Meimei Pt. 01

Without asking, without even a moment's hesitation, she seized my buttocks--over my shorts and underwear--and ground her fingers deeply into each cheek, clutching and dragging her thumbs over them, twisting the flats of her palms in a firm kneading motion.

I froze--momentarily. She had to have felt my body seize up when she first began on my ass, but she didn't show it; she just went on.

My body reacted, and I cursed under my breath. An erection grew under me; I had never felt the sensation of a woman's hands massaging my ass.

Before long, she moved up to my lower back, and I was grateful for it. My cock began to come down in those key minutes.

When she asked me to roll over so that she could finish on my quadriceps, I gauged my state of excitement down there before responding.

I had definitely deflated, but not completely. There was some risk. But, there was a risk in delay. So, I thanked her and told her to forget about it.

"I'm not finished with my workout. Roll over, please."

So, I did.

I knew my penis lay on my belly, angled toward my left hip, not hard, but somewhat engorged. A quick glance told me that it was visible, but not lewdly so. I let out a relaxed breath, and my sister pushed the fabric of my shorts up to the top of my legs and began to work my thighs with her magical, electrical fingers.

Shit.

In several instances, her fingertips approached within fractions of my balls. Once, she drove her palms between my legs, massaging the inner quad and groin. I felt myself grow hard, and I crossed my hands, almost prayer-like, over my lower belly to cover it. I tried to make the movement appear unprovoked. Not sure how successful I was.

When An Shan finished with a big grin, I thanked her again. She turned to grab one of her schoolbooks; I sprang up and did my best to hide the insanely hard erection she had just given me.

As the weeks passed, I was more careful on leg days.

***

In late April, An Shan began talking to me while I showered. At first, she hovered by the door, half-yelling at me through it. The next day, she propped it open. On the third day, she simply came in and sat on the toilet.

She talked about piano, places she wanted to visit, things she looked forward to in Boston, and life at school.

I listened, occasionally grunting responses, not infrequently asking her questions. It was like being married, I thought: wife on the toilet, talking about her day; husband in the shower, listening and learning. When I shut off the water, An Shan usually finished her line of thought and left, closing the door behind her.

The strange aspect to this new ritual was that the shower door comprised of three sliding glass panels--all completely see-through, but with several narrow, gray stripes that ran horizontally at groin level. I remember scrutinizing it after her first in-the-bathroom visit. My conclusion was that if someone was really, really looking, they could see whatever they wanted inside the shower until the steam had built up. That took a while.

***

Both sets of Grandparents arrived from Taiwan on a Monday in mid-May for An Shan's graduation.

Mom's parents would be staying in the upstairs guest bedroom. Dad's parents no longer slept together on account of Grandpa's snoring, so they had two separate rooms: An Shan's room and my old bedroom. This relegated An Shan to the basement with me for a week.

It was a comfortable space. I gave the bedroom to An Shan, taking the couch for myself.

On Tuesday night while I showered, An Shan was talking about my body--not in any sexual way. She seemed impressed by my strength and the muscles she felt when she massaged them. She finished, asking, "Why don't you have a girlfriend?"

I considered it for a moment and then answered as honestly as I could. "I want to have one. I really do, but I--I guess I just don't feel all that confident, you know? With me almost failing out--barely graduating. The DUI. With how disappointed Mama and Baba were. With me not being in a regular college like my friends. With my shitty job. I don't know. I need some wins--like you with school and piano and Berklee and all--before I think I can."

She didn't respond.

Her silence didn't bother me. So, after rinsing my hair, I asked An Shan a question that had been nagging me since the day of her rehearsal back in December.

"Meimei?"

"Yes?"

"Do you try to hide yourself?"

A telling moment elapsed before she responded. "What do you mean?"

"I mean--you must know that you're attractive. You have to know that about yourself, but--and I'm not trying to offend you here--but it seems like you don't want to show it by how you present yourself."

"You mean my breasts?"

"Well--partially, I guess, but that's not all. It's the way you usually wear your hair over your face--covering it. The way you walk--not at home, but other times, when I see you out and about-- it's like you're hiding. And the clothes you wear, too--they seem like a disguise, almost."

She didn't respond.

"Meimei?"

"I tried. Freshman year, I tried to look cool, and I hated it."

"I don't remember that. What happened?"

