Brother and sister, incest story
“What are you reading?” she asked as she peered down at me with one hand on her hip.
I looked up from my book and gave her a blank stare. I knew she was no more interested in what I was reading than I was at the moment. I sighed and closed the cover, displaying it for her satisfaction.
“Goldman? ‘The Lion in Winter’ is one of my favorite Broadway plays,” she remarked.
She took a bite of the apple she palmed and the audible crunch caused me to wince. It was one of those annoying little habits she had. From the time we were kids, she always crunched something with those pearly white teeth; apples, pears, crackers, ices cubes, Summer was driven to crunch things with her teeth.
Some women obsessively file their nails, while others twirl their hair. Summer crunched. If you counted the number of things she crunched through the course of one day, you might find yourself asking how she managed to maintain such a fabulous figure.
I eyed her with doubtful admiration. She always turned heads, but at twenty-eight, Summer was the type of woman who could cause a twelve-car pileup and keep right on walking. Amazingly, she never seemed to notice her effect on men. I found it disturbing that I was constantly reminded of the affect she had on me.
Summer was my twin sister, but it’s unlikely you would know it by comparing the two of us. We were fraternal twins, born in the heat of mid-July. Our parents named us Sonny and Summer, a rather unfortunate joke on me.
Summer’s name fit her to a ‘T’. She had deep blue eyes and a stunning head of naturally golden-blonde hair. It was smooth and silky, cut evenly below her shoulders. My gaze inadvertently trailed downward to where her pelvis formed a ‘Y’ at her crotch. Like an eager schoolboy, I made a conscious attempt to catch a fleeting glimpse of honey-gold in that area as well.
Summer didn’t seem to notice when I reopened the book and positioned it face-down over my lap. I felt heat flush my cheeks as I attempted to conceal the level of my interest. She perched on the overstuffed arm of the chair where I sat and placed one bare foot against the denim covered flesh above my knee.
She concentrated on the apple again, studying it and rolling it over in her hand before she nonchalantly asked, “Did you talk to Dad today?”
I grunted in response and sullenly pressed my hand to my jaw. I studied the one slender ankle attached to the foot she propped on my leg. Her toes curled against my jeans as she kneaded me like a cat pitter-patting with its claws. Her purple toe-nails scratched against the rough fabric in an aggravating way.
“What did he say?” she asked as she munched another bite of apple; its skin seemed to accentuate the dark color of her thick lower lip.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder and granted me an unobstructed view of both full breasts beneath the thin cotton nightshirt she wore. I drew in a deep breath as I noted her nipples standing erect. Frowning, I grasped her ankle and subdued the nails clawing at the leg of my jeans.
“The usual rah-rah speech,” I shrugged dejectedly. “The ‘Keep trying, son; you’ll get it right someday‘ speech.”
“Well, he’s right, you know,” she frowned. “He has faith in you, Sonny. We all do.”
I snorted at her attempt to humor my wounded pride.
At twenty, after two years of college, I joined the military in an effort to follow in our dad’s footsteps. Our father, a successful officer in the Air Force, recently retired from a lifetime of service. Everyone, including our dad, expected me to do the same, but after four years, I declined Uncle Sam’s invitation to reenlist.
Military life wasn’t for me. As a kid, I hated bouncing from one place to another, and as an adult, I hated it even more. I detested the hours and following inane orders; I abhorred the disciplined style of life.
As long as I could remember, I wanted to be either a writer or an artist. Not a journalist, but a novelist, or perhaps a screenplay writer. Two years of college did nothing to enhance my skills in that department either. My resume was extensive and growing by the minute.
I’d landed quite a few jobs, but none of them lasted. When I was canned from my last official position as a weekly column writer for a small-town newspaper, my refusal to return in defeat to my parents’ home landed me on Summer’s doorstep in south Florida.
By contrast, Summer was a well-rounded success; it goes without saying, she was well-rounded in all the appropriate places.
She earned a Master’s degree in English with a minor in Creative Writing. Not only was she the published author of a series of children’s books, but she elbowed her way into the fashion industry as both a runway and a commercial-print model when she was still in college.
Despite her age, Summer maintained the look and the poise required for modeling. Miami had a market for women like Summer; they doted on tall, tanned, beautiful blondes.
“I think I need a drink,” I grumbled as I lifted her foot from my lap and placed it firmly on the floor. I wandered to the bar and poured myself a stiff Johnny Walker on the rocks.
“Would you care for anything?” I offered dully.
Summer wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
“Not scotch. I’ll make us a pitcher of Margaritas if you promise to help me drink it,” she replied.
I downed the scotch and meandered through a set of French doors onto the deck. In the darkness, a cool ocean breeze rattled the palm fronds overhead, and Summer’s passion, a row of wind-chimes suspended from the eaves, played a tinkling tune.
In the distance, the sound of rolling waves crashed against a sand beach with an accompanying rhythm. Summer called the combined chaos ‘the angel’s waltz’. Somehow, she found beauty in everything, even stormy days seemed brighter through Summer’s eyes.
I half seated myself on the handrail, resting one buttock there as I looked towards the water and swirled the melting ice in my glass. I took a deep breath of fresh ocean air and sighed.
There was a faint scent of hibiscus on the salty breeze and something more. I closed my eyes and sniffed again. Citrus, I thought. Perhaps a few late blooming oranges from some nearby neighbor’s yard.
Summer joined me on the deck, bearing a tray with two large frozen drink glasses.
“Here we go! Just like old times,” she exclaimed as she gently clinked her glass against mine.
She also half-mounted the rail and faced me in the dark. She gave her hair a toss and took a deep breath.
“Isn’t it marvelous out here at night? We should have dinner here. Lobster Thermidor and steamed snow crab,” she suggested with enthusiasm.
I snorted at the idea. “Who’s going to cook?”
Summer’s skills didn’t include cooking. She could barely manage to scramble an egg without scorching it. I pondered for a moment the irony that most unattached men were proficient in the kitchen, while single females remained dependent on microwavable cardboard cartons and take-out food.
“Don’t be such an old grouch!” she admonished. “I’ll talk Joachim into cooking for us one night. He’ll do it. He owes me a couple of favors. Maybe you could invite someone, and we’ll make it an intimate little dinner party for four.”
In the two months since I arrived in south Florida, I managed to meet a few dozen people, most of whom were friends of Summer, and none of whom I had any real interest in knowing any better. The feeling appeared mutual, because the type of friends Summer collected showed little interest in an unsuccessful freelance writer, even if he was Summer’s brother.
“That sounds positively peachy, Sis,” I replied with sarcasm. “I’ll just check my catalogue of romantic interests and see who’s available.”
“Oh, that reminds me! Do you think I could borrow you again this coming Saturday?” Summer asked as she suddenly bounded to her feet.
I was already frowning and I hadn’t heard any details of her proposition yet.
“I have this thing…it’s a late cocktail party,” she began with enthusiasm. “A lot of the who’s who are going to be there and I haven’t managed to find a date yet.”
“It will give me an opportunity to introduce you to my publisher,” she added slyly.
Summer not finding a date was like a bee not being able to produce honey. For the past sixty days, and for all outward appearances, I had been dating my sister exclusively, acting as her official escort to every social event in town. At this point, it was downright embarrassing, but Summer couldn’t quite seem to grasp the level of my personal humiliation. The dismal silence that ensued her request should have been hint enough.
“Come on, Sonny. Please say, ‘yes’. It’ll be fun. You’ll see,” she coaxed.
“We should light the tiki-torches,” she mused as an afterthought. “Help me.”
She reached for a box of wooden matches from the patio table and fumbled with an attempt to light the torches on her own. The wind promptly extinguished the flame and she gave me a look of exasperation. I couldn’t help but grin at her ineptness. Summer was most appealing when she was helpless.
“Matches aren’t going to work in this wind,” I declared with a disparaging shake of my head. I rose to my feet and headed towards the kitchen.
“Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
By the time I returned, she’d abandoned her quest and sat sprawled in one wrought iron chair, while her feet rested on the seat of another. Her glass was nearly empty, as was mine, and I refilled them both from the pitcher I retrieved while in the kitchen. I set about lighting the torches around the deck while I gave some thought to her earlier request.
“What’s so important about meeting your publisher?” I asked over my shoulder as I lit the last lantern.
“I don’t have anything new written to show him, and all my old pieces have already been turned down by most of the notable publishing houses,” I pointed out.
“He isn’t a he; he’s a she. And, I wasn’t implying you should submit anything to her. I just thought you might like to meet her,” she shrugged with an air of indifference. “In a way, she’s your publisher, too, since you did the illustrations for me. I just thought you might like to meet the person who signs your royalty checks.”
Facing her in the flickering firelight, my irritation returned. It was true. I had sketched the illustrations for her last two publications. Drawing was a hobby of mine, and when Summer began reading her children’s stories to me, I absently made a few sketches based on her description of the characters. Summer and her editor liked them well enough they proposed I illustrate the remaining books in the series. I agreed because I enjoyed drawing and even I had to admit that my sketches were far better than her last illustrator’s were.
As for the royalty checks, the amounts were dismal, barely enough to pay my portion of the living expenses. I managed on my savings, and the profits from a few wise investments in the stock market, but I had no steady income to call my own. Still, I was grateful for the royalties her books brought me. Without them, and without Summer to lean on, life could have been a hell of a lot worse. But, to the people Summer associated with, it must have looked as if I was a kept man.
“She’s your publisher, not mine, and I’m sure she’s been kicking herself in the ass for not meeting me before now,” I quipped more sharply than I intended.
“Come on, Sonny. Just meet her, for Christ’s sake! Mel’s a nice lady and you just might find you like her,” Summer argued.
“Mel?” I asked with a squint of suspicion. The image of Mel as an overweight, middle-aged, cigar-smoking grandmother sprang into my head.
“Her name is Melanie, but everyone just calls her ‘Mel’. I think it’s kind of cute,” she sniffed indignantly.
“Well, what does Mel look like?” I dubiously inquired.
“If you’re curious, you’ll just have to come with me Saturday night and you can find out for yourself,” Summer ventured tentatively.
She was treading lightly around the subject. So far, most of Summer’s friends had been pure knock-outs, but I was highly skeptical about publishers named ‘Mel’. At that point, I needed more incentive than Summer was giving me to even consider the idea; wading into the Everglades at night had just about as much appeal.
I gazed at Summer silhouetted in the flickering torchlight, her hair blowing in the summer breeze and I hatched a plan to counter her offensive maneuver.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Sis. I’ll go with you this weekend on one condition.”
Summer tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at me. “What condition?” she asked suspiciously.
My gaze trailed along her silky-smooth legs. Her knees were slightly parted and it gave me a fleeting glimpse of the white crotch of her panties. A small thrill for a teenaged boy, perhaps, but there was no justification for the immediate spark it ignited in my imagination.
“Pose for me,” I said firmly. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the railing with a strong stance. It wasn’t the first time I’d made the request. We argued often over the years, but Summer always refused.
She lowered her feet from the opposite chair and scooted forward while shaking her head adamantly.
“Oh, no…uh-uh! Not me, Sonny. I haven’t forgotten the last time I agreed to pose for you. We were fifteen and that sketch you did got us both grounded for the entire summer!” she protested.
I flashed her a devilish grin.
“To this day, Mom still doesn’t believe I didn’t pose nude for you!” she proclaimed with a half-hearted laugh.
“We’re not going to dredge that history up again,” she said while still flatly shaking her head in denial.
It was only a foolish childhood prank, and it should have been harmless enough, except our mother found the sketch in my room. Summer had been completely clothed when she agreed to pose for me. I simply used my skill and a little imagination to alter the drawing.
Mom convicted us both without the benefit of a fair trial, and Dad meted out the punishment; he pronounced a non-negotiable three months of restriction. I couldn’t help but notice that Dad studied the sketch for quite a long time before he passed sentence.
Regrettably, our parents confiscated the drawing, one of the best I’d ever done, and it had never resurfaced. Presumably, our mother burned it. The punishment might have been worth it if I’d at least been allowed to keep the drawing.
“Well…” I sighed, “if that’s your final word on it, I guess Mel will have to do without the pleasure of my company Saturday night.” I tucked my chin to my chest and put on my best posture of dejection.
“Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me into agreeing to that, little brother!” Summer huffed in response. Summer was all of seven minutes older than I was, but it gave her some satisfaction to call me her ‘little brother’ whenever she felt I was trying to take advantage of her.
“Me? Try to guilt-trip you?” I asked innocently with my hands spread wide. “Do you really think I would try to do something like that after all you’ve done for me?” I asked, spreading it on thick.
“I wouldn’t even have a place to stay if it weren’t for you, Sis. Look at this place! I’m living in the lap of luxury because of you,” I insisted. I turned my gaze to the deck beneath us.
“I’d probably be sleeping in some run-down tenement house, eating beanie-weenies from a can instead of Lobster Thermidor and Snow Crab. Maybe sipping a cheap bottle of Boone’s Farm wine…” I said letting my voice trail pitifully away. I could sense she was wavering by her silence. “I probably wouldn’t even have qualified for unemployment,” I added for good measure.
“Oh, Sonny…it’s not that bad. You’d have found another job eventually,” she said with compassion.
She crossed the deck and hugged me close to her. I lay my forehead against her shoulder as if I was about to cry. She patted my back and gave my hair a few strokes. Summer was easily manipulated. I smothered my urge to chuckle against the crook of her neck and she must have assumed I was crying because she sighed heavily before asking, “Does it mean that much to you?” I nodded against her shoulder. “Well…” she began slowly.
My head instantly jerked up. “Then you’ll do it?” I prodded with excitement.
“Goddamn it, Sonny! You’re such an ass sometimes,” she hissed as she swiped at me with both hands and shoved me away.
I grasped her wrists and placed them tightly against my chest. At six-foot-two, I could still look down at her, and I gave her an irresistible grin of satisfaction.
“You’re never going to learn, are you?” I asked smugly.
She shoved me away, more insistently the second time, and made a low growl of discontent in her throat. She stalked towards the open French doors as I danced exuberant circles around her.
I waved my arms wildly and bounced about.
“This is going to be great, Sis! I promise, I won’t get in your way at all! You won’t even know I’m there,” I insisted with pure joy. I flung myself down on the sofa and propped my heels on the edge of the coffee table. I threw my hands behind my head and laced them together.
“Imagine! A whole week of having my own private model,” I heaved breathlessly.
“A week!” Summer hissed. “You didn’t say anything about a week,” she suddenly protested.
“Well, it’s not quite a full week,” I conceded with a shrug. “Just from now until Saturday, right?” I cautiously suggested.
“Sonny, I can’t spend the whole week posing for you!” she insisted in exasperation.
“You can’t?” I asked, my eyes wide with surprise. She shook her head emphatically.
“No, I certainly cannot!” she asserted with her hands on both hips.
I placed my palm to my forehead and groaned. “I think I’m gonna be sick…Saturday,” I said in a near whisper. “I feel it now. By Saturday night, I won’t even be able to get out of bed,” I moaned and closed my eyes.
I felt a breeze stir as she flounced past me and a soft throw-pillow smacked me squarely in the face.
“I’m going to bed!” she snapped as she disappeared down the hall. I chuckled and hugged the pillow to my chest.
*****
Despite being unemployed, I was still in the habit of rising early. Summer kept odd hours because she was working fulltime, and I, because I wasn’t working at all. When I wandered onto the deck with a mug of fresh, hot coffee, I wasn’t surprised to find Summer already up and about.
The morning sun was above the eastern horizon and it made a glorious backdrop for the lithe figure of my sister who was jogging along the water’s edge. I watched from a distance with a wide grin as her tits bounced with each small hopping-step she took. I made a large sweeping gesture with one arm through the air to gain her attention. I knew she saw me, but she ignored my waving and trotted on past as if she had no clue I was there.
