It was a hot summer, and a frustrating one. I’d just finished my senior year of college and was working at my father’s electrical repair shop before heading to graduate school for engineering. I’d done the job for years and, believe it or not, I enjoyed it. But even without four years of drought, summers are intense in Los Angeles, and spending all day climbing over a customer’s roof because he’s not sure what kind of cable setup he’s got – while good exercise – can be a real headache. But that was a small part of my frustration.
For probably the last time, the whole family was living at home, and that included the lion’s share of my frustration, my sister Monica. She had just turned twenty and was home for the summer break, sweet as ever, keeping out of my parents’ way and for the most part keeping to herself. It was unusual for her, who had usually been so outgoing, and for me to not see her leaving with her girlfriends or making plans with her latest guy. Instead she’d spent those first few weeks back from college in relative quiet, rearranging her room, sunbathing in the backyard, or sitting on the couch watching Netflix.
My parents said nothing, and it was possible they hadn’t noticed or were just happy to have her home again. But I noticed. My sister and I had always been close and I couldn’t see her new behavior as anything but a slump.
And, if I’m being honest, that was not the only thing I saw.
Again, it was hot that summer, and all of us were making due, but my sister especially seemed to eschew her normal clothing for a very different style. It wasn’t just that she wore less; it was how she wore it. Often I would come home from a long day outside, grab a beer, and pass the living room to see my sister staring at the television, oblivious to the world around her. She wore the same t-shirts she’d always worn – the ones she felt comfortable wearing in the house – but seldom with a bra. And while I normally consider myself pretty good at minding my own business, my sister did not have the kind of body it was easy to ignore.
Perhaps she had always been this way and the heat had brought it more to the fore. Perhaps it was the handful of pounds she’d gained at college that brought out her full figure. And perhaps I’d never really seen her wearing a bellyshirt without a bra, or shorts that were so short she couldn’t have worn anything underneath. That was the other distracting element I noticed while passing her on the couch that day. She had her fist pushed into her temple with her elbow propped against the couch, her knee up and the other crossed under her and pointed at the television. Her long, smooth legs practically shined in the afternoon light and met together under the ragged hems of her shorts. The position she was in, her lap was pointed toward me, and the shorts were loose enough that I could see where one leg ended and…she…began. Smooth pink lips shaved bare, resting in the barest shadow of what could barely be considered clothes.
Meanwhile, the shapes of her breasts under the tight shirt were unmistakable, and they were full enough that they jiggled with even her smallest movements. Case in point, the way she turned and smiled at me where I stood in the kitchen. “Hey,” she said.
I nodded, and raised my glass to my forehead. I felt even hotter now.
“Busy day?” she asked.
“Yeah, dad’s got us replacing the wires in the high school. It’s weird being there and not recognizing anyone but the teachers.”
“You’re getting old, Johnny.”
I drank ruefully. “Tell me about it.”
“You look good, though. You running again?”
“When I get up early enough. It’s too hot otherwise.”
“I know. Look at this.” My sister stretched out her shirt. I’m sure she meant for me to look at the long trail of sweat that ran down to the hem, but it was impossible to ignore the way her cleavage gently bunched up in the neck.
Was I really that horny? I asked myself. Kim and I had broken up in the middle of last year; we still saw each other occasionally, still slept together, but that happened less as the year went on and I hadn’t been with anyone since. Not really. I tried to make myself feel better by telling myself I just appreciated that my sister was a beautiful woman.
And she was, all five feet and few inches of her, sassy and cute, with her upturned nose and bright eyes that weren’t quite green, her mess of dirty blonde hair. Her skin was just a shade under the pale that would have made the sun unbearable. She can, and did, tan. There had always been something much bigger about her than her height. Her smile was as prominent as her bust, but that, I now saw, was all the more noticeable for how small she was elsewhere.
“I haven’t seen you off that couch much,” I said, trying to change the subject. “Are you and Rob still seeing each other?”
She shrugged, which told me nothing. “I just…I dunno.”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
My big brother instincts kicked in, overriding my more lecherous thoughts. “If something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?”
And that was that. I went about the rest of my day, and things went on as before, for another week.
But little things started becoming clearer to me. How long she’d stay in her room, how nervous she seemed in general. And every time I passed her, no matter what she was wearing, I just had the impression that something was at work, something was gnawing at her, bothering her…
One morning, the two of us were in the kitchen, mom and dad were upstairs, and I was doing my damnedest not to notice Moni was wearing nothing at all underneath a loose, button-up blouse. Perhaps half of the buttons were actually buttoned.
