The James Sisters

Second Chapter: Leah

What am I getting myself into?

I woke up the next morning flat on my back, inside Jessie. She
sat astride me, naked, her sun-kissed skin practically glowing in
the dim morning light, and she was running her hands through her
long blond hair as I opened my eyes. She rocked her hips back and
forth, slowly. My cock, half-hard already, swelled within her,
painfully so at the sudden look on her face as I pushed through
the last folds of her. She sat there a moment, eyes downcast,
breathing in little shallow pants as her warm wet lips kissed the
base of my cock. Then she leaned forward, lifting off me a
little, and she kissed my mouth, and our tongues tasted each
other.

"Morning," she said, rocking back, plunging me back inside her.

"Jesus," I said.

"No," she said, rocking forward again. A quick nip at my lips.
"Jessie." And back. She picked up the pace slowly but surely,
gently resisting my attempts to guide her hips, to adjust the
rhythm. "Nope," she said, pushing my hands away, panting faster.
"Sorry." Sweat slicked our skins, from between her knees, from
where her thighs rested on my hips, on my palms and the bottoms
of her feet, until we gleamed with it. I sat up, on my elbow, and
caught her waist with one arm, and pulled her to me. Ducking my
head I managed to get one small perfect breast to my mouth, to
catch her nipple in my lips and worry at it. Her breath
sharpened; she stopped rocking a moment and took my head in her
hands, murmuring something I couldn't make out as I licked her
nipple, her breast, kissed the sweat between her breasts, her
collarbone, her throat. She pushed me down again with a deep
chuckle, seizing my right hand in her left and forcing it back,
over my head, pinning it there. She became relentless, merciless,
sliding up and down, up and down, fast and hard, panting, and one
of us said, "Oh, God" as the come leaped suddenly out of me and
into her, and the breath barked from my lungs with the effort of
pleasure.

"Good morning," she said, again, kissing me. We kissed for a
while. And then I had my first conscious thought of the day, and
did the first thing I'd consciously meant to do.

"How'd you get in?" I asked.

She kissed my mouth, my cheek, my Adam's apple. "Same way you
did," she whispered. "Nice and easy."

"The doors are locked," I said. "Windows, too."

"You're thinking about the wrong things," she said. She drew back
from me, bracing herself on her arms, my wrist still in her
grasp. "I still want to play." I was softening inside her, as the
magic of sex leaked away. We were turning into pumpkins, becoming
merely two sweaty human beings clutched too close together on a
muggy summer's morning, our mingled come leaking from our joined
sexes, tickling my balls, my inner thighs, and we were sticky,
and chafed. I tried to shift my weight a little, get comfortable,
and she clamped her thighs tightly about my waist. "No fair," she
said, pouting prettily, and I was reminded of her age, or lack
thereof. "I want to play."

"Jessie," I said.

"What," she said.

"Tell me something."

"What."

"Just how old are you, anyway?"

She stuck out her tongue. "As old as you want me to be."

"Jessie." I tried to look stern, but I'm afraid my dignity was
somewhat compromised.

"Do you really care?" she said, gone suddenly all solemn - though
that imp that bedevils her face was still there, lurking in a
corner of her mouth. "Would you stop fucking me if you found out
for sure? Could you? Do you really think this," and she kissed
me, a sweet and knowing kiss, a sure kiss that curled the toes
and made me forget the sweat, the raw skin, the wet spot, the
muggy heat, "that this could be wrong?"

"Just chalk it up to curiosity," I said, "and leave it at that."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"And satisfaction brought it back."

She reared back, pale blue eyes widening in delighted, astonished
shock. "Get out of here!" She shoved at my chest with one little,
short-nailed hand. "Is that how it really goes? No way."

"Yes," I said, bemused. "That's the way it goes."

"But that's, like, totally different! It changes the whole
meaning!"

"Does it," I said, as drily as I could.

