Sibling Romance

The problem with free time is that it's something we spend so much time yearning for that when we actually have it, we don't know what to do with it. I'd been looking forward to the prospect of a summer without schoolwork, dull classes or stifling responsibility or, worst of all, my parents discovering my somewhat lacklustre attitude toward those subjects I didn't enjoy, but within four days I'd found myself wondering around the house looking for something to do. And as the mellow of empty days continued to waft in, so too did the realisation that life isn't much without objectives to mark it by.

Even worse, I thought as I lay draped over the prized family room lounge, searching the ceiling for recreational inspiration, it's not just the summer but another whole year. Sure, I had a job lined up after break, and some gigs schedules every couple of months, but the sudden loss of the eight hours I'd spent travelling to and attending school for the past fourteen years was a daunting void to fill. I wondered again at my decision to defer my scholarship for a year--though perhaps "My decision" was an unfair choice of phrase. Whenever my sister begged me to do--or not do--something, those big brown eyes made it nearly impossible to say no. And even in the rare event I managed to resist, the inevitable, relentless bugging only little sisters are capable off quickly ensure I succumbed to whatever request she had of me. This latest one had been for me to wait until she finished high school next year so we could attend university together.

This was stupid for two reasons: firstly, we wouldn't even be going to the same campus. I'd always been interested in music, favouring the romantics and modernists and choosing the piano and clarinet as my instruments of melodious destruction. Chelsea, on the other hand, was one of those nerds that actually liked maths. Loved it. To the point that she bought old textbooks online and filled them out for fun. So she was off to Bartleys, one of those ancient established campuses that literally had turrets and a gatehouse. Naturally, our parents were more invested in Chelsea's education.

I didn't blame them for it--neither of our fathers had a musical bone in their body, and though our mother played the guitar a bit, she admitted it was pretty much just a prop she used to get access to her school's auditorium for lunch. So while they were proud of my accomplishments--meagre as they were compared to Chelsea's--they openly admitted they just didn't understand what I was doing.

"You alright there Curtis? You appear to have lost your bones," my sister said as she peered at me from the doorway. I looked back up at her and she recoiled dramatically, and I realised my eyes must have looked bloodshot from having my head tipped back for so long. "Or..." she added, "You've turned into a zombie."

I stretched out my arms toward her and made a few vaguely undead noises. "Need brains...can't...find any..."

Chelsea shook her head and resumed her journey to the kitchen. She'd inherited our mother's shape, lithe and slight, and the blouse and skirt she wore hung loosely from her small frame. Her hair had been wrangled into something of a ponytail, but as my sister had said many a time; "If it's out of my eyes, I don't have to worry about it." When I'd asked her why she didn't just cut it shorted than the shoulder-blade-length chestnut brown mess she had, she'd frowned and told me, "People would probably think I was a gross boy."

While that had been six years ago, when she'd only been twelve, but her sentiments hadn't changed much since then. She'd also probably been right--really, only in the last several years had she gained something of a feminine visage, and even then with the right combination of baggy clothes and headwear one could have mistook her for the opposite sex. It didn't seem to bother her as much anymore at least, but I'd noticed in the last few months she'd been experimenting with more form-fitting, pastely-coloured clothes. I'd tried not to notice, but with her being the only female in the house ninety percent of the time, I couldn't help it.

"What're you looking at?"

"Huh?" I shook my head, realising I'd been watching her swig from her newly-filled drink bottle. When she wiped her mouth, arm up and crooked at the elbow, her sleeve was loose enough that I could see the pale skin of her armpit. Bare, I happened to note. No form-fitting clothes today, it seemed.

"Man, you're slow this morning," she drawled as she topped her bottle back up and shut the lid tight. "For real, has anything with glowing eyes and a foaming mouth bitten you?"

"I'm just bored," I complained.

"Hang out with your friends."

"I can't, they're all studying." I'd already done my two performance exams, but my pals Tom, Alex, Shaun and Sarah were only just starting their finals. I wasn't going to hear a squeak out of them for at least a month. "You could learn something from them. I haven't seen you study more than a couple hours this week."

