell us that the sunscreen she brought along is too expensive to waste. Apparently, skin cancer prevention in her offspring is a lower priority. Dad tells us to stop in the gift shop and charge it to the room. So, we do and pick up a six-pack of Corona. You gotta love a country where the drinking age, at least for beer and wine, is eighteen.

We haven't spoken since leaving the room.

One advantage of parents that are willing to drop a lot of coin is a beach that is not crowded. We walk twenty feet and we're out of hearing range of the other people on the beach. No kids, that's another advantage.

Jess flips her towel out. She sheds the cover up and folds it into a makeshift pillow. I start to spread on sunscreen. She holds out her hand, palm up. I squirt sunscreen into her hand. We go about our business without speaking.

"I'll do your back. Then you can do mine."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and hand her the bottle.

The lotion is cold and I jump. Her hands are warm. She smoothes the lotion over my shoulders, up my neck. She does my ears, even though I already did them. Her hands move over the top of my shoulders, nearly down to my clavicles. She does my back, reaching under my arms. It's like getting a stand-up massage. She does my lower back and her fingers skirt for a moment under the top of my shorts.

"My turn."

I turn and she hands me the lotion. Her face is a blank as she turns away.

I lotion her back.

"Get under the strap," she tells me.

God, her skin is so warm. It feels like my hands are on fire.

She steps away, turns and twists, one toe in the sand, doing a 1940's pin-up pose. "Did I miss any spots?"

I shake my head.

She sits, stretches out on the towel, and pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes.

I have two options. I can get in the water or I can lie down on my own towel. Three options, I can flee for the safety of my room. I don't want to flee but I'm too freaked still to lie down. I head for the surf, breaking into a run and barreling into the next wave. As I come out on the other side, I feel my hair falling around my shoulders. So much, for my man bun. I comb my hair out with my splayed fingers, lean back, dip my hair and then push it back with my hands. The water is bathtub warm and does absolutely nothing to calm my boner. I float on my back, letting the waves roll under me, close my eyes, and try to concentrate on the feel of the sun on my face.

All I can concentrate on is I'm floating on my back with my dick tenting my trunks.

I roll over and duck beneath the surface. I don't have my mask but I open my eyes anyway, maybe the sting of salt water will distract me. It does, a little. A sea turtle, ambling along a few feet further out from the shore, distracts me a little more. I try to keep an eye on him; it's hard without a snorkel. My erection begins to fade.

As soon as I notice my boner going down I recall why I was hard in the first place, the feel of Jess's hands on my back, the feel of her skin under my hands, the way her body looked in the hotel room. And boom, I'm at full mast again. Damn it.

I feel trapped and that pisses me off. I remind myself she was teasing me, showing me her body like that. I tell myself I'd be stupid to fall for one crying spell. She's fucking with me, like always.

When I walk out of the surf I forgo the usual tug at the front of my trunks and let them cling. They're riding so low, I think my boner is the only thing holding them up. The top of my pubic hair must be visible. I can't see her eyes behind the sunglasses. For all I know she's asleep. I pick up my towel and start to squeeze my hair dry. I discovered, the hard way, that with long hair you can't just scrub a towel over your head to dry your hair. An hour or so of pulling a comb through the tangles taught me that. I hold my head to one side so that the towel doesn't hide the tent in my trunks. I can't see her eyes but the thought that she's looking at my dick, my cock, my hard cock, makes my dick ache even more.

I spread the towel over the chair and lie down, face up.

The sun feels amazing. I feel drops of water evaporating off my chest and belly and at the same time, I feel drops of sweat forming on my forehead and in my pits. There's a puff of breeze. It rolls in from the water, over my legs and belly and then kisses the sweat gathering in my hairline. The feel of the sun, the water, the wind on my skin is mind-blowing. I want to feel it all over my body. I fight the urge to stand up and strip. There are unofficial nude beaches around here but this isn't one of them. I'm pretty sure the local authorities leave the clientele of this establishment alone but I don't want to risk it.

I manage to forget about Jess but the feel of the sun and the breeze keeps my dick hard.

I fall asleep, which even with sun screen would have been a recipe for disaster but Jess wakes me.

"Hey, Jon, wake up. You're going to burn. We should head in."

I shake the sleep out of my head. It takes a moment for me to place where the fuck I am. Mexico. With my family. My sister.

I still have a boner. I'm no longer feeling irritated. The old Jess would have been happy to let me lay out here until I was fried, not that the old Jess would have been anywhere near me. I'm no longer irritated; I'm embarrassed.

I roll away from her and stand up. I reach behind me for my towel with one hand, while I try to pull my trunks out to hide, sort of, my erection with the other.

I hear Jess giggle.

"Here." She puts my towel in my searching hand.

I wrap the towel around my waist, face flaming. When I turn around she smiles and nods.

"Better, we wouldn't want all the other guys at the resort hating on you."

I look at her confused.

She shakes her head. "God, you're always such a dork. Bro, you're fucking hot. You should have your own room, you could be fucking a different chick every night, if not two different chicks every night."