"Yeah! Everybody uses the first part of it to shut you up, to
tell you to fuck off. And the whole time it really means just the
opposite! 'Satisfaction brought it back.' Shit."

"You're changing the subject."

She leaned forward all in a rush, kissing my mouth, my cheek, and
whispering into my ear, "I get my driver's license next week."
The earliest one can be licensed hereabouts is, traditionally
enough, sixteen. I swallowed and thought of this girl, ten years
younger than myself, who seemed whole, complete, with a poise and
confidence rare enough in someone my age (or in me), which she
could throw away with a giggle, a flip of her hair, as the imp
took possession of her mouth, shone forth from her eyes, and she
became coltish, girlish; sixteen. Almost. Christ. My dastardly
cock was swelling again within her. "Gemini," I said, swallowing,
trying to distract her, myself.

"Ooh," she purred. "You like that. I can be younger, if you
like."

"Jessie," I said, and I sighed, twisting my sore wrist out of her
grasp and grabbing her hips, "I fancy myself a gentleman. I like
to think I'd never tickle anyone, no matter the provocation. But
you are beginning to try my patience."

She froze in my grasp; her grin remained, but seemed uncertain, a
little. "You wouldn't."

"If you say so..."

"I swear, I'm almost sixteen. Honest."

"Which," I said, stroking her flank with my hand, pale and rough
over her smooth, smooth skin, "is what I would have thought to be
my limit." I looked up at her beasts, the same smooth color as
the rest of her, tipped with perfect, pink nipples, like the
color you see in a sudden glimpse inside a shell; the slight
curve to her belly, leaning forward, sweat cooling in a faint
line from the shadowed cave of her navel down and down to her
pale blond pubic hair; up to her face, half-hidden suddenly
behind her curtain of hair, the imp hiding in her small, slight
smile. "Sixteen," I said. "In a fantasy, anyway. I never thought
- "

"And is the reality so bad?" she said, mockingly petulant,
leaning forward over me again, and her hair brushed my chest, and
pooled there like spun gold, and spilled over my throat, the
pillows, the sheets. Her breath brushed my cheeks, my eyes; her
lips did not quite touch my lips. Her nipples brushed my skin. I
reached for her with my mouth, but she drew back, and down; then
leaned forward, lifting her hips, and I was sliding through the
warm silken tunnel of her, almost out, almost to the end, then
back, back inside, then forth again; back, and forth; back, and
forth; and it hurt, I was swelling, growing inside her again, the
head of my cock stroked like this, nerves rubbed raw, on fire, a
red-hot spike driving through the center of it -

"It's just," I gasped, "it's dangerous. I don't, ah," and she
paused, at the top of her stroke, perched on half-raised thighs.
"I don't trust your mother. Step-mother. As far as I could, I
could fuck her." She rocked back, suddenly. "Throw her. Ah."

"And what," she said, "does that have to do with it?" Forth,
slowly. Then back. "Hmm?"

"Jessie," I said, "that hurts. Wait a minute. A man can only take
so much."

"Really." The imp crooked the corner of her mouth, cocked an
eyebrow at me. Up and down; up and down.

"Christ, Jessie - " I grabbed her, stopped her, lifted my hips to
catch her and keep her from coming back down. She kissed me as I
gently eased us both down.

"You're acting like I've never done this before," she said.

"Jesus, Jessie," I said, maybe a tad more sharply than I ought.

"What," she said, eyes going cold, imp retreating, as she sat up,
tracing a line down the center of my chest with a finger, "is you
concern with how old I am? What does it matter? I'm here. You're
here. We're having sex. Sex is, like, the best thing ever. I
adore it."

"I don't mind it," I said. "It's just - "

"What about all those '50s songs? 'You're sixteen, you're
beautiful, and you're mine...' What do you think that meant,
anyway? So I got a head start. What's wrong with that?" She
started to grin as she sang the oldie, and her eyes melted again.
"People are always telling me I'm mature for my age."

"How much of a head start?" I said.