I was reading up on the day’s itinerary and she was absently munching on toast. More accurately, I was trying to stop myself from stealing glances right down her shirt and she was staring out the window like a zombie.
Finally, I coughed, and she turned to me, mid-munch, her cheeks still full of toast. “Hmm?” she murmured.
“Moni, your, uh…” I tried to point anywhere but directly at her. “I can almost see your-“
“Wha?” For a moment, it was as if I’d actually pulled her out of the atmosphere and forced her back to Earth. She stared at me, uncomprehending, until she finally followed my wiggling finger down to her cleavage. “Oh!” she said, a bit of toast flying out. She cupped her hand over her mouth and began to giggle.
Monica struggled to finish her mouthful of toast, her finger dangling over her softly swaying assets. “Mm-mm-sorry.” She licked her thumb and finger and hooked them over the open flap of her shirt. “Does this bother you?”
“No,” I said quickly, “it’ s just-“
“This doesn’t bother you?” She flipped the shirt open and shut, quick enough to blow her napkin away, but slow enough to give me a single, stunning glimpse of her full breast and its perky pink nipple. Its very pink nipple.
My face must have said it all. This time Monica let fly with a full-blown laugh, her cheeks turning red behind her hands. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. Your face.”
“I, uh-” I closed my itinerary and got up to go. “Well alright then.”
Looking abashed (and still on the verge of laughter), Monica stood up with me. “I’m sorry, Johnny. I can’t believe I did that. I’ve been- I’m sorry.”
It was my turn to laugh. “It’s- You just surprised me.” I stuck my papers in my bag and swung it over my shoulder. But I hesitated. “You’ve been what?”
“In a mood,” she said. She folded her hands awkwardly at her waist. She still had not buttoned her shirt and it hung open, nearly to her bellybutton, the sides of her breasts plump and snug against each other. “In a weird mood.”
“You want to talk about it?”
She grinned and turned red again, reaching up to her thick hair and scratching it, not realizing how much of her moved with the gesture and then quickly shutting her shirt with both hands. “Ah! Uh, yeah. Maybe. Sorry. I can’t focus lately.”
“Is it the drugs?” I asked. “Are you on the drugs?”
“No drugs, big brother.” She smiled glumly. “Drugs would be more fun.”
“Well talk to me about it.”
She looked away and played with her shirt. “You’re busy.”
“I’m not busy this Sunday. Why don’t I take you to Venice? You could get outside. We could talk. I know something’s up. You’ve been weird.”
“How have I been weird?” Her eyes got very big.
“Not weird-weird. Just, I know when something’s wrong, and I don’t know if something’s wrong, but something’s not right.”
She sighed, and for a moment her shoulders relaxed, her fingers stopped twiddling. “Yeah,” she said. She squeezed her thighs together. “Sunday?”
She kissed me on the cheek and we went our separate ways for the day.
* * *
Sunday came quickly, and that afternoon we were walking down the boardwalk and confronting all of the bizarre smells and funky people that inhabit Venice, California. I was in board shorts and a muscle T and Monica was in…some sort of purple mesh that was more shredded than shirt and a black tube top that hardly helped. Every time she skipped ahead of me, I got a view of her ragged white cutoffs. Her ass cheeks were hanging out of her shorts, and her black boots jingled every time she jiggled.
We talked a lot about school and how she still wasn’t sure about her major. We talked about my relationships, the good and the bad. We talked about work. We talked about her lack of work. We talked about boredom and summer and how hot it was. And then she mentioned, sort of in passing, that she had spent most of the summer masturbating.
It was so frank and sudden that I didn’t laugh or recoil. I just sighed with an immense sense of relief.
Her eyebrows shot up to show how impressed she was by my reaction. “You’re not…?”
“Surprised?” I said. I shook my head. “I know my sister, Moni. I knew something was up but I didn’t know what. And I never would have guessed that. Well-” I thought for a moment. “I might have guessed that.”
“Why?” she asked.
“You’ve been giving off this-“
“Smell?” she exclaimed.
“What? Of course not, no-“
“Thank God. Because I’ve been trying everything: Vibrators, pillows, beads, glass dildos-“
“-aura,” I finished, but barely able to do so.
“Jesus, I’m sorry. ‘Aura?'” she repeated.
“You’re practically in heat.”
