Kady 7: No More Mr. Nice Guy

One of these days, I will get around to reformatting the Kady stories to make them more clearly chapters of a coherent story. I didn't honestly expect them to get this far. None of this has been planned, so if there are continuity errors (as there are certain to be), I ask that you be kind. XD Something that will help is this: The first four chapters -- Kady Did, Kady Did Anal, Kady Did Mom, and Kady Does More: Morning Glory -- all happen within a week. Kady Does it All: Summer Daze, takes place some months later. Kady 6: Love is Infinite follows a few days after, and then this story follows a few months after that.

It was bound to happen, I suppose.

It was some few months after the party. I had taken some....time off, you might say. There are times the body lets you know it's had enough, and when that happens, the best thing you can do is give it the rest it asks for. But, well, since losing my virginity, I hadn't been used to extended periods without sex. At most, a couple of weeks between sessions with Neil. Occasional dalliances with my mother and my brother Just sort of filled the gaps. Angela and I were better friends than lovers, though we did indulge occasionally; the truth is, Angela much prefers guys, and I can relate. I did make a pass or two at my dad, but he seemed more amused than aroused, thanked me for the compliment, and pretended it had never happened.

My dad's weird.

So, here I was, heading back up the road to Neil's place as autumn descended on our Southern Mississippi community -- I'm not even really sure it was big enough to be called a town -- dressed in a T-shirt, tennis skirt, and sneakers. My wild red hair was left loose, like I prefer it -- it pulls at my scalp if I tie it up, and anyway, I like the way it looks, all tumbly and curly and untamable, just like the person it adorns -- and the breeze tugged at it. Even in autumn, it was balmy enough to not need a jacket, but not warm enough to make the half-mile walk more uncomfortable than tedious.

I felt relatively fresh as I knocked on his door, and when he opened it, I greeted him with a broad smile, particularly since he wasn't wearing a shirt.

Then I saw past him, and that smile curled up and died, falling from my face like a leaf off a tree -- slowly, in stages, and with a sort of dreadful inevitability.

Behind the man who had introduced me to the joys of lovemaking, my sweet and funny and handsome sex doctor, was a stunning woman with sleek black hair and wide gray eyes. She was wearing one of his old shirts, and as far as I could tell, nothing else. Her figure was enough so that the shirt didn't hide much. My heart lurched, froze solid, fell, and shattered at my feet; I stood there, stock still, feeling numb for the moment.

Isn't this what I had wanted for him? This was what we had been working for. This was what I had explicitly told him I expected of him in time. That he find someone else. I just hadn't put it together that when he found someone else, he would no longer need me. Now I did.

It isn't in me to hate, and jealousy is laughable. Robbed of those two most obvious reactions, I had no reaction at all, and just stood there, dazed and lost.

"Neil?" the woman asks, and Neil is looking at me, concern filling his face.

"Grace, can you give us a minute?" he asks softly. "Get us coffee or something?" Neil looks at me more closely, and adds, "Maybe some scotch in the coffee. Come in, Kady."

He has to say it again, and actually takes my hand and tugs, before I step uncertainly inside and he shuts the door behind me.

Grace, for her part, doesn't seem put out in the least. She has a look of concern on her face too, and bustles about the kitchen.

I have to say something. I open my mouth to tell him I'm happy for him, that she's beautiful, that he's done very well for himself.....and then I put my face in my hands and burst into tears.

Neil enfolds me, his warm skin, his scent filling my head, the sense of safety and enclosure giving me permission to weep into his chest. We must stand there a good few minutes, because I feel another warm hand on my back, and I look up to see Grace handing me a mug of coffee.

"Why don't we all sit down?" she suggests soothingly, and because I can't muster an argument, we do, moving to the couch in the living room.

I sit down, cradling the hot mug in my hands, not looking at either of them. I don't know what to think, or say. I'm starting to feel a little ashamed of my hysterics, honestly, and when Grace asks after a few silent minutes, "Are you feeling better?" I can nod, jerkily, and I take a sip from the coffee. She was generous with the scotch, and the warmth flows through me, fighting the creeping cold from inside. I sigh with it, and manage to relax a bit. Neil is sitting in his chair, across from me, while Grace is seated next to me, rubbing my back through my shirt.