"Seven months, one week, three days. And four - no, five girls.
And - now - " she raised herself up again, free from my relaxed
hands, up, up, and then down again - "two boys. I love sex. I
love fucking. Christ." She chuckled deep in her throat again,
like the rumbling purr of a big cat, and kissed me again, deeply,
thoroughly.

"Do those five girls count your mother?" I asked when she came up
for air.

"Step-mother."

"Like that makes a difference. Ow. Mother fucker. Ow!"

"Don't," she said, and she was suddenly serious. "Don't start. I
don't want to talk about her, okay? So don't start, Carter." She
shifted her hips a little, and I was suddenly settled deep within
her. "Christ, I love fucking you. When you came up behind me like
that yesterday, when you slipped up inside me like that. I have
been jonesing for you so hard - your eyes, your hair, I wanted
your hands on me. I wanted your dick inside me. I love the
sadness in your eyes, I love the little smile you have that isn't
a smile. Something happened to you somewhere and I want to find
out what it was. Somebody hurt you sometime and I'm going to make
them pay. Because - " she shifted her hips again - "I love the
way you feel when I do that. You're perfect. Not too big, not too
small. It's like we're made for each other. We're made to fuck
each other. And that's all I want to do to you all day." And she
laughed, a delicate little peal that cracked the muggy air of the
bedroom. "And I love the way you blush."

I was looking away, and my face was, perhaps, a little heated.
What was I getting myself into? I'm slow, sometimes; I wake up
(literally, in this case) in the middle of something I could
easily have avoided, had I been thinking. At all. I should have
been asking this question the first day she showed up, or the
second day, when she showed up again; hell, I should have asked
myself yesterday, for sure, but it wasn't till now, with this
fifteen-year-old girl sitting astride my hips, making me blush,
laughing in my dim and silent bedroom - then my conscience showed
up, hands in pockets, whistling with feigned nonchalance,
reacting with mock dismay to what it found. What am I getting
myself into? There was no answer - or, rather, I was too deep
inside the answer already.

I could, perhaps, have withdrawn then; gotten dressed; made some
coffee; sent her on her way. I could, maybe, have gotten out
then. I didn't. And that, of course, has made all the difference,
as someone once said about a couple of paths in the woods.

What I did was twist and roll over suddenly, levering her up and
over with me, and managed it without slipping free from her. She
grunted with surprise and not a little pleasure as my weight fell
on her, and I gasped as my cock, nearly fully erect, plunged into
her as far as it could, straining against the pressure of my
pelvis against her spread thighs. "Almost," I muttered. "I have
learned," I said, "not to take seriously any compliments uttered
at the height of passion."

She opened her eyes, gazing up at me, a dreamy look on her face.
She stroked my arms with her hands, ran one along my side, down
and around to cup my ass, pushing it. "I want you," she said,
huskily. "I need you."

"Almost," I said again. "Almost. Make me want to. Make me do it.
Tell me something."

"What?" she breathed. I held still, balancing on my hands and
knees above her.

"Tell me - Virginia said I should meet your sisters."

"She did? What did she say?"

"She said you were gorgeous, you little step-mother fucker, but
that I should see your sisters."

"Really." She brushed some of her hair out of her face, made
awkward by the proximity of our bodies; I didn't move. "Maybe I
should tell you about Leah."

"Leah?"

"She's older than me, she just turned eighteen. So maybe you
should be fucking her." I eased myself up and down, slowly, to
leave no doubt as to who I was fucking. "Ooh," she said. "Maybe
you don't need the story after all."

Maybe I didn't by that point, but I wanted it. I wanted to draw
things out, make it last. I wanted her to drive me over the edge
that was looming before me; what I wanted, really, was to somehow
be able to tell myself it had all been her fault. In the end.
"Tell me about your sister, Jessie." I gave her the full force of
my sad eyes and my smile that isn't a smile.

"Mmm," she said. "Where should I start?"

