Brother and sister become very close
Janice, my girlfriend, of three weeks, is the type of girl who teases you, until you are nearly insane with lust, then stops everything until you commit to her, which at twenty years old, I am a long way from doing.
Like earlier, she whispered words of love and lust, pulling me close, letting my hand move under her top. Her bra is undone, my hands feel her breasts, her nipples are rock hard, but she won’t let me take her top off.
My hand moves down, caressing her body, touching the triangle of hair guarding the object of my desire. A finger reaches out; she’s soaking wet but shrinks back from my touch.
“We can’t Tommy.” She hissed. “Not in the back of your truck.”
I can understand that, my truck, which is over twenty years old and has lived a hard life, working building sites around the nation, is not the prettiest. Its seats are stained with concrete and plaster dust, its floors littered with cans and empty burger boxes. Its body is battered and torn, but it has never let me down, well once it wouldn’t start and that was because I’d kicked the tyre hard one day in temper.
“Look at my top, it’s filthy.” Janice moaned. “Take me home.”
I pulled up outside her house; she leapt out and ran inside. I had to close the passenger side door; you have to lift it up a little and then slam hard to close it. I grinned when I pulled away, leaving a black cloud of smoke behind.
I was about to turn right to my dingy bedsit but remembered for the next two weeks I was back home, looking after my younger sister, the apple of my father’s eye. She was always the clever one, the good child who never disappointed her parents. For eighteen years she was the perfect daughter, then, a few months ago, she was caught shoplifting. Even then parents believed it was all some terrible mistake, until she was caught again, with CCTV proving her crime.
Father was distraught, he demanded his daughter work in the pie factory so she could understand the true value of money. He wanted to cancel the Jamaican holiday they had booked so they could keep an eye on the errant chid. Mother had persuaded me to volunteer. My father had offered to buy me a new car if I helped them out. I told him to shove it up his arse, I didn’t need to be bribed to look after my sister. Not a sensible thing to do but my father and I, simply don’t get along, he wants me to be his clone. It’s why I left home, to run away to a building site to learn my trade.
My mother is some high up criminal prosecutor; my father is, big in the city, big in business and walked a fine line between legal and criminal. They are immensely rich, the driveway to their house is bigger than the park near my digs. I pulled up outside the house, grinning again when my truck made a farting noise, a kind of tribute to my father, and belched out more smoke.
Inside the house I heard the soft sound of someone crying.
“Lexy!” I shouted; the crying stopped.
I marched to the games room and saw her sat on the edge of a smart leather sofa with her face in her hands.