My Brother Fucked Me Stupid

My Brother Fucked Me Stupid

Everyone here is over the age of 18.

The only thing you need to know about me is that I'm a straight-A student.

I take a large amount of pride in the fact that I get perfect grades. It started all the way back in kindergarten: I famously got A's in both sharing and snack-time. I even earned an A+ in napping. I was a world-class napper.

For the rest of my life, I kept my perfect record. Elementary school, middle school, high school -- nothing but ninety plus. A is for Always, after all.

Of course, by the time I was a junior in college, and had reached the age of twenty, the subjects were a bit more difficult. But I still held myself to the same standard. Top of the class, or bottom of the barrel. There was no in between for me.

Hearing all this, I'm sure you think I'm some stuck-up know-it-all. But the truth is, I know my grades don't make me special. Anyone could accomplish what I've done. They just have to try. Personally, I think the world would be a better place if everyone put in the time to do things as perfectly as possible.

And when I say 'the world' here I'm mostly referring to my younger brother, Kevin.

Ordinarily, I didn't care much about Kevin. Didn't even think about him, if I'm honest. Even though I was at college, I was still living at home to save money. So, I did run into him on occasion. I'd pass him on the way to the bathroom or see him at mealtimes. But mostly, we followed such dissimilar orbits, we might as well have lived in different galaxies, rather than across the hall from each other.

It was because of that Saturday that I started to think that way. That was the fateful moment when, randomly, my little brother started bothering me. And that's when the thought occurred to me, that if Kevin could be a little more perfect, my problems would be solved.

I was sitting at my desk in my bedroom studying, naturally. Kevin had opened my door (without knocking, I might add) and immediately started doing his best to be a pest. He was earning himself a different kind of A. As in Annoying.

"Please," Kevin whined, "No one else can help me."

My eighteen-year-old brother was wearing an oil-stained t-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, and a dirty ballcap that kept his usual mop of brown curls out of his dark, chocolate eyes. Kevin was a sweet kid, funny, and my friends told me he was attractive. But he was currently keeping me from my textbooks and the only appropriate punishment for that was death.

Only he wasn't taking the threat seriously.

"Just help me out for one minute," Kevin said.

"Go away, Kevin."

Until that moment, it had been a perfect Saturday. It was pouring rain out, gloomy as all hell, and my parents had gone away for the whole weekend. The ideal scenario for me to shut the door to my room and study till my eyes rolled out of my head. I had a big biology exam the following week and I intended to while away the hours while preparing for it.

"I promise I'll make it up to you, Jacey," Kevin said.

Jacey is me. My actual name is Jane-Christine, aka J-C. But everyone's called me Jacey since I was little. I don't mind it -- it's certainly much better than Jane-Christine; I honestly don't know what the hell my parents were thinking.

"Come on," Kevin continued, "You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't really important." He danced back and forth in my doorway as he pleaded, like he had to pee.

"Let's be clear," I said, running out of patience. "You want me to put down my books and give up my precious study time so I can drive you to the auto parts store. Which you claim will take me all of how long?"

"Five minutes," Kevin said.

I gave him a dubious look.

"Twenty minutes, tops."

I held my stare on him. Finally, his eyes raced to the floor.

"OK an hour," Kevin said, "Probably. But that's not so bad. Then I can fix my car and leave you alone for the rest of the weekend."

"We both know it'll be at least 90 minutes," I said, "All of which is time that's being taken away from my studying. If I want to get into Harvard Med, I need to do well in this class. I'm not going to suffer along at some second-rate state school because you need a spark plug or whatever."

"First of all, we both know you're acing that exam," Kevin said, clearly recognizing the best way to butter me up. "But even if you got a big fat F, and you won't, you'd still be set for life."

I snorted, but I didn't say anything. Kevin wasn't wrong. But it was the principle of the thing that mattered.

"I'm not like you, Jacey," Kevin said. His face got all pouty: his thick, bow-shaped lips formed a frown, and his usually sparkling eyes went all sad. "My life's not all set out for me. I need to get a job at a garage, and to do that I have to be able to drive there, and I can't do any of it if I can't get my own car fixed."

"And you need to go to the store to do that," I said, finishing his monologue.

"Yes!" Kevin said, looking relieved. "It's like, if you had some piece of research you needed, you wouldn't let anything get in the way of you hunting it down, right?"

