Stacy King and I

I could swear she was winking at me. It sure looked that way. But maybe it was just me...

Oh, wait. I'm sorry. I should probably start further back so you know what's going on.

Her name is Stacy and she's a goddess, one of those women that will never grace the cover of a magazine, but is beautiful. She's not frail looking or petite. Stacy isn't built like a Victoria's Secret angel, but she's a star in her own right. She has starred in several recent films. You may have never heard of her, but it's only because her films are all private productions. Independent films. Films that exist only in the library of my mind.

Stacy has always been cute. When I went to college, she left at the same time to spend two years in England on a scholarship to study abroad, but she showed up on my campus as a freshman when I was a junior. I couldn't believe it. The first time I had seen her in two years and it was hard to imagine it was her. She had changed so much in that time, but I could still tell it was her. No one I had ever met looked like Stacy. Growing up together in a small town before I left for college, everyone knew her. Well, everyone knew everyone. Stacy worked at the ice cream shop in town. It was one of those old-time family-run ice cream shops that served a variety of sandwiches and all the ice cream was hand-scooped. For a small place, they had a surprising variety. And it was the good kind, too: confetti, birthday cake, rocky road, and Stacy's favorite: bubble gum. Mine was the orange cream; you know, the one that has orange sherbet and vanilla all swirled together. I liked mine in a cup, but Stacy usually got hers in a cone. I'll never forget watching her eating ice cream off a cone. I swear she was teasing me, but she was so nonchalant about it. We would sometimes sit at a bench on the brick sidewalk, talking and eating our ice cream. She would laugh while looking through me with those deep green eyes. Then take a swipe at her ice cream, her tongue brushing against the rim of the cone as she traced a swirl of ice cream around the edge before pulling back a cream-covered tongue. When I was younger, it never occurred to me and as I got older I guess I tried to deny it or brush it off as a ridiculous thought.

And now she was here on my campus. Those same green eyes looking around the small campus in the Georgia heat, searching. Scanning. Those eyes are amazing. Have I mentioned her eyes? Whoever said "the eyes are the window to the soul" must have met Stacy. Always expressive, it's hard for her to lie. At least to me. Because we were close she shared a lot of her life with me: her joys and excitement, her fears and sorrows. I liked to think I could read her like a book, but then again, she is a woman, and I'm not. There's only so much I can know about her. Even so, there's a lot about Stacy that only I know. From our talks outside the ice cream shop to our hikes down to the creek, to our shopping trips, she has spent a lot of time swearing me to secrecy. And I've done my fair share of asking her to take the oath as well.

So, yeah, her eyes. Those green eyes continued to search. I could tell when she had made eye contact with someone because when I would follow her gaze, which would pause for just a moment, it always seemed like she would give a little smile, then turn away while the other person tried to hold her stare. In just a matter of a few minutes, I was not the only one to notice Stacy had arrived. I began to see guys jab their friends with elbows and nod in her direction. Even the ones she had not made eye contact with yet.

My apologies. All you know about Stacy is that she has green eyes. Let me clarify. Her deep green eyes sit just above cheeks that are lightly freckled and betray a perpetual smile. Her mouth is surrounded by fine pink lips, not plump like a celebrity, but thin and pink, outlining her straight white teeth. When she would smile, her teeth would stay together, but when she would laugh, her teeth would separate to expose a perfect pink tongue that would dance near the back of her mouth with each jarring expression of joy. That agile tongue that could move with laughter, but writhe through lime sherbet on a cone, carving a frame in the filmstrip of my memories. And when she would speak, any time she said "th", the tip of her tongue would just peak out for an instant, resting against her top front teeth. There was just something sensual about it.

Her jawline was wide and square, with dull points at the hinges below her perfectly formed ears, and the slope of her jaw narrowed together toward a rounded, albeit narrow, chin. Because her jaw was square, she kept her chestnut brown hair long, often swept to one side while the other was tucked behind her ear. This kept it out of her way when she wrote her English notes in class or helped me with math, even though she was two years behind me in school. She would explain something by writing a problem on paper, then look up at me sideways, hair behind her ear, asking if I understood. Either way, she had that perpetual smile. One side of her perfect mouth would curl up, usually when she caught me looking.

