The Slumber Party Ch. 10

"Grant, that is not a good idea," Jessica said, a note of distinct alarm in her voice. "You don't even know Sara, and right now I doubt very much that she wants a strange man around the house."

"But I can do things for them! I won't bother her—I'll be super-nice to her!"

The way you were nice to me when I got home? she thought. But what she said was:

"I really don't think you should do that."

"I can ask Angela, can't I?"

"You can, but she'll probably say no. And you shouldn't force her to—"

"I won't force her to do anything! I promise."

Without waiting for his mother's response, he got up, rushed into his own room for privacy, and called Angela on her cellphone.

The conversation with her didn't go well. Grant pleaded and pleaded with her to let him come, but she declined—politely but firmly. "Grant, dear," she said at one point, "Sara's not too keen on men just now. I think you might make things worse."

"But I miss you so much!" he cried, seeming on the verge of tears. "I can't stand being away from you!"

"I can't either, Grant. But my sister needs me."

"I want to help."

"I know you do, but I'm not sure there's anything you can do here."

"Please, Angela, please!"

And it went on like that—for many minutes. At long last, as if throwing in the towel, Angela finally relented. Grant could come and visit her for a few days. He even offered to stay in a hotel so that Sara wouldn't have to deal with his constant presence at her house, but Angela said that was ridiculous—there was plenty of room in the house for him, so long as he kept out of Sara's way. Elated, Grant bought a plane ticket that would leave the next morning.

Angela picked him up at the San Francisco airport, driving Sara's car. She greeted him cordially with a hug and a kiss, but made it clear that she'd really have preferred it if he hadn't come. Grant, mortified and humbled, said almost nothing on the ride through heavy traffic to Sara's house in Mountain View.

It was a trim little house—one story plus basement—in a good neighborhood, and Sara had clearly spent a lot of time cultivating the garden. As the couple walked in, Sara emerged hesitantly out of her bedroom.

Grant almost fainted when he first saw her.

He had expected her to have a strong resemblance to Angela, but the similarity in their appearance was both more and less than he had imagined it would be. There was the same wholesome, rather timid countenance, but her figure was even more heartrendingly beautiful than Angela's, if that was possible. At the moment Sara clearly did not wish to appear in any way seductive, but Grant couldn't help detecting the luscious curves that graced her frame from top to bottom.

But her face—which, at its best, could surpass her sister's in twisting a man's heart—was at the moment cruelly deformed by partially healed bruises and a cut lip. When Grant saw that, he became filled with both rage and sympathy.

"This is Grant," Angela said to Sara.

Grant was apprehensive about how forcefully he should greet her. Certainly, a hug was out of the question. Even a handshake seemed unwarranted; but Sara herself shakily extended a hand, and Grant took it fervently, releasing it in seconds when he saw Sara start to become agitated. His heart bled for the poor girl.

Grant tried to recall what Angela had said about the incident that had so traumatized her sister. She had been going out for months with a guy named Carl. He was very different from the kind of boyfriend you might have expected Sara to go for: whereas she was holding down a well-paying job in real estate, Carl was a low-level worker at a local Home Depot. They had in fact met in the garden section of the store, and at first the unlikely relationship seemed to work. Maybe Sara was just relieved not to be dating one more overachieving yuppie of the sort she met every day. But gradually she began seeing flaws and limitations in Carl and sensed that their involvement was not going to last. She could tell that he was getting irritated when she began pulling away from him; in fact, she suspected that he was becoming rather obsessed with her. And so, when she finally summoned up the courage to break it off with him, he went ballistic. In a rage he lunged at her, ripping off most of her clothes, raping her viciously on the floor of her own living room and then pummeling her with his fists and even his hard-soled shoes before stalking off without a word.

Sara had managed to stagger to the phone and call 911, and Carl had been promptly arrested. She was taken to the hospital, but her wounds thankfully proved to be superficial. She was kept there overnight for observation, and also to collect samples for her rape kit. Her parents had stayed with her for a few days, but Sara was hugely relieved when Angela showed up to take care of her; and the parents, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, had made their escape.

What she felt about another man in the house wasn't clear to either Angela or Grant.