"Kevin! I'm genuinely impressed by this well-reasoned and cogent argument," I said.

"So, you'll help?" he asked.

"Certainly not," I said.

*

"I really appreciate this, Jacey," Kevin said for about the hundredth time.

We were sitting in my car on the highway, inching forward through horrendous traffic. The storm roared around us like an angry god. We'd been sitting for so long, it felt like the whole day was already burned away. The combination of a busy shopping Saturday morning and the torrential weather had turned the two-lane road into a parking lot. Transformed every second into an agonizing hour.

I'd agreed to drive my brother (of course I agreed), but this was already way outside what I'd been promised. And every time Kevin repeated his thanks, it was worth even less.

As we sat there -- staring at the same shopping centers on either side of us and wondering how many different Burger Kings one stretch of road needed -- all I could think about was my poor, precious books. Calling out to me in unstudied pain. Kevin may have thought I could get an A just by waking up in the morning, but I knew the truth. It took time. Time that I was currently wasting.

Kevin, meanwhile, seemed perfectly happy to sit in my sedan. He turned up the music and bounced his leg. He was so unapologetically dopey as he sang along. Like, he took pride in just floating through life with no plan.

"You look like a doofus," I told him, "Dancing around like that."

Kevin grinned at me. OK, so maybe sometimes I could see the whole 'handsome' thing about my brother. If he wasn't such a slouch.

"Well, you look dumb, um, breathing like that," Kevin said.

I gave him a disdainful look. Clearly, I looked quite proper. I was wearing a perfectly sensible outfit for my thin frame: a dark green sweater and black jeans that were both totally functional yet complimentary. I had my brown hair held back with a clip so that it never got in the way. My wire-framed glasses were the perfect allegory for my personal philosophy: the bare minimum of fuss that was needed for things to be functional.

Kevin wilted under my glare. "Fine, you actually look really cute," he said, then glanced away. I knew he was trying to be nice, but it only made me angrier.

Cute. That word haunted me like none other.

No matter how hard I tried, it was hung on me. I'd had boyfriends in high school and college. Not one of them ever called me sexy or hot or beautiful. But cute? I had more of that than I could spend.

And I'm sure you're saying, what's wrong with cute? It's way better than fugly, right? And, sure, I guess. In the same way that a C+ is clearly better than a D. But that doesn't make it something to aspire to. Cute is for children. Puppies and kittens are cute.

I'll admit that my body wasn't doing me any favors. I was only a bit above five feet and I was skinny all over the place. One time, some drunk frat guy had called me a 'spinner' and I knew enough to be insulted. But as much as my body wasn't all that, I didn't look like some pre-teen either. I had tits (An A-cup, of course!) and my butt stuck out in a way that I thought looked pretty good.

I just wanted to be seen as something more than 'cute.' I was clearly a woman and not a girl. But it didn't stop people from treating me that way. And it made me want to throttle them with my adorable little fingers.

Back in the car, Kevin must have noticed my reaction because he tried again.

"I mean, you're good looking," he said, "Sexy. OK not sexy. It'd be weird if my older sister was sexy. You're hot. Um, attractive. Oh dammit."

OK, so maybe my brother was better off sticking with cute.

"It's OK," I told him, "I get what you're trying to say. You're not too ugly either."

"Gee thanks."

"Come on, I know you have girls all over you," I said.

Kevin blushed and looked away. He wasn't a mimbo or anything. In fact, I'd never seen my brother bring a girl home. But I knew how women saw him because I'd watched my own friends moon over him.

"I just wish you'd take things seriously once in a while," I said, "I get that college isn't for you. But there are tons of other options. You can't spend your whole life laughing. Trust me, eventually you turn into the joke."

"I know," Kevin said, "That's why I'm doing all this. I want to make it happen, Jacey. I really do."

Eventually, finally, we got to the auto parts store. We raced from the lot and into the building, the rain pouring down like it was trying to drown us. It beat on my umbrella so hard; it sounded like a drum solo. I didn't want to think about what would happen if I didn't have it.

The store was warm, and it smelled like oil grease. Kind of weirdly comforting, actually. It took Kevin forever to find what he needed. And the line at the front was worse than Disney World. But we left the store triumphant.