"I'm sorry," I croak out hoarsely. "I don't know." I hiccup, and cough, and try again. "I don't know what hit me."

"Not hard to guess," Grace tells me, and I look up at her. She really is beautiful, angelic when she smiles, even when the smile has a sad little tilt to it. "He's talked about you, Kady. We were actually talking about you when you arrived. This is the worst way to find out, I guess."

Beautiful, smart, and kind. Now I was starting to hate her a little, but I squash that dirty little darkness in my soul and try for a smile. It feels like I miss, a bit. "I....I dunno," I manage, in a whispery little rasp. What the hell is wrong with me? I am a confident, powerful creature, a young woman of beauty and wisdom -- and right now I can barely talk. It doesn't help that looking at Grace's lips makes me wonder how they taste.

"Obviously," Neil says a bit ponderously, and I start at his voice. I hadn't forgotten he was there, really, but I hadn't expected him to speak. "This changes things."

The look Grace and I both give him causes him to blush and look aside, muttering something about getting coffee as he gets up and goes toward the kitchen.

Grace gets my attention, placing a finger under my chin and turning my green eyes to meet her gray. "I'm grateful to you," she says. "He might have hid in his shell forever. I'm not missing the fact that you brought him out, and because of that, we met." And then, she kisses me, lightly, a touch of mouths, but when I part my lips for her, she draws back. "But it does change things. Can you understand?"

I had hoped. Part of me had really, really hoped. Now that part dies, and I set my coffee on the coffee table -- that's what it's there for, right? -- and stand up. "I can try," I give her stiffly. It's all I can give, and she understands.

With that, and a goodbye to Neil, whom I can barely talk to right now because I don't want to start crying again, I leave, and begin the walk back home.

An advantage to walking a half a mile is that you have a good long time to think. I don't do very much of that along the way, I'm afraid, but I do manage to sort my tangled feelings. All this time, I had told Neil what we had wasn't love, not really. It was fun, it was affectionate, it was pleasurable, and I cared about him -- but it wasn't love.

I was wrong.

Oh, it wasn't romantic love. Our story was never going to end in a wedding, I knew that. And I was happy for him -- I had wanted him to find a woman more his age. I had little to offer Neil except my body, and as awesome as that is, it's never enough. My dad says that lust is a fire: it needs to be fed constantly or it dies, and it consumes all that you give it. It's never enough, because lust is all about taking. Love is the sun: it warms and gives light, and is all about giving. It requires nothing from us to love. People being people, we might have our own needs, but love itself needs nothing to exist and grow.

But there was love, in what we had, of a kind. I still loved him. I still wanted him. But this was what we had agreed -- it ended when he found someone else.

I walk home in a bit of a daze, and when I get home, I strip off my clothes as I walk, leaving them scattered on the floor. I'm not usually this untidy. It's probably why Just comes looking for me, and finds me in the showers, the big gym-style communal shower my mom built, because of course a family of four needs an incredibly large open shower with multiple heads. I mean, it just makes sense.

He's still got his clothes on, and he's getting all wet when his arms wrap around me, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. I turn in his arms and press my face to his wet shirt, and for the second time, burst into tears. I'm worse than the shower.

"Dummy," I hiccup. "Your clothes are all wet."

"I have more," he says comfortably, his big hands stroking my back. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Went to Neil's," I tell him.

"Back a little early," he notes dryly. I usually stay at least one night when I go to Neil's.

"He wasn't alone," I mumble, and Just's arms tighten a bit.

"Gonna be okay?" he murmurs to me.

"Me?" I give a sharp, jagged little laugh. It sounds like breaking glass to my own ears, and I think I feel Just flinch. "I'm unbreakable."

"Clearly," he replies without a hint of sarcasm, and that makes me laugh a bit more honestly.

We stand there for several minutes, just getting wetter, just breathing, my brother holding me and being a big warm shield against everything not us. Again, I reflect: this isn't romantic, but there is love here.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" I ask him in a small voice, and I hear him hesitate.

"Sleep, or euphemism?" he asks, and I snort a small laugh. While Just has been a willing and even eager participant the few times we have enjoyed each other, he makes little secret of the fact that it makes him slightly uncomfortable. Not enough to stop, really, but I get the feeling that Just would prefer to do and not spend a great deal of time thinking about it.

"I don't know," I answer him honestly, and he sighs and hugs me a bit tighter.