Momentarily, I was rewarded with the rear view of her scantily clad backside as she made her way north along the shore. Summer looked fantastic in a white string-bikini. I could see why she was still in high demand for commercial print ads. I leisurely sipped my coffee and watched her disappear down the beach. I would have plenty of time to finish it before she returned.
Summer had a morning fitness routine she followed. She jogged for a mile or two every morning. She followed it with a strenuous swim which lasted a full half-hour before she sprawled out on a towel and sunned herself while she rested. This morning, I would be waiting with my sketchpad when she hit the sand.
I’m not certain why I wanted to sketch her so badly, but she’d been an obsession of mine since we were kids. Summer had a look about her that made her the perfect subject. Photographers fought for the opportunity to photograph her. I was no different; what they captured on film, I was determined to capture on paper and canvas. To me, she was like the Mona Lisa, an artist’s dream come true.
My real objective was to draw her nearly nude, if not completely so. I had an idea for exactly how I wanted to portray her, the pose and the props I wanted to use, but Summer was skittish. I would have to ease her into the idea one small step at a time. It wasn’t going to be easy to convince her either. I knew that before I blackmailed her into posing at all. If it took the entire summer, the effort would still be worth it.
I finished my coffee and dressed in a pair of old cutoff jeans. With sketchpad in hand, I made my way to the beach where Summer conveniently kept a row of lawn chairs anchored in the sand. The beach was beginning to come alive with activity when I spotted her in the distance, jogging in my direction. I settled comfortably on a chair and waited.
“Morning!” I called cheerfully as she trotted across the sand to a nearby lounger. “Sorry I kept you waiting. I overslept, I guess.”
My apology was merely a mockery of her reluctance. She stubbornly refused to acknowledge my greeting. Her face was completely expressionless.
She unfurled an oversized beach-towel and popped it in the wind to remove any sand before she spread it over a reclining lounge chair. I hurriedly thumbed through my drawing pad until I found a blank page and began making a few rough drafts of her movements.
“That’s it! Hold that pose for a minute,” I prodded as I quickly scratched a few lines on the blank page.
Of course, she ignored my commands and continued with her movements. She gave me a scathing look and I hid a smirk of satisfaction at her irritation. She deliberately kicked a bit of sand in my direction as she retreated towards the surf. I brushed it from my lap with a few swipes of my hand and shook the remainder from my pad. I peered over the rim of my sunglasses as she dove head-first into an oncoming wave.
I watched, enraptured, as she resurfaced and began a leisurely swim parallel to the shore. I copied the images of her strokes to the paper in my lap. My drawings were crude by comparison. Summer moved with the grace of a swan in the water. Each movement was as carefully orchestrated as a ballet dancer’s, perfectly poised and positioned. She had the natural rhythm of a dancer, even when she walked; every limb followed a structured choreography.
When at last she emerged from the surf, Summer’s mood had softened somewhat. It seemed she had forgotten her annoyance with me; she was more relaxed and tolerant of my goading. She patted her skin dry with a small towel and handed me a bottle of sunscreen before stretching herself on the lounge chair in the sun.
She put on a pair of protective glasses, leaned forward on her seat, and pointed to her shoulders and back. I tossed my things aside, took a seat on the edge of her chair and hurried to oblige her request.
She gathered her long hair and held it aside while I coated my hands with lotion and began to apply a liberal amount to her bare shoulders. I deliberately took my time, applying more deep massage techniques than actual sunscreen. She moaned quietly in appreciation as I worked my way down her back.
“Feel good?” I asked with a small amount of satisfaction. I was rewarded with a purr of pleasure in response. I couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark glasses, but something told me her expression of gratitude was genuine.
“Don’t make any plans for the rest of the day,” she suddenly blurted. “We’re going shopping.”
“We?” I asked as my hands suddenly paused mid-stroke. “Shopping for what?”
“You need a new suit,” she stated flatly. “In fact, you need a new wardrobe, but I’ll settle for a new suit and shoes. We’ll do lunch while we’re out.”
I frowned slightly at the suggestion. For one thing, I didn’t relish the idea of clothes shopping, and for another, I wasn’t in the position of being so independently wealthy as to be comfortable with splurging my meager assets on something as frivolous as a new suit. There was nothing wrong with my old ones to my way of thinking. I stated as much, plainly discarding the idea.
Summer shifted and lay back in her chair. I paused as I eyed the excess lotion on my palms and the curves of her exposed anterior body. With a flick of her wrists, she indicated she wanted me to continue applying the sunscreen to her front as well.
“You need a new suit for Saturday,” she insisted as I tentatively smeared the lotion over her stomach and ribcage.
“I’ll pay for it,” she added to head off my objections in advance.
My hands suddenly trembled with nervousness as my fingers lightly brushed against the underside of her breasts. I tried to avert my gaze as her nipples perked up beneath the two small triangles of white camouflage.
“What am I now, some charity case?” I snarled with irritation at my own faltering confidence. I could find my way around a woman’s body with no problem, but suddenly, I was unable to concentrate on anything except Summer’s breasts.
It was no slight stirring I felt in the front of my cutoffs. My penis went from mildly amused to rock-hard in less time than it took for me to draw a breath. For the first time in my life, I felt my sister was acutely aware of her effect on men, particularly me. I deliberately moved my hands lower on her belly and redirected my attention.
I used both hands to spread the lotion over the top of her hip joints. Where most women had love-handles, Summer had nothing more than a slightly soft curve.
Was it my imagination, or did her hips lift slightly when I slid my hands down her sides? My cock throbbed at the idea she might be enjoying my touch. I cleared my throat nervously and tried to look away again.
“Funny you should mention that, but no, it was my idea to go shopping, so like I said, I’m buying,” Summer repeated her offer.
The part about mentioning charity almost slipped by me as my gaze trained on her rising and falling breasts once more. I felt like a cobra as I followed the subtle swaying rhythm of her breathing, charmed, if not hypnotized, by the movement.
“I think I forgot to mention that the ‘thing’ Saturday night is for charity,” she casually stated as my gaze flitted from her tits to her crotch.
There wasn’t even the slightest hint of honey-gold to be found there. I was almost disappointed when it suddenly hit me that she must be completely shaved bare. I managed to suppress a groan as I shifted my own position and slightly turned my back to her. It served the purpose of concealing the bulge in my shorts from her view. I squirted more sunscreen on her thighs and began to gently knead her legs.
What difference did it make if the event was for charity? I pondered her last remark. Summer was always appearing at charity affairs for some good cause.
“What kind of charity event?” I felt obliged to inquire. It was best to show some interest I thought as I ran my hands over the calves of her legs. Fuck, she had such long, shapely legs.
“It was Mel’s idea. It’s an auction to benefit the homeless,” she explained with an air of nonchalance.
“Remind me to keep my hands in my pockets and leave my checkbook at home,” I grumbled under my breath.
“The last thing I need is to come dragging home with some ghastly piece of overpriced pottery that serves no useful purpose,” I added with a snort of mockery.
“It’s not that kind of auction,” she answered as she moderately spread her legs and I worked my way upwards on the insides of her thighs.
“It should be a lot of fun, different anyway,” she shrugged. She wasn’t exactly giving me an open view of what lay between them, but it made it difficult to maintain my composure.
“Hmm…what kind of auction is it?” I asked as I lapsed into a momentary trance at the idea of bypassing her bikini bottoms and sliding my fingers along her deliciously bare slit. My mouth went dry suddenly and I licked my lips to wet them again.
“It’s a bachelor auction and there should be some very wealthy and important people there,” she explained with the same casual air of indifference.
“You need a new suit,” she repeated. “I’m thinking maybe a smoke grey Brunello Cucinelli. Double-breasted is back in style,” she lethargically commented.
It took a full minute for her words to have an impact. I snapped the lid closed on the bottle of sunscreen lotion and replayed the conversation in my head.
