Truth or Dare Ch. 01

It's a strange sensation, stepping out the front door to feel sand beneath the feet and a coastal breeze rushing across the face. We're from the deep country, where the wind runs differently along the flats and through canola and saltbush; where the air is flavoured with a myriad of organic scents, rot and growth alike. Here it's just salt and seaweed.

The biggest difference is the ground. Home is dirt and grit and the stability of endless rock below. Sand... it's much softer, like walking on an enormous blanket forever trying to draw you in. I don't mind it, even though it's hot enough to burn the soles of my feet in three strides, but it keeps my brother inside.

We come out here to the bay a long time ago. I'd only been five and Dion had been six, and to be honest I don't remember a whole lot about it, but apparently we'd had a wonderful time. Now that we're officially adults--me eighteen and my brother a year older--we came back for one last hurrah before I leave for university. Or, as dad put it; "One last chance to be with you guys before you find your own mob and leave me forever."

I told him not to be so morbid. Of course we'll come back, every holiday and break--we both love our old man dearly, and I couldn't admire him more after all he's done for us. But I suppose he's right; one day it'll just be "Dad's house", and time spent with him will be a luxury. That's just how life is.

"You having some kind of existential crisis or something?" My brother drawls as he peers over the couch at me, brown eyes narrowed under a furrowed brow. He's wearing a long-sleeve shirt, and I can see jeans sticking out over the armrest, despite the heat. His boofy hair bounces a bit in the breeze rushing in through the front door, and his eyes turn down to glare at the sand skittering in over the floor. "If you're busy thinking about the inevitable approach of death and despair, can you at least do it outside? You're letting the beach in."

I step back inside and stamp my feet on the bristled mat, but I don't close the door yet. Instead I take a deep breath in and stretch my arms up, trying not to wince from the sting of salt in my eyes and throat. "What are you talking about? It... cough... smells great! No damp leaves or manure anywhere."

"Ash, your eyes are turning red."

"It's 'cause I'm crying from how beautiful it is." I slam the door and drag my bare arm over my eyes. Unlike my dork of a brother, I've opted for a pair of trendy denim shorts and a tank top to combat the coastal heat, and while it leaves me more vulnerable to sand-blasting, I like how I look. It's nice to dress down sometimes. "Why do you hate the beach so much? Dad said you loved it when you were little."

"Dad also said I loved eating dirt. Young Dion was an idiot." He sticks a finger out at me, warning me against the snide remark hovering on my lips. "And actually I do like the beach... just from a distance. Preferably through the window of a penthouse. With hot babes on either side feeding me caviar."

"I'm afraid all I could afford was the hut," Comes our father's wry response as he emerges into the common area. "As for the babes, getting to know some women would probably be a good place to start."

"Hey..." I frown, feeling a little insulted at that. Obviously dad's talking about women that aren't his son's sister, but still. I'm not a girl anymore. I'm about to tell him as much when I look at him and pause. He's dressed in tan suit pants and a red button-up, a far cry from his usual shorts and dusty shirt. He looks handsome for an aging man.

Dad adjusts his glasses when he sees us both staring at him. He clears his throat and tugs nervously on the arms of his shirt and asks, "What do you think?"

"Very suave," Dion tells him. "I didn't even know you owned pants."

"I didn't until yesterday. There's a shop down in... Ashley, you're eating your hair again."

"Huh? Oh." Still a habit when I'm thinking. It's kind of embarrassing to be called out on it at this age, not that it's ever stopped me. "Just wondering if... try rolling your sleeves up."

"Eh? Hang on... like this?"

I give him a proud grin. "Perfect. You'll blow her away, dad."

Dion adds a thumbs up, but our old man doesn't look so sure. "I'd settle for vaguely attractive at this point. It's been a long time, I think I've forgotten how to do small talk. And are you two definitely alright with me doing this? I know we were supposed to be having this week to ourselves."

"Dad, I have literally never happier for you," Dion says earnestly. "You've spent the last, what, nearly two decades focusing on us. It's time to do something for yourself."

I feel proud of my brother for being so mature. Obviously I'm proud of dad too, and absolutely think he deserves another chance at love--and considering the sparks flying between him and the middle-aged dance teacher he'd met at the airport, a single parent just like him, that was a very real possibility--but I can't help the twinge of anxiety I feel about the whole thing. He's on the cusp of starting a new chapter of his life that doesn't have us intrinsically tied up in it. Is it hypocritical, considering I'm a few months from abandoning him overstate? Yes. It is selfish? Probably. At least I'll have Dion to cling onto, since we'll be rooming together.