"Don't know why I asked," he notes in a dry little tone. "Not like I'd tell you no in any case."

My parents know, of course, and they're okay with the arrangement Just and I have. When the story of what happened at Neil's gets told over dinner, Mom gives me a sympathetic look before coming over with one of her hugs -- she's an enormous woman, an Amazon, something over six feet and built like a marble statue; she gives excellent hugs, if you can survive the loss of air -- and Dad just nods slowly, and reminds me that that is what family is for. Comfort and support.

At that remark, I turn to Just, and ask, "Are you comfortable, being a bra?"

The laughter that follows is exactly what I needed. Just cocks his eyebrow and one-ups me. "Depends. How do you feel about being a jockstrap?"

Dad gives him a sour look, Mom about falls out of her chair laughing so hard, and I raise my glass to him, conceding his victory.

Later that night, we curl together in his bed, and I am warm and safe and loved, and he is naked and warm and all soft skin and hard muscle as I snuggle into him, and I lift my face to his, kiss my brother's lips softly, and say, "Yes."

My brother makes gentle love to me. His lips cover mine, sharing breath, and he tastes of mint toothpaste as I suck on his tongue, wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands trace over my skin, and I thread my fingers in his curly blond hair. We move so he lays over me, I on my back, him sheltering me, covering me, lying between my thighs. I rub my thighs against his hips, hook one heel over his thigh, and greedily run my hands over his smooth skin. He kisses my throat, and I arch my neck so he can have more, and sigh.

But I don't want foreplay, not right now. I reach down, and find him with my hand. So big. Just's cock is so damn big. I should take the time, I should let him play with me, drive me wild, make me come at least once, just to make it easier to accommodate this monster into my body. It's hot and thick and long in my hand, and I squeeze it gently, making him groan, and I shift under him, fitting him to me, and folding my calves over him, pushing him down, letting him know what I want with my body and voice.

"Now. Now, Just. God. Now."

It's impossible to really describe how it feels, to be filled. You aren't normally aware of any sense of emptiness in the first place. It should feel like an invasion, but it doesn't. Not to me. To me, it feels like a completion. As Just slides into me -- I'm already wet, I didn't realize just how wet I already was, he is sliding effortlessly -- I feel pierced, stretched, and fulfilled. There is so much of him. There's pain, a dull burning ache, but oh God, it feels so good anyway. It feels as if he is pushing the breath out of me as he presses into me, and I sigh and cling to him, whimpering slightly as I bury my face in his neck and accept all he has to offer, one torturous inch at a time, until with a groan, he bottoms out in me. His weight is comfortable on me, pressing me into the mattress, until he rises on his hands, looking down at me. I put my hands on his chest, look up at him, and nod.

When he moves, pulling back, my eyes roll back in my head and I groan, and when he pushes back in, it's an effort not to scream. I pull him back down to me, weight be damned, and wrap myself tightly around him, and he holds me, his arms around me, his hands hot on my skin. He goes so slowly at first. So slowly. It's torture, and I try to drive him onward with legs and hips and hands, but he refuses me, maintaining control of the pace, until I growl at him.

Then he peels my arms from him, places my wrists together, and pins them above my head with one hand. The other hand goes over my mouth.

"I love you, Kady," he whispers, his dark blue eyes staring into my wide green ones, and then begins fucking me like I wanted him to from the start. The hand over my mouth is a necessity, because while I am often vocal during sex, with all sorts of grunts, growls, sighs, and cries, only Just can make me give voice to the full-throated screams that leave my throat raw in the morning. His massive shaft scrapes through me, setting me afire, and I howl into his hand, tears leaking from my eyes at the intensity of the sensations racing through me. My nipples rub against his chest as my breasts bounce with his thrusts, adding more sparks to the growing lightning racing through me, until it strikes, one, pure bolt, that leaves me poised, arched, and quivering, spasming for several seconds on his incredible cock.

The tension peaks, holds, and Just moves his hand and I give a high, thin, whistling shriek before he covers his lips with mine, and then the waves crash, the tension releases like a snapped rubber band, and I bellow into my brother's mouth, hands clenching, still pinned by his hand on my wrists. My legs close around him and squeeze with every ounce of effort I can manage, and he grunts in discomfort. Tears spill from my eyes at the intensity, the clean white light of orgasm wiping away everything, and the roughness and power of our sex leaving me feeling purged and cleansed somehow. With a gasping sigh, Just comes with me, spilling into me, and I kiss him softly as we settle into the bed and relax, coming down, tangled and sated.