She shrugged. "I've already done all the worksheets. Honestly, I'm ready to graduate." My sister had been born the day before the school cutoff, meaning she was by far the oldest girl in her grade, and whether or not it was related, she was certainly the smartest. That didn't stop me lording my numerical superiority over her, however. "But I'll have you know," she continued, "I'm actually heading off to Lyla's house to study with her and Lil. So there, I'm a studious girl after all." She gave me a big smile and patted my messy brown hair. "And I'm willing to bet you're still lying here when I get back."

She was leaning over me, her shirt hanging low. I coolly maintained eye contact with her. "What's my reward if I'm not?"

"You get to drive me to Fountain Gate tomorrow. I want to pick up some hanging hooks for my wall and I need a new bra."

I huffed and lay back on the couch, resuming my examination of the ceiling. "I don't want to hear that."

"What's wrong with hanging hooks? Just because you don't appreciate art doesn't mean I can't put it up."

"I'd hardly call pinups of Mathew Maniton with his shirt off 'art.' But I wasn't talking about that, I was meaning... you know..."

My sister slid across the back of the couch, staring down at me with amusement. "How immature are you? It's a bra, Curtis. Girls wear them."

I levelled with her gaze, saw its challenge, and quirked my own smile. "Those that need them, sure."

Chelsea humphed and shoved her hands underneath me and rolled me off the couch. "Stuff you, I've got great boobs. They'll stay perky forever."

"Technically I've moved, does that mean I don't have to take you to Fountain Gate?"

"Not if you want me to forgive you."

I shrugged, but hidden below the couch as I was she didn't see it. I heard her stomp dramatically out the door, and decided I'd get up soon and go start something productive.

I had a good relationship with my sister. Probably too good measuring by the sibling relationships my friends had. Tom got on only amicably with his brother, Shaun was constantly telling us how annoying his two were, and Sarah detested her sister. In fact, the only people I knew who got on as well as me and Chelsea did was Alex and his twin sister, but we just put that down to being a twin thing.

We had a small but tight-knit family unit. Our two dads provided for us well out of their joint job in the city, and though they sometimes worked late nights they always put the weekend aside for family activities. We saw our mom often enough too, and I've always been glad she still got along so well with her ex husband. We didn't have any real family beyond that, but I think because of that we were that much closer, and never felt lacking in support or love. And getting the weekdays to ourselves meant Chelsea and I used each other for entertainment, playing board games or chatting about school or the latest happenings of the world. Sure, things were rocky sometimes, but we both cared deeply for each other and weren't embarrassed to interact at school or when we were with our friends.

Recently, however, there had been... moments. Things neither of us had brought up afterward, but which sat at the forefront of my mind more times than I cared to admit. I was determined not to read into things too much, but especially in the last year, it had sometimes felt like we weren't brother and sister, but instead... something else. Like three months ago, when we'd been sitting on the lounge watching Battle for Ravenhead Creek and Chelsea's hand had found its way onto my leg. She'd kept it there for the whole movie, occasionally tapping on it with her fingers, and though I guess it was strange it had also felt nice so I hadn't said anything about it. When the film ended she'd squeezed my leg, then just got up and headed for bed.

Two months ago, when we'd been at the beach with our dads, something similar had occurred. We'd been walking along the coast, made it quite a ways away from our parents, and at some point my hand had found its way into hers and she'd held my warmly and stayed like that nearly the whole way back.

Last month, when Chelsea had been coming out of the shower, towel wrapped around her middle, she'd unintentionally blocked my passage to the kitchen. When we'd looked at each other in amusement I'd gone red when I realised her towel was low enough that one of her soft pink nipples was exposed from its place atop her small, supple breast. She'd looked down, seen what I was staring at, and rather than telling me off or looking at me like I was insane she'd just giggled, hiked it up, winked at me and gone on her way.

And then there had been last week. I'd been in bed winding down for the evening, one hand scrolling through my phone admiring a gallery of particularly attractive, scantily-clad women, the other hand wrapped around...well, you get it. And my door had opened and I'd thrown a sheet over myself just as Chelsea had strode casually in. With legendary dexterity I'd found a press release from the local government on the news app, and scanned innocently through it so when she inevitably asked, "What 'cha doing?" I'd been able to shoot back, "Cottesloe is building a new port up near JB and the Greens are going crazy!"