A bachelor auction. I needed a new suit, not just any suit, but an expensive, designer suit. Wealthy and important people would be in attendance. My eyes opened wide and I sprang up from the chair nearly stumbling backwards over my own two feet.
“Oh, hell no!” I snarled loudly. She tilted her head and presumably looked up at me from behind her dark glasses. “You’re not parading me around like some prize-winning show dog!”
She laid one hand against her cheek and replied, “Interesting analogy, but putting that aside, I thought we had an agreement. You do want me to pose for you, don’t you?”
“Well…yeah!” I stammered. “Sure, I do.”
“Every day for nearly a week?” she asked calmly. My stammer quickly turned to a stutter.
“Well, then? In exchange, you agreed to attend Mel’s little shindig. It’s a bachelor auction and you, my dear little brother, are an eligible bachelor. If you want me to pose for you, you’ll go on the auction block. I guess you should have read the fine print of our agreement,” she said with a satisfied smirk. “You’ll never learn, will you?”
A thousand things must have gone through my mind to say in response, but when I opened my mouth to speak, all that came out was a lame, “Well, fuck!”
“Exactly!” she sniffed as she stood up and began gathering her possessions. She headed for the beach house at a brisk pace and I trotted doggedly at her heels, panting at the effort to keep up with her. I blurted out every possible objection I could come up with, but she waved them all off without another comment. When we reached the bottom step, I paused, my ribs heaving in and out.
“Alright! You win!” I snapped waspishly. “But, when you pose for me, you have to do exactly what I say. No bullshit excuses. And, you have to give me all day Sunday to make up for Saturday,” I insisted.
She turned and faced me with her hands on her hips. She gave me a sharp nod and said, “Okay. Agreed! But, in return, no matter who bids on you, and no matter what they want you to do, you’ll do it. No bullshit excuses,” she said firmly.
“Anything?” I asked.
“What if some rich, old, fat lady wants me to fuck her?” I prodded. Surely, Summer would draw the line at that idea.
“Anything!” she reaffirmed.
“And, you’ll do anything I tell you to do when you pose for me? Including pose naked?” I asked.
She hesitated for a moment.
“Look, if you expect me to fuck some broad, the least you can do is agree to sit nude for me,” I pointed out with impatience. She paused for a few more seconds before nodding slightly. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Then, let’s go shopping!” I said.
*****
Our joint shopping expedition was exhausting. We must have visited a half-dozen stores before I saw something that really caught my eye. Summer insisted on choosing from a Brunello Cucinelli collection. Since he was known for his use of natural fabrics, I opted for something less ordinary. It was far too hot for wool, and Italian silk was everywhere. If I wanted to stand out, I needed a more dramatic look; it had to be eye-catching and woman-pleasing at the same time.
I decided on an all-black leather contemporary design. As I stared at myself in the dressing-room mirror, a slow grin spread across my face. Summer wasn’t the only one who looked good in expensive clothing. I thought I looked a bit like a cross between a youthful Steven Tyler and Slash. With my dark wavy hair, I presented quite the ‘bad-boy’ image. When I slid back the curtain and stepped outside the cubicle, Summer’s expression told me I was right about that.
She circled me slowly with her mouth slightly ajar.
“What do you think?” I asked with my head egotistically cocked to one side.
I gave the long silk scarf around my neck a little shake for effect. The flamboyant scarf contrasted with the white silk shirt. She passed a strand of my hair between her fingers and gave me a nod of approval.
“I was going to suggest you get a haircut, but now, I’ve changed my mind,” she declared with an expression of awe. “Sonny, you look like a rock-star!” she breathed as she ran her hand along one lapel of my jacket.
“You need boots,” she added looking down at my worn sneakers. “Definitely boots,” she reiterated with a nod. She turned her attention to the clerk.
“Can you finish the alterations by Friday?” she asked. The clerk, a mousey looking young woman, nodded.
“If you’ll step this way, we’ll complete the transaction and I’ll have Carlos begin working on it today,” she assured my sister. Summer already had her credit card in her hand.
A few minutes later, an older man of obvious Latino blood was measuring me upside down and inside out. I took it all in stride until he fell to his knees and his hand strayed to my groin.
“Hey! Hey, hombre! Watch where you’re putting your fucking hands,” I snarled loudly.
“But, Senor…” he began to argue in earnest.
Summer instantly appeared from behind the curtain. She cast me a deep frown of disapproval while Carlos explained his intentions. Without warning, her hand snaked out and she clutched my entire package firmly in the palm of her hand. I gasped at the sensation of her tight grip on my balls.
If that wasn’t enough to shock me to silence, she hissed in my face with a low growl, “Sonny, I just paid forty-five hundred dollars for this fucking suit. The fit is going to be perfect one way or another, with or without your cooperation. Do I make myself clear?”
She paused for a moment before giving me another small squeeze of warning. I nodded weakly and averted my gaze.
“Go ahead, Carlos. Finish what you were doing,” she ordered in a calmer tone.
Carlos made quick work of taking my final measurements and scribbling them onto a small notepad he held. I stood motionless as he worked around my sister’s hand to obtain his figures. The initial shock of Summer’s grip on my cock and scrotum faded and my eyes rolled upwards, focusing on the ceiling as I tried to control my response.
If Summer noticed, she said nothing, which made the situation that much more unbearable for me. At the very least, she could have paid me some small compliment. How can any woman hold a man’s junk in the palm of her hand and not say something, anything at all?
Maybe she felt she had expended her quota of compliments for the day when she told me I looked like a rock-star. Maybe she thought I didn’t feel as much like a rock-star as I looked.
I found myself trailing her once again as she made a hasty exit from the store a few moments later. Her continued irritation was apparent in the way she slammed the door open and never looked back to see if I was following her. Of course, my arms were loaded with packages so it impeded my attempt to keep up with her pace.
Annoying Summer wasn’t one of my more pleasurable hobbies, but it happened frequently, and with little to no effort on my part. I made a more concerted attempt to avoid stepping on her very last nerve for the remainder of our shopping excursion, mainly because I still had ideas about doing some rough sketches of her later in the evening.
Summer and I seldom, if ever, openly discussed sex. Our parents didn’t encourage sex education at home. We were both left to learning about it from the usual sources, friends, books and movies mostly. My friends made the usual overtures to my sister in high school, but by the time we attended college, we ran with different crowds and avoided one another in the social scene. Summer dated a variety of college boys, but I never gave much thought as to how active, or not, she was sexually speaking.
After I joined the military, Summer and I seemed to drift even further apart. There were occasional phone calls, and naturally, some visits home coincided with holiday events, but there was none of the deep bonding expected from twins during those years.
Our emotional regard for one another developed when we reached the benchmark of our twenty-fifth birthday. As adults, the subject of sex just never seemed to come up between us. We respected each other’s privacy and neither of us spoke openly about who we were dating, or just how involved we were with anyone.
When I came to live with her in Florida, it brought about a new sexual tension. For the first time in our lives, I began to see my sister as a woman. Seeing her in that light, as other men saw her, created a hunger in me. As her brother, it made things awkward at times.
Summer never gave any indication she was curious or interested in me in any way. She ignored my glances and comments for the most part. That is, right up until she grabbed my crotch. The more thought I gave to the incident, the more I believed her silence was caused by her annoyance with herself, rather than with anything I had said or done.
If that were the case, I decided it was time I grow up a little and treat her the same way I would treat any other woman I knew, with respect and dignity. That was going to be easier said than done.
Sisters are sisters, and women are women; it never dawned on me that Summer could be both. Besides, I didn’t take life too seriously in general. I lived by the philosophy that as hard as life is…it owes everyone a little spontaneity and fun. It’s difficult to be respectful and dignified while you’re having fun. But, for Summer, I was determined to give it a try.
It was late afternoon when we returned to the beach house. I was certain Summer was on the verge of never speaking to me again. She disappeared to her room for a while and reemerged with a cell phone to her ear when she heard the sound of the blender in the kitchen. She gave me a suspicious scowl when I handed her a tall, frothy juice drink and shooed her towards the deck. A moment later, I poked my head through the door and jangled her car-keys to let her know I was going out.