She turns and walks away before I can respond. I watch the way her butt moves.

***

Back in the room, it's as if nothing happened. Jess is in the shower. When she come out, she's wrapped up in a bath towel.

"Your turn," she says as she picks up her brush and begins to brush her hair in front of the full-length mirror.

In the bathroom, I step into the shower and shuck my trunks. I rinse them out under the shower and drape them over the towel bar at the back of the shower. Jess's bikini hangs there as well. I glance over my shoulder, making sure the door is closed and pull the bottoms to my face. All I smell is water. What a fucking moron I am; and a perv.

When I exit, my towel tucked around my hips, Jess is dressed; another sundress, tie-dyed. I don't think she's wearing a bra but I force myself not to stare. I pick up my own brush and set to work putting my hair into some sort of order. It's not curly but it's wavy.

"Leave it down," Jess suggests. "I didn't think I'd like you with long hair but it looks good. Try leaving it down."

"Are you sure? I don't want to look like fucking Fabio or something?"

She laughs. It's a nice sound. I try to remember when I hear her laugh in fun and not over some spiteful jab.

"Just don't part it in the middle."

She walks over and turns me away from the mirror. Her hands go to my head and her fingers start combing it. I can feel her breath on my bare chest. I swear I can feel heat coming off her body. I plant Ms. Latham front and center in my brain and use all my willpower to ignore the feel of her hands in my hair.

"There," she chirps as she steps away. "Take a look."

"You sure?"

"Positive. You could have three girls in here tonight if you wanted."

"Yeah, right."

"Don't be such a dork. Jesus. Look at yourself." She moves to stand beside me and looks into mirror. "You have great hair, white teeth, a great smile, when you let yourself smile, dimples, pecs but not pecs that look like boobs, hairy chest without looking like a gorilla, abs." I shiver when she presses her palm to my hand. "Hard abs, and this cute little trail of hair leading to your package."

A fingertip trails down my belly to the top of my towel.

"Wha," I clear my throat. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to convince my little brother that behind my back he's turned into a hot fucking dude." She turns away. "Get dressed. You know mom'll be all pissy if we're late."

***

Dinner passes in a blur. I can't tell you what was on my plate. I eat mechanically, not tasting. Jess seems perfectly at ease but I feel dad's eyes on me the whole time.

"Your mom and I are going to take a car and go up to Tulum in the morning. Either of you want to come? Perhaps learn something about an ancient culture?" he asks as we rise from the table.

"No thanks, I'm gonna chill," Jess tells him. He nods and looks at me.

"Uh, I think I'll pass. I don't feel so good."

"Too much sun," he sighs. "I keep telling you guys you get too much sun. Do you listen? No, of course not." He looks at me hard. "Fine, but stay out of the sun tomorrow. Or if you can't do that remember sunscreen and plenty of water, not beer, water."

I nod. He shakes his head.

He says good night in the hallway. He and mom disappear into their room. Jess opens the door and steps into the room we'll be sharing.

I follow.

***

There's only one sink in the bathroom. I let Jess brush her teeth first. Of course, besides her teeth she has make-up to remove, wash, moisturize and tone her face, and I don't know what else. By the time she vacates the bathroom, I've started to consider peeing in one of the planters on the patio.

I flip the seat up with one foot and let 'er rip. I sigh as one of those I-really-had-to-go shivers wracks my body. As I'm shaking off, I begin to worry about how loud my peeing was. Then - if that worried me, what about when I need to take a dump? I can't take a dump with my sister in the next room. What if she needs to use the bathroom after me? Holy fuck! What if she needs to take a dump. When I told our parents I didn't want to share a room, all I'd been thinking about was not wanting to be around Jess. This was a whole other level of WTF to consider.

I realize I'm standing there holding my dick, staring into space. I flush the toilet. I stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. Am I hot? Or is Jess fucking with me? I rinse my mouth and stare at my face. It's not hideous. I step back and look in the mirror. I lift my shirt. I do have decent abs, not monstrous, 'roid-fueled ridges, but good definition.

"Are you jerking off in there?"

I jump, literally jump. I run my hand through my hair and take a deep breath. Normally, I'd watch some TV but I hop in bed and roll onto my side, facing away from Jess. She's sitting in her bed, legs crossed, flipping through the channels.

"Oh my, God," she gasps. "Look at the dick on that guy!"

Now, there's not a gay bone in my body but if some says, "look at the dick on that guy", you kinda, sorta, have to look. Right? She had stopped on HBO's Rome. My Spanish isn't good enough to follow the dialogue but it appeared a woman was being offered the gift of a big-dick slave. And, yes, I must agree, whoever the actor is, he's hung like a fucking horse. I roll back over. I'm not into dick, especially one that has the potential to make me feel bad about my own.