Going home, the traffic was no better. We inched forwards for what felt like hours. I swear every moment that passed in that car felt like flaying a piece of my skin. Death by a thousand seconds. I tried to make myself calm down.

Finally, we pulled up in our driveway. I opened the door. The storm was going as hard as ever. The droplets were already stinging my thigh. I reached for my umbrella and clicked it open. Only, it didn't. I examined it, like I was going to understand it even a little bit. The mechanism had frozen. I didn't know why, and I couldn't fix it.

Nor could I simply pull into the garage. Because that's where Kevin's broken-down car (the impetus for this ill-fated adventure) was sitting. I was stuck in the rainstorm of the century without a shred of cover.

I threw the umbrella to the backseat in disgust. Kevin eyed me.

"I'll go with you," I told him.

"I don't have an umbrella either," Kevin said, "I was sharing yours, remember?"

I kept the curse word in my mouth, mulling on it like a piece of hard, sour jerky.

"Fine," I said, "We'll make a run for it."

We leapt out of the car and scrambled for the front door. The water was cold, and I screamed, despite myself. I got to the door, fumbled with the keys, and finally tumbled into the foyer. We'd been out for less than five minutes. Both of us were soaked.

"Oh my God!" I shrieked.

My clothing clung to me. I took my hair out of the clip and shook it out. I was dripping puddles on the floor. I needed to change, then take a hot shower, before I could head back to my room and start my bacchanalia of bookwork.

"Um, Jacey?" My younger brother stood next to me, similarly soaked. His clothing clung to his body in a way that, if I wasn't his sister, I would find very alluring.

Kevin, apparently, at some point, had gone and gotten himself what I could only describe as a man-bod. He was tall, but I already knew that. And broad shouldered. Which I'd seen for myself. But now, as his clothing stuck to him like it had been painted on, I realized my little brother was ripped. Bulging biceps. Prominent pecs. What was surely a washboard stomach. Holy crap my brother was...

"Sorry," Kevin said. He'd clearly caught me leering but misread it as contempt. He looked down at the ground, sheepishly. "It's just, um, I need your help."

That snapped me out of my reverie. All I wanted to do was get out of my soaking clothes, warm up, and finally have the day I'd planned for. Kevin already had my help. My help had been given and received. No more help was to be afforded; my coffers were all cleaned out.

Kevin continued, looking anxious while acting unfazed. "My car's hood won't hold up by itself. I lost the stand a long time ago. And I need to get in there but there's nothing I can use and so I was hoping that you could hold it for me. The hood, I mean."

I glared at my brother. I was going to say no. I had to shut this down. Half my day was already wasted and one more thing was never just one more thing.

"Can't I at least get changed first?" I asked, gesturing to the tiny lake we were making on our parents' white-tiled floor.

"Well, that's the thing," Kevin said, "It's messy work. And so, I'm thinking that, actually, this is the perfect time to do it. You know, before we get clean again."

I let out a long sigh. I felt disgusting and gross. All I wanted to do was dry off. I could practically hear my books calling my name. And yet, my brother was being logical. For once.

I stripped off my sweater, leaving it on the ground in a wet heap, like the corpse of some strange sea animal. It left me in only a plain, white t-shirt. But at least that was mostly dry.

"Twenty minutes," Kevin said, smiling. "That's all it'll take, I swear. If it goes one second over, you can stab me in the chest with the oil dipstick."

"I'm going to do that either way," I said, following my brother into the garage.

*

A? A stands for Angry.

Mad was in the rearview mirror. I was absolutely livid.

But I knew what was going to happen if I didn't agree. I'd waste another three hours being bothered by my younger brother. He'd ask and ask and ask and at that point, all my time would be wasted anyway. And he was right about the whole 'why get clean just to get dirty' thing. But that didn't make me any happier about what I was being forced to do.

Kevin made all the appropriate appreciations of my effort, but I didn't care. I was going to help him fix his car, then run him over with the damned thing. Picturing it in my mind was the only way I was able to stop myself from strangling him.

We went into the garage and Kevin lifted the hood of his sad little sedan. For all that Kevin doted on the little machine, I didn't see it. He had a beat up 1992 Volkswagon GTI (a Mk2, Kevin had once told me, proudly. Like that meant anything). It had been red at one point but had settled into a rust color. His friends all acted like Kevin had the holy grail, but as far as I could tell it was just another dirty cup.