I'd been so proud of myself as she'd grabbed the ruler she'd come in for and hesitated by the door. "Clearly you're in favour," she'd said, then shut the door behind her.

And it hadn't been until I'd put the phone down on my lap and it had bounced off the rather prominent erection poking up through the sheets and clunked loudly onto the floor that I'd realised just what she'd meant by that. I hadn't jerked off since... which was probably only making things worse.

"You're STILL THERE!?"

I closed my eyes in shame as Chelsea stared down at me. "You don't know my story," I whined.

"I don't want to, it's definitely sad and boring. Curtis, it's been three hours."

"I watched some TV."

I heard her facepalm. "You're tragic, Curtis. Tragic. Curtis..." She clicked her fingers. "Curtis! Look at me when I'm insulting you."

"You're wearing a skirt," I said, eyes still closed. She was wearing blue underwear, I'd noted before closing them.

"Oh, uhm...right. Actually, I'm just heading up to change. See if you can haul yourself up onto the couch by the time I come back, I wanna watch something."

It took some effort, but I managed it. I wondered what Chelsea was changing into up there. Pyjamas? No, it wasn't that late. Maybe shorts, the coastal sun was warm this time of year. Then again, skirts were breezy. I wondered why she was changing at all.

My own clothes were as basic as they came. I didn't much like wearing shorts, but I sure as hell wasn't going to wear jeans in this weather so I'd accepted the shame of revealing my pale legs to the world. For a family living in the sunniest part of the country, we were all a little pasty, perhaps a sign of our northern heritage. Well, except for Alexander, our biological father's husband. He was from the tropics, and his olive skin demonstrated that as much as his height.

When Chelsea came back I tried not to stare. She was wearing a pair of denim short shorts I'd never seen her in before, revealing most of her smooth legs. She was barefoot, and when she walked toward the lounge I could swear she was putting a bit of sway into her hips. They were narrow, much like the rest of her, but the jeans showed them off nicely as did the midriff exposed by her off-the-shoulder top. No bra strap showed, and I tried not to imagine what she'd look like without the tight, pastel yellow garment.

"It's new," she said as she stopped in front of me and did a little twirl. "Like it?"

I shrugged in as brotherly a manner as I could muster. "It's alright."

She made a face. "Alright? That's all I get? Come on, I thought I looked nice."

"It does, you do. It's just a little...brief, isn't it?"

"Why, you afraid the other boys are gonna look at me?"

"Not really my concern," I said with a shrug. I wasn't one of those overprotective older brothers. Sure, I'd stick up for her if she needed it, but when it came to dating ultimately that was up to her. Though she hadn't dated anyone yet, and neither had I...both just waiting for "The One," I guess.

Chelsea pouted and flopped down next to me. "So what have you actually done today?"

"Counted the marks on the ceiling," I said. "There's... none. Dad's really good at cleaning."

"He is."

"Pity you don't take after him."

"Clean your own messes, you slob," she retorted. Grabbing the remote, she flicked idly through the afternoon channels and slid into a lying position. I felt her feet nudge my thigh, and with a sigh I let her put her legs over my lap, then asked, "So when exactly did you buy that outfit? You said it was new."

Her foot twitched. "Today. The girls helped me pick it out. I said I wanted some stuff to wear around the house."

"Studying indeed. Seems a weird choice though, those more look like 'going out' clothes."

She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the TV. "Well, actually, I also told them I wanted something to wear on a date."

"Oh. When...is it?"

"I don't actually have one. Just in case someone asks me, you know?" She gave me a sidelong glance.

"I guess I don't need to take you shopping tomorrow at least."

"Yes you do, I still need the hanging hooks. I bought my bra though." As she looked back at the TV again, I saw her chew her lip. "Wanna see?"

I gulped. Somehow, just those words made me think how we were touching. Her bare legs lying across my lap. Her cute butt, in those tight shorts of hers, at my hip. Was that how brothers and sisters normally sat? "I, uh...wouldn't that be kind of weird?"

She frowned. "I'm not wearing it, doofus. I meant I could go and get it from my room. I never wear bras at home, too uncomfortable."