"Alright, well, I guess it's time. I'll see you guys tonight."

"If you're not too busy with your new lady friend," I grin. "Did you remember protection?" When they both stare at me, I shrug. "Always gotta be careful. Do you have any?"

Dad is examining the floor very carefully when he gives the tiniest of nods.

"Good luck!" We follow him to the doorway and wave as he gets in the rental car. Just before he shuts his door I call out again. "And remember! Ladies love variation, so make sure you really put in extra time focusing on her--" I don't get to finish the sentence before Dion's hand clamps over my mouth and our furiously-blushing father accelerates onto the street.

"Do you always have to be so gross?"

"Mmffmgfh, gfeeth offvh." I try to bite his hand and he pushes me away. I cross my arms and lean against a wall and look him up and down. My brother would be handsome too, very handsome, if he put any modicum of effort into his appearance. But then again, maybe there's something cute about his dishevelledness. "Why don't you ever dress nice?"

"No one to dress nice for." He holds my gaze. "What's your excuse?"

"Oh, well, that's... rude." I stick my tongue out at him and head for our room. "I'm going for a swim." I know he was joking, but it still stung.

When I get back an hour and a half later there's still no rental car at the front. That's a good sign. I open the door and find Dion on the couch where I left him, and the only hint that he's been up at all is his change of outfit. Now he's wearing pyjamas, thin flannel ones with a little sheep on the left breast.

I'm still annoyed with him. We exchange snide remarks all the time, it's one of the things I love about him, but for whatever reason his last comment stuck with me through my stint in the water. I've still got the taste of stained salt in my mouth, and I'm extraordinarily sweaty from just the hike up to the house. I'm dripping water, even though I've wrapped my hair inside my towel and rolled it around my shoulders, so I make for the bathroom. Halfway there and my brother starts to say something.

"You were ages. You put on sunscreen right? Dad'll flip out if he sees you... uh..."

I turn around to him with an annoyed look, half expecting another insult. His expression is quite the opposite of smarmy. "What, Dion?"

"...sees you burnt. Um, what's that?"

I look down and see nothing out of the ordinary. "What's what?"

He clears his throat and looks back at the TV. "When did you buy a bikini?"

It's not a bikini, not really. It's a bikini top, sure, albeit one that's a tad more modest than some of the outfits I was out amongst. But the bottoms are simply short shorts. I'm not courageous enough to show off what is probably a pretty pale butt. "I dunno. A while ago."

"Haven't seen it before."

"You never come to the pool." Actually, I didn't wear it there either, preferring to stick to my one-piece and boardshorts that comes to just above my knees. Tomboy? Maybe. Not a very good self-image? Definitely.

I turn to go and he adds, "It's nice. You look nice."

With my face away from him, I don't try and stimmy the flush that rises in my face. Sure, it's from my brother, but I'll take a compliment when I get it. "So I do dress nice sometimes?"

"Huh?" I can imagine him looking my way with that confused squint of his. Maybe he's even glancing up and down my body. For some reason, that thought sends a little bout of tingles down my back.

I've never thought of myself as pretty, not really. Maybe that was high school, where even our rural town had its beauty queens and airy delights wondering around campus. With everyone in the same school uniform, and rules against makeup, it was hard not to judge yourself against others.

But maybe I'm not so bad. I turn this way and that, looking in the mirror and trying to see myself as a guy would. Or a girl, I guess, I've never really tried that alley to know for sure. I like my hips. They're not those big curvaceous things women online show off, or lusty dudes refer to as childbearing in their rambling posts about ethnic attractiveness. But I think they have a nice line. And my face isn't so bad. Still a few acne marks, and my eyebrows might be a bit bushy, but I like my nose.

I slip my top off and turn side-on. Breasts... well, not really much luck there I guess, as far as the size competition goes. They bounce a bit if I wiggle, but when I lie down they all but disappear. If I ever get naked in a bed with a guy, I think I'll have to sleep side-on. Or maybe he wouldn't care. I guess that's the dream.

I'm rambling and I'm the only one in here. Screw it, this is what I've got, and if a guy hasn't noticed me yet, I've got the rest of my life. I ditch my bottoms and step into the shower.