"I didn't like myself. It wasn't me. And when my boobs got so huge, I was afraid. I read about girls with breasts like mine and the negative attention they got. I don't want people to think of me as the girl with the big tits. I want to be the smart girl, the pianist, the girl who is nice to everyone--"

"I'm not just talking about your--your chest, Meimei."

"I know," she responded, pausing afterward. "You think I should wear tight clothes and put on make-up?"

"No. Well, yes. I mean--only if it's you being you. Only if you're not hiding out of some crazy fear of being ugly because you are definitely not ugly."

"Am I hot?" she asked, and I could tell from the pitch of her voice she was asking with a smile.

"Yes," I said a few moments later. "Yes, guys would think--yes, you are hot."

I shut off the water and waited.

It was a few moments before An Shan left the shower.

She massaged my back that night, so I couldn't see her face. She didn't talk, but her hands felt--I'm not sure--more involved, maybe. There was a kind of tenderness in her touch I hadn't sensed before, as if she were trying to give me something. This was not a fingers and hands workout for her; she was saying "thank you" with her touch.

***

Wednesday was her last day of school. She had finals, graduation rehearsal, and then, as I understood it, everyone had been invited to a nearby lake house for a celebration. An Shan, I was surprised to learn, decided to attend.

It had been a strange--for Minnesota--scorchingly hot May afternoon. I was on my way home from class when An Shan texted me shortly before 5:00pm. I pulled off the road, stopped, and read it: "Pick me up please hurry."

"Address?" I wrote back.

A minute later, the address came in. A minute after that, I was on my way to her.

The house was in a neighborhood called Lakeside Provence. These were enormous lake homes--5,000 square feet was a small one. Four and five-car garages were the norm. I turned into a cul-de-sac with at least forty cars, including An Shan's, parked along the street. I found a spot fairly close to the address, parked, and walked up to the house.

No one answered the doorbell. I went inside. Music blared from the backyard, and I saw tons of people through the windows. They were on the beach, on the dock, and on the floating dock further out.

I pulled out my phone and texted, "Here."

Five seconds after I hit send, I heard An Shan's phone give its text alert somewhere nearby. I followed the sound down a wide hallway of doors to my right, some open, some closed. From one of the other rooms, the muffled sounds of sex emanated.

I checked the two open doors. Inside the last one, near the end of the hallway, I found her. An Shan was slumped face down on the bed, her legs hanging over the edge, feet on the ground. She was clothed. Her back rose and fell steadily.

If An Shan going to a party was a surprise, then seeing her drunk and passed out was astounding.

The room's thick carpet had two grooves in it that led to the spot where her feet sat. She had been dragged here by someone. I scanned the room, finding nothing.

I rechecked her body. Her shorts did not appear to have been haphazardly tugged back on her. I blew out a sigh.

Her phone rang out the text alert from inside her pocket.

Moving quickly, I rolled her over and swept her into my arms. As I carried her down the hallway, I heard a door open behind me.

"Hey! Dude! That's mine. Where are you going?"

I spun around. Some guy wearing boxers, alone, stood on the threshold of a bathroom. His left fist carried wadded-up clothing.

I snapped, "You mean this person? This young lady who is passed out?"

The kid stepped forward, recognizing me. "J.D.? What are you doing here? Thought you graduated last year."

I didn't know the guy's name, but his face looked familiar--someone from An Shan's class. "Picking up my sister," I said, gesturing down at her.

He laughed. "Get the fuck out of here--'Sister'! She's fucking Chine...." He trailed off as his face took on a look of understanding. He whispered, "Lee."

"Disappear, fuckface, and never let me see you again."

He ran back into the bathroom and locked the door.

Lee--it was our last name. An Shan and J.D. Lee.

My father was a proud man, but not so proud as to see that a caucasian child with a Chinese name might confuse people. So, first, he legally changed the spelling of his name from Li to Lee. Then, when he and my mother named me Jian Dao, it was with the idea that I could always be J.D. In Chinese, because surnames go first, I am Lee Jian Dao.

It was a smart move by Baba--and a sacrificial one--that I always appreciated. Only people who knew our family knew that An Shan and I were brother and sister.

I glanced down at An Shan. She had come around.

"But, he was supposed to fuck me, Gege," she muttered drunkenly.

My eyes widened. An Shan never cursed like that. I turned and carried her to the door. "That what you wanted, Meimei?"