I'm glad she wore sweaters and t-shirts. And not the low-cut sweaters or the form-fitting t-shirts. She just wore jeans and t-shirts. Her humor showed in her shirts a lot of times, with funny pictures or phrases. She has family in New York City so a lot of her t-shirts come from a family member or two who will get an original design from a vendor when it makes them think of her. No one else in town or on campus has ever had a t-shirt like she wears. Anyway, I'm glad she wears t-shirts or I would never get anything done. On more than one occasion I would catch myself (and probably Stacy would catch me, too) looking at her chest. Stacy is...how should I put this?... "blessed". I have no idea what size her breasts are, but they are of sufficient size to draw attention from any breast man. Stacy has a more voluptuous build than a lot of men are attracted to at my age. She's not small, thin, or even athletic, but she's not a "big, beautiful woman" either, by internet standards. If I had to give a comparison, I would call her "plus size". You know, she has the build to be a plus-size model: curves, but smooth skin and form. Her ass is full and high and her legs are strong and proportionate. I don't know. Maybe she's a size 12 if I'm spitballing here. But she's in perfect proportion. I've never heard any of the guys I've known call her fat and a few girls have been jealous of her and of the attention she gets. I've only seen her in a bikini once because I assured her we would be alone when we went on a hike to the creek at the base of the waterfall where we could swim. The rest of the time she wears a one-piece, but fills it out nicely. Everyone seems to think so.

So that's Stacy. Still searching the campus while standing beside her car. I'm not the only one to have noticed her, of course. It's a small campus and here we are in the quad, where I told her to meet me. I should probably...

"THOMAS!" She found me.

Shit! I forgot to introduce myself. Sorry. My name is Thomas Hunter. I'm just starting my junior year and working on my fourth major declaration. Still no idea what I want to do. I mean, I have passions and interests, but I need something that can make me a living. My parents want me to come work at their company when I graduate, but at the same time, I'm not a keen business mind. I'm more the creative type. And I love history and useless trivia, so I'm thinking something more along the lines of education or even graphic design. So, anyway, that's me.

Not a lot going on physically. I have kind of a slight build, only weighing it at 135 pounds after two years of lifting weights. When I graduated high school I was 115 pounds. At 5'6". Yeah. I was puny. Because of the weights and because I've been playing football with friends every Sunday, I'm in better shape now, but I'll never be huge. I have some good tone, but I'm not ripped. I've got blue eyes and light brown hair, cut short and swept back because I don't have a natural part. If I grow my hair out longer it becomes unmanageable because it has big curls. My hair looks good either really long so I can style it some, or really short before it curls. I typically keep it short and it looks all right, I think. I also have a rough beard, I guess you would call it a little longer than five o-clock shadow. At least it comes in even and without scruff I look a lot younger than my 20 years.

"Hey, Stacy!" I waved back and walked to greet her as she ran toward me, the cartoon Buddha on her shirt dancing toward me as if in a 5.0 earthquake. Stacy wore my favorite jeans. Did she know? Maybe they're my favorites because she always wears them. They look great on her, lifting her ass and forming to her thighs before flaring out a little over her brown leather shoes.

She was on me before I knew it, almost knocking me backwards. Fortunately I was standing beside the half-wall of stone that raised to the grassy field divided in quarters by aggregate sidewalks. Arms tightly around my neck, she squealed in my ear, "Oooh, I've missed you so much! I can't believe we're going to be in college together!"

"Yeah, It's gonna be great! Listen, though, you can't park there. Security will give you a ticket in a heartbeat. Until you get your parking pass tomorrow, you'll need to park behind the gym. Everything else is reserved."

"Oh. I didn't know. I'll move it."

"No, don't do that. Go get in your car and you can follow me and I'll help you unload your stuff. I'll take you to dinner in town tonight. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good to me." She gave me another quick hug and it was tough not to notice her breasts pressing into my chest. Fortunately she pulled away before I could rise to attention. By the time I got to my car, however, it had started, even competing for blood that my legs needed. I must really need to empty the bank, so to speak. Stacy looked great. I couldn't get her out of my head as I started up my green Toyota Tacoma and drove the perimeter of campus to get to Stacy and her gray Ford Focus. It's a good thing I had my stereo on or she probably would have heard a seam rip from my boner. I had driven up just in time to see one foot on the pavement beside her car and her other knee on the driver's seat with her ass forced against her jeans. The only disturbance in that force was the outline of her iPhone in her left rear pocket, tilted with two corners resting on opposing seams. With a quick shuffle she backed out of the car and waved a big white envelope and said, "Registration forms. Don't want to lose these."