“Hang on,” she muttered into the phone. “Where are you going?” she asked impatiently.
“To the store. I thought I’d make dinner, but we’re out of everything. I won’t be long,” I promised.
She turned her attention to the caller on the line and ignored me. In fact, she ignored me for the remainder of the afternoon. She lounged on the deck, alternating between talking on the phone and reading while I worked diligently in the kitchen to prepare a simple but palatable meal for two.
It was dusk when I lightly tapped on her bedroom door and announced in a mock tone, “Dinner is served.”
She flung it open and my eyes widened with surprise. Summer must have showered and changed while I was busy in the kitchen. She looked as though she had stepped off the cover of a vintage magazine. Her long blonde hair was tightly pulled back in a ponytail, tied in place with a pink ribbon. The style matched the sundress she was wearing.
It was snow white with a bodice that hugged her opulent boobs before tightly gathering at the waist and spilling down slightly below the knee. Above the hem, large pastel flowers appeared as broad strokes of an artist’s brush, the petals as wide as my hand. They drew attention to her tanned calves and slender ankles. White sandals showed off her freshly painted pink toenails. A soft, white cashmere sweater draped her shoulders as an accessory to complete the nostalgic look.
Her perfume was as light and breezy as the image she presented. I pulled a handful of daisies and wildflowers from behind my back and held them out to her.
“For you. A handful of weeds,” I said with a mischievous grin. She eyed me suspiciously before she sniffed them. I don’t know why women always feel obliged to sniff flowers. Daisies have no real scent, but she inhaled them just the same.
I led the way through the French doors to the deck. I was rather proud of my intimate dinner arrangements. The table was laid with fresh linen napkins and silver plate under liners. The centerpiece was a large crystal bowl filled with ice water and floating wheels of orange and lemon slices, interspersed with floating candles and small daisy crowns. The bulk of Summer’s bouquet of wildflowers were loosely contained in a small crystal vase.
The tiki-lamps were lit all around the deck and soft music poured through the speakers. It was a relaxing and romantic atmosphere. I seated Summer and filled two fluted glasses with chilled white wine. I selected a Pinot Blanc Alsace, the perfect accompaniment for a casual fare. I watched as she examined my culinary handiwork. I could tell she was impressed.
For appetizers, broiled jalapeno peppers stuffed with a blend of cheeses and wrapped in bacon strips. A small mescaline leaf-lettuce dinner salad with cherry tomatoes followed, topped with crumbled blue cheese, and croutons. The main course was savory chicken and pecan salad made from sautéed breast of chicken, fresh bacon bits, a trinity of raw sweet onions, bell pepper, and chives, seasoned with a hint of garlic and lemon zest and served cold as a sandwich on fresh buttered croissants. It was garnished with slices of fresh avocado bathed in lemon juice.
“It looks delicious,” Summer said warily. “What’s the occasion?”
I shrugged. “It’s nothing; just my way of saying ‘thanks’ for the new suit. Is the wine okay?”
She nodded silently and sampled the peppers.
“Fuck, Sonny…where did you learn to cook like this?” she asked with awe.
“I watch a lot of cooking shows. All those Friday nights home alone were bound to pay off sooner or later,” I said wryly.
“I doubt very seriously you spent too many nights home alone,” she said rolling her eyes at me.
“Mom sure as hell never cooked like this,” she added as she pointed her fork to her plate. “I hate cooking. It’s such a bore.”
“That’s because you go about it the wrong way,” I argued. She gave me a quizzical look.
“Cooking and sex are a lot alike. Cooking is nothing more than foreplay. Eating is the climax. The more time you put into foreplay, the more satisfying the orgasm.”
She tilted her head curiously at me. “I never thought of it that way before. If you fuck like you cook, you must be hell in bed,” she giggled.
“Let’s just say no one I ever dated suffered from malnutrition,” I chuckled in response.
Summer suddenly burst into laughter.
“If what you’re saying is true, can you imagine how bad Mom and Dad’s sex life must have been? No wonder Dad always looked like he was starving!”
I joined her in poking fun at our parents. “I think Dad ate a lot of fast food when Mom wasn’t looking,” I snorted.
“No way!” she gasped in disbelief. “Do you really think so?” she asked. I nodded and flashed her a grin.
“Do you think Mom knew?” she asked as her laughter subsided.
“I think the more important question is did Mom care?” I retorted. “Do you remember that couple who moved in down the street when we were living in Pensacola?”
“The redhead with tits?” she asked almost automatically.
“That’s the one!” I nodded with a wink.
Her hands flew to her cheeks as she hissed loudly, “Dad was doing Mrs. Bennett?” She burst into a fit of giggles. “Mom hated her! She called her ‘Peg’ because Mrs. Bennett reminded her of Peg Bundy.”
I shrugged and grinned in response. “Well, she didn’t hate Mr. Bennett,” I said giving her a knowing glance.
She sucked in her breath sharply with surprise. “Mom and Mr. Bennett? How do you know?” she demanded.
“I walked in on them one day,” I explained without looking up. “They were in the kitchen together and I came home from school early. He had her bent over the kitchen table.”
Summer shielded her eyes with one hand and held up her palm in front of her with the other.
“No! Please, stop! I can’t listen to any more of this,” she insisted with a groan of feigned disgust. “We ate breakfast on that table!”
“Apparently, Mr. Bennett ate lunch there, too,” I snorted. Summer wadded her napkin and threw it across the table at me. She was laughing hysterically and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“No! Seriously, Sonny! Stop!” she demanded as she fanned her face with both hands.
“I’m scarred for life now! I’ll need ten years of therapy and I’ll still never be the same,” she said choking back laughter. Summer’s laughter was like music to my ears.
I gave her a devilish grin and asked, “Well, would you be okay if I told you I was just making it all up?” I returned the napkin with a toss across the table and laughed at her stunned expression.
Her face turned serious again and she murmured under her breath, “I’m not speaking you to anymore.”
“Well, if you aren’t speaking to me, you shouldn’t eat my cooking either,” I declared as I reached across the table for her plate. She gave my hand a hard smack and continued eating in silence while I smiled smugly to myself. I refilled her glass with wine and she touched her glass to mine.
“This is so good,” she breathed as she sat back in her chair and rolled her eyes towards the darkening night sky.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it. How about when we finish, we clean up the kitchen and take a walk on the beach?” I suggested.
“You? Walk on the beach?” she asked with doubt. “I thought you wanted to sketch me tonight.”
“Well, you look so nice all dressed up. It would be a shame to keep you locked up at home. I’d rather go for a walk, I think,” I said quietly.
*****
“This is nice.” Summer breathed deeply and sighed as she hugged my arm for balance in the uneven sand.
In the waning moonlight, she was stunning. I noted her slender neck, exposed beneath the simple coiffeur of her ponytail. The tilt of her head gave her the graceful arch of a swan where wisps of pale gold silk began. A small diamond pendant glistened and drew attention to the swell of her breasts where the sundress fell short of concealing them completely from view.
“It is nice,” I agreed as I patted her hand on my arm. I laced my fingers between hers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
We meandered along the water’s edge for a while before she spoke again.
“Sonny, I have a confession to make.” She glanced sideways at me with trepidation. “I want you to draw me.”
“You do? Why?” I asked somewhat puzzled by her admission.
“Because I think you are an amazing artist. And, because…well, I’ve always felt a little guilty about you,” she shrugged.
“Guilty about me…why would you feel guilty about me?”
“Do you remember when we were in college?” she asked.
“Sure. You were the most popular girl in school and I was…well, a bit of a renegade. What about it?”
“I always thought Dad was too hard on you. If he had shown you the same support and attention he showed me, there’s no telling who or where you would be now,” she explained.
“That’s just Dad, Summer. It’s different between fathers and sons. It’s a competition and God knows, I could never compete with Dad,” I said with a frown.
“You’re an awful lot like him, Sonny.”