"What does she look like?" Our voices had dropped, we were
murmuring now, almost whispering, through the foot or so of muggy
air between our mouths, as if we were sharing secrets, as if
someone might hear.

"A little taller than me. Her tits are a little bigger. She's a
blonde, too."

"Natural?"

"She shaves."

"Oh."

"She keeps her hair cut short, like, shoulder length. And it's
straighter than mine. And she has the most amazing blue green
eyes, like a warm tropical sea. Like Jamaica. Jamaica eyes." Her
hands, fluttering, stroking over my back, my sides, my ass.
"Mmm," she said again. "She's so smart. She wants to be a poet,
like the old poets, like really old. She's always quoting stuff
at me. Sappho and shit."

"And shit."

She laughed, low, quiet, just between the two of us. "She's so
fucking sexy. Her legs, her tits, her mouth. Some days when
Virginia's gone on business we never get out of bed, just lie
there, kissing all day long. Touching. Feeling."

"Fucking," I said.

"Such language. I love my sister. I mean, we're practically all
we've got left these days. We were so close when we were kids,
people sometimes thought we were twins."

"Twins?" Her mouth had twisted for a moment, her eyes rolled, as
if the word had tasted sour to her.

"Nothing. When I turned thirteen, though, we went through a bad,
bad time. But about half a year ago - "

"Seven months, one week, and whatever?"

"Hey. I'm telling this story. Ooh, do that again."

"No. Tell it, already."

"Spoil-sport. Ow. Okay, okay. So. I'm coming home from a
basketball game, it's late at night, there's a wind storm blowing
up. No rain or anything, but the trees are tossing, losing the
last of their leaves, it sounds like ocean waves rolling and
rolling everywhere. So I come home, and it's pretty much dark.
Virginia's gone, the girls were asleep, and Leah wasn't anywhere
downstairs.

"And, I don't know. I was feeling scared, okay? I was still
wearing my cheerleader outfit - it's like this pair of tight
shorts, like cycling shorts, and a cut-off top, right, in team
colors?" She chuckled at my small smile. "I was wearing a jacket,
but I was thinking, like, slasher movie stuff. If the phone rang
I would've screamed.

"So I go looking for Leah. Which is weird, because we still hate
each other, okay? Then, I mean. She was accusing me of - nah,
never mind about that. Hey!"

I had withdrawn, until the head of my cock rested on the edges of
her labia, hovering there. "Tell the story," I said.

"It's nothing, okay? We - I - I just went upstairs, basically,
and her room was dark, which was weird, because she never goes
anywhere. And the girls were asleep, it was, like, eleven
o'clock, and anyway, they weren't any good against, well, slasher
stuff. So I go back downstairs, and I'm in the kitchen, I think I
was raiding Virginia's liquor cabinet, when I hear a noise, and
it's coming from Virginia's room.

"Now, we aren't supposed to go back there, right? I mean, we did,
we knew why, but we weren't supposed to. But I went back there,
and I knew Leah did too, even if the girls never did."

"Who are these girls?" I asked, relenting a little, sinking a
little deeper into her.

"Ohh," she said, wiggling her hips, trying to draw me in deeper.
I pulled back. "Dammit!" she said.

"The girls," I said.

"They're Virginia's kids," she said. "Kat and Tina. Twins. About
six months younger than me. My half-sisters."

I sank deeper into her, a complex shape forming in the back of my
head, this tangled family snarling itself into depraved,
tantalizing knots. Twins. "Sounds complicated." She was warm, and
soft, wet and inviting, and I was hard again, and ready, more
than ready, but not yet. Not yet.

"You don't know the half of it," she was saying. "See, Virginia
has this - well, you'll see.

"So I snuck back there. I mean, I knew Virginia was gone, she'd
be gone for a day or two at least, and so it had to be Leah back
there. And there was only one thing Leah could be doing back
there, and I wanted to catch her at it. Embarrass her. Totally."