Kevin showed me what he wanted me to do. I reached up, human prop that I was, and held the hood in place. Then my younger brother got right to work. He dove forward so deep, it looked like the engine was about to eat him.

I stared off into the distance while my brother wrenched around under the hood. I tried to focus on what I'd be studying, but all I could picture was more creative ways to murder my sibling. I knew the anger wasn't productive, but I didn't care.

"That should do it," Kevin announced. He twisted the wrench one last time, then stood up. He slapped his hands, signifying he was finished. "Honestly, Jacey. I can't thank you enough. I've spent my whole life trying to... To hold up your standard. I know that I can't. But whatever little successes I've had -- they're because of you. It's all for you. I hope you know how much that means to me."

I looked at my brother, confused. Where had all that come from? What did all of it mean? I didn't know how to react, so I stood there, holding the hood.

Out of nowhere, a gout of dark oil spurted out of the engine. I can't even explain it. Suddenly this massive burst of (thankfully) lukewarm liquid fountained onto me. It got my face, my shirt, everything. I was covered in black awfulness.

"Oh shit!" Kevin cried out.

He wrenched whatever it was closed, but the damage was done. His car had covered me. Now I was soaked in two different ways. Dirty and gross and already upset beyond sense. Kevin raced over to me. The look on his face -- a mix of horror and panic -- told me that my brother knew I was about to experience my own explosion.

But I had the strangest reaction. I should have gotten madder, but I guess there was no place else to go. I could have been upset, distraught, even devastated (Did I score an 800 in the language portion of the SAT? You know I did).

But instead, as everything that happened reached my rational mind, I reacted in the strangest way: I started to giggle hysterically.

It was an almost insane cackle. A burst of uncontrolled laughter that hit me so hard, I tumbled to the floor of the garage. Kevin, unsure of how to react, started to chuckle with me. Then I started to sob.

Kevin tumbled to the ground. He wrapped his arms around me.

"I'm so sorry, Jacey," he said, squeezing me tight.

"I hate you," I said through the tears, "I hate you so much."

*

Everything after that was a blur.

I remember him carrying me up the stairs, like a fireman rescuing a child. He was talking to me, but I couldn't make out the words.

He lowered me to the bathroom floor and turned on the shower. I looked up and saw my brother was also covered in oil. I couldn't put the pieces together. Had he gotten spurted on too? Or was he messy from carrying me?

I lifted my arms and let my little brother strip me. T-shirt and bra. He struggled with my soaking jeans, but finally managed to get them off. Underwear and all. Naked on the floor, I should have felt shame or something worse. But I was oddly numb. Distant. Like watching this happen to someone else.

Next thing I knew, I was in the shower. The warm water felt so good. I was having trouble standing for some reason and I reached back to hold myself up. Suddenly a pair of warm hands were holding my flanks. Helping me.

I looked up and saw my younger brother. Kevin was in the shower with me. He was naked too. The water poured off his perfect body. His deep brown eyes full of care. Mop of curly hair drooping with wet. He looked so good.

The logic (or the illogic really) didn't hit me. Of course, my brother was in the shower with me. How else was he going to help me get clean? And he had to be naked. Who wears clothing in a shower? Crazy people, that's who.

It was totally normal for me to be completely nude in the shower with my sibling. Held in his warm hands. His body so strong around me. Yet welcoming and soft, as well. I was dizzy with it.

I felt something slippery and realized my brother was soaping me down. He did it reverently, rubbing the bar of soap over my shoulders. Down my arms. Up my sides and around my legs. His face near my... Well, you know.

It should have been uncomfortable but when I felt my brother drag the soap down my back I felt my body only pleading for him to go lower.

"Is this OK?" he asked and I could only nod my head.

His hands gripped at my little butt cheeks and damned if I didn't sigh in blissful release. I felt something rigid brush my thigh and I realized it was my brother's dick. I should have been repulsed but I felt something far more enthralling. Something about my strong brother cupping my ass, his shaft on my leg, sent me to this other place. Where only sensations mattered.

I'm not sure who kissed who. I think it might have been me. I have this flash of reaching my lips to his and feeling so weirdly happy when they met. Like some part of me had been aching for it.