“Me? Nah…Dad probably never made a bad decision in his life. I stayed in trouble back then,” I chortled.
She abruptly stopped in her tracks. “You are like him, Sonny. You look like him, just as handsome and strong. You’re more like him than you think,” she said as she laid a hand against my chest.
“You think Dad’s handsome?” I asked cocking my head at her in the semi-darkness.
“Dad’s a lot of things. Handsome is just one of them,” she said with an edge of irritation in her voice.
Summer’s change of tone sent a prickle up my spine. I’d never heard her utter a single word of criticism about Dad. Now, she seemed to be trying to tell me something about our father that I wasn’t understanding.
“Sonny, I know what happened to that picture you drew of me when we were young. Dad has it,” she said flatly.
“What do you mean, Dad has it?” I snarled in disbelief.
“He kept it, Sonny. All these years, he kept that drawing.”
“Why would he do that?” I asked.
“He saw how talented you were and he wanted you to follow in his footsteps. He didn’t want you to become an artist. He didn’t want anyone to see how much talent you had.”
“You knew this? You’ve known all along that he kept that picture and you never told me, Summer?”
My mind was reeling. Simply knowing the drawing still existed was a shock, but knowing Dad had deliberately tried to discourage me from the one thing I was good at was quite another.
“I couldn’t tell you, Sonny. I just couldn’t…” she said shaking her head. There were tears in her eyes as her voice faltered.
I kicked at the sand in frustration.
“Summer, I need time to think about this. I mean, this is just too fucking much to absorb,” I said shaking my head.
The good news was, Summer wanted me to draw her. The bad news was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to now. My confidence was shaken. What if I wasn’t good enough to capture what I saw in her? If Dad kept that drawing, he must’ve seen something in my talent. But, if I tried and failed, it would just be another in a long list of failures.
Summer and I walked back to the beach house in total silence.
“What are you going to do, Sonny?” she asked when we reached the deck.
“I’m going to go to bed. I’m going to hole up in my room and sulk and pout for the rest of the night, like I always do. Then tomorrow, I’m going to draw you,” I said with conviction.
“This is my one chance to do what I want to do. I’m not going to pass up that opportunity. As a writer, I’m nothing more than a two-bit hack. I have to at least trythis, Summer. If it doesn’t work out, they can’t say I didn’t have the most beautiful model available. It’ll be on me. It’ll be my success or my failure. Not Dad’s, not anyone’s but mine.”
I took her by the shoulders and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Night, Sis. See you in the morning.”
*****
It was Saturday evening as I applied the finishing touches to my appearance. I paused to glance at the stack of photos and sketches from the past few days. In each one, Summer was undeniably beautiful as always, but as I studied them, there remained something lacking in them. There was an expression, a look, somethingundefinable that wasn’t there.
I’d seen it on occasion in other photos taken of Summer; a vague, subtle hint of what I sought.
I left the stacks of portraits laying where they were and went in search of my sister. It was time to leave for the charity event I so dreaded attending. But, I had promised, and Summer was looking forward to it.
“Are you ready?” I asked as Summer looked up when I made my entrance to the living room.
“Fuck, Sonny…you’re going to be worth a small fortune tonight,” she said with admiration as she looked me over. Her compliment bolstered my ego and I offered her an arm as I escorted her to the car and driver that waited on the street.
The charity for the homeless was a mere ten-minute ride away, and before I could count the minutes, we were there. With Summer on my arm, we mixed and mingled among society’s elite, downing champagne and cocktails to calm the flutter of nerves in my stomach. The names and faces were a blur to me as she introduced me to many of those in attendance.
“Sonny, this is my publisher, Mel. Melanie, this is Sonny, my brother,” Summer was suddenly saying.
I turned to acknowledge the introduction from Summer and I found myself staring, speechless, at the most alluring woman I’d met lately. She was tall and leggy with hair the deep color of copper, neatly bobbed, and a sweep of feathers over her hazel eyes. Her lips had a full, natural pout and were the rich color of blush rose wine.
Her voice was like violin music; it flowed from note to note without falter or pause.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she hummed over the rim of a champagne glass. I had the impression I was being considered as something more than simply Summer’s brother. The notion wasn’t completely an unpleasant idea. I felt my designer pants pull tight under her gaze.
“How did your sister manage to corral you into this, Sonny?” she asked.
“It was outright blackmail. Summer can be ruthless,” I said smoothly.
“It usually is,” Mel laughed, obviously delighted by my honesty. “I doubt there’s a man here tonight who wasn’t under some form of duress when they agreed.”
“I’m almost sure you’re right. It’s the price we men pay for surrounding ourselves with beautiful, ruthless women,” I nodded.
“It’s for a good cause,” she shrugged and tossed the hair from her eyes. “Summer tells me you’re working on some portraits of her now. I’d love to see them. Your work on her books was impressive. I’d like to see more… of your work.”
The master of ceremonies’ announcement called the participants to backstage over the PA system.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mel. I think I’m about to be sold into slavery. Duty calls.”
I saluted her and downed the last of my drink. I leaned and kissed Summer’s cheek as I handed her my empty glass.
The group of men being offered for auction were herded behind the scenes backstage and given instructions before the bidding began. We were handed cards with our contact information on them which we were to exchange with the winning bidder. We were also given a long stemmed red rose for our benefactors as well. I waited nervously in the wings for my turn on stage.
I was one of the last half dozen to be auctioned off. The wait was long and the effects of the alcohol wore off early. The bidding became more frantic as each man took his turn centerstage ahead of the footlights. By the time my name was announced, I was overly anxious. I almost hated Summer for conning me into this scheme.
The bidding started low, in the hundreds of dollars range, but it rose quickly as it skipped to the thousands within a few bids. I heard Summer’s familiar voice call out, “Five thousand!” and my stomach flipped upside down. It was followed in quick secession by seven, ten and then twelve thousand-dollar bids.
“Fifteen!” came my sister’s voice of determination.
“Thirty!” a lyrical voice countered. The entire audience inhaled as one and went silent.
Distantly, I heard the call for any last bids as I searched the crowd for the face of the one who’d bid so much on me. The gavel came down to a thunderous applause as Mel slinked forward and gave me a smile of satisfaction. My attention turned to Summer as she masked the look of shock on her face. She gathered the hem of her gown and disappeared into the crowd.
I made a quick exit down the stairs at stage left and shouldered my way through the remaining bidders. I searched the audience for Summer, but Mel appeared in my path instead.
“Where’s Summer?” I asked.
“Oh…I think she left,” she said sounding unconcerned.
“Summer wouldn’t just leave me here,” I frowned.
“She was probably bored. Maybe she found a last-minute date,” she suggested. “Don’t worry, Sonny. If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll have my driver take you home,” she purred.
As it turned out, Summer had abandoned me. After a wait that was more like an hour than the few minutes she promised, I accepted the ride Mel offered me instead. During the short journey, we came to an understanding regarding the arrangements for our date. Mel would have dinner at the beach house the following night. I planned to cook dinner for her as part of the agreement. I kissed the back of her hand and left her staring after me as I mounted the steps of ‘home’ a few minutes later.
The living room was empty when I let myself in with a key. I peeled off my jacket and went in search of Summer. Her bedroom door was closed. I gave it a light tap and called her name. There was no answer. I tested the door handle and found it locked.
I decided there was simply no understanding women, not even twin sisters, as I sighed deeply and wandered to my own room for the rest of the night.
*****
Summer had been strangely quiet at breakfast and chose to abandon the beach house for the night, leaving me on my own to entertain her friend and publisher. While I’d gone to great lengths to prepare an especially sumptuous dinner, I was doubtful whether I was providing Mel with thirty-thousand dollars-worth of food and entertainment.
That evening, Mel arrived precisely on time. On the other hand, I was running behind schedule. I had dinner prepared, but I hadn’t yet managed to change clothes. When the bell rang, I opened the door still wearing tight faded jeans and a sleeveless ‘T’. While I expected to find Mel in evening attire, I was never so grateful to see her wearing jeans and a woman’s tank-top.