"One thing?" I asked. That burning itch of pleasure, that need to
be scratched, was tickling up the base of my cock, and it felt
delicious, sliding along her warm, warm lips, pulling out
halfway, holding there, not moving.

"She was watching a tape." And Jessie smirked up at me, rolling
her hips a little beneath me, and I almost went with it, catching
myself at the last moment, denying us both a release. Not yet.

"A video nasty," I said.

"X-rated. I sneak around the corner, so I can see where
Virginia's TV is, and the bed. And on the screen there's a couple
of girls, and one of them is naked, and she's pulling the skirt
off the other one, and she's kneeling in front of her, and she's
going down on her, wham bam thank you ma'am. But the volume was
turned down, right? There's none of that cheesy music or
anything. The sound I heard was Leah.

"She's lying on the bed, on her stomach, and she's wearing a T-
shirt, and just a T-shirt. And she was whimpering and moaning,
and the shirt was rolled up over her ass, about the small of her
back, and her feet are in the air, her toes are curling, and her
calves are tensed up and shaking, and one hand is gripping the
edge of the bed for dear life, and the other is jammed under her
stomach, and from where I'm standing I can just see the fingers
wiggling there in her pussy. And her eyes are glued to the girls
on the TV and she's got the horniest look on her face and she's
coming, right there, and Christ, fuck me, please, fuck me, I'm
getting so hot and bothered just thinking about her, fuck me!"
She grabbed my shoulders and tried to pull me down to her; I
resisted, pushing her back with one hand.

"Fuck you," she said.

"In due time."

"Oh, God," she said, "oh, God. So. Leah - how do you expect me to
be coherent under these conditions?" She ran a hand along my
chest, touched my face. "God, you're so beautiful."

"You're changing the subject." I tried to set my face in stone,
but my dignity was, again, somewhat compromised.

"Leah - she's just so goddamn beautiful, okay? You'd have to see
her. And that was the first time I saw her, really. Not like this
enemy, not like my stupid-ass big sister, not like some five-
foot-six monster with my hair and almost my eyes who liked making
me look like a fucking idiot, okay? I saw her as somebody else.
Another girl, a girl who made me wet. Makes me wet. And it never
crossed my mind, like, she's my sister, this is wrong, right? It
was just clean and pure. She was coming right there in front of
me and I wanted it to go on, I wanted her to keep coming, I
wanted to be the reason she was coming. I wanted her to make me
come. I wanted that with her like I'd never wanted it before."

She was rocking beneath me again, and I was rolling with her, and
I forced myself to stop, though it felt good, too good.

"You're getting off on this," she said.

"So are you," I said.

"Mm-hmm," she said. "So I'm about to walk in on my sister and, I
don't know, kiss her, rape her, fuck her, do something. I had no
idea what but it had to be done. And that's when..." And she
trailed off, grinning impishly.

"What?"

"Give me something and I tell you."

I leaned down and kissed her, quickly, on the lips.

"Na-ah," she said.

I kissed her more thoroughly.

"Getting warmer," she said.

I knew what she wanted, but I wasn't going to give it to her. I
licked her breast, nipped at her nipple with my lips.

"Ooh, nice. But."

"Jessie."

"Who's got the stronger will, huh?"

I locked eyes with her, small smile that isn't quite a smile
staring down her mischievous imp, half in her, half out of her,
her legs wrapped around mine, her hair asprawl on the pillow, her
arms back over her head, her finger twining in her hair. And at
some point in there I plunged into her, quick, hard, and pulled
back out again, a sudden thrust, there! She gasped. "Oh, Christ."

"There," I said, panting. A little.

"Well," she said, swallowing, looking up at me, "the power went
out."

"The power?"

"All the lights go out, the girls flicker away in mid-come, Leah
gasps and I shriek, and then Leah shrieks when she realizes I was
there, and maybe there for a long time. And we're yelling at each
other, what are you doing spying on me, what are you doing in
Virginia's room, what's it to you, I'm gonna tell, that sort of
shit. But we calm down pretty quickly. I wasn't going to tell, we
both knew that. But we have to get the power back on. Lights. And
we have to get that tape out of the VCR.