He did everything he could to reassure her and make her realize he was no threat to her. But he couldn't help being obtrusively affectionate to Angela, whom he had really and truly missed. At first, their embraces, kisses, and even Grant's mild gropings of Angela's bottom had seemed to disturb Sara, who looked away as soon as they were manifested; but after a little while she seemed to find their displays rather charming, like the actions of randy teenagers. Angela had told him that Sara did have a little more sexual experience than she did (she could hardly have had less!), but she suspected that Sara had only had three or four intimate relationships, including Carl.

Grant didn't help his case by gazing fervently at Sara as often as he could, in a bizarre fusion of desire and pity. He constantly had to remind himself that, in spite of her uncanny resemblance to his beloved, she wasn't Angela at all—even though Angela might be exactly like Sara in a few years. And the slowness with which Sara's injuries—to face, chest, and (if her groans when she sat or got up were any indication) other parts of her body—healed seemed to be a matter of intense frustration to Grant. It was as if he wished he could wave a magic wand and make all those cuts, scrapes, and bruises disappear.

Of course he and Angela copulated at night—that, after all, was the very reason he had forced his way into the household. But even this proved to be not nearly as satisfying as Grant had hoped. Angela was intensely concerned that her sister not detect any signs of their intimacy, and so she enforced a silence that almost drove Grant mad. He was usually quite vocal in his lovemaking—and, more to the point, he expected his partners to be the same, for he loved to hear the sighs and moans of a woman in the throes of an orgasm. But Angela remained resolutely quiet during such moments, even though her pressed lips—and, at times, the tears that were squeezed out of her eyes—betrayed how much she wished she could vocalize what she was feeling.

Matters came to a head about three days following Grant's arrival. Dinner was over, and Angela was cleaning up in the kitchen while Sara sat, demurely and a bit uncertainly, on the living-room couch. As Grant gazed at her, an immense and uncontrollable infusion of emotion filled him to bursting.

She could tell that something was wrong, and she said in a scared voice, "Grant, are you okay?"

That formulaic expression of interest and sympathy somehow unleashed the torrent of his feelings. With a horrible cry as if he had been stabbed in the abdomen, he flung himself at Sara's feet, burying his head in her lap—she was wearing a thin print dress—and wailing. In between cries he shouted:

"Oh, God, Sara, I'm so sorry! Please don't think all men are like that guy Carl! We're not all bad people—most of us would never do what he did to you!" It was as if Grant was apologizing for all the mistreatment that men had inflicted upon women over countless millennia. As he wrapped his arms around her hips, he just kept saying, "Please . . . please . . . please . . ."

At first Sara was frozen in alarm, even terror. But after it became obvious to her that Grant's laments, while extravagant, were undeniably sincere, she softened a little and tentatively reached out a hand to stroke his hair. Almost inaudibly she said, "It's okay, dear. It's okay."

That was all the encouragement Grant needed to pull himself up and place his head on Sara's chest, like a little boy desperate for solace and sympathy from his mother. After a few seconds' delay Sara placed a hand on the back of his head, even kissing the crown of his skull with little pecks. That was how Angela found them when, having heard the ruckus, she came into the room, hands still wet and wearing an apron.

"Wh-what's going on here?" she said quietly.

"He's just a little upset," Sara said evenly, continuing to stroke the back of his head.

Angela smiled nervously. Her greatest concern was that Grant not freak Sara out with his display, but she was reassured that Sara seemed to be taking it well.

Later, Sara dried Grant's tears and—to both her and his amazement—gave him a quick little kiss on the mouth.

Order was restored, and the three of them watched a movie that they all forgot as soon as it was over. Grant was in the middle, the two sisters on either side of him. Angela unaffectedly nestled against her lover, but Sara was more reserved and merely allowed Grant to dangle an arm over her shoulder.

Up to this point, Sara had scarcely left her house since coming back from the hospital. Somewhat irrationally, given the fact that the rape had occurred right here on her living-room floor, she regarded her place as a bastion of safety against the horrors of the outside world. But as the weekend rolled around, Grant and Angela persuaded Sara to accompany them on a picnic in a nearby park. (The lovers couldn't help remembering the wonderful picnic they had had after their initial encounter.) Picking up an abundance of foodstuffs from a local grocery, they headed out to the park. Sara was clearly nervous, sitting in the passenger seat of her own car as Angela drove, with Grant in the back seat. She peered around as the car proceeded through what seemed like perfectly safe city streets, and Angela was pained to see her sister wring the hem of her thin blouse as she did so, as if terrified of some hidden threat.