“Well, you look…busy,” she laughed lightly.
I overcame my surprise at her appearance. “Thank God, you came casual,” I breathed my relief as I swung the door wide and invited her inside.
“I like your look, bus-boy GQ,” she winked as she indicated the kitchen hand towel slung over my shoulder.
“I’m a little behind in the kitchen,” I shrugged as I sheepishly tried to hide the towel behind my back. I quickly ran a hand through my hair as she preceded me into the living room. I watched the way the cheeks of her ass shifted in her jeans when she walked.
“Can I do anything to help?” she asked as she tossed her shoulder bag down on the couch and turned to face me.
I tried to blink away the look of guilt, but my eyes made a swift transition from her ass to her breasts; amazing breasts, spilling over the top of a skimpy black bra underneath the stretchy tank. I stood staring with both hands grasping the towel behind my back.
“Sonny? Sonny, can I help with anything?” she repeated.
“Huh? Oh…no, it’s under control,” I answered, momentarily snapping back from my trance.
“Wine. Would you like a glass of wine?” I asked as my focus returned. She nodded and seated herself on the sofa.
“Be right back,” I said as I headed to the kitchen. I returned a moment later with a bottle of wine and a tray. I poured two glasses of wine and indicated the tray of thinly sliced melba toast and small dish of a pate-type spread.
“Help yourself,” I suggested as I handed her a glass of chilled white wine. I waited as she applied the paste to a piece of toast and tasted it.
“Sonny, this is delicious. What is it?” she asked as she made a face of approval.
“Tarama. Greek caviar, virgin olive oil, garlic, lemon and butter,” I replied with satisfaction.
“Summer said you were a good cook. Really wonderful,” she murmured between bites.
“When you’re ready, we’ll have dinner on the deck. It’s not very formal, but it’s a nice atmosphere.”
“Oh, I’m ready whenever you are. I’m starved!” she laughed
“Then, let’s eat,” I said offering her an arm to lead her to the outdoor table.
Dinner was several courses. I followed the tarama hors d’ oeuvres with an appetizer of crab and crayfish chowder, then a salad of summer fruits and melons. The main course was Chateaubriand, medium-rare, with a crapaudine sauce and roasted potatoes. Desert was a fresh strawberry shortcake with heavy whipped cream and almond slivers.
By the time we got around to coffee, Melanie was appropriately impressed. Our conversation was less stilted and more personal.
“Where on earth did you ever learn to cook like that? This southern pecan coffee is to die for.”
“When I was living alone, I was bored. I taught myself how to cook just to kill time,” I explained.
“I’ve been to a lot of restaurants that couldn’t come close to what you cooked tonight. You’re simply amazing, Sonny. Why aren’t you married?”
It was a question I was asked often over time. I didn’t have a ready answer.
“Oh, I don’t know…I guess I spend too much time trying to figure out what I want to do with my life,” I shrugged as I fiddled with the handle of my cup.
“That reminds me why I’m really here, Sonny,” she said leaning forward slightly. “Those sketches you’re working on of Summer. Are they good?” she asked.
“Good? Yeah, I suppose so,” I said with a sigh.
“You don’t sound too sure,” she frowned.
I leaned forward and braced my arms against the edge of the table. “Are you a good publisher, Mel?” I asked.
“Well, yes…in my humble opinion, I’m the best publisher in the south.”
“Then, you’re better than good. You’re the best you can be,” I said trying to make a point. “I’m a good artist, Mel, but ‘good’ isn’t ‘the best’. The sketches I have so far are good. They just aren’t the best I can be.”
She hesitated a moment as she considered my evaluation of my work.
“I’d like to see them, Sonny. I’d like to judge for myself.”
“Why?” I asked with suspicion.
“Well, for several reasons…let me see the sketches, and then, maybe we’ll talk business. Fair enough?”
I laid my napkin aside and pushed back my chair. I half bowed and mockingly swept my hand towards the patio door.
“After you. They’re in my room. I just hope you aren’t too disappointed.”
Mel followed me down the hall to my room. I swung the door wide and invited her in with an accompanying apology. “Sorry for the mess. I can cook, but I’m not a very good housekeeper,” I muttered.
Mel laughed as she flopped down on the edge of my crumpled bed. I was somehow relieved to see a woman like Melanie ‘flop’. I felt a little less intimidated as I gathered some of the stacks of photos and sketches and placed them in her lap. I watched her face as her expression turned serious and she scanned each portrait with a critical eye.
A half-hour passed in silence as she sifted through the stacks. When she viewed the last one, she looked up at me at last. She put on her best poker-face and I couldn’t read her thoughts.
“Sonny, tell me what you think of these,” she said as she tilted her head expectantly at me.
“They’re missing something.”
“What are they missing?” she quizzed.
I took a deep breath and shook my head.
“I’m not sure, Mel. I don’t know. All I know is there is something about Summer I haven’t been able to capture yet. I’m still working on it, though,” I said defensively.
She nodded and trained her gaze on the stack in her lap. She gathered them and offered them back to me.
“Sonny, let’s talk business a minute. You’re right…these sketches are good; good enough that I can get you work right now. Are you interested?”
“Well, yeah…sure, I’m interested. What kind of work?” I asked.
“Cover-art. I can put you to work right now doing nothing but cover-art for books.”
She paused.
“I don’t see what it is that you feel you’re missing in these, but that’s an artist’s instinct. You won’t be happy until you figure it out for yourself. In the meantime, do you want to work?”
I nodded vigorously.
“You’re damned right, I want to work. When can I start?”
“I can email you some layouts in the morning. You take a look at them. Decide what you want to do, how much time you’ll need to complete them, and then we’ll talk money.”
I was elated by the prospect of working again, especially doing something I loved to do. There was a sudden feeling that began to gnaw at my lower stomach.
“Mel…why are you doing this?” I asked.
“Because your sister is a client…and a friend. Because I can make money on your work,” she said as she came to her feet.
Suddenly, her arms were around my neck and she was looking at me like I was tomorrow’s blue-plate special. She tilted her head and kissed the corner of my mouth lightly.
“And, because I think you’re sexy…” She kissed the opposite side of my lips the same way. “Gorgeous…and I want you,” she declared before her lips devoured mine.
The kiss was hot, steamy. My cock rose quickly at the prospect of having Mel in my rumpled bed. When she drew away again, something happened. There was a look in her eyes; it was one I knew well. But, there was also a dawning inside my head. In an instant, it came to me. This was the look that was missing in my sketches of Summer.
I shifted and created a slight distance between us. It was easier to talk to her without her breasts rubbing against my chest. I kept my hands on her waist, while I held her slightly at bay.
“Mel, if your offer is contingent on us sleeping together…I’m going to have to decline.”
She looked taken aback by my words, but then, she stepped away from me.
“Alright, Sonny. We can keep this on a purely business level if you like. But, if you ever change your mind…you know where to find me.”
“I appreciate that, Mel. If I ever change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Well…” she sighed heavily. “I guess I better go. Thanks for the dinner, Sonny. It was truly the best I’ve had lately.”
I held her hand as I walked her to the living room to retrieve her purse. Then I escorted her to the door. I leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. There was a disappointed look in her eyes, but she accepted my decision with grace.
“I’ll send you the layouts in the morning,” she reaffirmed. “Goodnight, Sonny.”
“Night, Mel,” I said as I watched her saunter to her car.
*****
After Melanie left, I sat down on the edge of my bed to think while I sorted through the drafted sketches of Summer once more. My thoughts returned to the original portrait of Summer, the one our Dad still possessed. I closed my eyes and conjured the drawing from memory. I knew right away, it had what I’d failed to capture in the most recent sketches.
There was something in the eyes of that sketch, some small detail, that set it apart from all the others. If only I could define it, recognize it for what it was, then perhaps I could recreate it in the collection of my more recent sketches. I’d seen it in Summer many times. That’s how I knew it was missing.