"So we head into the kitchen, and we find a flashlight, and we
head down to the basement first. Maybe the wind blew something
over, and we'd have to call the power company, but maybe it was
the circuit breaker, right?

"Now, the breaker box is up kind of high, near the stairs, so I
get a chair for Leah to stand on, and she climbs up on it, and
I'm holding it to steady her.

"Up until then, we'd been in panic mode, running around, get
this, get that. But she was standing there on the chair in front
of me, reaching up, and the shirt was riding up, mmm, oh, that's
nice, so I could just see the lips of her pussy, and you like
that, don't you, and they were red and puffy, and a little wet
still, and I could smell her, and it all comes rushing back to
me, in a wave so big it sucks me down and leaves me dizzy and I
don't have any idea what I'm doing, right?

"And she turns a little, saying, 'I think it's this one,' and her
back is to the wall behind her, she's resting against it, I don't
really need to be holding the chair but there I am anyway, oh
God, and the shirt's riding up some more, I can see her lips
there, bare and smooth, nestled in that little vee of bare flesh
between her thighs, and it's right there in front of my nose, my
mouth, like she's taunting me, like she knows, oh fuck, just what
she's doing, oh, God, Carter, keep going, and then, click, the
lights come back on, and she says, oh, fuck, she says, 'That's
it,' oh, you feel so good, and I'm moving, I gotta do it, I
spread her thighs, pushing her back against the wall, and I'm
kissing her there, and I feel her open up under me like a mouth
and the taste which is, like, a hundred, oh fuck, a hundred
times, oh, oh, oh my God! and it comes rushing in to me, and I'm,
oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh fuck! I'm eating my sister like I've
always done it, like, oh, God, Carter, like I always knew what to
do, and her hands are on my head, and she's holding me there,
holding my mouth there, muttering, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh my God,
I'm gonna come, I'm so close, I'm so wet, I'm so freaking close,
fuck me, fuck, fuck me, please God, oh please, holy Christ - "

She clawed my back, her hips spasming under me, breaking our
rhythm; I halted, hanging above her, as she threw her head back,
eyes squeezed shut, clutching at the sheets, heaving the orgasm
from her by sheer force of will. And when the storm had passed we
kissed, and kissed some more, as I resumed my long, steady
strokes, pulling all the way out, almost, and then rocking home,
and as my speed slowly increased again it was hard enough to slap
against her. She was whimpering as our mouths crushed together,
and when we broke the kiss my breath came in harsh pants, and I
felt the come pooling in me again like sluggish quicksilver,
feeling the buzz of it building like a red-hot coal again in my
cock, and it hurt again, but I couldn't stop, the other feeling
was, it was the feeling of it suddenly spurting through me, and
there was no conscious realization that I was about to come, no
thought that I had been about to come; no past, no future, just
an eternal now I almost but didn't quite make it to, a peak my
fingers slipped from as I was dragged back down into the world.

And afterwards, as we lay, side by side, our fingertips touching,
our feet, her nose an inch from mine, her hair brushing my
forehead, I said, "So?"

"So?" she said.

"So?" I said, a little more expectantly. She wasn't smiling.

"What."

"What happened next?"

"Is that," she said, and she stopped. "I swear," she said. Her
hand found my chest, slipped down to my stomach.  "Here I am,
ready and more than willing, and all you want to hear about is my
sister." She slapped my ass suddenly, then stroked it. "Worse.
You want to hear about me and my sister together. Typical het
boy." Her voice was petulant, a thwarted little girl's, but when
I looked down at her face, her eyes cast away from me, she was
smiling. "A little perverse, maybe, but still typical."

"You started a story," I said. "You didn't finish it."

"How do you know? Maybe that was the end."