In a heartbeat, Monica’s cheeks turned cherry red. She put her hands to them in a gesture of innocent embarrassment. “Oh my god, is it that obvious?”
I laughed aloud, and for a moment my body went in two very different directions. The older brother in me wanted to pat her on the head and say forget about it; the other part of me couldn’t help but react to that abashed but still mischievous grin.
I shrugged, trying to suppress the laugh that had done nothing to ease her embarrassment. “It happens.”
“No,” she groaned. “No, John, it’s so bad. I’m sorry. I just can’t help it. It’s never been like this before.”
Monica was not a virgin. I knew that much. I had caught her with a boyfriend at least once and ignored the sounds behind her closed door enough times while I was sneaking out of the house myself. Still… “And what was ‘before’ like?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” She flushed again, and then slapped my shoulder. “Stop laughing!”
I batted at her fingers. “I’m not.”
“You are!” She almost growled. “It’s just… You know I’ve- God. I had sex in high school but it’s different. I don’t know. I feel like a boy sometimes.”
“Don’t pigeonhole yourself. Girls get horny, too.”
“I know,” she said. She chewed at her fingernails and we stepped out of the way of a few vendors hawking their wares. “It’s just, this summer, ever since the end of school, I…” She blew her hair out of her face. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“I do,” I said. I did.
“I just. I…ache. I don’t know how else to put it. It’s like as soon as Rob and I broke up I’ve just – look, I’m not a slut or anything, but – I’ve just been so horny.”
“Total slut,” I said.
She punched my arm. “John!”
I couldn’t stop laughing. She punched at me again, and then she grabbed at my arm when I wouldn’t – couldn’t – stop. Eventually she threw all 100 pounds of herself at me and after a moment of perilous swaying she was on top of me and I was carrying her on my back. She stopped trying to choke me after a block and snuggled happily against the back of my neck, her arms locked under my chin. “You’re strong,” she said.
“You’re not very heavy.”
She really wasn’t. I carried her through the crowd on the boardwalk, the two of us silent, watching, thinking. I tried not to think of the way her breasts lightly bobbed against my shoulder blades with every step. She was soft there, more firm along her abdomen. Her thighs were meaty but there was muscle in there, and she was warm. Kim’s breasts had been very different – higher and perkier. Monica’s, I could tell, had a very different consistency. They bobbed against me, and would fit in either hand like soft gelatin. Walking became more difficult as I became more aware of her breath on my neck, and that I was imagining what my sister’s breasts felt like. She had very pink nipples – I knew that without a doubt.
“It’s normal,” I said at last. To her. (What I was thinking was anything but.)
“I know,” she grumbled.
“No, I mean it. I get like that, too. Even more so after a breakup. You’re used to sex, and the well is tapped out.”
“It’s not just that,” said Monica. “Rob and me, we’re not exactly broken up. We kind of sort of left it open at the end of the year. It’s just this mood I’ve been in, and I’m also…put me down?”
I let her slide down off my back and tried to tell myself I didn’t care about the way the soft skin of her thighs ran down my fingertips. She flipped her mound of hair back and grinned at me, then squeezed my hand. She fell into step beside me. “I’ve also just been thinking about…there’s stuff I want to do that I don’t think…I wouldn’t ever know how to ask.”
That made no sense to me, so I just said, “Huh?”
“Well, okay, what’s a fantasy you’ve always had?”
“With a girl?”
“No, with a hedgehog.”
“Oh,” I said. I racked my brain. “I dunno. Catholic schoolgirl uniform.”
“That’s so played out.”
“Well excuse me.”
She bit her lip. “I bet you’ve already done that, though.”
I nodded. A guy was selling soda next to a pizza stand and I bought us two. Monica sipped on a Sprite thoughtfully before she spoke again. “Was it Denise?”
I laughed. “There have been…a few ladies to do that for me.”
“But you just asked them, right? You said, ‘hey, I want to fuck you in a schoolgirl uniform.'”
I tried to play it off for the briefest of moments and then decided, fuck it, we’ve gone this far down the rabbit hole. I nodded.
“Geez, do you want every filthy thing I’ve done?”
“Well. No, but…”
I wanted to laugh but this time I kept it inside. I could see that the conversation was embarrassing her, but she slogged on anyway and this, after all, was what I’d wanted. I made a very visible show of not laughing and gestured for her to continue.
“I mean, is there anything more taboo?”
“Well, your standard rape roleplay, I guess. Handcuffs. Butt stuff.”