Grant and Angela did their best to make the outing cheerful, engaging in playful bantering and even a little cuddling as they ate their chicken and potato salad, topped off with brownies. Sara at long last seemed to loosen up, but as she did so she seemed almost to collapse. She had been so keyed up that, now that she was finally relaxing, an overwhelming desire to sleep came over her.

Grant moved aside all the remnants of the picnic from the large beach towel they had brought, and he urged Sara to lie down for a nap. She readily took up the suggestion and seemed to fall asleep in minutes.

Angela felt the need to stretch her legs, so she quietly signalled to Grant that she was going to stroll around a bit. But she was careful to mouth the words "Don't leave her alone" to him before she took off.

Grant was left with this sleeping beauty—the quintessence of femininity, with her rubicund cheeks, her flowing and somewhat untidy hair, and the curves that even her reclining at full length couldn't conceal. But he was grieved by the fact that, even in sleep, Sara's facial expression was a bit troubled, as a frown marred her otherwise tranquil features.

After letting her sleep for several minutes, he couldn't help reaching out and touching that face to see if he could somehow iron out that frown.

As Sara felt his soft touch on her cheek, her eyes popped open—not, thankfully, in fear, but just in curiosity.

She smiled shyly at Grant, and his heart swelled with relief and pride. She's finally comfortable in my presence, even when alone with me.

He continued to stroke her face, and sure enough the frown was wiped away. He smiled when that happened, and her smile broadened to match his. She showed her small, even teeth, and Grant was somehow mesmerized by her narrow tongue creeping out of her mouth.

What else could he do but bend down and give her a kiss?

It was light as a butterfly's wing, and lasted only a moment. But as soon as it was over, Sara unexpectedly reached up, put a hand to the back of his head, and made him kiss her again—this time for a lot longer.

When the kiss was over, Grant could see that the roses in her cheeks had darkened. The picture of inexpressible beauty she presented was so overwhelming that Grant had trouble restraining himself. But with immense fortitude he did nothing but gaze intently at his beloved's sister.

She took his hand, now resting idly on her shoulder, in her little hands and placed it between her breasts. Grant could feel the swell of her bosom even over the cloth of her blouse and bra; but he let his hand go limp, letting Sara do whatever she wished at whatever pace she wished. With exquisite slowness, she led the hand down the length of her body and, daintily raising up her skirt and pushing aside her underwear, placed his hand on her sex while staring fixedly at him.

She was quite wet—far wetter than he would have expected. Breathing hard and irregularly, Grant slowly began massaging her labia, then moved up to her clitoris. His first touch there caused Sara to expel a cry that seemed almost painful, and Grant was on the verge of pulling his hand away; but she made sure to keep it pinned there, as if to say: Go on; you know what to do.

And he did. As their eyes continued to be locked on to each other's, he stroked and rubbed her whole delta, his fingers now doused with her wetness. Color was now suffusing her whole face, and she was letting out little gasps as he continued to work—but always gently as a kitten's paws. When her climax came, she closed her eyes and let out a little high-pitched moan, arching her back a little. She kept his hand fixed to her sex to drain the last exquisite moments out of her orgasm.

It was only then that the two of them noticed that Angela had quietly returned to the scene.

She was smiling and looking down benevolently at them, particularly at her sister. Sara sensed intuitively that Angela was in no way disturbed by what had happened; indeed, she seemed pleased and gratified. Then Angela did two surprising things.

She bent down and gave her sister a long, deep kiss on the mouth, saying afterwards, "I'm so happy for you, dear."

Then, turning to Grant, who was taking all this in while squatting next to Sara, she peeled down the shorts he was wearing and, turning to Angela and saying, "He needs some relief now," released his hugely erect member and plunged it into her mouth.

She sucked him expertly, knowing exactly what actions on her part would stimulate him most powerfully and efficiently. As both Sara and Grant gazed at her in wonder, she coaxed an enormous orgasm out of him in a matter of minutes, swallowing every drop.

Wiping her lips daintily with a napkin, she stuffed Grant's cock back into his shorts and said, as if none of this had happened, "Let's pack up and go home, shall we?"

On the ride back, all three sat quietly in the car, each of them processing the day's events in their own way.

But the true culmination of events only occurred a few days later.