"Feel better?" Just asks, brushing a lock of my hair away from my face.

"Yeah," I sigh, adjusting slightly, shifting my hips, and then I giggle as I feel them stick slightly to me, wet cloth on skin. "I, uh...do you wanna get up and change the sheets? I think I made a mess."

"Fuck it," he groans, falling back. "Do it in the morning."

I laugh a little at that, a small sound of tired pleasure, and curl up into him, resting my head on his chest, feeling his warmth and closeness, his heartbeat under my ear. "Thanks, Just. I love you."

"Love you too, Kades," he mumbles, and I'm not far behind in following him into sleep.

It isn't all magically better the next morning. I wake up, and remember, and there's a heaviness in me and a sense of something lost, but it isn't so sharp; I feel like I can carry it without hurting myself further. Still being curled up with Just helps. I'm tempted to wake him up with a blowjob, but I'm not really in the mood right then. The sheets are still damp, and I realize Just must have made me squirt. I usually only do that with anal sex.

Something to remember.

I manage to climb out of bed without waking him, and stretch, padding off for a quick shower -- in our private bathroom this time -- and throw on a light sundress. Nudity's as common as clothing in our house, and I could have gone without, but I like the sensation of fabric on my skin. Besides, Mom demands clothing at the breakfast table, at least. Smells of coffee, bacon, and eggs are drifting from the kitchen, and as I reach it, I see Dad humming and making breakfast. Mom doesn't seem to be up yet.

My dad's not a big guy, a couple inches taller than me, not so tall as Just or Mom, and I get my red hair from him, though he keeps his short enough to bristle. He smiles at me as I pass him to get coffee, and I kiss him on the cheek in passing.

"Feel better?" he asks sympathetically.

I nod, pouring sugar into my coffee. "I think it was...shock, you know? I just...didn't expect it. And I didn't expect it to hurt when it happened, and it did. It still....I'm still not happy, you know. I think it might be a while. But I feel like...it will pass, you know? Cloudy today, I guess, but the sun'll come out again. Like you always say. Patience is rarely defeated."

"And time never is," he nods affably. "Want some breakfast?"

I did, and waited a bit as he made me up a plate and sat down with me. Just and Mom wouldn't wake up till later -- they both slept like the dead, and as long as they could manage it -- but Dad and I were early risers. We eat in silence for the most part, until finally, I put down my fork.

"Can I ask you something, Dad?"

"I believe you just did," he responds mildly, with a smile, but I refuse to be diverted.

"Is there any particular reason you aren't interested in me?" I ask bluntly. It's always been my way. There's just too little time to play games, and we love each other too much to be easily offended. After raising me for nineteen years he should be accustomed to it.

Dad puts down his fork, never losing his smile. "Actually, yes," he says affably. "It's a little hard to explain, though. The world is filled with all kinds of beauty, Arcadia. And you are among the most beautiful women I have ever seen. I can say that, confident it isn't just a father's prejudice. More than that, you're aware of your beauty, but rather than being prideful in it, you take joy in it, and in sharing it with the world. That makes me proud. More than I can say. But sexual attraction is....well, it's never been anything I really had to deal with. I've only really ever wanted one woman, in that way. Only one person, really. Sexuality being a spectrum, I suppose I'd be at the far end of it -- not quite asexual, but close. Only your mother's ever stirred those feelings in me. I don't know why; I've never examined it, really. It's hard to explain that to someone who is attracted to you, and not have it sound like you're making them less -- which is why I avoided explaining until you asked directly." Folding his hands under his chin, he cocks his head at me, green eyes meeting mine, so like his own. "Do you understand?"

I think I do, and I nod slowly, then grin at him. "It isn't me, it's you?" I ask impishly.

He grins back, but nods. "Exactly."

"Kinda skews the idea that sexuality is genetic," I comment, as we both go back to our breakfast.

"Not really," he disagrees. "Your mother's like you. She sees something to love in everyone, and wants to express that love as much as she can. I indulge her. It's a nice feeling, knowing that I can be someone she can always come home to, her safe harbor."