I guess one guy notices me. I wonder why Dion's never had a girlfriend. Is he gay? Probably not, we shared a laptop until a few years ago and the search engine autocomplete often came up with some... fruitful suggestions that were almost exclusively hetero. Maybe he's in the same boat as me; too plain to be noticed, too polite to ask, and too chill to worry about it all that much.

I wash my face, my armpits and chest and stomach and then a hand runs across my pubic hair. It's chestnut brown like the curls currently stuck to my back, and it's thick. Another reason to not wear a bikini bottom. I've never shaved it beyond convivence, despite religiously removing my underarm hair. But maybe...

I look at the razor I've been keeping in the shower rack, next to Dion's. I chew my hair.

"Jeepers, you took ages. And why are you walking funny? Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" Dion is sitting up and looking concerned. Ever my caring older brother.

"I think I made a mistake," I tell him. "But I don't think you want to know."

"Is it something serious? Should I call someone?" He scoots over and lets me gingerly perch on the couch next to him. "Are those my boardshorts?"

"You were never going to wear them. I need them more than you." I needed something loose to wear, and none of my clothes fit the bill.

"You're giving me a lot of hints but I'm not getting anywhere."

Jeez he's oblivious sometimes. "Don't worry about it. What are you watching?"

"I dunno, but it's a group of people and they're very fond of shouting at each other and looking longingly out of windows." Dion waves away the question and puts his hand on the back of mine. It's warm. "Now come on, tell me what's wrong." I shake my head and Dion sighs. "Alright. Uh... okay, well, how about this. Truth or dare?"

I give him a look. "Seriously?"

"What? We're both still teenagers, technically, and I hear it's very in."

I shake my head. "You're not going to get me telling you what's wrong that easily. Dare."

Dion shrugs. "Alright, show me what's wrong."

...Fuck.

Well, I really screwed this one up.

My mouth opens and closes a few times and Dion laughs. "What? It can't be that bad." I make a sound and he gets worried again. "It's not a period thing is it? I won't be much help there. I think we have some ice creams still, that helps right?"

I can't help a chuckle. Jeez, he's a goofball. He relaxes when I laugh and he just looks so damn cute with his dumb poofy hair and freckly face. A little bit of me is annoyed he's my brother, and another bit chastises me for even thinking such a thing. "Alright, well, this is completely your fault, and I'm only doing this to see the look on your face." I stand up and grab the waistband of the boardshorts and Dion tenses up with a look of panic.

"Er, hang on, why are you doing that."

"You asked for it." I flip it down, far enough to grace him with the sight of my newly shaved, extraordinarily tender pubis. Not low enough to bare my equally-sensitive sex, that would just be weird, but regardless Dion's eyes go wide. He stares for several seconds before catching himself and looking up at me.

"Um, Ash, what the fuck?"

I'm blushing almost as red as my pubis, but I look stoically back at him. "You dared me."

He gulps, not breaking eye contact. "Could you... tell me what I'm supposed to be looking at?"

"See for yourself!" I growl, still holding the hem of the shorts.

"There's nothing there."

"Exactly!"

"So? Oh. Oh." He's finally catching on. "Is this a new thing for you?"

"Yes."

"So you caught yourself while shaving?"

"No, no, it's just..." With one hand I touch the skin. It's bumpy and quite sore. "Tender. Very tender."

"You got razor burn?"

I give my brother a blank look. "What's that?"

He tilts his head. "Exactly what it sounds like. Have you not..? Well, I've got some stuff you can use for it."

"What? Why? I mean yes, thank you, but you don't... do you?" Now it's my turn to get wide eyes and I grin at him. "Do you shave... down there?" He shrugs and I laugh. It's not exactly funny, just something of a revelation. I wonder what it looks like.

"Hey, you asked. Actually, shouldn't that have been a truth? I'm saying it is. Stay here and I'll get you the cream. And pull your--my shorts up, will you? You're making... well, just do it."

He leaves it cryptically at that and disappears. I gingerly flip the waistband back up and awkwardly wait, mulling over the facts that not only did I just show my brother my newly smooth, bare pubis, but it also didn't bother me in the slightest. In fact, it was quite... nice? To be able to show it off to someone. And how helpful he's being about the whole thing is making me feel warm inside.

"Here you go. It's fine if it gets inside your... you know... so be as liberal as you want with it."