I’d seen a hint of it in Mel earlier. Only what I saw in Mel was pure unadulterated lust.
I opened my eyes and laid the sketches aside. It had been a long day and I hadn’t even cleaned up the kitchen from dinner yet. I sighed and wandered out of my room to finish the day’s chores. I cleared away the dishes from the table on the deck and began work in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and wiping away any evidence on the countertops of my having cooked.
The kitchen was spotless when I headed towards the shower. Summer still wasn’t home.
I peeled off my clothes and stepped into a steaming shower, just what I needed to relax me and clear my thoughts. I bowed my head and let the water rain down on my hair. As I stood there under the hot water, I replayed the past few days in my mind. I was grateful the charity event had gone well. At least it was behind me, and I had a new job as a result. Maybe now, I could repay Summer for the expensive suit she bought for me. I reached for the shampoo and lathered my hair.
The suit. My eyes snapped open suddenly. That was it! That was when it hit me. The look in Summer’s eyes when she saw me in the suit. The reason I hadn’t been able to define it was because it wasn’t one emotion. It was a combination of feelings. Pride, admiration, affection, annoyance…lust.
Then last night, when Mel out-bid her for the date with me. Shock, anger…jealousy.
“Fuck!” I cursed aloud as I hurried to rinse the soap away. Why hadn’t I seen all this sooner? I pondered as I turned off the water and stepped from the shower. I’d forgotten to bring clothes with me from my room. I wrapped the towel around my waist and flung open the bathroom door.
As I stepped into the hallway, I ran directly into Summer. The collision startled us both. I reached to steady her with both hands.
“Hi,” I said quietly when we’d both recovered from the shock.
A look of disdain crossed her face.
“You’re dripping all over the carpet,” she reprimanded with a scowl as she brushed my hands away.
“Summer…” I began. I thought better of what I was about to say.
“I have a new job. Mel offered me a real job tonight.”
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” she scoffed as she turned to walk away.
There it was…the look; a mixture of contempt, jealousy, and a hint of lust as she noted water dripping from my hair while I stood there like an idiot clad in only a skimpy towel.
“Summer, I have a job. A real, honest to goodness job,” I tried again. “It pays money and everything. I thought you’d be happy.”
She turned to face me again with her hands combatively poised on her hips.
“Did it ever occur to you how your sleeping with my publisher might affect me, Sonny?” she snapped with fire in her eyes. “What part of that am I supposed to be happy about?”
I casually folded my arms and leaned against the doorjamb.
“You might’ve tried asking me first if I did sleep with your publisher,” I suggested.
“Fine! Did you?” she demanded.
“No. I didn’t,” I replied calmly.
“I don’t believe you, Sonny. I know how you are.”
“Go ahead, Summer, tell me how I am,” I challenged her.
Her silence was golden.
“I didn’t have sex with Melanie. We had dinner and she looked at my sketches of you. She offered me a job which I accepted, and she left. That’s all that happened.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” she scoffed.
“You would if you really knew me,” I shrugged. “For instance, did you know that I like buttered pecan ice cream? Or, that I like watching kittens play with a string. And, I love old movies where the hero gets the girl even though he didn’t know he was in love with her until the very end of the movie.
“I like listening to those annoying windchimes of yours…because they remind me of you. I like watching you take your first sip of coffee in the morning. And, I like watching you get mad over something stupid, like you thinking I slept with your publisher. I love knowing that you love me, Summer.”
“I…of course, I love you, Sonny. You’re my brother,” she stammered as she averted her gaze.
“That’s not what I mean, Summer, and you know it,” I said shaking my head at her.
I unfolded my arms and stepped close to her. “Tell me I’m wrong, Summer.”
I ran my fingers along her cheek as I tilted my head to kiss her. She tried to pull away from me, but I held her firmly.
“Sonny, you’re my brother. This is wrong,” she objected.
I didn’t give her a chance to say anything more. I let the towel fall from my waist as I picked her up in my arms and carried her to my messy bedroom. I laid her in the middle of my bed and stretched out on top of her.
I rested my forehead against hers and whispered to her, “This may be the only rightthing I’ve ever done in my life.”
Every man has his Mona Lisa; the one who drives him to Van Gogh’s level of madness. Summer was mine and making love to her was complete and utter madness in so many ways. It was like Christmas in July and I was careful not to tear into the package too quickly. I relieved her of her clothing one piece at the time and as each article was stripped away, it merely hinted at the gift it contained.
When she looked at me, her eyes were frozen lakes reflecting the morning sky; icy blue but melting, and black whirlpools of pupil that drew me in; they dragged me into the pitch that swirled at their center. They held the key to what I had been missing all along, what I’d instinctively known all my life, yet failed to understand.
I used my tongue as a soft, sable brush, and her body as a canvas; I painted it with long, slow strokes, bringing it to life with tender licks and kisses.
At first, she predictably followed the rules of Newton’s third law and for each of my actions, she responded with an equally opposite reaction. I was not to be so easily deterred. If a war raged within, her body responded to each caress with humility and acquiesce. There was no resistance when I spread her knees with my own and she felt the heat of my sex pressed against hers. And still, I continued to ply her with kisses and murmurs of how beautiful she was and how much I loved her.
It was true we’d been born of the same womb, and presumably were conceived at the same time, but we were individuals and as different as any other two living and breathing souls. It was those differences that drove us towards one another. How odd it was to hear myself say that I was in love with a woman who was my sister and to know that she had not denied she was in love with me as well.
She showed the first sign of wanting to become better acquainted with my anatomy when she ran her hand along my shoulders and down my ribs. My lips were closed on one nipple, focused on coaxing it to attention and I flinched when her fingers flexed and her nails clawed lightly at my hips. I shifted my weight to one side, granting her access to examine my cock by feeling it in the palm of her hand.
She closed her fist tightly between the crown and the root, squeezing and testing the resiliency, pulling it closer to her. I signaled my encouragement in my throat and she answered with soft feminine moans. I knew she was anticipating how it would feel once fitted inside her.
Her cunt began to weep salty tears. At first, only a few; then a slow, drizzle before a cloudburst of soaking rain. I could smell the rain, a mixture of musk and earthy perfumes. I could feel electric flashes of energy between us and the faint rumble of desire building.
I climbed my way downward, between her thighs, and made an appetizer of my tongue by delicately feeding it into her. Her cunt was a delightful garden and the garden awakened with blistering heat and humidity. The exotic petals of flesh thickened and blossomed, smooth lush lips, opening to the core of her sex. I sampled the fruit with licks and sucks before threatening her with the edge of my teeth as a reminder of my authority.
Her clit swelled and ventured forth, begging my attention; pleading for both restraint and release at the same time. She gasped when I used my tongue as a whip and administered several sharp lashes as a form of teasing punishment and denial.
There are times when a man wants to bend and break a woman’s will; a form of retribution for how she makes him crave her like an addict. I waited patiently for her atonement. When it came, it was music for soothing my soul.
Two words, no more nor less. “Sonny, please.”
I rose to my knees, and planted my arms like pillars on either side of her to support my weight. As my cock penetrated her, she lifted her hips and my spine formed an arc with my shoulders and hips at zenith points. Like a sheathed blade, we were fitted to the hilt, and there was no room for her to take more of me, and no more of me to fit.
My hair still dripped, raining down cold droplets that silently splashed on the swells of her breasts. She moaned and let her fingers play in the small puddles on her flesh.
The fabric of the universe ripped and split apart revealing the dark void where the only light was in heaven beyond, and together, we journeyed towards it. There was no turning back as she quivered and her cunt closed around me. I roared like a man being crucified. Her cunt sucked and fed on the life I pumped into it, depleting the last vestige of bodily fluid from me while she suffered a similar wicked death.
I was completely spent when I lowered my weight onto her and made the effort to breathe again. I lay my head against the soft clouds of her breasts and closed my eyes as I listened to her heart wildly beating. I knew beyond all doubt that I would finish the sketches now. I’d found what was missing, both in my life, and in my art.