"Not really, I guess."

"Maybe that's why you texted me," I offered, grunting while doing a one-handed-opening-of-the-door-without-dropping-my-sister maneuver.

"Oh, yeah. I did."

I nodded. "Yep."

She looked around us, seeing how she was being carried. "You're strong," she remarked, almost child-like in tone.

"You're light." Crossing the front yard, I turned down the middle of the street to my car.

"Are you going to carry me all the way home?"

I guffawed at this, responding, "How much did you drink?"

She looked at her hands and then held up four fingers.

"Four? Of what?"

"Pijiu," she uttered, slipping into Chinese.

"Beers? Four Beers?" I repeated. "Siping Pijiu? Shuo zhen ma?" (Four beers? Really?)

She nodded.

I reached the car, and when she heard me open the door, she slid her legs down to get in by herself. She failed, stumbling sideways.

I caught her and put her in. Once inside the car, myself, An Shan had passed out again, so I reached across to latch her belt.

There was a problem in my immediate future. Our grandparents were home. Mama and Baba were more than likely on their way home from work. How in the hell was I going to get An Shan--in her condition--back into the house without them seeing? Then, there was the issue of her car: it would be here at this lake house. I saved that dilemma for later.

Deciding to see what's what when I got there, I drove home.

Things looked good. I parked in the driveway, leaving An Shan in the car. Walking in casually, it seemed no one was home. Peering into the kitchen, I saw all four of my grandparents, chatting on the back deck in the sunshine.

This was going to be easy.

I ran back to my car, scanning the streets for Mama or Baba's cars. Nothing.

When I opened the passenger door, I knew we were fucked.

Puke was everywhere: on the dashboard, the floor, the inside of the door. It was all over her shoes, legs, lap, belly, chest, hair--everywhere. An Shan just sat there, slumped and gasping.

I shut the door, looking left and right, trying to think of something to be done.

This is bad, I thought.

Then it got worse.

Baba's car pulled up to the stop sign about 200 yards away. It was his car; there could be no doubt--a bright red Explorer. He was turning towards us.

Fuck!

I made the decision. Walking around to the driver's side, I climbed in, gagged at the smell, started it, and backed out of our driveway.

Baba drew nearer.

"Sorry, Meimei!"

She turned to see my hand seize her head and shove her down and forward, out of view. Then, I slowly drove away as my sister mumbled a curse under the dashboard.

"Baba's coming. I had to."

"Don't let him see me," she groaned.

I held her down.

In my rearview mirror, Baba pulled into the driveway a bit slower, perhaps wondering why I had left.

An Shan passed out again, hunched over.

***

The clothes and cleaning supplies cost me $115.

The motel room cost $105.

It was a one-story strip motel, and I was lucky enough to get the room on the end. I hauled An Shan's vomit-soaked body directly into the bathroom, setting her next to the toilet.

Then, after washing puke from my hands and arms, I called Baba. I told him An Shan wanted to celebrate the end of school, and we were going to dinner and a movie together. He argued Mama planned a special dinner at home, but when I explained that I'd already bought the tickets, Baba relented. He didn't like anyone wasting money.

After checking on An Shan, I took out the cleaning supplies, cursed, and began what would be an hour-long scrubbing purification of the inside of my car.

When I shuffled back into the motel room, arms limp, I went to the bathroom. Then I cursed again at the new mess An Shan had made. Her light khaki shorts were now dark khaki from urine. She'd thrown up again, too.

How much fluid can this girl's body hold, for crying out loud?

"Meimei."

She hummed.

"Meimei!"

She grumbled.

"An Shan!"

Her eyes flickered open.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Her eyes closed again. "Just let me sleep."

She was okay.

I dragged her over the rim of the tub and laid her inside. Then, Operation Clean-Up-Phase Two began. I spent twenty minutes cleaning the motel room's bathroom floor.

Upon completion, I slid the shower curtain aside and knelt down beside the tub. "You need to clean yourself up, Meimei. I'm going to turn on the water."

For a moment, I debated turning it on cold and just blasting her with it. Looking at her, I just couldn't. For a puke-encrusted, piss-soaked young lady, she seemed so tranquil and forlorn.

I removed her shoes and socks, pushed her feet toward her body--knees up--and turned on the tub until the water grew warm. I angled the showerhead straight down toward the drain and flipped the lever. The shower engaged.