I hear Jess moving around in the bed, then it gets quiet. I listen to the thud of my heart in the ear that rests against the pillow. I'm trying to make sense of something that makes zero sense. Behind me, Jess begins to breathe funny. I know that sound. It's not as if I haven't watched plenty of porn. I also know, as in porn, that she was exaggerating her breathing. You can jerk off, rub off in her case, without making a sound. Fuck, I ought to know. She wants me to hear her. But why? To fuck with me? Embarrass me? She's been decent, even nice to me, for the first time in my life. A day ago, I would've had no trouble answer my questions. A day ago, Jess was a bitch, nothing more. But now?

Despite the tumult inside my head, my cock is hard.

I tell myself that doesn't make me some sort of fucking freak. I'm a young guy. My dick gets hard all of the time. All my dick hears is a hot woman playing with her pussy and breathing hard. My dick doesn't care if it's my sister or Emily Blunt.

What makes me a freak is my desire to roll over on my back and jerk off. In the open. Sheet thrown back. Cock in the air. Fist pounding, until I shower my body and the headboard in jizz.

My will to resist my desire is nearly spent. I'm gathering my courage to throw back the sheet and yank my shirt up and my boxers down and go at it, when I hear a shuddery moan from Jess' bed. Too late. She's finished.

It's a long time before I can go to sleep. My balls ache and my brain is in flames.

***

I wake, as I usually do, trying to remember what I'd just been dreaming. The sun streaming around the drapes is too bright. I'm stretching, kicking the sheet off in the process, before I recall I'm in Mexico, In a room with my sister, the bitch, or possibly former bitch. That I'm stretching, on my back, in my boxers, balls still aching and cock very, very hard. My hands fly to my crotch and my head jerks towards Jess' bed. I relax. She's asleep. She's half on her side, half on her back. The over-large tee shirt she wore to bed is hiked up almost to her armpits. Her belly is exposed. The sheet is over her hips. I can't see if she's wearing panties. I also can't explain to myself why I want to see if she's wearing panties, why I wish the top of her shirt was a little looser, why I want to see her breast, her nipple, watch it crinkle and shrink and grow hard in the cool morning air. Or from the touch of my lips. My lips?

Yes, my lips, I admit to myself. I want to tease her nipples with my lips. Tug at them. Flick the tip of my tug. Bite them? Yes, but softly. I want to pull her covers off, pull her to the side of the bed, yank her panties aside, if she's wearing them, lift her ass off the bed, and bury my cock in her pussy, her cunt. I want to fuck her. I want to shoot my load over her cunt lips, her tits. I want to watch her rub my cum over her clit, her nipples.

I push my head back into my pillow and close my eyes. I push the top of my boxers down and free my cock, push them a little lower and fish my balls out. The front of my boxers is damp. The head of my cock is drooling precum. I begin to jerk off. And I mean jerk off. I pound my cock. The side of my hand smacks against my belly and echoes in the small room. Let Jess wake up. I don't care. I want her to. I should go to her.

I open my eyes and look over at Jess.

Her eyes are open. They're on my cock, my flying fist.

The movement of my head draws her attention. She looks in my eyes.

She stands and pulls her shirt off.

She's not wearing panties.

She leans over my bed and reaches for the top of my boxers.

I stop jerking off.

She yanks them down. They get stuck on my left foot.

She climbs in bed and climbs between my legs. She puts my cock in her mouth.

Oh, sweet fucking Jesus, she's sucking my cock.

She strokes the shaft as her mouth bobs over the head. She moves up, straddles me. She pushes my shirt up and leans over my chest. She lets her nipples graze mine.

She's going to kiss my nipple. Fuck. Why did I never imagine that would feel so good? Jesus, she's doing all the things to my nipple I wanted to do to hers.

I pull her up. I press my mouth to hers. My tongue finds hers. I scoot down. I capture one of her swaying breasts with my lips. She moans and my hands clutch at her hips. I want to play with her nipple forever but I have other wants. I lift her. She's so light, so small. She's always loomed so large in my imagination but she's really a petite woman. I have no experience, beyond internet porn, at what I'm about to do. Like everything else this morning, I don't care.

I lift my head and cover Jess' cunt with my mouth. She's wet, wetter than I'd ever imagined a woman could be. And the taste - unbelievable. I push my tongue deep into her pussy. My nose is buried in her pussy lips, the bridge rubs the hard, small, woman cock of her clit. I suck at her, desperate to drink her, taste her. She puts both hands on my forehead and pushes herself up.

"Not so hard, Jon," she gasps.

I force myself to relax. I lap at her cunt, like a dog at his watering bowl. I have no idea if that's the right way to do this or not. My nose rubs her clit. I lower my head to the mattress and reach across her thighs to spread her pussy. It really does look like a little dick. It's even got a tiny foreskin. Fuck. Behind it, another nub. That's were her pee comes out, I think. I raise my head and put my lips around her clit. Her hands go back to my head but she doesn't push away from my mouth, not this time. I suck at her clit but very softly. She sighs. I pull, a little. Her fingers tighten in my hair. I flick it. Suck it. Kiss it. When she starts to really pull at my hair, I scoot lower and lick between her lips, drinking her in. I don't think I want to ever drink anything else again, except her pussy. Fuck beer. Fuck wine. Give me Jess' pussy and I'm beyond sated.