Then a wink. Right? That was a wink wasn't it? Dammit!

"Okay. You ready?" I yelled out the window as she shut her door and put on her sunglasses. Damn, she looks good in sunglasses. Fortunately for me, she doesn't wear those giant shades that look ridiculous. She wears practical wraparounds. And she looks amazing in them. She looked at me through the iridescent lenses and gave me a thumbs up before backing up into a parking space to wait for me. I followed suit and we were quickly on our way.

Normally the school has a strict policy that anyone under 21 and single has to stay in campus housing. They have made a list of reasons, but everyone knows it's for the money. The school is private so it doesn't get any state funding. As a result, the tuition is higher and they have a bunch of rules that will bring money in. Discipline comes in the form of free work hours cleaning toilets or picking up litter or wiping down tables. And the security hands out parking tickets like Santa throwing Tootsie Rolls at the end of a parade.

However, since I'm a junior and have lived on campus for two years, am on honor roll and have learned how to kiss some ass, I was able to appeal to live off campus and it was granted. As a result, I found another loophole that the school had never closed, which allows attending family members to live off campus if they have a town residence. Which I do. So Stacy and I were on our way to the apartment we are going to share in town.

Oh. Back up. I forgot to mention that Stacy is my sister. Technically she's my half-sister, but blood is blood. My mother was married once before and my father was killed by a freak aneurism while my mother was pregnant with me. Stacy's dad met her when she went in as a customer to his kitchen and bath remodeling business and after working on her kitchen design together for a few weeks, he asked her out. They only dated a few months before having a small wedding and by their first anniversary, Stacy was born. So we have different last names: mine is Hunter and hers is King. As in "Kitchen King", the family business I'm supposed to run one day. On the upside, Stacy is more suited to run it. But we've got time and that's not the issue right now.

The issue is my giant hard-on as we pull into the apartment complex and park in the reserved spot and a guest spot to unload Stacy's things.

Fortunately the apartments were nice and there were a lot of responsible college students who lived here, so I felt safe unlocking the door and propping it open while we gathered her things and climbed the flight of stairs on each trip before dropping boxes, suitcases and milk crates on the twin bed in what would be Stacy's room. Mom and Dad had provided plenty of furniture to help us out, so the apartment was mostly furnished. I don't know how many times I heard Dad grumble about the kitchen and bathrooms, but I reminded him that it was an apartment, not an investment and it was only temporary for us. He relented and held his tongue, telling me he was proud of me before they had left after helping me move in at the end of the spring semester.

I was trying to decide if I should be a gentleman and do the heavy lifting of getting stuff out of the trunk or if I should stand behind her and watch her ass as she leaned in to pull out blue milk crates. I opted for the former, getting the boxes out and handing one to Stacy, then grabbing one for me and following her up the stairs on the pretense of being there to catch her if she should fall backward. So that gave me the ass view I was looking for.

When we dropped the last boxes on the floor in her room, she stood up, tucked her hair behind her ear and with that Stacy sympathy tone, said, "Thank you, Thomas."

"It's not a big deal. I couldn't let you take the heavy..."

"No," she cut me off and walked toward me before hugging me around the waist, putting her chin on my right shoulder. "I mean thank you for everything," she whispered.

My stomach stirred. "Everything? What do you mean?"

Looking down and putting her hands in her back pockets, Stacy stammered, "I don't know. Just...everything. Yes, the boxes. And the apartment. But...I don't know...you've just always been there for me. You've never made me feel like a burden or like I was bothering you. Even when I had a friend over to play, you didn't seem bothered by us. Like that time you let us paint your nails?" she smiled and raised her eyebrows.