"Very bad form," I said. "With your half-naked sister coming on a
chair in the basement like that? That's not an ending. No story
ever ends at the top like that. No good story. You've got to have
the follow-through, the coming down, the aftermath. The epilogue.
What happened next?"

"Didn't somebody once say that all happy endings are just where
the story stopped too soon?"

"This one doesn't have a happy ending?"

She looked up at me, and then stretched suddenly to kiss me,
quickly. "It's not over yet." We kissed some more.

Cuddled together, running her hand through my hair, she said,
"She got off the chair, and we looked at each other, and it was
like this huge thing of emotions, like electricity, snapping
between us. She was trembling. And then she suddenly just took
off up the stairs, running.

"After a minute, I followed her. I wasn't thinking, it was more
like instinct. It was, it just kept being something I had to do."

"It was love," I said.

"Ain't it a bitch?" she said. "She heads to her room, and I found
her there, and she's crying. She's crying. She looks up at me
when I walk in, and I say, 'Oh, Leah,' and she's got tears coming
out her eyes, and her hair's a mess, and one of her hands is
tugging at the hem of her T-shirt, and it's pulled tight against
her tits, and I ought to be thinking about what's upset her, and
maybe I should have tried to comfort her, but all I could think
of was how fucking gorgeous she suddenly was to me, her tits, her
long, long legs, her face, her hair. Her distress. And I wanted
to comfort her, all right. I wanted to keep comforting her." She
chuckled. "And I said, 'Leah, what's wrong?'

"And she says, 'Oh, Jessie.' And for a minute there, my heart
dropped to my feet. Something in the tone of her voice, I don't
know, I was convinced she was going to yell at me, call me a
freak, order me out, tell Virginia. All I knew was that something
I never knew I had was about to be taken away, and I was about
to, I don't know, slap her or something, to keep her from saying
what I thought she was going to say.

"But then she laughs, this little half-laugh like a hitch in her
breathing, like a gasp, and she says, 'God, sis, I'm so,' and she
laughs again, 'I'm so fucking horny,' she says, 'and you're so
fucking beautiful.'

"And I ran to her, and tackled her on her bed, and she's ripping
off my shorts, and her hands are on me, all over me, and mine are
on her, and we cover each other with kisses." She kissed me,
then, and again, and again. "The end," she said, and suddenly she
got up, and was crawling out of my bed.

"Wait," I said.

"Really," she said, "I've got to go. It's almost ten. Don't you
have work to do?"

"What happened with the tape?"

"Oh," she said, picking up a dress from the floor, and I watched
her body move and tighten, watched her breasts flatten as she
lifted it above her head, and she let it fall about her. It went
down to her mid-calf, it had thin straps, it was a lovely deep
blue-green. "The tape. We forgot about the tape. In our mutual
lust. And Virginia found it. But that's another story."

"For another time?"

"Maybe." She'd grabbed a pair of espadrilles and was about to put
them on when she stopped, and climbed up onto the foot of the
bed, kneeling there. "Come here," she said.

I sat up, cross-legged. "Why?"

"Come here." She beckoned with a crooked finger.

I shuffled down to the end of the bed, and she leaned forward to
kiss me, on my lips, on the tip of my nose, on my cheek. "I love
your hair," she said, "Carter Seamus Macleod, and your eyes, and
your mouth. I love your body. You're so slim and tight. I love
fucking you. I'm very glad that you live just behind us, and that
you came out to see me sunbathe that day, and that you didn't
send me away. I'm glad that you treat me the way you do. And I
want to keep fucking you."

"I see," I said.

"There. That wasn't at the height of passion. What did you
think?"

"I think I can trust it," I said.

"But do you think you can trust me?"

"Yes," I said, after a deep breath, "I think I can."

"Because I think I'm falling in love with you." And she kissed
me. After a moment, I kissed her back.

"It is my experience," I said, between kisses, "that sixteen-
year-olds have a very different idea of love than the rest of
us."