"I hadn't noticed," I drawled. That wasn't entirely true--during winter months, when we'd both been up early getting ready for school, I'd caught sight of little buds poking through her nightshirts. Sometimes when we were outside messing around, climbing trees like we were still kids or playing ball, her shirt would ride up just enough that I could see the gentle swells of her breasts. Never on purpose, of course. Just...happenstance.

Chelsea switched the TV off with a growl. "Seventy-two channels and all of them crap. This is why people use the internet. How long till dads get home?"

"Another couple of hours. Weekend tomorrow though, hooray. Apparently they have something planned."

"Never a good sign. Think it'll be another hike?" We both shivered, then she tilted her head. "Or maybe a beach trip again."

"I hope so, that was fun."

"Yeah. It was."

We were both quiet for a moment.

"So what were you actually looking at?" she asked.

"When?"

"When you were jacking off last week."

I snorted in surprise and nearly fell of the couch, flinging her off me in the process. She tumbled over and sat up with a glare.

"Hey!"

"Hey yourself! I wasn't...you didn't see...shut up!"

She shrugged and poked my leg with her foot again. "It's fine, we all do it. Well, masturbate I mean. I don't have a--"

"That's not something you can just ask someone! Especially not your brother!"

"Why? Was it something kinky?" She stared at me with glittering eyes.

"No."

"So it was kinky! Hrm...bondage? No, you're too passive. Watersports. What about furry porn? I bet you're into anthro badgers and...and squirrels." She made vaguely crude motions with her hands as I slapped a hand over my eyes. "Or maybe it was something even kinkier! Huge orgies. People going at it in public. Huge public orgies. Or..." She pointed at me. "You were watching people pretend to be related, weren't you? 'Step bro, what are--'"

"Alright, that's enough," I groaned.

"Make me stop. I bet you're just embarrassed because you're into hot teens pretending to be your sister while they--"

I pounced onto her and clapped my hand over her mouth. She squeaked in surprise, and then her expression changed. Her eyebrows lowered and her eyes glimmered, clearly glad I'd made the first move. The first action of challenge.

That was another thing we'd used to do. Wrestling, the kind of roughhousing all siblings got into. Never truly violent, nobody ever got hurt...but I'd put an end to it after several embarrassing occasions of getting hard during it and having to find excuses to disappear to the bathroom before Chelsea could notice. This time though, there'd be no getting out of it, so I tried defusing the situation. "How about we watch a movie? I heard Crimson Peak is real good."

She was having none of it. Smacking my hand away, she started moaning between giggles as she pushed me back on the lounge. "'Ooh, step bro! My shower's broken and I'm still in it!' I bet that's the kind of stuff you watch, isn't it?"

"Chelsea, stop!" I tried as she crawled on top of me, grabbing my arms and pushing them above my head. She wasn't that strong, but I was distracted enough doing all I could to keep her butt away from the front of my pants.

"Or maybe you read stories about siblings getting hot while they're on holiday. Brother and sister, snogging in a cabin somewhere because their parents locked them in there together. I bet that's the kind of smut you're into, huh?"

"I'm going to clock you if you don't stop."

"Getting rough hey? Just like that story you probably read where the brother takes his sister after prom into her room and screws her while her parents are just downstairs."

"These are getting weirdly specific. Sure you didn't actually read them your--"

She froze, and I gritted my teeth. My worst fears had come to fruition; she'd sat back just as she'd been about to launch into a final, graphic tease. Her denim clad butt setting down firmly and unmistakably on the hard lump in the front of my pants. She wiggled side to side slowly, as if testing it out, and I tried not to moan. Then she chewed her lip again and looked down at me. "Well, I mean...I might have been borrowing plots from some of the stuff I've read..."

I let out a slow breath. "That's kinda weird Chels."

"Shut up, you're the one that got hard with your sister on top of you."

"Actually, it's...that's my phone," I confidently said. "It's in my front pocket, and that's what you can feel."

At that exact moment my actual phone in the coffee table drawer buzzed. After giving me a triumphant grin, Chelsea reached over and pulled it out. "Dad's trying to ring you."

"Tell him to...call my...other phone that's in my pants?" I tried. "And I'll--h-hey!" Chelsea had scooted back and poked my bulge curiously. I slapped her hand away. "What the hell?"