"Hey! That was our little secret!" My voice raised in mock anger and I pointed my finger at her in warning. I quickly broke into a smile. Stacy reached for my finger, pulled it to her lips and kissed the tip, resting it there as she breathed out, "Our little secret." She then placed her index finger on my lips and said, "Shhhh". Out of instinct, I kissed her finger while swimming in her green eyes. I hope she didn't hear my heart, It was jumping out of my chest!

"Ahem," I cleared my throat and stepped back, looking at my watch, "It's, uh, almost 5. Are you getting hungry or...?"

With a smile, easing the tension, Stacy smiled that smile, "I could eat. Let me buy dinner for you tonight. It's so good to see you again and I want to just hang out with you tonight."

"Are you sure? I have money."

"Yep. I'm sure. You can buy next time. Where do you want to go?"

"I've been wanting to take you to the Crowe's Nest. It's my favorite place in town. Do you still like Buffalo wings?"

"Hell, yeah!" She rolled her eyes. "After two years in England, I'm ready for a meal with some heat to it!"

"Sounds like a plan. You can catch me up while we eat."

"Great. Let me get changed real quick. After driving and unloading in this heat, I need to freshen up."

"Well it's a casual place, so don't go out of your way."

"Sure thing. I just want to clean up and change. I'll be ready in a few minutes."

I plopped down on the leather sofa and turned on the television. When a woman says, "in a few minutes" it could mean anything. I was tempted to go to Netflix, but instead just settled on one of my favorite sitcom reruns. I heard Stacy moving around in her room for a couple of minutes, apparently grabbing her things before I heard the bathroom door close. Sure enough in about 15 minutes, I heard the door open and Stacy's voice saying, "Okay, I'm ready."

I think I just came in my pants. Not really, but I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. I tried not to stare and attempted to look unfazed, but I don't know how successful I was.

When I heard her voice I turned off the television and stood up while turning around to grab my keys off the end table. What I saw stopped time. There she stood, my green-eyed goddess. My sister. Stacy's hair was pulled back into a pony tail and she had refreshed her make up. Her lips had a light gloss over the pink lipstick and her eyes had a little green eye shadow and black eye liner. Stacy was wearing a silver heart pendant on a chain that I had bought for her on her sixteenth birthday, the pendant dangled just at the crest of her cleavage, where her pale pink tank top had pushed her sizable breasts together. It was clear she wasn't wearing a bra and I could see two bumps as her nipples pushed the cotton fabric out. She was wearing white cheerleading shorts with pink trim and waist string and matching pink flip flops. Her toenails and fingernails were painted alternating pink and pale green.

"Is this all right, Thomas?"

My voice caught in my throat as I croaked out "Uuhh. Ahem. It's fine. Yeah. Um, it's a casual place. You look great. I mean you look good. That's fine." I couldn't get anything to sound right without giving myself away. Dammit, Thomas, this is your sister for crying out loud! Get a hold of yourself, I thought.

"Great, then let's go. I'm in the mood for something spicy," she said with a smirk and a wink again. She turned away from me to grab her purse, but her head turned last as she continued to look me in the eye over her shoulder until her body forced her head to break contact . Yep, no bra strap across the back. I'm glad she turned around because it gave me a chance to read the pink varsity lettering across the back of her shorts: "Cutie"

I'll say. And it was not interrupted by panty lines. I wondered if that meant no panties, or was she wearing a thong. Either way, how could I lose? I grabbed my keys and followed her out the front door and down the stairs before catching up with her at the sidewalk and walking beside her to my truck. As she bounded down the stairs, I followed the varsity lettering as it cheered me on in bounces and slight jiggling on each step:

Cutie

Cutie

Cutie

Cutie

Cutie

Cutie

Being the gentleman that I am, I opened her door first, and took her hand to help her up into the cab. As she took my hand, she smiled at me and said, "Thank you, kind sir," grabbing the handle above the window and stepping on the runner to step into the cab. I tried with subtlety to watch her legs as she stepped up, noting the flex of her quad muscle and quickly glancing up her thigh to the hem of her shorts before closing the door. As I made my way around the tail of the truck, I adjusted my burgeoning erection to flatten it against my stomach so that it pointed up and reduced its bulge. Stepping into the driver's side cab, I nonchalantly asked if she was ready to eat.