Her mouth twisted a little, and the imp flashed in her eyes.
"Then it's a good thing I'm not a sixteen-year-old. Yet." She got
up off the bed. "You shouldn't patronize," she said, slipping on
the espadrilles. "I'm not like most girls."

"True enough," I said.

"By the way," she said, standing in the bedroom door, the
sunlight pouring through the almost-closed blinds making the air
between us hazy and troubled, "what I told you? About me and my
sister?" She paused, waiting for me to say something.

"Yes?" I said.

"It was all a lie. That isn't how it happened at all."

And she was gone, laughing.

"Jessie," I said, falling back against the bed.



I went for a walk that afternoon, around the block. Counting
houses, I found the one that had to be hers.

It was a big house, as big as the old Queen Anne my uncle had
left me, but of a later vintage, a blocky grey brick thing from
the 1930s. Black shutters and a big round semi-circular porch
with white Georgian columns going up two stories. A Range Rover
and an Accura and one of those new BMW roadsters were parked in
the driveway. I noticed I could see through the trees one of my
own attic dormer windows, on the side of my house, from where I
stood.

I had tied my hair back, and put on sunglasses, and I didn't
linger in front of the house, just kept to my own meandering
pace. But I had the unpleasant feeling of being watched,
nonetheless.

Nerves.

Back at my house, I once more ignored the boxes untouched now for
two or three days, didn't turn on the computer which still wasn't
even fully hooked up, and headed up to the attic. I rummaged
around on the second floor, finding a pair of binoculars. I was
justifying this to myself, reasoning that a situation this odd,
this fraught with unpredictable outcomes, deserved a little
spying; that forewarned is forearmed; that this wasn't just an
aggravated outbreak of the novelist's sin, voyeurism. Know thine
enemy, I was muttering to myself, a little wryly, when the
realization washed over me like a cold wave. She'd known my name.
My whole name. I hadn't told her.

I took the steps up to the attic two at a time.

I could indeed see the back of their house from that dormer
window. The back yard was mostly grass, dry and yellowing already
under the early summer heat. I could see the side door, the cars,
the back porch, a little thing, its shade pathetically small, a
dog bowl beside the back door, the tall line of windows opening
on the dining room. Leaning against one of the windows was
Virginia; her face was turned to the side, and I could make out
her profile. Someone was kneeling between her legs. She wore a
dark suit dress of some kind, with a short skirt; the skirt was
hiked up, showing the scalloped, lacy tops of her black
stockings, her bare ass, the person's fingers and mouth busy in
her cunt. And in a chair close by was Jessie, still wearing her
blue-green sun dress; she lifted it up over her hips, and was
playing with herself, lazily, licking her lips at the sight
before her.

Who was eating Virginia? I couldn't make it out, and for a
minute, I thought it must have been Leah. Virginia came, throwing
her head forward, then back, shivering the glass in the window,
staggering away for a moment, unsteady on shaky legs and high
heels. The woman who'd been kneeling stood: a tall woman with a
fabulous mane of red hair, wearing a long green sleeveless dress
unbuttoned down the front. She wore a small white bra and no
underwear, and her pubic hair was dark and thick, and she was
barefoot.

Not Leah.

Virginia, catching herself, drew herself up, smoothing her skirt
down over her thighs, her ass, running a hand through her skewed
hair. She stepped over to Jessie, drew back her hand, and slapped
her, once, quite hard, then grabbed the hem of Jessie's dress and
yanked it down. She said something sharply, and Jessie, shocked,
stood and walked, a little uncertain, to the windows.

She looked up, and though she couldn't have seen me, she looked
right at me. Her face was blank, her cheek reddened where
Virginia had slapped it. She raised a hand, slowly, to touch her
cheek lightly with her fingertips, and then her lips.

And then, one by one, she pulled the shades.

I stepped away from the window, and after a moment I threw the
binoculars away from me, across the attic.

What was I getting myself into?

--n.

http://www.asstr.org/~nickurfe/
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
nickurfe@yahoo.com

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