An Shan stirred at the sound, but the water wasn't getting her too much.

When the temperature seemed right, I drew her legs back down into the flow. Then, I stood and slowly adjusted the angle of the showerhead, moving it up her legs to her groin and then to her chest.

This, I thought, will wake her.

She sighed and curled into a fetal position.

I angled the water to hit her head.

She threw her elbow up and blocked it, but passed right out again.

"Meimei!"

Nothing.

"Meimei, get up!"

Nothing.

I knelt down and shook her. "An Shan! Wake up!"

She did not.

I shook her again.

Nothing.

I sat back, and two images flashed in my mind.

The first was from her piano rehearsal and the stunning size of her breasts in that beautiful gown.

The second was from just an hour or so earlier that day. When I walked into the bedroom and saw her: face down, body across the bed, feet on the floor, and ass out. The backs of her sleek, bare legs lay completely exposed to me, from her ankles to the top of her thighs. Her shorts rode up her bottom, and the hint of her yellow panties and the curvature of her flesh showed just under the hem of those khakis. My sister had a beautiful little ass--fleshy and compact--like two little honeydew melons, side by side.

I could undress her myself. I could clean her body and see those parts of her in the nude, glistening with warm water. Hell, I needed to shower. I could get in there with her. It would be easier that way.

I remembered the kid at the party house, coming out of the bathroom in his boxers. "That's mine," he had said.

"No. No. No. NO! Fuck, no!" I stormed out of the bathroom. Taking deep breaths, I paced the bedroom area. After several minutes out there battling my impulses, I regained control. "Family duty," I said, and I went back into the bathroom.

An Shan's sopping clothes were sitting on the back ledge of the tub in a pile.

"Meimei?"

"Here," she muttered.

"You okay?"

"No."

"What do you need?"

"Shampoo."

"Shampoo?"

"Yeah."

"You're...you're cleaning up?" I asked.

"Yeah."

I grabbed the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner and presented them to her through the shower curtain.

"Down here," she mumbled.

I lowered the bottles, and she took them.

"Anything else you need, Meimei?"

"Will you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Wash my hair?"

"Uh..."

"Don't want to move," she said.

I worked on a response.

"I'm covered up. Don't worry."

"You sure?" I asked.

"Yeah. Please."

I peeked around the curtain. An Shan was on her bottom, knees up, head down, and her arms were wrapped around her legs.

"Okay, " I said. "I'll shut off the water so you don't have to move."

"Thanks, Gege."

I pushed the valve closed and washed An Shan's hair. She was curled into a tight ball, but the side of one of her breasts showed plainly. I tried not to look more than five or six times.

"Rinse now," I said.

I slipped off my increasingly wet shirt and massaged the suds out of her long, jet hair.

"Want conditioner?"

"Yeah."

I repeated the process.

When finished, I said, "Where's the soap?"

"Down here," she said.

"Have you used it?"

She shook her head.

"Can you use it?" I asked.

"Don't want to move."

I considered options for a moment, and then said, "I can get your back from here, maybe parts of your arms, but you need to get the rest, especially your legs and your face."

"Okay. Here."

The bar of soap appeared in her hand from behind her back, still in its wrapper. I took it. Instead of shutting off the water, I angled the showerhead toward the drain. Once I had unwrapped the soap, I lathered it up under the stream and washed An Shan's back.

Turning away from me, An Shan laid flat on her tummy. "Meimei, what...."

She grunted.

I took in the perfection of her form--the feminine hips, the rise of her bottom, and the fitness of her legs--in a passing glance. Then, I closed my eyes and began to soap the back of her calves. Her skin was smooth and warm. When I added pressure, I felt her flesh provide just the right amount of resistance--not soft like gelatin, but not hard like bone.

I glanced at my work when I reached her thighs. An Shan's head was facing away from me. I began watching my hands on her skin. Instantly, my body began to react.

I turned away, rose, and directed the stream of water toward the suds on her legs. Once rinsed, I knelt and placed my hands and the bar of soap on her bottom.

An Shan sighed quietly when I began lathering her.

Running that bar of soap in circles over each hill of soft, tan flesh was without question the sexiest non-sex act I had ever experienced, and I wondered, as little white bubbles sprouted up all over her soft flesh, if anything in my future could surpass this moment.