I look at the jar. It's got a sharp black-and-gold design, and a bold white testosterone-infused logo on the front. Why don't women get cool Gatsby-esque stuff like this? "So I just... rub it on?" The task seems rather imposing. And I'm liking what's happening with Dion right now, and I worry it'll end if I leave. "Maybe I'll... do it later. I'm sure there's an online tutorial. Let's keep playing."

Dion squints at me, but seems to buy it. "Alright, well, truth or dare."

"Truth, for sure."

"Why... this?" He vaguely gestures toward my pelvis. "If it's your first time, why now?"

I have to think about that. "Well... I guess I felt like doing something... different. For me. Makes me feel pretty or something, I dunno." It sounds pretty stupid now I say it.

Dion is looking a little concerned again. "This isn't because of me implying you don't dress nicely, is it?"

"No! I don't think..."

My brother snorts and rolls his eyes. "I can't believe I asked you to show me. That must've been so weird."

"I can't believe I actually did it. Did you like--" I catch myself, then see Dion looking embarrassed. Cautiously, I continue. 'Did you like what you saw? Like, not being your sister I mean, just... objectively."

"You know, that also sounds like a truth."

I frown. "Fine. Truth. Do you like me shaved?"

"But you didn't ask--"

"Ugh! Truth or dare, dummy."

"Dare!"

"Hey! Jerk!" I hit him, trying not to laugh. "You suck. Alright, dare, um..." What would make him switch back to truth? "Alright, I dare you to put this stuff on for me!"

Dion blinks. "Shit."

"There, see? Pick truth."

"I don't think that's allowed."

I glance at him warily. Is he... he isn't... can he? Do I want him to? No, that would be too far, I couldn't agree to that. Even if he begs, I won't budge.

"Do you want me to--"

"Yes." I thrust the jar at him. My heart is beating so loud it's making my hand shake. Yeah, I'm sure that's the reason. Dion quietly takes it and kneels in front of the coffee table. Without effort I sit in front of him, legs together. He waits patiently, and I find myself loving him for that. I take a big breath and open them. "Alright," I whisper shakily. "Do it."

"It would be my pleasure, but... you're wearing shorts."

I close my legs again. "Right. I should take them off."

I don't move. He doesn't either. We look at each other. Slowly, his hands come up. I still don't move. His hands come to my hips. I put my weight on my hands and lift my butt up slightly. He lets out a breath. "Ready?"

I nod my head. I don't want to open my mouth--for some reason, I'm certain if I do I'll make a sound like a goose.

I can feel every centimetre that the shorts slide downward. First the waistband slides over my butt and down the front of my groin. I hiss quietly at the dragging sensation over sensitive skin and he changes his grip immediately, instead pulling them down by the top so he can hold it out slightly. That somehow makes it even hotter. No, not hot, not hot!

My pubis is bared to him once again. He's already seen it, but he doesn't seem to mind seeing it again. When he realises I'm looking down at him he averts his gaze to the floor. I want to tell him it's fine, but I can't.

The waistband is around the top of my thighs now. I set my behind back on the table. It's weird, feeling no hair at all against the creases on my leg. Just smooth skin. If it wasn't so tender, I'd love it.

Now the shorts are at the middle of my thighs. He still hasn't looked back. I fight the urge to run my fingers through his messy hair. I also fight the urge to push his face into me. Crikey Ashley, get a hold of yourself. This is all... perfectly innocent. Just a brother helping his little sis out.

When the shorts reach my knees and crown them I adjust my position and that makes Dion look up. His eyes go right to my crotch and I shiver. With my legs closed he can't see anything yet, just smooth, slightly red skin. But he will soon. I really hope I'm not getting wet.

Dion's hands reach the floor and that makes him jump. He carefully, tenderly, lifts each of my feet out and places them back on the ground. I feel like a princess. Then he sits back on his heels and looks at me. He's blushing too, and that comforts me.

"Alright."

"Alright."

I gulp loudly and he smiles. I smile back. Some of my hair makes its way into my mouth. It doesn't even taste good, but it's never stopped me chewing on it.

I open my legs. Dion keeps my gaze, just for a little bit. Then he looks down. I watch his expression change from nervousness to intrigue, then to appraisal, then thoughtfulness. Then, somehow sexiest of all, he gets a look of genuine concentration as he unscrews the lid and dips three fingers inside. "This is going to be a little cold at first," he tells me. "It might tingle a bit too."