My sister likes taking risks

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“Emily I know you’re super busy and if that’s all it is that’s fine I’m just worried. Are we breaking up?”

“What?” my sister said, looking at me for the first time, “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

So I let her get back to studying. But I swore I heard her crying as I closed the door behind me.

*

It was the middle of May. A drippy, dreary day that seemed to demand everyone stay inside. My Mom was upstairs making dinner and my Dad was in the dining room doing a work thing.

Finals were over. Emily was still sweating out test scores, but her time was, once again, her own. I’d gotten the scholarship and I’d be starting at Messiah in the fall. We would still be close enough to see each other — it was only a three hour drive away — but still.

For what felt like the first time in forever, my sister had joined me down in what I’d come to think of as our ‘playroom.’ The basement was lousy when it rained — it felt damp and stank of mildew, so we sat fully clothed on the couch, wrapped in a heavy knit blanket.

We hadn’t fucked in days — really hadn’t been regular for weeks. By this point, my balls had been trained to produce multiple loads of cum for my sister every day. Now it was all just building up in there. Worse, my cock had grown accustomed to Emily’s pussy (and her mouth, and her hands, and her tits). Jerking off felt strangely empty and unsatisfying.

All this meant that my testicles were incredibly tender. I had to sit in a certain way just to keep from hurting myself. Emily seemed fidgety, as well. She kept shifting position and making these little frustrated grunts. But neither of us suggested doing anything. Not even a wink or a playful grope. And so we just stared mutely at the TV as I flipped the channels.

As I said, my parents wouldn’t pay for cable so we just got broadcast down there. We had all the basic stuff plus these strange, sub-channels that would play, say, three hour marathons of Night Court or all the Robert DeNiro movies that weren’tgood.

Every now and again though we’d trip over something classic. That afternoon in mid-May we hit the jackpot: Rebel Without a Cause. Emily had never seen it so we watched. The movie had that saturated look from old color movies and the red of James Dean’s jacket seem like the warmest thing in the world.

We got to the ‘chickie’ scene. James Dean gets in a knife fight with Buzz, but that’s not enough. They agree to race each other, heading toward a cliff. Whoever jumps out first is ‘chickie.’ They line up all the other cars and flip on the lights. Each guy gets some dirt on his hands. And then they peel off toward death and destiny.

Emily had been sort of in and out of the movie to this point, but when we got to this scene she leaned forward. She just stared, enraptured, as the two cars took off. The cliff got closer. Dean’s rival, Buzz, got caught on the door and couldn’t escape in time. While Dean rolled to safety, Buzz’s car went over the side.

“Holy fuck,” Emily said, “I want to do that.”

“You want to play chickie?” I asked, a little nervous about what my sister might be planning.

“Yeah,” Emily said, “That would be awesome.”

“Seems like a good way to get killed,” I said.

“Not like with a car. Just something like that. Where you know that everything is at stake — your family, your friends, your life — but you race towards it anyway. Knowing in your heart that you’ll have to stop at some point. But driving like you never will. Finding that point where your courage stops and then going just past. It’s like… running with the bulls. Or jumping out of a plane.”

“You’re not exactly selling me on this idea.”

“Come on, Ryan. Don’t you feel it? We’re trapped in this antiseptic life where even if we wanted things to go wrong our parents wouldn’t allow it. Don’t you just want to test yourself? See where your limits are? See if you can break through them?”

“I understand,” I said, “I think. But it also seems kind of scary.”

“That’s the point,” Emily said, “To be frightened. To live with real consequences. For once.”

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