“You’re such a guy.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“But you never had a problem asking?”
“Sure, sometimes, for the really weird stuff. But it depends on some things, you know? If we’re drunk enough, if we trust each other enough. I mean, with Brandy, for instance, I trusted her as far as I could throw her, but she was a very randy girl-“
“Indeed. We did stuff I’ve never done with anyone, because she was up for it. I mean, with Kim, I would have felt weird about getting into weirder stuff just because…” I shrugged. “She was daintier?”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Monica. “There’s some stuff I just don’t think I’d be comfortable asking. Most stuff. And I want…” She reached out into the air, as if there was something just out of her reach.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get there.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Yeah, but I’m horny now.”
“That’s not my business.”
She grabbed onto my arm, trying to pull me down to the sidewalk. “Well, you asked.”
“Well, I did.”
We continued to walk like that, she leaning on me, me holding her up. Her hair pushed into my shoulder and I smelled her shampoo.
“Name one thing you want to do that you’d be scared to ask for.”
“One thing?” she said. She bit her lip again. She looked around. “Can we go this way?” She pointed down one of the alleys and we left the crowd and moved into the quiet shadows between the beach houses. “Okay,” she said, taking a sip of Sprite. “I want to…” She grinned and blushed and shook her head. “I’m small, right?”
“You’re petite, yeah.”
“Most times I’ve been laid I’ve been – you know – missionary. On the bottom. I want to be on the top…” I laughed – couldn’t help it – and she slugged me hard. “I wasn’t finished!”
“Sorry!” I said.
“I don’t just want to be on top, I want to be…you know, in total control. I want to just be on the guy and just…own him.”
That was interesting. “Go on.”
“I want to use him, as my personal fuck toy.”
“Not exactly,” she said. “Maybe a little? I want to get on a guy when he’s…sleeping. But he can’t wake up. And I just want to ride him. You know, make all the moves myself, until I’m done.”
I coughed. “You could use a dil-“
“It’s not the same. I want a man under me. A real man. Living, breathing, with a cock that works. And I want to be the one working it.”
Walking was a little more difficult after I heard her say that. “Okay,” I said, a little impressed. “That is a little more complex than just being on top.”
“But,” she sighed, “I’ve never been with a guy I trusted to not laugh at me – first of all.” She glared at me. “But who I thought could actually go through with it. Not just do it but stay hard and not cum until…until I’ve cum.”
“I mean, I can imagine-” Wrong phrase. “I mean, with you as horny as you are, it would be…a challenge.”
“This conversation has gotten me very horny,” she said, no less red than when we’d began.
I let out a sharp sigh.
“I mean,” she continued, unable to look directly at me, “I just keep thinking about it. At night, I can’t sleep. I just think about sneaking into a guy’s room and seeing him there, naked, his cock just…up. You know, like how hard it gets when a guy’s asleep? And, I’m just so wet, and I just slide down him and ride. God, cumming, and then feeling him shoot in me?”
“That’s enough, I think.” I could see how flushed she’d become – a whole other shade of red – and if I had to listen to much more I’d have to sit down for a while.
She wrapped her fingers around her face. “Oh God, I’m sorry. That’s too much, isn’t it? That’s way too much. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “It’s fine, Moni. Let’s get back to the car.”
“Do you think I’m gross?”
“I do not.” I kept walking, and she trailed after me. Again, I tried to ignore the soft parts of her that bobbed as she ran.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re very horny. And it happens.”
“Look at me, John!” She reached out to my hand, grabbed it, and I spun. She was surprisingly strong in that instant.
She was shivering. It was over eighty degrees out and she was shaking like a leaf. Her hand, so tight on me, suddenly went limp, and her eyes were glossy, misty. “I’m so-” she was panting now. Hyperventilating?
“Calm down,” I said. “It’s fine.”
Her chest just kept rising and falling, the hem of her shirt riding up her slit of a bellybutton. Her stomach quivered. I put my hand on her waist. “Moni, it’s fine.”
“I need-” she said.
And then her fingers were on my cheeks and her nails were digging into my jaw. She pulled me down, against the tiny garage of one of those beachtown condos, and pulled my mouth onto her frail, wet lips. Before I knew what was up and where was down her tongue snaked out and it was lapping against mine. I nearly fell, and she pulled me in tighter. Her legs opened wide and I was pinned against her. My sister heaved her chest up and put it on me. “Do you feel?” she gasped into my mouth. “I want it so bad right now…”